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macfrog · 16 days

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birds of a feather | joel & ellie

y'all listen to the new billie eilish album? there's a song that reminded me of a couple of someones.

pairing: joel miller & ellie williams summary: joel surprises ellie on her sixteenth birthday. warnings: nada. just me loving hard on this pair. word count: 1.5k

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Oh, my god, it is a dinosaur.

She didn’t actually believe it would be. I mean, it was her first guess – but where the fuck is he going to find a dinosaur way the hell out here? She was kidding.

Wasn’t a convertible, wasn’t a puppy, wasn’t even a lotta kittens. A litter. Whatever. It wasn’t a new pair of sneakers, nor a comic book collection. She’d almost run out of ideas, when she spotted the tail through the bushes.

Is that–? Is he seeing this, too?

It’s, like, three times the size of her. No, wait – five times the size of her. Ten? She’s gotta ask Joel.

Two thick, stocky legs planted firm into the earth. Draped in ivy and spattered with moss – the thing actually looks prehistoric. Head lifted to the canopy; teeth bared in a silent roar. His little arms – alright, they’re actually kinda fuckin’ cute – frozen, reaching for something.

It’s right fucking there. Right in front of her. A motherfucking dinosaur.

Her hands fly to her head.

“Joel!” Ellie cries, and she can hardly feel her legs with giddiness.

Joel lingers a few steps behind her. He kicks a heel through the mucky grass, just watching. Smiling like an idiot, letting the ripples from the kid’s glee wash over him. It’s like the zoo all over again, or that time he found a Savage Starlight poster while out on patrol.

Ellie’s laughter is ticklish, vibrating through his veins. She pumps her fists and sizes up the monster. She says holy shit, Joel three times before she takes a step closer.

The sun trickles through the leaves, haloing over the Rex. It’s warm, but not too warm – and the swim on the way helped cool them down. It’s a bit of a hike to get here. He’s just glad it’s a nice day.

He was, truthfully, a little nervous about it. About bringing her here. He’s never had a sixteen-year-old to plan shit for. What if she didn’t like it? Hell, what if she thought it was fucking lame?

But Ellie wades waist-deep into the moat instantly. She pulls herself through the murky water straight to the plaque, and whips out her journal.

And Joel knows he’s fucking nailed it.

“King of the tyrant lizards,” she announces, making sure she gets the spelling right. Her tongue pokes from the corner of her mouth as she sketches.

Joel wanders over to her side, hand combing through the tangles of leaves drooping from the dinosaur’s belly. He swats fluttering flies away from his face.

The water sloshes around her feet as she rounds the tail. It’s slippery with slime. She crawls over threads and vines, soles scuffing up the spine.

“What are you doin’?” he asks, a chuckle patching over cracks of sudden fear.

“I’m climbing a dinosaur!” Ellie yells. She hesitates on the snout – though only for half a second, because fuck it, how many times am I going to jump off a motherfuckin’ dinosaur? – and then she’s plummeting.

Joel’s stomach flips. He staggers into the water, breath clamped in his throat until she resurfaces again.

She’s still wearing that dumb as shit smirk. It probably didn’t flinch, the entire fall. “Did you see that?” she gasps.

Jesus. Yeah, he saw it. He pulls a hand down his face.

It’s been a year, little less than. They’re used to it by now – the slow turn of life in Jackson. Breaking bread in the dinner hall, calling the woodland creatures by whichever ridiculous names Ellie christens them with.

It took a few weeks, but eventually, their heartrates settled. Their fists loosened. They relaxed into the quiet, found respite in the negative space.

Tommy joked for the first little while that Joel had a shadow he couldn’t shake. She’s five-three, red hair, and she carries a switchblade everywhere she goes. Following him close enough that she felt more like a phantom at his heels.

Joel never minded, and he still doesn’t. He’s long forgotten the feeling of being alone – as quickly as he acquired it, it seems. These days, he waits at his kitchen table for the kick of the backdoor, the slump of a still half-asleep teenager opposite him.

He wonders how he ever got by so long without it.

He leads Ellie into the museum.

Everything looks exactly how he left it. A jungle of a building; shattered glass and overgrown grass, a muggy smell lingering in every dim corner. The stuff he deliberately left for her to stumble upon when she got here: a Giants of the Past brochure, the stupid hat he knew she’d force him to wear.

A marshland wasteland, and she still sees the magic in every square inch.

She throws fact after fact at him. Fruit flies and moon landings, gunpowder and Yuri Gagarin. She knows a shit ton, if the stacks of books on her desk are anything to go by. And when Joel tells her how smart she is, Ellie smiles smugly to herself and thinks up ten more facts, just for him.

He thinks of her books and their awkwardly long titles, the faded pictures on all the covers. Astronauts and nebulas and faraway suns. He offers the one thing he remembers from school back at her: My very educated mother just served us nice pizzas.

She’s never even heard of it.

But she’s impressed, and she repeats it to herself as she explores some more. Turning back at every new artifact she finds, beckoning Joel over with a flapping hand.

He wanders after her, thinking up questions he’s sure he already knows the answers to – just so she can tell him again. Just to see her face light, to hear her ramble as she explains.

And nine times out of ten, she corrects him, anyway.

The space shuttle is spotlit under a dome roof, more ivy spilling over the top. A little heap of machinery, succumbed to the nature around it. They crank the door open together, and a springtime heat floods from the cockpit.

Joel stops Ellie from climbing in. “You’re goin’ into space,” he says, leaning on the warm metal. “You’re gonna need a helmet.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Oh, right. What was I thinking?”

They’re too big for her – all three helmets. They’re clunky and clumsy, the visors a little grubby and distorted. But she pulls one over her head and jogs back to Joel, hoisting herself into the shuttle.

It’s cramped inside; stifling even with the door wide open. Joel feels his back twinge as he settles into the seats. But he doesn’t mind, and neither does Ellie.

She flicks button after button, her elbow knocking against his. Explosion sounds rumbling from her lips. Her breath clouds the inside of her helmet.

He could lie here all day beside her. In this quiet corner of the world, where time stands still. Guarded by the Tyrannosaurus Rex out front. Just him and his kid, listening to her mimic engine noises and pretend to lift them both into space.

But he’s hellbent on timing it perfectly. So just as she sounds the roar of a seamless takeoff, he slips the tape from his chest pocket.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

Ellie blinks at the cassette. “What is this?”

“This…” Joel says, pinching it in two fingers, “…is a thing that took a mighty effort to find.”

His handwriting is carved into the label. It’s the first gift – real gift, birthday gift – she’s ever been given. Thought out and made up, addressed to her and placed in her hands for keeps. All hers.

She clicks it into her player and hooks her headphones in, thumping her helmet back over her head. She jams a thumb into the play button, and –

He did remember to rewind the tape, right? It’ll play from the start, won’t it?

Joel’s heart begins to thud. He shifts uncomfortably.

Shit, what if it spoils the surprise? What if she hits play, and the first thing she hears is –

Ellie’s head lifts. Her eyes are wide. She grins, and so does he.

He fucking nailed it.

She closes her eyes, the staticky babble of mission control in her ear. His voice tickles, pulling a wide grin across her face. 10, 9, 8, 7…

The shuttle shudders as it shoots into space. She’s holding her breath, holding until he announces liftoff on Apollo 11. The naked sun stretches over her visor, red under her closed eyelids. It disappears somewhere in the distance.

Ellie lands slowly, carefully, back in Wyoming. She blinks her eyes open.

Joel’s still right beside her, hands clasped on his chest. He waits for her to turn, waits to check her expression. He asks it softly, earnestly.

“I do okay?”

Her cheeks ache with smiling. She clutches the tape player tighter, replies through a giggle.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

There might be nothing outside of this shuttle. Perhaps there was nothing to begin with. They might’ve shot straight past the earth’s atmosphere, might actually be among the stars. And it might not even matter, if they are.

Everything is right here. The sun and the moon – the entire universe between them.

Joel breathes a relieved laugh. His chest loosens, his heart settles back into place behind his ribcage.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

#in my genfic era #bye again #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller #ellie williams #joel x ellie #the last of us part 2 #tlou 2 #joel miller fic #ellie williams fic

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m0chisenpai · 1 year

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Goldilocks

Pre!Avatar Way of Water

platonic!jake sully x human!!reader x platonic!neytiri

A child’s imagination knows no bounds. And it especially sees past tall gray walls lined with barbed wire. You were here on this new planet full of life unlike the dead, gray streets of your home planet. Unknown to your young mind that it was dying. Mommy and daddy just told you that you all would be here for a little while while daddy did research.

You were like the puppy that grew too large and out its tea cup phase. Mommy and Daddy didn’t hug you as much as they used to, had no problem sending their baby so many times into hyperspace you should have been 20 by now. But with each passage they promised their own return with you on the next. Little did they know the effects of traveling so long on a child.

When you were on the foreign planet you were placed under supervision of the scientists given one task: “if the kid goes missing or mixed up with the locals we’ll feed you to them.”

It was one of the many days when your eyes watched as a scientist carried some plant past you. You loved the plants, they danced and moved around you, like they knew you had no children here to play with. As though someone knew of your lonesome. The scientists would tell you their names that you couldn’t say without getting a tongue twist. But all you knew was they were unlike the roses your father brought your mother.

You were outside toying with an old ball near the facility that housed the avatars assisting the scientists in carrying large cases and samples. You didn’t like them. They looked more human than na’vi. They didn’t wear the clothes or beads the scientists would pull up to show.

Your ball landed farther than expected bouncing off the rim, over the fence and into a bush. And as you stumbled as carefully as possible through the gaping hole to your toy a floating seed landed atop the toy and your eyes widened as you leaned forward to eye it. It was beautiful and wispy. It glimmered in the flight and you reached a slow hand to hold it only for it to flutter away.

The floating seed seems to drift and dance along branches and atop plants, and you follow in a daze, your eyes never lingering or moving from it. And when you stopped for a moment to hop a large branch it waited patiently before continuing to lead you on this journey.

And with a childish giggle you lept and attempted to catch the glowing plant but it would float just before your hands could brush it.

You were ignorant to the animals as they watched you with lazy eyes as you stumbled through the forest. One of them even helped you to climb the large tree it landed on. It was giant, sleek and black. Like a giant puppy. Its tongue lapped at your cheek and you squealed, rewarding it with the most gentle scratches behind the ears which made it huff and bark.

It lowered itself onto the ground and you climbed atop its back and with its help stopped onto the first nook that led you up many of the steps which you climbed after thanking the puppy which barked back and trotted into the bushes.

The tree was large. Unlike any you’d climbed back home. Its roots were large and many, and it was filled with more avatars. But these ones looked nicer, more friendly. Less human. These were the na’vi. You understood bits and pieces, but you were old enough to know a human child was the one thing that stuck out like a sore thumb.

But you were small and nimble enough to stick to the more shadowy thick parts that hid your figure till you found yourself hidden in a large tent. Everything was slightly larger in proportion to your body but it didn’t matter. Your young mind told you to just touch and explore everything and anything. And from the looks of it you were in the tent of someone special by how much stuff was in it and the shiny pretty things as well.

So you toyed with the bow and arrows and when your eye caught the glint of beautiful beds you dropped the weapon in favor of rummaging through the box holding up a bracelet cooing at how it glinted in the light. You piled them on your arms and continued your venture deeper until a large rumble ended your fun.

It was lunch time.

But home was so far, and from the smell of what was sitting by the fire you knew in an instant you’d like that much more than the icky food they served for the soldiers. And so you carefully reached into the wooden bowl for the chunk of bright fruit which made your lips purse as you threw it into the fire, “too bitter!”

The one next to it had what looked like meat and you took a small piece and chewed slowly before once again spitting it into the fire, “spicy!”

You huffed and puffed, shoving the fruit in the next bowl in your mouth letting a hum as you sank into the ground eating another piece. It was just right. Tangy like a mango but savory as well. You ate one after another until none remained and your eyes felt heavy.

And so your tired eyes for anything to turn into your nap pile. Your fingers caressed coarse blankets which you threw down, a blanket woven with a fabric that was just too heavy and then you found it!

It was woven with such love and it was not too soft or too stiff, it was perfect! And it was double your size just enough for you to bunch it up and still have some to cover your body in the little area where you slumbered peacefully.

Unknown to the sleeping child the inhabitants of said tent had just returned. Ole’ , Jake Sully, ran a tired hand down his face as he sat his bow among his other weapons while his mate entered from behind hissing and spitting about the human raid they quickly silenced.

He soothed his mate as best as he could, gathering her in his arms and pressing his forehead to her own as he placed his hands to her swollen stomach. And as she stared over his shoulder taking in his comfort her sharp eyes noticed the open box containing her beads.

“My Jake…” he hummed as she whispered into his ear, “someone is here.” And immediately his arms tensed as his eyes flitted about the tent, his ears moving in every direction, listening. He could hear someone breathing and that’s when he saw the blankets shift.

“My left, your right. No sudden movement, act normal.” She breathed sharply through her nose and moved away and made her way to the box, carefully picking up the missing pieces of jewelry.

And Jake slowly moved to the bundle of blankets, hand on his knife’s hilt slowly crouching behind and catching his mates eye as she raised her own weapon, waiting for his word. And switfly he yanked the blanket to reveal,

“ A child?” Neytiri quickly lowered the bow now kneeling in front of the sleeping girl who rolled over, a pout upon her face as her hands fisted the blanket.

“How did she make it in here?” Jake tilted his head, shaking it in thought. You were so small. You couldn’t have possibly been brought on that raid. And there was no way a human child could have gotten in without some help.

“How she entered is not the problem. Who’s looking for her will be the problem.” Neytiri hissed softly. A search party would surely be sent soon as word of your disappearance was made known. But that can wait, because now you are waking up.

Your eyes slowly blunk open up at the disappearance of your comfort to be met with two large blue figures crouched in front of you, speaking amongst themselves. Now any normal child would have yelled and screamed in terror, had they not been exposed to the local life on the planet. You however, are far from normal and softly cleared your throat to speak up.

“Ex…excuse me” your broken na’vi interrupted the pair who looked at you in wonder. “Blanket..please” you held your hands out.

Silence fell and Jake looked to the piece he held in his hands and handed it for you to cover yourself back up, the beads clanking on your arms Neytiri eyed and you bashfully rolled them off of your wrists holding them out to her.

“Sorry….pretty.” Neytiri rarely flustered easily but as she took the jewelry back she couldn’t hold but hold your smaller hands for a moment. Her fingers caressing your small palm which slipped from her grasp as you rearranged the blankets to cocoon you.

“You speak pretty well kid” Jake huffed and you gaped up at the older man pouting at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could speak english” and Jake let out another huff of laughter gently pinching one of your puffy cheeks between his fingers smiling fondly at your pouting face.

“Cause you didn’t ask kid. But I have a question for you. How’d you get here? You’ve gotta be much taller to climb the steps and you're a long way from home.”

You hummed softly looking up in thought then looked back into his eyes “mom and dad bring me here for business. Because the earth is sick. But daddy doesn’t really have time for me and momma is back on earth with him because they’re gonna come back together next time!”

“And how many times have you been here, little one?” Neytiri spoke up.

“I think this will be my fourth time! Momma and daddy will be coming next time though” you nodded to yourself. And Jake couldn’t help the way his gaze softened and his ears drooped slightly. You could have been an adult by now. And Neytiri noticed this shift in her mate's behavior because she reached forward and tucked the blankets around your body, cupping your face with his larger palm.

“Rest now child. You had a long journey today and must be very tired.” You nodded and let your eyes close as she slowly removed her hand from your face. Her thumb brushed over your cheeks and gently pushed the coils that tickled your cheeks.

“How could they do this to her?” Had you been any other child she would have had you dropped back off where you were found. But Neytiri wasn't surprised. If humans could destroy their own planet whose to say their interactions with one another weren’t just as destructive? But you were so pure. How can anyone possibly do this to an innocent child?

“I don’t think they’ll be looking for her.” Jake shook his head. Who knows what affects your constant travels to the moon could have on you. You were so young and if his assumptions were correct, they were abandoning you here.

“She sent her here.” Neytiri perked up watching as the seedling fluttered to lay on your hand. And Jake watched too as it fluttered away. Who was he to deny the deity that spared his life and gifted him another? She was doing the same for you.

#jake sully x reader #avatar x reader #neytiri x reader #platonic!jake x reader #platonic jake sully x reader #platonic neytiri x reader

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cemeterything · 1 year

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you said you grew up by the sea!! can i ask what the sea means to you? i am so emotional about the ocean i've always been so unspeakably fascinated and enamored by it

it's hard to describe because the ocean was such a constant presence that it was just kind of a part of life for me growing up. i didn't really realize how fortunate i was to have it so easily accessible until i lost it when i moved to the city.

i guess the best word to describe it would be "powerful". like i said, you could never forget that the ocean was There, even if you weren't standing anywhere near it. on days when the wind blew strongly enough in the right direction, you could hear it, and smell it. the smell of brine and seaweed was the backdrop of daily life for me growing up, and the town i grew up in was so small that whenever i left the house i was almost guaranteed to pass the ocean on my way to wherever i was going.

the danger of it was simultaneously something you quickly became desensitized to and something you never really forgot. there was always a part of you that knew that the sea could just take you at any time, no matter how careful you were. it wasn't uncommon to see a pile of flowers on the promenade as you walked by marking where someone had been washed out and drowned. pretty much everyone knew someone who had died despite the sea walls and warning signs. there were days when the waves were so strong that even the grey concrete walls that were several feet thick in the most reinforced places couldn't keep them from crashing over onto the walkways.

the beach was sand and stone, and the water was full of clouds of silt too thick to see through even with protective eyewear. you never knew how deep the water was beneath you unless your feet could touch the bottom, or what was down there. it was something you quickly got used to, the knowledge that you'd never be totally safe but were willing to take the risk. most people who got hurt or killed were, predictably, teenagers and young adults who decided to push the boundaries of how much of a risk they could take. i was one of those kids. most of us were. despite being all too aware of the danger, we never really believed that it would happen to us. at the same time, we knew we weren't immune. that's why we did it - for the thrill. i still have scars from all the times i was thrown against rocks and barnacles, stepped wrong while scrambling over rocks and slipped, or was scraped over the ocean floor. i still remember staggering and collapsing onto the shore with my heart pounding so hard my chest hurt after almost being swept out to sea, realizing how close i had come to being drowned or smashed to pieces. i remember shrugging it all off and heading back in five minutes later, accepting that the sea would take me if she wanted me and that there was nothing i could do about it, so i might as well enjoy myself.

knowing how to swim was basically mandatory, even if you never got in the water. if you could learn how to swim and didn't, you were a fool. the local swimming pool offered free lessons, and safety campaigns were a regular feature of school and community event. i could still recite some of the slogans and warnings to you now, they're so ingrained into my head (not that i didn't choose to ignore them sometimes).

small businesses thrived on the waterfront. there were so many cheap food places to choose from when you wanted a snack, from ice cream vendors to hot fried food vans to cafes and corner stores. people didn't even bother to put their clothes and shoes on over their swimwear to cross the road and grab a bite to eat on warm summer days.

body and gender neutrality was extremely normalized. nobody cared who you were or what you looked like; once you were in the sea the clouds of silt hid your body from view, and the water made everyone look more or less the same - like a sopping wet beast.

the natural environment was incredible. there was so much life everywhere - sea plants, crabs and smaller crustaceans, seabirds and fish. you could buy fresh catches each morning from local fishermen. sharks and seals were a rare novelty, a community event of sorts.

community events often made use of the seaside. sailing was easily accessible; even if you couldn't afford your own boat, there was a sailing club with a surplus. the local horse rescue volunteer association i worked at took the horses down to ride by the beach and in the water in summertime, and it was some of the most fun i ever had galloping through the waves, soaking wet and shivering with excitement and cold. there were bonfires on the beach in the fall, and fireworks and hot drinks and stories around the fireside in the winter. it was an incredibly, terrifyingly free place to live, where the only real limits were your own. i honestly can't do it justice in words. i miss it every day.

#🐉

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blurredcolour · 6 months

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You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Part Three

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

For the first time since you met, fate seems to be conspiring to keep you and Dick apart, forcing you to find new ways to remain connected to one another.

Warnings: Military Violence, Discussion of Injuries and Death, Separation, Fear, Discussion of Nazi Atrocities, PTSD, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 4568

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Bastogne – December 21, 1944

Grasping the handle of your F-S knife, Dick chopped at the thick layer of ice in the ammunition box braced between his knees, revealing the frigid water beneath. He planted the blade into the dirt at the edge of his foxhole, starting to spread shaving cream onto his cheeks as his friend Nixon threw back the tarp covering the next hole over.

He emerged into the milky light, the fog still thickly besetting the Bois Jacques, as he stumbled over holding out your scarf. Dick motioned with his head for him to set it on the ground beside him and Nixon simply sat down there himself. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

“You were shivering so much after your recon I could hear your bones rattling.” He muttered as he dragged his razor over his stubble, flinching at the chill of the blade each time it met his skin.

Nixon gave him a lopsided smirk. “Sure your girl won’t mind me borrowing it? It still smells real nice.”

Dick glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “I have half a mind to stab you with her knife.”

Nixon’s grin only widened. “The poetry of it would not be lost on me, I assure you.”

With an affectionate roll of his eyes, Dick quickly finished shaving before retrieving the scarf from his friend’s hand and wrapping it tightly around his neck, tucking it beneath the collar of his ODs. Nixon was right, there was still a hint of your scent woven into the fibres and he could only hope to hold onto it. Merely nine days ago he had left you on the platform in Paris, and not three days ago he had stood at the crossroads outside Bastogne, staring back to where he knew you slept safely in your bed, making a vow to keep it that way. Your body bore enough scars from this war, he would not permit the accumulation of any more.

His hands found their way into his pockets, lips twitching as his fingers brushed against the edge of your cap badge stowed inside the right one. Pressing it between his thumb and forefinger, his heart warmed somewhat against the chill of the morning. The eerie silence was broken by Lipton’s shouted warning of ‘incoming!’ and he and Nixon quickly threw themselves into the bottom of the foxhole to take cover as yet another barrage of artillery rained down on their position. Working the pad of his thumb along the grooves of the maple leaves, he took slow, steady breaths, focusing on each ridge, on the raised lettering, using it as a tool to ground him amidst the maelstrom that filled the woods.

As the chaos eased off, the men slowly began to emerge from their cover, and Dick took stock of the dead and wounded. It was a tedious and heart-rending routine they had fallen into since taking up this position. Reports given and calm restored for the time-being, Dick took advantage of the rare moment with no demands on him to delve his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieve your letter. The creases were becoming well worn, the words nearly memorized, but the solace it brought him was no less profound.

When, at last, supplies reached them after Patton broke through the German lines, Dick was both taken aback and yet somehow unsurprised when his correspondence from regiment included a bound packet of letters bearing your handwriting. You were a determined woman, and true to your word it seemed you had been writing almost daily. With your posting in Paris, and connections at Allied HQ, your letters had been delivered through military channels rather than civilian ones.

Ordering the runner to wait, he quickly dashed off a reply to you. He kept the message free of sentiment, knowing that it would be read by numerous people along the way, but was desperate to send something to you all the same. Folding it carefully, he addressed it to you care of Major Wilkes at Allied HQ, aware that he might receive a reprimand, but after everything he’d just endured the idea of that really held no fear for him.

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Paris – January 7, 1945

It had been an agonizing three-and-a-half weeks. More accurately, the last two-and-a-half had been pure torture while the first had simply been filled with longing. As promised, you had written letters almost every day and sent them through the Allied post office. Letters about the weather, the book you were reading, the cat that lived in the courtyard of your building. Mundane topics that would pass by the censors and were in no way what you had actually wished to talk about, but you had done your best to keep the contents light as all the magazine articles recommended a lady ought to do.

And sometimes it felt like you needed advice on the subject. On how to field strip a Sten gun? Absolutely not – you could and had done that in the dark with your eyes closed. But supporting a man in the fight while you remained in the relative comfort and safety of Paris had been an entirely new experience for you.

The news of the German assault through the Ardennes, however, had put an abrupt halt on the festive feeling that had been unfurling across a city ready to celebrate its first liberated Christmas. It had not been necessary for Major Wilkes to ask you to stay late that first night, rifling through any and all decoded intelligence awaiting your translation from German into English, desperate to find out just how they had blindsided everyone. Late nights had run into early mornings, with copious amounts of artificially sweetened coffee consumed to keep you alert, thinking back wistfully to the Benzedrine tablets you would have carried if you were still a fully functional SOE operative.

The news had been dire – 2nd Battalion of the 101st surrounded in the Bois Jacques above Foy in the brutal cold, woefully undersupplied, under near-constant artillery fire. It had been all you could do to keep Dick’s face out of your mind as your eyes had raked over page after page of German, writing your preliminary translations in pencil before sending them to be typed up in order of importance. There had not been enough of importance in front of you to make a difference, it seemed.

A knock on the door to your small, windowless office had sent you scrambling to cover up the avalanche of paper covering your desk, but Major Wilkes had stepped into the room with a reassuring smile.

“At ease, Sergeant, it’s only me.” He had set a new cup of coffee on your desk, making you blink up at him owlishly before you had murmured your thanks. “I wanted to bring you word that the 101st continues to hold the line. Your Captain and his men are doing an excellent job.”

You had pressed your lips together shyly to hear the Major refer to Dick as ‘your Captain’ but had managed a nod of thanks. Your commanding officer had been slipping you bits and pieces of information as they came in, continuing to impress you with the fact that he never seemed to miss a thing. He had barely run into you and Dick at that restaurant over a week ago and yet he had retained that information and since taken the time to keep you updated on Dick’s situation.

“I understand you visit the post office almost daily on your lunch?” He asked.

Looking to him sharply, it had become even clearer to you just how astute Major Wilkes truly was. You had known him to be an acquaintance of Colonel Buckmaster, head of SOE’s F Section, for that was the reason why you had been placed under his command when you insisted on continuing to make yourself useful following the explosives incident in Normandy. But it had become increasingly apparent that Buckmaster and Wilkes may have spent a great deal of time together in similar fields to your own.

“I do sir, yes.” You had replied, taking a sip of the fresh coffee he had delivered even though your stomach had rolled in protest; you had needed the caffeine to keep working.

“Might I suggest you bring the letters to me, and I will send them internally. God knows when the actual post will reach them.”

“Sir I…” You had stuttered, taken aback by the generosity of his offer.

“I see you in here sixteen hours a day, Sergeant. Don’t you think your letters will help him just as much?” He had raised an eyebrow and you had nodded slowly.

“Good, I expect to see the first one on my desk tomorrow at 0900 for mail call. And don’t stay past midnight tonight, you’ve done that for the last three days.” He had looked to you firmly and you had nodded rapidly.

“Yes, sir.”

The news of Patton’s break through had brought with it some sense of relief but it paled in comparison to that brought by the tattered scrap of paper which found its way onto your desk that day in early January.

Two sentences scrawled in pencil upon paper bearing all manner of stains and splotches that reduced you to tears of the sweetest relief. Dick was alive. Yes, the reports all said so but to see something addressed to you in his handwriting made it real.

The pace of the war seemed to change after that – time and troop movements speeding up immeasurably. The promised arrival of six fresh-faced CWACs taking up residence in your apartment, needing constant supervision on the worldly Parisian streets only served to blur your perception of time even further. Certainly, they had arrived with a captain and sergeant of their own, but not one of them had set foot outside Canada before, save a brief stint in England, and relied heavily on you to ensure they were able to make their way to and from their posting – mercifully in the same building as yours.

Feeling not unlike a mother goose with a trail of goslings behind her, you did your best to keep them out of trouble with locals, and soldiers alike, leaving you little time to enjoy your now regular correspondence with Dick. Nor the privacy, for their Sergeant shared your bed with another girl on a single cot crammed in the corner of the room, the other four girls sharing the second bedroom. Their feminine influence did prove useful in finally eradicating your habit of cursing, however, which you had been trying to accomplish for Dick’s sake anyway.

One evening in late February, the sound of Glenn Miller and his orchestra echoed from the kitchen, accompanied by their bright laughter as they cleaned up from dinner. The girls were more than a little distracted by practicing their dance steps with each other to prepare for a dance hall outing the following night. Shaking your head fondly you signed off on your latest letter to Dick, sealing the envelope with a few dabs of glue before walking to the front hall to slip it into your shoulder bag to post tomorrow. The sound of heavy boots on the stairs set the hairs on the back of your neck on end, even in liberated Paris, while the subsequent knock on the apartment door had your heart skittering against your ribs.

Several of the girls appeared in the doorway to the kitchen but you stopped them with the firm gesture of your palm, raising up on your toes to take near-silent steps before glancing through the peep hole of the door. The sight of the Officer’s Airborne patch on the garrison cap of the man outside had you clutching at the letter still in your hand tightly, but as he swivelled his head you were startled to see dark brown hair rather than the ruddy red you had been hoping for.

Pulling at the chain before unlocking the deadbolt, you tried to deny the feeling of your heart sinking through the floor. If something had happened, the reports would have told you. Major Wilkes would have told you. You exhaled shakily as you opened the door to see Lieutenant – No, Captain Nixon – standing on your doorstep with the distinct shape of a paper wrapped bouquet tucked into the crook of his arm and an envelope pinched between his fingers.

“Good evening, Captain Nixon.” You assembled what you hoped was a calm smile on your face.

“Ma’am.” He smiled in return, and you couldn’t help but note that the youthful softness he’d had about him in Normandy seemed to have been etched from his features. “With Major Richard Davis Winter’s compliments and regrets.”

At the sound of his voice, the girls flooded into the foyer behind you with all the subtlety of a herd of cattle, making you bite the inside of your cheek as you accepted the offered flowers and envelope.

“Thank you very much, Captain. Please convey my gratitude and understanding.” You swallowed, realizing now that though his battalion had been pulled back to Mourmelon-le-Grand for well-earned rest, it seemed you were not going to have the chance to lay eyes on Dick for quite some time.

“Of course.” He grinned, eyes dropping to the letter still clutched in your other hand. “Is there anything I might deliver to him in return?” He prompted with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh…oh!” You swallowed and quickly held it out to him. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“My pleasure.” He nodded. “Have a good night. Ladies.” He nodded to the cluster of women behind you, earning a chorus of giggles and farewells before disappearing down the stairs.

Tucking the letter into the pocket of your skirt, away from prying eyes, you lay the bouquet on the dining table to gingerly unwrap the paper, revealing a dozen red roses. A collective gasp sounded from all seven of your mouths at the surely astronomical cost. The amount of personal funds that Captain Nixon added to the sum Dick had sent with him on his leave to Paris would be a secret he kept well beyond the end of war. The worn enamel pitcher from the kitchen suddenly appeared on the table in front of you along with a paring knife, the girls settling into the chairs and begging for you to tell them all about your Major and the handsome Captain he had sent with flowers in his stead.

Carefully trimming the end of each rose stem before placing it into the makeshift vase, you spun a tale of an accidental collision with then-Captain Winters at the train station. His friend Captain Nixon had been there too, and you had shown them around Paris to make up for causing such a ruckus on their arrival. Partially based in truth, by the time you got to the dinner and dancing, dreamy sighs reached your ears. Nestling the last rose in amongst the rest of the bouquet you smiled softly at how lovely the dining room suddenly looked, but the letter was fairly burning a hole in your pocket.

You were unspeakably grateful when their sergeant interrupted their barrage of questions with a firm reminder that the kitchen was still in a state of disarray, and though they let out a collective moan, they trudged back in to finish cleaning up. Mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ in her direction, you quickly slipped off to your room, shutting the door and tearing into the envelope somewhat savagely.

The personal tone of his letter, a clear indication of the level of trust he held in Captain Nixon to carry around such honest words, made your heart ache fondly. You wished that the letter you had placed in his friend’s hand was comparatively tender, but you had written it, as always, with the expectation that several others would be privy to its contents before it reached him. Re-reading it several times before tucking it away safely in the false bottom of your suitcase, you knew it was a piece of him you would hold onto for the rest of your life.

More surprises lay in store for you that month when the girls took it upon themselves to write to their superiors in London, recommending you for a promotion. A King’s crown was soon in place of your sergeant’s stripes to denote your position of Company 47’s Sergeant Major. It was a promotion which amused Major Wilkes greatly, seeing as you’d gained it through honest means, while your place as a CWAC most certainly was not.

As the Allies advanced into Germany in the early spring, however, it proved to be one of the few sources of amusement in your office. Certainly, the promise of an ever-closer victory in Europe was a spot of radiance on the horizon, but the flood of paper being returned for translation was unveiling a darker and darker truth of just what had happened under Nazi rule. You had heard the rumors, and seen their violence firsthand, but the liberations of the camps, the cold and calculated way in which these things were discussed in the documents before you – it was taking a toll.

The news of the German surrender had brought with it riotous celebration throughout the streets of Paris, but you had only felt a moment a quiet relief that Dick would no longer be subjected to enemy fire – for now. The battle of the Pacific still raged for the American army, and you could not help but dread the possibility of his redeployment there. Major Wilkes startled you on your way back into the office with just two days later with some news.

“I’m sorry to say, Sergeant Major, you won’t be remaining with your company much longer.” His eyes held their usual spark of mischief as they did whenever he spoke of your ‘company’ but you tilted your head curiously at his words.

“Sir?”

“Plans have been in place for the eventuality to see justice done in the face of the heinous acts I know you have been busy translating.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded in reply.

“We are to move into Germany as soon as possible, please return to your lodgings and pack your things and report back to me immediately.”

“Yes sir.”

It was easier said than done, navigating the streets still in the throes of celebration, but you managed nonetheless to gather your belongings and leave a note of farewell to the girls. By the time you returned to the office with your suitcase, the clerks had nearly finished packing everything into boxes and the twenty of you working directly under Major Wilkes made your way down to a transport truck to begin the long drive. Settling in for an uncomfortable ride, you did not concern yourself with the precise destination like many of the other staff who were whispering amongst themselves. ‘Germany’ would suffice for now.

It wasn’t until mid afternoon the next day when you arrived in Nuremberg, with pockets of the city relatively untouched by the air raids and invasion, that your curiosity was piqued.

“Nuremberg, sir?” You asked him as you worked together to unpack into a new set of offices.

“A hunch.” He said with a knowing grin, and you had a feeling there was an awful lot more to it than that.

Spring wore on into summer, the documents you worked on grew more disturbing, and the London Conference convened proposing an International Military Tribunal to take place in Nuremberg, confirming your suspicions about Major Wilke’s ‘hunch.’ Dick, it seemed, was enjoying his time as an occupation commander in the Alps – not four hours away and yet duty still managed to keep you apart. The office was growing busier, more cramped as men no longer required for the fight were able to return behind desks and take up the work of translation alongside you and your colleagues.

Despite the increasing volume of personnel under his command, Major Wilkes still managed to keep an eye on you, not missing the way you had developed a tendency to stare vacantly off into the corner of the room from time to time. Physically present yet taken back to some moment in time you’d been forced to bury for the sake of carrying on with the tasks before you – the face of the German soldier as he drove his bayonet into your side, the ten second plunge into the inky blackness from the belly of a silent plane, the wailing of that boy’s mother when you’d returned with her dead son draped across your shoulders.

“Sergeant Major?” He interrupted one such moment in mid-July, making you sit up straighter as you were caught red-handed.

“Yes sir?”

“My office.”

You stood quickly, feet briefly snagging on the legs of your chair making you struggle awkwardly before you were able to follow him into his office.

“Close the door.” He said firmly and you were quick to do so. “This is long overdue.” He muttered and held out a piece of a paper. “Seventy-two-hour pass to Austria. My apologies for the length of time it took to arrange it, as well as the short notice.”

You stared at it openly before he thrust it a little closer in your direction and you stepped forward to take it from him. “Th…thank you very much Major Wilkes.” You gulped roughly, holding it between both hands as though to protect it.

“Now I have it on good authority there is a supply truck departing for Zell Am See at 1030 whose driver would not be opposed to a passenger. You’ll find the address tucked inside of your pass. It will most likely not be so easy to make your way back, which is why you have seventy-two hours. You’d best be on your way, Sergeant Major.” He smirked, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

You could not help the smile that stretched from ear to ear, nodding rapidly. “Sir, yes sir, absolutely I will be back on time I swear it. Thank you very much, sir.” Turning quickly, you nearly raced out of the door before reminding yourself to walk at a calm pace in front of your colleagues. You grabbed your shoulder bag from the bottom drawer of your desk, locking up the documents you had been working on, and snagged your uniform jacket from the back of your chair before making out way out through the main door of the office.

It was only once you were out in the hall that you began a mad dash for the entrance, not even having the time to return to your billet for a bag. You checked the address on the slip of paper inside your pass before running almost all the way there, drawing far too much attention to yourself – and not caring in the least. You arrived with ten minutes to spare, a sticky mess beneath your woollen uniform, finding the driver who helped you into the cab of the supply truck. He was a gruff, middle-aged man, but after you caught your breath, a few well placed questions easily drew him into telling his life story, filling the time as you wound your way higher into the mountains that Dick had described in his letters.

It was mid-afternoon by the time you arrived at the supply depot in Zell Am See, but you still had yet to reach Dick’s lodgings. Truth be told, you hadn’t even told him you were coming; there was a chance he might not even be there. Walking down the side of the road toward the hotel you knew they had requisitioned, you swallowed as you heard a jeep pull up beside you, rather missing the reassuring weight of your knife at your hip.

“If that man doesn’t sing you ‘Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major’, he’s just not living his life to the fullest.” Your eyes widened as Captain Nixon grinned up at you from the driver’s seat.

You let out a bark of laughter, though the accompanying smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m impressed you recognize my rank badge…” You couldn’t help but admit.

“Used to be my job to know things.” He muttered, a touch of sadness in his voice.

“Not all it’s cracked up to be, knowing things.” You trailed off in a similar tone.

“I apologize I don’t have any flowers on me this time.” He tilted his head with a smirk, breaking through your melancholy silence. “But climb in, I’ll drive you the rest of the way.”

You quickly slid into the front seat beside him, thanking him profusely as he took you up the winding road to the hotel and through the checkpoint with ease. You followed him inside the building, removing your cap with its replacement badge, and up the stairs before he gestured at the door to room 308. Feeling suddenly nervous, you glanced over to Captain Nixon only to see him walking away down the hall.

“Captain Nixon where are you going?” You whispered after him anxiously.

“Trust me, he’s seen enough of my face.” He winked and disappeared into another room a few doors down.

Taking a fortifying breath, you raised your hand to knock.

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

Read Part Four

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Tag list: @allthingsimagines, @bcon24

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

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alovelyburn · 7 months

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WIP! WIP! WIP!

Usually when these festivals come around I try to get something together and contribute to the cause. This time I was unable to finish... because I found out about it rather late, and also had a lot going on in my real life.

But I did start something. So I'm dropping the first part of the WIP on you guys; no idea if it really qualifies for inclusion in @griffgutsweekend but I'm cool either way.

All the thanks to @zombiesgohome for basically being my cowriter on the beginning of this - she's my Guts expert. Also bear in mind this is a first draft, ok, be kind.

Quick Background: many many years ago, by which I mean in like 2014, someone told me they'd like to see me try to tackle a romance between current canon Guts and Griffith. It took a while but here we are.

It's called Thirst Drove Me to the Water.

The room has already been thoroughly trashed by the time Griffith opens the door. Before him like broken furniture and upturned chairs. All the vases have been emptied of their white flowers – their water soaked through the plush rug and dripping down white marble walls. An overturned table has been split in two, and gashes mar the walls where that oversized sword bit through the marble.

It’s unsurprising and yet somehow disappointing. Still, Griffith’s expression remains, as always, stubbornly impartial. Around him, the room ripples and shifts – an invisible wave that runs over the room and leaves all as it was, before. Immaculate. Untouched.

His guest seems less than impressed by this.

Guts stares at Griffith from his place on the floor, his one eye smoldering with black fire, his famous sword resting across his knees.

“You sure took your sweet time showing your face,” he says. There’s a sharp edge to his tone, and a growl deep in his throat. “Finally remembered I was here?” He looks like a caged animal. It’s appropriate.

Griffith tips his head just slightly. “I didn’t forget,” he says, “You’ve been pounding against my barriers all day. I thought I would give you a moment to collect yourself.” Griffith glances over the room to where a small table stands, off to the side, away from the center of the now corrected chaos. He’d had a basket of fruit and bread brought to Guts’ rooms as soon as Guts himself was sent there, unconscious, and still bleeding. Griffith hadn’t tended the wounds himself. He wouldn’t have trusted himself to. He looks at Guts. “Have you eaten?” It’s a question of propriety. From here, he can see the half-eaten bread and apple cores.

“What the hell do you care?” Guts snaps. Despite his words, Griffith catches sight of Guts’ gaze as it moves to the table.

Griffith untips his head. “Hm.” He moves to the table quietly, his fingers dragging over the polished wood, the white lace cloth that protects it.

Typically, when one stays silent during an exchange long enough, the other person eventually feels the need to fill that gap. Guts is a man of few words, yes, but unless he’s changed considerably more than he seems to have done, he is also a man without much impulse control. Griffith, being far more curious about what Guts might say than interested in talking, himself, remains silent.

A moment later, Guts pulls himself to his feet. His sword plants itself in the carpeting and the floor beneath it as easily as it would plant itself into soft ground and grass. The sound of steel splitting marble rumbles, swallowed by the thickness of the carpet. “So, what is this?” he asks. His expression hardened as his gaze. “Some kind of game? Is being King too boring for you? If you’re gonna kill me just do it.”

“Impatient as always,” Griffith says. It occurs to him that Guts is still in his armor. “And always so demanding for a mad dog.”

“You got some nerve calling me mad.” Guts’ muscles clench. Griffith can see every emotion running over his face, settling in his neck – the tension in his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw. “I ain’t the one who—”

“You can list my sins until morning and I won’t be any more enlightened than I am now.” Griffith’s voice cuts the air – sharp and soft as it is. “You invaded my home and tried to kill me, yet I have been nothing but cordial.” With some minor exceptions. Even now, he can remember the rush of battle, Guts’ steel against his. He had played along, but in the end only one outcome could have come about... and it did.

“Now that we’re here,” Griffith says softly. “Feel free to swing your sword as much as you like. It will do you no more good than it did the last time... or the time before that.”

The weight of that massive sword hits the ground with a crash that jolts the floor... and just that quickly, Guts is rushing at Griffith, his armored fist swinging. Griffith stands motionless for a moment, watching the light catch on the edges of that so-sharp black armor. Watching the barely burning fire in Guts’ eye turn to an inferno. And then, just when Guts is there – only a few short feet away, Griffith reaches up and grabs that fist in the bare palm of his hand... and holds it.

They are close – close enough for Griffith to feel the feather-light stirring of Guts’ breath. That one eye widens in—fear? Panic? It isn’t rage, not this time. There’s something savage inside Griffith that smiles at that reaction. His fingers curl down, and he feels the metal creak, just at the edge of bending, or snapping. One never knows with cursed items.

It's enough to make his point, at least, in that second before he lets go.

“You really never change,” Griffith says, voice quiet but not quite soft. “I would have thought you’d learn to control yourself between the Hill and today.” He flexes his fingers. “You should have tried a slap.”

Guts snaps his armored fist back, pressed to his chest. “What the hell is this? If you ain’t gonna kill me, if you won’t fight... what is this, just some kind of cage? I’m just your prisoner, now?”

“If I release, you’ll just keep coming after me.” Griffith runs his tongue along the inside of his lips. He can almost taste the bitterness on his tongue. “So, yes, I suppose you are.” He looks away from Guts, toward the floor length windows. From here, inside an obscure corner of one of the palace’s towers, Outside, he can see Falconia spread out before them like a painting – the view from the sky. “Well,” he says, “If you say you will leave here and move on with your life – give up your vendetta and leave me be – then perhaps I will let you go.”

“Like hell I will.” The answer comes too quickly. Griffith almost laughs; Guts says, “You know damn well I won’t.”

He does know. Or, rather, he suspected.

“That being the case,” Griffith says. “Here we are.”

“Yeah, here we are.” Guts raises his head, his back straightening to his full height. It must be terribly intimidating to anyone who isn’t Griffith. “So now what? You can’t just shove me in a box and come by when you wanna be smug for a while.”

“That’s a presumptuous accusation. I don’t recall saying I would be coming back.”

Griffith hears his own voice – hard as marble and just as cold. Guts hasn’t moved. His hand remains pressed to his chest, and outside, the sun is growing crimson with the coming night. Griffith watches the red light dye the white buildings; somehow his gaze refuses to land on the man in front of him, no matter how close he stands. And he’s never had a difficult time finding things to say – it was only ever a matter of whether he had anything that needed saying. Now, nothing that comes to mind will make its way past his lips.

Best to leave. Griffith sighs. “I don't suppose there's much purpose to my staying here any longer. I thought I should explain the situation. But I'll have servants set aside to attend to your needs. There's no need to disturb your... equilibrium any farther.”

“You send your servants in here, you ain’t getting them back.”

Griffith glances at Guts. Lines of tension run up his neck.

“Would you kill them for bringing you breakfast? Not all of them are demons.”

“Fine by me. I don't just kill demons.” Guts shrugs his heavy shoulders... but the casualty of it is affected.

Guts’ face is just as tense, just as angry. ...it’s frightened, too... though it isn’t immediately clear what it is he’s frightened of. Griffith himself, perhaps? That would make sense... though it seems somewhat incongruent with Guts’ personality to show it in this kind of situation.

No. It’s something else.

Griffith is quiet for a time, assessing Guts’ body language, the way his eye burns. Anger, frustration and fear. If he thinks about it, it shouldn’t be surprising. After all, who knows abandonment and imprisonment better than Griffith?

“I see,” He says. “I wouldn’t have thought you would want me to come back.”

Something flashes in Guts’ eye – surprise, yes, and then a wall of stone to block out Griffith’s sight... or maybe Guts’ perception of himself. For a moment, Guts is just. Silent. Motionless. He opens his mouth... even so, it takes a moment for him to find his voice.

“I didn’t say—” Three words, and then his voice fails quiet again.

Griffith looks to the table not so far away – the apple core and half-eaten bread.

“Very well,” he says, quietly. “I'll bring you your meals personally. At least for now.” He takes a deep breath and turns toward the door. It’s only a few steps off; he takes hold of the latch – silver and engraved with feathery markings, like most things in Falconia.

“Heh.” It isn’t an actual laugh. Feet away, Guts’ weight shifts. Griffith can hear the clanging metal; it shifts, but doesn’t approach. “Never thought this was gonna end with a damn God Hand offering to bring me dinner.”

“We are not one body, Guts.” Griffith looks at his hand – long fingers wrapped around the silver latch while the metal warms. “Each of us has our own goals, our own priorities, and our own experiences. I am what I am... but I am still Griffith.”

The armor shifts behind him again, and it’s so quiet. Griffith doesn’t look back. “Whatever has become of what we were... you were once the most important thing in this world, to me.” It’s surprisingly easy to say. Perhaps because it’s no longer true. “I will honor that.”

And then, without waiting for a response, he opens the door and steps into the hallway beyond.

* * *

Guts stares at the door long past its closing, his heart pounding violently in his chest. In that moment, hot rage and cold sorrow rushing through him, he doesn’t know whether to scream or cry.

#ariel writes about berserk #griffgutsweekend2023 #maybe? I don't know #it's a WIP #Let me live!

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sunsetsands · 2 months

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Almud Masterpost

Seemed like a good idea to create a place to compile information about the main planet project I have going.

Most of the pictures here are hand-drawn. I have slowly been improving at digital art, so I do intend on gradually replacing them with procreate recreations, but until then, have these messy pencil illustrations.

The planet’s name is Almud (pronounced “awl-MOO-duh” (yes, the D at the end is its own syllable)). It is the second planet from its star, an orange dwarf. Conditionswise, Almud is very similar to Earth, just a lot warmer and wetter, and without a single large moon. Instead, it has a somewhat recently-formed system of rings. These rings are made of the debris from the planet’s former moon, which floated in past the Roche limit a few dozen million years ago and got torn apart. Almud may or may not also have a smaller moon or two somewhere further out. I haven’t decided on that yet.

This is a map of Almud’s entire geography, which is slightly outdated. I’ll probably make an updated version at some point eventually possibly maybe. If you’re curious, those numbers on the continents were so I could keep track of continental drift to make sure everything made sense. I care way too much about tiny details.

This is a rough (and I mean very rough. Not proud of my craftsmanship on the outlines here) approximation of what Almud’s surface looks like. The foliage uses a teal pigment to photosynthesize, and the sky appears pink during the day. Obviously, not all of the planet is wetlands, but there are definitely more wetlands than there are on Earth thanks to the much higher humidity.

I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out what Almud’s animal-equivalent life should be like. After several failed attempts, however, I think I have gotten it to a point I am satisfied with. Below is a phylogenetic tree of all of the “animal” phyla present on Almud, and an overview of what each phylum has going on. I tried not to rip off Earth's phylogeny too much, but there are some notable parallels.

Vaxistoma (roughly "vaccine mouth"): Small fishlike creatures that feed through a proboscis with an extendible needle-tooth-thing inside of it. The rest of their body is covered in thick, hard scales. They mainly inhabit deeper waters where aquatic duossei are less common.

Duosseus ("two skeletons"): The closest equivalent to vertebrates. First members were fishlike, with calcified plates covering the outside of their bodies and rod-shaped bones supporting the inside. The outer skeleton atrophied mostly in the terrestrial members, but most classes do still have notable remnants, as shown in the small drawing above.

Limosus ("muddy, slimy things"): Soft, squishy creatures without much in terms of an internal skeleton, but most groups do have some external armor like their relatives listed above. Can be accurately summarized as "molluscs, but more alieny", though a few members are more like worms or sea stars.

Jocomodivirae (very roughly "funny little guys"): Small velvet worm-esque invertebrates with a thick, leathery pad over their back. A very diverse phylum with many, many members. Definitely not just insects with no exoskeletons.

Planagelattae ("flat jellies"): What if flatworms had three eyes?

Xenigmalus ("strange, mysterious things"): I can't think of a good way of describing these, which is pretty fitting for what they are. Body plans vary wildly here, but are almost always some combination of fins, tentacles, and a big translucent sack. Like the vaxistomans, they usually inhabit deeper waters.

Cornivermia ("horned worms"): Pretty self-explanatory. The flat, hard bits at the fronts of their heads help them dig through softer areas of soil. Some groups use these growths instead as something more akin to pincers, fins, hooks, or shells.

Carniherbae ("meat plants"): You know those animal-fern things from the Ediacaran era? These are just those, but not extinct.

Vivitria ("living glass"): Soft, feathery insides protected by a crystalline silicate shell. Many species in this phylum are colonial, which tend to look like colorful, floating geodes. These colonies often have surprisingly complex sensory capabilities, and some have been found to be about as intelligent as Earth cats.

Xylovitria ("wood glass"): Terrestrial relatives of the vivitrians, almost all of which are colonial. The defining feature of this phylum, besides their terrestriality, is their symbiotic relationship with a wide range of plant-equivalent species. The xylovitrian colony forms a protective, glassy wall around the plants' branches, as well as a system of feathery roots beneath the soil which serve to both gather nutrients for their plant partner and exchange gametes with other colonies to create new, empty xylovitrians for the plants' seeds to land in. In return, the plant gives the colony some of the byproducts of its photosynthesis.

Chiforma ("X-shaped"): Four-sided radially symmetrical creatures. Contains such captivatingly creative groups such as "squids, but four", "clams, but four", "eels, but four", and, most creataculiciously of all, "coral, but four". A shining example of the innovation that specbio nerds are capable of.

Nodovellis ("tangled hair"): Formless, sessile filter feeders. Basically a slime mold trying really hard to be a sponge, but the closest it could get was becoming a loofah.

(Feel free to give critiques or advice on the scientific names I made. All I really did here was mess around with google translate. I know there are guidelines and policies for what is and isn't an acceptable phylum title, but I've never been able to understand what any of them mean. If anything immediately makes you go "That's not how that works!", let me know)

For some additional information, I imagine that life on Almud began in freshwater rather than saltwater. This made the transition to land pretty easy for most of the animals, since they could afford to just flop around in muddy wetlands without any risk of drying out. This does mean that their skin is very, very sensitive to salt, however.

There is one sapient species on Almud: These slug things. Their actual species name is Akada, if that's important. Akada are descended from a social burrowing species that learned how to cultivate the many plants and molds that thrived in the dark, wet conditions of their tunnels. They are herbivorous, have a herd animal-like social structure, and currently have a level of technological advancement similar to ours. For more miscellaneous and mostly jokey info on them, please look here.

I will expand on all of this when/if I find the time and motivation.

#art #pencil on paper #alien #slug #akada #almud #spec bio #speculative biology #spec evo #speculative evolution #xenobiology #creature design #drawing #sci fi #guess who just learned that the name I gave to this planet is also the name of an antiquated unit of measurement #good to know it's not #like #an obscure slur or something #my art

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tiny-cloud-of-flowers · 4 months

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Xeno Femslash February Day 1: Beginning (Lora/Aline)

Following a lead discovered by Haze, Lora travels to the small hamlet of Torigoth in search of her mother, Rynea. Although she is shocked to find the village left in ruins, she is determined to find survivors - and manages to find a Driver hidden in the nearby forest. (2360 words) Takes place near the beginning of Torna ~ The Golden Country. This piece was written for the “Beginning” prompt of the Xeno Femslash February event.

My friend @artificervaldi is running an event/prompt list for this month, aaand.. well, I wanted to have a go at writing some selfship pieces for some of the prompts, so this is my piece for the first one! I hope that this is alright ^-^

(Anyone is welcome to comment on and/or reblog my work if they want to, as long as my DNI is respected!)

Tag list and document transcript under the readmore:

Document transcript:

Travelling with the lord of Aletta himself was a vastly new experience to Lora - as was the might of the Blade he had resonated with. Everything was so different, from the decoration of the inter-Titan transport to his refreshing and light-hearted banter. It was quite clear that Jin was unsure of how to see the situation, but Haze's confidence in the lead she had found was granting her Driver the strength and the hope that she dared to let build up in herself. She found herself enjoying Addam's demeanour, even if Mythra's standoffish nature made for a stark contrast - yet even she had her moments of more genuine appreciation.

When the party, as they could perhaps now be termed, landed on the grass of Gormott, Lora was amazed by the Titan's rolling plains and verdant scenery. Despite the drizzle drifting down from skies above, the wide-open views felt no less dreary; if anything, the plant life seemed almost more invigorated for the water. It was not cold, but neither was it humid - a clear freshness punctuated the air and put a spring in everyone's steps as they made their way to their destination. At times, there were a few tense moments of keeping watch for Ardainian or Coeian forces potentially skirmishing over resources, but these groups were not a strong presence in the local vicinity. Everything felt that little bit new and exciting.

It was only as Torigoth came closer, and the mists of rain had risen into stormclouds as dark as the plumes of extinguished flame-smoke, that the tone of the mission plummeted completely.

Lora found herself gripped by worry that dived headfirst into panic once she realised what had happened, fears rising almost as strongly as if she had stumbled upon her birthplace torn to shreds. Her pace picked up into a sprint as she flew along the path leading to the razed hamlet, not slowing even as she passed through the thick stone walls and further along the path and forwards into what should have been a lively and calm village square but was instead now.. no more than a mere clearing amidst piles of blackened timber and burnt remnants of buildings. There were glimpses of fallen townsfolk, here and there in the chaos; these were peaceful farmers whose lives had been gluttonously cut short by looters.

"Oh, no.."

"Here, too?" Addam wondered aloud from behind her, staring grimly at the carnage wrought before him. "Gormott's an attractive target, but this? Whoever did this.. clearly had no compassion or respect for the people they killed.."

Mythra seemed decidedly less affected by the scene, even if she was frowning slightly as she examined it. "Whether it was Malos, or someone else. Either way, clearly they're all toast."

This casual dismissal earned her a chiding look from her Driver. "Mythra.."

Meanwhile, Jin had become keenly aware of how distraught his own Driver had become, despite her face not being visible from where he was standing. Mythra had reminded Milton before that Drivers and Blades were one in body and soul, and in that moment it certainly did feel as though some of her distress was tangibly adding to his concern.

"Lora.." he began, wondering whether to approach her.

There was a moment's pause before she spoke up. "It's.. It's okay." she then said, mustering up what levity she could. "Mother.. could have run away somewhere safe.."

Her words held little hope or confidence, and everyone would likely have settled into an uncomfortable silence had that silence not been punctured by the sound of armoured footsteps running up to the group.

"You there! A moment, if such may be spared!"

All attention gladly turned from the destruction, the party looked over to one side to see a very tall figure approaching from a side path. They were dressed in quite extravagant white and golden armour, with a long cape and skirt that came down to above their knees, plus silver gauntlet-like gloves and greaves - all of which combined to make an impressive first impression. They were also almost completely soaked through, as could be seen from how much their hair was dripping pitch-black from the rain.

"Might I presume thee to be travellers?" they continued to ask as they ran, stopping upon getting close enough to speak without having to call out.

Haze had been standing closest, and so was primed to step forward to address the stranger while they stopped to catch their breath, crosier in hand. "Are you okay? What happened here?"

In response, they simply shook their head, though it was more in a dismissive way than a negative answer. "Pray be not concerned as to my status. 'Tis that of my Driver for which I would deign to seek thine aid."

"So you're a Blade, then.." Lora mused - but at the sound of her voice, he frowned. He looked up after a moment only to find himself locking eyes with her - and his brow furrowed even more fiercely at the sight.

"Art thou not Lady-?" Then his voice caught in his throat, and he had to take another moment to reassess the situation. This caused Lora and Haze to glance between each other confusedly.

Mythra, on the other hand, was eyeing up the Blade with an unusual amount of interest, looking over the gleaming gold of their armour and the blue sword-shaped Core Crystal set in their chest. "Sure don't see Blades like you in places like this.. Who's your Driver, the lord of Gormott or something?"

"Do not jest so, lest thou receivest the wrong impression. Her name is Aline - a woman of Gormott, whose hair and height art alike to yours save in length." they explained. "She is dressed in verdant green, which may yet aid in her concealment from my view.. I bid her flee for safety at first sight of the brigands responsible for this travesty, yet she is wont to fear all conflict, and mine endeavours in dealing with such scoundrels hath left me wholly unknowing of her location."

The party listened carefully to his description, committing the details to memory. Addam was keen to take charge, his expression more serious than Lora had seen it since first meeting him.

"Right then." he declared as they finished. "A blonde Gormotti girl wearing green. Don't worry, my good fellow - we'll do what we can to find her."

"Full glad am I to hear this." replied the Blade, before pausing as if remembering something. "Ah! Pray forgive my discourtesy. Mine urgency did prevent the proper introductions; you all may address me as Avalon."

"It's good to meet you." Lora said quickly, though her mind seemed to be elsewhere. "I'm thinking that- since there are a few of us, we could split off into pairs to cover more ground. Maybe.. Jin, would you mind staying with Avalon?"

The ice-element Blade, who had clearly been rather taken by their attire, frowned slightly. "..Not outright, but will you and Haze be alright on your own?"

"Yes, don't worry." she insisted. "If anything happens, or you find Aline or anyone else, come back here to the square. I saw that the forest here encroaches on the village quite a bit, so.. if Haze and I look through there, you can check over the immediate area, and then Addam and Mythra can search in the fields to the north. Sound like a plan?"

Everyone quickly gave their assent, and set off to search for the girl.

==========

The rain had not relented, splashing down in heavy raindrops through the towering trees overhead. Haze and Lora were quickly but carefully picking their way through the drenched forest, expressions tense with apprehension. Neither woman was familiar with the flora or fauna of the Titan, and it also had not been clear whether Avalon was able to successfully rout all of the brigands, so the pair kept close together in order to observe without drawing too much attention to themselves. It was a tricky and tentative situation, searching for someone they had never even seen in an environment where she would be almost perfectly-camouflaged.

Trying as she might to concentrate, Lora's mind was racing too quickly to let her focus properly. The way in which Avalon had faltered at the sight and sound of her was unsettling, and most unexpected - yet the more she dwelled on the moment, the more she wondered if it could have meant something. It had been far too long since she last saw her mother, and.. the thought suddenly came to her that it was possible the two could share some resemblance. Which, of course, meant that Avalon was familiar with her. ..She didn't quite know how to feel about that, let alone right in this moment.

Meanwhile, Haze was looking around nervously, but finding the details of her surroundings difficult to discern in the driving storm. "My lady, do you think we should call out for her?"

"I think so." Lora replied. "Avalon said she might be scared, so if she's hiding, it might not be easy to find her ourselves. Besides, we don't want to startle her.."

The Blade gave a dutiful nod, and opened her mouth to cry Aline's name - but it was then that Lora's attention was caught once again, and she failed to hear it.

The trailing ends of a long grey scarf were fluttering in the wind that had just picked up, and their sudden movement drew her gaze to spy a startling peridot gleam just above where they began. As quickly as she had glimpsed it, it fled from view behind a tree whose bark almost shone in the low light from being so rain-saturated.

"Lady Lora? Is everything alright?"

Haze had now stepped into her field of view, her golden eyes examining Lora's own with some concern.

"Wait there a moment, Haze. I think someone else is here.."

As carefully as if she were approaching a sleeping Pippito, Lora kept her sights set on the scarf tails that were even now still just about visible from around the back of the tree trunk, and stepped forward slowly to investigate.

"We're not here to hurt you, if that's what you're worried about." she said to the tree trunk after a moment. "Avalon sent us.."

This seemed to have been the right thing to say, as a hand slowly crept its way around the side of the tree. Following it was the face of a shy young woman, whose drenched blonde hair was poking out from under her grey hood that had pockets for feline Gormotti ears. She was wearing a rustic sort of dress with light, puffy sleeves - and a green skirt and bodice, just as Avalon had implied. Her face was frozen by worry, wet with what could have been rainfall or tears, and her eyes seemed to catch what little light there was in the forest to shimmer with brimming anxiety.

Lora couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief from having found who she was looking for, but she could tell that the young woman was very shaken, and so maintained as gentle a kindness as possible.

"Hello there; my name is Lora. It's alright - I promise you don't need to be scared of us."

"Ah! I'm sorry!" she replied suddenly. "Um, I- I'm Aline.. And I think I might already know a bit about you, Lora.."

This remark caused Lora to blink in confusion as Aline nervously drew back from the soaking tree bark. She noticed that her heart was racing, and had to place her hand over her chest to try and settle it. Meanwhile, Haze had crept up behind her Driver, giving a gentle smile and wave that seemed to ease Aline's worries somewhat.

"My name is Haze." she said softly, after seeing her relax a bit. "I'm really glad we found you, Aline. You're not injured or anything, are you?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you. But- thank you for asking." she stated. "Sorry, I'm not.. normally this anxious, I promise.."

"Oh, please don't worry about that!" Lora exclaimed, almost sheepishly, to try and reassure her. "You'll be safe with us now, that I can assure you. Avalon is, too, in case you were worried - they'll be pleased to see you again, I'm sure."

This remark made Aline's eyes widen. "I didn't want to just leave them alone! But they insisted on this being safer, and.. I-I don't know whether anyone else managed to get out.."

Tears began to well up in her bright green eyes once again, and she raised a soaking-wet hand to unsuccessfully try to dry them. Lora felt a rush of intense pity for her, and quickly tried to sift through her things for a not-yet-completely-soaked handkerchief to use. She had meant to offer it to her, but Aline could do instead was blink as she felt the soft fabric on her face, and her eyes instinctively darted away in every direction to avoid being faced with Lora's.

"Thank you very much-!", she squeaked, causing Lora herself to feel slightly mortified. Why had she done that? She stopped herself and pulled backwards, taking in Aline's expression in full - and then realised the answer, as the fearful aura clouding her had now finally vanished. Haze, meanwhile, couldn't help but chuckle at the kind and instinctive gesture; it was clear that Lora had been worried about her wellbeing, on top of everything else going through her mind. Above them, the rain also began to ease slightly.

There was still a blanket of worry hanging over the three as they decided to make their way back, and each was bracing for a difficult scenario upon their return to the others. Even so, the fact that Haze and Lora had found at least two survivors of Torigoth felt like it had to be something - and that feeling that dared to feel positive was persistent in its slowly-rising nature. With Aline's wealth of experience as guidance, they found a straightforward path back out through the forest, returning to the ruined- but, at least, no longer smouldering - remnants of Torigoth.

And thus, girl met girl.

#heart of the void #creations from the void #selfshipping #this post is okay for anyone to reblog as long as my DNI is respected #love: knight of the people (lora)#selfship: to fight for what matters (lora/aline)#(or at least the beginnings of it - since this is how the two met!)#self‑insert: hope without courage (aline)#and also featuring #friend: shattered light (avalon)#who is my OC for this game! I.. tried. when it came to their speech patterns.#friend: windfall memories (haze)#plus others but to less of an extent #platonic F/Os #of gods and titans (xenoblade chronicles)#some of the dialogue here is directly taken from when I rendered a part of this in the past #I probably could have added those images back in actually.. but oh well #if you see them in there after the fact then that's what I have done!

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llamagoddessofficial · 1 year

Text

Thank you @cams4 for an adorable Sans x OC commission 🥺 I love plant mages, if I could pick any magic power it would probably be something plant related <3

---

Calypso came in from the rain, closing the backdoor behind her, cutting off the sound of the downpour that had quickly descended over the skeleton household. She pulled off her coat and hung it up beside the door, moving into the kitchen with a collection of cut plant stalks in one hand. The stems were long but not that thick, the ends dotted with what looked like hundreds of clusters of tiny balls.

When she arrived in the kitchen, Sans was already there. He was leaning on the countertop, casually, a cup of coffee in hand and an easy smile on his face.

(She hadn’t seen the way he jumped at the sound of her coming in. Though it wasn't unusual for her to come over, he hadn't been expecting to see her. She hadn’t seen how he pulled at his dirty shirt, counting the stains and wishing he’d worn something less gross. She hadn’t seen how he scrabbled at some dirty plates he’d bought down from his room and teleported them into the sink- and she hadn’t seen the three poses he’d attempted, before settling on the most casual-seeming one.)

“hey caly.” He said, smooth and warm.

... Calypso’s fern-green eyes only needed to land on him for a few moments, before he already felt himself slightly losing his cool, cheekbones prickling and threatening to flush blue. He swallowed, shifting his weight a little more onto one foot.

She visibly brightened. Raindrops hung suspended in her golden hair, like dozens of little pearls. “Sans! You’re up early!”

Sans was up early. 11am- early for him. He winked. “yup, i can’t be-leaf it either. whatcha doin’ out in the rain?”

His joke earned a modest snort, despite the innumerable amount of times he’d said that same joke to her. “Just some gardening for Papyrus. Is he home yet?”

“not yet. still working out, probably.”

He didn’t really understand why Calypso bothered with gardening. She was a mage- capable of making plant life grow on command. And yet she often still insisted on taking the long route.

“... I just think it’s much more rewarding to let the plants grow themselves, and help them along a bit. Listen to them, rather than forcing them to make the journey faster. They’re just as pretty when they’re growing as they are when they’re grown.”

... He didn’t get it. The only plant he’d managed to keep alive was a little potted cactus she’d given him a few months ago, a creature who sat happily on his windowsill and seemed to thrive on his neglect. If he had plant powers he’d use them all the time.

... But maybe there was an element of comfort, to him, about the fact that the girl he was so hopelessly head-over-heels for preferred a fixer-upper to something already perfect.

“what’s pap growin’ now, then?” He asked.

“He likes dahlias, so I’ve just planted some. He described them as ‘POSITIVELY MATHEMATICAL’.” She drew a vase out of the cupboard, filling it with water and dropping the large trimmings in. “They might take a while to grow, but that’s alright.”

Sans couldn’t help but chuckle. Of course his brother was obsessed with such a symmetrical flower.

“gotta admit, i’m comin’ up short on dahlia puns.” He supported his chin on his elbow, swirling the remaining dredges of coffee in his cup. Talking to her... it just made him feel so... relaxed. So okay. “what’re the ones in the vase, then?”

“Just some of the hydrangea. It’s getting huge, now. It’s good to garden them when it’s raining.” She gently rearranged them. “I thought they’d look nice inside, when they bloomed.”

He grinned. “bet they’ll be bloomin’ unbelievable.”

...

Calypso suddenly shifted. She looked... nervous? She bit her lip.

... Sans immediately felt himself shift too, instinctively, smile losing a few millimetres. He lowered his mug.

“... something... wrong?” He asked, carefully, after a few moments of silence.

She had no idea how much that single sentence meant, coming from him. Sans, famously terrified of any emotional subject, had a tendency to evacuate the room even when his closest friends got too upset. But with her, he felt a degree of comfort he’d only felt before around family.

... He wanted to make sure she was okay.

“N-no, not at all.” She needlessly adjusted the flower in the vase again. “I’m fine. Uhm... It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

The thought of her not being able to tell him something made him feel itchy.

“... you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. but, uh... you can tell me anything, heh.” He was wearing his most disarming smile. “‘sides, if it’s botherin’ you, it’s usually better to get it out.”

If Papyrus had been in the room he would’ve fainted at the sight of Sans not only avoiding the easy way out of the conversation (just accepting her 'I'm fine'), but actively pushing for greater emotional honesty.

As a monster, he had exceptional hearing. He didn’t want to tell her that he could hear her heartbeat getting faster.

“I’m...” Her eyes darted around, focusing on anything that wasn’t him. Were her cheeks getting red? Shit, had one of his jokes landed badly? He racked his mind for anything he could've said to make her upset. “Y-you’re right. It’s... it’ll be better to get it out.”

He was getting nervous now. Was it bad? Should he be concerned? “mhm.”

She stared at the hydrangea. She fidgeted with the side of the countertop, took a breath in...

“I... I really like you.”

...

“.......... huh?”

“... Like... erm...” She tucked some hair behind her ear, still not looking at him. “... Romantically.”

...

Not what he was expecting to hear.

...

The sound of the rain outside filled the room. Sans stood there, staring at her blankly, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for her to start laughing, grin and say it was a prank. Waiting for the gotcha!

There was no way she liked him. It was too good to be true.

... Not when he liked her so much, too.

Calypso glanced at him- his expression must’ve been something else, because she immediately looked away again. He could smell regret starting to seep out of her.

“I-I mean... it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to do anything. It’s no big deal.” She laced her fingers together, then unlaced them, tapping them on the countertop, as unsure of how to stand as he had been minutes earlier. “I just, uhm... figured you should know... nothing has to change though. A-and it’s fine, I’ll probably-”

Her cheeks were getting progressively redder and redder, and her voice progressively smaller and smaller. She was being honest.

“i-i like you too,” he blurted.

...

She finally looked at him. She stared at him as blankly as he’d stared at her.

... He had to let go of his mug, for fear of cracking the handle.

“... romantically.”

Calypso's face flushed. As it did, her eyes glimmered green for a split second- and every bud on hydrangeas in the vase instantly opened, a vivid bunch of bubblegum pink.

It kinda matched the shade on her cheeks.

...

“Y-you... do?” Her voice cracked.

His Soul was in his mouth. If it turned out she was pranking him, he’d never forgive her. don’t laugh at me.

“... you sound like you don’t believe me.” He said, as playfully as he could, in the state he was in. He could feel his eyelights all but twinkling in his sockets, they were probably embarrassingly big and fuzzy.

“I... w-well. You’re just... you’re so cool, and I...”

... Sans laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was a short sound, he covered his mouth- she quickly gave him a quizzical look. Though she seemed comforted by the sound.

i feel like my bones are gonna fall apart.

“i-i’m sorry. i just...” He dragged his hand down his face, his grin was so big it was starting to ache. “i can’t believe you said that. that’s exactly how i feel about you.”

The hydrangeas went from pink to red. Again, just like her face. “... You think I’m... cool?”

He had word vomit. “who wouldn’t?”

He was so... excited? Happy? He couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t used to not knowing exactly how he felt.

...

“... I didn’t know you could go that colour.” Calypso giggled, gently.

Sans quickly became self-conscious of the amount of magic he could feel prickling in his cheekbones. His face must’ve been absolutely cerulean; he itched his cheekbone, letting out a weak chuckle of his own and glancing away.

“guess, uh... my crush confessing to me blue me away, heheh...”

...

She reached across, and took one of his skeletal hands in hers.

He stared at the two limbs, entwined. Warmth spread through his chest. Whatever he was feeling, he really liked it.

...

“pap is gonna lose his shit when he finds out.”

“I know, right?”

#commissions #sometimes. u just want it soft and sweet #and sometimes u vehemently wish you were the character you were writing [many many eyes emojis]

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clickerflight · 11 months

Text

Burned at the stake - Part 1

Well. I have done it. 14K ish words. I'll put this out in about 5 bits me thinks. Anyways, enjoy!

Content: Vampire whumpee, out of body experience (?), mention of vampire trafficking, burning flesh

Let me know if you want to be on a tag list

.....................................

Fanatic was a word often tied to cults, to religious nuts, to conspiracy theorists, which really is quite narrow minded. The word fanatic more often applies to a wider range of people, more specifically known as anthropology students. After all, who else would spend outrageous amounts of money and time to go to some remote jungle that could most certainly kill them in a thousand different ways for the remote chance that they might find some ancient temple that some random drunk dude swore till he was blue was there, and also very haunted.

So, yes, Joanna was having just about as much fun as a human being could experience as she hacked her way through the brush ahead of her slightly less enthusiastic colleague, Kyle. Because he had more of his wits about her (more but not much more as he was a student of ancient languages and only here in case they found the temple and something needed to be translated) he was slowed by making sure they marked the path back clearly.

“Joanna, when was the last time you looked at the map?”

“Kyle, you know as well as I that time does not exist out here,” she replied, pausing to get a sip of water before pushing forward again. “But we do not need a map! All we need is our hearts and our minds!”

Kyle laughed as she flashed him a grin while reaching to pull out the map and check the compass. “Yeah, we’re on track.”

“Good,” Kyle replied. “Do you know how much farther we need to go?”

“Well, probably another 2 or 3 miles but…..”

Kyle paused, looking at Joanna who’s movements became more purposeful and smooth, like she was completing a ritual. Kyle felt it as well. There was a tension in the air. Something that said they would discover something interesting soon, like the forest was holding its breath while it waited for their reaction.

And now that he thought about it, the birds had all gone silent.

Joanna had noticed as well, and she slowed down so he could catch up with her. His shoulder brushed hers as she paused, leaning to see past the foliage ahead. It almost seemed as though there was a man-made clearing, and the tension in the air went from intriguing to nerve wracking. Kyle glanced past Joanna who tightened her grip on her machete and pushed forward. The foliage around the clearing was dense, and the effort to get through it left Joanna and Kyle exhausted as they took turns cutting the vines. Kyle was so exhausted, in fact, that when he broke through the foliage with one last swing his tired arms and legs didn’t expect the lack of resistance and he fell through into the clearing.

A cloud of fine particles filled the air around him, coating his mouth as Kyle took a surprised breath. Kyle coughed hard, stirring up the ash around him as he forced himself up and out of the cloud he had stirred into the air, trying to find fresh air as Joanna came out behind him.

Kyle continued coughing out a lung or two as she stood there silently, and as his voice came back to him, he choked out, “I’m fine, by the way.” He coughed, listening for Joanna’s apology or joke or-

He blinked hard, eyes watering as he turned to look at her. “Joanna? I-”

Joanna was pale and staring at something behind him. He turned quickly, ash swirling up around his feet. The ash was everywhere in the clearing. The clearing was huge, as well, as though it had been burned and razed. Or maybe the thick layers of ash were killing off life and keeping the plants from coming back in the clearing.

The immense expanse of ash, so strange and wrong compared to the jungle that refused to touch the clearing, was nothing compared to what was in the middle.

A pole jutted from the ground, silver chains nearly hidden in the ashes underneath the charred and blackened mass skewered on the pole. There was the faint shape of ribs in the mass, the whole thing smoking faintly in the sun.

“Uhhhhhhhh, what’s that?” Kyle asked softly, but his voice seemed to ring in his ears without the dense foliage to muffle it.

“I dunno, but I’m gonna touch it,” Joanna said, kicking her way through the ashes with a scared, though determined step.

“Joanna!? What do you mean you’re gonna touch it!?” he cried, reaching forward to stop her.

She dodged past him, turning grey as the ash melted into the sweat of her body. She reached the charred mass on the pole and reached out a hand, brushing over it. She screamed and jumped back as more ash and char crumbled through her fingers. Kyle reached her, nearly knee deep in ashes.

More of the black char crumbled away, and something pale peaked through what remained of the ribs. Something that pulsed and flinched.

Holding his breath, Kyle leaned forward as Joanna vigorously wiped her hand off on her pants.

“Er….. I think this was.. Is it a vampire?”

“What?”

“There’s a heart under here. Still beating,” Kyle replied, not removing his eyes from the heart which seemed to be fused to the pole which skewered up, just barely missing it. He was trying not to be sick, but his stomach churned right along with the pulsing of the vampire heart.

Joanna shoved him out of the way so she could look, and Kyle was glad for it as he hadn’t been sure he would be able to look away. He grabbed his water out and sipped on it, shivering slightly as he dealt with what he’d just seen.

“What do we…. What do we do with it?” Joanna asked, reaching in and touching the heart very gently, almost stroking it like one would do to the chest of a friendly bird. She watched as the heart fluttered and she touched it again gently. This time the heart pulsed in response and she found herself whispering, “It’s alright. We’re not leaving you here.”

“We’re not taking that thing, are we?” Kyle asked. “What if it was left here because it was, I dunno, a monster or something?”

“So we should just leave it here?”

“We… well, we shouldn’t leave it to suffer, obviously, but we could, er…. I’m sure we could find a stick…”

“We’re not killing it. That’s murder,” Joanna replied, still stroking the pale heart.

“We should call the government, then. This isn’t our problem!”

Joanna gave him a withering look, cupping the heart and shielding it from the sun as more of the chest cavity collapsed. “And they’ll kill it for sure. You know that this country doesn’t ‘waste’ resources on vampire recoveries.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Kyle said. He took another sip from his water and sighed. “Alright. Are we going to smuggle it back with us?”

“We have to.”

Kyle sighed. “Alright. We’d better take it back to the hotel and figure out how we’re going to get it back home. You’re carrying it.”

“Chicken,” Joanna said with a sharp grin. “Could you pass me your handkerchief?”

Kyle nodded and handed her a couple clean ones from his bag, most of them out of ziplocks and already damp to help with staying cool while they hiked, as he usually used them for.

Joanna gently wrapped them around the heart and cooed at it. “I’m sorry, love, this is gonna hurt.”

She gently pried the heart from the pole, which revealed itself to be made of silver and had burned the heart to the metal. The heart thumped irregularly as she pulled it away from the pole, leaving charred flesh behind. It nearly squirmed right out of her hands and she shushed it, pulling it more gently until she had the swathed heart shivering in her hands.

She stood up and turned, still cooing at the heart and stroking it gently, making sure the sun wouldn’t get to it by wrapping it in another piece of cloth.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kyle said with a heavy sigh. They turned back and made their way out of the jungle slowly and surely. With the heart tucked into her bag, they got a taxi in the rundown town to get back to their hotel room.

As soon as they had the door locked behind them and were all settled, she pulled the heart out. The wrappings were dried out now, though the heart looked a bit better for being damp. She went and made the handkerchiefs wet again, wrapping them around the heart, which still flinched when she touched it, but seemed to be beating at a steadier rate.

“We need a plan,” Joanna said.

Kyle sighed, sinking into the bed. “We can’t keep it here. There are only so many times we can extend the trip, and if it’s discovered it’ll be confiscated and destroyed…. Or worse.”

Joanna nodded faintly. The two of them were well acquainted with the fact that there were dark markets trading in pieces of vampire hearts, claiming them to be ancient creatures with fantastic knowledge of the past. Most of the time, the poor things weren’t allowed to grow and were just kept in a silver lined box and treated like an interesting old trinket. Or they were grown out, forced to tell all they knew, and then they had their hearts removed again so they could be easily stored or sold on. You didn’t get into anthropology without first dividing which side of that moral quandary you stood. Many of their peers were actually lobbying for even more rights for vampires so this sort of thing would be cracked down on a bit harder, though she knew that the laws they volleyed for were specifically ones that would put vampire hearts in the hands of people like them. Of course it would be in the name of helping ancient vampires transition with people who understand a bit of the world they used to live in before they were stripped of their bodies, but the motivations were the dreams of getting useful information first, and straight from the source.

Joanna would be lying if she didn’t have the same thoughts when they were riding back from the jungle.

“I guess that just leaves the matter of how we’re going to get it back,” Joanna said. “I used to know some guys we could have shipped it with, but they got arrested a couple of months ago….”

“It probably wouldn’t be safe to ship it. It might get eaten by rats on the way, or someone might hear it thumping,” Kyle replied, standing up to have a look at the heart. “I think you might have to hide it under your shirt or something.”

“Under my shirt?” She asked, annoyed. “Why my shirt?”

“Because you can use your bra to keep it from falling out,” Kyle said, sounding ashamed with having to even voice the idea out loud.

“Bold of you to assume I wear one,” Joanna said to get back at him. He spluttered in a very amusing fashion and she laughed, the heart in her hands picking up the pace for a moment.

“Alright,” she said when Kyle looked close to fainting with embarrassment. “I guess that’s fair. But someone at the gate will absolutely notice that my shirt is moving every time it does.”

Kyle sighed. “We have a few more days. Maybe we can find some way of making it be still for long enough to get through the gate. There has to be something.”

Joanna gave him a long-suffering look. “Fine. Hold this,” she said, passing the heart to him before pulling out her phone and typing ‘How to get a vampire heart to stop moving.’

………………………..

There had been pain for a very long time. How long? How does one count heartbeats when one does not have fingers to aid them? Does time even matter in the face of all of that pain? Reasoning certainly doesn’t. One learns to stop questioning the why of the pain, and try to adapt ways of ignoring it. Or using it in intervals to stay sane.

What was worse than the pain was when there was no more body to feel. Just a heartbeat to keep the time. The nothingness lasted…. Less than the pain? It was hard to tell. It was almost worse. There was no way to grow anymore, to try and escape from this place, so finding ways to stay sane became almost nonexistent. There was an occasional burning that would bring sanity back, but never for long, like the brush of a finger over a hot stone to remember what heat was like before it was doused out in a river.

Being a heart, you couldn’t properly muse. You couldn’t have proper thoughts. Just memories that played in an order of thinking. A mockery of it, like drawings of a sunrise to try and describe a sunset.

Still, it was all one had left when put in such a position. Playing memories over and over in a semblance of thoughts, hoping that the use of them in this way would not damage or destroy them.

The heart had given up on stringing memories into thoughts. It was tiresome and sad. Instead playing out favorites. The heart had grown quite good at this over time and had begun to use its infinite time to uncover new ones. Like digging. Brushing aside the sand of time like the sands in the -

“Maman! Can I dig in the garden?”

“Yes, Esial. Listen for me when I call for you!”

“Yes, Maman!”

Sand on the edge of the herb garden. Maman was a healer. Esial, the young boy with bright eyes and sticky fingers got to digging, using a nice stick he found. Usually, he would dig out lines and pull leaves off of plants and trees, shoving them in the dirt so he could have his own garden and he’d show his Maman, and she would always aww and coo at him and scoop him up. They would show father when he got home.

But just as he started this wonderful pastime, his stick scraped past a rock. He stopped and used his fingers to scoop away the dirt. The stone was small and rather round. The black color took hold of his imagination. It could be an amulet! It had to be! Why else would this small stone be so black and shiny? He giggled as he ran around, pretending to vanquish evil with every wave of the stone until his father came home and saw him.

His father had been very keen to listen to Esial describe the magic powers the stone had.

“I don’t know about putting flight and fire blasts into the same stone, but we can see what we can do.”

The workshop smelled like mint and sage and his father started painstakingly carving runes into the stone, whispering about what they meant and how they would protect his little Esial.

The Heart wished it could remember all the details.

“There,” his father said, putting a leather cord through the hole he’d drilled out with some sort of magic. “Try this on.”

Esial did, and was delighted. He loved his amulet more than anything! Except perhaps the blanket Nanan had made for him when he was born. He decided he would always keep it on him so he would-

“THERE! GET IT!!!”

Esial ran through the trees, heart thumping stolen blood through his body. He’d been so hungry. He’d needed something and it was better that it was an animal than a person, right?

“THIS WAY!”

Esial came sliding to a stop and ran in another direction, not wanting to be cut off by the hunters. He reached up to his chest to grab his amulet, but his pale fingers closed on empty air. His amulet? His AMULET! Where did he-

The Heart stopped that memory in its tracks. The Heart had control over the memories, and it didn’t want to watch that one again. Not again.

Instead, the heart reached for a memory of teenage years, pondering over them all to-

East blood.

There was a hand, pounding with east blood cradling the Heart. Why were there hands? Pain, burning, screams, flinching, fear-

The fingers smoothed over the Heart. Memories of Maman smoothing down hair lovingly surfaced and the Heart slowed, now more curious than scared. Something cool, moist, damp, was wrapped around it. The Heart relished in the feeling before the hands tugged. Sharp pain tore alongside the Heart as it was ripped from something and the fear came back as more cool, moist, damp was wrapped around it.

Time passed and the Heart got the sense of… movement. They were going somewhere. The Heart couldn’t sense the hands anymore, though. But it was moving

Eventually, the damp, cool, moist was pulled away and the East Hands stroked the heart directly. The Heart did not think, but it did hope.

The East hands placed the Heart in new ones. Rougher, bigger, Northwest blood. The Northwest hands held the Heart, though did not stroke it. The Heart grew nervous as it sensed the anxiety in the blood flow beneath it. Soon enough, though, the East hands were back and were stroking it again. The Heart relaxed just enough that, when the cold, dry, freezing touched its flesh, it was merely confused rather than afraid. That changed very soon as the East hands left and disappeared entirely. The fear became vivid and sharp as the cold enveloped The quickly beating Heart. But as the heart got cold, it grew tired. And even more so. The fear dropped to mild anxiety, then to malcontent tiredness. Then…. Nothing.

Part 2

@whumpsday

#vampire whumpee #rescue #carewhumper #having a hard time with tags right now #ancient vampire #What a good time this has been

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nobedofroses · 6 months

Text

December 20th

pairing: Pero Tovar x reader

warnings: angst then fluff!

words: 994

a/n: more of Pero set in the vague past, lots of tears lol. Candle light/oblivious idiots/tears prompt from @toomanystoriessolittletime's winter writing challenge ❄️

more Pero, Full List

🌨️🌨️🌨️

When you found out Pero was leaving, you spent the whole rest of the day in your room, burying your face in your thick woolen blankets and crying. You couldn’t imagine life without him in your tiny little village tucked into the mountains. For the past six months, he had been boarding at your brother’s farm where you lived, helping with the planting and the harvest. And for the past six months, despite your best intentions, you had been falling in love with him. But now he was leaving.

Your sister-in-law, Jane, came in the room to make sure you were alright to come to supper, and sat up to see her. You had finished crying a while before, but at the sight of her sympathetic face, you lost it all over again.

“Oh, honey,” Jane said as she sat by your side, pulling you into a hug.

“I just— I didn’t think he would leave! I thought— I thought he would stay and— and we could— we could…” you trailed off, not wanting to voice your hopes and dreams for him and you.

“I know, sweetie,” Jane murmured, rubbing up and down your back. After a minute she pulled back and looked you in the eye, “Do you maybe want to talk to him? Tell him how you—?”

“I can’t! What’s the point? He’s leaving and he’d reject me either way. He wouldn’t be leaving if he felt the same way, because I would– never— leave— him!” you burst into another fit of sobs and crumpled against Jane again.

Jane sighed and just soothed you, wondering how on earth she’d be able to get both you and Pero to admit your feelings to each other.

___

The next day you saw Pero for the first time since his announcement. You ducked your head, hoping he wouldn’t notice your puffy and bloodshot eyes and also that you wouldn’t cry again.

“Did Jane tell you she and your brother will be gone until late this night?” Pero asked you, voice quiet and gruff.

You nodded, “Yes, the market. I, um, I can make supper for just the two of us tonight.”

The thought of what supper for just the two of you would mean in a different context sent a stab through your heart and you stood up quickly from the table, making quick excuses and hurrying back to your room, too quick to hear the soft entreaty of “querida” that followed you.

___

Hours later, you served Pero and yourself supper, eating by candlelight instead of gas lamps since it was just the two of you and you didn’t need it as bright.

The meal was awkward, almost completely silent. Anytime Pero tried to ask you a question, you answered with just one word, not trusting yourself to say more without bursting into tears.

You made it through almost the entire meal without looking at him. Even less so when you realized that every time you did look at him, he was looking at you.

Afterwards, you went to the water basin to start washing the dishes. Pero came over to help dry, a sweet gesture that made your chest ache.

Minutes of more silence went by before Pero finally said, “I wish you did not hate me.”

You turned to him quickly, “I don’t hate you. I l– I don’t hate you Pero.”

“Then why do you not look at me anymore? Not talk to me in the way you always have?” he asked, searching your eyes.

You wanted to look away, but his deep brown eyes were too compelling and you couldn’t. “I suppose I am preparing for when you leave us. You won’t be there for me to look at or talk to then.”

“I see,” Pero said quietly, switching his attention back to the task at hand. Only when you had resigned yourself to being heartbroken forever, feeling the pinpricks of tears in your eyes, did he speak again. “Then I will have to stay.”

“You what?” you asked him breathlessly, scrutinizing his face for even a hint of a lie or joke.

“I will have to stay, querida. Because I cannot survive one more day— one more minute without your beautiful eyes upon me, without your gorgeous smile cast my way, without hearing all of your clever thoughts,” he told you sincerely. You couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, just trying to process what he was saying. “In all honesty, I cannot let one more second pass before I tell you that I love you.”

“You— you what?” you asked, completely unable to believe your ears.

“I love you, querida. And I hope against hope that you may feel even a fraction of the same,” Pero said, brushing his fingers over your cheek.

After five seconds of heavy breathing, you exclaimed, “Oh, I do! Pero, I love you, I do!”

And then you threw yourself at him, kissing him before he even knew what you were doing. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his came to your waist, holding you tight as you lost some of your balance from kissing him so hard.

Pero reciprocated the kiss in turn and you would’ve taken him right there on the kitchen floor had Jane and your brother not arrived. The two of you broke apart reluctantly but sheepishly and you turned back to the dishes to distract yourself.

When you next had something to say to Pero, able to now without the knowledge of him leaving pervading every thought, you turned to him and saw something on his collar. It was water droplets and you realized that the darker part was not the design of the fabric but the water you had had on your hands when you kissed him.

When Pero looked at you expectantly, you said, “Um, your shirt is wet.”

Pero chuckled, eyes shining with mirth and what you thought you now recognized as love, “Yes, I know, querida.”

🌨️🌨️🌨️

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #fluff #angst #blurb #snowy fics 23 #nobedofroses #stephswinterwritingchallenge

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monsterfloofs · 1 year

Note

🐊🏋️💐

(also, what a cool idea for a challenge! hope this isn’t too odd of a combination, lol)

Rex (crocodile monster) x Anonymous Reader (Sfw)

( Hewwo!! Thank you so much for this prompt, I am sorry for the wait— but I am back on my monster creation challenge!! I hope everyone had a good holiday. ( ouo ) I think this story prompted me to make my own crocodile monster species. . . and it has lore <3<3<3 I hope you enjoy it!)

The town you had traveled to, had some fearsome local legends and history.

But what had drawn you the most to this place was the existence of folks you had never heard of, until one of them had saved your life.

Ruby Mandibles, is the name coined from the humans that lived in the little remote waterfront villages. They were sentient reptilian creatures that closely resembled a crocodile, their skin a bright scarlet hue with frills that looked like flowers blooming from their skin. Research provided that these frills helped them blend into the vast aquatic garden of red flowers that spanned across the water.

Some folks speculated they were a distant and strange relative to dragons or some other scaley leviathan. Many old stories told of legends, the last thing a lost and weary adventurer had seen, the gentle waving or ruby petals fanning in the waves, and the sudden snap of a crushing set of jaws.

You shuddered at the thought.

But now times were different, and things had. . . mostly changed. There was a rocky peacefulness between the two communities. The two parties no longer hunted one another, but fingers would be pointed and accusations would be drawn like knives and swords. They were beautiful predators, and about a thousand years in the past, they had been sought after for their teeth and skin. Which had turned the mandabiles into an enraged frenzy to get back at humans.

You took out your map and turned it this way and that, giving a wide berth to the red waving field of underwater flowers. While you weren’t exactly afraid of a thousand year old sport of snapping a human up for lunch, you have heard that a human had gotten hurt by being too close to the mandible’s hunting ground. Also, you were weary of the water now, your past accident that had plunged you under the waterline too fresh in your mind.

Choking and sputtering on the ground, eyes filled with tears and your lungs heaved, a large figure kneeling beside you, a heavy hand patting your back.

You keep a wary eye of where the ground drops off into the water. The plant life is so thick, all you can see is a forest of beautiful trailing flowers, eerily dancing in a nonexistent wind. You wondered how far down it went, then rescinded those thoughts almost immediately. Your mind jumps back to the map in your hands, feet shuffling forward, moving along the direction where you were told your rescuer lived.

Rex, was the name of the Ruby mandible who had plucked you from the water as if you were but a mere pebble in the water. You had been in a daze at the time, shivering in a blanket and unable to utter less than a few choice words. But the people who had known him, had called him Rex. The numb fingers of your mind had latched onto that name, waiting until your could better ask around to thank him.

Rex owned a flower shop, you had been told it was his pride and joy. Which had made your eyebrows raise, thinking back to the burly creature covered in scars and one cloudy eye.

Yet, as you dip your map down, you can see a little shop beginning to appear on the horizon. A cozy building, with round porthole shaped windows, and a behemoth of a door. As you got closer you could hear humming in a deep rough baritone.

“H-hello?” You call out and prickle as the air goes silent, a large red snout poking around the corner from the side of the house.

You raise a hand and give an awkward wave.

“H-hi there, uh R-Rex right? It’s me—“

“It is you!” With a bellow that just about knocks you backward, you find yourself being quickly confronted by a very large, very mean looking creature. But his intimidating presense doesn’t last long. He seizes your hand, his paw just about engulfed your forearm up to your elbow giving your arm a hearty shake. You now know how it feels to be an outdoor water pump. Throughly jostled, you wobble on the spot to regain your footing.

“Good to see you are still kicking around little thing!” He chortles,

“I was meaning to thank you—“

He cracked a wide toothy grin, “Pretty brave of you to march all the way over here to thank me, you must have a nose for trouble!”

You blink trying to figure out if he was joking, “I-I. . . I do?”

He barks a jolly guffaw, “Why I’m surprised you made it out all the way here, seein’ how cute you are!”

Oop— You blink, “I’m not cute!” You huff, but then lean back a little as he learns forward, looking you up and down.

“Coulda fooled me!”

#monster x reader #monster x human #exophilia #sfw #crocodile monster x human #crocodile monster x reader #floofydoodles

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dashboardjuliet · 1 year

Text

flesh and bone | chp 4: August 23

previous chapter: here

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader oc

After a messy divorce, you move into a rural house determined to continue on with your life. Until you discover your new home is less empty than you believed it to be

Warnings: nothing specific this chapter, no under 18 readers

He’s standing behind you like a shadow, and it’s a gentle surprise to yourself that you really don’t seem to mind it. After your somewhat awkward, high addled, declaration of friendship, your living situation had changed drastically for the better. You feel more comfortable moving around him, he’s less stiff and on edge. It’s been nothing short of… nice. It’s been nice.

You tilt your head back slightly, sunglasses protecting you from the heavy glare of the sun, to look at him standing in the doorway. You’re planted on your small little porch patio, an umbrella blocking most of the sun, and laptop sat in your lap as you look at decorations for your classroom.

“What’s up? Did the TV go to sleep?” Not that he actually watches it, but you’ve started leaving it on because he’s stopped lurking in his corner, and you can only imagine how boring watching corn has been. You think you caught him watching it once, at night when you had stumbled into the kitchen for water, mouth dry and tacky. He’d been on the couch, but had startled as soon as you had come crashing through the dark, swearing as you had stubbed a toe on the corner of the wall.

“You’re just wasting electricity leaving that thing on,” You purse your lips as he speaks, but you don’t interrupt him. “Was just wondering what you’re doing.”

“Oh!” For some reason you hadn’t been expecting this, his interest in your going ons. You pop up from your reclined position in your lawn chair and swivel around, legs over the side of it so you can face him better.

He’s standing in his spot, hip cocked against the doorway and thick arms crossed over his chest. You wish you could see his face, catalogue his expressions to try and make sense of him. But you’re left staring at the skull, tracing the now familiar curves of it with your eyes.

“Shopping!” You announce brightly, pushing up and moving back into the house so that he can look over your shoulder onto your laptop. He moves with you, turning as you walk past him and following right behind as you place your laptop down on the kitchen counter, leaning your arms on the cool linoleum. “For school, which starts way too soon. I want my classroom to have a theme this year so I need new decorations.”

You smile up at him expectantly, but you get nothing, which isn’t surprising but it still hurts in your gut, just a bit. You go back to looking at your laptop, but freeze as his arms come into view, resting on the counter in a mirror position to yours, but giant.

“What’s the theme?”

“Camping! Well, more outdoorsy than anything, but camping is a good catch-all for what I’m going for.”

“D’you like camping?” You blink up at him, turning your head to face his skull. He’s looking down at you, you think. A small smile crawls across your face.

“I do like camping. I don’t get to do it enough, but I’ve always had a good time when I do. Do you like camping?”

“Prefer it to everything else. I’d rather be out there than the city.” You can almost see him out in the woods, towering trees surrounding him as he sits in solitude, maybe a gas stove at his feet. No one surrounding him for miles. You’ve never camped like that, stuck close to camp grounds where the chatter of campsites and families mingle with birdsong and squirrel chatter, laughter heavy when night falls and campfires roar. It’s a very communal activity for you, but you have a feeling for him it’s an entirely different experience. One, you’re surprised to think, you wouldn’t mind experiencing.

“Where’s your favorite place you’ve camped?” You ask, turning your head back to your computer, eyes scanning the paper crafts and wall hangings that you’ve been looking at. For some reason, watching him while he talks feels too… personal. Like you’re waiting for something, although you’re not sure what.

“Anywhere in Scotland. I’ve got a… mate that I’d go with. But it’s been a while… obviously.”

“A mate?”

“...friend.” His voice is heavy, hesitant, leading toward something more but unwilling to share and you’re unwilling to dig deeper. He’d share if he wanted to. You want him too but you swallow the want.

“No, I know what it means, you’ve just never mentioned friends before. Didn’t think you had any, save for me.” You tease, moving the conversation back to lighthearted. Or as lighthearted as you can manage. You click on a paper tree hanging for a wall, debate for a moment, and then move it into your cart. Maybe for a wishing tree. Or to track your students' birthdays.

“Right then, consider us no longer friends just because of that. Brat.” He moves as he speaks, turning so that his back is resting against the counter, or seemingly resting. You can see the edge of it move into him, the boundaries of his corporeal form giving. His arms are crossed over his chest again. You know he’s teasing you, but still, you pout and turn your head to look at him.

“Nooooo Ghost, whatever am I going to do without your riveting conversations and hulking form scaring the crap out of me?”

“Once we figure out how to get me solid again, it’s over for you. I’m takin’ you down.”

“I’d like to see you try, old man. I’ve got youth on my side.”

“M’ not that old, you shit.”

“Only old people say they’re not old.”

“Alright, that’s it.” He huffs, and then he’s gone. You’re not watching, but you catch the disappearance of his form from the corner of your eye, the air shuddering and heaving around him, and then empty. It makes your whole head turn, and your body follows as you swivel to look around your living area, eyes searching for his form that you can’t find.

He’s played this prank on you before, disappearing and then reappearing behind you, almost giddy with the hilarity of your reaction. If you could see his face in those moments, you imagine his eyes would be glowing with unbridled glee. He’s probably not big on expressions, you think. And it’s only a feeling, but you’re sure his eyes can’t hide much. Only if you could see them.

But this isn’t like before. He’s not right behind you, encroached on your space.

“Ghost?” You call out, your voice small as you move from the kitchen to the living room, glancing down the hallway to your bedroom.

He’s nowhere. For the briefest of moments, you think maybe this is it. Maybe he’s… moved on, left you alone in this tiny house to finally start moving too. But that thought comes with a sadness you don’t know how to address. So you keep moving, hand tracing the wall as you walk down the hallway.

Your bedroom door is open so you step inside, eyes scouring it for him. You walk slowly around the room, peeking behind furniture and under your bed like he’d even be able to fit behind things or under it. Huffing, you pop up from the floor and rest your hands on your bed to look into your bathroom.

Only one more place to look.

Standing, you move slowly over your bed, crawling on top of it, disrupting your comforter in favor of the quickest route to the room. Your steps are light, or as light as you can make them, as you push off the bed and onto the thankfully silent wood floor.

It’s only two steps, and then you’re in the small tiled room, hand reaching for your almost see through shower curtain. He’s not there, you can see, but still you feel the need to check.

“You really think I’d be that easy to find?” His voice rings out from behind you the moment your hand comes in contact with the vinyl.

The yelp that escapes from your throat as you surge forward a step is nothing short of pathetic. A silly, shrill, desperate noise that you didn’t mean to make. It makes you bring your hands up to cover your mouth, trying to hide the fact that you actually made it.

You turn, eyes wide, to face him. He’s bending down, mask the closest it’s ever been to you. You think that if he was physical, your noses would be brushing, the width of a hair separating you two.

Suddenly there’s only one thing you can see, hands drifting down from your mouth as you hyper focus on him.

His eyes.

Brown.

But more than just that. Dark and wonderful and triggering something so deep in you that it makes you weak. Rich, like the chocolates your mother would slip you as a child before and after doing something scary. But that’s not exactly right, because there’s an amber tint to them that also makes you think of your favorite spiced red ale, dark until it’s held up to the light and suddenly it’s ruddy and red, complex and delicious. Yes, that’s closer to him.

You know your eyes must be wide, but whatever expression currently happening on your face makes him back up, his own eyes widening, those blond lashes brushing against his eyelids. You want them to flutter against your skin.

“Don’t tell me I actually scared ya.” His voice rumbles out from behind the mask, a string tied around your midsection, drawing you back from the depths of him. You swallow.

“No,” You squeak, your voice stuck in the high octave from your yelp. You turn your head away from him, clearing your throat and your vision of him, and your voice returns to its normal tone. “No, you totally didn’t scare me. I just make noises like that for fun when I’m checking my bathroom out. So normal.”

When you look back he’s stood up, full height, two heads taller than you. You turn your gaze up to him and notice how his eyes are hooded but warm. Gentle. You knew you’d be able to see all of him through them. His broad body takes up most of the space in the small room, barely able to see past him.

“You sure? ‘Cause that noise you made begs to differ.” He’s teasing and the tone of his voice makes you blush, turning your face away from him again.

“Nope. I never get scared. Actually, I can't.” You motion for him to move with your foot, almost tapping at his ankle. He catches the movement and moves to the side, allowing you just enough room to scoot by him. You could’ve just walked through, like he tends to do with you sometimes, but you can’t find yourself to invade him like that, even if he can’t feel it. You inch by his big body and move into the open empty space of your bedroom, turning back to face him.

It’s easier to think when he’s not crowding in on you. You can hardly sort your thoughts when he’s looming, edges of your vision obscured by how big he is. It’s not like you’re exactly small in size, but he’s just… so much. Of everything.

“Can’t get scared? Gotta say, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that. Am I gonna have to test you?”

“Would rather you didn’t! Just believe me, I’m unscareable.” Waving your hand as you speak, you start to move from your bedroom back to the kitchen, and he follows behind you. You can’t hear his footsteps, never have, but from the corner of your eye you can see the hulking black form follow after. You walk back to your laptop, which has fallen asleep, and you trace your hand on the trackpad to get it to wake up again.

“You’re gonna hafta leave that bedroom door open one night and put this theory of yours to the test.”

“I will absolutely not be doing that, thank you very much.”

“What, scared of what I would do?”

“No, of course not. I just don’t like sleeping with my door open. It’s a fire hazard.” It’s technically not wrong, but you’d rather have him believe you care about fire safety than risk waking up with his scary ass staring at you from the dark.

“Fire hazard. Sure. Just admit you’re scared.”

“Not scared! Overly cautious.”

“Mmmm sure you are. You have many problems with fires before?”

“No. But it only takes one time! And I’m not risking it!”

“Whatever you say Sweetheart, whatever you say.”

TAGLIST @irnbru32 @maxi-ride @weeeeeeeeeeeeezy @the-quiet-whispers-hunter

#my writing #ghost is a ghost au #simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #simon riley x oc #simon Riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x oc #cod #call of duty mw2

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kingofsummer93 · 1 year

Text

Ex Luna Scientia

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Chapter 16: The Second Trial

Ao3 Masterlist

** a/n- I'm setting up a tag list, please let me know if you'd like to be added/ removed for this fic, Elucien fics specifically or all fics!

Lucien hovered outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, straining his ears to hear the commotion inside the Gryffindor common room. The dungbombs planted by his friends seemed to be doing the trick, judging from the sound of students scrambling towards the staircases on either side of the circular room, cursing loudly.

The Fat Lady gave him a stern look, unimpressed. “What have you done this time?” she asked drily, rearranging the folds of her frilly pink gown.

Lucien gave her a mock-hurt look. “You wound me. Why would you assume I have anything to do with whatever is happening in there?”

The Fat Lady’s friend Violet giggled into her glass of sherry. Lucien sent her a wink as the Fat Lady continued to stare at him sternly. “Well? Are you going to stand out here all night, then? Some of us have better things to do, you know.”

“But I thought it was your duty to guard us valiant Gryffindors, my lady?”

She scoffed at him, though he could have sworn her plump cheeks deepened to match the color of her dress. “Password?”

Lucien pressed his ear close to the edge of the painting, listening for noise on the other side. Violet giggled again, covering her mouth with a lacy fan. The common room was silent.

“Giggling Gum Drops,” he declared, bowing at the waist.

The Fat Lady rolled her eyes but waved a hand. “Very well,” she drawled, and with that the portrait swung open, revealing the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

The room was indeed deserted, though a thick, foul mist still hung in the air. Lucien coughed, his eyes immediately watering from the toxic vapors. A clock on the wall struck midnight, and he hurried to the fireplace in the corner of the room, dropping to his knees to stare into the flames. They had burned down to embers, and after a few minutes Lucien began to worry. It wasn’t like Eris to suggest such a clandestine meeting- normally he would have sent an owl or asked to meet him in Hogsmeade. Whatever it was that his brother wanted to talk to him about, he didn’t want the conversation overheard.

The dying embers suddenly came to life, burning red and orange for a moment before turning a bright emerald green. A split-second later Eris’ face appeared in the flames, looking more stressed than Lucien had ever seen him.

“Have you lost your mind?” his brother declared by way of greeting.

“Hello to you too, brother.”

“Please tell me I misunderstood and that you did not send me an owl requesting that I sneak you into the Department of Mysteries?”

His brother’s tone was devoid of its usual lazy humor, and Lucien felt a twinge of guilt. “I didn’t send you an owl asking you to sneak me into the Department of Mysteries?”

Eris sighed, making the emerald flames flicker. “Lucien, I’m serious. You can’t write things like that down, much less send them out by owl. Andras is super recognizable, if anyone intercepted him…”

“Why would someone intercept my owl?” Lucien asked sharply.

Eris winced, as if he had let something slip. “Weird shit is happening at the Ministry, Lucien. People are on their guard. Tense.”

“What do you mean, weird shit is happening?” He remembered what Eris had told him about Mr Koschei going missing. “Has Koschei still not been found?”

Eris shook his head. His mouth was set in a thin line. “He hasn’t. It’s the weirdest thing. I know he’s a mean motherfucker, but you don’t become the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by twirling your thumbs. Koschei is an incredibly powerful wizard. People like that don’t just vanish. Magic leaves a trace, especially strong magic.”

Lucien’s stomach twisted. “What’s the ministry doing about it?” The ministry being code for our loving father.

“Father’s put out a statement claiming that Koschei took a leave of absence. Bullshit, of course. Even our top Aurors haven’t heard from him.”

“And people believe it?” Lucien asked, incredulous.

“I sure as shit don’t. Most of the ministry seems content to go along with it but a lot of people are starting to get suspicious.”

“But Koschei’s always been such a huge supporter of dad.” The word tasted like bile on his tongue. “Hasn’t he? If something actually happened to him you’d think the whole ministry would be in a frenzy to try to find him.”

“Precisely,” Eris simply. “Except…”

“Except what?”

Eris sighed, running a hand through his short hair, the motion making it stand on end. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Eris!”

“There’s been rumors, all right? That maybe Koschei and dad haven’t been seeing eye-to-eye lately.”

“About what?” Lucien demanded.

“I have no idea. I only know because my friend from the Department of Mysteries heard them arguing a few times, and she- get that look off your face, Lucien!”

“But-“

“Lucien,” Eris snapped. “Listen to me. Those giants you saw? There is no record of their movements around Britain. None. Nothing.”

Lucien was so stunned that for a moment he couldn’t speak. “What does that mean?”

“It means that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has no idea that they’re there.”

A chill went down Lucien’s spine. “But- we saw them. The others saw them too, they can tell you-“

Eris raised a hand to shush him. “I believe you, Lucien. Merlin, I don’t know why you’d make something like that up.”

“It doesn’t make sense. There’s no way that many giants would go unnoticed.”

“And there’s no way our esteemed father wouldn’t keep track of them,” Eris continued, voicing exactly what Lucien had been thinking.

Their father, who forced every werewolf, vampire, harpy, house elf, goblin, and anyone else who wasn’t completely human to register with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, would very much care about a whole village of giants setting up camp near Hogwarts.

“But…Elain said Professor Spell-Cleaver didn’t seem that concerned. How could the ministry not know if he does?” It didn’t make sense. None of this made any sense.

Eris shook his head again. “Your guess is as good as mine. Although…”

“What?”

“Well, you know how Hogwarts is spelled to be unplottable?”

Lucien recoiled from the fire. “You can’t actually think-“

“It would explain why nobody has heard or seen them, even though they’re…well, you know. Not quite inconspicuous.”

“But why?”

“That I can’t answer. And before you ask, no, they’re not part of the other Trials.”

“Well, thank fuck for that, at least.”

“And speaking of the Trial,” Eris continued. Lucien braced himself for more bad news. “Since Koschei’s gone MIA a lot of people have been suggesting we postpone it.”

“Really?”

“People are saying it’s not right to keep going, seeing as how his department organized so much of it. But you’ll never guess who shut down that talk as soon as it began.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t you?”

Eris smiled grimly, though it looked more like a grimace. “Our father insisted that the Tournament keep going. He was quite livid that people were even thinking of shutting it down.”

Lucien blinked in surprise. “What? What does he care? He didn’t even come to watch the first Trial.”

“Exactly. I don’t think he actually cares at all.”

“Then why-”

“I don’t know. But if you ask me, all this weird shit is not a coincidence. And it’s not a coincidence that a lot of people and resources are currently focused on Hogwarts and the tournament.”

“Meaning…meaning that people are distracted.” Eris’ meaning dawned on him with horrible clarity. “You think dad is up to something.”

Eris glanced over his shoulder quickly, as if making sure that nobody was standing behind him. “Shh! You need to be more careful about saying things like that, Lucien. You need to be careful, period. Stay close to the school, don’t leave the grounds. Whatever those giants are doing there, it’s not just an innocent vacation.”

“Got it,” Lucien said drily. “Sit on my ass and don’t get in trouble while the adults sort it out.”

“Don’t be a git. You know what I mean. Which reminds me- what possible reason could you have for wanting to break into the Department of Mysteries? Nobody even knows what the hell is down there.”

This time it was Lucien who looked over his shoulder to make sure the common room was still empty. “I hope you’re not in a rush.”

Eris stayed uncharacteristically quiet, though his frown deepened the further Lucien got into his explanation. By the time he got to the missing prophecy his brother was rubbing his forehead as though to ease a growing headache.

“So let me get this straight,” he started. “You’re telling me that not only is there a top-secret room beneath the Ministry filled with thousands of prophecies, but Elain would like my help to somehow break into this top-secret place?”

“That’s about it, yes,” Lucien replied with more confidence than he actually felt.

Eris pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You said it yourself,” Lucien soldiered on. “All this weird stuff happening all of a sudden? What are the chances this is completely unrelated?” Even though he desperately wished that it was, and that Elain had no involvement in whatever was brewing. “Elain was attacked during the first Trial, Eris! What if whoever stole that prophecy tries again during the second Trial?”

“They won’t,” Eris said darkly. “Not while I’m watching. I’ll see what I can do about bringing in some extra security. There will be eyes on her- on all of you, at all times.”

“Thanks, Eris,” Lucien said gratefully. “I’m starting to question this whole Tournament, to be honest. It was all fun and games, but…”

“But now not so much. I’ll be at Hogwarts in a few weeks for the second Trial, all right? We’ll talk more then. In the meantime I can ask my friend what she knows about the prophecies. But don’t get your hopes up, I doubt she’ll tell me anything.”

“Anything she knows would be helpful. Elain’s really freaked out by the whole thing. With good reason, obviously.” Lucien swallowed thickly. “I just wish there was more I could do to help her.”

“We will help her,” Eris declared in that tone that left no room for argument. “I can’t believe she’s a seer.”

“Just don’t bring her name up when you start asking questions, alright? She doesn’t want people to know.”

Eris gave him a pointed look. “You think I suddenly forgot how to keep a secret?”

Lucien huffed a laugh. “Touché.”

“Speaking of gossips.” Eris grimaced. “You’re not going to like Koschei’s replacement for the panel of judges.”

“What do you mean?” He’d assumed it would be someone from Koschei’s department at the ministry, or another department head.

Eris winced again, but before he could answer there was a scuffling noise behind Lucien. He tensed, whirling towards the doors leading to the dormitories. “Someone’s coming down the stairs,” he whispered.

When he turned back to the fire Eris had already disappeared, the flames back to a merry red.

Lucien barely had time to scramble to his feet before the door to the girls’ dormitory creaked open. Feyre stepped into the glow of the fireplace, her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

“What are you doing down here?”

“Prefect rounds,” he lied smoothly, walking to the stairs on the other side of the room.

“I heard voices,” she pressed, looking around the deserted room.

Shit. If she had heard even a fraction of that conversation… “This castle is haunted, you know.”

She rolled her eyes, reminding him so strongly of Elain that he grinned.

“You’ve become even more smug since you started dating my sister, you know that?” She walked to a table near the window and rifled through a pile of discarded homework.

“Just as you like me, right?”

Feyre huffed a laugh and disappeared back up the stairs. “Good night!”

Lucien’s nerves did not settle long after he had made it upstairs to his four-poster bed. His dreams that night were full of giants, and secret underground vaults, and Elain’s eyes, milky-white and all-seeing.

---

Lucien wiped the rain from his eyes, glancing once again at the giant red countdown floating in the grey sky above him. His stomach lurched with a jolt of panic-induced adrenaline. Thirty-five minutes left- almost half his time was already gone.

There was a sudden flurry of noise and movement from the crowd as the assembled students erupted in cheers and applause. Shit. Had another champion already finished the task? It seemed almost impossible, but with the high hedges blocking everything but the path in front of him, it was impossible to know.

Lucien had almost had a heart attack when Professor Amren had escorted him to the Quidditch pitch for the second Trial. His beloved field was unrecognizable, turned into some sort of giant maze, with hedges so tall they almost reached the bottom of the Quidditch stands.

“What have they done?!” he had demanded, gaping at the field in horror. “We have a match in two weeks!”

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing Quidditch is played on brooms,” Nesta had piped up drily behind him.

Any thoughts of Quidditch, however, had quickly vanished upon entering the maze. The second Trial was simple- each champion entered from a different corner, staggered according to their current rankings. They had an hour to reach the center of the maze, or risk getting disqualified from the Trial.

It seemed deceptively simple, and might even have sounded fun, were it not for Eris’ warning still marinating at the forefront of his mind. That, and the icy, unrelenting rain currently chilling him to the bone. As if on cue the sky opened up with a flash of lightning, illuminating the path in front of him. He had reached a fork in the maze, both paths stretching out into pure darkness in front of him.

Lucien squinted into the dark, trying to make out anything except the dense hedges. The rain combined with the shadows cast by the maze made it impossible to see anything. It was eerily similar to walking into the Forbidden Forest to retrieve that unicorn hair.

Something moved in the path to his left, nothing more than a shifting of shadows. Lucien took an involuntary step back as the hair rose on the back of his neck at whatever dwelled in those shadows.

After a beat of hesitation he laid his wand flat on his palm and muttered a four-point spell. The wand spun in his hand and then froze, pointing to the path heading right. North. To reach the center of the maze he would have to take the path to the left.

The shadows shifted again, followed by a slithering, hissing sound. Lucien turned on his heel and hurried towards the path on the right. He’d just have to double back at the next fork.

Another glance at the flashing numbers in the sky told him he had just passed the halfway mark. He quickened his step, holding his wand’s thin beam of light higher above his head. He was just considering calling his patronus to light his way when a scream, high pitched and petrified, ripped through the dark. Lucien froze, heart pounding, straining his ears to find the direction of the scream.

This was not the Forbidden Forest, he reminded himself. The champions were in plain view of the packed stands filled with students and teachers. And besides, Eris had promised to keep an eye on Elain.

Still, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe as that scream echoed around in his mind. And then echoed through the maze again, somewhere to his left.

Lucien didn’t hesitate before lifting his wand and pointing it to the hedge blocking his path. “INCENDIO!”

Fire erupted from his wand, burning a hole clean through the dense mass of branches. He didn’t stop to consider whether this would be considered cheating before leaping through the singed hole in the hedge and tumbling into the path. There were more shouts coming from the stands now, but whether they were in dismay or excitement, Lucien couldn’t tell.

He took off at a run, his senses focused only on that echoing scream. His surroundings melted away, so much so that when something wrapped tightly around his middle it took him a few beats to realize he was no longer moving.

Whatever was wrapped around his middle spread to his legs, stilling him mid-step. Lucien thrashed, fighting against the tightening hold around him. Something was wrapping itself around him- something slick and damp, thick and powerful. For a wild moment he thought it was snakes, but then he registered the bark under his fingers, the wet, earthy smell wrapping around him. He was being crushed by vines.

His already racing heart doubled in intensity as he bucked and pushed against the vines, but the more he fought, the tighter they wrapped around him. A thick branch slithered around his arms, pinning them to his sides.

He had dropped his wand in surprise, and it lay at his feet, useless. In his panic he forgot about the teachers and ministry members surely watching him get attacked- he forgot about the tournament, and the students groaning in sympathy at his plight. He could think only of Elain, screaming in fright in the distance as he failed to reach her. A million scenarios flashed through his mind, each one more outlandish and unlikely than the last.

Death by botany, he thought with a jolt of panicked-induced hilarity. Elain would have known how to get out of this trap, she would haven’t gotten trapped in the first place, she would have, she would have…

“Relax!” A voice cut through the blood pounding in his ears. A voice he would have recognized through any darkness. Lucien thrashed again, only for a vine to wrap itself around his face, smothering him.

“Relax, Lucien!” Elain cried again. “You have to calm down. If you fight back you’ll only make it angrier.”

Easy for you to say, he thought grimly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to breathe. A bright light cut through the mess of vines surrounding him like a cocoon, and Lucien squinted against the sudden brightness. Through his cage of vines he spotted a familiar four-legged form, prowling the path in front of him.

Moony. The patronus’ light seemed to pierce through the vines, straight to his heart. He forced himself to go still, to stop fighting against the vice around him. Immediately the vines froze, receding enough for him to gulp down a ragged breath.

“That’s it!” Elain urged. “Just relax. Think of something happy. Pretend you’re conjuring up a patronus.”

Lucien relaxed further, his muscles going limp until the vines were the only thing holding him upright. It felt unnatural, but with a lurch he realized the hold on him was receding. He closed his eyes, filling his mind with images of Elain’s twinkling brown eyes and rosy cheeks.

The vines receded at all once and Lucien fell to the ground in a heap. Elain and her patronus were on him in an instant, the wolf nuzzling at his legs while Elain cradled his face.

“Are you alright?!” she gasped, eyes wide with worry. “I thought that thing was going to squeeze you to death!”

“I’m alright,” Lucien said, his breathing still ragged. “Are you alright? You screamed, I couldn’t find you…”

Elain’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Oh, that wasn’t me, it was Nesta. I saw her in a bit of a tussle with some Blast-Ended Skrewts. She’s alright, through.”

Lucien sagged with relief. “Thank Merlin. I thought- I was so worried…”

I love you and I need you safe in my arms at all times.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but the background noise of the chattering crowd brought him back to earth. Right. Not the time or place.

Elain squeezed his arm. “You’re cute. Although if I didn’t know better I might suspect you don’t think I can handle myself.”

Lucien huffed a rueful laugh as she helped him to his feet. “I thought every girl wanted a knight in shining armour?”

“A knight in shining armour, yes.” She looked him up and down, from his sodden hair flattened to his head, to his squelching shoes, and flashed a grin. “I’m not sure that you qualify right now, though.”

Lucien looked her over, his metal eye clicking as he checked for any sign of injury. To his relief she looked unharmed- and also, inexplicably, dry. He shivered violently as a gust of wind ripped through the maze.

“How…”

Elain held up a hand and waved her wand in an arc around him. Immediately he was wrapped in a bubble of blissfully warm air, the icy rain held at bay by invisible walls.

Lucien whistled in admiration. “Neat trick.”

“Who’s the damsel in distress now?” she asked with a smirk.

“Me,” he agreed. “Definitely me.”

“Come on,” she urged, grabbing his hand. “We don’t have much time left.”

Lucien glanced at the floating numbers in the sky. Twenty minutes. He retrieved his wand and hurried after her down the path, Moony trotting along on Elain’s other side.

“Do you think they’ll give me extra points for saving you?” she mused.

Lucien laughed, pulling her to a stop when they reached another fork in the road. “Maybe, but I’ll definitely get points for most entertaining.”

“What do you-“

She gasped as he wrapped an arm around her waist, tangling the other in her hair, and dipped her at the waist. Even in the gloom of the maze he could see her cheeks turning violently pink.

“Lucien!”

He cut her off with a kiss. The crowd erupted in violent cheers above them, and Elain’s lips curved into a smile. Lucien set her upright again, and didn’t give her a chance to say anything before turning towards the path on the left.

“See you on the other side, Archie!” he called over his shoulder. Her laughter echoed around the path long after he was enveloped in darkness once more.

The clock continued ticking down as he walked along the path, his way suspiciously clear of any obstacles. When he had fifteen minutes left he did another four-point spell and saw he was heading straight for the center of the maze. He broke into a jog, grinning as he spotted a shimmering light from around a bend in the path a few yards ahead. As he whirled around the corner he came to a sudden halt.

His path was blocked by a wall of fire. The flames stretched as high as the hedges, completely baring the path. They burned so hot that Lucien felt sweat prickle on his brow.

He pointed his wand to the flames, conjuring a stream of clear, cool water. “Aguamenti!”

The water hissed and turned to steam before it even touched the flames. He tried again, and again, and every time the water disappeared inches from the fire.

“Shit,” he swore.

He glanced at the sky and swore again. They barely had ten minutes left. It wasn’t enough time to turn back the way he came- it would take too long to double back and find another way. Besides, Lucien had a nagging feeling that the flames somehow formed a barrier around the center of the maze. He’d have to find another way through.

He moved to the hedges, wondering if he could somehow scale them and jump over the flames, when something caught his gaze. Pots and vials and bottles, sheltered from the rain in a little alcove in the hedge. Lucien crouched down and looked at the labels more closely. Potion-making ingredients. He glanced back at the flames.

“Shit,” he swore again. Another glance at the sky. “Merlin’s saggy tits!” He had exactly eight minutes to correctly mix a fire protection potion, or else find another way through the flames.

He dropped to his knees, wracking his brain for anything about potions related to fire, shielding, or any sort of protection. Suddenly he regretted all those naps he had taken at the back of Professor Hybern’s dungeon classroom. If he made it through this without getting disqualified he vowed to actually start paying attention.

The crowd roared, followed by the unmistakable sound of enchanted fireworks exploding in the sky above him. His stomach sank, until he glanced up and saw a yellow and black badger, made up of a thousand pinpricks of light. He grinned, momentarily distracted from his task. Elain had made it to the center of the maze, and from the sounds of it, she might have been the first one.

He turned back to the bottles and vials, scanning the labels hurriedly. Armadillo bile, sage, peacock feathers, salamander blood, crushed octopus, all useless. Mushrooms, leech juice- Lucien dropped the bottle of vile liquid. Hopeless. This was hopeless, maybe he’d have a better chance if he simply jumped through the flames and hoped someone would extinguish him on the other side…

Just as he was rolling up his sleeves something snagged in his memory. Potions lesson, he and his friends levitating bursting mushrooms under Professor Hybern’s desk and watching him rage as he looked around for the source of the stink. He turned back to the ingredients, scrambling through them, until- there. Tiny, thumbnail-sized mushrooms the color of dirt.

He dumped them out and crushed them into an empty vial with one hand, gagging at the immediate reek as he riffled through the other ingredients. The jar of salamander blood was warm under his fingers, and it hissed as he poured some out into the jar with his crushed mushrooms. Yes, that was it- bursting mushrooms, salamander blood, and…and…

Lucien raked a hand through his damp hair in frustration. There was something else, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was.

With a jolt he remembered the unicorn hair in his pocket. Professor Hybern was always harping on about how dangerous substitutions were, and how disastrous the consequences could be if a recipe was tampered with. The only exceptions were a select few, incredibly powerful magical substances that could be used to override the lack of a certain ingredient.

Another glance at the countdown shimmering in the sky next to the Hufflepuff badger showed he had only four minutes left. It was now or never. And besides, there was no rule about correctly making his way through the flames.

Before he could think too much about it he dumped the shimmering silver hair into the bottle, muttered a quick freezing spell, and shook it, sending up a quick prayer to anyone who would listen. The bottle became cold in his hand, the liquid inside turning the bright blue of a winter sky.

Lucien uncorked it and went to stand in front of the flames. He lifted it in mock salute to the stands around him, and the crowd erupted. The liquid was so cold that it burned on the way down- like drinking liquid ice. A shiver went through him as the potion took effect. It was extremely discomforting, as though there was ice flowing through his veins.

He took a deep breath and held it as he stepped into the flames. The fire wrapped around him, blurring his vision of the maze. But where it should have burned, the fire merely ruffled his hair like a warm summer breeze. Another step and he was on the other side, the ruckus from the Gryffindor stands growing even louder.

He squinted into the darkness, suddenly blinded after the brightness of the flames.

And came face-to-face with Briallyn Skeeter, poisonous smile on her face, acid-green quill poised over her parchment.

---

Lucien jumped to his feet the moment Eris stepped into the champions’ tent. His brother was smiling, though it looked slightly forced.

“What is she doing here?” Elain growled next to him by way of greeting. Eris winced and led them out of the tent, away from the other champions.

Nesta, it turned out, had not won her battle with the Blast-Ended Skrewts, but had still been awarded a few points for her resourcefulness with the other obstacles she faced. Rhysand had managed to get through the fire barrier with seconds to spare, though had somehow managed to light himself on fire in the process. His usually sleek midnight-black hair was still smoking slightly at the edges. Elain had gotten almost top marks, with Lucien close behind, which left the current standings as Elain in first, Lucien second, and Rhys and Nesta tied for third.

Behind a closed curtain Nesta was being attended to by Madam Majda, who had been complaining in an endless stream about the danger of the competition. And in the other corner, sitting in front of a smug-looking Rhys, sat Brially Skeeter, special correspondent for the daily Prophet, and, it would appear, pinch-hitter judge.

“Hello to you too,” Eris drawled once they were back in the icy rain. From the other side of the tent they would hear the ruckus of hundreds of excited students walking back towards the castle. “And congratulations on your victory.”

“Eris,” Lucien urged. “What is that salamander doing here?”

“It was father’s idea,” Eris admitted through gritted teeth. “Press combined with a stand-in judge, wrapped in one.”

“And Professor Spell-Cleaver was ok with this?” Elain asked, voicing what Lucien had just been thinking. He didn’t know why that fact was even more upsetting than her being here, but for some reason it felt like a betrayal.

“From the look on his face when he saw her, I’d be willing to bet he had no idea.”

Elain glared at the tent with such venom that Lucien was surprised it didn’t immediately burst into flames. “I hope she burns in hell.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Eris said with a vicious grin. “But just ignore her, you don’t have to answer her questions. Hopefully Rhys gives her enough bullshit for her article to focus on him.”

Somehow Lucien seriously doubted that would be the case.

“Look,” Eris continued, glancing around to make sure they were alone. “The thing you asked me about-“

Elain visibly brightened. “The Hall of Prophecies?”

“Shh!” His brother looked around them again, uncharacteristically nervous. “Yes. That.”

“Have you found anything useful?” Lucien asked, not daring to hope.

“Well, I’ve managed to, how should I say, get closer to my friend who works in the Department of Mysteries.” Lucien choked on a laugh as Elain clapped a hand to her mouth. “She had some interesting information about the…large friends you asked about.”

“What did she say?” Lucien blurted. Elain’s fingers were a vice around his.

“Well,” Eris glanced around again and leaned in closer. “It turns out there have been sightings of them, but the reports have all been swept under the rug before they could reach certain ears.”

“Which ears?” Lucien asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“Our dear father’s, of course.”

“You’re saying…”

“You’re saying there’s people within the ministry withholding information from the Minister?” Elain asked, stunned.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Eris answered grimly.

“And you had no idea about this?” Lucien pressed.

“Well, you can imagine why people might be a bit reluctant to rope me into a scheme to hide information from the Minister,” Eris replied drily.

Elain winced. “Fair enough. But what does this mean? Why are they there?”

“I have no idea,” Eris admitted, brow furrowed. “But I might have found a solution to our other problem. My friend agreed to help us.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. His brother shrugged casually. “I have my ways. It’s going to take some time though. I’ll send you a signal when it’s all prepared.”

“Our problem?” Elain asked in a small voice.

Eris’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “Pardon?”

“You said our problem.”

Eris’ frown lifted into a savage smile. “You didn’t think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you? But in the meantime, for Merlin’s sake, try to lie low, will you?”

“Yea, mother,” Lucien quipped with a grin.

Eris shook his head darkly. “I mean it, Lucien. Something’s brewing, and I don’t like it. And for fuck’s sake, do not leave the grounds under any circumstances. All Hogwarts students are safe within the grounds, but outside…”

Lucien glanced at the Forbidden Forest in the distance, and the mountains beyond. As if he could get a glimpse of the beings that dwelled there, hidden from view. Someone had brought them there for a reason. They were waiting for something, he realized. He just didn’t know what that could be.

And he had a bad feeling he didn’t really want to know, either.

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