#From the Mud Match he learns that the best way to end a fight quickly is to absolutely terrify them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

powdermelonkeg · 3 years

Text

Secrets in the Breeze

"What do you think it is?"

Several sets of eyes fell on the tablet Hyrule had unearthed, pondering its use. Legend studied the pattern critically. "Hmm..." He reached down and wiped away some dirt. "...It looks like song magic."

"Those aren't notes I recognize..." Sky said with a frown. “Are you sure?”

“No. But that’s my best guess until I can study it better.”

Hyrule reached for his recorder. “Well, we can find out pretty quickly, right?”

Time held out a hand to stop him. He gave the strange tablet a thoughtful look. "...Everyone, stand back."

The other four in the hunting party quickly gave him distance as he pulled out his indigo ocarina. The marks looked a little different, but...Drawing in a breath, he lifted the instrument to his lips.

The other heroes watched in anticipation.

...Silence.

Time frowned, glancing around the area. “...Did anyone notice anything happening?”

“I don’t think so.” Wild paused, peering at the sky outside the cavern. “Not unless you have a song for causing rain.”

“I do. This isn’t it.”

“Wait, really?”

Time offered a small smile. “A conversation for another time. Let’s get back before the others decide to come looking for us.”

“Do you think they decided to cook something themselves?” Hyrule asked, grabbing his game bag.

Sky scrunched up his nose. “Goddess, I hope not. I can still taste that...reekfish thing.”

Wild raised his hand. “I liked it.”

“You eat rocks. You don’t get to judge what tastes good.”

As the others went ahead, Legend glanced back at the strange tablet. After a moment’s consideration, he wrenched it free of the earth and tucked it under his arm.

It needed to be studied further.

“There you are!” Warriors exclaimed, halfway through putting up the oil tarp for the rain. “We were just about to get a search party ready.”

“He means he was about to go running off after you,” Twilight said, giving his well-polished counterpart a side-eye, then shook his head. “Anyways, we’re all hungry. What took you?”

Hyrule rubbed the back of his head. “Secret cave.” He gave a nod to Wild. “He spotted some fragile rocks and wanted to blow them up.”

“Find anything?”

“Yeah, actually.” Legend held out the tablet. “Song magic script. Do any of you guys recognize this?”

Twi, Four, and Wars all frowned as they looked at the markings, but Wind lit up instantly. He threw his hand in the air. “I do!” he exclaimed. “That’s 4/4 time; it’s conductors notes!”

Time raised an eyebrow. “Conductor’s notes?”

“Uh-huh. It’s how song magic works on the Great Sea.” Wind tilted his head to the side. “Though, I don’t know this song. What is it?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that.” Legend said, sitting down by the fire. “Think you can play a tune for us?”

Wind’s eye’s shone, and he pulled out his silver baton, looking to Time for confirmation. “Can I?”

The older hero frowned, considering. “...Not this close to the fire. Or to bad weather. For all we know, it’s a Lyric of Lightning or something equally as dangerous.”

Wind’s shoulders slumped, and Four patted his back. “Cheer up,” he said. “You can still try it out tomorrow. Besides,” he flashed the younger hero a smile, “we should eat before it rains, right? I’m hungry, aren’t you?”

“...Yeah,” Wind relented. He gave one last wistful look at the tempo pattern.

Soon, he told himself. Soon, I’ll learn your secrets.

Rain pattered outside the heroes’ shelter, the soothing sound and calm scent of petrichor letting even the most troubled of them sleep undisturbed, for once.

Well...almost all of them.

Wind managed the 2 AM watch at the edge of camp, eyeing Legends tools and trying to coax himself out of the temptation to try the new song. It had been so long since he’d run into a tablet like that; the thrill of new abilities or hidden passages was a siren’s call to the young adventurer.

Up, down, up, right. It was so simple.

What could it do?

Wind found himself fantasizing about the possibilities. Maybe it calls birds, he thought. Or summons fairies, or lets you talk to rocks. He glanced up at the stormclouds. Or maybe the old man’s right and it’s a lightning song. How cool would that be?

He pictured it; calling down lightning like one of the mages of legend, with just a swish of the Wind Waker. He could take out entire monster camps in one fell swoop!

His eyes drifted back to the tablet by Legend’s bag.

...If it’s really a lightning song, then it won’t work if we wait for the storm to clear, Wind thought to himself, pulling out his baton.

He needed to try it out.

Just to test it. Time would understand, right?

Stealthily, he crept over and grabbed the stone, carefully pulling it over to his post at the tarp’s edge, and stood in front of it. The Wind Waker sparkled with magic intent.

The stone shimmered, triangle carvings lighting up; orange, yellow, orange, blue. Light bled through the cracks, and—

—it crumbled to dust.

Wind’s jaw dropped.

...Legend was going to kill him.

He shoved the Wind Waker back into his bag hastily, trying to keep calm. This is fine, right? If he doesn’t say anything, then nobody can blame him, and Legend could chalk it up to age! Relics break all the time!

...Except Time’s disapproving frown would crack Wind for sure. There was no evading that; it was almost as bad as when his grandma gave him the look of disappointment. He was doomed.

Ping!

Wind’s ears twitched, momentarily distracted from his crisis by the sound. A soft purple glow caught his eye.

Ping!

The Master Sword gave another call, the sliver of visible blade pulsing with lavender light among Sky’s things.

Wind stared at the sacred sword, uncertain. “...What is it?” he whispered.

Ping!

He reached out to take it, then hesitated.

Sky was going to kill him too.

...No. He couldn’t, right? The Master Sword was just as much Wind’s as anyone else here; besides, he’d just borrow it. Sky could have it back. He reached out for the blade.

Ping!

Four shifted in his sleep, and Wind froze, staring at the shorter hero. If the sword woke anyone up before he could fix the tablet situation, he was toast.

Ping!

Panicking, Wind snatched the sword up and ran outside, trying to silence it before it could make any more noise. He would deal with the consequences later, when the others woke up at a normal time. Once he was safely in the white noise of rainfall, Wind drew the blade. “Alright, what is it?” he demanded, holding it level with his eyes as if he could scold it. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Ping, ping, ping—

He frowned as it began to beep faster, lowering it. “Come on, I can’t deal with-”

Ping! Ping!

He paused, then lifted it up again.

Ping, ping, ping—

He lowered it.

Ping! Ping!

Back up.

Ping, ping, ping—

Wind tilted his head curiously. Experimentally, he spun in a slow circle.

Ping, ping, ping ping ping PINGPINGPING ping ping—

“Are you...trying to show me something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Watching it closely, he pointed the sword in the direction that caused the most noise and light.

Into the forest.

He glanced back at camp. If he stayed behind, they could all go after whatever this was together...after he got a scolding for breaking Legend’s stuff, and endangering the camp, and not listening to the old man...

Yeah, no. Forest it is.

Sky rolled over in his sleep, his dreams filled with endless skies and blue loftwings. Clouds rolled in over the picnic of pumpkin soup he was having with Zelda.

Fragrant, but suffocating clouds. He couldn’t breathe.

He bolted awake, fighting whatever was cutting off his air and defeating the tangled sailcloth in a heroic and not-at-all frantic wrestling match. His eyes fell on the white fabric as he caught his breath.

...He should stop wearing this thing to bed.

With a sigh, he unpinned it from his shoulders and went to wrap it around Fi. If he couldn’t have the comforts of home, at least she could. He reached for the blade—

—and grasped nothing but air.

With a frown, the hero fumbled for his tinderbox and lit a match, struggling a moment to make a spark in the damp storm air, then looked around for his trusty blade. The longer he searched, the more he could feel ice creep into his veins; he even rifled through the luggage of the usual borrowers of the Master Sword.

“Sky?”

His attention snapped over to the source of the voice. Time was looking at him with an eyebrow raised, bleary-eyed and confused. “What are you doing?”

Sky swallowed the panicked lump in his throat. “The Master Sword’s missing.”

Time sat up sharply, wide awake in an instant as adrenaline shot through him. He quickly did a headcount.

Eight. One short.

Kid-sized bootprints left the camp’s edge, pressed into the fresh mud in a perfect trail.

Wind ran through the woods, following wherever the sword led him. The faster he figured out what was going on, the faster he could get back. And if he found something, that would make things better, right? He’d even let Legend keep some of the treasure, as a peace offering.

The forest, though, seemed to have no end to it, stretching high above his head, with shadows reaching out from all directions. He remembered hearing about something like this from Hyrule—the Lost Woods, which spat you out the way you came from if you made a wrong turn in them. He’d never heard of such a thing on the Great Sea, but then again, the ocean wasn’t exactly known for its vast woodland.

Finally, he reached a clearing, the sword giving a continuous ringing noise to indicate that he’d hit his dowsing mark. And, standing in the middle of it, was a weathered stone wall, overgrown with vines. He could faintly see something scrawled behind the foliage.

Narrowing his eyes, Wind channeled all the magic power he could into the Master Sword’s spin attack.

“HYAH!”

The heroes stopped in their tracks at the noise. Hyrule sheltered his candle from the rain carefully. “Was that-”

“He’s here.” Time said, quickly breaking into a jog. “Come on, we can’t lose pace now. The Lost Woods can do awful things to you if you’re not careful.”

Wind shook his head, quickly getting rid of the stars in his vision. He’d forgotten how disorienting a Hurricane Spin could be.

It had done the job well, though. The vines were nothing but chopped salad now, and the carvings behind the stone were clear as day. Six conductor’s notes stared Wild in the face, begging to be played.

The hero’s fingers tingled; this felt like the start of an adventure, one that didn’t start with a kidnapping and cannonfire.

Drawing himself up, he pulled out his baton, and began to play the magic tune.

This one was different from the first. It felt...familiar, somehow. It wasn’t something he’d ever played before, and yet...

The music carried his thoughts away from him. He found himself conducting from his heart, like when he’d played with Medli and Makar, swept up in the energy the song game off. As he ran out of notes to orchestrate, he heard an earsplitting CRACK, and his eyes flew open.

The wall had crumbled to nothingness, like the tablet had. In its wake, however, a shining blueish pedestal sat, magic spiraling outwards from its center like a spring flower.

Ping!

Wind looked at the Master Sword, tucking the Wind Waker away. He smiled fondly. “Just like old times, huh?” Giving it a playful twirl, he walked over to the pedestal, holding the sword’s hilt in both hands. “I wonder what’s going to look like this time. Are you going to get more powerful?” His eyes shone, imagining the others’ faces at bringing an even stronger Master Sword back with him. Taking a deep breath, he stabbed the blade down into its newest resting place, confident that he could handle whatever boss or dungeon this unlocked.

“LINK!!!”

His head snapped up as the rest of the Chain rushed into the clearing, eyes wide. “Hey-” He tried to talk, but no sound came out; his mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and his head swam. Silver fog began to cloud his vision.

The last thing he was aware of before he felt himself fall was Time throwing his blade aside and running to catch him.

Then it all went white. The only noises he could hear were the whispers of watchers, and the chimes of tiny bells.

#linked universe #fan fiction #fun fact! the first song is as close as you can get to the song of discovery from spirit tracks #and the second one is my best attempt at the song of the hero on wind waker #also a fun fact: there are no wind waker song emulators like there are ocarina which made that part difficult #might make a part two if you guys like this one ❤#fanfiction #loz #zelda

224 notes · View notes

yersina · 3 years

Text

okay, hear me out: blacksmith!jaskier.

like, maybe he’s the owner of his own shop (smithy? forge?), maybe he’s apprenticed to someone else—either way, he works in a little town, proooobably somewhere close to kaer morhen?

(sina, you may be saying that this point, jaskier loves to travel! he likes to see new things and meet new people and cause trouble! how could he stand to stay in one place his whole life? not a problem! shopkeepers aren’t confined to their shops, are they? especially if he’s an apprentice. i propose that he takes semi-annual journeys to travel to more far away towns and sell his wares there and maybe chase a few skirts while he’s at it)

so anyway, blacksmith!jaskier. he’s actually more of a jeweler sort of person—he likes beauty, likes art, and while he can see and appreciate the skill it takes to create a sword or a kitchen knife, he doesn’t really find his calling in creating chamberpots. but alas, see: small town, so this is the best place for something approaching an apprenticeship that he can find.

one day, he’s minding his own business in the back of the shop (smithy??), re-sharpening a knife for a nice old lady who dropped it off a day or so ago, when the master blacksmith storms in and gestures for him to get out. jaskier has long since learned that the master blacksmith is a man of few words, so he troops out to the front with no small amount of exasperation and confusion.

and lo and behold, there stands a witcher in his entrance.

“fix it,” he grunts (bc jaskier is, of course, cursed to work only around people who can’t be bothered to string together more than five syllables at once) and drops the literally shattered remains of a sword on the counter.

jaskier stares. dented swords, he’s seen. they’re close enough to a big city that they’ve occasionally gotten the odd knight looking for a cheaper alternative to city-internal smithies. but shattered? and in so many pieces? “i’d really just advise you buy a new sword at this point, good sir,” jaskier says slowly. “i could use this as scrap metal and make you a new one, but it won’t be the same sword.”

the witcher grunts. jaskier waits expectantly for any more input, but only several seconds of silence follow. “great,” jaskier chirps, injecting as much false cheer into his voice as he can. “i’ll just... take that as a yes.”

so he gets the witcher a new sword (a softer alloy this time, and one that hopefully won’t shatter at low temperatures like this one did), deducts the price of the scrap metal from the asking price of the sword, and sees the witcher on his merry (sullen, silent) way.

except the witcher keeps coming back.

jaskier has no idea why—it’s not like they offer services that any other smithy doesnt. all he does is sell the witcher (geralt of rivia, he eventually learns from town gossip) swords, the witcher grunts through jaskier’s admittedly meaningless chatter, and then he leaves. occasionally, he shows up twice in one month (once before a hunt to get his sword repaired, and then once after for the same), and then he leaves.

it’s utterly baffling.

but then theodore moore, the cheapskate bandit who passes through twice a year in order to spend all of his illegitimate money, drowns in the river while he’s stumbling through the forest drunk.

and then people start disappearing.

it takes until the little girl from down the road disappears while she’s picking flowers in the forest for the townspeople to seriously consider the idea of hunkering down and waiting for someone to take care of the problem. jaskier even rides to the nearby city and posts a request for help. maybe geralt will see it.

they spend half a year avoiding the river like the plague, but then people start disappearing from the town square—next to the fountain. then there’s talk of killing the beast themselves, but none of them know what it’s weak to.

when geralt shows up in the smithy one afternoon, white hair brown with dirt and skin smeared with mud, jaskier nearly cries. “thank god you’re here,” he says, and he’d laugh at geralt’s look of confusion if it weren’t for the circumstances. “we have a job for you.”

if he’d thought geralt was a wall to talk to before, it’s nothing when compared to how quickly geralt stiffens and closes off. jaskier didn’t even know that geralt had been slowly relaxing around him until right then, and a pang of regret echoes through him. “what is it,” he says flatly.

“a man drowned in the river last year,” jaskier explains. “and now six people are dead.” when geralt turns around without another word, jaskier has to scramble around the counter and tug him back. “wait, you can’t just leave—people are dying.”

geralt stares at him, unimpressed. “do you want me to kill it from in here?”

oh. jaskier laughs weakly. “of course, how could i have doubted you, master witcher.”

geralt turns to leave again and actually looks a bit annoyed when jaskier holds him fast. “what is it now?”

“i’m coming with you,” jaskier says firmly.

at least geralt doesn’t laugh in his face. “no.”

“look,” jaskier begins, and swears that he sees geralt roll his eyes. “i’m not—trained in combat, per se, but i can strike a few blows. i work with swords for a living! i can be backup?”

“this isn’t a game.” the furrow between geralt’s eyebrows grows the slightest bit deeper, like the world’s tiniest frown. “you could die.”

“i’ll keep out of the way,” jaskier throws in cajolingly. he’s not sure why he’s fighting so hard to join in on an expedition that will very likely lead to his death, but now that he’s started, he may as well go all in.

geralt just grunts and pulls his arm out of jaskier’s grasp, but he doesn’t do anything to stop jaskier when he grabs a sword and a scabbard and follows on his heels.

(this is where geralt wows jaskier with his fancy silver sword, and jaskier hardly needs to do anything other than gape on the sidelines as geralt dispatches theodore moore—a drowner now, he reminds himself—with brutal efficiency)

jaskier ends up arguing for higher pay for geralt bc of course he does, and manages to get geralt to sit down for a pint of ale in the tavern. jaskier travels but he doesn’t travel, and although geralt isn’t the best conversationalist, he does have some tales.

this ends with jaskier puzzling his way around making a silver sword and maybe getting a mage to imbue it with some magical runes or whatever it is that they do in their ivory towers, and he presents it to geralt the next time he comes by. geralt, being geralt, doesn’t do much else than take it with him while he’s leaving, but jaskier sees it strapped to his back the next time he stops by in the town, and geralt actually asks him to repair it at some point (!!) which is not smth that he’s ever done before.

geralt also starts bringing jaskier things which jaskier is utterly delighted by because it means that geralt has been paying attention while jaskier rambles at him the few times that they manage to sit down in the tavern together. this continues on for years and years and jaskier steadily grows fonder and fonder until he has a Realization one day when he’s looking at a sunflower and thinking abt how it matches the color of geralt’s eyes that goddamn he’s in love with a witcher.

(my Actual Prose runs out here but i’m envisioning jaskier putting those jeweler skills to use in fashioning geralt useful but also pretty pieces of jewelry as courting gifts until one day jaskier is just like “god you’re so fucking dumb” and just kisses him happily ever after the end)

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #blacksmith!jaskier #i Want this now goddammit

225 notes · View notes

ninjago-bingo · 3 years

Text

final month recap

wow, everyone. we’re here. we’ve made it. we’re reached the end of our bingo time, and i’m absolutely floored by the sheer creative output that i’ve seen over these last four months. everyone, take a moment to give yourself a pat on the back!!! no matter if you made 1 piece or 10, there’s now a work of art out there in the world that wasn’t there before. and truly, that’s super heccing rad no matter how you look at it.

so let’s celebrate! for this recap, we have a total of 20 new pieces, bringing the total amount of ninbingo pieces up to 50. in the span of four months, this little event has created 50 individual works (five of them in the last day!) holy cow ya’ll.

i’m putting out this recap now, but don’t worry, it’s not the end yet! any submissions made to the end of the 30th still count and this post will be updated accordingly :D

fic:

all the things i’ve never done by @sa-you-na-ra. tumblr || prompts: competition and teasing

It’s always a funny thing when the ninja realize new things about each other. Even though living with each other meant they had to see each other all day, there were still small habits or actions that amused the others.

(mod comments: all these little interactions made me smile so much :D looking forward to the rest!)

error 404: answer not found by @m-aster-of-spinjitzu. tumblr || prompt: memories

Akita and Zane talk after the battle in ‘Awakenings’. The conversation… doesn’t go as either of them expect.

(mod comments: the nuances in this fic are fantastic! also Akita is always a win :D)

Five times kai was a good brother by @/master-of-fluff. tumblr || ao3 || prompts: nightmare and brother

I'm writing kai centric stuff again.

(mod comments: kai IS the big bro of the team!!! i support him all the way!!)

How Garmadon became a chauffeur by @master-of-fluff. tumblr || ao3 || prompt: driving

"um...Kai? Don't you think we should go Slower?" Garmadon asked nervously trying not to panick as they raced down the road at what had to be over the speed limit.

(mod comments: who let Kai drive? no but honestly this is canon alskdfj)

little things by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: hugs and crying.

"Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things." -Kurt Vonnegut

Lloyd’s tired of being left behind. How is he meant to be the green ninja when he always has to work harder, train better, and wait longer to go on missions with his team? He wants nothing more than to be their equal.

At least, that’s what he thought he wanted.

(mod comments: a post-ep-18 resolution scene? SIGN ME UP!)

Neither Snow Nor Rain by @fangirltakesall. tumblr || ffn.net || prompt: post-fight

After their return from the Never Realm and all its troubles, Zane is quiet and Nya is incredibly worried. A call to action to a peculiar sort of battle might be enough to change both of those things.

(mod comments: the concept of these two on their own mission together is just so good! excited to see how their dynamic plays out!!)

Never Put Off Until Tomorrow by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: video games and chores

…what can be done today, yada, yada, yada, we all know the saying. So do the ninja- when Master Wu is drilling it into their heads every minute of every day, it’s kind of hard to forget.

Naturally, it only takes them a week (and the biggest new video game in Ninjago) to do so.

(mod comments: this is so in character that it’s frustrating lol. also Pixal ftw!!)

oh take me back to the start by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: comfort and 3 am

The past should be left in the past. Or, at least, that’s what Jay keeps telling himself. Nadakhan is gone. It’s not logical to still be afraid. But he is, and now everything that he left behind suddenly feels like it’s never going to be the same again.

Cole isn’t so convinced.

(mod comments: Cole is truly the man we all deserve in our lives.)

On Our Own by @redefine-your-identity. tumblr || prompt: home

It’s been a few weeks since Kai and Nya’s parents disappeared without a trace. Needless to say, they’re struggling.

(mod comments: OU C H no poor babies 😭 the relationship dynamic here is great!)

orange and gold by @/m-aster-of-spinjitzu. tumblr || prompt: cooking

...I just need more Cole and Vania content, they seem like they'd be great friends.

Basically it's just 'Cole goes to visit her there, they almost burn down the kitchen, and make way too many puns', lol.

(mod comments: I also always need more Vania content!! the puns in this were breadful!)

permafrost by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: loss of control and promise

It’s not like this is the first time this has happened. It’s not like none of his teammates have ever suffered this kind of guilt and pain. It’s not like Zane himself hasn’t walked through hell before and come out the other side (mostly) in once piece.

Except, this time, it is. It shouldn’t be different, but it is.

(mod comments: super sweet moment between two ninja who deserve more interaction like seriously!!)

Precautionary Tale by @/fangirltakesall. tumblr || ffn.net || prompt: protective

Fighting is different now, and Zane doesn't know why. Yes, he is titanium now, but why should that change anything? It seems to be changing everything, although is all really as it seems?

(mod comments: a great start to a zane-centric fic! interested to see where it goes next :D)

Star-Ninja! by @rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: siblings and competition

What happens when the loveable gremlin the ninja adopted off of the streets introduces them to Starfarer comics?

Chaos ensues, of course.

stuck with you (through bright and blue) by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompt: protective

Kai only wants two things: to protect Lloyd, and to give him the best birthday ever. Unfortunately, Lloyd seems hell-bent on making that as difficult as possible. Kai’s always prided himself on achieving the impossible, but dealing with human emotions is much more complicated than beating up Garmadon’s generals or shooting enemies with fire, as he quickly learns. Movie!verse

(mod comments: happy birthday lloyd!! look at him getting the love he deserves uwu)

Take a walk in the rain. by @/master-of-fluff. tumblr || ao3 || prompt: rain

Cole had always loved the rain, the way it smelled, the way it felt on his skin, and especially the mud! Whenever it rained his Mother would put on his rain coat and boots And they'd both go out and splash around in the puddles and make mud cakes and do all sorts of things.

(mod comments: this fic made me smile a lot :D loved the way it was arranged!)

the hues of an empty sky by @/m-aster-of-spinjitzu. tumblr || prompt: crying

Missing memories, or having two of them for one moment - not quite the same, but if there’s one thing Jay’s leant over the last few weeks, it’s that literally nothing makes sense anymore.

Or, some Skybound aftermath, Zane actually expressing emotions about his memory switch being turned off for all those years, and what was supposed to be a ‘they tell everyone about the erased timeline’ fic, but it turned into a 'two characters who barely interact on screen talk at like one am in the morning, and don’t actually tell the other what exactly they’re alluding to the whole time’ fic that I wrote at like one am-

(mod comments: Skybound resolution? SIGN ME THE HECK UP YES)

The Make-Cole-Realize-How-Much-We-Love-Him Competition by @21st-century-ninja. tumblr || ao3 || prompts: bets and competition

Jay and Kai share a horrified look. “He really doesn’t get it,” Jay says.

Kai shakes his head. “We need to show him somehow.”

“Show me what?” Cole asks, exasperated again.

“How much we love you!” Kai exclaims. “Somehow, it’s not getting through your thick skull that we want to sit next to you because you’re you, so I’m gonna have to just prove it to you.”

(mod comments: a silly little movie fic!)

twitter was a mistake by @/21st-century-ninja. tumblr || ao3 || prompts: teasing and birthday

Kai 🔥 @flaminhotninja ☑

so who was gonna tell me that Jay used to be a game show host huh

🌺✨ the Gift of Jay ✨🌺 @zaptrap ☑

Replying to @flaminhotninja

NO WHO SHOWED YOU

(mod comments: twitter was a mistake)

two halves of a broken whole by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: scars and post-fight

The Sons of Garmadon have been defeated. Garmadon is in prison. The city has been saved.

In the aftermath of the battle, Nya is more than ready to take a much-needed break. But the life of a ninja is messy. Recovery is never that simple. Although the wounds may have healed, the scars still remain.

Zane’s scars seem to match up, though. And maybe together, they can begin to heal.

(mod comments: aggressive care is my jam, and this is it!)

wait by @rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: home and memories

Lloyd’s not so great at being patient. It’s not his fault though- maybe he would be better at it if waiting didn’t always end up being so disappointing- if people actually kept their promises. But this time’s going to be different, he knows it. His father will come back for him. And Lloyd’s going to wait.

As long as it takes.

(mod comments: baby. baby boy. baby. protecc him plz.)

#ninbingo #recap #long post #but i don't want to hide anyone's work yk #ninjago #ninjago fic

25 notes · View notes

mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

Text

metamorphosis

Chapter 3 (ao3)

Prologue (ao3) (tumblr)

What if, when Jack was born, he stayed a baby?

A retelling of season 13, with a few key differences.

No planned schedule, will update when I finish chapters lol

Chapter 3 - the Sacrament of Confession

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…”

Mia sat at her kitchen island, rivulets of wine drip and form legs like tiny, burgundy tear tracks each time she swirled her drink. Hours passed since Buddy died, since the hunters and their magical baby left with the shadow that hung over her life for the past few years, rolled up in her antique rug, and she didn’t feel like doing anything else but this. It was funny, though. With Buddy gone, Mia was free to do anything, go anywhere, and all she did with her newfound freedom was climb the few feet from her lobby to her private floor. She camped in her kitchen for hours, drinking; the empty, nearby bottle of wine was full when Mia first retrieved it, an older vintage the cashier advised her to pop open during celebrations.

She guessed this counted.

Finishing her drink, Mia pushed both empty glass and bottle to the side. She laid her hands flat against the dark, marble counter and pushed, steadying herself as she stood. The room hardly spun. It wasn’t that strong a wine, especially given her inherited tolerance. Mia chose not to waste another.

Rather, she felt like taking a lengthy soak in her bathtub. With fancy bubbles and salts mixed in the water, and scented candles perched upon pure porcelain and wooden shelves and whatever space she could find.

She needed a relaxing bath. She needed to relax. Buddy dying meant she finally could relax.

Why is it so difficult for Mia, then?

On her way towards her bathroom, the intercom buzz annoyingly sprang to life.

Mia jumped, hitting the wall at her back and rocking the few picture frames hanging there. Her chest expanded with frantic breath, mind immediately conjuring an image of Buddy, angry, leaning his whole weight on the buzzer. Soon, she calmed, reminded how that was impossible, now and forever.

She approached the intercom with more confidence, slapping the receiver in response, cutting off another round of buzzing. “Yes?”

“Hey, Doc,” a familiar voice drawled, low and raspy, “can I come in?”

Dean Winchester lapsed into a weighty silence after. He said nothing else that might clue Mia in on why he stood on her porch for the second time this evening. And as Mia learned early on, there’s a lot that can hide beneath such silence.

A troublesome thought surfaced from the depths of fear simmering in the back of her mind, cloaked in the voice of her mother, sounding like advice she passed onto Mia from her mother who learned from her mother’s mother and so on in a long line of ancestors. “Hunters only come by for one thing,” they warned, “the best thing you can do is run.”

What if Dean, despite killing Buddy, wasn’t satisfied? What if he returned for her, to make good on his earlier threats? If she let him inside, will he prove her mother and mother’s mother and so on true? Fire a bullet between her eyes in the half a second it took to open the door? Or, if she refused, would he barrel inside regardless and steal this newly returned peace from her?

Would he stand outside all night, if Mia stayed quiet like she was, and think she abandoned her practice and skipped town halfway through his question?

Already she drew out her answer too long, and either she spoke in the next few seconds or fled to her bedroom where she’d stay awake until morning, hoping he left. The latter didn’t appeal to Mia. She promised herself that she finished running. That it wasn’t what Mia wanted to do, not anymore. Mia cleared her throat and pressed her finger on the button again. “Sure. I’ll be down in a moment.”

Mia detoured, grabbing a steak knife from a drawer and hiding it within the folds of her skirt. The knife wouldn’t overpower a gun, if it came to that, but Mia might take him with her.

Hopefully Mia’s fears stayed exactly that.

Mia opened the front door slightly, peeking onto the porch through a sliver. Dean stood, his shoulders stooped from exhaustion and a haggard expression across his face that exaggerated every wrinkle on his pretty face. Quickly scanning him, she saw no sign of a weapon. She couldn’t decide if it were better or worse. Mia unfastened the final lock, fully welcoming Dean back into her home. “Dean,” she started, “what can I help you with?” Her grip tightened on the knife, sharp line of its blade shifting against her skirt’s fabric.

He shuffled towards her, Mia flinching as he did. The knife perked at her side. “Sorry,” he said, both hands rising to greet her. His open, empty palms soothed her somewhat, and weakened her hold on the knife, it wilting into her skirt. “I didn’t come here for a fight.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I…” A shudder ran through him like a summer storm, righting his posture instantly. He glanced behind him, into the waiting shadows, as if a ghost might step out of that inky blackness. “Can we talk inside?”

She owed him nothing. Still, Mia swore an oath when she accepted her diploma. As she noted during his first visit, this was a man who needed help.

Who would she be if she turned him away, hunter or not?

“Follow me,” she instructed, turning on her heel without waiting for his answer. His clacking heels let Mia know he trailed after her, from the entryway and up the stairs until she was in her kitchen again. Mia set her knife down on the island, facing Dean as she did. He snorted, raising a brow at the weapon. “What?” she huffed, “a girl can be cautious, can’t she?”

“You’d be stupid not to be.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yet here we are.”

Mia waited for Dean to respond. Instead of snagging the obvious bait, he hunkered down on one of her brass stools, shoulders hunched and fists mangling each other in a facsimile of prayer. She busied herself, setting the empty bottle nearer the sink while she washed clean her glass. Then, Mia asked Dean if he wanted anything. His non-answer meant she needlessly flipped cabinets open and shut, trying to fill a void with something other than words. Mia hadn’t much she wanted to say to Dean.

But about when Mia checked her refrigerator a third time, her mouth spat loose a question that dripped like drool past her lips and splattered everywhere by the time she realized she asked. “What you do with Buddy?”

Dean awoke, his eyes darting away from the swirling, enchanting pattern of her countertop. “Do you really care?”

A deflated no sat on her tongue, unwilling to rise from a lack of something Mia cared too little to analyze at the moment. It wouldn’t do Mia any good doing so, either. She sensed an answer that, in her current state, she might not like. Mia also recognized what Dean tried doing. Therapists smelled avoidance like vamps did blood. She glossed over his question with attempted ease, shrugging, breaking their locked gaze. “Call it being sentimental,” she said, “or curious. Whatever you feel like.”

Dean kept his judgment close to his chest but offered up what she asked for. “I dropped Sam off at the motel with… with the kid, then I took your ex past city limits. Dug a shallow grave, struck a match – that paint enough of a picture?” She nodded. “Thought so. Sorry ‘bout your rug, by the way. It was nice.”

“It was Home Goods. I’ll find another just like it.”

“Of course…”

Mia stood across from him, separated by the island. Her fingers lightly brushed the knife’s handle. “And you decided the next best place to come was back to the scene of the crime?”

“I stopped for gas in between,” he told her, “Bummed around at the Gas’n’Sip, bought some gum… not like I was dying to bother you again, or whatever.”

“But you’re here,” she pestered him, a sly smile crawling across her face as she noticed him squirming, like a worm wriggling for traction in mud. “Why?” Dean remained tight lipped. Mia pushed further. “Therapy didn’t seem like your thing earlier.”

“Therapy’s for people who have time to whine about their problems.”

“I think you’re afforded a little time,” Mia said, “especially after losing your mother.”

Dean grinned, his features stretching like saran wrap to barely conceal his frustration. “Can’t believe you bought all that crap, doc,” he laughed, “Sam and I were stringing you along. None of what he said was true.”

“So then she didn’t die a few days ago?” she asked, “And this little diversion, this hunt, wasn’t some sort of distraction from that big blowout?” Mia slid the knife towards her, studying her reflection in the blade. “It’s late, Dean. I’m tired. I’m betting you are, too. Sam sure was, only reason I could think of for why he’d spill all that to me while we were alone.”

She angled the knife Dean’s way, staring at it still. He looked furious in the silver mirror. “Did he mention anything else?”

Mia returned her gaze, arching her brow. “Was there anything else to mention?”

This contest ended with Mia the victor, Dean bowing his head in surrender. “…No. I guess there isn’t.”

A little, natty voice at her ear warned what he said was a lie. She didn’t call him on it, showing some mercy. Mia returned the knife to its drawer, her back facing Dean. “Is there anything you feel like mentioning?” Mia asked him, “About your mom… about what happened… about, hell, why you’re here?”

Her hand stayed on the knife’s handle as she kept turned away from Dean, her spine rigid and ready to snap at the first scrape of the stool. All she heard was a low exhale of a man with a lax grip on his sanity and some rustling.

“I was thinking about what you said during our… session,” he mumbled, “about how you practice. How you shift…”

Mia smiled, closing the drawer with a soft tap. She rounded the island, laying a soothing hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Is there something you want to say, that you didn’t get to?”

Dean nodded. He pulled his hand out his pocket – she hadn’t noticed it disappeared – and revealed a photograph. It was old. It was bent every which way. It was given to her with trembling hands. “If you don’t mind?”

She studied the profile, committing details to memory as the beginning pinpricks of the shift startled like morning waves lapping at her feet.

“Give me a few,” she told Dean, “I won’t be long.”

Mia retreated for her downstairs bathroom. That room was more accustomed to handling the ooze produced from her shedding. Plus, a bubble bath wasn’t out of tonight’s equation entirely. If she used the one upstairs, that wouldn’t be the case.

She slipped the photograph between the cabinet mirror and its frame, thumb tracing the profile captured there. Her body roiled with change. Her cracking bones echoed within this small space, bouncing off tiles as she changed to better fit what she saw. In the process, Mia stripped free of her clothes. Then, she peeled away her dark skin for something lighter and, by her guess, calloused.

Tiny hands doubled in size and calloused. Her jaw became squarer, stubble shadow obvious once her eyes adjusted to their new color. Mia’s hair sat flatter atop her head, lifeless.

When she dropped the last piece of dead skin into the tub, and her body fell silent as the hum inside quieted, Mia examined her appearance in the mirror. She compared what she saw with the picture. “Not bad…” she coughed, voice and octave deeper, and with a similar twang she heard Dean and Sam speak with earlier. Mia approximated this detail, like she had the height.

He looked tall, in the photo.

Mia left the bathroom, diverging briefly for the armoire in her office. She kept a few outfits inside, at least one article of clothing for each size. Her eyes caught a simple, grey button-down and a pair of jeans, not caring to put on much else.

It’s not like she’ll wear them long.

Dressed, she shuffled back towards Dean. He moved from the kitchen since Mia left, sitting on one of her sofas in the living room. Dean didn’t flinch when she stepped on a loose floorboard, though its creaking startled her enough to make a tiny gasp. Dean’s focus lingered on his lap, held there with grit and determination if his trembling shoulders were any indication.

Mia approached him with care. “Dean,” she started, voice gruff but also soft, “I’m right behind you.” She laid her hand on his shoulder, overtly aware how he tensed from his words and then again, somehow worse, once she touched him.

Dean’s head whipped around so fast she felt the breeze against her now-hairy forearms. “Wow,” he chuckled, a grim sound that didn’t rest easy, “you really look like him.” Mia moved to sit beside Dean, her hands off and in her lap. “So,” he continued, “do I call you Mia, or…”

“It’s best you speak to me as if I were the man in the photo.”

Nodding, Dean slid away from Mia, widening the distance between them. He tried meeting her gaze. She noted how his eyes stayed fixed on a point behind her. “Okay,” he said, “uh… this is… this is so weird…” It’s not an unusual reaction to this method. Mia was well accustomed to this routine, waiting, watching him cycle through his discomfort still and silent as an ice sculpture. Every patient, no matter their differing problems, responded the same. “Hey… hi,” Dean squeaked out, deflating, “dad.”

Mia’s lips thinned in response, the only cue she gave for Dean to keep talking.

Dean cleared his throat. “It’s… it’s been a while, I guess. That is – that we’re here like this. I know it’s not – you’re not… if you were you, it’d sure be a shock. What am I? Nearing forty… neither of us probably predicted that happening, did we…” He sighed, rubbing away some glistening wetness crowding his eyes. “Fuck, I don’t – I don’t know what I’m doing. Dad… Mia… I don’t – I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here?”

He begged for an answer with pouted lips and hollow cheeks. Mia, resilient, ignored his pleas. She dipped her chin and raised her brow in practiced ease.

The combination provoked something terrifying from Dean. A wildfire tore across his face, razing the sadness and confusion. Those softer emotions flew on windswept smoke while the only thing left to see was an ugly fury.

“You want me to yell?” he asked, voice climbing higher, more frantic, “Is that it? Yell at you? Scream and rant and rave at you until I’m hoarse – because I can do that! I want to… I… I’ve wanted to, for so long.” He leaned closer to Mia, snarling, scaring her. She kept playing statue, not to comfort wounded prey but to protect herself from a rabid predator. “Swallowed so much shit, since good little soldiers didn’t talk back to their drill sergeants. Because that’s what you were. You weren’t a dad, I was. Hell, I was mom, too. I had to be both of these things while you spent every day playing hunter, chasing down the demon that killed mom. To what end? Revenge, for mom? The last thing she wanted was for any of us to get involved in this life, becoming hunters like she was… not like you’d know, since she kept that from you.” He sunk into the sofa, chest heaving, ripping breaths out of the air with deadly intent. Dean spoke, again, in a much calmer tone. His words were sharp and precise, aimed to kill. “You didn’t know who she was. You didn’t know Sam… and you sure as hell didn’t know me. All you ever were concerned about was yourself. You lied to everyone, pretending what you did was for something much more noble than it was. Justified being a shitty dad with excuses, like how hunters can’t be good parents or have childhoods, or that, when mom died, a part of you died, too…”

Dean paused for far longer than a beat, giving Mia a moment to digest what he said. Recovering from her stupor, she reached across the divide and laid a hand on Dean’s knee. “Dean…”

He jumped. “I get it,” Dean whispered, “I really do, how you must have felt after mom died. When Cas… I didn’t know I could get more broken than I already was. Seeing him there shattered what little of me there was left. And what sucks is that I can feel myself… feel myself turning into you, but also being aware of who I used to be. It’s like I’m going crazy…” Dean shook with the force of an earthquake, except nothing else in the room moved an inch. “I want to blame someone for making me like this. I want it to be you, I want this to be your fault so bad because it feels like it should… because you didn’t step up when mom was taken from us. You didn’t try to be the adult and forced that job onto a kid who wasn’t ready. You made me become a nurturer, then into a killer – now I’ve got a kid and every few seconds I’m flipping between comforting him or destroying him.” Dean sucked in a deep breath, eyes flooded and red-rimmed. “I hate Jack and I hate that I hate him, but I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to fix it. And I can’t stop thinking about you, because you sure didn’t ask for Yellow Eyes to kill mom. She made that deal… same way Cas did what he did, to protect those they loved. We were the suckers who got stuck picking up the pieces, is all.”

Dean’s trauma reminded Mia of her first shift, of skin strips peeled slowly one by one, left in a pile of blood and pus. She wiped her own teary gaze, clearing her throat. “Dean –“

“I don’t,” he talked over her, “I don’t need to hear that you’re sorry. I understand you… but I doubt I’ll ever forgive you. I just… I want to stop feeling like this, so… so full of anger and hate and venom… but empty, at the same time.” Dean sagged, shoulders drooping as he shunted the heavy baggage he carried for, what Mia guessed, decades. “This was stupid,” he said, “I shouldn’t have come here –“

“Dean,” Mia started, rising, “Wait –“

“Thanks for trying anyhow, doc,” he mumbled, scurrying towards the stairs, “I’ll see myself out.”

She stood there, letting Dean run from her home. He clambered down the steps, and when he slammed the door open Mia heard the hinges scream as they rocked from the force.

Mia sighed. Those hinges called for her. They warned that someone might take advantage of her open front door to come do harm.

Except no one could hurt her tonight. Nor would they any other night.

She stripped off the borrowed clothes she wore, marching to her bathroom naked. Mia twisted the knobs beside her faucet, hot water cascading from the spout and filling her tub. Then, she opened her mirrored cabinet for supplies: perfumes, bubble baths, a box of matches and a green cylinder of pre-rolled joints. As she closed the cabinet, her stare lingered on the features of the face she borrowed. Mia traced the edges of Dean’s father’s face, frown deepening with each passing second. “You must have been a real rat bastard when you were alive,” she said.

Mia struck a match, lighting a joint and all of the candles littered about her bathroom. She dumped a capful of bubble bath into the half-filled tub and added a few drops of perfume. Once the tub reached the inner rim, it looked like a field of bubble-shaped flowers that smelled of lavender with a waterfall she slowly eased to a trickle and then a drought.

It was the perfect environment for relaxation. Unfortunately, that was the furthest thought from her mind.

Mia, however, accepted that.

She slipped into the tub, taking a drag from her joint and huffing smoke past her lips. It clouded the past events, of Buddy’s attack and his death, of Dean Winchester’s breakdown, but didn’t fully remove them. Tonight carved itself a firm place within her mind as a turning point in her life.

And though her heart ached for Dean, wishing him luck in finding his own version of peace, Mia learned from their session.

Freedom came slowly, bit by bit, one piece of skin at a time.

Mia wasn’t sure who she’ll be on the other side of this transformation. She smiled, content with who she was now and reveling in the uncomfortableness of freedom.

#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #dean winchester #mia vallens #john winchester #john winchester's a+ parenting skills #anti john winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #spn13 #baby jack kline

8 notes · View notes

theewildflowers · 3 years

Text

dramione fanfic recs

I’ve fallen into the Dramione fanfiction hole lately due to a friend’s recent obsession with Dramione and Draco Malfoy tik tok, so I wanted share some favorite stories I’ve read, especially with those who are also new to the pairing. Many of the fics below are pretty popular within the fandom, but maybe there will be something new as well for those who come across this post.

I’ve included the rating and word count in parenthesis, and the fics are set in the magical universe unless otherwise noted. Please mind the tags when you click through—many fics may have triggers. Happy reading!

wait and hope by mightbewriting (M, 95k) “Harry,” Hermione began, voice very controlled, but she could feel the blade of panic slicing at her vocal cords. “Why was Draco Malfoy just screaming bloody murder about his,” and the word almost strangled her as she said it, “wife?” Harry's green eyes blew wide. Healer Lucas pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly displeased with the recent series of events. “He was referring to you, my dear,” she said. “That was the other question you got wrong. Your name is Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy.”

Part of the Wait and Hope story universe. Draco’s POV, Beginning and End, is a WIP. (I’ve read and reread Wait and Hope multiple times in a few weeks span, so it’s safe to say that it’s my favorite Dramione story universe.)

the politician’s wife by Pir8fancier (M, 66k) This story is set twenty-three years after the fall of Voldemort. Our main characters are Ministry employees, middle-aged, and the majority of them not very happy. (This was the first Dramione fic I’ve ever read and is still one of my favorites)

the right thing to do by LovesBitca8 (E, 176k) Hermione felt the pounding in her ears again. She would see him for the first time since the Great Hall, gaunt and stricken at the Slytherin table with his mother clutching his arm. She hadn't meant to look for him. Not in the corridors, not beneath the white sheets of the fallen, not on the way to the Chamber of Secrets with Ron, but she was a stupid girl. Part of the Rights and Wrongs story universe (highly recommend Draco’s POV, All the Wrong Things, as well).

remain nameless by HeyJude19 (E, WIP) The monotony of Draco’s daily routine had become both a lifeline and a noose. But this new habit of grabbing coffee with Hermione Granger is quickly becoming a reason to get out of bed and is unfortunately forcing him to re-evaluate his inconsequential existence.

seeker fit by selinyu and etlithien (T, 2.6k) “Will the Head Girl grace the pitch with her presence for today’s match?” The timbre of Malfoy’s cool lilting drawl slid down Hermione’s spine. I recommend all the fics in the SenLithien Dramione Collaboration collection.

breath mints / battle scars by Onyx_and_Elm (E, 148k) For a moment, she's almost giddy. Because Draco Malfoy's been ruined by this war and he's as out of place as she is and — yes, he has scars too. He's got an even bigger one. She wonders whether one day they'll compare sizes.

apple pies and other amends by ToEatAPeach (M, 76k) It’s not until she’s brought a basil and strawberry sponge cake to Neville Longbottom and his new girlfriend, Hannah Abbott, a dozen rhubarb hand-pies to Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood, and another basket of ganache-covered muffins to Dean and Seamus, that Hermione admits to herself what she’s actually doing: she’s making a thing of this. It’s a veritable PTSD tour. With pastries. And hand-skimmed clotted cream. And she has no idea why she’s doing it, but it’s becoming very apparent that she is.

clean and marked by olivieblake (M, 118k and 178k) Malfoy's handsome face was contoured into a condescending smirk. "No faith in that giant brain of yours, Granger?" She looked up at him defiantly. "Maybe I don't have faith in you!" she said, raising her voice. Malfoy only looked at her. "You'll find I'm very surprising." Basically a sixth year retelling.

the best of me by MrsRen (E, 148k) Officially, Hermione Granger was killed in action during the Battle of Hogwarts. Unofficially, Draco Malfoy has never stopped searching for her. Years after the war during a mission in France, his salvation comes in the form of a little blond boy and a familiar half-Kneazle.

fortuitous by MrsRen (M, 93k) Recently divorced Draco doesn't believe in the ideology of having one true love. He certainly doesn't expect to meet his match in a Halloween themed coffee shop, but fate has a peculiar way of giving you just what you need.

bring him to his knees by Musyc (E, WIP) Draco is on the case of a murderer, but to investigate, he needs a fake relationship - and a kink club play partner. When Hermione volunteers to take the role, both do their best to maintain the lie without letting each other know the truth: neither of them are acting.

looking glass by kyonomiko (M, 99k) No one knows what happened to Draco Malfoy in the final battle, but, when his portrait shows up at Harry Potter's house, it's readily assumed he didn't make it. Hermione's perspective on the wizard starts to change as she learns more about who he really was. The more she knows, the more tragic his apparent demise seems to be.

isolation by bex-chan (E, 264k) He can't leave the room. Her room. And it's all the Order's fault. Confined to a small space with only the Mudblood for company, something's going to give. Maybe his sanity. Maybe not. "There," she spat. "Now your Blood's filthy too!"

thirty-five by raven_maiden (M, 2.3k) It's Draco Malfoy's birthday, and you'd think he'd have some say in the matters concerning his birthday. Then again, the will of four other Malfoys is hard to overcome. Part of Meet the Malfoys collection.

apples & cream by LovesBitca8 (E, 1.4k) She could have taken her things and gone through his Floo without a word. She could have ignored him on Monday morning, as though last night had been no more than a fever dream and too much Firewhisky. But she’d come back to bed.

universal truths by scullymurphy (E, 145k, pride & prejudice inspired AU) Hermione Granger is a woman of intelligence and spirit. Draco Malfoy is a man of wealth and privilege. When they meet again, a decade after the second great wizarding war—they are not impressed. But when circumstances throw them together, dislike turns to attraction, attraction turns to passion and passion may turn into something more... If they can stay out of their own way and let love take its course.

my brown-eyed girl by PacificRimbaud (M, 2k) "Give it up, Granger. We've had our N.E.W.T. results for a week. What can possibly have earned your continued academic devotion in the last four days of term?" Draco and Hermione have a lazy snuggle in the grass behind the Quidditch pitch.

bite marks by provactive_envy (E, 19.4k, muggle AU) Draco’s mouth falls open. He clutches his cookie and ignores the shower of crumbs littering his grey cashmere fingerless gloves. He can’t decide if he wants to fuck this girl or fight with her. Maybe both? Maybe at the same time?

thirteenth night by Nelpher (M, 78k) When Hermione is assigned to keep tabs on a memory-charmed Draco, she is faced with a decision that could change her life forever.

familiar faces, worn out places by LovesBitca8 (E, 7k) “You are at St. Mungo’s. You were in a coma.” He looks me over again, taking a pause. “I am a Healer here now,” he says, like it explains something. My fingers stretch, drifting across his sleeve. He looks down, like I’ve thrown mud at him. Forcing my vocal chords together for the first time, I whisper, “What’s your name?”

bone mortar by mightbewriting (M, 10k, muggle AU) Draco clenched his teeth, forcing sharp, shallow breaths through his nose as he ripped open the door to his usual lecture hall only to find— someone at his desk. Well, he supposed it was technically less his desk and more the desk as he didn’t actually own this particular classroom. But since he’d taught in it for the last four semesters in a row he at least felt like he’d earned common law ownership of some sort.

of mongolian fireflies and russian sharpclaws by barnettdidit (T, 37k) As colleagues for the F.A.U.C.E.T. (Fetching And Uncovering Creatures Experiencing Terror) department, Draco and Hermione have had their fair share of arguments. When they face their hardest case yet, mixed with an odd swarm of fireflies that glow in the colour according to how they feel about each other, Hermione is struggling to keep a straight mind.

a muggle-born magic by Musyc (M, 50k, regency era AU) Physician's daughter Hermione Granger finds herself in need of a way to pay off her father's debts after his death. Draco Malfoy, retired from the politics of the Isolationists, a group of pure-bloods bent on separating 'true' magic from lesser folk, finds himself in need of a tutor for his son, Scorpius, who appears to be incapable of magic and must learn to survive in a world without it. Draco also needs a wife and mother for Scorpius, to satisfy a promise to his unwell father. After she saves his son from an attack by Isolationists, Draco hires the Muggle-born Miss Granger for the former, and after a riot in Vauxhall Gardens and a scandalous discovery made by his mother, weds that selfsame Muggle-born for the latter. While making the best of her marriage of (in)convenience, Hermione discovers that Scorpius' history of wild imaginings and dreams is more than just imagination. As she attempts to teach him about magical abilities no one expected he would ever have, she and Draco work together to raise Scorpius and learn to trust each other.

aurelian by BittyBlueEyes (T, 255k) Two years after the war, a young stranger pays a visit to the burrow. His arrival alone is baffling, but the news he brings of an upcoming war turns the world upside down. Hermione's quiet, post-war life will never be the same.

malfoy shrugged by uselessenglishmajor (E, 11k) February 14th is just another day at the office for Hermione Granger. Shame no one else got the memo.

distance by In_Dreams (T, 138k) She’s a novice Unspeakable trying to earn her stripes. He’s a shafted Auror desperate to prove himself. When they end up forced together on a shared assignment, neither is willing to back down. But when the mission pulls them into an ancient world of mystery and adventure, they find themselves depending on each other in a race against time.

nonscents by In_Dreams (M, 10k) Granger's Amortentia smells like him and Draco can't understand why. More importantly, he can't let her figure it out.

correspondence by olivieblake (T, 5k) Every year, Draco insists that Hermione take a picture for their Christmas card. Why? Hell if she knows, but if it will make him happy, so be it.

sandalwood and gardenias by secondbutton (E, 9k) A balanced fragrance of sandalwood and something musky and earthy followed him like a shroud. Draco Malfoy smelled like a magical forest’s best kept secret. Like the moment following a storm when the sun peeks back over the clouds and living beings stop what they’re doing and pause to marvel at being able to roam outside again. It was a crisp top note with more robust undertones, and just a hint of sweetness. She thought she might love the scent if it lived on anyone else other than him.

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #fanfiction recs #fanfic recs #little to no ron weasley bashing #dramione fanfics #dramione fanfic recs #fic recs #dramione fic recs

93 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

My simple request is one (1) very scared darling trying to handle Uraraka and Kirishima's constant bickering. Plzzzz :3

While I don’t see Kirishima and Uraraka having a very romantic relationship, I do love seeing two friends try to split their Darling’s time without tearing the poor thing down the middle. It’s a nice change of pace.

Title: Irreconcilabilty.

TW: Implied Past Trauma and Mentions of Kidnapping.

You’d never been very good with arguements.

Going quiet was a knee-jerk reaction, crumpling into yourself and submitting to whatever the more aggressive party desired, even if you knew a friendly debate that didn’t need tears and apologies to be resolved. It made your companionship with Uraraka tense, the girl as passionate as she was loud, but she was kind, and you used to tell yourself that whenever her volume spiked. Kirishima, too, even if he made more of an effort to be gentle. They were your friends. You weren’t about to keep them at arm’s length just because they happened to be on the noisier side.

You wondered if it was a warning sign, sometimes. A fight or flight reflex you shouldn’t have tried to hard to ignore. You regretted it, now, but you regretted a lot of things.

All you could do now was try to remember how you handled all that yelling a few months ago.

Uraraka was the first to lose her temper, her frustration showing its face in two balled fists at her sides and a strained, fragile smile, threatening to snap if she tried to pull it any tighter than it already was. She was standing at the foot of your bed… her bed, really, or his. You could never remember who really owned the tiny, secluded cabin you were kept captive in. “I know you’re… nice,” She said, her words drawling out with more than a hint of irritation. “But (Y/n) did something wrong. If we let it slide, they’ll just try again, and again and again and again until it works.”

“I know, I know, I’m just…” He paused, taking a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, further dispelling what was left of the gel usually serving as its main source of support. Most of the stiffening substance had been washed out, both by the rain he’d trekked through to retrieve you and the cold shower you’d been thrown into after your fit of disobedience left you covered in mud and blood and all the terrible things that accompanied an escape attempt. It hadn’t been easy, but your plan seemed too simplistic, now, too simple-minded. You’d gotten out of your restraints and through Uraraka’s security measures, but what did you think you were going to do after that? Run to the nearest city? Get lost and starve, shivering and alone in the middle of a forest? Kirishima already drilled that lesson into you, as he dragged you back home, steadfast in his disappointment until Uraraka arrived. He seemed to be grappling with the guilt of his outburst, now. “I’m thinking, alright? I’m as worried as you are, but they’re not a prisoner. We can’t--”

“We can’t what?” Uraraka interrupted, already fed-up with his deliberation. She took a step towards you, then another, soon standing at your side, daring you to move from your spot on the mattress’ center. You only curled into yourself, bringing your knees up to your chest, trying to melt into the headboard as she continued. “I can’t take care of a disobedient, ungrateful brat? Or, do you just have a problem with the way I want to do it?” She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as she scowled. “Do you have a problem with me?”

“No, it’s… It’s not that.” He tried to defend himself, but his tone betrayed him, as did the slight downturn of his lips as he finished. Protectively, he matched Uraraka’s stride, but neither of them were focused on you, anymore. You had a feeling your punishment would have to wait until the end of their spat. “I’m not going to beat my partner. I’m not going to let you do it, either, not unless you want to go through me.”

Uraraka crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes in his direction. “It’s a lesson. We talked about this, and you agreed that it’d be necessary.”

“I said it might be necessary,” He hissed, the declarations spat through grit teeth. “You’re acting like violence is the only way to learn. We could start using the handcuffs, again, or move (Y/n) down to the basement for a few days. No one has to get hurt.”

That, more than anything, set Uraraka off, a snarl forming on her lips as he lashed out, grabbing your forearm and dragging you closer, pulling you against her chest. A whine hitched in your throat, low and just barely audible, but if Uraraka noticed, she didn’t seem concerned. She never was, when she had a point to defend. “You don’t get to tell me how I should treat anyone. I saw how desperate you were, a few months ago. A few hours of pain and a sprained ankle are nothing compared to how much you fucked with their head--”

“Please stop.”

Instantly, Uraraka went quiet, and Kirishima followed in suit, two pairs of eyes soon prying into your body and burning at your skin, making it impossible to do anything but squirm and fruitlessly wipe at the tears starting to gather in the corners of your eyes. The request was quiet, but it got their attention, and soon, their hands were on you, Uraraka’s arms wrapped around your waist and her face buried in the crook of your neck, Kirishima’s hands coming to rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing soothing circles in your skin as he kneeled in front of you, both captors making an attempt to smother your soft cries in comfort and affection. Slowly, sobs began to rack over your chest, your fear - both learned and instinctual - beginning to take its toll. Still, you bit the inside of your cheek, determined to voice your discontent at least once because their tempers really boiled over. “I shouldn’t have tried to run away, I’m sorry, just please stop fighting. I don’t want to… I can’t listen to it, anymore.”

There was a beat of silence, and you felt Uraraka glance up, meeting Kirishima’s eyes for a moment. He was the first to speak, though, his tone tender, as considerate as always. A stark difference from the way he addressed his companion. “Of course, baby. I can’t believe we forgot. It’ll never happen again, I promise.”

“We weren’t thinking,” Uraraka added, kissing your neck apologetically. “Never again. You know we’d never upset you on purpose, right? Neither of us like seeing you cry.”

You whimpered as Kirishima leaned forward, but all he did was press his lips against your forehead, the gesture lingering until you were heaving in labored breaths, doing your best to retain what was left of your composure. “I’m really sorry…” You mumbled, trailing off quickly. “Does that mean there won’t be a punishment?”

Kirishima laughed, the sound muffled by his closeness, and so did Uraraka, chuckling just loudly enough for you to hear. You could feel your heart sink, a tight, jagged knot forming in your throat, but Uraraka only squeezed you hips playfully, nuzzling against you as she spoke. “No, no, you still misbehaved, angel, you did something bad. Eijirou and I’ll come to a compromise, and we’ll do it like grown, civilized Heroes. Right, Ei’?”

Hope flared in your chest, but it died as soon as Kirishima shifted, moving back just enough for you to see his wide, resolute smile. As proud and as determined as a man set on training his spoiled, misbehaving pet.

“Right.”

389 notes · View notes

redqueen-hypothesis · 3 years

Text

duo dates ➳ mlqc

KIRO

⤞ visiting animal rescue shelters together

it’s obvious that kiro has quite the soft spot for furry animals from the sheer number of strays he’s picked off the streets one way or another. both amused and inspired by how excited he gets from being around apple box and cello, you decide to feature him in one of your documentaries about abandoned pets, allowing him to work with a rescue shelter for a day. you’ve never seen him so excited, giggles and delighted laughter falling freely from his mouth as puppies and kittens crawl over him, nosing and licking at every part of him. he gets very emotional when he hears about the number of animals that get abandoned and have to be euthanized once they stop being ‘cute’, and the staff lets out a collective sniff from behind the cameras when they see his own eyes filling with tears.

so, it’s no surprise when kiro decides to head back to the animal shelter on his own, and he invites you along with him too! the two of you become longtime volunteers at the shelter, and kiro absolutely loves the animals there (you’d jokingly told him that you’re jealous before, to which he showered you with loud kisses and ardent declarations of love until you were dying of embarrassment). he names all of the animals there with some of the weirdest names, like ‘triangle ears’ and ‘fur tail’, but tends to forget them and mix them up with each visit. will wear the animal mascot suit and stand outside to encourage volunteers to sign up, and gives monthly anonymous donations but the staff all know it’s him. he complains they only treat him extra nice during that time, but you know all the staff adore him (and honestly, who doesn’t, with that pure heart and bright smile?)

not afraid to get down and dirty with the animals! you and the rest of the staff watch with varying degrees of admiration (and horror) as he throws himself into the mud along with the animals, stealing squeaky toys and toy bones alike from right under their noses and running for his life as a pack of dogs chase him from behind. when kiro’s exhausted himself playing with them, he’ll come into the shade damp with sweat and immediately flop down with his head on your lap, pretending to snore loudly, although he really does fall asleep sometimes. refers to himself as the dad and you as the mom, and will sometimes tell the pups to ask you for permission to wolf down their dog chow. “it’s practice for taking care of our future family!” he insists, wrapping his arms around you right after he’s finished chasing the dogs in the rain. when you shake your head and ask him where on earth you’re going to find a family as chaotic as this, he slyly winks and says he wants as many kids as there are dogs in the shelter. you aim a kick at him.

GAVIN

⤞ learning self defense from him

it had started for a multitude of reasons. first of all, you had mentioned wanting to get into shape and shed some excess some way, and had been looking for a way to get fit quickly. secondly, there had been a stalker who had been following you home for a few nights when you left the office late, although that had been quickly put to an end when gavin came over to pick you up on a late night food run and promptly made the guy eat pavement. he’d been worried about you, and suggested learning a form of self defense in order to better protect yourself in case he wasn’t there. lastly, you wanted to see gavin sleeveless, sweaty and... yeah. that’s it. that’s the reason.

the first few lessons, you’re so distracted by that tight fitting black tank top and dear lord those arms and abs that you nearly get your nose broken by your dear teacher gavin, who panics for a good entire hour and won’t stop apologising. he suggests stopping the lessons, but you insist on continuing, determined to actually focus this time round (you can ogle his body another time when there isn’t a fist flying at your face). it starts off as a way to spend more time with gavin and allowing him to do what he likes at first, but then your competitive side quickly starts to take over and you find yourself becoming more and more interested in the sport itself. gavin never really goes very hard on you, but he isn’t an easy coach either. he works with you to improve your fitness levels, going to the gym with you, following you on your jogging rounds whenever you want him to, and letting you punch him all you want (your hands probably hurt more than his rock hard body does anyway).

your favourite part, though, is watching gavin truly sink into his element, because he looks extra hot when he’s in the fighting ring squaring off in a practice match against another opponent. there’s a calm, composed expression on his face, but his eyes shine with a dangerous light that remind you of a starving wolf. when he does go toe to toe with his opponent, you rarely have a second to blink before gavin’s already moving lightning quick to take his him down. it’s a side of him you rarely get to see since he’s always so sweet and tender with you, but you can’t help gushing to him about how sexy he is and watching as his ears burn bright red with barely suppressed (but pleased) embarrassment. in the fighting gym, you’re the only one who’s managed a takedown on him before so you’re somewhat of a legend, but you had played dirty, kissing him full on the mouth when he wasn’t expecting it and he had promptly frozen on the spot.

suffice to say no one else has dared to replicate the technique on him.

VICTOR

⤞ teaching him the ways of an arcade

he would have never agreed to this if he had known just how awful he was at these. victor li can conquer the financial business scene in less than five years straight out of college but can’t for the life of him pass a single level of dance off, much less win against a child less than half his age. he looks so... uncomfortable stepping into that noisy space playing all sorts of loud, upbeat music at once, ear splitting hollers from kids playing other games punctuating the mishmash of songs - it’s only then that you realise that victor has never, in his entire childhood, set foot into an arcade before.

you collect your card at the counter before dragging him to the racing games, sitting him firmly down in your seat before teaching him how to customise his own car. he would have spent hours doing this until you nudge him to the next section, the actual race, and that’s when he starts panicking in typical victor fashion, trying to act calm but asking all sorts of funny questions. demands to know what’s the difference in the game for auto and manual steering, protests repeatedly that “this isn’t how a car works”. it’s even more hilarious seeing him try out the dance games, in which he had faced off against a ten year old and promptly lost. it hurt his pride, but you had laughed so hard your face turned red, so maybe it’s worth it. but only a little bit. and he’s still not doing this again. awhile into the arcade he begins to relax a little and his competitive side starts to shine through, he’s no longer worried about looking like an idiot and instead puts his all into every single game. in fact, you find yourself increasingly distracted by that very endearing expression of focus on his face as he awkwardly tries to navigate his long legs according to the beat, and the childish excitement plain on his face when he finally passes a level makes you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

at this point, he’s calling the claw machine a complete scam and is ready to sue the entire arcade chain when you’ve decided enough is enough and pull him from the arcade. the two of you end up cramped in a photobooth with your prizes, a totoro hood for him and a rabbit ear headband for you, and you keep the polaroids in your wallet ever since then. you don’t realise that he’s stolen one for himself, and now it sits buried deep in the drawer of his work desk where he looks at it secretly when you aren’t there.

LUCIEN

⤞ horror house/escape room to find his weakness

lucien’s practically unflappable in any situation, seemingly able to respond to any crisis or chaos with the same, serene smile. when you ask him what he’s afraid of, he gives you the same cheesy answer he always does: losing you is the only thing he’s fearful of (to which you just don’t stop blushing, no matter how many times he says it. is it the way he looks at you, or the way his voice just drops to a genuine, low whisper whenever he says it?) as such, you had challenged yourself to find out what his weaknesses were, and tried a variety of the strangest ideas on the internet such as sticking toy cockroaches in the kitchen, only to get terrified yourself at the sight of a forgotten dummy you’d left on the shelf and had nearly broken a cup in the process. after that, lucien had suggested taking your attempts out of the house instead - and thus, horror houses and escape rooms it was.

going to horror houses with lucien is probably the best and worst idea you’ve ever had. in terms of effectiveness of achieving your goal, it’s completely useless - even the most terrifying and renowned of horror houses have lucien walking out completely unfazed, or worse, carrying you in his arms bridal style because your legs are shaking too much to walk straight. the only upside to this is that when you’re terrified, you cling to lucien and he just whispers soothing words into your hair, explaining how the horror house uses mist and smoke dispensers here and there, how the lights change colour and where the actors hide. the poor actors have probably gotten tired of being repeatedly exposed and having to change positions, so many of the horror houses just give the two of you complementary coupons and beg you not to come back. the photos you get of the two of you always include you with the strangest expressions, while lucien’s face just looks like a ctrl+c ctrl+v of his usual expression.

in the end, you give up trying to scare him and just enjoy the horror houses with him, clinging to his arm when you’re scared and letting him calm you down. from the content smile on lucien’s face you see in the pictures, he looks like he’s rather enjoying this. you don’t know this, but he actually buys all the pictures and puts them in his own personal photo album. you’ll probably die of shame if you find out.

SHAW

⤞ busking together on the streets

you had mentioned being extremely nervous about your first time performing live at the live house with the band, so shaw had dragged you along with him to go busking on the streets with him. at first, you had been extremely resistant to the idea (it’s on the streets!! where people can just!! take videos of you and the entire world will know if you screw up!!), but shaw had encouraged you in his own strange way that included a lot of teasing, goading and actual breaking down of how the process would go before you felt confident enough to go with him. “don’t worry,” shaw had said standoffishly as he helped you set up your keyboard, not looking at you the entire time. “i’m way more handsome, so i’m sure they’ll be looking at me the entire time and won’t even notice if you play a completely different song.” offended, you had pulled at his ear, but you were smiling secretly to yourself the entire time, and whispered a ‘thanks’ under your breath. he pretended not to have heard it, but from the way his smirk seemed just a hint happier the entire evening, he must have.

you love little moments that lead up to the actual busking sessions every weekend, sending each other songs and working out the keys over the duration of the week. practicing together and watching as your chemistry falls more and more in sync until the two of you can do perfect runs without any words spoken between you, until you can read the little subtle cues in the way he flexes his fingers on the fretboard before going in on a particularly difficult solo, or the way he turns back to glance at you when your parts are coming up. perhaps the best thing of all is the test covers he sends you to discuss the song flows, because you (secretly) love the sound of his voice when he sings and keep every recording, listening to them when you fall asleep at night (little do you know he does the exact same thing, although he would rather die than let you find out).

shaw covers up for you when you play wrong notes, but he relentlessly teases you for them afterwards. throws hands if any hecklers in the audience insult your playing, and you have to drag him away, apologising for the rudeness while trying not to smile too hard as shaw swears loudly behind you. the money you make from the busking is usually spend on a late night supper after your busking sessions in small food joints whose owners and customers all seem to know shaw somehow, calling him a little rascal and thanking you for mellowing him out. shaw retorts by calling them old men spouting nonsense, hiding a fond smirk behind the cup of his pepsi-coke mix and stuffing food in your mouth when you laugh at him.

58 notes · View notes

bush-viper-cutie · 3 years

Text

“Easter Holiday Break” || YEAR 3 – Ch.31 (HP au)

Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 11/10/2020

Word count: 3, 260

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

-----

A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

-----

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Heather was deep asleep early morning when her whole bed started shaking violently. Someone was banging on the girl’s dormitory door yelling her name. She sat up and groaned, remembering what Draco had said the night before. She leapt out of bed and dug in her trunk for her Quidditch uniform, hugging everything to her chest ready to run to the bathroom when she saw her stolen library books had become dislodged and fallen to the floor.

She picked them up quickly and shoved them in her trunk, locking it closed. No one else was awake, the violently shaking bed hardly made nose thumping around in its spot, and so she figured it was safe to continue getting dressed. Ten minutes later she was out in the common room with half the team waiting with Marcus as everyone else slowly came out.

“Hurry up! This is practice time you’re cutting into!” Marcus yelled into the boy’s dormitories and slammed the door.

Heather had never seen him so unraveled. He was pacing the common room, shoving furniture and pillows out of his way as his pacing circle widened. Finally, Draco and the Keeper, Miles Bletchley, came out with messy hair and half-lidded eyes, ready to leave.

They walked down to the Quidditch pitch and Heather and Draco broke off from the rest to get their brooms out of the shed. By the time they walked in, Marcus, the Keeper, and the two beaters were doing pull ups on their brooms which stayed suspended in the air, unmoving, as they raised themselves.

“What is this?” Draco motioned at the sweaty faces of Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole. “I’m a Seeker. I don’t need to do this, do I?”

Marcus jumped down from his perfect pull up and pointed at the empty spot next to him. “Both of you.”

“B-b-but – ”

Heather groaned and pulled a stuttering Draco along beside her. She placed her broom on the ground and held up her hand. “Up.” The broom lifted, following the motion of her hand and let her guide it up above her head until her outstretched arm could no longer guide it and it froze in place. She jumped and grabbed onto the broom, dangling from it and looked over at Draco who had done the same.

“One.” She nodded at Draco and together they heaved up. She closed her eyes and groaned, willing her tired arms to pull her up as high as they could. She felt the top of her head hit her broom and opened her eyes. “Just a bit more!” she whispered, trying to get her chin over the handle. Her arms shook and she glanced over at Draco, who was still dangling, arms fully extended, with a face as red as a tomato. She dropped down and covered her smile so Draco wouldn’t see in case he ever stopped squeezing his eyes so hard.

The cold blue morning turned warmer and pink as the sun started to rise just beyond the trees. Her arms were pounding and sore and her uniform was already soaked with sweat when Marcus started drills. They hopped on their brooms and practiced double the amounts they normally did. They went through play after play and every possible situation they could get into.

Heather was rolling, flipping, twirling, and diving all over the place until Marcus was assured she wouldn’t mess up any moves with the Quaffle under her arm. Peregrine and Lucian, whose drills normally consisted of aiming the Bludgers at apples and oranges that Marcus got from the kitchens, was now them aiming the Bludgers at each other and occasionally at Heather and Graham.

After Marcus blew the whistle, Heather touched down hard on the ground and fell off her broom landing on the wet grass like a dead fly swatted out of the sky. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t even feel her arms. At one point her braids had gone loose, probably during the diving roll where she dodged Lucian’s Bludger and almost lost her head and joined Nearly Headless nick.

“Careful!” She screamed as Draco fell down beside her and almost smacked her head with his broom.

“If it weren’t for your brother, we’d still be asleep!” He winced and groaned as he sat up. “You should have taken the broom and thrown it into the fire.” His hair dangled over his eyes as he glared at her. Whatever slicking gel he used for his hair had come off completely with his sweat.

“Practice tonight after Gryffindor’s. After dinner meet in the locker room and DON’T be late.” Marcus looked at everyone, making sure they all heard, and headed out.

Heather sat up now that she could feel her arms again and stretched as best she could. “So how’re you going to even up with Harry? The drills you were doing only help you fly steady and cut corners faster… You have to anticipate where he goes – ”

“Flint and I have it under control.” Draco pushed his hair back and looked up at Peregrine who had made his way over.

“I heard McGonagall suspended one of her Prefects from competing in the National Gobstone Championship last year for getting into a fight over what color the nose plugs should be.” Peregrine stared at Draco and raised his brow. “It’d be a shame if… Potter ended up not playing this match.”

“A real shame.” A wicked grin spread across Draco’s face. He turned to her and raised his brow. “Wouldn’t it, Potter?”

Heather looked at Peregrine to Draco and nodded reluctantly. She stood and left the Quidditch pitch, put away her broom and headed to breakfast. Her spoon shook, spilling half its contents of milk and granola oats before reaching her mouth. It took twice as long to eat and by the time she was done, Harry, Ron, and for a brief second Hermione, had arrived for breakfast.

“We’ll be at the Library,” Ron told her as she left the great hall.

She peeled off her uniform and threw it in her dorm room’s assigned hamper and took as fast a shower as possible, remembering all the essays they had been assigned over Easter break. She had one from Divination, one from Care of Magical creatures – about dragons even though all term they’d only been caring for Salamanders; two half ones from Herbology about two different sentient carnivorous plants, one long one from Transfigurations with tie-ins to Charms – Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had decided to team up to ruin their break this time; three four-inch ones from History of Magic about the three most controversial laws the Ministry had threatened to pass should the Puddlemere United Quidditch team not change their colors from moss green to mud brown in the late eighteen-hundreds, and one from Potions. The only teacher who hadn’t assigned anything was Professor Lupin.

She should be glad that she didn’t have an essay on cursed socks or hexed pet collars to complete on top of all the other assignments, but now that she had decided Defense Against the Dark Arts was her favorite class and that Professor Lupin was her new favorite teacher, she really wished he’d give out more work than just ‘read the next chapter if you’d like’. How could she improve if all that was normally required was reading ahead and writing short essays on creatures they should be learning about in Care of Magical Creatures?

She picked up her bag and headed down the main corridor towards the library when Neville came running down at full speed towards her.

“It’s happening!” he yelled, his arms flailing behind him as he pointed and ran. “H-hurry!”

“Already? But it’s only been two months!” Heather stopped Neville in his tracks by bracing herself as best she could for Neville to knock into her. She caught his shoulders and steadied him.

“Thanks. I thought I’d keep running until I tripped or something.” Neville’s eyes brightened and he pulled out a green leaf that was slowly turning purple in his hands. “Professor Sprout says it must have been a good batch!”

“Let’s go!” Heather took Neville arm and forced him back into a run towards the third green house.

As they ran they were joined by five other students of different years who had all also heard the great news. Two months ago Professor Sprout had let several eager students help plant several chilled seeds of various living death plants from the same family. They didn’t know which seeds they had gotten to plant, but Heather guessed she had gotten the Freezing Shudder plant by the feint spidery grey veins it had. If she guessed correctly, she’d earn five more points for Slytherin, putting them one-hundred and sixty points in the lead above Gryffindors for the House Cup.

They arrived at the green house and entered to see ten different large plants ready to bloom all lined up against the windows. At the center, sitting at the tables, were twenty or so other students. She stopped Neville from sitting at the first table and pulled him along to the last where Fred and George sat whispering to themselves.

“Why are you two here?” Heather sat across from them, suspicious and amused.

Fred and George smiled at her and crossed their arms.

“We like Herbology like everyone else here.” Fred poked at the table with his finger several times, “and you can’t prove otherwise.”

George leaned in. “And we especially love that plant right there.”

Heather turned to see the one she had planted. “The Frozen Shudder?”

It had the shortest of all the stems but the thickest by a good one or two inches. The green was slowly draining from its leaves and trunk-y stem as it died, replaced by a dark velvety purple. The buds on the very top looked swollen and ready to explode with all the other buds, like a balloon stretched to the max.

“Yeah. And you’re not the only one with a charmed pot.” George wiggled his eyebrows. “Hermione told us.”

Neville turned to her surprised. “Oh! What d’you have growing! Which charms does it have? I tried making one myself with an old pot from home, but everything I plant in it catches fire or grows a single grape.”

“I haven’t grown anything yet,” she lied. “I’m waiting for something good. What’s the point in growing grass or squirting Astrophytum Asterias if it’d be just as easy in a normal pot?” She avoided looking at Fred and George who were holding back smiles as Neville nodded.

Fred mouthed ‘for shame’ at her. “What a marvelous point you have. Which is why we’re going to grow our very own Frozen Shudder.”

Heather tilted her head at them. She was curious as to why they wanted it. It isn’t deadly, it’s most common as a show plant for winning ribbons and medals, and it wasn’t used for any potions she knew of. In fact, to use it at all, a saw is needed to cut off any part of the stem which is completely frozen.

“Oh my! So many here. Alright, I have the list here of everyone’s guesses. I hope you’re all ready – and cover your eyes when it happens!” Professor Sprout shut the green house door and took her seat, taking out a ceramic plate from under her desk and held it up like a shield.

Almost on cue, a feint whistling noise started from all the buds. They harmonized for about a minute, and just as everyone eagerly looked around at the plants, the buds exploded thick juicy petals, pelting everyone in the face and back. Everyone cheered as the last petals fell off the plants and Fred and George dove under the table to collect as many Freezing Shudder petals as they could. Heather looked down at them as they stuffed them into their robe pockets and took a few extra petals at random.

“There’s nothing to be worried about technically, but I am.” Neville looked around the room again as if double checking that the only plants to have exploded were only the non-deadly ones. “I mean its Fred and George isn’t it?”

Heather laughed and shrugged.

“Well. That seems to be the last of them.” Professor Sprout went by checking the plants and awarded five points to Slytherin for Heather’s correct guess and almost forty to Hufflepuff for all of their correct guesses as well.

Professor Sprout made everyone leave so she could clean up and Heather walked back to the castle with Neville, Fred, and George. Neville guessed why they’d want to grow Frozen Shudders the whole way but he either never guessed correctly or they refused to let them in on it.

Heather yawned as she pulled the library door open and quickly found Harry and Ron at a table in the back talking to a large pile of books. She approached and sat down. “Hello Hermione, how’s the studying?”

“Will everyone PLEASE stop distracting me?”

Ron shook his head. “She’s been like this since we got here. Harry, help me make another pile of books over here, they might be friendlier than this one.”

Heather laughed and took out all her sheets of parchment and her potions book. She stared at it and frowned, shoving it back in her bag and took out her transfigurations and charms ones.

“Oh can we copy!” Ron shuffled his papers around and flattened out his started essay with one sentence on it. He had his quill ready to write as he leaned over to see what she’d already written.

“I HOPE you’re joking, Ron.”

Harry rolled his eyes and moved Heather’s started essay for him and Ron to read.

“I’m not hearing a yes.”

Ron groaned. “Oh quiet, ‘Ancient Runes Made Easy’. And tell ‘Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles’ to mind her own business.”

“Humph.”

Heather wiped the smile off her face with the back of her wrist and turned to Harry. “You have practice today, don’t you? You should tell Wood that Derrick and Malfoy are planning to get you kicked off Quidditch.”

“Kicked off?”

“At least for just this match.”

Harry looked to Ron amused. “And how would they?”

“McGonagall would sooner set fire to her office than kick Harry off and lose the Quidditch Cup.” Ron leaned in. “I think she’ll lose her mind this year. Heard Snape mention it’d be seven years of winning and she almost hexed his pants off. He burst out of the staff room with singed robes.”

Heather snorted. “Well then, when we win I hope she does.” There was a pang of uneasiness in her chest but she ignored it. It was weird to hear that kind of talk come from her own lips and not Harry’s. It made it worse that Ron and Harry were looking at her slightly shocked. “Anyways. They think she’ll kick you out if they can get you in a fight. She let the Gobstone club lose their best player over a dumb fight.”

“Yeah but… That’s Gobstones…” Harry drummed his fingers and shrugged. “No one cares about Gobstones.”

Ron nodded. “Not even McGonagall. So you’ll be fine. I’ll be your second and there’s no way you’ll lose whatever fight – ”

Hermione stood over her stack of books and glared down at Ron. “Ronald! The point is for Harry NOT to get into a fight. Not to win it! Harry if you lose to Slytherin I’ll – I’ll – I don’t know WHAT I’ll do! I’ll get expelled for hexing Malfoy’s stupid face so DON’T get in a fight!”

“Alright!” Harry put up his hands. “I never said I would. Can we all go back to studying and not talk about how at any moment between now and the match I could get cornered by a pack of giant Slytherins?”

They all nodded and Hermione sat back down behind her books. They studied and wrote all day – although Ron and Harry left several times to use the ‘bathroom’ and they always came back half an hour later with smeared chocolate on their lips – and ate lunch in the courtyard on a stone bench just to breath in fresh air.

“How’s Hermione doing it? She hasn’t eaten all day since breakfast.” Harry motioned at the empty seat next to them. “I’d be starving but she says she’ll keep this up all break.”

“Maybe I should bring her a muffin or something. If she passes out and messes up her schedule, we’ll never hear the end of it.” Ron stood and left in the direction of the great hall.

Harry pinched off muffin crumbs and popped them into his mouth. “What would you do… If Sirius Black was knocked out on the ground in front of you? Wandless.”

What would she do? She’d tell a teacher of course… But that wasn’t really Harry’s question. “I wouldn’t kill him… If that’s what you’re wondering. He deserves to go back to prison. A more suitable prison for him. One that won’t lose their most dangerous prisoner.”

Harry nodded.

She looked at him, staring at his muffin, and wondered what Harry would do. He’d say he’d kill him… and she wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t.

“He betrayed them,” Harry whispered. “He took them from us. He took our lives from us. We could have lived as wizards. Already known… EVERYTHING. We wouldn’t be staring at our friends dumbly every time they say something we didn’t already know.”

She thought about what it would have been like to live in a village like Hogsmeade somewhere. Already immersed in wizard culture and learning about muggles from their mother… She felt a hole rip open in her heart and fill with sadness. She wasn’t hungry anymore, and yet she felt starved.

“I’d make him pay.” Harry finished his muffin and stood.

Heather nodded and stood with him, punching his shoulder lightly. “And like always, I’ll stop you from doing something stupid.”

They headed back into the library and after several more hours – and at least three finished essays later – Harry left for his Quidditch practice. Ron had copied several of Hermione’s essays that she kept stacking on top of her pile of books and Ron kept sneaking and by the time it was dinner, Ron had finished two more essays.

Heather sat with her team and ate a roasted chicken leg, mashed peas, a bowl of potato soup, and left early to nap in her dorm until it was time for Quidditch practice again. She met everyone by the lockers and noticed Draco whispering to Peregrine. Marcus didn’t make them do anymore pull ups but they had to sit for at least an hour and listen to Marcus go over strategies again – which revolved around brute strength for Peregrine, Lucian, and Graham, and borderline cheating-but-not-quite from Heather and Draco. Miles Bletchley’s younger brother was there too, who had agreed to help signal Draco if he spotted the Snitch since it wasn’t cheating for the crowd to yell if they saw it before the players.

After practice, Heather dragged her feet down to the girl’s bathrooms and got ready for bed, throwing her uniform in the hamper again and didn’t bother showering. In the common room she had seen Marcus get all of Slytherin’s attention about something but she didn’t have the energy to stay and listen. She fell into bed and closed her eyes, ready to open them up soon to start the day practically all over again until Easter break ended.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Chapter List

<-- Last chapter Next chapter -->

-----

@lokilover-39

@halcyonrogers

@krazykatkay456

@lady-of-black-roses

@writingmi

@joscelyn02 (welcome to the taglist :D !)

-----

#harry potter #heather potter #pro snape #severus snape x oc #severus x oc #snape x oc #severus snape x reader #severus x reader #snape x reader #snape fanfic #snape fan fiction #snape fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction

23 notes · View notes

actualfarless · 3 years

Text

The Engineer And The Witch: Part I

Cursed with misfortune, Tera Bec finds her calling as an engineer, only to be thrown into a war between the mighty kingdom and rebel colonist.

Story below or read on Wattpad or Reddit!

All Tera wanted was a quiet life. Her mother always accused her of finding trouble and Tera always cried that it chased her, no matter how she ran or hid. In school, she found herself ending fights she didn’t start, sometimes in self defense, but often in defense of others. She tried to keep her head down. She tried to behave. She tried to keep her hands at her side. But when a larger kid shoved another to the ground, they flew at him with a mind of their own and Tera had no choice but to follow.

Even outside of school, she couldn’t escape trouble. There was no fighting at home, but things still broke. Glass slipped from her fingers. Wood cracked in the furniture and walls. Pipes burst with such frequency, their landlord almost gave up on plumbing entirely. Some of the locales, mostly irate neighbors, said she was cursed. Bad luck.

Eventually, Tera had to accept they were right.

She couldn’t fix her luck, so she set to fixing everything else instead.

For many kingdom ships, Bar Tannis was the last port before open seas. Every vessel docked for supplies and maintenance, from merchant cargo craft to inquisitor warships. By large, Tera had little interest in the civilian ships, fascinated far more by the kingdom machines than sails and oars. She spent her afternoons on the docks, waiting patiently for navy vessels. The captains and their officers kept to themselves, hardly willing to humble themselves for the Port Authority, certainly not for the questions of curious children. The crew, however, were eager to talk, particularly the engineers once she learned the right questions to ask. They loved to discuss their machines and all the work that went into keeping them afloat. The engineers eagerly pointed out the difference between steam, arc, and etherium engines. Cold engines, some called the last group, though they burned as hot as any other. Conversations graduated to watching them work to assisting with repairs. The engineers joked that they only wanted free labour, but the way they guided her hands and checked her work told a different story. Their machines were extensions of themselves. Each was happy to train the next caretaker and Tera was happy to learn.

Her curse seemed subdued when she worked. No machine broke that was not already broken. No terrible news of the vessels she touched reached the shore. Not for a long time.

Engine ships were not her only training and far from the most interesting. Word spread through Bar Tannis and though few were willing to trust a cursed child, she eventually found an apprenticeship with a watchmaker and, from her, Li Shen. Engineer Shen, he insisted. He specialized in mekanica prosthetics but he found more than enough work servicing mekanica for the Port Authority. More than enough to offer Tera a holistic education. She fell in love with his work immediately. Unlike the ship engineers at the docks, almost tripping over themselves as they excitedly babbled off technical knowledge, he was quiet. Reserved. To every question Tera asked, he asked her thoughts, guiding her to the correct answer with comments and questions of his own. Engineer Shen didn’t fear mistakes like her other tutors, so long as those mistakes did not cost him money.

Tera learned quickly. Her patchwork solutions became elegant designs. Sometimes she even improved the original. Under her mentor’s careful guidance, she designed her own mekanica, a light utility robot with a passion for sweeping. She hoped it would get her out of chores, but Engineer Shen always found new tasks faster than she could build mekanica for them.

Eventually her mentor and her parents came to the same realization. Between a flurry of letters and a series of awkward interviews with grumpy kingdom officials — including her father’s boss — Tera joined an engineering school.

It should have been a celebration.

Tera never considered the possibility. She excelled in her apprenticeship, but her grades were average at best. Her curse never found its way into her designs, fortunately, but she had not fully escaped it. Her skills with a wrench kept her family’s apartment from flooding and her years of lifting heavy machinery meant most bullies bowed out of fights when she stepped in. Yet she still earned her fair share of bruises. Engineer Shen taught her how to make a protocol bypass from a tuning fork and she taught herself how to disassemble hostile mekanica one handed. Useful skills, she insisted, but nothing worthy of an engineering school, least of all a mainland college. Still, one wanted her.

It should have been a celebration.

Then a kingdom ship sank.

Tera always took after her father: brown skin, dark hair, warm eyes, and an unwavering sense of duty. He worked as a clerk in an inquisitor’s office — a place most rational citizens feared — but the moment he heard the news from the colonies, he signed up to hold a rifle. The kingdom gave him a powder gun and stuck him on a ship without further question. Tera tried to do the same, despite her parents’ and Engineer Shen’s protests that she finish her education first. She would have, had the inquisitor not cornered her.

“Riflemen are cheap,” the inquisitor said. “Engineers are not. We need you on a ship.”

Tera disagreed, but she was not foolish enough to defy an inquisitor, eager as she was to serve the kingdom. With her luck, she knew she’d graduate well after the war was done. Her father left for the colonies and boarded an eastward ship for the mainland.

Three years later, Tera Bec joined the crew of the Eon Heart as the third engineer. The ship was originally designed as a pirate hunter. She was a light cruiser, armed enough to threaten the wooden ships of the rebels and fast enough to keep pace with the quickest of them, but not so sturdy she could withstand prolonged conflict. The ship was the twin to the Eos Heart, one of the first ships she learned on. The twin to the ship the colonies sank.

The Eon Heart relied heavily on her sails to cross the great ocean. Under ordinary circumstances, Tera would have had a week to study the engine, meet her team, and adjust to the slight sway of the ship, a constant even in calm waters. But three years into a war was not ordinary circumstances. The captain departed less than two days after Tera set foot on board. He didn’t even bother to stop at her home. With Eon Heart’s speed, starvation was no risk, but Tera wished she could have seen Engineer Shen and her mother once more before leaving for war.

Tera slowly adjusted to life on the Eon Heart. The ship was nothing like the sprawling city of Bar Tannis or the campus of her college. Even compared to the ships she frequented as a child, the Eon Heart felt cramped. The passageways could hardly fit two abreast. She had to duck when passing through doorways so not to bang into the bulkhead. She shared her quarters with the second engineer, Mayer Dunn, making the small space tighter, but at least she was not trapped with the landsmen who were stuck four and six to a room.

The engineering crew on the Eon Heart was small. Despite that, despite sharing a room, Tera hardly saw Mayer. She spent most of her waking time in the engine room, tinkering with the nearly obsolete engine, recording parts in need of replacement at the next port and patching them as best she could. Mayer’s duties often had them on the gun duck or mending the rest of the ship with engine scrap. When she did see them, they seemed hollow. Like a ghost on the edge of the ether. Unlike the other officers, Mayer wore the marks of war as a heavy burden. They were gaunt and pale and their eyes sunk deep into their skull. Scars lined their chest and arms, some from engine work, clumsy mistakes while making repairs. Not all. Like Tera, Mayer kept their hair short. A jagged line of raised skin ran from their ear to the back of their skull. Tera knew better than to ask but only by the grace of their mismatched schedules did she manage to resist.

The chief engineer was a red-scaled lizardfolk who went by Gharos. She found her complaints of the ship’s cramped quarters laughable compared to his. By no means was Tera a small person, yet Gharos towered over her. His arms were like tree trunks that flexed and rolled beneath his shirt and, occasionally, not that she’d tell anyone, invaded her dreams. He wore a stern face with piercing amber eyes beneath a brow of spurs that matched the spikes along his jaw, yet he was a patient man. Friendly even, if caught in the right mood.

There was little downtime on the ship. Tera cycled from caring for the engine to standing watch and back. Her professors warned that most ships ran training drills but the Eon Heart’s captain did not find it necessary, for which Tera was thankful. What time Tera did have, she spent asleep or listening to Gharos’ stories or, if neither sleep nor the chief engineer could be found, rereading her father’s letters. She could chart his path through the colonies. Her father’s letters spoke of honor and duty.

They also spoke of nightmares.

Her father did not shy away from describing the brutality of the front. War, as he expected, was bloody. People died. If they were lucky, they died from a bullet to the heart. Maybe a sword or axe or knife. If they were unlucky, the bullet hit their leg and left them bleeding in the mud for too long before help arrived. The medics carried healing salve that sealed cuts and bruises, but healing salve could only do so much. Less when the medics had to water down the supply to make it last between supply runs. Cities changed allegiance monthly. A town the kingdom rescued one day could be a trap for a retreating battalion the next.

Monsters lurked in the darkness.

Her father described them as shadows born of the ether. He saw them on the hills at dusk and dawn, but they disappeared in the night, even under the light of the moons and stars. People vanished with the morning light . No one could tell if they defected or were picked off by the shadows. To be safe, he wrote, he slept with a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other.

Worse still, rumour spread that colonies bolstered their forces with witches. Tera’s father had not seen any witches himself, but he mentioned an inquisitor now led his battalion, driving them deeper into the colonies, almost to the edge of known land. He mentioned stories Tera already knew, whispers of their abilities that followed them through the kingdom. Rumors claimed they could control weather and animals and even other people. Schoolyard myths claimed they manipulated the ether itself. The way her father described the inquisitor, she seemed inhuman, but if that kept him safe from witches and monsters and the colonial army, Tera wouldn’t worry.

Not that there was anything she could do for weeks.

The Eon Heart found the war well before she hit the colonies. Tera awoke to the thunder of guns — the drums that matched her beating heart. The ship shook and shuddered as a series of cannons battered her sides, leaving dents and a small scar in her hull. The sulfurous smell of gunpowder filled the air. Frantic shouts echoed down the passageways, intercut with the ringing of the alarm bell and return volley. Tera stood paralyzed in the engineering quarters, her thoughts muddied, until she felt a hand on her back push her out.

“Engine room,” Mayer said.

Training took over instinct and she followed them down the hall, stepping aside for every gunner and rifleman that ran down the passageway. Spending most of her time with Gharos, Tera hadn’t realized the youth of the Eon Heart’s crew, but as each passed, wearing ill-fitted uniforms and looks of equal parts excitement and fear, the truth was unavoidable. Few on the ship were as old as Gharos or Mayer. Few were even as old as Tera, barely graduated from her college. The difference was only a few years but they were little more than children.

Children with rifles.

Tera felt the tingle on her skin before she was through the door. Her hair frizzed and stood on end. Ordinarily, the engine room was quiet. The only noise came from the primary engine, always idle and waiting, humming to itself. Now with the engines full bore, she could hear nothing but the arc of electricity between coils. Blinding flashes of light filled the room at irregular intervals. Mayer ran for the auxiliary engine on the starboard side. Deafened, Tera ran to her station, careful to give Gharos space as he attempted to wrangle the engine’s lightning.

Wrangling was not the term her professors used. Too unprofessional and simplistic for them, and strictly unnecessary on a well-maintained machine, a point they liked to press upon struggling students. But her professors did not have to deal with the practicality of a curse. A standard arc engine had two rows of coils, arranged in top and bottom pairs like the teeth of a mechanical monster, with a spark gap between them. Ideally, arcs only jumped between the corresponding pair. With engines running at full, especially in the cramped quarters of the Eon Heart, the arcs could — and often would — jump to adjacent coils and overcharge. To stop this, kingdom engineers installed inhibitors, limiting the power each coil could produce. When they failed, as they often did for Tera, wrangling was the answer.

Engine work was not for the weak of mind or weak of body, a common refrain from her college, and one she felt in her heart as she pulled each tooth from its insulated dock. The coils weighed more than the average mekanica and without space for assisting tools, she had to pull each by hand. Still, Tera ran down the row, flipping the priming switches once the coils were in place. At the end, she pulled the starting lever and the bottom plates slid into place. Already her engine began to hum with power. Not enough to work the engine yet, but as Tera worked the crank, blue beams of electricity jumped between the coils. She threw herself into starting the engine, breathing with every rotation the way she practiced, trying to clear her mind of everything except the motion of the work. The old metal gears needed oil, but fighting with the crank was not her problem. Even with the roar of the engines, she could hear the booming cannons on the decks above and the seemingly distant sound of rifle fire. She felt the ship shake with every shot that landed. The engines pulsed and surged. She could only hope the Eon Heart’s armor plating would hold.

Sooner than Tera expected, the auxiliary engine reached its operating power, filling the engine bay with its brilliant blue light. Were luck on her side, she could leave it be, focusing her efforts on routing power and taming the primary engine with Gharos.

But luck was never on Tera’s side.

She saw a familiar flash and the burning smell stung her nostrils as one of the inhibitors failed. Charred metal fell to the grated floor, smoldering and drawing arcs from nearby coils. Tera pulled on her work gloves — careful to tighten the straps over her sleeves — as she ran down the engine bay. She kicked the offending piece of metal to the scrap pit below, nearly tripping over herself as she did, and flipped the priming switch on the coil, disconnecting it from the charging plate. With a swift kick to the release, she slammed the tooth back into its dock. Arcs still danced on the surface, but the risk of a surge was mitigated. Tera cleared the rest of the scrap from the busted inhibitor, nearly cutting herself on the sharp edge, and chucked it into the pit. Once clear, she pulled the coil back out, locking it in place, and flipped the priming switch again.

From idle, the coils could take a few minutes to arc, but wrangling was about as far from idle as she could.

A sudden jolt of electricity acred between the top and bottom teeth as the eager coil reconnected to the charging plate, nearly blinding Tera. She felt the tingle of electricity on her skin which singed the hairs on her arm. If not for her gloves and boots, she’d be on the floor, lucky to be breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest. This was far from her first time wrangling, but the threat of death always lingered in the air. Even as she tamed one coil, another threatened to surge.

Wrangling was undeniably an art. There were no rules on how quickly a charge would dissipate. No visible cues for when she could safely pull the coil out from its dock. Wrangling relied on pure instinct. Nothing more. The coils pulsed like a beating heart and Tera fell into a rhythm with the engine. She saved each tooth moments before it surged. Her muscles burned from the effort. Sweat pulled her shirt tight to her back. But there was no time for a break. To breathe. To recover. Tera hardly had a moment to wipe her brow.

Then she saw it.

A coil on the far end of the engine row pulsed with energy, one she had only just tamed, now too far gone to be wrangled into submission. Lightning arced off it to the floor and bulkhead and, more worrying, jumped the gap between her engine and the outstretched teeth of the primary engine. Beneath the blue, Tera saw the familiar glow of a coil mere minutes from disaster. Memories of college flashed through her mind, a demonstration by her professors. Memories of the destruction caused by overheated, overcharged engines. The Eon Heart would not survive. So close, she would be one of the lucky ones, killed before she felt the heat.

Protocol dictated she cut power completely.

Tera ran down the row, flipping the priming switch of every coil she passed, but not bothering to shove the heavy teeth back in her docks. She rested her hand on the lever. Even if she couldn’t stop the surge, she could minimize the damage. Maybe save the ship.

The muffled sound of guns continued outside.

At the end of each engine bay sat a cabinet stocked with additional tools, spare parts, and protective gear. The Eon Heart’s supply was short, but she found what she needed: a spare boot, a spool of wire, and a telescoping rod used for maintenance in hard to reach areas. Tera pulled her knife from her belt, sawing at the wire until she had a lengthy section, enough to tie the knife to the pole in a makeshift spear. She plunged the knife into the boot and raced down the engine row, skipping past Gharos and whatever he tried to say. The light was too intense for her to see. Her heart beat in her ears. She slid to a stop by the coil, jamming her thumb to the pole’s release. Either she would save the ship or she killed everyone on board.

The pole sprang to its full height. A moment later, while the boot still wobbled from the sudden force, the untamed arc energy of the coil surged into her syphon. The pole glowed red. The boot began to smoke. But she could breathe. The coil didn’t explode. The glow died enough that she could shove the tooth back in its dock. The coil would take a lot of time before she could pull it out again and her syphon would be too hot to handle, even through the insulated work gloves, but her engine was safe. The Eon Heart was safe.

Running down the row, Tera rearmed the charging plates, carefully checking each coil. If her engine threatened to surge again, she’d have to follow protocol. There weren’t enough spare supplies to build a syphon for every coil. But if her engine threatened to surge again, she’d be dead. Tera managed to stop her curse once. She wouldn’t be so lucky to do so twice.

Then the sound of guns stopped. The engineers froze, forgetting, for a moment, the buzzing of the engines. The three craned their necks to the ceiling, as if they could see decks above if only they stared hard enough. A few minutes later, the three rapid rings of the bell echoed through the engine room. All clear.

Tera pulled the priming lever, cutting power from the auxiliary engine. Her skin glistened with sweat. Now that the battle passed, she felt the exhaustion weigh on her shoulders. Walking down the row, Tera flipped the priming switch on every coil and pushed them back in their docks. The charge in her syphon still lingered, but the coils calmed. Without the thunder of the cannons or the buzz of the engines, the air felt empty in its silence. Tera slumped against the bulkhead, sliding down into a ball, head in her knees. Her heart still pounded in her chest. Her body shook from stress. She released a calming breathe, but it did not ease the tension in her shoulders.

She survived. The Eon Heart survived.

Tera wasn’t aware of the bottle shoved in her face until Gharos slumped down next to her.

“Drink it,” he said calmly. “It will help.”

Tera tossed the bottle back, drinking deeply. She spat it out the moment the bitter liquid hit her tongue and turned to Gharos with an annoyed glare.

“I said it would help. I did not say it would taste good.” Gharos kept his usual stern gaze, but Tera noticed a flicker of a smile. She grumbled and took a careful sip.

“The first time is the hardest,” he continued. “I would tell you it gets easy, but I do not wish to lie to you. I have served the kingdom for nearly a century. I have never found it easy. I remember my first time aboard a warship. I was not an engineer then. Better in some ways. Worse in many others. Be thankful you did not have to kill today.”

The lizardfolk took the bottle from Tera’s hands, draining what remained before tossing it to the scrap pit below. He settled his gaze on the syphon. “You did not disconnect the engine.”

“Sorry, Sir, I thought I would—”

“What you did was clever. I am sure we would have lost the engine without it. Who taught you that?”

“Oh.” Tera felt the pressure in her chest lessen. Relief that she was not about to be lectured. “Li Shen. Before I joined the college, I was his apprentice, working on mekanica and such. He taught me how to make a bypass.”

“That is not a bypass.”

“Same concept. Divert energy away from one point and route it to an insulator instead of a terminal. I’m just glad it worked.”

“I see.”

The pair sat in silence for a moment. Tera’s syphon still cooled, but she could see that it would not survive another surge. The boot was charred and blackened. The joints of the telescoping rod fused together. The engines themselves were no better.

“We need to stop for maintenance,” Tera said suddenly. “The engine’s going to surge again if we don’t get the inhibitors replaced. I think some of the coils are fried too. I’m sure there’s more, but I can’t think of them. Not right now.”

“We do.” Gharos released a heavy sigh. “We do, but we will not.”

“We… won’t? I thought the kingdom was winning. Aren’t there any docks in the colonies we control?”

“We control plenty. Ability is not the issue. You have noticed the captain does not run the engine at sea? Aside from this recent exception. Our gunners are inexperienced, yet he does not force them into drills. I know you have not seen the magazine, but trust that our stores are low.” Gharos patted the deck. “She’s on her last legs.”

Tera narrowed her eyes. “When was the last time you did maintenance?”

“Maintenance? You know we do that daily. But what you mean, repairs? New parts? A thorough inspection with the Port Authority? Not since before the rebellion.

“What!?” Tera jumped to her feet, the energy in her shock too much to be contained by sitting. “Why not? Protocol is every six months. A year at most.”

Gharos met her anger with the same calm he always had, but he met her eyes, unwilling to look away. “That is what they say in your schools. Scholars make the decisions there. Engineer who know how delicate our machines can be. But tell me, do you see scholars here? I am not a learned man. Mayer was a student like you once, but no longer. I see children and broken people. No scholars. No engineers. No soldiers. The captain makes the decisions on this ship. We hope on our lives they are good.”

“Haven’t we told him about the engine? We could have died!”

“We could have. We did not. That is what he asks of us.”

“So the captain does know.”

“He does. He does not care. We spend a day at port, two if we’re lucky. There is no time to requisition supplies. Not enough if we wish to fix her. Especially not in the colonies. There are few metalworkers who would take our order. None that could work fast enough.”

“Why?”

“Vengeance blinds us, Tera Bec. The Eos Heart was more than sister to our vessel. We all have loss. Or the captain is deluded enough to believe he can win the war single handed, if only we are fast enough. I do not claim to understand. I keep the engines running and the guns firing and I hope that is enough to delay death another day.

“I am sorry for whatever misfortune brought you to this ship. I cannot suggest you leave. I can ignore your exit when next we port. I would hate to lose a gifted engineer, but I would hate for the kingdom to lose you as well.” Gharos rose to his feet. His stare had softened. “When your bypass runs out of static, bring it to me. I would like to see it in greater detail.”

With a wave, Gharos left the engine room, leaving Tera alone with the unstable engine and the unbearable weight of hundreds of lives on her shoulders, a burden passed from the captain to Gharos and now to her.

Under the chief engineer’s direction, Tera refined her design for the syphon, creating half a dozen with the limited supplies available. Her original design failed during its second use, as she expected, but it bought her enough time to shut the engine down before it failed. The new designs were sturdier, less unwieldy, but Tera knew they couldn’t last forever. The three engineers clipped them to their work belts in pairs, hoping to never need them, but knowing it was only a matter of time until they had none left.

After that, the engines would fail.

By the time the Eon Heart reached the colonies, the atmosphere on the ship shifted from naive excitement to dread. A shadow lingered over the vessel and everyone within. With every battle, Tera passed fewer faces as she ran to the engine room. The ship barely held together. Mayer and Gharos patched the hull with scrap stripped from the engine. The crew bet on their own deaths, whether drowning, cannonfire, or engine failure. A common joke, they insisted, on vessels of war, but one they made sure would never reach the captain’s ears. Tera lost track of the days, counting the passage of time by battles fought.

She repeated Gharos’ words in her mind, growing more tempted with each passing day. Even when the food stores ran low, the captain pressed on, resupplying from a friendly ship. Each day the guns above thundered and the engine threatened to blow a hole in the hull and each night Tera fell into a dreamless sleep, only to wake to the roar of the cannons once more. The ship was a prison. A tomb. Death, she knew, was inevitable, but she heard so many stories of heroes — stories of triumph — that, even with a curse, she did not expect the ether to claim her in the war. Her fathers letters wrote of the inquisitors. How they prevailed against entire armies single handed. Yet there were no inquisitors aboard the Eon Heart. No heroes. Only a mad captain and his broken crew.

She had not heard from her father in some time.

Death came for Tera in the form of a balding man. The bells rang through the ship and she once more ran down the passageway, hurrying to warm the engine when a heavy hand clasped her shoulder. She wheeled to see him, an officer, one hand gripped tight on a powder gun, and by him, Gharos. The lizardfolk’s eyes wouldn’t meet her own and though the balding man barely came to his shoulder, Gharos had never seemed so small. He stood in the man’s shadow, second and subordinate.

“We need you on deck,�� the balding man said. His voice was calm — level — yet he drowned out the sounds of the ship. Gunners rushed past them, no longer bothering to fully change into their uniforms. Most were unwashed. Bloodsoaked. Unfit for combat.

The officer shoved the rifle into Tera’s arms. She stared at it then to Gharos and the man, waiting for one of them to explain. Neither did. “I am an engineer.”

“Did I ask? We need you on deck.”

“Sir, if I don’t get to the engine —”

The officer pulled his pistol from his holster. “We are short riflemen and gunners. Either you will report to the deck, or I will consider this an attempted mutiny. Am I understood?”

Gharos nodded subtly. Tera followed his lead.

“Good.” The balding man holstered his weapon. His smile sent a shiver down Tera’s spine. “Chief Engineer, we should find your other assistant. We need every gun we can find.”

The officer continued down the passageway with the nonchalance of a stroll through the park. Gharos lingered until the balding man was out of earshot, then he dropped his voice to a whisper. “I will keep the engines tamed as long as I can. We’re meant to escort the troopship to shore. That will be your best chance to get away.”

“Get away? Gharos, without me and Mayer, the ship won’t survive.”

“I fear the captain understands that too well. I have lived a long life. I do not mind giving it for the kingdom.” Gharos motioned to her rifle. “There is a point near the bow that Mayer reinforced. It is far from the engine and it should protect you from rifle fire. Not cannon fire, no, but rifle fire.”

He met her eyes. Tera expected anger or sadness or even bitterness in his amber eyes, but he seemed resigned to his fate. He pulled a small bottle from his jacket and offered it to her with a slight smile. “A farewell gift. I’d hoped it would be part of a celebration, but I think it will taste the same. Now go, Tera Bec.”

Gharos did not wait for her to reply. He followed the balding man down the passageway in search of Mayer.

Tera’s father wrote that the air felt different in the colonies. Lighter as if someone removed a heavy blanket. Cleaner. Fresher. He wrote of the beauty of the twin moons over untamed wilderness, great celestial bodies on a backdrop of stars. He wrote of the serenity of nature. That even in the middle of the war, even with witches, ether shadows, and other vile creatures, he felt at peace. The colonies were a magical place, capable of warming even the coldest heart.

Tera disagreed.

The smoke stung her lungs as she stepped out on deck. The air was thick with ash and embers and the screams of wounded soldiers. No moons shone over the Eon Heart. The swirling darkness of the sea below called to her, but Tera kept her boots on the deck. Gunfire drowned out the sound of gentle waves. The cannons bellowed, shaking the deck with every shot. Tera ran for the bow. She nearly slipped on the slick mixture of blood and water. On either side, the crew fired volleys from their powder guns before ducking beneath the bulwark to reload, two rounds for every round of cannonfire. Tera ducked behind the plated portion of the hull. The difference was subtle, likely invisible to a layperson, but the metal welded to the side was sturdier where Tera hid than anywhere else. Rifle fire pinged harmlessly off the plates.

The colony blockade formed a tight ring around the bay, a wall of ship and cannon. The colonist’s ships greatly outnumbered the kingdom’s but they were all made of wood. No armor. No plating. Most were not much larger than the Eon Heart. Smaller than the rest of the kingdom fleet by far. A wall placed cannon shot could carve a hole through their hulls. Even rifle fire splintered the wood. With time, the kingdom would win the skirmish at sea. Yet the fleet formed a tight arrow around the troop ship, flying toward the blockade as though loosed from a bow.

With the power of its engine, the Eon Heart surged ahead of the rest of the kingdom’s force. The wind nearly took Tera’s gun from her hand as she peaked over the bulwark. She realized all at once and far too late the captain’s plan. The Eon Heart rammed her bowsprit into the side of the largest kingdom ship. The crash flung Tera from her feet and from her safe spot. She grunted as she hit the deck. The impact forced the air from her lungs. Her head spun. The Eon Heart tore a hole through the side of the colony ship and both nearly rolled over before settling back to back down, interlocked, ship within ship. Screams echoed through both ships. Around Tera, the crew of either vessel traded their rifles and cannons for hatchets and knives, charging across the splintering decks, eager to fight to their last breath. Tera struggled to her feet and felt a jolt of white hot fire surge through her leg. She grabbed the bulwark for support, and limped forward to join the rest of her crew, every step igniting the fire once more.

A colonist lizardfolk jumped in front of her, as tall as Gharos, but lean with eyes of venom. He gripped a hatchet in either hand, charging toward Tera with a sound somewhere between a hiss and roar, unintelligible but full of fury. Tera shifted her weight to her good leg, shouldering her rifle. She pulled the trigger and a deafening sound rang out, but if she hit the lizardfolk, he didn’t stop. Screaming through the pain, Tera swung her rifle at him like a club, throwing her weight and strength to the hit. The lizardfolk slammed into the bulwark, painting it with a streak of blue blood, and dropped his hatchets. Tera fell to her knees beside him. The pain of her busted leg winded her. From her knees, she swung again, catching beneath the colonists scales and splintering the wooden stock on his face.

Tera scrambled for one of the dropped hatchets, raising it above her head to deliver the final blow when she felt the air shift. The hair on her neck and arms stood on end. Then, before she could so much as shout a warning, a brilliant light filled the sky and the Eon Heart exploded into shrapnel.

Tera fell into the darkness below.

#Tera Bec #The Engineer And The Witch #Does it count as a prequel if I haven't posted the stories its based on?#I did definitely make a note to add Tera & [redacted] to the actual series (that doesn't exist yet) at some point #Everyone knows 90% of writing is coming up with a world and characters and doing jack shit with them #But this made me excited to work on bounty again so once I finish part 2 im gonna work on the bounty intro again

4 notes · View notes

byorder-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Love Thyself, Then Thy Neighbour

Summary: Linda Montgomery is tired of living for everyone but herself. It may not be holy, but it is hers.

Word count: 1957

Warnings: Swearing, LOTS of talk about religion and Church, war, hospital and blood mentioned

Author’s Note: I really hate the misogyny in the way Linda was written and I think that sometimes the fandom demonises her as a bitch for her religious beliefs, so I wanted to try and make her a bit more sympathetic. Hope you like it xx

One thing that being brought up in a strict Catholic home is that Linda leant not all rules were written in the big book. The most important rule was that women didn't work. Her mother would huff and puff when she was eighteen and desperate for work, saying that being a wife was work enough. Keep his belly full and his balls empty became the second most used phrase in her house after Amen. Linda Montgomery kept her face straight as her mother introduced her to nice, young Catholic suitors who she would take one good look over and ask whether they supported Miss Pankhurst and her plight for women's enfranchisement. Her mother would tut and her father would bury his head in the palm of his hand, as another man was scared away to the next young girl. Linda was a radical- Linda was wrong. So, when she met another devout woman at a local meeting for WSPU, she immediately trailed along to the Church that could possibly allow such beliefs alongside the teachings of Christ. The Quaker priest welcomed her with open arms, saying he was thankful to help her cast away the false idols she had been brought up with. Her mother spat at Linda's shoes, saying she had condemned the family by falling into an ecclesial community. Was this the love thy neighbour teaching that each holier than thou figure preached? So, Linda got a flat with Dorothy Evans (the woman who'd brought her to the Church) and attended that service on Sunday, then woke up before the Sun to get to work on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Saturday sometimes too, if they needed a girl to work an extra shift.

That was another unspoken rule, even amongst the Quakers. If a woman was to find work, as rare as that would be, there were only two professions deemed suitable for good Christian women: teaching and nursing. Now, Linda had never been fond of children, so nursing it was. She had romanced the idea of it all throughout training, cooing over her baby blue uniform in the mirror that matched her eyes and thanking God for her ability to help others. It was no menial task, she would never say that. With the drunkards that gained injury after injury to the horrors of the Spanish influenza, on top of the everyday maladies that she guided to a hospital bed and patiently listened to her patients as they told her their stories. With those that noticed her silver cross that she always wore proudly over her uniform, she'd been invited to sit by their bedside and pray alongside them. Eventually she'd learned a couple of appropriate Bible verses to encourage and uplift, sometimes even writing them down if they wanted a more permanent influence. Then the War happened. The called it Great- she couldn't agree. Dorothy and her had both decided right from the start that knitting socks and lighting candles would not be enough for them. They packed up their nurses uniforms and followed the soldiers as they marched over to France. Romance was lost in the makeshift hospitals set up over thick mud that got their long dresses turning brown. Linda learned not to care; there were worst things that ended up on her aprons and managed to soak back through her clothes, turning her skin pinkish. As soon as she got home, she burnt her nurses uniform. She wanted to keep it at first, as a reminder of all that she'd lived through, but no matter how many times she washed and scrubbed until her hands were a familiar pink raw, the smell of blood never washed away. The photos stayed, as mementos to remind her that the Lord saved her, that he was with her still in the sleepless nights and the guilt that plagued her soul.

Instead of returning to the hospital before the Sun woke up on Monday, Linda found work at the only home she knew. The Church offered all kind of charity and volunteer work for her, but she was also employed as an accountant-cross-secretary role. She was good with numbers. She never knew that before. Nurse Montgomery was gone, but Linda Montgomery was proud and faithful and working still. She was twenty six and made sure to use her well-earned right by attending each and every campaign that her local area had to offer, voting according to her beliefs whenever an opportunity was open. Linda clung to it, to her faith, to her work with all she had. She had to make herself right in the Lord's eyes, had to make all those lives lost and unsavable soldiers that she'd pray with till their soul extinguished like a candle, she had to make it worth it. It had to mean something. So, when Linda saw a strange man stumble into the Church one Friday night, looking over to the empty rows of pews with hesitance and fear etched in every line in his face, she knew what she had to do. He was a handsome man, she couldn't deny it. Maybe it was that which piqued her interest.

Excusing herself from the desk (although the priest was getting on and hardly even heard her) she walked down to meet this tall man in a bulky grey coat that still hadn't figured out he was supposed to sit on the pews.

"Hello there sir, are you alright?" She asked, polite and smiling. He looked up at the sound of her voice, although he didn't have to look far as she was quite the bit smaller than him. His eyes trailed up and down. Linda pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, feeling her face go the same colour as her clothes. She didn't wear baby blue any more, even if it matched her eyes. This man had a soldier's haircut, shaved at the sides, and the rest of it was slicked back out of his nervous-looking face, a moustache presiding over his top lip.

"Um...yeah, well," he sounded a little gruff, although that was probably in part to his thick accent that Linda couldn't quite point her finger on. "Well, this is embarrassing. I thought this was supposed to be a Church, see, so I thought I'd come on in, but...uh, I, um, didn't mean to intrude. I'll leave you be."

"This is a Church," she said it quickly, before he could turn around to leave.

"It is, hey?" He chuckled a little to himself, rubbing the back if his neck. "Sorry, I thought there'd be a confession booth or something. They have that in St Oswald's."

"They have confessionals in Catholic Churches, this is a Quaker Church." She kept a smile on her face, although she heard the bitter voice of her mother ringing in her ears. Ecclesial. Pagan. Damned. "But if you need to talk, you're welcome to take a seat. I'm not a priest, but I can try my best to help."

She gestured to the pew, and the man ever so ungracefully set himself down, tucking his coat behind his hips. She sat in the pew in front of him, turning on her side so that she could face him. He, however, seemed to only be interested on the floor.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"No, don't call me sir." He shook his head, looking up as he held his hand up too. "Arthur's the name, Arthur Shelby."

"I'm Linda Montgomery," she shook his hand demurely, not sure if the ragged-looking man was really the gentleman he presented himself as.

"Montgomery?" He smiled as if there was something funny about that. "That's a proper lady's name, that is. Bet your husband's a rich man or somethin'."

"I don't have a husband," she told him, showing off her bare ring finger. It never seemed important.

"How come?" He scrunched up his face as if in genuine confusion. "A lovely lady like yourself should have a man eating out the palm of ya hand."

"Work and war," she explained simply, shaking her shoulders as if it meant nothing. "I was a nurse. Never had time for it."

"Now you have no man but Jesus, right?"

"Something like that." Linda moved a hand over, reaching onto his. There was a point to this conversation, one she was keen to getting back to. "Why are you here, Arthur?"

My, um, aunt always comes here when she needs, I dunno...clarity, I guess? I used to go too," he stumbled through his words, clearing his throat at odd moments as she tried to figure out how to get his heart into words. "I loved the hymns. But then the war happened, and I have all this shit in my head. Can't get rid of it either, cause I'm still a soldier. Still a fuckin' soldier."

His hands shook under Linda's own, and she was quick to realise the cracks in his lips and bruises under his pale eyes were a clear sign of withdrawal symptoms.

"Arthur, you aren't at war anymore," She said gently, rubbing his calloused hands soothingly. His wide eyes looked up at only her and she felt it stir a sermon in her. "You can find peace, I swear it. I know you've just quit drinking." His brow creased in shock, but he didn't dispute it. "The temptation you feel will be difficult to fight, but once that battle is over, you won't have to fight anymore."

"Work, love, work. I have to."

"Fuck work." She surprised even herself with her bold statement that was hastily followed with a look over her shoulder to see the aged priest nodding off in the back room. "There's a lot of things that aren't written in the Bible, Arthur, but that doesn't mean they aren't Gospel truth. The most important thing is that you have to love thyself before you can love thy neighbour. Once you help yourself, get yourself out of the darkness you're in, you'll find a way out, a way to better things."

There was a pause for a moment in which Linda could see the conflict in Arthur's eyes between blind faith in a woman he'd just met, and doubt in his own abilities.

"You're an angel," he whispered. He leaned forward and she half expected him to kiss her, although she didn't move her head back. Rather, when his hands rested onto her cheek, she moved forward ever so slightly, watching his adoring look with a little smile on her pink painted lips. "I think the Lord sent me to this fuckin' Quaker Church for a reason, Linda. I think He knew I'd meet the pretty blonde cherub woman who knew just what to say to stop me from reaching a bottle again."

"You give me too much credit," she warned.

"No, love, no. No one's ever said I could have a redemption. It feels good to be believed in."

"There's a temperance group here," Linda started rubbing circles in his hand. "Would you like to join? I work at the Church so you can pop in and see me afterwards, tell me if the Lord sent you in the right direction."

He laughed a lot at that, eyebrow cocked.

"You want to see me again, huh?" He said it like a dare, something amusing in the words.

"What would be so crazy about that?"

Bold words weren't usually Linda's forte, but she'd chased after work, the Church and a good life. Why couldn't she chase after this handsome man the Lord delivered to her?

#linda shelby #linda Shelby fanfiction #linda Shelby fanfic #Arthur shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fluff

13 notes · View notes

fantastic-secrets · 3 years

Text

Butterfly Wings [1]

Fandom: Bleach

Summary: "Have you ever wondered what would happen if you tore off a butterfly's wings? Do you think it would crawl on the ground, struggling to survive? Or would it just die slowly, deprived of its freedom?"

When Gin joins the Fifth Division of the Gotei 13 to keep an eye on Aizen and carry out his revenge, the Vice-Captain welcomes him with open arms. Soon, they’re playing a game of cat-and-mouse, each trying to guess what the other knows and their motives. Aizen, in particular, seems to enjoy pushing Gin down into the mire, and for Gin, there’s no turning back.

Characters: Ichimaru Gin, Aizen Sousuke

Warnings: Murder, Innuendo

Word Count: 1.8k

He wasn't unfamiliar with death. But there was always something different about taking a life with his own hands. Despite the presence behind him, he didn't move as he gazed down at the lump of flesh, composing his feelings. This was just the first step in his plan, and his goal was much too important to ever make a misstep.

The events of the evening had been carefully choreographed from the moment he stepped onto the grounds this morning. During the tour, he'd carefully paid attention to his surroundings, fixing in mind where the seated officers' quarters were and the ideal location in which to call out his opponent. Then, with just the right balance of flattery and confidence, he'd asked for a private practice match, fully aware that his reputation preceded him. The other man's pride--and his fear of having that pride dragged into the mud before everyone else--sealed the deal. Really, the most difficult part was making sure that he was caught by just the right person; anyone else, and all his careful efforts would be rendered entirely useless. It couldn't appear to be anything but a coincidence, so as not to raise suspicion, and despite his calm facade, his heart had been racing the whole time, until he sensed someone stop to watch them. Watching, but not raising a hand… not even when his opponent had called out for help in desperation, finally relinquishing his foolish pride as he grasped for life. And that was when he was certain, and he had struck the final blow without hesitation and with a quieting heart.

So when his companion finally spoke, he was able to turn and greet him with a smile and a tone of calm indifference despite being half-covered in blood. But it really was strange, how easy it was to defeat the third seat. Even if his opponent had never seriously considered the possibility that a mere "kid" would really try to kill him, he had been way too soft. If this was the level of the Gotei 13, it really was no surprise that Soul Society couldn't even keep its affairs in order. So when the fukutaichou asked for his opinion, he answered truthfully, and not just because that was the answer Aizen expected.

"Completely useless. What a joke."

That slight smile told him everything: he had passed the first test. He had the resolve to kill another human and the skills to fulfill the task. Of course, Gin wasn't naive enough to think that Aizen trusted him at all with just that, but that would come in time. On the other hand, the fukutaichou was highly respected and renowned as a kind man; Rangiku had gushed about how lucky he was to have been accepted into the Fifth Company and the importance of making a good impression on his superiors. At the time, Gin had reassured her that that was exactly what he intended to do.

"Ichimaru-kun, I would like you to be my subordinate."

Still grinning, Gin tilted his head as though he was puzzled by the statement. "Ain't I already, though, Aizen-fukutaichou? I'm part'a the Fifth Company like ya, right? 'less you're saying ya think I wanna fight ya for yer seat, or the taichou's. I ain't that good."

"Not yet, but perhaps in the future," Aizen agreed, favoring him with another smile that said he saw right through Gin's innocent charade. "Now, wash up and go back to bed. I'll take care of the cleanup here."

It wasn't until much later that Gin learned just how the fukutaichou had managed to disguise the murder as a suicide. But in the end, nobody questioned the situation when the body was found the next day, or challenged his assignment to the third seat. There was certainly some resentment over the fact that a recruit fresh from the Academy would be given the position, but everyone recognized that the so-called genius was more than qualified to hold it.

So like a shadow, Gin was often found trailing behind Aizen, always smiling and eager to please his superior. "A creepy kid" seemed to be the general consensus about him, and many seemed relieved that he had attached himself so closely to the highly respected fukutaichou, as if they expected that Aizen would keep him in check. But really, it wasn't as though he had ever been caught doing something wrong. He was just too clever, too strong, and too young… combined with his polite indifference towards most, it scared people. Both of them recognized that truth, and so Gin did nothing that would challenge that perception, because that was what Aizen wanted.

The only person who truly trusted him was Rangiku, and only around his childhood friend could Gin relax. Between his company duties and her classes, he couldn't see her often, but the brief moments of relative peace that they shared together were worth it. Although Rukongai had practically been a living hell, if there was anything that he missed about it, it was the way they had created their own universe together with just the two of them. He didn't resent her or her new friends, though: she'd always been more sociable than him, and he was glad that her world was being filled with color and laughter. But sometimes, he felt like her complaints and teasing were the only thing keeping him sane as his own world sank into the shadows.

In retrospect, though, he'd still been too naive. He'd never actively tried to hide their relationship from his fukutaichou, knowing that it would be a futile effort. Aizen watched the third seat too closely, clearly still cautious despite their shared complicity. And even if he hadn't, he was clever enough to notice if Gin was hiding something from him and persistent enough to figure out what it was. So long as Rangiku didn't get in the way of his plans, she wasn't worth his notice… or so Gin believed.

Several years later, Gin stepped silently into Aizen's office, his usual smile affixed to his face as he greeted the other man.

"Ya called fer me, Aizen-fukutaichou?"

"Ah, Gin. I was hoping to get your opinion on something. Please, sit."

Obediently, Gin lowered himself onto the cushion that Aizen indicated, puzzled. In all the time that they'd worked together, Aizen had never sincerely asked for his opinion on anything, not since the night he'd killed the former third seat. Would it be another test, or was it a sign that he was beginning to earn Aizen's trust?

He accepted the document that the older man offered to him, opening it to reveal Rangiku's Academy report. Carefully, he read through it before looking back up, with his expression as noncommittal as ever.

"So whatcha wanna ask, then?"

"I was thinking about inviting her to join the Fifth Company. The taichou is rather ambivalent about her, but she's your friend, right? I wouldn't mind putting in a word for your sake, since you've been so helpful to us."

A chill crept into Gin's bones as he shrugged, acutely aware of the fukutaichou's steady gaze under the lightness of his words. He'd expected that Aizen would be aware of his friendship, but this possibility had never occurred to him. He didn't want Rangiku anywhere near Aizen, not only because of what had happened in the past, but also since it seemed just as likely that she'd end up as yet another casualty of the man's charisma. Even with the experiments, she'd be safer elsewhere. Carefully, he considered his words before he spoke.

"Nah, ya don't need t' do that. You saw her report, too. She ain't anything more than an average shinigami, so she wouldn't be able t' help ya much. I 'preciate ya thinkin' 'bout me, but she'd just get in the way here. It ain't like I can't see her if she's in a diff'rent company."

Aizen nodded, as kind and understanding as ever, though his eyes never left Gin's face.

"She's a fairly attractive woman, though, isn't she? Still a bit young, but she's got promise. Are you seeing her romantically?"

At that, Gin's smile widened slightly, making him even more inscrutable than usual, even as he shook his head.

"We ain't like that, Aizen-fukutaichou. We were just friends, growin' up in Rukongai. 'sides, her other friends don't seem t' like me much. She probably doesn't even really need me anymore."

"And that doesn't upset you?"

"Would ya like it to?" Though the words sounded like a challenge, Gin's tone was as casual as always. The contrast seemed to surprise a chuckle out of the other man, though he caught himself quickly, holding out a hand. Obediently, Gin moved to return the report, only to be startled himself when Aizen grabbed his wrist, tugging him closer so he was half-sprawled over the desk. The smile slipped from his face, and his eyes slitted open slightly, revealing a flash of blue in his otherwise pale complexion. Bemused, he watched with wary caution as Aizen's free hand moved deliberately toward his face, tucking under his chin to tilt his face up.

"Your eyes are quite beautiful, Gin. It's a pity that I don't get to see them more often." Though Gin had tensed, he didn't resist as those slender fingers drifted closer to his eyes, tugging his lids wider and applying a gentle, steady pressure. "But I also feel jealous when I think that others might also see them. I'd like to take them out and keep them locked away, just for myself. What do you think about that, Gin?"

Slowly, the smile returned to Gin's face as he relaxed despite Aizen's terrifying words. "If that's what ya think is best. Though I dunno if I could be as good as Tousen-san."

For a long moment, the threatening pressure remained, and then Aizen released Gin, allowing the younger man to return to his seat and smooth down his robes.

"It truly would be a pity to lose your skills," Aizen agreed. Then, as if the last few minutes hadn't happened at all, he continued, "You're certain, then, that you don't want me to invite Matsumoto-kun to our division?"

"Prob'ly best that way. But thanks fer lookin' out fer me," Gin answered with an empty smile. Aizen nodded a dismissal, so Gin got up and left, making his way back to his rooms. Only once he had closed the door behind him did he collapse in a flood of relief.

He wasn't sure how much of his words Aizen had believed, but Rangiku would be safe. At least from their superficial conversation, the fukutaichou wouldn't extend that proposed invitation. His hand trembled slightly as it reached up to touch his eye, as though making certain it was still there. If Aizen had tried to rip them out, Gin would have let him, but that didn't make the prospect of blindness any less terrifying. He also couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed something, in those long moments. He hadn't failed the test… but he hadn't quite passed it, either.

#bleach #fanfic #fan fic #ichimaru gin #gin ichimaru #gin #aizen sousuke #aizen sōsuke #sosuke aizen #aizen #mine

11 notes · View notes

hedjeroo · 4 years

Text

LoKtober Day 6 - Hunter and Hunted

I wrote something for today's prompt to give my wrists a bit of a rest.

Under readmore for length. (cw for violence, animal death, blood mentions)

They descended so suddenly, quiet as the blanket of night that brought them, and all who dwelled there were ignorant to their invasion. It was not the silent shriek of his mother that alerted him, but the scrambling of claws on wood as the dogs heard the thud of her hastily-drained corpse hitting the floor, and the cacophonous barking that was cut short suddenly with pained yelps.

His father, his uncle, and the other farm hands soon took up iron tools to clash with iron blades. The air grew thick with the cries of man and beast, fearful and triumphant both, with the drums of war beaten upon the dirt with each body that fell. Though stalwart, they were not soldiers: the humans lost ground quickly. Worse still, the vampires came with fire, and they spread it to corral their prey.

Solus had been locking up the horses for the night when the fighting began. Securing the last paddock, he scrambled out of the barn, and found his senses quickly overwhelmed by cinder, by ash, by shouting and screaming, and by a mass of blood and bodies. His stomach reeled and his eyes burned. He couldn't stay here, he couldn't. He wanted to do something, to try and fight them off, but his feet had better sense than his heart, carrying him to the thick brush behind the barn and hearing none of his mind's panicked protest.

Once he reached the brush he tumbled, scrambled to press his back up against the nearest, thickest tree trunk. His palms and fingers pressed into the dirt, and he smeared it across his face and clothing, hands shaking with each stroke. He tried desperately to slow the hard and fast drumming of his heart. He was so sure its beating could be heard, that it would give away his hiding place. He kept his breathing slow, deep and quiet as best he could. Both were difficult when each inhalation brought the terrible stench of spilled blood, and scratched at his lungs with the smoke in the air.

He could not risk giving himself away. He had to wait. He had to wait until the footsteps stopped, until the fires died down, until the shouting and screaming had fallen away and not even a whisper carried on the wind. Only then could he properly gather himself, only then could he figure out what was going on, and why.

-------

Tonight was to be a veritable feast! They had done well to root out this little farmhouse and the lands surrounding it. It was far enough away from the villages that the screams wouldn't carry, and they could claim their prey before the fires summoned the guard...

It was the perfect practice ground for a group of fledglings learning to siege. And the perfect place to quell a potential uprising amongst the cattle; farmers were notoriously quick to arms. They weren't particularly skilled in combat, most of them lacking training in aught but farming tools, but they were stubborn, and usually strong of will and body.

A little arson and some strategic targeting usually helped nip their courage in the bud.

They snuck into the farmhouse first, prying an upper window open and inviting themselves inside. Foolish for any human to leave a window open at night, they thought, especially when it gave them direct access to the master bedroom. The head of the house must have still been out working, as they found only a woman there, already sleeping.

The eldest of them took first blood. Her claws wrapped quickly across the woman's mouth, jerking her neck aside so she could sink her fangs in. She drank deep of that sweet vitae, relishing it in the quiet moments before all hell would surely break loose.

It was customary for the leader of such a troupe to take the first kill, but perhaps not to take their time with it. Her second in command hurried her along; perhaps too forcibly, as the body made quite a noise as it hit the floor. Damn floorboards and their thudding and creaking.

That was when the dogs came in, rushing up the stairs, already on the scent of spilled blood and fresh death. Those beasts did not die nearly so quietly, falling to blades. The younger fledglings took to feeding as the elders discussed their next move. It did not take them long to vacate the farmhouse, setting a fire to consume it upon their departure. A brighter beacon to summon the others. They would draw them out, and then corral them into the barn.

The rest of the farmers came as they knew they would, and soon fell to blade, claw and fang. They were no match even for the youngest and most inexperienced of the fledglings, not once their weapons were broken and cast aside, and the smoke began to weigh upon their lungs.

They broke each human and beast, fed well, and left naught but ash and smoke in their wake.

-------

It felt like he had been there for hours before things finally grew quiet and still. He'd huddled into himself tightly enough, slowed his breathing, and stilled his heart just enough, just enough. He'd smeared himself with mud and ash to mask the scent of fear.

And it seemed as though it had worked.

Solus unfurled slowly, just lying there for a while, gasping more hungrily for breath as the panic began to catch up with him. He desperately tried to push it down again; he wasn't out of the woods yet. He had to see what had happened. He had to know how bad it was. He had to know how much he'd lost.

His breathing steadied after a few moments of struggle, and he slowly, shakily rolled onto his hands and knees, pushing himself up, and gradually bringing himself to stand. His legs almost gave out beneath him, weak from the sickening fear that had welled up in the pit of his gut. The tree he'd huddled against was good support for his first few steps, but he didn't need to walk far to have his worst fears confirmed.

The farm had been razed. Everything was gone.

The barn stood no longer, what timber remained still smoldering gently where it had collapsed. The farmhouse, the coop… even the crops had been set alight.

It was all gone.

One step led to another. And then another, as his footing became sure only by the gravity of his boots finding their rhythm. He tried the barn first, moving through the destruction to try and find some trace of a being or a body---

He let out a sharp yell as a claw came for him, scraping his midsection through his shirt. He barely avoided being gutted, and, in the burst of adrenaline, hefted up a plank and swung it at the assaulting figure's face. There was a sickening crack and a pained cry as it struck their jaw, breaking it, and knocked them to the ground. He wasted no time in reacquainting the fallen vampiric form with that plank multiple times.

Perhaps more than he needed to.

Perhaps not enough.

He looked around for something sharper once he was sure they were out cold. One of the broken timbers had splintered. He wasted no time plunging that sharper piece through the creature's black heart, stamping it through with his boot to be sure it had run all the way through.

He panted from the exertion as the adrenaline began to run dry. The shaking returned to his legs, but he could not let himself collapse. If the farm had been sacked by vampires so thoroughly, and burned to the ground, there could be nothing, no one left here.

The fear in his gut turned heavier, more bitter.

He kept dragging his feet through the wreckage, searching through, trying his best to ignore any evidence of gruesome ends. What would be the point in letting himself die here? He would find something useful in what was left, and move on.

It was all he could do now.

#hedjart {}{}#writing {}{}#LoKtober #LoKtober2020 #legacy of kain #soul reaver #blood omen #original character

15 notes · View notes