#the blue sky and the green trees untouched by the fire behind him

[nelapanela94]

"Take care, Levi." You mutter against his lips and kiss him one more time, tears amassing on your lash lines. Your hands are flat on his chest, and his heartbeat is a reassuring lullaby. His palms are warm and rough on your cheeks, contrasting the cold prick of his silver band. "Promise me you'll be back safe."

Levi's dewy lips curve into a half smile, and a little snort flees from him as he erases the wrinkly lines of apprehension creasing your forehead. Then, he lifts your hand to his lips and presses kisses on the knobs of your knuckles, his beautiful gray eyes eternally anchored to yours. "I'll come back to you," he says and stretches your arm to kiss the cradle of your elbow. "I promise."

He always makes the same promise, and he never breaks it. Yet, that harrowing feeling simmers in your insides, churning your guts. What if...

You toss away the thoughts and pounce on him, confining him in a hug. Bergamot and husky citrus spew from the starched collar of his shirt. Always pristine to kill titans.

He pats your back and allays your shudders. "I love you, y/n."

"I love you, Levi."

He brushes away your tears and mollifies your fears. The green cloak flutters behind him. The sky is a monotonous, dense blue, like an upside-down lake.

The day rolls by, the bells ring adding one chime every hour, the sun dips behind the wall to the west. He said they'd be back before sunset.

Your hands quiver as you hook the water pot at the hearth, black dots sprinkled the gray floor. Flames rise and dance, sputtering flakes of fire on your living room. Minutes tick and tick, and soon the moon and stars pierce the velvety sky. Dinner is left untouched. You huddle on the couch near the window and wait for the gate bells to toll, for the chains to shriek and hooves stomp on the stone. You hold onto that promise, his husky voice reverberating in the back of your head, clinging to it like a gravity spot.

The voices in your head ebb and eventually you fall asleep. But the next morning you wake up to the vivid nightmare. Levi's horse is not tethered to the maple tree. And you think of old Gretta who's been waiting thirty years for her love to come back home, wearing the same dress she wore that day, so that he wouldn't make a mistake.

Adrenaline and fear rush through you, twisting your sanity, squeezing your heart. And then, someone raps, and you scramble to the door.

"Levi!" Tears flow freely on your cheeks; sobs scrape your throat. He's covered in blood, not his nor titans'. You know theirs hiss and wane.

"Hey," Levi says softly as he builds a shelter with his arms around you. "I'm sorry." He smells of iron, grime and sweat. "I didn't mean to worry you." He presses his lips on your ragged-doll hair. You wield your arms around him to never let go again. His heart beats, tuning in with yours.

Levi never breaks his promises.

Never.

[strangerdangerwrites]

twin flames | L.S. (Avatar: The Way of Water) - Chapter One

Summary: You meet the people who were once your clan’s enemies.

Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk’itan x Ash People Na’vi!Female!Reader (Uses she/her/hers pronouns; No use of Y/N)

Warning: None

Chapter Masterlist

In the eyes of the flames, everything is one and the same.

Within you is the fire, the urging desire…

to cause destruction, all because of the ember's seduction.

Mahuika is a beauty. After all, it is your home, the warmth of the sands on your feet, and the scorching ashes dancing through the air never bothered you. 

The kiss of the breeze on your skin was what you love most, the warm embrace of home.

The marui surrounded by magma, spouting its embers into the air.

The tarākona that roamed and rested among the large rocks, your bonded creature forged in fire.

The children watched the flame dancers during the eclipse in glee. 

Your clan, happy as another group of warriors, celebrated victory in conquering the leap of faith in Mount Valko. The burn marks on their skin tell their own tale.

Your sisters dance among the fire, as you cheer among their grace.

Your Olo'eyktan, your mother sat among her people smiling.

And the most sacred place upon Mahuika is the large tree that sprouted among the volcanic grounds with golden luminescent leaves and white roots and trunk; it almost looked like it was burning, The Roots of Life.

Your heart longed and ached for your home. 

But now you are surrounded by blue and green. Water, the enemy of the flames.

How ironic, your enemy— no companion— no savior… had been basking in the clear blue seas. At first, you would've thought he looked like the depth of the ocean, the unknown. Yet as much as you looked at him clearly, he didn’t resemble the clans who resided in the waters; perhaps he is one of the forest dwellers you thought.

On your journey toward Awa’atlu, the place where his family had already considered their own, you revel in silence while the tulkun tries its best to carry your wounded tarākona. A place where you could rest, rest before heading back to your shattered home. 

The cinders still remain and a simple flick could easily ignite it all. You’d heal and when all is done…then what? 

You were silent while both of you rode his ilu back to Awa'atlu, you held your bleeding arm across your chest, untouching. Even if there was a fine line that made you understand one another, you cannot trust him completely; you are still wounded by the scars of the sky people. You only hold onto his waist with one hand. But when you shivered as every wave slapped your arms and legs; your teeth chattering loudly he couldn’t help but turn around, and with you bleeding profusely, you can feel your eyelids grow heavy.

You were too tired. Too exhausted to even be conscious of your surroundings. 

His ilu stopped midway, while Payakan continued his way among the seas he knew. 

“Would you like to stay at the front? I can—shit— I could warm you up?” He moved away from his ilu, ready to go behind you while you looked at him with your intense glare. Even if you were bruised and shivering in the cold, you still looked at him with this cold glare making him cower. 

Lo’ak almost smacked himself in the back of the head with how he worded it out, but you slightly shifted to the front of his ilu and left him space behind you. Lo’ak gently placed himself behind you, at first giving you the distance that you needed while you held your bleeding arm across your chest.

When he commanded his ilu to go forward, slowly you leaned against him making his breath hitch. Lo’ak felt like he was stepping on eggshells with how careful he wanted to be with you;  he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries and toy between the line of what this is and what you are to each other. 

This was oceans that are not traversed and Lo’ak is simply dipping his toes in the waters, testing…waiting.

He can smell the faint smell of smoke, fresh spice…from you. You were warm, not too much that he would sweat, just the right amount of touch for physical contact. You fit right beneath him perfectly, still shivering while he held his ilu’s reins. 

Throughout the whole ride, Lo’ak never heard you talk, only after your fight earlier. Even Lo’ak was silent, he could’ve just left you there alone but he didn’t. The bitter understanding of the taste of loneliness painted on his lips. 

He knew your darkest secrets without needing to know you that long. This blind trust you have with each other makes him feel things he never had… it makes him feel wanted… depended on at long last… that he is worthy of trust and responsibility. 

This would probably do both of you good, you were both alike, weren’t you? Lo’ak thinks.

How bizarre it is to think that you bare your fears and pain to a complete stranger? There would be once-in-a-million chances for you to meet and yet here you both are.

Every line becomes muddled with uncertainty.

Lo’ak only realized that you’ve been leaning on him completely when he lowered his hands, you were sleeping. Your drowsy state, trying to open your eyes when you saw the faint light of the fire.

The urge to close your eyes was too strong, and so you did. Putting your complete faith in the na’vi that you almost considered the enemy into safety. After all, what else could you lose?

When the both of you reached the island surrounded by roots of mangrove-like trees, there are multiple campfires and lanterns open. Right in the distance, Lo’ak could see figures he knew too well, looking out into the ocean.

Looking for him.

‘The boy has returned!’

When Lo’ak tried to shift you awake, your eyes remained closed and your head lulled backward. His ilu guided him towards the white sands, people had gathered to look at the boy and the figure he was carrying. 

“Where were you?!” Jake came barging right in front of Lo’ak, anger and fear littered on his features.

Neytiri, his mother looked at him with panic in her eyes, muttering ‘my son’ in the wind. Neytiri’s hand placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, scanning her son’s body for further injuries when she realized the figure he was carrying, a bloodied na’vi with ash blue skin, the large feathers and bones that adorned your frame told her that you are the same age as her son.

Payakan had pushed your tarākona towards the shore, the crowd gasped at the large creature slumped right behind Lo’ak. It hissed in pain and the eyes of the Olo'eyktan narrowed as soon as he saw the creature trailing behind you, almost making a protective barrier with its large body. Preventing even his family from even coming close beside him, with the tarākona protecting you both.

“A tarākona.” Ronal hissed. There is only one clan that tamed this monstrous beast.

Lo’ak kneeled, gently placing you in the sand yet refusing to let you go. You were still bleeding, he cannot afford to pass any minute with you being dead to the world. You were running out of time.

The sole reflection of his pain, the only person who’d understand is lying here waiting until Eywa would take you as hers.

“I-I found her drifting across the sea…and I… help her please.” He begged the Tsahik, looking at Ronal with a pleading stare. 

Metkayina’s Tsahik was cautious as she did not trust the Sully family at first. And Lo’ak was at the last on her list of good graces, Lo’ak brought nothing but trouble and yet here he is presenting another problem to the Metkayina’s home.

A na’vi from the Manawa Wera Clan, an enemy of their own clan.

Manawa Wera had their own beliefs and cultures that are far too different from the Metkayina. If they believed in The Way of Water, your clan believed in The Seeds of Fire. 

For the Metkayina, the sea is a better ally.

For the Manawa Wera, fire is judgment

If the water is eternal, the fire begins with a spark and ends in ashes.

If the sea is your home, the flame is a lover who is erratic. uncontrollable, unforgivable, everything and beyond. 

If the Metkayina can learn acceptance and forgiveness, your clan on the other hand would burn everything in ash and cinder.

A fire cannot be contained or trained, they ran havoc in destruction. 

Because no amount of water can quench the fire that resides within.

“You have no idea about the child you brought here, she is from Manawa Wera.” Ronal growled.

Lo’ak feels helpless and he can feel his own anger rise upon the accusation just because of your own upbringing. He could almost see himself in you, untrusted, enemy… just finding solace and comfort only to be pushed away. You showed no signs of threat and just like his first time with the Metkayina Clan, he is being ridiculed, scorned, mocked, and shamed. 

The anger in him slowly crept up in his veins. He felt his eyes twitch.

Like a calculated venom, he spat out the following words: “If you are no help then maybe you don’t deserve the title of the Tsahik.” 

Ronal's intense stare wavered, as Lo’ak parents scolded him. He held his ground, looking at the Tsahik in front of him. 

Tonowari held his mate’s arm softly, looking at her as if talking with her with only his eyes. 

“It is a child…” Tonowari whispered, looking at Ronal softly and back towards their own children. Ronal knew the feeling of a mother, and how she didn’t want her own children to be separated from her own family; When the Sky People had posed a threat far greater than what they could fight. 

Your own mother must be out there, worried about her own child's loss in the sea. Ronal couldn’t do that even with the former enemy. 

Metkayina’s are forgiving, and if the sea had brought you here then there must be a purpose. Because if not, you should’ve drowned a long time ago.

Ronal exhaled defeatedly conceding to her husband’s request.

“Bring her to me.” Ronal demanded, and with that, the healers of the clan carried the girl away from Lo’ak’s hands. 

Leaving Lo’ak standing there with his family looking at him worriedly. Kiri carefully stepped around the tired creature, looking at it in wonder. It was majestic in her own eyes, far too different as its muted red color scales glinted in the moonlights.

“You disrespected her and our family. Do you understand that?” Jake scolded looking at him in anger. 

“Lo’ak, you do not talk to the Tsahik that way!” Neytiri scolded, only for his mother’s eye to fall right into his bloodied chest. His mother’s breath almost caught in a hitch, it reminded her of another most recent loss far too great for a mother to experience.

Neytiri’s hand wavered in front of his son’s bloodied chest, she could almost feel the cold embrace of her guilt when Lo’ak slapped her hand away.

The pain in the eyes of the mother did not go unnoticed by Jake and Lo’ak. 

Lo’ak reassured his mother: “I am fine, mother. It’s just a scratch.”

Lo’ak own erratic breathing was pulsing with anger, but when Jake place a comforting hand on his son’s head Lo’ak realized that he was back to directing his anger to what was in front of him. Just like what he had done when he met you.

“Where have you been?” Jake asked, this time he lowered his tone. Wary about how it would sound in the ears of his child.

“Ma Jake, you ask questions later. Your son is bleeding.”  Neytiri softly said, grabbing her son’s shoulder tightly, as if Lo’ak would disappear as soon as she closed her eyes. “I apologize… let us go and I’ll heal you.”

Walking side-by-side, the tarākona shifted awake, looking at Lo’ak, and followed him begrudgingly. Its forked tongue hissed in the air, while Kiri remained intrigued. It was a beautiful creature, it looks to be a bonded creature of a warrior.

Kiri noticed there was a prominent burnt scar on the tarākona’s neck. Far too calculative to be just a mere coincidence, like it was meticulously placed there. Even with its tired state, the creature followed its own owner; not even bothering as it slithered away from the watchful eyes of the na’vi who were far too curious about the said creature.

Lo’ak looked behind him, watching as the light in the pod of Tsahik glow as they healed you. In the dim light of lanterns, it gave your sleeping figure a heavenly glow. 

You looked serene, peaceful… perfect. 

Māori Words Used: Manawa Wera - Manawa (heart), wera (hot) means “being fervent of heart and passionate”. In the case of the story, it is the Clan of the Ash People, the Fire-Dwelling Clan. Taglist: @okaylorrainee, @destinylb

A/N: I SPENT A GOOD TIME RESEARCHING GOOD NAMES THAT FIT FOR ASH PEOPLE CAUSE JAMES CAMERON WOULDNT PROVIDE ME WITH ONE.

Also, I would like to give credit to the recording artist, Ria Hall, I was listening to her album named “Manawa Wera”. Also "Set Fire to Rain" by Adele is one of my looped songs for writing this. Also if you go back to the prologue you would notice something, there is now a header! This is a reminder that the plot belongs to me, except for the characters of the Avatar Franchise. This is only for fictional purposes.

[eddie-sweetheart]

Autumn Sunset

Once, Eddie helped Steve with unrequested but much-needed love advice. Now, as the sun sets in the countryside surrounding Hawkins, it's time for Steve to return the favor.

Tropes: Eddie x female reader, body positivity, fluff and a very sweet love confession.

Warnings: Drug use, light swearing, physical insecurities.

Word count: 6.5k

Author’s notes: This work has been adapted from a commission for a very sweet and lovely mutual of mine. If you're reading this, thank you for asking me to write something for you: it was an honor! 🤍

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

You’ve never seen a sunset as perfect as this. As the van runs along the empty road, the trees a green blur outside the windows and the words Leaving Hawkins - Come again soon getting smaller and far away in the rearview mirror, you can’t take your eyes off the gold and fire that’s striping the blue Indiana sky. 

It’s not the first sunset you’ve witnessed on the road, but this one feels special. The mesmerizing colors, broken up here and there by pink fluffy clouds, are not simply beautiful: they look properly glorious, as if they’re carrying a beautiful secret that they can’t wait to share with you - as if something good is laying there, just past the line of the horizon.

It’s a peaceful sight, one that perfectly matches the wide, silent fields of the countryside - a tranquil sea of green just outside the city lines, still dewy from the morning rain and apparently untouched by the horror and devastation that plagued Hawkins two seasons ago. 

It was spring, and it was terrifying, and as the memories start echoing at the very edge of your mind you push them away, focusing on the falling leaves that are scattered on the dark concrete like orange, brown and red confetti. It’s over, for now, and you’re all okay: that’s what matters. The present moment, the beauty and warmth of autumn, the company of your friends.

Your friends. You move your gaze away from the window and the flowing road, and glance at the six of them with a soft smile. As the sky is starting to get darker outside, they seem to light up the interior of the live-in van with their laughter, jokes, and affectionate bickering. 

“Guys, come on” Robin is groaning, slumped in front of you across the small foldable table as she turns around to look behind her, at the back of the van. “Can’t you at least wait until we get there?”

“We’re not smoking it yet, we’re just getting it ready” Jonathan explains, glancing up at her from under his fringe with a tilted smile before getting back to what has been his occupation for the past few minutes. That is, rolling a joint with the help of Argyle, who’s methodically grinding weed, and Eddie, who’s selecting the buds from his infamous lunchbox. 

The three of them are sitting at the back of the van, pressed together in the same long, sofa-like seat that saw some of you ready for a final battle just a few months ago - but there are no spears or spiky shields today; only three six-packs and a bag full of snacks. 

Robin lifts her eyebrows up, unconvinced. “Steeeeve” she exclaims, turning back around before getting up from her seat and taking a few, wavering steps towards the front of the van, grabbing your headrest for balance as the vehicle swerves slightly. “How long?”

“Buckle up, Robin” Steve replies, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, “if you don’t want me to get arrested for speeding, it’s going to be another half hour”.

Beside him, Nancy turns around in the passenger seat to face Robin. “We can put on some music, if you want”.

“Great idea, Nance” Robin exclaims, lowering her voice immediately after. “Anything but Metallica, please” she whispers to Nancy with a pleading look. “It’s triggering”.

Nancy smiles and nods, understandingly. “Deal. What about some Madonna?”

“Oh, that’s perfect. Thank you” Robin replies before getting back to her seat with a sigh, literally throwing herself on the flowery chintz of the lining. It’s a hideous print, you think to yourself, but you wouldn’t change it.

“Hey, y/n”

A soft tap on your foot, and your eyes shoot up to meet Robin’s. 

“You okay?” She asks you, leaning forward on the small foldable table. “You haven’t said anything in, like, half an hour. I’m getting worried over here, you know”.

“I was just admiring the sunset” you reply, giving her a small, reassuring smile, “it’s just… I don’t know, it’s different today”. 

Behind Robin, Argyle turns his gaze away from the grinder in his lap to look outside. 

“Woah, dude, she’s right” he exclaims, mouth agape as he stares in stupor at the flashes of color that are getting lower and more intense as you drive. “It looks like strawberry and peach soft serve with cherry syrup on top. So sick”. 

“That was weirdly specific” Eddie observes as both he and Jonathan follow Argyle’s eyes and turn around to look at the sky. The warm light plays glittering games with their features, drawing golden stripes on Jonathan’s hair and getting caught on the shiny surface of Eddie’s rings, the reflection hypnotizing as you get caught in it. 

Your eyes follow the soft lines of Eddie’s fingers, which are still expertly clutching the thin paper he was rolling, and go up to the arches of his wrist. Unexpectedly, as your gaze travels back to his face, your eyes stumble into Eddie’s and you’re met by one of his signature tilted smirks. 

“Earth to y/n” Robin suddenly says, snapping her fingers in front of you and making your head turn back to her. You don’t realize it, and if Robin notices she doesn’t let you know, but there’s a hint of blushing on your cheeks. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks you, her eyes narrowing as she inspects your face for your reaction, nose scrunching up and eyebrows furrowing.

“Robin” you firmly state, your smile now wider, “I promise. I need this today as much as you guys do, but I’m okay, really. So,” you expertly divert the topic, “what’s on the menu tonight?”.

You already know Robin’s answer: the usual, duh, and she’s right - and it’s perfect. Sandwiches, popcorn and chocolate brownies have turned into a stabilizing, comforting routine meal every time you and the others take off to spend some time outside of Hawkins. After the earthquake, even if the imminent danger of Vecna’s evil plans seems vanished for now, life in town has taken a toll on you all, especially for you and the rest of the older gang. With Max in the hospital with no signs of recovery so far, Lucas by her side day and night, Hopper’s return and Eddie’s difficult name-clearing process, Will’s recurring headaches and shivering spells, and all the other side effects of your latest close encounter with the Upside Down, it’s no wonder that sometimes you really feel the need to just go away. Not forever, of course, not even for long - but an evening outside the living hell Hawkins is turning into is what helps you all relax, somehow, and take the weight of being responsible for a group of very strong and determined but still fragile and young kids off your shoulders. Protecting them is your priority, and you do it gladly - but, sometimes, you need to take care of your own selves, too.

The first time was your idea. It happened after one of Eddie’s breakdowns, a panic attack that woke him up during an older-gang-only sleepover at Steve’s. He couldn’t breathe, and for a few minutes he kept yelling about the demobats, swearing that they were outside and they were looking for him, following his scent. Of course, there was no trace of those evil creatures (you all made sure to check just in case), but nothing seemed to convince Eddie. When he miraculously calmed down, an idea popped up in your head and you suggested going for a drive - and everyone agreed.

Of course, you took the van - but not Eddie’s old one. That was sadly gone, along with the trailer, because of the earthquake. Eddie and his uncle had hence moved into Hopper’s cabin, forever grateful for Jim’s offer to help them out until things got quiet again (if they ever will, you all thought). And, since no one had come to reclaim it, Eddie had also been able to keep the van you’d stolen from his neighbors to reach The War Zone before going to the Upside Down to face Vecna one last time. And it quickly became your vehicle of choice to run away. 

Despite its first stolen trip, the van became a lifeboat that night, as it led you from the Harrington’s big, empty house to the countryside outside Hawkins, a peaceful haven where you were able to forget everything about what lies beneath your hometown for a couple of hours.

And it’s towards that same countryside that you’re headed right now, as the sun sets in the autumn landscape. It’s not a long drive, really: it’s been less than thirty minutes since you’ve crossed the city limit when the van slows down into a gravel road on the left. A wide field opens up in front of you, a sparse cluster of trees to the right marking what’s lately become “your spot”. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen” Steve announces, slowing the van to a halt once you reach the tree line and killing the engine, “here we go”. 

“Finally” Robin sighs as she grabs the bag of snacks and as soon as Nancy opens the door she climbs down the two steps that lead outside the van. After putting one six pack in the minifridge, you grab the other two and hold them close to your chest, following the girls into the fresh autumn air. 

The sun is now lower on the horizon and its colors are warmer than ever in the dark blue sky - and your place looks as beautiful as always. You take a deep breath, inhaling the clean air of the countryside and all its nuances - from the scent of dewy grass to the earthy smell of the ground and surrounding grove, it’s all so familiar that you almost feel at home. 

An intruding whiff of cheap cologne and weed makes you turn around, just to find Eddie leaning against the open van door, the unlit joint he rolled dangling between his lips as Jonathan and Argyle make their way outside and towards the others, holding a few picnic blankets in their arms. 

“Need a hand with those?” Eddie asks you, nodding at the beers as he lifts a lighter to his mouth. The brief flicker of the flame warms up his eyes for a second, and it’s soon followed by a thin sliver of greenish smoke reaching up into the sky.

“I’m good, thanks” you reply, trying not to let your eyes linger too much on his hands, or on his lips - which are so close to you now, but not close enough. Something twitches in your chest, but you shrug it away with one of your bright smiles. “I’m a big girl, you know. But thanks for offering, though”.

Eddie playfully smirks, taking a step towards you. “Do you want some, then, big girl?” He asks you, lifting the joint between the two of you. 

“Yeah, why not” you reply, smiling as he gets closer, but you soon realize that you can’t take the joint without dropping the beers. You move to place them down on the ground, but Eddie stops you.

“Here” he says, and suddenly his fingers are very, very close to your lips as he offers you the joint to take a drag. 

Your heart starts beating a little bit faster as you inhale. You can almost feel his skin on your lips, and the idea sends shivers down your spine, making your mind race as you try not to get too caught up in the fact that Eddie is just so close. 

It’s hard not to think about it, though - just the sight of the moles you’re spotting on his neck, of his dark hair curling up beside his lightly blushing cheeks and the chocolate shade in his eyes are making your head spin. Is it possible that you’re high already? 

“Hey, you two!” Jonathan’s voice makes you suddenly turn around. One side of you is relieved, because you’re blushing already and there’s no way Eddie isn’t going to notice that - but another, tiny part of you is annoyed that your friend has unconsciously broken whatever spell you and Eddie were under.

“Come make yourself useful for once” Jonathan says, “And don’t smoke that all on your own, please”.

You and Eddie look away from each other, the ghost of a smile still lingering on your lips, and you finally make your way towards the others. 

Steve and Jonathan are setting up a small circle of stones, in the middle of which Argyle is throwing some dry branches and sticks he’s collected among the trees in order to light up a fire - which, even if it’s not big at all, has become a necessity with the chilling breeze of autumn. In the meantime, next to the improvised fireplace, Robin and Nancy have set up the blankets under a big oak at the edge of the tree line. The snacks have been unpacked and laid out like a proper picnic setup. As you drop the six packs on the checkered wool, the dry, fallen leaves scattered on the ground beneath the blanket make a crunchy sound, and you remember something.

“Wait a second” you say, and as the first flames of the fire start crackling and everyone else sits down, you walk back to the van to turn on the radio. 

The first few notes of Wild Heart by Stevie Nicks seep through the open doors of the vehicle as you come back to your friends with an innocent smile. The quick beat of the cymbals makes Robin’s head turn and her eyes open wide in surprise.

“No way, y/n!” She says as she looks at you with her mouth open, clutching an open can of beer close to her chest, “I love this song! Actually, this whole album, it’s- it’s the best album ever!”

You giggle as you sit down next to her and Nancy in front of the fire, opening a beer for yourself and clinking it against hers. “I know” you reply, taking a sip, “That’s the first thing I thought when I found it in one of my drawers at home. That’s why I picked it for tonight’s soundtrack - I know how much you love our Stevie”.

“What was that?” Steve asks, plopping down by your side, soon followed by Eddie.

You, Nancy and Robin look at each other and burst out into a fit of laughter, causing an expression of utter confusion to appear on Steve’s face and a knowing, restrained smirk on Eddie’s lips.

“Oh, don’t worry, Stevie” Robin says, taking a deep breath between a giggle and the other and throwing an arm across your shoulders, “all you need to know is that our y/n has the best taste in music”. 

Steve looks at Eddie, trying to find some answers to whatever joke you’re going on about.

“Don’t look at me, Harrington” Eddie observes, smirking as he takes a drag from the joint before passing it to Argyle. “I told you you should stop listening to Elvis Presley and start broadening your musical horizons”.

“Yeah, dude” Argyle confirms, coughing a little smoke, “This music right here is actually not bad”.

“Not bad?” You exclaim, almost offended, as you take another sip from your beer. “Stevie Nicks is a literal goddess. You can dance and sing, cry and laugh to any of her songs - I’m ready to fight you on this”.

While you talk, Eddie keeps his eyes on you, silent as you giggle and jokingly argue with everyone about music. Every now and then, you throw a glance at him, too. The fire reflected on his rings, the first stars in the still blue sky glittering in his eyes, the flash of his grin make him sparkle like Christmas lights - and your eyes are fireflies, constantly drawn to him, whether you like it or not. But you do like it. A lot.

As the songs go on and change, you keep drinking and chatting with Robin and Nancy, and a pleasurable dizziness starts clouding your mind in a very good way. You feel lighter, more carefree, even happier than usual - here, surrounded by your friends, snacking on the food you prepared together and drinking until your legs are pervaded with the right amount of numbness, you feel like there’s nothing you have to worry about.

You take a look around you, and you’re glad to see that everyone’s having a good time. Eddie and Argyle are smoking, Robin and Steve are affectionately bickering about Robin’s latest crush, Nancy and Jonathan are settled into a loving hug beside you. It feels perfect, and just as you’re thinking that it couldn’t get any better, the first notes of Stand Back start playing. 

“Oh, y/n” Robin says, immediately interrupting her conversation with Steve and looking at you with an excited glint in her eyes. “I looove this one!”

“Me too”  you reply, your voice a little higher than usual as you sway your head lightly, getting lost in the rhythm. “God, I want to dance to it so bad” you suddenly exclaim, “will you be my partner?”

Robin nods enthusiastically. “Always! Come on” she says, and as you two start getting up, Argyle follows your move.

“You want to dance, too?” You ask him with a huge smile, surprised at the idea of Argyle dancing.

“Oh no, thank you, y/n” he smiles back, “I just need to go pee. Maybe later?”.

You and Robin exchange an amused smirk as Argyle disappears in the woods. Then, without a second thought, you get off the blankets, take each other’s hand and start dancing, Stevie Nicks’ voice guiding your moves.

As you spin and twirl, Robin’s arms linked with yours, Eddie’s eyes linger on you. He doesn’t notice it, but a smile is blooming on his lips as he looks at the way your hair moves in the air, how your face lights up as you sing along and how ethereal and lighthearted you look in the rising moonlight. He’s not just looking, he’s admiring the way in which, for a few minutes, you seem happy and serene, and he’s beyond grateful that there’s something in the world capable of giving your beautiful mind some rest - even if that’s just a song. Maybe, Eddie thinks, one day it might be one of my own songs.

Eddie’s not the only one watching, though. Steve’s eyes have been moving back and forth between Eddie and you for a while - but now, he’s decided that he’s done with it.

“Come on, man” he says with a sigh, making Eddie turn around towards him, “don’t you think it’s time for you to talk to her?”

Eddie frowns, lowering his gaze as a soft shade of red starts spreading on his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harrington”.

“Maybe you don’t” Steve talks back, scoffing, “but the way you’re visibly pining after y/n has been loud enough for everyone to notice by now. Except her, of course, but that’s how it always goes, doesn’t it?”.

Eddie doesn’t reply, but Steve can almost hear his thoughts spinning under his curly, messy hair. 

“Look” Steve tries again, scooting closer to him and lowering his voice. “You once told me that I had to do whatever it took to get Nancy back, because to your - and I quote - cynical eyes, the way she jumped into Lover’s Lake after me was a sign of true love. I did try, and it didn’t go well, as I honestly kind of suspected, deep down. She’s moved forward, just as I have, and right now Jonathan is what she needs - it stings a little, but I’m happy if she’s happy” he calmly says, throwing a glance behind his shoulder at Nancy and Jonathan, snuggled up one against the other and chatting quietly next to the fire. “But even if it all went to hell, you were right” he continues, finally finding Eddie’s eyes as he looks back at him, “You were so right, and I’m glad that I tried, because I gave myself a chance. And I’m not saying this to build your hopes up or whatever, but something tells me that it might go differently for you if you tried”.

Eddie doesn’t really know what to say. His mouth twitches slightly as he tries to find the right words and build up the courage to finally let his guard down and open up. A few months ago, if someone had told him that he would confess his feelings about you to Steve The Hair Harrington, he would have told them to fuck right off; but right now, after everything he’s gone through - after everything you’ve gone through together, he doesn’t see the point in hiding behind his armor anymore.

“What if she doesn’t… you know” Eddie finally says, gesturing wildly with his hands as he tries to find the right words, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship. She’s too… she’s too fucking special, Steve”.

Steve smiles. “I know” he says, patting the denim vest on Eddie’s back, “I know. But Nancy and I are still here, aren’t we? And I’m sure if that was the case, y/n would never want to lose you as a friend. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get there. Talk to her first, trust me. You’ll regret it if you don’t”.

“And what the hell should I say?” Eddie sighs, thrusting his fingers in his hair, “I write songs and D&D campaigns every fucking day, but it all goes to shit when it comes to this. ’Hey y/n, I think I’ve been in love with you since the day you saved me from a swarm of raging demobats and I can’t stop thinking about you, every fucking song reminds me of you and please tell me that you feel the same because otherwise I’ll have to jump into one of the earthquake cracks and die of shame in the Upside Down?’ She’d kick me in the face if she heard that”.

“No, she won’t” Steve replies, trying to hide his slightly amused grimace, “but maybe you should leave the Upside Down bit out of it”.

Eddie groans in defeat, dropping his forehead on top of his knees.

“Look” Steve concludes, his gaze lingering back on the fire, moving a stray branch into the flames with the tip of his Nikes, “the words will come. Just find the right timing and you’ll be good”. 

Eddie sighs, looking up to take another look at you and Robin, who are totally out of breath and hugging in a final spin as the last few words of the song fade out into the autumn air. He nervously scratches his cheek as you two come back to him and Steve, plopping down in front of them with your empty beer cans swinging in your hands. 

“God, that was fun” Robin exclaims, her grin beaming almost as much as yours. 

“We need to do that more often” you agree, your eyes meeting Eddie’s for a second before you look away, “turn this into a dance party or something, I mean”. 

“Yeah, but that has to count as a workout, because I’m exhausted. And, I think I need another drink” Robin says as she looks around on the blanket, only to find out that the first two six packs are already gone.

“Nooo” she complains, throwing her head back to face the sky with her eyes closed in disappointment, “I’ve just sat down”. 

You’re quick to pat her on the leg, before getting back to your feet. 

“No worries, friend” you say with a grin, “I’ll go get us some fresh beer. There should be one last six pack left in the van”.

“You’re too good for this world, y/n” Robin sighs, throwing you a theatrical kiss with her hand. You catch it and pretend to store it safely in your back pocket with a laugh before walking back towards the van. 

Eddie sighs. Steve looks at him. Eddie looks back, and Steve nods. Robin frowns, suspiciously looking back and forth between the two of them, until Eddie finally slaps his palms on the denim covering his thighs and starts getting up, too. 

“Well, shit” he exclaims, making even Jonathan and Nancy turn towards him with a curious look, “no time like the fucking present”.

As he makes his way towards the trailer, everyone looks at Steve. 

“What?” He replies, trying to casually hide is proud smile, “the guy’s finally getting a grip”. 

🍂🤎🍂

The van is actually very close to the grove, but the tipsiness and the weed you’ve had are making each step feel incredibly slow and heavy to take. You really wish you could just lie down on the blankets, staring at the sky and at the first few stars that are blinking in the blue above, getting them mixed up with Eddie’s glinting, beautiful eyes as you lay your head in his lap, the cold of his rings a refreshing feeling on the skin of your cheeks…

You shake away the thought as you take the few steps that lead inside the vehicle. No use wondering about that - it’s just wishful thinking. 

The inside of the van is dark, but the light from the rising moon and the fire is strong enough for you to see quite clearly and immediately locate the mini-fridge. 

You open the small door and grab the beers, thinking to yourself that the tape will be over in a few songs and will need a proper replacement - but your thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on the van door that makes you almost jump around.  

“Jesus, Eddie” you exclaim as soon as you recognize his messy hair and Metallica shirt, “you almost gave me a heart attack”

Eddie lifts his hands up to apologize, his rings glinting in the electric light he has just switched on. “Sorry, y/n” he says, his eyes shyly lifting up to yours. 

You shrug, lifting the beers up and placing them on the table before closing the fridge. “You’re okay” you reply, “Did you need anything?”

“No, no” Eddie stutters, almost tripping on his own feet as he climbs up the steps. You tilt your head, confusedly looking at him until he lets out a sigh and walks inside. “Well, uhm, actually yes. I need to tell you something. Can I…?”

You nod, maybe just a little too quickly. “Yeah, of course” you say, leaning back against the counter, the six-pack now forgotten. 

“So, uhm” Eddie begins, “Do you remember the first time we came here? You suggested it after…”

“Yeah” you nod, your shoulders relaxing a bit. “Yeah, I remember”

Eddie smiles softly. “Good, okay. So, we were on the road and Harrington was driving, of course - I still don’t get why you guys won’t let me drive my van” he adds, shaking his head. 

You try not to laugh. “Because you have a tendency not to respect speed limits, Eddie” you suggest. 

“Yeah, ‘kay, you got me there” Eddie sighs, and you both let out a small giggle before he gets all serious again. “So, anyways, Steve was driving and all of a sudden you made him turn and we found this place - you ran outside and you looked at the trees. It was at sunset, just like today. And the sun was, like, surrounding you, surrounding us, and you said…” he hesitates, feeling as if he’s at the edge of a cliff with nothing but air and void beneath him. No turning back, now. 

“…that it looked perfect” you say, finishing the sentence as you picture the moment in your head. 

“Yeah. You said that” Eddie nods. “And I thought that it wasn’t the place that looked perfect. I actually realized… as I saw you there, still smiling that smile of yours in spite of it all… I knew then that you were the one who did. Look perfect, I mean”.

Too stunned to speak, you stare at him as he walks up to you. 

“And it’s not just that. You don’t just look perfect, y/n, you are perfect. And not in the ‘there’s nothing wrong with me’ way - but just in the way you are, good things and bad things and everything. It’s your brightness, the way you light up the room when you walk in, the way you always have a nice thing to say to us, to me, when things go wrong. I know better than anyone that perfection doesn’t exist - I’m a reject, a freak, I‘ve always been nothing but fucking imperfect. But that day, when we got here and I saw you - really saw you, I realized that you’re perfect for me”. 

“Eddie…” you tentatively say, still flabbergasted at his words, “you can’t mean that. I’m not perfect, I’m definitely not. Why do you… I mean, I don’t even think I’m your… type?”

“Jesus H. Christ, y/n” he laughs, “I’m here risking a fucking stroke, trying to declare my love for you and you think you’re not my type?”

You stay silent, trying to look anywhere but at him. But he speaks again, and this time he’s right there in front of you.

“I’ll tell you what my type is, then” he says, the tip of his index finger suddenly lingering over the collar of your shirt, sending sparks through you as his touch travels across the exposed skin of your neck. 

“My type is a woman who’s passionate about the things she likes” he almost whispers, his breath tickling your cheek as he leans forward. “She sees the people around her, listens to them, cares about them. She somehow always finds the strength to smile, even in the darkest of times, and when she does it’s impossible not to smile back. She also makes me think of music, even artists I’ve never listened to - she makes me want to know more about the world, to live more. And live better” he continues, his hand now tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“My type” Eddie goes on, his lips dangerously close to yours now, “has a beautiful, beautiful name. She’s called y/n. Did you know that?”

You find the courage to look up at him and to finally say something. 

“No, I… I didn’t”, you reply. It sounds such a silly thing to say if you think about it, but Eddie doesn’t mind - he smiles, giving you one of his blinding, wide and slightly upside-down grins. And he finally kisses you. 

You don’t know what you expected his lips to feel like. Not that you haven’t thought about it every now and then - but knowing that the chances of you two actually kissing totally belonged to another universe (maybe), you always prevented your thoughts from wandering in that dangerous territory. But now that your most secret and very well-hidden wish has materialized, you’re blown away by the mixed feelings that you’re experiencing all at once. 

Eddie’s lips are surprisingly soft, but they’re firm and deliberate about each movement they make, gently but passionately pushing and pulling yours in a dance that makes your head spin and your breath quicken. It feels as if he’s desperate to deepen the kiss, to taste every inch of you, but also as if he’s somehow holding himself back in order to savor each second of it. It feels surreal to admit this to yourself, but you feel seen and wanted, and it’s amazing because this time you know it’s true without any shadow of a doubt. 

Eddie’s hands wander along your face, cupping your cheeks and stroking your hair, loving you with his touch wherever his lips cannot be. His ringed fingers travel down your body, finding your waist and pulling you closer to him against his chest - and when his arms tighten around you, you unconsciously wince a little. 

If it was anyone else, this tiny movement would go unnoticed - but Eddie is too focused on you and he cares too much not to feel it. So, not without a lot of effort, he stops the kiss - and to you, it feels like the floor has suddenly disappeared beneath your feet. 

“What’s wrong, y/n?” He asks you, his hands back on your cheeks as his eyes stare deeply into yours. 

You shake your head in dismissal. “Nothing, I’m good - very good, actually” you try, blushing. 

Eddie smiles, but he keeps studying you. It’s the swift downward glance that you automatically take that tells him everything he needs to know. 

He sighs. “Will you close your eyes for me, please?” He finally says, “Just for a second”. 

You don’t really know what to reply, so you follow his lead and suddenly it’s all dark. 

“Come here” he says softly, taking your hand and making you take a few steps away from the counter. “Now stand still and don’t look until I tell you to”. 

You wait patiently. A door opens, lightly creaking on its hinges, and then you feel Eddie moving right behind you. His arms unexpectedly slide up to your shoulders, moving your hair all to one side of your face. His lips flutter on the exposed skin on the back on your neck - just a soft peck, and then he speaks again. 

“Open your eyes and tell me what you see”

You do as he says and you find yourself in front of a narrow mirror, glued to the inside of a tall cabinet door. 

“So?” Eddie encourages you, his eyes looking straight into the reflection of your own. 

“I see myself” you tentatively say, not sure where the conversation is going. 

“That’s it?” Eddie inquires, his gaze still up and his face next to yours, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

“Yeah” you reply, trying to understand. “The usual me - nothing special, really”

Eddie smiles. “The usual you” he echoes, agreeing but not completely. “Well, let me show you what I see. But I promise you, it is special”. 

Eddie proceeds to spread your hair across your shoulders. “First, I see your hair, and it’s fucking amazing. What shampoo do you even use?” he asks, causing you to giggle. “See how that smile lights up your face? God, I love that shit. You look like the sun. And your eyes? I could get lost in them any day. If you look at me like that any longer I swear to Jesus I might melt” he continues, making your heart warmer and warmer with each word. 

“Eddie…” you whisper, not even knowing what you’re trying to say.

“I’m not finished, sweetheart” he gently replies, “can I go on?”

The loving look in his eyes is your defeat, and you nod without another word.

“Good” he says, his hands now caressing your arms. “Then, after that beautiful face of yours, I see your arms, and I remember how peaceful they felt when you held me back in the Upside Down. I was an inch away from death, and you were the lifeline that kept me here with just a hug. You were yelling something at the others, but I couldn’t hear you because I was too caught up in how comfortable I felt in your arms - something that seemed impossible in that hell of a place”.

You blush, and something in the mirror starts to change as you understand what he means.

“Then I see the rest of you, your shapes, your whole body, and I love it” Eddie continues, a hint of hesitation as he opens up to you. “I love everything about it, y/n. Every inch of skin, every soft corner, every muscle and every bone in your body - I want you to know that it deserves love, because it makes you you. It allows you to breathe, to run, to live. To be here, with me. How could I not love it when it allows me to touch you, to hold you?”

You’re left speechless as you stare at the reflection in the mirror, watching Eddie touch you in a way no one has ever touched you before - not merely looking at you, but seeing you, making you feel his appreciation for you, his hair now mixed with yours as he fondly kisses your neck while his hands wander under your flannel to hold you close.

When he looks up again, a hint of worry flashes across his face as he notices a lonely tear running down your cheek.

“Oh, no no no” he says, rushing in front of you to hold your face in his hands once again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, is it something I said?”

Unexpectedly, as he dries the tear with his thumb, you let out a short, gleeful laugh. “It’s everything you said” you admit, holding his piercing gaze, “I’ve never thought about it this way, and… it’s beautiful, Eddie. I’m not sure I deserve all of that, but thank you. It means more than you can imagine”.

“You do deserve it, y/n - you deserve the whole world” he says, leaning closer to you with a smile, “And don’t even get me started on how sexy you look all the time”.

“Oh, shut up” you giggle, and he finds the best way to do as you say - that is, kissing you.

🍂🤎🍂

“What did I miss?” Argyle says, as he appears from beyond the tree line and gets back to the others by the fire. “Are we not dancing anymore?”

Steve, Robin, Jonathan and Nancy smile, their suspects now confirmed by the unnecessarily long time it’s taking you and Eddie to get some beers.

“No worries, man” Steve says, as Argyle plops back down next to him. “We can dance later”.

Argyle looks around, then at the van. Nancy will later tell you that she could almost literally see the little gears in his brain spin as he tried to connect the dots. But then, he suddenly realizes.

“Ooooh, I see” he says, nodding energetically, “well, about daaamn time”.

“Yeah” Robin smiles, the soft autumn breeze rustling her hair. “You’re totally right. About time”.

🍂🤎🍂

Hope you enjoyed this one shot :) Feedback is always welcome!

[portfolio-of-dreams]

poolside with you. | chifuyu matsuno x gn! reader

content: slice of life, sfw | warnings: none

w/c: 1.6k

a/n: for @hanayanetwork “summer” network collab! not beta read, cause I’m just in a silly goofy mood.

The summer air dances around your cheeks as the sun whispers its warmth against your skin. The breeze envelopes you as it tickles your senses, firing them with the scent of fresh greenery and newly bloomed cherry blossoms, it smells new, smells alive. Melancholic clouds drift across the azure sky, dipping and entwining with the pale yellows hemmed against the horizon by the golden fires of the sun. 

You wasted no time rushing to the nearby sports complex, having just opened it was untouched by the fingers of children, of summertime tourists who were sure to be flooding in any day now. You stopped in front of the double translucent doors and stared at the sign that read Now Open in bold red letters. Excitement coursed through your veins and made your body hot, taking a deep breath you swung open the double translucent doors, you closed your eyes, taking a sharp inhale as were met with the smell of chlorine. The water was calling to you, beckoning you, taunting you. It was an indoor pool but the ceiling was made of glass, pristine and simmering as it hummed and sizzled against the rays. New ivory and deep blue diamond tiles lined the pool and reflected hopeless against the light, dancing in tides of color through the crystal ripples.

Sauntering over to the locker rooms to put down your stuff, you shoved your bag into the small metal box and clicked the red combination lock through the door. Grabbing a fresh soft towel from the shelves they were stocked in, you took off towards the water, ready to dive in. White ropes adorned with blue floats every foot or so, marked the lanes of the lap pool. You weren't a competitive swimmer but there was something about diving in, gliding through the water to the end and somersaulting over to kick off the back wall to go back to where you started. It energized you and with no one telling you what to do or how to swim it was pure bliss, you loved to swim free. Taking your time swiftly moving through the cocktail-blue waters under the hot sun, the same sun that melted the ice and snow and enveloped the ground and trees, the new leaves are dark green and full, opened toward the sunlight and breathing in the hot aromatic air.

You curled your toes tightly over the cold metal blocks, the rough gripping scraping the pads of your feet like sandpaper. You wait for a sound, any sound, muscles tensed and ready to dive in. You take a look at your surroundings, as slow moving figures set a backdrop behind the dark tint of your goggles. "Take your mark" is now etched into the minds of all those whose heartbeats climb a little faster than the rest. 

Adjusting your deep green swimming cap, a familiar noise drives you into a new world where pandemonium is replaced by the smooth sound of water rushing over my body. Every hand placement must be precise and every kick harder than the first. Right as you were about to dive, someone emerged from the lane below causing you to lose your balance and fall in, almost on top of them.

“Hey, maybe check the lane before you start diving in, newbie.” He growled as he pulled off his navy blue swim cap, revealing his blonde undercut hair.

“Matsuno?” You looked at him, slightly confused.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” He looked at you, emerald eyes staring you down, taking in the features etched onto your face.

“Well, I obviously came to swim, idiot” You whispered that last part and rolled your eyes.

“Funny as ever, I see.”- he narrows his eyes at you- “Why don’t you get out of my lane and we’ll see if you’re still allowed to swim near me. I don’t want your averageness rubbing off,” he pushes you one lane over.

“Yeah, sure. Bet I still beat you and you cry like a child, Matsuno…” you smirk at him, which earns a groan from him.

He grabs onto the ledge, pushing himself up with his arms, toned biceps becoming more apparent. Water droplets drip from his hair and trail down his defined stomach muscles. You can feel yourself growing hot and your breath audibly hitches in your throat as to how muscular he’s gotten since going away for the winter. You know he heard you, bearing his canines in a smirk. He takes his starting mark, readjusting the cap onto his head as he waits for you to take your mark on the dive board. You set yourself up, leaning forward, hands gripping the ledge, you take a slow breath and wait for a sound. Any sound. You look over at him- calm and collected, you nod towards each other as if to have a silent agreement to dive at the first sound. An almost intangible ding sounded from the inside of the rec room and you both dove in.

Your arms move up into a streamline position, squeezing your ears between them. Cold water rushes past you. Pull, kick, breathe- the only pattern running through your mind. Faster, you have to be faster if you want to beat him. Kick, kick, kick- you break the surface and spread your wings, pulling up with full force. Breathe, slow it down. Rhythm, get back in rhythm. Your arms are burning as you quickly flip at the end of the pool. Pushing off the wall with your feet as you make your way back to the starting point.

Keep your fingers closed, don't let water escape through the spaces. Remember: even pace, you’re almost at the end. In a split second, you pull up to breathe, the wall getting closer. Then your face is back down into the cold water. Black line, water rushes past, molding around your shape as you swim through your own currents. Almost to the wall- the only thing on your mind was speed. Nothing is more important than this moment, push your limits. Slowly, but ever so quickly the wall approached you, almost taunting you to get there. Finally, you took one last deep inhale above the water and propelled yourself with all your strength. Your fingertips touched the wall and you shot up, breathing hard. Chifuyu was right there- a split second after you.

“Seems I’m still the winner.” You smiled slyly towards him as you pushed yourself out of the water. He follows suit, rolling his eyes at you.

“I allowed you to beat me, moron.” Giving you a light shove as you walk back to the locker rooms. 

You rolled your eyes right back at him, before turning your attention to twisting the dial on your combination lock. In a swift motion, he was pressing his body against yours, your back pushed up against the cool metal of the lockers.

“But you thought you could actually beat me, darling? That’s cute.” His hand moved up, holding your chin in his slender fingers. He tilted your head to the side, allowing him access to your sweet skin. 

“It’s been a while since I was able to do this”- he smirks, licking a wet stripe along the vein in your neck- “Whether I’m away or not, I’m the only one that gets to touch you. Understood?” He spoke as he moved your head to kiss your cheek. 

“Oh come on, Fuyu. Don’t start with that.” You giggled as you pushed him off of you. 

You grabbed your bag out of your locker, searching for your wallet. You threw a long white tee over your body and took out some money to get ice cream from the stand outside. He followed as you walked back outside to the poolside cafe and bar. You sat on the plastic bar stool and ordered a small sundae, smiling towards Chifuyu as he sat down next to you. The soft wind riled your hair and the sound of watering rippling echoed through the blues that kissed the concrete wall. 

“I’ve missed having you around Fuyu” You spoke in a whisper as you took a bite of your sundae.

“Yeah, turns out I’ve been missing you too.” He knew this would make you turn your head and he took the opportunity to sneak a bite of your ice cream with plenty of the sprinkles.

You noticed at the last moment as he shoved the spoon between his pink lips. He knew you saw when your eyebrows knitted together and the same cute pout he grew to love forced your lips to pucker. He snickered under his breath, which turned into a deep laugh as he watched you fumble to get out of your seat and follow him. 

“Sorry, but you’ll have to catch me first.” He smirked at you, though cheeks tinted a bright pink and he dove into the pool.

“That’s not fair! You got a head start!” You frowned as you dove in after him.

The warm summer air enveloped you, warmed you to core but in the same way Chifuyu warmed you. The way his smile heated your cheeks all the way through, but it was comforting; To have back the summer dream of you two giggling like school children under a bright sun. The cool water splashed against your skin as you floated on your back in the sapphire blues. He swam up next to you, and placed a chaste kiss to your cheek. The smell of chocolate and chlorine radiating through his lips as he pressed them against your wet skin. And you thought about how serene you felt in that moment- until he pushed over, making you lose balance and flail your limbs as you bobbed your head above the water.

“Wanna race again? I’m feeling generous” He laughed as he took off swimming towards the end of the pool.

tagging: @arlertslove @httphaitani @shinigamiplayroom @kazububs @blueparadis @beware-of-the-rogue @mrskenmakozume @tetsukentona @downtown-roponggi @tokyometronetwork @planetonet

[loud-whistling-yes]

Also crossposted on Ao3

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

She wakes up to the familiar sound of skeletons hitting the floor and furnaces cackling. 

Pearl opens her eyes, the smell of gunpowder and the memories of an explosion fading into the background. The grinder is packed with skeletons, and the fire in the furnaces pop with the smell of cooked porkchop. She gets up from the bed, and the floor is still made of oh-so-flammable wooden planks, and the chests in the walls are organized, untouched by intruders. 

She walks up the stairs, and they’re clean. The walls are decorated with wooden pillars and stone bricks. She reaches the top and there’s no dirt to dig through, just a pretty little trapdoor, made of spruce and clearly not meant to be hidden under the ground. 

She pushes it open, and the sunlight reveals poppies and lilies and dandelions, all planted around the entryway like a little garden. The cottage is in one piece, flowers and grass growing on its mossy roof, the windows reflecting the blue sky. At the furthest corner of the house, where the roof met the cobblestone walls, the moss is black and singed, remnants of orange embers clinging on. 

She finds him in the farms, harvesting the wheat. 

“The roof’s burning again.”

“Again?” He sighs, exasperated. He lifts the bundle of wheat in his arms, setting them by the side. “I thought I already fixed that side…” 

“Not yet, apparently.” She snorts, and he smiles, rolling his eyes. 

He climbs the walls and she follows up. On the other side are the spruce trees, peaceful and untouched. Below them the ground is pristine, green grass undisturbed by creeper craters or TNT attacks. 

He opens up the stone pathway, revealing the bubbling lava underneath. She sits. The bricks are warm. 

The leaves sway in the wind. 

“I’m sorry,” she starts, and he doesn’t take his eyes off the floor. 

“I didn’t want Martyn to go to the Nether alone. I thought we could trick someone into trading us something good. I didn’t mean to get us hurt.” 

“You were burning. We were burning.” The lava popped beneath them. “I was so scared. Cleo was scared too. We thought we were gonna die.” 

The fire on the moss behind them dies down. He sighs again. “I’m sorry, too.” 

“Martyn left me after you guys left.” 

“I thought you’d be fine with him. Me and Cleo chose each other, I thought you and Martyn did the same.” 

“Well, he didn’t.” 

The brick path covers the lava. He sits by her. 

They look at the forest beyond their little walls. Sunlight shines through the leaves and onto the grass. 

“I forgive you.” 

The birds sing in the branches. 

“Me too.” 

The wheat dances in the breeze. 

“Is this home?”

He turns to look back. She does too. Their little cottage, with its mossy roof and little garden. With its wheat fields and wooden basement. He smiles. 

“Home.” 

She smiles too. 

[legolaslovely]

A Dwarf and His Fairy

A/N: Here it is! The Fíli x Fairy piece I've been working on! This piece taught me a LOT! About editing, plotting, character work, etc., and though it's not perfect, I'm still really proud of it and happy with it. Thanks to all who supported me with this one. I hope you enjoy it :)

Pairing: Fíli x Ivy (my fairy OC)

Word Count: 3,780

Warnings: None!

Summary: Even Fíli needs someone to remind him that self-care is a requirement, and not a reward. Good thing he has a somewhat relentless, but very loving fairy friend to remind him.

Fíli slid the book away in defeat. It was as heavy as stone and full of numbers and dates and plans and problems. Even as the wicked pages turned by, they let out a nasty hiss and the scratchy old leather cover whipped around with a solid, successful splat, fighting Fíli until it’s last breath.

Once it was done, his surrender official, Fíli’s head fell into his hands and he groaned, making one of the last candles in his chambers flicker in his breath. Truthfully, the nub of wax, short wick, and tiny flame was barely a candle at all. It hardly resembled the tall, radiant torch it had previously been. But it wasn’t alone. Similarly, as the night went on, Fíli’s resolve had melted away and his shoulders warped and rounded like hot wax until there was very little light to give.

All because of that damned book.

       “I need a break,” he said to no one but the silver platter of untouched goodies sitting on the corner of his desk. There was a small, shining jug of sweet milk, a tiny jar of honey with a miniscule spoon to match and a delicate bowl of crumbling honey cakes. It was all left waiting, as was Fíli.

He stared at the treats and swore he saw them move. But he dismissed it, ascribing it to fatigue, and closed his eyes, leaning his heavy chin on his wrist.

Then something struck him.

It was a scent he’d long been familiar with. Despite its peculiarity, he could always pinpoint its source from the first time he witnessed it and matched it with its meaning. This was the smell of magic- frozen as fresh winter frost and balmy as sun bathed flower petals- and it effortlessly roused him from his near nap and provoked him to sit up straight and search the room.

At first, he saw nothing, though he did recognize the swishing sound of her clothes rushing through the air. Every spent candle in his chambers now roared to life with new flame and an endless wick. The room glowed as if it was midday, not only with candlelight, but with the hope and warmth of company.

       “Oh, my friend,” Fíli said. “Make yourself known to me. I’ve longed to see you again.”

She stopped, showing herself just below the ceiling in front of the desk. With a smile, she gracefully and silently descended, relaxing her wings and letting them sway through the air rather than furiously flap. When she found her place before Fíli’s eyes, however, the four little wings revolved again in a blur of speed in her otherwise still, hovering flight.

       “Hello, my dear,” he said, holding out a horizontal finger for her to perch on if by chance she was tired from her journey, or simply wanted to be near him.

She only smiled and took his hospitality. Even when her bare feet landed on his knuckle, Fíli barely felt her touch. Though he hadn’t seen her in some weeks and though they’d met decades ago, she still looked the same to him, as if time would never disturb her.

His fairy’s name was Ivy. She was almost as tall as his hand from wrist to fingertip, and she had long waving hair as dark as a winter night’s sky. The dress she wore was sturdy despite its fabric of light leaves and soft petals. Fíli had no doubt her clothing was made of the same flower whence she came. It was the legend, after all, though she herself never told him so. Instead, it was his fascination and, one could even say infatuation, that spurred on his research.

No matter where she was or what she was doing, his little fairy friend always appeared to glow. Fíli didn’t believe it to be magic or the pollen on her dress or the shine on her wings. He thought it was simply her essence that glowed and shone like a piece of a star drifting from its flight for his own sake and pleasure.

She was a pleasure. And she had been missed.

       “Where have you been?” Fíli asked. It wasn’t accusatory or disappointed or cruel. He just wondered. “Tell me of your travels.”

She sat down on him and squeezed his finger with hers, like tangled blades of grass, as if she knew how much he missed traveling himself. Like she knew of that feeling deep down in his bones that defied his kind and his duties, begging and pulling at him to wander and explore.

Still, the bundle of joy that she was, she didn’t dwell or dawdle, but showed him where she’d been, using pictures in lieu of words so he could see these places himself.

The visions flew up behind her head and revealed scenes that were so clear, it was as if Fíli was simply looking through a window and out into the most mystifying bits of the world. He could smell the warm wind that blew through tall grass on the hills and could hear the gurgling of stream water. He recognized the soft, wet, moss-ridden floor of Fangorn Forest and when he asked his fairy what she’d been doing there, she showed him the fresh green leaves of saplings. Her memories unveiled the fairies’ gifts of hardy seeds and fresh water, along with magic, but not artificial sunlight.

       “You helped them grow,” Fíli said, astonished at the ability and yet, not surprised at his friend’s generous deeds.

Ivy smiled and another scene flashed above her head. This one sent real spray into Fíli’s face that knocked him back into his chair with an indignant cry.

Her feet kicked through the air as she laid back and laughed, making the sound of a small bell ringing in the distance. It was the only sound Fíli ever heard from her and upon hearing it, he instantly forgave her antics.

       “What was that?” he asked, voice left high from his surprised yelp.

It only made her giggle more and even louder, like the bell was soaring closer to Fíli’s ears. With a hand over her belly, she leaned back again and in her entertainment, slid right off Fíli’s finger.

       “Hey there, careful!” Fíli chided, grinning all the way. He caught her, sitting her in his palm to avoid another slip. When she calmed and settled in the cushiony pillow of his hand, he said, “I should have let you tumble for that trick!” He winked. “But then again, you would have flapped your wings before you hit the ground, hm?” She narrowed her eyes at him, but it was fruitless. She giggled again and pointed at him with a shaking finger.

       “You’re right,” he said. “I would never let you fall.”

At that, she turned fully pink. Not just the round of her cheeks or the tips of her pointed ears, but completely pink- wings and all. Fíli loved it when she did that, especially when he was the reason for it.

The bright shade only lasted for a moment, however, and she quickly brushed her hair off her shoulder, pushing the locks down her back, and brought Fíli’s attention back to the scene that had splashed him. With a flick of her finger, she showed him more, uncovering a waterfall that was so tall, it could have reached the parapets of the mountain of Erebor. The water that flowed off the cliff and into the serene lake was as blue as the summer sky and framed with the deep green clouds of the hanging trees and stout bushes near its edges. The bright sunlight left specks of glitter in the fall’s foam and a radiant ribbon through the water’s center that was so blinding, Fíli had to squint hard until the vision moved and gave him a new, less glaring view.

       “It’s so beautiful,” he said.

She let him admire the scene for a long, generous moment before taking him along the trails hidden in the connecting forest to show him its exact location. The exploration was all done through the window of the vision.

       “I know where that is,” he said. “It’s not too far from here, close enough where you and I could sneak away. It seems I’m not the only one who could use a break from my duties.”

The fairy smiled and nodded, hair waving against Fíli’s palm and tickling him. In her eagerness, the shining curtain parted and one stubborn lock fell in her eyes. That rogue twist of hair was something that teased her often, but if it was an imperfection, it was one that only endeared her to Fíli all the more.

Before she could right the tendril herself, Fíli lifted his hand, brushing his fingertip very carefully over her small cheek and pushing her feather soft hair over her shoulder. He let his finger settle against her neck, but she grabbed him in a hurry, pulling him off of her skin, yet still keeping him close to her.

Before he could answer, her entire body shivered and shook and she pouted at him. Then she turned away. As if shaking water from her fingers, her hand flicked to the dark fireplace in the corner of Fíli’s chambers and she built him a fire flame by flame.

She felt that he was cold.

He laughed, immeasurably relieved that was all. He immediately stopped her waving arm.

       “I’ll make a fire. Don’t tire yourself over me, I’ll do it myself.”

She frowned at him, gravely shaking her head as he crossed the room.

       “Don’t give me that look! You know dwarves don’t feel the cold as you do. It’s not like I would let myself freeze over.”

She flew around him, waving over the stone cold bricks to warm them. Then she stopped in front of his eyes with a very unimpressed glare.

       “All right, all right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Then she smiled, wriggled, and flew back to where he’d been sitting.

As he took the firewood from its rack and stacked the logs just so, he checked over his shoulder to assure himself that she hadn’t left in a flurry. But there she was, legs dangling and swinging from her spot on the right arm of his chair.

After singeing a part of his sleeve on the flame she’d ignited for him, he turned back to his work and said, “I’ve missed you, you know,” throwing out the confession before he lost his nerve. “But I knew you must have been busy. Fairies never seem to stop and rest, especially you. Not even for the honey cakes I’ve set out for you every night for the past weeks.”

He finally peeked over his shoulder and chuckled at her wide eyes.

She pointed to herself in question.

       “Yes, they’re for you! I don’t know anyone else who garnishes their honey cakes with even more honey and then finishes them off with sweet milk. Do you?”

He expected a funny little glare from her, but didn’t receive any such thing. She was too grateful, too excited about her treats. She flew around them, as if deciding which one she wanted to indulge in first.

Once the fire was crackling, Fíli returned to his desk chair. He poured the small jug of milk into an even tinier cup for her- one that he’d had made special by the potter at the market. He’d felt the looks burning his back when he purchased it at the stall, but those and the extra work had all been worth it when his fairy first saw it. Specially made for her. And her sweet milk.

       “There’s more where those came from so go ahead and enjoy,” Fíli said.

With two straining hands and trembling arms, she held out an entire honey cake and offered it to him. Only to save her strength, Fíli took it with thanks, and so as not to offend her, he took a bite when she did. As her small piece left her eyes rolling closed as only a delicious delicacy would, the other half of Fíli’s cake crumbled in his fingers as the sweetness dissolved on his tongue.

       “Do you like them?” Fíli asked after a gulp.

In answer, Ivy burst into the air, twirling and spinning, sparkles and glowing fragments of pure joy following her flight. She flew in front of him and nodded.

Then suddenly, she laughed at him.

Before Fíli could lift a finger, she came close to him and her cool hands, like little raindrops, cleaned the mess of cake crumbles from his chin. He was amazed, she didn’t seem to mind the coarse hair of his beard on her delicate fingers. Not at all. In fact, if he could hazard a guess, he would have thought she lingered closeby, touching him, for longer than necessary. Unfortunately, she caught herself. Giving a funny salute, she flew back to her spot on the edge of the silver treat tray. Even when she dipped the next small chunk of cake into the jar of honey, her bite stayed intact all the way from the platter to her mouth. It must have been magic, Fíli thought.

       “I think these are extra tasty tonight,” he said, popping the rest of his piece past his lips. Then he leaned down to her. “But very short. Care to help me with these crumbs?” he asked, wriggling his scrunched mouth.

In a blink, she flushed pink from her tiny toes to her forehead. But she laughed and tugged on the braided mustache that swung closest to her.

       “Fine! I’ll do it myself,” he joked, enjoying her ringing giggle.

After a neat little swig of sweet milk, Ivy rose from her seat, holding her belly.

       “All finished?”

She shook her head violently.

       “Just a break then? Good. They’d call for a medic if we sent even a crumb back down to the kitchens. They all know no tray of sweets has ever survived the two of us.”

She glowed and left her spot next to the cakes. As always, she effortlessly identified the most recent bane of Fíli’s existence. It made him wonder if it was Ivy’s magic that helped her do it, or if it was simply a freakish skill. Either way, the moment she left the platter, she headed for the leather bound book Fíli had discarded before her arrival. She tapped the binding with her toe, questioning. But Fíli knew she’d seen it before and the little thing was fishing for a confession.

He also knew he’d been caught.

       “I was just putting it away for the night.”

She sent a glare his way whose meaning was as clear as if the letters were written across her round little nose: Liar.

In truth, Fíli had forgotten all about the book and its contents the moment his fairy made her presence known. It was mystical how quickly his mind moved from hopelessness and exhaustion to joy and wonder whenever Ivy was near. He often asked himself if he had the same effect on her, but had yet to gather the courage to ask.

Her peculiar movement pulled him from his thoughts. She’d squatted down like a dwarf about to lift a cart brimming with stone and with all her might, lifted the book’s heavy leather cover. Then with silent, bare feet, she walked over the title page until she’d flipped the book open.

       “Excuse me,” Fíli said with mock offense. “There are trade secrets in this book, you know. For no one’s view but my own.”

She rolled her eyes at him and lifted her finger, pointing to the end of the ribbon bookmark. She twirled her wrist and the light shooting out from under her tidy fingernails sent the pages whipping by as if caught in a windstorm. A moment later, the pages fell flat.

The place left open was riddled with smear marks and ink blotches, scrawled notes and words that had been crossed out with enough force to scratch the next few pages.

Her eyebrow crooked like the roof of a village house, accusing Fíli of the mess.

       “Ruling a kingdom isn’t easy,” he explained with a shrug. “Things get a little… untidy.”

Ivy’s lip quirked and she leaned down to skim her hand across the page under her feet. A rippling wave of fresh magic traveled across the paper from Ivy’s toes out to the corner edges, continuing through the air until it hit Fíli’s nose- that light, unique scent he’d always associated with his fairy. It immediately relaxed him, giving him peace wherever the information hidden in that book stole it away.

When the wave cleared, Fíli saw that his entries were organized anew. The spills and blots had vanished, leaving only what he’d intended in their place. Even his notes were left in the margins, now neat and crisp, with not a thought lost. But Ivy’s work hadn’t stopped at one page. Every section was free of crimps or bends, the cover was dusted and the binding was flawlessly refinished all in one singular moment.

It was astonishing.

       “Oh, Ive,” Fíli said, sighing out the rarely used nickname he had for her. From where he stood, he could see the pages were now smooth and soft as silk and he couldn’t help but touch them, running his comparatively rough fingertips over the center of the open book where the pages met. He took a corner and flipped through the last sheets, listening to the soft flaps that rang through the room- a noise that reminded him of the sound of Ivy’s rustling wings flying toward him. This torturous book was now bright and clean with a fairy’s mark.

The best part, however, was the scent left behind, pooling in its pores- that of magic, of his friend, of her belief in him.

Fíli held out his hand and Ivy flew to it.

       “I don’t think I’ll mind this work as much anymore. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

She bowed, flashing her petal skirt with a flourish.

Just as Fíli reached for the neatened pages again, Ivy snapped the book closed with a turn of her wrist, almost trapping his hand inside.

       “Hey!” he laughed, startled from his daze. “I wanted to admire your handiwork!”

Once over her giggles, she planted her fists on her hips and with a demanding stare, pointed to the empty spot in the shelf where the hardcover belonged overnight. A stomp of her foot practically shouted: NOW.

       “All right! I’m putting it away.” He let Ivy dismount onto the silver cake platter and did as he was told, with a dwarfling’s grin wide on his lips. When he’d tucked the book into place, Fíli ran a finger down the soft, faultless binding with a whistle.

       “A craft any dwarf would be proud of.”

When he looked over his shoulder Ivy was watching him- carefully and contently admiring him. Even romantically, if Fíli was brave enough to use the word.

While he had her undivided attention, he winked at her, just as a tease to make her flood that pretty shade of pink. As a retort, she stole a sweet cake from his side of the platter and took a violent bite.

With a chuckle, Fíli plopped into his chair and watched her as he felt the exhaustion sneak into his stubborn muscles and his overstretched mind. He still had a sliver of energy, however, to wonder if his fairy’s glow had grown more intense after this time spent together. He could see it in her eyes. Though they were as dark as fertile soil, they were round and shining in the tireless candlelight she brought to the chambers. And now as she watched him, they were fearless in their gaze and brimming with affection in their softness.

Yet, despite it all, Fíli knew they were both aware that their visit couldn’t last much longer.

She rose and brushed the non existent crumbs from the purple petals of her dress, letting her wings flutter to life.

Fíli straightened in a rush at her movement, saying exactly what had been on his mind in a soft, sleepy voice. “I will never know how you always find a way to comfort me. Somehow, you’ve done it again, my friend. Thank you.”

She beamed, her smile like a crescent moon flipped on its side in the night.

       “Will you visit me again?” Fíli asked.

She nodded.

He leaned to her, taking her tiny hand between his thumb and forefinger. “Please don’t let too much time pass before you do.”

Her beating wings stuttered for a moment and her luminous aureola dimmed. Her twinge of sadness squeezed Fíli’s heart, strangling it like a thirsty vine, and he wished he’d never spoken so selfishly. But before he could take his words back, she fluttered up to his face and placed a feather light kiss on his cheek as her goodbye. Then she smiled, eyes brimming with clear sparkle and so many words unspoken.

With a wave of her hand, she beckoned him to follow her lead across the room. As she did at the end of every visit, she flew in neat ringlets through the air above his bed, dropping warmth, rest, and peace into the furs in the form of glistening sparkles like fresh pollen from her own flora. This ritual of theirs left magic on Fíli’s pillow for days to come. It would give him restful sleep, even with the weight of his kingdom on his shoulders. Her magic even seemed to quell the loneliness that often pulled at his heart. She always left a piece of herself with him.

       “You are far too kind to me, Ive,” Fíli said to her, standing next to the bed, close to her one last time before her departure. “Too generous-”

The blankets below him flew up and covered his head in a magical swoop. A fairy’s doing.

       “Fine! No more compliments!” Fíli cried, untangling himself. “But how am I not to, when you-”

With the covers back where they belonged, he was free to look around the room. The empty room. She’d gone.

In his defeated search for her, he found a gift left for him on his bedside table. A billowing purple flower with feather-like petals reminiscent of her dress sat in the now dim candle light. Curled around the deep green stem was a note that he fumbled to open with his round fingertips. When he pulled it flat, that same scent- the scent of magic, of his fairy- flew to his nose in a flurry and a message was illuminated.

Soon.

***

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[avayarising]

Honour, throne, and country

“My honour. My throne. My country. I’m about to lose them all.”

[Image from ATLA episode 1:13 The Blue Spirit, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. A hazy view of a blue-grey sea and a cloudy grey-gold sky take up most of the picture; in the lower part, the deck and railing of Zuko’s ship. Zuko, wearing a sleeveless tunic, stands at the railing, his back to the camera, wind lightly blowing his ponytail, legs apart and arms by his sides.]

Zuko is not talking about wanting his status as Crown Prince and Heir to the Throne back. And he’s not talking about the prospect of ruling the Fire Nation one day. (He stopped thinking about that future when he got burned for speaking out in a war room he’d entered because he wanted to learn how to rule his nation.)

When he says that, Zuko is not talking about this honour:

[Image from ATLA episode 3:01 The Awakening, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. A view from above onto a balcony and the ground below. Zuko, in formal Fire Nation royal armour and a topknot in his hair, stands at the balcony wall looking out over ranks and ranks of people waving and cheering below. Zuko is being presented to his people by Li and Lo on his return from exile.]

It’s this honour:

[Image from ATLA episode 3:01 The Awakening, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. Ozai’s head and shoulders loom over the viewer. He is looking down at the viewer, brow slightly furrowed and mouth in a straight line, but his eyes are lightly crinkled in an expression of satisfaction. This shot is from Zuko’s point of view as Zuko kneels on the floor before his father; Ozai is saying that he is proud of Zuko.]

And he’s not talking about this throne:

[Image from ATLA episode 2:18 The Earth King, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. Zuko’s head and shoulders, seen from below, dominate the image. He is wearing a formal Fire Nation shoulder guard and collar. His hair is long and straight, below his shoulders, and he wears a topknot with the crown of the Fire Lord. His face, wearing a grim expression, is lit from below, and he has no scar. The pillars and canopy of the Fire Lord’s throne loom above him. The background is filled with yellow light from the flames around the throne. The edges of the image are a little blurred, indicating that this is a fever dream.]

He’s talking about this one:

[Image from ATLA episode 3:18 Sozin's Comet, Part 1: The Phoenix King, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. Zuko is seated at the right hand of his father. In the left of the picture, Zuko, wearing formal Fire Nation armour and his hair in a topknot, sits crosslegged on a red mat. He is in profile, facing left; his scarred side is visible. His eye looks closed and his mouth is downturned and he is slightly slumped. In the right of the picture, Ozai’s head, very close to the camera, is turned towards Zuko; we are looking over Ozai’s shoulder at Zuko. Zuko has just taken his place at the war council his father invited him to.]

And when he talks about his country, he doesn’t mean this one:

[Image from ATLA episode 3:09 Nightmares and Daydreams, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. A front view of the Fire Lord’s palace, in front of a blue sky with a few white cumulus clouds. The large, imposing three-tier gold-trimmed facade extends to a point in the centre and honestly looks like the prow of a ship. Above that, a tall red roof has a curved taper ending in a finial with gold flame shapes and a single tall gold spike at the top. The building has a wing on each side that ends in a tall square tower. In front of the palace, three wide steps down from a wide terrace before the door lead to a paved road that extends forward and out at the bottom of the image; on either side of the road is what looks like a sea of volcanic glass. This is the Fire Palace, the seat of power in the Fire Nation.]

Or this one:

[Image from ATLA episode 3:09 Nightmares and Daydreams, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. On the left, in the foreground and out of focus, the helmet and shoulder guard of a Fire Nation shoulder are seen from behind. The solider is facing out towards a crowd of excited, happy people – mostly women but a few men – in informal Fire Nation clothes. Behind the crowd, rocky mountains rise into the sky. These are Zuko’s people who adore him.]

Or even this one:

[Image from ATLA episode 3:05 The Beach, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. Azula, Ty Lee, Mai, and Zuko, dressed in beachwear, are walking towards the left of the picture, down the beach. Behind them grey cliffs stand, topped with green vegetation. Azula walks in front, carrying a pink rolled-up mat. Ty Lee follows with a large pink beach bag over her shoulder. Zuko and Mai follow together under a red parasol. These are Zuko’s sister and friends and this a beautiful warm pleasure beach untouched by the war.]

If anything, he means this one:

[Image from ATLA episode 3:01 The Awakening, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. An aerial view of a walled and landscaped Fire Palace garden, with a large rounded pool surrounded by flat paving and greenery; the rooves and towers of the city are visible beyond the wall. The lighting is subdued, suggesting an overcast day. A crooked pine tree is on the left and Zuko, a very small red figure, is sitting near it, by the edge of the pool. In the middle of the pond, a small family of turtleducks is approaching Zuko. This is the palace garden where he used to play when he was a child.]

When Zuko was in exile, he never thought about himself as one day ruling the Fire Nation. He wants the throne of the Crown Prince, at his father’s right hand, with his father’s approval and love. When he returns to the Fire Nation, he gets what he thought he wanted, and discovers that his honour, his throne, and his country don’t give him the satisfaction he thought they would. That his father’s approval is still conditional, and Zuko has to make himself into someone he’s not to keep it.

But ultimately, after he leaves and joins the Avatar, he does get honour, throne, and country. Not in the way he wanted, but better, realer, harder, and more worthwhile.

[Image from ATLA episode 3:21 Avatar Aang, watermarked ‘AvatarSpirit.net’. Zuko’s head and shoulders face the viewer, seen from slightly below. He is wearing formal Fire Lord robes with a wide dark shoulder guard with gold trim and a high red collar.The Fire Lord’s gold flame-shaped crown sits in a neat topknot in his hair. He stares straight ahead with a solemn, determined expression on his face, mouth straight, eyebrow slightly furrowed, eye wide. The ceiling of a dark canopy can be seen above him. Zuko has just been crowned Fire Lord and is accepting the challenge of bringing his nation into a world of peace.]

[essays-for-breakfast]

Final Push

Melizabethweek Day 4: Broken (no salvation here)

This piece includes not so subtle mentions of blood and death. This is your warning to turn somewhere else.

The dice had been rolled, fate decided, and all Meliodas had hoped for had revealed its true nature: an elusive hope. Intangible. Never real in the first place. The hope of a younger, more naïve man who had believed that two people could turn the tides of war. Could end the reign of the Demon King.

Now little more than smoke and ruins remained.

Blazing fires still smoldered in heaps across the forest. The acerbic stench of ashen plant life bit into Meliodas’ nose, a taste that would haunt his nightmares in the centuries to come. The herald of the end.

The alliance had failed. Stigma, this brittle bond between Goddesses, Fairies, and Giants, was no more. Drole and Gloxinia had joined the enemy, Mael’s blood stained the earth of some far away battlefield, and the Ten Commandments had sown gory vengeance for the Demons Ludociel had executed. The casualties surpassed the hundreds. More if one counted the Stigma members killed by Rou and the human traitors.

Meliodas had arrived too late. Severed limps and shredded wings, some feathered, the others transparent like dragonflies – those were the fruits of their efforts. The grandiose Stigma alliance wiped out by a handful of humans.

The moans of the survivors had followed Meliodas into his dreams for the past restless nights. When he closed his eyes, the sickly-sweet iron taste in the air around Stigma’s destroyed headquarter resurfaced until it suffocated all other thoughts under a thick blanket.

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. But the encouragement she wanted to transmit never reached the blue of her eyes. The tears from yesterday and the day before had dried up, but the well of sorrow still held another wave. Once realization would hit her, truly sink its teeth into her, her walls of composure would topple. Meliodas had given up the construction of walls like these. They had little point to them with how little time was left.

Beyond the forest’s borders, beyond the tapestry of light and shadow cast in deep green hues, the plains of northern Britannia stretched to the horizon. The slender grass blades danced in a wind filled with blissful ignorance of the fires yet to come. War would soon consume the peaceful scenery, its bloodstained fingers stretched towards these hills already. Towers of clouds, dark from the smoke rising into the air, filled the sky, and the sun remained hidden behind the tall walls.

Meliodas stole one final look over his shoulders. From here, the leaves of the Fairy King’s Forest looked almost untouched. Only a tiny layer of ash covered the green here and there. If he had cared to listen when there had still been someone to listen to, Meliodas could have associated names to the individual trees, to the shape of their leaves or the contours of their bark. But he had paid the trees no mind. And as he did now, blankness filled his mind instead of their names.

Gloxinia had shared his passion for the tiniest plants so often. Yet it seemed Meliodas was forgetting already.

From the shadows of the last outer tree, two Fairies and a Giant followed Meliodas and Elizabeth with their eyes as they departed. The last embers of Stigma. They bared the expression of the hopeless. Their loss and their injuries had stolen the energy from their posture, and the younger Fairy stared at Meliodas as though these eyes alone could pull him back.

And for a moment, Meliodas hesitated. He imagined to turn around and hide in the forest and pretend the world was intact, pretend the hammer blow of war hadn’t struck already.

But the moment of weakness passed when he remembered Elizabeth’s hand in his own. They had agreed to fight their parents and win the war. Even if one of them died. Holding onto this promise was the only directive Meliodas had left to follow.

He fastened the grip around his sword and called forth his wings. The obsidian manifestations of his Demon magic swallowed what little light had been left. With a last look of confirmation at Elizabeth, Meliodas kicked from the ground and pivoted into the high heavens above. Hand in hand, Meliodas and Elizabeth rushed towards the cloud fortress where the last battle would take place.

Thunder growled. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. Heaven and hell collided and combined their forces into an unstoppable maelstrom in which the only escape routes read victory and death. 

The Demon King and the Supreme Deity awaited the return of their children. Awaited their surrender.

Or one last stand born from the desperation of defeat.

Meliodas had made his decision long ago. And judging from the bright light of the Goddess triskelion in her eyes, so had Elizabeth.

Even if one of them died.

They were about to find out how far this vow alone would take them.

 Light and darkness rained upon the sky island. Each blow shook the stone, the cracks grew, and more and more boulders broke from the very ground Meliodas was standing on. Or, rather than standing, he was barely holding on.

With one hand clawed around the bloody hilt of his sword, Meliodas glared at the towering shape of his father through the fog of near-death. The Demon King had waved aside any and all of Meliodas’ attacks like humans did with flies, unworthy of his effort. A mere turn of the massive hand sent a black tidal wave towards Elizabeth.

The white orb of her Arc looked laughably brittle by comparison.

She deflected just as a volley of divine light spears bolted towards Meliodas. One of them pierced his leg. He lost sight of Elizabeth.

Blood clogged his throat, roared in his ears, and rushed through his seven hearts; each of them struggled to keep going and defy the power of gods.

To no effect.

White feathers drifted into his shrinking field of view; Elizabeth had taken a brutal hit. She trembled, barely stood upright, and crimson discolored her hair. But the resolve in her eyes burned on.

They had sworn to fight. For the friends they had lost and those who still struggled against the flames of the Holy War. For Merlin, for Gowther, for Dahlia and Gerheade, for Jenna and Zaneri, and everyone else on the forsaken ground of Britannia below, for them they would fight and maybe even win.

Even if one of them died.

Meliodas stumbled to Elizabeth’s side and they joined hands. Despite the thunderstorm around them, she sent him an encouraging smile. He would go to any lengths for this smile. And although he stood on death’s door, his own mortality seemed like a matter of secondary concern, little more than the life of a butterfly on some nameless hill.

If he faced the end, at least it would be with her.

He squeezed her hand, and she returned the favor. How very selfish of them to drag the other into this hell.

“Do you regret it?” Meliodas asked between haggard breaths.

Elizabeth shook her head. “Not one bit. All this gave me the chance to meet you.”

“I love you.”

“And for this sin you both shall pay. For all eternity,” the combined voices of the Demon King and the Supreme Deity roared, a sound like organs and bronze bells in a twisted heavenly orchestra.

Another tremor rocked the floating island and pebbles flew high into the tortured sky. To the right, a miasma of darkness swirled around the Demon King’s claw. To the left, a blinding light escaped the Supreme Deity’s fingertips.

After all the slaughter, heaven and hell had united for a shared goal. The irony could almost make Meliodas laugh.

The air crackled with energy, and the heat from the magic forces at display scorched the skin of Meliodas’ bruised forearms. But he stood his ground, side by side with Elizabeth. And if his final moment was with her, could he really call himself misfortunate?

The last thing he felt before the combined forces of their parents struck them down was the softness of Elizabeth’s slender hand in his.

He would later wish to have died that day.

[kentuckywrites]

A Dance With Memory

There are no answers in the stars. There are memories in the colors. Life clings to him, desperate, wanting.

A short character exploration of Pongo as a break from T3CHN0.

Something drew him to the lucid forest one night. The fireflies whispered ancient myths in his ears, the butterflies promised lives that they had never seen, buried deep below their glass wings. The trees bent down to greet him, an extension of his will, and no creature dared to disturb his path. 

The energy mist climbed the sky, so desperate to become constellations, so desperate to join the stars in holy matrimony. Why didn’t the night accept them beyond a temporary release? What had the mists done to anger the twilight, what half-baked apology had they given for their transgressions? Thankfully they knew their quarrel was locked in the night and not with him, not with any creature of this planet. They saw his safe passage to the edge of the waterfall, overlooking a vast stretch of ocean. Stars reflected, transcribed within the waves. Yet the stars remained untouchable. Nothing could become a star, nothing could reach them. 

Inhale. Exhale. Warm air, characteristic of this place, full of life and longing. He closed his eyes. Inhale. Exhale. His feet began to carry him along the land, and with every step, every memory that came to haunt him, the ground grasped starlight for the briefest of moments. Purples, blues, greens, pinks, reds, yellows. Not in that order, no, he would open his eyes and see there was an understanding to them. And so, the dance began.

Yellow became the past. Not his past, but equally his, an incomplete ownership. People entered his mind that he had never met, yet he knew their names, the sounds of their voices in his ears, their smiles and how they held themselves. This was a wistful feeling, a nostalgia he clinged to as tightly as life clinged to him.

Red became the war. Rings of fire scorching the earth, sending those people from his disconnected past to their graves, or in many cases sending them amongst the harsh winds of change, ashes to be scattered and forgotten with the passage of time. In a way, this was the past - orange formed below his feet as he danced, the realization apparent - but in a way, this was his present. Those rings still stood. The fires still burned. All this time, and he hadn’t found a way.

Pink became his birth. A planet with one wish, a wish to live. Threats from all walks of life, threats that it couldn’t face alone. A body formed, a wish passed on, a dream composed from a symphony of pain and an endless wisdom that was forged only through a ticking clock. He remembered his first kiss, the planet’s gentle gift of life entering his body, and nothing else mattered in that moment. He awoke knowing he was loved, though not by whom. Certainly not himself, the empty shell with only a dream to his name.

Green became life. The life he could never erase, the life that gripped his heart to the point where it ached and ached and drew blood from beneath his skin, the life that would sew his wounds back up and draw wounds again, the ever vicious cycle. Life would flow through his fingertips and heal the injuries of fallen friends, life would extend a mercy to them because he commanded it to be so. And yet, any commands to stop his hurting fell on deaf ears. He learned quickly that life would never be his friend. He got used to the pain and expected nothing, nothing.

Blue became the transformation, the sorrow, the pain. A need to pass life to others denied, erased from his body as quickly as he’d been given it, forced into the belly of a monochrome monster. He remembered how a bullet entered his skull and he was given a taste of freedom, metallic, a lifeless body falling backwards off a bottomless chasm into darkness, and suddenly returned to his old form as if nothing had ever transpired. He was never the same after that. He knew now what it meant to die, what it meant for life to leave him behind. He grew afraid of the chasm he’d fallen into, was the excuse he gave. In reality, he yearned for it. He stayed close to that chasm for months, and the day he finally broke free of life’s chains, he realized just how badly he wanted to live.

Purple became him. It became the stardust he trailed behind, the dreams of the planet that created him. It became the armor he wore, the weapons he wielded. It became the wisdom that wasn’t quite his, but passed down from a nonexistent generation, and it became the words he spoke, the advice, the cries, the screams, the pleas. It became his sight, and in his eyes, the stars found a new place to call home. Somehow he had pleased them, somehow they wanted to join him. Were they friends? Temporary? Would he outlive them, or would they outlive him? Life was unkind to him for so long, and yet…was it selfish? Wanting to keep living? Would he live for these stars? What would happen if the stars died before he did? What purpose would he serve then?

He stopped dancing, watched the trails of light he’d forged fade into the night. The stars swallowed them whole. He stared at the sky, the abyss, and it stared back. He had no answer for it. All his wisdom, all his pain, and he had no answer. He hoped, prayed, wished, dreamed, that perhaps the stars would approve of him simply…trying. Not succeeding, necessarily, nor failing. Trying. Trying to live as if life wasn’t insistent on his living, trying to live as if life hadn’t given him a predetermined reason to live. 

The sun chased the stars away by the time he exited the lucid forest. He, an immortal man, would have to face them again someday. But for now, it was enough. He was enough.

[realfuurikuuri]

Chapters: 20/? Fandom: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Mao Mao/Tanya Keys, Mao mao/badgerclops

A/N: Finally managed to get out chapter 20, so alls of y’alls should go read it.

Direct Link to Ao3 Chapter 20

Chapter under the cut:

 The day was ending. The setting sun lit the sky on fire with orange and deep blue. On better days, Mao Mao might have been able to take a second and enjoy it. Instead, there was this      ...feeling    overwhelming his insides. He could feel it in his fingers and in his toes. Maybe it would be better to say he couldn’t feel it. Like he’d completely burned it would out every emotion he could possibly feel and was left with nothing.

       When was the last time he had a “better day”?

 Maybe when he was sitting in his mother’s lap at barely five years old.  They were vaguely remembered moments. The two of them sitting in the garden at dusk as he fidgeted with childish energy. Unsure of what they were doing, yet enjoying the moment so much he was unable to stop. Of course, those moments had to end. Childhood gives way to adolescence and then finally adulthood.

 There were the times he spent with Tanya. It was nice. Free from most of his shackles. The shadow of the Mao-clan wasn’t constantly looming behind him when he had a family of his own in front of him. Then all of that had to come crashing down around him, leaving him only with that damnable shadow.

 Then there were the first few days he was in the Pure Heart Valley. It was a land unsullied and untouched by the outside world. Literally a blank canvas for him to try and make something worthwhile. No tragedy, no family, no burdens existed here. However, all those things had to follow him into even the most remote places and eventually dominate his life again.

 Mao Mao covered his face with his hands, like he could shield himself from the shame attacking him from all sides.

 He pulled his hands away and looked around. He was on the outskirts of everything. The city out of sight, his HQ which was already far from civilization a dot on the horizon, so small, he might be mistaking the tears in his eyes for it. He wiped them away, and then again. He looked at his one remaining hand wondering if he was somehow missing before he realized that he was crying.

 That was the final straw that broke him. Or maybe that was what made him aware he was already broken.

 Maybe it was that realization that hit him harder than anything else. It knocked the wind out of him, and made his knees buckle until he was in the grass. He clawed at the dirt, trying to grasp something to help him at least sit up, but everything slipped right through his fingers.

 * * *

 Badgerclops sat down, his back against a tree. The cicadas had quieted down by now. It really was getting late. He was thankful to finally get off his feet, if only for a short, small, and quick break. It didn’t just give him time to rest, it gave him  to think. He thought about his acing feet, the growing hunger in his stomach, but those thoughts were transient and inconsequential.

       The thought that really weighed on his mind was that of his friend, of his partner. When they met, there was this sort of unspoken agreement between the two of them. That their lives started the second they met, and don’t you dare ask about      anything    that came before. A proposition Badgerclops was eager to agree to. He had baggage he’d much rather throw away than unpack. He never imagined he meet someone with enough to rival him, or even out do by a country mile.

       Two entire lives he never mentioned. One surrounding a family (if you could call it that) who didn’t know what reciprocal love was. And a relationship crushed into a fine dust by his own hands, well, just hand. He never would’ve imagined he’d have a child. Seemed like too much of a straight shooter to have one.

       That was the most difficult part of working with him.

       The calamities that’d walk through your front door demanding to be fixed by a man who could never fix himself. He was sure that’d when he finally managed to push Tanya and her son out of the valley. What’s next? A mountain sized monster coming after the Ruby? The rest of his family showing up to debate inheritance? Wibbildy wobbly time-shenanigans? He didn’t really put anything past fate? Or misfortune? Or whatever was in control of his mess of a life.

       It certainly wasn’t him.

       Badgerclops stood up with a groan. He rested his feet a bit, but they were still sore, and his knees were now staring to feel funky, too. He wasn’t even that old. Maybe the saying “stress ages you” is actually true. In that case, the past month probably yanked years off his life.

       He looked up. The day was getting old and the night wa just being born. His search started late in the day; there wans’t much time anyway. He stood up resolved to continue tomorrow, if he could find him at all.

 * * *

       Mao Mao sat there on the hillock. The tears had dried up, the ground felt steady beneath his feet, and he had nothing else to give. That was probably the worst part of it. When you come back down from those emotional extremes, you find that birds still sing, that grass is still green, and the world keeps turning. These all consuming problems are small, inconsequential, and yet they consume you all the same.

       If his problems were small, yet still consumed him, how small was he?

       He cringed and looked away, trying to push that realization out of his mind, but it stuck to him like a mosquito. He slapped it away a thousand times, ignore it like it wasn’t there, but it buzzed around in his own head. He absently scratched the back of his head, his frustration growing and mounting. It was only natural that he’d throw his head back and let out a groan of frustration, but when he looked back down there was something staring back.

       Staring back wasn’t the right word, for it had a featureless pink face.

       Mao Mao’s first instinct was to lurch back, tumbling over himself, barely escaping to his feet. A smooch as h’ed like to say that his hardened reflexes as a warrior were the cause, his quivering knees were undeniable. His dry tongue. The sweat creeping down his back. This was ruthless fear.

 Where did it come from? He didn’t hear it approach, didn’t even smell it. What was this creature? It shambled towards with long gangly limbs, and an unnatural uneven stride. He didn’t recognize this from his families Monster Manual. He didn’t recognize it from his personal travels… or, maybe he did.

 This fear he was feeling wasn’t the fresh kind. It was the kind thrown back in your face when dredged up from childhood memories… no. The fear was potent, but it wasn’t aged like wine. It was like a fresh soda all shaken up. So filled with bubling energy that it was about to burst.

 He wrapped his tail around his scabbard and pulled out his sword. He held his sword up high, edge facing the sky, the tip pointing at the monstrosity. He didn’t notice that he’d taken a more defensive form than unusual until he’d pushed away to quick strikes.

 Their was a sickening shriek as the creatures claws ran down his blade.

 They say many things can bring back memories. Smell is the usual subject. Smelling a dish in a restaurant that reminds you of mother’s homecooked meal. Personally, Mao Mao had alays been much more sensitive to sound. Maybe itwas his big ears or just a more personal quirk. Something as simple as falling into the mud while a bird chirps would forever taint the dove’s song to him.

 Right now, hearing claws rake across his blade like nails on a chalkboard, forced memories back up like vomit. Memories literally tinged with the flavor. There was something else with them. The stink of alcohol. A woozy haze. Explosive fear. He’d seen this creature before. Where? When?

 The realization hit him like the claks scouring his chest.

 He backed away, defensive posture still going strong. The wound wans’t deep enough to do more than draw blood, but the pain sung with every movmeent. The apin wasn’t enough to send him reeling, it was the word etched into his vague memories with clarity.

 Demon.

       He couldn’t believe he forgotten any of it. His sword began to shake and his knees began to buckle. Whatever stalwart resolve he usually had was falling away. He barely had time to retaliate when the demon lunged at him. He moved forward, pus the grasping hands with a strong thrust. Most things would die witha  sword throught he head, but the demon just pulled itself off. Frayed bits of its heads sewing itself up as it stumbled around.

       Thar’s right… He coldn’t kill this thing.

       Escape was his only option. His eyes flicked to the forest. His first mistake. When they flicked back to the action, he nearly had his eyes taken out. HE pulled his head out the way as claws scraped his cheek. His form was broken. It was a buried and sloppy mess of parries or slashes. No, not even that. He was swinging his sword, guiding the attacks away from himself.

       He was retreating. Each step back to gain space meant lost ground. How long could he keep this up? His arms were sore and his hands hurt. His movements were getting slower ad slower until he knew he’d reached his breaking point. He pulled back, catching the demons’ left hand, and pushed forward to catch the right, but his reactions were just a hair too slow.

       The claws slipped right on past and were homing in. Probably would be the end to his adventures if the demon hadn’t made a simple mistake. Something so innocent as shambling too far and losing its balance, throwing the attack wide and nearly taking half his face.

        The demon fell face forward into the dirt. Someone with honor or pirde may have let it stand back up, but there was only fear to be found here. Mao Mao stuck his sword and the ground and pushed it forward. One quick swing, to split his enemy in half. He hated to let luck decide a duel, but if it decided to be on his side for once than he’d accept her offer.

       He let the sword hang limp in his hands. It was done, mostly over, when he saw the threads writhing like worms. They moved of their own accord wth no pattern, rhyme or reason. No wound -no matter how egregious- id more than bother it.

 That wasn’t right.

 That wasn’t fair!

       He picked his sword back upw ith a haphazard grip. Slammign it down over and over, chopping, ripping and tearing, sending thread into the air like they were guts until eh could do no more. And it still wasn’t enough. There were bits and pieces left. A part of its head, maybe its hip, a forearm, and somethign else. Just lumps of thread, and yet they all seemed to defy every bit of reason.

 When would it stop?

 Could it be stopped?

       What to do? What to do? Even if there were anything in the Mao family handbook for killing immortals there wasn’t any way he’d remember it. His eyes searched the remains as they slowly stitched themselves back together. Was there some sort of core he needed to destory? Some weakness he could exploit? All he could do was pikc up the pieces. One after the other and throw them as hard as he could.

       It wasn’t very far. Barely enough to toss them out of the clearing and into the shrubbery before he fianlly took one part from himself.

       Even if it couldn’t stop the inevitable, it just might delay it.

 * * *

       Issues compounded on each other. He’d wasted most daylight looking for a fool, and did month’s worth of walking in hours. Exhaustion only got Badgerclops to come home even later. Jǐngti and Tanya were still at HQ. Either that, or they didn’t tun off the lights. Even the short steps up the porch were a pain in the ass, and when he checked the front door it was locked.

       The first thought that floated through his mind was that Mao Mao was home. He never locked the door. Why would he, when their closest nieghbor was miles away? It might have ben a problem if there wasn’t a spare key under the mat. Sure t was a generic post anyone could find, but again, who would break into their house?

       He opened the door and didn’t lock it behind him. He didn’t notice Tanya sitting on the couch until he was halfway across the room. Jǐngti was in her lap while she storked him behind the ears.

       “Did you find him,” she asked.

       “No,” he answered.

       Their conversation stopped there.

       Badgerclospd decided he’d just go to bed for today. He had a logn day of searching tomorrow, or that’s what he thought until he heard a sound at the door.

       Frantic footsteps up the porch and the sound of the door being thrown open was enough to get Jǐngti to sit up.

       In came Mao Mao, sweat and blood soaked his fur. He was covered in more fresh wounds and had a dazed, distant look in his eyes. He’d probably be more worried about that if it was the first time he’s done it.

       “There you are wHAT THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE?”

       At first, he thought Mao Mao was carrying… he didn’t really know anything about what he was carrying other than that it was pink and long, but upon close inspection it became clear it was a forearm. Did a Sweetipie catch Mao Mao at the wrong time? No. He had this dazed look in his eyes, and bloody wounds. There wasn’t any Sweetipie that could do that.

       Tanya and Jǐngti crowded around him, getting a look at Mao Mao and the thing he was carrying. It didn’t look like it came from any animal. It looked like it was sewn from thread. A macabre piece of patchwork that was still moving. Tanya moved to cover her child’s eyes.

       “What is that?” he asked again.

       Mao Mao stared down at it for a minute, like he wasn’t too sure himself. “An arm.”

       “      Whose    arm?”

       “...the Demon’s.”

       Badgerclops stewed on his information for a bit before he sighed. “Well, Mao Mao’s finally lost his goddamn mind.”

       “You say it like he didn’t lose it a long time ago,” Tanya added.

       “Hey!” Mao Mao waved the severed arm at them, “I’m being honest here! I really mean it! I was attacked by a demon and-”

       As Mao Mao waved it around it continued to move and writhe with a mind of its own, eventually slipping from Mao Mao’s grasp, and finding a place of its own. The thread moved, worked by deft, invisible fingers, suturing itself up to flesh until it was as snug as a bug in a rug. Everyone stopped to watch Mao Mao, lift his new arm and bend the fingers.

       The Demon’s arm had attached itself to Mao Mao’s severed stump, and now become his own.

[thebleedingeffect]

Tommy has two compasses, one hidden in the pocket over his heart and the other strung across his chest, buried beneath scars and glittering armor of the morning sun.

Phantoms of ash and grief cling to the inside of his lungs as he struggles to breath the clean, peaceful air of the green valley, miles of untouched trees and uncharred ground in every direction. Soft grasses fluttering aside the last wheat harvest of the season, the bite of the fall morning air slowly falling way to the rapidly approaching winter.

The compass across his heart beats along with his own stuttering heartbeat, an uncomfortable, paranoid pressure resting within the healed over cracks of his ribs and chest. Shakily, Tommy released a breath into the open air, clouds of white slowly disappearing into the frightening blue sky and the weight of the compass settling back into reality. Morning dew clung to the bottom of his boots as light cascaded over the wooded horizon, shades of the red and yellow tree tops bleeding into the dawning sky.

The compass and its dial does not move as Tommy groans and stretches up towards the sun, a muffled sigh of relief ghosting his lips as the world comes back alive around him once more. Threads of sunlight bloom inbetween the yellowing trees while the wind catches between his fingertips, curling around playfully as Tommy let his arms fall back down to his sides with a groan.

The lightness of the lockets chain across the hollow of his chest beat to the tune of something ancient etched into the fractures of his legs. A rhythm made of laughter, the scratch of a disc across metal, and regretful mutters twisting into an everpresent symphony- that Tommy angrily pushes away and instead forces another breath through his lungs.

A stutter of breath wretches the ache lodged underneath his tongue and melts into a pleasant sigh, Tommy letting his eyes open slowly to the budding morning sky.

If he were to smile at the miles of blue above him, no one would ever now.

-------

Night falls much to quickly for Tommy's liking, the warmth of a burning torch lightening the shadows thrown across his face as he noisily walked through an open field. Darkness burns nearly as brightly and as completely as sunlight, the steady coolness of moonlight instead occuping the space that the warmth once filled. The crunch of autumn leaves color the dull ground, only the pleasing crackle of embers stalling as Tommy stopped to the distant lights decorating the distance. Tommy felt his eyes widen as he stepped closer, the seasalt of the ocean mixing with his sheer relief as the seaside widened before him, only hidden by the village surrounding it.

Lights decorated the stripped wood logs that made up it's walls, shadows dancing playfully over the well-crafted and well-protected walls.

The phantom sensation of soot clung to the underside of Tommy's nails and gunpowder stained the crevices of his palms, unlit promises of destruction hidden inside his bones shuttering at the flare of fire in his hands. Memories of blackened skin cling to the edges of his vision even as he glances at his own hands, clean and unblemished with whitened knuckles. Whispers of heroes and villains decorate the blue moonlight and Tommy's breath freezes in inexplicable fear, stopping slowly at the very offskirts of the town.

The night is quiet, peaceful even, so few mobs occupy the lands that the well-sharpened edge of paranoia staggers with a hiss of its own. Phantoms of screeching iron and melded diamond sing to the calluses littering his hands, melodic lullabies given to the scars covering his knees and palms.

The compass resting on his chest does not sing along with the memories of war.

Instead the golden fridge of the compass pushes up against the ghosts in his chest and silence settles back into reality with a shaky groan. The delicate rumble of the night breathing around forces Tommy's eyes open to the starry sky, the chill of fall stinging at his exposed skin as he stared back along the lines of torches.

"Hey! Tommy's the name, right?" Yelping, Tommy swung around at the voice behind him with an agitated glare, not seeming to have any kind of effect as the man laughed.

"Bitch- a warning would've been nice, asshole." The laughter from the man only worsened as Tommy embarrassingly kicked the graying ground, tension unwinding as he intertwined his arms protectively over his chest. Just as quickly the laughter died into giggles as the man composed himself to look back to Tommy, a smirk still teasing the edge of his eyes.

"I think you survived just fine without one, anyway, especially from the server that you're from" The glare of the torch reflected onto Deo's glasses as he easily walked to Tommy's side, a pleasant and easygoing drop of his shoulders as he nudged Tommy's shoulder. "And you're a welcomed guest and old friend Tommy, you're lucky that it was only me that was allowed to get a pass on you." Tommy felt the uncontrollable smile spliting open his face as he wrapped Deo in a hug, a chuckle vibrating the nonexistent space between them as Deo squeezed back.

"It's nice to see you again, prick."

"You too, though I might be rethinking this warm welcome," A loud laugh escaped Tommy as Deo stepped back with an indulgent smile, the crease of worry smoothing over Deo's face and disappearing as he walked towards the large wooden gates. The sound of chains harshly disturbed the night as the large wooden gate opened, Tommy rushing to Deo's side as he grinned at the nonchalant and relaxed guards waiting.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I very much would, now come on."

The night quieted once again with the drop of Tommy's shoulders and the moon from beyond the closing of the wooden doors. Morning blue splayed over the very edge of the oceans horizon and glittering over the waters edge in quiet welcome.

[aliens-and-shiz]

Part 59: Retribution

More here: @aliens-and-shiz

The day began like any other. Quiet. Reserved. The birds began chirping with the sunrise, the dew clinging to the grass and trees, making the valley glisten like a field of crystals, shimmering with the breeze. And front and center, a single yellow flower. Simple, elegant, with 6 small yellow petals with a bright read heart. It danced in the breeze, softly swaying.

Until the boot came down, crushing it and killing it, forcing it into the earth. The marching army, flattening the pristine landscape, before now untouched by man nor beast of burden. But such is the way of progress and war: until all is consumed and cast asunder; until the enemy has been thoroughly routed, exiled, or desecrated.

With the boot came roaring machines, machines designed not for pleasure or any domestic purpose, rather conceived with but one concept in mind: destruction. The tanks rolled past the marchers, on into the neck of the valley. Emblazoned on the sides a red, white, and blue banner with scattered stars.

Before the machines, ahead of their way, two monolithic mountains stood guard over the valley past which the quarry of man lie.

We fall back to that first boot. Still stomping over the dirt, crushing without care nor concern what lie beneath its sole. Moving up and out we see two legs, attached to a torso of a man. The man was outfitted head to toe with black armor, matte finished, and it’s face covered in a mask with black goggles and a ventilator. He carried a long firearm, similar in aesthetic construction to the common AR-15, but with far greater firepower. To their left, another individual, similarly decked out. To their right, yet again. And so on and so forth.

Before long, the valley filled with these creatures and their metal beasts, slowly funneling their way through the sacred place. They spooked up the native wildlife, causing them to scurry away en masse, using paths made for an altogether different season, but necessary today. But for one small, purple, 4-winged beast.

For this little one, curiousity got the best of him. He flew over the ranks of these new creatures, and went to see where these loud things were headed.

As he flew past the mountain, a place that it had called home its whole life, the red, greens, and oranges beneath the purple sky, it flew to a place it had never gone. Towards where it’s ancestors warned to avoid, as larger beasts tended to live there. Ones that detested it’s presence, and would cook him over an open fire just as easily as snap his neck and throw him away. And he found one of their settlements.

It was a flurry of activity. The blue Rekkans not giving a care to the creature as it observed them rushing into vehicles, scrambling over each other, setting up walls and blockades, and letting the small fires go and build.

Then, a boom. And the sound of whirring.

The creature glanced toward where it came from, and saw smoke beginning to rise. He saw two small dots quickly growing in the sky, and one long stream of smoke trailing behind a bright light, growing far quicker.

The creature lifted its wings to fly, but time was not on its nor this towns side, as the missle split into 6, and proceeded to pummel the town in a massive destructive wave, tearing the wings off its torso before it could even flap them once in a futile attempt at self preservation.

And with that time... froze.

The shock wave rippled through the town, flattening buildings, tearing clothes and skin off people’s backs, turning them into a salsa of rock, dust, blood, and plant matter.

They didn’t have enough time.

They weren’t warned.

They didn’t care to listen to the stars.

They didn’t care that the planet they found, a death world far from home but rich in resources, was the only thing within a hundred light-years that was making any noise.

They didn’t know the consequences of messing with humanity- and never thought maybe that’s why they were alone in the first place.

Kidnapped seasons past by yet another race, enslaved, tortured, sold to the next highest bidder or gifted as a favor, the human race spread among the Coalition with ease. In no way a legal sale, as business where sentient lives of any kind are bought and sold for profit was among the most strictly outlawed practices among the vast collection of planets. Then again, sentience was legally defined as membership within the economic sphere that spanned galaxies, so if you were to find something fresh, it was ripe for the picking.

Then again... normally they do not fight back. If this could be called fighting.

For that is the human war machine. It is a testament to destruction, an ode to chaos, and a love song to mother death herself. It is efficient to its core, an unstoppable force fueled by rage, emotion, lust, and ingenuity. If you steal from them, if you touch their people, if you give them impossible odds- be warned. They are relentless and unmerciful. You may not see it today. Or tomorrow. Or a year from now. Even a century.

But they will come. For they do not forgive. And they certainly never forget.

For this reason, on they marched. Sure, they could open a communication, they could negotiate. But then the universe wouldn’t learn. Those that took from them would have no remorse forced upon them. Until every family is reunited, every home mended, every child found and accounted for, they would not cease their advance.

The legions of man sifted into the forests. And as they marched, the cavalry instead turned, funneling at an angle into the trees- feeding the battle to their very whims. In file the men entered, until a sound rang out. A siren in the distance. The first wave charged into the forest. They had given them enough time to prepare now. Exactly as much as the original extraterrestrials had given humanity all those months, soon to be years, ago...

...just enough time to pray.

[allyvampirelass29]

The December Man and His July Girl

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction A Paradise for the Lost Sequel By: Allyssa J. Watkins

Charlie Manx smirked into Ally's hair, kissing the halo shine of her resplendent curls, The Wraith roaring through a painted rapture of tree-lined mountain roads at sunset, the splendid collision of red and purple light dancing through the branches, and reflecting off the windows. The slight evening breeze soothed the sting of the radiating heat, and drifted through Charlie's rolled down driver's side, his nostrils flaring as he drank in the dusk and sundrenched pine.

"Oh Charles, how I've missed this......." Mrs. Manx reveled, falling into him, nestling her rosette crown of long, loose, curls against his shoulder as he drove, both of them luxuriating in the bold strokes of crimson, pomegranate, and violet light, and the sacred reverence in her voice was getting him drunk far more powerfully than even Abe's top shelf peppermint schnapps could accomplish. The way she looked right now, so alive, illuminated by the painted sky....... An impossible dream, far too beautiful to be had by the nightmare she loved.

"It's been an age, My Sweet........." Charlie nodded his raven head in agreement, his navy blue, flat-topped cap prim upon his magnificent waves, his smile, rare, and adoring. Here we are once more, taking the other captive, absconding to secret worlds, and yes, while I am at the wheel, I am all too happy to let you steal me away on this, our special six month anniversary. Giving chase, and playing Bonnie to my Clyde with those pesky federal agents? Why, My Dear, that's all just part of the fun. Of which you must remember, I am the president.......

"Riding in the Wraith with you, Charlie, the hum of the engine chasing our hearts, marveling at your side as you pilot the unseen pathways of the mind......." She sighed blissful, turning her cheek into his warmth, breathing the gingerbread and car exhaust that lingered seductively on his woolen chauffeur's coat, her happiness perfect. "It's unlike anything I've ever felt before, that elusive, transcendent belonging that breathes like destiny. "I'd follow you anywhere, Charles, to the edge of all creative thought, it's you, me, and the Wraith against the rest of the WORLD!!!!"

Charlie felt the trill in his heart, the fire in his coal black eyes stoked by these impassioned words, the breathlessness in her voice, unthawing the ice in his soul. Yes, My Divine...... I am your only destination, the inevitable journey. A love conspired in the dark, in the stars, bourne a hundred years ago in a graveyard, and here you are........ My Soulmate, bound to my inscape, held happily captive in my magic car.

"I could not have phrased it with more powerful eloquence, myself, Sugar Plum," He purred, draping his arm across her shoulders, his gloved nails raking through her dangling curls in long, slow, strokes.

"To the stars........ To the fractured moon and back, through universes vast, and snowcapped wonderlands......." He mused, waxing poetic, his voice like silk, and she melted beneath his lips, like ice on his tongue, as he kissed the top of her head, his nostrils flaring.

"I'm going to take you EVERYWHERE with me, Allyssa Jolene, inscapes, landscapes, seascapes, whether real or imagined, through perfect summers, and dazzling white winters, conquering them all, and leaving my whispers in the most secret places of your mind......."

His voice found its sharp edge, as she ran those soft, white fingers teasingly up his crimson waistcoat, circling around each button, before toying with the red silk of his cravat, loosening it, wanting it off him. Yes, ooooh YES, my, my, what a crafty minx kitten I have! Had I any idea our becoming fugitives would have so sultry an effect on my shy, sweet, wife, I might have considered giving those government buffoons a clue as to my whereabouts...... Charlie breathed harder, thankful that his Wraith could commandeer itself if need be........ Ready to take over, Ol' Boy? He thought sneakily, and it revved its enthused response. It would seem I'm about to become properly distracted........

"I've waited an immortal's forever to drive a girl like you too far....... " He rasped dangerously, her fingers trembling with the treacherous sound, and he pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, lowering his lips to her ear with a salacious secret. "And I don't just mean in my car........."

He eyed her slyly, with a rakish eyebrow raise, and to her paralyzing delight, ripped his cravat from his neck, and hurled it in the backseat.

"Ohhhhh yes please, Charles.........." She purred, his Manx kitten, enamoured, reaching up to press her feverish lips into his cool, soft skin, writing her kisses with such masterful prowess. He snickered, deliciously, easing his leather boot off the gas pedal, even as the Wraith picked up speed, blurring through trees brushed with the sunset's palette, his hand falling away from the wheel, as he let his car, and his girl take control.......

Ally blushed as red as the hastily removed cravat, kissing her husband's elegant neck, running her fingertips down its pleasing slope, so happy she could die....... Her voice a forbidden ecstasy.

"I have not yet BEGUN to gallivant to my heart's content, Mr. Manx, driven too far by the dark allure of a mysterious chauffeur, and his majestic car, both of them, creating one irresistible menace......."

He could feel her escaped breath on his neck, as she spoke to, and coaxed his skin with her lovely lips, his own lips parting, his mouth falling open with his climbing passion, and while she was so delectably engaged otherwise, he advanced, poised to strike, one claw tangling in her curls, the other smoothing over the soft folds of her sundress, seeking out her black nylons.

"At your service, My Darling Girl, let your driver give you a ride to desire, as well as perusing imagination itself......... Your only fare to be paid, is the untouchable........."

Charlie seized her thigh, and her eyes fluttered their surprise, his voice a ravenous rasp, his sharp nails scratching against the smooth nylon, having shed both gloves, pulling her roughly into his lap, smirking wickedly as he mouthed the words.

"Where to, Miss.......?"

He kissed her hard, sneering with the force of his passion, sliding her fluttery hemline higher and higher up her thigh, grazing his talons across her nylons, digging them in, clutching the back of her curls, drinking in her ache, her drawn out, breathy murmurs with parched lips. He could feel it happening, knowing she had no method of defense against him, her surrender sweeter every time he tasted it, and he loved this...... taking his favourite Strong Creative and making her powerless.

Good show, Ol' Sport, he chortled mischievous in his mind, his eyes flashing with sinful urge, pressing harder into those painfully soft lips, punishing her with his kiss. You’re a Gent, My Dear Fellow, for allowing me to....... properly see to my wife. As they say...... Any man who can drive safely, while kissing a pretty girl, is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves. The Wraith revved its approval rather cheekily, winking one of its headlights, as it rounded the next bend in the road. Steering wheel spinning, it maneuvered them flawlessly though the evergreen, Charlie's car navigating confidently, while both driver and passenger lost themselves in each other.

Ally's whole body hummed with Charlie's intruding warmth, the demanding hunger in his kiss, and the tantalize of his talons as they wandered up her thigh, teasing the inside of it, before sneaking up over her bodice, and whisking just as teasingly against the neckline, his other hand falling through her curls, releasing them in a cascade shine over her freckled shoulder, flicking his thumb, and its sharp nail, up and down the back of her neck, feeding off her spine's tingle.

Their aching tenderness dissolved into reckless passion, and the kiss deepened with the womanly want of him, as she clutched the back of his raven head, her other hand, exploring his chest, her body's shy desire awakened, and he could sense it, smirking into her lips, with a furtive eyebrow raise. That's it....... Relinquish the control, you need me to take the wheel....... Oh Allyssa, I know all of your body's secrets....... You can't hide them from me.  I should take you right here........ in The Wraith, lay you back against my nice, leather upholstery, Ally, watch it brush against your bare skin, as I acquit your body of its every garment torturously slow, every delicate, porcelain inch revealed, as I acquaint myself intimate, fingers burning, sensuous lips lavishing innocent curves, taking what I do not deserve....... Becoming one with My Virgin Queen, in a naked sigh of dangerous ecstasy.

He growled, aroused, yanking her head back, forcing her to look at him, and reveal the anguished pleasure flooding shamefully through her delicate features, his dark smoulder piercing her soul, taking that quaint green meadow in her eyes and setting it ablaze.

Ally stared back through the black smoke of his ignited gaze, breathing her answer, letting the haze of him create a delirium.

"Wherever you are, Charles........."

She drifted her fingers through his glossy, raven waves, before straightening his chauffeur's cap, crowning her king, and with a playful bloom in her cheek, she tugged it flirtatiously forward, sounding just the way he liked........ A woman in love, weak with his touch.

"Drive me too far........ To the end of the world, to our own mutual destructions, just drive me, and take me with you always."

He felt his chest swell beneath his waistcoat, peering up at her from underneath the bill of his askew cap, smirking, and she rested her forehead against it, leaning in close, with a besotted grin.

"What say you, Charlie?"

"I say you've made a fine choice, Ally Manx," He quipped, but his coy cleverness flooded with his very real emotion, and the sharp edge in his gaze, fell away, leaving behind warm, soft, brown eyes. "I'm sure I can........ Accommodate you in this request."

"My, what exceptional service!!!" She whispered back, her green, Christmas tree eyes, merrily alight, glistening with the love he never dared hope she'd have for him in return. The love he thought he'd have to take, steal, pry from her unwilling heart, she now burned with for him, in enticing flame. No trick, no ploy, no female masquerade of it. This was the love neither Cassie, nor even Jolene had ever looked at him with........ A love that wasn't a lie.

The Wraith rolled smoothly through a wide open, forest green, wing-tipped gate, and trundled up the steep slope of a narrow gravel road, while driver and passenger succumbed to another indulgent kiss, Charlie cradling Ally's face in his claws, both jostled by the rumble of the drive, yet neither took any notice, as they ascended further into the trees.

The fiery, bold strokes of coloured light were nearly faded now, the painted sky yielding to the night, and the surrounding woods invited the falling dusk.

Charlie felt their lips part, both of them chasing their breath, as he clung to her, the tender dark outside spilling in through his rolled down window, the rest of the world, forgotten, as he held the woman he loved, in the car that had saved him, feeling the same innate, lifeblood link to them both.

"We've arrived, haven't we, My Joy? I can feel it....... in the excited thrum of your heart......." He whispered tenderly, brushing his nose against the flush of her cheek.

"Hide me away........ Show me your world, Allyssa Jolene."

**********

The moon was uncommonly pretty, and just as bizarrely bright, as Ally and Charlie walked hand in hand through the calming dark, trees casting shadows across their faces, their flashlights dancing as they moved together, two silhouettes belonging to the tender night.

"It's perfect, My Sweet," Charlie cooed breathily, as the log cabin came into view, emerging from the darkness as though from the depths of dark water.

"I knew you'd love it, Charles!!!" Ally exclaimed beaming and bubbly, squeezing him tight into a hug, and he ushered her into his embrace, his night sky features etched in white moonlight.

"Your childhood woodland cabin could not be more perfect for our anniversary getaway, Dear Girl, I am most impressed........" He smirked at her, with a gentle eyebrow raise....... I can just see you here, aged nine, scampering about through the lush green fauna the same proliferous hue as your eyes, an eternal summer encircled, dark brown curls bouncing, adventure in your heart.

Ally's face shined even paler and luminous than the supernatural moon, as she hugged his neck, overwhelmed by the wonder of him, brushing her lips against his, both of them bathed in moonlight.

"That's so beautiful, Charles!!! Oh yes, how frightfully well you know your lucky bride. While at home I much preferred to keep indoors, kept company by a good book, at the cabin....... I craved adventure, roving through the wooded hills, collecting pinecones and wildflowers, making up games and imaginary foes."

"That's my daring, imaginative girl," He whispered to her lips, teasing them with a faint whisper of a kiss. "Creating worlds within yours already at so young an age, such a beautiful child, even then a living doll."

He bit his lip, looking at her innocently, which she found all too irresistible.

"Confession?"

Ally giggled, feigning reprimand, with playfully accusing eyes. "Oh no!!! What did you do?"

Charles smiled guiltily, gliding his fingers through her curls, remarking how fine she looked, how delicate, in her short black sundress, covered in white hearts, contrasting spectacularly with her dove white skin.

"I stole something......." He said softly, and she broke out into an even sweeter grin, curls falling silkily against her cheek. "Ah yes, you naughty boy, you mean besides my heart and hand?"

He smiled fondly, but the guilt still glinted in his dark eyes. "Yes, My Love. Not heart, nor hand, nor pen...... I took them....... photographs of you as a darling child, my living doll in miniature. I took them from your childhood home, from the picture album left behind. I hope you do not find it odd, I am just so taken with my white rose, delighted beyond measure to see her as a tiny rosebud."

Ally shook her curls bewildered, her green eyes impossibly wide. "You took pictures of me? From my old house on Canyon Hill? Charlie nodded somberly, expecting her wary chastisement, but was happily disappointed when she broke into a wonderstruck grin instead.

"You didn't! That's so sweet of you, My hopelessly romantic husband, my GOD........ I'm so lucky to have a man that loves and aches to know my every age and stage."

"You're not cross......?" Charles murmured unbelieving as she drifted her fingers through the black silk strands at the forefront of his slicked coif.

"No!!! Not at all!!! I am rather....... dazzled, and desperately undeserving of such gracious attentions." She blushed apple red, bowing her head shyly. "I told mother she had forgotten one of the albums in the move, when I was fifteen...... We thought it lost forever. Ally smiled sadly, something lost, something forlorn in her eyes. "No one lives there now....... My own little universe of primrose paths and a shady oak, nestled within a chain-link fence, is just an empty shell now. The once manicured lawn grown over with unruly weeds, from the neglect, the primrose bushes bared of their bloom." She shook her head sheepishly. "But, of course, you know this...... You were there......"

"Yes." Charles answered in a single breath. "A great many times, even when it was your universe, just as you described. But even decades later amidst the forlorn ruin, I still found traces of you..... The special little girl who lived in the pink house with the blue trim in the middle of the street. A pink Barbie bike left on the premises, coloured pictures in crayon hidden out by the cluster of pine trees in the corner. A pink sandal, without a mate in the flowerbed........"

Ally blushed deeper, looking at him in the way he so loved, like he was magic. "That was my special hiding place in the corner of the yard, by the biggest pine next to the electrical box."

"I know......."

"Which ones did you take, of the pictures?"

"The Christmas ones," He chortled, touching her feverish face. The one with you in the teal nightgown, posing in front of a colouring table, another of you hugging a life size Barbie with white-blonde, unusually long hair, and finally......... One of you, a little bit older, cradling in your arms a sweet black pup. Jewel, I think was her name, your favourite Christmas present, so says your mother's handwriting on the back........"

"Second favourite.........." Ally murmured in a sacred whisper, taking Charlie's hand, as she kissed the back of his fingers. "I adored Jewel, treasured every happy, romping moment with her, but YOU are my favourite Christmas present, Charles."

Charlie felt the emotion swelling in his chest, shimmering in his brightened eyes, his brow pulled back, soft. "I was gifted to you Christmas Day, wasn't I? We said our, "I do's," at midnight that magical Christmas Eve."

"Never was there a prettier wedding, nor a more devastatingly handsome groom. I'm glad you took them, Charles....... I'm glad...... you took me."

Charlie felt the tears fall and watched her Christmas tree eyes glisten likewise, scrunching his dark brow against hers, as he took her lips in a raw, emotional kiss.

Ally's tears mingled with his, each wearing the other's on their cheeks, and then he just held her, wrapping his arms tight around her feminine form with a heartfelt sigh.

"As am I...... Wife. My dove white couplet to a peculiar little poem that's long been unfinished. I've never known love like you......."

He gestured his gloved hand out to the charming cabin, waiting inviting in the distance, the peak of the eves decorated by diamond stars.

And now, here, in the setting of your happiest girlhood adventures, as the rest of the world falls away, leaving only immortal Adam and his evergreen Eve, shall we celebrate this love, this rosebud of a lovely, laughing little girl, who became the full bloom of My Beloved Wife, six months ago to the day. The December Man and his July Girl.

[polupenthes]

@mercysought​. | the gentleman: little towns late at night when no one’s awake and the only lights on are the street posts.

Storm Hag, they called her, and call her still. Her brother the Grey Pilgrim, and she the winter he heralds in thick clouds. Both siblings have gold in their eyes, flecking their irises. Her brother’s blue, so his gaze like a sunset. Hers, green, so her gaze like a forest fire.

Each winter she opens her jaws and swallows the moon. Her life as a weapon: unmarred. Sharp and sharpening still. In her existence as the manifest essence of her father lies her becoming, her hollowness, her grief. Her and her brother made to ensure continuity, blossomed from their father’s eye the way other gods may have asked for a writing desk. 

She is the winter, and as such she is cold. This is the dictate of her nature. Her nature demands, and she must answer. Her brother was a fool for thinking otherwise, that nature could be annihilated, ignored. It isn’t. It cannot. Nature is skin. It is muscle and the precision of sinew. 

And it is blood. On her hands. On the knife. The knife she left behind on the wooden floor (clatter!) and the blood didn’t wash off of her hands even now as she melts from raven-form to human again and her knees give. 

No one to catch her. Her palms smack hard on the cobblestone. The late night lights from the windows, flickering pressed up against the darkness, eyes of the great beast of life. She did not look where she flew: she flew, out the window on dark wings and Símidh’s voice still ringing in her ears as his hands grabbed her shoulders and shook. Shook her.

WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU D--

No. None of that. The sting of her palm exorcises the last of the sound from her ears. Her blood, or the blood of this shape, at the tip of her tongue when she bites it. What will drown her, now? She had done what she had been made for, begun to. 

Death was not beyond her. It was her: death and the rebirth of her nature. On the gravel of time her hands laying divots, making mountains and forming, forming, breaking. Water was of her as much as ice. 

She could make it storm, if she wanted to. She could scream and the sky would split open with thunder. And the sound would be a sound of reckoning, discovery. Instead what she has is the deep heaving sobs that vomit inside her an agony. She claws at her collar, tries to catch the terror and pin it down to name it. But it just exists. It exists and it has a name: Medrawt, one she does not discover but rather look in the mirror at. The anger at his reticence, the terror at his horror, and the love beneath it all still hiccuping through her chest making it all of it so raw, so skinless in the sun. 

The storm comes. Heavier rain than the village elders expected. The clouds bruised black, the thunder voracious. Her hair sticks to her forehead. She stands but her knees cannot, cannot hold her. Even her body unravels, rebels, refuses. Refuses. A word she barely understands. A word she barely knows in its entirety. Instead holds it fragmented in her chest like shrapnel, refusal, as if even the possibility of it were too much.

If she were to refuse, refuse her father and refuse the fate he made for her, where would that leave her? What would that make her? Betrayer? Scion? Of self and of purpose, of blood. Blood-breaker. But when she closes her eyes she sees Medrawt cradling Akua’s body, and sees nothing beyond that. Her knees will still bruise in the mud and her hands still grab those fistfuls of wet dirt. 

His hand appears just above her line of vision. He stands completely dry, untouched by the rain she has brought. The rings glint in the lights pouring from the porches, those lanterns swaying lightly in the wind and inside them the bright flame of civilisation. 

A child sits at the window and looks into the darkness of the night pressed up against the warm light of the fireplace, a membrane of thin gold to keep such relentless black-blue at bay. She cringes as she squints past the glass to the wind and the storm and the rain. She does not see the two figures and they do not want to be seen. 

Bheur takes the hand that is offered her, and he pulls her up so she stands. She looks at her stained hands and not at him.

“You always come when I need you.”

He says nothing. Half-shadowed. Like an apparition. Like hallucination.

He comes because her knot in the tapestry has come unraveled. He comes because he has been asked to watch. He comes because if a tree does not fall it cannot be heard. What does it matter why he comes? He comes, always, as the water rises and she drowns in it.

He takes her hand. She is already cold, she is already rotted: the anaerobic environment of her pain peat that seeps into her clothes and skin, digesting, unmaking and re-making into dirt, into rock, into land. She is land. She was giantess before she was daughter, and before she was daughter she was sky.

Elsewhere she would be half-dead. 

She is animal wounded. She is darkness devouring, devourer. 

He says nothing and she knows he is thinking. Of what? How he will sketch her and rot her in his painting of this moment, done yesterday and in a hundred years and while she was still thinking of her act as salvation and not murder? Before. Before. The sun had set upon her and she had been too foolish and happy to notice and by the time she had blossomed red with her dagger the knowledge of her nature had erupted bright and foolish in its half-innocent surprise. 

No beauty, now. Hag bristling and her eyes hardened to granite-marred stones. Volcanic rock. The earth in all her splendour, coagulated and bending upwards in constructions of chert. Around her all the storm, fanged and vengeance-hungry, of a winter come early and merciless. 

She pulls her hand out of her grasp. He thought too long. He said nothing.

“Will you stop us? Can you, stop us? Now, with the die set and my destiny aching to be held?”

Can that which is not born but created have destiny? Hold destiny, understand what destiny is? Can story made flesh choose its own ending? She turns to look him in the eye and find she cannot pin his eyes into any shape that can be seen. It’s maddening, it maddens her. Knees muddied and dress all torn and hands stained with red and then with rich, dark earth, and the wind that howls. 

“SAY SOMETHING!”

Her hands, palms splayed, to his chest. To shove, a child with a broken toy. Were she to rage any louder the ground would shatter into splinter. Beneath her feet it tenses, a skin waiting to be cut, and she feels all of her power condense in the middle of her.

What a reckoning silence can bring. 

His. Her father’s. Her brother’s. 

She knows why he is silent. Because this is choice, litmus test, threshold made specifically for the threshold-dweller. He cannot stop her and he will not: he will not make that decision for her.

So she is alone with the thought of it. So she is alone, then, with the pain and the consequence of it. A loneliness unending and unyielded, one she cannot parse. She lacks the tongue of it for it though she is older than many tongues in many skulls, soothsayers or just simply marsh-dead. Her hands are so cold. Her body so cold, also. 

The blood will not be washed so simply: the blood will be her testament and undeniable legacy. To be bloodied. To be of blood. 

The bright winter cracks across the sky in the shape of lightning. White-hot, veins carved into the pliable fabric of a night as merciless as it is cold. He wants her to think the decision has not yet been made, that the hope for redemption is pliable.

Sweet enough and close enough she could pick it ripe from the vine.

But this is storm, the first deep storm of winter. Any fruit would not survive the unyielding barrage of the rain. Any fruit she could have tasted she has already cast aside, the flesh peeled back to reveal all the ways in which she tricked herself with freedom.

Medrawt will learn it too, she knows. She will make him learn how freedom has a price and the price for them is to break each other’s hearts.

No.

She made her choice long before she crumbled here. She made her choice in the sunlight, the sliver of it, she made it when she decided to silence Akua forever. And in Símidh’s eyes was a rage that had no other name but hate.

The Gentleman’s silence demanded this choice be brought to the present. But there’s none of it left, and it is spent. And it was made. And to those that she loved most she has become monster-creatue-animal. And to her old dance partner who offered her his hand she is none of those things.

But the innocence and compassion he may have been able to gift her is spent, emptied. Lies in their hands, bird skulls emptied of summer. Too thin and light to survive this torrential rain.

In the rain the strong beating of wings: her form of black raven (twin to her brother’s white) takes flight, and with it the rain stops. 

His silence opens chasms. And it is too late to close them.

[war-sword]

2019 Draco/Reader Secret Santa Fic Exchange - A Flurry of Memories

summary: Christmastime has always help many memories for Y/N, but now so many of them are imbued with Draco Malfoy, it’s hard to think of much else. A/N: ahhahahaha holy fuck. so i went back and forth between 2 versions of this fic for a couple of weeks before picking this one and i wrote the majority of the 2k in about... 3 hours. so. take what you will.thank you to bae aka @eltanin-malfoy for organizing this exchange!!! i hope you enjoy! prompt: first snowfall words: 2.6k taglist: @clockworkherondale @accio-rogers @mayorofzillyhoo @diademofdraco @drawlfoy @ladybuginthetardis @silversslytherin @lushlavenderskies @socontagiousimagines @acciodracoo

◈◈◈

A drop of wine made its way down the side of the bottle, ending it’s journey by staining the napkin below with a bloody star burst. Y/N tapped the top of her glass with her nail, listening to the gentle ring as she gazed out the window. It had begun to snow– the first of the season. 

Y/N was desperately trying to get into the holiday spirit, and she grabbed her wand with her free hand to point it at her gramophone in the corner to flip her Celestina Warbeck holiday record. The needle landed gently on the b-side and “Merry Christmas, Happy Goblin Days” started with a quiet crackle. A song that would normally make her want to get up and sing, only coaxed a sigh from her. 

Christmas used to be a fun time when she was in school. Large parties at the family estates, wearing fancy dresses and stuffing themselves silly with horderves. Sneaking into their father’s studies to snoop through the drawers before running away giggling, Ms. Zabini’s extravagant gifts of fine jewelry that every year got more stunning. Loading their pockets with olives and crackers, and braving the cold outside to try and coax the Malfoy’s albino peacocks close enough to stroke. And the one year they all stayed at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament, it’s own league of fun and dressing up.

And then she remembers no Christmas parties at all.

Now she has no big house to live in, no fun parties to go to, and the first night she needs to build a fire in her little house always stirs up feelings of nostalgia and longing. It’s annoying to feel depressed for no reason, but almost just as annoying when she realizes, year after year, it’s about how winter reminds her of him. 

The dregs at the bottom of Y/N’s glass have created interesting patterns. She doesn’t remember emptying her glass again. The snow outside is coming down in big flakes now, and her record has gone silent. She still has a few hours to kill before she needs to start dinner. Perhaps a walk in the fresh snow can get her out of her Christmas funk. 

Y/N pulls on her boots and coat at the door. She decides a hat is in order with all this heavy precipitation, and reaches up to the top shelf in the hall closet to grab her warm knit one. Something else comes down with the hat, and a length of emerald fabric pools at her feet. At one end are the initials D.M. in elegant silver stitching. Y/N had forgotten she’d had this. She considers kicking to the back of the closet for a moment while her chest swirls with a concoction of emotions, before snatching up the scarf and looping it around her neck.

A scarf is a scarf, and it’s unfortunately as warm as she remembered.

Y/N and Pansy Parkinson laid side by side on the cold oak floors of Malfoy Manor, carefully monitoring the planks for creaking. “I haven’t heard anything for a few minutes,” Pansy whispers.

“Me either,” Y/N says back.

“Check the clock again.”

Y/N carefully moves herself into an upright position and pads across the floor to check the clock on the nightstand of the room she and Pansy are sharing for the night. Together, the hands read exactly twelve fourty-five. She pads back and lies down next to Pansy again, taking a moment to steady her breathing before relaying the information.

“Shall we go?”

Y/N bites her lip, pretending to contemplate. “Yes. Should we take a candle?”

“No, stipud, we have to go in the dark. The moon is out. We should be able to see.”

Y/N looks back at the bed to look at the lumps under the covers they had created with pillows, and then follows Pansy out into the hall. Sure enough, moonlight streaks through the windows. The girl’s socked feet make no sounds as they count the doors and go around the corner. When they reach Draco’s bedroom, they stop and hold their breath to listen at the door. Y/N can hear that Draco, Blaise, and Theo are still awake and talking.

Pansy gently knocks on the door three times, waits, and then another three times, before cracking it open so they can slip inside. Abandoning all care, they sprint the few steps into Draco’s room before launching onto the bed with their other friends. “We had to wait a little while longer,” Y/N explains, “Dobby was in the hall cleaning.”

Draco, who is perched atop a pillow and leaning against his elaborate headboard, rolls his eyes. “Stupid elf. He should be downstairs cleaning, where the party was, not up here. I can’t believe our family got stuck with such a useless one.”

“That’s why my mum just got rid of ours and hired a person,” Blaise says.

“I’ve told father we should do the same, but he insists that people are too inclined to snoop,” Draco’s eyes glint with importance. “At least house elves you can be sure they won’t tell anyone anything.”

Pansy nods along with Draco as he speaks. Y/N curls her feet under her and rearranges her nightgown about her legs. “Have you tried asking Dobby about the Heir of Slytherin? If he has been around your family for a long time, maybe he knows something.” Y/N tries to steer the conversation to what they were discussing before being sent to bed, a topic they all found very important and adult.

“I doubt he would’ve had access to important information like that, besides, it’s not me,” Draco says.

Blaise, Theo, and Pansy all do the same. “I don’t understand who it could be if it’s none of us. We’re the most important people in our house,” Theo says.

“Maybe it’s a Pureblood who got sorted into another house, and wants revenge on the sorting hat,” Pansy suggests.

Blaise wrinkles his nose. “Ew, like Weasley?”

They all laugh at that, and spend hours into the morning spinning increasingly wild theories, only to be found in a heap on Draco’s bed the next morning by their parents.

The snow outside is satisfyingly crisp under Y/N’s feet. She looks down, mesmerized as her boots cut into the fresh, untouched snow and leave behind a perfect imprint of her boot. She refocuses her eyes to her hair, spilling over her coat and scarf as thick white flakes catch on the strands. Only a few minutes into her walk, she’s dappled with snow. 

Thinking about old times in Malfoy Manor make her smile. The property itself isn’t very far from her current home. After the war, she’d tried to move around to various wizarding communities, but none were all too welcoming. Even though Y/N’s family’s estate was lost to her, being back in the area she grew up brought her some comfort. Even if Draco’s home was still only a few miles away. 

The empty road lined with trees soon gave way to a tiny town. It was once filled with bustling shops for the magical folk in the area, disguised as run down buildings to any muggle passing from afar. Now, most of the stores truly were that, only a few like the food markets, apothecary and bookshop were still open. As Y/N passed the old tailor’s shop, she tilted her head to the sky, sticking her tongue out to catch a snowflake.

“Y/N, have you given any more thought to what colors we should wear to the ball?” Draco moves the letter away from his face, letting his arm flop off the side of the couch. 

Y/N sets down her quill next to the divination chart she’s working on. “Last I heard from mum, she was sending me three to try in green, ice blue and some shade of purple. Do you care to look at the clippings of the different styles she owled me yesterday?”

“Not particularly,” Draco sighs, looking past her and into the distance. At Y/N’s beat of silence, Draco moves his eyes back to her. “I am sure whatever you pick will look very pretty,” he adds, lifting his mother’s letter to emphasize.

Y/N smiles a little despite herself. “I don’t know why she keeps writing you, my own mother is just as accessible.”

“I know!” Draco groans. The fire in the common room hearth gently illuminates his handsome features he’s grown into the past two years. Y/N goes back to her essay. “Pans still not talking to you?” Draco asks, tossing the letter on the table and turning on his side to look at Y/N more directly. 

Y/N just shakes her head. 

“Well, she’ll get over it soon enough, whatever it is.” 

But Y/N knew exactly the reason why Pansy wasn’t talking to her, and the reason was sitting right in front of her. Pansy could be stubborn sometimes, but this was going on for nearly a week now with no conversation outside of anything in a classroom, if that. “I just want us all to have a fun time at Christmas here,” Y/N sighs, resting her head on her hands. “It’s probably the only time our parents will let us stay here over break.”

Draco looks at Y/N sympathetically. “I know. I’ll try to talk to her again tomorrow. You sure you don’t know what’s got her bothered?”

Y/N bites her lip before deciding it’s stupid to hold out. “I think she’s upset about who she’s going to the ball with.”

“What?” Draco says, wrinkling his brow. “Why, what’s wrong with Theo?”

Y/N picks her quill back up and pretends to contemplate her essay agan, so her words seem more casual. “I think she’s upset that you didn’t ask her.”

“Well, that’s dumb. She knows damn well I can ask who I want, and I asked you.” Draco catches Y/N’s eyes and gives her a sly smile. “I’ll talk to her. I dunno what’s got her wand in such a twist these days.”

“Thanks, Draco.”

“Anytime. Hey, speaking of dates, who do you reckon Potter is bringing?”

“Maybe Snape.”

Draco laughs, and Y/N can’t help but feel warm inside.

Y/N is long past the shops, and is almost near what is considered the park for the area. Mostly a collection of short, winding trails through the trees, now transformed into a gigantic snowglobe in less than an hour. Bird sounds are amplified in the silence the snow brings, and two robins chase each other across the path. Their red feathers look beautiful against the white. Y/N walks her favorite trail, stopping to look at the frost covering the berries on a bush, and check a branch to see how many inches of snow have fallen so far. At the place where her path converges with another, she notices another set of footprints. They lead in the direction of the lake, and she decides to follow them, Y/N carefully stepping in the tracks of whoever came before her.

The snow has significantly improved Y/N’s mood. The snowflakes clinging to her hair and eyelashes make her feel like a winter fairie, and the combination of the wine and her layers has her feeling cozy against the cold. She crosses her feet over to fit in the footprints, like she’s walking a tightrope. Y/N is so focused on her footsteps again that she doesn’t realize right away that she’s reached the lake. 

When a familiar root forces her to take a large step into her next foorprint she looks up. The lake hasn’t frozen over yet, and it’s dark water stands out in contrast to the pale sky and landscape surrounding it. Even the bank on the other side is white, white, white, and Y/N’s gasp cuts through the quiet as she takes in the view. “Wow.”

Something in her peripheral vision moves, and Y/N turns to see what it was. Sitting on the bench facing the lake several feet away is Draco Malfoy. He’s the mirror image of the landscape she sees before him, all pale hair and face emerging from a black coat. And he looks positively scared to see Y/N.

It’s a look she knows all too well.

“Y/N,” Draco says, half greeting and half in surprise.

“Draco.” Y/N stares back, almost equally bewildered. “I… I was just thinking about you, actually.”

“That’s funny… so was I,” he says. “Would you like to come sit?”

Y/N makes her way over to the bench, and Draco pulls his wand out from his coat and melts the remaining snow on the bench. Y/N tucks her coat beneath her and sits down, unable to look away from Draco. Despite the fact that he still looks unsure, he’s not looking away either.

It’s been almost five years since Y/N has seen Draco. She can’t help but drink in the sight of him, just as handsome and heartbroken as the day he’d left. Already she’s shifting on the bench to face him.

“You look well,” Draco finally says.

“Funny, you don’t.”

Draco laughs. Really hard. “You can always tell, can’t you?”

Y/N just shrugs. “I am a talented witch, what can I say.”

Draco reaches out and fingers the edge of Y/N’s scarf, and her heart drops in her chest. She’d forgotten his initials were on display. “You kept this?”

Y/N is quite focused on Draco’s ungloved hand in close proximity to her body, but she does say, “I honestly had forgotten about it until today.”

Draco lets go of the scarf. “I remember when I gave that to you.”

“So do I.”

Draco doesn’t put his hand back into his pocket, and instead lets it rest on the bench in between them. 

“I miss you,” Y/N blurts out.

“Me, too,” Draco says immediately. 

Y/N scoots a fraction closer, and Draco’s hand moves from the bench to the top of Y/N’s knee.

Y/N curls closer into Draco’s lap, and dips her finger below the collar of Draco’s dress shirt to trail her nail up his neck and along his hairline. Draco runs his finger slowly back and forth across Y/N’s bare kneecap.

“Ugh,” Pansy pretends to act disgusted as she glares at her best friends from the opposite couch. “I can’t believe I used to want that.”

Daphne runs her fingers through Pansy’s hair affectionately, and Y/N can feel Draco’s laugh in his chest. “Yeah, and I can’t believe how much you acted like a bitch over it.”

Pansy rolls her eyes and just settles against Daphne. “That was like a month, Draco. Besides, nothing could ever separate me and Y/N.”

That night Y/N lays awake in the guest bedroom as Astoria sleeps in the twin bed opposite her. Pansy has ditched her this year to share with Daphne, which was expected, but didn’t make sleeping in the same room with Astoria any less weird to her. But it was fine, really. 

She checked the clock beside her bed. Almost one in the morning. 

Y/N threw back the covers, not bothering to hide her tracks. Astoria was a smart girl, and all the parents never bothered to check the rooms anymore. When Y/N reached Draco’s room around the corner, she just knocked once. The door flew open, revealing a tired, yet no less excited Draco. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Draco grabbed her by the wrist and swept her inside. 

Y/N moved her hand to rest on top of Draco’s. “I miss everyone. But especially you.” She runs her thumb across Draco’s knuckles. “Are you busy tonight?”

“Absolutely free,” Draco says breathlessly.

“Good,” Y/N says, “because I still have half a bottle of wine to finish.”

[iceisfuckingdone]

So i wrote a narrative about minecraft manhunts for school

its almost a fic now

“Aaand recording” I loudly said to my microphone. “We ready?” I heard a chorus of agreements between my friends. They stood in a circle around me, like a ritual. Laughing, their grins became almost creepy. I slapped one of them, and started running. They dashed after me, screaming. I kept running, past trees, rivers, and wild animals chewing grass like bubblegum. They went after me, but slowly, they fell behind. I took a break to gather resources, making tools to fight back, while I knew they would be doing the same. I looked around to see if there was anything I could use, and a village caught my eye, I could use the resources there. After checking that they weren’t around, I made a break for the village. The residents spoke in a language I could not understand, sounding like mumbles and grunts. I grabbed some swords and armor from their houses, and took their food. Their farms were left untouched, but I took a few hay bales from their horses, and I was back on the run. I knew my friends would find this village, so I couldn’t leave anything behind for them to use. The villagers gave me weird stares, but ignored me as I destroyed their guardian. As I looked from where I came, I could faintly see my friends catching up. I had to get out of there. As I ran, I saw an ancient pyramid. Small, but I knew the loot inside would be lifesaving. I quickly turned to it, and continued running, hoping I wouldn't hear them say that they saw me. As I broke into the temple, I became cautious of the traps that I knew would be there. I avoided the plate that was rigged to blow the entire place up. I broke down a layer, to grab the deadly explosives, maybe I could use them to my advantage later. The explosives were rigged on a tree. I could break the leaves, and it would explode. There was a high chance I would die as well. But for me to have any chance of loosing them, I would need to take that risk. Taunting them, I casually said “I seeee you guys.” Their heads swiveled around, trying to find me. As they located my bright green outfit, they started running to me like vultures diving in on prey. I braced for the axe hit with my shield, as one jumped on me. I slashed back, but knew I couldn’t take this fight. I ran to the tree, and slashed at the leaves with my axe. I screamed as I saw the text on the bottom of my screen. “Sapnap blew up. Antfrost blew up” “NO!” I heard all four of them cry. I began to laugh as I kept running, avoiding my enraged friends. I saw a glow come from a hole, and knew it could only mean one thing. Lava. Grabbing a steaming bucket of molten lava, I quickly placed it back down, with water flowing above it. It solidified within seconds, and I grabbed another one, to place on top. As I grabbed my flint, and started trying to light it up, I heard faint screams. “I FOUND HIM!” I knew I had to be faster. As I slid into the purple haze, I saw their swords being drawn, and I vanished. The other dimension was fascinating. Red mountains, a dark roof, with so much lava and fire you could cook a chicken by letting it stay here for longer than a few minutes. Somehow, trees and plants grew here, and hostile people resided in the forests. I couldn’t admire the view for long, I would be here many times. I dashed through the teal forests, with winding vines, and glowing lights. The sleek, black monsters that almost looked like slenderman stared at me as I made my journey. I knew that my friends were on my tail, I had to loose them. I saw a faint, maroon brick in the distance, and made my way to it, avoiding the screaming coming from the white, fire shooting animals. I heard some crys from my headphones, as “Badboyhalo burned in lava” went up on my screen. I giggled as the achievement A Terrible Fortress appeared right after. I knew I had more time that one was back in the overworld, where they were separated. As the maroon bricks started becoming more and more common, I saw what I desired. A fiery, yellow and orange, blaze. I hacked and slashed at them, one after another, until I got all the rods from them as I needed. Running out of the fortress, I spotted my friends, with glowing armor on. They were going to see me soon. Crouching, I snuck back to the forest without them noticing me, and made a break for the portal to the overworld. I came across more of the slendermans, as they spoke in a language that was faintly understandable, but nothing like our own, almost in reverse. One by one, they dropped their eyes, which I would need to cross dimensions again. Once I got back to the portal, they finally noticed me. “He’s right there you muffins!” and I felt all eyes on me. Hopping back into the portal, I almost got hit by one of their stray arrows. From the red landscape and huge fog, to the calm green, was almost refreshing. I could never admire the landscape, I needed to trap them in the nether. Using a water bucket, I extinguished the portal, and hoped that would buy me some time. Running through the sand, more tall endermen appeared. They continued to drop their eyes, and my journey went on. As I chucked one eye in the air, it started directing me to my destination. The stronghold. Rowing across the sea, and even climbing some mountains, I didn’t see much of my friends. But when I was close to the stronghold, I saw a glowing, blue person. They got diamond armor. They started chasing after me, and I checked to make sure I still had my hay bale from ages ago. I looked around, there was no where for me to hide. I needed to have one of them jump to their deaths. I climbed up the hills, making sure I wouldn’t die myself from the height I needed to drop from. They followed like ducklings. I brought out the hay bale, once I reached the top of the mountain, and jumped. Quickly placing the hay beneath me, I bounced on the fluffy hay, as I saw one my friends go splat on the ground. Grabbing their stuff that I could use, I kept on running, as the rest stood in disbelief. Throwing the last pearl, it went straight down. I started digging along, and dropped immediately into the stronghold, and I heard screaming as “eye spy” came up in the chat. Dashing through the tunnels, searching for the portal, I looted the chests along the way. I had 12 pearls to use, and I would need all of them. Running past the iron bars, I saw the lava, and ran into the room. I only had one life to do this. They had infinite. Placing the eyes into the frame, the portal lit up, but was dark and starry like the night sky. I jumped in, after checking I had everything I would need. The dark void encompassed the surroundings, other than this one island. Obsidian towers, with explosive crystals, to the final boss. The dragon. Digging through the cliff, finding my way to the top, was the part that I needed to do as quick as possible. The others found the stronghold, so they would be right behind me. As I drew back my bow, and aimed at the first crystal, I saw the four of them pop up, and I didn’t have much time. Running away, I drew back my bow again, and fired at the second. Two loud explosions. The third one was caged, I couldn’t deal with it at the minute. I knew that if I was knocked up into the air, I would need to try and do a water drop. Great risk of dying, but it would be the only way to survive. Arching back my bow again, I fired again, trying to reach within the cracks in the bars to destroy it. After 3 shots, it exploded. I kept the hunters in the back of my mind, as I kept on firing. One after another, I fired, they exploded. Slicing up some enderman, I got another pearl, and kept it ready just in case. As they came dashing after me, I started to run. I was running out of food, and I knew they had more than me, so I had to end this fast. Throwing the pearl to the bedrock platform, I started hacking at the dragon using my axe. I used some of my leftover tnt, ignited it, and watched as the dragon took more and more damage, it wincing in pain every time. As it painfully flew up, I knew it didn’t have much health, but the hunters were gaining on me. I fired arrows at it, while my friends whacked and stabbed me. I saw the dragon had so little health, I could throw my pearl at it and kill it. I jumped off the edge, chucking my pearl back at the dragon. This was the riskiest choice for me, but if I had stayed, I would have been dead from the hunters. The pearl connected. A glowing light came from where the dragon just was. “Free the end” appeared in my chat. Cries from my friends echoed through my headsets. I cried in triumph, and walked over to the portal, smiley mask cracked in half. As I stepped into the way back to the overworld, I had one last thing to say. “This is manhunt!”