Every moment made her more anxious, until she could barely hide the way her hands shook as she accompanied him down that last stretch of corridor, through an ornate mechanical door, and…
"Girls," he raised his voice only slightly as he stepped into the neatly-furnished chamber beyond; "come out of your hiding spot, I've brought someone I would like you to meet."
There was the faintest rustle of movement from an adjoining room; Azshe turned towards it just in time to see -
"Belubelu! Narunaru!"
She broke and *ran*, even as the two **kittens** bolted for her with arms outstretched. Dropping hard to her knees, she snatched them close in an embrace so fierce her joints creaked; they held just as tightly to her, burying their faces against her shoulders and digging their tiny little claws into her back.
She didn't dare even think of rebuking them, not when they were wailing so piteously.
Not when *she* was crying, now, too.
"You're all right… you're all right… Oh, thank the goddess, you're all right…" Azshe wept, holding her mother's sister's **kittens** close and rocking them until their own sobbing died down.
‘No,’ Harry said. ‘I didn’t — I can’t — no.’
Boingo’s fingers curled tightly in his hair as he climbed up and sat protectively on Harry’s shoulder.
Ice spread from Harry’s heart, encasing his body. His limbs froze. Everything tingled. Buzzing filled his ears as angry whispering filled the Hall. Unable to move, Harry stared blankly at Ron and Hermione. They stared just as blankly back.
‘Harry Potter.’ Dumbledore’s voice, muffled by the ice, knocked at Harry’s brain. ‘Harry, up here please.’
The ice cracked. Harry shook his head. ‘I didn’t put my name in.’
‘Harry,’ Dumbledore said again, voice firmer.
Hermione leant across the table, face as pale as Harry felt. She pushed his arm. ‘Go on, Harry.’
‘But —’
Beside him, Seamus nudged his side. ‘Go.’
Harry turned to him. Go? Go where? What was happening? This was a dream. He had to wake up.
‘Seamus?’
The smile Seamus gave him may have been meant to reassure, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, in a voice that sounded anything but. ‘Go on.’
The buzzing reached fever pitch. Furious voices, a **swarm** of hornets. As Harry stood, angry glares burnt into his skin. He flinched. Stiff on his shoulder, Boingo stroked his neck mechanically. The movement should have been soothing. It wasn’t.
Not asleep. Not a dream. A living nightmare.
The ringbell made them both startle. “They’re becoming early birds, apparently,” said Orube.
Cedric snorted. “Or maybe it’s that pianist neighbor of yours again,” he muttered as he left the kitchen, carrying the jug of steaming coffee with him.
“I doubt he’ll ever show up again after last time!” Orube said to his back with a chuckle. She was not sure if she was laughing more at the memory of a few days earlier, when her neighbor had shown up to catch up, evidently after noticing that Joshua was not around anymore, and had found Cedric on the doorstep instead - or if she was laughing because Cedric had clearly taken the jug of steaming coffee with him as a threat to the visitor.
The cacophony of female voices that she could hear from the kitchen after Cedric had opened the door reassured her that it was not the pianist. She heard the Guardians breaking into her house like a swarm of bees and could not suppress a smile, imagining Cedric being pushed to the side and looking at them storming in with a dejected expression at the thought of what they had to do next.
“Hey, did someone make pancakes?” Orube heard Hay Lin saying, as the voices came closer.
“They smell good this time!” Will said.
“And they look good!” commented Taranee as they entered the kitchen.
“Hmm, so nice of you two to prepare breakfast for us!” said Irma, as she took one plate. “Do you have any maple syrup?”
“I’m not sure they were for us, Irma,” Cornelia scolded her. Irma took the other plate as well. “Hey, we’re here to get lectured, you won’t expect that we do it with an empty stomach?”
Cedric joined them in the kitchen as well. “You’re here to learn how to behave like people with good manners at the royal wedding, and you’re already starting with the wrong foot.”
“In her defense, we are not stealing the Queen’s pancakes,” Will said, opening the drawer where the cutlery was. “We’re stealing only yours.” She grabbed a handful of forks and then turned to follow the others towards the living room.
Cedric rolled his eyes, handing one of the two coffee mugs to Orube. “How old are they again? Aren’t humans in their twenties supposed to be a bit less annoying?”
Orube took the mug and smiled. “I think they just enjoy teasing you. And you secretly enjoy it, too,” then took the bottle of maple syrup from the counter and followed the girls before Cedric could rebut with an outraged denial.
‘Are you all right?’
Harry shrugged, shoulder sliding against the rough stone wall as he tried to catch his breath. ‘It was… a shock. My parents… they never had a chance.’
Bill squeezed his shoulder. ‘And physically?’
‘A bit achy.’
‘You shouldn’t have risked yourself like that.’ Bill stood stiffly, every plane of his **body** held carefully in place as if ready for a fight.
‘You’re angry.’
Bill’s snort echoed through the empty bathroom. ‘What gave it away?’
Harry bit the inside of his cheek, pressing his back against the cool stone wall. ‘I’m sorry.’
Bill’s sharp look caught Harry off guard. His brows furrowed, trying to read the emotions flickering across Bill’s face.
‘I’m not angry at *you*.’
“You need to eat. It should help your lightheadedness.”
Gaia kept watching his hands without knowing what to say. As she tried to find sleep that night, her mind had replayed his demeanor before and after biting her for a thousand times, and she had looked at the situation from many different angles. His reaction had scared her, hurt her – the look of bloodlust in his eyes, his words about power, the darkness that seemed to exude from his **body**. Now, however, there was no trace of that. There was just a pale, flirting elf who had been gentle enough to wake up early and prepare her breakfast just the way she liked it.
“Thank you,” Gaia took one slice of apple and nibbled on it quietly.
“Don’t be so shy, darling. You can go ahead and eat everything. I saved these apples for you.”
“Saved?” she sniggered and rolled her eyes. “If I did not know you any better, I would say you took them from Wyll.”
“It’s flattering how you know me so well,” he smirked as he passed her another slice. His eyes sparkled brightly when she ate it. “Pardon me for my thievery, however I simply did not want my favorite traveling companion under the risk of passing out.”
“How kind of you.”
“You are a princess, darling. It is only logical I show you how much of a gentleman I am.”
“You did say you would show me your manners.”
“And how do you think I have been doing so far?”
Gaia’s response was to smile coyly another time and toss another apple slice into her mouth. Then, she nodded her head towards another apple he had on his lap and Astarion started unpeeling it with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“I rather like our little dance around each other, darling,” he whispered by her ear. The hairs in the nape of Gaia’s neck stood up and she felt a shiver run down her spine. They were so close she could smell his musky scent. She was sure he could count the freckles in her face. “Just like I know how much you enjoyed what we did last night.”
This in an excerpt of the chapter I just posted today - a Baldur's Gate Astarion/OC fic
Harry’s pain-addled mind abruptly put together the pieces of the conversation. He shrank into the sofa cushions. ‘Wait, you’re saying there’s a piece of Voldemort’s *soul* in my head?!’ Swallowing against the flood of bile coating his throat, he tried to slow his racing heart. ‘Can you get it out?’
Not meeting his eye, Bill’s silence stretched too long. Harry swallowed again as the nausea bubbled up from his sinking stomach.
‘The normal approach is to **break** the Soul Jar, releasing the soul piece to death,’ he said eventually.
‘**Break**?’ Harry repeated. ‘You’re saying — you’re saying that the only way to get rid of it is — what? — to kill me?’
‘No.’ Fierceness honed Bill’s voice. ‘It will not come to that. We will find another way, Harry.’
Find another way? How? How could they possibly find another way? If releasing a soul from a Soul Jar required destruction of the vessel, well… it sounded like he had to die. And if Voldemort couldn’t die until the soul was released…
Swallowing thickly, Harry took a shaky breath. He could do it. He could. What was his life compared to the lives of his friends? Compared to the future of the world? Voldemort wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t back down. If Harry had to give his life to keep Voldemort from taking over, well then, it was an easy choice to make. He just had to —
‘Harry!’ Harry jumped at Bill’s sharp tone. ‘Don’t you dare even *think* about killing yourself.’
There was a beautiful shade of light blue to the sky as dawn started to **break** in the next morning. Gaia raised her dark white eyes to drink in the breezy atmosphere and how the pale sunlight kissed the scrape of everything it touched as though it could awaken and instill life into it. Having managed to sleep less than one hour that night, Gaia felt herself being whisked away by that picturesque scenario and she tilted her head up and squeezed her eyes just so she could bask in that welcome bliss.
The events of the prior evening lingered in the back of Gaia’s mind the entire night. The drow raised a hand and touched her scales, traced the scar that cut across her eyebrow and right eye, but then her fingers moved automatically to her neck where they immediately found the two bite marks in her neck. She traced them absentmindedly; her fingertips delicately outlined the shape of Astarion’s fangs and she sighed heavily. It did not tingle anymore but touching the marks brought her back to how it had felt to have his fangs piercing her neck – a feeling like nothing else.
As Gaia tried to sleep the night before, she embarked on the dangerous territory of ruminations. Realization dawned upon her that Astarion was the closest thing she had to a friend, and it was because of her own insecurities and ever-present feeling of loneliness that the aftermath of his coming out to her had made her feel so overwhelmed. He had trusted her enough to reveal that he was a vampire spawn and trusted her even more to ask for her blood knowing that she could have very well denied, attacked him, or scared him away from their group to let him find a way to deal with the parasite by himself. In his own way – a way that always threaded and walked on the verge but never fully committed – Gaia suspected that Astarion in fact trusted her.
Yet, even though Gaia had willingly given him her blood, seeing the way he transformed right in front of her eyes had been overwhelming. Gone was the flirtatious, mirthful pale elf who displayed occasional sweetness. Instead, she saw a man who was power hungry and bloodthirsty, a facet she had seen glimpses of, but never really looked at. Her immediate reaction had been close in on herself, wonder if she had been used to satisfy his palate and allow her ubiquitous insecurity and second guessing to get in the way of how she felt about him.
Years and years of being tossed and turned by her schoolmates, a plethora of memories of being on the other end of sycophantic subjects, not to mention living with the constant feeling of being just a means to end. An heir to a crown, the continuation of a dormant bloodline, the daughter of a Queen. Gaia had always come last; what she represented had always come first. In the end, Gaia had never learned how to love, accept, or trust herself. Everything about her seemed to always have an ulterior reason, a purpose that she had not chosen. Insecurity was part of her just as much as breathing and seeing his change of behavior – how he had reacted to drinking her blood and then harnessed power from that – all of that had immediately transported her to feelings she had not experienced since she left the Underdark.
“Hermione, have you ever had a boyfriend?” queried Ginny.
“What?” replied Hermione, bewildered. “No. No, I haven’t. Why?”
“Oh. I was just wondering if there was anyone who could give me advice.”
“Well, I’ve had a girlfriend. Is that close enough?” Hermione replied, thinking of Cho. Two months of pure, well, she wouldn’t call it passion, but they did really like each other. Hermione had been twelve, Cho thirteen, and it was great. They did messily **break** up, but it was good while it lasted.
“A girlfriend? Really? Well, it’s pretty much the same thing. So, you know Neville?”
“Neville?” Hermione slammed down her book. “You like Neville?”
“Yeah! Just- how do I tell him?”
“Are you sure he likes you back?”
“No. He probably doesn’t.”
At that point Hermione had told her some randomness about ‘following her heart’ and whatnot, knowing that the shy Ginny would never confess her love unless prompted to or motivated.
Jesus, the Weasleys had a very concerning type. Did the red hair come with a side of tastelessness?
“Because I want to help you. I know you cannot appreciate the fact that someone actually means to do something kind for you and I will not insist if it makes you uncomfortable. But I still do want to help you. You can trust me, Astarion.”
The scowl melted at once. Gaia noticed how he unclenched his jaw and then he eyed her again like he had done the night before. There was no flirt or desire, no playfulness or mischief. He seemed to be breathing in her closeness, drinking in every corner of her face. It was as if he could not believe what he was seeing – from the parting of his lips to the softness to those red pools that were often filled with lust and playfulness. Gaia sustained her gaze as best as she could while he pondered her words. He shifted closer to her another time and their knees touched again.
After a minute, Astarion finished slicing the apple and handed the last three pieces to Gaia, who ate them in quiet contemplation. When she was done, he pocketed his knife and turned to face her profile. Raising an arm, he cupped her face and tilted her neck up as though he wanted to admire his own work. After some seconds examining the place and clearly feeling pleased at the result, his fingers made way to her lips and he brushed a thumb over her mouth. She parted her lips and released a **breath** in response, and Astarion grinned at her reaction. He traced the silhouette of her lips and Gaia bore her eyes on his, happy to see his red irises trail down to her lips before they looked up slowly to meet her eyes another time. When he spoke, he was so close to her that his warm **breath** tickled her skin. His voice sounded silky and smooth, and Gaia almost wanted him to say the words closer to her ears.
“People don’t do kindness. But I will accept your offer and will be kind to you just like you are being so kind to me, dear,” he muttered in a light voice, touching the bite marks on her neck again. “I meant what I said last night. This is a gift and I won’t forget it.”
‘One of the first tombs I worked, I missed a key layer in a rune network. The curse triggered and… Well, my colleague almost died.’ Bill shook his head. ‘I know what it’s like.’
Harry shook his head vehemently. So, Bill missed a rune and almost killed a colleague. What did that have to do with Harry? It wasn’t like he’d missed something and caused Malfoy’s injuries. He had nothing to do with what happened, nothing. Harry pulled the thought tightly around himself like a shroud, wrapping his arms around his legs as he did.
‘Harry.’ Bill’s voice was gentle. ‘Malfoy wasn’t even sitting behind you. He took the brunt of the force to his chest, but it singed up his arm to get there. There’s only one way that could’ve happened.’
Harry closed his eyes. Words slipped through the folds in the shroud, little more than a **breath**. ‘He saved my life.’
\[CW: spider, arachnophobia\]
Ice flooded Ron’s veins. The spider turned abruptly, lurching across the desk and scuttling towards him. He jerked, shoving away from the desk. The screech of the chair legs across the flagstones was barely audible over the pounding in his ears. Not down my throat, not down my throat. He pinched his lips as tightly as he could, not even letting air pass them.
The spider wasn’t stopping. It reached the edge of the table. Ron tensed, muscles preparing to flee. It tensed too, crouching, ready to fling itself at him.
Spindly fingers grabbed the spider. Ron gasped. Air flooded back into his lungs. Boingo caged the spider between his delicate fingers, keeping it from moving.
Shaking, Ron pressed a hand to his throat. His spider-free throat. He swallowed a spiderless gulp of air, and another, and another.
‘*Imperio*.’
Moody’s second intonation wasn’t at the spider, but at the monkey. The spider’s legs gave a final twitch as Boingo stiffened, **crushing** it in his grip. Ron’s focus stayed on the spider, even as Boingo relaxed and threw the crushed body at Moody.
Distantly, Ron was aware of Moody speaking. He couldn’t concentrate on the words. The curled-up spider corpse rested on the far side of the desk where it had fallen, legs tight against its body. Even dead, he didn’t want it near him. Couldn’t Moody banish the thing?
(Technically, this was from an original story I wrote when I was 14 - but it was heavily inspired by an episode of Jim Henson’s “The Storyteller”, so I still posted it as fanfiction…)
And so, a year passed, and the day came when the stag arrived at the palace to collect his prize – the nobleman’s daughter would become the stag’s bride! Everyone felt terrible for the girl and tried to persuade her not to go through with marrying the animal, but she decided, “I will do it. My father made a promise, and marrying this beast is better than breaking a promise.” So, the very next day, the stag and the nobleman's daughter were married – and oh, it was the most miserable, sad looking wedding party you ever saw!
But something amazing happened that night after the party was over. The young girl had just fallen asleep when the stag rose from the bed, gently stroked her long black hair with his hoof, and walked over to the fireplace. Unbeknownst to the stag, his soft touch had awakened the girl, who turned to look at him – and **behold**! the stag took off his skin, and the handsomest man the nobleman’s daughter had ever seen emerged from underneath it! He left the skin lying by the fire and went outside the castle.
The nobleman’s daughter got up and went to the window, watching the man walking around the castle – and then she turned, walked towards the stagskin lying on the floor, and lay down on it. It was soft and warm, and it made her very drowsy as she climbed back into bed and fell asleep.
Tension crawled over them as they headed to the Great Hall for lunch. Déjà vu hit Harry as they descended the staircase to the first floor. Rationally, it was unlikely to happen again. Bill and Dumbledore had both pointed out how reckless the unknown enemy’s attempt to kidnap Harry in such a crowded corridor had been, and it was unlikely the mistake would be made twice. Even so, Harry **faltered** as he approached the steps to the Entrance Hall. He let the crowd pass by and drew back against the wall.
‘Potter.’
Boingo’s tail swished as Harry jumped. Malfoy stood alone again. Boingo peered at him, but Malfoy ignored him, focus fixed on Harry.
‘You’re not going to wander off again, are you?’ Malfoy sneered, though the expression didn’t fit his face. He crossed his arms when Harry merely blinked in response. ‘Some of us need to eat, Potter. Now get moving. If I leave you here and you go missing again, I’ll have to deal with all your friends, and I don’t really want the castle flooded because your Weasleys couldn’t stop crying over you.’
Harry blinked again, thoroughly confused.
Malfoy huffed, grabbed his shoulder and shoved him towards the stairs. ‘*Move*, Potter, for Merlin’s sake.’
Harry moved.
Morning arrived with shafts of soft, warm sunlight spilling through the windows, splashing across the beds and the stone floor. Birdsong accompanied it, drifting like **motes** down the beams of light. Harry’s most recent doze was set to their melody, and interrupted by a gasp of pain that spasmed through the firm chest beneath his hand.
With that, he propped you upon his lap as the slave brought more wine. You felt yourself get warm, feeling him on you. Such…intimacy sent your heart aflutter. Though…after plates were cleared before he could tighten his arms to hold you, you slid off. He let you, his blue eyes widening.
"See, '**heart**' isn't a program, or a physical thing. It's not something that someone else can just... reach into you and change. Even *you* can't always change it, really - trust me, I've tried *so hard* to change mine more than once, but..." She shrugged helplessly, thinking back to how she'd tried to be angry at Judy and Will and their parents, how she'd tried to hate Smith, how she'd tried *not* to love Vijay, and how she'd failed miserably at all of those things; "...it just kind of. Does what it wants, sometimes. All the time. I guess. It's - it's feelings. Emotions. You understand emotions, right?"
Almost hesitantly now, SAR nodded.
Penny exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I kinda thought as much. I mean, you seem pretty angry and upset. People who don't have feelings wouldn't, well, feel those things." She made sure to subtly emphasize *people* as she held his unnerving gaze. Because the robots *were* people; the adults might not entirely understand that, but she did.
Slowly lowering her left hand, she pressed it over her **heart**, feeling it hammering away behind her ribcage.
"You feel those things *in* your **heart**, and then you *choose* how to react to them. Robot *chose* to stay and protect Will, because his **heart** told him it was the right thing to do. And *your* **heart** was hurt by that, and it *scared* you. I mean, stop me if I'm wrong, but I think I heard enough to know that I'm not."
He bristled at that, and Will let out a strangled gasp behind her - but she forced herself to keep holding SAR's gaze even as she took a third step towards him.
This time, he held his ground, and she felt a cold thread of fear knotting up in her stomach.
She thought back to the first incident. When he called her that word, she was confused. She’d seen him look, for a brief moment, scared. His friends were sort-of nagging him to do something. Even if they made him do it, that was no excuse to say it, right?
But she believed in second chances. He didn’t mean it with his whole **heart**. She didn’t exactly forgive him for being so vile, but maybe she should talk to him, if she had the chance. To understand him better. Why exactly had he said it?
Why was she even thinking about this? It was *Draco goddamn Malfoy*.
‘Down!’
Harry threw himself to the ground. Magic burst through the air above him, rending it open. Harry clung to the solid earth as he crawled. He slipped, hissing in pain as a broken tent peg sliced into his palm. Struggling back onto his forearms, he continued to crawl. Every movement of his hand pulled on the wound, tugging it wider, leaving a trail of blood.
He pushed the pain aside. Each inch drew on every ounce of his concentration. Robes whirled past, pounding feet and shouted spells thudding in his ears as the aurors fought. One stopped, seizing Harry and dragging him behind her.
‘Stay there!’ She turned back to the fight.
Canvas cradled Harry as he slumped against a tent, panting. The rogue auror was strong, but with Harry clear and no risk of hitting him, it didn’t take long for the other aurors to bring him down.
An odd hush settled as the fight ended. Harry didn’t move as the aurors bound their opponent and checked the perimeter for other enemies. The young auror that had shielded him came over. Crouching in front of him, she asked, ‘Are you hurt?’
Harry stared at her uncomprehendingly. The pounding of his **heart** was loud in his ears. He should say something; maybe thank her for her help. But his dry mouth refused to form words, and his brain was too busy trying to remind his lungs how to breathe to worry about an insignificant thing like speaking. A sad smile crossed her **heart**\-shaped face.
‘I’ll get you a healer.’
I hope the plural is okay; the MC is bicardial. TW: the aftermath of torture, though not very graphic.
\---------------------------------------------------------------
For once, the plan comes together the way it's supposed to. The guards follow Rose away from their stations, and soon find themselves locked in a utility closet. The rebel guerrillas trigger minor explosions all over the citadel that bring security forces running, including Jack's interrogator. As soon as he's out of sight, the Doctor rushes into the room.
He comes to an abrupt halt. Jack is secured to a high-backed chair that faces away from the door, so the first thing the Doctor sees is the interrogator's desk. Scattered across the surface of the desk are items that make his **hearts** skip a couple of beats. Xoshia is a technologically advanced world. The standard interrogation tool is a neural prod. Hurts like hell, but it won't do much damage. There's a neural prod on the desk, surrounded by a dozen other tools for inflicting pain: primitive, cruel, and very effective.
He runs past the desk and around the restraint chair. Jack is strapped into it, naked. The Doctor stares, horrified. The tale of Jack's ordeal can be clearly read on the bruises, weals, cuts, and burns marking his flesh. The young man is slumped in the chair, but he's conscious. One blue eye -- the other is swollen shut -- fixes on him. "I'm ready to check out of this joint, Doc," he mumbles. "Think I won't be tipping the chambermaid. Service here is terrible." Jack coughs, and a trickle of blood drips from the corner of his mouth.
Emppu wrapped his arms snugly about the singer, simply holding him and basking in the closeness.
"I love you so much..." Bruce eventually whispered softly.
"Minäkin rakastan sinua," Emppu murmured. "Olet rakkauteni ja elämäni. Kotini on kanssasi, sillä koti on siellä, missä sydän on, ja sinä pidät sydäntäni nyt ja ikuisesti."
“Forgetting your English again?” Bruce teased with a soft chuckle. “I only caught a couple of words this time, so see, you do make me forget my Finnish.”
“You are my love and my life,” Emppu translated quietly. “My home is with you, for home is where the **heart** is, and you hold my **heart** now and forever.”
“You hold my **heart** in exchange,” Bruce said. “And I can’t wait for Download, so I can tell the whole world so.”
From a long-abandoned WIP. Jack, Rose, and the Doctor are in a poly relationship. Jack has been trying--unsuccessfully--to explain to Rose why he sometimes enjoys pain with sex. Excerpt is SFW.
\--------------------------------------------
"Curry," the Doctor says. Both of the humans stare at him. "Rose, when you went back to London last month, you and your mates went out for curry, yeah?"
Rose nods.
"What did everyone eat?"
"What does that--"
"Simple question, even for you," the Doctor says with exaggerated patience. "What did they eat?"
Rose squeezes her eyes shut, trying to remember. Good job that most of them have their regular favourites. "I got the prawn biryani. Keisha ordered the chicken tikka masalla, you know, with the cream sauce. Anna got some spinach and potato stuff--she's gone vegetarian, 'cos her new boyfriend is one. Shireen always orders the mixed kebabs, and Liz got a lamb vindaloo."
"Did you share?"
She'd really like to ask him what he's getting at, but he's giving her one of those looks, and she doesn't feel like dealing with Time Lord attitude just now. "Sort of. Shireen didn't want the biryani on account of the carbs in the rice. Anna wouldn't eat meat, but she shared some of the starters. And nobody except Liz wanted the vindaloo."
"Why?"
She stares at him. Why the bloody hell is he playing ignorant? He's eaten curry often enough, and he probably tried it for the first time 500 years ago at some banquet at the court of Emperor Whatsisface. "Because it's hotter than **lava** mixed with acid, and we don't want to burn away the linings of our throats, that's why."
"But Liz likes it?"
"Yeah, but she--" *Oh.* The penny drops. "Just as simple as that?"
Thursday afternoon couldn’t come soon enough for the Gryffindor fourth-years, eagerly anticipating their first lesson with famous ex-Auror Mad-Eye Moody. Before the bell had even rung, the students gathered outside the classroom door in a loose-knit group that could only be called a queue in the most **general** sense. If ideas were owls, the air above them would have been a cloud of Pigwidgeons as they excitedly exchanged theories about what they might learn in the lesson. The moment the trill of the bell filled the air to announce the start of class, the students were falling over themselves to get inside.
”Huh,” Steve said. ”Small as he is, I wouldn’t have guessed him for a martial artist. I mostly talked with Marko when I met them that time, although I was introduced to all of them. Emppu seemed much the quietest of the lot, not that any of them save Marko were particularly outgoing.”
”Probably some combination of being Finnish and quite possibly being in awe of someone they admire,” Bruce pointed out. ”During my time in Helsinki, I learned that Finns in **general** enjoy their quiet. Which isn’t to say they can’t be very friendly when they want to be, mind, just that in **general**, they’ll need to get comfortable with someone new before they grow talkative. Either that, or they’ll need a good amount of booze in them.”
Steve laughed. ”Okay, well, I didn’t take either of those factors into account when I met them, I guess. And thinking about it, Marko is a good bit older than the rest of them, isn’t he? Plus he’s been in other bands before, so he’s probably got the most experience of all of them, when it comes to meeting new people.”
Nar Shaddaa was one of these places that looked like they might be civilised. It had the spires, the lights, the traffic. It held on tight to its nickname of Little Coruscant, but in the end it was as grimmy and slimy as anything in Hutt possession. It was such a karkhole of a rotating dump, it always carried the scent of shit and rot, mold and barf, the whole shebang of life and death, and it was hard to distinguish anything above that general stench.
Mentally twisting the thrumming threads around himself, Bill nodded. He followed Charlie out of the house and walked beside him across the **garden**.
The morning was contrarily peaceful. Long grass swished beneath their feet as they walked. Chickens murmured as they flapped and foraged in front of the coop. Gnomes rustled the bushes, chattering and giggling lowly. The scent of honeysuckle and an amalgamation of herbs filled the air.
They ducked under the boughs of an apple tree, passing into the orchard. The apples were ripening, not quite ready to pick. Not that under-ripeness had ever kept any of them from pilfering the fruit at the end of a languid summer day of flying, exploring, and — inevitably — bickering.
Pausing, Bill scooped an apple from where it had fallen, nestled in the grass at the base of its tree. It was not ready, too soon to have loosened of its own accord. Something had caused it to drop prematurely, and as he turned the fruit in his hand, it revealed a bruise marring one side. His fingers tightened involuntarily, the thrum under his skin becoming more of a shudder, the threads pulled tautly.
Charlie’s hand closed over his. Bill looked up into the bright blue eyes. There was a question there that Bill wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Charlie pulled the apple from his grasp, letting it drop onto the cushioning grass before taking a step away and tilting his head.
‘Wands or hands?’
That was a question he could answer. And exactly what he needed. An outlet for the energy vibrating through him. Bill flexed his fingers, contemplating, and then reached for the holster on his forearm.
Today, Aeroc invited Richard for tea at his estate. Hugo had brought out his mother’s favorite teacups, he always does it when Aeroc invites friends and close relatives. It doesn’t mean a lot, but it’s the little secrets that make any meeting more special.
The rose garden was blooming with life, the vibrant color painted the garden in shades of burmese rubies. Aeroc thought of having tea in the gardens, but Hugo suggested the terrace which overlooks the garden.
It was a great idea. So the terrace was immediately cleaned and set-up, ready to receive his guest.
Hugo escorted Richard to the terrace, he immediately smiled warmly at the sight of Aeroc. And Aeroc could help but smile back at him.
Aeroc makes tea for both of them. He knows Richard loves lemon tea, so he had Hugo make it in advance.
“This is my first time here.”
“Father rarely lets visitors up here. He prefers holding social events in the rose garden.”
“The sight from up here is amazing to be honest.”
Richard seems to be at a loss for words. Most of the people who have the privilege to see the splendor of Teiwind’s great history were left astounded by its prestige. The rose garden that his mother had cultivated in his lifetime had become one of its most prominent pieces.
“I can’t wait,” Bruce said with a smile. “I really hope the house is as good a fit as Satu thinks it will be. I’m looking forward to a place that’s ours, you know? Not you moving into mine, or me moving into yours, but us moving into ours.” He paused and added, “I’m thinking about selling my flat and looking for something more suitable for us in London as well, since we have Eeva to consider now. Maybe even something detached or at least semi-detached, so we’ll have our own **garden** for her to play in.”
“I wouldn’t say no, but don’t feel as though you have to give up your home just because of me and Eeva,” Emppu said. “We can make it work one way or another.”
“I know,” Bruce said, snuggling closer and sounding sleepy. “We can make anything work, so long as we’re together. A **garden** for Eeva’d be nice, though.”
Emppu gave him a soft kiss. “It would,” he agreed. “I love you, Bruce.”
“Love you too, Emppu,” Bruce murmured.
>Crowley didn’t wait to hear the rest. He stormed out the back door and out into the small garden. Smoke was curling from his shoulders.
>It was a nice enough garden, with a variety of plants that were near ready for harvest. He spotted tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, a lovely little apple tree, a big mess of herbs, and a huge patch of strawberries.
>All of his plants had likely perished in the blaze of hellfire. Some he’d had for over a century. They had names, personalities. Shitty attitudes, but who was he to judge? The loss combined with his current humiliation punched him in the guts, and he was just about done with feeling fucking sorry for himself, so he turned his fury onto the plants surrounding him, zeroing in on a drooping tomato plant.
>He marched over and snarled, long and low. “You have everything you could *possibly* want in this garden, and you *dare* not to stand tall?”
>The plant shivered at his menacing tone, and stiffened up. He cast his eyes around the rest of the garden. “You lot better appreciate what you have. Sun, rain, lovely soil. What more could you possibly ask for?” he shouted. “And you! Are those *spots* on your apples?”
>“Are you lecturing the greenery?” asked Nina from the porch, disbelief clear in her voice.
>He glowered at the plants. “You mean these spoiled, coddled, *overindulged* wastes of resources?”
>“They are plants.”
>“And they know better!” he shouted.
>“You are actually mental,” Nina said, sitting on a little wicker loveseat.
‘Draco!’ The voice pushed through the mire of Harry’s mind. He couldn’t see past Malfoy, but he could imagine the expression on his father’s face. It, like his tone, would be one of fear rather than the ubiquitous sneers.
It wasn’t Mr Malfoy, however, that gently levitated Malfoy away a moment later. It was the Bulgarian Minister for Magic.
‘I vill help,’ he said as he carefully lowered Malfoy to the floor. ‘I vas healer. Before.’ The moment the levitation spell cut off, his wand was in rapid motion.
Harry hunched in his chair, frozen. Phantom weight still crushed him, **pinning** him in place. Treacle surrounded Harry as he stared at Malfoy. *Is he even breathing?*
‘If someone could help.’
The minister’s words were a solvent, melting the glue that held him in place. He could help. It would give him a focus. Harry reached for his wand.
‘Here,’ Bill said, as he pushed his way past his siblings from further along the row. ‘What do you need?’
They piled on the bus with the others, once again ignoring the frowns in their direction from Jones, frowns which only deepened as Janick, Nicko, and Steve praised Emppu’s performance and teased the couple with regards to their stated desire to skip the bar and head straight up to their room.
”...and with tomorrow being nothing but a bus trip, I suppose you’ll be up ’fencing’ all night?” Steve laughed.
”Why not?” Bruce riposted. ”Fencing’s bloody good exercise, I keep telling you blokes that. However, I was thinking more along the lines of doing some judo, since I’ve got my favourite sparring partner with me. It doesn’t matter if I get pinned or do the **pinning**, I win either way.” He gave his bandmates a smug grin, causing them to laugh.
Hands dropped onto their shoulders from the seat behind them. ”Bruce, that was terrible,” Adrian said. ”Kiss your lad and tell him you’re sorry for making such tasteless jokes.”
”I’m sorry for making such tasteless jokes,” Bruce parroted before leaning in and giving Emppu a gentle kiss. ”Am I forgiven?”
”Always, kulta,” Emppu said with a smile. He made a show of whispering, ”Besides, I thought it was funny.”
>“Divert more power to shields and brace for impact!” shouted Jim, as the red glow of the Klingons’ photon torpedo filled more and more of the screen, blotting out the stars behind.
>The impact shook the ship, flinging everyone on the bridge toward the starboard side. Spock was thrown against the railing of the perimeter walkway. The blow produced moderate pain in his first two lumbar vertebrae, but the circumstances afforded no time to dwell on that. Jim, having also been thrown, was now **pinning** Spock to the railing.
Another wave of **panic** coursed through Harry’s veins. He jumped to his feet, hands clammy as they patted at his pockets.
‘Where’s my wand?’
‘What?’ Ron frowned from behind Hermione as Harry caught his eye.
‘My wand.’ Harry’s voice cracked. ‘It’s not here!’
‘I’m sure it just fell out of your pocket.’ Magic shivered over Harry as Charlie approached, scouring a layer of plasma and unidentifiable fluids from his skin and t-shirt. The spell made little difference to the stench that clung to the fabric, and Harry knew he would never wear the shirt again. Charlie squeezed Harry’s now clean shoulder, raising his wand with his other hand. ‘*Accio* Harry’s wand.’
It was like watching through the Omnioculars again. Everything shifted back into slow motion. At first, nothing happened, but then, with an odd ripple, Harry’s wand appeared out of mid-air.
Seeker reflexes kicking in, Harry snatched his wand out of the air before it reached Charlie, and curled his fingers around it. ‘*Accio* invisibility cloak!’ he shouted, copying Charlie’s spell.
”And how did you get this far, Luna?” Jukka asked. ”What happened?”
Luna looked down, knowing that while going out the wrong door was a simple mistake, running after Aku Ankka was just plain wrong on her part. Bruce and Emppu joined the group as Luna explained the situation, with Emppu quietly translating for his partner, Tasha, and Kia.
After Luna finished her story, Satu and Jukka looked at each other in the silent communication that the parents of small children use. ”Well, I’m angry that you ran after Aku Ankka without us like that,” Satu said after a moment. ”However, I’m also very proud of you, because you didn’t **panic**, and because you remembered what to do if you lost us, including the English words to say that you needed help.”
”I think those scraped knees will remind you not to run off again, right?” Jukka asked.
Luna nodded. ”I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Satu sighed. ”I know you are, Luna. How about we all go get something to drink and calm down, then we can maybe go on some more rides, okay?”
”Okay,” Luna said with a smile. She reached out to give Matti a hug. ”Thank you for coming to help Hayley and Tasha and Kia talk with me,” she said.
”Glad to help, sweetie,” Matti told her.
'Shadowheart, can you tell if he's hurt? Needs healing? I have some potions, maybe one can help?'
'No need to panic.' She kneels next to us and lays her hands on Gale's forehead. 'He's simply exhausted. I'll give him a small boost, but what he really needs is sleep.'
Gale inhales sharply. Shadowheart pulls back and sits on her haunches, observing silently as our new friend sits up with a chorus of battered, middle-aged grunts.
'I- I simply can't thank you enough,' he says at last. 'Both of you. Ooft... Apologies. I'm usually better at this.'
He still sounds awful, but at least he's keeping his eyes open now, and sitting on his own. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and makes a face when it snags on knots and comes away with sticks and leaves.
'No need to apologise,' I say, 'you were clearly in need of a helpful hand.'
Tw: brief panic attack
"-are underway for a missing United States government plane that crashed over the Atlantic Ocean earlier this evening," the reporter explained. "The plane is believed to be carrying the First Son of the United States, Alex Claremont-Diaz, and a few secret service agents. The reason for the crash is suspected to be a storm brewing over the ocean."
The world stopped for Prince Henry of Wales. He clutched the sheets to his bed. He could hear Bea talking, but he couldn't focus on a word she was saying. Henry's brain had gone into full panic attack mode.
It took a few minutes before he came back to reality. When he did, Bea was crouched in front of him. The TV had been turned off. "Hen," Bea said.
"It's my fault," Henry said. "I sent him away. He shouldn't have been in the air tonight."
"Alex will be okay," Bea said. "He has to be okay. He's a fighter. And when they do find him, you better tell him that you love him."
"I will," Henry said. "I'll tell him every single day."
'Stop rushing! Fighting isn't about your fucking feelings!' Sevika yells at her. 'Keep your guard up, stop using your chin to block blows, you're not making a point here! Again!'
But she's good, the little fucker, she's fast on her feet and she still leans into her punches like she's on a mission to demolish her opponents.
Sevika's stump itches something fierce, where the metal digs into flesh. She wants to shimmer up, to take Vi on seriously. But she's not quite there yet, and she suspects Silco wouldn't let it slide now, if she bruised her up too much.
'Use your head,' she spits at her. 'Think. Think!'
context: DI Robbie Lewis is one of many speakers scheduled to give short talks at a police conference. He's just discovered that he dropped the paper with the text of his speech, and it seems to have been picked up by another DI, who has an old grudge against him, and would be happy to see him embarrass himself. Robbie is hoping that his sergeant, James Hathaway, who helped him polish the speech, can write him a quick outline to crib from.
\----------------------
As if summoned by the very thought of his name, Hathaway appears at Robbie's side. "Sir? What's wrong?"
Robbie pulls him to a quiet corner, and quickly explains the problem. He's about to ask Hathaway to write him an outline when his bagman asks, "Which pocket?"
He blinks. "What?" How can that possibly matter? Hathaway repeats the question, a note of urgency in his voice. "The left. Left jacket pocket," he stammers, then watches in bewilderment as his bagman strides away, a man with a **mission**. *What do you think you're doing?* For one terrifying minute he sees Hathaway approach Innocent, but the sergeant merely gives her a respectful nod as he passes. He slows as he gets nearer to Broderick. His posture relaxes. Hathaway greets several colleagues with a nod and a smile. He even pauses to say something to DS Hurst, who looks startled, but smiles. Broderick is talking with a man that Robbie doesn't recognise. One of the officers from Milton Keynes? Neither man looks away from their convo as Hathaway walks by.
It's over in a second, maybe less. Even though Robbie has his eyes fixed on Hathaway, he almost misses the moment in which the sergeant's slim hand dips into Broderick's pocket. There's a flash of white, and then it vanishes. Hathaway himself vanishes, only to reappear a few moments later, his blond head moving through a cluster of uniformed officers like a swimmer bobbing between waves. Broderick is still blathering to his friend, oblivious. *Thank God.* If Hathaway had been caught...
He's still alternating between fear and amazement when Hathaway returns and hands him a piece of paper. Even before he opens it and sees the familiar words, Robbie knows it's the right one. He recognises the angle of the uneven folds and the coffee stain on the lower right corner. "James, thank you... but how—"
>“I don’t know about you, Beverly, but I could use a girls’ night after all that.”
>Data found this statement from Counselor Troi strange. He paused shuffling the deck and inclined his head questioningly.
>“Counselor, unless I am mistaken, you and Doctor Crusher are always ‘girls,’ not just at night.”
>Counselor Troi laughed. “You’re not mistaken, Data. I was just suggesting that Beverly and I, and maybe a few other women in the crew, get together and unwind after the recent **mission**.”
>“Ah.” Data resumed shuffling the cards. “‘Girls’ night’ refers to a low-stakes social gathering composed of all women.”
>“That’s right!”
**Trumpets** sounded as Prince Fridleifus stepped forward from the tower, followed by the vizier, known as Count Arryn, and then by the king and queen. Instantly, a hush fell over the crowd.
“My people,” Prince Fridleifus began loudly from the tower, “As you know, our kingdom of Druwyth will, in a month, be celebrating its 500th anniversary!”
A cheer erupted from the crowd.
“That very same night,” the prince continued, “I shall marry a woman I have chosen for my own: a woman who was once a commoner of Druwyth, like yourselves; but perhaps, you will not find her common now. Would you like to meet her?”
Another loud cheer.
“Then I present her to you!” Fridleifus called. “My bride-to-be…the soon-to-be princess…Sarah!”
The crowd was silent as it turned towards where Prince Fridleifus gestured. Instantly, **trumpets** sounded again as none other than Sarah, the one who had loved Jareth so dearly and always would, appeared in the archway – clad in fine jewelry and a beaded, pale-pink gown, and wearing a flower crown made of gold on her head.
“Tully spent over half his life on this project. He called it the Forest of Euterpe.” Jack glances inquiringly at Seán.
Seán nods. “The ancient Greek Muse of music.”
“After the first six years, he had enough pillars carved to give his first concert.” Jack moves a few paces away to a spot inside a triangle of three pillars. He spins in a movement that resembles a neo-kendo kata, hitting the pillars in quick succession. The notes linger, blending into a chord. Stepping into a second triangle of pillars, he repeats the process, sounding another chord. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to focus, and lets out a long, slow breath. As he inhales, he explodes into motion, spinning to play one chord, then jumping between the triangles to play another and another. It’s a simple children’s tune: eight bars with only three chords, but it takes all of his strength and concentration.
“That was wonderful.”
Jack shakes his head. “If you want incredible, you should see the Tritos Glockenspiel Society play one of Tully’s original compositions. Half the settlement comes out to watch from up top.”
Seán turns slowly, studying his surroundings. “This quarry is one huge resonance chamber. It must be magnificent.”
“It is. And the eight musicians in the group are pretty talented. But the really incredible thing is that Tully performed his music solo. I’ve seen one of the surviving vids. He danced through this forest of his like a photon-drive cruiser.”
“Feckin’ brill,” Seán repeats.
“Ready for your turn? Get your spoon ready.” Jack can’t suppress a grin as Seán removes a fistful of spoons from his jacket pocket. “Pick one you won’t mind leaving behind.”
Emppu slung the strap over his shoulder and shifted a bit, getting comfortable with the feel of the guitar. Poking through the picks to find something close to his usual, he tested each string and smiled as the tuning seemed perfect. “I see you’ve tuned this to D-standard,” he commented. Then he launched into the opening riff of Slaying the Dreamer. From there, he performed the **solo** from Nemo, and wrapped up with The Trooper, which made Tuomas laugh.
“Yeah, I forgot you’re going to need that one in a couple of weeks,” the keyboardist said. “Well, it’s not your EV-1, but it’s a good sound, and the black will look decent in the videos. And it won’t clash with Marko’s bass, either.”
“True enough,” Emppu laughed. “Okay, so, this guitar, a hard case since I’ll have to fly with it…” he continued to speak for a couple of minutes, requesting a couple sets of his favored strings and picks, a set of quality in-ear monitors since his custom-fitted set was back home with his EV-1, plus a set of Griffin Dickinson’s preferred strings. The clerk beamed as he hurried off to get the requested items, obviously mentally calculating his commission from the sale.
In the split second it takes for her to think about these terrifying possibilities, she's already turning, eyes searching for the person who will know, who can make everything right again. "Doctor? Something's wrong with Jack."
The Doctor's right behind her. *Oh, my God!* His eyes look just like Jack's -- enormous pupils almost completely eclipsing the irises. There's no blood, and he isn't breathing funny, but it can't be a coincidence. "Doctor?" she squeaks.
Jack spins around, staring at the Doctor. And the Doctor *whimpers* \-- really, there's no other word, he whimpers like a frightened child -- and lunges at Jack. Rose takes an involuntary step backwards, but before she can protest, the two men are grappling with each other. It's more like wrestling than a fistfight, but there's nothing fun or playful about it. The Doctor tries to shove Jack aside, but the younger man ducks and twists, and the Doctor's hands brush across his face, becoming coated with the blood that is still streaming from Jack's nose.
Rose is shouting, begging for them to stop it, stop it! The Doctor screams, and the sound is like nothing she has ever heard. High-pitched, and with more than one note in it, like a shrill chord from a church **organ**.
Not five minutes later, George once again snuck through the kitchen and slipped up the stairs as Bill distracted Mum. He headed to his and Fred’s room first. Quietly opening the door, he took care not to let the hinges groan too loudly. George tiptoed across the room, lifted the bottom of Fred’s blanket, and tickled the sole of his foot.
‘Ahfuguff!’
George jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding being kicked in the face. He grinned as Fred’s sleep-rumpled head appeared at the other end of the bed.
‘What the fuck? Dickhead. Why are you awake?’
‘It’s lunchtime,’ George said, leaning against the wall by the door. ‘And I’ve been awake. Been plotting with Bill.’
Fred’s eyebrows raised. He untangled his legs from the blanket that had twined around them at his wild flailing. Once freed, he stood, running a hand through his hair before stalking towards George.
‘Plotting? Without me? With *Bill*?’
‘Yup.’ He grinned at the affronted look Fred graced him with. ‘By the way — Eye-Roll Eclairs.’
Fred’s expression morphed into intrigue. ‘Interesting. Might make people feel **sick** though.’
‘Yeah, I thought of that. But it could —’
‘Be cosmetic.’ Fred nodded. ‘True. We can work it out later. What’s this about plotting?’
‘Bill’s doing indecent things to a gnome so he can sneak Harry out.’
Fred paused. He stared at George for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Makes sense. We’re dragging Ron off for Quidditch, then?’
George grinned again. Trust Fred to understand. How people managed without a twin, he didn’t know.
“Well, speaking of Harry, he’s concerned enough that he sent Jan in here to check up on us a bit earlier,” Dave said. “I told Jan I’d be out to talk to him once you woke up, Bruce, so I probably ought to do just that.”
Adrian snickered. “Either that, or we prank him,” he suggested. “Make noises like we’re having a wild threesome back here and then all of us walk out with big stupid smiles on and watch his head explode.”
“Bloody hell, Ade, I thought I was the one with the **sick** sense of humour!” Bruce said, laughing so hard he fell off the sofa.
Dave took advantage of the gap to swat his partner on the back of the head. “You’ve been watching those bloody Beavis and Butthead videos again, haven’t you?”
“Maybe,” Ade said, still laughing. “But you love me anyway.”
Dave’s eyes softened and he leaned in to steal a quick kiss. “For thirty years and more now, and I don’t ever plan to stop.”
“Good, because neither do I,” Adrian told him, caressing his cheek.
“You worked for them?” she asked
He nodded.
“Starting when?”
He shrugged. “Pretty quick after Ma died.”
His mother had died — he thought, anyway — when he was four or five. Leia squinted at him. “Doing *what*?” she asked, somewhat afraid of the answer.
Han shrugged again. “Pickpocketing and runnin’ scams, mainly. When I was real small, I was a prop for the older kids. A younger sibling who was sick or hungry, so they needed donations.” He scoffed softly. “Got better returns if I was cryin’, but I didn’t know how to do that on command, so some of ‘em would pinch me to get me good and upset. Was kinda soft back then, so it worked.”
*‘Was kinda soft’?* Leia thought in disbelief. “You were a *child*,” she sputtered.
He shrugged. “So were the kids pinchin’ me. We all just did the best we could to survive, Leia. I ain’t gonna hate ‘em for it.”
“Of course not,” she agreed. “But I wouldn’t call a child crying after being hurt being *soft.*”
My fic is written as a screenplay, so I'm posting the excerpt as an image in order to preserve the formatting.
[Word count: 226](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/686615745840676868/1221173878152499230/image.png?ex=66119dcc&is=65ff28cc&hm=0148c80ea2bc3d073de68d7fccfdd9c6928c36e92917df1540f17b85a8b6ead7&)
“You know, now that it’s all out in the open, your husband is quite an, for lack of a better word, ass. He’s cheating on you.”
“With who?” Realisation dawned on Narcissa’s face. “Oh my goodness, with you.”
Betrayal hung in the silent air.
“Should I leave?” asked Draco awkwardly, after several minutes of nobody speaking.
“No, stay here.” said his mum.
“Just leave your mother and I to **this**.” said his aunt at the same time.
“I’m just going to stand in the doorway. Compromise.” Draco said. Even though all he got in response was two pairs of steel-grey eyes narrowing and staring into his soul, he still went and stood in the doorway, watching the ensuing argument.
“You stole my husband.”
“Was he ever yours if he wanted me so bad?”
“You sound like one of those Christina what’s-her-name songs.”
Aunt Bellatrix looked offended. “That’s blood-traitor pop. I would never.”
The fight quickly descended into an insult of the singer.
“I mean, what even are those lyrics?”
And somehow, the two women started laughing together, pushing their hatred for one another aside for united hatred of Muggles.
What a disaster, Draco thought. He continued standing in the doorway, absorbing the hateful conversation around him, because he had nothing else to do.
‘Mr Potter, if you would please come with me.’
Harry did not want to speak to the auror. Though, the sooner he did, the sooner he could leave. Standing reluctantly, Harry followed.
‘**This** won’t take long, Mr Potter. Just a few routine questions and then you can get back to your friends,’ the auror said, breaking the silence as they passed through rows of abandoned tents. ‘I’m sure you’d rather be with them. Seems like you’ve had an exciting couple of days.’
Harry rubbed his eyes. Exciting wasn’t exactly the word he’d use. “Exciting” would have been enjoying the match with his friends. Narrowly avoiding being burned to a crisp, having his life saved by his rival who’d subsequently almost died himself, being targeted by a madman, and getting lost in the woods… None of those would be in his top ten choices of things to include in an “exciting” day. More like “traumatising”. He’d be having nightmares about the World Cup for weeks.
*Where are we going?* Canvas drifted by, an unending, unchanging sea. Except… Harry started. It *had* changed. Unfamiliar tents surrounded them. ‘Uh… do we have to go so far? Can’t we talk here?’
‘Just a little further.’
He stopped. Something in the auror’s tone made his skin crawl. ‘I’d rather stay here,’ Harry said, his voice steadier than he felt.
‘Now, now.’ The auror turned and smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes as he gestured towards the tents ahead of them. ‘It’s not much further.’
When a symphony of screams, rubble, and casted arcanum was taken away by the night winds, the center was bathed in still silence, save for the footsteps rushing in every direction, without a doubt searching for her--the final piece in **this** game of chess her Manus and the Order had started.
The silence carries the echoes of the footsteps to the secret room where she leaning on the balcony with a glass of wine and a calm expression on her face.
She is not hiding. There is no cause for her to do so, but she would like to relish a time by herself before her inevitable founding.
It comes soon when footsteps light as a feather stop at the door. It was spelled with ancient arcana that removes its traces so regular arcanists might see only a wooden panel among many.
But the footsteps stayed there, as if in hesitation before an incantation is muttered from the other side of the door:
*“Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,*
*But as for me, alas, I may no more.”*
Arcana’s mouth curled into a smile.
What a surprise. That voice is one she has not heard in years. Though it has become firmer and deeper, it is still a voice that brings her back to the glory days of the Manus. As the Foundation’s power and influence started to dwindle over the years, she anticipated the owner of that voice to sink down with them.
A steady hum as the casted arcanum is resisted by the age-old spell. Such gentle magick holds no candle to a power that has endured decades of Storms.
The humming stops, and then another spell is cast. **This** time, more unyielding and forceful as the voice that carries it.
“*E’ vèn tagliando di sì gran valore,*
*che’ deboletti spiriti van via:*
*riman figura sol en segnoria*
*e voce alquanta, che parla dolore.”*
The arcanum clashes against the layer of protection and the sound is that of a whistle as the barrier fights to hold.
*“Voi che per li occhi mi passaste ’l core*
*e destaste la mente che dormia,*
*guardate a l’angosciosa vita mia,*
*che sospirando la distrugge Amore!”*
The sound of an arcanum breaking is a sigh, which the wooden door whispers in the silence.
The door creaks as it swings open, followed by a gasp of recognition.
Arcana’s smile creeps further up. She turns to face the newcomer, a rare indulgence of vanity evident in the deliberate sway of her hips in such a way that commands her garment to worship her shape.
The figure at the door is almost as tall as she is, a stark contrast to the time when their paths first crossed. Gone is now the little girl with starry doe eyes. Her wild ginger hair was tamed in a high ponytail by a checkered cloth. The tip of her infamous glass pen glowed as she held it in a gloved hand. Her intelligent olive eyes are concealed behind an ornate hound-shaped mask.
She freezes at the door. Her pen tip unconsciously gathers crystals in a sign of caution and quite possibly a hint of fear. The hound is still a puppy after all.
Another figure appears behind the girl as if to rescue her, and Arcana’s eyes light up.
“Would you like a massage, enkelini? Like you gave to me after my Helsinki show?”
Emppu smiled. “You don’t have to, you know.”
Bruce laid a gentle finger on Emppu’s lips. “I know I don’t. I want to. **This** is… it’s a way of… of reassuring myself that you’re okay, I think? It’s hard to explain but… a big part of the nightmares I had, had to do with knowing you were dealing with a lot of stress, and I wasn’t there to help. I mean, you were already unsure if your nightmares would come back, and then you got here and found out about Eeva, and you had to go out on tour almost immediately. Any one of those things would have been stressful enough, and you had all three piled on at once. And, well, I can be overprotective. Gotten my arse in a fair few fights over the years because I tend to jump in to defend people I care about, even if it’s not needed. And because I tend to be overprotective, I also felt kind of felt guilty over what happened in London. I know, I couldn’t have predicted or prevented what he did, but knowing that and feeling it aren’t the same thing.”
“Oh, kulta,” Emppu murmured, lifting a hand to caress Bruce’s cheek.
“Believe me, I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself,” Bruce admitted. “Up here, I know it, anyway,” he said, tapping his forehead lightly. “But it still took Davey and Ade talking me through a lot of shite to convince myself that nothing terrible was going to happen to you just because I wasn’t there to help you cope with everything. Anyway, now I am here with you, and I still have **this** stupid urge to wrap you up in bubble wrap to keep you safe. I won’t, I refuse to smother you like that, but at the same time, I do have **this**… **this** need to take care of you in some way. I figured a post-show massage might satisfy that need without going overboard, you know?”
Emppu pulled his lover close and gave him a tender kiss of understanding. “A massage sounds wonderful, kulta, and I won’t ever object to you wanting to take care of me sometimes… as long as you don’t object to me taking care of you sometimes as well.”
'A hand?' he calls. 'Anyone?'
It's the classic line, Gale's first words in the game, muted by the portal's infernal crackling and frothing of reality. All as it should be, and I'm glad for it, but holy shit I was not prepared for things to look this bad.
I give Shadowheart an anxious look, and she returns an incredulous one. 'You can't possibly be serious?' she asks, not needing tadpoles to read my mind.
'What? There's a man in there, we have to help him.'
'We?'
'Shadowheart, you can't just use we when it's convenient...'
'We have to stay alive. This sigil is clearly malfunctioning. Gods know where we may end up if we touch it.'
'Anyone?' comes Gale's voice, small and pleading. I wonder if he can hear us debating his fate.
'Look, I'll touch his hand to prove it's safe, and try to pull him out—'
'Don't act so rash—'
'No, no, listen. It'll be fine.' Again, manifesting, manifesting... 'I'll grab him, then you grab me, and we pull him out of there together.'
Shadowheart gives me a look that can only be described as a murderous glower.
'Can I count on you?' I insist.
She rolls her eyes, but mumbles a half-hearted 'Fine,' which is good enough for me.
Taking a deep breath, Naruto stared at the rubber ball as he began to pool chakra in his palm, willing it to maintain the orb shape characteristic of a Rasengan. Doubt crept in, but he pushed all negative thoughts aside and focused on the hard facts in front of him. Mom was right. He knew how to do this! He’d done it last night and proven that to himself. There was nothing to fear.
The rubber ball twitched. He rested in the knowledge that he was prepared for this test, funneling in still more chakra. The hollow object at last began to wobble. Naruto smiled when the intensity of the chakra within the ball escalated. Its weight was balanced throughout, just like what he’d managed to accomplish last night in the backyard. Letting out a passionate cry, he brought the technique to its natural peak of power. The rubber ball blasted apart with a distinct pop, resulting in a mixture of applause and cheers from those in attendance. Floating in the destroyed ball’s place was a perfectly round Rasengan. The potent mass of chakra spiraled in every direction, giving off a dull hum.
“Okay, hotshot,” Jiraiya said between chews of his snack, “now for the real test.”
The Toad Sage tossed his student a water balloon and got comfortable again. Naruto nodded with a devious grin and held the balloon out in front of him. Channeling chakra for a Rasengan, he stood motionless. Time passed without so much as a leak from the balloon. Naruto gave his teacher an enthusiastic thumbs up.
“Wow,” Jiraiya said, removing the misshapen toothpick from his mouth. “He’s really done it.”
“Of course I have!” Naruto pointed an accusatory finger. “I told ya, Pervy Sage.”
“Yeah,” the white-haired shinobi sighed. He hopped down from the ledge. “You got me, kid.”
“Sooooo? Remember what you promised?!”
“Yeah, yeah, a free bowl of ramen at Ichiraku on me. Deal’s a deal.”
“Nuh-unh. TWO free bowls of Ichiraku Ramen!”
“Damn,” Jiraiya muttered while reaching for his wallet. “I was hoping he’d forget about that part.”
Before she could sink too deeply into her annoyance, clattering feet preceded a surge of life into the kitchen. In short order, the task of distributing plates around the suddenly crowded table occupied her hands and thoughts.
‘— still in your pyjamas,’ Ron said as he leant closer to Harry. ‘I thought you’d just woken up early, but —’
‘— never going to let me play.’ Ginny’s voice was sulky. Molly glanced at her, but Charlie was already nudging his sister.
‘You let me deal with Ron,’ he said.
Sitting quietly at the end of the table, Hermione chewed on a **slice** of toast. Molly nudged the rack closer, in case she wanted to take more.
‘Do you need me to pick up anything else for you whilst I’m shopping, dear?’ Molly asked her.
With a shake of her head, Hermione swallowed. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Weasley. I got everything I needed with Mum and Dad.’
‘— some minor changes. I’m sure we’ve almost got it.’
George shook his head at Fred. ‘You’ve been saying that for weeks.’
Narrowing her eyes, Molly rounded the table. If those two were talking Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes again…
‘Mum?’
She turned back. ‘Yes, dear?’
Robbie shuts his eyes, letting his memory drift with his body. He’s not much of a storyteller, but for James’s sake he tries. He spins a tale as timeless as the sea and as ephemeral as candy floss on a child’s tongue. Strolls along the beach... Lyn making a sandcastle for fairies to live in, and Mark adding a garage for their cars... the pleasure of decent fish and chips, with fish fresh from the sea. He remembers the time that Mark sneaked off to visit the arcade on his own. “He won two pounds from a tuppeny slot machine and spent it all on sweets. We didn’t know about it until the middle of the night when he sicked it all up.”
“Did you punish him?”
“That sort of thing is its own punishment, mostly. We gave him a stern talking to, and he wasn’t allowed ice cream the next day.”
“Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty."
Shakespeare? Shelley? He’s not going to ask. “I daresay Mark would have agreed. Day after that, we took a drive to the New Forest, had a picnic. Val bought a Battenberg cake for afters. Mark used his **slice** to lure one of those little donkeys that wander around the forest—then threw a right strop when the beast grabbed it and ate it.”
“So he had to go without?”
“Well, Lyn took her slice—”
“And gave it to her little brother? That’s sweet.”
“Actually, she fed it to the donkey.”
Janick laughed at the sheer number of pizzas. ”Looks like there’s gonna be a lot of leftovers, mate,” he commented to Bruce.
Tuomas heard him and grinned. ”When I was an exchange student in the US, my host family used to say that cold pizza and warm Coke was the breakfast of champions. And I saw them having just that a few times that year.”
”And those people probably think a full English breakfast is weird,” Jan said with a grin as he helped himself to a couple of **slices**.
”Baked beans for breakfast *is* weird,” Tuomas said.
Jan grinned. ”Do you really want to get into a weird food debate?” he asked. ”Because I have just one word to say for that: salmiakki.”
All of the Finns cracked up.
>*How the ever-lovin' fuck is this guy loose?!*
>Logan's legs were moving before his brain fully kicked into gear, propelling him toward Amelie. A second later, a car flew through the air, heading her direction.
>Her eyes went wide as he screamed, "Amelie, duck!" Logan poured on the gas and leapt hard in a desperate bid to at least change its trajectory. His four hundred pounds of meat and metal had to count for something!
>Amelie hit the concrete sidewalk beneath his flying form right as he collided with the front bumper hard enough to twist the car off to the right. It landed on its side with a spray of glass and body parts, barely three feet from her.
>The hard tackle knocked the wind out of him and left his shoulder on fire. It took a few seconds to get his bearings and find her where she lay.
>Her knee and palms were scraped, and an inch beneath her eye was a short slice that poured blood. The overwhelming scent of it hit his primal core, triggering a defensive rage that made it hard to focus. He caught her arm and helped her up. "Lee, we gotta go!"
>Amelie was unsteady on her feet. "Logan?" She touched her cheek and looked at the blood coating her fingers. A split second later, her pupils went to a pinpoint as she slumped into a dead faint.
>"No, *shit*, no!" he hissed. As he caught her up in his arms, he felt before he saw Juggernaut taking a hard swing with a park bench. It was awkward as hell to tumble out of reach without cracking her head off the pavement, but somehow he managed to take the brunt of the impact himself.
>"Fancy meeting you here!" bellowed the Juggernaut's ponderous voice.
Elsewhere, a now adult Jane Foster had also travelled from the forest to the city to celebrate the coronation – or rather, to have some fun in town. She didn’t really care for any of the Asgardian royal family, which probably had something to do with her forest-dweller upbringing, but she especially didn’t like what she'd heard about Thor. In spite of the palace gates being closed for so many years, rumours could still fly around like a swarm of bees – and from these rumours, Jane had heard that Thor was known to be rather cocky, irresponsible, and **egotistical**.
Well, no matter; she wasn’t here today to celebrate the coronation, but merely to sell some goods and then to have a good time once her work was done. Jane had come into Asgard many different times since she was a teenager, often to do some trading or to buy anything that the forest-dwellers might need, but never to party quite like this. Not that getting to Asgard was ever difficult, either, since she had Rex (now a massive full-grown stag) to take her there in the wooden cart she’d built with help from some friends.
(For context, this is an AU where Jane grew up in Asgard after accidentally being transported there as a kid)
‘All right?’ Bill asked. Harry took a deep breath, adjusting to the change in location before he nodded.
‘Thanks.’ He flushed. The last of the tenseness drained from his muscles; at least Bill hadn’t said anything about his irrational avoidance of the floo.
Bill stepped past him, opening the door and gesturing him inside. Gloomier even than the weather outside, the pub’s interior was a soggy sea of monochrome. Amongst the grey, a beacon of red announced the other Weasleys, and he and Bill steered through the crowd to reach them.
‘I managed to get three taxis,’ Bill said as soon as they reached them, not giving anyone a chance to comment on the fact they’d appeared from outside rather than from the floo. Gratitude flooded Harry, and he hoped the warmth gracing his face wasn’t obvious. ‘So we can all go at once,’ Bill continued. ‘Assuming the trunks fit…’
Between them and the taxi drivers, they managed to get all the trunks into the taxis. Harry suspected Bill had done some sneaky charmwork to **ensure** everything fitted. They were all damp by the time they squeezed into the vehicles. Hermione and Ginny went in the first one with Mrs Weasley, Fred and George in the second with Charlie, and Bill joined Harry and Ron in the third.
The nurse shook her head. ”Well, he needs to rest, which is why I’m here, to give him something to **ensure** that rest,” she said, holding up the syringe she’d been about to inject into the port at the y-connection just below the saline bag.
”No,” Bruce said flatly. ”I refuse sedation.”
”But... you need to calm down and rest,” the nurse floundered.
”I might not rest well, but I’ll rest,” Bruce countered. ”I don’t want to be in a position where I can’t be wakened, if Emppu takes a turn for the worse.” His breath hitched a little as he added, ”Milla wouldn’t deny me the chance to see him, if it looks like he might...” He broke off, taking a deep, shaking breath. ”No sedation,” he repeated.
”I’ll speak with the doctor,” the nurse said, looking flustered, obviously unused to patients refusing the prescribed medications. She hurried out of the room.
Context: nightmare sequence; the dragon was in the middle of a villain monologue when it gets smacked in the head by a giant stick, so it tries to eat the narrator, as one does.
--
The back of the dragon's throat lights up like a torch, and along with the smell of death comes the stench of sulfur. Serrated knife-teeth bite into my hands, puncturing the skin as I push to free myself. But his jaws work against me, and my body threatens to fold in on itself.
Despite it all, something starts to give beneath my hands. Small tremors give way to cracks and pops. Flame licks at his tongue, his teeth; his breath grows unbearably hot, but I keep fighting even as a guttural roar belches out. My lungs come aflame, and it is only then I realize that the roar is not the dragon's, but my own.
And then with a sudden violent *crack,* the dragon's knifed maw careens back. A gout of flame erupts from its exposed throat, and for one hallowed moment, the greymist forest is alight with red and purple. My back contacts the earth so hard that the breath leaves my lungs, and pain blossoms throughout.
*Worm!*
A serpentine neck curls back around, and the dragon, now jawless, peers down at me. Flame drips from its neck, spattering upon the earth as it claws its way closer, and its eyes bear down upon me not with indifference, but true malice.
A clawed hand lifts, shadows over me, but I'm pinned by some invisible force. It claps down, trapping me to the forest floor. My hands, a bloodied mess, desperately claw at his slick scales, a fruitless endeavor. Its gory maw sets up on me again, hot, scraping, trying but unable to consume me. Dregs of flame find and spatter against exposed flesh.
*Wake up.*
A claw presses into the hollow of my throat. My mouth opens in a silent scream.
*Wake up!*
Ribs start to crack beneath the dragon's weight. The earth feels like a cradle.
Wake up!
Vision blurs. The tree canopy becomes a sea of hands. The world shakes.
“Wake up! Wake up!”
>Instinct made his shoulder blades burn. Crowley gritted his teeth against the sensation, and let his wings explode from the ether. They were stiff with disuse, and each feather ached from the sudden extreme pressure.
>“Like riding a bike,” he chanted over and over, not acknowledging that he’d never actually mastered the art of two-wheel transportation.
>A tentative swoop had him careen into a wild spin that ripped the acerbic air from his lungs. He yelped and tried to correct, only to find himself twisting the other way.
>On one of the dizzying turns, he saw magnificent white wings above. There was a second where he hoped they belonged to a most-certainly pissy Archangel, but he knew his luck wasn’t that good.
>*Focus, you idiot demon!*
A scream tore the air.
Harry smacked himself with his Omnioculars as he jerked in his seat, tearing them from his face only to return to them immediately. He could scan for the source of the scream easier with them than without.
Through the lenses’ focus, the veela’s ethereal faces morphed in slow-motion, elongating into hooked beaks. Anger marred the once beautiful visages. Their hands shimmered with heat as flames licked along their clawed fingers. Harry’s finger twitched for the speed adjuster — he couldn’t find out what was happening if he was stuck in the past.
He’d barely touched the dial when a hand grabbed the back of his head, jolting him forward. His feet jammed against the divider. The shove flattened Harry’s upper body against his legs, Omnioculars thrusting into his diaphragm. Harry wheezed as all the air left his **lungs** in one excruciating huff.
*Flash*. Heat singed over him. A groan. The person behind him slumped, their dead weight collapsing on top of Harry. The Top Box erupted in chaos.
Bruce gave the bassist a grateful smile. “I will, and thanks for understanding.”
“I do try,” Steve said with a smile of his own. Moving closer to the singer, he lowered his voice and added, “Davey helped me understand something of what’s going on, without giving up any secrets you might’ve shared with him. Just… keep talking to him, yeah? Whatever it takes to get yourself back together. I promised him I wouldn’t push and I’m making you that same promise. I know I’m probably the last bloke in this band that you’d open up to, but I wanted to let you know that I am willing to keep my bloody mouth shut and listen to you rant if you ever need it, yeah? Like if no one else was around or whatever. Just let me know, yeah? I know I can be an arse at times, but you’re one of my mates.”
“I appreciate that, Harry, I really do,” Bruce said softly. Trying to lighten the mood a little, he added, “I have to admit, though, you’re not quite my last choice to talk to. That would be Nicko. He’s a great bloke with a big heart, but he not only can’t keep secrets to save his life, he’s as likely as not going to impart those secrets at the top of his **lungs** in the middle of a crowded room.”
Steve laughed.
Han entered the lounge and all ambitions Leia had of keeping things calm and professional were sucked out of the airlock. Her breath seemed to catch on every one of her ribs as air made its way through her lungs, and she couldn’t remember if she was supposed to be able to feel her face or not. He looked…
He looked like he always did, but Leia wondered how she had failed to notice that he was always so *handsome* for two years straight. He was obviously objectively good-looking, but this seemed…He seemed…
She smiled at him in greeting, her cheeks feeling flame-bitten.
“G’mornin’,” Han mumbled, touching her shoulder without pausing as he passed by.
Leia stopped her own hand from drifting to touch the spot where he had made contact and instead tried to act normal, feel normal, *be normal.*
Context: Amir was responsible for O (Orville)'s death in a previous life. He has since been reborn as a ten-year-old with no memory of this. O, meanwhile, was made into a superhuman entity and retained his memories.
> “Tch.” O mulled over how to proceed. This child really did appear to be a blank slate, much like how Orville had had no memory of his previous incarnations. Amir would never know of the other lives he’d lived unless he, too, became Moebius.
> O’s anger came to a head. He wished he could be that ignorant, or better yet, freed from the damnable cycle altogether. But O had forsaken peace, because he now knew it was merely a pipe dream, a lure, a bedtime story manufactured and mass-produced. The truth had destroyed him, killed him in a thousand different ways all at once, and the only people who could possibly understand the things he’d seen were a coven of vampires and lunatics. They’d all been like him once: misfits, pariahs, dreamers. In this spasm of rage, he could feel himself slipping. Part of him was afraid.
> “This isn’t the first time we’ve met,” he said. “Maybe this will jog your memory.” He deactivated his helmet. He couldn’t think of anything else to do. The beak and feathered horns phased away to reveal a fat, bespectacled face. His lip was upturned in a sneer and his brows were furrowed, conveying an emotion that could not be read through his helmet.
> “I don’t know you,” Amir said, shaking his head and backing away. “I think you got the wro—”
> O dove at him over the desk, but Amir managed to dodge and drop onto the floor. As O scrambled to get back on his feet, Amir crawled under the table and summoned his Blade.
> “Prometheus!”
> O regenerated his helmet at the sound of Prometheus’s metallic screech. The drone appeared and rammed into his gut, talons and bladed feathers stabbing at him like so many knives. They didn’t so much as scratch his armour. O cackled and batted the bird aside like a toy. As he stalked toward the desk, Prometheus came at him again from behind. It tore several long gashes in his cape, only for its mechanical parts to snag in the fabric.
> Amir whimpered. He pressed himself against the wall and hugged his knees. With Prometheus screeching and thrashing wildly in his cape, O knocked over the table. He stepped forward and loomed over the child, swallowing him up in his vast shadow.
‘They’re playing with the Muggles,’ Percy reported, having somehow managed to find out what was going on. ‘No reports of Killing Curses yet. Aurors have been alerted.’
Dad nodded. The cracks in his expression had stabilised. ‘Watch out for each other,’ he instructed. ‘Let’s try to get the Muggles safe. Leave the Death Eaters for the aurors.’ Like a snidget in a field of flowers, his gaze flitted from one son to the next. ‘If you can take any down, do. But your safety, your brothers’ safety, comes first. Understood?’
The instructions were familiar. As Bill joined his family, pushing against the flow of the crowd, cold memory shivered across his skin. His childhood had revolved around that instruction. *Keep your brothers safe.*
You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters had cast a persistent **shadow** over his formative years. He, and to some extent Charlie too, had been raised on the mantra of protecting their younger siblings. The years ingrained the protectiveness into him, etching it into his very skin. The marks that were left lasted long past You-Know-Who’s death and the gradual disappearance of the Death Eaters.
But now the shadows were spreading once again.
Emppu smiled as he watched the first forty-five minutes or so of the show, then he started to feel as if he was being watched. Keeping his movement casual, he turned partially around and pretended to adjust the battery pack on his guitar. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted someone in a hoodie hovering amid some equipment boxes. It looked like the same figure he’d spotted in Stuttgart, but more to the point, after spending the day with most of the techs and roadies, he was almost certain it wasn’t any of them. Once again, the person carefully stayed in the **shadows**, and had their hood pulled up which obscured their features.
To his relief, one of the crew who’d been part of the jam session in the break room came by to leave fresh bottles of water on the side of the stage for the guitarists. Emppu caught the man’s attention as he came back off. ”Hey, Pete, do you know who that man in the **shadows** might be?” he asked.
The roadie looked and frowned. ”He ain’t any of the crew,” he said. ”I can’t make out his badge, but he’s got a Maiden lanyard. I suppose it could be stolen, but it’s more likely he’s one of the record label VIP types. Sometimes they come around and pretend to be with the crew or the caterers, just to get a good look at whatever’s going on backstage.”
”Oh, okay,” Emppu said. That actually made him feel a little better. If it was someone from the label as Pete seemed to think, it made sense that the person would focus on him as being an outsider.
The car gently jostled to a halt, and the door slid open to the sound of lively conversation somewhere past the check-in kiosks. Flicking one audial back, Azrael made her way down the corridor, until she found the source of all the noise sitting in the middle of the gift shop.
Her approach was so quiet that none of them seemed to notice.
"...and then the Vok bugged out 'n tried ta blow up the whole *planet*."
"Whoa! No way!"
"Yep! Lucky us, Optimus was there ta save our s...*weet Solus Prime*!" The Maximal doing all the talking let out a startled exclamation and visibly jumped when Azrael seemingly materialized out of the **shadows** to seat herself next to Neutrino. Even his companion lurched back on gangling legs, clearly caught off-guard. Only Neutrino, true to form, was unfazed, craning her head back to grin at her.
"Az! Hi! Rattrap and Blackarachnia were just giving me the SparkNotes version of the Beast Wars! I never knew *any* of this stuff! It's so cool!"
Night blanketed the garden, creating a puzzle of indistinct shapes. Heavy clouds hid the stars, and a percussion of **rain** rapped against the windowpane. The beat contrasted with the sharp tones of Mrs Weasley berating her children — the twins, Harry suspected, as one of them responded.
Harry squinted through the **rain**. Was it the wind making the bushes move like that? He leant forward, closer to the window. Was something out there? Some shadow, moving across the lawn?
Green flared, lighting the room. Harry flinched. The glass slid from his fingers, thunking against the wooden counter. Water dripped onto the floor as he span, backing up against the sink and reaching for his wand.
“Say the words, Sonetto,” Vertin tells her softly. “Say them and dispel me like a bad dream.”
She wants everything back. She wants her Vertin back.
If only. If she has a way. If she has a chance.
Gritting her teeth, she digs her wand into her chest as tears continue to fall from her eyes like rain until she can’t see Vertin anymore.
If only she could erase her mistakes like this.
In a moment of grief, despair, and weakness, she leans on Vertin’s shoulder and weeps a spell that will render her heart irreparable:
*“Questa storia che senso non ha*
*Svanirà questa notte assieme alle stelle*
*Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità..."*
She feels the familiar hum of magick flowing from her veins and transferring into her wand. And along the torrent of hot and bitter arcanum from the tip of her pen, she pierces Vertin's heart with a prayer: *Please give her back to me.*
They returned the rental car and took the shuttle to the airport, stopping at the hotel to meet up with Rick and Lucy. The two pilots grumbled a little over the weather reports; while the Joensuu area would remain clear for the next few hours, they’d be flying into a front and almost certainly landing in **rain** in London.
Aside from the weather making the flight a little bumpy and keeping everyone in their seats for the entire duration, they didn’t encounter any real issues on the trip back to London. After filing all the necessary paperwork and saying their farewells to the Fallons, Bruce and Emppu dashed through the **rain** to the car and drove back to Bruce’s flat. They made the promised call to Satu and Jukka, ordered takeaway, and settled in for the night.
Flattening her audials back, Azrael skirted past it and continued on her way.
Soon enough, she began to encounter larger pieces scattered about, as well as structural damage from the fighting. The thin sounds of fire alarms high overhead joined the steady pattering of **rain**, and the smell of smoke and charred metal and burnt electronics still hung in the air even though she couldn't see any remaining fires.
Down the road a ways, she could see where a whole section of cladding had collapsed, filling the walkway and street with debris. In the neon blue-and-purple haze, a gaping hole was visible in the front wall several stories up - a foreboding black abyss surrounded by flickering, guttering lights.
The building next door was similarly damaged. And the one across the road from that. And further down the street, still more.
The roadways winding between the towering skyscrapers bore similar damage, scorched and mangled where bodies had hit them at terminal velocity.
*This must be Ground Zero, or close to it.*
She would never let so-called love put itself above her friends ever again. That was the one thing she was absolutely sure of in the sea of uncertainty that was life, and she didn’t want that to ever change. Hermione held that thought in her head until everyone walked up inconspicuously to the Portkey, stretching out their forefingers (except for Hermione, for she tightly grabbed it, not wanting to somehow be alone left behind in the too-spacious empty grass fields), and her thoughts were **lost** in the sea of spinning, sickening yet magical grey that followed, swimming away and melting into the hurricane-like feeling of the air, as they all flew, far away, and of course, they had to land just at the same place as the horribleness that was Draco Malfoy.
Lifting her head, Hermione looked around. ‘I don’t think any Death Eaters will be finding us here.’
Ron snorted, cradling his hand to his chest as he and Hermione both stood. ‘Yeah, but will Dad find us?’
Thick trees surrounded them, each one different and yet identical to the next. No signs of life. *Is that good or bad?* Ron had a point. They were **lost**. Harry didn’t know which direction would take them back to the campsite. He couldn’t speak for Ron and Hermione, but Harry had hardly paid attention to their direction as they ran. Far from a straight line, they must have zigged and zagged between the branches, passing hundreds of trees. They could be anywhere.
“I can help,” Bruno said.
“Really?” April asked.
“Yeah, right,” Raphael said. “I mean, what are you? A vet?”
“I’m just a guy who loves rats.”
Bruno turned to leave.
“Wait, where are you going?” April asked.
“To get something I need,” Bruno said. “Meet me at the café.”
Before she could ask any more questions, he was already gone.
“Oh, hey! There’s that sai I **lost** earlier!” Raphael said, bending over to pick it up.
Rattrap stifled a nervous laugh. "Well, y'see, the boss monkey had us out lookin' for some **lost** sparks, when I spotted yer friend Neutrino 'n convinced Legs here to investigate."
Azrael glanced sideways at Neutrino, who just flashed an entirely-too-innocent grin; she opted to let it slide for now. "I'm sorry - 'boss monkey'?"
"Oh, uh, right. *Optimus Primal*." The rat sat back on his haunches and lifted his front paws in a shrug. "My mistake."
"You should come back to the catacombs with us," Blackarachnia cut in, "he'll want to meet both of you, for sure. Who knows? Maybe we can help each other."
Azrael had her doubts about that, and yet... wasn't this *exactly* what she'd been hoping for ever since that ship had come down in the industrial district? To find and link up with the survivors of that crash in the hopes that they could all make one another safer? And they certainly *needed* that extra safety now...
"Can we go, Az?" Neutrino chirped, practically vibrating with excitement. "Please please please please *pleeeease*?"
"Okay, okay, hang on..." She looked across to the survivors. "Could you hold that thought for a minute, please? Neutrino? *A word*..."
Rick jumped to his feet as Milla stumbled through the double doors just then, her face white and scared. She threw herself into the young roadie’s arms and clung to him for a long moment. He just held her tightly, rubbing her back and making soothing noises, while everyone else looked on with growing concern.
Milla took a deep breath and straightened up. ”Kiitos, Rick,” she whispered, then turned to look at everyone else. ”It... it is bad,” she said. ”Emppu has **lost** much blood... they think the bullet just nicked the big blood vessel in the leg, and that it tore open when they moved him, or perhaps that the bullet had been blocking the bleeding until they moved him. Either way, he came very close to dying, both before he even got here, and again when they operated to repair the blood vessel. Infection is still a big danger, and so is further bleeding. Enough so that they asked...” She paused to gulp back a sob, as Rick’s arms tightened around her once more. ”Enough that they asked, did I know if my brother is registered to donate his organs, should the worst happen.”
Yes. He and his partner got shot by a stalker, right after his partner proposed.
And poor Milla is barely 19 and being thrust into the position of decision-making next-of-kin for her brother.
Bill pretended Charlie’s reassurances — that each track searched brought them closer to the right one — helped, and that he didn’t hear the worry in Charlie’s voice.
He had stopped, yet again, to untangle the chain hanging from his jeans from the bush entangling it when Charlie swore.
‘What? What is it?’ Bill tugged the chain, twigs snapping, and pushed through to the clearing.
Charlie didn’t answer immediately. Bill bit his tongue to keep from repeating his question as he turned in a circle. Frowning, Charlie inspected the blue **glow** of tracks, and Bill looked at them too, trying to see what he was seeing.
‘There was some kind of… scuffle here,’ Charlie said eventually. He gestured with his wand at a swirl of footprints diverging on a particularly large patch of blue that disappeared partway under a bush. Multiple footprints, from what Bill could make out.
‘Was it them?’ he asked, pulling at his earring.
Charlie tugged Bill’s hand away. ‘Don’t break it,’ he admonished. ‘I don’t know when I’d find you another.’
Charlie crouched and peered under the bush, the blue **glow** fading away as he dispelled the tracking spell.
‘I can’t tell,’ he said after a moment, standing back up with a sigh. The undergrowth rustled as Charlie stepped away. ‘I’d be inclined to say no, but with all the trouble those three get into… Oh!’
She lifts her hip gracefully and sits on the table, crossing her legs. “After ye have claimed mine life, what doth thou intend to accomplish henceforth? Manus Vindictae shall not cease. Mine life is naught but a branch. Though thou mayst sever me from the tree, verily shall it grow and flourish for eternity.”
The Timekeeper grants her a jeer. “Look how low you have fallen. To think I get to see the day where her ladyship pleas for her life.”
“Mine life? Nay, for I hath already reached mine destiny.” Arcana’s eyes *glow*, a sinister smile on her lips as she gently lifts a hand to touch the spiked spearhead of the stake that pierces her skull, and *pulls.* Black slimy goo runs down from the holes in her head, down to the table, and onto the floor. “Thou, however…”
The two people at the back are instantly at the ready, wands raised, **glow**ing with unreleased arcanum.
“Stand back!” The Timekeeper commands, gripping the gun with both hands now, eyes seething, sharp and focused on her target. “She’s ***mine***!”
Arcana sees her gray eyes gradually getting devoured by the Brew of Charon and she feels her laughter rise from deep within her belly.
She points the stake at the Timekeeper, the smile on her lips equally sinister and joyful. “Lady Vertin, *bonvenon hejmen.*”
Leliana's eyes closed when Morrigan passed her thumbs across her cheeks, pressing deep, a comforting pressure that seeped into her bones. Leliana hadn't realized how much she could crave such a touch.
"You look absolutely dreadful."
It was said without venom, and Leliana tiredly laughed. She knew it was the closest thing to a declaration of love that she'd ever get out of Morrigan. Cracking one eye open, she said, "I appreciate your honesty."
Morrigan laughed through her nose. "Would you rather I lie to you?" She pressed the pad of her thumb over Leliana's still-closed eye. "Shall I call you glowing and beautiful instead?"
>Amelie woke to pink skies outside her bedroom window. It took a minute to orient herself and figure out that it was sunset. She must've crashed on the drive home, and then Logan must've carried her to bed. He also seemed to have gotten her halfway undressed before giving up, seeing as she was in just her t-shirt and underwear.
>The man was beside her, flat on his back and snoring softly like he did when he'd pushed himself too hard. He hadn’t bothered with more than shedding his t-shirt before he passed out.
>She wanted to curl into him and leech his warmth, but decided to leave him sleep. Last thing either of them needed was another rude awakening incident.
>Instead, she contented herself with watching the sunset glow play across his features. Logan was always so intense when awake, but in sleep, he softened and took on an almost youthful appearance. Even the lines on his face faded away.
>She'd mentioned the phenomenon to him once. After turning all shades of scarlet he exposited that maybe it was his healing factor fixing his surly mug when it had the chance. She’d made him say three nice things about himself after, but she couldn’t remember which ones he’d said.
Finally, rather than risk waking John up with her constant sleepless shifting, Maureen quietly crawled out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, twisted her hair into a messy knot, and slipped out of the room.
Once again, she found herself at Will's door.
Once again, she found herself torn over whether she should open it, or leave well enough alone.
She drew in a deep breath, held it briefly, and then slowly exhaled.
And then she raised her hand to tap softly at the smooth, cool surface, giving the room's occupant a few moments' notice before she slowly pushed the door open and peered inside. A warm red-orange **glow** greeted her, and she offered Scarecrow a small smile by way of greeting.
"It's good to see you're still with us," she whispered as she stepped into the room; "some of us were starting to worry."
The robot regarded her with his usual silence, but this time there seemed to be something... different about it, that she couldn't quite put her finger on. He seemed more awake, or more *aware*, than he had the last time she'd seen him.
It put her ever so slightly on edge, and she tried not to think about razor claws and lightning-fast reflexes...
*If he'd wanted to hurt anyone,* she reminded herself, *he's had plenty of opportunities to do so.*
Letting out a breath she hadn't quite realized she'd been holding, Maureen cautiously perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to do anything that might make Scarecrow feel crowded or threatened.
"It's getting close to morning," she continued quietly, making an effort to keep her voice even, "and we're going to be landing on the Amber Planet... *your* planet... soon. And I thought... you might appreciate a little warning ahead of time, so you wouldn't be caught off-guard in the event that anything happens."
*(For context, this conversation takes place the morning after Emppu was assaulted.)*
”How would you even find someone to talk to about this sort of thing?”
Bruce took a deep breath. ”Well... Paddy is a psychotherapist. I would never suggest you talk to her, but I could ask her to give a few names of people who would suit? I don’t have to tell her it’s for you, just that it’s for someone connected with the band.”
”Like I said, I’ll think about it,” Emppu said. ”But right now, I want to just... not think for a while.”
”Not thinking sounds good to me,” Bruce agreed. He smiled and ran his fingers through Emppu’s hair. ”You looked like an angel walking over to me just now, with the sun making your hair **glow** like a halo. My very own Christmas angel.”
Emppu blushed. ”I’m hardly an angel, kulta,” he murmured.
”I think you are,” Bruce said. He tipped Emppu’s face up and gave him a soft, sweet kiss. ”All you need is wings. My little angel.”
\[CW: Panic attack, vomiting, mention of burns\]
‘Oh, Merlin. He could have died.’
He hunched over, retching. The alcohol burned even more coming up than it had going down. He couldn’t stop. His throat spasmed, constricting in a way that made him gag more, retch more.
Harry flinched at an unexpected touch, but relaxed as Bill’s cool hand smoothed his fringe away from his forehead, the other rubbing circles on his back. He tried to focus on that sensation, rather than his gastric system trying to force itself out through his mouth.
He stopped heaving and fell limply against Bill. With a flick of his wand, Bill banished all traces of the vomit. He wrapped an arm around Harry’s back, pulling him tightly into his side as Harry’s body shook. Bill’s other arm joined the first, encircling him, pressing Harry against his chest.
Harry’s stomach may have calmed, but the rest of him shuddered out of control. *He could have died.* The realisation burned down Harry’s spine. *He could have died!* Fire roared through Harry’s mind. It crept along his skin, crackling violently, peeling his flesh. It engulfed him. Each breath tore out of his chest in a spark of embers. Desperate, Harry pictured water in an effort to quell the flames ravishing his mind; clouds heavy with rain. But they too turned against him. Harry’s body shook like a leaf in a **storm** as a tempest whipped around him, threatening to drown him. He clung to Bill, his grip tightening in a futile attempt to stay afloat.
“Fine. I’ll humor you. I’ll make good of that promise. What do I need to do? Do you want me to kill you? Is that what you want? I can do it!” She whips out her wand sharply, too carelessly, as her voice rises and rises. “My hands have already been dirtied beyond salvation so what is one more life to take, right? We can’t go back to the way it used to be. I can’t go back to the home I left. I can’t go back to how I was before I chose to follow you. I can no longer say “peace be with you” because I have no more peace left in me!”
She is screaming. She is crying. Why is she doing this? This is unbecoming. This is not like her. But then… *so is she.*
Nothing is like anything at all anymore. It feels like the **Storm** over and over again.
*Once you follow her, you will never be able to go back!*
Matilda was right.
She was such a fool.
The morning dawned quiet, clear, and surprisingly cold.
The previous night's **storms** had ended a few hours before sunrise, dissipating into the desert beyond the mountains - but not before filling the tarp-lined cisterns the colonists had hauled out to catch as much rainwater as possible. It wouldn't last long, Maureen knew, but it would last long *enough*.
*Hopefully* until they had a way *off* this world.
Rubbing her hands together briskly, she stepped off the Jupiter 2's boarding ramp and surveyed the cavern. There were already colonists busying themselves with retrieving the cisterns and emptying their contents into the Jupiters' storage tanks, or checking the ships over to catalog damages for later repair. And there, still standing guard at the corner of the cavern's broad mouth, was Scarecrow.
She wondered if he'd moved at all since she'd last seen him.
Tugging her jacket closed, Maureen tucked her hands into its pockets and cautiously approached the copper-plated robot.
Those summer nights were long and plagued by thunder, both of sea and of heart.
Some nights they danced in the front room while storms raged outside. Everything felt right in these stolen moments, where they forgot everything that came before the other. Alone like this, they were whole again. Other nights, she'd catch Ariel spending long hours alone with a faraway expression as she gazed into nothing. The thunder felt heavy on her heart, against the soles of her feet as she made her way back to bed, having offered the only thing she could to mend Ariel's grief.
He dismounted the quad bike and asked, “Do you know who owns the cabin?”
Emppu shook his head. “No, but it doesn’t matter. No one ever locks these little cabins, because someone might need shelter in the winter… say they ran out of gas while snowmobiling, or they were skiing and had an accident and had to wait for rescue. Granted, it’s not truly winter yet, but anyone who owns a cabin like this expects that it will get the occasional visitor, someone who wants to warm up, or wait out a rainstorm or whatever. As long as we collect enough wood to replace whatever we burn, that’s all that’s expected of us.” He hopped off the bike and headed for the cabin.
Sure enough, the door swung right open. Bruce followed him in, seeing that the cabin appeared well-insulated and weathertight, with a sturdy woodstove in one corner and a couple of rough bunks topped by futon mattresses. One set of shelves held sheets and blankets, while another held jugs of water, packets of instant coffee and hot chocolate, bouillon cubes, a kettle, and mugs, with a note propped up against them. Emppu looked at the note and laughed.
“Do I dare ask what’s so funny?” Bruce wanted to know.
Still chuckling, Emppu told him, “It says, ‘Welcome, guest. If it’s not too snowy, please replace any firewood you use. Donations towards the drink supply are welcome but not necessary. Most of the time, the cell reception is okay, but the weather can affect this, so you might need to wait out a **storm** to get a call through. And if you’re teens looking for some privacy, if I ever hear that you got her pregnant while using my cabin, I will find you and kick your ass!’ Sounds like whoever owns the place must have caught a young couple out here before.”
Bruce laughed as well. “Let’s hope for the sake of those teens, that he never needed to kick anyone’s arse.”
Inside the chippy, he orders their usual: haddock and chips for himself (with mushy peas); plaice and chips for James, with coleslaw (heretic that he is).
Returning to the car, he hands the bags to James. “It’s a twenty-minute drive to where we’re going, and I’d just as soon eat while the food is hot.” He settles himself behind the wheel and receives one of the bags back from James. “Ta. Sure you’ve got the right one? I warn you, I will not be a happy man, Hathaway, if you eat my haddock by mistake.”
“Never fear, sir,” James says with a smirk that belies the grave deference of his tone. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I know my plaice.”
Robbie raises his left hand and takes a mock swipe at his sergeant’s head. “Enough of your cheek.”
They chat while they eat. Robbie reports news and gossip from the station. James tells him some of the strange medieval beliefs about fish. One kind that supposedly loves music, and can be lured into nets by ‘grete harmonye’. Another that swims to the depths during **storms**, because the touch of rainwater would make it blind. A female fish that pulls her babies out of her body to see if they’re large enough to be born; if not, she tucks them back inside her.
“What, like taking scones out of the oven to see if they’re done?” Robbie asks.
“Just so.”
“Absolutely daft. Still, I suppose that in five or six hundred years, people will shake their heads over some of the nonsense we believed.”
\[British spelling 😊\]
‘We’d accidentally made something pretty nasty. Didn’t know how to deal with it. I remember not being able to breathe. George had collapsed and I thought…’ He shuddered. ‘Well, suddenly the door flew open and Bill was there.’
‘Looking like some kind of angel,’ George said, squeezing Fred’s hand. Fred leant his head on his shoulder. ‘I was still conscious and I remember that. He was in the doorway, the hallway light shining around him, his stupid hair looking like a bloody halo.’
Boingo’s tail twitched.
‘What did he do?’ Neville asked breathlessly from across the room, as caught up in the story as the rest of them.
‘Magic.’ Fred winked at him. ‘Waved his hand and the windows opened, sucking the fumes or whatever out. Made sure we were okay, called us idiots, shouted himself hoarse, spelled our door away for a week, told us he’d be teaching us the Bubble-Head Charm until we were proficient enough to do it in our sleep, then hugged us so tight we had bruises.’
‘Wow.’
Boingo bounced off the bed and across to Seamus’s where the twins were sitting. Clambering up, he got in between them, rubbing his head against them. George smiled and stroked his back.
‘Sounds like a good brother,’ Dean said quietly.
Harry smiled. \[...\]
Also, it was nice for the discussion of difficult children not to be **centring** on *him* for a change.
>Context: he's sighting a new rifle scope. Also, he canonically doesn't swear lol
Slouching down slightly, the kid peers through the breech end and selects a target. The Z is roughly one hundred metres away, gently swaying back and forth upon rotten and unsteady legs. Centring it within his view, 10k ensures the rifle remains as stationary as possible as he straightens up again. He peers through the scope to align it so his target is sitting firmly in the crosshairs and–
Blurry.
It’s blurry, just like his old one.
Heck, it’s blurry in the exact same way! Is everything broken and falling apart in this fracking Apocalypse‽ Keeping his hands steady, he finishes bore-sighting it anyway. The kid had used up the last of his thread locker mounting this scope, so it’ll be more trouble than it’s worth to switch back to his old one.
Pulling back from his rifle, 10k digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. Frack it. Frack everything. He’s not normally like this. This *stupid*. Wouldn’t make such a simple fracking mistake! But it’s not the kid’s fault, is it? No, it’s Doc’s. And Murphy’s. They are the ones in that fracking Government building while he’s fracking stuck outside following Garnett’s fracking orders! They are the ones distracting him, worrying him, making him forget something so simple, so fundamental, as checking the fracking equipment before he fracking uses it!
So, frack it. Frack everything. Frack them!
Thea opened her eyes.
No, *Ranboo* opened her eyes. (His eyes? No. This was still Thea’s body, even if they were borrowing it at the moment.) It seemed as if the ritual had done incredible damage to the set and surrounding area. Good. That was good.
Ranboo reached out and grabbed the knife at the center of the pentagram with Thea’s arm. They studied it. This was the knife he’d used to stab an employee, an employee who was actually the wire monster in disguise. He never thought he’d see this old thing again, but they supposed he’d been emotional enough at the time to imbue it with spiritual energy. It did the job.
Ranboo felt something warm streaking down the lower half of Thea’s face. It dripped off and landed on the floor. Blood. Normally, Ranboo would feel bad for scarring his baby sister so badly, but right now they were mostly apathetic. A few small cuts didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. It was nothing compared to having your head crushed in a box while your limbs were strung up in mockery, like you were being **crucified**. At least Ranboo wasn’t ruining Thea’s life. It had already been ruined by-
“Uh, Thea? I think you’re bleeding,” said a strangely familiar voice from beside them. Ranboo snapped Thea’s head around, smothering a wince when it cracked. A man with short brown hair, glasses, and a green shirt startled backwards in shock. He looked painfully familiar, and Ranboo felt something protective curled around their gut. He knew if it came down to it, they’d pick revenge over protecting him, but it still surprised them that there could be anyone in this god-forsaken place that he might see as a *friend.* Ranboo racked their brain, trying to remember anyone from their past that fit his description.
“…Ranboo?” The man whispered. Suddenly, It clicked.
*Charlie.*
Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. The one Ranboo had *almost* escaped with, once upon a time, when he was alive and hopeful. Ranboo felt almost guilty. After all, he was going to leave Charlie behind in the end. They frowned. They should have at least gone to check if Charlie was alive, if he’d somehow survived the wire monster. If he had, maybe they could have both escaped for *real*.
Well. This was their second chance, right? A chance for vengeance, a chance for freedom, a chance to make things right.
Ranboo would not fail again.
He came to once more. The pain was ever present, and he wondered how he could have awakened when he was so unbearably tired. He tried to maintain a feigned sleep, hoping his tormentors would leave him alone for even a short while. It was hard to do so without the constant need to flinch at the slightest ache.
This place was different. The first thing he noticed, after the pain, was the lower temperature. It was surprisingly cold in here. That realization left him confused. He was cold? He'd have to think on that later. At least he was out of that kiln.
He was reclined on a horizontal surface. Right away he could feel it wasn't a solid material throughout, but what felt like a metal grate. He guessed it must be just longer than the length of his body, and a little wider than the width of his shoulders. His arms were spread out as if crucified, except they hung uncomfortably at a steep angle towards the floor, putting pressure on his battered chest, impairing his breathing.
His wrists were restrained in that position with heavy-gage wire. A quick check confirmed the same with his now bare feet. He felt that same wire wrapped around his neck, just above his knees, and across his chest. He couldn't move at all. The awkward position strained his already overworked muscles. The metal grate of the surface he lay on pressed into the raw and ravaged skin of his back, pain from his burns increasing with the uneven contact.
‘Fred!’
Shit.
Ginny jumped. George swore as she landed heavily on his foot, grabbing her elbow to keep her from falling. Fred swung the gnome over his head, lobbing it away before turning to face Mum with his most innocent expression pasted on his face.
‘Hi, Mum. Didn’t see you there. Did you see how far that gnome went?’
Mum’s eyes narrowed. ‘I certainly saw where you *wanted* that gnome to go, young man.’ She turned her head to glare at George, too. ‘Don’t think you’re not in trouble as well, George.’
Fred tuned out Mum’s familiar lecture, making sure to make noises of agreement and contrition at appropriate moments. His attention drifted across the garden. Harry was watching them, and he caught his gaze. Amusement shone in the green eyes. **Mission** accomplished, then. As long as someone was amused by their antics, it didn’t matter if Mum had interrupted them.
Upon descending the Timekeeper’s suitcase, every member of the Order that took part in the **mission** tonight has been silent. There were six of them, including the Timekeeper. When the word got out that Arcana was no more, there was only silence among the members.
When they had all settled to the familiar lounge area which used to be a place of leisure and rest for them but had been in utter disarray for years with all the notes and documents containing all pertinent information about the Manus stuck on the wall and strewn across the floor, no one talked. The once cozy room where they found a new family now feels cold and foreign. Sonetto could not stay there. So, she went straight to the lake.
She sinks to her knees and peers at her reflection in the water. Her mask is still on. They had chosen it for her, an endearing humor among them six.
*Puppy*, she has always been called that. The Timekeeper’s puppy.
She doesn’t mind. She’s more than happy to accompany the Timekeeper anywhere.
She was. But then it has been ten years.
Maureen slipped the monocular's lanyard around her neck before tucking the little device inside her shirt, then took the flare gun from its foam cavity, and slipped it and a flare into one jacket pocket. After a moment's hesitation, she plucked the other two out to pocket them as well, just in case.
*Better to have them and not need them, than to need them and not have them.*
Then, with a breath to steady herself and settle the churning knot of fear that had settled in her gut, she leaned over to press a kiss to John's cheek and wrapped an arm around his neck in an awkward half-hug.
"See you in a bit," she whispered hoarsely, as he wrapped an arm around her in turn and briefly buried his face in her messy hair.
"Remember, if anything even looks like it *might* go sideways..."
"I'll send up a flare, I promise." One last, quick kiss. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
And then she was clambering out of the Chariot's cab, giving Don a smile and a shoulder squeeze as she went. Her boots hit the gravel, the Chariot's door swung shut, and in a moment... the vehicle was gone, rolling away to carry out the second half of the **mission**.
It was just her and Scarecrow, now.
Reflexively tugging at the hem of her jacket - *that was quickly becoming a nervous habit,* she noted - Maureen turned to face the robot, who was already regarding her expectantly.
"I suppose we should get moving," she said, trying to project a confidence that she wasn't entirely sure she actually felt. "The sooner we get in and out, the better, right?"
“Food,” Lae’zel deadpanned, taking a step toward the woman. “*Now*.”
She had read something about tieflings during her studies, but the hunger pangs had already begun muddling her mental acuity – a great hazard for this mission, particularly for a species so unaccustomed to the very need for sustenance.
The next thing Harry knew, a hand on his shoulder roused him. He blinked sleepily, sitting up and dislodging a thin blanket. Whoever had laid it over him must have also removed his glasses, because everything was out of focus.
‘Glasses?’ he asked groggily. The hand moved away, and a moment later his glasses pressed into his palm.
Bill’s face came into focus as Harry put them on. ‘How long was I asleep?’
‘A little over an hour, I think.’ Bill helped him to his feet. Harry’s legs were stiff and there was a crick in his neck. ‘I’ve not been back long. Mum thought it best to let you rest.’
‘I’m not going to **sleep** tonight at this rate,’ Harry groused. ‘I’ve spent half the day sleeping.’
Bill nudged him with an elbow, directing him towards the house. The inviting scent of frying onions drifted from the back door. ‘You’re still recovering. If you need to **sleep** half the day, then you will **sleep** half the day.’
‘Doctor Bill’s orders?’ Harry asked.
Bill raised his eyebrows. ‘Doctor?’
Oh, right; Bill hadn’t been there for that. Harry rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Never mind.’
He fixed himself a cup of steaming French press and brought it back to the living room. He plopped himself down again on the carpet and set out to finish his third accomplishment of the day--finishing his coffee. As he was doing so, his eyes caught sight of his blue sketchpad on the coffee table.
*Oh,* he thought lazily. *Right. It's because of that damned thing that I've been losing this much* ***sleep.***
He looked at the "damned thing" as if it had mortally offended him. And in his humble opinion, it had done exactly that. If Rafayel opened it now, he would take offense in how it would seem to look back at him and show him a part of himself that he didn't want to recognize yet in full mockery, as if telling him, *"See this? You did this. What you were saying again about making a drawing of people?"*
So he didn't open it. Not right now. He already knew what was in there anyway. He wished he didn't though. If he could turn back time, he'd go back to that night so he could hold fast to his own hand holding a graphite pencil before it could even glide across the paper to draw lines and shapes that resembled every angle of sharpness, every bashful sweep of eyelash, that graceful downward slope from nose bridge to the tip, and that delicate bow of lush dispassionate lips of Zayne Li's annoyingly handsome face.
((this is pretty dark. Sleep deprivation in the Zygerrian prison arc in TCW))
The lashes fall, the collars shock, the slaves sob in the night and their masters barge in, batons ringing against the metal bed frames, lights flashing.
Obi-Wan stays silent, curled up on his bunk, and blows on the ember of his optimism, worried he might not know how to rekindle it, were it to fade.
At first he doesn't mind the lack of sleep. His hunger would have kept him awake if the guards hadn't. He watches them, notices how they return every twenty minutes during the first half of the night, and then every hour in the second. He sleeps in stolen snatches, accepts this as just another form of torture, another thing to get used to and wait out.
And wait he does. He shambles off to work, wondering when will Anakin come, prodding weakly at their bond and feeling nothing. The force is pain all around, the darkness a suffocating presence, numbing his senses. The day passes and night returns, still devoid of comfort or respite.
Obi-Wan starts awake, again and again, and again...
He prods at the hairline fractures spreading inside his self. He keeps his eyes tightly shut, tries but fails to meditate, fails to block out the sounds. The constant hum of machinery, the wet rasps of the sick, the moaning of the injured, the sobbing of the broken, and faint over it, echoing down the hollow corridors, the shrieks of those being put to... more strenuous methods of conversion. It all rubs his nerves raw, corrupts his thoughts, turns him on his fellow captives, *so noisy, all of them.*
'Stop it,' he snaps at a whimpering woman. 'Just–' his voice cracks, rusty with disuse, 'be quiet.'
>Crowley looked around. It really did remind him of the bedroom above Aziraphale’s shop. In fact, it was almost identical. “Doesn’t look very witchy,” he said casually.
>Aziraphale looked away. “I made…alterations. Just temporarily.”
>He smirked.
>“Oh, alright, you fiend. I miss *my* bedroom,” he said, a pout on his lovely lips.
>Crowley shook his head. “Why an angel who doesn’t sleep needs a bedroom is beyond me.”
>“I like to read in bed. It’s comfortable.”
>“And you never sneak a cheeky little nap?”
>Pink suffused his cheeks. “No.”
>“You are the worst liar I have ever met,” Crowley said, stroking one of the lovely pink splotches with the back of his fingers.
>Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I am an *angel*, if you’ll recall. Not exactly meant to be lying.”
>“Right. Unless you count all the times we swapped workloads, and you pretended to be me.”
>“That’s different!”
>“How?”
>“It was *acting*!”
Zuko laid in bed, on the stolen Fire Nation ship, and thought.
It all started when he was sick. When he saw Lu Ten, and the spirit who said that he couldn’t die, because he had a purpose yet. Who said that in three years, under Ba Sing Se, he’d make a choice that would affect the fate of the entire world. And for three years, he’d chased that destiny, and it had eventually taken him there. And now it was over. At least the Avatar and his friends hadn’t killed him on the spot, though that was likely due to him saving his life and nothing more.
It didn’t quite feel real.
Zuko wished Uncle was here.
Thinking about Uncle was… painful. It reminded him of how he’d had to leave him behind. Zuko didn’t *want* to. But no matter how he played it, every scenario he went through in his head ended up with Uncle being left behind. Unless, of course, Zuko had chosen to go with Azula and Uncle somehow decided to go with them (which was unlikely), but Zuko didn’t want to do that, either. So now he was alone, on a ship surrounded by people who hated him and everything he represented.
Tomorrow, he would ask the Avatar to be his firebending teacher. He had to say yes. If he didn’t, the world could end. Zuko would make sure he knew that.
Didn’t make it any easier to **sleep** at night, though. The nightmares were back full force, and that was if he managed to slip into unconsciousness at all. The anxiety of being surrounded by people who might decide he was too much of a risk and kill him mixed with the ever-present insomnia made that almost impossible. He wished he could have some jasmine tea to calm him down, but Uncle wasn’t here to make it, so it would just end up making him sadder.
“This is the *third* time that somebody from Sakura threatens to kill me as a hello!” Apocrypha snapped. “Do you have some cultural thing where you routinely threaten one another’s lives?!”
“That’s quite uncouth for someone of your position,” came a low, even female voice. “I expected something more diplomatic from the Commander of Azur Lane.”
“Yeah, well, I’m cold, I’m wet, I’m exhausted, and I’m probably still motion-sick, so bite me and let a girl sleep for three years.”
He wanted to ask how she managed to stay so calm and in control while he crumbled beside her, but the exhaustion had hit hard and he wasn’t sure how long he’d last in another conversation before he fell asleep sitting up. He pulled himself up off the bed and plodded towards the bathroom, using Carla’s shampoo this time. It was the same lemon scented Sunsilk she’d used since before they met. It smelt like home. His own wasn’t running out, but he just wanted her smell as close to him as possible.
He spent several minutes brushing the taste of fish and chip grease and gin out of his mouth. Then, like a zombie, he dragged his feet back to the bedroom, ready to collapse in a heap and fall straight to **sleep**. Carla was grinning from her side of the bed. There were fresh tumblers of water on each of their bedside tables.
“I’m so lucky.” Her smile was pure sunshine as she looked up at him.
“Really? After what I’ve dragged you into?”
“Yeah.” She patted his empty space on the bed, beckoning him. “There’s no one else I’d rather weather the storm with.”
He pulled himself underneath the doona and settled his head on her chest.
“Gerry,” she continued, “things *are* going to be hard. There’ll be tears, we’ll piss each other off. I know that. You know that. 1988 isn’t shaping up to be our year. But we’ll muddle through, and I love you. Can’t remember if I told you today.”
“You told me this morning.”
“That was too long ago.”
“Well, anyway, I love you too.”
When she paused at the closed door, reaching out to brush her fingertips across the smooth surface, he stepped in close to her and rested his hands at her hips.
"Maureen," he whispered, "c'mon, save this *one thing* to worry over later. There'll be plenty of time for it once we're back on the ground."
She let out a sigh, and offered him a tense, wordless smile over her shoulder; he just leaned closer to press a kiss to her cheek before stepping up to stand beside her and steer her towards their room.
But even with John's cajoling, and her own knowledge that she needed to get some **sleep**, she just... couldn't. Her head buzzed with noise - every worry, every fear, every contingency plan, *Will, Penny, Judy, Robot*... She questioned herself, questioned every decision they'd made, rebuked herself for questioning, tossed and turned, alternating between burying her face in her pillow and staring up at the darkened ceiling...
Finally, rather than risk waking John up with her constant sleepless shifting, Maureen quietly crawled out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, twisted her hair into a messy knot, and slipped out of the room.
After dinner, Luna scampered off to her room while Satu got Niki changed and settled for the night. The little girl came out again in her pajamas, carrying a large and obviously well-loved stuffed tiger. ”You’re sad without Uncle Bruce here,” she said, ”so you **sleep** with Stripey tonight.”
Emppu swept his honorary niece up in a bear hug. ”Thank you so much, moonchild,” he told her. ”Are you sure you don’t want Stripey to stay with you?”
”If I’m sad, Stripey **sleeps** with me,” Luna said. ”But I’m not sad and you are, so Stripey should **sleep** with you, Uncle Emppu.”
”Okay, Luna, as long as you’re sure,” Emppu said, kissing the top of her head. ”You probably ought to get into bed yourself, before Mama comes looking for you. Thank you again, moonchild.”
She pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. ”Night night, Uncle Emppu,” she said, hopping down and heading for her room.
As Dea’s hand wandered back down to Grinpayne’s chest, she idly resumed drumming her fingers in time to his heartbeat. Grinpayne, in turn, tightened his arm around her shoulders, desperately wanting to hold her close and never let go. Both of them were too tired to speak anymore, and as Dea’s eyelids became heavier, her drumming fingers grew slower and slower before eventually stopping altogether as she dozed off.
Grinpayne lay awake a few minutes longer: one arm still around Dea, the other hand still fiddling with his curly hair. Despite how dark it was below deck, his eyes were well-adjusted enough to the darkness by now that he could see Dea pretty clearly (and Grinpayne could hardly get over how pretty she looked as she slept). The nightmare from earlier was still in the back of his mind, but it seemed distant and far less frightening now than it had earlier…probably mostly due to the fact that it was getting harder for him to keep his eyes open.
No more nightmares of the past would plague Grinpayne tonight: especially not with Dea’s comforting presence against his side like this. Sighing peacefully, he finally drifted off to **sleep**, as well – and aside from the gentle rocking of the waves, the ship was perfectly still.
Flames danced in Moody’s magically revolving eye. He snorted. ‘Oh, you hardly see? Allow me to enlighten you; Potter’s name was entered into the Goblet. Whoever did it knew he’d have to compete if his name came out. Now, why might someone want to force Potter here to compete?’
Maxime drew up to her full height, hair brushing against the ceiling. ‘Someone must ‘ave wished to give ‘Ogwarts ze advantage.’
Having just taken a swig from his flask, Moody choked. ‘Advantage?’ He shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tucking the flask back into his pocket. ‘You can’t think much of your champions if you think a fourteen-year-old is going to be a threat to their chances.’
Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff both paused. Their faces turned to Harry. He shrank beneath their gazes.
‘It seems more likely to me,’ Moody continued, his voice scratching across the flagstone floor, ‘and is no doubt the hope of whoever entered Potter into this tournament, that the boy will not survive to see the end of it.’
Ice flooded Harry’s veins again. On his shoulder, Boingo sagged, pressing heavily against him. He wasn’t going to survive. The Tournament, the **spy**, all of this… He was going to die. Harry was going to die.
context: The MCs are on holiday in Scotland, and it's a rainy day.
\--------------------------------------------------------------
Robbie switches on the radio. Sunday afternoon is a wasteland of showtunes, cooking tips, unfunny comedy, and celebrity gossip. He’s not in the mood just now for sex and drugs and rock-and-roll, so he goes to investigate the bookcase. It’s a real hodgepodge, with a 19th century history of Scotland shelved next to a Mills & Boon romance, a biography of some Brazilian footballer, Harry Potter, the Bible, the Nautical Almanac, and the 1928 edition of *Scouting for Boys*. A few spy novels look interesting, and he plucks one from the shelf. Soon he’s deep in the Cold War adventures of a British agent. The hero, on the run from Soviet spies, takes refuge in an abandoned barn. Robbie can almost hear the wind in the rafters and feel the icy chill of a Norwegian winter. With a shake of his head he comes to himself. The wind he hears is real enough, and is blowing stronger than before. As for cold, yeah, it’s got a bit chilly. He could take the electric heater out of the utility cupboard, or... With sudden determination, he sets aside the novel and goes to kneel on the hearth-rug. Everything he needs is right at hand. *Hope I haven’t lost me touch.*
He hasn’t. True, it takes more than one match, but in moments, a cheery blaze is crackling in the old stone fireplace. Robbie returns to the sofa, and sits admiring his handiwork. He’s about to reach for his book when he hears the click of the door-latch. Turning, he sees James enter, and bites back a laugh. The lad is drenched. Water drips from his clothing, wings, and hair. “You’re as wet as an otter’s pocket! Get undressed, then come and get warm by the fire.”
Minato watched in silence, noting that it was almost as if Itachi didn’t want Sasuke to see him like this. They were together again for the first time, without the walls he kept up for so long. All those years of deceit, stripped away in an instant. Part of Minato worried what might happen now that everything was laid bare. Would Sasuke hate Itachi? Would Sasuke hate HIM? In fairness, the poor kid had every right to feel that way, but Minato hoped he wouldn’t.
Sasuke stopped within arm’s reach of Itachi, who was unable to hold eye contact with his beloved younger brother.
“Why?” Sasuke said.
This simple but powerful question drew Itachi’s focus back toward his brother. Neither of them said anything for the next few seconds. Emotion that words could never hope to convey passed between them as they surveyed one another.
“Sasuke,” Itachi said when he found the courage, “you shouldn’t be here.” He cut his eyes toward Minato. “Lord Fourth, why did you tell him abo-”
“He didn’t,” Sasuke spat. “I figured it out.”
Itachi gasped and turned to him. “You…?”
“He’s smarter than you give him credit for, Itachi,” Minato said. He let out a bittersweet chuckle.
Swallowing hard, the Akatsuki double agent addressed his brother again. “How much do you know?”
“I know all of it,” Sasuke said. “Everything. How you tarnished your own reputation to stop civil war from breaking out. How The Elders used you and then tossed you aside. How Danzo interfered with Minato helping you.” He ground his teeth and balled his fists, veins bulging as he spoke. “I know you orchestrated everything so that I would believe in a false reality and hate you. And I know that you asked Minato to watch over me while keeping me in the dark. So, again, why?”
Now Itachi was the one with tears in his eyes. To say this surprised Minato would be a major understatement. He never expected the stoic prodigy of the Uchiha Clan to be undone so easily in front of his younger brother.
“It’s simple,” Itachi said, reaching out to Sasuke. “I didn’t want you to get hurt-”
A resounding smack echoed across the field. Sasuke drove his fist into Itachi’s face with raw, unbridled fury. He glared at him through tears. “To hell with that! Don’t you see, Itachi? I’m already in pain. All those years with you as my goalpost, despising you, dreaming of your death. All those years respecting a village that hated us! Worst of all, you let them do this to you without a fight.”
Itachi frowned. “I…I understand how you feel. In my eyes, this was necessary. War is an ugly and cruel thing that consumes all it touches. I wanted to keep you as far away from that as possible, Sasuke.”
“But I’m your brother. I would have stood beside you. Fought with you.”
“I know, and I selfishly stole that choice from you. I don’t want that kind of life for you. I need you kept safe.”
“What’s the use in a life of safety and happiness if it’s all built on lies?”
Minato squirmed; this conversation was difficult to hear. He saw the merit in both sides of the argument, and wanted more than anything to shield Sasuke from the emotional turmoil he was going through. Minato’s parental instincts screamed at him to intervene, but it wasn’t his place. This was a private matter that the two brothers needed to work through alone.
When his breathing slowed, Sasuke said, “Sorry for hitting you.”
Itachi smiled, wiping the blood from his lips. “I guess I deserved it.”
“Still.” Sasuke let his tears fall. There was no use acting tough any longer.
The gentle breeze died out, leaving a vacuum of silence that upped the tension of the moment even further. Itachi stood in a withdrawn pose, unsure what to do with himself. That is, until Sasuke moved in for a tight hug. His older brother patted him on the back, allowing himself a genuine smile.
Watching from across the field, Minato was elated to witness such a heartwarming display. In his opinion, even if he might never regain Sasuke’s trust, seeing these two back on good terms made his decision tonight more than worth the risk. The brothers ended their embrace at last, slamming the brakes on the emotional phase of their reunion.
>Context: they're in an abandoned strip club (so slightly NSFW dialogue); 10k is gay and had a sheltered upbringing; Murphy is a sleazeball and in denial about his bisexuality
“What is this place?”
“The seedy underbelly of dive bars, the last refuge of the forever alone, and a bastion of unfulfilled sexual urges. This, my dear Ten Thousand, is a low-rent strip club. Given your usual tastes, I’m assuming this is your first time.”
10k simply nods.
“Well then, Professor Murphy at your service, here for all your insights into heterosexuality.” He knocks back the first tequila, swallowing his self-doubt. “First things first. The point of this place is for men to come, get drunk, and watch beautiful women dance.”
“Dancing? What kind?”
“The exotic kind, the erotic kind, the ‘stripping off her clothes and teasing you’ kind.”
Swivelling on his seat, Ten eyes up the stage with curiosity. “The women take their clothes off?”
“Not all their clothes. The panties usually stay on, rules and regulations and other such killjoys. But that just adds to the mystique. Nothing more titillating than the unknown. Plus, it gives the salivating audience somewhere to stuff their tips.”
An endearing head tilt. “Men pay to watch?”
Trying to imagine this set up through 10k’s slightly ignorant and extremely gay perception is weird. The more Murphy thinks about it, the more uncomfortable it starts to seem.
He clears his throat, dismissing those thoughts. “It’s a straight guy thing, don’t worry about it.”
“Do guys like you like it, too?”
Brows low and frown deep, Murphy slowly turns to his companion. Grey eyes are ready to meet him, an amusement shining bright.
“…What are you implying, young man?”
A grin, as sharp as Murphy has come to expect. “Nothing, *Professor*.”
As Ten slips from his seat and pads towards the stage, Murphy downs the second tequila.
‘All right, now?’ Seamus asked Dean who was opposite him. ‘Sorry for disappearin’ on you.’
Dean’s response slid over Seamus. On Harry’s other side, Ron had just apologised. The leg beside his tensed, and Seamus nudged it gently with his own at the same time that Boingo rubbed Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s tenseness seemed to ease. He turned to answer Ron, and Seamus refocused on Dean.
Something **sparkled** in Dean’s expression. ‘A productive disappearance, was it?’ he asked, gaze cutting briefly to Harry and back again.
‘Don’t you be gettin’ bold, now,’ Seamus said with mock sternness. Moments later, though, he gave up on hiding his grin. ‘Amazin’. A bit cack-handed, sure, but — now, how d'you know?’
‘Used my eyes, mate.’
‘Oh, you did?’ Seamus shook his head, stabbing his pasta-loaded fork towards Dean. ‘So you can dún do bhéal a while longer, now then.’
Dean’s brow furrowed but he shrugged. ‘I won’t say anything.’ He fell silent, the chatter of the other Gryffindors winding between them as he sliced into a piece of broccoli.
Seamus leant forward. ‘Sorry, a chara. Early days, y’know?’
Sarah stared up at the cliffs. No wonder they were known as The Escarpment of Delirium – they were so insanely high! But before she had much more time to think about that, she felt the ground disappear from under her feet; Ludo had started climbing.
Meanwhile, down below, the mysterious, **sparkling** ship had sailed right up to the shore and cast its anchor, and out jumped a lone figure. He was clad all in black, from shirt to boots (save for a silver metal pendant he wore that hung down to his chest), and he wore a black mask over his face and a black scarf over his head that strands of his long blonde hair stuck out from under. Nearly as soon as he’d jumped out from his ship, he grabbed the rope and started climbing after the four.
“This follower of ours hath begun climbing our rope,” Sir Didymus commented nervously, looking down. “And he gains on us quickly!” Then to the dog, “Have no fear, Ambrosius!”
After they checked in and got through security, they decided a snack before their flight was in order, so they headed to a little cafe in the terminal, where Emppu introduced Bruce to the Finnish sweet bread known as pulla. Bruce beamed when he tasted it.
”Oh, this is amazing,” he said enthusiastically. ”Why wasn’t there any of this at Marko’s party? Or did I miss seeing it there?”
Emppu shrugged. ”I was too busy watching you to pay attention to the food,” he confessed, causing Bruce to blush lightly. ”Have you tried many Finnish foods since you’ve been here?”
”I’ve had some fish soups that were really good,” Bruce said. ”One with **salmon** and one with some other kind of fish. And I tried reindeer, of course. Someone said I should try Karelian pies, but I don’t know where to get those. Marko suggested some sweets I might want to try, although I admit I don’t remember all the names he told me.”
Emppu had another practical consideration in mind. ”I hope you’ve got something sturdy for us to stand on, so we can decorate the top meter of the tree,” he said with a laugh.
”Or you can sit on my shoulders,” Bruce suggested with a grin.
”That could work... or it could become very distracting for us,” Emppu said. ”Not that I mind distracting you most of the time.”
”Like when I’m onstage?” Bruce asked, laughing.
”Hey, you started that one,” Emppu said. ”I was just paying you back. You deserved it.” He smiled at the memory of the show in Zurich... and of what happened immediately after the show. ”Besides, would we have had half that much fun if I hadn’t distracted you like I did?”
”Probably not,” Bruce admitted. ”What with everyone in Maiden in relationships now, we generally don’t go in for the sort of **shenanigans** we used to get up to back in the day. Oh, sure, I’ve seen one or another of the blokes finding an excuse to make a quick getaway when his lady is visiting, but the ladies are more inclined to wait to get back to the hotel and a comfortable bed than to find a hidden spot at the venue.” He smiled as he remembered Emppu leading him down that darkened hallway in Zurich. ”We did have fun that night, didn’t we?”
Aeroc is attending a garden tea party, he was supposed to decline the invitation but Richard said he wanted to see him. After the confession, Aeroc found himself seeing Richard more.
Tea parties or soiree’s, Aeroc would find himself whisk away, at first he found it nerve-wracking following Richard in the secluded parts of the garden. Using the lush green tall boxwood to hide anything intimate, with lamp lights as star clusters in this voyage. They didn’t do anything illicit, comforting Aeroc’s unrestrained imagination. He found himself looking forward to their meetings. He was like an explorer at sea, adventurous and curious and Richard’s words and gestures provoked his desire to uncover new lands. The more he became comfortable with their meetings, the more he noticed Richard's actions becoming more audacious. From flirtatious whispers to holding hands, he had started stealing kisses from Aeroc’s hand. It was staggering that such an innocent kiss could set a person on fire. He feels like a teenager. It was so shameful that he was starting to expect a more daring action from Richard. But he’ll never tell him that at least not at the moment. His chest might burst from his increasingly indecent thoughts. He wasn’t ready for more, but also wanted a bit more. It was frustrating because it didn’t make sense.
When they reached cruising altitude, Bruce jokingly called back, “Consider the fasten-seatbelt signs turned off, and you’re free to move about the cabin.” A little while after that, he emerged from the cockpit and held his hand out to Emppu. “Enjoying the flight so far, enkelini?” he asked softly.
Lucy grinned and stood up, moving to stand just behind the entrance to the cockpit, where she started talking to her husband about an upcoming flight they were scheduled for.
Emppu took Bruce’s hand with a grin. “Very much so, kulta. Am I about to enjoy it more?” he asked **flirtatiously**.
“You are if I have anything to say about it,” Bruce told him, nudging him down the central aisle of the little plane to the lavatory at the rear. Closing the door behind them, he pulled Emppu into his arms and kissed him deeply.
Gale waves a hand, as if to dismiss any attempt at apologies. 'I was half in and out of consciousness the entire time. I'm not entirely sure what transpired, but the ship broke into pieces, and I finally found myself in freefall.'
'Ah, we transpired,' I say. 'That would have been us, with a Gith woman. Took over the controls and got us out of the Hells, and then, well, out of the sky.'
Gale blinks, clearly struggling to visualise the scene I'm so poorly depicting, but nods like it all makes sense. 'Well, you did a fine job of it.'
'Sorry.'
'Nothing to be sorry about. As I was plummeting to certain death, I spied a glimmer quite near where I predicted my body to impact with less-than-savoury propulsion. Said glimmer being magical in nature, I reached out with a Weaving of words, and found myself... on the other side, as it were. To answer your previous question, I have been stuck in that stone since then.' He pauses to catch his breath, visibly exhausted by this little speech. 'I had to maintain my concentration, to keep the pocket of matter I existed in from collapsing like a mere soap bubble. I am...'
'Exhausted?' I venture.
'Dead?' says Shadowheart.
'Quite.'
Burne Thompson stumbled in, covered in blood and scratches.
“Oh, no! Boss! What happened to your beautiful, perfect face?” Vernon gasped.
“I was assaulted by some sort of enormous rat creature!”
“I bet it was one of your disgusting friends, wasn’t it?” Vernon asked April.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious, though.”
*It couldn’t be…*
Splinter was the only “rat creature” she knew. And there was no way that he was randomly attacking people on the streets. For one thing, it wasn’t in his **nature**. And for another, he was still recovering from some sort of infection.
Tuomas cut him off abruptly. ”Perkele, Ewo, how about you shut the fuck up for five seconds? We have a problem. Yes, they surprised everyone with the proposal, but then some paskapää in the audience pulled a gun on them. The medics said they don’t think it’s anything life-threatening, but Emppu and Bruce both got shot.”
”Mitä vittua!” Ewo suddenly sounded a lot less drunk. ”Are you serious? Why would... some anti-gay bigot, I assume? What can you tell me?”
”This whole thing happened less than an hour ago, so I don’t know much,” Tuomas said. ”The police haven’t said anything yet, and Emppu and Bruce are probably just getting looked at now; once the gunman was down they called in ambulances to take them to hospital. As for the shooter’s motive, I suppose it could be an anti-gay bigot, but it also could be a stalker with poor aim.”
”A stalker?” Ewo asked.
”Emppu’s had a couple of notes slipped to him this weekend, the first one inviting him to meet up with the writer, and the second one saying that the writer understood that Emppu wasn’t able to make the meeting because of all of us getting recognized and mobbed at the Linkin Park set and needing security to pull us to safety, but that they wanted to be there for him once Bruce dumped him. Given the **nature** of the notes, even security here didn’t think the writer was a true threat. Yeah, they posted some extra guards for the Maiden performance, but no one even considered something like this might happen. Anyway, I can see jealousy being the motive, you know? Especially given that the shooting started right after Bruce popped the question and Emppu accepted,” Tuomas explained.
My fic is written as a screenplay, so I'm posting the excerpt as an image in order to preserve the formatting.
[Word count: 303](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/686615745840676868/1218693677501644810/image.png?ex=660897ee&is=65f622ee&hm=4d52ecdc2d9d1f5a1b90aa7786820bad0e98f3a4efb824125e0d8594ce04c3df&)
Step by step, the forest took their progress, the gruelling slog stealing the night without bringing them any closer to their goal. They focused on maintaining the Hover Charm as they manoeuvred Shacklebolt through the hazards of the forest. It was a fine line, keeping him far enough from the forest floor to not scrape against the roots and stones, whilst not so high that he’d smack into branches, or risk injury if they dropped him. They also had to try not to trip over anything themselves.
They fell into a rhythm of casting the Charm. Hermione first, then after a count of ten Harry took over, Ron following him before Hermione took control once more. It didn’t take many cycles for the timing to become second **nature**, which freed Harry’s attention to peer into the darkness.
The shadows loomed over them. Every breath of wind shook the trees, branches transforming into hands grasping over their heads. Menacing figures lurked at the edges of Harry’s vision, disappearing as soon as he looked at them straight on. His spine tingled, certain they were being followed.
Harry turned back towards Ron and Hermione as the time for his turn came closer, the weight of the unconscious form pressing on his magic as he cast. Hermione’s shadowy figure shook her wand arm. Harry silently counted again, the pressure increasing, before sighing as Ron cast and the weight eased. The stints of counting turned the minutes to metres, cruelly emphasising the laborious lack of progress.
((rich girl Caitlyn gets advice on dressing to better fit in Zaun))
'So you mean someone my age can't have such a nice blouse?'
'Sure, you can!'
Cait frowns. 'All right, that's confusing.'
A steam whistle pierces the air, and Mariri pulls a beaten timepiece from a pocket. She clicks her tongue. 'That's me,' she says. 'Look, the only way someone like me gets a blouse like this is by stealing it, you feel me? Then I'd cut it up, refit, make it look nice, you know?'
Cait scoffs, amused. 'This isn't nice already?'
Mariri rolls her eyes. She stabs the air with a finger as she steps backward towards the funicular. 'Get fabric for free. Do the bins, go to scrapers. Sew your own clothes. Stripes! And bring me the leftovers, I'll make myself some ribbons.'
Cait bites down on the objection that she doesn't know how to sew. 'I'll try!' she says instead, waving at the girl.
'And don't wear silver trim! Then no one will want to knife you for your things, Piltie girl!'
'It's Cait!' she yells, hiding her collar with her hand. 'And thanks for the tips!'
Emppu nodded. ”How messed up is the rest of the schedule?” he asked. ”I know you missed an interview and an autograph session today.”
”Both of those have been rescheduled, and will be happening on the afternoon of the 23rd,” Bruce said. ”Jones might be a bastard, but he does know how to handle the business end of things. I didn’t make any **objections** when Rod and Steve asked, because I knew you’d understand, even if we had hoped to spend most of the day together.” He smiled a bit, adding, ”At least you’re here already. Nicko, Dave, and Ade were supposed to meet their wives at the airport and now they can’t. I guess they’re setting up some sort of ladies’ day out to try to make up for it, those three plus Janick’s wife and Steve’s girlfriend; they talked about sending ’em to some really posh tearoom or something like that before bringing them here for the show.”
”Please tell me you’re not going to try to send me with them,” Emppu said, chuckling but also looking a little nervous at the mere thought of being the lone man with five strange women.
”Bloody hell, of course not,” Bruce laughed. ”You’d hate trying to make small talk like that! Especially with people you’ve never met before and not even one friend with you. No, I want you here with me. Actually, if you’re willing, I’d like for you to come to the interview this time. I thought it might be a good idea to just face the British press together and get it over with, the way we faced the Helsinki papers when we came back from Jukka’s. But it’s up to you.”
Emppu considered. ”I’ll do it, as long as Rod is okay with it,” he decided. ”I don’t want to do anything that might get my visiting privileges taken away.”
Viktor was closer than Harry expected, and sighed as he spotted him.
‘I vas about to come looking,’ he said, then spotting the charm on Harry added, ‘You can do it vordless, eh?’
‘Had a run-in with some Grindylow,’ Harry said, and started paddling towards the shore. ‘You might want to stay clear of the weeds.’
Once he reached shallow enough water, Harry pulled himself upright and waded back to dry — or muddy, as the case may be — land. He dispelled the Bubble-Head Charms and collapsed on the bank. His lungs continued to throb their **objection** at the water he’d inhaled, and dragged in lungfuls of air despite the ache it caused.
‘Reckon we should probably start researching what else is in the lake,’ Harry said. ‘Our Grindylow lesson last year didn’t cover how to deal with them if they come at you in hordes.’
The Inquisitor dragged herself from her study. She felt beyond exhausted and ached for sleep, but knew retiring in this state would be useless. As much as she hated walking in the cold night air, she wagered the walk to the rookery and back might be enough to settle her mind.
With that, she made herself half-presentable in case some noble flagged her down. But to her surprise, the castle lay dormant with only sentries along the halls. Many of the lamps, chandeliers, and torches were snuffed for the night. The constant thrum of activity that always accompanied Skyhold was instead absent. Even the ambassador’s office sat quiet, dark, and unoccupied. Odd, for Elisabeth knew Josephine worked herself long into the night.
The morning was contrarily peaceful. Long grass swished beneath their feet as they walked. Chickens murmured as they flapped and foraged in front of the coop. Gnomes rustled the bushes, chattering and giggling lowly. The scent of honeysuckle and an amalgamation of herbs filled the air.
They ducked under the boughs of an apple tree, passing into the orchard. The apples were ripening, not quite ready to pick. Not that under-ripeness had ever kept any of them from pilfering the fruit at the end of a languid summer day of flying, exploring, and — inevitably — bickering.
Pausing, Bill scooped an apple from where it had fallen, nestled in the grass at the base of its tree. It was not ready, too soon to have loosened of its own accord. Something had caused it to drop prematurely, and as he turned the fruit in his hand, it revealed a bruise marring one side. His fingers tightened involuntarily, the **thrum** under his skin becoming more of a shudder, the threads pulled tautly.
Charlie’s hand closed over his. Bill looked up into the bright blue eyes. There was a question there that Bill wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Charlie pulled the apple from his grasp, letting it drop onto the cushioning grass before taking a step away and tilting his head.
‘Wands or hands?’
That was a question he could answer. And exactly what he needed. An outlet for the energy vibrating through him. Bill flexed his fingers, contemplating, and then reached for the holster on his forearm.
If there was any place that made Collins’s scent more bearable, it was the beach. In the library, we sat too close for me to ignore it, no matter how much the AC blew. And in the car? Sometimes I wondered how I managed to stay coherent with the amount of focus it took to not unintentionally harm her in such a small, enclosed space. The salty ocean breeze masked the sweetness of her blood enough that the aching in my throat was reduced to a fraction of its normal intensity. Instead, I could focus on the warmth of her hand in mine, which felt like fire in comparison to my chilled skin.
“I’ve really missed the beach,” Collins leaned back, propping herself up on her arms, and gazed over the gray-green waves as they rolled closer to shore. The cool breeze brought with it a strong smell of salt and algae that masked the scent of her blood. “It’s not the same here though. The sand is super rocky and the water is a lot rougher.”
I watched as the wind caught her hair and tugged a strand across her face. Before I could stop myself, I was tucking it behind her ear, my fingertips skimming her cheek along the way. A rush of blood colored her cheeks deeper pink. I could feel her pulse thrum just below her jaw as I pulled my hand away and switched to breathing through my mouth. This was the easiest place to be around her, but I was still tempted. Would I ever be able to ignore the scent of her blood enough to comfortably be with her? Would it even matter for much longer?
One day, Colt was prancing around and making **horse** noises.
“Hey, Colt!” Laurel said. “What’s gotten you so excited?”
“Huh? I'm not excited! What makes you say that?” Colt began sweating nervously.
“You were prancing around and making **horse** noises!” Laurel giggled. “It was so cute!”
“Okay, fine!” Colt said. “It’s because Barley finally got a job!”
“Really?” Laurel said. “Oh, that’s great!”
“Yes, and now he will have less time to cause trouble around town!”
“But why did he tell you first?” Laurel asked.
“Hey, Mom!” Ian said, entering the room. “Did you hear that Barley got a job at McDonald’s?”
But he stiffened up as the quiet intro of Mother Earth started, when he felt a piece of paper being shoved into his hand, accompanied by a hissed voice saying, ”Read that when you’re alone. And call anytime you want.”
Emppu whipped his head around to try to see the person, figuring that it was almost certainly the same person who’d slipped the note into his pocket yesterday. But the crowd was thick enough that all he saw for certain was a brown-haired man, taller than Jukka but shorter than Tuomas, wearing the same Download festival t-shirt as half the crowd, moving away from him. He couldn’t see the man’s face and he didn’t recognize the hair, so that wasn’t much help, especially since there was no guarantee the person moving was also the person who spoke. And with all the ambient crowd noise plus the music, he couldn’t tell if he’d heard the voice before or not.
Now uncomfortable at having so many strangers around, he turned and motioned for Tuomas to move up and stand beside him. Logically, he knew he was closing the barn door after the **horse** got out; the person who accosted him was gone already, but it still made him feel a little more secure to have friends completely surrounding his back and sides.
"Being scared sucks. I mean, I've been scared ever since we left Earth - hell, I'm scared *right now*. Terrified, even. But it's okay. It's okay to be scared..." Mud squelched underfoot as she took a fourth step. "Especially when you're scared *for* other people, because it means you *care about* them. That comes from the heart, too."
She was so close now that she could feel the heat radiating off of SAR's frame, and she was all too aware of just how *big* and *sharp* and *dangerous* he was.
*Just think of him like the* ***horse*** *back on the Resolute,* she told herself. *You know, if a* ***horse*** *was big and dangerous* ***and*** *also had six limbs and huge razor-sharp claws and lasers.*
*...Focus, Penny. Will's counting on you.*
*Everyone's counting on you.*
"Because that's what it all comes back to, isn't it? You care about them. The other robots, your people, I mean. That's why you came to that black hole planet looking for Robot. That's why you sent him out to find Scarecrow and the engine. That's why-" she faltered, inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly; "...that's why you killed your creators. Isn't it?"
Once more, he just silently nodded.
"And you're afraid that whatever your creators did to you, we were gonna do that too." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "I guess I can understand that, I mean Hastings and the rest of them didn't help anything with what they did to Scarecrow, right? And then when Robot chose to stay with Will... One might be a fluke, but two? Maybe that was the start of something..."
Once he started crying he couldn’t stop, getting louder and uglier until he began to sound like some sorry wounded animal. He pulled her in tight and buried his face in her shoulder to muffle the sound, so Alison wouldn’t hear from downstairs. He clung for dear life, and she placed the hand that wasn’t rubbing his back gently against the back of his head.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m right here.”
She spoke to him with the same quiet, slow and gentle voice he used to use back on the farm when approaching timid **horses**. The ones he knew were never going to make it on a race track, destined for other counties where men who spoke Irish as matter of pride, would pay a month’s wage for a creature that would never be able to trot the main street. Did she feel just as sorry for him as he did for them?
Viktor arrived in his cottage, thrumming with anticipation. He quickly checked for letters, changed into a pair of dark grey denims and a linen shirt, and skipped to the bathroom with a silly grin on his face. A little beard trim, a dab of patchouli and white birch beard oil, and a few hairbrush strokes later he decided that he no longer looked like a horse thief, put on his leather trench coat, and tossed the overnight bag over a shoulder before he realized that he had forgotten something vital. Grabbing a pair of secateurs, he cut six Damask roses from his garden, which he bound together with a hastily transfigured silk ribbon.
For a strange moment, Sonetto finds herself asking for the first time, *“Why did I ever agree to follow you?”*
*“No, you can’t go! I will not allow it!”* She hears Matilda’s voice again from the depths of her memories and it just makes her ache for… *home.* The **warmth** of it when she knocks on her door and asks her to divine for her again because she feels like she’s making a mistake. And Matilda would take her in, like she always had, gently guiding her to the table and asking her to look into the orb.
Sonetto takes a deep breath before answering: “I… I refuse to heed your request.”
The Timekeeper raises her eyebrows in surprise. Then she smiles wryly. “Huh. That’s new. Who knew you have it in you to say no to me?”
Obi-Wan spent much of the trip back to Coruscant cradling little Anakin under his coat. It was cold on the transport, and they weren't the only sentients huddling for warmth in the large common room.
'Let me lend you a ship!' Padmé had insisted. 'It's the very least I could do.'
Obi-Wan had smiled and politely refused.
'The boy is old,' he'd explained. 'He's already got ideas about the Jedi, and I don't want his first impression to be that we fly around in private ships lent by thankful royalty. We're servants, your Majesty, and I wouldn't have your kindness do him a disservice in the long run.'
Outside his door, he could hear their muffled voices, and picked up on a general air of unease, but there was no alarm. Not yet. He doubted there *would* be much cause to worry; Maureen-Robinson had plotted her course well, using the ionized currents of the solar wind as cover. Still, it couldn't hurt to remain wary.
*Not when he could also feel the prickling sensations of tens of thousands of messages pinging along the very edges of his awareness, sharp and red with rage.*
He understood their anger, perhaps better than they themselves did. At more than one point, it had threatened to consume him, too. But the Blue and his little flock of youngsters had lifted him out of that hopeless, hateful place, and Ben...
*Ben...*
He could still feel the soft **warmth** of the man's hand on his shoulder, *see* the sadness radiating off of him despite his smile...
In that moment, Ben had shown him that things could be better - not just between the two of them, but between their peoples, as well.
The angry chorus of hunters' howls spread out across the planetary system, however, told him that *his* people weren't ready to accept that, and the fearful murmurings of the humans scant meters away said that *they* probably weren't ready, either.
Cuddle
Kitten
Every moment made her more anxious, until she could barely hide the way her hands shook as she accompanied him down that last stretch of corridor, through an ornate mechanical door, and… "Girls," he raised his voice only slightly as he stepped into the neatly-furnished chamber beyond; "come out of your hiding spot, I've brought someone I would like you to meet." There was the faintest rustle of movement from an adjoining room; Azshe turned towards it just in time to see - "Belubelu! Narunaru!" She broke and *ran*, even as the two **kittens** bolted for her with arms outstretched. Dropping hard to her knees, she snatched them close in an embrace so fierce her joints creaked; they held just as tightly to her, burying their faces against her shoulders and digging their tiny little claws into her back. She didn't dare even think of rebuking them, not when they were wailing so piteously. Not when *she* was crying, now, too. "You're all right… you're all right… Oh, thank the goddess, you're all right…" Azshe wept, holding her mother's sister's **kittens** close and rocking them until their own sobbing died down.
Swarm
‘No,’ Harry said. ‘I didn’t — I can’t — no.’ Boingo’s fingers curled tightly in his hair as he climbed up and sat protectively on Harry’s shoulder. Ice spread from Harry’s heart, encasing his body. His limbs froze. Everything tingled. Buzzing filled his ears as angry whispering filled the Hall. Unable to move, Harry stared blankly at Ron and Hermione. They stared just as blankly back. ‘Harry Potter.’ Dumbledore’s voice, muffled by the ice, knocked at Harry’s brain. ‘Harry, up here please.’ The ice cracked. Harry shook his head. ‘I didn’t put my name in.’ ‘Harry,’ Dumbledore said again, voice firmer. Hermione leant across the table, face as pale as Harry felt. She pushed his arm. ‘Go on, Harry.’ ‘But —’ Beside him, Seamus nudged his side. ‘Go.’ Harry turned to him. Go? Go where? What was happening? This was a dream. He had to wake up. ‘Seamus?’ The smile Seamus gave him may have been meant to reassure, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, in a voice that sounded anything but. ‘Go on.’ The buzzing reached fever pitch. Furious voices, a **swarm** of hornets. As Harry stood, angry glares burnt into his skin. He flinched. Stiff on his shoulder, Boingo stroked his neck mechanically. The movement should have been soothing. It wasn’t. Not asleep. Not a dream. A living nightmare.
The ringbell made them both startle. “They’re becoming early birds, apparently,” said Orube. Cedric snorted. “Or maybe it’s that pianist neighbor of yours again,” he muttered as he left the kitchen, carrying the jug of steaming coffee with him. “I doubt he’ll ever show up again after last time!” Orube said to his back with a chuckle. She was not sure if she was laughing more at the memory of a few days earlier, when her neighbor had shown up to catch up, evidently after noticing that Joshua was not around anymore, and had found Cedric on the doorstep instead - or if she was laughing because Cedric had clearly taken the jug of steaming coffee with him as a threat to the visitor. The cacophony of female voices that she could hear from the kitchen after Cedric had opened the door reassured her that it was not the pianist. She heard the Guardians breaking into her house like a swarm of bees and could not suppress a smile, imagining Cedric being pushed to the side and looking at them storming in with a dejected expression at the thought of what they had to do next. “Hey, did someone make pancakes?” Orube heard Hay Lin saying, as the voices came closer. “They smell good this time!” Will said. “And they look good!” commented Taranee as they entered the kitchen. “Hmm, so nice of you two to prepare breakfast for us!” said Irma, as she took one plate. “Do you have any maple syrup?” “I’m not sure they were for us, Irma,” Cornelia scolded her. Irma took the other plate as well. “Hey, we’re here to get lectured, you won’t expect that we do it with an empty stomach?” Cedric joined them in the kitchen as well. “You’re here to learn how to behave like people with good manners at the royal wedding, and you’re already starting with the wrong foot.” “In her defense, we are not stealing the Queen’s pancakes,” Will said, opening the drawer where the cutlery was. “We’re stealing only yours.” She grabbed a handful of forks and then turned to follow the others towards the living room. Cedric rolled his eyes, handing one of the two coffee mugs to Orube. “How old are they again? Aren’t humans in their twenties supposed to be a bit less annoying?” Orube took the mug and smiled. “I think they just enjoy teasing you. And you secretly enjoy it, too,” then took the bottle of maple syrup from the counter and followed the girls before Cedric could rebut with an outraged denial.
I’ve actually used a “swarm of bees” simile in one of my stories, too - lol, awesome!
Body
‘Are you all right?’ Harry shrugged, shoulder sliding against the rough stone wall as he tried to catch his breath. ‘It was… a shock. My parents… they never had a chance.’ Bill squeezed his shoulder. ‘And physically?’ ‘A bit achy.’ ‘You shouldn’t have risked yourself like that.’ Bill stood stiffly, every plane of his **body** held carefully in place as if ready for a fight. ‘You’re angry.’ Bill’s snort echoed through the empty bathroom. ‘What gave it away?’ Harry bit the inside of his cheek, pressing his back against the cool stone wall. ‘I’m sorry.’ Bill’s sharp look caught Harry off guard. His brows furrowed, trying to read the emotions flickering across Bill’s face. ‘I’m not angry at *you*.’
“You need to eat. It should help your lightheadedness.” Gaia kept watching his hands without knowing what to say. As she tried to find sleep that night, her mind had replayed his demeanor before and after biting her for a thousand times, and she had looked at the situation from many different angles. His reaction had scared her, hurt her – the look of bloodlust in his eyes, his words about power, the darkness that seemed to exude from his **body**. Now, however, there was no trace of that. There was just a pale, flirting elf who had been gentle enough to wake up early and prepare her breakfast just the way she liked it. “Thank you,” Gaia took one slice of apple and nibbled on it quietly. “Don’t be so shy, darling. You can go ahead and eat everything. I saved these apples for you.” “Saved?” she sniggered and rolled her eyes. “If I did not know you any better, I would say you took them from Wyll.” “It’s flattering how you know me so well,” he smirked as he passed her another slice. His eyes sparkled brightly when she ate it. “Pardon me for my thievery, however I simply did not want my favorite traveling companion under the risk of passing out.” “How kind of you.” “You are a princess, darling. It is only logical I show you how much of a gentleman I am.” “You did say you would show me your manners.” “And how do you think I have been doing so far?” Gaia’s response was to smile coyly another time and toss another apple slice into her mouth. Then, she nodded her head towards another apple he had on his lap and Astarion started unpeeling it with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I rather like our little dance around each other, darling,” he whispered by her ear. The hairs in the nape of Gaia’s neck stood up and she felt a shiver run down her spine. They were so close she could smell his musky scent. She was sure he could count the freckles in her face. “Just like I know how much you enjoyed what we did last night.” This in an excerpt of the chapter I just posted today - a Baldur's Gate Astarion/OC fic
Message me a link? I love BG3!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/54230263 there it goes :)
break.
Harry’s pain-addled mind abruptly put together the pieces of the conversation. He shrank into the sofa cushions. ‘Wait, you’re saying there’s a piece of Voldemort’s *soul* in my head?!’ Swallowing against the flood of bile coating his throat, he tried to slow his racing heart. ‘Can you get it out?’ Not meeting his eye, Bill’s silence stretched too long. Harry swallowed again as the nausea bubbled up from his sinking stomach. ‘The normal approach is to **break** the Soul Jar, releasing the soul piece to death,’ he said eventually. ‘**Break**?’ Harry repeated. ‘You’re saying — you’re saying that the only way to get rid of it is — what? — to kill me?’ ‘No.’ Fierceness honed Bill’s voice. ‘It will not come to that. We will find another way, Harry.’ Find another way? How? How could they possibly find another way? If releasing a soul from a Soul Jar required destruction of the vessel, well… it sounded like he had to die. And if Voldemort couldn’t die until the soul was released… Swallowing thickly, Harry took a shaky breath. He could do it. He could. What was his life compared to the lives of his friends? Compared to the future of the world? Voldemort wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t back down. If Harry had to give his life to keep Voldemort from taking over, well then, it was an easy choice to make. He just had to — ‘Harry!’ Harry jumped at Bill’s sharp tone. ‘Don’t you dare even *think* about killing yourself.’
There was a beautiful shade of light blue to the sky as dawn started to **break** in the next morning. Gaia raised her dark white eyes to drink in the breezy atmosphere and how the pale sunlight kissed the scrape of everything it touched as though it could awaken and instill life into it. Having managed to sleep less than one hour that night, Gaia felt herself being whisked away by that picturesque scenario and she tilted her head up and squeezed her eyes just so she could bask in that welcome bliss. The events of the prior evening lingered in the back of Gaia’s mind the entire night. The drow raised a hand and touched her scales, traced the scar that cut across her eyebrow and right eye, but then her fingers moved automatically to her neck where they immediately found the two bite marks in her neck. She traced them absentmindedly; her fingertips delicately outlined the shape of Astarion’s fangs and she sighed heavily. It did not tingle anymore but touching the marks brought her back to how it had felt to have his fangs piercing her neck – a feeling like nothing else. As Gaia tried to sleep the night before, she embarked on the dangerous territory of ruminations. Realization dawned upon her that Astarion was the closest thing she had to a friend, and it was because of her own insecurities and ever-present feeling of loneliness that the aftermath of his coming out to her had made her feel so overwhelmed. He had trusted her enough to reveal that he was a vampire spawn and trusted her even more to ask for her blood knowing that she could have very well denied, attacked him, or scared him away from their group to let him find a way to deal with the parasite by himself. In his own way – a way that always threaded and walked on the verge but never fully committed – Gaia suspected that Astarion in fact trusted her. Yet, even though Gaia had willingly given him her blood, seeing the way he transformed right in front of her eyes had been overwhelming. Gone was the flirtatious, mirthful pale elf who displayed occasional sweetness. Instead, she saw a man who was power hungry and bloodthirsty, a facet she had seen glimpses of, but never really looked at. Her immediate reaction had been close in on herself, wonder if she had been used to satisfy his palate and allow her ubiquitous insecurity and second guessing to get in the way of how she felt about him. Years and years of being tossed and turned by her schoolmates, a plethora of memories of being on the other end of sycophantic subjects, not to mention living with the constant feeling of being just a means to end. An heir to a crown, the continuation of a dormant bloodline, the daughter of a Queen. Gaia had always come last; what she represented had always come first. In the end, Gaia had never learned how to love, accept, or trust herself. Everything about her seemed to always have an ulterior reason, a purpose that she had not chosen. Insecurity was part of her just as much as breathing and seeing his change of behavior – how he had reacted to drinking her blood and then harnessed power from that – all of that had immediately transported her to feelings she had not experienced since she left the Underdark.
“Hermione, have you ever had a boyfriend?” queried Ginny. “What?” replied Hermione, bewildered. “No. No, I haven’t. Why?” “Oh. I was just wondering if there was anyone who could give me advice.” “Well, I’ve had a girlfriend. Is that close enough?” Hermione replied, thinking of Cho. Two months of pure, well, she wouldn’t call it passion, but they did really like each other. Hermione had been twelve, Cho thirteen, and it was great. They did messily **break** up, but it was good while it lasted. “A girlfriend? Really? Well, it’s pretty much the same thing. So, you know Neville?” “Neville?” Hermione slammed down her book. “You like Neville?” “Yeah! Just- how do I tell him?” “Are you sure he likes you back?” “No. He probably doesn’t.” At that point Hermione had told her some randomness about ‘following her heart’ and whatnot, knowing that the shy Ginny would never confess her love unless prompted to or motivated. Jesus, the Weasleys had a very concerning type. Did the red hair come with a side of tastelessness?
breath
“Because I want to help you. I know you cannot appreciate the fact that someone actually means to do something kind for you and I will not insist if it makes you uncomfortable. But I still do want to help you. You can trust me, Astarion.” The scowl melted at once. Gaia noticed how he unclenched his jaw and then he eyed her again like he had done the night before. There was no flirt or desire, no playfulness or mischief. He seemed to be breathing in her closeness, drinking in every corner of her face. It was as if he could not believe what he was seeing – from the parting of his lips to the softness to those red pools that were often filled with lust and playfulness. Gaia sustained her gaze as best as she could while he pondered her words. He shifted closer to her another time and their knees touched again. After a minute, Astarion finished slicing the apple and handed the last three pieces to Gaia, who ate them in quiet contemplation. When she was done, he pocketed his knife and turned to face her profile. Raising an arm, he cupped her face and tilted her neck up as though he wanted to admire his own work. After some seconds examining the place and clearly feeling pleased at the result, his fingers made way to her lips and he brushed a thumb over her mouth. She parted her lips and released a **breath** in response, and Astarion grinned at her reaction. He traced the silhouette of her lips and Gaia bore her eyes on his, happy to see his red irises trail down to her lips before they looked up slowly to meet her eyes another time. When he spoke, he was so close to her that his warm **breath** tickled her skin. His voice sounded silky and smooth, and Gaia almost wanted him to say the words closer to her ears. “People don’t do kindness. But I will accept your offer and will be kind to you just like you are being so kind to me, dear,” he muttered in a light voice, touching the bite marks on her neck again. “I meant what I said last night. This is a gift and I won’t forget it.”
‘One of the first tombs I worked, I missed a key layer in a rune network. The curse triggered and… Well, my colleague almost died.’ Bill shook his head. ‘I know what it’s like.’ Harry shook his head vehemently. So, Bill missed a rune and almost killed a colleague. What did that have to do with Harry? It wasn’t like he’d missed something and caused Malfoy’s injuries. He had nothing to do with what happened, nothing. Harry pulled the thought tightly around himself like a shroud, wrapping his arms around his legs as he did. ‘Harry.’ Bill’s voice was gentle. ‘Malfoy wasn’t even sitting behind you. He took the brunt of the force to his chest, but it singed up his arm to get there. There’s only one way that could’ve happened.’ Harry closed his eyes. Words slipped through the folds in the shroud, little more than a **breath**. ‘He saved my life.’
Wallop
Crushing
\[CW: spider, arachnophobia\] Ice flooded Ron’s veins. The spider turned abruptly, lurching across the desk and scuttling towards him. He jerked, shoving away from the desk. The screech of the chair legs across the flagstones was barely audible over the pounding in his ears. Not down my throat, not down my throat. He pinched his lips as tightly as he could, not even letting air pass them. The spider wasn’t stopping. It reached the edge of the table. Ron tensed, muscles preparing to flee. It tensed too, crouching, ready to fling itself at him. Spindly fingers grabbed the spider. Ron gasped. Air flooded back into his lungs. Boingo caged the spider between his delicate fingers, keeping it from moving. Shaking, Ron pressed a hand to his throat. His spider-free throat. He swallowed a spiderless gulp of air, and another, and another. ‘*Imperio*.’ Moody’s second intonation wasn’t at the spider, but at the monkey. The spider’s legs gave a final twitch as Boingo stiffened, **crushing** it in his grip. Ron’s focus stayed on the spider, even as Boingo relaxed and threw the crushed body at Moody. Distantly, Ron was aware of Moody speaking. He couldn’t concentrate on the words. The curled-up spider corpse rested on the far side of the desk where it had fallen, legs tight against its body. Even dead, he didn’t want it near him. Couldn’t Moody banish the thing?
Beholding/Behold
(Technically, this was from an original story I wrote when I was 14 - but it was heavily inspired by an episode of Jim Henson’s “The Storyteller”, so I still posted it as fanfiction…) And so, a year passed, and the day came when the stag arrived at the palace to collect his prize – the nobleman’s daughter would become the stag’s bride! Everyone felt terrible for the girl and tried to persuade her not to go through with marrying the animal, but she decided, “I will do it. My father made a promise, and marrying this beast is better than breaking a promise.” So, the very next day, the stag and the nobleman's daughter were married – and oh, it was the most miserable, sad looking wedding party you ever saw! But something amazing happened that night after the party was over. The young girl had just fallen asleep when the stag rose from the bed, gently stroked her long black hair with his hoof, and walked over to the fireplace. Unbeknownst to the stag, his soft touch had awakened the girl, who turned to look at him – and **behold**! the stag took off his skin, and the handsomest man the nobleman’s daughter had ever seen emerged from underneath it! He left the skin lying by the fire and went outside the castle. The nobleman’s daughter got up and went to the window, watching the man walking around the castle – and then she turned, walked towards the stagskin lying on the floor, and lay down on it. It was soft and warm, and it made her very drowsy as she climbed back into bed and fell asleep.
Falter
Tension crawled over them as they headed to the Great Hall for lunch. Déjà vu hit Harry as they descended the staircase to the first floor. Rationally, it was unlikely to happen again. Bill and Dumbledore had both pointed out how reckless the unknown enemy’s attempt to kidnap Harry in such a crowded corridor had been, and it was unlikely the mistake would be made twice. Even so, Harry **faltered** as he approached the steps to the Entrance Hall. He let the crowd pass by and drew back against the wall. ‘Potter.’ Boingo’s tail swished as Harry jumped. Malfoy stood alone again. Boingo peered at him, but Malfoy ignored him, focus fixed on Harry. ‘You’re not going to wander off again, are you?’ Malfoy sneered, though the expression didn’t fit his face. He crossed his arms when Harry merely blinked in response. ‘Some of us need to eat, Potter. Now get moving. If I leave you here and you go missing again, I’ll have to deal with all your friends, and I don’t really want the castle flooded because your Weasleys couldn’t stop crying over you.’ Harry blinked again, thoroughly confused. Malfoy huffed, grabbed his shoulder and shoved him towards the stairs. ‘*Move*, Potter, for Merlin’s sake.’ Harry moved.
Mote
Morning arrived with shafts of soft, warm sunlight spilling through the windows, splashing across the beds and the stone floor. Birdsong accompanied it, drifting like **motes** down the beams of light. Harry’s most recent doze was set to their melody, and interrupted by a gasp of pain that spasmed through the firm chest beneath his hand.
Heart
With that, he propped you upon his lap as the slave brought more wine. You felt yourself get warm, feeling him on you. Such…intimacy sent your heart aflutter. Though…after plates were cleared before he could tighten his arms to hold you, you slid off. He let you, his blue eyes widening.
"See, '**heart**' isn't a program, or a physical thing. It's not something that someone else can just... reach into you and change. Even *you* can't always change it, really - trust me, I've tried *so hard* to change mine more than once, but..." She shrugged helplessly, thinking back to how she'd tried to be angry at Judy and Will and their parents, how she'd tried to hate Smith, how she'd tried *not* to love Vijay, and how she'd failed miserably at all of those things; "...it just kind of. Does what it wants, sometimes. All the time. I guess. It's - it's feelings. Emotions. You understand emotions, right?" Almost hesitantly now, SAR nodded. Penny exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I kinda thought as much. I mean, you seem pretty angry and upset. People who don't have feelings wouldn't, well, feel those things." She made sure to subtly emphasize *people* as she held his unnerving gaze. Because the robots *were* people; the adults might not entirely understand that, but she did. Slowly lowering her left hand, she pressed it over her **heart**, feeling it hammering away behind her ribcage. "You feel those things *in* your **heart**, and then you *choose* how to react to them. Robot *chose* to stay and protect Will, because his **heart** told him it was the right thing to do. And *your* **heart** was hurt by that, and it *scared* you. I mean, stop me if I'm wrong, but I think I heard enough to know that I'm not." He bristled at that, and Will let out a strangled gasp behind her - but she forced herself to keep holding SAR's gaze even as she took a third step towards him. This time, he held his ground, and she felt a cold thread of fear knotting up in her stomach.
She thought back to the first incident. When he called her that word, she was confused. She’d seen him look, for a brief moment, scared. His friends were sort-of nagging him to do something. Even if they made him do it, that was no excuse to say it, right? But she believed in second chances. He didn’t mean it with his whole **heart**. She didn’t exactly forgive him for being so vile, but maybe she should talk to him, if she had the chance. To understand him better. Why exactly had he said it? Why was she even thinking about this? It was *Draco goddamn Malfoy*.
‘Down!’ Harry threw himself to the ground. Magic burst through the air above him, rending it open. Harry clung to the solid earth as he crawled. He slipped, hissing in pain as a broken tent peg sliced into his palm. Struggling back onto his forearms, he continued to crawl. Every movement of his hand pulled on the wound, tugging it wider, leaving a trail of blood. He pushed the pain aside. Each inch drew on every ounce of his concentration. Robes whirled past, pounding feet and shouted spells thudding in his ears as the aurors fought. One stopped, seizing Harry and dragging him behind her. ‘Stay there!’ She turned back to the fight. Canvas cradled Harry as he slumped against a tent, panting. The rogue auror was strong, but with Harry clear and no risk of hitting him, it didn’t take long for the other aurors to bring him down. An odd hush settled as the fight ended. Harry didn’t move as the aurors bound their opponent and checked the perimeter for other enemies. The young auror that had shielded him came over. Crouching in front of him, she asked, ‘Are you hurt?’ Harry stared at her uncomprehendingly. The pounding of his **heart** was loud in his ears. He should say something; maybe thank her for her help. But his dry mouth refused to form words, and his brain was too busy trying to remind his lungs how to breathe to worry about an insignificant thing like speaking. A sad smile crossed her **heart**\-shaped face. ‘I’ll get you a healer.’
I hope the plural is okay; the MC is bicardial. TW: the aftermath of torture, though not very graphic. \--------------------------------------------------------------- For once, the plan comes together the way it's supposed to. The guards follow Rose away from their stations, and soon find themselves locked in a utility closet. The rebel guerrillas trigger minor explosions all over the citadel that bring security forces running, including Jack's interrogator. As soon as he's out of sight, the Doctor rushes into the room. He comes to an abrupt halt. Jack is secured to a high-backed chair that faces away from the door, so the first thing the Doctor sees is the interrogator's desk. Scattered across the surface of the desk are items that make his **hearts** skip a couple of beats. Xoshia is a technologically advanced world. The standard interrogation tool is a neural prod. Hurts like hell, but it won't do much damage. There's a neural prod on the desk, surrounded by a dozen other tools for inflicting pain: primitive, cruel, and very effective. He runs past the desk and around the restraint chair. Jack is strapped into it, naked. The Doctor stares, horrified. The tale of Jack's ordeal can be clearly read on the bruises, weals, cuts, and burns marking his flesh. The young man is slumped in the chair, but he's conscious. One blue eye -- the other is swollen shut -- fixes on him. "I'm ready to check out of this joint, Doc," he mumbles. "Think I won't be tipping the chambermaid. Service here is terrible." Jack coughs, and a trickle of blood drips from the corner of his mouth.
Emppu wrapped his arms snugly about the singer, simply holding him and basking in the closeness. "I love you so much..." Bruce eventually whispered softly. "Minäkin rakastan sinua," Emppu murmured. "Olet rakkauteni ja elämäni. Kotini on kanssasi, sillä koti on siellä, missä sydän on, ja sinä pidät sydäntäni nyt ja ikuisesti." “Forgetting your English again?” Bruce teased with a soft chuckle. “I only caught a couple of words this time, so see, you do make me forget my Finnish.” “You are my love and my life,” Emppu translated quietly. “My home is with you, for home is where the **heart** is, and you hold my **heart** now and forever.” “You hold my **heart** in exchange,” Bruce said. “And I can’t wait for Download, so I can tell the whole world so.”
Lava
From a long-abandoned WIP. Jack, Rose, and the Doctor are in a poly relationship. Jack has been trying--unsuccessfully--to explain to Rose why he sometimes enjoys pain with sex. Excerpt is SFW. \-------------------------------------------- "Curry," the Doctor says. Both of the humans stare at him. "Rose, when you went back to London last month, you and your mates went out for curry, yeah?" Rose nods. "What did everyone eat?" "What does that--" "Simple question, even for you," the Doctor says with exaggerated patience. "What did they eat?" Rose squeezes her eyes shut, trying to remember. Good job that most of them have their regular favourites. "I got the prawn biryani. Keisha ordered the chicken tikka masalla, you know, with the cream sauce. Anna got some spinach and potato stuff--she's gone vegetarian, 'cos her new boyfriend is one. Shireen always orders the mixed kebabs, and Liz got a lamb vindaloo." "Did you share?" She'd really like to ask him what he's getting at, but he's giving her one of those looks, and she doesn't feel like dealing with Time Lord attitude just now. "Sort of. Shireen didn't want the biryani on account of the carbs in the rice. Anna wouldn't eat meat, but she shared some of the starters. And nobody except Liz wanted the vindaloo." "Why?" She stares at him. Why the bloody hell is he playing ignorant? He's eaten curry often enough, and he probably tried it for the first time 500 years ago at some banquet at the court of Emperor Whatsisface. "Because it's hotter than **lava** mixed with acid, and we don't want to burn away the linings of our throats, that's why." "But Liz likes it?" "Yeah, but she--" *Oh.* The penny drops. "Just as simple as that?"
Hypocrite
General
Thursday afternoon couldn’t come soon enough for the Gryffindor fourth-years, eagerly anticipating their first lesson with famous ex-Auror Mad-Eye Moody. Before the bell had even rung, the students gathered outside the classroom door in a loose-knit group that could only be called a queue in the most **general** sense. If ideas were owls, the air above them would have been a cloud of Pigwidgeons as they excitedly exchanged theories about what they might learn in the lesson. The moment the trill of the bell filled the air to announce the start of class, the students were falling over themselves to get inside.
”Huh,” Steve said. ”Small as he is, I wouldn’t have guessed him for a martial artist. I mostly talked with Marko when I met them that time, although I was introduced to all of them. Emppu seemed much the quietest of the lot, not that any of them save Marko were particularly outgoing.” ”Probably some combination of being Finnish and quite possibly being in awe of someone they admire,” Bruce pointed out. ”During my time in Helsinki, I learned that Finns in **general** enjoy their quiet. Which isn’t to say they can’t be very friendly when they want to be, mind, just that in **general**, they’ll need to get comfortable with someone new before they grow talkative. Either that, or they’ll need a good amount of booze in them.” Steve laughed. ”Okay, well, I didn’t take either of those factors into account when I met them, I guess. And thinking about it, Marko is a good bit older than the rest of them, isn’t he? Plus he’s been in other bands before, so he’s probably got the most experience of all of them, when it comes to meeting new people.”
Nar Shaddaa was one of these places that looked like they might be civilised. It had the spires, the lights, the traffic. It held on tight to its nickname of Little Coruscant, but in the end it was as grimmy and slimy as anything in Hutt possession. It was such a karkhole of a rotating dump, it always carried the scent of shit and rot, mold and barf, the whole shebang of life and death, and it was hard to distinguish anything above that general stench.
Garden.
Mentally twisting the thrumming threads around himself, Bill nodded. He followed Charlie out of the house and walked beside him across the **garden**. The morning was contrarily peaceful. Long grass swished beneath their feet as they walked. Chickens murmured as they flapped and foraged in front of the coop. Gnomes rustled the bushes, chattering and giggling lowly. The scent of honeysuckle and an amalgamation of herbs filled the air. They ducked under the boughs of an apple tree, passing into the orchard. The apples were ripening, not quite ready to pick. Not that under-ripeness had ever kept any of them from pilfering the fruit at the end of a languid summer day of flying, exploring, and — inevitably — bickering. Pausing, Bill scooped an apple from where it had fallen, nestled in the grass at the base of its tree. It was not ready, too soon to have loosened of its own accord. Something had caused it to drop prematurely, and as he turned the fruit in his hand, it revealed a bruise marring one side. His fingers tightened involuntarily, the thrum under his skin becoming more of a shudder, the threads pulled tautly. Charlie’s hand closed over his. Bill looked up into the bright blue eyes. There was a question there that Bill wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Charlie pulled the apple from his grasp, letting it drop onto the cushioning grass before taking a step away and tilting his head. ‘Wands or hands?’ That was a question he could answer. And exactly what he needed. An outlet for the energy vibrating through him. Bill flexed his fingers, contemplating, and then reached for the holster on his forearm.
Today, Aeroc invited Richard for tea at his estate. Hugo had brought out his mother’s favorite teacups, he always does it when Aeroc invites friends and close relatives. It doesn’t mean a lot, but it’s the little secrets that make any meeting more special. The rose garden was blooming with life, the vibrant color painted the garden in shades of burmese rubies. Aeroc thought of having tea in the gardens, but Hugo suggested the terrace which overlooks the garden. It was a great idea. So the terrace was immediately cleaned and set-up, ready to receive his guest. Hugo escorted Richard to the terrace, he immediately smiled warmly at the sight of Aeroc. And Aeroc could help but smile back at him. Aeroc makes tea for both of them. He knows Richard loves lemon tea, so he had Hugo make it in advance. “This is my first time here.” “Father rarely lets visitors up here. He prefers holding social events in the rose garden.” “The sight from up here is amazing to be honest.” Richard seems to be at a loss for words. Most of the people who have the privilege to see the splendor of Teiwind’s great history were left astounded by its prestige. The rose garden that his mother had cultivated in his lifetime had become one of its most prominent pieces.
“I can’t wait,” Bruce said with a smile. “I really hope the house is as good a fit as Satu thinks it will be. I’m looking forward to a place that’s ours, you know? Not you moving into mine, or me moving into yours, but us moving into ours.” He paused and added, “I’m thinking about selling my flat and looking for something more suitable for us in London as well, since we have Eeva to consider now. Maybe even something detached or at least semi-detached, so we’ll have our own **garden** for her to play in.” “I wouldn’t say no, but don’t feel as though you have to give up your home just because of me and Eeva,” Emppu said. “We can make it work one way or another.” “I know,” Bruce said, snuggling closer and sounding sleepy. “We can make anything work, so long as we’re together. A **garden** for Eeva’d be nice, though.” Emppu gave him a soft kiss. “It would,” he agreed. “I love you, Bruce.” “Love you too, Emppu,” Bruce murmured.
>Crowley didn’t wait to hear the rest. He stormed out the back door and out into the small garden. Smoke was curling from his shoulders. >It was a nice enough garden, with a variety of plants that were near ready for harvest. He spotted tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, a lovely little apple tree, a big mess of herbs, and a huge patch of strawberries. >All of his plants had likely perished in the blaze of hellfire. Some he’d had for over a century. They had names, personalities. Shitty attitudes, but who was he to judge? The loss combined with his current humiliation punched him in the guts, and he was just about done with feeling fucking sorry for himself, so he turned his fury onto the plants surrounding him, zeroing in on a drooping tomato plant. >He marched over and snarled, long and low. “You have everything you could *possibly* want in this garden, and you *dare* not to stand tall?” >The plant shivered at his menacing tone, and stiffened up. He cast his eyes around the rest of the garden. “You lot better appreciate what you have. Sun, rain, lovely soil. What more could you possibly ask for?” he shouted. “And you! Are those *spots* on your apples?” >“Are you lecturing the greenery?” asked Nina from the porch, disbelief clear in her voice. >He glowered at the plants. “You mean these spoiled, coddled, *overindulged* wastes of resources?” >“They are plants.” >“And they know better!” he shouted. >“You are actually mental,” Nina said, sitting on a little wicker loveseat.
Pinning.
‘Draco!’ The voice pushed through the mire of Harry’s mind. He couldn’t see past Malfoy, but he could imagine the expression on his father’s face. It, like his tone, would be one of fear rather than the ubiquitous sneers. It wasn’t Mr Malfoy, however, that gently levitated Malfoy away a moment later. It was the Bulgarian Minister for Magic. ‘I vill help,’ he said as he carefully lowered Malfoy to the floor. ‘I vas healer. Before.’ The moment the levitation spell cut off, his wand was in rapid motion. Harry hunched in his chair, frozen. Phantom weight still crushed him, **pinning** him in place. Treacle surrounded Harry as he stared at Malfoy. *Is he even breathing?* ‘If someone could help.’ The minister’s words were a solvent, melting the glue that held him in place. He could help. It would give him a focus. Harry reached for his wand. ‘Here,’ Bill said, as he pushed his way past his siblings from further along the row. ‘What do you need?’
They piled on the bus with the others, once again ignoring the frowns in their direction from Jones, frowns which only deepened as Janick, Nicko, and Steve praised Emppu’s performance and teased the couple with regards to their stated desire to skip the bar and head straight up to their room. ”...and with tomorrow being nothing but a bus trip, I suppose you’ll be up ’fencing’ all night?” Steve laughed. ”Why not?” Bruce riposted. ”Fencing’s bloody good exercise, I keep telling you blokes that. However, I was thinking more along the lines of doing some judo, since I’ve got my favourite sparring partner with me. It doesn’t matter if I get pinned or do the **pinning**, I win either way.” He gave his bandmates a smug grin, causing them to laugh. Hands dropped onto their shoulders from the seat behind them. ”Bruce, that was terrible,” Adrian said. ”Kiss your lad and tell him you’re sorry for making such tasteless jokes.” ”I’m sorry for making such tasteless jokes,” Bruce parroted before leaning in and giving Emppu a gentle kiss. ”Am I forgiven?” ”Always, kulta,” Emppu said with a smile. He made a show of whispering, ”Besides, I thought it was funny.”
>“Divert more power to shields and brace for impact!” shouted Jim, as the red glow of the Klingons’ photon torpedo filled more and more of the screen, blotting out the stars behind. >The impact shook the ship, flinging everyone on the bridge toward the starboard side. Spock was thrown against the railing of the perimeter walkway. The blow produced moderate pain in his first two lumbar vertebrae, but the circumstances afforded no time to dwell on that. Jim, having also been thrown, was now **pinning** Spock to the railing.
panic.
Another wave of **panic** coursed through Harry’s veins. He jumped to his feet, hands clammy as they patted at his pockets. ‘Where’s my wand?’ ‘What?’ Ron frowned from behind Hermione as Harry caught his eye. ‘My wand.’ Harry’s voice cracked. ‘It’s not here!’ ‘I’m sure it just fell out of your pocket.’ Magic shivered over Harry as Charlie approached, scouring a layer of plasma and unidentifiable fluids from his skin and t-shirt. The spell made little difference to the stench that clung to the fabric, and Harry knew he would never wear the shirt again. Charlie squeezed Harry’s now clean shoulder, raising his wand with his other hand. ‘*Accio* Harry’s wand.’ It was like watching through the Omnioculars again. Everything shifted back into slow motion. At first, nothing happened, but then, with an odd ripple, Harry’s wand appeared out of mid-air. Seeker reflexes kicking in, Harry snatched his wand out of the air before it reached Charlie, and curled his fingers around it. ‘*Accio* invisibility cloak!’ he shouted, copying Charlie’s spell.
”And how did you get this far, Luna?” Jukka asked. ”What happened?” Luna looked down, knowing that while going out the wrong door was a simple mistake, running after Aku Ankka was just plain wrong on her part. Bruce and Emppu joined the group as Luna explained the situation, with Emppu quietly translating for his partner, Tasha, and Kia. After Luna finished her story, Satu and Jukka looked at each other in the silent communication that the parents of small children use. ”Well, I’m angry that you ran after Aku Ankka without us like that,” Satu said after a moment. ”However, I’m also very proud of you, because you didn’t **panic**, and because you remembered what to do if you lost us, including the English words to say that you needed help.” ”I think those scraped knees will remind you not to run off again, right?” Jukka asked. Luna nodded. ”I’m sorry,” she whispered. Satu sighed. ”I know you are, Luna. How about we all go get something to drink and calm down, then we can maybe go on some more rides, okay?” ”Okay,” Luna said with a smile. She reached out to give Matti a hug. ”Thank you for coming to help Hayley and Tasha and Kia talk with me,” she said. ”Glad to help, sweetie,” Matti told her.
'Shadowheart, can you tell if he's hurt? Needs healing? I have some potions, maybe one can help?' 'No need to panic.' She kneels next to us and lays her hands on Gale's forehead. 'He's simply exhausted. I'll give him a small boost, but what he really needs is sleep.' Gale inhales sharply. Shadowheart pulls back and sits on her haunches, observing silently as our new friend sits up with a chorus of battered, middle-aged grunts. 'I- I simply can't thank you enough,' he says at last. 'Both of you. Ooft... Apologies. I'm usually better at this.' He still sounds awful, but at least he's keeping his eyes open now, and sitting on his own. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and makes a face when it snags on knots and comes away with sticks and leaves. 'No need to apologise,' I say, 'you were clearly in need of a helpful hand.'
Gale 🥰
Tw: brief panic attack "-are underway for a missing United States government plane that crashed over the Atlantic Ocean earlier this evening," the reporter explained. "The plane is believed to be carrying the First Son of the United States, Alex Claremont-Diaz, and a few secret service agents. The reason for the crash is suspected to be a storm brewing over the ocean." The world stopped for Prince Henry of Wales. He clutched the sheets to his bed. He could hear Bea talking, but he couldn't focus on a word she was saying. Henry's brain had gone into full panic attack mode. It took a few minutes before he came back to reality. When he did, Bea was crouched in front of him. The TV had been turned off. "Hen," Bea said. "It's my fault," Henry said. "I sent him away. He shouldn't have been in the air tonight." "Alex will be okay," Bea said. "He has to be okay. He's a fighter. And when they do find him, you better tell him that you love him." "I will," Henry said. "I'll tell him every single day."
mission.
'Stop rushing! Fighting isn't about your fucking feelings!' Sevika yells at her. 'Keep your guard up, stop using your chin to block blows, you're not making a point here! Again!' But she's good, the little fucker, she's fast on her feet and she still leans into her punches like she's on a mission to demolish her opponents. Sevika's stump itches something fierce, where the metal digs into flesh. She wants to shimmer up, to take Vi on seriously. But she's not quite there yet, and she suspects Silco wouldn't let it slide now, if she bruised her up too much. 'Use your head,' she spits at her. 'Think. Think!'
context: DI Robbie Lewis is one of many speakers scheduled to give short talks at a police conference. He's just discovered that he dropped the paper with the text of his speech, and it seems to have been picked up by another DI, who has an old grudge against him, and would be happy to see him embarrass himself. Robbie is hoping that his sergeant, James Hathaway, who helped him polish the speech, can write him a quick outline to crib from. \---------------------- As if summoned by the very thought of his name, Hathaway appears at Robbie's side. "Sir? What's wrong?" Robbie pulls him to a quiet corner, and quickly explains the problem. He's about to ask Hathaway to write him an outline when his bagman asks, "Which pocket?" He blinks. "What?" How can that possibly matter? Hathaway repeats the question, a note of urgency in his voice. "The left. Left jacket pocket," he stammers, then watches in bewilderment as his bagman strides away, a man with a **mission**. *What do you think you're doing?* For one terrifying minute he sees Hathaway approach Innocent, but the sergeant merely gives her a respectful nod as he passes. He slows as he gets nearer to Broderick. His posture relaxes. Hathaway greets several colleagues with a nod and a smile. He even pauses to say something to DS Hurst, who looks startled, but smiles. Broderick is talking with a man that Robbie doesn't recognise. One of the officers from Milton Keynes? Neither man looks away from their convo as Hathaway walks by. It's over in a second, maybe less. Even though Robbie has his eyes fixed on Hathaway, he almost misses the moment in which the sergeant's slim hand dips into Broderick's pocket. There's a flash of white, and then it vanishes. Hathaway himself vanishes, only to reappear a few moments later, his blond head moving through a cluster of uniformed officers like a swimmer bobbing between waves. Broderick is still blathering to his friend, oblivious. *Thank God.* If Hathaway had been caught... He's still alternating between fear and amazement when Hathaway returns and hands him a piece of paper. Even before he opens it and sees the familiar words, Robbie knows it's the right one. He recognises the angle of the uneven folds and the coffee stain on the lower right corner. "James, thank you... but how—"
>“I don’t know about you, Beverly, but I could use a girls’ night after all that.” >Data found this statement from Counselor Troi strange. He paused shuffling the deck and inclined his head questioningly. >“Counselor, unless I am mistaken, you and Doctor Crusher are always ‘girls,’ not just at night.” >Counselor Troi laughed. “You’re not mistaken, Data. I was just suggesting that Beverly and I, and maybe a few other women in the crew, get together and unwind after the recent **mission**.” >“Ah.” Data resumed shuffling the cards. “‘Girls’ night’ refers to a low-stakes social gathering composed of all women.” >“That’s right!”
Trumpet
**Trumpets** sounded as Prince Fridleifus stepped forward from the tower, followed by the vizier, known as Count Arryn, and then by the king and queen. Instantly, a hush fell over the crowd. “My people,” Prince Fridleifus began loudly from the tower, “As you know, our kingdom of Druwyth will, in a month, be celebrating its 500th anniversary!” A cheer erupted from the crowd. “That very same night,” the prince continued, “I shall marry a woman I have chosen for my own: a woman who was once a commoner of Druwyth, like yourselves; but perhaps, you will not find her common now. Would you like to meet her?” Another loud cheer. “Then I present her to you!” Fridleifus called. “My bride-to-be…the soon-to-be princess…Sarah!” The crowd was silent as it turned towards where Prince Fridleifus gestured. Instantly, **trumpets** sounded again as none other than Sarah, the one who had loved Jareth so dearly and always would, appeared in the archway – clad in fine jewelry and a beaded, pale-pink gown, and wearing a flower crown made of gold on her head.
Solo
“Tully spent over half his life on this project. He called it the Forest of Euterpe.” Jack glances inquiringly at Seán. Seán nods. “The ancient Greek Muse of music.” “After the first six years, he had enough pillars carved to give his first concert.” Jack moves a few paces away to a spot inside a triangle of three pillars. He spins in a movement that resembles a neo-kendo kata, hitting the pillars in quick succession. The notes linger, blending into a chord. Stepping into a second triangle of pillars, he repeats the process, sounding another chord. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to focus, and lets out a long, slow breath. As he inhales, he explodes into motion, spinning to play one chord, then jumping between the triangles to play another and another. It’s a simple children’s tune: eight bars with only three chords, but it takes all of his strength and concentration. “That was wonderful.” Jack shakes his head. “If you want incredible, you should see the Tritos Glockenspiel Society play one of Tully’s original compositions. Half the settlement comes out to watch from up top.” Seán turns slowly, studying his surroundings. “This quarry is one huge resonance chamber. It must be magnificent.” “It is. And the eight musicians in the group are pretty talented. But the really incredible thing is that Tully performed his music solo. I’ve seen one of the surviving vids. He danced through this forest of his like a photon-drive cruiser.” “Feckin’ brill,” Seán repeats. “Ready for your turn? Get your spoon ready.” Jack can’t suppress a grin as Seán removes a fistful of spoons from his jacket pocket. “Pick one you won’t mind leaving behind.”
Emppu slung the strap over his shoulder and shifted a bit, getting comfortable with the feel of the guitar. Poking through the picks to find something close to his usual, he tested each string and smiled as the tuning seemed perfect. “I see you’ve tuned this to D-standard,” he commented. Then he launched into the opening riff of Slaying the Dreamer. From there, he performed the **solo** from Nemo, and wrapped up with The Trooper, which made Tuomas laugh. “Yeah, I forgot you’re going to need that one in a couple of weeks,” the keyboardist said. “Well, it’s not your EV-1, but it’s a good sound, and the black will look decent in the videos. And it won’t clash with Marko’s bass, either.” “True enough,” Emppu laughed. “Okay, so, this guitar, a hard case since I’ll have to fly with it…” he continued to speak for a couple of minutes, requesting a couple sets of his favored strings and picks, a set of quality in-ear monitors since his custom-fitted set was back home with his EV-1, plus a set of Griffin Dickinson’s preferred strings. The clerk beamed as he hurried off to get the requested items, obviously mentally calculating his commission from the sale.
Organ
In the split second it takes for her to think about these terrifying possibilities, she's already turning, eyes searching for the person who will know, who can make everything right again. "Doctor? Something's wrong with Jack." The Doctor's right behind her. *Oh, my God!* His eyes look just like Jack's -- enormous pupils almost completely eclipsing the irises. There's no blood, and he isn't breathing funny, but it can't be a coincidence. "Doctor?" she squeaks. Jack spins around, staring at the Doctor. And the Doctor *whimpers* \-- really, there's no other word, he whimpers like a frightened child -- and lunges at Jack. Rose takes an involuntary step backwards, but before she can protest, the two men are grappling with each other. It's more like wrestling than a fistfight, but there's nothing fun or playful about it. The Doctor tries to shove Jack aside, but the younger man ducks and twists, and the Doctor's hands brush across his face, becoming coated with the blood that is still streaming from Jack's nose. Rose is shouting, begging for them to stop it, stop it! The Doctor screams, and the sound is like nothing she has ever heard. High-pitched, and with more than one note in it, like a shrill chord from a church **organ**.
Sick
Not five minutes later, George once again snuck through the kitchen and slipped up the stairs as Bill distracted Mum. He headed to his and Fred’s room first. Quietly opening the door, he took care not to let the hinges groan too loudly. George tiptoed across the room, lifted the bottom of Fred’s blanket, and tickled the sole of his foot. ‘Ahfuguff!’ George jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding being kicked in the face. He grinned as Fred’s sleep-rumpled head appeared at the other end of the bed. ‘What the fuck? Dickhead. Why are you awake?’ ‘It’s lunchtime,’ George said, leaning against the wall by the door. ‘And I’ve been awake. Been plotting with Bill.’ Fred’s eyebrows raised. He untangled his legs from the blanket that had twined around them at his wild flailing. Once freed, he stood, running a hand through his hair before stalking towards George. ‘Plotting? Without me? With *Bill*?’ ‘Yup.’ He grinned at the affronted look Fred graced him with. ‘By the way — Eye-Roll Eclairs.’ Fred’s expression morphed into intrigue. ‘Interesting. Might make people feel **sick** though.’ ‘Yeah, I thought of that. But it could —’ ‘Be cosmetic.’ Fred nodded. ‘True. We can work it out later. What’s this about plotting?’ ‘Bill’s doing indecent things to a gnome so he can sneak Harry out.’ Fred paused. He stared at George for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Makes sense. We’re dragging Ron off for Quidditch, then?’ George grinned again. Trust Fred to understand. How people managed without a twin, he didn’t know.
“Well, speaking of Harry, he’s concerned enough that he sent Jan in here to check up on us a bit earlier,” Dave said. “I told Jan I’d be out to talk to him once you woke up, Bruce, so I probably ought to do just that.” Adrian snickered. “Either that, or we prank him,” he suggested. “Make noises like we’re having a wild threesome back here and then all of us walk out with big stupid smiles on and watch his head explode.” “Bloody hell, Ade, I thought I was the one with the **sick** sense of humour!” Bruce said, laughing so hard he fell off the sofa. Dave took advantage of the gap to swat his partner on the back of the head. “You’ve been watching those bloody Beavis and Butthead videos again, haven’t you?” “Maybe,” Ade said, still laughing. “But you love me anyway.” Dave’s eyes softened and he leaned in to steal a quick kiss. “For thirty years and more now, and I don’t ever plan to stop.” “Good, because neither do I,” Adrian told him, caressing his cheek.
“You worked for them?” she asked He nodded. “Starting when?” He shrugged. “Pretty quick after Ma died.” His mother had died — he thought, anyway — when he was four or five. Leia squinted at him. “Doing *what*?” she asked, somewhat afraid of the answer. Han shrugged again. “Pickpocketing and runnin’ scams, mainly. When I was real small, I was a prop for the older kids. A younger sibling who was sick or hungry, so they needed donations.” He scoffed softly. “Got better returns if I was cryin’, but I didn’t know how to do that on command, so some of ‘em would pinch me to get me good and upset. Was kinda soft back then, so it worked.” *‘Was kinda soft’?* Leia thought in disbelief. “You were a *child*,” she sputtered. He shrugged. “So were the kids pinchin’ me. We all just did the best we could to survive, Leia. I ain’t gonna hate ‘em for it.” “Of course not,” she agreed. “But I wouldn’t call a child crying after being hurt being *soft.*”
This
My fic is written as a screenplay, so I'm posting the excerpt as an image in order to preserve the formatting. [Word count: 226](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/686615745840676868/1221173878152499230/image.png?ex=66119dcc&is=65ff28cc&hm=0148c80ea2bc3d073de68d7fccfdd9c6928c36e92917df1540f17b85a8b6ead7&)
“You know, now that it’s all out in the open, your husband is quite an, for lack of a better word, ass. He’s cheating on you.” “With who?” Realisation dawned on Narcissa’s face. “Oh my goodness, with you.” Betrayal hung in the silent air. “Should I leave?” asked Draco awkwardly, after several minutes of nobody speaking. “No, stay here.” said his mum. “Just leave your mother and I to **this**.” said his aunt at the same time. “I’m just going to stand in the doorway. Compromise.” Draco said. Even though all he got in response was two pairs of steel-grey eyes narrowing and staring into his soul, he still went and stood in the doorway, watching the ensuing argument. “You stole my husband.” “Was he ever yours if he wanted me so bad?” “You sound like one of those Christina what’s-her-name songs.” Aunt Bellatrix looked offended. “That’s blood-traitor pop. I would never.” The fight quickly descended into an insult of the singer. “I mean, what even are those lyrics?” And somehow, the two women started laughing together, pushing their hatred for one another aside for united hatred of Muggles. What a disaster, Draco thought. He continued standing in the doorway, absorbing the hateful conversation around him, because he had nothing else to do.
‘Mr Potter, if you would please come with me.’ Harry did not want to speak to the auror. Though, the sooner he did, the sooner he could leave. Standing reluctantly, Harry followed. ‘**This** won’t take long, Mr Potter. Just a few routine questions and then you can get back to your friends,’ the auror said, breaking the silence as they passed through rows of abandoned tents. ‘I’m sure you’d rather be with them. Seems like you’ve had an exciting couple of days.’ Harry rubbed his eyes. Exciting wasn’t exactly the word he’d use. “Exciting” would have been enjoying the match with his friends. Narrowly avoiding being burned to a crisp, having his life saved by his rival who’d subsequently almost died himself, being targeted by a madman, and getting lost in the woods… None of those would be in his top ten choices of things to include in an “exciting” day. More like “traumatising”. He’d be having nightmares about the World Cup for weeks. *Where are we going?* Canvas drifted by, an unending, unchanging sea. Except… Harry started. It *had* changed. Unfamiliar tents surrounded them. ‘Uh… do we have to go so far? Can’t we talk here?’ ‘Just a little further.’ He stopped. Something in the auror’s tone made his skin crawl. ‘I’d rather stay here,’ Harry said, his voice steadier than he felt. ‘Now, now.’ The auror turned and smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes as he gestured towards the tents ahead of them. ‘It’s not much further.’
When a symphony of screams, rubble, and casted arcanum was taken away by the night winds, the center was bathed in still silence, save for the footsteps rushing in every direction, without a doubt searching for her--the final piece in **this** game of chess her Manus and the Order had started. The silence carries the echoes of the footsteps to the secret room where she leaning on the balcony with a glass of wine and a calm expression on her face. She is not hiding. There is no cause for her to do so, but she would like to relish a time by herself before her inevitable founding. It comes soon when footsteps light as a feather stop at the door. It was spelled with ancient arcana that removes its traces so regular arcanists might see only a wooden panel among many. But the footsteps stayed there, as if in hesitation before an incantation is muttered from the other side of the door: *“Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,* *But as for me, alas, I may no more.”* Arcana’s mouth curled into a smile. What a surprise. That voice is one she has not heard in years. Though it has become firmer and deeper, it is still a voice that brings her back to the glory days of the Manus. As the Foundation’s power and influence started to dwindle over the years, she anticipated the owner of that voice to sink down with them. A steady hum as the casted arcanum is resisted by the age-old spell. Such gentle magick holds no candle to a power that has endured decades of Storms. The humming stops, and then another spell is cast. **This** time, more unyielding and forceful as the voice that carries it. “*E’ vèn tagliando di sì gran valore,* *che’ deboletti spiriti van via:* *riman figura sol en segnoria* *e voce alquanta, che parla dolore.”* The arcanum clashes against the layer of protection and the sound is that of a whistle as the barrier fights to hold. *“Voi che per li occhi mi passaste ’l core* *e destaste la mente che dormia,* *guardate a l’angosciosa vita mia,* *che sospirando la distrugge Amore!”* The sound of an arcanum breaking is a sigh, which the wooden door whispers in the silence. The door creaks as it swings open, followed by a gasp of recognition. Arcana’s smile creeps further up. She turns to face the newcomer, a rare indulgence of vanity evident in the deliberate sway of her hips in such a way that commands her garment to worship her shape. The figure at the door is almost as tall as she is, a stark contrast to the time when their paths first crossed. Gone is now the little girl with starry doe eyes. Her wild ginger hair was tamed in a high ponytail by a checkered cloth. The tip of her infamous glass pen glowed as she held it in a gloved hand. Her intelligent olive eyes are concealed behind an ornate hound-shaped mask. She freezes at the door. Her pen tip unconsciously gathers crystals in a sign of caution and quite possibly a hint of fear. The hound is still a puppy after all. Another figure appears behind the girl as if to rescue her, and Arcana’s eyes light up.
“Would you like a massage, enkelini? Like you gave to me after my Helsinki show?” Emppu smiled. “You don’t have to, you know.” Bruce laid a gentle finger on Emppu’s lips. “I know I don’t. I want to. **This** is… it’s a way of… of reassuring myself that you’re okay, I think? It’s hard to explain but… a big part of the nightmares I had, had to do with knowing you were dealing with a lot of stress, and I wasn’t there to help. I mean, you were already unsure if your nightmares would come back, and then you got here and found out about Eeva, and you had to go out on tour almost immediately. Any one of those things would have been stressful enough, and you had all three piled on at once. And, well, I can be overprotective. Gotten my arse in a fair few fights over the years because I tend to jump in to defend people I care about, even if it’s not needed. And because I tend to be overprotective, I also felt kind of felt guilty over what happened in London. I know, I couldn’t have predicted or prevented what he did, but knowing that and feeling it aren’t the same thing.” “Oh, kulta,” Emppu murmured, lifting a hand to caress Bruce’s cheek. “Believe me, I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself,” Bruce admitted. “Up here, I know it, anyway,” he said, tapping his forehead lightly. “But it still took Davey and Ade talking me through a lot of shite to convince myself that nothing terrible was going to happen to you just because I wasn’t there to help you cope with everything. Anyway, now I am here with you, and I still have **this** stupid urge to wrap you up in bubble wrap to keep you safe. I won’t, I refuse to smother you like that, but at the same time, I do have **this**… **this** need to take care of you in some way. I figured a post-show massage might satisfy that need without going overboard, you know?” Emppu pulled his lover close and gave him a tender kiss of understanding. “A massage sounds wonderful, kulta, and I won’t ever object to you wanting to take care of me sometimes… as long as you don’t object to me taking care of you sometimes as well.”
'A hand?' he calls. 'Anyone?' It's the classic line, Gale's first words in the game, muted by the portal's infernal crackling and frothing of reality. All as it should be, and I'm glad for it, but holy shit I was not prepared for things to look this bad. I give Shadowheart an anxious look, and she returns an incredulous one. 'You can't possibly be serious?' she asks, not needing tadpoles to read my mind. 'What? There's a man in there, we have to help him.' 'We?' 'Shadowheart, you can't just use we when it's convenient...' 'We have to stay alive. This sigil is clearly malfunctioning. Gods know where we may end up if we touch it.' 'Anyone?' comes Gale's voice, small and pleading. I wonder if he can hear us debating his fate. 'Look, I'll touch his hand to prove it's safe, and try to pull him out—' 'Don't act so rash—' 'No, no, listen. It'll be fine.' Again, manifesting, manifesting... 'I'll grab him, then you grab me, and we pull him out of there together.' Shadowheart gives me a look that can only be described as a murderous glower. 'Can I count on you?' I insist. She rolls her eyes, but mumbles a half-hearted 'Fine,' which is good enough for me.
Peak
Taking a deep breath, Naruto stared at the rubber ball as he began to pool chakra in his palm, willing it to maintain the orb shape characteristic of a Rasengan. Doubt crept in, but he pushed all negative thoughts aside and focused on the hard facts in front of him. Mom was right. He knew how to do this! He’d done it last night and proven that to himself. There was nothing to fear. The rubber ball twitched. He rested in the knowledge that he was prepared for this test, funneling in still more chakra. The hollow object at last began to wobble. Naruto smiled when the intensity of the chakra within the ball escalated. Its weight was balanced throughout, just like what he’d managed to accomplish last night in the backyard. Letting out a passionate cry, he brought the technique to its natural peak of power. The rubber ball blasted apart with a distinct pop, resulting in a mixture of applause and cheers from those in attendance. Floating in the destroyed ball’s place was a perfectly round Rasengan. The potent mass of chakra spiraled in every direction, giving off a dull hum. “Okay, hotshot,” Jiraiya said between chews of his snack, “now for the real test.” The Toad Sage tossed his student a water balloon and got comfortable again. Naruto nodded with a devious grin and held the balloon out in front of him. Channeling chakra for a Rasengan, he stood motionless. Time passed without so much as a leak from the balloon. Naruto gave his teacher an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Wow,” Jiraiya said, removing the misshapen toothpick from his mouth. “He’s really done it.” “Of course I have!” Naruto pointed an accusatory finger. “I told ya, Pervy Sage.” “Yeah,” the white-haired shinobi sighed. He hopped down from the ledge. “You got me, kid.” “Sooooo? Remember what you promised?!” “Yeah, yeah, a free bowl of ramen at Ichiraku on me. Deal’s a deal.” “Nuh-unh. TWO free bowls of Ichiraku Ramen!” “Damn,” Jiraiya muttered while reaching for his wallet. “I was hoping he’d forget about that part.”
Slice
Before she could sink too deeply into her annoyance, clattering feet preceded a surge of life into the kitchen. In short order, the task of distributing plates around the suddenly crowded table occupied her hands and thoughts. ‘— still in your pyjamas,’ Ron said as he leant closer to Harry. ‘I thought you’d just woken up early, but —’ ‘— never going to let me play.’ Ginny’s voice was sulky. Molly glanced at her, but Charlie was already nudging his sister. ‘You let me deal with Ron,’ he said. Sitting quietly at the end of the table, Hermione chewed on a **slice** of toast. Molly nudged the rack closer, in case she wanted to take more. ‘Do you need me to pick up anything else for you whilst I’m shopping, dear?’ Molly asked her. With a shake of her head, Hermione swallowed. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Weasley. I got everything I needed with Mum and Dad.’ ‘— some minor changes. I’m sure we’ve almost got it.’ George shook his head at Fred. ‘You’ve been saying that for weeks.’ Narrowing her eyes, Molly rounded the table. If those two were talking Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes again… ‘Mum?’ She turned back. ‘Yes, dear?’
Robbie shuts his eyes, letting his memory drift with his body. He’s not much of a storyteller, but for James’s sake he tries. He spins a tale as timeless as the sea and as ephemeral as candy floss on a child’s tongue. Strolls along the beach... Lyn making a sandcastle for fairies to live in, and Mark adding a garage for their cars... the pleasure of decent fish and chips, with fish fresh from the sea. He remembers the time that Mark sneaked off to visit the arcade on his own. “He won two pounds from a tuppeny slot machine and spent it all on sweets. We didn’t know about it until the middle of the night when he sicked it all up.” “Did you punish him?” “That sort of thing is its own punishment, mostly. We gave him a stern talking to, and he wasn’t allowed ice cream the next day.” “Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty." Shakespeare? Shelley? He’s not going to ask. “I daresay Mark would have agreed. Day after that, we took a drive to the New Forest, had a picnic. Val bought a Battenberg cake for afters. Mark used his **slice** to lure one of those little donkeys that wander around the forest—then threw a right strop when the beast grabbed it and ate it.” “So he had to go without?” “Well, Lyn took her slice—” “And gave it to her little brother? That’s sweet.” “Actually, she fed it to the donkey.”
Janick laughed at the sheer number of pizzas. ”Looks like there’s gonna be a lot of leftovers, mate,” he commented to Bruce. Tuomas heard him and grinned. ”When I was an exchange student in the US, my host family used to say that cold pizza and warm Coke was the breakfast of champions. And I saw them having just that a few times that year.” ”And those people probably think a full English breakfast is weird,” Jan said with a grin as he helped himself to a couple of **slices**. ”Baked beans for breakfast *is* weird,” Tuomas said. Jan grinned. ”Do you really want to get into a weird food debate?” he asked. ”Because I have just one word to say for that: salmiakki.” All of the Finns cracked up.
>*How the ever-lovin' fuck is this guy loose?!* >Logan's legs were moving before his brain fully kicked into gear, propelling him toward Amelie. A second later, a car flew through the air, heading her direction. >Her eyes went wide as he screamed, "Amelie, duck!" Logan poured on the gas and leapt hard in a desperate bid to at least change its trajectory. His four hundred pounds of meat and metal had to count for something! >Amelie hit the concrete sidewalk beneath his flying form right as he collided with the front bumper hard enough to twist the car off to the right. It landed on its side with a spray of glass and body parts, barely three feet from her. >The hard tackle knocked the wind out of him and left his shoulder on fire. It took a few seconds to get his bearings and find her where she lay. >Her knee and palms were scraped, and an inch beneath her eye was a short slice that poured blood. The overwhelming scent of it hit his primal core, triggering a defensive rage that made it hard to focus. He caught her arm and helped her up. "Lee, we gotta go!" >Amelie was unsteady on her feet. "Logan?" She touched her cheek and looked at the blood coating her fingers. A split second later, her pupils went to a pinpoint as she slumped into a dead faint. >"No, *shit*, no!" he hissed. As he caught her up in his arms, he felt before he saw Juggernaut taking a hard swing with a park bench. It was awkward as hell to tumble out of reach without cracking her head off the pavement, but somehow he managed to take the brunt of the impact himself. >"Fancy meeting you here!" bellowed the Juggernaut's ponderous voice.
Egotistical
Elsewhere, a now adult Jane Foster had also travelled from the forest to the city to celebrate the coronation – or rather, to have some fun in town. She didn’t really care for any of the Asgardian royal family, which probably had something to do with her forest-dweller upbringing, but she especially didn’t like what she'd heard about Thor. In spite of the palace gates being closed for so many years, rumours could still fly around like a swarm of bees – and from these rumours, Jane had heard that Thor was known to be rather cocky, irresponsible, and **egotistical**. Well, no matter; she wasn’t here today to celebrate the coronation, but merely to sell some goods and then to have a good time once her work was done. Jane had come into Asgard many different times since she was a teenager, often to do some trading or to buy anything that the forest-dwellers might need, but never to party quite like this. Not that getting to Asgard was ever difficult, either, since she had Rex (now a massive full-grown stag) to take her there in the wooden cart she’d built with help from some friends. (For context, this is an AU where Jane grew up in Asgard after accidentally being transported there as a kid)
Ensure
‘All right?’ Bill asked. Harry took a deep breath, adjusting to the change in location before he nodded. ‘Thanks.’ He flushed. The last of the tenseness drained from his muscles; at least Bill hadn’t said anything about his irrational avoidance of the floo. Bill stepped past him, opening the door and gesturing him inside. Gloomier even than the weather outside, the pub’s interior was a soggy sea of monochrome. Amongst the grey, a beacon of red announced the other Weasleys, and he and Bill steered through the crowd to reach them. ‘I managed to get three taxis,’ Bill said as soon as they reached them, not giving anyone a chance to comment on the fact they’d appeared from outside rather than from the floo. Gratitude flooded Harry, and he hoped the warmth gracing his face wasn’t obvious. ‘So we can all go at once,’ Bill continued. ‘Assuming the trunks fit…’ Between them and the taxi drivers, they managed to get all the trunks into the taxis. Harry suspected Bill had done some sneaky charmwork to **ensure** everything fitted. They were all damp by the time they squeezed into the vehicles. Hermione and Ginny went in the first one with Mrs Weasley, Fred and George in the second with Charlie, and Bill joined Harry and Ron in the third.
The nurse shook her head. ”Well, he needs to rest, which is why I’m here, to give him something to **ensure** that rest,” she said, holding up the syringe she’d been about to inject into the port at the y-connection just below the saline bag. ”No,” Bruce said flatly. ”I refuse sedation.” ”But... you need to calm down and rest,” the nurse floundered. ”I might not rest well, but I’ll rest,” Bruce countered. ”I don’t want to be in a position where I can’t be wakened, if Emppu takes a turn for the worse.” His breath hitched a little as he added, ”Milla wouldn’t deny me the chance to see him, if it looks like he might...” He broke off, taking a deep, shaking breath. ”No sedation,” he repeated. ”I’ll speak with the doctor,” the nurse said, looking flustered, obviously unused to patients refusing the prescribed medications. She hurried out of the room.
Careening
Context: nightmare sequence; the dragon was in the middle of a villain monologue when it gets smacked in the head by a giant stick, so it tries to eat the narrator, as one does. -- The back of the dragon's throat lights up like a torch, and along with the smell of death comes the stench of sulfur. Serrated knife-teeth bite into my hands, puncturing the skin as I push to free myself. But his jaws work against me, and my body threatens to fold in on itself. Despite it all, something starts to give beneath my hands. Small tremors give way to cracks and pops. Flame licks at his tongue, his teeth; his breath grows unbearably hot, but I keep fighting even as a guttural roar belches out. My lungs come aflame, and it is only then I realize that the roar is not the dragon's, but my own. And then with a sudden violent *crack,* the dragon's knifed maw careens back. A gout of flame erupts from its exposed throat, and for one hallowed moment, the greymist forest is alight with red and purple. My back contacts the earth so hard that the breath leaves my lungs, and pain blossoms throughout. *Worm!* A serpentine neck curls back around, and the dragon, now jawless, peers down at me. Flame drips from its neck, spattering upon the earth as it claws its way closer, and its eyes bear down upon me not with indifference, but true malice. A clawed hand lifts, shadows over me, but I'm pinned by some invisible force. It claps down, trapping me to the forest floor. My hands, a bloodied mess, desperately claw at his slick scales, a fruitless endeavor. Its gory maw sets up on me again, hot, scraping, trying but unable to consume me. Dregs of flame find and spatter against exposed flesh. *Wake up.* A claw presses into the hollow of my throat. My mouth opens in a silent scream. *Wake up!* Ribs start to crack beneath the dragon's weight. The earth feels like a cradle. Wake up! Vision blurs. The tree canopy becomes a sea of hands. The world shakes. “Wake up! Wake up!”
>Instinct made his shoulder blades burn. Crowley gritted his teeth against the sensation, and let his wings explode from the ether. They were stiff with disuse, and each feather ached from the sudden extreme pressure. >“Like riding a bike,” he chanted over and over, not acknowledging that he’d never actually mastered the art of two-wheel transportation. >A tentative swoop had him careen into a wild spin that ripped the acerbic air from his lungs. He yelped and tried to correct, only to find himself twisting the other way. >On one of the dizzying turns, he saw magnificent white wings above. There was a second where he hoped they belonged to a most-certainly pissy Archangel, but he knew his luck wasn’t that good. >*Focus, you idiot demon!*
Lungs
A scream tore the air. Harry smacked himself with his Omnioculars as he jerked in his seat, tearing them from his face only to return to them immediately. He could scan for the source of the scream easier with them than without. Through the lenses’ focus, the veela’s ethereal faces morphed in slow-motion, elongating into hooked beaks. Anger marred the once beautiful visages. Their hands shimmered with heat as flames licked along their clawed fingers. Harry’s finger twitched for the speed adjuster — he couldn’t find out what was happening if he was stuck in the past. He’d barely touched the dial when a hand grabbed the back of his head, jolting him forward. His feet jammed against the divider. The shove flattened Harry’s upper body against his legs, Omnioculars thrusting into his diaphragm. Harry wheezed as all the air left his **lungs** in one excruciating huff. *Flash*. Heat singed over him. A groan. The person behind him slumped, their dead weight collapsing on top of Harry. The Top Box erupted in chaos.
Bruce gave the bassist a grateful smile. “I will, and thanks for understanding.” “I do try,” Steve said with a smile of his own. Moving closer to the singer, he lowered his voice and added, “Davey helped me understand something of what’s going on, without giving up any secrets you might’ve shared with him. Just… keep talking to him, yeah? Whatever it takes to get yourself back together. I promised him I wouldn’t push and I’m making you that same promise. I know I’m probably the last bloke in this band that you’d open up to, but I wanted to let you know that I am willing to keep my bloody mouth shut and listen to you rant if you ever need it, yeah? Like if no one else was around or whatever. Just let me know, yeah? I know I can be an arse at times, but you’re one of my mates.” “I appreciate that, Harry, I really do,” Bruce said softly. Trying to lighten the mood a little, he added, “I have to admit, though, you’re not quite my last choice to talk to. That would be Nicko. He’s a great bloke with a big heart, but he not only can’t keep secrets to save his life, he’s as likely as not going to impart those secrets at the top of his **lungs** in the middle of a crowded room.” Steve laughed.
Han entered the lounge and all ambitions Leia had of keeping things calm and professional were sucked out of the airlock. Her breath seemed to catch on every one of her ribs as air made its way through her lungs, and she couldn’t remember if she was supposed to be able to feel her face or not. He looked… He looked like he always did, but Leia wondered how she had failed to notice that he was always so *handsome* for two years straight. He was obviously objectively good-looking, but this seemed…He seemed… She smiled at him in greeting, her cheeks feeling flame-bitten. “G’mornin’,” Han mumbled, touching her shoulder without pausing as he passed by. Leia stopped her own hand from drifting to touch the spot where he had made contact and instead tried to act normal, feel normal, *be normal.*
Shadow
Context: Amir was responsible for O (Orville)'s death in a previous life. He has since been reborn as a ten-year-old with no memory of this. O, meanwhile, was made into a superhuman entity and retained his memories. > “Tch.” O mulled over how to proceed. This child really did appear to be a blank slate, much like how Orville had had no memory of his previous incarnations. Amir would never know of the other lives he’d lived unless he, too, became Moebius. > O’s anger came to a head. He wished he could be that ignorant, or better yet, freed from the damnable cycle altogether. But O had forsaken peace, because he now knew it was merely a pipe dream, a lure, a bedtime story manufactured and mass-produced. The truth had destroyed him, killed him in a thousand different ways all at once, and the only people who could possibly understand the things he’d seen were a coven of vampires and lunatics. They’d all been like him once: misfits, pariahs, dreamers. In this spasm of rage, he could feel himself slipping. Part of him was afraid. > “This isn’t the first time we’ve met,” he said. “Maybe this will jog your memory.” He deactivated his helmet. He couldn’t think of anything else to do. The beak and feathered horns phased away to reveal a fat, bespectacled face. His lip was upturned in a sneer and his brows were furrowed, conveying an emotion that could not be read through his helmet. > “I don’t know you,” Amir said, shaking his head and backing away. “I think you got the wro—” > O dove at him over the desk, but Amir managed to dodge and drop onto the floor. As O scrambled to get back on his feet, Amir crawled under the table and summoned his Blade. > “Prometheus!” > O regenerated his helmet at the sound of Prometheus’s metallic screech. The drone appeared and rammed into his gut, talons and bladed feathers stabbing at him like so many knives. They didn’t so much as scratch his armour. O cackled and batted the bird aside like a toy. As he stalked toward the desk, Prometheus came at him again from behind. It tore several long gashes in his cape, only for its mechanical parts to snag in the fabric. > Amir whimpered. He pressed himself against the wall and hugged his knees. With Prometheus screeching and thrashing wildly in his cape, O knocked over the table. He stepped forward and loomed over the child, swallowing him up in his vast shadow.
‘They’re playing with the Muggles,’ Percy reported, having somehow managed to find out what was going on. ‘No reports of Killing Curses yet. Aurors have been alerted.’ Dad nodded. The cracks in his expression had stabilised. ‘Watch out for each other,’ he instructed. ‘Let’s try to get the Muggles safe. Leave the Death Eaters for the aurors.’ Like a snidget in a field of flowers, his gaze flitted from one son to the next. ‘If you can take any down, do. But your safety, your brothers’ safety, comes first. Understood?’ The instructions were familiar. As Bill joined his family, pushing against the flow of the crowd, cold memory shivered across his skin. His childhood had revolved around that instruction. *Keep your brothers safe.* You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters had cast a persistent **shadow** over his formative years. He, and to some extent Charlie too, had been raised on the mantra of protecting their younger siblings. The years ingrained the protectiveness into him, etching it into his very skin. The marks that were left lasted long past You-Know-Who’s death and the gradual disappearance of the Death Eaters. But now the shadows were spreading once again.
Emppu smiled as he watched the first forty-five minutes or so of the show, then he started to feel as if he was being watched. Keeping his movement casual, he turned partially around and pretended to adjust the battery pack on his guitar. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted someone in a hoodie hovering amid some equipment boxes. It looked like the same figure he’d spotted in Stuttgart, but more to the point, after spending the day with most of the techs and roadies, he was almost certain it wasn’t any of them. Once again, the person carefully stayed in the **shadows**, and had their hood pulled up which obscured their features. To his relief, one of the crew who’d been part of the jam session in the break room came by to leave fresh bottles of water on the side of the stage for the guitarists. Emppu caught the man’s attention as he came back off. ”Hey, Pete, do you know who that man in the **shadows** might be?” he asked. The roadie looked and frowned. ”He ain’t any of the crew,” he said. ”I can’t make out his badge, but he’s got a Maiden lanyard. I suppose it could be stolen, but it’s more likely he’s one of the record label VIP types. Sometimes they come around and pretend to be with the crew or the caterers, just to get a good look at whatever’s going on backstage.” ”Oh, okay,” Emppu said. That actually made him feel a little better. If it was someone from the label as Pete seemed to think, it made sense that the person would focus on him as being an outsider.
The car gently jostled to a halt, and the door slid open to the sound of lively conversation somewhere past the check-in kiosks. Flicking one audial back, Azrael made her way down the corridor, until she found the source of all the noise sitting in the middle of the gift shop. Her approach was so quiet that none of them seemed to notice. "...and then the Vok bugged out 'n tried ta blow up the whole *planet*." "Whoa! No way!" "Yep! Lucky us, Optimus was there ta save our s...*weet Solus Prime*!" The Maximal doing all the talking let out a startled exclamation and visibly jumped when Azrael seemingly materialized out of the **shadows** to seat herself next to Neutrino. Even his companion lurched back on gangling legs, clearly caught off-guard. Only Neutrino, true to form, was unfazed, craning her head back to grin at her. "Az! Hi! Rattrap and Blackarachnia were just giving me the SparkNotes version of the Beast Wars! I never knew *any* of this stuff! It's so cool!"
Rain
Night blanketed the garden, creating a puzzle of indistinct shapes. Heavy clouds hid the stars, and a percussion of **rain** rapped against the windowpane. The beat contrasted with the sharp tones of Mrs Weasley berating her children — the twins, Harry suspected, as one of them responded. Harry squinted through the **rain**. Was it the wind making the bushes move like that? He leant forward, closer to the window. Was something out there? Some shadow, moving across the lawn? Green flared, lighting the room. Harry flinched. The glass slid from his fingers, thunking against the wooden counter. Water dripped onto the floor as he span, backing up against the sink and reaching for his wand.
“Say the words, Sonetto,” Vertin tells her softly. “Say them and dispel me like a bad dream.” She wants everything back. She wants her Vertin back. If only. If she has a way. If she has a chance. Gritting her teeth, she digs her wand into her chest as tears continue to fall from her eyes like rain until she can’t see Vertin anymore. If only she could erase her mistakes like this. In a moment of grief, despair, and weakness, she leans on Vertin’s shoulder and weeps a spell that will render her heart irreparable: *“Questa storia che senso non ha* *Svanirà questa notte assieme alle stelle* *Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità..."* She feels the familiar hum of magick flowing from her veins and transferring into her wand. And along the torrent of hot and bitter arcanum from the tip of her pen, she pierces Vertin's heart with a prayer: *Please give her back to me.*
They returned the rental car and took the shuttle to the airport, stopping at the hotel to meet up with Rick and Lucy. The two pilots grumbled a little over the weather reports; while the Joensuu area would remain clear for the next few hours, they’d be flying into a front and almost certainly landing in **rain** in London. Aside from the weather making the flight a little bumpy and keeping everyone in their seats for the entire duration, they didn’t encounter any real issues on the trip back to London. After filing all the necessary paperwork and saying their farewells to the Fallons, Bruce and Emppu dashed through the **rain** to the car and drove back to Bruce’s flat. They made the promised call to Satu and Jukka, ordered takeaway, and settled in for the night.
Flattening her audials back, Azrael skirted past it and continued on her way. Soon enough, she began to encounter larger pieces scattered about, as well as structural damage from the fighting. The thin sounds of fire alarms high overhead joined the steady pattering of **rain**, and the smell of smoke and charred metal and burnt electronics still hung in the air even though she couldn't see any remaining fires. Down the road a ways, she could see where a whole section of cladding had collapsed, filling the walkway and street with debris. In the neon blue-and-purple haze, a gaping hole was visible in the front wall several stories up - a foreboding black abyss surrounded by flickering, guttering lights. The building next door was similarly damaged. And the one across the road from that. And further down the street, still more. The roadways winding between the towering skyscrapers bore similar damage, scorched and mangled where bodies had hit them at terminal velocity. *This must be Ground Zero, or close to it.*
Lost
She would never let so-called love put itself above her friends ever again. That was the one thing she was absolutely sure of in the sea of uncertainty that was life, and she didn’t want that to ever change. Hermione held that thought in her head until everyone walked up inconspicuously to the Portkey, stretching out their forefingers (except for Hermione, for she tightly grabbed it, not wanting to somehow be alone left behind in the too-spacious empty grass fields), and her thoughts were **lost** in the sea of spinning, sickening yet magical grey that followed, swimming away and melting into the hurricane-like feeling of the air, as they all flew, far away, and of course, they had to land just at the same place as the horribleness that was Draco Malfoy.
Lifting her head, Hermione looked around. ‘I don’t think any Death Eaters will be finding us here.’ Ron snorted, cradling his hand to his chest as he and Hermione both stood. ‘Yeah, but will Dad find us?’ Thick trees surrounded them, each one different and yet identical to the next. No signs of life. *Is that good or bad?* Ron had a point. They were **lost**. Harry didn’t know which direction would take them back to the campsite. He couldn’t speak for Ron and Hermione, but Harry had hardly paid attention to their direction as they ran. Far from a straight line, they must have zigged and zagged between the branches, passing hundreds of trees. They could be anywhere.
“I can help,” Bruno said. “Really?” April asked. “Yeah, right,” Raphael said. “I mean, what are you? A vet?” “I’m just a guy who loves rats.” Bruno turned to leave. “Wait, where are you going?” April asked. “To get something I need,” Bruno said. “Meet me at the café.” Before she could ask any more questions, he was already gone. “Oh, hey! There’s that sai I **lost** earlier!” Raphael said, bending over to pick it up.
Rattrap stifled a nervous laugh. "Well, y'see, the boss monkey had us out lookin' for some **lost** sparks, when I spotted yer friend Neutrino 'n convinced Legs here to investigate." Azrael glanced sideways at Neutrino, who just flashed an entirely-too-innocent grin; she opted to let it slide for now. "I'm sorry - 'boss monkey'?" "Oh, uh, right. *Optimus Primal*." The rat sat back on his haunches and lifted his front paws in a shrug. "My mistake." "You should come back to the catacombs with us," Blackarachnia cut in, "he'll want to meet both of you, for sure. Who knows? Maybe we can help each other." Azrael had her doubts about that, and yet... wasn't this *exactly* what she'd been hoping for ever since that ship had come down in the industrial district? To find and link up with the survivors of that crash in the hopes that they could all make one another safer? And they certainly *needed* that extra safety now... "Can we go, Az?" Neutrino chirped, practically vibrating with excitement. "Please please please please *pleeeease*?" "Okay, okay, hang on..." She looked across to the survivors. "Could you hold that thought for a minute, please? Neutrino? *A word*..."
Rick jumped to his feet as Milla stumbled through the double doors just then, her face white and scared. She threw herself into the young roadie’s arms and clung to him for a long moment. He just held her tightly, rubbing her back and making soothing noises, while everyone else looked on with growing concern. Milla took a deep breath and straightened up. ”Kiitos, Rick,” she whispered, then turned to look at everyone else. ”It... it is bad,” she said. ”Emppu has **lost** much blood... they think the bullet just nicked the big blood vessel in the leg, and that it tore open when they moved him, or perhaps that the bullet had been blocking the bleeding until they moved him. Either way, he came very close to dying, both before he even got here, and again when they operated to repair the blood vessel. Infection is still a big danger, and so is further bleeding. Enough so that they asked...” She paused to gulp back a sob, as Rick’s arms tightened around her once more. ”Enough that they asked, did I know if my brother is registered to donate his organs, should the worst happen.”
very tragic
Yes. He and his partner got shot by a stalker, right after his partner proposed. And poor Milla is barely 19 and being thrust into the position of decision-making next-of-kin for her brother.
Glow
Bill pretended Charlie’s reassurances — that each track searched brought them closer to the right one — helped, and that he didn’t hear the worry in Charlie’s voice. He had stopped, yet again, to untangle the chain hanging from his jeans from the bush entangling it when Charlie swore. ‘What? What is it?’ Bill tugged the chain, twigs snapping, and pushed through to the clearing. Charlie didn’t answer immediately. Bill bit his tongue to keep from repeating his question as he turned in a circle. Frowning, Charlie inspected the blue **glow** of tracks, and Bill looked at them too, trying to see what he was seeing. ‘There was some kind of… scuffle here,’ Charlie said eventually. He gestured with his wand at a swirl of footprints diverging on a particularly large patch of blue that disappeared partway under a bush. Multiple footprints, from what Bill could make out. ‘Was it them?’ he asked, pulling at his earring. Charlie tugged Bill’s hand away. ‘Don’t break it,’ he admonished. ‘I don’t know when I’d find you another.’ Charlie crouched and peered under the bush, the blue **glow** fading away as he dispelled the tracking spell. ‘I can’t tell,’ he said after a moment, standing back up with a sigh. The undergrowth rustled as Charlie stepped away. ‘I’d be inclined to say no, but with all the trouble those three get into… Oh!’
She lifts her hip gracefully and sits on the table, crossing her legs. “After ye have claimed mine life, what doth thou intend to accomplish henceforth? Manus Vindictae shall not cease. Mine life is naught but a branch. Though thou mayst sever me from the tree, verily shall it grow and flourish for eternity.” The Timekeeper grants her a jeer. “Look how low you have fallen. To think I get to see the day where her ladyship pleas for her life.” “Mine life? Nay, for I hath already reached mine destiny.” Arcana’s eyes *glow*, a sinister smile on her lips as she gently lifts a hand to touch the spiked spearhead of the stake that pierces her skull, and *pulls.* Black slimy goo runs down from the holes in her head, down to the table, and onto the floor. “Thou, however…” The two people at the back are instantly at the ready, wands raised, **glow**ing with unreleased arcanum. “Stand back!” The Timekeeper commands, gripping the gun with both hands now, eyes seething, sharp and focused on her target. “She’s ***mine***!” Arcana sees her gray eyes gradually getting devoured by the Brew of Charon and she feels her laughter rise from deep within her belly. She points the stake at the Timekeeper, the smile on her lips equally sinister and joyful. “Lady Vertin, *bonvenon hejmen.*”
Leliana's eyes closed when Morrigan passed her thumbs across her cheeks, pressing deep, a comforting pressure that seeped into her bones. Leliana hadn't realized how much she could crave such a touch. "You look absolutely dreadful." It was said without venom, and Leliana tiredly laughed. She knew it was the closest thing to a declaration of love that she'd ever get out of Morrigan. Cracking one eye open, she said, "I appreciate your honesty." Morrigan laughed through her nose. "Would you rather I lie to you?" She pressed the pad of her thumb over Leliana's still-closed eye. "Shall I call you glowing and beautiful instead?"
>Amelie woke to pink skies outside her bedroom window. It took a minute to orient herself and figure out that it was sunset. She must've crashed on the drive home, and then Logan must've carried her to bed. He also seemed to have gotten her halfway undressed before giving up, seeing as she was in just her t-shirt and underwear. >The man was beside her, flat on his back and snoring softly like he did when he'd pushed himself too hard. He hadn’t bothered with more than shedding his t-shirt before he passed out. >She wanted to curl into him and leech his warmth, but decided to leave him sleep. Last thing either of them needed was another rude awakening incident. >Instead, she contented herself with watching the sunset glow play across his features. Logan was always so intense when awake, but in sleep, he softened and took on an almost youthful appearance. Even the lines on his face faded away. >She'd mentioned the phenomenon to him once. After turning all shades of scarlet he exposited that maybe it was his healing factor fixing his surly mug when it had the chance. She’d made him say three nice things about himself after, but she couldn’t remember which ones he’d said.
Finally, rather than risk waking John up with her constant sleepless shifting, Maureen quietly crawled out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, twisted her hair into a messy knot, and slipped out of the room. Once again, she found herself at Will's door. Once again, she found herself torn over whether she should open it, or leave well enough alone. She drew in a deep breath, held it briefly, and then slowly exhaled. And then she raised her hand to tap softly at the smooth, cool surface, giving the room's occupant a few moments' notice before she slowly pushed the door open and peered inside. A warm red-orange **glow** greeted her, and she offered Scarecrow a small smile by way of greeting. "It's good to see you're still with us," she whispered as she stepped into the room; "some of us were starting to worry." The robot regarded her with his usual silence, but this time there seemed to be something... different about it, that she couldn't quite put her finger on. He seemed more awake, or more *aware*, than he had the last time she'd seen him. It put her ever so slightly on edge, and she tried not to think about razor claws and lightning-fast reflexes... *If he'd wanted to hurt anyone,* she reminded herself, *he's had plenty of opportunities to do so.* Letting out a breath she hadn't quite realized she'd been holding, Maureen cautiously perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to do anything that might make Scarecrow feel crowded or threatened. "It's getting close to morning," she continued quietly, making an effort to keep her voice even, "and we're going to be landing on the Amber Planet... *your* planet... soon. And I thought... you might appreciate a little warning ahead of time, so you wouldn't be caught off-guard in the event that anything happens."
*(For context, this conversation takes place the morning after Emppu was assaulted.)* ”How would you even find someone to talk to about this sort of thing?” Bruce took a deep breath. ”Well... Paddy is a psychotherapist. I would never suggest you talk to her, but I could ask her to give a few names of people who would suit? I don’t have to tell her it’s for you, just that it’s for someone connected with the band.” ”Like I said, I’ll think about it,” Emppu said. ”But right now, I want to just... not think for a while.” ”Not thinking sounds good to me,” Bruce agreed. He smiled and ran his fingers through Emppu’s hair. ”You looked like an angel walking over to me just now, with the sun making your hair **glow** like a halo. My very own Christmas angel.” Emppu blushed. ”I’m hardly an angel, kulta,” he murmured. ”I think you are,” Bruce said. He tipped Emppu’s face up and gave him a soft, sweet kiss. ”All you need is wings. My little angel.”
Storm
\[CW: Panic attack, vomiting, mention of burns\] ‘Oh, Merlin. He could have died.’ He hunched over, retching. The alcohol burned even more coming up than it had going down. He couldn’t stop. His throat spasmed, constricting in a way that made him gag more, retch more. Harry flinched at an unexpected touch, but relaxed as Bill’s cool hand smoothed his fringe away from his forehead, the other rubbing circles on his back. He tried to focus on that sensation, rather than his gastric system trying to force itself out through his mouth. He stopped heaving and fell limply against Bill. With a flick of his wand, Bill banished all traces of the vomit. He wrapped an arm around Harry’s back, pulling him tightly into his side as Harry’s body shook. Bill’s other arm joined the first, encircling him, pressing Harry against his chest. Harry’s stomach may have calmed, but the rest of him shuddered out of control. *He could have died.* The realisation burned down Harry’s spine. *He could have died!* Fire roared through Harry’s mind. It crept along his skin, crackling violently, peeling his flesh. It engulfed him. Each breath tore out of his chest in a spark of embers. Desperate, Harry pictured water in an effort to quell the flames ravishing his mind; clouds heavy with rain. But they too turned against him. Harry’s body shook like a leaf in a **storm** as a tempest whipped around him, threatening to drown him. He clung to Bill, his grip tightening in a futile attempt to stay afloat.
“Fine. I’ll humor you. I’ll make good of that promise. What do I need to do? Do you want me to kill you? Is that what you want? I can do it!” She whips out her wand sharply, too carelessly, as her voice rises and rises. “My hands have already been dirtied beyond salvation so what is one more life to take, right? We can’t go back to the way it used to be. I can’t go back to the home I left. I can’t go back to how I was before I chose to follow you. I can no longer say “peace be with you” because I have no more peace left in me!” She is screaming. She is crying. Why is she doing this? This is unbecoming. This is not like her. But then… *so is she.* Nothing is like anything at all anymore. It feels like the **Storm** over and over again. *Once you follow her, you will never be able to go back!* Matilda was right. She was such a fool.
The morning dawned quiet, clear, and surprisingly cold. The previous night's **storms** had ended a few hours before sunrise, dissipating into the desert beyond the mountains - but not before filling the tarp-lined cisterns the colonists had hauled out to catch as much rainwater as possible. It wouldn't last long, Maureen knew, but it would last long *enough*. *Hopefully* until they had a way *off* this world. Rubbing her hands together briskly, she stepped off the Jupiter 2's boarding ramp and surveyed the cavern. There were already colonists busying themselves with retrieving the cisterns and emptying their contents into the Jupiters' storage tanks, or checking the ships over to catalog damages for later repair. And there, still standing guard at the corner of the cavern's broad mouth, was Scarecrow. She wondered if he'd moved at all since she'd last seen him. Tugging her jacket closed, Maureen tucked her hands into its pockets and cautiously approached the copper-plated robot.
Those summer nights were long and plagued by thunder, both of sea and of heart. Some nights they danced in the front room while storms raged outside. Everything felt right in these stolen moments, where they forgot everything that came before the other. Alone like this, they were whole again. Other nights, she'd catch Ariel spending long hours alone with a faraway expression as she gazed into nothing. The thunder felt heavy on her heart, against the soles of her feet as she made her way back to bed, having offered the only thing she could to mend Ariel's grief.
He dismounted the quad bike and asked, “Do you know who owns the cabin?” Emppu shook his head. “No, but it doesn’t matter. No one ever locks these little cabins, because someone might need shelter in the winter… say they ran out of gas while snowmobiling, or they were skiing and had an accident and had to wait for rescue. Granted, it’s not truly winter yet, but anyone who owns a cabin like this expects that it will get the occasional visitor, someone who wants to warm up, or wait out a rainstorm or whatever. As long as we collect enough wood to replace whatever we burn, that’s all that’s expected of us.” He hopped off the bike and headed for the cabin. Sure enough, the door swung right open. Bruce followed him in, seeing that the cabin appeared well-insulated and weathertight, with a sturdy woodstove in one corner and a couple of rough bunks topped by futon mattresses. One set of shelves held sheets and blankets, while another held jugs of water, packets of instant coffee and hot chocolate, bouillon cubes, a kettle, and mugs, with a note propped up against them. Emppu looked at the note and laughed. “Do I dare ask what’s so funny?” Bruce wanted to know. Still chuckling, Emppu told him, “It says, ‘Welcome, guest. If it’s not too snowy, please replace any firewood you use. Donations towards the drink supply are welcome but not necessary. Most of the time, the cell reception is okay, but the weather can affect this, so you might need to wait out a **storm** to get a call through. And if you’re teens looking for some privacy, if I ever hear that you got her pregnant while using my cabin, I will find you and kick your ass!’ Sounds like whoever owns the place must have caught a young couple out here before.” Bruce laughed as well. “Let’s hope for the sake of those teens, that he never needed to kick anyone’s arse.”
Inside the chippy, he orders their usual: haddock and chips for himself (with mushy peas); plaice and chips for James, with coleslaw (heretic that he is). Returning to the car, he hands the bags to James. “It’s a twenty-minute drive to where we’re going, and I’d just as soon eat while the food is hot.” He settles himself behind the wheel and receives one of the bags back from James. “Ta. Sure you’ve got the right one? I warn you, I will not be a happy man, Hathaway, if you eat my haddock by mistake.” “Never fear, sir,” James says with a smirk that belies the grave deference of his tone. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I know my plaice.” Robbie raises his left hand and takes a mock swipe at his sergeant’s head. “Enough of your cheek.” They chat while they eat. Robbie reports news and gossip from the station. James tells him some of the strange medieval beliefs about fish. One kind that supposedly loves music, and can be lured into nets by ‘grete harmonye’. Another that swims to the depths during **storms**, because the touch of rainwater would make it blind. A female fish that pulls her babies out of her body to see if they’re large enough to be born; if not, she tucks them back inside her. “What, like taking scones out of the oven to see if they’re done?” Robbie asks. “Just so.” “Absolutely daft. Still, I suppose that in five or six hundred years, people will shake their heads over some of the nonsense we believed.”
Quibble
Centering
\[British spelling 😊\] ‘We’d accidentally made something pretty nasty. Didn’t know how to deal with it. I remember not being able to breathe. George had collapsed and I thought…’ He shuddered. ‘Well, suddenly the door flew open and Bill was there.’ ‘Looking like some kind of angel,’ George said, squeezing Fred’s hand. Fred leant his head on his shoulder. ‘I was still conscious and I remember that. He was in the doorway, the hallway light shining around him, his stupid hair looking like a bloody halo.’ Boingo’s tail twitched. ‘What did he do?’ Neville asked breathlessly from across the room, as caught up in the story as the rest of them. ‘Magic.’ Fred winked at him. ‘Waved his hand and the windows opened, sucking the fumes or whatever out. Made sure we were okay, called us idiots, shouted himself hoarse, spelled our door away for a week, told us he’d be teaching us the Bubble-Head Charm until we were proficient enough to do it in our sleep, then hugged us so tight we had bruises.’ ‘Wow.’ Boingo bounced off the bed and across to Seamus’s where the twins were sitting. Clambering up, he got in between them, rubbing his head against them. George smiled and stroked his back. ‘Sounds like a good brother,’ Dean said quietly. Harry smiled. \[...\] Also, it was nice for the discussion of difficult children not to be **centring** on *him* for a change.
>Context: he's sighting a new rifle scope. Also, he canonically doesn't swear lol Slouching down slightly, the kid peers through the breech end and selects a target. The Z is roughly one hundred metres away, gently swaying back and forth upon rotten and unsteady legs. Centring it within his view, 10k ensures the rifle remains as stationary as possible as he straightens up again. He peers through the scope to align it so his target is sitting firmly in the crosshairs and– Blurry. It’s blurry, just like his old one. Heck, it’s blurry in the exact same way! Is everything broken and falling apart in this fracking Apocalypse‽ Keeping his hands steady, he finishes bore-sighting it anyway. The kid had used up the last of his thread locker mounting this scope, so it’ll be more trouble than it’s worth to switch back to his old one. Pulling back from his rifle, 10k digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. Frack it. Frack everything. He’s not normally like this. This *stupid*. Wouldn’t make such a simple fracking mistake! But it’s not the kid’s fault, is it? No, it’s Doc’s. And Murphy’s. They are the ones in that fracking Government building while he’s fracking stuck outside following Garnett’s fracking orders! They are the ones distracting him, worrying him, making him forget something so simple, so fundamental, as checking the fracking equipment before he fracking uses it! So, frack it. Frack everything. Frack them!
crucify.
Thea opened her eyes. No, *Ranboo* opened her eyes. (His eyes? No. This was still Thea’s body, even if they were borrowing it at the moment.) It seemed as if the ritual had done incredible damage to the set and surrounding area. Good. That was good. Ranboo reached out and grabbed the knife at the center of the pentagram with Thea’s arm. They studied it. This was the knife he’d used to stab an employee, an employee who was actually the wire monster in disguise. He never thought he’d see this old thing again, but they supposed he’d been emotional enough at the time to imbue it with spiritual energy. It did the job. Ranboo felt something warm streaking down the lower half of Thea’s face. It dripped off and landed on the floor. Blood. Normally, Ranboo would feel bad for scarring his baby sister so badly, but right now they were mostly apathetic. A few small cuts didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. It was nothing compared to having your head crushed in a box while your limbs were strung up in mockery, like you were being **crucified**. At least Ranboo wasn’t ruining Thea’s life. It had already been ruined by- “Uh, Thea? I think you’re bleeding,” said a strangely familiar voice from beside them. Ranboo snapped Thea’s head around, smothering a wince when it cracked. A man with short brown hair, glasses, and a green shirt startled backwards in shock. He looked painfully familiar, and Ranboo felt something protective curled around their gut. He knew if it came down to it, they’d pick revenge over protecting him, but it still surprised them that there could be anyone in this god-forsaken place that he might see as a *friend.* Ranboo racked their brain, trying to remember anyone from their past that fit his description. “…Ranboo?” The man whispered. Suddenly, It clicked. *Charlie.* Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. The one Ranboo had *almost* escaped with, once upon a time, when he was alive and hopeful. Ranboo felt almost guilty. After all, he was going to leave Charlie behind in the end. They frowned. They should have at least gone to check if Charlie was alive, if he’d somehow survived the wire monster. If he had, maybe they could have both escaped for *real*. Well. This was their second chance, right? A chance for vengeance, a chance for freedom, a chance to make things right. Ranboo would not fail again.
He came to once more. The pain was ever present, and he wondered how he could have awakened when he was so unbearably tired. He tried to maintain a feigned sleep, hoping his tormentors would leave him alone for even a short while. It was hard to do so without the constant need to flinch at the slightest ache. This place was different. The first thing he noticed, after the pain, was the lower temperature. It was surprisingly cold in here. That realization left him confused. He was cold? He'd have to think on that later. At least he was out of that kiln. He was reclined on a horizontal surface. Right away he could feel it wasn't a solid material throughout, but what felt like a metal grate. He guessed it must be just longer than the length of his body, and a little wider than the width of his shoulders. His arms were spread out as if crucified, except they hung uncomfortably at a steep angle towards the floor, putting pressure on his battered chest, impairing his breathing. His wrists were restrained in that position with heavy-gage wire. A quick check confirmed the same with his now bare feet. He felt that same wire wrapped around his neck, just above his knees, and across his chest. He couldn't move at all. The awkward position strained his already overworked muscles. The metal grate of the surface he lay on pressed into the raw and ravaged skin of his back, pain from his burns increasing with the uneven contact.
mission.
‘Fred!’ Shit. Ginny jumped. George swore as she landed heavily on his foot, grabbing her elbow to keep her from falling. Fred swung the gnome over his head, lobbing it away before turning to face Mum with his most innocent expression pasted on his face. ‘Hi, Mum. Didn’t see you there. Did you see how far that gnome went?’ Mum’s eyes narrowed. ‘I certainly saw where you *wanted* that gnome to go, young man.’ She turned her head to glare at George, too. ‘Don’t think you’re not in trouble as well, George.’ Fred tuned out Mum’s familiar lecture, making sure to make noises of agreement and contrition at appropriate moments. His attention drifted across the garden. Harry was watching them, and he caught his gaze. Amusement shone in the green eyes. **Mission** accomplished, then. As long as someone was amused by their antics, it didn’t matter if Mum had interrupted them.
Upon descending the Timekeeper’s suitcase, every member of the Order that took part in the **mission** tonight has been silent. There were six of them, including the Timekeeper. When the word got out that Arcana was no more, there was only silence among the members. When they had all settled to the familiar lounge area which used to be a place of leisure and rest for them but had been in utter disarray for years with all the notes and documents containing all pertinent information about the Manus stuck on the wall and strewn across the floor, no one talked. The once cozy room where they found a new family now feels cold and foreign. Sonetto could not stay there. So, she went straight to the lake. She sinks to her knees and peers at her reflection in the water. Her mask is still on. They had chosen it for her, an endearing humor among them six. *Puppy*, she has always been called that. The Timekeeper’s puppy. She doesn’t mind. She’s more than happy to accompany the Timekeeper anywhere. She was. But then it has been ten years.
Maureen slipped the monocular's lanyard around her neck before tucking the little device inside her shirt, then took the flare gun from its foam cavity, and slipped it and a flare into one jacket pocket. After a moment's hesitation, she plucked the other two out to pocket them as well, just in case. *Better to have them and not need them, than to need them and not have them.* Then, with a breath to steady herself and settle the churning knot of fear that had settled in her gut, she leaned over to press a kiss to John's cheek and wrapped an arm around his neck in an awkward half-hug. "See you in a bit," she whispered hoarsely, as he wrapped an arm around her in turn and briefly buried his face in her messy hair. "Remember, if anything even looks like it *might* go sideways..." "I'll send up a flare, I promise." One last, quick kiss. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." And then she was clambering out of the Chariot's cab, giving Don a smile and a shoulder squeeze as she went. Her boots hit the gravel, the Chariot's door swung shut, and in a moment... the vehicle was gone, rolling away to carry out the second half of the **mission**. It was just her and Scarecrow, now. Reflexively tugging at the hem of her jacket - *that was quickly becoming a nervous habit,* she noted - Maureen turned to face the robot, who was already regarding her expectantly. "I suppose we should get moving," she said, trying to project a confidence that she wasn't entirely sure she actually felt. "The sooner we get in and out, the better, right?"
“Food,” Lae’zel deadpanned, taking a step toward the woman. “*Now*.” She had read something about tieflings during her studies, but the hunger pangs had already begun muddling her mental acuity – a great hazard for this mission, particularly for a species so unaccustomed to the very need for sustenance.
sleep.
The next thing Harry knew, a hand on his shoulder roused him. He blinked sleepily, sitting up and dislodging a thin blanket. Whoever had laid it over him must have also removed his glasses, because everything was out of focus. ‘Glasses?’ he asked groggily. The hand moved away, and a moment later his glasses pressed into his palm. Bill’s face came into focus as Harry put them on. ‘How long was I asleep?’ ‘A little over an hour, I think.’ Bill helped him to his feet. Harry’s legs were stiff and there was a crick in his neck. ‘I’ve not been back long. Mum thought it best to let you rest.’ ‘I’m not going to **sleep** tonight at this rate,’ Harry groused. ‘I’ve spent half the day sleeping.’ Bill nudged him with an elbow, directing him towards the house. The inviting scent of frying onions drifted from the back door. ‘You’re still recovering. If you need to **sleep** half the day, then you will **sleep** half the day.’ ‘Doctor Bill’s orders?’ Harry asked. Bill raised his eyebrows. ‘Doctor?’ Oh, right; Bill hadn’t been there for that. Harry rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Never mind.’
He fixed himself a cup of steaming French press and brought it back to the living room. He plopped himself down again on the carpet and set out to finish his third accomplishment of the day--finishing his coffee. As he was doing so, his eyes caught sight of his blue sketchpad on the coffee table. *Oh,* he thought lazily. *Right. It's because of that damned thing that I've been losing this much* ***sleep.*** He looked at the "damned thing" as if it had mortally offended him. And in his humble opinion, it had done exactly that. If Rafayel opened it now, he would take offense in how it would seem to look back at him and show him a part of himself that he didn't want to recognize yet in full mockery, as if telling him, *"See this? You did this. What you were saying again about making a drawing of people?"* So he didn't open it. Not right now. He already knew what was in there anyway. He wished he didn't though. If he could turn back time, he'd go back to that night so he could hold fast to his own hand holding a graphite pencil before it could even glide across the paper to draw lines and shapes that resembled every angle of sharpness, every bashful sweep of eyelash, that graceful downward slope from nose bridge to the tip, and that delicate bow of lush dispassionate lips of Zayne Li's annoyingly handsome face.
((this is pretty dark. Sleep deprivation in the Zygerrian prison arc in TCW)) The lashes fall, the collars shock, the slaves sob in the night and their masters barge in, batons ringing against the metal bed frames, lights flashing. Obi-Wan stays silent, curled up on his bunk, and blows on the ember of his optimism, worried he might not know how to rekindle it, were it to fade. At first he doesn't mind the lack of sleep. His hunger would have kept him awake if the guards hadn't. He watches them, notices how they return every twenty minutes during the first half of the night, and then every hour in the second. He sleeps in stolen snatches, accepts this as just another form of torture, another thing to get used to and wait out. And wait he does. He shambles off to work, wondering when will Anakin come, prodding weakly at their bond and feeling nothing. The force is pain all around, the darkness a suffocating presence, numbing his senses. The day passes and night returns, still devoid of comfort or respite. Obi-Wan starts awake, again and again, and again... He prods at the hairline fractures spreading inside his self. He keeps his eyes tightly shut, tries but fails to meditate, fails to block out the sounds. The constant hum of machinery, the wet rasps of the sick, the moaning of the injured, the sobbing of the broken, and faint over it, echoing down the hollow corridors, the shrieks of those being put to... more strenuous methods of conversion. It all rubs his nerves raw, corrupts his thoughts, turns him on his fellow captives, *so noisy, all of them.* 'Stop it,' he snaps at a whimpering woman. 'Just–' his voice cracks, rusty with disuse, 'be quiet.'
>Crowley looked around. It really did remind him of the bedroom above Aziraphale’s shop. In fact, it was almost identical. “Doesn’t look very witchy,” he said casually. >Aziraphale looked away. “I made…alterations. Just temporarily.” >He smirked. >“Oh, alright, you fiend. I miss *my* bedroom,” he said, a pout on his lovely lips. >Crowley shook his head. “Why an angel who doesn’t sleep needs a bedroom is beyond me.” >“I like to read in bed. It’s comfortable.” >“And you never sneak a cheeky little nap?” >Pink suffused his cheeks. “No.” >“You are the worst liar I have ever met,” Crowley said, stroking one of the lovely pink splotches with the back of his fingers. >Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I am an *angel*, if you’ll recall. Not exactly meant to be lying.” >“Right. Unless you count all the times we swapped workloads, and you pretended to be me.” >“That’s different!” >“How?” >“It was *acting*!”
Zuko laid in bed, on the stolen Fire Nation ship, and thought. It all started when he was sick. When he saw Lu Ten, and the spirit who said that he couldn’t die, because he had a purpose yet. Who said that in three years, under Ba Sing Se, he’d make a choice that would affect the fate of the entire world. And for three years, he’d chased that destiny, and it had eventually taken him there. And now it was over. At least the Avatar and his friends hadn’t killed him on the spot, though that was likely due to him saving his life and nothing more. It didn’t quite feel real. Zuko wished Uncle was here. Thinking about Uncle was… painful. It reminded him of how he’d had to leave him behind. Zuko didn’t *want* to. But no matter how he played it, every scenario he went through in his head ended up with Uncle being left behind. Unless, of course, Zuko had chosen to go with Azula and Uncle somehow decided to go with them (which was unlikely), but Zuko didn’t want to do that, either. So now he was alone, on a ship surrounded by people who hated him and everything he represented. Tomorrow, he would ask the Avatar to be his firebending teacher. He had to say yes. If he didn’t, the world could end. Zuko would make sure he knew that. Didn’t make it any easier to **sleep** at night, though. The nightmares were back full force, and that was if he managed to slip into unconsciousness at all. The anxiety of being surrounded by people who might decide he was too much of a risk and kill him mixed with the ever-present insomnia made that almost impossible. He wished he could have some jasmine tea to calm him down, but Uncle wasn’t here to make it, so it would just end up making him sadder.
“This is the *third* time that somebody from Sakura threatens to kill me as a hello!” Apocrypha snapped. “Do you have some cultural thing where you routinely threaten one another’s lives?!” “That’s quite uncouth for someone of your position,” came a low, even female voice. “I expected something more diplomatic from the Commander of Azur Lane.” “Yeah, well, I’m cold, I’m wet, I’m exhausted, and I’m probably still motion-sick, so bite me and let a girl sleep for three years.”
He wanted to ask how she managed to stay so calm and in control while he crumbled beside her, but the exhaustion had hit hard and he wasn’t sure how long he’d last in another conversation before he fell asleep sitting up. He pulled himself up off the bed and plodded towards the bathroom, using Carla’s shampoo this time. It was the same lemon scented Sunsilk she’d used since before they met. It smelt like home. His own wasn’t running out, but he just wanted her smell as close to him as possible. He spent several minutes brushing the taste of fish and chip grease and gin out of his mouth. Then, like a zombie, he dragged his feet back to the bedroom, ready to collapse in a heap and fall straight to **sleep**. Carla was grinning from her side of the bed. There were fresh tumblers of water on each of their bedside tables. “I’m so lucky.” Her smile was pure sunshine as she looked up at him. “Really? After what I’ve dragged you into?” “Yeah.” She patted his empty space on the bed, beckoning him. “There’s no one else I’d rather weather the storm with.” He pulled himself underneath the doona and settled his head on her chest. “Gerry,” she continued, “things *are* going to be hard. There’ll be tears, we’ll piss each other off. I know that. You know that. 1988 isn’t shaping up to be our year. But we’ll muddle through, and I love you. Can’t remember if I told you today.” “You told me this morning.” “That was too long ago.” “Well, anyway, I love you too.”
When she paused at the closed door, reaching out to brush her fingertips across the smooth surface, he stepped in close to her and rested his hands at her hips. "Maureen," he whispered, "c'mon, save this *one thing* to worry over later. There'll be plenty of time for it once we're back on the ground." She let out a sigh, and offered him a tense, wordless smile over her shoulder; he just leaned closer to press a kiss to her cheek before stepping up to stand beside her and steer her towards their room. But even with John's cajoling, and her own knowledge that she needed to get some **sleep**, she just... couldn't. Her head buzzed with noise - every worry, every fear, every contingency plan, *Will, Penny, Judy, Robot*... She questioned herself, questioned every decision they'd made, rebuked herself for questioning, tossed and turned, alternating between burying her face in her pillow and staring up at the darkened ceiling... Finally, rather than risk waking John up with her constant sleepless shifting, Maureen quietly crawled out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, twisted her hair into a messy knot, and slipped out of the room.
After dinner, Luna scampered off to her room while Satu got Niki changed and settled for the night. The little girl came out again in her pajamas, carrying a large and obviously well-loved stuffed tiger. ”You’re sad without Uncle Bruce here,” she said, ”so you **sleep** with Stripey tonight.” Emppu swept his honorary niece up in a bear hug. ”Thank you so much, moonchild,” he told her. ”Are you sure you don’t want Stripey to stay with you?” ”If I’m sad, Stripey **sleeps** with me,” Luna said. ”But I’m not sad and you are, so Stripey should **sleep** with you, Uncle Emppu.” ”Okay, Luna, as long as you’re sure,” Emppu said, kissing the top of her head. ”You probably ought to get into bed yourself, before Mama comes looking for you. Thank you again, moonchild.” She pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. ”Night night, Uncle Emppu,” she said, hopping down and heading for her room.
As Dea’s hand wandered back down to Grinpayne’s chest, she idly resumed drumming her fingers in time to his heartbeat. Grinpayne, in turn, tightened his arm around her shoulders, desperately wanting to hold her close and never let go. Both of them were too tired to speak anymore, and as Dea’s eyelids became heavier, her drumming fingers grew slower and slower before eventually stopping altogether as she dozed off. Grinpayne lay awake a few minutes longer: one arm still around Dea, the other hand still fiddling with his curly hair. Despite how dark it was below deck, his eyes were well-adjusted enough to the darkness by now that he could see Dea pretty clearly (and Grinpayne could hardly get over how pretty she looked as she slept). The nightmare from earlier was still in the back of his mind, but it seemed distant and far less frightening now than it had earlier…probably mostly due to the fact that it was getting harder for him to keep his eyes open. No more nightmares of the past would plague Grinpayne tonight: especially not with Dea’s comforting presence against his side like this. Sighing peacefully, he finally drifted off to **sleep**, as well – and aside from the gentle rocking of the waves, the ship was perfectly still.
spy.
Flames danced in Moody’s magically revolving eye. He snorted. ‘Oh, you hardly see? Allow me to enlighten you; Potter’s name was entered into the Goblet. Whoever did it knew he’d have to compete if his name came out. Now, why might someone want to force Potter here to compete?’ Maxime drew up to her full height, hair brushing against the ceiling. ‘Someone must ‘ave wished to give ‘Ogwarts ze advantage.’ Having just taken a swig from his flask, Moody choked. ‘Advantage?’ He shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tucking the flask back into his pocket. ‘You can’t think much of your champions if you think a fourteen-year-old is going to be a threat to their chances.’ Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff both paused. Their faces turned to Harry. He shrank beneath their gazes. ‘It seems more likely to me,’ Moody continued, his voice scratching across the flagstone floor, ‘and is no doubt the hope of whoever entered Potter into this tournament, that the boy will not survive to see the end of it.’ Ice flooded Harry’s veins again. On his shoulder, Boingo sagged, pressing heavily against him. He wasn’t going to survive. The Tournament, the **spy**, all of this… He was going to die. Harry was going to die.
context: The MCs are on holiday in Scotland, and it's a rainy day. \-------------------------------------------------------------- Robbie switches on the radio. Sunday afternoon is a wasteland of showtunes, cooking tips, unfunny comedy, and celebrity gossip. He’s not in the mood just now for sex and drugs and rock-and-roll, so he goes to investigate the bookcase. It’s a real hodgepodge, with a 19th century history of Scotland shelved next to a Mills & Boon romance, a biography of some Brazilian footballer, Harry Potter, the Bible, the Nautical Almanac, and the 1928 edition of *Scouting for Boys*. A few spy novels look interesting, and he plucks one from the shelf. Soon he’s deep in the Cold War adventures of a British agent. The hero, on the run from Soviet spies, takes refuge in an abandoned barn. Robbie can almost hear the wind in the rafters and feel the icy chill of a Norwegian winter. With a shake of his head he comes to himself. The wind he hears is real enough, and is blowing stronger than before. As for cold, yeah, it’s got a bit chilly. He could take the electric heater out of the utility cupboard, or... With sudden determination, he sets aside the novel and goes to kneel on the hearth-rug. Everything he needs is right at hand. *Hope I haven’t lost me touch.* He hasn’t. True, it takes more than one match, but in moments, a cheery blaze is crackling in the old stone fireplace. Robbie returns to the sofa, and sits admiring his handiwork. He’s about to reach for his book when he hears the click of the door-latch. Turning, he sees James enter, and bites back a laugh. The lad is drenched. Water drips from his clothing, wings, and hair. “You’re as wet as an otter’s pocket! Get undressed, then come and get warm by the fire.”
Elated
Minato watched in silence, noting that it was almost as if Itachi didn’t want Sasuke to see him like this. They were together again for the first time, without the walls he kept up for so long. All those years of deceit, stripped away in an instant. Part of Minato worried what might happen now that everything was laid bare. Would Sasuke hate Itachi? Would Sasuke hate HIM? In fairness, the poor kid had every right to feel that way, but Minato hoped he wouldn’t. Sasuke stopped within arm’s reach of Itachi, who was unable to hold eye contact with his beloved younger brother. “Why?” Sasuke said. This simple but powerful question drew Itachi’s focus back toward his brother. Neither of them said anything for the next few seconds. Emotion that words could never hope to convey passed between them as they surveyed one another. “Sasuke,” Itachi said when he found the courage, “you shouldn’t be here.” He cut his eyes toward Minato. “Lord Fourth, why did you tell him abo-” “He didn’t,” Sasuke spat. “I figured it out.” Itachi gasped and turned to him. “You…?” “He’s smarter than you give him credit for, Itachi,” Minato said. He let out a bittersweet chuckle. Swallowing hard, the Akatsuki double agent addressed his brother again. “How much do you know?” “I know all of it,” Sasuke said. “Everything. How you tarnished your own reputation to stop civil war from breaking out. How The Elders used you and then tossed you aside. How Danzo interfered with Minato helping you.” He ground his teeth and balled his fists, veins bulging as he spoke. “I know you orchestrated everything so that I would believe in a false reality and hate you. And I know that you asked Minato to watch over me while keeping me in the dark. So, again, why?” Now Itachi was the one with tears in his eyes. To say this surprised Minato would be a major understatement. He never expected the stoic prodigy of the Uchiha Clan to be undone so easily in front of his younger brother. “It’s simple,” Itachi said, reaching out to Sasuke. “I didn’t want you to get hurt-” A resounding smack echoed across the field. Sasuke drove his fist into Itachi’s face with raw, unbridled fury. He glared at him through tears. “To hell with that! Don’t you see, Itachi? I’m already in pain. All those years with you as my goalpost, despising you, dreaming of your death. All those years respecting a village that hated us! Worst of all, you let them do this to you without a fight.” Itachi frowned. “I…I understand how you feel. In my eyes, this was necessary. War is an ugly and cruel thing that consumes all it touches. I wanted to keep you as far away from that as possible, Sasuke.” “But I’m your brother. I would have stood beside you. Fought with you.” “I know, and I selfishly stole that choice from you. I don’t want that kind of life for you. I need you kept safe.” “What’s the use in a life of safety and happiness if it’s all built on lies?” Minato squirmed; this conversation was difficult to hear. He saw the merit in both sides of the argument, and wanted more than anything to shield Sasuke from the emotional turmoil he was going through. Minato’s parental instincts screamed at him to intervene, but it wasn’t his place. This was a private matter that the two brothers needed to work through alone. When his breathing slowed, Sasuke said, “Sorry for hitting you.” Itachi smiled, wiping the blood from his lips. “I guess I deserved it.” “Still.” Sasuke let his tears fall. There was no use acting tough any longer. The gentle breeze died out, leaving a vacuum of silence that upped the tension of the moment even further. Itachi stood in a withdrawn pose, unsure what to do with himself. That is, until Sasuke moved in for a tight hug. His older brother patted him on the back, allowing himself a genuine smile. Watching from across the field, Minato was elated to witness such a heartwarming display. In his opinion, even if he might never regain Sasuke’s trust, seeing these two back on good terms made his decision tonight more than worth the risk. The brothers ended their embrace at last, slamming the brakes on the emotional phase of their reunion.
Tequila
>Context: they're in an abandoned strip club (so slightly NSFW dialogue); 10k is gay and had a sheltered upbringing; Murphy is a sleazeball and in denial about his bisexuality “What is this place?” “The seedy underbelly of dive bars, the last refuge of the forever alone, and a bastion of unfulfilled sexual urges. This, my dear Ten Thousand, is a low-rent strip club. Given your usual tastes, I’m assuming this is your first time.” 10k simply nods. “Well then, Professor Murphy at your service, here for all your insights into heterosexuality.” He knocks back the first tequila, swallowing his self-doubt. “First things first. The point of this place is for men to come, get drunk, and watch beautiful women dance.” “Dancing? What kind?” “The exotic kind, the erotic kind, the ‘stripping off her clothes and teasing you’ kind.” Swivelling on his seat, Ten eyes up the stage with curiosity. “The women take their clothes off?” “Not all their clothes. The panties usually stay on, rules and regulations and other such killjoys. But that just adds to the mystique. Nothing more titillating than the unknown. Plus, it gives the salivating audience somewhere to stuff their tips.” An endearing head tilt. “Men pay to watch?” Trying to imagine this set up through 10k’s slightly ignorant and extremely gay perception is weird. The more Murphy thinks about it, the more uncomfortable it starts to seem. He clears his throat, dismissing those thoughts. “It’s a straight guy thing, don’t worry about it.” “Do guys like you like it, too?” Brows low and frown deep, Murphy slowly turns to his companion. Grey eyes are ready to meet him, an amusement shining bright. “…What are you implying, young man?” A grin, as sharp as Murphy has come to expect. “Nothing, *Professor*.” As Ten slips from his seat and pads towards the stage, Murphy downs the second tequila.
Sparkle
‘All right, now?’ Seamus asked Dean who was opposite him. ‘Sorry for disappearin’ on you.’ Dean’s response slid over Seamus. On Harry’s other side, Ron had just apologised. The leg beside his tensed, and Seamus nudged it gently with his own at the same time that Boingo rubbed Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s tenseness seemed to ease. He turned to answer Ron, and Seamus refocused on Dean. Something **sparkled** in Dean’s expression. ‘A productive disappearance, was it?’ he asked, gaze cutting briefly to Harry and back again. ‘Don’t you be gettin’ bold, now,’ Seamus said with mock sternness. Moments later, though, he gave up on hiding his grin. ‘Amazin’. A bit cack-handed, sure, but — now, how d'you know?’ ‘Used my eyes, mate.’ ‘Oh, you did?’ Seamus shook his head, stabbing his pasta-loaded fork towards Dean. ‘So you can dún do bhéal a while longer, now then.’ Dean’s brow furrowed but he shrugged. ‘I won’t say anything.’ He fell silent, the chatter of the other Gryffindors winding between them as he sliced into a piece of broccoli. Seamus leant forward. ‘Sorry, a chara. Early days, y’know?’
Sarah stared up at the cliffs. No wonder they were known as The Escarpment of Delirium – they were so insanely high! But before she had much more time to think about that, she felt the ground disappear from under her feet; Ludo had started climbing. Meanwhile, down below, the mysterious, **sparkling** ship had sailed right up to the shore and cast its anchor, and out jumped a lone figure. He was clad all in black, from shirt to boots (save for a silver metal pendant he wore that hung down to his chest), and he wore a black mask over his face and a black scarf over his head that strands of his long blonde hair stuck out from under. Nearly as soon as he’d jumped out from his ship, he grabbed the rope and started climbing after the four. “This follower of ours hath begun climbing our rope,” Sir Didymus commented nervously, looking down. “And he gains on us quickly!” Then to the dog, “Have no fear, Ambrosius!”
I love all the descriptions! They really set the mysterious and tense mood.
Thank you! Did you want the link at all (FFN or AO3)?
Salmon
After they checked in and got through security, they decided a snack before their flight was in order, so they headed to a little cafe in the terminal, where Emppu introduced Bruce to the Finnish sweet bread known as pulla. Bruce beamed when he tasted it. ”Oh, this is amazing,” he said enthusiastically. ”Why wasn’t there any of this at Marko’s party? Or did I miss seeing it there?” Emppu shrugged. ”I was too busy watching you to pay attention to the food,” he confessed, causing Bruce to blush lightly. ”Have you tried many Finnish foods since you’ve been here?” ”I’ve had some fish soups that were really good,” Bruce said. ”One with **salmon** and one with some other kind of fish. And I tried reindeer, of course. Someone said I should try Karelian pies, but I don’t know where to get those. Marko suggested some sweets I might want to try, although I admit I don’t remember all the names he told me.”
Shenanigans
Emppu had another practical consideration in mind. ”I hope you’ve got something sturdy for us to stand on, so we can decorate the top meter of the tree,” he said with a laugh. ”Or you can sit on my shoulders,” Bruce suggested with a grin. ”That could work... or it could become very distracting for us,” Emppu said. ”Not that I mind distracting you most of the time.” ”Like when I’m onstage?” Bruce asked, laughing. ”Hey, you started that one,” Emppu said. ”I was just paying you back. You deserved it.” He smiled at the memory of the show in Zurich... and of what happened immediately after the show. ”Besides, would we have had half that much fun if I hadn’t distracted you like I did?” ”Probably not,” Bruce admitted. ”What with everyone in Maiden in relationships now, we generally don’t go in for the sort of **shenanigans** we used to get up to back in the day. Oh, sure, I’ve seen one or another of the blokes finding an excuse to make a quick getaway when his lady is visiting, but the ladies are more inclined to wait to get back to the hotel and a comfortable bed than to find a hidden spot at the venue.” He smiled as he remembered Emppu leading him down that darkened hallway in Zurich. ”We did have fun that night, didn’t we?”
Flirtatious
Aeroc is attending a garden tea party, he was supposed to decline the invitation but Richard said he wanted to see him. After the confession, Aeroc found himself seeing Richard more. Tea parties or soiree’s, Aeroc would find himself whisk away, at first he found it nerve-wracking following Richard in the secluded parts of the garden. Using the lush green tall boxwood to hide anything intimate, with lamp lights as star clusters in this voyage. They didn’t do anything illicit, comforting Aeroc’s unrestrained imagination. He found himself looking forward to their meetings. He was like an explorer at sea, adventurous and curious and Richard’s words and gestures provoked his desire to uncover new lands. The more he became comfortable with their meetings, the more he noticed Richard's actions becoming more audacious. From flirtatious whispers to holding hands, he had started stealing kisses from Aeroc’s hand. It was staggering that such an innocent kiss could set a person on fire. He feels like a teenager. It was so shameful that he was starting to expect a more daring action from Richard. But he’ll never tell him that at least not at the moment. His chest might burst from his increasingly indecent thoughts. He wasn’t ready for more, but also wanted a bit more. It was frustrating because it didn’t make sense.
When they reached cruising altitude, Bruce jokingly called back, “Consider the fasten-seatbelt signs turned off, and you’re free to move about the cabin.” A little while after that, he emerged from the cockpit and held his hand out to Emppu. “Enjoying the flight so far, enkelini?” he asked softly. Lucy grinned and stood up, moving to stand just behind the entrance to the cockpit, where she started talking to her husband about an upcoming flight they were scheduled for. Emppu took Bruce’s hand with a grin. “Very much so, kulta. Am I about to enjoy it more?” he asked **flirtatiously**. “You are if I have anything to say about it,” Bruce told him, nudging him down the central aisle of the little plane to the lavatory at the rear. Closing the door behind them, he pulled Emppu into his arms and kissed him deeply.
Obfuscate
Nature
Gale waves a hand, as if to dismiss any attempt at apologies. 'I was half in and out of consciousness the entire time. I'm not entirely sure what transpired, but the ship broke into pieces, and I finally found myself in freefall.' 'Ah, we transpired,' I say. 'That would have been us, with a Gith woman. Took over the controls and got us out of the Hells, and then, well, out of the sky.' Gale blinks, clearly struggling to visualise the scene I'm so poorly depicting, but nods like it all makes sense. 'Well, you did a fine job of it.' 'Sorry.' 'Nothing to be sorry about. As I was plummeting to certain death, I spied a glimmer quite near where I predicted my body to impact with less-than-savoury propulsion. Said glimmer being magical in nature, I reached out with a Weaving of words, and found myself... on the other side, as it were. To answer your previous question, I have been stuck in that stone since then.' He pauses to catch his breath, visibly exhausted by this little speech. 'I had to maintain my concentration, to keep the pocket of matter I existed in from collapsing like a mere soap bubble. I am...' 'Exhausted?' I venture. 'Dead?' says Shadowheart. 'Quite.'
Burne Thompson stumbled in, covered in blood and scratches. “Oh, no! Boss! What happened to your beautiful, perfect face?” Vernon gasped. “I was assaulted by some sort of enormous rat creature!” “I bet it was one of your disgusting friends, wasn’t it?” Vernon asked April. “Absolutely not,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious, though.” *It couldn’t be…* Splinter was the only “rat creature” she knew. And there was no way that he was randomly attacking people on the streets. For one thing, it wasn’t in his **nature**. And for another, he was still recovering from some sort of infection.
Tuomas cut him off abruptly. ”Perkele, Ewo, how about you shut the fuck up for five seconds? We have a problem. Yes, they surprised everyone with the proposal, but then some paskapää in the audience pulled a gun on them. The medics said they don’t think it’s anything life-threatening, but Emppu and Bruce both got shot.” ”Mitä vittua!” Ewo suddenly sounded a lot less drunk. ”Are you serious? Why would... some anti-gay bigot, I assume? What can you tell me?” ”This whole thing happened less than an hour ago, so I don’t know much,” Tuomas said. ”The police haven’t said anything yet, and Emppu and Bruce are probably just getting looked at now; once the gunman was down they called in ambulances to take them to hospital. As for the shooter’s motive, I suppose it could be an anti-gay bigot, but it also could be a stalker with poor aim.” ”A stalker?” Ewo asked. ”Emppu’s had a couple of notes slipped to him this weekend, the first one inviting him to meet up with the writer, and the second one saying that the writer understood that Emppu wasn’t able to make the meeting because of all of us getting recognized and mobbed at the Linkin Park set and needing security to pull us to safety, but that they wanted to be there for him once Bruce dumped him. Given the **nature** of the notes, even security here didn’t think the writer was a true threat. Yeah, they posted some extra guards for the Maiden performance, but no one even considered something like this might happen. Anyway, I can see jealousy being the motive, you know? Especially given that the shooting started right after Bruce popped the question and Emppu accepted,” Tuomas explained.
My fic is written as a screenplay, so I'm posting the excerpt as an image in order to preserve the formatting. [Word count: 303](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/686615745840676868/1218693677501644810/image.png?ex=660897ee&is=65f622ee&hm=4d52ecdc2d9d1f5a1b90aa7786820bad0e98f3a4efb824125e0d8594ce04c3df&)
Step by step, the forest took their progress, the gruelling slog stealing the night without bringing them any closer to their goal. They focused on maintaining the Hover Charm as they manoeuvred Shacklebolt through the hazards of the forest. It was a fine line, keeping him far enough from the forest floor to not scrape against the roots and stones, whilst not so high that he’d smack into branches, or risk injury if they dropped him. They also had to try not to trip over anything themselves. They fell into a rhythm of casting the Charm. Hermione first, then after a count of ten Harry took over, Ron following him before Hermione took control once more. It didn’t take many cycles for the timing to become second **nature**, which freed Harry’s attention to peer into the darkness. The shadows loomed over them. Every breath of wind shook the trees, branches transforming into hands grasping over their heads. Menacing figures lurked at the edges of Harry’s vision, disappearing as soon as he looked at them straight on. His spine tingled, certain they were being followed. Harry turned back towards Ron and Hermione as the time for his turn came closer, the weight of the unconscious form pressing on his magic as he cast. Hermione’s shadowy figure shook her wand arm. Harry silently counted again, the pressure increasing, before sighing as Ron cast and the weight eased. The stints of counting turned the minutes to metres, cruelly emphasising the laborious lack of progress.
Objection
((rich girl Caitlyn gets advice on dressing to better fit in Zaun)) 'So you mean someone my age can't have such a nice blouse?' 'Sure, you can!' Cait frowns. 'All right, that's confusing.' A steam whistle pierces the air, and Mariri pulls a beaten timepiece from a pocket. She clicks her tongue. 'That's me,' she says. 'Look, the only way someone like me gets a blouse like this is by stealing it, you feel me? Then I'd cut it up, refit, make it look nice, you know?' Cait scoffs, amused. 'This isn't nice already?' Mariri rolls her eyes. She stabs the air with a finger as she steps backward towards the funicular. 'Get fabric for free. Do the bins, go to scrapers. Sew your own clothes. Stripes! And bring me the leftovers, I'll make myself some ribbons.' Cait bites down on the objection that she doesn't know how to sew. 'I'll try!' she says instead, waving at the girl. 'And don't wear silver trim! Then no one will want to knife you for your things, Piltie girl!' 'It's Cait!' she yells, hiding her collar with her hand. 'And thanks for the tips!'
Emppu nodded. ”How messed up is the rest of the schedule?” he asked. ”I know you missed an interview and an autograph session today.” ”Both of those have been rescheduled, and will be happening on the afternoon of the 23rd,” Bruce said. ”Jones might be a bastard, but he does know how to handle the business end of things. I didn’t make any **objections** when Rod and Steve asked, because I knew you’d understand, even if we had hoped to spend most of the day together.” He smiled a bit, adding, ”At least you’re here already. Nicko, Dave, and Ade were supposed to meet their wives at the airport and now they can’t. I guess they’re setting up some sort of ladies’ day out to try to make up for it, those three plus Janick’s wife and Steve’s girlfriend; they talked about sending ’em to some really posh tearoom or something like that before bringing them here for the show.” ”Please tell me you’re not going to try to send me with them,” Emppu said, chuckling but also looking a little nervous at the mere thought of being the lone man with five strange women. ”Bloody hell, of course not,” Bruce laughed. ”You’d hate trying to make small talk like that! Especially with people you’ve never met before and not even one friend with you. No, I want you here with me. Actually, if you’re willing, I’d like for you to come to the interview this time. I thought it might be a good idea to just face the British press together and get it over with, the way we faced the Helsinki papers when we came back from Jukka’s. But it’s up to you.” Emppu considered. ”I’ll do it, as long as Rod is okay with it,” he decided. ”I don’t want to do anything that might get my visiting privileges taken away.”
Viktor was closer than Harry expected, and sighed as he spotted him. ‘I vas about to come looking,’ he said, then spotting the charm on Harry added, ‘You can do it vordless, eh?’ ‘Had a run-in with some Grindylow,’ Harry said, and started paddling towards the shore. ‘You might want to stay clear of the weeds.’ Once he reached shallow enough water, Harry pulled himself upright and waded back to dry — or muddy, as the case may be — land. He dispelled the Bubble-Head Charms and collapsed on the bank. His lungs continued to throb their **objection** at the water he’d inhaled, and dragged in lungfuls of air despite the ache it caused. ‘Reckon we should probably start researching what else is in the lake,’ Harry said. ‘Our Grindylow lesson last year didn’t cover how to deal with them if they come at you in hordes.’
thrum
The Inquisitor dragged herself from her study. She felt beyond exhausted and ached for sleep, but knew retiring in this state would be useless. As much as she hated walking in the cold night air, she wagered the walk to the rookery and back might be enough to settle her mind. With that, she made herself half-presentable in case some noble flagged her down. But to her surprise, the castle lay dormant with only sentries along the halls. Many of the lamps, chandeliers, and torches were snuffed for the night. The constant thrum of activity that always accompanied Skyhold was instead absent. Even the ambassador’s office sat quiet, dark, and unoccupied. Odd, for Elisabeth knew Josephine worked herself long into the night.
The morning was contrarily peaceful. Long grass swished beneath their feet as they walked. Chickens murmured as they flapped and foraged in front of the coop. Gnomes rustled the bushes, chattering and giggling lowly. The scent of honeysuckle and an amalgamation of herbs filled the air. They ducked under the boughs of an apple tree, passing into the orchard. The apples were ripening, not quite ready to pick. Not that under-ripeness had ever kept any of them from pilfering the fruit at the end of a languid summer day of flying, exploring, and — inevitably — bickering. Pausing, Bill scooped an apple from where it had fallen, nestled in the grass at the base of its tree. It was not ready, too soon to have loosened of its own accord. Something had caused it to drop prematurely, and as he turned the fruit in his hand, it revealed a bruise marring one side. His fingers tightened involuntarily, the **thrum** under his skin becoming more of a shudder, the threads pulled tautly. Charlie’s hand closed over his. Bill looked up into the bright blue eyes. There was a question there that Bill wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Charlie pulled the apple from his grasp, letting it drop onto the cushioning grass before taking a step away and tilting his head. ‘Wands or hands?’ That was a question he could answer. And exactly what he needed. An outlet for the energy vibrating through him. Bill flexed his fingers, contemplating, and then reached for the holster on his forearm.
If there was any place that made Collins’s scent more bearable, it was the beach. In the library, we sat too close for me to ignore it, no matter how much the AC blew. And in the car? Sometimes I wondered how I managed to stay coherent with the amount of focus it took to not unintentionally harm her in such a small, enclosed space. The salty ocean breeze masked the sweetness of her blood enough that the aching in my throat was reduced to a fraction of its normal intensity. Instead, I could focus on the warmth of her hand in mine, which felt like fire in comparison to my chilled skin. “I’ve really missed the beach,” Collins leaned back, propping herself up on her arms, and gazed over the gray-green waves as they rolled closer to shore. The cool breeze brought with it a strong smell of salt and algae that masked the scent of her blood. “It’s not the same here though. The sand is super rocky and the water is a lot rougher.” I watched as the wind caught her hair and tugged a strand across her face. Before I could stop myself, I was tucking it behind her ear, my fingertips skimming her cheek along the way. A rush of blood colored her cheeks deeper pink. I could feel her pulse thrum just below her jaw as I pulled my hand away and switched to breathing through my mouth. This was the easiest place to be around her, but I was still tempted. Would I ever be able to ignore the scent of her blood enough to comfortably be with her? Would it even matter for much longer?
Horse
One day, Colt was prancing around and making **horse** noises. “Hey, Colt!” Laurel said. “What’s gotten you so excited?” “Huh? I'm not excited! What makes you say that?” Colt began sweating nervously. “You were prancing around and making **horse** noises!” Laurel giggled. “It was so cute!” “Okay, fine!” Colt said. “It’s because Barley finally got a job!” “Really?” Laurel said. “Oh, that’s great!” “Yes, and now he will have less time to cause trouble around town!” “But why did he tell you first?” Laurel asked. “Hey, Mom!” Ian said, entering the room. “Did you hear that Barley got a job at McDonald’s?”
But he stiffened up as the quiet intro of Mother Earth started, when he felt a piece of paper being shoved into his hand, accompanied by a hissed voice saying, ”Read that when you’re alone. And call anytime you want.” Emppu whipped his head around to try to see the person, figuring that it was almost certainly the same person who’d slipped the note into his pocket yesterday. But the crowd was thick enough that all he saw for certain was a brown-haired man, taller than Jukka but shorter than Tuomas, wearing the same Download festival t-shirt as half the crowd, moving away from him. He couldn’t see the man’s face and he didn’t recognize the hair, so that wasn’t much help, especially since there was no guarantee the person moving was also the person who spoke. And with all the ambient crowd noise plus the music, he couldn’t tell if he’d heard the voice before or not. Now uncomfortable at having so many strangers around, he turned and motioned for Tuomas to move up and stand beside him. Logically, he knew he was closing the barn door after the **horse** got out; the person who accosted him was gone already, but it still made him feel a little more secure to have friends completely surrounding his back and sides.
"Being scared sucks. I mean, I've been scared ever since we left Earth - hell, I'm scared *right now*. Terrified, even. But it's okay. It's okay to be scared..." Mud squelched underfoot as she took a fourth step. "Especially when you're scared *for* other people, because it means you *care about* them. That comes from the heart, too." She was so close now that she could feel the heat radiating off of SAR's frame, and she was all too aware of just how *big* and *sharp* and *dangerous* he was. *Just think of him like the* ***horse*** *back on the Resolute,* she told herself. *You know, if a* ***horse*** *was big and dangerous* ***and*** *also had six limbs and huge razor-sharp claws and lasers.* *...Focus, Penny. Will's counting on you.* *Everyone's counting on you.* "Because that's what it all comes back to, isn't it? You care about them. The other robots, your people, I mean. That's why you came to that black hole planet looking for Robot. That's why you sent him out to find Scarecrow and the engine. That's why-" she faltered, inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly; "...that's why you killed your creators. Isn't it?" Once more, he just silently nodded. "And you're afraid that whatever your creators did to you, we were gonna do that too." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "I guess I can understand that, I mean Hastings and the rest of them didn't help anything with what they did to Scarecrow, right? And then when Robot chose to stay with Will... One might be a fluke, but two? Maybe that was the start of something..."
Once he started crying he couldn’t stop, getting louder and uglier until he began to sound like some sorry wounded animal. He pulled her in tight and buried his face in her shoulder to muffle the sound, so Alison wouldn’t hear from downstairs. He clung for dear life, and she placed the hand that wasn’t rubbing his back gently against the back of his head. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m right here.” She spoke to him with the same quiet, slow and gentle voice he used to use back on the farm when approaching timid **horses**. The ones he knew were never going to make it on a race track, destined for other counties where men who spoke Irish as matter of pride, would pay a month’s wage for a creature that would never be able to trot the main street. Did she feel just as sorry for him as he did for them?
Viktor arrived in his cottage, thrumming with anticipation. He quickly checked for letters, changed into a pair of dark grey denims and a linen shirt, and skipped to the bathroom with a silly grin on his face. A little beard trim, a dab of patchouli and white birch beard oil, and a few hairbrush strokes later he decided that he no longer looked like a horse thief, put on his leather trench coat, and tossed the overnight bag over a shoulder before he realized that he had forgotten something vital. Grabbing a pair of secateurs, he cut six Damask roses from his garden, which he bound together with a hastily transfigured silk ribbon.
Whimsical
Warmth
For a strange moment, Sonetto finds herself asking for the first time, *“Why did I ever agree to follow you?”* *“No, you can’t go! I will not allow it!”* She hears Matilda’s voice again from the depths of her memories and it just makes her ache for… *home.* The **warmth** of it when she knocks on her door and asks her to divine for her again because she feels like she’s making a mistake. And Matilda would take her in, like she always had, gently guiding her to the table and asking her to look into the orb. Sonetto takes a deep breath before answering: “I… I refuse to heed your request.” The Timekeeper raises her eyebrows in surprise. Then she smiles wryly. “Huh. That’s new. Who knew you have it in you to say no to me?”
Obi-Wan spent much of the trip back to Coruscant cradling little Anakin under his coat. It was cold on the transport, and they weren't the only sentients huddling for warmth in the large common room. 'Let me lend you a ship!' Padmé had insisted. 'It's the very least I could do.' Obi-Wan had smiled and politely refused. 'The boy is old,' he'd explained. 'He's already got ideas about the Jedi, and I don't want his first impression to be that we fly around in private ships lent by thankful royalty. We're servants, your Majesty, and I wouldn't have your kindness do him a disservice in the long run.'
Outside his door, he could hear their muffled voices, and picked up on a general air of unease, but there was no alarm. Not yet. He doubted there *would* be much cause to worry; Maureen-Robinson had plotted her course well, using the ionized currents of the solar wind as cover. Still, it couldn't hurt to remain wary. *Not when he could also feel the prickling sensations of tens of thousands of messages pinging along the very edges of his awareness, sharp and red with rage.* He understood their anger, perhaps better than they themselves did. At more than one point, it had threatened to consume him, too. But the Blue and his little flock of youngsters had lifted him out of that hopeless, hateful place, and Ben... *Ben...* He could still feel the soft **warmth** of the man's hand on his shoulder, *see* the sadness radiating off of him despite his smile... In that moment, Ben had shown him that things could be better - not just between the two of them, but between their peoples, as well. The angry chorus of hunters' howls spread out across the planetary system, however, told him that *his* people weren't ready to accept that, and the fearful murmurings of the humans scant meters away said that *they* probably weren't ready, either.