Based on this musing I had a few whiles ago about Ominis’ hands. Dedicated to Reece Lavellan♥️
Fiction Masterlist
The first time Ominis tended his hand toward you was on your first day at Hogwarts. You had just beaten Sebastian in a duel in Professor Hecat’s class earlier that day, and you were lost in the massive castle, looking your way to Charms class. You had not noticed a slippery spot on the floor and before you realize it, you had disgracefully fallen on the floor with the loudest thud ever, your books flying everywhere.
As you laid spread-eagle, cursing yourself, you see a hand extended to you. It was the boy you had seen earlier walking around with his arm stretched in front of him, his wand pulsating with a characteristic red glow. He held his wand in one hand and offered his free hand to help you back on your feet. You murmured your gratitude while accepting his hand, feeling your face burning and thankful that he could not see how your face had turned as red as a beet. Ominis’ hand was cool, yet you felt a strange warmth as your fingers touched his.
“Based on the chatter around you, I’m guessing you are the new fifth year who had beaten Sallow in a duel today. I’m Ominis, Ominis Gaunt,” he said as he let go of your hand, a small playful grin on his face as he tilted his head toward you.
“Thank you, Ominis, you definitely found me in such… situation,” you said, happy that he could not see you blushing. “I believe I am lost while trying to find my way to the Charms classroom.”
“I am also heading to the Charms class, should we walk together?” he offered graciously, and you smiled, accepting his offer. Both of you walked together as Ominis navigated the interminable corridors, moving stairs, and all obstacle with ease. He told you a lot about the castle’s hidden secrets, and how to reach any points within it faster.
“Pleasure’s all mine. Don’t be a stranger. Do let me know if I can be of any help as you navigate your first days here,” he said, his head tilted, giving you his signature playful grin as you thanked him once again in front of the Charms classroom. You smiled as you watched him across the classroom as he left you to take his own usual seat.
The second time Ominis offered his hand to you, he had just beaten you badly on a round of Crossed Wands duel a few weeks later. You were surprised that Lucan set you in a match against him, but Ominis proved to be a formidable opponent. You were even more surprised to find yourself locked in a full body-bind curse on the floor, barely minutes after the duel started. Ominis tended his hand toward you as soon as the duel ended, removing his curse. Gingerly, you accepted his hand as he helped you back to your feet.
“You fell a lot,” he said playfully with a grin. “I could hear your moving and falling even from across the room.”
Once again, his hand felt cool, yet there is warmth in his finger as your hand touched his. Intrigued, you followed him to the courtyard after the duel, spending what’s left of your lunch break with him. Somehow, you could feel a tiny seed of friendships that had been cultivated a few weeks ago started to grow.
The third time Ominis took your hand in his, you were laying on the floor in the corridor leading to Slytherin’s Scriptorium. You regretted bitterly to allow Sebastian to talk you into pressuring Ominis into helping to find this cursed Scriptorium. As the door locked behind you, you had bravely offered to be in the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse.
As you screamed from the pain as the curse hit you squarely on the chest, you could hear Ominis shouting your name in panic, before everything went dark when Sebastian’s wand fell to the floor, stopping the curse. You woke up to see both Sebastian and Ominis hovering over you, their faces grave, calling your name. Slowly you realized that Ominis was holding your hand in his, an indescribable sadness in his face, a sadness you had never seen before.
You put a brave face, trying to sound brave even if you know he was not one to be fooled. Ominis knew what you had just went through. Somehow, he could see within you. Without further ado, Ominis did not let go of your hand but put your arm around his shoulder and helped you back to your feet. Sebastian quickly took your other arm, and both helped you into the Scriptorium. Ominis and you sat on the floor near the entrance as Sebastian roamed the room in wonder. Not once did Ominis let your hand go, as if he was afraid that something bad would happen if he did. You tried to reassure him that you were fine, that the curse was painful, but you were fine now. He did not buy it. He knew how it felt to be on the receiving end, and that there would be lingering pain for a while longer.
Not once did Ominis let your hand go as both of you climbed out of the Scriptorium, not even when he chastised Sebastian for being reckless and for the use of Dark Magic. You would never forget how soft his hand was that day.
The fourth time Ominis held your hand in his was when you found him sitting on the floor in the Defense Against the Dark Art tower, the day after your escapade to the Scriptorium. He looked sad, and he tilted his head toward you as he recognized your footsteps.
“Never again,” he said quietly as you sat beside him. You touched his arm, and he took your hand in his. He kept your hand in his for a very long time, without a word. Never would you forget the sadness in his face that day.
The fifth time your hand was in his, Ominis was laying in the Hospital Wing in the winter after catching a bad case of cold that refused to go even after a few doses of Nurse Blainey’s Pepperup Potion. You watched him waking up from a fitful sleep. He could tell you were there, the scent of the soap you used gave you away. Quietly he tended his hand toward you. This time, you took his hand in yours as you sit beside him and letting him know that he was not alone. Quietly he put his other hand on top of yours and both of you stayed together until Nurse Blainey chased you out of the Hospital Wing to let him rest.
Slowly, a quiet friendship blossomed between both of you, as you both tried to stop Sebastian from descending into darkness. A friendship that bloomed further into something more in the years to come, knowing that whatever lies ahead, both of you must face it together. That Ominis never doubted even once. Not even when both of you had to made the hardest decisions together.
Ominis would always offer his hand to you as you walked together hand in hand on each step of life, as he knew you would never ask for it first. Your hand was in his as both of you walked together to vow your life to each other during your wedding ceremony. He never let go of you as both of you faced the storm of life together, the good and the bad.
The last time he took your hand in his, both of you were smiling, remembering all those decades spent together, a time when his hair was still blonde and yours wasn’t all grey. It had all started many years ago as he kindly offered his hand to you on your first day at Hogwarts. After all this time, you always remembered the coolness of his hand that first day, and the warmth on the tips of his fingers. That night, for the last time both of you would depart for the last one of life’s next great adventure together, your hand in his.
Lan Wangji– known for his preferential frosty blue white outer robes– wears silky under robes of the deepest sapphire sewn with shimmering lilac threads, visible only to his husband as he unwraps himself of his mantle at days end and melts into warm embraces and gentle kisses.
Sinking into this place of warmth bordered within strong arms, nothing remains of the day's cold, cold austerity and icy platitudes. Honey-sweet words flow from sweeter lips that burn as they reach flushed ears, "my dear, my gentian, so perfect for me."
Gooseflesh and heady gazes, sinking deeper, rising higher, a rabbit-quick heart seeping out through every rib. The sun has long since set, yet of all the wonderous things here it remains, above & around him, a bright light warming him to his core and every inch of skin.
Floating, drifting and still warm, so warm, still held close and holding closer a love so resounding in this moment it defines him. You are safe, I'm here, I've got you, that love says. And he is content to remain exactly as he is, sapphire blue intermingled with vermilion.
pairing: aomomo
fandom: kuroko no basuke
genre: hurt/comfort. can be read as romantic or platonic--definitely big hints of a future romance but this is mostly just friendship with a sprinkling of ~true love~
setting: coffeeshop au, non-basketball au, childhood friends
any tw: slight mentions of drug abuse, sex and alcohol abuse. it’s a line or two, not more than that and no explicit stuff
dedication: @xoxomyseriesxoxo !!! HAPPY CHRISTMAS ELENAAA!! we don’t really know each other, but i think you’re amazing. i know this gift is suuuper late, i’m so so sorry about that! i really enjoyed writing it though, and i hope you enjoy reading it too. have a blessed holiday season and a wonderful year ahead. you deserve it and more!!
@knbsecretsanta
--
It’s a quiet morning at the cafe, as is usual on a Sunday in December. No students rushing to class, no youngsters on a ‘morning date’ because their days are too crammed to find any other time, and no aged regulars because it’s too cold for that. Daiki’s just leaning against the counter, half-asleep and looking forward to a proper nap instead of the accursed morning shift, when the bell tinkles and the door swings open, bringing a gust of cold air in with it.
Just my luck. He grumbles softly and straightens up, blinking a couple of times. Moving from months of practice, he’s already halfway through reciting the usual, “Welcome to Miracle’s, what can I get you today?” when his eyes finally focus on the vaguely pink blur and bring it into full resolution.
Daiki’s voice grinds to a halt like a car running out of petrol, and his jaw drops open as he stares at the girl.
Long hair like a shower of cherry blossoms. Magenta eyes that if Daiki had to guess were normally alight with mischief, but now only hold a deep weariness. A full figure (and for the first time in his short twenty-two years of life, Daiki’s eyes don’t linger on it, too mesmerised by everything else about her). A small, distracted smile that seems more forced than anything.
She looks like shit. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
And he knows her.
“Close your mouth, Dai-chan, or you’ll catch flies,” is the first thing that Satsuki Momoi says to him, in the most drained voice he’s ever heard, after three years of radio silence.
“I--” It’s all Daiki can do not to fall over unconscious. “Satsuki--what the f--”
“Language, Dai-chan!” Her voice rises a little higher and the dullness of her face goes down a notch, and Daiki thinks he hears an echo of the happy high-school girl she used to be. “I see you haven’t changed one bit.”
“I see you have,” Daiki says lamely after a pause that’s just a beat too long. There’s silence for a moment before Satsuki shakes her head and smiles, a little more genuine than before.
“Even your insults are as bad as ever.” Her lips are cracked, he notices a little dizzily. She never used to let them crack in high school. Always with the lip balms and care products.
A sharp pain in the back of his left calf, courtesy his coworker Izuki, reminds Daiki of where he is. Right. Coffee shop, barista and customer.
“Um. Anyway.” Daiki clears his throat, shaking his head. “What would you like to have today?”
“Black coffee. Strongest you’ve got.” At this, he can’t help raising an eyebrow.
“You sure? In high school, you--”
“In high school, I was a kid.” Satsuki’s voice is terse and tight, and her eyes are unreadable, in a way they’ve never been before. A chill unrelated to the icy weather seeps into Daiki’s bones and numbs his tongue. “People change, Dai-chan.”
He has no answer to that, so he just avoids her dead gaze and walks to the back to make her coffee. There’s a sudden bitter taste in his mouth as he moves mechanically, working from muscle memory gained over months of practice. But that’s just the smell of caffeine.
Right?
When he finally looks up, she's wandered off to a table by the window, thumbing lazily through something on her phone. Daiki fights to keep his face polite and neutral, the way the world's taught him to be, as he calls, "Oi, Satsuki?"
She starts, blinking a few times before getting up and coming over. Daiki holds out the cup to her, and pretends he doesn't notice when her fingers clamp briefly around his as she takes it.
"That'll be 350 yen, including taxes." It feels like someone else is moving his mouth. For his past, Daiki is still stuck in the moment when she first walked into the shop, the most wonderful and most terrible moment of his life.
Satsuki puts the money on the desk and gives him that empty smile again.
“See you around, Dai-chan,” she says in a voice that makes him think she’s really saying, “Goodbye.” Then she turns to leave.
Daiki doesn’t know what makes him do it. But he does it anyway, like a fool that’s been hurt too many times and still refuses to learn from his mistakes.
“It was nice seeing you again.” He isn’t lying. It was nice, and that has nothing to do with the fact that it was also simultaneously horrible. “Swing by sometime. Not to brag, but I make a good coffee.” The smile she gives him then is real, if barely there, and Daiki thinks it might even be a bit watery.
“The Dai-chan I knew would never pass up an opportunity to brag. Guess you’ve changed, too.”
She’s gone before Daiki can even think, sweeping out in that quick and efficient fashion that is just so Satsuki.
There’s one thing that hasn’t changed at all.
A few moments pass. The gentle puff of chill in the air evaporates, and soon the faint tinkling of the door’s bell is the only sign that she was ever here.
That tinkling pales before the sound of her laughter.
--
It’s Sunday, again. Daiki is on the morning shift and wiping down the counter, again. There are barely any customers, again. Now all that’s needed is for Satsuki to breeze in. Ha, what are the odds? Last time she spoke to him, she had this air of finality about her--
The bells tinkle, the door opens, and Daiki’s head snaps up pathetically fast, his hand stilling on the counter. It’s not hope that shrivels in his chest when he realises it isn’t her, because hope is for things that might happen and this won’t. It’s… it’s something. It isn’t anything.
He knows, surely, that that last bit is a lie. (That is, if all of it wasn’t.)
The new arrival is a young man with green hair, dressed in an orange shirt and dark jeans. He’s wearing glasses that surprisingly don’t hide the elegant shape of his eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes. A walking carrot if Daiki ever saw one. He’s got a serious face, which would be so pretty if his mouth wasn’t puckered in the unforgiving line that it is. Still, everyone has a type--Daiki himself likes people who smile brightly and laugh loudly and have a sense of humour with a razor edge.
That’s just Satsuki in a nutshell, but.
The man comes up to the counter, pushing up his glasses, and says in a voice as dry as his expression indicates, “I’m Midorima.”
Daiki eyes him doubtfully. It’s somewhat familiar--perhaps he’s one of Satsuki’s friends’ friends, people whose names Daiki half-heard and now wishes he’d taken the care to remember because every word that comes out of her mouth is a diamond and he’d left so many of those diamonds to glitter weakly in the dust.
“Shintarou Midorima,” says Midorima, a glint in his eyes that suggests he thinks this is helpful. It’s not helpful at all--Daiki can’t do much but raise an eyebrow.
“Daiki… Aomine,” he says slowly, because it seems like what he’s supposed to do next by ‘social mores’. Still, he doesn’t think the carrot is a master of those either, because he just nods and shifts awkwardly in position, not meeting Daiki’s eyes.
The break room’s door clicks open, and Daiki hears Takao’s easy steps behind him--ah, so he’s covering Izuki’s shift today. A small burst of relief flowers in Daiki’s chest: despite Takao’s overbearing exuberance and Izuki’s constant puns, both his coworkers are usually very easy to work with. However, taking shifts with Izuki in the mornings… Daiki’s calf still twinges from that unnecessarily harsh kick last week. He wouldn’t believe Izuki worked at a coffee shop, much less liked coffee, if he hadn’t seen the guy murderously chug a gallon of the stuff like water and immediately revert to his normal personality.
There’s a beat of silence instead of Takao’s usual cheerful voice. Then it rings out, loud and happier than Daiki’s ever heard him.
“Shiiiin-chan!” Takao runs out from behind the counter, jumping straight onto Midorima, who makes a resigned noise and catches him easily. Like he’s used to it.
“Oh, Aomine, this is my boyfriend,” Takao informs Daiki, who can’t help an amused smile. “Shin-chan.”
“Midorima,” Midorima says a little too quickly, as if afraid Daiki will call him ‘Shin-chan’ too. Daiki nods, lets the briefest of polite smiles brush his lips.
“Don’t worry about us, Aomine! We’ll just be over here!” Takao sings, dragging Midorima off to the bathroom.
“Come back in case there’s a rush,” Daiki drawls half-heartedly, and goes back to polishing the counter. A few minutes pass, maybe more; he’s too busy scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain to know. Then the bells tinkle, the door whooshes open, and he looks up, ready to welcome the next customer--
“Hi again,” Satsuki says, her cheeks pink from cold. “You were right. You do make a good coffee.”
“...hi,” Daiki stutters, blinking. “Thought you said--”
No. She didn’t say anything, shut up, she’s here and that’s enough.
“Said?” She frowns at him, and Daiki shakes his head.
“No, it’s nothing. Black coffee again?”
“Yes, please. 350 yen?”
“Mmm,” Daiki hums in response as he makes the coffee. Instead of going to a table, though, Satsuki puts her elbows on the counter and watches him. It makes him feel weirdly conscious, but he’s made enough black coffees to do it on autopilot.
“One black coffee for the madam,” he says, a bit of the snark he’d had in high school returning to his tone as he places it in front of her. Satsuki hands him the money, and the spot where their fingers touch burns.
“Thanks, Dai-chan.” Today, Daiki notices, her smile is a little more real and her voice is a little less tired and her eyes are a touch brighter.
“No problem,” he says quickly. “See you around?”
“Yeah.” Satsuki’s eyes are warm as she looks at him. Then she’s gone, just as much of a whirlwind as the first time. But now, things are a little different.
Now, it isn’t Sayonara, but Ja ne.
--
The third week rolls around, and Daiki actually volunteers for the morning shift in place of Izuki, who gives him a relieved look. Takao just smirks and giggles. When Satsuki comes in at ten past nine, just like she did the last two times, her coffee’s already waiting.
“Here you go,” Daiki says with a grin.
“Thanks, Dai-chan!”
“Also, my shift ends in an hour if you’re free today.” He says it entirely on impulse and regrets it the second it’s out of his mouth. But Satsuki’s eyes just sparkle, and though they’re dimmer than they used to be, Daiki still finds himself enthralled.
“Oh?” Her lips curve up into the ghost of a mischievous smile, and Daiki aches. “Whatever for, Dai-chan?”
“Just…” Daiki’s cheeks grow hot. “I don’t know. It’s been three years. We should talk. I… I missed you.”
A beat of silence. Two. Three. Then Satsuki nods rapidly, her face paling in the way it always does when she’s taken by surprise.
“I…” Her words come out normal, but there’s a hint of strain that Daiki only hears because he’s known her forever. “I have to finish a paper, but there's not too much left. I can stay here and do it.”
“Great.” Daiki’s proud of the fact that his voice doesn’t waver. “If you need extra coffee, let me know. On the house.” Satsuki grins, a shadow of what she used to be.
“I’ll take you up on that one.”
She turns around, eyes on the table she sat at last time. And as she sweeps off towards it, Daiki swears he heard her whisper, “I missed you too, Dai-chan.”
--
Once they start talking, they don’t stop. There’s so much to catch up on: college (Daiki finished a year ago, Satsuki has a year left), work (Satsuki’s looking at a business degree, while Daiki’s in sports medicine. She’d originally wanted to do law, so that’s surprising), life in general.
Being with Satsuki is easy. It’s something he doesn’t have to think about. She’s the rush of fresh air that enters your lungs after a hard run, something you didn’t know you needed until you didn’t have it anymore. Daiki falls into a practiced rhythm of banter and laughter with her, in and out, in and out, just like breathing.
She shows up on Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday and Thursday too, and Daiki doesn’t know when he starts expecting her to be there by ten past nine, doesn’t know when he starts brewing black coffee and volunteering for morning slots, doesn’t know when he starts waiting for the end of his Sunday shift just to take that one-hour walk with her and chat. Satsuki fills her place in his life as she’s always done, covering the gaping hole she tore in him like she never left.
In some ways, she hasn’t.
Being with Satsuki is easy, but it’s also hard. It’s hard because her eyes are always faraway, her lips are pursed and her brows are drawn with invisible tension. She’s not here even when she is, and it hurts.
Daiki knows it’s stupid to expect her to be the girl she was once. He knows she’s grown up. But growing up shouldn’t come with the amount of pain and… and whatever else it is that she carries on her slender shoulders now. Satsuki was made to live, not just survive. It bothers Daiki more than he’ll ever admit: enough that on one of their Sunday walks, he finally bites the bullet.
“What happened?”
“...happened?” Satsuki tilts her head, adorably confused.
“You…” Daiki flounders for words. “You changed.”
“Dai-chan, I’m not a little girl anymore. You changed too. You’re a lot politer.”
“You’re really gonna make me say it?” Worry takes the place of awkwardness, and Daiki suddenly finds himself… not confident, but ready to confront this. “You know, Satsuki. You’re hurting. What happened to you?”
“Dai-chan…” She sighs, looks away. “Nothing happened. Adults hurt.”
“No, they don’t.” Daiki catches her shoulder and turns her around to face him. “Not… not the way you are. Something happened, didn’t it? Satsuki, please, talk to me.” His voice cracks a little on the last word, but he couldn’t care less about looking bad in front of her. She was around before he ever looked good at all.
“I--” Satsuki’s face crumples, like a chilled tin can that just had hot water poured on it, and there are tiny stars on her eyelashes. “Dai-chan, please, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No, Satsuki, please. Whoever did this to you, I won’t try to commit homicide,” Daiki says, half a joke in his voice. “Can’t promise I won’t think about it, though.”
“So…” She sounds ragged and hollow. “So you’re going to think about killing me, then. Might as well do it. It’s as much as I deserve.” Daiki’s world slows and stops.
What?
He says as much, spluttering, “Satsuki--wh--”
“That’s why I lost contact,” she says, her wet eyes gazing at something he can’t see. “I… I did stuff in my early years of college that I’m not proud of, Dai-chan. I fucked up so bad… I didn’t switch courses because I wanted to. I flunked out of law and--”
The tears, gathered like diamonds in her eyes, start to fall. Daiki cups her face in his hands and wipes them away with his thumbs as best he can. Satsuki looks up at him, a mess of pain and guilt and anger, and Daiki keeps his expression as open as he can. It’s what she needs right now.
“Go on.” Even he’s surprised at how tender he sounds. “I’m here for you.” Satsuki pulls his hands away from her cheeks and sniffles.
“All of those ‘college vices’, all at once. It’s okay in moderation--you’ve done your fair share of those things, I’m sure,”--and she’s right--“but Dai-chan, I overdid it. A party every night, a new someone in my bed when I woke up each morning. I even ended up with an addiction.” More tears, which she wipes at in futility. “I missed you and home and everyone. But I didn’t dare tell you because I was so scared, Dai-chan. I didn’t want you to hate me. When Mom and Dad found out, they cut me off. And I can’t even blame them or anyone else, because--look at me! I barely sleep, I eat too much, I have nightmares every day and I’m doing something I hate more than anything.”
Daiki doesn’t think words will work here, so he just pulls her in, close to his chest. Satsuki sobs and shakes in his embrace, her head against his sternum, crying her heart out.
“Are you disappointed in me, Dai-chan?” Her voice is small, and it comes out broken between sobs. Daiki pauses for a second before shaking his head.
“No. We fuck up sometimes. It’s okay.”
He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to say, but Satsuki’s arms tighten around him and she stops shaking, so he thinks it just might be.
“It’s okay,” he repeats, stroking her hair. “You’re okay.”
“I’ll be okay?” Satsuki whispers.
“Yeah,” Daiki says, and means it. He doesn’t know where he’ll start with helping her, how things will go, but… “As long as we’re together. Just… stay.”
“I’ll stay.” Satsuki exhales into his shoulder. “I’ll stay, Dai-chan.”
“Then we’ll be okay.”
“We?” The confusion in her tone is palpable, but there’s also a tinge of hope at the very end. Daiki doesn’t say anything, just holds her closer and affirms that hope.
It could be a long road, but that road isn’t too long for them to travel together. Nothing is too much for Daiki and Satsuki, not when they’re together, because they’re Daiki-and-Satsuki again.
Sasuke has to laugh at that, because... come home? Come home? Konohagakure hasn’t been his home in a very long time - has never been a true home of any Uchiha, and certainly won’t be for him.
“What the hell do you mean, come home?” he mocks, staring into open and honest blue eyes that hold no weight of expectation like they used to. He remembers looking into these same eyes, crumbling under the person that they wanted him to be. Unable to be that person that they thought he was.
Now, it’s different. Now, he feels naked, exposed, in front of a blue gaze that perceives what is rather than what it wants to find.
Now, he feels seen.
And strangely, he doesn't mind it at all.
“Come home,” Naruto says, simply, softly. His posture is relaxed, and his features are calm. His gaze penetrates Sasuke down to the very deepest parts, and somehow… it feels right.
But… home. Sasuke doesn't even know what that is anymore.
(He can't go back to Konoha. He won't go back to Konoha.)
"I don't mean the village," Naruto tells Sasuke, holding his gaze with clarity.
Sasuke stares uncomprehendingly because what else can you mean-
Naruto extends his arms.
"Come home, Sasuke." he says one more time. Slow and meaningful, hands wide open. And Sasuke -
Sasuke breaks.
His legs carry him forward without his consent, and then he's stumbling, crumbling into Naruto's arms. The fragile strength that's holding him together dissipates completely, and a sudden sense of belonging overcomes him.
He's crying, he realises belatedly, feeling his face get wet. He tries to pull away, to wipe off his tears. But Naruto holds him in place, holds him on his shoulder, and lets Sasuke shatter against him.
It feels oddly okay. Like this is meant to be.
"Welcome home," Naruto murmurs into his ear.
Home. Home. Home.
Oh.
This is what it is. That feeling of comfort, of belonging… that is the feeling of returning to a place you know better than anyone else. A place where not just your body, but your soul resides, too.
Here, in Naruto's arms, Sasuke thinks he might be starting to finally understand the meaning of 'home' again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
When a simple spy mission for the rebel group Fairy Tail goes horribly awry, Natsu is presumed dead by his guildmates and fiance Gray. However, he's actually been alive all along, as is proven when he shows back up at the guild. But something is wrong, terribly so.
It's not five minutes into Natsu's return that Gray discovers the awful truth. His memories are gone, replaced by a fake past. This Natsu has never been to Fairy Tail, never fought as a rebel... never known Gray.
Meanwhile, Natsu has a million questions, and all of them begin at the strange red birdlike stamp on his arm—the sigil of this 'Fairy Tail Guild'. However, the more he comes to know about it, the more queries he has. Is his father Igneel's recent death somehow connected to these people? How the hell did he get the mark in the first place? And why, oh why, does he feel so strangely drawn to a certain Gray Fullbuster?
Swept up in the tide of an inevitable war, Natsu and Gray must work together to gain any advantage they can against the android scientist Acnologia, get to know each other all over again and grapple with their growing feelings. It isn't going to be easy—but then, when has anything been easy when it comes to these two?
here’s my entry for the fairy tail reverse bang 2020!!! i had so so much fun writing this, and i hope you will have as much reading. props to my fantastic girlfriend @fineapplethepineapple for being the AMAZING artist, and to my lovely beta @chaosisthemethod2themadness for putting up with my bs and making this story work. and finally thanks to event mods over at @ftguildevents for hosting this amazing thing!!
WIP title: undecided
Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender
Premise: Katara and Suki reminisce about how they got together.
Characters: Katara, Suki
Excerpt: “That’s going to scar,” Suki says worriedly. Katara shakes her head and smiles again, a little brighter.
“It’ll be fine.”
She is no stranger to scars. Living in the harsh South Pole has left her with a collection of blemishes all over her skin—on her hands from the time she cut herself on ice, on her legs when a baby polar-bear dog bit her, on her back from Sokka tossing around his machete. That last one had healed almost the moment she’d come in contact with water. Now she wonders if that wasn’t so much a coincidence as a premonition.
[My first fanfiction in a very long time! It's about how Ominis got his wand. Hope you enjoy it! SFW, 1200 words]
My writing masterlist
Gerbold Ollivander, the most renowned of all Wandmaker of his time, perfectly remembered each wand he ever sold, as well as each client who purchased them. Most were young witches and wizards, buying their first wands, ready for their first year of study in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To these young ones Ollivander served them kindly, gauging their personality, letting a brand-new wand to choose a new young master, ready for learning and for adventures. Some of his clients were adults, usually coming after their first wands were damaged beyond repair, or lost. To them, Ollivander begrudgingly served them, slightly crossed, knowing that more than often these adults were not ones who treated his creations with care and respect.
Yet today, the client entering his shop was the most unusual one in his recent memory. It was a boy. A very young boy indeed, much younger than his usual young clients. Probably about six years old, probably younger. The boy’s eyes were cloudy and milky, and he tilted slightly his head nervously, while the tall and dark looking witch that must be his mother hold his wrist tightly, practically dragging him toward the shop. Ollivander raised his eyebrow calmly, expecting the witch to be purchasing a wand for herself. He could not be more surprised, yet he was not surprised at the same time, to see what happened next.
“He needs a wand of his own,” the witch said curtly, with an undisguised hint of disgust in her voice. She violently shoved the boy forward, making him stumble and nearly fell to the floor had Ollivander not caught him deftly in time. The boy was shaking slightly, as if wanting to cry but too afraid to do so in front of his mother. “Useless boy, unable to follow even the simplest task he’s told to do, unable to even cast a basic spell we expected our young ones to in our family! And now his aunt is telling us that Ominis needs his own wand, and that things will be better afterward. It better be!” The witch spat angrily, her voice filled with disdain and disgust in equal measure. It made Ollivander wonder what the task was. Whatever it was, it did not sound like something pleasant.
Slowly, he took a long look at the boy who was shaking in front of him, noticing traces of dried tears and terrors in those cloudy eyes, wondering what had happened. He could sense something was terrorizing the boy deeply. Ollivander sighed quietly. Ominis tilted his ears toward Ollivander, afraid to make any noise, his unseeing eyes blinked rapidly. Quietly the boy stood immobile, unlike any other young client of Ollivander, Ominis did not look around excitedly, nor moving from his spot, as if he was afraid to. Either from stumbling or from his mother, Ollivander could not guess.
One more quick look at Ominis and Ollivander knew what he had to do.
Most young witches and young wizards coming to his store would be paired with a brand new wand, sometime ones completed barely a day before. But this boy, Ollivander reasoned, needed something more.
Quietly, under the scathing gaze of the witch and the nervous silence of the boy, he went to the back of the shop, and pulled a long, thin old wandbox. Unlike any other brand-new boxes containing a brand new wand in his shop, this box was quite dented at the corners. Its silver lines were faded and there were scratches on it.
Ollivander slowly kneeled beside Ominis so that they were on the same height. Even if the boy could not see, he wanted his voice to come from the same height as Ominis.
“Here, try this,” Ollivander told Ominis as he gently placed the old wand on the boy’s hands.
Nervously, Ominis’ fingers ran through the wand, exploring all marks and scratches on it. Finally, he held its handle with both hands. And for the first time in his short life, he felt a feeling of warmth and benevolence, running through his fingers to the end of his hairs, his toes, enveloping him in a comforting feeling. For the first time ever, he felt safe. It is as if he suddenly found a friend who understood and cared for him. The feeling was new. From the tip of the wand, sparks flew.
Ollivander nodded quietly, quite proud of his strong intuition. He knew that this wand had come back to this shop waiting for this particular child. He knew what this pairing meant. This boy in front of him needed more than just a wand. Ominis needed this wand in particular.
“That’s not a new wand isn’t it?” The witch behind Ominis sneered. “Looked like an old second hand one.”
“You’re right, Madam,” Ollivander replied politely. “Cedar, ten inches, phoenix feathers. This wand was made by my grandfather and was sold to a witch over a century ago. The witch willed us this wand back after she passed away. I believe your son would benefit with such an experienced wand. Please consider it a gift. I will not sell a wand that had once been sold before,” he added quickly as the witch seemed displeased at the prospect of buying an old wand. It seemed paramount to Ollivander now that Ominis needed all the help he could get, poor boy. He could not even imagine what the boy had to live through with such parents. And quietly, he knew of the reputation of the family now standing in front of him.
“A… a gift…?” For the first time ever, the boy spoke. Ominis hold the wand with an unbelieving expression. Clearly, he had not received that many gifts in his life.
“You should know that a second hand wand always come enriched with the experience of the witches and wizards who wielded them before you. This particular wand belonged to a witch who created a particular spell, one that I am quite sure you will find useful. Just like you, she was blind. But it is not something that stopped her. She was best known as the creator of the Echolocus Spell.”
“E… Echolocus?” Ominis whispered, confused.
“It is also known as the Echolocation Spell. Echo means sound, or a reverberation of a sound. It is a spell that allows you to navigate your surroundings, detecting the terrain and objects around you by emanating magical wave. All around you. When the wave hits an object or any obstacle, it will reflect toward you and your wand will allow you to sense it. That way, you can detect everything around you. As this wand was one that was involved in the creation of this spell and knew it well, I expect it would help guide you in the days to come.”
Ominis said nothing, listening to Ollivander teaching him the spell, and how to use it even without uttering the incantation. He could hear a pulsion coming through his finger toward his wand, and for the first time ever in his life the world seemed less frightening. Whether it was from the warmth of the wand in is hands, or from the warmth of Ollivander’s voice, he could not tell. He felt save.
For the first time ever in a very long time, Ominis smiled.
What Ominis means when he says, "Sebastian, please."
Am I the only one who feel that everytime Ominis says "Sebastian, please," what he means is this:
"Sebastian, I love you. I care about you a lot. You are my best friend and the person I care the most in my life. I care for your health, your wellbeing, your happiness, and I do not wish you to tear your soul by doing the unthinkables. Do not sell your soul. I love you too much to let you do that. And no matter what you do, no matter if our friendships will survive, I will continue to care about you and to love you but this does not mean what you do will please me. I will get angry to you if you do not take a good care of yourself."
