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lovetorn · 3 years

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Life Was A Willow [Part 2]

Witch Hunter!Dream x Witch!Fem!Reader

Part 1 Part 3

Summary: It's always been hunters vs. witches, right?

Word Count: 3.6k+

Warnings for Part 2: violence, mentions of death (familial), swearing

A/N: part 2 !!!! thank you so much for the support and feedback from part 1, omg thank you !! well, i hope you enjoy part 2 ahhhhh !!

It’s 9 pm and Y/n still waits for the signal. She looks in the direction of the Castle and swings her feet back and forth from where she sits on the cottage’s roof.

The air is cold and the trees continue to rustle, the same way they do every day, but tonight, she has an eerie feeling about it. Regret slips into her mind sometimes, telling her that she is foolish for even accepting such a vague invitation by someone she doesn’t even know—but it was so intriguing and she trusts them (she doesn’t exactly know why).

Suddenly, a large pop startles Y/n out of her daze. Sparkles dance in the sky as fireworks burst from the land below. She quickly notes that the explosions are coming from the West side of the Castle and takes that as the signal. Very grand indeed.

Y/n jumps from the roof, landing gracefully on the dirt, and takes off running through the forest. She misses tree roots emerging from the earth and ducks under low branches from the undergrowth. The only thing that lights her path is the moonlight and at this moment, Y/n is thriving. The full moon allows her abilities to heighten and she places her full trust in her instincts.

The fireworks continue to explode and Y/n fills with more adrenaline, the sound making her scream out in joy. She’s excited about the meeting, and she doesn’t even know who it is. And maybe that’s what she’s eager for; the unknown.

The entirety of the concept scared her before, but now she’s exhilarated. And as the show comes to a close, Y/n nears the East side of the Castle. It’s completely silent at this end and the eerie feeling she had before creeps back. It’s not a feeling of uncertainty but one of opportunity and her instincts are telling her to take it.

When she reaches the abandoned cottage, Y/n inhales sharply. There’s no light coming from the house and the door remains closed. As she steps onto the stairs in front, the wood creams beneath her and she scolds for giving away herself to the person inside. Instead of sneaking around, Y/n stomps towards the door and swings it open.

She sees a man in the corner and makes her way towards him, her hands out and ready in case this interaction goes south.

“Who are you? And how do you know me?” Y/n calls out. The man jumps slightly and lifts his head. And in the moonlight flooding in through the window, Y/n recognises him as Dream, even with his mask off. He stands in a white button-up and brown pants, his hunter boots on and a newsboy hat sat on his blonde hair.

“Dream?”

“Hi, Y/n. I knew you would recognise me.” Y/n doesn’t want to look away from him. This is the first time she’s seen his face, and despite the darkness, she sees how handsome he is.

“Why—how? Why did you want to meet me in such a creepy way?” Y/n asks in disgust, picking a cobweb out of her hair and then off of her shoulder; they seem to be everywhere. Her expression falls back to one of admiration when she looks back at him. However, the moonlight lacked the light Y/n needed to see him properly.

Dream laughs slowly. “I forgot to bring a lighter for the lamp. Do you think you could, uh—maybe,”

“Glady,” Y/n sighs and flicks her hand towards the candle in the glass encasing. It immediately comes to life and the room becomes brightly lit. Her eyes fall onto Dream again and she finally sees him; his piercing green eyes and the scar that runs from the top of his left temple to the corner of his lip.

“Wow,” Dream mumbles under his breath. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you, and I know that everybody I know would, just, obliterate me for even thinking about doing this, but I needed to talk to you about—“

“You’re rambling.”

“Right, right...”

Y/n squints at the man and then tilts her head. “Whose C?”

Dream’s eyes widen as he nods. “Yeah, uh, that’s me. My name’s Clay.”

The witch doesn’t say anything as she stares at him. “So why do they call you Dream?”

This isn’t where Dream thought the conversation would go, but he’s happy they’re not fighting.

“My mother came up with the nickname when I was born. I nearly didn’t make it and then through some miracle, I did. So, she called me her Dream.” Y/n can tell the story makes him emotional, so she doesn’t push any further.

“That’s really sweet, Dream.” And at the sound of his real name, Dream perks up slightly before he cracks a smile. Y/n grins back at him; a real genuine smile. The pair stand in the low lit room in comfortable silence, until Y/n’s curiosity gets the better of her.

“What did you want to talk about?” She asks. Dream nods once and continues from where he was cut off before.

“I wanted to discuss the possibility of a truce between witches and hunters,” Dream isn’t smiling anymore, instead his lips are screwed up and his hands fidget in front of him. Y/n, however, grins even bigger.

“I’m all for that, honestly. I’m tired of being on edge every day and being scared for my life. If we can find a way to create peace, even for a little bit, I’m on board.” Y/n keeps it short for now, not wanting to scare him off by how passionate she feels about the situation.

Dream’s eyes light up at the sound of her agreeing. “Really?” Y/n nods and becomes surprised when she feels Dream’s arms wrap around her. “Thank you, thank you.”

“No, Dream, thank you! I’ve been trying to convince people of this for years. I’m really glad that you feel the same way.” The pair pull apart and Dream flicks his eyes down to Y/n’s lips for a split second.

“You’re so pretty,” Y/n nearly chokes at his comment. Dream feels his cheeks burn when the words tumble out and soon they’re both flustered. “Sorry! Oh my, I’m sorry, that didn't mean to slip out—”

“Dream, it’s fine. I think you’re pretty too; especially without the mask.”

The hunter swats the witch’s shoulder playfully. “Stop~” The pair laugh together, and then proceed to stand in another comfortable silence. The wind howls and whistles outside and makes the cottage creak, adding to the eerie aura that surrounds it.

“What’s with the hat? It’s nighttime.”

Dream plucks the accessory off of his head and runs his opposite hand through his hair, the soft locks falling back into place when his hand returns to his side. “Part of the disguise, duh.”

Y/n squints at him, her expression morphing into one of mischief. “Isn’t the mask a disguise in itself, though? Also, put the hat back on, you look handsome with it.” It’s time for Dream to blush now. He covers his face with his hat and scoffs softly. “Y/n!”

The girl slaps her hand over her mouth to muffle her embarrassed laughs. “It’s true!”

The man rolls his eyes before placing the hat back on his head. “Happy?”

Y/n nods before telling him to answer about the mask.

“Well, no, nobody at the Castle actually knows what I look like—except for my best friends, Sapnap and George.”

“George? As in Prince George?” Y/n is shocked, to say the least. She now understands why Dream is so passionate about the peace between the Hunters and Witches. Prince George is known for his differing morals and ideas from his family, which makes him stand out from the other Royals. Y/n admires his bravery and courage to do so.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends since we were young. I’m jealous that he can be so open with his opinions in that Castle—Lord knows if I was, I'd be executed,” This makes Y/n’s stomach drop. “But, it’s okay, with your help, hopefully, we can convince humans and magical-kind alike, that there can be peace. A—And we can live together in harmony, without being consumed by the overbearing thought of death every moment of our lives.”

Dream stops his tangent, his face flushed and his eyes pleading. Y/n feels like crying; she has waited years for someone to be as passionate as her about this topic. “I’ll help you, Dream, no matter what; because I wholeheartedly believe we can do this. I trust you.”

Y/n shocks herself with this statement; she’s never trusted a human before.

“And I trust you Y/n.” The pair stare at each other, smiles spread across their cheeks as the night outside slips away, and then it’s just them; standing in the main area of a small, abandoned cottage that sits East of the Castle, lit up with a lantern that casts a warm glow over the pair. Y/n can almost say it looks and feels magical.

“Ok, enough flirting, let’s get planning on the truce. Sounds like a plan, doll?” Dream gives her a lopsided smile and Y/n feels her heart rate increase at the sight of him.

“Where were you?” Wilbur says. His voice is deeper than usual and fits in perfectly with the way he’s sitting ominously in the dark. Y/n stops tiptoeing towards her room and turns to face him; defeated that she got caught. However, she still remains giddy and her heart beats faster for other reasons.

“I was meeting with Schlatt—I need more toadstools for a potion I’m making.”

Wilbur squints at her, his lips curling into a frown. “I know you’re lying, and so does Niki.”

Y/n sighs and starts walking towards him. “I’m sorry—“ She pauses when she sees Wilbur shake his head.

“Don’t.”

Y/n screws her lips together and nods once. Her once excited demeanour fading away when she sees Wilbur’s look of disappointment. “I was meeting one of the new hunters, Dream.”

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows, “What? Why?”

“We’re formulating a truce amongst witches and hunters.”

He raises his eyebrows in both surprise and suspicion. “Okay? And why are you doing this? We don’t need peace.”

“Uh, so we’re not in danger every living second?” Y/n’s nerves grow into anger. “Why are you so against the chance of maybe, finally getting this?”

Wilbur shakes his head and stands up, the chair screeching against the wood floors as he moves. “Haven’t you heard what becomes of curious minds?”

Y/n is at a loss for words while the tall man rolls his eyes and leaves, avoiding her as he circles around her to walk down the hallway.

His abrupt exit confuses Y/n. Why is Wilbur so against peace with the Hunters?

—

Dream manages to sneak into the Hunter’s Wing before they lock the front doors for the night. He sits silently on the bench in the training room and slips his boots off, making sure to place them on the floor as quiet as possible. He takes his hat off of his head and holds it in his palms, smiling stupidly at the inanimate object. The flame in the lantern next to him is fizzling out and it's hard to see 4 feet in front of him.

“Dream?” Even in his daze, Dream can sense the anger and fear in Sapnap’s voice.

“Sapnap? Why are you awake?” The younger boy walks out from the hallway and towards him.

“Me? Where were you? It’s midnight.”

Dream sighs and rests the hat on the bench next to him. “I was out.”

“Out? You mean meeting with the witch?”

Dream’s eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

“Fireworks don’t just go off for no reason, Dream. And I found the note in your room.” Sapnap says, ripping the letter from his pyjama bottoms pocket.

“Just say you have a crush on her, Dream!” Sapnap yells, throwing his arms up in defeat.

“I don't—I promise, Sapnap.”

“Fine, if you don’t like the witch, then kill her.” Dream’s dumbfounded. He stares at his best friend with such bewilderment that even Sapnap feels a twinge of guilt. Dream sighs, carding his hand through his hair in frustration and confusion.

He doesn’t reply, even when George arrives in a hurry, still in the process of wrapping a dressing gown around his body.

“What’s happened? I heard yelling.” The pair remain frozen, refusing to meet the Prince’s glare as they avoid eye contact.

George shakes his head, “Has this got to do with Dream meeting with the witch?”

“George! How do you know, too?”

George huffs. “I know everything that happens in and outside of my Castle. But, fireworks? Really?”

Dream throws his hands down in frustration. “Yes, fireworks! It was a good distraction and it was a signal for her anyway.”

George eyes the blonde before he crosses his arms over his chest. “As much as you hate to admit it, it's obvious that you’re fond of her, Dream. And no matter what happens, I’ll be by your side, okay? You know that.”

“What the fuck?” Sapnap spits. “You have his back? George, I can tolerate your ideals about the magical kind, but this is the witch who killed half of the hunter population.”

Dream stills. “What?”

“You’ve gone and done it now, Sapnap!”

“Y/n killed people?”

“Dream—“ George goes to speak, but he’s cut off by Sapnap.

“Yes! That’s why I’ve been trying to warn you! Why do you think we got this job so easily?” Dream stares at the concrete floor, his heart dropping into his stomach. He can’t believe it, he refuses to.

“Sapnap!” George snaps. The younger boy cowers away slightly, his once confronted facade crumbling at the sound of the Prince's tone. “Stop it, right now. You are in no place to tell him this, okay? You may be my best friend but that doesn’t excuse you from doing this.”

Dream chews on his bottom lip quietly as he watches Sapnap turn around and stomp out of the training room, but not before he scrunches up the letter and throws it on the floor. “Thanks.”

George’s gaze remains on the door. “Don’t thank me. He should know better anyway, considering his last relationship.”

The blonde nods once, reminding himself of the youngest boy’s past relationship with a fairy from the kingdom next door. Dream lets out a laugh at the thought.

For the next few days, Y/n hears nothing from Dream. She worries for him, has he been caught?

She stands on the porch of her cottage, hoping, begging for a sign that he is okay. Clouds plague the blue skies above and Y/n knows the bad omens swirling around the kingdom are the cause—and the inside of Niki’s crystal ball had burst with black and dark red clouds which had only confirmed her suspicions.

The wind howls through the trees and calls to her, speaking words of concern under its tongue. Y/n rolls her eyes and sighs, she knows to be careful, especially with the humans inching closer to their world.

However, a faint voice draws Y/n’s attention away from the wind and to the well in the corner of the garden. The sound confuses her at first, and then the wind’s guidance is forgotten as she makes her way towards it. The short fence around the area is still broken from the fight with the hunters weeks ago, and nobody has had a chance to repair it yet, so Y/n takes it upon herself to fix it.

The whispers from the well become a string of mumbles and are impossible to decipher as Y/n kneels with her back towards the forest—and for the first time, she is anxious about what lies within it.

But, before she can even begin picking up the pieces of wood, the sound of someone approaching her at a fast pace alerts Y/n immediately. She spins around with her hands out and is shocked when she sees Dream with his sword raised. The ground moves beneath her feet as she uses the earth’s power to aid her in meeting his strength.

“Dream?” She screams, her body struggling to resist the force of his weapon. Sparkles fall from her fingertips as she pushes back.

“You killed an entire army of people, Y/n!” Dream’s tone is low and angry and Y/n knows he would have found out eventually.

“Dream, I didn’t do that!” Y/n exclaims and Dream swings his sword backwards.

“How can I trust you? Hm? After all, you’ve killed people!” Y/n could cry at his utter naivety. She drops her arms by her sides as Dream glares at her in pure disgust.

“Instead of fighting, can we talk about this?” Y/n pleas. Her feet move swiftly beneath her, maneuvering her body away from Dream’s sword.

Suddenly, Dream brings the sword down to slice into Y/n’s arm, but a force pushes it back towards him, making the blade fly high into the air before it clatters onto the ground.

Y/n stands with her hands out, remnants of glitter falling around her fingers. “I told you! I’d never do that, and I have proof.”

“Proof?” Dream still stares at his sword, unable to meet Y/n’s eye.

“Proof. Now, how about we calm down and I’ll show it to you. Okay? Sounds like a plan?” Dream nods slowly, turning his head to face her. Finally, his green eyes soften and the raging fire that burns within them fizzles out.

“Okay.”

Y/n sighs before she begins. “When a witch kills an innocent; a human, they gain a marking on the back of their neck to signify the betrayal of the harmony between the two. However, since King James, that peace has been terminated; hence his need for hunters, like yourself.

“But, anyway, everybody in this damn kingdom thinks I killed those hunters, but I don’t have the mark,” Y/n turns around, her hand going to lift up her hair from her neck. The skin is clear, with no markings, nothing.

Dream nods, furrowing his eyebrows. “How do I know you didn’t just cast a spell to make it disappear?”

Y/n rolls her eyes. “There’s no way to cover up the marking; it’ll just shine through whatever you put over it. It’s permanent and very obvious.”

“I told you, Dream, I didn’t kill them. I’d never kill an innocent.”

“Why didn’t you show them, then? You've had proof this entire time and never thought to actually show anyone?” Dream is bewildered. Y/n nods slowly, understanding his argument.

“I don't need to prove myself to your kind.” Is all she says. Dream waits for her to continue but soon realises she's not going to. “Fair point.”

“So, why did you come at me swinging? Did you really believe I would do that?” She whispers and Dream feels his heart sink. He is speechless for a few moments—did he really think that? Or was he feeding into Sapnap’s ideology of witches?

“S—Sapnap convinced me of things. I didn’t believe it at first, but the more he went on—I guess he got into my head.”

Y/n cocks her eyebrow and scoffs out a laugh. “Yeah, he did. You could’ve easily killed me with the amount of anger you had.”

This makes Dream’s breath catch in his throat. “I—I’m so sorry, Y/n. That was never my intention—”

The witch shakes her head and holds her hand up. “It’s okay, Dream. You didn’t offend me. I’m still here, with you, right? Isn’t that enough to tell you that I’m not angry?”

“Yes! Yes, sorry—”

“Stop saying sorry, it’s annoying.” Y/n giggles, holding her hand out to grasp Dream’s.

“So—”

“Dream!”

The cottage is quiet, too quiet, and Y/n walks into the small kitchen, hoping to bake a cake to cure her boredom. But, Wilbur sits at the round dining table, his beanie and a sewing needle in his hands.

“Wil, I wanted to talk to you,” Y/n mumbles, pulling out a chair. Wilbur doesn’t meet her eye as she does so, continuing to patch up his beanie that got ripped on a tree last week.

“Why are you against harmony with humans?”

Wilbur sighs softly. He places the beanie on the table and turns to face Y/n. “Y/n, when I was young, I lived amongst the humans in a town not far from here. We tried as hard as we could to mix in and not draw attention to ourselves.”

The girl listens intently, both curious and scared for his answer. She can tell the story makes him anxious so she reaches for his hand that lays on the wooden table. “Go on, Wil. I’m here.”

Wilbur nods, his eyes already full of tears as he continues.

“However, one day, my family decided to move to a more secluded area within the town, so my father could teach me more about magic without the risk of being caught. When we entered our new cottage in the forest, we were ambushed and they killed my entire family, leaving me, the only child, alone. I was left there, with my parents' bodies for weeks. I was made to fend for myself until I found Niki in a cave several years later. I was only 7, Y/n.”

Tears cascade down both of their cheeks. Wilbur takes in a shaky breath before he collapses onto the table out of grief. Y/n immediately leaps into action, wrapping her arms around the older man and letting him use her for support. His broken sobs and heart-wrenching cries stab Y/n all over, and she immediately regrets asking him about it.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Wilbur,” She didn’t push anymore, and that was all Wilbur needed.

#life was a willow fic #lwaw #dream x reader #dream imagine #dream imagines #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken imagines #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt imagines #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagines #dream smp imagine #dream x fem!reader #dream x female reader #dreamwastaken

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atxlxs · 3 years

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Beyond The Veil: Chapter 4

The first day of UA high was vaguely threatening. Nedzu was a character that has been looking for an in to the veil for years. Everyone knew about it and everyone was betting on when someone would slip up and let him in. Now Muska had to be the reason Nedzu got in. Great.

The rest of the witches won’t let her escape unscathed. She’ll be hearing about this for years.

It didn’t help that Eras hadn’t stopped cackling since she woke up.

“Cackle one more time and I tell Nedzu that you're an old woman who is older than me and therefore has more knowledge and someone very important in the veil.”

It was an empty threat, Muska wouldn’t tell anyone about Eras’s titles and race. Not even under torture. Eras knew this. It still worked like a charm to shut her up though.

“Want me to take you or do you want to ride the train yourself?” Eras asked, passing a thermos to her.

Coffee, the sweet nectar of the gods, forged for our benefit.

“I’ll be fine on my own this time. Don’t want to be caught outside UA while Nedzu’s looking into the veil.”

“True, I’ll still be in town today though. A cat cafe I purchased a few years ago got a new batch of rescues and I wanna meet them.” Eras said, giving Tibbles a scratch under the chin eliciting a purr.

It sounded suspiciously like [Ah yes, favorite servant gives good scratches].

Ignoring her familiar, Muska nodded to Eras as she adjusted the skirt of her uniform (Ugh). She had emailed the rat-man last night that she would be willing to attend a meeting after school if time permits it. The rat had responded that despite there being a staff meeting that day, Muska could come and join it. Since Muska was given permission, she’s gonna crash it.

“See you later bestie,” Muska called out, as she left through the door, backpack in hand.

“Bye bestie!” came a shout back and yea, Nedzu might feel like a vague threat, but at least she could squash the rat like a bug. Who knows, she might just get along with him.

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UA was a fucking maze and it’s the rat’s fault.

Muska was so close to just setting Tibbles loose on the principal. Even if that would give her a murder charge. As far as she’s concerned, she has a sugar mommy fully capable of paying bail. Fortunately for the rat, Muska found the 1-A labels door within the next 10 minutes. Sliding it open, She found Blue- annoyingly- giving another etiquette lecture to a very angry blondie. At least she would have some form of eye candy.

“So I guess it wasn’t the exam stress that twisted your panties. You're just built like that.” Muska said as she walked into the room. Blondie, surprisingly, snickered at her words. They then proceeded to look confused as to why. As if Muska was anything less than hilarious.

“Y-You!” The now called robocop boy stammered.

“Me.” Muska deadpanned. Moving her gaze to the board, she caught sight of her seat and thanked the forest that she was placed in the back, well not fully in the back. She was behind Greenie and in front of Yayo-Yaoyorozu? Yoyo. The girl will be dubbed Yoyo until future notice. She moved down the aisle and placed her bag on the desk hook, sliding into her seat and resting her head on her hand.

“How dare you! It is inappropriate to be so rude and mean to your fellow classmates! UA is a-” Muska cut him off with a glare.

“A school for teens. If you're so black and white that you can’t seem to relax then you should probably leave considering the world isn’t black and white. It's grey, and you’ll break one day if you can’t bend Robocop.” Muska stated, curtly. Damn this boy was annoying in the worst of ways. Midoriya turned around in his seat to give a smile and a small hello, despite his shaking frame that betrayed his somewhat confident introduction.

Not letting her frown at that show, Muska nodded and gave a hello back. As well as a wink to make him blush. It works and she wants entertainment. Eras would always quip back to their mock flirting. This could be just as fun if it always gets that much red on greenie, making him a strawberry.

Though blondie, looking up at the board revealed his name to be Bakugo Katsuki which- really? Why are the names so on point?- , was more of her type. Speaking of, Turning her attention towards the spikey blond hair, like a Pomeranian she idly noted, she found a piercing red gaze already directed towards her.

If it wasn’t for the fact that as a witch she could tell he wasn't one of them, she would’ve assumed some regular vampires had an influence in his genes.

Tilting her head, she let a smirk and raised eyebrow do the talking and watched with amusement as the boy scowled. Cocking his head he glared harshly and his eyes held a determined glow, practically speaking the thoughts “wanna go?” which was returned with “You fuckin bet.”

Before they could act on that declaration, Muska felt an energy shift and broke her eyes away first. Turning to the door, she saw the energy sluggishly inch forwards like a caterpillar. Quietly she pressed her hand to her mouth to stop the laugh that wanted to break free. Taking a few calming breaths, Muska shifted slightly to pay attention as the caterpillar revealed itself to Gravity Girl who had just made it in the door and was chatting with greenie which- when did he get up?

(Around the time he saw Muska and Bakugo glaring at each other, he wasn’t going to be caught between them. He might have self sacrificial tendencies but he had some form of self preservation-)

The caterpillar, who shed his sleeping bag to reveal a scruffy man who definitely needed some sleep, spoke up with a disappointed glare. Face a mask of indifference as he said,

“It took all of you 8 minutes to notice me, sans Viridis and by extension Bakugo, not fast enough. You’ll need to work on your spatial awareness if you want to become Heroes in the future.”

The man walked to his podium as Midoriya and Uraraka scrambled until they were seated. He reached behind it and took out a box and placed it on a students desk who was huge and had 6 arms.

“My name's Aizawa Shouta, your homeroom teacher for 1-A. Take these and put them on, meeting me in the training area.” A booklet was also placed on the desk and Muska assumed that it was the map booklet.

With that, he left.

Muska got up and walked briskly over to the box and snatched her uniform and opened the booklet quickly to find a red marked line of directions on a map. Nodding to herself, she left. Leaving the booklet for others, one picture heavier, Muska walked out of the room with her phone open and a gym uniform. All before the rest of the class reacted.

She was almost to the first turn when she heard the classroom door open and close with a slam and stomping feet. A quick glance told her that Bakugo had been the first to react. Turning back around, Muska made sure to be at the locker room and out within the 10 minutes given.

Remarkably, she managed just fine and was out of the locker room as others were just filing in and walked onto the field where her new homeroom teacher stood ominously. She could tell he was trying to stay neutral with a hint of intimidation but with years of dealing with Eras, Muska couldn’t find it in her to be scared. Really, they should meet each other, they’d probably enjoy each other's companionship.

A raised eyebrow in her direction asked the silent question and Muska huffed.

“They didn’t start moving until I was already down the hallway. They were filing in the locker room when I left.” She stated, amused.

Aizawa-sensei, god she felt like an anime wanna be weeb, just gave her a curt nod and went back to being entirely expressionless.

It was 3 minutes after the 10 minute allotted time when everyone made it onto the field and Aizawa lost his mask of indifference as he scowled. With a glare, he returned to lecture mode.

“Next time keep it within the time limit,” he stated, harshly, before continuing, “Today we’ll be having a physical assessment with quirks allowed.”

As expected by such an admittance, chaos reigned down on the class as everyone shouted questions. God, does Japan not do raised hands or somethin? Judging by the angry, quirked glare they got, which Muska noted cut off her connection to her quirk, they did do said raised hand trick.

“Quiet.”

Instantly, a suffocating hush covered the class. Seeing as Gravity Girls' question was the most offended sounding (something about orientation which Muska would happily skip with permission any day), along with the help of Robocop, their teacher addressed that first.

“UA offers teachers freedom to teach their classes however they want. This includes approval to skip unneeded ceremonies such as orientation. Question my authority again and I’ll expel you.”

After he blinked, floating hair and red eyes returned to normal. His gaze swept across the students and they landed on someone. He halfway ducked his head into his scarf thing and Muska could have sworn she saw a smirk.

“Bakugo,” He started, gaze burning holes into the student in question, “How far was your ball thrown in middle school?” The sentence was a question, but the deadpan and toneless delivery made it sound like a statement.

“67 meters.” Bakugo answered, sounding slightly irritated but obviously not wanting to test the teacher with being rebellious.

“Alright, take this ball and throw it, however I want you to use your quirk this time. Anything goes as long as you stay in the circle.” Aizawa stated simply, tossing the ball in Bakugo’s direction who caught it with ease.

A feral grin stretched onto Bakugo’s features as he stepped into the circle. Before he threw it though, he tilted his head in Muska’s direction and narrowed his eyes for a fraction of a second, before stretching his arm out. Oh he was challenging her.

Next thing he did was rear back and shout a loud “DIE!” before an explosion followed, propelling the ball forwards and into the distance. A beep sounded on the device Aizawa had fished out of somewhere.

“Here at UA we test your limits in going beyond, that's why we have these assessments. It’s only logical to get a base for where you are before we begin training.”

The class erupted in excited chatter. Words like “cool!” and “Fun” were tossed around as one student in particular called out about how “this would be so much fun!” Muska, however, has an energy quirk that also helps her witch abilities. Combine the two and she’s able to get a read on what people are thinking or feeling. The dark aura coming from Aizawa promised anything but fun.

“Fun? This sounds like fun to you? Fine, if you won’t take this seriously as the hero students in training you're supposed to be, then I’ll just have to make it serious. The points you get from the tests will be tallied at the end of the assessment. The person in last will be expelled.”

Aizawa’s cold gaze sent shivers up some of the students' spines. Outcries of unfairness were startled out of the students under their unforgiving teachers gaze. The man’s eye twitched in irritation. Muska could understand why though. Life was never fair. Eras’s past and their own made sure they understood that.

“Unfair? Life is unfair. Natural disasters are unfair. Villains are unfair. Life won’t give you fairness and you shouldn’t expect it. Your training to become heroes, if you can convince me you deserve to be, you're going to be going against the unfair. Now, Tokoyami, You're up.”

She was so going to rub that blondie's face into the dirt.

Tags:

@baguettehead

#bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #mha oc

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mmos-s · 4 years

Text

HIRAETH CH.3

Summary: girl thinks boy is a himbo

CH.1 CH.2 CH.3 CH.4 CH.5

It was really late. The sun had set an hour ago, the darkness adding sort of an ominous effect to the surroundings. Big trees that Y/N could usually recognize loomed over her almost menacingly. She was lost. The monster she had to fight at the lake had set them back quite a bit, Y/N had planned on getting here much earlier, making it easier for her to find her checkpoint, a small cabin.

Not to mention, it would have also been easier for her and the dunce to avoid stray Fire Nation traps.

“Stop squirming, dumbass!” She hushed.

“Oh yeah, sure. Let me just stop the blood rushing to my head too while I’m at it,” Zuko replied sarcastically. He’d been hanging from a tree for a while now, why was Fire Nation rope so thick?

Y/N huffed and slashed at the rope with water one last time. He landed onto the snow with a loud thud and struggled to get up on his feet. She’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a gentler way for her to get him down. When he was finally able to get back up on his feet he sneered at her. She only smiled and shrugged.

“I got you down didn’t I?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.” She turned around. “Now come on, you’re slowing us down and it’s only getting darker.”

Zuko groaned and threw his head back in what Y/N almost thought was despair. She understood that this was a bit tedious, for the record it was cold, dark, and they’d been turned around by traps an undesirable amount of times. (There were much more than the last time she was here.) But, were the theatrics really needed?

“We’ve been walking for hours, do you even know where we’re going!?”

Y/N didn’t answer and hoped he wouldn’t notice her uncertainty. She knew where the place was, well almost at least, she just didn’t know where they were at the moment. There’s a difference. Her wishes for Prince annoying to just drop the subject aren't answered when they let the thirteenth second of unsure silence set in.

He scoffs and his expression turns into one of bewilderment.

“Wow! You don’t do you?”

Y/N gets defensive and places her hands in front of her chest.

“Of course I do.” She feigned confidence and vaguely gestured towards a direction. “It’s obviously this way.”

Zuko quirked an eyebrow, “You sure? Cause that tree looks awfully familiar . . .”

Suddenly they both hear shouting and the sound of multiple footsteps. Not towards them but too close for it to be ignored. Zuko narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to Y/N.

“Who--”

“I don’t know,” Y/N dismissed him before he could say anything else. She brought her index finger up to her mouth and pursed her lips, trying to tell Ro to be as quiet as he could and to stay where he was. She then looked back towards Zuko.

“You stay here too,” She commanded.

“You’re kidding. I don’t need to be babysat by some bear,” Zuko contradicted.

Y/N was completely done with his constant disagreement and only let out an exasperated sigh. She rolled her eyes and had already begun checking to see if she was well enough to fight if it came up. Her arm still hurt quite a bit but she had no time to heal it, and now wasn’t a good time either.

“No, I’m not.” Y/N turned around and began to head towards the noise.

“Wait!” Zuko called out. Y/N halted and turned back around towards him.

“I can be backup.” He argued. “Plus, I don’t think it would be smart to leave the person you captured alone, right?”

Y/N thought about it for a moment, sure he had a point but she had a feeling his intentions weren’t what he made them seem to be. She’d decided it was a risk either way so it didn’t really matter. Y/N would hate having to ask for help on something she could definitely do herself but having a helping hand wouldn’t hurt either.

“Fine,” She decided.

“Thank you.” Spirits, why was he being polite?

“Whatever.”

Y/N tied Ro’s harness to a tree and then started to head out with Zuko closely behind her. Y/N quickly headed into the darkness, trying to avoid making as much noise as possible. The trees make it easier for them to sneak around without being seen yet the sound of crunching snow made her uneasy. Zuko was annoyingly good at sneaking around. He moved so lightly, sometimes she’d forget he was even next to her.

When they’d finally reached the end of the voices they both hid behind a set of trees and listened in.

“You’re hearing things, man. There’s no one here,”

Fire Nation soldiers.

She had a hunch, they’d been here ever since she’d been hunting down the Prince, it was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Y/N thought that it might have had to do with General Lee, she had this feeling that he was trying to put pressure on her or something. This always caused Y/N to run into trouble when she came here. Every few months they would get closer and closer to where her checkpoint was stationed. Today was no different. Y/N was starting to get worried, they were getting closer to it, she didn’t want to think about what would happen if they found it. The cabin was one of the last places she had left.

Y/N guessed this situation didn’t turn out too bad though, although this meant that they were getting closer, it also meant that she wasn’t lost anymore. They’d practically led her to it.

There were two of them. Y/N looked over to Zuko and realized he was getting ready to fight them. She panicked and moved from her hiding spot to his as quickly. She practically tackled him and put her hand over his mouth.

“Are you dense!? There’s more of them near here,” She whispered.

One of the soldiers turned his head and took a few steps towards the tree they were hiding behind.

“Did you hear that?” He asked.

“Okay, now you’re just being paranoid.” The second soldier laughed.

“I swear something about these woods is off though . . .” The first muttered. The second only rolled his eyes and walked where the first one was.

The two both held their breath.

“It’s just the forest man.” He said. “What are we even doing here anyway?”

“Looking for some girl, you know the one. Apparently she comes through here.” He finally stepped away from the tree and Y/N let the breath she was holding slip past her lips. She’d realized Zuko was still pinned to her, she mouthed a sorry and he only looked away.

“What? General Lee afraid of getting his ass beat by some little girl?”

The other stifled a laugh before a shout interrupted the two.

As three more soldiers entered from the woods the two from before turned towards them and dropped what they were talking about. Y/N thought they must have been from higher ranks because a sort of tension had suddenly filled the air.

“We’ve received news that we are to be called back until morning.” The third soldier spoke up, he stood out among all of them so he must have been in charge between the five of them.

“General Lee will also be arriving in a few days or so,” He threw them a menacing stare. “I highly suggest you two learn how to watch your mouths before then.”

The two soldiers swallowed and averted their eyes from him. They muttered a pathetic ‘yes sir’. A few more seconds and Y/N heard five sets of footsteps beginning to get further away.

The girl sighed and moved from behind the tree. This was going to be a problem later, but she didn’t really feel like thinking about it right now. So she decided the problem didn’t exist anymore. Zuko obviously had other plans.

“That’s a problem,” He stated.

“Won’t have to worry about it till morning.” She replied.

Zuko began to get up and brush off some of the snow on him. For once he didn’t say anything back. He was planning something, Y/N just didn’t know what yet.

Getting the wind knocked out of you twice in a day can really take a toll on someone’s mental health. Or else Y/N wouldn’t be seriously thinking about killing the one person she needed to keep alive. Turns out she was right, he was planning something. That something was an attack.

When the two had finally arrived at the checkpoint he’d said something along the lines of ‘LeT mE gO’ obviously Y/N didn’t comply since that would defeat the whole point. Then next thing she knew he’d attacked her when she’d turned her back, stupid on her part, though she really didn’t see it coming. He had never tried anything until now so she thought she had no reason to think he would do anything stupid. She was obviously wrong.

Y/N’s back hit a bookshelf harshly, books spiraled to the ground and some landed onto her head with a thud. Her hands were pinned above her head before she knew it. His breathing was all off, he’s still weak, yet he still managed to pull this off.

“Finally showing your true colors, huh Prince?” She teased. It wasn’t appropriate but she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to rub it in his face. He was a liar, just like she thought. Y/N found it sick how he was pulling this goody goody act up until she turned her back to him, literally. What was he gaining anyway? Why go through all that trouble? He could have done this since the beginning. People Y/N hated always seemed to have such confusing agendas.

“This is no time for you to think you have the higher ground.”

Y/N only rolled her eyes in response, resulting in more pressure being added to her pinned hands. She winced, what a pushover.

“Fine. Just quite it will you? I’m injured, you hothead,” She complained.

He actually loosened his grip, a flash of regret on his face.

“I’m going to ask you one last time, who are you?” Zuko demanded.

Y/N laughed. “You think I’m dumb enough to tell you? Now that’s funny.”

The Prince scowled and edged the fire in his hand closer to her face. Trying to back away did her no good, she had nowhere to go, it was too hot.

“Tell me.”

He inched the flames closer with every second that passed. Y/N knew he wasn’t actually going to hurt her, if he was going to he would have sooner. It also helped that she knew something in him would stop her from being totally hurt, he looked apprehensive even when they were fighting, and he still did now. She could tell by his fighting style that he was holding back, he barely hit her even once, only backing her up into a corner and getting rid of her waterskin, rendering her defenseless.

She would just have to wait this out.

Y/N kept her mouth shut and let a small smile slip when she saw his expression fall. When she saw his hand hesitate she knew she’d won.

“What is it? Don’t have the guts or something?” She asked.

Zuko’s eyes narrowed and he swung his fist dangerously close to the side of her face. More books fall and Y/N is 100% sure that her bookshelf is now broken, what a waste. His fist is still on fire.

“Name.” He growled.

Y/N sighed, if he was really going to wreck all of her furniture maybe her name wasn’t all that important. To be honest, she never gave any of the people who she captured her name, to her even that was too much of a close connection. Maybe it was her knowing what she was doing was somewhat selfish, but she didn’t want anyone she turned in to have any glimpse of what she was like, the guilt would be too much. She already accidentally broke that rule with this pain in the ass. She was so close, this would be the last one. Who cared if he finally recognized her?

“Y/N.” She finally answered. “It’s Y/N.”

Something flashed in his eyes and he relaxed for half a second. Not even a second only half, but that was all she needed. She buttheaded him as hard as she could. Zuko yelped and let go of both her hands, he stumbled back and brought his hands up to his face. Y/N fought the urge to do so as well. Note to self, buttheading isn’t the best kind of attack. Y/N high kicked him before he could block and he fell to the ground. She grabbed his wrists and held them above his head before planting a knee on his stomach.

“Guess I do have the higher ground after all,” She huffed.

He scrunched up his face and the expression of realization finally pulled through.

“I know you.”

Y/N put more pressure into his stomach with her knee.

“Guess you do, what a shame.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She faltered for a second before regaining her confidence. Why did she feel like shit right now?

“Doesn’t matter,” Was her answer.

“The person you’re doing this for, it’s not going to end well with him. You’re going to regret it,” He claimed.

Y/N stopped and sort of went blank. She knew he was mostly right. Y/N would rather die than admit it, she wasn’t doing this just for the fun of it. She knew exactly what she was risking.

She punched him right in the face. And, oh, did it feel good.

His nose was bloody, his dumb face finally looked tolerable. This was the angriest she’d been in a while. Come to think about it, she hadn’t been this angry in forever. It felt good almost.

Something about him trying to warn her, no it wasn’t a warning, something else. He was almost chastising her. Y/N went as far as to say he was outright scolding her, like he was her mom or something. Like he knew her well enough to give her unneeded advice. And shitty advice at that. Did he think she was dumb enough to not consider that would be a possibility? Of course she had. She thought about it everyday, how basically all odds were against her and she practically was putting all of her eggs into a basket that was seconds away from tearing. She knew, of course she did. But Y/N didn’t care anymore. If she went through with this and it really did go south, at least she would know she never ever gave up. Or else she’d never be able to live with herself.

Blood dripped down Zuko’s chin and she almost caught herself feeling bad. His eyes were only half open and Spirits, did he look like shit. He gave her the dirtiest glare and she was glad, it gave her a reason to keep hating him with no guilt whatsoever.

People really can’t keep up for a facade for long and the Prince was living proof wasn’t he? She knew he’d attack her sooner or later, it’s what always happened. This was the only time it had worked. Y/N really is surprised with her own stupidity. She fell for it. She fucking fell for it.

The hateful looks the Prince would send her way when her back was turned were all too noticeable. He was angry, and rightfully so.

The point was, he wasn’t in the place to be telling her what to do or not do.

“What I’ll regret or not has nothing to do with you,” She fumed.

Zuko tried his best to let out a scoff and threw his head back against the wall with a gentle thud. He smiled. He smiled. Blood stained his teeth because of his bloody nose.

“Fine then.” He sighed and closed his eyes. Almost like he was ready for a nap. “I read the letters on your desk though, General Lee’s not the best man to make a deal with.”

Y/N bit her lip. She was uncomfortable with how much he knew already. He opened his eyes and stared her down.

“Just saying.”

She clenched and unclenched her fist before finally grabbing some rope and tying him up. She made sure to do it as roughly as possible to let off some more steam, and maybe just to piss him off just a little bit more.

“Just shut up, yeah?” She gave him a bitter smile and tied the last knot as tightly as possible. The pained look on his face was satisfactory enough.

“You’ve been saying that a lot. Sort of annoying,” He said.

“Then stop talking,” She shot back.

She got up and wiped her hands on her pants. Her knuckles hurt a lot, so did her forehead, and her arm. Wow, she had more injuries than she remembered. She must look horrible too, she hasn’t slept for about two days and then fought an eel and has been babysitting a himbo during the whole thing. Y/N silently applauded herself.

It had to be close to 1 a.m by now. Sleep was probably out of the question. Sometimes Y/N wished she wasn’t alone so that someone else could keep watch. She picked up the waterskin Zuko had grabbed off of her when they’d fought off of the floor and brushed off the dust. She waterbended some of it onto her arm and just let it sit there. The healing always took a while since she wasn’t so great at it. Y/N walked back up to Zuko and sat in front of him.

“Do you have to sit so close?” He complained.

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Do you think I’m dumb? After all of this you expect me not to keep a close eye on you?”

Zuko groaned and only closed his eyes again. She wished she could do the same. She was so tired, so exhausted that she thought it would kill her. Her whole body ached and her eyes felt like they had weights on top of them. She could hear Zuko’s breath slow, of course he didn’t snore.

She found herself again being jealous of someone she hated. Y/N was disappointed to say it wasn’t the first time.

When Zuko woke up he thought he was dying. Like dying, dying.

He was getting tired of waking up feeling like he was going to throw up. And he was even more tired of being woken up by her. It was either a punch, kick, or shove, either way he hated it. Zuko kept his eyes closed hoping she’d think he died in his sleep or something.

“I know you’re awake,” She said.

Zuko still kept his eyes closed and tried to seem as dead as possible. Doing that gets sort of hard when cold water gets splashed in your face.

“For fucks sake!” He yelled.

She smirked and then bended the water out of his clothes.

“Wouldn’t have happened if you just woke up.”

He didn’t say anything in response and glared at her. She held up her hands in defense.

“Relax! You’re dry now.” She turned around and picked up something off of the floor. “Now get up we’re leaving. Those guys are gonna be here soon.” She muttered the last part.

The sun still wasn’t up, had she not slept at all? The room was different than last night. It was clean. Albeit there was a table missing now but the bookshelf was fixed and the books were all back in there places. He noticed something else too.

His wounds were bandaged, messily, but still bandaged. She was bandaged too, maybe even more than he was. He didn’t remember getting so many hits in but he was proud nonetheless.

Zuko scoffed when he got up, earning him a weird look from Y/N. He didn’t really care though.

“You’re a hypocrite,” He said.

Y/N didn’t look at him. She knew what he meant she just didn’t want to admit it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zuko shrugged. He got his point across. What a weird girl.

He stayed there for a little while before she’d told him to head outside and wait for her. Which was odd to say the least, but he complied. It was still odd though. Y/N looked almost sad. She kept looking around like the whole world was going to cave in from under her.

He’d been waiting here for a while though and he hated that he was starting to get worried. And not because he cared, not that wasn’t it.

It couldn't be.

It was because Zuko swore he heard pairs of voices in the woods. They’d get closer and closer every time he’d hear them again, at first he thought he was hearing things. But when he’d begun to hear footsteps that was what started to make him panic.

It was barely morning, why were they already so close?

Zuko ran inside and looked for Y/N.

“Y/N!” He yelled.

When he didn’t get an answer, he debated just leaving without her. But, he was a good person now, and Aang would say good people wouldn’t do that. Zuko groaned. Why did he decide to become all buddy buddy with the sappiest group in the world?

He ran up the stairs and entered a random small room. He regretted it but he really had no choice.

“--miss you guys.” Y/N laughed, it was soft.

She sniffed and gently placed the palm of her hand on the wall and took a shaky breath in. Zuko got a look at what was on the wall.

Signatures. There were signatures etched into the wood, and a lot of them too. He didn’t want to imagine what had happened to them, he could imagine who did it though. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out and it would explain Y/N’s hatred for him. He felt a huge wave of guilt hit him.

He coughed and her head snapped towards him with such speed and force he thought it would spin off. Her face went through a marathon of expressions. Annoyance, embarrassment, and fury. She wiped at her eyes as quickly as she could. Her hands were balled up into fists, like a kids. Zuko felt even gultier than before, he’d embarrassed her.

“I thought I told you to stay outside?” She asked, moving a bit to cover what was on the wall. He felt like the question was meant to come off as more aggressive, like a command, menacing. But it came out raw and soft, like she had whispered it. Zuko would be dumb to point it out to her so he didn’t.

“I think those soldiers from last night are back,” He said.

As if on cue, a pair of unfamiliar voices were heard from afar.

Y/N’s eyes widened and she mumbled something under her breath. The girl picked up whatever she needed from the room as quickly as possible and then roughly grabbed Zuko’s arm.

“How close are they?” She asked.

“Close.” He was pulled from one room to another, watching her pick up as much stuff as possible. She looked frantic and anxious, something he’d never seen in her till now. It looked almost unnatural, ever since he’d met her he always saw her as someone that always had things under control.

“It was hard to tell at first since they were moving so quietly . . .” Y/N only kept moving and muttering under her breath, completely ignoring the alarming closeness of the voices and footsteps. Zuko, at this point, was starting to get frantic. He tried to remind himself that the place was rather well hidden, but no amount of shrubbery and wood was going to stop Fire Nation soldiers if they were looking for someone or something. And he spoke from experience.

It was when he was dragged around once more that he decided to say something.

“Shouldn’t we be leaving?!” He asked.

“Just a few more things . . .” She trailed off. The sentence wasn’t directed at him, it was more for herself. They didn’t have time, though. She was now carrying a plethora of things in two bags slinged around her body. What was she doing?

The last room she’d brought him to was. . . odd. It somehow looked like her.

“Is this--this is your room?” He asked.

Y/N clearly hesitated. Completely halting in the action of grabbing a picture frame that was turned over for some reason.

“Yes,” She finally answered.

Zuko kept looking around almost bewildered. There was also this feeling in the air where he felt like he shouldn’t be here. It felt too . . . too personal. He felt the same about the whole place actually, there were too many memories that he felt like he shouldn’t be seeing. They weren’t obvious but it was clear enough to be seen, like the lines etched into the wall slowly getting higher and the years being written next to them. Zuko wasn’t used to seeing stuff like that.

In the palace everything was pristine almost 100% of the time. Everything was always in its place and things always looked grand and new, nothing less. Nothing seemed to have personality. This whole place was the complete opposite yet it was so small. Zuko can’t remember one place in the entire palace that looked like anything but nothingness. Even his own room felt empty, nothing that showed a smidge of his personality was in it. There was no trace of him or anyone else.

“Ok done.” Y/N stuffed one last thing into her bag and grabbed him again. “Let’s go.”

Before they could head downstairs there was a big boom. And then the familiar smell of smoke.

Zuko hadn’t realized just how close they had gotten in such a small amount of time. Y/N’s eyes widened and brought the both of them back to her room. She let go of his arm and went to open a window. She snuck a look outside and then brought her attention to him. Zuko was trying and failing to figure out what she was planning.

“They’re not out back. We’re jumping,” She casually said.

“This is a two story building.” Zuko said. Completely forgetting he’s done much worse.

“What sounds better? Possibly breaking a few bones, or burning to death?”

She moved quickly and bended his cuffs away. He only had a second to be thankful for being able to use his hands freely again.

“What’s your plan?” Zuko asked.

More footsteps.

“I just told you,” She replied.

“Oh, right. I meant after we jump to our deaths and into a fleet of soldiers.”

Y/N waterbended ice onto the handle of the door. The anxious girl didn’t have time to answer because of a strong yell echoing through the small cabin.

“The three of you head upstairs!” The demand was followed by a set of loud and quick footsteps.

“Alright here we go.” Y/N got a head start and ran, and the next she was gone. She’d actually jumped.

Zuko looked out the window and found her buried in snow, she had this funny look on her face.

When she caught his eye she waved her arms around frantically, telling him to come down. When Zuko started to doubt whether or not he should do so, the aggressive jingle of a door handle convinced him. He braced himself and jumped. Zuko landed onto the ground with a small ‘oof’, the snow was soft. It didn’t completely break his landing but it helped. When he opened his eyes an arm was extended his way.

“Come on!” Y/N ushered him.

He reached out and met her hand.

“We have to get Ro, he’s not to far from here--”

“Hey!” A stray Fire Nation soldier accusedly pointed at the two. If things couldn’t get worse four more strayed behind him.

Zuko set himself into a fighting stance, getting ready for whatever was to come, before he felt himself getting dragged away for what felt like the billionth time.

“What are you doing?!” He questioned her. The soldiers were close behind, and were yelling at them to stop.

“We can’t fight them all,” She replied.

She was a fast runner, it was hard for Zuko to keep up with her. They kept running deeper into the woods and he wondered where they were heading. He didn’t realize that they’d lost the soldiers they were running from until they reached a cave.

“Ro!” Y/N yelled out.

Nothing.

Zuko didn’t know if she knew it but Y/N was still holding his hand and when she’d gotten no answer she squeezed it tight.

“Ro?” This one came out more as a question.

That was when Zuko had noticed some tracks and fur leading back towards the cabin. They’d taken him before going after them, this was planned.

Guessing from the second inhumanely strong squeeze from her hand she had noticed it too. Her other hand was clenched so hard that her knuckles looked like they were turning white.

“They took him,” Y/N finally let go of his hand and slumped down to her knees, she didn’t seem to be worried about him trying to run away at the moment. “Spirits they took him.”

Then soot flew around the air and softly landed in the snow, Zuko turned and brought his eyes back from where they ran from. The cabin was burning.

“You know,” Y/N took in a shaky breath. “Every time I think I don’t have anything they can take away from me they prove me wrong.” She tried laughing but her voice was too strained.

Zuko sat down next to her and balled up some snow in his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N looked at him shocked with tears in her eyes, this time she didn’t bother to wipe them away. She was looking at him like he’d just started speaking another language.

“Thank you,” She replied. She looked down and averted his eyes.

It was so quiet, a hushed whisper, but he heard it. Progress.

________________________

Tag list: @royahllty @eridanuswave @idkdude776 @multi-fandomstan

#zuko #zukoxreader #zuko x reader #sokka #katara #suki #toph #aang #appa #atla #avatar: tla #avatar the last airbender #self insert #xreader #lowkey proud of this one?? but also no #hope yall like it #:)

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doritopaw101 · 3 years

Text

Arc1, book 3: Chapter 3

-Dream sequence-

Icefire was standing in a grassy field. The stars shimmered all around him. He saw Redtail sitting in front of him, a furious look on his face.

"Just what did you think you were doing?" Redtail growled.

Icefire rolled his eyes. Redtail hadn't talked to him since the accident, and now this was the first thing he says. At least Goosefeather wanted to be kind, he thought. "Saving an apprentice from being killed."

"Yes, Tiger-roar's son," he remarked, his voice edged with a snarl. "Of all the cats to save you pick-"

"Yes, I know what you're thinking, but Swiftpaw is not his father," Icefire growled, cutting him off.

"Maybe not now, but Swiftpaw can become exactly like his father later. Being trained by Fogtail certainly doesn't help."

"Fogtail chose Thunderclan over Tiger-roar!" Icefire closed his eyes in frustration. "Darkstripe's the one I'm more worried about."

"As you should." Icefire had never been more thankful for Goosefeather than he was at this moment.

"Goosefeather! It's been a while since I've seen you," Icebelly mewed.

"Thank this one." he pointed his muzzle at Redtail before turning back to Icefire. "Walk with me"

Icefire followed Goosefeather. He expected Redtail to pad after him or tell him not to leave, but Redtail made no move to stop him. Instead, the former deputy walked the other way towards the rotten forest.

"What nonsense did Redtail say?"

"He was yelling at me for saving Swiftpaw..."

"Ah, Pinestar's great-great-grandson." Goosefeather padded into long grass with Icefire close behind him.

"You know Pine?"

"I was mates with them, in life and in death," Goosefeather rasped.

"They did mention a gray speckled cat when they came to see me as a kit."

Another voice, different from Goosefeather's, but still familiar to Icefire's ears, sounded a few fox-lengths away from them. "Glad you remember me, Splinter." Icefire looked ahead and saw the same reddish-brown tabby tom, those same warm green eyes…

"Of course I do," Icefire mewed, feeling a strange swelling of emotion deep within him. "You stopped Nutmeg from trying to toss me in a dumpster. You scratched up her ears real good too; thought you fought pretty well, for a kittypet."

Pinestar chuckled. "I would have done worse if you and your littermates weren't there to see it."

"Yeah," Icefire agreed. "I've heard things about you Pinestar… about how you left the clan to become a kittypet."

Pinestar looked away at his words. "I didn't know what my decisions would cause."

"It caused my death," Redtail snarled as he bursted from the grass. "You should've killed Tiger-roar when you had the chance!" the tortie swung his head towards Goosefeather. "You should've killed him. You had the duty to Thunderclan as a medicine cat."

"I couldn't kill my own son! How'd you feel if you had to kill Sandstorm for the good of the clans?"

"It would save a lot of death," Redtail retorted.

"Easier said than done, kit," Goosefeather mewed curtly. "It's why Bluestar didn't have Tiger-roar and Nightshade killed."

"That's what I've been saying," Icefire added.

Redtail let out a yowl of fury, turned, and disappeared into the grass.

Goosefeather sighed as Redtail raced away. His voice took on a more ominous tone as he turned to Icefire and murmured grimly, "Danger approaches."

"What danger? Tiger-roar? Nightshade?" Icefire asked.

"A danger that seems to sleep and a danger that seems to be light," Goosefeather drawled vaguely.

Before he could ask any more questions, Pinestar and Goosefeather began to fade as the world quickly melted all around him.

-Dream sequence ends-

Icefire groaned as he came to. They now knew how Cinderfreeze felt. His vision was blurred but his ears didn't ring. He tried to stand but a voice made him freeze.

"Icefire! You're awake."

Icefire didn't need to see to know who was addressing him. He landed back in his nest with a thump. "How long have you been here, Swiftpaw?"

"For a while," Swiftpaw replied, still in shock. "I hoped you'd wake soon."

"I bounce right back, " he laughed dryly. "Can I have some water?"

"Oh, yes," Swiftpaw mewed quickly. "Hold on."

Swiftpaw hastily ripped some moss that was growing in the corner of the den, dipped it in the small stream that trickled through the cavern walls and into the den, and rushed back to him. "Here."

Icefire greedily started lapping at the soaked moss.

"I should thank you," Swiftpaw mewed. "You saved me when you could have left me."

"I would never leave a cat when I know I could save them," he replied.

"But you chose to save me- Tiger-roar's son."

Icefire stared at Swiftpaw even though his eyes were blurred and his head bobbed slightly "Your blood had nothing to do with it, Swiftpaw." he tried to stand once more. "Any cat who says differently will deal with me and Goldenflower."

Swiftpaw chuckled. "True, though you really shouldn't stand."

"I do want you to have your warrior name, though."

Swiftpaw perked up "Really?" he shifted slightly. "I have a shoulder injury right now, again."

"I want to talk with Bluestar, anyway; you and Lynxpaw should be warriors."

Swiftpaw's fur fluffed up in excitement. "I'll go get Yellowfang and Thymeroot!"

It took him two more days before Thymeroot let him leave the medicine den, but he was still prohibited from leaving the camp. The first thing that Icefire did with his newfound but somewhat limited freedom was head directly to Bluestar's den. It still held the strong scent of blood and forget-me-nots. Goldenflower's been here, he realized.

"Bluestar?" he called.

"And he lives," the blue-gray molly drawled. "With a limp, though."

"Could've been worse," he mewed.

Bluestar looked very different than ever before. Though her fur appeared to be freshly groomed, it was already becoming frizzy yet again. She was slightly cutting one of her ears anxiously with her claws, and her tail-tip kept flicking back and forth. Her flower necklace was still nowhere in sight.

He remembered his first gathering as deputy, when she hadn't worn her flower necklace:

-Flashback-

The night was young, and there wasn't a single cloud in sight. Icefire followed the ThunderClan patrol as Bluestar herded them towards Fourtrees for the monthly gatherings, where all of the cats gathered in peace. Normally warriors and apprentices would look forward to such an event, but Icefire only felt a pit of dread in his stomach at the thought of it.

They couldn't deny that he was more anxious than a mouse in a cat's claws. It was his very first gathering as deputy, and he knew that the other clans would judge ThunderClan for promoting such a young cat. He sighed. Graystripe's fur was comforting as he walked in sync alongside Graystripe and Raveneye.

Raveneye sided up next to him with a cheeky but comforting look in their eyes. "Maybe Bluestar will let me sit with you on the deputy rock to help you calm down."

"I doubt it, but it doesn't hurt to try," Icefire replied. Raveneye purred at that remark.

The other clans were already present when they arrived, waiting rather impatiently for ThunderClan so that they could start the gathering. Icefire wanted to shrink as they all turned to stare at the ThunderClan patrol as they spread out into the clearing and began mingling with other clans. Although they didn't know that he was a deputy yet, he was already getting self-conscious by their stares alone.

Bluestar leaped on the Great Rock, exchanged a kind greeting, and sat close to Stormstar. The gray tabby blinked at her in acknowledgement for a moment before he struck up a conversation with her. Meanwhile, Duskstar looked shocked and almost disgusted at her lack of a flower necklace, while Marshstar didn't seem to care at all.

With a sigh, Icefire bunched his muscles and leaped onto the deputy rock, finding a comfortable spot between Deadfoot and Blazefang. Despite the recent tension between ThunderClan and ShadowClan, he'd much rather deal with Blazefang than talk to Leopardclaw. It was typical that heirs have the same spot as deputies do, so he could imagine the spotted molly's annoyed look at having to share the spot with Willowheart.

Deadfoot and Blazefang both gave him a formal nod of greeting. He could sense confusion amidst the act, but Icefire felt too dizzy to explain. He closed his eyes and struggled to breathe. He felt calm for a moment as he instinctively buried his face in Deadfoot's fur. The black tom looked shocked at the contact, but he didn't object.

"Sorry, it just-"

"Helps?" Deadfoot replied, his eyes softening. "Don't worry about it. Flycloud and Whitetail are the same way."

"How is Whitetail by the way? and Icepaw and Lionpaw?"

"She's well, Icepaw and Lionpaw are showing good progress from Webfoot and Darkfoot's words"

"Are Windclan well this moon, Deadfoot?" Icefire asked, feeling much calmer now that he could see the deputy's quick acceptance to his new position.

"We are. The rabbits are plentiful," the black tom replied. "Blazefang, I hope Shadowclan is doing well, as well as sticking to their side of the border."

Blazefang's eyes narrowed slightly. Though it was dark, Icefire could see Blazefang's ribs sticking from beneath her pelt. She looked too thin, even for ShadowClan's standards, where you could see many of their warriors' ribs jut out of their pelts on more than just occasions. "We're doing well, thank you. My clan is sticking to the border just fine, but I can't say the same for some of the others."

Icefire winced. He knew that retort was directed towards ThunderClan. He opened his jaws to deliver a stinging reply, but Willowheart interrupted, putting a halt on the tension. "Icefire, I hope that ThunderClan is well."

Icebelly hummed. "We're also doing well. How's Flameshell?"

"Great" Willowheart purred "Pondkit is growing well"

"Tiger-roar is ill, I assume," Leopardclaw drawled.

Icefire's ear twitched. If Tiger-roar being ill was enough to keep a cat as ruthless as Tiger-roar at bay, then Icefire hoped that bouts of greencough would follow him no matter where he went. "No, Tiger-roar isn't sick."

"I truly can't see a cat like Tiger-roar getting so injured that he can't attend a gathering, much less let a dizzy kittypet be his replacement," Leopardclaw sneered.

Icefire released a low growl. Deadfoot and Willowheart looked equally as ticked at Leopardclaw's usual antics.

"Well, aren't you rude tonight, cousin," Deadfoot sneered back.

Cousins? He could barely see a resemblance between the two, so it came as a mighty shock to Icefire. Why would Deadfoot defend him, a stranger, against his own cousin? What was even more shocking, though, was that even Lichenfang was jumping to his defense.

"Icefire is a warrior, Leopardclaw," Blazefang stated plainly, flicking her long fangs with her tongue. "Something that you seem to forget."

"Yes. He became a warrior the same time that I did," Willowheart added.

"Only because Bluestar took pity," Leopardclaw sneered. "She's losing it in my eyes/"

"And Stormstar seemed to take pity on you when he was foolish enough to let you stand in for Voleclaw," he answered. Deadfoot and Blazefang both snickered while Leopardclaw only looked stunned. She unsheathed her claws and bared her teeth, looking ready to spring.

Before she could do anything else to hurt him, Icefire turned away. He swivelled his ears, acting as though he were listening to a juicy piece of gossip, but he really wanted to pounce and rip into the RiverClan deputy's pelt. But he couldn't break the truce, and if he continued this argument any further, he was convinced Leopardclaw might.

"Now, if we may all begin," Marshstar grunted, her long claws flexed. "Duskstar, you speak first."

"WindClan has been doing well this moon, and there is nothing more to say about it. On chilly nights like these, an elderly cat such as myself only wants to curl up in the warmth of his nest. I see no need to waste our time with other trivial news. Stormstar, what do you have to say about your clan tonight?"

"Riverclan is thriving this leaf-fall. We have several new apprentices: Dogpaw, who is mentored by Vixentail; Coalpaw, who is mentored by Reedtail; Blackpaw, who is mentored by Dawnscale; Pikepaw, who is mentored by Shadepelt; Gullpaw, who is mentored by Suneyes; Minkpaw, who is mentored by Mudbelly, and Garpaw, who is mentored by Blackclaw"

A chorus of cheers echoed across the fourtrees as everyone chanted the new apprentices' names. Vixentail was sitting next to Dogpaw, giving the young apprentice an affectionate nudge. Dogpaw looked shy, dipping her head to avoid every cat looking at her, while all of the other apprentices next to her seemed to be congratulating each other.

Now, as it was Marshstar's turn, Icefire couldn't help but cower. He had a sneaking suspicion that Marshstar would mention the unfair dispute at the thunderpath, and that they would swear revenge. But instead, Marshstar opened their mouth and calmly announced, "Muddypaw has earned the name Muddytail. I had a litter while two were born still one survived whom I've named Silverkit, Blossomhaze has given birth to two healthy kits: Strikekit and Blossomkit and Goldenmint has given birth to a healthy kit named Mintkit" she seemed so calm " Other than that, ShadowClan has no news to share other than the sighting of a fox. It has strayed into your territory, Bluestar, so your clanmates had better keep a long look."

"Must all of ShadowClan's foxes be made into ThunderClan's problems?" Bluestar asked, though it was very clearly rhetorical.

"Apologies, Bluestar," Marshstar replied with an insincere sneer.

Bluestar narrowed her eyes at the shadow cat's words, but she didn't return the same snarky tone. Instead, she calmly announced to the other clans, "I bring awful news to the clans tonight, but thankfully it needs only to be repeated once; Tiger-roar and Nightshade have been exiled from ThunderClan for treason."

The crowd of cats gasped in shock, immediately turning to each other to murmur hushed speculations amongst each other. The ThunderClan cats only stood looking awkward or angry at the sound of the traitors' names.

"How high of treason?" Leopardclaw asked.

"The highest degree, with the charge of trying to kill their own leader. When they were exiled, they were sent off with injuries. If you find them on your territory, you may treat them the same as any other rogue and kill them," Bluestar mrwoed.

"Why didn't you kill them?" Duskstar growled.

"Would you kill cats you raised as your own?" Bluestar asked plainly. "Cats you loved as your own kits?"

Duskstar looked away.

-Flashback ends-

Taking his attention away from Bluestar's lack of a flower necklace, he quickly remembered what he was here for. "I wanted to ask about Swiftpaw and Lynxpaw's warrior ceremony."

Bluestar's eyes narrowed. "Ah... Yes, Traitor-roar's kits."

"Swiftpaw and Lynxpaw deserves to be warriors!" Icefire replied. "Fogtail and Willowpelt says they're doing very well."

Bluestar huffed. "Ah, Fogtail... a Tiger-roar supporter."

"Fogtail stood against Tiger-roar and Nightshade, and he…" Icefire trailed off as the outline of Redtail caught his vision. Redtail laid next to Bluestar, his red fluffy tail draped over Bluestar's back. One would think this was sweet, but Icefire knew better, especially after all he's dealt with from the likes of Dewflare, Robinwing, and Nightshade.

"What happened to Seedspots?"

Bluestar chuckled dryly. "You'll see soon enough" she stood up, shaking lavender petals from her fur.

So much had changed these past few days, and naturally, he sought comfort in the nursery. It would always be a calming place for him. For everything that's happened to be honest. He let Snowkit and Mistlekit nuzzle into his belly. Waspkit and Hornetkit were staring intently into his blood red eyes. Milk-kit was playing with his tail.

He felt very satisfied that Seedspots had been given apprentice duties, but personally he thought her exile should've been longer. It was even better when Seedspots had to serve him personally. He took full advantage of the tortie waiting on him, paw and tail. It made it even better when Seedspots's kits flocked to him rather than their mother or father.

He'd recently taken to decorating his fur with gladiolus since he woke, it had been Thymeroot's idea. Raveneye wore bird feathers behind his ear such as crow, raven, dove, pigeon, and surprisingly robin feathers. Robinwing wore the same thing. He could never forget Graystripe's flower crowns they wore for the gender they were feeling. He was grateful that there had been enough downtime for him and his clanmates to have a bit of fun.

Icefire saw a lot of ghosts in the camp and all over the territories. It left him slightly unnerved, but he was beginning to grow used to it. He thought they were lost spirits or cats from StarClan, but something in his mind told him that the clans had a version of Hell. They've been trying to talk to Redtail, Spottedleaf, and Goosefeather for answers but it was always vague.

He saw Lynxpaw enter with a concerned look on her face. Her golden and black spotted face was twisted with fear and confusion.

"Uhh...er..Icefire?" she said.

"Yes?"

"There's something you should go see, since I don't see Bluestar..."

Icefire slowly rested Snowkit and Mistlekit into their nest and rushed out of the nursery. He caught the scent of ShadowClan and immediately went on the defensive, fearing that the worst might've happened.

Mews of alarm rang around the clearing, but there was no big threat in sight. Seedspots' head appeared through the wall of leaves, her green eyes gleaming with excitement.

"We've captured two Shadowclan warriors trying to invade!"

Icefire saw the two warriors, it was Littlecloud and Whitethroat. As much as he was pissed at Whitethroat, he was more pissed at Seedspots. "I doubt they were invading. Where did your patrol find them?"

"By the Owl Tree," Sleetpelt explained. "They were sleeping, the nerve."

"Has Bluestar been told?" Icefire asked. "She'll want to know."

"Dustpelt's telling her now," Cherrycloud replied. "Don't know if she'll come out of her den, though."

Icefire sighed and tried to relax. "Did they put up a fight?"

"No," Leopardstorm admitted, flicking his bushy gray tail. "When we woke them up, they begged us to bring them here."

Icefire was confused now. "Begged?" he centered his gaze on Whitethroat.

"Where are they?" Bluestar yowled, shoving her way through the crowd of cats, her face filled with rage. "Is this an attack? Seedspots, did you do something?"

Seedspots let out a shocked gasp. "I haven't done fox-dung!"

"This time you didn't," Raveneye sneered.

"Leopardtorm's patrol found them sleeping on our territory," Icefire mewed to his leader.

"Sleeping?" Bluestar snarled, her ears flat against her head. "Are we being invaded or not? Because if this is an invasion then Marshstar needs to try harder than that."

"No invasion, Bluestar," Whitethroat mewed weakly. "I promise."

"Then why have you come here?" Bluestar growled, claws unsheathing and tail lashing. "I expected an attack because of my foolish warrior's mistake. if you're not here for that what are you here for?"

"She has a great point. Littlecloud, why are you two here?" Icefire said, still with a cold tone, but not as harsh as his leader.

The brown tabby stared at Icefire with round, frightened eyes, and Icefire felt a stab of sympathy. "W..Whitethroat and I came here h..hoping you'd give us food and healing herbs."

Hisses and growls of disbelief rose from the Thunderclan cats, and Littlecloud shrank back, pressing his scrawny body against the earth.

"Stop it, all of you!" Thymeroot's voice sounded softly in Icefire's ear. She seemed to study the two ShadowClan cats with narrowed eyes. "These cats are no threat to us. They are sick." she padded forward and touched Littlecloud's forepaw gently with her nose. "His pad is warm," she mewed. "He has a fever."

Thymeroot was about to sniff Whitethroat's paw when Yellowfang forced their way through the throng of cats. "No, Thymeroot!" they screeched. "Get away from them!"

Thymeroot leaped around. "Why? These cats are sick. We must help them!" She twisted her head, looking pleadingly first at Icefire, then at Bluestar.

Every cat turned expectantly to Bluestar, but the Thunderclan leader just stared huge-eyed at the captives. Icefire could see the old blue-gray molly struggling with anger and fear, her blue eyes clouded in confusion. He realized he had to distract the clan. He could see the hostility of his clanmates, and he feared a fight would break out if he didn't interrupt.

As much as he shouldn't, he couldn't stop himself from letting out a snort. "Why us? What made you come to our territory?" he asked.

Whitethroat heaved himself up. "Why not you? WindClan would hardly give us the time of day, and RiverClan is too far. It was difficult to get to your side of the territory... no way were we going to try to get to RiverClan!"

Despite the somewhat solid explanation, the clan hostility didn't seem to die down much at all, and Bluestar still was silent.

"And?" Icefire mewed with a roll of his eyes. "WindClan has more herb knowledge than Thunderclan does, Riverclan has more ways of physical healing then this clan. Just swallow your pride and ask them for help." he heard his clanmates snicker, which made him feel strong.

Whitethroat stared at Icefire in horror. "Are you insane, Icebelly? You know our history. Duskstar may seem peaceful, but I know he wouldn't help us. Marshstar is sick. The camp is in chaos with most cats ill. There are not enough herbs or fresh-kill to go around."

Icefire hissed. "It's Icefire, shadow cat." he took a swipe at Whitethroat to which the black tom barely managed to duck

"What's Palecloud and Blossomhaze doing? They're your healers. It's up to them to tend to you all!" Yellowfang spat.

Icefire was surprised by her tone but he didn't let it show. He was surprised by the lack of compassion toward her former clanmates, especially her own grandson in Whitethroat.

"Marshstar seemed right as rain at the last gathering," Darkstripe growled.

"Calm and collected when telling us about foxes they drove onto our territory," Bluestar agreed, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"She got worse… so much worse, when she returned to our camp. Palecloud was with her all throughout the night. He dragged Blossomhaze into it, and they let one of Crowcloud's kits die without even a poppy seed to ease its suffering journey to StarClan! Barkface came over against Duskstar's orders and got ill as well. Blossomhaze has gone to Windclan to finish Tawnypaw's training and as repayment for Barkface's condition! Dawncloud's son, Ratkit, got injured and almost died from another infection. We are afraid that they'll let us die, too. Please, help us!"

He hadn't talked to Dawncloud much but he knew damn well she had suffered enough under Brokenstar; she didn't deserve to almost lose another one of her kits. But as much as his heart ached for ShadowClan, his duty was to ThunderClan, as was Yellowfang's duty.

"They must leave," Yellowfang insisted in a low growl.

"Why?" Thymeroot retorted. "They're no threat to us in this state!"

"They carry a disease I've seen before in ShadowClan, called carrion disease." Yellowfang began to circle the Shadowclan cats, studying them, but keeping her distance. "It killed many cats last time."

"How did this happen?" Willowpelt asked.

"Rats from carrionplace." Yellowfang glared at Littlecloud. "You are all taught not to hunt them."

"We don't have a choice," Whitethroat replied. "We've had to make sure no foxes or badgers take the little prey, rats were the only thing that we could get."

"Bluestar? What should we do?" Icefire asked his leader. "We are at your command."

"It has not been long since greencough ravaged the camp. Kits died, and you lost a life, Bluestar" The Silverblood narrowed her eyes. "They must leave."

Bluestar nodded. "You are right, Yellowfang," she mewed. "These cats must leave. Icefire, send them away! If they come back, rip them to shreds." Her voice was flat and expressionless as she turned back to her den.

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juniperwindsong · 4 years

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Dragonology 101 (10/10)

Summary: There's no fanfare or applause, no sudden beam of light that shines down onto Felix as he makes his decision; the way such a life-changing decision really deserves, he thinks. There's just the instant when he knows what he's going to do, as surely and with as little wonder as if he had made the choice long ago and only just now remembered to inform himself.

"Last minute cramming, Rosier? Most unlike you!"

Felix looks up from the letter he's engrossed in, startled by the voice of the girl perched on the very edge of the bench beside him. Her hands wring together in her lap nervously, and her lips twitch in the rough facsimile of a smile. But, like all the other seventh years waiting to take their Defense Against the Dark Arts practical exam, it's an expression she's almost forgotten how to make. The faces in the small room run the spectrum from anxious to down right terrified, and the girl next to him isn't the only one whose hands are shaking.

Tilting the parchment away from the girl's prying eyes, Felix makes a vague sort of grunting noise hoping to dissuade any further questions when he hears his name called from the doorway. He re-folds the letter carefully along its well worn creases, and slips it into the pocket of his trousers where he imagines he can feel its slight weight against his leg. Standing briskly, he and four of his classmates follow the wizened NEWT official into the Great Hall.

It's lucky he's excellent at practical examinations, Felix reflects, as he's never revised so little for a test in his life. In spite of the fact that he has not practiced or even opened a book in the last two days, the counterjinx he casts is flawless and receives an enthusiastic nod from his suitably impressed examiner.

Kettleburn assures me you excel under pressure...are uniquely qualified...asserts that you subdued the Common Welsh Green practically single handed... One of his favorite phrases from the letter drifts through Felix's mind, and he swells with pride, deflecting the examiner's hex with such force the man stumbles.

"Well done, Mr. Rosier!" the NEWT official gushes after the exam has concluded. Felix thanks him with as much modesty as he can muster. "I must say, I've rarely seen anyone so composed during a NEWT. May I ask what career path you are planning to pursue?"

Felix's self-satisfied smile withers as nerves attack his confidence for the first time that morning. He mumbles something noncommittal and scurries away from the hall as quickly as dignity allows.

Students are milling about just outside the entrance, rehashing their performance and comparing comments from their examiners. Felix skirts the edges of the crowd to avoid being hailed by anyone he knows and makes a beeline for the open castle doors. The grounds are full of laughing underclassman, unburdened by exams, basking in the warmth that has finally arrived after the unreasonably long, cold winter. Students lay sprawled out on the grass, propped under trees, or splashing each other merrily at the edges of the Black Lake, but Felix passes them all without seeing, focused entirely on the letter he's retrieved from his pocket and unfolds carefully as he walks.

The letter arrived two days before, and since then Felix has carried it with him everywhere. He's afraid to leave it in his room, cannot bear to keep it even as far away as his school bag, for fear it might vanish. No matter how real the now well-worn parchment feels in his hands, part of him is still convinced it's a figment of his imagination.

Felix's legs move without guidance from his brain, which is just as well since his brain is too preoccupied at the moment to be bothered with anything quite so trivial as where he's going. He's peripherally aware of sloping, uneven ground under his feet, and the sounds of merry laughter behind him growing fainter. He scans the cramped, uneven handwriting, searching feverishly for that line he has memorized and yet is compelled to see in print every few minutes.

"...my pleasure to offer you a position as my junior field assistant on an expedition the Reserve is sponsoring in Peru..."

A joke, Felix thought the first time he read it; it's someone's horrid idea of a joke. Only who could have thought up such a thing? No one except Kettleburn and Juniper knows about his adventure of the last term, and the letter references the Common Welsh Green and the Reserve specifically. He's considered more than once whether this might be some misguided attempt of Juniper's to trick him into pursuing Dragonology. But that's quite the elaborate scheme even for her. And besides, it isn't her handwriting. He's double-checked.

Felix thrusts aside branches and skirts clumps of overgrown grasses, dimly aware of a change in the light but unable to ascribe any meaning to it. The letter is real, then. It has to be. As unbelievable as it seems, he's spent two days considering every other possibility and nothing else adds up. He holds in his hand a real opportunity to study dragons out in the field. A once in a lifetime offer from a respected Dragonologist who chose him without an application, without NEWT scores, without even meeting him. Just based on Sparky's now legendary origin story and Kettleburn's recommendation.

It's everything Felix has never let himself even hope for; a longing relegated to the deepest recesses of late night fantasies; a very literal dream come true. And yet, Felix vacillates between overjoyed and overwhelmed. Because the choice it requires of him is so daunting it leaves him dizzy and weak in the knees.

Felix picks his way through the tightly intertwined branches without conscious effort, as though it were second nature. Which it is. He realises where his feet have led him only when they stop just at the edge of the valley where he spent half of the last term. The best half, he thinks. Maybe the best part of the last seven years. He drops to the ground, suddenly exhausted, and surveys the ditch in front of him. With the dragon gone, it seems so much larger.

How can he accept? How can he not accept?

For a moment, Felix permits himself to imagine what it would be like to say yes. He swings his legs over the side of the ledge, allowing a thrill to course through him at the thought of making his dream a reality, living out a true adventure. He tries to picture himself deep in the wilds of a South American rain forest, tracking the Peruvian Vipertooth with nothing but his wits and his wand, but fails entirely. He has no frame of reference for this. Even after pulling down every book on geography the library contains (astonishingly few), his only impression of Peru is a small dark green space on an old fashioned map.

Felix wonders briefly if the library at home might have anything more informative, but that thought sends his heart sinking into stomach. Because equally hard to picture as life in Peru is the conversation it would require with his father. It wouldn't even be a conversation, he thinks, kicking restlessly at the earth wall beneath him. It would simply be his father's deadly quiet voice and his swiftly drawn wand reminding Felix who is his and where he belongs, and Felix passively accepting this the way he always has.

The writhing in his stomach at the thought of his pre-destined future is horribly familiar, but now it's accompanied by something different, something stronger: a wave of grief that breaks over his head with such intensity it forces his eyes shut. Felix grips the grass beneath his fingers tightly. He knows what loss feels like now. He didn't before. Can he live forever with the loss of this? Everything's he's ever dreamed of handed to him so perfectly?

He can't decide. He's run through these arguments so many times the last few days they feel as creased and faded as the letter itself. Felix wishes there were someone he could talk to about it who could offer perspective. He knows Juniper would listen, if he managed to track her down, but the last thing he needs now is for his awkward feelings for her to over-complicate a situation already fraught with difficulty. Besides, Felix knows exactly what she would say, can even picture how she would look saying it. The voice in his head urging him to go sounds remarkably like hers. And the other voice is his father's. He needs a new voice, someone whose answer isn't predetermined.

Glancing back down at the letter, Felix's eye is caught by that phrase, Kettleburn has assured me....

Felix treks out of the forest and toward the Care of Magical Creatures paddock just as a group of third years are finishing their final exam. Students in red and green ties run frantically about the enclosure attempting to round up what looks like a small army of nifflers. He can see Barnaby Lee toting an armful of the struggling creatures toward a large open box, and Liz Tuttle balancing a niffler on each shoulder, plying them with treats. Grinning slightly to himself, Felix wonders if this is part of the exam or merely another creature prison break. Kettleburn stands off to the side, laughing heartily, which offers no additional insight.

Not wanting to be recognized by anyone, Felix takes his time approaching the paddock. He waits for the teenagers to deposit their nifflers, then gather up their things, laughing and chatting happily with each other as if they haven't any real cares at all. It's like looking through a window into a different world, Felix thinks wistfully, one where the weight of the entire future isn't hanging ominously over anyone's head.

"Well, if it isn't my aspiring Dragonologist! How are you, lad?" Kettleburn exclaims jovially as Felix clambers over the perimeter fence and enters the paddock. A few lagging third years look around to see whom Kettleburn is referring to. Felix feels his cheeks heat up, and he tugs at his collar in a hopeless attempt to shield his face from recognition.

"Fine, Professor, thank you," he answers uncomfortably. He shoots a look at the now clearly eavesdropping third years, so curious to know what could bring a seventh year out of the library on NEWT week. Kettleburn follows his gaze, then gestures at the gaggle of students as if shooing them away.

"Go on, you lot, off to dinner then!" Reluctantly, they hoist their bags onto their shoulders and trot back up to the castle.

Kettleburn twists from side to side to make sure there's no one else still hanging around before saying in an unnecessary whisper, "If you're here about that dragon, I can tell you he is doing swimmingly at the Reserve!"

For the first time in two days, Felix finds something to distract him from the letter. "Have they been able to fix his wing, then?"

"Not to my knowledge no," Kettleburn's moustache droops a little as he frowns, "But he did have his first flame a week ago! Very momentous occasion, so sorry you couldn't be there. Though from what I hear, you'll soon be seeing as much dragon-fire as you could hope for. Congratulations, by the way!"

"Oh..." Felix flounders for something polite to say that won't betray his indecision. "Yes. That is - thank you, sir."

"Well, was there anything I could do for you, lad?" asks Kettleburn. "Not harboring any other dangerous creatures are we? Haven't perhaps found that old yeti of mine?" He sounds rather hopeful, but Felix shakes his head.

"No sir. I...I actually wanted to ask you a question about the letter I received from the Reserve-"

"Hang on," Kettleburn interrupts, limping quickly around Felix to where the box of nifflers has begun to shake alarmingly, the creatures inside working together to capsize their prison. The professor steadies the box before it tips and places his hand firmly against the top to prevent any nifflers from popping up that way.

"Mischievous little blighters. Hate to keep them cooped up, but they're in time-out you see. Gnawed through my favorite leg when I wasn't watching." Kettleburn casts a glance back at Felix, hand still keeping the protesting box as still as possible. "What were you saying, lad?"

"I was just saying..." Felix struggles to regain his train of thought. "The letter I received mentions that you recommended me personally."

"Of course!" declares Kettleburn proudly. "Never met students could handle a dragon the way you and Miss Windsong did for so long with so little disaster! I had a hard time convincing anyone at the Reserve I wasn't exaggerating!"

Felix watches as tiny fingered paws begin to poke through the cracks at the top of the box, and he has to work hard not to crack a grin, the tension constricting his chest easing slightly.

"Yes sir, but...before that."

"Before?" repeats Kettleburn distractedly as he pokes the nifflers' paws back into the box one at a time.

"Before you found out about the dragon," clarifies Felix. "When I asked you if you had any contacts in dragonology, you said... you thought it was an excellent career choice for me?"

Kettleburn finally draws his wand and flicks it toward the top of the box wordlessly, making it go still. He straightens up, brushing off his kilt.

"I did indeed."

"But...why?" Felix asks unable to keep his voice casual or unconcerned in the face of the question he's been dying to know the answer to since November.

"Why?" Kettleburn fixes his one eye on Felix in a critical stare, as if deciding whether or not he's joking. But Felix has never been more serious in his life. "Do you know what most dragonologists have in common, Mr. Rosier?"

Felix shakes his head.

"Well, they all look a good bit like me." Kettleburn waves his replacement arm up and down the length of his body, indicating his many missing limbs. "You see, wizards who work with dangerous creatures generally have an excess of enthusiasm but lack what you might call self-preservation. You need a decent bit of both to be successful, but Magizoologists, and Dragonologists in particular, tend to put a premium on the former. We're a passionate bunch - have to be! But it does tend to shorten your life span and your number of natural limbs," Kettleburn concludes almost wistfully, regarding his own wooden leg which Felix notices is riddled with tiny niffler-sized toothmarks.

"But you, lad!' Kettleburn adds, pointing his claw at Felix. "You have something else."

"What?" breathes Felix, eager as a child on Christmas.

"Why, a good bit of common sense!" Kettleburn exclaims, arms spread wide as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Let me ask you, what do you think would have happened to Miss Windsong had you not been there to assist her with that dragon?"

Both the professor's answer and his follow-up question surprise Felix. He casts his mind back to the previous term, trying to imagine what each interaction with Sparky would have been like for Juniper alone. She did visit the dragon on her own for nearly a month before he joined her. And she was admittedly, more careful when approaching the dragon than Felix had ever seen her with anything else. But what would have happened once she decided Sparky needed exercise? Felix had orchestrated every successful part of that plan. Would she have tried to shrink the dragon like she first suggested? He doubts she could have managed it on her own, but if she had, if she freed Sparky from the ditch and led him to the grasslands by herself? Felix remembers the murderous look on the dragon's face and he feels suddenly queasy.

"I gather that you were rather the sensible one between the two of you," Kettleburn asserts. "And a dragonologist with a degree of sense is a rare find indeed. It would make you an impressive addition to any team. Not to mention increase your chances of survival by a good deal."

Felix turns this over in his mind. It's a perspective he hasn't considered. As much as he loves dragonology, it hasn't occurred to him that he might bring something unique and necessary to the profession. It makes his decision somehow bigger than just himself and his family.

Kettleburn limps toward Felix. "Dragonology isn't exactly a glamorous career, lad. It's dirty and tedious and pays precious little, and you'll see more than your fair share of danger. And it isn't the sort of thing you can change your mind about halfway through. You have to be determined, dedicated, able to withstand a great deal of hardship." The tall professor claps his good hand to Felix's shoulder encouragingly. "But it seems to me that a young man who's spent half a year secretly caring for a dragon with no hope of any reward but a great deal of risk including expulsion, on top of a seventh year's class schedule and NEWT studies- that's a person who's positively born for dragons. I can't imagine you won't make a name for yourself."

There's no fanfare or applause, no sudden beam of light that shines down onto Felix as he makes his decision; the way such a life-changing decision really deserves, he thinks. There's just the instant when he knows what he's going to do, as surely and with as little wonder as if he had made the choice long ago and only just now remembered to inform himself. He isn't going home. He isn't going to worry about what his parents want him to do or become. He's going to Peru to be a dragonologist, to make a name for himself, and start making the people who actually care about him proud for a change.

Kettleburn stands back and surveys Felix, slightly concerned. "Not having second thoughts, are you lad?" and Felix smiles, a real, joyful smile with no hint of a smirk, like the sun emerging from behind clouds.

"Not at all, sir. Thank you. For everything."

An easy decision, then, in the end. Felix crafts his acceptance letter flawlessly in one draft, as though he's known the whole time what his answer would be and has been composing the reply in his head. He sends the letter off the same day, and as he descends the owlery stairs, he feels like a brand new person.

Much less easy is the letter to his parents. An hour after Felix begins, the floor is littered with parchment and his hair is on end as he struggles to find a way of explaining what to them will be brand new and bizarre information. Nothing he writes will make them understand, he's sure of that. It's quite possible they won't even believe it. He imagines his father's indignant reply will accuse him of some NEWT induced madness, perhaps even in the form of a howler in an attempt to scare him to his senses.

Eventually, Felix writes the simple facts of the matter and seals the letter before he can reconsider. There will be fallout, he has no doubt. But somehow, now that he's made his decision, that knowledge is less frightening than it used to be. It's simply another hurdle in the way of his goal, one that he will inevitably overcome.

Only it's not a letter or a howler that arrives at school the morning Felix prepares to sit his final NEWT in Potions. As he makes his way to the Great Hall along with the other seventh year Slytherins, all quizzing each other frantically in hushed tones, he hears a voice saying his name from somewhere behind him. The voice isn't loud, but it carries with ease over his classmates susurrations. It's a quiet, deadly voice that Felix would recognize anywhere, even if he's never expected to hear it here at Hogwarts before.

Felix whips around in thunderstruck horror to find his father. He stands outside the door to Snape's office, the professor himself hovering just behind him. Felix notices distantly that his head of house seems even more displeased than usual and he addresses Felix's father in his most politely venomous tone.

"Mr. Rosier, your son is due to sit his final NEWT momentarily. Surely, this can wait."

"Absolutely not." His father's voice does not increase in volume but broaches no argument. Students around Felix are turning to stare and he can feel a heat rising in his cheeks that would keep a salamander content.

Snape's eyes flick once to the hallway around Felix before saying smoothly, "Then this conversation should be moved elsewhere." He jerks open the door to his office and waits pointedly beside it. Felix's father gives his son one last empty-eyed stare before stalking into the room leaving Felix to follow.

Felix uses the dozen steps to the dungeon to steel his nerve against the rise of instinctual panic within him. He's faced down a dragon, he reminds himself fiercely, why is his father so much more frightening? Kettleburn assures me you are excellent under pressure, he repeats like a mantra. But for some reason, he cannot harness that acumen that has brought him so far. He has no plan of attack against his father, no way to defend. He never has.

"What is this rubbish?" His father murmurs dangerously as soon as the door snaps shut behind Felix. He brandishes his son's letter in two fingers as though it were something filthy.

Felix takes a deep breath. And then another. Kettleburn assures me...

"It's a letter," he says simply. He doesn't intend this remark to sound as sarcastic as it does, but his father's eyes flash with fury and his hand creeps toward the pocket of his robes. Felix suppresses his involuntary twitch.

"No. It isn't," his father contradicts. "It's raving nonsense is what it is. 'Dragons and South America'," he utters contemptuously, glancing down at the offending words. "You consider this some sort of drollery, I assume? Perhaps if you tell me the name of the person who put you up to such a joke, you might be spared the more severe repercussions."

Snape doesn't keep chairs or sofas in his office for students to sit on leaving a large amount of open floor space, yet Felix's father seems to fill up the entire room with his presence, trapping Felix against the door. His heart is pounding so loudly he cannot hear himself think.

"It's not. A joke," he stammers. The weakness in his voice feeds the cold fire in his father's eyes. Deep breath. Focus. "As I explained in my letter, I received an extraordinary offer to accompany a highly respected Dragonoligist on an expedition in Peru. This offer is time sensitive and rare. I would be amiss not to accept it."

In almost eighteen years, Felix has never once seen his father speechless. Furious and raging, yes; cold and deadly, often; but never with his dark, empty eyes so round and wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open like a fish. It changes his father's aspect entirely. And Felix can hear Juniper's voice in his head, He's just a parent. He's not infallible. And he feels the fear begin to leak slowly from him like air from a balloon.

"What...is this madness?" Felix watches his father struggle to collect himself, can see wheels turning behind his eyes as he tries to regain control of the discussion. He suddenly turns and jabs a finger toward Snape, seemingly desperate for someone to whom he can attribute blame. "Where have you been in all this?"

Felix is impressed to find Snape entirely unintimidated by the fuming man in front of him.

"This is as much news to me as it is to you, Mr. Rosier. Your son has never confided in me any particular interest in Dragonology." Felix notices his father is several inches shorter than Snape. In fact, Felix thinks his father might actually be an inch or two shorter than himself. The image of his father in his head has always been like a statue, towering over him from a height Felix will never reach. It's strange to realize how small he actually is.

"No, I haven't. But it isn't new," Felix declares, his voice stronger. Both men turn to stare at him. "I've always been passionate about dragons. And this year I had the opportunity to interact with one and discovered I have quite a talent for it." He does not neglect to infuse his voice with the pride he feels is justified. "Professor Kettleburn was suitably impressed and recommended me to a friend he has at the Romanian Reserve. They believe I am uniquely qualified, and I was offered the position personally without an application or test scores. I've decided to take it."

Felix's father begins that slow saunter forward that Felix knows so well and alarm bells sound in his brain. But now he can see that his father is just another beast, his calculated steps merely an intimidation technique. His father's hand flicks lazily to his wand, but Felix can focus through the fear. Excellent under pressure...uniquely qualified. He tenses his muscles precisely, ready to dodge whatever spell his father chooses to throw, the same way he's dodged the snapping jaws of a dragon.

"You listen to me." His father's voice is barely a whisper. "This is a childishness I believed you were finally above but I see I have overestimated you. You are far too old to play these games-"

"You're right," Felix interjects calmly. He can hardly believe himself, because he has never done that before. Never even considered doing so. But like every other new and dangerous thing he's done this year, it comes with an incredible rush of excitement. "I am a legal adult now which means you cannot keep me from accepting this position. I can make my own decision regarding my future, and this is what I've decided."

His father might have turned to stone, he's so deathly still. Felix wonders if it's the confidence infused in his tone or simply that his father hasn't been contradicted by anyone in recent memory. Felix sets his face with grim determination, like a certain fourteen year old he knows so well. It's a look that doesn't yell or threaten, simply refuses to be cowed. But he's still himself, and so there's a smirk in it as well.

"Obviously, I would prefer that you see how this can be mutually advantageous. A position like this takes our name out of the spot light, yes, but it's still a position that carries prestige. It might be everything we need to repair the damage to the family reputation you caused." His father blinks, the first sign of life from him. "But if you cannot see that, nothing changes. This is what I've chosen."

Something shifts in the elder Rosier's face. The frozen features seem to melt slightly and a look that Felix recognises crosses his face briefly. He's seen his father look that way at Evan many times, but it isn't a look he ever seen directed at himself. It's respect.

"Well," his father pronounces finally, face now a careful mask. "I suppose congratulations are in order." He gives his son an infinitesimal nod, and if Snape suddenly began singing Celestina Warbeck in the background it would not have surprised Felix more. "It seems you've found yourself a bit of power. You might not be the waste of a name I considered you." His eyes meet Felix's in the closest thing to approval that Felix has ever experienced from him as he closes the distance between them.

"I will allow you to have your lark, for now. But know this, Felix," and he sets his hand briefly upon his son's shoulder. "Power without direction is meaningless. And often disastrous. The time will come when your power will need to be harnessed to a cause greater than yourself. And far more important than dragons."

And with that final pronouncement as his only farewell, his father sweeps from the dungeon, leaving Felix to somehow right the world from where it's been turned upside down. Felix is as dazed as if his father had hit him with a stunning spell, and he would be mortified if he had any concept of the slack-jawed expression of disbelief on his face.

"Mr. Rosier," Snape's voice drifts toward him from somewhere faraway. "You will need to proceed to your potions NEWT if you do not wish to receive a failing grade."

Felix nods dazedly, and exits the office as if he's floating. He wanders up the passage, legs moving of their own accord as his brain tries to comprehend the last ten minutes. In seventeen years of seeking his father's approval, is it possible he's found it by standing up against him?

Once again, Felix is thankful that he tests so well, because he has never been more distracted during an examination.

Click. Felix shuts the door to the horseless carriage carefully behind the last of the excitedly chattering first years. He scrutinizes the thinning crowd of students waiting to be ferried to the Hogwarts express to be sure he hasn't missed anyone, when he hears his name being called. Felix turns to see Barnaby Lee practically falling from the window of a nearby carriage in his attempt to flag Felix down.

"Felix, over here! Please?"

Shaking his head ruefully, Felix makes his way to the carriage and clambers in, settling himself beside Barnaby, much to the younger boy's obvious pleasure. It isn't until he's already seated and the carriage has begun to move that he realises the opposite seats are filled by Rowan Khanna and Juniper Windsong.

"I can't believe you won't be back next year," Barnaby laments, his face, always full of exactly what he's feeling, now the picture of dejection.

"Slytherin has other prefects, Barnaby. They'll help you with anything you need, that's their job." Felix tries to sound reassuring, but he can't focus properly. It's the first time he's been this close to Juniper since they said goodbye in the common room weeks ago, and he's acutely aware of her eyes on him.

"Yes, but not like you," Barnaby objects. "You never call me stupid or complain when I don't get things right away, like the other ones do. I don't know how I'll pass any of my classes now."

"You can revise with us!" Rowan blurts out, leaning forward excitedly in her seat.

"You wouldn't want to revise with me," replies Barnaby, sadly. "I'll just slow you down. I never understand anything. It used to drive Merula mad."

"There's nothing wrong with taking it slow, " Juniper chimes in. "Everyone struggles with something. Rowan's no good with creatures and I'm rubbish at Transfiguration. But we help each other. No matter how long it takes."

"Really?" Barnaby's face reflects earnest curiousity.

"Of course," says Juniper with a light, good-natured laugh. "That's what friends are for." And Felix has no time to glance away from her before she catches his eye, as if searching for his approval.

Felix feels like he might burst from the swell of pride and fondness he feels for her. He nods very slightly.

"Looks like you're in good hands, Barnaby," he says, giving the other boy a small smile of solidarity. "But if you ever need any particular advice, you can always write me."

Barnaby's face lights up again. "Really? Are you staying in London, then? You could come visit us sometime!" The younger boy is nearly bouncing in his seat with the force of his excitement. Felix has to work immensely hard to keep his smile from growing out of control.

"No actually, I have a job lined up in Peru," He says this casually, flicking back a loose piece of hair from his forehead and basking in the impressed looks on everyone's faces. Including Juniper's.

"What's that?" asks Barnaby confused.

"You mean 'where's that?' and the answer is it's a country in South America." Rowan answers promptly before anyone else can get a word in.

"But...that's so far away!" Barnaby exclaims, his eyes wide with concern. "What are you doing there?"

Felix takes a moment to savor his next words. "I'll be joining a team of Dragonologists working with the Peruvian Vipertooth. They're the fastest breeding dragons and they terrorize the locals if left on their own, so there's always a small team there responsible for keeping the population in check. Should be a good experience."

There's a brief silence before Barnaby and Rowan jump in with half a dozen follow-up questions, each talking over the other and eager to hear more. Felix answers them non-nonchalantly, explaining that he's meeting the expedition team at the Three Broomsticks instead of taking the Hogwarts Express back to London, all as if they were discussing nothing more exceptional than History of Magic homework. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the two of them, refusing to glance at Juniper except from the very corner of his eye. She's too blurry to read an expression from, but the silence she maintains is not like her at all.

They reach the station in what feels to Felix like record time, and as he climbs out of the carriage he feels nerves begin to buzz within him pleasantly. He watches the students around him rush for the idling train, calling to friends and searching for empty compartments, and feels a pang of homesickness for this moment he will never have again.

Then Barnaby pulls Felix into a crushing hug from behind, and he can't stop himself chuckling. The boy is four years younger than Felix, but just as tall and already broader. There are tears in Barnaby's eyes when he pulls away which alarms Felix slightly, so he turns to wave and nod at Khanna already making her way toward the train to save seats. Barnaby follows her, lifting their collective trunks easily.

Finally, Felix has no choice but to turn his gaze to Juniper. She's still standing by the carriage watching him, face entirely unreadable, which is odd in and of itself since Felix now considers himself an expert in interpreting her expressions.

"Well, farewell then," is what Felix begins to say before Juniper cuts him off.

"Felix, are you serious? You're really going to Peru? To study dragons?" It's that chaotic way of speaking she resorts to when she can't string a full sentence together. And there's no way he can prevent his smile from broadening now.

"Yes. Kettleburn's friend from the Reserve made me an offer."

Juniper simply stares. Then she crosses the distance between them in the space of a heartbeat and flings her arms around Felix's neck, pulling him into a hug with much the same force as Barnaby's in spite of the fact that she's half as wide and nowhere near as tall. Felix is overwhelmed by her scent, and the feel of her closer to him than she's ever been. But before he can begin to think what to do next, before he can even hug her back properly, she's let go.

A heat like dragonfire radiates from Felix's cheeks. "What...was that for?" he slurs dazedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

I"m just..." Juniper breaks off, shaking her head. She seems as overwhelmed as Felix feels. "I'm just really, really happy for you." The grin plastered to her face is so wide she has to hide it with her hand.

And Felix smiles back, still red but now betraying some of the building excitement he feels for what's ahead. If there's anyone who truly understands what this means to him, it's Juniper. And in spite of his promise to himself that he would keep his distance from her until he left school, he's glad she knows.

"Will you write?" asks Juniper, "When you can, I mean. I know you'll be busy, I'd just... like to hear about it."

"I'll try," Felix replies noncommittally. Juniper nods as though she understands the reason for his reticence, but she can't possibly. He hopes.

"You're going to be great," she declares simply, and Felix's smile morphs into his customary smirk.

"Of course I am."

Juniper rolls her eyes. "Of course," she agrees, only half mocking.

Rowan calls down from the train, now billowing steam back across the nearly empty platform, and Juniper starts. She sprints toward the train, stopping at the stairs to shoot Felix a final lop-sided grin before climbing into her compartment. The three newly graduated third years wave down to Felix as the train begins to move and he waves back, the lump in his throat surprising him.

The earth-shattering excitement of the last weeks has prevented Felix from really processing that this is it; he's truly leaving Hogwarts forever. He's no longer a student, no longer a child, but a fully-grown wizard about to begin his real life. Felix has spent most of the year picturing this moment with dread, but everything's changed now. The next stage of his life is no longer a black spectre looming ahead of him, but an adventure the likes of which he never thought he'd see. He can feel that tremendous pounding of his heart in his chest that means he's about to attempt something new and dangerous and incredible. Felix lets the familiar sensation wash over him, and he smiles as he takes his first step toward the Three Broomsticks and into his new and unexpected future.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, I’d love to hear it. If you want more Felix and Juniper, check out the sequel, Necessary Monsters, or view my HPHM Fanfiction Masterpost here.

#Felix #felix rosier #felix x mc #felix rosier x mc #felix rosier x jacob's sibling #juniper windsong #hogwarts mystery mc #hphm #hphm mc #hphm fanfiction #fanfiction #hogwarts mystery fanfic #fanfic #dragons #Dragonology #dragonology 101 #common welsh green #hogwarts mystery

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tearlessrain · 5 years

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time to subject myself to Dracula: The Dark Prince, aka another bad movie starring another dude from black sails. this time with 100% less horny on main because my only real motivation for watching it is it truly looks to be a whole new caliber of horrible and I have to see it.

witness my standards for incomprehensibly bad movies being raised prohibitively high in every way imaginable under the cut

I seriously doubt that.

this was made in 2013 by the way, not 1994 as the graphic design of that logo might suggest

oh good, once again we’re opening with an exposition narrator. except this time it’s a woman and she has less vocal inflection and emotional investment than an amazon echo.

I feel like she’s gonna tell me to turn left in 800ft

it feels like a dragon age epilogue, but just. worse.

WE ARE WATCHING A TRULY HIGH QUALITY MOVIE TONIGHT MY FRIENDS

I can’t even describe how bad this is, you really need the sound. that’s where the true lack of quality shines through. siri’s depressed sister is talking about pre-vampire dracula’s epic feats in battle to more weird sepia dioramas and the dying soldiers sound like they hired muppets to voice them

HOLY WIG BATMAN

also this dude is obnoxiously jovial considering he’s supposed to be dracula, even if this is pre-vampire

oh no dracula’s advisors, who all wear black hooded robes and scowl ominously, have betrayed him and killed his wife, how unexpected

someone drew these, looked at them, and thought “yeah that’s good enough to go in the final movie”

the characters are speaking both english and what I assume is... romanian or something? transylvanian? it’s not spanish or welsh I can tell you that much. anyway there are no subtitles and also no rhyme or reason to which they’re speaking at any given time so I hope I’m not missing anything important. probably not.

so like... they killed his wife, yes. and he went on a murderfest in what appears to be a church in revenge, makes sense. now a dude who... I think maybe he’s supposed to be a priest or something? but he wasn’t speaking english so I can’t be sure, then a voice over said “I have killed for god, the hand that fought for him will now be turned against him” but I’m unclear on who was speaking. this movie is an absolute clusterfuck and we aren’t even five minutes in yet. this is still the prologue.

now zombie alexa claims dracula was cursed with immortality “in punishment for his defiance” but I’m still not sure... what defiance. he killed the dudes who murdered his wife and that’s somehow not okay despite his apparent status as a war hero, a designation that implies a LOT of killing has already happened?

fucking finally, the title screen. usually a prologue clarifies what a movie is about but I went in thinking I knew and now have absolutely no idea what I’m watching.

a carriage drawn by friesians is rolling through a misty forest with wolf howling sound bites playing at random in the background to vaguely urgent music, now this is what I’m here to see.

nevermind the carriage is too slow so they’re leaving it because that’s a thing people do (?????)

“Lady Arwen, we cannot delay”

seriously though everyone’s mumbling so much I can’t understand them much better than when they were speaking whatever the other language was

BOOTLEG XENA RIDES AGAIN

but this time she’s accompanied by esme. we don’t know who esme is yet either.

there she goes

and now the knights are being attacked by hilarious squeaky goblin things? who I guess are led by this power rangers villain with, again, an unintentionally hilarious voice. it’s like a bad batman impression.

with every minute that passes I become less certain of what I’m actually watching.

they’re looking for the “light bringer” and telepathically overseen by the world’s most halfassed lestat dracula

they’ve also got some random prisoners in a cage wagon

okay the prisoners are being taken to dracula’s castle and I’m sorry for such an image-heavy post but I NEED you to understand the community theater level of set design/quality we’re dealing with here

“what is that?” cardboard and mod podge is my guess

so far the only thing esme has done is fall off her horse and be knocked unconscious, and now a Roving Band of Misogynists has appeared to harass Bootleg Xena 3.0 in the most generic way possible (the words “what ‘ave we got ‘ere” accompanied by a chorus of malicious cackling and some whistles have been spoken)

oooh no the ringleader of the Roving Misogynists has been given a name, and it’s ~Lucien~. I have a horrible feeling that I’m about to bear witness to the worst romantic subplot in the history of cinema.

oh for... I thought at least bootleg xena 3.0 would be a Strong Female Character and fight them off, but she just rapped lucien on the head with her sword and then they stole her very important box and left as obnoxiously as they came

OH NO SHE’S ASKING TO GO WITH THEM, SOMEHOW THAT’S HER PLAN I THINK I’M RIGHT SHE’S GONNA HOOK UP WITH LUCIEN AND IT’S GOING TO BE HORRIBLE.

“trust me” she says to esme, who, wisely, obviously does not.

I appreciate the timely thunderclap every single time the castle comes on screen

who the fuck are you, did you wander onto the wrong movie set

nope okay they’re not gonna explain that shot at all we’re just moving on to a shot of a weird angel shadow doing slow flamenco moves on the ceiling while ominously gurgling, and the prisoners being led into the throne room

“what’s happening to us?” I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW THE SAME THING, PRISONER #3

oh never mind that guy from before wasn’t a priest, he is remfield, chancellor of this kingdom, which means the last scene he was in makes even less sense

AKSLDGHJFGAKDLFJGHKAJGHFDKLFDS;GJokay so. remfield introduced himself then said “I will see that your needs are tended to.” then dracula in his new white contacts gets up from his shadowy throne, circumnavigates the cluster of prisoners, sniffs them dramatically, and walks back to his throne. remfield then says, “come, I will see that your needs are tended to” because proofreading is for COWARDS

now remfield is... literally giving the prisoners a tour of the castle and going on the “oh you’re our guests and many pleasures and adventures await you” speech and somehow the prisoners are accepting this despite the fact that they were just carted in on a barred wagon in shackles and got sniffed by a bad alucard cosplayer. they have a fucking harpist.

seriously, who the fuck are you

she’s just been twirling around in the background of this entire scene for no discernible reason no matter what rooms they go into

what the hell am I watching

yeah they’re just going for that incredibly suspicious food and also seem weirdly okay with the ambient clusters of scantily clad lesbians no one will explain okay they deserve whatever happens to them

WHOA TITS apparently this movie is a different rating than I thought

remfield: the newcomers have settled in

dracula: I d o n ‘ t l i k e s t r a n g e r s

then why pray tell have you brought them directly into your home in chains. I cannot stress enough how avoidable this situation was for you my dude

“just think sire, once the light bringer is in your possession no one need die again” “except those who defy me” [ominous chime as the angel shadow on the ceiling continues its sensuous flamenco dance]

meanwhile in the misty blue filter forest of eternal night, some guy in a tricorn finds a gold amulet that I think bootleg xena 3.0 dropped, and the power ranger villain rides menacingly in a random direction for a few seconds

I’m still waiting on whether this masterful display of cinematic calvinball has any cohesive story to it.

ah joy and we’re back to The Non-Adventures of Xena 3.0, Esme, and the Roving Misogynists

as an aside, I’m not calling her that just to be dumb, I’m calling her that because they still haven’t given her a name even though her sidekick got one in the first five minutes

they’ve opened the box and revealed... the light bringer, which is a wooden staff. because it is not shiny gold, the roving misogynists regard it with confounded disgrunglement and scoff at xena 3.0′s insistence that it can defeat dracula

these guys sound like what an eleven year old thinks gangs of ne’er-do-wells sound like. like cartoon weasels, if the weasels were also mediocre pirates who have heard of women, conceptually, but never seen one. like goblins in a pre-written D&D campaign run by a slightly overwhelmed first time DM.

HUR DUR WALKING STICK NOT TREASURE, WOMAN DUMB

it’s what cain used to slay abel, apparently. given that zombie alexa mentioned that dracula is the descendent of abel, this leaves us with the terrifying implication that someone did put at least some vestige of effort into writing this movie.

oh good she’s finally gonna fight lucien

no she failed again. please someone just punch the shit out of lucien so he’ll stop.

NO WHY ARE YOU MAKING OUT STOP IT GOD HAVE SOME STANDARDS WOMAN. STOP PLAYING FLOATY ROMANTIC MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND THEY ARE LITERALLY STILL STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ENTIRE BAND OF ROVING MISOGYNISTS

I thought it might at least be a trick but no she is actually, genuinely starstruck over this profoundly mediocre olde-timey frat boy who called her “sweetheart” while she was trying to explain to him why the ancient dracula-defeating relic was important.

this guy.

we did it boys, we found a worse love story than twilight

also I just. I wish I could convey with words the way the roving misogynists react to every single thing lucien and sometimes xena 3.0 says like the world’s worst greek chorus in a literally neverending stream

lucien (post makeout and xena 3.0 explaining again that the relic is ancient and powerful and they’ve searched for ages to find it): well we may not be knights but we can respect that

[cacophony of rowdy but understated agreement]

lucien: what do you think boys, should we give it back?

[assorted grumbles of assent]

xena 3.0: hm, a thief with a conscience

[gruff mercenary-esque chuckling]

lucien: maybe even a heart

[chorus of “ooooooOOOooh”s and some whistles]

it just goes on like that in every scene they happen to be physically adjacent to, they never shut up but also never actually contribute or say anything meaningful

ah, the mysterious leonardo has appeared. I think he was the one they were trying to take the light bringer to so that’s handy

“what is happening here? what is this flirtation?? is this the people to share your sacred secrets with???” - leonardo, the only remotely rational person in the entire movie

oh he is schooling these idiots, finally someone with sense. it’s bouncing right off of lucien, but at least he’s saying it.

“the scourge” - leonardo

“scourge!” “scourge!?” “scourge?” “hrgghhg??” “hrrm...” - the roving misogynists

power ranger villain and his squeaking goblins vs leonardo, the most useless female leads of all time, and the roving misogynists. who will win.

not the people watching this movie, I can tell you that much.

oh no, the lightbringer isn’t working. this will do nothing to convince the roving misogynists that it isn’t a walking stick

oop, wilhelm scream

oh no lucien has picked up the light bringer

goddamn it he’s the chosen one isn’t he

yep he activated the stick and now we all have to suffer

oh xena 3.0′s coming for power ranger villain maybe she’ll actually do something

nope she bounced off him and now he’s grabbed her and hauled her onto his horse

“you’re coming with me” he says in his weird batman voice, to make sure the audience can tell that he is in fact taking her with him

and esme has yelled “no” to make sure we remember that she’s in the movie

wait what the. did lucien just yell “xena” is that her actual name what the fuck. what the fuck. I had to have misheard that. okay I can’t tell what he’s saying for sure but someone’s bound to say her name again at some point in the movie so I’ll revisit that.

and on that note, I think I’ll end here, because there ended up being a LOT more to unpack in this movie than I expected, it’s after midnight, and I’m tired.

tomorrow, we follow lucien as he presumably goes to save some lady he wildly disrespected and then made out with one time whose name may or may not actually be xena, and hopefully figure out what the hell is even going on with dracula, remfield, and their castle full of artfully strewn half naked harpist lesbians and dancing ceiling shadows. because right now I really don’t have time to unpack all that, and I have a feeling it will only get worse.

#this is #a masterpiece #no description of mine can hope to do it justice #hypnotically incomprehensible #tearless liveblogs

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pftones3482 · 6 years

Text

Commission for @crazyfanatic97. Part 1 of 3. Under a cut for length. Follow up to their last commission from me.

Honestly, how many places were there to hide in Danville? Considering the population rested at under 5,000, the actual city wasn't nearly as big as it felt to Vanessa in that moment. ESPECIALLY considering the fact that her father was a freaking cow, there were probably only two or three dozen places he could conceivably hide.

And yet somehow, she, Monty, and Perry had lost him.

They were stopped in the park, hands on their hips as they studied the darkened trees around them.

"How do we just...lose a whole cow?" Monty finally managed.

His vampire cape fluttered in the slight wind and Vanessa smirked a little, lifting an eyebrow at him. "Keep in mind, he's a whole, sentient cow who doesn't want to be caught. And that is...officially the weirdest sentence I've ever said."

Perry shook his head in irritation, though Vanessa could see the faint curl of amusement on his bill. He gestured at one path leading towards the city, and then at himself, and then at another path, which led towards the woods, and back to Monty and Vanessa.

"Seriously?" Vanessa groaned. "You want US to go into the woods to look for him?"

Perry crossed his arms over his chest and lifted both eyebrows, and Vanessa sighed. "Fine. But if we get killed, it's on you."

He saluted cheekily and vanished down the other path.

Monty turned to Vanessa. "He totally did that on purpose."

"Oh absolutely."

"Shall we take the dark, ominous looking path into the woods, perchance to never come back, or go back to the party?"

Vanessa sighed. "I should probably at least TRY to find my father."

Monty grinned. "Fair enough," he chuckled.

He offered an arm and Vanessa took it in amusement, walking alongside him into the woods. For a bit of time, all they could hear was the crunching of their own footsteps and the owls and bugs in the trees and bushes. They laced hands after a while instead of holding arms, Vanessa using her extra hand to hold up her skirts. She regretted leaving her shoes behind at the party.

They managed to traverse pretty much through the whole section of woods without spotting her father, coming out on the other side of the forest to stare up at the town center. Vanessa eyed her father's building and pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. "What if we just...go get some –inators to find him?" she asked.

Monty furrowed his brows. "Like what? His dress-inator?"

Vanessa slapped him playfully on the chest. "Shut up. No. Like, he has a couple –inators that are for tracking. We could modify one to locate cows? Or something?"

"And then what, eliminate the ones on the far side of the city?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Monty thought about it for a moment. As much as he didn't want to use evil machinery for a mission, he had to admit it was a genius idea. Short of going back to OWCA and admitting to his father that he had been hanging out with the enemy's daughter, the only other idea he could think of involved getting Perry's owners in on their search, and that wasn't something he planned on doing any time soon.

"Yeah, okay," he finally said. "Lead the way."

She took the initiative, digging her keys out of her dress pocket (thank you, past Vanessa, for putting that in there) and buzzed them into the lobby, smacking her thumb into the button to call the elevator to them.

It was a quiet ride up, and Vanessa felt almost uncomfortable. Now that she thought about it, she and Monty were rarely alone-alone. They usually went out in groups, or were being stalked by Perry on her dad's behalf. It was weird, to say the least.

"So-" she said at the same time that Monty said, "Weird day, huh?"

They looked at one another and burst into laughter. "Why is this so weird?" Vanessa chuckled.

"No platypus following us around," Monty joked, though there was a serious undertone to his voice.

She snickered, and the bell on the elevator dinged to indicate that they had reached the Penthouse Floor. "Come on. He's got a bunch of old ones lying around in the guest bedroom."

"You have a guest bedroom?" Monty asked in surprise.

Vanessa chuckled. "Yeah. With the clutter in this place, sometimes even I forget it exists."

She unlocked the door and flicked the lights on, and she led Monty to the spare bedroom, which, true to her word, was littered with objects that Monty couldn't even begin to comprehend.

He cracked his knuckles and looked to Vanessa, who was heading to her room. "Going to change," she explained, gesturing at her ball gown that Monty had to admit wasn't conducive to late night father-hunting.

"While you do that, I'll start searching," he said.

When Vanessa came back out five minutes later, Monty was sitting on the floor surrounded by smaller –inators and pieces, looking totally baffled. "Need some help?" she laughed.

Monty glanced up and his jaw loosened a bit when he saw her, making Vanessa shift uncomfortably. While the ballgown wasn't a good plan for late night searching through the forest, neither was her usual outfit, so she had opted to change into converse, black skinny jeans, and an oversized gray sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back into the same updo it had been for her Belle costume, and she had the sudden urge to shake it out. "What?" she demanded after a long second of silence.

Monty shook his head, clicking his mouth shut. "Nothing," he murmured. "Just...never seen you in such casual clothes."

"Yeah, yeah, I look like I took a tumble into the laundry basket," she said with a wave of her hand. She knelt on the floor next to him and started picking up various –inators, trying her best to remember which ones were which.

Monty settled a hand on her knee, squeezing gently and giving her a small smile. "Not at all."

His breath was soft, and Vanessa found herself flushing at the unspoken compliment. "Well, thank you. We need to focus, though. Have you seen the transport-inator? He made it pretty recently."

Monty stopped, nearly facepalming. "That...would probably be the number one I was looking for. Yeesh. Where would it be?"

Vanessa stood back up, shifting from foot to foot, and glanced around the room. "Well, he organizes alphabetically, for the most part, so..."

She waded through the piles of machinery, hopping over a few smaller ones, and landed in a standing position by the far window that looked out onto the street. She was dwarfed by the three or four tall inventions that stood in the space, and she scanned those ones only, knowing that the transport-inator (the remade model, obviously, seeing as the first one had been blown up) was taller than the others.

It was nowhere to be seen, and she sighed. "To the basement, then," she grumbled, stumbling back over to Monty.

He caught her by the elbow as she tripped, grinning. "The basement?"

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Yeah. He keeps the big-big stuff and the potentially explosive stuff down there. I didn't even think it wouldn't be up here."

"Back to the elevator then?" he chuckled.

"You got it."

She took one last glance around the room and then led Monty out of the apartment, locking the door again while he called for the elevator.

The atmosphere inside was more relaxed this time, more joking and teasing about the whole "your father is a literal cow" situation, more playful banter, and it felt like only a few moments before they were entering the eerie, damp cell that was the basement of Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc.

Vanessa found the gross, musty bulb in the center of the room, clicking it on and coughing at the amount of dust that kicked up when Monty followed her inside. "He really hasn't been down here in a while, has he?" she grumbled, more to herself than anything.

Monty ran a finger along one of the tables containing the old –inators, his nose wrinkling when it came back more black than skin colored. "You can say that again. How is everything organized down here?"

Vanessa gave him a vague shrug, wiping her already dusty hands on her jeans. "No idea. It's a taller machine, so just start looking at the big ones."

"Copy."

Vanessa shot him a wry smile at the formal speak and Monty flushed and shot her a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Habit."

She hummed and they broke onto separate sides of the room, the sounds of digging and metal scratching across rough concrete surfaces the only indication that they were actually looking for something specific.

After roughly four minutes, Monty called out. "This it? It looks like something that would take someone to another location?"

Vanessa set down the helmet in her hands and hopped over to where Monty was standing and staring up at a relatively tall and pointy machine. "What makes you say that?" she asked as she got closer.

Monty pointed at the wheel on it. "Those are all locations. Well, except the "in my pants" one. Although I guess that technically COULD be-"

"Monty," Vanessa interrupted. She chuckled at the look on his face. "Yes, this is it. Okay, so..."

She squatted to look at the wheel, her eyes glazing over the words and a frown twitching at her lips. "So possibly the closest thing is the "family member" section? But what if it just takes us to a random person? Or can you even go, seeing as he isn't family for you?"

Monty shrugged. "Worst case scenario, you just call me and we have to figure out a way to get you out of a foreign country or I have to grab my car and come find you before your father kills you with his hooves."

"He wouldn't do that," Vanessa snorted. She paused, and then her eyebrows furrowed. "At least...I don't think he was. Perry wouldn't have let us help if he thought he was super dangerous, would he?"

Monty's hands settled on either one of her shoulders and Vanessa glanced up at him, eyes wide. He had a sincere smile on his face. "Hey. He's your dad. Even if he IS evil, which sometimes I really doubt, I don't think he could hurt you. I wouldn't risk sending you alone, without backup, if that were the case."

"What, don't think I can handle myself?" she teased.

Monty's lips twitched. "I wouldn't be dating you if you couldn't. Not with the line of work our parents are in."

Vanessa chuckled, her chest a little lighter. "Dating, hmm? Did we ever actually make that official?"

Monty's cheeks flushed and he stammered, pulling back. Vanessa rolled her eyes and pressed up on her tiptoes to settle a light kiss on his cheek. "Come on, lameo. Set that –inator to fire. If I end up in Drusselstein, I end up in Drusselstein. I'll live."

He chuckled, lifting his hands up and cupping her cheeks before she could move away, dusting a somewhat firmer kiss to her mouth. "Fair enough," he murmured. "Call me if you do end up there. Or if I don't end up there with you, I guess."

Vanessa snorted and turned to plug the machine in, twisting the dial until it was set on the "family" slice of the pie. She set the timer clock for ten seconds, moved quickly to stand next to Monty in front of the laser, and grabbed his hand.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered.

He squeezed her hand once as the –inator started whining, indicating that it was about to fire. "Or everything."

"That was really cliched, Monty."

"I watch too many action movies."

The –inator fired.

#my writing #pnf #phineas and ferb #vanessa doofenshmirtz #monty monogram #perry the platypus #fanfiction

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abovethesmokestacks · 7 years

Text

Haunted

Title: Haunted Pairing: Bucky x reader Word count: 3.8k Spoilers: general spoilers for CA: CW Warnings: none

This is my contribution to the Halloween Writing Challenge hosted by @rotisserierogers. My prompt was “I know you, don’t I?”, and well… this is what became of it.

Do not repost my fics.

1996

There are few things as intoxicating to a ten-year-old as freedom. Or, okay, maybe a few things. But this came a close second. Or third. The point is, in your ten-year-old eyes, finally getting to go trick-or-treating without a chaperone was as close to true freedom as you could get. You’d wished for this for two years, even feeling a bit ashamed last year when you were among the few to still walk the neighbourhood accompanied by an adult. Sure, it was your older sister (and she suffered just as much, or even more if her whining was to be believed), but still. It was embarrassing.

You and your friends had planned your outfits for weeks, counted your allowances and finally gone down to the masquerade section of the supermarket, clutching your chosen costumes while your mothers shook their heads with amused smiles. Your own mother had glued sequins with such precision, you almost felt guilty about it. They were gonna come off, sooner or later, and you wouldn’t even need a tornado.

“How much did you get?”

“We should go home and change and then run back to mrs. Applebaum’s for more!”

“Trick or treat!”

The neighbourhood is teeming with kids in costumes, greedily looking into their pumpkins and cauldrons, assessing the candy they have been given. You and your friends have finished your round, your basket laden with goodies. As predicted, your shoes look a little worse for wear, apparently glue is no match for your heel clicking abilities.

“See you tomorrow?” your friends ask as you turn onto the street that will lead you home.

“If I don’t die from eating all of this!” you titter, swinging your basket and making the wrapped candy rustle.

Waving goodbye, you hurry down the street. The weather has quickly turned cold, fog billowing in from the sparse forest beyond the houses, and stubborn as you are, you’d refused the poofy jacket your mother had insisted on. Either way, home isn’t far away. The street you walk down turns off into a cul-de-sac a little ways ahead, and at the end of that cul-de-sac is your home. The street is eerily empty, not a trick-or-treater in sight. The cold creeping up your legs has shivers running up your spine, your steps quickening. You’ll never admit it, never in your life, but the quiet street with the fog-wrapped houses scares you.

He comes seemingly out of nowhere, a ghost materializing from the misty wisps clinging to the world. If it wasn’t for your shriek, he would probably have marched past you, never even sparing you a glance. Instead, he turns sharply, fixing you with eyes hidden behind pitch black goggles. Your legs won’t carry you, frozen to the ground in flats with poorly glued red sequins on them. Your cheeks that had only seconds before sported a blush brought on by the chill have now been drained of colour.

He is dangerous, that much is clear. Between the unsettling black goggles and the intimidation that oozes from him, he isn’t someone heading for a Halloween party. Letting your gaze skitter down his torso, you spy a knife strapped to his waist, black masses you think are guns. Dangerous. Seconds tick by, you are still alive. With each passing moment, you start thinking maybe you’ll make it home, maybe he won’t hurt you, maybe it’s all just-

“Беги домой, маленькая Дороти.”

His voice is rough, deep, the language sharp and oddly unfitting. When you don’t do anything, your feet still frozen to the ground, he tries motioning away from himself. It doesn’t escape you that he keeps glancing down the street, the set of his jaw like what you’ll see on your father sometimes. Stressed, but it’s laced with something else, something you can’t quite place yet. Rifling through your basket, you close your hand around a familiar shape, the wrapper crackling as you pull it out from the mass of candy.

He hesitates when you hand it to him, perhaps some part of him recognizes the gesture. You’re handing him one of your favourites, all too aware that you only have one other left. If you’re gonna get away alive, you might as well thank him. Like the people who paid the ferryman in the story from your favourite book. When he finally makes up his mind, his hand shoots out to snatch the candy from you, circling it between his fingers. The mask comes off, and somehow you expected there to be… more beneath it. A monster, something grotesque. Not this, not someone who looks so… ordinary. His teeth glint in the low light as he tears the wrapper, pulling the candy from it.

“Спасибо, маленькая,” he grinds out between chews, reaching out to gently push you away, pointing down the street. “Беги, пожалуйста.”

When you still don’t move, he moves to lunge at you, the movement meant to scare you. It unfreezes you, your yelp shrill in the quiet night, and you run without looking back, clutching your basket to you. Your mother says you look like you’ve seen a ghost when you stumble through the front door, tuts and chuckles when you nod mutely. He was a ghost, you tell yourself that night when you go to bed. Part of you reasons that he wasn’t real, he can’t get to you. Part of you fears he will haunt you.

Isn’t that what ghosts do?

He never comes for you. Despite the vigil you keep for the days following Halloween, you never see him again. Nothing strange happens. Your friend gets a new cat. There’s a funeral for someone one street over, your sister kisses a boy and gets mono. No ghost turns up at your window, nor anyone else’s window. Not that you actually ask, but if a strange man turned up at your window, people would know. Especially if it’s the ghost.

2014

Time passes. Days, weeks. Time flies. Months. Years. With each passing measure of time, you lose him more and more. One Halloween in college, you find yourself doing a double take when someone enters the party dressed in black. It’s some video game character, but from the corner of your eye, it could be him. You try to remember, and the vision of him is still as clear as the night you saw him, but his voice is lost. The words he spoke, foreign to your ears then, have dissolved into a muddle, distorted and weakened.

Years later you wake from a dream of sparkly shoes and a shapeless shadow, its edges flimsy as it reaches for you. Your thundering heartbeat as you jolt awake screams that you dodged some incomprehensible danger, but your mind persists that it is something familiar. There was that… man? No, a ghost? There was something that one Halloween. The image is vague, the sensation of fingers crinkling around candy wrapper and a firm push on your shoulders.

No matter, it’s been years. You’re living in the present, and the present tells you to go back to sleep because work is sure to be hell tomorrow. Never a boring day at SHIELD.

And then Captain Rogers defects.

And then the Triskellion falls.

And then you see him.

He’s all over the news, the internet, and just like that he materializes in your mind just as he was then. Black clothes, the mask, the weapons. You finally see his eyes, cold and determined, and something in you reacts violently, refuses to accept. Swallowing it down, you force yourself to think logically. It’s a memory, tainted by nostalgia, by your own insufficiency. It’s him, all of him.

But just like Halloween, he manages to slip away. One moment he is everywhere, the next there is not a peep to be heard. You scour the internet, tries to dig through the mass of files released by agent Romanov. Your world shrinks, the walls seemingly closing in as you realize the place you worked at was a front for something far more sinister. Some of the files make you sick. Some make you cry. You try cross referencing and searching for anything you could come up with. Halloween 1996. Russian attacker. It yields nothing conclusive. Russian soldier yields a few vague references to a HYDRA program, taken over by the Russians. One file is all text in Russian cyrillic, and you know Google translate enough that you won’t gain much by trying to run the entire file. You copy the title instead, pasting it into the translator.

ПРОЕКТ ЗИМНИЙ СОЛДАТ

PROJECT WINTER SOLDIER

Using that as your search term yields much of the same results, all vague, all text, all ominous in their content. It’s gonna take another two years before the name truly means something to you, to the world. For now, you ghost remains a ghost.

Present day

What remains of the Avengers, of SHIELD, has been salvaged as best anyone has managed to. It’s in shambles, but it’s something. A tentative truce has been called between the factions, lines of communication established and dutifully used as signs of good faith. You’re called back, vetted and confirmed, an… intermediary of sorts. It’s absurd, having to play go-between, but you’re happy to do it. A lot of people moved on after D.C, you almost missed your shot, but a missed bus gave you the opportunity to step up to the plate again.

A lot of your work is making arrangements. Captain Rogers and his team are still keeping their base of operations in Wakanda, and you have finally reached a stage where the plane you’re on now is headed for the wealthy nation. Stark insisted on a jet, horrified at the thought of sending you a) on a commercial flight, and b) flying coach. That alone had taken a good deal of negotiating, and for you to overcome your fear of flying.

It’s not the flying that’s got your stomach in knots now, though. It’s seeing him again. For all the mess caused in Vienna and Leipzig, it gave you a name. Bucky Barnes. The internet was full of information, part of the Captain America-exhibition at the Smithsonian dedicated to him. For decades, Sergeant James Barnes had been kept and brainwashed by HYDRA. He was your ghost, the stranger from Halloween. Captain Rogers has been loath to mention anything about Sergeant Barnes. Thoughts swirl through your head as you clutch the armrests of the leather seat, knuckles paling by the second. It’s preposterous to think he’d remember you, right? You were a kid, he was brainwashed.

Stepping off the jet in Wakanda, the heat and humidity hit you like a wall after the air conditioned flight, your skin flushing before you’ve descended the stairs. The perk of flying Stark and being received by the king of Wakanda is that you don’t have to suffer for long. In time, there will be opportunity to acclimatise, to enjoy the balmy weather. For now, a sleek town car waits, and beyond that, a meeting you have feared and expected for months.

Maybe you’re a little disappointed that there’s no sign of him when you’re brought into a conference room. The smile you give Captain Rogers is hopefully convincing enough to hide your disappointment that he and Sam Wilson, along with king T’Challa and a few guards from the Dora Milaje are the only ones present. The disappointment will just have to wait to be felt.

The king is a generous man, offering you a grand bedroom in the private section of the royal residence. You’re not due to return to New York until the day after tomorrow, and the king had graciously offered to host you while you were there. His insistence when you said you would be happy to book a hotel had rivalled that of Tony’s.

The night is humid, but mercifully cooler, a soft fog rolling in from the mountains and wrapping around the large statues situated in front of the palace. It set a chill travelling up your spine as you rifle through your luggage for something to wear. The business-like outfit lies discarded on the floor, and even though you are bone-tired, something pulls at you. Maybe it’s the fog. Maybe it’s knowing he’s here.

And maybe you pick the blue dress on purpose, takimg extra care to part your hair and make two neat braids.

If someone asks, you’re only heading to the communal kitchen for something to drink. Your footfall, though muted by the slippers on your feet, make a dull echo as you ghost down the corridors. It’s beauty beyond anything you could have dreamed of, an understated pride and majesty emanating from the rooms. You see no one, but you don’t doubt someone knows exactly where you are.

The kitchen is empty, dimly lit and open in its design. Quickly, you make a beeline for the row of fridges, opening one after the other and revelling in the cool air until you find one stocked with water bottles. Picking out two, you close the door, only to walk into what feels like a wall.

“Sorry- God, I- Are you all right?” A hand grabs you to steady you, the grip gentle and warm.

You don’t need to look up to know who you’ll see. In fact, you fight the urge to do just that, knowing that if you do, there’s no telling what will trip across your lips.

“I haven’t seen you before. Did… Are you the, uh, envoy from Stark?”

You can’t help but snort, your eyes flitting up to meet the crystalline eyes trained on you. “That sure beats go-between.”

There’s a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, a little spark in his gaze that flicker out when his eyebrows knit together. His head cocks to one side, taking a step back to look at you. It gives you the chance to look at him, really look at him, for the first time since that Halloween. He seems… bigger. Shouldn’t he look smaller, the memories of your childhood surely having exaggerated his size.

“I’m Bucky, and…” He reaches out, his right hand coming up to twirl one of your braids around his index finger. “I… I know you, don’t I?”

I know you, don’t I?

Movement is restricted. Words well up only to die in your throat. You barely manage the small nod in confirmation, your gaze fixed on him as he tries to figure out why he knows you. Bucky lets go of your braid, his eyes drifting close, lips moving, seemingly repeating something.

“Беги домой… Беги домой…”

Bucky snaps his eyes open, lips frozen slightly parted, taking another step backwards. It almost looks like he might run, but he forces himself to approach you again, fingers trembling as they reach out to pull both braids to rest against your chest.

“You… Dorothy. You were smaller.” When you nod, he cracks into a smile that is laced with so much relief you would think his entire existence has hinged on this detail.

“You gave me candy. I don’t think- It felt like it was the first time I tasted anything that sweet. It was the first thing I ever bought myself after…” He falls quiet, but you can see where his thoughts are heading. After D.C. After the helicarriers. After the fall of SHIELD.

“I got out before the building came down,” you offer, shifting the bottles you’re holding,the condensation starting to seep through the material of your dress. “And I’m not HYDRA. I doubt anyone has been vetted more thoroughly than the few of us who came back after the Accords backfired. I’m pretty sure all the Avengers know the exact balance of my bank account and what my favourite ice cream flavour is.”

Bucky nods, quiet and polite, but you can imagine he’s not going to take your word for it. You probably wouldn’t either. It’s a bizarre situation, and you wouldn’t fault him for seeing more than coincidences in the way your life has played out.

“I thought you were a ghost, you know.” You smirk at the idea you carried with you for so many years, childishly silly now that you stand before him. “You were the strangest thing I’d ever seen, and I saw you on Halloween.”

“That was the point,” Bucky mumbles, looking down at the fingers of his metal arm, no doubt restored by king T’Challa’s skilled scientists and engineers, as they whir ever so softly before closing to a fist. “A ghost has no body, no life, no meaning beyond haunting.”

“Hey…”

“It’s fitting. Restless spirit, killing people. Just… passing through and never staying, never living.”

You want to reach out for him, but even if he is in control, you still have a healthy respect for the material of his clenched fist. “You didn’t kill me. I saw you, right? Would have been so easy to kill me, dispose of a witness.”

Bucky looks up again, brow furrowed. “You… You were a kid.”

“I saw you. You talked to me.”

“Told you to go home.”

“Exactly. I’m still here, aren’t I? And so are you. You’re not a ghost, Bucky. I walked into you, didn’t pass through you.”

It’s not like you expect to be able to solve his moral torment. You wouldn’t even know where to begin. Bucky doesn’t seem like he’s overly keen on discussing it either, whether it’s because of you or the time or both. His lips are pressed together, the metal hand still a tight fist by his side.

“I should let you… I should go back to bed,” you flounder, giving a weak smile.

Bucky hums, avoiding your gaze and stepping aside to let you exit the kitchen. Walking past him draws the urge to touch him, to comfort him to the surface again, but you don’t want to be too forward. You barely know each other. You were a kid, he was brainwashed, you gave him candy, and he-

You stop, turning around. “The candy. It was the first thing you bought after D.C?”

Bucky inhales sharply, pulled from his thoughts. “Hmm?”

“You said it felt like you’d never tasted anything as sweet and that it was the first thing you bought.”

A smile flickers across his face. “Sort of. Left the US pretty much immediately after D.C. First time I ever had money to buy myself food, I almost fainted in the candy aisle. This vivid memory of sweet and sugary pushed through. Probably looked like an idiot, buying one of each kind of candy bar, trying to find the one you gave me.”

“It was my favourite,” you remark, “still is.”

“Never found it. Got a couple that came close, but never exactly like that.” He shrugs his shoulders, relaxing his fist and shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “Started thinking it was just something my mind exaggerated because of the circumstances.”

“It’s not, I can tell you that.” Your heart jumps when you catch the faint chuckle. “Okay, well… I should… go.”

“Goodnight, Dorothy.”

“Goodnight, Tin Man.”

—

He doesn’t see her for the rest of her stay, but he can tell when she’s left. Knowing now that she was real, not just a figment of his scrambled mind, her presence in the palace had set off something like a proximity radar. He respectfully kept his distance, avoided any more nightly excursions, but just knowing that she was there, real and alive after everything, had him buzzing. It vanished the second she left to fly back, finding out from overhearing a conversation between two guards. Asking Steve was out of the question.

It’s not that he doubts himself and his memory when she’s gone. Or maybe just a little. So much in there is twisted, blurred or simply existing as a carved out space he’ll never be able to fill.

Time is still strange. Some days he wakes up, unsure of the date, his view offering no clear indicators as to whether it’s spring or fall. His hand will shoot out, rifle for his phone, pressing the home button to make the screen light up with today’s time and date.

It says October now, and his body tells him it should be squirming, fighting a chill that now more than ever has him itching and crawling in his own skin. His body still remembers the cold Brooklyn winters, just as it remembers the cruel bite of cryo before his mind went black. He hasn’t felt that in months now, always waking up to a perfectly temperate room, silky sheets soft and cool underneath him and a gentle breeze weaving in past the thin curtains of his balcony. The part of him that despises the cold appreciates it, relaxes to find himself back in what has become his new normal.

Two polite knocks on the door draws his attention. Though the force behind them has changed, but Bucky lived with Steve long enough to recognize the man’s knocks. Clearing his throat, his calls out for his friend to enter, picking his sweats off the floor and pulling them on.

“Something in the mail for you. Told them I’d take it to you,” Steve tells him by way of greeting, holding up a bulky-looking package.

Apprehension shoots through Bucky’s body, tenses muscles, pulls his face into an expression that could never be mistaken as anything but suspicion. No one outside the Avengers knows he is here. None of the Avengers would send him anything.

“Hey, Buck… Buck, relax. It’s okay, it’s been scanned, it’s harmless, I promise. Nothing sinister.”

“Who is it from?” he bites out, still standing with his legs apart, ready to jump back if necessary.

“Why don’t you open it and find out?” Steve smirks, setting the package down on the small table by the door, turning on his heel to leave.

Alone again, Bucky approaches the package with suspicion. It’s been scanned, he repeats. Not a threat. Just a package. Poking it reveals it to be… pliable. Made of something rustling. Plastic? Apprehension gives way to curiosity, and he pushes the index finger of his left hand under the sealed flap, pulling to make the paper and bubble wrap underneath give way and tipping it to let the content fall into his hand.

It’s… The laughter bubbles up and out of him, blooming through his chest as letters in vivid colours proclaims it to be a family sized bag of a wrapped candy his mind remembers. Taped to it is a scrap of paper, the script hurried, ink having bled a little in a few places. Bucky tears open the bag, plucking out a piece and shedding the wrapping, biting into it while smiling down at the note.

Consider this your clock, Tin Man. Happy Halloween.

- Dorothy

@ursulaismymiddlename, @loup-malin, @bakexprayxlove, @brookebarnes, @callamint, @mrshopkirk, @hellomissmabel, @sgtbxckybxrnes, @ceebeetumbles, @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel, @lenia1d, @andhiseyesweregreen, @basicallyericharris, @thatgirlsar, @bubblebathsandsarcasm, @amrita31199, @netflixa, @erisjade, @rockintensse, @marvelrevival, @writemarvelousthings, @gallifreyansass, @allyallyally-oh, @shy2shot, @angryschnauzer, @engineeringgirlcve, @hellstempermentalangel, @whyisbuckyso, @melconnor2007, @snuggleducky, @impalaimages, @shifutheshihtzu, @superwholocknda

@avengerofyourheart, @booksandshowsandmovies-ohmy, @themcuhasruinedme, @creideamhgradochas, @feepsmoothie, @nuvoleincielo, @wellfuckbuck, @rotisserierogers, @sarahsassafras13, @romanosgirl1978, @rrwilson66

@captainrogerss, @sebbytrash, @rosyskies, @cyanide-candyx, @hexacrypt, @4theluvofall, @just-another-fangirl777, @avengingnights, @softwhispers, @therealgingermermaid, @c-maximoffs, @ipaintmelodies, @reniescarlett, @mizzzpink, @winter-in-wakanda, @viollettes, @lenavonschweetz, @stephanie11220

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #rrhalloween #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #fic: Haunted

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ellebeebee · 6 years

Text

There Thou Goest Also

Part 4 of 4: Culling Knife

One | Two | Three

First PoE work, and I wanted to examine my Watcher’s spiritual growth over the game’s events. Sharp, a folk death godlike from Vailia, has a complicated relationship with Berath. Expect self-indulgent backstory and vigilante world building.

2086 words, f!Watcher & All The Friends She Made Along The Way, (no pairing), teen rating by AO3

On AO3

She dreamed dreams not her own.

She dreams through decades of quiet heat in this quiet, hot, and harsh land with its black sea. Of leaving, finally, to find the last part of herself. She returns from the city with a husband and a seed in her belly, and she is more content than she has ever been. She has seen the departures of these people of the yellow pastures in their white shrouds, and seen their arrivals in their bloody cauls. She dreams dreams of her warm mahogany skin and her husband’s rich twilight. Their mingling, and what they can bring forth.

She dreams of bed pains, of unimaginable pain between her thighs, and dizziness that spins the world until it is unmade. She can see the individual threads of her husband’s sleeve gripped between her fingers. She sees beyond him the strange eyes of a sheep-headed woman, the vertical pupils full of galaxies and adra gleam and a threshold-- the final threshold, and the very first. The culling knife glows dull bronze in the candlelight.

Her daughter’s skin is purple, not brown. Her head is not covered in black fuzz, but hard cartilage. But she has never known such beauty, and she has never felt so content.

She dreamed that she fulfils her portion, and the next life is--

When she woke, Mother knelt beside her.

“Your mind called to me, Watcher. The way they used to when they needed me at the Bell.”

Sharp pushed up on her elbows from her bedroll. It was still mostly dark. The emerald foliage radiated cold and damp all around them.

“No,” Sharp said. “It was my mother. I do not know how, but I felt some sort of… trace of her soul.”

The adra chimes rang far away and very close all at once. “Her body struggled but her soul did not.”

“That is what my father tells me often. Did you-- did you see the culling knife?”

She was quiet. “I have felt it enough to know it. Even all the molding of her mind could still fail to save a mother in the end.” She paused. “The child was protected first. Always.”

“But you did not… Nevermind,” she turned and studied her. “Did you ever… bring forth one like me?”

Mother’s hands weaved ringing with a harder melody than usual. The white adra awash in blood-- too much blood. Small embers you could touch but not feel.

“Once,” Mother said. “The babe fell into my hands like an ashen spark. Precious and mewling and healthy. A perfect light in the deep dawn.”

“And the mother?”

Her hands slowed in their circles, and the chimes sang a mourning knell.

Sharp looked out and watched the leaves go translucent against the tenuous light. Their veins of yesterday’s sun spread into jade lace. When she finally looked back, Mother had drifted away unseen.

She fell to her knees with the heavens beneath her, limitless stars and brushstrokes of divine color. She did not fall or fly or float. She just existed. And the words spoke to her; true speaking that had nothing to with sound or expression or language. She had not known truth before. She’d come close to it, tried to create it herself from the scraps of shadows in the world. But she’d been blind to the obvious.

She realized she’d already known it, all along.

The glittering expanse of Teir Evron revolved around her.

Edér tamped down on the fill in his pipe’s bowl. He hummed vaguely to himself, sticking it in the corner of his mouth for a cold draw. His hands patted down the pockets of his breeches and his waistcoat for a light. As he found his little tin of matches, a breeze rushed through the Celestial Sapling’s enormous tree. Thin switches ran and whipped against each other, and an ominous lament groaned somewhere deep within the trunk.

He waited a moment until the wind passed and struck his match. The light burned against the night, fragile and small. Some campfires burned in the district below, and watchfires dotted along the walls and in the hands of patrolling guards.

Edér leaned against the railing and nursed his pipe into fine smoking form; he took so long fiddling with it the guard changed once and a ruckus had broken out down in the bar and been smoothed over.

He drew on the deep acrid taste spilling from his bowl and breathed white tendrils into the dark.

“You are not asleep.”

Despite himself, he jumped. Sharp stood behind him. She’d come from the group’s rooms out onto the platform and its exterior rope ladder to the forest floor, conveniently away from the eyes and ears inside the inn.

“I’m bettin’ you already knew that,” he said.

She shrugged, and gave him a look. Well, not really a look, because, you know-- the whole no eyes thing. But sometimes she got this certain set to how she faced you, a certain tiny tilt. There was the ‘Edér, shut up!’ tilt, the ‘Hiravias, shut up!,’ the ‘Durance, shut up before I shut you up!,’ and of course the ‘Eh, Pallegina, what is this word in their pigshit language, eh?’

This tilt was more along the lines of… What are you really doing here?

Edér shrugged. “I had a feeling.”

The dark blanket on the huts and paths flicked with the indistinct forms of hunters and merchants returning to their homes, climbing the hillocks to the other districts. He felt the air shift as she leaned against the railing, too. He offered her his pipe. She accepted, and took a long and slow pull on it.

She breathed smoke into the night, and then turned the pipe around in her hand. “You laced this with whiteleaf?”

He nodded. “Just a touch.”

Sharp handed it back to him, shaking her head. “Not tonight.”

“You still up for that powdered snowcap when this is all done?” he said, patting his hip where he usually carried it on his absent belt.

“Yes.”

Her tone didn’t curl up in amusement, though. She stared down at Twin Elms. Edér took a few bitter drags and let the silence expand around them.

“I guess you’re decided then, huh?” he said.

She turned to him. His eyes had long adapted to the murky darkness, and he could see she was all geared up in her leathers and softest boots, gloves tucked into her belt. Her blades hung silent at her sides.

“So you know?” she said.

“I think we’ve all figured on it for a while now.”

“And what do you think of it?”

Edér tapped a boot quietly. “Well. I’m not gonna say anything about that hat of yours. I kinda fancy keeping my own head not bit off. But I don’t think you should go getting yourself tied to one cart your whole life just because some tree ladies and Hiravias say you should.”

“But you are saying something about it then,” she said

He shrugged, and felt her watching him.

“On this, my thought has not changed,” Sharp said. “What I do has nothing to do with being-- godlike.” She bit around the word like a sour fruit. She tapped her head-growth. “This is some trick of nature. You think the gods, who control the heavens and the seas, death and life-- you think they spare more than a passing sneeze of thought for a single kith? Even if I say, I serve this god now, it will make no difference to them beyond their vast plans. It does not make me special.”

Edér nodded. “That’s the thing about faith, huh? Sometimes don’t feel like ‘faith.’ At all. Sometimes it feels like dog-paddlin’ in a big ocean of mud, all alone. Doin’ your best to keep your head up. And you wonder if you’re going the right direction. If you’re strong enough to keep fightin’ the doubt.”

He nursed the pipe again. Sharp remained quiet.

“And there’s no knowing,” Edér said. “There’s just… a feeling.”

And she had a tilt that he didn’t know too well: a release of tension and rounding of her straight shoulders and a near stillness in the constant whirl of her smoky tendrils. He didn’t have to hear it from her to understand; he didn’t even know if she had the words to say. Heck, he didn’t really either. She believed in this.

Sharp stepped back from the railing and him. That predator’s stance was back in her shoulders and limbs, and she pulled her gloves on.

“I have done bad things in my life,” she said. “I do not know if I can atone. And I do not know if what I do in the future will be more of the same. But I have to believe it. I have to believe the path and the guide I follow is the right one.”

She flexed her gloved fist thoughtfully. Edér’s thumb ran over the smooth wood of the pipe bowl. She turned to him.

“I am going,” she said. “I will be back in the morning.”

“Alone? You don’t want some help?”

“No,” she turned and a curl pulled at her lips. “I want to do it myself. Beside, do not insult me. Two little assassinations? It is piece of cake.”

“Hey, look at you! Getting your sayin’s right.”

“Hey, Edér. Go fuck yourself. Did I get that right, too?”

He laughed, a little too loud, and she shushed him before disappearing into the night.

She made it through Breith Eaman and through Iovara’s teachings without slipping under its tide. She cut down Thaos, and squeezed her “answers” from his soul without succumbing. She faced the machine-- a neat and symmetrical ending to how this whole clusterfuck began-- and she felt the weight of thousands enslaved to the enormous mechanical fruit of a dead people’s avarice and gluttony and vanity. She nearly drowned in all of those souls, and she wondered if she was already overwhelmed by such a small drop of the cycle, then how was it the gods carried all that had been, all that are, and all that would be. A vast and utterly incomprehensible sea.

She did it, even with Iovara’s words, and it felt right. And she tried to remember Edér’s words: a feeling.

That was all she needed. And she felt it, until the greatest relief washed over her and weakened her to sleep’s beguile.

She made it up to the surface, and out of Twin Elms. She made it through the goodbye's to the handful of companions departing directly after her great mission’s success. She even made it all the way back to Caed Nua without falling to it.

But when she found a quiet and empty spot at the top of the tallest tower, an unseen bolt struck Sharp, clear through her heart.

She gasped and leaned into the stone wall, clutching at its coolness. She shuddered and did what she hadn’t in a long time-- she can not cry, exactly. Whatever was the mechanism for her sight, it did not function the same as others’ eyes. It was a rhythmic spasming of the muscles that crushed her lungs and her throat, making her gasp and piercing her again and again and again with pain.

She felt naked. Stupid and foolish that she had so quickly bent the knee to a god-- a, a thing that had never been real.

But what was real? She hated Aloth for his quick acceptance of it and his high-ground rejection of a make-believe authority. She hated Edér for tempering his constantancy. If even he…

She tried to remember her mother, covered in birthing sweat and lying in her deathbed, and how she had so clearly seen the glean of the culling knife. She tried to remember the suspension in the heavens and the certainty she’d felt each time a soul slipped like silk between her fingers to be spun again on the Wheel. She tried to remember that feeling in Sun in Shadow.

She pulled herself together. The remainder of her companions departed. She lingered in the library more, read more. Petitioners and visitors came and went, coin passed through her hands. Time continued on, even if she had uncovered a great revelation. But if she commissioned a new cloak embroidered with a stylized skull and ewe horns tangled with a common farm knife and a wheel-- well. It was something.

She would never know. She could only feel.

#pillars of eternity #fanfiction #my writing #lol yea so i keep meaning to post this but u kno #life #i kinda struggled w the ending bc as much as i love a happy ending #i dont think this could or even should have a happy ending #so its #idk if its bittersweet maybe more like a deepening awareness of how complex faith can be #or how simple #the contradiction of it i guess

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homoerotixx · 7 years

Text

The Closer (You Are To the Top, the Faster You'll Go)

[TCoR] [ONESHOT]

pairing: hakyeon/nayoung, vague undertones of navi/haken, notes: it’s hakyeon-centric // a followup to this, crossposted on AO3 words: 3,589

The cards directed him to a neutral god who only played by his own hand for his own ends, and they said he could help him.

Quick footsteps—running—echoed through the open halls of the stone tower. Where shoes clicked against the concrete, panting followed.

The tower rose above the forest line, so tall that it cut the sky into the clouds. An entrance to the realm of the gods, people said—it was dangerous, a one-way trip. He didn't care about that. What he did care about was if he was too late or not.

The cards—the nasty little things—had told him he might be, that he was up against someone who had an advantage over him, who was superior to him in almost every way. He didn't doubt it, but he hated that it was someone he knew. Someone he thought he could trust.

Taekwoon.

That bastard.

Wind whistled a low, ominous tune in his ears as he ran up floor after floor. The levels seemed infinite, but he wouldn't stop until he found who he was looking for. The cards directed him to a neutral god who only played by his own hand for his own ends, and they said he could help him. For who he was up against, he would take all the help he could get.

He considered more than once calling out the god's name; Ravi was what the people knew him as, but there was another, more personal name that would ensnare his attention for sure. Here though, it was dangerous; he didn't know what else could be lurking in the shadows. He passed a level where there seemed to be a setup for a ghostly banquet. It would be safer not to disturb the eerie peace, and even though he was sure his imagination was only overreacting, he swore eyes were trailing him around.

In a ramped corridor where the walls were curtained with vines, a sudden flash of lighting startled him. Pausing, he leaned into one of the entangled weaves to catch his breath. How long had he been running? His eyes fell closed so he could level himself out again, but the image of the one he loved—gentle waves of brown, smooth skin, shining eyes that seemed to see everything inside of him—darted through his mind. He inhaled sharply.

There was no time to rest.

With a last, calming breath, he set off again. He was close, he could feel it. Thunder rumbled low in the distance.

Higher and higher, he could tell he was far up because the air was thinner. The vague thought of finding where the gods called home crossed his mind, the twinkling of crystal chandeliers in the corners of his vision, but when he heard a deep sigh, he stopped again. He slid closer to the edge of the center.

Willing the vertigo away, he looked up and twisted his neck. A few more floors up, there it was: A vibrant red light pouring from one of the room openings. That had to be it.

Thoughtlessly, he climbed up the ledge with the idea that he could get up there without needing to ascend more. If he could just—reach—

"F-Fuck!"

His foot slipped and in a last ditch attempt to catch himself, spun around on the ledge. His heart lodged itself into his throat and his stomach plummeted down before—

Air was not flying past his ears as he fell. In fact, he wasn't falling at all.

His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring at the topless tower. It went for levels and layers and floors until there was nothing but an endless darkness. His hand was outreached. His body was suspended in midair, only the ball of his foot still clinging against the ledge.

He shakily lifted his head to look back at the ground in front of him, and he saw her. Her. His eyes widened.

"Nayou—"

His voice was caught against the walls of his throat before he could finish blurting her name, as if something stopped him up. She stared wordlessly at him, bewitching eyes raking over his form before settling on his hand. Every move of hers was calculated and graceful as she reached forward, her dainty hand reaching out for his own, and he almost closed his eyes again in bliss at her touch when their fingers threaded.

Strength inhuman, she pulled him forward. Slung in disbelief, his breathing was shallow while his foot reached out to step back onto the concrete. Impalpable air surrounded her wholly expressionless form.

And when he reached forward to cup her face, she disintegrated into glittering dust.

He gasped, reality slamming back into him. He fell back against the wall, bracing himself on weak legs, and looked around for her. She was gone. There was no one, not a single trace of her or that anyone might've been there. Painfully, his heart clenched. She'd just been an illusion.

The rumors were true. This tower was dangerous, gateway to the gods or not.

Wearily, he looked over his shoulder to seek out the red room that caught his attention before. Why had he thought he could climb up there from here? It must've been a trick—he was going to fall to his death at this rate. Still, the red room shone brighter and beckoned him.

Shakily inhaling, he pushed himself off the wall and started into a slow walk to regain his bearings. As he did, he pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed away the thoughts of how this place produced such a cruel mirage tailored just to him. Then again, it was enough that he was alive right now and he couldn't let this get in his way.

She was the reason he'd come here, after all.

When he finally reached the floor with the red room, he stopped to calm himself again. His heart raced at an alarming rate and doubt unforgivably shrouded him. To come to such a place for this reason . . . He was desperate, but it could cost him more than he was willing to pay. But what wasn't she worth to him? He asked himself that, and the answer was clear: He would give his life for her.

Determination renewed, he set off to circle the floor to reach the red room.

The echos of his footsteps were drowned out by his heart that worked its way up to a hammering. He didn't know what he would find here, but something told him his life would never be the same after this.

The room had two openings, straining vermillion flooding out from both of them. He stopped just short of the first, wondering if anyone was inside. He pressed up against the wall and then sidled against it, and when he reached the edge, he took a deep breath. He peeked around the corner.

Water pooled in many parts of the floor, surface glassy and rendering it too much like a portal to another dimension. On a single, raised platform with thin stairs on either side was a leather couch that looked more for lounging than for resting up against. Glinting in the light were various glass bottles, large vials, crowned with vines that seemed to grow from thin air. This room most certainly belonged to the person he was looking for.

He pulled back from around the wall and smoothed himself out. He could do this. He would do this. For her.

Straightening out, he dauntlessly turned the corner.

A gasp got caught in his throat when he saw a man with one leg thrown over the other sitting on the couch. Instinct wanted him to leap behind the wall again, but he was frozen to his spot in a foolish fear of being seen.

Even though he was surely heard, the man didn't spare a glance his way. In one hand was a square crystal bottle filled a liquid he couldn't quite tell the color of because of the stark lighting, but the man was pouring it into a thin goblet.

That's it.

He took a look over the man—the god. His hair was shaved close on the sides and longer on top, it was jelled neatly and parted at the side. His body was long in every definition of the word, and despite knowing what he was, he could never be mistaken for a mere mortal. He had to be among the most beautiful beings in the world.

The thick, regal air made it hard to decide how to approach him. If he did this wrong, he knew he could be struck down on the spot—gods could be horribly temperamental, and some of the stories he'd heard were nothing short of terrifying. The best way, they said, was to be direct and gallant. It gave the god the sense that one held themselves to a high esteem.

However, before he could open his mouth, the god spoke first.

"Are you just going to stand there, human?"

He widened his eyes. Of course the god knew he was standing and gaping. He shook himself from his stupor and stepped forward, the tips of his shoes splashing against the water.

"Taekwoon, did he come?"

The god paused. He lowered his bottle and goblet and then deliberately turned to look at him. An amused smirk tugged at his small lips, as if recalling a fond incident.

"It's funny you should ask like that. He also asked like that." he responded.

Dread soaked through him at the words. Taekwoon had already come. Taekwoon beat him here. The cards were right. His legs almost gave out under him in the want to fall to his knees.

"State your name and purpose." Ravi suddenly said.

He came back to himself, blinking. He needed to stay steeled. If he wavered for even a moment, everything would come to an end. He took a deep breath.

"I am Cha Hakyeon. I'm here to reclaim the love of my life."

Ravi shook his head. "That tells me nothing, human. How does your reclamation plan include me and my powers?"

Hakyeon faltered. He thought it would be obvious, but now he was treading on thin ice. "I . . ."

Ravi raised a judgmental, perfect eyebrow at him, eyes dark.

He cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders. "I want you to make me a love potion."

A moment when only dripping water filled the tower passed. Then, Ravi opened his mouth—but before he could say anything, lightning flashed through the three wide windows behind him. He closed his mouth. Hakyeon blinked several times, the after images of the lighting temporarily blinding him.

Ravi sighed, looking away from behind him.

Hakyeon wasn't pleased.

"So what will it be? Will you help me?" he all but demanded.

Ravi lazily rose from the couch and took the steps down from his platform. Hakyeon fortified his nerves, unsure of what he was doing. Ravi's shining leather shoes stepped through a puddle, only no water splashed in his wake and the shoes weren't wet when he stepped out of it.

The new proximity had Hakyeon's heart working double time; he never thought, in his whole life, that he'd be face to face with a god, demanding things he didn't know if he could demand or not. The fact that he was still alive was astounding. He hadn't come here expecting to die.

Ravi eventually came toe to toe with him—he was taller than Hakyeon, broader in the shoulders, and if that wasn't intimidating enough, his eyes were dark and impossible to read, swirling like the abyss. If he wasn't trying so hard to keep his composure, Hakyeon would start shaking on the spot.

The next moment saw Ravi raising a hand to skim down the side of his face. The touch froze Hakyeon and he set his jaw, clenching his fists.

Ravi tilted his head. "Tell me, human, is your resolve strong enough? Are you strong enough?"

His touch was warm but not comforting—it was a warmth that threatened to burn him if he closed in on it.

"My resolve is stronger than you'll ever know. I am strong enough."

The way Ravi's fingers skimmed his neck made him want to melt on the spot; whether that was out of being soothed or wanting to disappear, he wasn't sure. Ravi smirked, as if reading his mind. He leaned in. Hakyeon couldn't collect enough of his mind to make himself move.

When Ravi spoke again, his lips brushed against Hakyeon's. "We'll see, Cha Hakyeon."

His name on Ravi's breath was unlike anything Hakyeon had ever experienced before. It was as if his core flooded the rest of his body, launching him to a higher plane of existence, if only for a moment—a god said his name, and it felt like he was trying to snatch it away from him, snatch his very being away from himself. Hakyeon gasped.

"Show me your resolve." Ravi said, leaning in even more. Their cheeks skimmed until Ravi's lips were brushing the shell of his ear. "She's behind you and she has what you want."

Entirely forgetting who he was in front of, a surge of adrenaline spun Hakyeon around, and sure enough, there she was. In her hand was a glass vial that glowed a menacing red. That's it.

As if sensing his desperation to have it, she turned away and began running. The sound of her heels clicking against the concrete triggered him into a sprint.

Had he looked over his shoulder, he would've seen another man manifest from behind the wall to come up next to Ravi.

Now, his focus was on her. She was here. When he'd seen her earlier (when she saved him), had she been real then? Did she know what he was doing here? Did she know he was here for her?

No matter how fast he ran, he couldn't seem to close their gap. His heart pounded in his chest, legs working to the point of burning. She was a blur in his sight, weaving through the corridors as if she was born in this place and lived here her entire life. The flicker of the vial would distract Hakyeon and panic would shock his system every time he thought he lost sight of her.

Before he knew what was happening, more footsteps had joined the fray—behind him. They were somewhere in a mid-tier level when he picked up on them, and he was almost too frightened to look over his shoulder and check. He might lose sight of her if he did.

A glare of orange caught his peripheral when sliding around a corner, and that's when he had to look. There were two of them, one bigger than the other, dressed in the same kind of rich mauve uniform like servants with oversized, black bow ties around their white collars, buckled with a gold-encrusted broach. The smaller one's eyes glowed a fiery orange, and Hakyeon couldn't help noticing the aura of a flame surrounding him. The other was opposite, with midnight hair and cold eyes to match, shoulders staunch in his chase.

Spurred by urgency, Hakyeon ran much faster than his body wanted, desperate to keep up with her who had what he needed. If he could just head her off . . .

He jumped over smaller walls to cut their distance shorter and shorter, and he could hear the thumps of bodies dropping, following his path to keep up. If he could just catch up and escape this place—

"Nayo—" Like before, her name was cut off at the tip of his tongue and his attempts to catch her attention failed.

They rushed past empty banquet sets and crystal chandeliers, and Hakyeon knew they were in the lower levels now. How had they run so many in what seemed like such a short time?

"Please, wait!" he shouted hoarsely. She didn't, of course.

"Give up." one of the men from behind him called.

"You won't catch her." the other said. Neither of them sounded out of breath and it made Hakyeon think neither of them were human too, but he didn't have time for that—

His attention caught when the flow of her black dress filled his vision. She was stopped on one of the ramps he'd passed earlier.

"Nayou—!" he cried, knowing it was useless to try and get her whole name out of his mouth.

"Show us your resolve." the two chasing him said simultaneously, and their words rang through his head, sending chills up his spine.

His eyes widened when she began fading away into dust like she had before, and the vial in her hand shone even brighter. In a final attempt to have her and it, he launched himself forward.

And then, church bells. Loud, bellowing, all-encompassing church bells filled Hakyeon's entire world. His vision dimmed. She scattered away before his eyes, the vial disappearing with her. His body didn't hit the floor. The church bells were the only thing blaring in his existence.

⚜

"You'll do it for me, won't you Wonsikie?" Jaehwan asked in a sweet voice, trailing ever closer to Wonsik.

Wonsik sat back on his couch, eying his bottles of mixtures and potions spread across the small table and platform.

He lounged back. "I will." he responded. "But don't misunderstand . . . I'm doing it because I want to see how it plays out."

Jaehwan chuckled, a sound that was on the border of dangerous. "Don't we all?" He began to walk off, hands easily sliding into the pockets of his white coat. The light gleamed off his pristine blonde hair, casting an almost angelic glow around his head. "I'll see you there then, hmm?"

Wonsik remained nonchalant, but he watched Jaehwan leave the room, off to do who knew what.

No matter what Wonsik thought, or even how he felt, he was tangled in this now, and once it started, there was no stopping until the end. It didn't matter though; he was interested to see how it ended. Jaehwan's pawn was in the middle of it all, and he'd made playthings of the two humans—Taekwoon, the beautiful not-so-human human, and Hakyeon, the pitiful human with all the cards stacked against him.

Sanghyuk and Hongbin were wrapped up in this ordeal as well. Poor, woeful Hongbin—it must pain him so to have to work against his beloved humans like this.

Church bells pervaded the endless tower.

"Show us your resolve."

⚜

Jaehwan descended the tower without trouble, taking his sweet time now that all of the pieces had been set in motion. They would see who triumphed—Hongbin's humans, who he so adored that he would steal a miracle of the gods themselves to gift to them, or him, who would prove that humans were nothing but weak-willed and at the edge of extinction.

The prospect of losing stirred a life in him that he hadn't felt in a long while . . . It was exciting. He wanted to know who would win. Then again, Jaehwan knew he would dominate no matter who Nayoung chose.

His shoes clicked leisurely throughout the tower, him having to do little more than stand to fill the entire place with his presence. Lightning flashed outside and thunder followed, and the closer he got to the human, Hongbin, and Sanghyuk, the more power he exuded. He was thrilled.

Finally, he found the scene just around the waist-high wall of the ramp: A frozen image of the disadvantaged human, Cha Hakyeon, throwing himself at something that wasn't there, and Hongbin and Sanghyuk diving after him on Jaehwan's command. He glided between his two servants and then around Hakyeon, observing the exquisite image of his body laid out in desperation to covet what he desired and who he loved.

Hakyeon must know that his chances of prevailing over Taekwoon were slim. Nothing was in his favor. He would undoubtedly lose. That was part of what delighted Jaehwan so much—that Hakyeon was going to try and try and try, and he would fail.

However.

However. Jaehwan was a generous god, and no one said the game had to be played fair. Taekwoon had his advantages, and so he could all too easily tempt Hakyeon into giving up himself for the woman they so foolishly loved.

It would be magnificent.

He snapped his fingers. Hakyeon disappeared. Hongbin and Sanghyuk collapsed to the floor.

"Fuck!" Sanghyuk exclaimed. He glared up at Jaehwan. "I hate it when you do that."

Hongbin, on the other hand, wasn't so verbal. He pushed himself up and dusted himself off. He wouldn't even look at Jaehwan.

"Come now, Binie." Jaehwan cooed, stepping closer. Hongbin looked away even further. "You know you want to see how it ends . . ." His voice dropped lower and became baleful. "You did this. Now you have to see how it ends."

Hongbin went rigid under the touch of fingertips effortlessly lifting his chin. ". . . Yes."

Jaehwan's hand was gone in an instant. He turned to Sanghyuk. "Sanghyogie, it's time for you to write a letter to our dear champion."

Sanghyuk was grumbling to himself about being dropped on the concrete, but came to attention at the mention of delivering a message. "What kind of letter?"

A smirk tugged Jaehwan's full lips. "An invitation. It may be the first of many." In his mind's eye, he saw a marble pantheon in another part of the forest, wide open and airy, and Hakyeon was waking up from what might've been a dream of his wild, deprived imagination.

"Show me your resolve."

#VIXX #Cha Hakyeon #N #Ravi #Ken #Hongbin #Hyuk #TCoR #oneshot #no warnings #GU9UDAN #Nayoung

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