#bleeding out at cracks that never seems to mend

[andinthedarknessbindthem]

Fili X Reader - Restless

✿ Words: 2,688

✿ Themes: Kinda(?) Angst, Fluff

✿ Prompt: After the Battle of the Five Armies, you are tasked with keeping the line of Durin alive.

✿ Posted: 2/19/23

You had merged into Thorin’s company when they stumbled upon Beorn the skin-changer. You just happened to find Beorn a few weeks earlier as a traveling healer. After you helped with the injuries they had, it was decided by Gandalf that you would continue with them. You spent a good three months with Thorin and the company and had come to appreciate them all, and them you. 

You loved watching Ori knit next to the fire. He was even sweet enough to teach you how to mend your own clothes and made you a pair of knit gloves that you carry with you at all times.

Bofur would tell the funniest stories when you and Bombur prepared dinner with him. You could always tell it was a really good story whenever Bifur would laugh and slap your back, saying words that you could understand.

Oin shared his healing techniques with you, and you to him. It was a wonderful learning experience that would come in handy later on. He also gifted you a small satchel to carry herbs in. 

Gloin always has something to say about his beloved wife and son. You would always hear groans from the other members, but you loved listening to him rant and rave about his family. It was so cute to hear how much he loved them.

Thorin and Dwalin were both tough nuts to crack. Thorin seemed to welcome you in once you spat in the face of Thranduil in Mirkwood. You ended up buttering up Dwalin on accident. You had some cookies from another passing traveler that you helped and were eating a few when you noticed him eyeing down the small bag you were holding. You tied the top of the bag and tossed it to him. He seemed frazzled at first but grunted in appreciation.

Nori was an annoyance, but you still enjoyed him. You would always find him looking over something of yours that had miraculously ‘fallen’ out of your bag. He did try teaching you how to pick-pocket, but you weren’t very good at it.

You loved Dori and Balin. They were the ones that you would always go to for advice. They were the grandparents you never had. Dori especially seemed very mothering towards you, going as far as making sure you always were close enough to the fire.

Kili was a menace when it came to his teasing. There wasn’t a day that went by without some sort of joke that would make your cheeks heat up. You were glad you could take some of the attention from Bilbo though.

You loved going to Bilbo when you needed a civilized and calm chat. You both spoke of simpler times and gardens.

Fili… Oh, Fili was something special. Despite being like his brother, there was something else about him that just completed you. When he stepped in front of you to defend you from a spider, your heart fluttered. When he waded back into the water to pull you from your barrel, your stomach did flip-flops. When he grabbed your hand for comfort when his brother was sick, you nearly exploded. 

When you reached Erebor, you ended up spending even more time with him as you both were on the same schedule looking for the Arkenstone. You hated to admit it, but you’d come to fall for the blonde dwarf, and spending every waking moment with him didn’t help. You only ever confessed your crush to Bilbo when he caught you gawking at Fili who just bathed in a stream. You never dared to tell Fili, too scared to ruin what you had now.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After the battle of the five armies, the line of Durin returned to you tremendously wounded. We’re talking twenty minutes from death kind of injuries.

You and Oin were working around the clock trying to repair the damage that was dealt to your newfound family. Your weak heart allowed tears to fall from your eyes as you worked on Thorin, worried that they all wouldn’t make it. A few hours later you managed to stop the bleeding and suture any lacerations or mutilations.

By the twenty-sixth hour, your mind was worn out as you sat on a table mixing a salve as Oin mixed up the decoction. It was silent in the room, the only sounds being the small clinks of glass and breathing.

You jumped when you heard the door squeak open, the head of Dori popped in and you nodded at him, continuing with your work. He took this as an okay to come in, his eyes looked over the three men laying on the beds.

“How are they?” He asked, not making eye contact.

You had a grim smile on your face as you mustered up some words, “Mostly stable.” 

You watched out of the corner of your eye as Oin’s head lightly drop before lifting again, You slid off the table and placed down your finished salve. You walked to Oin and plucked the decoction out of his hands.

“I’m not done with that!” He grumbled, reaching up for it. You moved it out of reach and walked to Dori, placing your empty hand on his shoulder.

“Do me a favor and get him to bed.” You pleaded, eyes looking between his. 

“I don’t need to sleep. There’s much work to do!” Oin tried to argue but you just shook your head.

“It’s no help to either of us if you faint from exhaustion,” You gave him a sympathetic look. “I can handle it, don’t worry.” He grumbled a bit but didn’t fight as Nori led him out of the room.

You spent hours delicately washing the blood off of the dwarves' bodies and coating their wounds in the salve. By the time you were done and pouring small amounts of the decoction in their mouths, you were half asleep. 

Your head lightly raised when a knock sounded on the door. You hummed in response as you began to gather all of the bloody tools that needed to be cleaned. The door creaked open and a grunt met your ears. You peeked over your shoulder to look at the dwarf who entered, Dwalin and it looked like Bofur was right behind him.

There was a low whistle from Bofur before he spoke, “Lass, I mean this in the nicest way,” He started. “You look terrible.”

You scoffed as you dropped the metal tools into a large basin. “I’m well aware, thank you.” You slowly blinked before turning on the water, a soft sigh leaving your lips as the cold slightly shocked you awake. Wiping your hands off on a towel, you pushed the herbs to the side now.

“Are they-” Dwalin stopped mid-sentence, seeing a sorrowful look in his eyes. You’re sure he must be in as much pain as yourself, seeing his best friend laying there.

You moved to him placing a tired hand on his shoulder in reassurance. “All alive. I’ve been keeping a keen eye on them.” You lazily smiled. You walked over to Fili’s bedside, a downcast look as you brushed the hair off his face. You closed your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath.

“When’s the last time you’ve slept?” Bofur asked. You thought for a moment and shrugged as you stood there. 

“Not that long ago. I’m alright.” You brushed him off, opening your eyes and continuing to work on organizing the herbs back to where they were originally.

You weren’t aware of the looks that Bofur and Dwalin shared behind your back but it wasn’t long before Dwalin stepped forward and grabbed your hips, heaving you over his shoulder. A gasp slipped out of your mouth. You went to fight him, but limply hanging there only made you realize how tired you were.

“Sleep well dove!” Bofur’s voice called to your and Dwalin’s retreating form.

-.-.-.-.-.-.- 2 Weeks Later -.-.-.-.-.-.-

You and Oin had been keeping Thorin, Fili, and Kili under constant supervision. This meant 12 hours of your awake hours you spent in that room treating them.

Today, you were walking towards the room. You had a heap of books you planned to read during your downtime, but you froze in place when you could hear a voice inside the door, then a familiar laugh.

You rushed forward, books clattering to the floor, slamming the door open and looking towards where Kili lay. He was awake!

“Oh, Kili!” You cried out, running to the side of his bed and dropping to your knees. You grabbed onto his hand, excited to see one of your friends awake.

“Did you think I would die that easy?” He teased in a weak voice. You laughed and shook your head.

“I’m so grateful for that.”

 -.-.-.-.-.-.- 1 Month Later -.-.-.-.-.-.-

You had been talking to Oin in the corner about making a balm for Kili to use on his own when you heard a low groan. You both turned towards Kili, expecting him to be whining about his pain again but he was staring at his uncle. You turned your gaze upon Thorin, watching his face scrunch up before his hand twitched. You quickly moved forward, bending over him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thorin? Thorin can you hear me?” You asked before turning to Oin, “Can you hand me the macerate-” You were cut off by a painful hand around your arm, Thorin reeled forward screaming out a war cry. 

Oin rushed to help you hold him down and attempted to calm him, but he acted as though he was still in the middle of battle. You received a good punch to the face, stumbling back before rushing forward again and holding him down with more ferocity. If it wasn’t for Kili, who stumbled into the hall and called out at the passing Dwalin, you’re sure you would have received much worse.

When Thorin finally calmed down and came to, he looked at you with a horrified expression.

“My deepest apologies, (Y/N). I thought you-” You smiled and placed a hand on his.

“Thorin, it’s alright. You’ve been through much more than I.” You reassured him with a small pat on his hand. “I’m just glad we all have you back, King under the mountain.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.- 2 Months Later -.-.-.-.-.-.-

Kili and Thorin were both mostly on their own at this point, only coming in every now and then for a tincture to help their pain. 

But Fili… Fili was still sound asleep.

Every day you would talk to him as he lay in that bed. While you talked you would do things like clean him up, change his bandages, and even mix up some medicine just to prepare for the worst.

Today was draining. New dwarves were flooding into Erebor and in your free time, you were helping the others by showing the new Darrow their way around the mountain. Oin had a rough day himself and asked if you would be okay to cover his shift. You knew that nothing ever happened so you accepted.

You had just packaged up a few salves when a yawn hit you. You could probably get away with a small rest even though you knew you weren't supposed to. Your eyes glanced at the empty beds before they slowly drifted to Fili. Slowly shuffling to his bedside, you examined his features. He looked so comfortable and warm. You crawled up next to him, before carefully laying down. You lightly rested your head on his chest, ear pressing against the fabric covering his torso.

“Your heartbeat has always been so calming to me, Fee.” You hummed to yourself, letting your arm trace over a scar on his arm. 

“I wish I told you how I felt before this happened. Hell, I wish I could tell you now.” You sighed, shutting your eyes and focusing on his heartbeat. 

“No one is around to hear, I don’t see any harm…” You opened your eyes, moving up the bed towards his face. “I love you, Fili. From the moment I laid eyes on you I knew I did.” You placed a light kiss on his cheek.

“I would do anything just to see your smile again, to hear your laugh, to see your eyes sparkle in the sun.” You whispered before resting your head down on his chest again, slowly giving into the darkness of sleep.

You groggily blinked as you woke yourself up, unfurling yourself from Fili’s side. You grabbed onto Fili’s arm which now wrapped around your waist. You must have moved it while you rested.

“Oh Fili, your skin is so soft..” You murmured, bringing his hand up and placing a kiss on his palm.

You brought your head to rest back on his chest, “If you were awake, I would tell you how much I adored you…” you sighed. “How much I miss you…”

A few minutes passed as you laid on him, there was still so much you had to do before Oin came in, “I should probably stop talking and get to work.” 

“Please keep talking, I love the sound of your voice.” A throaty voice crackled in your ear.

You let out a shrill scream as you flailed and fell off the bed with a slap against the cold stone ground. You stared up as you could hear the shifting of him on the bed.

“Fili?” You whispered as you shakily stood off the ground, his blue eyes were cracked weakly but a bright smile still played on his lips.

“Hello sweetling.” He cooed, arm feebly reaching out for you. Had it not been for your excitement of seeing him awake, you would have thought more about what he called you.

You swiftly crawled onto the bed next to him, sitting on your knees and cupping his cheeks. “Oh, Fili…” You whimpered, examining over him.”I didn’t think you were going to wake up…” 

He used his hand against your back to gently direct you down until you were spooned to his side. “For a while, I dreamt of nothing. But then, it was you.” He sucked in a small breath, his hand coming down to rest on your cheek. “When I was about to give up, you came forward, urging me to return to you.”

You pressed into his hand but furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, “What are you saying?” 

“I love you, (Y/N). I should have told you before I left you on the ramparts.” He whispered, “The last few days I listened to your words of adoration, and I knew you felt the same about me.” He confessed

Your breath hitched in your throat. He had heard you. He had heard it all! Your cheeks heated up as you opened your mouth to find something to say, but all that came out was a pathetic squeak.

“I want to court you.” Fili announced confidently, his smile unfaltering on his stunning face.

“Fili…” You muttered in shock, his thumb brushed away a tear that escaped your eyes.

“It doesn't have to be now,” His voice lowered to a desire-filled whisper. “But I cannot possibly stand another second knowing you are not mine.” 

You shifted where you lay, choosing to instead move and hover over him. He breathed deeply as you looked over him, his free hand coming up to rest on your waist. Your stomach did backflips as you leaned down, gingerly just brushing your lips together. He quickly leaned up, locking your lips together. His lips were feathery as you both familiarized with each other. He tasted of the tincture you’d last given him, and something else that was just so uniquely him. 

His hand gripped your side harder, pulling you down until you were rested on top of him. Your cheeks burned as you reached up to brush a hand against his bearded chin. You reluctantly pulled your lips apart, Fili leaned up to try and follow but you placed a hand on his chest to keep him there.

You lovingly sighed as you bent down, pressing your foreheads together. “I am yours, FIli. I always have been.”

#fili x reader #fili and kili #fili the dwarf #fili the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #the hobbit fili #lotr #lord of the rings #dwarves #dwa

[joelsflannel]

doomsday (j.m)

tags/warnings (18+ MDNI): ANGST, lots of fire imagery? (not sure where it came from but we’re rolling with it), trauma (discussions of canon events. i.e joel’s been dealt a pretty shitty hand), feelings of betrayal, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end because i’m not a monster, grief. 

summary: (joel miller x f!reader) joel miller is good at a long of things, but opening up is not one of them 

word count: 1.1k

series masterlist

A/N: this is the first official installment of my new series mixtape! i really hope you enjoy, i almost made this chapter smutty but when i checked the word count it was 1111 and the angel number was just too good to pass up. 

your mental health is more important than reading a fic, please take care of yourself and skip this one if any of the warnings are triggering to you <3 

PLUS a big huge massive thank you to @pedgeitopascal for 1.) being the best and 2.) letting me rant and rave to her about this fic 

pull the plug, make it painless

i don’t want a violent end

don’t say that you’ll always love me,

‘cause you know i’d bleed myself dry for you over and over again

—

Things were getting better. They were. The three of them stitched and mended together by fate, probably trauma, and love; a family. 

Sometimes, though, there were things that slipped through the cracks of the mosaic they’d built. Sometimes years of unexamined pain boiled up and over, burning whatever and whomever it touched. 

It wasn’t that Joel’s intentions were to shut everyone out. No, he’d gone so long without the comfort of someone to confide in that it was hard to express the burning pit of affliction that seemed to radiate in his very being. Sarah. Tess. Tommy. Ellie. You. Everyone he’d cared about, everyone he felt he’d failed, occupied the inferno. 

He wanted to let you in, needed to, and he was trying but some fires burn unbidden. 

That’s how he ended up here, standing across from you in your shared living room. His hands itched to hold you, to find purchase on your skin, comfort you. Comfort you from what, though? From him? The feeling of being the cause of your tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes feeding the flames, fueling that nagging feeling that he was falling short. 

“I can’t,” you look up at him, voice quiet and tired. “I can’t sit here and watch you detach from yourself, from me, from us. I love you, I love you so much that my soul aches for you. I can’t breathe when you're around and I can’t breathe when you’re not.” 

“Please, Joel.” eyes filled with pleading tears, the soaked sleeve of your sweater trying to wipe them away but the tears still flow, and the ache still gnaws away. “Fuck, you have to let me in. You’re always telling me that you can't lose me but I can’t lose you either.”

He’d never seen you seem so small, so defeated, “I don’t wanna hurt you, angel.” 

The look on your face said it all, the bright smile you normally wore had been replaced by a twisted expression of heartache and longing. Your eyes were puffy, brows furrowed as you drew in a shaky breath, “You know what hurts? What feels like you’ve taken a knife and twisted it in my stomach?” the words taste bitter on your tongue, getting caught in your throat and mangled by emotion, “The fact that despite everything we’ve been through together, it never feels like you fully trust me.”

“Darlin’,” his voice low, thick with emotion, “I’m just afraid that you won’t look at me the same way. What if I say somethin’ and it scares you away? I can’t risk you.”

Those eyes he loves so much are big and watery, betraying the notion of every inch of your body longing to be close to his.  “Let me have a say, let me decide what I can handle. Please just quit shutting me out, I can’t handle that.” 

Finally, he finds himself closing the gap between them, bridging what felt like miles in two steps as he takes a seat on the threadbare couch that the three of you had patched up with various fabrics over the years. 

He takes your hand in his, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for bein’ cold, bein’ distant, for shuttin’ you out.” his grief weighs heavy on his face, taking a deep breath, and rubbing a calloused hand over his face, steeling himself, “My life has been a lot of things. It’s been scary, lonely, everything but easy. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, I’ve dealt as much pain as I’ve been given.”

As if you can see him withdrawing back into himself, you place a hand on his cheek, “Come back to me. Don’t wander off so far into that head of yours that I can’t reach you, please.”

He shakes his head, his body tense. You can see the gears turning, the fire of panic fighting with the fear of vulnerability, the idea of laying everything out on the table for you to see. He knows, he knows that you would never do anything to hurt him. You’ve been through far too much yourself to pick apart the dirty details of his past. The only reasons he has for closing off are internal, every fiber of his being putting up shutters to lock his grief away from your gentle touch. Even now when he looks over at you, those big beautiful eyes opening themselves up for him, warm and inviting if he would just let himself fall. 

“When I lost Sarah, it was like a part of me broke. There’s this hole in my heart, a void that I can’t fill. I-,” his voice shakes, clearing his throat as tears fill his brown eyes. “Nothin’ takes the hurt away, I can’t get ‘er back” 

You suck in a shaky breath, in all the time you’ve been with Joel, he’d never broken down like this. Never let his walls down enough for you to see that pain, the raging ache that consumed him. “Nothing I can do or say will bring her back, I would do anything to take that pain away.” wiping away his tears as they fall, “You have to let her live on through you. The people we were lucky enough to know, the people that we love are never truly gone. From all you’ve told me about her, she wouldn’t want you to live a life plagued with guilt.” 

His features soften at her words, his breath evening out, the fire slowly dissipating. It was as though you were the one person that dared to brave the chaos he was sure surrounded him. Your eyes search his, willing him to see that you were right there, that you would always be there. 

He hesitates for a moment, eyes still weary as exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I never stopped lovin’ her. I never will. She’d want me to be happy, live for somethin’ more than myself.” 

He reaches out, cupping your soft cheek as you lean into his touch. “Thank you,” your voice is barely above a whisper, “for letting me in.” 

“I’ve never been the best at openin’ up, but with you,” he pauses for a moment, an almost peaceful expression painting his face as he looks at you, the unbearable weight in his heart shrinking down and breathing you in. “with you, I guess I was just so afraid of losin’ you that I didn’t realize I was the one pushin’ you away. I need you to stay.”

“I love you.” a soft smile tugs at your lips, placing your hand gently over his larger one cupping your cheek. 

A small sigh of relief escapes his lips, leaning forward slightly and pressing his lips on your forehead, 

“I love you too, darlin’.”

song: doomsday by lizzy mcalpine

#joelsflannel masterlist #Joel Miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #post!outbreak joel miller #post!outbreak joel miller x reader #jackson!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #joelsmixtape fic #the last of us imagine #the last of us #tlou x reader #joel miller fanfic #firefly-graphics divider #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #cafekitsune dividers

[plasma-studios]

two bleeding birds (ao3: x)

AU where Ink and Error are old gods and Dream and Nightmare Avians kidnapped from their nest at birth.

Their abductors lock them away from the outside world and bind their wings. They abductors focus on Nightmare, leaving Dream to pass the time alone with daydreams and wistful dying hopes.

They make an unwilling weapon out of Nightmare.

Though Nightmare was sent out on countless assassination missions, Dream has never seen the sky since the day they were abducted, and how he longs for it.

When Nightmare gets injured severely and is unable to take on the next mission, Dream gets a chance to see the outside world again. He crosses paths with Ink and Error, who notice his condition, and... do not take kindly to it. Word count: 5.8k.

(also, yes i know the footnote numbers are linked to ao3. I am not going through the formatting again just to remove every link. so. the text of the footnotes are at the bottom, if you want to read them sure, if not, it's fine. tw/cw: implicit abuse, neglect, implied past dissociation, past abduction, fires, injuries, conflicting animal instinct vs logic, imprinting) inspired by Flight Risk (or not) by @sircantus.

Dream had spent a minute just staring at the sky, hand outstretched, feeling the weight and warmth of the light on his fingers. Just feeling the light almost made him forget the weight of bound wings on his back.

He had not been meant for this mission, in truth. It had been Nightmare’s, but he had returned from his previous one with several broken bones and a head injury.

Dream had felt himself jolt before realising it was fine. This was normal. Nightmare always returned with injuries. That was why Dream was needed. Dream was their healer. It was why he was useful. It was good that he was useful. 

He had been reminded of that several times over by them.

It was good to be useful. He had to be useful. 

He never mentioned this to Nightmare, though. The few times he had, Nightmare had went silent immediately and started glowering at his half-empty cup of water. It made the little time they had together very sour, so he learnt to stop bringing it up.

So he healed Nightmare’s bone fractures in silence, the green healing magic mingling with his gold magic as the wounds mended themselves. Once that was done, he shifted him so his skull was in Dream’s lap, and placed both hands on the injury and let the green mingle with the gold again. 

A wince leaving Nightmare was his cue to check on the injury. He removed his hands to wipe away the blood and found there was still a little left to heal, though it was all done in a matter of seconds. Dream sat there and waited for him to regain consciousness.

There was a time outside, wasn’t there? A time and place beyond this. A garden, flowers, grass and sky.  

Did he have a mother? A father? Or did he and Nightmare sprout from the skies like falling stars and grew wings because of it? That sounded like a story he’d heard before.

The sky and stars. Beautiful, even in stories and even in dreams.

Dream liked to daydream. It made passing the time easier. There were no major settlements for miles, anyway. Just roads and towns here and there, and even fewer within radius of them now. 

Nightmare begrudgingly confirmed it when he asked. Nightmare did not seem to like the world, so Dream did not ask much of it from him. Learning the world from books and stories was enough.

Speaking of.

It took a few minutes, but soon purple eyelights were blinking back at him. 

Nightmare winced as he got up, a hand flying to his head, but his gaze found Dream soon enough and he let out quiet sighs into the still silence that had settled between them, though it was not an uncomfortable quiet at all.

Nightmare stretched his fingers, his knuckles cracking. He bit back a laugh, and the knowing warmth in Nightmare’s eyes did nothing to help Dream quell it.

The laugh died down in his throat once he realised Nightmare was still wincing as he got up. That wasn’t good. Had Dream missed an injury? Had he—

The door slammed open. Nightmare’s gaze lost what warmth it had had. 

It was them. They stormed in, thundering against the wooden planks and— 

Dream hadn’t realised he’d edged closer to Nightmare, but the latter didn’t protest it. 

It was two of them this time. Dream recognised the first, though not the second.1 The former had thin-rimmed glasses and white fur with black spots near their neck and legs. They were the one who told Nightmare his missions, so he had to have recognised them too.

Dream missed the gleam of dark delight in his brother’s gaze. 

“You got your wings hurt?!” The voice of the one he did not recognise echoed through the room. “You—”

“Relax, Azre.” The one he did recognised rolled their eyes. “Healer’ll heal it.” They (both of them, both them and Azre apparently) found his gaze and Dream flinched.  “Won’t you?” The same person repeated. It wasn’t a question, but Dream nodded. Of course he would. Even if they hadn’t told him to, he would’ve done it. 

Wait. Nightmare’s wings were injured?

He hadn’t noticed Nightmare’s cyan wings dragging against the floor.

He turned quickly—

“You didn’t tell me you knew how to heal wing injuries.”

Nightmare wasn’t asking a question, and he wasn’t asking it to Dream either. He was still looking at the pair in the doorway, speaking in monotone even as his own brother went stock still. 

Dream’s stomach had dropped. It was as if someone had punched a hole in it.

He didn’t know how to heal wing injuries. 

He hadn’t even seen his own wings in years. 

“You don’t?” Azre cut in. 

Dream hesitated. He— he could learn. He could try. He could still be useful—

“No.” The other cut in. “Wing injuries are too risky. He’s never healed any other wing before, and if he messes it up…” He fought not to flinch when their cold gaze landed on him. “Assassin is worth more than Healer. We’re not risking Assassin’s ability—”

“Don’t call me that,” Nightmare hissed. 

“You would rather us call you a nightmare? And Healer, believe me, you’re far from a dream.” They snorted, before turning back to Azre. “My point stands. It’s just too risky.”

The silence hung between them like a venomous tension.

“What a shame,” Nightmare sighed with sudden contriteness.2 “I guess won’t be able to complete the next mission… it’s in, what, two days?”

They bit a scowl back, but it showed for a split second. “Tomorrow.”

Azre swore.

Nightmare’s defiant delight wasn’t missed this time.

Oh. Nightmare had done it on purpose. When he caught his eye, he shrugged with exaggerated innocence and Dream had to choke back his laugh this time.

A snort left him in its place and it immediately drew Azre’s ire. 

“You think you’re safe, Healer? Locked up in your little birdcage? We could always take something back. A finger, perhaps? You don’t need all ten to heal—”

“Wait.” The other interrupted their rant with no small note of annoyance. “Healer isn’t entirely useless here. Couldn’t we just send him?”

A startled noise fell from his mouth. Nightmare’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

“Him?” Azre echoed them with no small amount of incredulity. “He’s never—”

The light, the wind, the sun, the sky, freedom, flight—

“He’s still an Avian, like Assassin; his instincts shouldn’t be underestimated. He knows enough magic to send a bone attack. Even then, it doesn’t matter if he fails,” They said bluntly. “They won’t have any guards, so it’s safe enough. It’s not far, and it’s not like we’re being paid much for this mission. We could always demand more gold if Healer fails to get them this time.”

Dream felt a breath in his throat as if it was a stone.

“If he fails, there won’t be a next time,” Azre muttered, but his resistance wasn’t with much fire. 

He found—

He found he didn’t entirely hate the idea.

Nightmare moved forward. “I’m fine, I can go—”

“I want to go.” The words tumbled from his mouth before he could think it through. 

Nightmare flinched. “I can go. My injury isn’t very severe—”

An impatient sigh came from them as they strode in and tore what little cloth obscured the wing injury away with surprising speed. 

The stone breath fell back into his throat in an instant.

The cyan was stark, so bright it was blinding. Or it would’ve been, if it weren’t for the tear in the cyan, ripping through the very root of the feathers and leaving a trail o withered feathers. it was a long tear. From just the look of it, it would take much, much more than a day to heal.

Nightmare swallowed his protest. “Dream hasn’t gone on any missions before, he might not be able to manage—”

“He’s an Avian.” Their reply was curt. “He’ll be fine.”

“He’ll get hurt.”

“He’s a healer, isn’t he?” Azre responded cruelly, but Dream found it was a truth. He was a healer, wasn’t he? He could heal himself if he got hurt on the mission. It wasn’t an issue.

“He’ll— he’ll—” Nightmare looked to him for support but Dream had nothing to say.

Nightmare stared at him.

—flight, fall, freedom, light, life

Dream looked back.

light, sunlight, the clouds, the sky—

“Do you want me to stay?” He hesitantly asked.

Nightmare’s face fell further.

“I—”

His gaze turned hollow. 

“You can go if you want to.”

A pang of guilt hit Dream, but— 

sun, flight, free, free— 

No. He squashed it down. Not free. Never free. 

(The thought of sky seemed to sing to him.)

“Come with us, Healer. We’ll brief you.”

He left Nightmare in the room alone, feeling oddly empty as he stepped over the threshold. ***

Dream had forgotten how the heat of the sunlight weighed. The weight on his back was hardly any weight at all as he stumbled along the dirt road with Azre. His breaths kept catching in his throat, as if unsure whether or not to breathe this new air.

“You remember the plan?”

“Yes.” Dream did. He’d been running through it in his head all night. 

“I’ll go through it again.” He sighed irritated. “I’ll drop you off along the road. Hide well, but make sure you have a good enough view to shoot. The target should pass you an hour or two in a carriage after I leave you.”

“Okay,” Dream said simply, hands shifting. 

“What do you do if you succeed?”

“Follow the dirt road back.”

“What do you do if you fail?”

“Hide and wait.”

Azre gave a stiff nod. “And we’ll come bring you back if you fail.” He stopped and turned. “This is a good spot. Hide and wait for them to come.”

Dream didn’t look back as Azre left. He shifted into position and hid in the bushes like how he’d been taught before they had turned all their attention to Nightmare, though the sky was calling to him endlessly. His fingers kept twitching every time he caught sight of the sky above him, and every time he forced them to lay still he felt the wings on his back grow heavier. 

What colour were his wings again? Were they gold? That would make sense, since his magic was gold. 

Nightmare’s magic was purple, and his wings were cyan.

Perhaps his wings weren’t gold. His fingers twitched.

Dream hadn’t thought much about the target until he realised he would be sending a bone attack into their carriage in an hour or so..

It was fine. He didn���t have to hurt them. He could send it into the door to minimise contact with them since the seats would be at the sides. He could just give them a nasty shock. They said it was okay to fail the mission, anyway.

He had an hour or so, so he had time to think, but all these thoughts were reminding him of the time he asked why Nightmare was allowed to have his wings out when he went on missions. I thought we weren’t allowed to have our wings out, he had asked. 

They hadn’t laughed, but he’d seen the amusement bloom in their face.

Because he’d have to leave you behind to fly away, they’d replied.

Dream had said nothing about it after. 

The sky was a beautiful blue. The clouds were a beautiful mist, a pearly white. It really was beautiful. The weight of the sunlight clung on his fingertips like rings.

(How would the sun feel on his wings?) ***

The rumble of wheels on dirt caught his attention. He stilled. There was the carriage, wheels rolling on the road, getting closer and closer.

He noticed the strange air around them. That made sense. There was no coachman, so it was probably being manipulated by magic.

It was getting closer.

His fingers stiffened. He watched the turning wheels, then when it got too risky to stare out his gaze fell to the ground and watched the shadows instead. The carriage was getting closer. Closer.

Dream swallowed.

Golden light crackled between his fingers, a spark fell to the ground.

The bone tore through the door of the carriage.

The wheels stopped turning. Dream let out a breath. 

The door tore open. The bone broke, one half stuck in the ground and the other embed in the broken door. Dream stopped breathing. 

The door and half-bone was tossed to the ground and was promptly trampled upon by a glitched Monster barging out. 

Dream’s chest seized. Oh no.

“Who the fuck was it, huh?! When I get my hands on you—”

“Calm down.” A voice called out from the carriage. “You’ll encourage them to shoot again.”

A second Monster strode out behind him, giving a face to the second voice. He strode to the bone rising out of the ground. “Interesting.” He stuck two fingers out, trapping the bone attack between them. “Gold like the sunlight. It’s rather beautiful, actually.” “Is flattery your plan to subdue the assassin?”

“I’m holding hope that it wasn’t an assassin. Hello! I know you can hear me. If you’re not an assassin and that was just an accident, I hope you’ll show yourself now. For your own sake, friend.”

Dream didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe.

It wasn’t that he was an assassin. No, that was Nightmare’s job. It was more of an instinct not to draw the ire or attention of either the man who’s magic had torn through wood as if it were flesh in seconds, or that of the man who was able to subdue the former with mere words.

“Alright, then, probably an assassin,” They said, popping the ‘p’. “Friend, if you come out right now, I’ll pay you triple what you’ve been promised you for my head.” 

After a few seconds, he frowned at the clear lack of response.

“Clever of them.” The glitched Monster turned to the other. “We both know they wouldn’t live if they came out anyway.”

“I was just trying to give them a chance.” He sighed and turned back.

Something quieter and smaller than an exhale escaped him. Yet the glitched Monster’s gaze didn’t leave the area, scanning over the foliage with no small amount of amusement. 

Something was odd. Every fibre in his body screamed at him to stay still, to not even breath.

He kept very still. He had failed, so he was supposed to hide.

And they wouldn’t leave just like that.

Dream kept very—

Something tugged at his feet.

Everything went silent.

His gaze was torn downwards. It was… a black mass? It shifted over the grass, reaching and twisting around his feet—

“Gotcha.”

Something in him snapped and he yanked his foot away. Dream broke into a run. 

“Hello, friend! You can call me—” Something tore at his neck. “Ink.” He turned to catch a glimpse of the slit along his shoulder, around the edge of his neck. The cheerful smile of his pursuer made something in him shiver. “Though I suppose friend’s a little misleading, considering you just tried to kill me.”

It wasn’t the glitched Monster, yet— yet this was worse. A dull terror struck him as he realised he hadn’t shaken all the black mass off and that it was pulling his feet to the ground with every step even as he fought to keep running away. 

Strings tore into his bones and a tiny scream fell to the ground from between his teeth. They hurt. They hurt so badly. They felt like the little needles they’d struck him with when he’d tried to run away that first night. 

He tried to tear the strings away but that only made him hurt more.

He remembered that soft, unyielding oblivion as he was pulled under by the drugs.

No. No no no—

Blue bones glitched into existence around him.

“That’s the end of the chase, I’m afraid.”

(The strings did not feel as bad as dull needles.)

The black mass lunged and pulled him to the ground.

What good was that? No amount of magic would get him out the ring with two obviously powerful Monsters waiting on him on high alert (except maybe teleportation, but he had never been taught that, they said it would’ve let him leave too easily) so what good was that little comfort when—

“Ahh. There’s our little assassin.” The other leaned over the ring of bones. He frowned. “You’re small.”

“Hypocrite.” The glitched monster spoke dryly, but Dream saw the glacial fury in their mismatched eyelights. 

The fury was aimed at him. 

Well, Dream thought. Fuck.

Huh. He hadn’t thought fuck in years. He’d only ever heard Nightmare say it once.

A hand landed on his shoulder. It wasn’t the glitched Monster, it was the other. “You must be surprised. I wasn’t the one meant to make this delivery, you know.” His grip tightened on his shoulder and it felt nothing like Nightmare. “Last minute change. Favour for a friend.”

“Our friend,” The glitched Monster did not smile. “And they happen to be a very kind person. I have to wonder what sort of person would want CORE Frisk dead.”3

“A very foolish one,” The other continued. “Because it would’ve hurt CORE4, but not kill them. Yet the fool here can be killed. I’m curious, little one.” The other gently tilted his chin back, but the dark curiosity in his eyes did not stop the wound in his shoulder/neck from aching. “Hm, I caught you in the neck. What made you think you would succeed?” He didn’t.

He thought he would.

He thought it didn’t matter.

“Probably hubris. Wouldn’t be the first.” Something (the strings, he acknowledged vaguely) tugged him away to the glitched Monster. “I have a better question. Who and what sent you?”

Dream shook his head. His skull slid to the side, desperately looking for something—

“That won’t do. You have to answer our questions, or Error here will just kill you off, right now.” The other nodded at the glitched Monster… Error, apparently. Fitting name. Whatever humour that was there was lost as Dream shuddered. 

“Well?” The nameless one asked again. “Answer.”

Answer. He had to answer.

But he didn’t know the answer. 

“I don’t know,” He said truthfully. He really didn’t.

A gasp left him as the strings around him tightened. 

“You don’t know?” Error repeated incredulously. The nameless one held a hand up. “He might be telling the truth. He’s small, after all.”

The two exchanged looks. 

The strings were loose, Dream tried picking them off his bones— 

“Don’t even think about it.” He bit back a sigh. The strings had tightened right back.

Then strings laxed. Error’s eyebrows creased. “How old are you?”

He swallowed the fear in his throat. 

“I— I don’t know—”5

That was the wrong thing to say, because it made Error’s gaze turn from distantly curious to glacial. Dream froze. 

“Ah.” That was the extent of Error’s response, because then the strings completely fell off him. He stared at the blue strands on the ground, uncomprehending. 

“Do you know your name?” The other asked, more softly than before. 

A spark of indignation sprouted in him at that. Of course he knew what his name was.

“Of course I do.”

Error snorted, but the other didn’t back down. “What’s your name?” 

He didn’t want to tell them his name. Ink’s gaze turned purple to blue, the mischievous glint fading to an aching coldness in a instant. Something in him lurched.

“Healer.”

Blue into green. “Well, I know there’s a trend of roles becoming names, but I find it so off-putting. It feels wrong to refer to people by their purpose. No other name?”

Dream shook his head. 

“Here, little one. I’ll give you my name in exchange, alright? It’s Ink.”

“He could just not have a name. Or maybe he does and forgot it. You would’ve.” Ink broke eye contact to shoot Error an annoyed look. “Most people know me as the Destroyer, not as Error.” 

Something cold curdled in Dream’s stomach.

“That’s because most don’t live long enough to learn your name.” Ink straightened up. 

His name was Ink. He shivered. Wasn’t that a familiar name? 

The black mass, curling around his feet with the quiet promise of manacles if he tried to escape. Ink’s ink. 

Ink.

A God that lived amongst the living. The sole survivor of bloody battles. The Justiciar. The Protector, but only of the wrongfully hurt and wrongfully broken. A fatalistic force of nature. 

Of Creation.

Everyone knew him. Even Dream knew him, from the rare books of Myths and Legends he got to pass the time in those four walls. 

“You’re a God,” He breathed. 

Ink blinked.

“Oh, that was quick. But no,  I wouldn’t call myself a God.” He broke off with a laugh, but Dream’s gaze was already on… Error.

Those blue strings. The very trademark of the Destroyer.

He wanted to throw up.

Error. The Destroyer. The God that brought destruction to the living, the face of catastrophic wars and battles. Not the Justiciar, but the Punishment. The axe and executioner of the sinners and sinned. 

Error seemed to have read his face. “You don’t need to be scared of me.”

Error, of Destruction.

And they were both peeking at him over the ring of blue bones.

Dream sank back into the ground face-first. He barely even registered the ink leaving his feet. 

“Don’t do that,” He vaguely heard one of them say. “You’ll get dirt on your face.” 

The strings reattached themselves, tangling with his waist and arms before pulling his torso back up. Dream tried tearing them off again, albeit half-hearted, but they yanked him—

—white hot, searing.

He saw white.

pain painpain—

He choked back blood (why was he tasting blood?) as he reached for— what?— (something, someone, anyone, peace home safety freedo—)6

His magic found him, blooming bright into a thousand golden sparks—

And the sound of ripped fabric.

The tension bled out of him. Dream blinked the white out of his eyes, burning warmth spilling down his eyesockets like nothing at all. 

“— Healer!”

He blinked again and shook it off. “I— I don’t—”

He was breathing. He was breathing differently. Something was different. 

“Ink.” 7

“Can you hear me?” He looked up to find Ink face to face with him. He flinched—

He didn’t flinch. 

(home, together, embrace, warmth—)8

Huh? 

“Ink. You really have to see this.”

“Hold on. Can you hear me, Healer?”

“Dream.” The name slipped out before he could force it back. Huh?9 “My real name’s Dream.”

“Okay, Dream, breathe with—”

“Ink!”

“I know,” Ink turned to hiss. “ I did see his magic, but he’s in the midst of a panic attack—”

Dream pressed against his throat, confused why his voice had suddenly betrayed him and given his name. 

“It wasn’t a panic attack.” Error’s voice began with an exasperated growl, but it tapered off into just exasperation. “Just— just look.”

“Fine—” Ink went silent. 

The silence made him look back up. Ink was staring at something behind him. A terribly cold fear hit him. What was it this time?

Almost unwittingly, Dream followed his line of sight. A horrible hollowness followed.

He first saw the taut strings, and realised they were propping him up. Beneath the blue, there was unmistakable white.

Oh. He breathed what seemed like his first breath in years and it was not a sweet breath. That explained the pain earlier. He must’ve overestimated Error’s pull and launched himself backwards.

The strings had torn through his wing bindings. 

The crumpled, mangled mass of feathers certainly did not seem able to hold his weight at all.

No wonder it hurt so much.

“Oh.” Ink echoed his thought. “He’s an Avian.”

Something dawned on him and made his chest seize again. A terrible glimmer of emotion blinked through the haze of cold numbness and it was of fear. 

Fear, of them. 

They would be furious if They learnt his wings had been unbound. They would be so angry. He wasn’t allowed to have his wings unbound. He wasn’t allowed. He had broken their rules.

He was going to get in trouble.

Dream was shuddering.

“Dream.” His head whipped up. Error looked furious. “Did you bind your wings… yourself?"

No, of course he didn’t. They did. But Error looked so angry. Would he get angrier if Dream said no?

He steadied himself. No, he shouldn’t lie. He’d get himself in even more trouble, so he shook his head. 

“Who did?” Ink’s voice was so quiet he barely heard it. “Was it… was it the same people who sent you?”

He was suddenly grateful and he didn’t know why. He nodded.

Ink cursed. It felt odd to hear such a quiet voice curse. 

“He has to come with us.” The voice was so quiet, Dream almost thought it was Ink speaking. “He isn’t going back to them.” Error spat out the last word like it was dirt. Dream did not hear Error’s footsteps as he stepped behind him.

(Though he was glowering, Dream had the oddest feeling of being safe under it.)

“No,” Ink replied, just as softly. “Of course not.” 

When Ink’s gaze hit him, Dream shrunk back.

“It’s alright, little one.” Ink said softly. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

He shrunk—

(safe, home, together)

—huh?

He couldn’t move. Ink reached for him; he was smiling but it was with teeth and it didn’t match his eyes either. 

All the fear drained out of Dream and left nothing but an aching tiredness. 

Dream didn’t take his hand, so Ink instead wiped the dirt from the ground off the former’s face with the outstretched hand. The contact didn’t even make Dream shudder. He was that exhausted, it seemed.

(Something in him made a happy little noise. It was the joyful chirp of a little fledgling.)

“Dream?” He felt someone, probably Error, tap his shoulder. “There’s still some cloth tangled with… your wings. I’m going to remove what I can with my strings. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

No. The word formed immediately, but just thinking it made him wince. Yet the dull fear that thudded through him seemed to grow sharper every passing second. He cast a look back. It was ugly; a mangled mess of feathers and cloth, but it was evidence of some struggle, at least. 

He could get away with a few scratches if he said it had been removed against his will, but if he agreed now, he’d be complicit. 

And that would make them even more angry. 

He forced the no out, but it was soft, so soft that he didn’t think they heard it.

“It’s for the best, little one.” Ink bent down and held his hands in his. He still shook his head. “Are you saying no because you’re scared it’ll hurt?”

For some reason, when he made eye contact, his throat squeezed with the odd urge to cry. Then his head betrayed him by bringing up the image of Azre’s face and the terrible lump in his throat melted into something that tasted oddly like blood.

He shook his head again. No, he wasn’t scared of his wings hurting. He wasn’t scared of that hurt.

“You think you’re safe, Healer? Locked up in your little birdcage? We could always take something back. A finger, perhaps? You don’t need all ten to heal—”

But Azre would hurt him if he let them take the cloth off. Maybe he wouldn’t even take a finger. Maybe he’d take his wings. For good.10

“Is there another reason why you’re saying no?” Ink asked so gently. 

Azre was furious when Nightmare had returned with injured wings. What if—

Dream went still.

(not safe, danger, help me—)

Azre had called him useless. He wasn’t useless, but Nightmare was certainly more useful to them. Healers were less rare than Avians. Dream wasn’t irreplaceable to them. 

So what if—

He’d threatened to take a finger because Dream laughed. 

What if this time, Azre took—

“They’ll kill me,” He whispered. “If you take my bindings off.”

—his life?

The silence hung between them like the gap between life and death. Ink’s eyelights had disappeared completely.

(Something inside him whimpered.)

“Error, take it off.”11

A gasp throttled through Dream as the sound of torn fabric echoed in his head. He felt arms around him, holding him still as the strings tore through—

(soft, embrace, home)

“Done. ” 

Dream wanted to cry out as someone pulled at the torn feathers. The hand stopped and he was able to breathe again. He couldn’t move in the firm embrace, but he was able to turn his head back ever so slightly.

He could see some yellow feathers in the white, now.

The strings had destroyed the cloth entirely. No scraps were left. None.

The Destroyer’s wrath is terrifying not for its bloodshed, but because it is utter destruction. It has no room for mercy. It refuses even the release of death.

Slowly, he made eye contact with Error. 

“All done, kid.” 

Ink released him, but Dream still felt as if he was being suffocated.

“Dream, they’re not going to leave even a finger on you. I swear it on my life.”

“You’re immortal,” He muttered, but Ink still caught it and broke into a grin. 

“That I am! So you don’t need to worry about them hurting you again. You will be safe with us.”

(Safe. The word echoed inside him.)

It weighed on his tongue and suddenly he didn’t want to say anything at all.

Dream took a breath, another, and lost the thread of fear. He thought vaguely, I want to sleep now.

Ink caught his chin before it could fall.

And he was gone, out like a light. ***

“Well, that solves that problem.”

Ink sighed. He bent down and shifted Dream into a supporting embrace so he wouldn’t wake up with a killer headache, 

“Stars.” He said it like a swear. “Error, I think he might have imprinted on us.”

“Stars?” He repeated, then paused. “Ah. Crap.”

“Yes, stars, he’s a ch— fledgling. I’m not swearing in front of him. And yes, ‘crap’ is right.”

“It’s fine, he’s asleep, but— isn’t that good? That means he hasn’t imprinted much on the fuckers that took him.”

“Well— that, yes.” His gaze went cold, before melting into the warmth of concern. “But that means he’ll be dealing with his Avian instincts. You know what imprinting on someone means for them, right?”

Error’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Vaguely?”

He smiled bitterly.

“I have a hunch he doesn’t what imprinting means. It doesn’t seem like they bothered to educate him much on his own heritage.” 

Error’s gaze grew dark. The strings around them twitched. Ink shook his head. 

The strings went still again. 

“I’m guessing he’s dealing with new instincts because he imprinted. Probably much more different than the instincts he’s used to. More… familial.” Ink shifted his grip so he wouldn’t put much pressure on Dream’s wings. Carefully, he stroked Dream’s wings, stopping at a single yellow feather. 

“It’s all atrophied, and look at this. He has so few yellow feathers. He hasn’t used his magic in ages.”

Error hummed his agreement. “Magic use affects wing colours. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to use magic much.” 

“Yes,” Ink said softly. “He must’ve been born with white. Maybe the yellow feathers here were just from that burst of magic earlier."

"I’ll check.”

A single blue string drifted into view, slowly and so much slower than the previous strings.. It looped around Dream’s soul, gentle even then.

Then there was an odd pressure that made him stir slightly, and a golden light.

“Careful.” 

“I know.” The string wrapped around the gold glow. The quiet of contemplation weaved its way into their silent anticipation. 

“....That’s peculiar.”

Ink turned. “What is?”

“He’s… already imprinted on someone else.”

A coldness washed over him. “Who?”

Error was silent momentarily. Then—

“Nightmare. Twin of Dream. Fellow Avian,” He read aloud. “And you and me, obviously.”

The two exchanged looks. 

“He has a twin?” Ink’s horror was quickly understood by Error. The sheer idea of another soul in the same hellhole made something in him want blood. 

Especially someone like a fledgling Avian.

The two went silent. 

The God of Creation held the sleeping Dream in his arms, and the God of Destruction watched them. 

Dream did not know it, but he had never been safer. ***

Later, Dream would awake beneath blankets and dim lights that reminded him of stars. He would blink the tears of a nightmare away and watch as they soaked his pillow. 

Nest, a part of him would coo. 

There would come a time where he would not fight it. 

Then, one day, Ink would ask him where they were.

There was only ever one ‘they’.

Down the dirt road, he would say. 

And Ink would understand.

Once they found Nightmare, wings splayed out and bitter tear tracks as if carved into his very cheeks, there was no mercy left to be found.  

Nightmare was left outside, and he watched with the skies as the wrath of the Gods was realised. Soon the screams of those who took what never should have been theirs echoed into the skies, and the skies would not care for them for they had taken two of their own.

Nightmare watched their destruction with little reaction. One by one, the floors collapsed into dust and then nothing. He folded his wings as the screams gave out one by one. 

He saw a tuff of white landing on a windowframe a floor above, fading into black at the corner. 

Fur from a Monster who had had white fur spotted with black.12

He snapped his fingers and it burst into flames13. Mercy was sleeping in a pile of blankets and pillows. 

And the wrath of the Gods left nothing but utter destruction in its wake. 

Nightmare reached up and felt his cheek, felt the exhaustion, desperation and fear. He remembered the utter terror that had reached him when he realised something had gone wrong, and Dream would not return.

But Dream was safe, and Nightmare was finally going to leave this place. 

He and Dream were free of it. 

The fires cast shadows over him, and he closed his eyes. 

It felt cleansing.

The God of Destruction serves not as the Justiciar, but as the final Punishment. His wrath is terrifying not for its bloodshed, but because it is utter destruction. It has no room for mercy. It refuses even the release of death.

Though the God of Creation is the Justicar, the Protector, he is feared as much as he is revered for the Protector’s justice is not mere bloodshed either. It is worse. It is quiet, it is unyielding, and it is true punishment.

Far away, a little gold bird slept with preened wings, waiting for his brother to join him in his nest.

When a little cyan bird dipped into it, though his mind was muddled with sleep, some part of him heard him and cooed, family.

Then, quietly; home.

Footnotes:

the birbs. *nods approvingly* 1. Dream did not recognise Azre, which is why his inner monologue focused on the other Monster. 2. I believe it's obvious, but Nightmare did not find it a shame at all. 3. CORE Frisk had other matters to attend to, so unfortunately they couldn't make the delivery and asked their old friends Ink and Error to do it on their behalf. CORE Frisk was the target of the mission, not Ink and Error. 4. CORE Frisk happened to be immortal like Ink and Error, but not quite invincible. 5. Both Ink and Error had seen youthful souls capable of both foolishness and cruelty, so the Dream's young appearance did not seem cause for much concern, albeit perhaps a sign that Dream was merely acting on somebody, perhaps someone older,'s orders. However, learning Dream did not know his own age was cause for concern, because it was a possible indication of Dream's lack of autonomy over his own life. Dream, however, did not notice any of this, and only saw Error's physical reaction, not thought process. 

6. Birb instinct. And repressed trauma. 7. Error had noticed something neither Ink nor Dream (well, consciously) had noticed.  8. I'm not SAYING this was when Dream imprinted on them. But. His birb brain does seem to be going a bit haywire, huh? (Expect most of the lowercase words in brackets to be birb brain too.)  9. Birb brain: family asks me something I know. trust them. must not lie. Dream: ?????? 10. Avian wings were nowhere as pricey as Avians themselves, but Dream knows he's nowhere as useful an Avian as Nightmare is to their abductors, so he's on much thinner ice; Avian wings are still very valuable in a normal context. Though he doesn't internally refer to them as abductors. That would mean antagonizing them, and he doesn't want to speed his death up. 11. Error and Ink had unanimously made a decision. 12. Sounds familiar? 13. For any confused readers, he was using magic.

#utmv #ink sans #dream sans #error sans #nightmare sans #bird au #avian au #utmv au #utmv fanfic #utmv fanfiction #implied errorink #error/ink #errorink #goddammnit will ANYTHING i write ever NOT be errorink #(no. never. #errorink for LIFE) #winged au #winged dream sans #winged nightmare sans #i dont even know what other tags there are at this point #fanfiction

[heartfullofleeches]

What if she was gonna turn into a monster due hate or something and you show up and stop ot before she turns. Or you are a new magical (insert gender here) and she thinks the higher ups are taking advantage of you like in madomagica

(tw: body horror)

She could feel her head splitting. Skin tearing at the seems, and all that hatred inside her bubbling to the surface. Those sick bastards knew just how to completely destroy her inside. Why? Why did she have to suffer so much? What did she do to deserve this kind of torment? Why could she have been dealt a better hand, and live a human life with the one she loves?

She screams- the muscles around her mouth to weak to support her unhinged jaw. Black sludge bleeds from the cracks in her face, clinging to the flesh - modeling her into the monster that she was inside. This was it- the end of her humanity. She'd become the one thing she hated most; her true self- then be killed. Maybe this was always her fate.

"....?"

The call of her name plays over the echo of her screams. She can barely remember what it was. Her eyes dark around the dark space for its source - a bright light blinding what little vision she had left.

"It's okay."

You kneel before your team mate, ignoring the stinging sensation in your hands as you cup her face in your palms. She struggles to meet your gaze; weakly pushing you way. Not you. Get away from her. She didn't want to hurt you. You remain strong, stroking her cheek with a smile.

"Everything's gonna be fine. I'm here for you."

The tears in her skin mend under your touch; her boiling spirit calmed by your gentle hushes. This is something she always wanted to avoid - depending on you. She was team leader, and a cruel one at that. Anything to turn newcomers away, but you only returned every harsh word with a smile. She fell in love with you - so hard that the feeling was the only thing that made her get out of bed each morning. She never wanted it to be a lifeline, but in the end it always had been.

Tears form in her eyes as you hold her close; born of rage and frustration for the situation you both were in. She'd bring the entire counsel - hell, the entire magical world to its knees if it meant a future where you're safe.

#Yandere magical girl #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #female yandere #yandere drabble #Yandere fic #yandere x y/n

[hmshermitcraft]

(theme yippie) immortality is a cruel mistress that joel is painfully familiar with. from being made out of terracotta by mother tree, to being gifted the promise of immortality by his own wife, he is not made to die and yet, the mezalean king died of heartbreak. see, that was the mezalean king, the ruler of mezalea and exporter of terracotta, moss and concrete. joel on the other hand, the first creation by mother tree, is very much alive, even if its been 1000 years since the rapture (not that he'd know. he's been in a sleep like state once the world basically flipped on his head, and his skin cracked. he never said heartbreak didn't have an effect on joel, just that he never died.) however, one day, he got up. he found a fountain, and he was repaired with godhood. his skin was mended, gold now webbing his no longer terracotta flesh. and he was reminded of the life he had a millennia ago. (joel never claimed to be a smart man. just that he was tall and sexy, and that he loved lore. so he fell in love again, however this time it was with a man named mythical sausage. it was his best mistake. (and oh how he adores that man. and that's not even mentioning sweet little baby hermes)) -tn (tldr i watched joels s1 semi-recently and have read one too many fics lmao)

He knows, deep down, it's a mistake to fall in love again. It broke him before, quite literally. But, Joel (as much as he pretends he isn't), is a bleeding heart. Who couldn't see Sausage smile, hear his laugh and his optimism for the future, and not be taken in by it?

Well. Lots of people, apparently, but that's besides the point.

Sausage treats nature with the same kindness and respect Joel used to hold the mother tree in, so many years ago. The world itself seems to come to his beck and call, and Joel can't blame it.

Hermes was a complete accident, and one he thought would scare Sausage away. Up until then it was just... Fooling around. Joel was still too afraid of commitment, Sausage was too afraid to push. But Sausage deserved to know about Hermes, even if that meant pushing Joel away. Instead, Sausage came even closer.

If Joel thought he couldn't fall in love anymore, he was wrong. Seeing Sausage play with Hermes - their child - he begins to understand why the heartbreak didn't kill him after all.

#empiresshipping #ask #joel tag #sausage tag #sausjoel #tn anon #mod 🎀 #weekly theme: immortal au #josage

[elydition]

Stained

After the Vision Hunt Decree ended and the Sakoku Decree was abolished, Heizou had nothing he could arrest Kazuha on. It irked him, but he let it be.

While relaxing in the city one day, Heizou spotted the samurai beaten and bleeding. He couldn't help but assist the extremely attractive samurai.

It seems something could be bubbling between them.

“It bothers you that you couldn’t arrest Kazuha, doesn’t it?” Kuki Shinobu said. The detective near her was sprawled out on the lush grass right outside of Inazuma City. He was soaking in the sun rays, eyes shut like a content cat.

“Of course, He managed to slip away numerous times and just when he was within reach, there was nothing I could charge him with.” Heizou sighed, dragging himself up into a sitting position. “He’s a good man with good intentions, but his actions at one point in time were illegal. It’s only natural, it's like an itch I can never scratch.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I had to get the Arataki Gang out of the slammer a few times already this month.”

“It’s the 8th?” Heizou turns around to face her. Her expression just shows aloofness as always. “How do they manage to do it?”

“I wish I knew, detective. If you’ll excuse me,” Kuki rose, brushing the grass from her shorts and thighs. “I have a meeting with another merchant.”

“Have fun!” Heizou called out teasingly, knowing she would not have fun.

When Heizou was content to lie back on the grass, platinum hair and a man dressed in red came into his vision. He was on the beach below the cliff Heizou was resting on.

Heizou knew Kazuha lingered after the Irodori festival, but had yet to see him since his return. However, something was wrong with the samurai. Heizou could make out a limp and several slashes along his attire. Blood was splattered across his skin and hair.

Without a second thought, Heizou leapt down to assist him. Kazuha whipped around, summoning his blade with an emotionless gaze. Upon recognizing the man before him, Kazuha sheathed his weapon.

His expression did not waiver.

“You’re injured, Kazuha.” Heizou stepped forward, but saw Kazuha stumble backwards. “What happened?”

“Nothing of your concern. I will tend to it.” Kazuha made the move to walk away, but Heizou dashed in front of him.

“At least let me help you clean your wounds. I can’t mend clothing, but I can watch your back.” Heizou’s words cracked through Kazuha’s steely stare. “Were you ambushed?”

“As I said, it is none-“

“It is!” Heizou interjected. “If the situation calls for it there can be legal action taken against them and you know it.”

“It doesn't matter. Kairagi ambushed me while I was sleeping under the assumption I had stolen something from their camp.” Kazuha murmured, swaying gently.

Heizou reached out to bring Kazuha’s arm across his back, shouldering the weight Kazuha could not handle. Kazuha crumpled into Heizou’s side immediately; the aid was welcomed.

“I know there’s a hilichurl camp nearby. I can clear it out quickly and we can station there to tend to you,” Heizou whispered. His ears were burning at Kazuha’s proximity. The man was handsome, Heizou couldn’t deny it. His main priority should be assisting the irresistible samurai, not calming his pounding heart.

“I can still fight, Heizou. I've been in worse condition,” Kazuha said, his voice rumbling deep within his chest. It was unlike the airy tone Heizou was familiar with. The new sound was a result of exhaustion most likely.

“Not on my watch. I can handle myself.”

— — —

Kazuha watched from a rock close to the camp as Heizou effortlessly battled the hiluchurls. Using the water from the sea and flame of the stove to his advantage, he made quick work of the camp.

Heizou reignited the flame he had accidentally extinguished with practiced care. Kazuha had replenished enough energy while sitting so he could make it to the camp on his own.

Kazuha always had a small bag of supplies on hand to tend his injuries with. With his current injuries, however, they were hard to reach without unraveling his clothes.

“Heizou,” Kazuha called out as he sat down. Heizou was startled by the man’s appearance.

“I was going to return-“

“Help me undress,” Kazuha said quietly. His voice wavering was a surprise to himself and Heizou.

“I- Yeah.” Heizou said, jogging over to Kazuha’s side. “You wear quite a few layers.”

“I’m predominantly outside, it's best to wear more and remove layers than freeze during the night.” Heizou chuckled to himself, not at all surprised by the sound reasoning.

In silence thick enough to slice, Heizou assisted Kazuha in undressing. His shorts weren’t in need of mending, nor were any injuries to his legs. Heizou hoped his face was not visibly flushed, it's been quite some time since he was put in a situation like this.

However, when the final white layer of Kazuha’s clothes remained, it had been stained with blood.

“You have lost too much blood, Kazuha,” Heizou immediately panics inwardly. He is not a healer and has no clue how to seriously tend to someone. Kazuha grips Heizou’s wrist within his slender fingers.

“It’s not as bad as it may seem. You’ll most likely have to cut this layer off. It’s meant to be pulled over my head, but I cannot lift my arms.” Heizou immediately found one of the loose seams due to the slash of a katana, and ripped the shirt quickly using that weak point.

“My my. Brazen, aren’t we?” Kazuha teased, laughing weakly at Heizou’s methods. The detective could feel heat rising to his cheeks at his comment. Heizou could see a bag among the layers they had removed. Grabbing it, Kazuha silently nodded in confirmation.

Bandages, alcohol, needles and thread, and more various items were within the bag. A makeshift first aid kit for his travels.

“You know this is going to sting, right?” Heizou used the undershirt he ripped as cloth to clean Kazuha’s wounds with, dousing it in alcohol beforehand.

“Of course. Do what you must,” Kazuha closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. Heizou propped one knee beside Kazuha’s hip, anchoring himself.

Heizou gently cleaned the bloody wounds. He watched Kazuha’s face to make sure he wasn’t being too aggressive with the torn skin. Heizou never would have known he was affected by the alcohol if he couldn’t feel the muscles beneath his hands twitch and spasm.

Scars littered Kazuha’s skin. There were more than Heizou could count. Some were fresh and dark in color, while others had started to fade and be overlapped with new ones.

“Alright,” Heizou sighed. “I’ll bandage you up for now, but I’d recommend asking Miss Shinobu for proper healing treatment.”

“I will entertain it.”

The same silence from earlier draped over them, although more tense than uncomfortable. Heizou quickly bandaged Kazuha’s arms and torso. Before he could remove his hands from Kazuha’s skin, the samurai once again grabbed Heizou’s wrists.

“Thank you for assisting me, detective,” Kazuha said, pressing his lips to the back of Heizou’s hand. The action sent a shiver through his body as he stumbled for what to say.

“I- It’s- There’s nothing-“ Heizou’s free hand was left waving about as Kazuha kept his eyes trained on Heizou. The samurai slowly rose to his feet, mere inches from Heizou’s face.

“To be so bold earlier then have the nerve to be flustered,” Kazuha murmured. “Most entertaining.”

“I will figure out how to arrest you if you keep teasing me,” Heizou shut his eyes, huffing indignantly. One of Kazuha’s hands came to gently rest on Heizou’s waist.

“Only you have been so determined to catch me. The other officials never cared quite as much.” Kazuha leaned in, brushing their noses together. Heizou’s mind quickly tried to come up with a reason for Kazuha’s closeness. However, the press of his lips against the corner of Heizou’s mouth left him reeling.

“Perhaps we can meet again in a different scenario.” Kazuha elicited a silent gasp from Heizou after a quick squeeze to his waist.

“Until next time.”

#kazuhei #shikanoin heizou #kaedehara kazuha #genshin impact #heikazu #cross posted from ao3 #minor injuries #tending to wounds #casual rivals #unresolved tension #almost kiss

[hlficlibrary]

Hiya! I was wondering if you could help me find a fic please.

It's an a/b/o fic, omega Louis and alpha Harry.

I think it's historical but not sure when it's set.

Something happens to Louis' family when he is quite young and only him and Lottie are left. They run away and end up on the streets where they are found by a kind omega lady who takes them in. This lady is a dressmaker and teaches Louis how to sew .

A few years on I think the lady passes away and leaves the business to Louis who becomes very well known as he is such a good dressmaker.

Gemma Styles is getting married and asks Louis to make her wedding dress and also all the bridal party clothes.

He meets Harry at the Styles mansion . I think Harry is in the military. They are very wealthy and Harry tells Louis that Gemma can have anything she wants.

Harry and Louis eventually become friends , Louis is wary of alphas I think because of his past.

They do end up together though.

Can you help me please? Sorry to have rambled on!

Hello, anon! I couldn't seem to figure this one out, but my friend @tokyolou thinks it could be this one...

The Mourning Dove by Jennifer_Kaid

Four years was a long time to mend a broken heart, but the cracks still lingered, blood spilling out every so often before Louis patched it up again with trembling fingers and a bone-deep ache.

He had learned to not let some other person become his priority, but once in a while, in the dead of the night, his heart called out to its missing piece. Those nights, Louis let himself feel the pain and the agony of being left behind, of not receiving a chance to even know that person's name. It reminded him to never let another person close, never let someone hold his fragile heart.

In the morning, he would again wear the façade of brevity with a well practiced ease.

Four years was a long time for the mind to change its thinking, even with a bleeding heart.

#ask #anon #lostandfoundfic #thanks tokyolou!

[ask-the-boogeyman]

"Hey Myers." The man himself would feel arms wrap around his torso, a familiar weight pressed against his back as Danny rested his head on Michael with a hum. Maskless, in a simple hoodie, but still with the strong scent of cologne wafting off of him to show no uncertainty that it was the Ghostface himself. "Got you a little somethin', since it's the sweetheart's holiday today."

After a light squeeze he pulled back, nudging the Shape to turn around only to reveal... A cupcake. A little larger than the normal but not enough to be considered a cake in its own right. Pink frosting, red splotches littering the top as a cartoon heart seems to be bleeding out onto it. How appropriate. "It's even chocolate flavored. Happy Valentine's day."

~ @insidious-journalist ❤️

After the debacle of his blinding, the explanation of the blackout, and his own personal planning to ruin that Jake's entire existence... Danny and the older killer have managed to salvage what they have, albeit more slowly than desired. While he does not understand the Holiday, having received a card, as well as greetings here and there... Michael begins to think about what he could do. In all honesty, he is apprehensive to even try to show anything for this Holiday, but it will smooth the waves between them.

Having dug around his house, he managed to find a decent dress shirt, a watch, and a pair of loafers in one of the other houses. Not knowing what to choose, he dumps all three in a bag and sets it aside. He has no idea if any of the gifts work, are the right size, or are the right style. He's never done this before.

Eventually, he settles down and just as he goes to flutter his eyes close, he's greeted by arms wrapping around his waist and the smell of cheap cologne. It's something he's come to recognize with Danny and finds it to be a comfort. While the waves and oceans surrounding them may be rocky right now, the explanation and apologies did do something to mend their relationship. Gutting Jake for all to see will also work to mend things in due time.

Turning around, he looks at the cupcake and tilts his head, curious examining the colors and the scents. Without much hesitation, he lifts his mask to reveal his mouth, scarred lips opening as he takes a large bite, making a small hummed noise in the process. It's good, which gets a small smile slipping onto his features before he turns and grabs the bag before shoving it into the younger man's chest. The dress shirt is pink bordering a salmon color, and the loafers are brown with soft fluff on the inside. The watch is a leather watch, with a crack in it... But it still functions.

Happy Valentine's Day, Danny.

#[[Spiders Venomous webbings]] [DBDm.v] #[[Laced Hearts]] DannyxMichael [DBDm.v] #insidiousjournalist #Verse;; Spiders web and bloodied fog #Valentine's Day

[demigodforfend]

Twilight of the Demigods: Forfend Edition - Session 5

"Haha, yes!" Callan laughed, excitement overflowing. "This battle will be legendary!"

He clanged his metal fists together and launched himself at Kagoshi. He reared back and slammed his fist into Kagoshi's midsection. Fire sputtered beneath the contacted point, burning into Kagoshi's blackened flesh.

Callan didn't slow. He swung wildly, connecting with Kagoshi's knee in an attempt to topple him.

Kagoshi was doubled over from the gut check, but he didn't so much as flinch at the shot to his knee.

Kagoshi's eyes flared with dark flame. He snarled at Callan with too-sharp teeth as oily black magic spilled from his back. It coalesced into skeletal wings which clung tight to his shoulders just as they had the first time Forfend had seen him do this.

Kagoshi put off a deathly necrotic aura, contrasting sharply with Callan's radiating heat.

A savage roar split the bleeding sky. Kagoshi slammed his oversized fist into Callan.

A resounding metal clang rang out, but Callan was remarkably undamaged. In fact, he looked elated.

Kagoshi hissed in wild rage. He crashed into Callan's unguarded side with his other massive fist.

This time the metallic clang was followed with a creak. Callan grunted. The grin on his face never faltered.

"Good strike!" Callan praised. The fire harbored in the creases of his body dimmed as Kagoshi's necrotic energy seeped into him.

Kagoshi growled deep in his throat.

Callan struck at Kagoshi's knee again, glancing off with nothing to show for it. Kagoshi's stance was solid and his skin unnaturally tough.

Callan barely dodged raking claws, slipping under Kagoshi's arms to punch him in the stomach again. Fire erupted from his elbow and rocketed his fist forward.

Kagoshi grimaced, roaring through clenched teeth and staggering back a step.

Forfend glanced at its companions. Kairi looked concerned, but not nearly as panicked as Forfend felt. Melzaryn sat in the grass, watching the fight with detached curiosity.

Forfend turned back to the fight, apprehension rising ever higher within it.

Callan was like Forfend. It was quite certain of that now. It hoped he would win the fight. It prepped a spell in case he didn't. Kagoshi would certainly kill him.

Kagoshi clasped his hands together and slammed both fists down directly on top of Callan's head. The ground cracked beneath Callan, burying him up to his knees in the dirt.

"Yes!" Callan screamed, inexplicably elated. He didn't even seem to notice he was trapped in place.

Kagoshi brought both his fists down again, this time slamming one into each of Callan's metallic shoulders.

Callan sank further into the earth, laughing manically in his excitement, "Fantastic!"

Suddenly, he jolted and panic crossed his features. He chanced a glance down at his entrapped feet.

Kagoshi roared into Callan's shocked face. The burns on his scarred and glowing flesh mended themselves back together.

Callan glared intensely. He hauled back and swung at Kagoshi's kneecap. He fell short as Kagoshi shifted out of the way. Undeterred, Callan struck out with his other fist. It connected with a heavy crack, fire spurting from beneath his knuckles.

Kagoshi dropped to one knee, the boiling heat of Callan's body catching the scraps of his mangled shirt alight with radiant flame.

Kagoshi wavered and fell.

There was a moment of tense silence as Kagoshi slowly shrank back to his proper size.

"That was fun! Oh, uhm..." Callan nudged Kagoshi's arm. "He's unconscious. Whoops."

Forfend hesitated briefly. It looked up at the sky. The unsettling red was beginning to slowly fade away.

It began making its way across the field. It tapped the symbol on its chest and felt the magic stutter uncertainly.

"Oh, no, it's alright," Callan called. "I can heal him."

He reached out again, soft orange magic drifting from his hand and closing Kagoshi's wounds.

Kagoshi groaned and slowly sat up. He looked irritated.

"That was very well fought!" Callan praised. He dragged himself awkwardly out of the dirt and brushed himself off. The metal rescinded, leaving his flesh its proper color. "Fantastic, honestly! I genuinely felt those blows! I have to say, I have not felt, well, pain in a very long time!"

Kagoshi grumbled, "Glad I could help." He stood shakily.

"Did you enjoy our bout?" Callan asked.

"Hmph," Kagoshi huffed noncommittally.

"I'll be perfectly frank with you," Callan began, undaunted by Kagoshi's ever-foul mood, "this was one of the best fights I have had in a very long time. I honestly didn't expect to find anyone like you--like me--here. I only came here to train. This has been a very pleasant surprise."

"May I ask a question?" Forfend interjected, stepping further out onto the field.

It strayed more towards Callan and paused a distance away so as not to be too close to Kagoshi. The sky was still bleeding overhead. Though the wounds were moving from throbbing red to muted purple, Forfend did not trust Kagoshi to be in control of himself while this symbol of his rage still stood.

"Of course," Callan welcomed, glancing between Forfend's tense form and Kagoshi's spent one.

"What deity blesses you?" Forfend asked.

Callan stepped forward, actually placing himself between Forfend and Kagoshi, and sat down in the soft grass. "Why, the Apostle of Iron himself," Callan answered, confirming what Forfend already knew. "I'm not wholly certain why or how I was chosen, or why this particular ability was given to me, but who else could have gifted it to me but Fornax?"

Forfend's chest lit up bright orange. It had never met others like itself.

"If I may ask," Callan began and looked Forfend over, "what precisely is your nature? I have seen many stone creatures in my travels, but you seem a bit more unique. Especially given that." He motioned to Forfend's glowing runic face.

"I am a Fornaxian," Forfend answered proudly. "Fornax built me himself during the Sundering."

"During the Sundering, you say!" Callan nearly shouted, impressed.

Forfend nodded.

"You fought during that time?" His eyes grew wide as he considered the thought.

"I did," Forfend nodded again.

"Would it be presumptuous to ask if we could have a friendly bout?" Callan's hands were twitching, an adamantine sheen glinting off his fingertips.

Forfend looked him over. He had heavy bruising already forming around his face and shoulders. His knuckles were bruised and bloodied. His breathing was beginning to steady out, but it was still heavy.

Even if Forfend did want to fight, which was a rare occurrence all its own, it could not fight Callan in good conscience while he was in this condition.

Forfend glanced over Callan's shoulder to where Kagoshi sulked. He was much worse for wear, but Forfend also feared he would get involved if another fight broke out.

"I would prefer not," it answered.

"Ah, alright. That's fair." Callan dusted himself off a bit more.

"We are actually very lucky your bout did not go awry."

"Oh? Is that so?"

"It is. And Kagoshi," Forfend called sharply.

Kagoshi rolled his eyes before settling an irritated gaze on Forfend.

"The sky."

Both Kagoshi and Callan looked up. The last tints of murderous red were fading back into the proper blue.

"Why does it look like the Sundering?" Forfend was nearly certain it knew why at this point, but it also had a hunch that Kagoshi knew more than he was saying. It wanted him to admit it.

"Oh," Callan said, shock overtaking his features.

Kagoshi shrugged. "I don't know. I've only heard stories about that. So that's what the sky really looked like, huh?"

Forfend hummed grimly.

"Uhm, if I may," Callan studied Forfend's blank face for a moment. "Why are you discussing Kagoshi's ability to become a giant as something, well, bad? He may look like a demon, that's true. But he isn't one. Is he?"

Kagoshi shrugged again. "I don't know."

"He has needlessly attacked me once, nearly twice, in that state," Forfend recounted.

"Is it like a battle frenzy?" Callan asked.

"The first time I was holding a child from my hometown. If I had been slower, Kagoshi would have killed him. It is much worse than a battle frenzy." Forfend had seen battle-crazed warriors. It had never seen anything but monsters of Atrox attack children.

"Oh dear," Callan exclaimed.

Kagoshi grumbled and shrank into himself, ducking away from Forfend's gaze for the first time.

"Well, I have heard that every demigod power--ah, it is safe to assume you're all demigods, right? Given Kagoshi's ability and all of that?" Callan gestured to Forfend as a whole.

Forfend nodded.

Kairi gasped. "That explains so much!"

"I'm glad to know my hunch was correct. I have always heard demigods give off a certain presence, though it isn't necessarily obvious." Callan glanced over the group again, assessing their statures. "Anyway, I've heard that every blessing, every unique power, comes with a drawback. I suppose that is Kagoshi's. Still, that ability is what makes you special. It's nothing to be ashamed of. And who knows? Maybe you will overcome that weakness."

Callan sounded very earnest, but Forfend was struggling to agree.

Kagoshi looked doubtful as well. He mumbled noncommittally.

"You've seen my ability. I'm able to turn parts or all of my body into metal. It does have its fair share of weaknesses, though thankfully none were exploited during that battle. One of the drawbacks is that it sometimes takes a bit for me to register pain," Callan shared. "I'm only just now beginning to feel the effects of the fight."

He gently ran his hands across his heavily bruised shoulders, twinging each time he attempted to apply pressure.

"Actually, those were some fantastic blows! Where did you learn how to fight!" he asked Kagoshi. He was trying to lighten the mood.

"I... grew up learning," Kagoshi muttered.

"Self taught then?"

"No," Kagoshi corrected. "I had a few mentors." He looked to be uncomfortable discussing his situation.

"Oh! Well, you've got a leg up on me in that regard. I taught myself and I've always had my crutches when it came to fighting." He clenched his fist, letting adamantine slide up his arm to his elbow. "You were very lucky to have teachers to assist you."

Kagoshi evaded eye contact. "Mhm."

"What about the rest of you?" Callan inquired. "What are your powers? If I may ask, that is."

"Look, I'm not even certain if anyone else here even has powers or whatever," Kagoshi shook his head.

"They're demigods, aren't they?" Callan countered.

"You've seen mine," Forfend reminded.

"Alright, Chimney," Kagoshi waved dismissively at Forfend, "I don't even know if what you did is actually a demigod power or just something unique to you."

"It is both." Forfend crossed its arms, stone grinding from within it.

Callan glanced between them, a question forming on his lips.

Melzaryn spoke up before Callan could voice his thoughts. "I can tell you the ground here would be a horrible foundation for building." He shrugged. "But that's all I've got."

"Oh, do you have an analytical eye? Is that it?"

"Something like that. Mostly, I just like construction." Melzaryn grinned.

"Oh, then Tallbarius is your patron. Is that right?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." Melzaryn looked wholly unconcerned.

"I can see people's emotions, like an aura surrounding them," Kairi piped up. "But I can't turn it off so it gets overwhelming in crowds. Oh, and it doesn't seem to work on other demigods."

"Ah, I have heard that's a problem for many powers affecting others. For one reason or another, they don't work on people like us. Fascinating." Callan nodded.

"Kairi, if I may ask, who is your patron deity?" Forfend was very curious. Out of the group, Kairi had been the one best able to conceal her true nature. Forfend would not have guessed she was a demigod. Only startlingly perceptive.

"I don't know," she shrugged sheepishly.

"Hm, if it's based on emotions, it could be a number of them." Callan tapped his chin. "Perhaps Amare."

Kairi nodded. "That makes sense!"

"And Kagoshi," Forfend turned its gaze to him again. "What is yours?"

"I. Don't. Know," Kagoshi growled.

"It's a very intense rage, isn't it? Your patron could be Pumearon, god of punishment. Or perhaps Maestus, god of vengeance," Callan offered. "Tell me, do you have a grudge of some kind?"

Kagoshi was silent for a long moment. "Maybe."

"Well, for some it isn't quite so obvious. For myself and..." He glanced at Forfend. "I apologize, I haven't caught your name."

"Forfend," it replied simply.

"Excellent. Do you perhaps have a title?"

"I do not."

"Oh, well, I do have one you can use. The Fornaxian!" Callan grinned excitably.

Forfend wasn't certain it needed or even wanted a title. It was a blacksmith by trade, not a leader or a warrior. Not anymore.

"The Chimney," Kagoshi joked dryly.

"Hm, I'm not certain that suits him," Callan muttered as he considered it.

"It does not. I cannot create smoke on command." Forfend rolled its shoulders. The smokestacks on its back were only active during a small handful of events, typically when it was creating. It had no cognitive control over them.

"Well, as I was saying," Callan guided the conversation back on track. "For some, our patrons must be guessed at. But for those like Forfend and I, it is quite obvious. My ability to turn myself into metal and Forfend, well, your appearance including the chimneys is a dead giveaway. I don't mean to offend."

Forfend shrugged. It wasn't concerned with what others thought of its appearance. It had become proud of its divine craftsmanship. If that craftsmanship made clear who had created it, that was for the better.

"There are others who go their entire lives without ever knowing of their demigod status," Callan continued. "Or caring about it either."

That surprised Forfend. It had been aware of its demigod abilities the second it had first awakened.

Flesh and blood beings were very different though. Unlike a blessed construct, they needed to grow up slowly and garner an understanding of the world from the experience. It would be easy for a god to touch their lives long before they had any capacity to remember it happening.

Callan caught Forfend's thoughtful stance and glanced at the rest of the group who had similar expressions.

"Do you not know these things?" Callan asked, confusion showing in his halting speech. "I would think that demigods would be aware of this information."

"For my part," Forfend answered, "I was damaged during the Sundering and reawakened only two years ago. I am quite unaware of recent events."

"Ah, I see, I see," Callan nodded. "Well, I hope you are enjoying the present!"

"I was, up until quite recently," Forfend crossed its arm, irritation cracking stones in its chest.

Callan held up his hand and started to question the rather bitter response, but Kagoshi spoke up instead.

"I've just been busy."

Kairi shrugged.

"I knew a good bit of that stuff." Melzaryn fiddled absently with his staff. He wasn't paying much attention.

Callan stepped over to Melzaryn and held his hand out. "I haven't greeted you properly, have I? What's your name and do you have a title?"

Melzaryn briefly clasped Callan's hand. "Melzaryn. You can call me Mel if you'd like, but I guess my title would be 'The Only One Here With A College Degree.'"

"You went to college?!" Kagoshi yelled.

"So that's why he's so smart," Kairi nodded to herself.

"I've never been to a school before. That sounds interesting," Callan said.

"I am not certain what a college is." Forfend tilted its head.

Melzaryn stifled a laugh. "Well, it's good to know I was right."

"It's a place of education." Callan tapped Forfend's shoulder.

"Ah. Sounds wonderful." Anywhere designed for sharing knowledge was a place Forfend could support.

The thought reminded it that Callan had some knowledge Forfend would like him to share. "What is the Celestial Summit you mentioned?"

Callan perked up excitedly. "This will be a pretty considerable explanation. Let's rest for a bit while I explain."

Kagoshi dropped into the soft grass immediately.

Kairi sat beside him and nudged his head into her lap. She wiggled her fingers above him, letting pink and yellow glittering magic fall onto his wounds.

Melzaryn plopped onto the ground next to Forfend.

Callan placed himself in the middle of the group and glanced up at Forfend with a friendly smile.

Taking the hint, it carefully lowered its bulk to the ground.

"The Celestial Summit is two things. Firstly it's a place. It is a great mountain to the..." Callan trailed off and checked his surroundings. It seemed he'd lost his bearings. "... Northeast of here," he finally decided.

"It's believed to be blessed," he continued. "They say it was actually the place that the gods gathered for the final assault against Atrox and its forces. That's an interesting tidbit, but it is also rumor. Regardless, there are most certainly some kind of celestial blessings going on there."

"The second thing is that the Celestial Summit serves as a gathering place for all of the most powerful and important demiurgic figures through all of Rozdarta." Callan was getting more excited the longer he talked. "All of the major players attend. The Tempestuous King Maggard Stormrike, the Sword Saint Takahiro Suzume, the rulers of the great Azure Sea, and the rulers of the Theocratic Alliance. The Flame's Ire is even there!"

Forfend had heard a couple of those names a time or two, but it couldn't honestly say it was familiar with any of them.

Jessie had talked about them with something between pity and disapproval. He'd never liked the idea of demigods wielding their abilities to gain power and control, but he also recognized that the path was unavoidable for many of them.

Forfend agreed. As a demigod, it felt it had a responsibility to do good and help others. That responsibility did not require it to gain fortune and notoriety. It preferred to live quietly which is why it didn't share its status with just anyone.

Most people assumed it was a blessed statue and nothing more. It was fine with that.

"The Celestial Summit was founded when, ah, well..." Callan shrugged. "To be honest, the details have mostly been lost to time. But they say a group of powerful demigods banded together there to fight back against a calamity of some sort. It was something about a cult, they say."

Callan's eyes lit up. "There were a number of demigods who were members of the Celestial Alliance, namely Takahiro Suzume the Sword Saint! He is still around, though the other founding members have since passed. Takahiro Suzume is a demigod of Deallus and he's known to be able to wield any weapon to its fullest potential with unrivaled expertise!"

"There's also Nero Archontas the Riptide! They say she could manipulate water at a whim to create massive waves!" Callan threw his hands out to emphasize.

"And Tachys Featherhand the Tempest! He wielded control of the weather at his fingertips! Asheaon the Amber Saint for which the land of Ashea is named! He was known as an incredibly kind paladin!" Callan was getting visibly more excited, practically bouncing as he described these people. "Warick Exypnos the All Knowing from the great Adamantine Mountains! He was a great wizard, but he unfortunately passed rather recently. Ah, there's also Casvir Harmony the Inspiring! A great bard and diplomat of the Kuumedian Desert famed for his leadership and kindness. He was actually the one to bring the Desert together!"

"The last member of the Celestial Alliance is Vallurn Senshi the Undying." Callan leaned in conspiratorially. "I've actually heard rumor he's still alive, but no one knows for sure."

"Wait, what was that name again?" Kagoshi sat up, tuning in for the first time since Callan began speaking.

"Vallurn Senshi, the Undying demigod. He was, or perhaps is, a giant. It's said he has the ability to become impervious to damage for a short time."

Kagoshi stared intently, the gears in his mind turning. He didn't seem to find whatever information he was trying to recall. Perplexity settled on his face.

"There's an old tale about a great wave of fire that threatened to destroy the entire Kuumedian Desert. They say he stood in front of the blaze and parted the flames into the air," Callan shared. "It's a fascinating story and it is my favorite out of all the stories I've heard."

Forfend tilted its head. These were all epic tales of extraordinary individuals, but that's all they were. They did little to actually explain anything.

"May I ask what it is they do at the Celestial Summit?"

"It's, um, they..." Callan trailed off. "I've never actually been invited. I don't know firsthand." He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. "You either have to be formally invited or make yourself famed enough to earn a title. I hope to gain entry one day but from what I understand, they gather together to discuss the state of the world and keep the peace in Rozdarta. They have something known as the Pact at World's End which is where they've agreed to leave the leadership of... uhm..." He trailed off again and creased his brow like he was trying to remember. "Ah, well, I'm not very into politics, so I can't say. I know all about the Celestial Alliance and the Celestial Summit, but the legal jargon escapes me. They essentially just keep the peace."

Forfend gazed up at the blue sky. "It sounds like racket." The Celestial Summit sounded like demigods ruling the world by abusing their powers, deciding what was right and wrong, what was legal and illegal, what would and would not be tolerated all across Rozdarta without the input of the people they governed. That didn't sit right with Forfend.

"Yes, it is very complicated," Callan nodded. "They do things like make sure no one is committing illegal warfare and that any wars that occur actually have grounds for the conflict. Can't have people warring for no reason. That would bring all our lives crashing down around us."

"And why do you want to join this Summit?" Forfend asked. Callan wasn't political, but he was looking at a great deal of political work if he chose this path. Forfend doubted he'd be suited for it.

"Well, you see, I made a promise a long time ago. I personally want to fulfill my goal of becoming a great hero. One for the legends, as they say. Like Vallurn! Honestly, I'm still surprised you don't know any of these stories."

Kagoshi cast a sharp glance at Kairi and she returned a knowing smirk.

Forfend felt it had missed the context for their silent conversation.

"Vallurn," Forfend repeated to itself. The more Callan said the name, the more familiar it sounded.

Jace.

Jace talked about Vallurn as a great hero.

Forfend could never tell which stories he'd heard and which ones he'd made up though. He was hardly a reliable source.

"I'm trying to gain some notoriety for myself to achieve my goal and I've recently heard rumor of a sort of festival of combat taking place in the deadlands of the Kuumedian Desert," Callan shared. "I actually came here to Tyrwedia to train for that event!"

Kagoshi leaned forward, listening intently.

"I've also caught wind of a rumor that four famous warriors have all traveled here for one reason or another. I'm hoping to test my mettle against them, but my bout with you, Kagoshi, was a very unexpected event!" Callan flashed a friendly grin. "I mean no disrespect in this, but you don't strike me as someone with a great deal of renown. Especially given that you don't have a title. So I assume you aren't one of the famous warriors."

"No, I'm not," Kagoshi answered flatly. "But they do pique my interest."

"Oh yes, certainly!" Callan almost shouted. "One even came from the great Fulgar Isles! The one with the Swiftblade! Could you imagine that?!"

"So tell me more about the festival of combat," Kagoshi nudged.

"Oh, well--"

Forfend cut Callan off with a sharp sound like metal across a whetstone. "Before we can do anything else, we must get to Cragwall and clear Jessie's name."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Kagoshi scoffed and waved dismissively. "How long do we have until the festival?"

"They didn't give a specific date, I'm afraid. Just something about the stars aligning." Callan shrugged.

"Ah, shit. A fucking riddle."

Melzaryn held up a finger. "The stars align in the colder months, but before the first frost. It's already cooling off, so you've got two months, give or take. Maybe three."

"Oh!" Callan yelled. "That makes since! Right around when the winter season first begins!"

"There, ya see," Kagoshi huffed at Forfend. "We have plenty of time to take care of this bullshit for the town and then we can--"

Forfend cut him off. "And then I can go home."

"Sure, yeah," Kagoshi said dismissively.

Kairi nudged him a bit, but he paid her no mind.

"Oh, I'm sorry, is there some sort of issue you've got going on here?" Callan asked.

"Yes," Forfend replied simply.

"Forfend, explain," Kagoshi rolled his eyes.

"I'll help if I can," Callan insisted.

Steam hissed as Forfend released a heavy sigh and allowed its shoulders to hunch. "A monster attacked our town. It was stealing children. We hunted it down, retrieved the children, found military supplies on the way, and brought them with us when we returned to town. The military came into town two days later and we were happy to return their supplies, but they refused to listen to us. They claimed we had stolen them and attempted to arrest the town leader, a very dear friend of mine. I was able to convince them not to incarcerate him until we could reach Cragwall and make an appeal for his innocence, but he is still on house arrest and will be until his name is cleared. We must get to Cragwall within the next week."

"I see. Perhaps you could... Hm, no," Callan stopped himself, rubbing at his chin as he thought. "It's a bit odd, but Tyrwedian doesn't have a ruling demigod. It's been odd how many renowned warriors have been coming here as well. All in all, Tyrwedia is quite new in terms of lordship. It's actually a vassal state for the Howling Plains of Begstrom, though I'm not certain precisely how that came about. Anyway, I'm off on a tangent here. Would you like some assistance with this?"

"Assistance how? Do you know a lawyer I could hire?" Forfend deadpanned.

"Well... no," Callan admitted sheepishly. "But I do know that two or three days northward from here is a town called Brightcrossing. It's on the way. We'll pass right through it on the path to Cragwall. The Summerstead noble family has some investment there. If you can gain their favor, they may be willing to assist you. They have some sway with the other nobles in Cragwall. They could vouch for you."

"That is helpful," Forfend nodded gratefully.

"How would we make them like us?" Kairi asked.

"Hm," Callan mused. "Tyrwedia isn't a particularly powerful nation. Being so new and without demigod leaders, it doesn't have its bases covered in regards to defense and military as well as its neighboring nations. If you were to offer the Summersteads your divine assistance, I'm sure they'd be very grateful."

"That could work," Kairi nodded.

"I think the Fulgar Isles are an excellent example of that. Despite the recent incursion there where some thieves attempted to raid Takahiro's castle, the nation's reputation hasn't suffered. No one dares raise a hand against them simply because of Takahiro's presence," Callan announced and then promptly veered off topic. "They say he once cut a mountain in half with a sword! A mundane one at that! Incredible!"

"Yeah, alright, that's kind of impressive," Kagoshi admitted with a half-hearted shrug.

"Kind of?! Callan stared, bug-eyed. "Really?!"

"What? You don't want to aim higher?" Kagoshi asked.

"What?! I-- Well, I mean, I do! Of course!" Callan stuttered. "But it's still impressive, isn't it?"

"Sure," Kagoshi allowed nonchalantly.

Callan turned his shocked gaze to the rest of the party.

Forfend hummed idly. It had fought on battlefields containing full-blooded deities fighting to their highest and most desperate potential. Cutting a mountain in two was not a mortal feat, but neither did it rival the divine acts Forfend had been witness to.

"It's a nice story," Melzaryn spread his hands noncommittally.

Kairi gave a polite little clap as though she was listening to a bard finish a poem rather than a tale of impossible strength.

Callan gaped. After a moment, he collected himself and straightened the furs wrapped around his shoulders. "Would you be willing to allow me to travel with you for a while?"

Forfend nodded. "I see no reason not to. At the very least, we could have you around to..." it trailed off, glancing at Kagoshi. "Help keep him under control," it finished with less bite than its first thought had harbored.

Melzaryn nodded. "Always glad to welcome more heavy lifters."

"It'll be fun to have you along!" Kairi called cheerfully in a singsong voice.

"It's fine," Kagoshi huffed as though he didn't care at all.

"Fantastic, I haven't had much company in a very long time," Callan admitted. "I still need to partake in my training, so I won't stay for too terribly long. Thank you for having me."

Forfend bowed its head politely.

"I've actually never met any other demigods in person," Callan said.

"Nor have I." Forfend looked over the odd group in this new light.

"But you've all met each other," Callan observed with some confusion.

"I was quite certain of Kagoshi, but not Melzaryn or Kairi. Not until now."

"Ah, I see."

"I am still not certain if I would call Kagoshi's transformation a demigod ability," Forfend admitted.

"I understand," Callan nodded. "Sometimes people do claim to be demigods when they're not. You can never be too certain until you see their powers for yourself. Kagoshi's ability and its drawbacks do fall right into line with everything I know about demigod abilities though."

Forfend hummed. Callan was an odd one, but he seemed to be a library of demigod information. Perhaps it was best to defer to his expertise.

Callan clapped and stood up. "Well, since you're all on a time limit and I think we've rested adequately, how about we get a move on, yes?"

"Yeah," Kagoshi grunted as he climbed to his feet. Kairi's healing had certainly helped but he still looked rough around the edges. "And off the demigod topic."

"Oh. Alright." Callan looked crestfallen.

Forfend's rune light flicked on. It had heard Callan grunting and huffing as he'd followed his training routine before he'd gone to bed last night, but he was already up and performing a similar routine this morning.

Sunlight cast dim rays over the horizon, but it wouldn't be morning proper for a while yet.

Forfend stood and turned from where it watched the road.

Callan struck at the air with vicious punches, dodging invisible fists swinging back at him. When he caught sight of Forfend, he paused and rolled his shoulders.

"Oh, good morning," he panted.

Forfend lumbered toward him and glanced around the campsite. It felt like it should be lighting the forge and attending to the morning ritual with Fletch. They always took the time to offer their hard work and routine up to Fornax before they opened the shop in the morning. Sometimes, Fletch burned an offering.

That routine had been shattered by these unexpected circumstances and Forfend wasn't certain how to worship Fornax properly while traveling like this. It felt like it had nothing to do with its hands.

"Uhm, good morning," Callan repeated, leaning back into Forfend's field of vision curiously.

Forfend locked its gaze on him. It had lost itself in contemplation. "Good morning," it finally returned.

"I accidentally acquired some breakfast this morning." Callan scratched at the back of his neck, a sheepish smile following the blush climbing his cheeks.

"I heard," Forfend nodded.

Callan had turned himself to metal and been slamming himself into trees for a good portion of the morning. One of them hadn't been able to withstand the force. It had fallen and crushed a startled deer.

Given that it didn't sleep, Forfend had watched the event play out and, subsequently, it had also watched Callan skin and cook his impromptu kill. Forfend was shocked no one else had awoken. If they had, they'd gone straight back to sleep without investigating.

"Oh, did you? I apologize," Callan ducked his head.

After a moment, he stepped over to the campfire, disrobed completely, turned himself to adamantine, rearranged the wood with his bare hands, and sat down in the middle of the flames.

"You did not wake me," Forfend assured. "I do not sleep."

"Oh, well, that's good, I suppose." Callan settled into the fire, his metal body slowly heating up.

Forfend gathered some of the firewood they'd set aside and added to Callan's careful arrangement, stoking the fire around him.

"May I ask how you first discovered you had been blessed by Fornax?" it asked as it sat down in front of him.

"Hm. I've had this ability for as long as I can remember. Since birth, actually." Callan smiled fondly. "My mother likes to tell the story. My father held me just after I was born. I turned to adamantine and, between the sudden weight and how severely I'd startled him, he dropped me. I hit the floor without any damage at all."

Forfend gave a rumbling chuckle.

"My parents took a look into it and determined I was indeed blessed by Fornax. They were both blacksmiths, you see. They thought perhaps my abilities had been gifted to me to better suit forge work. After all, I can withstand high temperatures using my Forge Body. That's what I've named my demigod ability, by the way. Forge Body." Callan held up his metallic hand, watching the reflected firefight dance across his skin.

Forfend caught itself staring as well. The effect was entrancing.

"Over time, we realized that my abilities extend beyond just turning into metal." He reached down and tapped one of the logs crackling in the heat. When he nudged it out of the fire, it continued glowing with a golden magical Light. "I have celestial blood of some type as well. My parents did more research and we asked a traveling arcanist for his thoughts. We came to the conclusion that I'm both Aasimar and a demigod."

"Very interesting," Forfend hummed.

"What about you?" Callan asked. "Well, you're quite sure of your creation though, aren't you? Since you were built during the Sundering."

"I am," Forfend confirmed. "I was designed specifically to fight the forces of Atrox and I did so up until I was damaged."

"Is the metal part the damaged part or the stone?"

"The metal is quite new. The blacksmith that discovered me designed it for me," Forfend answered. "In fact, he is the reason I reawoke."

"Ah!" Callan exclaimed. "Isn't that interesting? We both have blacksmiths in our lives."

"I am a blacksmith myself now. I decided to learn Fletch's craft in the absence of further instruction from Fornax." Forfend twiddled its fingers together. It still felt like it should be working on that craft right now, though it had no means to do so.

"In an odd turn of events, I'm actually not very talented in that regard," Callan admitted. "I'm excellent as an assistant in the forge, but my hands are too clumsy to perform the craft itself."

"Odd," Forfend commented and held up its thick, stony hands. By all rights, it should've been quite clumsy itself. "I have become quite skilled, even if I do say so myself." It didn't intend to brag, but it had surprised itself with how quickly it had picked up the skill and how quickly it had surpassed Fletch.

"Really? What are some of the things you've made?" Callan leaned forward, interest sparkling in his eyes.

Forfend slipped its shield from its arms and pulled its mace from its belt. "Both of these were my doing, though I was still somewhat new to the craft then. Fletch assisted greatly."

Callan reached out of the fire and ran his red hot hands down the edge of the shield. "It's expertly crafted, I must say."

"Thank you," Forfend nodded graciously.

Callan tilted his head. "I've shared my demigod ability with you, but I don't believe you answered that question yesterday, did you? Would you mind sharing now, since we're on the topic of it again?"

Forfend hesitated. Jessie and Fletch had warned it to be careful of sharing its status and abilities. Demigods were predisposed to long lifespans, but many who became well known suffered short and tragic lives. Many, perhaps even most, demigods did not know peace.

"It does require significant trust. I'll understand if you don't want to," Callan promised.

Forfend hummed. It did like Callan. They shared a blessing after all. It may even be a disservice to Fornax to scorn another of his chosen.

"Alright," it decided. "I refer to the ability as Soul Forge. I can create a raw material from nothing and magically convert it into a form I can use. For example, I could manifest a length of raw wood and fashion it into a bridge in the span of around three seconds. The drawback is that it uses my life essence. The ability is very painful and potentially deadly under the wrong circumstances."

"That is... Frankly, that's amazing if not a little frightening. It could really kill you?" Callan asked.

"It nearly did the last time I used it. I took a dangerous risk," Forfend confirmed.

"Incredible." Callan started to say more but the tents rustled behind them.

Kagoshi and Kairi crawled blearily out of their bedrolls into the early morning light. Melzaryn followed shortly from his own tent, though he looked much more awake and aware.

"Good morning," Callan greeted as he pulled a chunk of firewood over his bare lap to cover himself. "There's venison for breakfast. Help yourself."

"Thank you," Kairi almost sang as she made herself a plate and sat down a ways off, closer to the road so she could watch the sunrise.

Kagoshi snagged two hefty handfuls of meat without a single word and joined Kairi.

"Thanks," Melzaryn grinned cheerfully, filled his plate with more than he should reasonably be able to eat, and returned to his bedroll to enjoy the meal.

Once everyone was settled again, Callan turned back to Forfend. "I've heard that there are many demigods who aren't proud of their power. Perhaps because they never asked for it or because the drawback is more than they can handle. Sometimes simply because the ability doesn't suit them. I feel that your power suits you well though. You're a creation of Fornax and thus able to create from nothing the way he can, though as a mortal you suffer consequences."

Forfend nodded. It also felt its power was an excellent fit for its personality and abilities, though Callan was technically wrong about it being mortal. It could die, yes, but only if it were killed. Disregarding outside factors, it would live indefinitely. Its inorganic body wouldn't age or decay.

"It does suit me," Forfend said aloud after a moment. "That said, it is still very dangerous. As I told you, I am quite lucky my last use of it was not the end of me."

"May I ask what you created?"

"A massive block of lead," Forfend shared. "I used it to crush that monster I mentioned to you. The one that was kidnapping children."

Callan snorted. "Frankly, that's hilarious."

"It is now, yes," it agreed. "At the time, it was quite terrifying."

"I'm imagining this great creature trying to flee from you, thinking it's almost gotten away and then..." Callan stifled a laugh. "Have you ever heard those silly bard tales, the ones for children, where an anvil falls from nowhere and hits someone on the head?"

A deep rumbling sounded from within Forfend's chest as it chuckled.

"Like that, but even more absurd," Callan let the giggle escape him properly this time.

Forfend's chest lit up bright orange.

Callan grinned. "That's an incredible power. When it comes to demigods and their abilities, I am quite the fanatic. I'm sure you've noticed."

Forfend nodded.

He grew more serious then, glancing at Kagoshi's back. "Some demigods see our powers as a gift, but for others... They feel like they've been cursed. Like the downside outweighs the upside."

Forfend hummed and watched Kagoshi chat absently with Kairi as the morning sky turned golden in front of them. "I can see how some would come to that conclusion."

"Those downsides, though. I believe they can be overcome. I believe the ability is worth the drawback. Look at you, for example," Callan spoke adamantly and gestured at Forfend's body as a whole. "I mean no offense by this, but you are a statue. You're an artificial being, but your blessing allows you to do something on par with the power of gods. You can literally create something from nothing!"

Forfend nodded, listening intently.

"In contrast, I turn myself from flesh into an object," Callan continued. He stood and stepped out of the fire. Once his body had cooled from glowing red back to its silvery sheen, he returned to his original form and pulled his clothes back on. "I become something soulless and artificial."

Forfend heard rocks grind in its chest, but it let the feeling go. Callan meant no offense. In fact, he seemed solemn, reflective.

"It caused me quite a bit of trouble growing up back home. Since then, I've come into my own. The power is mine." Callan perked himself up, determination strong in his stance.

"I understand that certain powers have very serious drawbacks," Callan continued, gesturing slightly in Kagoshi's direction. "Dangerous, even. But those drawbacks can be overcome. It seems unfair to judge him based purely on the worst aspect of his ability."

Forfend averted its gaze and straightened its back, considering Callan's argument.

"During the transition, he was at least somewhat aware of his surroundings. That means he's got some lucidity so there must be some way to calm him," Callan theorized.

"Kairi can help him. Somewhat," Forfend acknowledged. "It seems he does not want to harm her."

"Well, there it is then!" Callan exclaimed, then cleared his throat and lowered his voice again. "If one person can assist him, then others could surely learn as well. Maybe he could even eventually learn to calm himself and become capable of channeling his power."

"I hope so," Forfend hummed solemnly. "He is exceptionally dangerous."

"Sometimes danger is worth it," Callan insisted. "My drawback is rather unpleasant in combat. Fighting for sport and glory is what I want to do, but my ability is a double-edged sword. It helps as much as it makes things more dangerous for me. You see, I cannot be healed while in my adamantine form."

Metal ran up Callan's arms again. He flexed his metallic fingers.

"You cannot heal? At all?" Forfend asked incredulously. It grazed its stone hand over Callan's forearm. Something about touching the metal made Callan's claim sink in.

Unlike Forfend, the inorganic material was not his body. It was only his power. It wouldn't respond to magics meant for living beings.

"If I were to be, for example, impaled while using Forge Body, no healing could be performed until I returned to my original form. At that point, I'd begin bleeding very significantly. If I wasn't already in the presence of a talented healer, I would certainly die. I also can't be healed in the midst of battle if I'm using it, so I can't magically enhance my stamina either." Callan let the metal slip back down his arms and disappear. "It's a delicate dance discerning how much damage my Forge Body can handle before I start sustaining serious injury."

"It sounds difficult," Forfend sympathized.

"It is. It has been," Callan blurted. His eyebrows twitched upward as though he was surprised by his own comment. He gave a slight shrug and continued the thought, "I grew up in frigid lands. It was cold enough for metal to freeze and become brittle. When people learned that even clerical healing magics could not heal me, it... It garnered some ill intent."

"I am sorry," Forfend said sincerely. It had been lucky enough so far not to be ostracized from a community. It couldn't imagine how difficult that must've been, especially for a child.

"It's alright." Callan lifted his chin up. "The downside to my ability does not define me. I am not my flaws."

Forfend gazed towards Kagoshi again, more intensely than before.

"I don't believe they should be all he is either." Callan placed a hand on Forfend's shoulder. "From your kin--if I may be so bold?"

Forfend nodded. It certainly did feel kinship with a fellow demigod of Fornax, and especially one so open as Callan.

"From your kin," Callan repeated, "please don't judge him only for his drawback. He can't help it. He didn't choose it. And I honestly believe he's already making attempts to overcome it."

Forfend hummed.

"Perhaps you could even try to help him, rather than only remaining paranoid. I've seen how you try to either stay away from Kagoshi or put yourself between him and everyone else, like you may need to protect us all from him."

Melzaryn got up from his bedroll and deposited his plate next to the fire. He made his way over to the other pair and took a seat right by Kagoshi, striking up conversation amicably.

Callan and Forfend both watched the trek.

"They don't fear him," Callan insisted. "You shouldn't either."

Steam hissed loudly and for a long moment. "I understand your point," Forfend allowed. "I think I will still harbor distrust for some time yet though. I cannot escape it. The first time he attacked me, I was holding a child from my village. If I had been a second slower, Kagoshi would have killed him. It was also the first time I had been damaged since I awoke in this era. It was frightening. I am still frightened, I must admit."

"I see. Well, those wounds will heal with time," Callan assured.

Forfend nodded. It hoped they would.

Callan was right about what it should be doing regarding Kagoshi. Fearing and distrusting him would not help his plight. If it allowed itself to let go of its fear, it could meaningfully assist him. If Kagoshi allowed it, that was. It found itself hoping he would.

"I trust you will make the right decision for yourself and your friends," Callan spoke up again.

"You are quite the interesting person," Forfend complimented, pulling its gaze away from Kagoshi for the first time in a while.

"I could say the same to you," Callan smiled.

"Have you tried eating before?" Callan asked, nudging Forfend. He held a chunk of dried venison in his hand.

Forfend didn't take it. "I have no idea how I would achieve such a feat."

"Perhaps you could drop it down one of your chimneys." Callan jumped up onto Forfend's back, not unlike how Jace usually did.

Forfend twisted, a panicked rockfall tumbling loudly from within its chest as it tried to snag Callan. "I think all that will earn you is smoke-covered meat and then a rotting smell I will have a great deal of trouble removing!"

"Smoked meat is good though," Callan insisted, laughing as he evaded Forfend's grasping hands.

"I disagree," Forfend protested.

Callan's foot slipped and he fell to the ground in the midst of a giggling fit. The venison lie wasted on the dirt road.

Steam hissed. Forfend crossed its arms. After a moment, the light in its chest lit up. It chuckled despite itself and offered Callan a hand.

Callan accepted, collecting himself.

Kairi and Melzaryn both wore amused grins.

Kagoshi was stone-faced as always.

Callan grinned at him and tossed his head towards the dropoff they walked alongside. It wasn't nearly so deep as the last, but it was still a good thirty feet. "Would you like to jump off the edge here as a test of endurance?"

Kagoshi scoffed and rolled his eyes. It was the dozenth little challenge Callan had offered. Kagoshi had just bested him in an impromptu arm wrestling contest only an hour ago.

"Sure, yeah, we can jump off the cliff," Kagoshi shrugged and stepped up to the edge.

Callan strode up beside him. "Alright. On the count of--"

Kagoshi pushed him off the cliff.

Forfend rushed to the edge and watched as Callan's skin rapidly transmuted into adamantine. He landed headfirst in the mud at the bottom and struggled uselessly to free himself.

Kagoshi laughed scornfully.

Kairi summoned her glittering purple wings and floated softly down towards Callan.

Melzaryn snickered.

Forfend turned to ask him what he was laughing at, but suddenly found itself wrapped in magic.

In a blink, it was teleported over the edge of the cliff. It only just had enough time to lock its startled gaze onto Melzaryn's smug face before it fell.

Melzaryn jumped after it and swung his staff.

Forfend jolted as it suddenly stopped falling. It was floating now, as gently as Kairi under the effects of Melzaryn's Feather Fall.

Melzaryn giggled to himself as they drifted downwards.

Below them, Callan gave muffled cries for help. In his hurried attempt to free his head, he'd ended up sinking up to his elbows. He kicked and struggled, but he was getting nowhere. All he was really doing was sinking faster.

Kagoshi half climbed, half slid down the steep drop.

Forfend landed lightly on a drier section of ground than Callan had hit and tugged Melzaryn out of the sky.

"You have me quite a start," it reprimanded, the light in its chest shining through with an embarrassed reddish-orange.

Melzaryn pat its arm. "Sorry, but it was pretty funny."

Standing safely on relatively solid dirt, Forfend couldn't disagree. It wasn't often involved in practical jokes, but it couldn't deny the humor in them.

Kagoshi tromped through the muck and snatched Callan's furs, hauling him upright just the way he had the first time they'd met.

Kairi fluttered over and wiped the mud from his eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked through a laugh.

Callan spat mud, his face screwed up with disgust at the taste. "I'm quite alright," he assured as he shook himself off and allowed the metal to recede from his skin. "And what a test of my agility that was! I think I can safely say I won this round."

"Ya sure can," Kagoshi smirked.

"You realize we now have to climb back up the cliff, yes?" Forfend inquired.

There was a group groan from everyone but Kairi. She was already soaring back to the top and laughing gleefully at her companions.

"Oh, wait a minute," Melzaryn shook his head and rolled his eyes like he thought himself dull for having forgotten something. He snapped his fingers and was gone. "Good luck," he suddenly called from the top of the cliff.

There was another groan from Kagoshi and Callan. Forfend joined with a rush of steam.

"We're nearly to Brightcrossing," Callan mentioned as they walked.

It was the fifth day of travel already. Forfend had found the time passing more easily with Callan around. He joked and teased and told stories, keeping everyone's spirits up.

Forfend had even begun joining him at the end of his morning routine, stoking the fire around him and meditating on the flickering licks of flame.

It was only a few more minutes before they crested a hill and saw the town in the distance.

Just at a glance, Forfend could tell the town was larger than Foumedo. It wasn't the largest city Forfend had heard about, but it was still larger than anywhere Forfend had been before.

Farmland surrounded the area, fruits and vegetables and grains offering a fresh scent in the air.

It was a beautiful day. It struck Forfend as odd it hadn't seen anyone tending the fields yet. It started to keep an eye out for farmers.

"Hey, guys," Kairi said, pointing to the road ahead. "Wagon."

"Wagon?" Melzaryn asked.

"Wagon," Forfend confirmed as it caught sight of the tipped carriage stranded in the middle of the path.

"Yeah, it's a wagon!" Kagoshi griped harshly. "Can we move on?"

Callan tilted his head, confusion knitting his brows as he glanced between the group and the carriage. "W-wagon," he repeated hesitantly.

"Oh, shut up!" Kagoshi huffed.

"It is strange though," Forfend mentioned. "We should see if they need assistance."

It picked up its pace.

As it gained a better vantage point, it spotted three farmers standing at the back of the carriage. In the ground it front of them writhed a mess of black shapes. Forfend couldn't make out what they were, aside from creepy.

One of the farmers yelled something and another took off running as quickly as he could toward town.

The two remaining farmers pulled pitchforks from their fallen cart and jabbed at the approaching mass of what might've been oversized centipedes. Forfend still couldn't get a clear look at them as it rushed closer with its companions right on its heels.

The black wiggling monsters disappeared beneath the earth.

"What's happening? I can't see," Callan yelled from behind Forfend.

"Is everything okay?!" Forfend yelled to the farmers. "Do you need help?!"

"Who the hell are?!" one of the farmers yelled, his voice shrill with fear. "What do you want?!"

"Nothing nefarious! We are travelers!" it called back.

"You need to get out of here! There's monsters!" the second farmer hollered.

"What monsters?!" Forfend asked.

As if on cue, the ground fell away in several places. Creatures much larger than the ones it had first seen burst from the holes.

Forfend finally got a good look at them and wished it hadn't.

Their dark carapaces harbored a purple sheen while their undersides were the fleshy pink of exposed intestines. Snapping reptilian jaws produced gutteral hisses and snarls. All six of the monsters' legs ended in serrated knife points.

There were six of them in total. Three were significantly larger than the others. They skittered toward the frightened farmers.

Melzaryn didn't waste a second. He hefted his staff like a crossbow, his eyes glowing as magic audibly crackled. A massive white bolt split the air like thunder, launching free of the staff with enough force to slide Melzaryn backwards a few inches despite how he'd dug in his heels.

The bolt separated. Each Magic Missile slammed into its individual target.

Every monstrous bug on the field chittered and writhed in startled pain. They whipped around, clicking their sharp teeth together. They all scattered at once into their burrows.

Kagoshi charged forward and froze, fists at the ready for when the beasts emerged.

Kairi stepped off the edge of the road. Magic crackled around her fingers. She scanned the ground for any sign the bugs were burrowing beneath her.

Forfend freed its mace from its belt and shifted its shield in front of itself. It quickly tapped the medallion on its chest. "Fornax, lend me your hammer," it muttered.

Fiery orange magic spilled from the symbol. The sound of metal striking metal rang out as the magic coalesced into a massive forge hammer. Forfend willed the weapon to position itself right in the middle of the group.

Forfend prepared to strike at the insects the moment they showed themselves.

The farmers scrambled up onto their cart's side. They held their pitchforks at the ready, but they were watching the demigods much more than their own feet.

Callan spun around, seeing everyone else take battle stances. He'd never actually gotten a glimpse at the monsters and was quite bewildered.

"Alright, okay, a fight," he nodded and took his own battle stance. Metal shot across his body at lightning speed. He clanged his adamantine fists together.

"Good news, I got their attention," Melzaryn grinned. "Unfortunately, I got their attention." He slid himself between Callan and Forfend's floating Spiritual Weapon.

Melzaryn's eyes darted across the earth. "The ground's weak where the monsters are burrowing. They're headed straight toward us, fast." He still sounded perfectly cheerful.

All at once, the dirt beneath Melzaryn's feet rose and then buckled. Clacking teeth burst up and tried to snag his feet as he all but danced out of the way.

Callan yelped and swung at the monster, but his foot slipped into the collapsing earth. "Aah!" he yelled, "I'm trapped again!"

"Eep!" Kairi startled, blasting a glittering pink Guiding Bolt at the thrashing bug. She missed in her haste and the sparkling stars dissipated into the grass.

"Where are the others?!" Kagoshi demanded.

"I don't know!" Melzaryn snapped. "They're underground!" He kicked the monster before it could sink its teeth and claws into his leg.

Kagoshi dashed up to where Melzaryn had pointed out weaker ground caused by the first insect's approach and punched through the slightly disturbed soil.

He ripped one of the smaller twisting monsters out of the earth by its throat and crushed it with his bare fists.

Kagoshi dropped the dripping, twitching corpse and slammed his hand back into the hole. He ripped another small bug into the sunlight.

This one squealed and hissed.

Kagoshi crushed it too and tossed it over his shoulder.

Kairi giggled manically as an idea struck her. "Kagoshi, watch this."

She raised her quarterstaff and spun, chanting and trailing sparkles as a rainbow portal swirled into being a few feet above the hole Kagoshi had made.

Water suddenly gushed from it with deadly force, rocketing into the hole.

The summoned Tidal Wave filled the underground rapidly, cracking the earth and sending spouts of water gushing high up into the air.

Melzaryn, Kagoshi, and Callan all got thoroughly soaked by the sudden rain.

Bugs were launched out of the ground, screeching wildly, and splattered on the road. One curled up and died on impact.

Forfend's Spiritual Weapon struck at one as it fell, launching the beast into the mud. Blood and viscera splattered as its carapace shattered.

Forfend nodded at another squirming bug and the Weapon zipped to it immediately, slamming down on the creature with reckless abandon.

More gore spilled and blood sizzled on the hammer's scorching surface.

Forfend paced to the last struggling monster and crushed the thing beneath its mace with a satisfying crunch.

Forfend shook the blood from its weapon, dispelled the Magical Weapon in a spray of sparks, and turned to face the slack-jawed farmers.

"By the gods!" one of them yelled.

"Are you alright?" Forfend asked again. It slipped its mace back into its belt. It didn't want to appear threatening.

"What the hells?!" the other farmer hollered.

"I'm still stuck," Callan sighed. "I think I can get myself out."

Forfend spared a glance at Callan. He was muddy, sopping wet, and visibly disappointed at losing his chance to hit something.

Kagoshi and Melzaryn looked only a bit less damp and dirty, but they didn't have their legs stuck in a pit of muck so it was still a significant improvement.

Forfend realized even it had gotten splashed.

Kairi giggled, dry as a bone.

Kagoshi offered his hand, allowing Callan to pry himself free with the added leverage.

Melzaryn shook himself off like a wet dog, Prestidigitation freeing the muck from him and splattering some of it onto a disgruntled Callan.

Forfend turned back to the farmers and made its way towards them. It stopped well short and knelt to make itself less frightening.

Kairi followed it, twirling her skirt as she stood at its side.

"That is one hell of a golem," the taller farmer whistled, impressed.

"Are you alright?" Forfend asked.

"Oh gods, it speaks," he jumped. "Are you really a golem?"

"I am not," Forfend shook its head.

"Then what do I call you?"

"I am Forfend."

"You're one hell of a Forfend!" the farmer praised.

"Forfend is my name," it corrected. "I am a Fornaxian."

"Well, you're one hell of a Fornaxian, Forfend!" He took off his hat and slapped his knee with it for emphasis. "Whew, that's a tongue twister."

"Are you alright? Do you need healing?"

"Nah, nah, we're all good. Just a couple scrapes and bruises from those damn bugs tipping our cart. We were not expecting it," the farmer shook his head vehemently. "Nor were we expecting what the hells you just did here! That was amazing!"

"Thank you." Forfend stood slowly and approached the cart. Neither human looked panicked so Forfend reached out, letting a warm glow flow from its fingers to the farmers.

The tendrils of light found their wounds, slight though they were, and converged around them. Within seconds, the light dissipated along with their pain and injuries.

Both farmers stuttered.

Kairi tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "For a real tongue twister, you could say, 'Fantastic Fornaxian Forfend.'"

"I-I don't think I can," the shorter man managed.

"Who are you?!" the taller one shouted.

"I am Forfend."

"Kairi."

The men gaped incredulously.

Eventually, the taller one wrenched his jaw shut. "Maybe we should get Jimmy. He was running into town."

"I don't think he saw the water explosion," the shorter farmer shook his head. "He ain't gonna stop running. Let him do it anyway. He's so damn lazy."

"That's true, that's true," the taller one agreed and turned to address Forfend and Kairi. "I take it y'all are new around here."

"We are. We are only passing through on the way to Cragwall," Forfend confirmed.

Callan and Melzaryn finally made their way over to the cart. Both waved.

The farmers returned the gesture, though they were both still quite stunned.

"I gotcha. Well, y'all did a great job of handling our little infestation problem there," the taller praised.

"Little," scoffed the shorter man. "It's fucking huge."

"Either way, they did a great job."

"Can't argue with that."

"We appreciate what you've done here," the taller farmer said. "We work for the noble family here, helping out mostly with getting them their fruit for the winery. Do y'all do this sort of thing often? Because if ya do, I'm sure they'll pay you to do it."

"Hush!" the shorter ordered and lightly smacked his companion on the back of the head. "You're being presumptuous! These folks are just passing through! You don't know if they've got the time to help us and you don't know if the guard'll pay them to do it either! They ain't gonna do it."

"I would be happy to assist regardless of a monetary reward," Forfend stated.

"Well, I'll be damned. I stand corrected."

Kagoshi wandered up, a pile of goopy bleeding bug heads stacked in his arms. "We can use these to prove we can help around here. Get on those noble guys' good sides or whatever."

Forfend hummed. It hadn't actually considered that yet, but it was an excellent point. They could use this opportunity to gain favor just as Callan had suggested.

It shook itself from its thoughts to focus on the task at hand. "Do you need help righting your cart?"

"Oh, please." Both farmers nodded and hopped down from on top of it.

"Hang on," Kagoshi huffed and dropped his mound of disembodied bug heads.

He strode over to one side of the wagon and lifted it effortlessly. He had it upright again in seconds.

"Really though, who are you people?" the shorter man asked. "This one's strong as fuck." He pointed at Kagoshi. "And Forfend is a Fornaxian, whatever the hell that means, with some kind of fire magic. Kairi caused a flood. Blondie there was throwing all kinds of magic spells. And that one's metal! Are y'all monster hunters?"

"No," Kagoshi said flatly.

"Not usually," Melzaryn shrugged.

"We've picked up some experience lately," Kairi nodded.

"Crazy stuff," the taller man shook his head incredulously. "Better than we've been doing with our pitchforks, I'll tell ya that."

"You've been fighting these monsters with only pitchforks?" Callan asked.

"Well, normally we run from them. We're usually a little quicker on the draw, but they ambushed us this time," the shorter man explained. "Seems like they're getting smarter as the damn infestation gets nastier."

"Chased our horses off," the taller farmer lamented.

"I will get it," Forfend offered. It took hold of what was left of the reins. It looked like the bugs had bitten them in two. That had been an exceptionally smart move and Forfend hoped it had also been a fluke.

The farmers stared at one another, but slowly they clambered back into their cart.

Forfend tied the remaining rope around its belt and set off, tugging the wagon behind it easily enough.

Melzaryn and Kairi hopped onto the back.

Kagoshi tied up his mess of insect heads to keep them bundled together and walked alongside the cart.

Callan followed, moping a bit.

Forfend watched the city gates draw closer and wondered what would await it and its companions within.

It figured it was about to find out.

#forfend #twilight of the demigods #session notes #session 5 #road to cragwall #brightcrossing #dnd

[lightofcreation]

[ ☂ u asked for it ]

Send me a ☂ to find my character in a dark alley in the middle of a storm, beaten and bloody

This ask is over seven years old. I’m answering it anyways.Readmore for length–I….think………..do readmores still exist? …….they don’t. Oh. Dear. It has truly been A While.

and...my line spacing seems to be broken? I’m going to need to redownload xkit, aren’t I XD

— — — — —

Damnation.

Pain was not something Lehran was unfamiliar with–although, generally, he was more accustomed to the emotional sort than the physical. Physical pain was usually fleeting–as soon as Lorazieh saw the blood, the bruises, the knife, he would step in. He was never forceful about it. Occasionally Lehran wished he would be. That he would at least make it seem like a struggle, rather than a simple matter of calmly placing his own hand over Lehran’s, cradling his head to his chest, and waiting for him to uncurl his fingers of his own accord. Once Lorazieh had control of the knife, he would place it safely out of reach, and begin mending whatever damage Lehran had done to himself. The pain never lasted beyond a dull ache of new healing the next morning.

This. This was quite different.

For one thing, this pain was not confined to his arms, the way most of the wounds Lorazieh tended had been. For another, it had not been self-inflicted. If it had been, he would not have been in an alley in East-Ashera-Nowhere in Daein, in the freezing rain. He coughed, flecks of red mingling with the slush and the mud.

The pain was everywhere.

His chest ached most insistantly, and the tang of iron on his tongue was a testament to the damage. That was the worst of the blows he had received–straight to the solar plexus, likely enough to crack bone. His head ached as well–bleeding, surely, where the stone had hit him? But he couldn’t find the strength to lift his hand to check. He could, with great concentration, flutter his wings under his cloak just enough to be confident that they had not been broken. That was all he dared do with them, in Daein. If anyone found out that he was a laguz here…he closed his eyes.

You’ve been chasing death for centuries, Lehran, would it really be so bad?

It was not exactly the death he had hoped for. Something quicker and more painless would have been ideal, but he supposed that beggars could not be choosers and he ought to be grateful that it was finally his turn. Finally…he coughed again, trying not to imagine the worried look on Lorazieh’s face as the weeks passed and he still simply did not return. Lorazieh was a worrier. Lorazieh…deserved better than that. Deserved to at least know…what became of him. Closure, if nothing else.

Perhaps death was not to be found here after all.

One muscle at a time, he tried to move. A twitch of the fingertips, a halfhearted attempt to curl his fingers. Even that hurt. His arm couldn’t support his weight, and he slumped back into the bloodied snow with a groan. What are herons made of? Spun glass? He could hear Altina’s voice as if she were standing beside him. Shattered glass would at least leave an attacker’s fingers bleeding. He wasn’t sure that he’d even managed that–the Reaper card he carried was not exactly a fast weapon.

Footsteps.

He was surprised he could hear them–surprised that his consciousness wasn’t taken up completely by the pain, and the sound of the sleet. Did he call out for help? He wasn’t sure he could. Would it even be wise? He forced his eyes open once more, trying to see who the footsteps belonged to. Perhaps…perhaps he could guess by appearances if the stranger meant harm. Pitiful, a heron who couldn’t tell by soul.

The decision was made for him. 

The footsteps approached. They were heavy–a soldier, perhaps. A little late to drive off the bandits, he thought dryly. Or, as dryly as one who had been laying in a puddle for Goddess-knows-how-long could. His eyes slipped closed once more. Heavy…everything was heavy. Footsteps, his limbs, his eyelids…

“What in the–”

He recognized the sound of armor, and guessed perhaps that the man had knelt.

“Can you hear me?”

Lehran tried to speak, but all he managed was another pitiful, bloody cough. Was that an answer? He wasn’t sure. He tried again, and rasped a “Yes” that sounded as if it had been drowned in a bucket and dragged over cobblestones.

“What happened?”

Bold of the stranger to assume that Lehran had the capacity to explain much, when it had taken a great deal of effort to even confirm that he was anything approaching conscious. He breathed as deeply as he dared, and wheezed on the exhale, “Thieves…”

More armor sounds. Suddenly there was a hand on his throat, and his eyes snapped open. He felt the pressure of his cloak wrapped around his wings, the instinct to flare them out foiled only by the way he’d fallen and pinned them in place.

“Calm down,” the knight said, one armored hand holding the gauntlet and glove that belonged on the other. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Who…” Lehran coughed.

“Zelgius,” the knight answered, withdrawing his hand from Lehran’s throat. “Of the Daein army.”

#tw: suicide mention #tw: self harm #HERE YOU GO TIFA #I guess I sent this to you almost a year ago but now it's on tumblr too XD #it's been ages since I got to use my favorite plot device (tm) and I've missed it

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Sirius landed on the top bunk, blood splattering over them all as well as the blue blankets and dripping to the floor as he screamed and writhed in pain.

Peter landed on the bottom one, curling around the stump of his hand and clenching his teeth against sobbing.

It was controlled chaos as the others reacted on instinct to help, Remus almost achieved flight as he snatched the nearest person's wand away to be where Padfoot was, a quick charm to mend the stream of bleeding at last, he only paused long enough to see the skin seamlessly fold back together without a trace and then a desperate look around at the others.

Regulus was doubled over coughing, it had been his wand. There was a sickening crack as Frank made something in Lily's chest go back to where it should be and she sobbed and wrapped her arms tighter around her torso. James had a disturbing patch of hair that was matted with blood to the side of his head where Alice had just tried to fix.

Remus was still holding Sirius down, his boyfriend cussing them out like music to his ears as he fought back a fresh wave of terror. He was alive, thank Merlin he was actually still alive...

Regulus had stumbled over to Peter and was trying to roll him over to see if there was anything else he could do. The place where his skin ended was solid black, no bone or sinew even showing what once had been there, it just folded and twisted in a sickening display where the flesh now lacked.

"What happened?" Alice demanded in pure horror. James recast the healing charm on himself, finishing up the damage and feeling the disturbing slide as his skull fully reconnected and the bones clicked back into place.

"Tree," he muttered before he realized she wasn't talking to him and saw it too.

"Some crazy fire," Peter croaked miserably, his voice so shoddy nobody would have recognized it if they weren't staring at him. "Tried to, grab the, di-" he stopped and coughed so hard the bed shook with him. "Burnt up, I think-" he stopped and pressed his face against the pillow and seemed to be biting it to stop a scream.

Remus nearly fell off the bed he leaned over the edge so dangerously to get an eye on him and see, then gagged and did tumble to the floor when he saw the missing appendage. James was already in motion, duplicating the blanket Wormtail was sprawled out on a dozen times and then hastily tried to tuck them all around him in a frantic burrito style that was probably painful, but Peter never uncurled himself to stop him.

"Molly might have some Skele Gro around here," Frank tried to soothe as he looked anxiously towards the door.

Lily was just amazed he'd taken in they were at the Burrow, she still couldn't think past much of anything except hearing all of the screaming when they'd landed as she rubbed at her sternum.

"Won't work," Regulus finally straightened up, brushing impatiently at his hair, his voice sounded as rough as if he'd swallowed the whole room he'd been trapped in as he watched James's progress. "That was Fiendfyre, cursed fire. I, I used sectumsempra to cut it off, it was spreading, it was going to... I, I don't think it'll grow back."

James made a strangled noise, a scream lost on the way out as he couldn't take his eyes off of Wormtail and then darting back up to where Padfoot's blood was still seeping into the other bed. Remus crawled back up there with him and tried to rouse a better response and explain what was going on, but he didn't seem to be taking in a word as Moony pulled him semi-upright against his chest.

"What happened?" Frank repeated, looking from Peter to Sirius, the bubble of blood still on the corner of Lily's mouth, the patch of it on the floor where James hand landed, before looking all around for the book. It was in no obvious place, so he summoned it. The golden binding came shooting out of a secret gap in the wall along with a few very old and dusty Ton-Tongue Toffees. Frank hastily flipped to where he'd been, the spot should be obvious, right in the middle of a paragraph-

Instead, the rest of the page was blank. He flipped to the next and saw the new chapter title.

"You guys, you heard that right?" Frank kept flipping the page back and forth as if determined to find the trick. "It just cut off-"

"I think Sirius died," Remus sounded surprisingly calm considering he was still covered in his blood and so sickly white his nose looked likely to leap off his face.

"Don't be ridiculous Remus," James scoffed, squeezing Sirius's knee, making him keen and moan another cuss to prove his point.

"Whatever it was," Sirius slurred as he shifted unhappily around, but Remus wasn't letting him go, "I don't f'ing recommend it happening again!" He couldn't yell though, there was zero energy in him, for once, and then he simply fell asleep like that. Sprawled out on his back and still shivering slightly.

Frank and Alice tried the door and found it opened, so they quickly departed, still whispering uneasily about this as well as getting food ready for when the two woke up and anything they could still scavenge to help Peter's hand somehow.

James was just quivering on the spot, the urge to help with nothing to do leaving him like a spring ready to snap at the slightest tension. His hand was still a mess of splinters as he touched the spot on the back of his head where the throbbing had vanished in moments, he'd never felt a thing before it all went black... She came forward and uneasily touched the back of his hand, asking, "would you come out to the Weasley's garden with me? See what they might have out there?"

He didn't respond, didn't drag his eyes off them, but slowly began backing towards the stairwell under her guiding touch until she gently closed the door behind them.

Regulus touched Peter's back for a moment, but he seemed to have passed out as well, so he hauled himself up to the top bunk and watched Sirius, now curling up miserably in Remus's lap.

His brother's boyfriend was brushing at Sirius's hair, his eyes distant as he kept one arm tightly around his moving chest, his brother's whole body was squirming as he tried to roll onto his side instead but Remus wasn't giving him much mobility.

"Did he really die?" The way Peter had been screaming, the way everything had gone dark and dim...Lily's ribs looked like they'd been smashed through her chest...who's to say it even had been Sirius. Regulus watched as a few strands of his Sirius's tickled along his nose, arms wrapped so tight around Remus's waist as he moved restlessly. He'd never heard his brother mutter in his sleep before, but he was now as he struggled to get comfortable, perhaps not even unconscious but too ill at ease to be awake either as his mind still slagged.

"I, I think so," Remus sounded so terrified, like he'd never blink again as he just kept watching him. "The, explanation makes sense anyways, why else would we be bunted before the chapter was over like that..." His face was so human as his voice caught, fear of the knowledge he could have lost him, all of them, a concept no animal could ever grasp. "I could have, there was this moment where I could have grabbed my wand or him, and I thought it was obvious at the time, but I, I'm such a fool, I should have gone for my wand! If I had I could have caught him before he fell, and, oh Merlin, he really died because I-"

"That's not fair," Sirius's little brother boldly put in. He was as blunt as Sirius sometimes, but in a more refined way, he had a way of speaking that made what he said seem more smooth. Less like Sirius shoving a fact in your face, and more like making you see the reasonable solution had been there all along. Remus bit at his lip as he finally tore his eyes away, he hadn't even realized who he'd been talking to. He silently handed Regulus his wand back and watched him for an explanation he couldn't give himself. "Who knows if you would have managed that, he might have still fallen and been on the grounds alone when he died of this injury or, or anything. I'm sorry you two don't have your wands anymore, but you did the best you could in that moment."

Remus watched him for several moments, his dark green eyes which had golden flecks in them were the only thing that could have given away what he really was. Remus smiled then, almost relaxed as he glanced down at Sirius and then back to him. "Thanks," he said sincerely.

"Mm, Moony," Sirius muttered, voice groggy with frustration, still trying to roll over and grumbling when he couldn't for the arms still around him.

Remus still tried to shush him and keep him in place, but even half dead or half awake or whatever he was, that stubborn streak would be his last as he kept trying to pull free of the confining grasp, so Regulus watched as the guy had no choice but to let him go.

Finally getting his reward, Sirius relaxed and nestled right back against Remus's legs, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling in close. Breathing out a laugh, Remus gently pulled himself free, only to lay down and press his back against Sirius, who finally exhaled and his face went lax in relief as he hitched his leg up over him, twisting himself on top of the poor guy as much as he could as the tremors stopped.

Regulus watched for a few moments as Remus's eyes closed, not in sleep, just contentment. He let himself fall back to the floor with a soft thump before sitting on the edge of Peter's bed.

It was there again, as James stepped out of the room and the door closed in front of him. That tender, worried expression as his hand lingered on the knob for his friends.

Lily did not ask herself why she did it, she just moved on impulse and kissed him.

James stood before her for exactly seven seconds before he realized what had happened and kissed her back.

He held her gently, the trembling wood-marked hand resting on the small of her back, the other going to her hair as he returned each brush of her lips with an eager one of his own. It was sort of awkward at first and neither were entirely sure of what they were doing, but there was a soft tingling sensation in place on her lips when she pulled back. Only after she did and his hazel eyes blinked open did she bite her lip and really ask herself what she was doing, while not pulling out of his arms.

Maybe she just wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by someone, no strings attached. Her parents had wanted her to go on to do such great things and never asked what she wanted. Petunia and Severus had hated her for not being like them. James had never once in his life asked her to change for him, he'd just always loved her exactly the way she was, but she'd never asked, "why do you love me?"

He smiled, that one she'd grown so fond of without even realizing it. The one she'd seen out of the corner of her eye back when all this started, just for his friends. He just looked so simply happy as he told her, "that passion of yours Lily. You, you do everything with your whole heart. Whatever you're learning, or defending your friend, I always knew from that first day if I could just have a little of that in my life I'd be happy."

Her hands lingered on his chest just where she'd put them. His hands tightened where they were for just a moment as he understood what she was about to do, he'd always been able to do that too as she stepped out of his arms and dropped her palms away.

They fell back to his side, she watched the sadness in his eyes he didn't bother to hide, he'd never hide anything from her really. She reached out tentatively and touched the back of his hand. The sadness didn't entirely vanish, but he smiled again. "Thank you," she whispered simply.

"Don't take these books as prophecy now," he told her cheerfully, still forever making a joke it seemed, she heard that clear as day in his tone. Even now his hand twitched to hold her as close as he could, but he didn't. Letting her do as she pleased apparently. "You don't have to wait tell seventh year."

"Oh I'm well aware," she promised. She turned and left, as always feeling his eyes watching her go, and smiled as he fell in step beside her.

The first thing Sirius did when his eyes fluttered open wide awake was to smile down at Remus curled against his chest. One of his arms was numb from where his boyfriend was using it as a pillow, and he did not care. Moony wasn't asleep, there was no way with the lack of snoring, but he seemed so comfortable where he was Sirius automatically wanted to lean in and kiss him, and maybe a little more if he could get him in the mood as warm as he woke up feeling. He opened his mouth, a salacious comment on the tip of his tongue as he let his hand travel past his stomach, but then froze and tipped his head to the side as he heard somebody else's breathing.

Damn that filter. He'd still love to make Remus blush at least, but no, Moony definitely wouldn't like that. Sighing with regret, he instead moved his hand up to gently trace his lips, a reward in itself when his boyfriend's smile tugged and fluttered to catch the tips as Remus chuckled softly and whispered, "glad you're feeling better."

"Could wake up every day like this," he promised softly as he pressed a tender kiss to his temple.

Remus hummed and pressed himself in closer as he whispered, "how's your leg? Not feeling lightheaded are you?"

Somebody had cleaned up their landing, the gash felt good as new, the skin not even tender, but Sirius was still feeling a little out of sorts he had to acknowledge. "A little dizzy," he admitted, wrapping his arms tighter around him and feeling an actual flutter in his chest when Remus sighed and still leaned more into him, "nothing some breakfast and a little blood restorative won't fix. How long was I out?"

"Not sure," Remus sounded very much like the Burrow could have gone up in flames and he wouldn't have opened his eyes to check.

"Not long," Regulus answered casually below them. Neither were surprised, but both pouted and made a similar face at their moment being interrupted.

Remus finally shifted to get out from underneath him, and Sirius let him by flopping onto his back again with grumbled protest even as he shook his arm and felt more naked than if his pants were off for not being able to grab his wand to get the sleeping limb awake.

"How's Peter?" Moony startled him by asking gently as he began lowering himself down.

"What?" Sirius squawked in surprise, tumbling off and landing in an eerily similar ungraceful landing in the exact place Moony had as he bounced back to his feet even as Peter slurred, "not fine!"

Only the top of his tousled brown hair was visible as he remained in his little cocoon.

"James taught me how to keep a numbing charm on it, but," Regulus spread his hands miserably as Sirius fought back the urge to rip the blankets off and see what exactly.

Remus leaned in and whispered in his ear for a moment, and Sirius hissed and balled his hands up, for a moment very much looking like he was going to thump Peter on the little of his visible head.

Regulus watched his brother open, then close his mouth, miraculously seemed to think before he spoke, and then snapped, "I'll bring food up," and stomped out.

Remus gave him a small smile before going out and gently closing the door behind him.

"He still thinks I'm an idiot," Peter whispered. He'd kept his hand clasped so firmly around the stump for so long now he was sure his remaining five fingers were broken and couldn't unclench them.

"I think he thinks everyone but him is an idiot, that lovely arrogance," Regulus sighed heavily. An awkward pause, before he asked softly, "I thought we all agreed not to risk our lives on a chance Pete? We don't even know if that horcrux could come with us, why did you try to grab it?" The smell of bacon made his stomach curl in disgust as it wafted up the stairs, the lingering stench of burnt flesh he'd cut off...

A quarter of Peter's face slowly creeped out, just his forehead and the very ridge of his eyes as he softly asked back, "think I skipped a few steps and now everyone I care about won't die?"

Regulus groaned and sat back more comfortably on the bed, now feeling the edge of his shoes pressed against his best friend's hip. "Please don't talk like that."

"At the moment I just, I just wanted to try. I, I thought I could-" he stopped, but wiggled enough the rest of his face was now visible, just resting comfortably on the pillow where the wet spots had long since dried. "Now, I don't know, maybe it's for the best. Maybe I, paid my dues already and, it'll go better this time."

"You never owed anyone anything," Regulus corrected primly. "You never did anything wrong."

"Yeah," Peter smiled at him like he finally believed that. His hand unclenched.

The door gently opened and James and Lily came in with a bunch of finger food. Peter sat up just enough he could get one arm free, keeping the other out of sight still so that James couldn't keep fussing as he leaned over and was very clearly fixing to do. "You lot can get started on reading," Wormtail suggested casually as he plucked at a sausage. "Don't wait on me to come down, I'm not getting up until I'm flung from this bed."

James laughed appreciatively while Peter sat the rest of the way up, gingerly removing the stump of his other arm but keeping it pressed to his side.

Sirius hadn't said a word as he violently went through the Weasley's home in search of a spare wand someone may have left around, and when that turned up fruitless and Remus was still following him with that pursed up look on his face, he slammed down into a seat just as Prongs and Lils went up with food for Peter and snapped, "what? I didn't say it."

"If you're mentally yelling about his attempt not working, get it out now," Remus sighed as he pulled the bowl of sugar towards him. "Nobody else wants to hear it love." Alice and Frank were still at the stove debating if somebody dying had been the problem at all. They weren't coming up with many other solutions, and the extremely grim topic of someone dying to skip all this along faster was wetting nobody's appetite and not going to be indulged past Frank's morbid, ever analytical mind.

"I'm not pissed at him for not grabbing it," he corrected at once. "I'm pissed at him for trying to grab it! For being an idiot and almost getting himself killed!" He still didn't want Peter dead! He was now no longer confident it even had been him who died, maybe Wormtail's injury had been bad enough his own heart had stopped beating. They'd never know.

Remus relaxed in relief beside him, and squeezed his hand. "Then, maybe you should tell him that." Sirius froze with a bite almost to his mouth. "We can't read your mind Sirius, and if I thought that, well, he probably is too."

Sirius swallowed nothing in his mouth and let the food fall back to the plate as he nodded his agreement he'd do just this. Moony leaned in and kissed his jaw and Sirius smiled softly at him.

Lily and James sat in the stairwell to read, as far as she could drag him from Peter. They couldn't hear what the two were talking about, if they were at all, but he still felt twitchy and the visceral need to do something had him snatching the book away from Frank to get them on with this already!

A shadow would forever hang over more than them for this night, but now the Burrow too. Fred Weasley had died, and Harry's grief echoed out of every word on the page.

The chaos they'd been a part of, apart from, and nearly died in was given in detail. Harry was never alone though, as Ron's grief was wrestled into submission by Hermione and his son's friends traversed the madness with him every step of the way once more.

Lily hadn't always been so lucky, she'd started this so alone and only slowly made friends along the way as she allowed herself to admit the distance in place between her and Severus, now on full display as she sat casually beside James fighting back tears for whom Lucius Malfoy had been told to fetch, where Snape's place was in this fight, at Voldemort's request in the Shrieking Shack.

He wanted to comfort her, reach out and hold her hand, do anything to catch her attention, but that wasn't what she needed from him. It was only as he restrained himself and turned back to the book did it finally occur to him the horcrux had no longer been in his grasp when he'd awoken. He didn't bother to try summoning it, he knew it had been lost in that disaster...and yet the feeling of failure did not resurface as she stayed beside him, brushing at her hair. His friends were alive, despite all odds, they'd made it this far once in the worst of circumstances going into this mess. They'd do it again, better the second time.

He kept reading as Hagrid vanished into the Forest, their son nearly gave up on everything in the face of dementors, and she finally leaned into his side, put her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder, as Dumbledore's Army stepped in for their boy, he always had true backup.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went through the tunnel once more, and James's mind lingered on his friends as always, for how much had changed. Would he have been able to cut Peter's hand off to save him? He wanted to say yes, of course, but he wasn't as practical as Regulus, or impulsive as Sirius. Wormtail had showed time and again, by saving Lily, by being in that room with Regulus when he knew without having to be told a single detail his friend could have made a break for it. He could change from a selfish, bitter Death Eater who would sell him out to be someone better.

Snape begged, was a coward to his last breath as his own murder bit him in the ass. He'd been the one to kill Dumbledore, and even Voldemort didn't regret disposing of his own henchmen to gain another level of power in the Elder Wand. Would Severus Snape change, if given the chance? Or was history still doomed to repeat on some level just like it had to Wormtail? Were they fooling themselves into thinking any of this had a point to it? Were they still trapped on a horrible path of repeat when they went back?

Lily turned her face into his chest, her dark red hair spilling down them both as she tucked herself closer to him for the last sentence glimmering up at them.

#Jily #Wolfstar #Reading the books #fanfiction #HP #Harry Potter #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Peter Pettigrew #Frank Longbottom #Fralice #Alice Longbottom #Lily Evans #Marauders

[notlickingstamps]

DNA

DNA - What was your Muse's home life like?

Before the unending isolation in Mount Massive, Rick lived in an open floor-plan studio refurbished from an old mill. Upper floors, probably the third. He kept a variety of teas in his cabinets, and his favorite place in the flat was the kitchen. It was the cleanest room of his home.

There was always order. Specific things had specific places, A vase filled with twigs and red ferns near the door, the couch pillows each had a partner they nestled up against in the crook of the couch's cushions. Not a picture frame was ever out of place. In Richard's eyes, his home was the one thing he knew he could control, and he felt content in that thought.

He preferred to not have company over, unless he felt desperately alone. More drugs for him, he justified. The rare occasions he'd have someone over were the quiet, late nights when everyone in the city was asleep. He needed to feel some sort of connection to what he was, after all. Drugs can't mend a person-sized hole in your heart. As life before the engine had it, Richard could never hold onto one person for long enough. He was too messy, she was too loud, he wanted too much cocaine, they wanted to 'Fix Him'--- the list of Not Right People didn't seem to have an end for Rick. Eventually, his days began to bleed together during the florescent blindness of the asylum, and his home became a sore memory of another love lost.

As sore as the more recent memories were of Richard's apartment, the home he shared with his family gushed like a stuck pig if he poked it, and he abandoned that light before it could die out first. He remembers only the fun he'd made with his sister when they were children. That haven is half of the reason he has any concept of his current self at all. A treehouse he and his sister made of twigs and rope felt sturdier than the insured, two-story home his parents owned at the end of a cul-de-sac.

He blocks out the recalling of them, but often will have nightmares of terrible arguments his parents would have, and the terror would take form of the subject they'd fight about; another man or woman usually overbearingly affectionate towards Rick and his sister, a devil or dead man with coins over his eyes and gold nuggets falling from his sleeves, whipping sounds would crack and disorient Rick, blind him, even... It wasn't ever alright.

A horrid memory will creep its way into his mind's eye from time to time, when he and his sister found a lake that buoyed a corpse towards them, all bloated and foul. He dared his sister to touch the corpse, and after her crying and refusing, he pushed his sister onto the corpse. He vividly remembers how he felt when he did it. Frustrated, cynical, bitter. His sister would crawl back onto her feet after getting soaked and pushing the corpse's head into the murkiness below the water, and like a light switch, Rick snapped into the reality of what he'd done. Tears flooded his eyes, and he grabbed his sister up, apologizing profusely. The relationship would never be the same, but she expressed forgiveness the night Richard left his parents' home.

That night was muggy. Cicadas and beetles chirped outside, hiding the back door opening and closing. Rick woke his sister up, and took her to the treehouse they made together. The tweens shared a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey, as Richard told her his plan of leaving, and he swore. He swore he'd find her and whisk her away to another treehouse he'd make just for them. He kissed her on the forehead, and they hugged for a long time. It was the last time they would share a bottle of whiskey. This, he reminds himself, I will always remember.

#hc #headcanon #hc: rick trager #richard trager hc #;pre-engine #;hc #;memories

[ghost-named-hikagen]

Looking through the scope on my rifle I could see across the salt planes very clearly, the heat waves that would normally obscure my vision were gone thinks to this new scope, Banshee was right, golden age technology can work wonders. The adventure to get this new optic cost me five lives, so it was good to see it works at all.

“Still nothing on tracker, seems like no one’s home.” My Ghost, Hikagen, chimed in my head, I never let her materialize in the field unless absolutely necessary.

“I don’t like it, normally Fallen are crawling all-over old-world sites, especially war bunkers” I scanned the salt flat again, still no movement. “And where the hell is this place anyways, all I see is white cracked earth for miles.”

I heard it before I felt it, the sound of a shock sword is very distinctive, and I heard two swinging for the side of my head. I knew I couldn’t dodge it, so instead I rolled with it, taking some of the force away. The blades cut into my helmet and across the side of my face, splitting one eye in half and cutting away a lot of my front teeth from my jaw. Still alive, barely, I rolled into an upright sitting possession and materialized a throwing knife with my light and with a half spin throw, buried it into the vandal’s chest. The invisibility that was cloaking it burst after the heavy impact and I could see my assailant’s eyes, even as a different species the look of shock and anger was evident, they didn’t expect me to survive the first engagement.

They voiced some manner of curse or expletive as they fell to their knees and drew a pistol from a back holster, it was met with half a clip of 9mm from my side arm. The Fallen lay dead, and I could already feel my face healing slowly.

“More hostiles moving on our location, seems like they were using invisibility tech to hide their location from us. Maybe they knew we where coming?” Hikagen mussed in my head.

“Do we have enough time for you to fully heal me?”

“If you let me materialize then yes.”

I opened my hand and Hikagen was there, blue shell with a ring floating around her. She quickly flew up to my face, I felt the gentle touch of light as my eye was mended and my teeth grew back in, the pain from the wound went from agony to a dull numbness, in just a few seconds I was back to how I was when first resurrected.

“How many on tracker?” I could already see a few Fallen take up positions behind me on the desert mountain, I raised my rifle to take out the snipers first.

“Thirty-four in the immediate vicinity with another five skiffs on the way.” Her voice as always was happy as ever. “Are we fighting or running?”

Five fucking skiffs?

“Running, get the jump ship down here now, use combat mode on it if you need to.” I started firing my sniper at the vandals with wire rifles, already shots were coming in and I could see dregs and shanks charging me.

Four shots then reload, this gun was powerful, but the mag didn’t carry much at all, I got eight Fallen down before the first dreg was in my face. It carried a knife that it never got to use before I decapitated it with my sword. Twenty-five combatants left, at least twelve were right in front of me with a mix of shock spears and swords, and a few guns as well.

I leapt into the air and rained down a flurry of burning knives, each one striking a deferent Fallen, then exploding into molten shrapnel and gore. Few bits hit me as well, but my armor absorbed the damage.

Even after that display of power the remaining enemies still charged, not letting me take advantage of the space I created. Two captains reached me first, four swords each, and started their own blade barrage, it took all of my concentration to not be immediately cut into ribbons, even then it took only a few seconds for them to find an opening and carve into my side. Blood started to flow freely as my liver was bisected, hot pain followed soon after. I needed to get away from them, and I needed to stop the bleeding, so I threw a grenade at the ground in front of us. A wide sphere of fire blossomed between the three of us, burning with great intensity, I was not immune to my own fire, so it burned me as well. This hurt even more then the gash on my side, but it also acted as a quick way to cauterize the wound and give me some breathing space.

The captains jumped out of the fire ball started to chitter angrily in a language I did not know, started to run around it to continue their assault. I picked one at random a threw a knife as hard as I could, jumping into the air in the process. The captain it hit immediately crumbled to the ground and started to sizzle as the body fell back into the fire.

Summoning light around my legs I jumped again while still in the air and emptied my side arm into the remaining captain before I hit the ground. The Fallen stayed standing, bleeding profusely and smoking from their time in my grenade and leapt at me once again. I was reloading my side arm and didn’t have time to finish, so I just raised my arms to block as much as I could.

“Ship is in range, transmatting now.”

I felt the familiar sensation of a transmat at the same time as the other familiar sensation of a shock sword cutting into me. But instead of both my arms being sliced off I was standing in my ship, dripping blood everywhere.

“Setting course for the last city, you should sit down before you fall over.” Hikagen said in her usual cheerful voice, as if unaware of the mortal danger we were both in not three seconds ago.

I grabbed a hand hold and told her to just gun it and was almost blasted off my feet from the G-force of the jump ship going full throttle. Once I was sure we were clear of any fallen chasing us, I sat down at the controls and took over flying. Hikagen had healed me and patched my armor, and this ship was faster than anything the Fallen had, still my heart wouldn’t stop pounding in my chest as I recalled the last few moments with those two captains, I was microseconds away from a final death.

It scared me.

#writing #destiny the game #destiny guardians #destiny 2 #destiny oc #creative writing #text post #oc

[misskatekissin]

I was buried

I was buried under the sky 

Clouds buried me on

I was buried

Deep inside the clouds I am hiding

I was thrown into hell called life

Hate spreads faster than fire

Tears drown you more than the ocean

Cries are louder than thoughts

All you ever feel is fear

As you try to mend your broken wings

But you are not fallen, you are thrown out

Even if you scream, no one is going to save you 

Then they call you bad for trying to survive

They condemn you for living the life that they are experiencing too

You do not have any idea 

Why you are thrown out in this dreaded land

You are not an angel, you are not a monster

You are passive, a winged-being with invisible wings

You are insignificant, a broken-being with perfect scars

You are in pain, a wounded being with unseen bleeding

Suffering is not being buried under the ground 

Suffering is not fire forever burning

Suffering is being buried under the sky

Suffering is water that drowns you 

There is no escape. There is no going back

You can’t hate the one who thrown you away

There is only one way for you now

Because no one wants you back up

People told you to adore the one who throwed you out

People told you to never hate the one who buried you under the sky

People told you that its you and never the one who doesn’t want you

People told you that the one who throwed you out loves you

But how? How can I do what they say?

Am I heard?

The distance are more than miles

It was meant to be far for it is meant to be unreachable

And I close my eyes, darkness provides me comfort

I wait for what they call end

But waiting kills me more than anything

It seems never coming and fast at the same time

So I just sit still, trying, opened my eyes and looked at a distance

Sunlight is peeking through the cracks between the clouds that I am buried in

I looked up and wonder, there could be hope that seeps through the cracks

And for a moment, being buried here could be worthwhile

[veritable-trash]

Golden Boy pt. 2

Pairing: Ben Miller x F!Reader

Words: 3.9k(bro this was a fucking JOURNEY)

Warning: SMUT smutty smut smut heheheh so 18+ just a little fingering action and Benny talking dirty which that combo was a doozy to my mental well being this evening wheeeeew

A/N: alright bitches i did it. i finally wrote part 2 for golden boy like i said i would and that was HARD AS HELL. god writing isn't as easy as they make it out to be(no one says it's easy this is just my brain telling me if i'm not good at something immediately i suck, it's hell round these parts) Anywaysssss i'm trying to keep a positive light on this because i'm still getting into all this and this was my first like sorta long piece with a lot more dialogue and world building and character building so i'm giving myself some grace. i tried and i can't look at this anymore and i just want to throw this out and close my eyes. so i hope yall enjoy this and find comfort in benny just being the most lovely dude. i want benny to finger fuck me into next week, every week. sorry that might have been tmi but i'm so tired my brain has melted officially. ok i'm going to bed now enjoy sending you hugs and kisses and well wishes alwayssssss <33333333333

~~~

It had been six years. Six years of the same old town with the same painful memories that seemed to be crystallized in its very foundation. You don’t know if it was the masochist in you or what but you just couldn’t seem to bring yourself to leave. Because the pain was familiar, something you knew how to move through. The new was scary, with edges you could cut and bleed on. Something you had done enough of, no thanks to this town.

Though your pain was layered, there was one that truly never left you. One you saw on every street corner, etched into the cracks in the sidewalk. Benny still tortured your thoughts. Every year the sting started to ebb into something less gut wrenching. But only just.

You seemed to be on a never ending cycle of shoving everything so far down you thought it disappeared, to having it claw it’s way across the glass in your throat till all you could do was cry and wallow on random Sundays. But those Sundays were finally starting to get less frequent.

Benny hadn’t come back and with the distance slowly you started started to mend. The patches weren’t the strongest and your resolve didn’t fare much better but it was happening. You didn’t have to see him riding around in his pick up blasting some country tune while his eyes sparkled like something magical. You were totally over him you swear.

~~~

The diner you had been working at since you graduated high school was your personal hell. A contraption made up of all the things that made you want to crawl out of your skin. The awful, purple vinyl seats. The yellowing tables with chipping paint. The menus that stayed sticky no matter how many times you wiped them. Everyone swears that it’s charming and “vintage” but you just thought it smelt like week old frying oil and murdered dreams. Yours to be exact.

This hadn’t been your plan obviously. You had strived for more, wanted for escape, but your mom had been sick. For years. And that cut off a lot of options when money wasn’t exactly free flowing. So you stayed and worked and it was fine because honestly college was probably never meant for you. School had been torture and work had been secure and you had lacked security your whole life.

It was only a year after that fateful graduation that your mom passed. It had been quiet and gut-wrenchingly painful but it was just the two of you and that’s how you both had wanted it to be. You still cried in secret adding to the tears you already drowned in, but there was peace in having her pass the way she had wanted and when she was ready. Your life seemed to be never ending lose but at least now there wasn’t anything left to loose. It was just you.

And all of that was all looping it’s way around your skull when that grating entry bell rang reminding you that you still worked here, and your dreams were yellowing just like the menus.

A chatter filled the diner as you tried to assemble yourself with a plastic smile. It wasn’t too busy thankfully but it was late, 10 PM on a Friday, and you had just caught your breath after the high school football game crowd blew through here like the beaches of fucking Normandy.

It had been a night and every single customer, no matter how sweet, made you grit your teeth.

And as you turn towards the counter your chest caves.

It’s Benny. And Will. And some two other random guys, but it’s Benny. Sitting down at the corner booth about to see you and you’re wearing an itchy, polyester diner dress most likely from the 50’s.

You wish the world would drop out from under you but your luck had run out years ago and those torturous blue eyes land on you before you could duck under the counter. And now it’s like there is no air left in the room.

Confusion, and shock, maybe even a little regret flit over his features before he’s up almost as fast as he sat down. Crossing the room in long strides with a level of determination that had seldom been directed at you.

You’re gripping the menus so tight they squeak under your nails. He’s right here. Standing right across the counter from you and it’s like there’s been a time lapse. Like some parallel dimension has crossed over and you’re somehow looking at Benny from two universes away, not your Benny.

But you know it’s not true because as soon as that tiny, sheepish smile crosses his lips, and his eyes flicker down to his busted converse, it couldn’t be anyone other than your Benny.

“I like the outfit. Really suites you and that whole 50’s housewife vibe you’ve always had going on.”

“Benny is that seriously the first thing you’re gonna say to me? After six years? I swear to god I want to smack you with my shoe, I-“

“God I’ve missed you.” It’s said on a sigh. So soft, sweet like something made out of warm air and sunflowers, like the honey days of summer. It seems to run down your throat, stuttering your breath and making you lose words.

“Huh still the same sweet talker, why am I not surprised?”

“No, I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about you. Honestly don’t think I’ve ever stopped thinking about you-“

“Ben, I-Ben I need you to be serious. I can’t do all of this sweetness when you left. Remember? And though you might have been thinking about me, I haven’t heard from you in years. A lot has changed and those blue eyes and pout never worked on me in the first place.” His eyes flicker hurt. He huffs a laugh that seems almost painful.

“You know that I wrote you. I kept writing to you even after you stopped writing back. And even then I hoped you understood why I left. Understood that I needed to go even if I was dying, dying, to stay.”

Now you grew sheepish. You had stopped writing. For your own mental health, but there was no way to tell him that. You had just ghosted his letters until he finally stopped. There was no easy way for you to tell him that these letters were shredding your heart to pieces. That one more honey coated word from him would probably send you into cardiac arrest.

Your heart was too weak for him, and you couldn’t handle the aches anymore.

But now looking at him and hearing his voice for the first time in so many years, you were filled with strange regret. Regret that those letters were hidden. That you never wrote back, hide from your best friend, from someone you loved. Not that he would ever get to know those secrets. Those murmured dreams.

“I’m sorry, Benny, I really am. I ju-I just got busy and in my own head about it. I thought you didn’t even want to hear from me.”

“But I wrote you. I didn’t write to anyone else. Other than my mom, but I mean, you know how that goes.” His smile barely hit his eyes, the usual crows feet staying hidden.

You place the menus on the counter, your hands now moving to grip the edge of the your apron.

“We can’t do this here Benny. I want to talk but I’m at work and I can see your friends and brother already starting to ask one too many questions in their own heads that even we don’t know the answers to, so I am going to send you back to your table. Come back after 11:30 if you really wanna talk, ok?”

The way he looked at you was like watching a tornado up close. There was so much going on, but all you were trying to do was lock in on one thing. Your fingers twitched with how much you wanted to touch him.

“Ok, 11:30. But I’m gonna be here, and we are talking.” There was that certainty level of determination back again, laced through his words. As you watched him walk back to his booth, your mind stutter stepped.

~~~

You got to close that night by yourself. Thank God. You had been dying the past hour and half, fidgeting and glancing up at Benny’s table till they finally left, and now you had a few quiet moments to breath as you cleaned up.

Tables got wiped down. Breath in. Menus stacked. Breath out. Locking up the front. Breath in-

Through the glass of the door you could see Benny leaning against his car. Waiting for you.

He simply waves and your breath is now trapped in your lungs. You can see your reflection in the glass and you look the picture of a deer in headlights. Wide eyes, mouth slightly parted, you feel yourself heat up all over.

You try to school your features, a simple wave your response, but the second you turn your brain goes into overdrive.

Why is he here? What does he want to talk about? Is he seeing someon- Nope, nope you were not going down that path. Your hands scrub at your face as you try to settle. You flip the light switch, the diner descends into darkness, and you step out into the cool night air.

“Sorry, closing took a bit longer than expected. It was just me tonight” He straightens up as you approach and you’re now realizing how big he his. He’s filled out since high school and the planes of his chest, the breadth of his shoulders makes you almost trip over your feet.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a perfect night, I wouldn’t want to be inside anyways.” You’re expecting him to continue but he just watches you. His arms crossed over his broad chest, golden hair disheveled like he’d been pulling at it, but blue eyes swimming with mirth.

The silence stretched and your hands started to twist on themselves. You hated silence, always made you nervous and chatty, and you knew Benny was well aware of that fact.

“Benny are you seriously gonna just stand there and say nothing? I mean-“

“Can’t I just look at you for a second? I haven’t gotten to see you in six years and I’m trying to soak it all in, alright?” His head cocks to the side, eyes taking you in head to toe, and you have to fight tooth and nail not to shiver. You can feel a thickness filling the air, a tension you didn’t understand.

“Ben you said you wanted to talk, so talk. How long are you here? Where are you staying? How was being overseas? I mean seriously anything it has been six years.” Nerves start clawing at your throat, needing to understand the situation. Know what is going on and where this is all going because Benny always sent your gears spinning.

“I’m here however long I feel like it. I’m staying with my mom for now, but if things work out I’ll end up getting my own place somewhere around here. And overseas fucking sucked and I never want to go back, but none of those things are what I really wanted to talk about.”

Somehow you didn’t realize that the air between you two was disappearing. Distracting you with his words as he inched in on his prey. And now there was less than a foot between you. It all felt dangerously intimate. Soft eyes gazing down at you, small smile curling the corners of his lips, teeth peaking out as they nibbled at it. He was drawing you in, moth to flame, just like he always had.

“I thought about you a lot while I was overseas. Those letters really kept my head above water.” He pulls at his fingers, eyes dropping from yours, a certain sadness and grief so evident in his gaze. “It just made me realize once you stopped writing how much I relied on you. How I’ve always relied on you. And I let you slip away.”

Your hand reaches out and wraps around his anxious fingers before your brain can stop you. And the look on his face as he takes in your laced fingers makes it worth it, stomach flipping, heart fluttering.

“You always know exactly what I need.” A smile colors his words, paints the darkness in all the shades of your heart. You thought you were over Benjamin Miller. You fucking wish. His eyes drift to yours and you want to drown in the emotions pouring out of them.

“I’m sorry. For leaving. For hurting you. For choosing Heather over you. For not trying to fix things earlier. You’re my best friend, and I should have never let anything get between us.”

The words best friend slashes at your chest. Of course. Reality kicking your teeth in, forcing you to reckon with the pain behind your first fight.

You try to pull away, body retracting in on itself, but Benny isn’t having any of it. His hand only tugs your closer to him, now almost chest to chest, both of his hands cupping yours. The touch so gentle, yet firm it feels almost reverent.

“I won’t let you pull away again. Never again you hear me. I need you here. With me. By my side-“

It’s happening again. Getting all too much. Too many feelings but not the ones you want. Yearning for him like those six years never happened, and you’re still 18, and he’s still the golden boy. Words are bubbling up your throat, threatening to spill all over the pavement, and let Benny bear witness to the mess you’ve been hiding away deep inside. You’ve pushed and stomped and shoved away these feelings for so long, you thought you had a handle on it, but now it’s all too much.

“Benny I love you and I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and listen to you talk about how important I am and how we’re best friends, and how we’ll never be apart again when I’m in love with you and you don’t feel the same. It’s why I stopped writing. It hurt so much. And it still hurts because somehow I’m still in love with you and you still have no-“

His lips touch yours and time wrinkles. Your brain seems to short circuit and as soon as it starts its over. Gently pulling back to gaze at you with adoration that seems oceans deep.

“I had a sneaking suspicion, but I wasn’t completely sure you felt the same. I was going to tell you I love you first, but you have a tendency to ramble and I no one can stop that train once it starts rolling.” His eyes crinkle, a hand now tentatively wrapping around your neck, your waist. “I love you too, by the way. Now I would loveee to kiss you proper if you’ll let me milady?”

You’re grinning, and he’s grinning, and then its fireworks. He licks into your mouth with conviction, telling the world he loves you out loud for anyone to see. And the sounds he makes make you want to scream “He’s mine!” off the rooftops. His breath coming in sighs and groans, pouring down your throat till you feel like you’re going to burst.

Whispers of I love you, I’ve dreamed of kissing you like this, I will never let you go. So many years yearning and pining, dreaming of this moment and now it’s finally all happening.

It turns frantic the second you nibble at his bottom lip. Fingertips digging into the back of your neck, while his thumb angles your head so he can lick deeper. Taste more of you. Your back hits the drivers side window, and now you can finally arch into him, fingers skating into his hair, scratching at his scalp.

His moans turn you molten. “Fuck, your lips taste so sweet.” His thumb catching on your bottom lip, pulling it down, his eyes never leaving your lips. “I want to see them wrapped around my cock. Fuck I hope that’s not too crass, but Jesus woman you drive me crazy.”

It’s all spinning out but you don’t want it to stop. The neediness, finally knowing he’s wanted you as badly as you’ve wanted him. Knowing he’s just as ready to drop to his knees and devour you sends stars across your vision.

“Benny…” Your lips wrap around his thumb, kitten licking the tip, aching for him to push you just a little harder against the car. His eyes darken, tongue peaking out to wet his lips.

“Ya baby? What do you need?” Your teeth graze up his thumb as you release him with a light pop that sounds almost deafen. His fingers skim up your neck, tighten in your hair, pulling a wanton moan from somewhere deep and needy. Your pussy throbs, slick pooling low and hot, and you’ve never craved someone the way you crave him. “Come on you can tell me. Do you want my thumb back in your mouth? Or maybe you’d like it better on your clit. Already got it nice and wet though I think you might already be dripping for me.”

His smile turns a bit feral at the edges as his other hand crawls up the inside of your thigh. You can feel how your panties cling to you where you’ve soaked through. Your whole body shivers, knees knocking against his, as his hand trails up your thighs.

And then he’s pressing down. Pressing against your clit and your legs melt, your toes curl. Head lolling back against the car, Benny following quickly behind with lips and teeth and tongue laving at your neck. And now it’s confirmed. You have never wanted someone the way you want Benjamin Miller.

“God you’re so wet. Fuck I knew it. I knew you were the girl of my dreams. I can’t wait to taste you, I gotta taste you.” And before you can take another breath, he has your panties pushed aside, index finger running through the wet seam of you, and bring it up so he can wrap his pretty mouth around and taste. It’s obscene the way he stares you down while his jaw works at getting every last drop of you.

Your hips buck involuntarily. He grins like he’s won a fucking gold metal.

“You taste fucking perfect.” And then it’s lips and teeth and his thumb pressing against your clit, while his finger starts to push into you. It’s so many sensations at once your brain can’t seem to decide where to focus first.

His finger curls in you, thumb circling. Your hips riding his hand with how well he’s playing you. Making you sing for the whole empty parking lot to hear. The sound of your wet heat sucking his fingers deeper seeming to echo around you. You can feel the heat building deep, starting to expand from your core into your chest.

And then another finger slips inside you and you almost double over. “Oh fu-fuck, Benny, shit that feels so good. Please don’t stop. Please, please, please.”

The way your pussy clamped down on his two fingers makes Benny imagine your pussy wrapped around his cock, and he’s almost embarrassed by how close to the edge that thought sent him. He can’t help himself with the noises you make, how your hips are grinding down on his hand, the lingering taste of you coating his mouth.

“So good for me, God so good for me. Are you gonna cum like this? Fucking yourself on my fingers against my car? You have no idea how fucking sexy you are. I would do anything for you.” Every word wrenches you higher, pushes you closer. He mouths at your neck, your jaw, your ear. Nibbles at your collarbone whispering more filth into the flesh there.

You feel him everywhere, pressed against every part of you he can reach. Your nails dig into his back and he ruts against your thigh. Groans out for you and it makes you see stars.

You yank at his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours craving his lips, the taste of him. The stretch of his fingers making the kisses sloppy, tongues lapping into open mouths, teeth pulling and biting. You almost forget you’re in the parking lot of the diner with how high in the clouds he’s sending you.

He bites at your lip, earning a whine from the back of your throat. His fingers slow their tempo, starting to drag slower. In and out. In and out. You can’t tell if he’s pushing you even closer to the edge or bringing you down so he can ramp you up all over again. Your hips cant forward trying to find more sensation but he holds you steady, eyes locking.

“Baby can you take another finger? I think you can take it, let me stretch you open. Let me make you feel so good.”

You almost shatter at the words, your cunt rippling. He smirks at you as he feels your answer.

“Yeah, let’s do one more.”

And then you’re trembling. His third, thick finger spears into you, sensations skittering across your skin with how full you feel. His eyes are glued to his hand. Watching his fingers sink into you, his jaw slack. He nestles his fingers as deep as they’ll go and then his thumb presses into your clit, and your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Benny! Yes, yes, yes, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cum.” You’re babbling at this point, the stretch of it blanking out your brain. Turning your whole body to jello. All of a sudden that peak you were chasing is staring you straight in the face and you have no power to stop it.

He ruts his fingers into you one, two, three times and then it all comes crashing down around you. You curl into him, the pleasure throwing you off balance, as your eyes snap shut and you moan high pitched and breathy into his neck.

You can only feel his words, you’re hearing shorting out with the pleasure overwhelming your system. His fingers rocking into you slowly, easing you off this high you just crashed through. Senses slowly coming back. His lips on your temple. Your slick at the tops of your thighs. His fingers massaging your scalp. His cock stiff against your hip.

A giggle bubbles from your chest, a smile spreading against his neck. You can feel his chest rumble with laughter.

“Well… that was fun.” You huff out a laugh. Face still hidden against the collar of his shirt but you can’t help melting into him.

“Come home with me. Please?” He whispers it into your hairline. Like he’s nervous you’ll say no. Nervous he might still loose you.

But there are no doubts left. No shadows haunting your thoughts. Because the answer is so simple now.

“Always.

lol thank you for making it this far hopefully fingers crossed who knows maybe no one makes it this far. honestly that would also be fine. ok i really need to shut up now. xoxoxoxoxoxo <3333

#benny miller x you #benny miller x reader #benny miller fic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #benny is THE pretty boy #benny is made of boyfriend material and yes he's used that joke 1000 and 1 times

[adorerdraco]

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 1

Summary: Draco meets and accidentally falls in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP). Part 1 of a upcoming series.

Warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of blood, crying, panic attacks

Words: 6.4K words (I made this so longgg)

A/N: my first Draco writing !!! i am sorry ahead of time if there are any misspellings, typing with long acrylics is hard omg. ALSO PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SEND ME REQUESTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also i do not own this gif.

It was almost satirical how Draco managed to fall in love with someone at what might be, is, the lowest point in his life. It was his sixth year at Hogwarts, the dark mark burned into his left forearm, the restless mending of the vanishing cabinet, the impossible task of killing his Headmaster, the Dark Lord looming over him and his family with promises of torture and death if he didn’t follow through with the orders he was given.

Draco was an empty shell of what he used to be. The playful and mean remarks that would leave his mouth to anyone that stood in his path were gone. The devious twinkle in his eye and the smug smirk that used to grace his face almost 24/7 was reduced to a permanent scowl and red-rimmed eyes. He looked as if he had aged a rough 10 years since the last year he was at school. Everyone noticed it.

Everyone noticed the skipped meals, the lack of sleep, the empty look in his eyes, the falling behind in class. But no one dared say a thing to him. It almost seems as though people were afraid of him now more than ever. The sneer on his face and the reckless and impulsive attitude he held now was like a repellent for anyone that tried to come near. He was completely alone, whether he liked it or not and he decided to keep it that way.

That all changed a few months into the year, however, when you were rushing to DADA, your long house colored scarf getting tangled underneath your feet causing you to trip and lurch forward, dropping all your books, your wand, and crashing into, you guessed it, Draco Malfoy himself. There was a loud cracking sound as you both tumbled onto the ground, a yelp slipping past Draco’s lips as he held his hand in pain.

"Oh, Merlin,” you gasped, Draco shooting you the dirtiest glare. “Draco, I’m so sorry.”

Before he could open his mouth to tell you off and incessantly insult you into oblivion, you reached forward and took his wounded hand in yours, the softness of your hands and tender touch throwing him off guard. He watched you as you examined the damage on one of his fingers.

“It’s just a sprain,” you finalized after inspecting it for a couple seconds. Draco recoiled his hand from yours as if he had touched a hot surface. He moved to get up and you huffed out a “wait, hold on,” as you scrambled around the ground for your wand. When you felt the wood underneath your fingertips, you clutched it and jumped to your feet, gently grabbing onto the sleeve of Draco’s robe who was already trying to retreat.

“Get away,” he snarled, snatching his arm out of your grasp.

“Let me help,” you pleaded softly, “it’ll be quick, I promise.”

Draco looked down at you with annoyance. He was about to leave again until he felt that same tender touch from just a few moments ago. The feeling stunning him again as he looked down at his hand that was now lying palm up in yours.

“Episkey,” you drawled the wand over his injured finger, the both of you watching the swollen and purple bruise beginning to form suddenly fade away.

Draco gave you one last scowl before he snatched his hand out of yours and turned around to leave the corridor, leaving you standing there dumbfounded as he quickly walked away, his cloak floating behind him like the professor, who’s class you now realized you were very late for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

That night, Draco lied awake staring at his ceiling he had charmed to resemble a starry night sky. His mind wandered off to think about spells he could try to help fix the vanishing cabinet and different ways he could kill Dumbledore without actually having to face him. He thought of his parents, mostly his mom, and how much he wishes he could save her and himself from this life. He thought of this school and how much he missed being an unknowing child who just did his schoolwork, played quidditch and bully the Golden Trio. He missed the two-dimensional life he used to live. Even if he used to be a complete ignorant and snobby arse, he was a happy one at that. Only now he knows that life isn’t what mummy or daddy say it is, in fact, it is so much worse.

He found his mind wandering to his uneventful day of dragging himself through his classes and failed attempts on the cabinet in the room of requirement. He then all of a sudden remembered the klutzy y/h/c girl that tripped into him and sprained his finger. He remembered how soft her touch was and how gentle she was in fixing said finger. That feeling was hard to forget. He hasn’t felt such tenderness since he doesn’t know how long. He recalled his mother’s hug before he boarded the train to Hogwarts, but that was ages ago.

In his ever growing turmoil, there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in Draco’s life since he’s returned to school. The coldness he was feeling on the inside was just as apparent as it was in his surroundings. He catches himself wishing he could feel that touch again, something about you radiated warmth, and just as quick as that thought appeared, he pushed it away. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next day, as Draco was leaving the room of requirement and into the empty corridor, he felt the familiar ache in his chest that began to flow through his body. He had made little to no progress today on the cabinet. He felt a panic attack on the horizon, his breathing becoming staggered and tears pricking his eyes. He hated it. He hated feeling so weak.

He began rushing towards Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, his tears blurring his vision and just like the day before, he crashed right into someone. Instinctively, he held the other person in place by their biceps so neither of them would fall. But that still didn’t stop how upon impact, the other person’s head had collided with his bottom lip. He squeezed his eyes in pain as he felt the skin break and blood quickly escaping it. When he pulled back, he focused on the figure in front of him and realized it was you. The same klutzy girl he bumped into yesterday. 

“Oh no, not again,” you frown, placing your hand on the part of your head that met Draco’s lip.

“You ought to watch where you’re going, you twit,” he snarls, stepping away from you in anger.

“It was an accident,” you responded just as harshly. You take a deep breath and throw the attitude aside. He was bleeding for Merlin’s sake and you felt bad that it was because of you. “I’m sorry, please let me heal you again,” you offer, taking a step towards him, closing up the space he had made.

“I think you’ve done enough,” he backs up, eyeing you down.

“Draco, please, just let me heal your lip and i’ll be out of your way,” you ask again, your soft and guilt ridden e/c eyes peering up at him through your lashes. Draco’s heart flutters, his anger subsiding for a second and he nods.

You step towards him once more and unexpectedly place a warm hand on his face while the other brings your wand up to his lip where it hovers. It was a non-verbal spell you used this time and he felt the pulsating pain in his lip subside to nothing. 

Even though he was healed, you both stayed in that position, your hand still on his cheek and his eyes gazing into yours. He didn’t realize it at that moment, but the pain in chest had also subsided, just a little. The tears had gone. His breathing was drastically slower.

“What’s your name?” the question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. You gave him a small smile, your hand falling from his face and he frowns when he feels the cold on his skin from the loss of contact.

“It’s Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N” you answer. “We have potions together this year, actually.”

Draco thought back to that class, now that Slughorn was teaching it he hardly paid attention, especially since he felt he was skilled in it anyways so he would let himself slip into his thoughts and let the whole period pass by in a haze. He feels as though he might have heard your name here and there, but he wasn’t so sure.

“Hm, funny, I’ve never noticed you,” he says, not intending it to sound rude but it did. He watches your face fall and he feels a slight guilt poke at him.

“Well, like I said, I’ll be out of your way now,” you mumble to him, brushing past him softly as you continued your path out of the corridor and out of his sight.

He didn’t know why, but he felt a little sad to see you go. He shook his head, shaking the thought from his mind and instead of the bathroom, he decided to go to his room, no longer feeling like he did before your little encounter.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As days went on, Draco ended up paying more attention in Slughorn’s class. Not to the chubby old professor, but to you, who he shared subtle glances with throughout classes and half-hearted smiles.

You wanted nothing more than to continue talking to him. To be in his presence. He was like a magnet to you, while everyone else thought the opposite of him. Even Pansy, who usually was up his ass, distanced herself from the ghost of the boy she once obsessed over. You couldn’t lie, the small crush you harbored on Draco had only grown more and more each day. It started about three years ago, during your third year when you had seen him in the hospital wing after his run-in with Buckbeak.

You remember the sheer shock you felt when you had seen him for the first time that year. The slicked back hair was gone, he had grown several inches taller, maybe even a foot taller now that you thought about it. His voice had deepened into that haughty tone you somehow couldn’t get enough of. But just like you, many other girls noticed these changes too and began pursuing him. Something you’d never had the guts to do.

Until now.

The feelings you had been suppressing for the past 3 years had come back in overflow the second you bumped into him the other day. Even worse this time since you’ve actually had a conversation with him now and the fact that he won’t stop looking at you.

Slughorn pulled you out of your thoughts when he announced to everyone to partner up to brew the potion he had been lecturing us on all week. Draught of Peace.

“This is your chance,” your friend besides you sings to you as you looked longingly in Draco’s direction who hasn’t moved from his spot.

“No, he usually works by himself, I don’t want to bother him anymore than I have,” you sigh, slumping down in your seat.

“Y/N, you’ve been in love with him since third year,” she huffs, “besides, maybe he only works alone because no one can stand being near him.”

“Shhh, someone might hear you,” you hiss, slumping even lower into your seat. “I am not in love with him, it’s just a stupid crush,” you whisper angrily to her while she only rolls her eyes.

“Okay, well, have fun working alone,” she smirks, getting up from her seat and scurrying across the room to join another classmate. You gape at her in distress, she returns the same gesture, mocking you. She then points over to Draco and smiles, giving you an encouraging thumbs up.

You rest your head in your hand for a second, feeling the hot blush that had made its way onto your face and focused your gaze onto the table in front of you. You mentally hexed your friend, who thought it’d be a good idea if she were ditch you so you would be forced to look for another partner. Jokes on her, you’re not getting up from this seat.

‘I can’t go up to him,” you thought, ‘he probably thinks I’m some annoying creep who won’t leave him alone. I’ll just work by myself.”

Draco looks over at you, noticing the empty space beside you and the frown on your face as you pushed your Potions book to the side and sat up to get your cauldron ready. You were alone, and so was he. He fought himself on whether or not he should join you. It was a bold move, especially for him. He was used to working alone, but the longer he looked at you, the more he found himself missing the sound of your honey sweet voice and soft eyes. Before he had any more time to argue with himself about it, he gathered up all his things and walked over to the empty spot next to you.

“Do you want help?” Draco asked awkwardly, immediately regretting his decision to move. Your eyes shot up from the potion book, not expecting to see the blond next to you with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Um, yes, actually, that’d be nice,” you mutter out to him, moving some stuff around on the table so that he would have space for his. You could hardly contain the deep red blush that was already on your face from intensifying at his presence. You swallowed thickly as the realization set in that your longtime crush was right beside you and even offering a helping hand. Which in Draco’s case was extremely rare, almost unheard of. Matter of fact, this is something the Slytherin Prince has never done.

He sets his bag down and his supplies and takes a seat, rolling up his sleeves so that he could get started on crushing the porcupine quills into the moonstone powder. The amount of times he has made this potion by now for himself was sad, but good in this case since he would be able to impress you with his skill.

He worked diligently and quietly and you watched as his long slender fingers worked everything with attention and precision. You were looking up at him every now and then which you now realized was a terrible idea considering you were in the middle of cutting ginger root and you weren’t exactly coordinated to begin with. You felt the sharp blade slide across your finger and a small gasp left your mouth when the pain instantly began once the first drop of blood fell.

Draco looked at you in confusion, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the blood dripping from your hand and your face contorted in pain. You ignored the looks Draco was giving you, afraid that he might be looking at you with contempt for being sloppy.

“Y/L/N, perhaps you should go to Madam Pomfrey,” Draco suggests, now seeing that the cut was very deep as you inspected it. In fact, it was so deep he swore he could’ve seen bone.

“No, it’s fine, I can heal it,” you ignored the sharp pain and placed your hand on the table and pointed your wand at the cut with your uninjured hand. You focused on the cut and closed your eyes, letting your wand do its magic with your unspoken spell. When you opened your eyes, the cut was gone, just a small scar in its place and drying blood around it. “You see,” you smile, turning towards Draco and waving your finger, “brand new.”

“You don’t want dittany for the scarring?” Draco asked with an eyebrow raised.

“No, I don’t mind them and this one is small anyways. They’re like memories to me. Some come from good experiences, some bad. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a little clumsy,” you explain, a small smile on your lips.

“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” he sighs, “so you’ve managed to become your own healer because of that?”

“Exactly that,” you hummed. “That’s actually what I’m studying to be. I plan on being at St. Mungo’s once we graduate. I’ve been studying for it my whole life.”

Draco was silent for a moment. He watched as you carefully threw ingredients into the cauldron and stirred them with caution. He noticed that despite your clumsiness, you handled everything you touched with a care and gentleness. It was a calming sight to him for some reason and he faintly smiled.

“I think you’d be a great healer,” he complimented quietly. You looked at him with one of the brightest smiles he’s ever seen and his heart swells at the thought of it being because of him. He feels a smile mirroring yours that tries to break through, but he fights it.

“You know, you’re a lot nicer than you let on,” you say quietly, waiting for his reaction from the corner of his eye. Draco wants to give you a snarky remark, just to uphold his cold reputation he’s given himself since his first day back at Hogwarts, but he doesn’t.

Instead of saying anything, he just shrugged and gave you a small smile, turning his attention back to the task at hand. You do the same, choosing to enjoy the comfortable silence that had settled.

When Slughorn came by to check when you finished, he eyed you and Draco and smiled.

"Ahh, Mr. Malfoy, I’m glad you’ve finally decided to partner up with someone,” he gleamed. “Miss Y/L/N here is an excellent potions student such as yourself.”

“Yes, she is,” Draco responded, keeping his eyes trained on the professor. He didn’t want to look at you, feeling embarrassed that he has now complimented you twice in the last 20 minutes. You smiled to yourself, something you’ve been doing a lot of since the slytherin boy sat next to you.

“Well, I suppose you’ll be pleased to know the two of you have brewed an outstanding potion,” Slughorn grins, “both of you will receive perfect marks on this. You can be excused from today’s class now.”

“Thank you, Professor,” you begin gathering your things and turn towards Draco. “I’ll see you next class? Or maybe somewhere around the castle when I accidentally bump into you.”

Draco chuckles and shakes his head, “perhaps. I’ll see you soon, Y/L/N.”

With that, he strides out of the class, you staring at the back of his platinum blond head with a stupid smile on your face.

“You’re welcome,” your friend suddenly appeared next to you, playfully slapping your arm. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen Draco look so... calm.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Weeks had gone by, and several Potions classes. The seat beside you now belonged to Draco and the two of you had in a sense, become friends. Or acquaintances. You couldn’t quite say. 

He was still brooding and mostly kept to himself, but he would converse with you here and there about things, almost always school. The two of you continuously getting outstanding marks on everything you produced much to Slughorn’s delight.

Sometimes he would come to class looking disheveled or angry and those were the days where no matter how much you tried to talk to him to at least maybe get his mind off things, he would ignore you. Wouldn’t even look at you. You couldn’t deny how it had hurt your feelings, but you would brush off the hurt and remind yourself that it wasn’t personal. He was obviously going through something, you didn’t know what, but you had to respect that sometimes he just didn’t want to talk. That was hard. Especially because you just wanted to hear his voice or see him give you that rare smile when you would say something he found amusing or you would accidentally drop something off the table with your elbows or knocked over with your hands. 

You were rounding a corridor when you saw the flash of blond zoom past you. He didn’t see you, but you saw the pointed look in his eyes and the tears that were pooling in the stormy gray eyes that you adored. You mentally fought yourself on whether or not you should follow him, he looked so upset and all you wanted to do was give him a peace of mind. So you followed him, all through two corridors until he disappeared into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Your heart broke at the sobs that filled the bathroom. They were full of pain and despair. The sound of his rapid breathing mixed in with his cries was more than enough to let you know that he was having a panic attack. You pushed open the door slightly to see him hunched over a sink, his robe discarded on the ground along with his vest and tie leaving him in only a white long sleeved dress shirt. 

You wanted to run in and help, but stayed back, realizing that this was something that was extremely personal. You knew he would be livid if you or anyone saw him like this, so broken and emotional. You were about to leave, all of a sudden feeling very ashamed for even following him in here. You watched as he looked up into the mirror, an anger flashing in his eyes as he stared at the reflection looking back at him. Not yours, but his. All he could see was a monster staring back at him. A failure. A weak man. He was disgusted and angry with what he saw and before he knew what he was doing, he had pulled his fist back and you watched it collide with the middle of the mirror where he had been. The glass shattered upon impact, the shards now flying in all different directions and embedding into his knuckles. He fell to the ground on his knees, in pain and clutching his fist as his cries only got louder. 

That was when you threw open the door, rushing in to help him, not caring that you were going to have to put up a fight in order to even get near him. Draco’s eyes shot up to meet yours, and just like you thought, he was beyond pissed to see you. 

Draco has never felt such humiliation in his life. The beautiful and kind y/h girl he had acquainted himself with, was now looking at him with pity. He grabbed his wand from his pocket, pointing it at you with such quickness that you faltered in your steps.

“Get. Out!” He yelled, his wand shaking violently in his uninjured hand. He would never hex you, but he figured you would fall for his bluff and leave. But you didn’t. You only sat yourself down a few feet away from him and felt your own tears begin to fall. “Y/L/N, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t leave, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you challenged. “I just want to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” he sneered, his wand still pointed at you.

“You’re bleeding, a lot, Draco,” you point to his bloodied hand that curled to his chest. “You know I can save you a trip to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey’s interrogation.”

After a few moments of silence and a wand still pointed at you, you slowly scoot towards him. Your hand encloses around the one holding his wand and you lower it for him while he watches you. He was still crying and breathing heavily. His panic attack somehow getting worse now and no longer having the energy to fight you. You finally reach him, now knee to knee with him and you place a hand on his shoulder.

“Draco, just breath with me,” you say calmly. “In,” you took a long exaggerated inhale, and after a few seconds, “out,” and let out an equally exaggerated exhale. You did that with him for a while, his pained gray eyes focused on yours the whole time, never breaking eye contact. Once he was calmed down enough and was just left with the post crying hiccoughs, you took his injured hand in yours. There was shards and particles of glass stuck in his reddened and bloody skin.

You reached into your robe pocket and pulled out a set of tweezers you kept with you. You often found yourself getting splinters or tiny rocks stuck in your skin when your hands hit the pavement when you’d fall you try and catch yourself.

“This might hurt,” you warn, starting to remove one of the biggest pieces. He sharply inhales as you try your best to do take it out carefully.

It was quiet the rest of the process, just sniffles and gasps from Draco when you had removed a piece that especially hurt. When you were done, you waved your wand over the gashes and watched as they faded into faint pink scars. You got up, pulling him with you and took him to the sink where you rinsed off the blood from both your hands and his. 

He couldn’t say anything. He didn’t know what. He just stared at you, dumbfounded and confused. You turned your body to face his and he did the same, eyeing you carefully and still very cautious to any move you made.

“I can leave now, if you’d like me to,” you offer quietly. He stayed silent, wondering if he should just send you off. But he didn’t want to. You had already seen him at his worst, and he was terribly alone, so he just shook his head ‘no.’ You looked up at him and decided to risk it all. “Can I give you a hug?”

Draco was stunned at the question, his heart pounding against his chest. “I suppose,” he managed to let out in a strained voice.

You slowly stepped closer to him and slid your arms up his biceps until your hands met behind his neck. You stood on your tippy toes and pulled him into you, his chin now resting on your shoulder as your hand smoothed the back of his head. You felt him stiff under your touch and as he got comfortable in your embrace, his arms raised from his sides and snaked around your waist, pushing you flush against him. You stayed like that for what felt like forever, and he held you tightly, not wanting to let go.

This was the first time in a long time that he had felt any type of relief. It had been such a constant uphill battle for him, day after day. He took a deep inhale accidentally, but the smell of your perfume and shampoo filling his nose and his mind made him feel at ease. The warmth of your body from underneath his fingertips brought him peace and succor.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair so quietly that if you weren’t so focused on him, you would’ve missed it.

“Anytime.”

That was the day Draco Malfoy became your friend.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Potions class was no longer the only place you would see Draco. Now that the two of you were comfortable with one another and he trusted you more than anyone else, he found himself hanging out with you every day during his free time when he would be done messing with the cabinet.

It would be taking walks around the castle. Sneaking out at night and meeting behind statues to talk. Sitting together at a bench in the courtyard. Skipping stones along the Black Lake. It’s been months of this. Months of friendship he so desperately needed. You had helped him through several more panic attacks and meltdowns, each time coming closer together. He never told you about what caused them. The worst ones were when he found he had almost killed Katie Bell and Ron Weasley, and as much as you begged him to tell you, he kept his mouth shut. 

He had spent so much time with you that it was affecting him. But for the better. He found himself eating again at the Slytherin table and his friends were more than excited to have him back. He still wasn’t too buddy-buddy with everyone as he once was, but he joined conversations and shared a couple jokes. He was even sleeping a little more. He was still beyond stressed, but it wasn’t as gut-wrenching. He enjoyed Potions again and even started paying a little more attention in his other classes. His new found energy even helped him greatly progress in mending the vanishing cabinet, finally making a breakthrough in fixing it.

He would lie awake at night sometimes and thank Merlin you crashed into his life, literally. You were like an angel to him, healing his heart with every word and smile and touch you sent his way. It was easy with you. He tried his best to keep his emotions at bay, reminding himself that when he would have to follow through with his task, he would lose you and that thought pained him to no end. But he was selfish, and he adored you with every fiber of his being so he couldn’t leave you alone. And especially not when he needed you most.

Today, you lied in the grass, shoulder to shoulder and staring up at the sky and watching the clouds. You were a little ways from the castle, away from all your other classmates and teachers and it was nice. Finally being able to enjoy time with the Slytherin Prince without people gawking at the two of you.

“My mother used to do this with me when I was a small,” Draco trailed off, his eyes following a particular funny shaped cloud. “She would take me out to the garden behind the Manor, usually when father was doing some work at the ministry. But we would sit against this tall oak tree and I’d be on her lap and she’d have her arms wrapped around me and she would point out the funniest shaped clouds and try to pinpoint what they resemble. Sometimes she’d even joke around and say the weirdest shaped cloud looked like father.”

You giggled at that last part, your heart swelling at the story. He rarely talked about his family, but when he did, it would always be of his mother and a happy memory he had with her, never his father.

“Draco, can I ask you something?” you turn onto your side, your elbow holding you up as you gazed down at him.

“What do you wanna know, darling?” you blushed at the nickname but brushed it aside, knowing he only meant it in a friendly way.

“Forgive me if it’s rude, you don’t have to answer,” you begin, “but do you miss your father? I know it’s none of my business and I’m so sorry the Daily Prophet put your family business on blast like that. I can’t imagine how that must have felt.”

Draco frowned and followed you in turning onto his side and propping himself up with his elbow to face you. You remembered the image of Draco and his mother on the newspaper, bright lights flashing across their faces as all the press tried to get picture of them after the sentencing of Lucius Malfoy to Azkaban. You remembered seeing Draco look so sad, yet strong beside his mother as he looked from her and then into the camera with disdain. 

“Sometimes, I do,” he answers, eyebrows furrowed as he thought of his father. “My whole life, he’s expected nothing short of perfection from me. There were no room for mistakes, and if I made any, I would be punished for them. I remember coming to Hogwarts was like an escape, a place where I could finally sort of relax and be a child. I don’t miss his scolding or his coldness. But I miss having a father, I miss going home on that first day of summer and seeing both my parents even if he was going to reprimand me for something later on in the day. He’s been with me my whole life, and now he’s gone, stuck in a cell in Azkaban. He’s never going to be the same. Home is never going to be the same.”

You felt tears prick your eyes as you listened to the boy beside you, a distant look in his eyes as he turned back over on his back to look at the sky in the middle of his explanation. You sat up and he did the same, looking at you with a frown when he noticed you were about to cry. You took your hand in his and held it tightly.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” you mumble. “You don’t deserve any of the bad things you’ve been through.”

“I do,” he shrugs. “I’ve been a real git since I’ve been at Hogwarts, you know.”

“You’re different now,” you say. “Sure, you still haven’t lost a little bit of the Malfoy snobbishness and you’re still a bit of a git, but you’re kinder and more gentle. You’re a lot more empathetic and perceptive. I mean, I’ve never spoken to you prior to this year, but your reputation follows and the Draco in front of me doesn’t seem anything like the Draco you were.”

“How you’ve managed to insult me while complimenting me is something I’ve never seen anyone be able to do successfully is astonishing,” he laughs, a smile growing on his face as you laughed with him.

“I’m serious, Dray,” you giggle, “I think you’re a good person.”

“I’m not good,” he thinks to himself. The compliment leaving your lips made him feel foul. He didn’t deserve to have such a kind soul complimenting him to be something he’d never amount to. He frowned and harshly stood up, and you quickly followed. Suddenly afraid that you might have overstepped your boundaries.

“Where are you going?” You ask, fear trembling in your voice. He begins to hurriedly walk off and you chase after him, stopping in front of him so you could place your hands on his chest to stop him. 

“Y/N, let me go,” he pleads. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“I think I’ve been around you long enough to know who you are.”

“Not long enough.”

You stare up at him, but he refuses to look at you. His body feels rigid under your touch and it pains you to see him beginning to shut down again.

“I know something has been bothering you this year, and I know it’s not just because of what happened with your father,” you start. “I don’t know what is hurting you so deeply enough to make you hate yourself, but I’m here to tell you that whatever that thing is, it doesn’t define you.”

Draco swallows thickly, the tears already falling down his cheeks. “It does, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you cry with him. “Even if you don’t see your goodness, I do.”

Both you and Draco are crying, the tree you were now standing under was swaying violently in the wind, as if it was picking up on your guys’ emotions. You placed a hand on his cheek, and he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I’m not good,” he whispers to you, “and once you see that, you’re going to hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Draco Malfoy,” you promise, a complete sincerity in your voice that it makes his heart jump.

Draco lifts his head up and sniffles, he watched you do the same, peering up at him through your wet lashes. He brought his thumb up to smooth the crease in between your eyebrows, letting it fall down to your cheeks where he wiped away the stray tears that had stilled. His hand then landed on your mouth that was pulled down in a grimace that matched his own. His thumb grazed over your lips, the softness of them nearly driving him mad. He wanted nothing more than to feel them against his own, but he couldn’t bring himself to kiss you. He didn’t want to drag you into the darkness of his life more than he already has.

“Kiss me,” you said to him, so softly but it rang loud in his ears. You had seen the way he looked at you and how he seemed so focused on your lips. You knew what he was thinking because it was exactly what you were thinking. You wanted this just as badly as he did. “Kiss me.”

Every argument he had in his head vanished and suddenly he closed the small space between the two of you and gently placed his lips onto yours. It was a fluid movement, like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

Your hands found their way in his hair, holding him closer to you and he did the same by gripping onto your hips. His lips were soft against yours, filled with fervor and desire. He was gentle with you, but you could still feel the deepness of his kiss and how it intensified with each second. He had put all his emotions into it, his care, his appreciation, his want, his sadness, his grief, his love.

When he pulled away and the two of you stood there staring at each other with love stricken eyes, he realized he had made a grave mistake.

He realized he was in love with you. He realized that he would never be able to let you go, and you would never let him go. And he knew that with the direction his life was going in, one way or another, you would get hurt and he would lose you, maybe even to death itself.

So in that moment he knew. As much as he loved you and wanted more than anything to be with you, he couldn’t put you in that position where you would be staring evil and death in the face. He wouldn’t tarnish your beautiful soul like that.

“I have to go,” he breathed out. “Please, leave me alone. For good.”

And with that he turned away, leaving you standing under the tree with tears falling down your face, a sob escaping your throat and the sound of your knees hitting the grass below you. He held back his own cries and walked faster away from you, knowing you had finally done damage to yourself that you couldn’t heal, and it was all his fault.

PART 2

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