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adorerdraco · 4 years

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Not My Type (Like You) ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: you should like do a one shot or even another mini series about amortentia/love potions in general. i’d soooo read that

AU SEVENTH YEAR WHERE VOLDY NEVER CAME BACK <3 f**k that mf !

italics are for flashbacks <3 i love them if you couldn’t tell

Warnings: mean!draco, cursing, more mature themes/ideas, little bit of spice towards the end teehee but not too much bc idk how to write smut to save my life

Words: 4.5K

A/N: I saw a tiktok that kinda inspired this and i couldn’t get the idea out of my heaaaad if anyone knows which one im talking ab send it my way so i can show !!!! ALSO I LOVE THIS ONESHOT I LOVE DRACO AND I AM IN MY FEELINGS this might be my new favoriteeeee

Draco Malfoy was insufferable.

The Prince of Slytherin was unbearable for many reasons, things you've been taking notice of since your first year at Hogwarts when you accidentally had the ”pleasure” of interacting with him when he called you stupid in a class for reciting a spell incorrectly. That day, a hostility blossomed. A hostility that ensued nothing but teasing, mocking, and criticizing that would sometimes go too far and you'd both have to be pulled away from each other by your friends’ before either of you said anything excessively harsh that had no return.

You often felt like Malfoy sought you out to bother you and only for that. You could be sitting in the Quad with friends, conversing and laughing like nothing in the world mattered, and a few minutes later you'd be hurling insults towards the blond across the courtyard after he would yell something infuriating to you with that smug smirk on his face and his goons laughing wildly beside him as if he just said the most hilarious thing they've ever heard.

On the days you’d ignore him, not having the patience or the energy to deal with him, he would still somehow find a way to push your buttons. Little things here and there like passing you in the corridors and tugging at the ends of your hair gingerly like a child but enough to tick you off or sending you notes from across the class in the form a small fluttering bird with a lousy drawing of you usually with a message along the lines of, “Y/L/N, hopefully, this note finds itself in the nest of hair you have today xx DM.”

In all honesty, there wasn’t a day you didn’t encounter Draco and it’s been that way for seven long years. Neither of you ever gotten tired of mildly or spitefully bullying each other and neither of you ever dreamed of stopping. He was one of the few constants in your daily life, and you in his. It was like you both lived on annoying the other, and in the midst of all the chaos that you brought to one another; there was a small, teeny, tiny acquaintance - not that either of you would ever admit it. You may have noticed it the time you bet each other ten galleons for who would win in the Triwizard Tournament your fourth year and he bet on Viktor Krum while you on Cedric Diggory. (he’s very much alive i refuse to think otherwise.)

“So you’re telling me, your mother is the reason why you’re not at Durmstrang,” you scoffed. “This whole time I could have been saved four years of headaches.”

“You’re just jealous some of us have more opportunities than others,” he snarks back pompously. “Unlike you, I hardly believe you would be graceful enough to even be considered admission into Beauxbatons.”

You had gone to see the last task of the competition just like the rest of the schools, all packed tightly onto the stands and watching carefully the exit of the maze. Naturally, you had arrived with your own friend groups, but somewhere during the time of sitting there and even being a few rows behind the blond and his minions, the two of you had met in the middle bench after he was trying to prove something wrong to you.

When Cedric appeared back in front of the stands with the glowing Triwizard cup held high over his head in victory and every Hogwarts student loudly celebrating, you had jumped up from your seat and shook wildly an irked Draco beside you. He roughly shrugged your hands off his stiff shoulder, looking up at you with a sneer that you met with a bright beaming smile.

“Pay up, Malfoy!” You held out your hand towards him, opening and closing your fingers to receive the bet money. “I believe it was ten galleons you owe me.”

He begrudgingly reached into his coat pocket and fished out the coins, counting them defeatedly before tossing them into your palm. “What a waste of galleons.”

“Hey, you made the bet,” you reminded him with a still very bright smile. You shoved the money into your pockets, keeping one of the gold coins in between your fingers, and gave him a small hair ruffle that he harshly recoiled from before you turned to jump back up towards the level of stands your friends were originally sitting at.

“Were you really sitting with Malfoy this whole time?” One of your friends questioned when you reached them, a goading smirk on his face.

“Ooooh, she definitely was,” another friend piped up, wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

“Shut up,” you smack her arm casually, showing the pair the one gold galleon you were holding. “We are not. I was only sitting with him to get my bet money.”

“Sure,” they drawled in unison, sniggering when you threw your head back in annoyance.

You looked down the rows to see the mop of white hair you just sent into disarray. He was slowly descending the stairs of the stands with Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him. Almost as if he felt your eyes on his back, he turned back to look at you, his cold gray eyes gazing into yours. It was like everything around you went quiet, the only thing in your focus was him and all you could do was stare back. It wasn’t until your friends started stifling laughter and whispering “aww’s” that you snapped out of the short-lived and odd few second trance you were in. He waited for you to do something before he turned back around, and you did - by holding up both hands; the one golden galleon on your left and your middle finger on your right, grinning to yourself when he rolled his eyes throwing you the finger right back before he finally disappeared into the mob of people below.

You were briskly walking down the corridors, books held tightly to your chest with your friend at your side while you made your way to Advanced Potions with Slughorn after Snape finally made his way into the DADA position. It was an easy class, potions being something you had a knack for and it gave you enough leisure to mess with your “favorite” Slytherin who shared it with you.

“Look there goes your boyfriend,” your friend teases, elbowing your upper arm roughly and nodding her head down towards the hall to the tall blond appearing around the corner and entering swiftly into the class.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss. “I’m tired of everyone saying that. I hate him and he hates me, end of story.”

“You know when you say you hate him, it just sounds like the opposite,” she says tauntingly. “Besides, hate is a strong word and very misplaced. Maybe, it’s just years of built-up tension that both of you have been too nervous to do anything about.”

“Tension? Yeah, I want to strangle him,” you laugh to yourself at the thought.

“Not that tension, idiot,” she shakes her head, “I mean sexual tension...clearly.”

You gave her a horrified look mixed between being disgusted and being offended. You held your hand over your mouth and pretended to gag as dramatically as you could. “I am appalled that you would even say that. I would rather be locked in a room with Filch and Peeves and hear them argue and fight all day than to be with Malfoy like that.”

“Come on, think about it,” she encourages, stopping the two of you a little ways away from the classroom. “You guys 'hate' each other?” She finger quotes the hate, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “When you hate someone, you don’t go out of your way to talk to them every day.”

“It’s not like that,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Also, this isn’t a cliche, this is real life. We hate each other, that is all there is to it.”

You picked up the walk again, your friend to following behind you while letting out a deep and exhausted sigh. You couldn’t help but think about what she said, sure, perhaps at one point you thought Draco was attractive with his bright silver hair, his glittering gray eyes, his little button nose that he would crinkle up every other word he spoke in his charming haughty voice, or the way he’d tower over you in the middle of a conversation gone wrong and he’d be talking lowly to you but all you’d be able to focus on was the sweet scent of apples and cologne that radiated off of him.

“No,” you whispered almost silently to yourself, forcing yourself out of your thoughts and shaking your head from side to side as if it was going to get the image out of your head. He was mean, disrespectful, arrogant, and insulted you daily - even if you both laughed about it or gave props for the perfect jabs.

The first thing your eyes landed on when you walked into the dingy Potions classroom was Draco, his focus trained on the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. Just as his eyes were about to flicker down towards you, and sensing that he was about to, you quickly avoided his gaze and concentrated onto Slughorn who was waiting patiently by his desk with a bubbling cauldron for you and your friend to join the crowd in front of him.

“Great! Now that we’re all here,” Slughorn began excitedly, fixing the sleeves of his robes as he grabbed the ladle in the cauldron and began stirring it while continuing his lecture.

You were trying to listen, capturing only the professor’s last sentence as he called on someone who raised their hand. All attention was thrown out the window when you realized Draco was standing near said classmate, a look of annoyance suddenly clouding his features when his pale eyes met yours.

“What?” He mouthed. You ignored him, trying to turn your concentration back onto Slughorn but nothing he was saying made sense, and right as you caught a word you did understand, a shuffling and an abrupt arm knocking into yours threw you right back out of the loop.

“Watch it,” you snap hushedly when you notice who it is. “Why are you over here?”

“I can’t say hello to my number one fan?” He whispers back, snickering slightly when you scoffed quietly.

“Fan? Says the one who shoved his way through the crowd to come over here,” you grumble, crossing your arms.

“I hardly shoved,” he mutters. “I only moved because I couldn’t see Slughorn from where I was standing. Not everything’s about you.”

“Really? Because to me, it seemed like you came over here for my attention.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, a patronizing smile making its way onto his face. The type of typical boy smile where his mouth is half agape with his tongue smoothing over his teeth as he stared off across the room with his fingertips rubbing thoughtfully against his jawline as he thought of what to say. You stood still as he bent down, nearing his mouth towards your ear and whispering hotly, “you wish, darling.”

Slughorn sent everyone to their paired tables, and as everyone began moving and Draco sauntered off away from you, you stood stuck there, shocked with the lingering chills that were sent down your spine from your archnemesis’ comment.

“I told you, you’re into each other,” your friend sang expectantly from behind you, grabbing onto your sleeve and directing the two of you towards your table.

You were working peacefully at your workspace, cutting up, peeling, and crushing the ingredients that your friend was sliding across the surface to you. In the table behind you was where Draco was working annoyingly quiet, tossing the stripped stems of the roses at you that you had to peel, tiny thorns pricking at your ankles through your socks since the bigger thorns had been taken off for the potion. As payback, you would throw back loose extra pearl dust you ground up, giggling tauntingly when he would frown at you for getting the coarse white powder all over his Italian leather shoes and most definitely inside of them as well.

When you, and seemingly the rest of the class, had finally thrown in all the ingredients and the potion promptly finished brewing, beautiful clouds of white and pink smoke began rising from the cauldrons, each one having a lovely scent of first; freshly pressed high-priced linens, then a faint smell of a brand new racing broom out of a box with a freshly polished wood handle that then quickly transformed into a sweet harvest of apples, green specifically, and finally...

“Ugh, gross,” you pinched your nostrils closed, turning your body around and sending a scowl towards Draco’s way. “Malfoy, we get it, your cologne is expensive, now stop spraying it. I was smelling all these wonderful things and you ruined it.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you were crazy. “Are you mad? I didn’t spray anything, I think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Well you laid it on too heavy this morning then, it reeks in here.”

“You’re one to talk, Y/L/N. Did you bathe yourself in that dreadful perfume you wear just now? And that ghastly lip shiner thing you use,” He sneers, crinkling up his nose. “I can’t even think straight, I might vomit.”

“Lip shiner? It’s called lip balm, you prat,” you retort, crossing your arms angrily. “Either way, I haven’t used or sprayed anything either so-”

“For Merlin’s sake!” Your friend suddenly exasperated loudly from beside you making you briskly whirl around to look at her, a look of pure annoyance etched onto her face. “Are you two really that daft? Honestly? Have you been paying attention to anything other than each other? For instance, the potion we just made?”

This gained the attention of your classmates around you in the surrounding tables, turning their heads slightly but not obviously with small knowing smirks on their faces while they snickered quietly and listened. It was soundless as you reached towards the book in front of your friend, pulling it painstakingly slow towards you in fear of the words that were written on the open page.

“Amortentia,” you muttered glumly as you read the page, pushing it away from you dejectedly as everything began to click.

“The reason you’re both smelling each other is because you’re what the other desires and is attracted to. Wow, what a revelation! As if the whole school didn’t already know.”

You were afraid to turn around. You could feel the cold and hard pair of eyes burning holes onto your back and the immediate amount of whispers and giggles of the people around you. Luckily, Slughorn was busy at the other end of the room, working diligently with another pair of students who managed to mess up their potion.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco announces finally.

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” You questioned, your heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you turned again and took notice of the way his lips were curling upwards as if it was the most disgusting thing he could have ever heard.

“Think about it, Y/L/N,” he deadpans. “Why would I ever desire someone like you?”

There had been occasions over the years when you were in this situation. None as drastic and as revealing, but there would be times when friends and others would poke fun and say the exact same thing your friend told you earlier. The usual, “they got the hots for each other!” and you would always brush it off and joke about how you could never, and he’d do the same. It was always amongst laughs and jokes, but as you looked at the Slytherin in front of you - there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his hardened face.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you seethed, biting down hard on your lip to refrain from lashing out either in tears or in insults, you couldn’t decide. “If I’m so revolting, leave me alone from now on, I mean it.”

“I never said that,” he argues. “You’re just simply not my type.”

For some eerie, awful reason, the words tore into you like a sharpened knife going easily through butter. You were used to his insults, his mocking, his comments about your appearances - but this hurt, and you couldn’t explain why. You thought, for a second, possibly, that maybe your friend was right. Maybe there was a hidden attraction you had for the platinum blond that you buried deep away and one that he had for you. There was no way that was the case now, not at all.

And for the first time in your life, you couldn’t be more sure of a simple little fact.

You hated him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You don’t know how long you spent sitting in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, back against the cold tiled wall with your knees brought up to your chest. Your friends had tried to console you after the public rejection and humiliation, but their words only made you feel worse. You felt silly for being so bothered about being rejected by Malfoy, he wasn’t exactly someone you fancied, to begin with.

After dinner, you went off the grid and found yourself where you’re now sitting. The ghostly girl flew restlessly around you, popping out of her stall now and then to chat but then going back into her abyss of nothing when she learned you were still upset. You noticed it made her a little too pleased, considering the fact it was always her who was miserably wailing about her problems in the bathroom. She tried to hide it and let you talk to her about how you felt, but she gave terrible advice most of the time.

“Well, if it was me, I would have never started fancying someone who was mean to me,” she mumbled. “Like when Paul Wighorn made fun of my hair for a whole year and laughed when I cried. I hated his guts then and I still do now.”

She had a point, but she was also Myrtle. Nothing about the overly dramatic ghost made sense.

“I don’t fancy him, It’s just weird,” you trail off. “I can’t imagine a day without him, even if he is a complete arse. We always joked about how we hated each other, but I didn’t think he actually meant it, I guess.”

“I think you do fancy him, though,” she whispers knowingly in your ear, making you flinch from her cold draft. “Stop denying it, it’ll only keep making you feel worse. Amortentia doesn’t lie, silly. Maybe when you drink it, but before that, all real feelings are there, whether you know it or not.”

You sat quietly, taking in her words before something came crashing down onto you like a wall of bricks.

“I suppose that means he’ll have to stop denying it too,” she adds thoughtfully.

“Myrtle,” you rush to get up, smoothing your hair down profusely and fixing the wrinkles in your clothes. “You’re a genius.”

“I am?” She asks excitedly. “What did I say?”

You waved her off, giving her another thank you before rushing out of the bathroom and into the empty corridors. You were trying to go back to your dorm to sleep, hoping that when tomorrow came you would be bold enough to confront the Slytherin Prince but it was thirty minutes past curfew, something you didn’t notice until you were bustling down the steps in a rush and came face to face with the man of the hour himself doing his Prefect patrolling duties.

“Go to your dorm, Y/L/N,” he sneers. “I’ll take away house points, don’t test me,”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I’ll take away house points? Watch me. Five-”

“No, you twat,” you groan, swatting his arm with your hand. “I don’t believe that I’m not your type.”

He stayed wordless for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks and clenching his jaw as he peered down at you from his lanky height. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think you were my type until the amortentia made me aware of it,” you answer quietly. “Actually, my friend had a hand in it, but it was mostly the potion.”

Silence, again. Still and deadly. You could hear the large clocks around the school tick and tock, the hundreds of paintings snoring peacefully or chattering quietly. You avoided looking up at the boy in front of you, all of a sudden feeling small under his gaze until you felt cold fingers brush against your cheekbone and then softly through your hair causing you to finally look up into the soft wandering almost blue eyes.

“I didn’t find out with the amortentia,” he muttered almost reluctantly as if it was the most difficult thing he had to reveal. “I’ve known I’ve liked you for a while.”

“How long is a while?” You curiously wonder aloud.

“I’m not telling,” he smirks. “Perhaps you’ll figure it out one day.”

Both hands came up to rest on your cheeks, slightly cold but soft and tender. It sent chills throughout your body as he took a step closer to you and then closer, backing you carefully into the diagonally ascending stone wall that went in the direction of the stairs. Your breathing was getting uneven, you noticed the way you accidentally switched to manually forcing yourself to inhale and exhale normally when he leaned down with his face now being mere centimeters from yours. It was torture, having your eyes closed and feeling the way his nose was brushing against yours, minty breath warm against your lips as he ghosted over them with his. He was so close, you smelt everything that was in the damn potion that got you here. It sent flutters of warmth down your body, trickling down and seeping deeply into every bone in your body as if this is was the remedy its been needing. This is what you’ve been missing.

When you finally felt a soft pair of lips being pressed into yours, it felt almost unreal that you were there. It was awkward the first couple of seconds, both of you wondering how in the world had you gotten yourselves in this position, but after you relaxed and he found his Prince of Slytherin confidence - it was magic. His lips moved languidly against yours, affectionately and full of longing. He kept his hands on your cheeks, still timid to move anywhere else while you kept yours resting lightly on his sides. It scared you a little, how fast and how easily you melted into each other, like if this was something you’ve been doing with him for years rather than torment the other for laughs.

You hated the feeling when he pulled away, a gust of freezing castle air passing through the space between you and cooling your lips and face from his contact. His hands dropped down to his sides and he looked down at you with a small smile, a teeny bit smug, but happy. You wanted to feel the same way, but a question still loomed over your head, overpowering the giddiness you were vividly feeling.

“Why did you lie earlier?” You question softly, directing your gaze to the floor. “In class, I mean.”

He thought about his answer for a second, sighing deeply when he realized he had to uncover more truths about himself to you. You took a mental observation at that, he didn’t like to talk about feelings. “You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me. I thought I’d beat you to it and reject you before you could reject me.”

“What made you think I’d reject you?” You coaxed. “Other than the fact that I made you a sworn enemy at eleven.”

“Exactly that,” he laughed lightly. “You’re unpredictable, Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself at the realization that he finally used your first name. “So are you, Draco.”

“Not really,” he grins. “Like in just a few moments, for example, I’m going to start snogging you.”

You opened your mouth to encourage him but shut it quickly when he closed the space between the two of you again, this time much closer than he was before. He was flush against you, and when you say you could feel everything; you could feel everything. You were almost begging for him to lean down and kiss you again by the time you felt his hands on you again, running delicately around the exposed skin of your hips when your shirt hiked up an inch on accident. He leaned down again, and with the advantage of his lowered height, you let your hands slide up his arms, biceps, and ultimately the nape of his neck where your fingers continued up into his hair. The breathiest gasp escaped his throat as you tugged at the ends gently, smirking to yourself when he closed his eyes in delight at the touch.

His lips came down onto your fast this time and hastily, pressing himself impossibly closer into you. You could feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hold moving upwards onto your waist as he continued to kiss you fervently. His teeth bit down softly on your bottom lip and you wasted no time in parting them slightly for his tongue to meet yours. You tugged at the platinum strands of hair again, feeling triumphant when a low groaning sound emitted from his throat at the sensation as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further.

You knew you were done for when one of his hands slowly slid up your upper body, stopping first at your collarbones with warm fingertips fluttering over the skin, before he moved it upwards completely and he now had his large hand wrapped comfortably around your neck. You gasped in delight into the kiss, a swarm of butterflies going directly to your lower stomach as he squeezed against the artery in your neck meticulously, the coldness from his Malfoy family crest ring only adding fuel to the fire. He tore his mouth away from yours with his hand still clutched firmly around your throat and you were almost sent into orbit with the look he was giving you. A look filled with desire, adoration, and intensity - his pale gray eyes were much darker, almost a dark blue that resembled the starry night sky on a summer night.

Lips reattached themselves roughly and feverishly against your jawline, peppering long and tender kisses all the way towards your ear and then down towards your collarbones where he was beginning to undo the rest of the top buttons of your school dress shirt. You felt him smile against your hot skin when you’d writhe underneath him, emitting weak whimpers that you couldn’t hold back that he ended up having to clasp a free hand over your mouth as he whispered into your ear to stay quiet.

It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of a poorly lit corridor where anyone could walk past and see the frenzy that was unfolding, nor did it matter to Draco that his Prefect duties were long forgotten. Your friend was right, and everyone else for that matter; it wasn’t hate you felt for the blond at all, it was years and years of a craving and a hidden yearning packed with displaced tension.

And now, you were both exactly where you wanted to be; together.

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

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curseofaphrodite · 3 years

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Ferrets

Sirius Black x fem!adopted!PettigrewReader

Summary: How you bonded with Sirius.

Based off a request through Wattpad. It was really specific and I did my own spin while keeping everything in. 💕 Requests are open!

You were friends with the marauders ever since first year. At the beginning, it was because you didn’t know anyone except your brother Peter, who was in second year. Well, he’s not your biological brother, but he loved you just the same. How he came to have these many lovely friends — you’ll never know. But you were extremely grateful about it.

They had got you through tough times, made you happy and unlike some people, they never judged you.

You were a bit shy when you first arrived, and for good reason. All your life, you’ve tried and tried to make it feel like the family who adopted you were your real one. And in many ways, it did feel like home, a place to feel cozy in Christmas or somewhere you felt like you belonged. But every once in a while, you’ll slip out of reality, wishing that the hurt in your heart made some sense. Wishing it’d go away on its own. When you got your letter to Hogwarts, your entire life was uprooted yet again, and before you knew it, you were boarding the train from Platform 9 3/4th.

While you felt loved with your friends, there were some who enjoyed making you feel like you didn’t belong there. Like Malfoy.

In your third year, you realized that Lucius Malfoy had a habit of picking on people, especially if there’s doubt regarding blood status. No one knew your real parents, and they might as well have been muggles. Not that it mattered to you, but Malfoy seemed extremely interested in it.

He’d sneer at you, call you names, call you an orphan as if its an offensive word — yup, classic dummy moves.

This particular day, Lucius was more annoyed than usual.

“Look here, it’s a mudblood.”

You wondered who the hell he was talking to. There was no one but the two of you in the hallway. You had missed your alarm and it seemed like the universe was punishing you for it.

“I’m late for my class,” you said, your head down. You tried to walk past him, but he stopped you by grabbing your wrist. You felt the cold chill of his hand, and gasped. He had always used his words to hurt you, but never came close to you. You’d hoped it would never happen.

“What’s going on?” A voice said from behind, one that you would have been happy to hear in any circumstance — but all you felt right now was the opposite of it. You didn’t want Sirius Black to see you like this — weak, and almost on the verge of tears. You didn’t want to be a damsel in distress, not in front of the boy who you secretly admired.

“Nothing, uhm - we’re just talking.” You stammered, trying to ease your hand away from Malfoy’s, but his grip was tight.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Sirius stepped forwards, alarmed at how you looked distraught. And hey, it’s Lucius. When is ever just talking with him?

“We were exchanging pleasantries.” Lucius smirked, knowing you won’t yell out or try to fight off his hands while Sirius was watching them. He knew you were a bit too prideful for your own good.

“Let her go.” Sirius said quite calmly, taking out his wand. He wasn’t as dumb as Malfoy thought him to be.

“I’d rather not.” With his other hand, Lucius took out his own wand. “This just got way too interesting for me to back out now, don’t you think?”

“No!” You silently begged for someone to come rushing, preferably McGonagall. Why is it that she always arrived on the scene when the marauders were pranking someone, but now there’s not a trace of her?

Sirius grinned. “You should be careful Malfoy, too much talk can make your hair fall out. There’s a fine line between white, sleek, elegant hair and white grandpa hair.”

Typical of Sirius to insult hair because he was very fond of his own, but hey it worked. Lucius opened his mouth to hurl a curse and you took out your own wand, pointed it straight at his and yelled, “Expelliarmus!”

His wand skittered across the floor, right next to Sirius’s feet. Sirius looked more than just impressed. He looked awed.

“You disgusting little-,” okay, maybe Lucius wasn’t impressed. Before you knew what you were doing, you bit his hand, and he howled in pain before finally letting you free.

“Animals! Disgusting little animals!” He shrieked.

“Don’t be so quick to say that.” Sirius shrugged, watching the scene like it’s Christmas. “Didn’t Narcissa, my lovely cousin, once say you absolutely fainted when you saw a ferret on one of your dates? Ferrets bite too, don’t they? Or is it just Y/N who you’re scared of?”

Lucius lunged at him, throwing a punch right at his nose. You rushed over, but Malfoy was already gone, picking up his wand and his last shred of dignity.

“Sirius!” You called out, trying to lower his hands from his nose to see the damage, but he didn't let you.

“I’m fine! Completely fine!” He said in a high-pitched voice. “But I do believe it’s been too long since we’ve seen Madame Pomfrey. Shall we go visit her with well wishes and a bloody nose?”

You laughed in relief, glad that you didn't have to force him to do the same. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“And afterwards, you will help me plan to pull a brilliant prank on Malfoy.” He continued, walking beside you. “As a compensation for breaking my beautiful nose.”

I didn’t need help. I wasn’t the one who punched you. You were stupid to keep insulting him. You wanted to say this and more, or keep bantering with him just to laugh, but you couldn’t, not while he looked bloody and a bit tired.

You smiled against your will, and said, “Deal. But first, Madame Pomfrey awaits.”

#sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x you #sirius x reader #sirius x you #x y/n #imagines #oneshots #preferences #fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black angst #marauders #marauders x reader #gryffindor reader #shy reader #astoria writes

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youngclaire · 3 years

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One Last Final Goodbye

I rewrote sending Claire back through the stones at the end of book 2 but from Jamie's POV. I thought it would be a nice way to ease myself into writing these two. This is very book compliant, I actually bad the book open next to me whilst I wrote this in order to translate it from Claire's POV to Jamie's and it was a lot of fun. It's not a copy of the fuller chapter, it's been shortened down in places but the essence is there. I've also removed bits and pieces. Uhh yeah...all dialogue in this belongs to Diana and the book I'm just responsible for remixing the words. Anyway, I hope whoever bothers to read this likes it :)

(This is also my first fic in this fandom with these two so don't expect it to be perfect, it probably isn't)

- - -

He wouldn’t stop for anything; not food, water, or rest. He keeps the horse at a constant gallop at all times, scared that if he paused or hesitated for even a moment he would lose all courage and go neither back or forward.

I shall see my wife safe, is a mantra that keeps him riding. If he is to die tonight or on the battlefield tomorrow, he would not take her down with him; not her or the innocent being she carries inside her.

The stones come into view just above him. A cursed salvation of granite and Jamie tries not to see them, his gaze fixated forward. Behind him, Claire lets her displeasure be known, protesting against the idea. Jamie steels himself against them, clenches his jaw and gallops harder, fighting the urge to give in. This was the only way to see her safe and unharmed, he tells himself.

She protests still, even while he urges her up to the ruined cottage. She doesn’t realise he has no intention of parting with her right now, he just wants time to breathe, to think, to let the panic and worry abate. He sinks to the ground, his body cold and his mind racing.

“It’s alright,” he thinks he hear himself say. “We have a bit of time now; no one will find us here.” He shivers, though from the cold, and wraps his plaid around him.

God, he could still see it; Dougal’s lifeless eyes, the blood pooling out of him, the shock on Willie Coulter’s face. How long before everyone knew? How long before everyone found out he had committed familicide?

Jamie’s head falls forward onto his knees, a tiredness washing over him, fatigue clutching at his bones and eyelids. Tired as he was he could not sleep for fear of the images in his mind’s eye.

His breath comes out in ragged pants and he can barely stand the sound of it. He feels Claire’s warmth and presence beside him, uses it as something to anchor himself to.

What happened in that room and who knows wasn’t the priority, while Claire had yet to explicitly say so Jamie’s fate waited for him on Culloden Moor. Tomorrow he will die and all this will cease to matter. Claire will be safe.

His breathing eases back into its natural rhythm, the panic wilting away from the edges. He’ll take hold of Death’s hand, gladly accept his destiny knowing he did one thing right at last.

“I won’t go, Jamie,” she says, as if she’s read his thoughts. “I’m staying with you.”

Jamie shakes his head. She couldn’t persuade him, he couldn’t change his mind. He needed to do this.

“No,” he says. The firmness bites at him, makes him wince. He hopes she can hear the gentleness that lies beneath it. “I must go back, Claire.”

“You can’t,” she cries. “Jamie, they will have found Dougal by now! Willie Coulter will have told someone.”

Aye, that was a fact he had resigned himself to, a fact she must resign herself too as well. He grieved for Dougal, for the second father he had, but Jamie had done what he’d done- he would take whatever consequence waited for him behind that door. She talks of fleeing to France but it’s no use, he’s chosen his fate, set his heart and mind to it, accepted it. A traitor twice over, a rebel, a murderer…The English will hunt Prince Charles. The English and the clans will hunt Jamie. He was dead either way.

“Claire, I am a dead man.”

He watches the tears freeze on her cheeks. “No,” she says but the effect is lost, she knows he speaks the truth.

“I wouldna get very far anyway.” On its own accord, his hand runs through his red hair that makes him a beacon at all times. Not exactly inconspicuous. “I can save you, Claire,” With his other hand he brushes away the tears that continue to fall. “and I will. That is the most important thing.”

Then he will go back. If he finds he cannot do it for himself then he will find it in him to do so for his men.

“I think I can get them away,” he says thinking the plan through. “Even if it’s known what I’ve done, none will stop me wi’ the English in sight and the battle about to begin.” The plan visualises in his mind and he nods to himself. “I will bring them safely away and set them on the road toward Lallybroch.”

“And then?”

Well…wasn’t that obvious?

“And then I will turn back to Culloden.”

He lets out a breath, strong and final as his decision. He catches Claire’s worried look and gives her a smile.

“I’m no afraid to die, Sassenach,” he says, but then he thinks of that door, black and foreboding, the unknown behind it. “Well…not a lot, anyway.”

He hears a sound a human being should never be able to make as arms fling around him. He finds himself surrounded by Claire, caught in her tight embrace as the scent of her overwhelms him. He clutches her back, trying with all his might not to succumb and cry.

“It’s all right, Sassenach,” he says into her hair as she cries once more. “A musket ball. Maybe a blade. It will be over quickly.” A lie, they both know it, but Jamie will them both to believe it. He’s seen men die in battle, knows how horrifically slow it can be but it was better than waiting for the hangman’s noose, that would be the one thing that does not lie behind that door.

“I’m going with you.”

Lost in thought he barely registers it but when he does he reels at the notion, startling backwards.

“The hell you are!” He has a plan, damnit, and not even Claire will deter him from it.

She displays her argument but he will not listen to it, will not give it thought.

“No!” he says. “No, Claire!”

How could she suggest such a thing, knowing what they both knew? How could she be so selfish?

“If you’re not afraid, I’m not either. It will…be over quickly. You said so.”

You said so. What he said was a lie, did she not see that? A lie to comfort them both.

“Jamie- I won’t…I can’t…I bloody won’t live without you, that’s all!”

He had a thousand things to say and none at all. His mouth opens and closes before he shakes his head. Through the gaps in the ceiling he can see daylight dwindling, night approaching. The sky is painted red. Blood of a battlefield, blood of childbirth.

He reaches toward her, pulling her close. He knows where this fight comes from, if the tables were turned he would say the same thing, knows because he feels it too.

“D’ye think I don’t know?” His voice is soft, a whisper. “It’s me that has the easy part now. For if ye feel for me as I do for you- then I am asking you to tear your heart out and live without it.”

She lets out a whimper, clutching him closer. He fingers stroke her hair, whispering soft coos towards her.

“But you must do it,” he finally says, feeling his stomach twist and turn. “Ye must.”

“Why?” She is angry, considerably so. Confused and hurting. “When you took me from the witch trial at Cranesmuir- you said then you would have died with me, you would have gone to the stake with me had it come to that!”

He had said all that, and to this day, it remains true. He’d have rather died than to be parted with her.

“Aye, I would,” he says. “But I wasna carrying your child.”

The reason he is allowing them to part.

She is surprised, shocked, frozen in place as she looks up at him in bewilderment.

“You can’t tell,” she says at last, shaking her head. “It’s much too early.”

It makes him smile, brings amusement to him.

“You havena been a day late in your courses, in all the time since ye first book me to your bed. Ye havena bled now in forty-six days.”

She hurls insults at him, shocked he even managed to keep track of such a thing during a war but he had for hope they would have a second chance at raising a child and for fear that it would end like this.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she tells him, rattling off reasons for why she might not have bled. It’s no use, she forgets he’s seen her so before, studied all the tell-tale signs of her body changing, committed them to memory.

“Claire…” His voice is quiet, not sounding like him. “Tomorrow I will die. This child…is all that will be left of me- ever.” He reaches for her hands, needing some part of her to hold. He casts his gaze to their joined hands, running his thumb over her fingers. “Claire, I beg you, see it safe.”

He keeps his eyes downcast while he waits for her answer, scared she’ll say yes, scared she’ll say no. The silence feels long and he shuts his eyes against the twisting of his stomach.

Finally her answer comes.

“Yes.” A whisper in the darkening cottage. “Yes. I’ll go.”

He nods, swallowing back the lump in his throat, hearing the sound of a flower stem snap.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

After telling her to sleep, she doesn’t sleep himself. Time seemed wasted on that and they didn’t have much of it left anymore. In a few hours he will take her to the fairy hill and part with her forever.

He wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all. To brandish his sword and yell and scream and cry but he knew there was no point to it. He knew that what he had been handed was more than fair, that not many men live the life he’s led and are allowed to be rewarded in such a way.

Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, he had said to her, quoting what he would say to God when he met him. God! I loved her well. He had, he could really say that. He took this woman, in all her unbated strangeness, into his broken hands and within her found company and peace, a place to call home.

She loved me well, too, he adds, watching her sleep for the last time. Content and safe, here in his arms and their fortress of cloth. He had healed him with her touch and love and perseverance. Picked a broken man off the floor and carried him through towards the light at the end of the tunnel no matter the setbacks. She really was a rare woman, his sassenach.

He wraps his arms tighter around her, murmurs a quick thank you in Gaelic to God and to the fairies for dropping her into his life.

Pressed against her, safe in their fortress of clothes, her skin warming his bones, his eyelids grow heavy and he succumbs to sleep as the first inklings of tomorrow break across the sky.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She was gone.

Disappeared in the same manner in which she had appeared. Gone through the stones and back to Frank.

Jamie presses his hand against the stone. The hard granite presses back on his wound, her mark, the letter C, reminding him it was real, she was real.

Her arisaid lies on the grass, forgotten in their haste to love each other one last time. Jamie picks it up, bringing it to his nose, inhaling her scent still lingering on the tartan. Tears fall on their own accord as he prays she made it back, prays that she and the bairn are safe.

A cannon in the distance booms, startling the birds and startling him. It’s beginning.

He is hesitant to move, to leave the place of their last coupling, his last connections to her.

Yet destiny waits for him on Culloden Moor, along with his men. He pictures the thirty men waiting for their laird.

There is nothing he can do for Claire now but there is something he can do for his men.

He kisses the inside of his fingers, presses it to the stone and bids his soulmate one last final goodbye.

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie's pov #standing stones scene rewrite #i tried ok #and i am scared #im gonna go hide in a hole now #bye

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depressedhatakekakashi · 3 years

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Why Protect Them?

AU: Age Swap Au

Words: 1558

Rating: Teen

Characters: Hatake Kakashi and Uchiha Sasuke

Warnings: Blood, Blood Mention, Murder, Minor Character Death.

Summary: Revenge is something Kakashi has been seeking since he left Konoha. For the pain he felt, the life he lives, the hatred he faced. Yet, when he thinks he has finally gotten that revenge he still feels empty. As if there’s something else for him to do. A masked Shinobi shows up to tell him just what it is he’s missing.

The night air was heavy. Fatigue, anger, hurt, all wearing at him. Pulling him down until his knees buckled and he came crashing to the ground. His body ached, but it didn’t matter.

He’d done it.

He had won the fight, and yet the anger was still there. Burning deep inside of him. Tearing at his soul the same as it had before.

Nothing had changed, and it angered him. No matter how much he wanted to cheer. How happy he should be at his victory, he couldn’t even manage a smile.

“Why!?” Slamming his hands down against the ground, he screamed into the empty air around him. No matter what he did it wouldn’t go away. It refused to leave him alone. A curse placed on him from birth that would follow him until he died.

Lifting his eyes, he stared at the bloody, broken corpse of Konoha’s elder.

Orochimaru.

Leader of Root. Corrupt politician. The person Danzo had told him had made sure he had been left alone growing up. With no one to care for him. No one to love him.

No one to even like him.

“What do I have to do!?” He screamed at the corpse, desperate for an answer. For anything that could make the hurt inside his heart go away for just a little bit.

“I thought that much was obvious,” Scrambling to his feet, Kakashi moved into a defensive position and searched the area for any sign of whoever it was who was trying to talk to him. “Surely you didn’t think this was all you had to do. That taking down one person would solve all of your problems.”

Nothing.

No matter where he looked, or how much he tried to sense the enemy, he couldn’t find them. It annoyed him. He was good at telling where people were, even when they didn’t want him to.

He always knew who was around him and where they were, but right now he was exposed. Susceptible to attack.

And he hated it.

“There’s so many others to go after,” hearing the voice directly behind him, he turned to face his enemy. Except, there was no one there. Just empty space. “You can’t just let them get away with it, can you? Surely you want them all to pay for the part they played in making your life as miserable and empty as it was.”

“Who the hell are you!?” Digging his feet into the ground, he prepared himself to lunge towards his opponent as soon as they were visible. “And why won’t you show yourself to me?”

In the blink of an eye, the enemy appeared. Clad in an Akatsuki jacket with a blue swirl mask hiding his face from view and a hand resting on his hip, clearly not recognizing Kakashi as a threat. Which burned Kakashi on the inside.

Even after taking down Orochimaru, a high-ranking Shinobi of the leaf village and the current Hokage, he still wasn’t considered a serious threat? Who did he have to kill to get some damn respect in this world?

“You’re not really going to let them all forget what they did to you, are you?” The man behind the mask taunted. “All of those people that left you alone with no one to care for you. The villagers who hurled insults at you and hated you for something you couldn’t control?”

No. He didn’t want to listen to this.

Taking a step back he tried desperately to put distance between himself and the stranger as if it would help him to ignore his taunts. But his movement was met by the stranger taking a step towards him. Closing the gap that Kakashi had tried to create.

“No,” he growled, turning angry eyes onto the man who had so rudely interrupted his moment of victory. “No! I won’t become that!”

All it would do is prove them right. Show them that they were correct to fear Kakashi. To hate him. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Why are you holding onto mercy?” the stranger drawled, one empty black eye staring back at Kakashi. “Why would you hold any mercy for the people who hurt you? The ones who shunned you and hated you?”

Another step back met with the stranger closing the gap between them once more. This time coming closer. Stepping up right into Kakashi’s space so that he was hovering over him, his one eye spinning to life with a deep red six-pointed star.

The Sharingan.

“Who the hell are you!?” his feet moved to get him out of there, but before he could even hope to escape there was a hand grabbing hold of the front of his shirt. Holding him in place as the stranger stared down at him, his Sharingan staring down at him with a look Kakashi knew all too well.

Disgust.

“They treated you like shit,” the words burned deep. A reminder of things Kakashi had tried so hard to forget since leaving Konoha. Things he could never leave behind him, no matter how hard he tried to press forward. To forge his own path separate from Konoha. “And you’re still angry, we both know you are. If you didn’t care about Konoha you wouldn’t have gone after Orochimaru.”

Looking past the stranger, Kakashi focused on the dead body still laying on the ground. Covered in his own blood, one arm on the other side of the battlefield where Kakashi had chopped it off when they tried to grab him.

He had been so angry when Danzo had told him the truth before meeting his own death.

The fire had burned in his soul having to hear what role Orochimaru had played in ensuring Kakashi had been left alone. With no one to care for him. How he had manipulated all of the higher-ups into believing the best course of action was lying to Kakashi.

Denying him knowledge of his parents, or his family name. Ensuring that he was hated in the village. Shunned for something he had no control over.

“My friends…”

Obito, Rin, Gai. Even after all his time away from them, he couldn’t forget them. Wouldn’t dare to harm them. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and Konoha was their home. The village they would protect with their lives. He couldn’t…

“Are you so desperate to hold onto those few ties you have in that village that you’re willing to ignore the role everyone else played in making you feel unwelcome in your own village? Treating you like trash!” dragging his eyes back to the masked man, Kakashi found himself unable to focus on anything but the Sharingan that stared back at him with a deep burning hatred. “Cut your bonds! All they are doing is holding you back. Keeping you from getting the revenge you deserve. You don’t need friends. They didn’t do anything for you while you were in Konoha, and they’re not doing anything for you now. As far as they’re concerned you’re a traitor to their village. Someone, they will kill if they see again. So stop holding onto a past that you burned yourself, and focus on what matters.”

What matters.

“Konoha…” the anger returned. Violent and heavy in his heart.

All he had ever been to Konoha was a monster. Someone to hate and fear, even as a child. A liability to their quiet peaceful life.

“This is your chance to get the revenge you deserve. Not just against Orochimaru, but all of Konoha. Every single person who yelled at you, called you a monster, threw you out of their shop. All of them are to blame for the life you led, and you’re already a monster in their eyes. Why not show them what a monster you can really be?”

The masked man finally released his grip on Kakashi’s shirt and took a step back.

“Or are you just going to stand by and let them get away with it all?” his voice shifted. Anger subsiding for a taunting tone. “Pretend that none of it ever happened. Maybe you’re right. I’m sure your friends can forgive you for turning your back on them even when they pleaded with you to stay...because you have that bond.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

His heart ached.

Even when he had trained under Danzo he had held onto his friends, but they didn’t care about him.

They would rather put Konoha and the villagers who hated him over him.

They didn’t want the village they loved so dearly to be fixed. To face the consequences of their actions. They just wanted Kakashi to come home and forget anything bad had ever happened. Act like all was fine with the world.

He couldn’t do that though.

Refused to forget the way he had been treated all his life.

“I’ll burn it to the ground.” he met the masked man’s gaze, anger burning deep in his soul. A hatred he had pushed down for so long. Had tried so hard to ignore it no matter how bad it hurt, because that’s what a good shinobi did.

He was done being a good shinobi. It was time for Konoha to meet the anger of a Jinjuuriki.

“Good,” the masked man straightened himself up, a triumphant note in his voice. “It’s what they deserve.”

#Age Swap AU #Hatake Kakashi #Uchiha Sasuke #Jinchuuriki Kakashi #Akatsuki Sasuke #Blood #Blood Mention #Blood TW #Orochimaru Dies #XD

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wheres-everyone-going-bingo · 4 years

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Hi, may we please have Tim Drake x Homo-Magi reader fic where Teen Titans are fighting with some magical being and R comes to the rescue? Bonus points if team doesn't know that Tim has a boyfriend and they kiss at the end, suprising everyone;) (Just incase, homo-magi is a sub race of humans, that are able to do magic)

Rescue

Pairing: Tim Drake x Homo-Magi!Male Reader

Warnings: swearing

—————

Blood fell to the pavement as Tim spat it out of his mouth, grinning with bloody teeth at the newest super villain to wreak havoc.

“No matter how many times we defeat someone like you, another always takes your place”

“Well maybe one day, one of us will win, and maybe that someone is me”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, do you have any idea how many times we’ve heard that?” Beast Boy butted in, ducking as a minion threw a punch at him. The villain scoffed, not wanting to engage in childish banter as he achieved world domination.

The fight had started out in the favour of the Titans but had soon taken a turn as the villain’s back up had arrived, the superhero team stood no chance against the endless waves of the army. Raven was thrown to the ground, a sickening crack as her head made contact with the pavement.

“Raven!” Starfire shouted, rushing over to cover her disorientated team mate.

“Robin, man we need to retreat!” Tim heard Cyborg shout over the ceaseless noise of gunfire.

“We can’t, we can’t let them win” He shouted back, too stubborn to admit defeat. Tim turned around as he heard Starfire scream his name, his eyes widening as the villain picked him up his neck, cutting off his air supply. Tim could hear all of his team mates frantically trying to make their way over to him, but being barred from him by the army’s soldiers. His vision started to go dark as he spat at the villain’s face.

Tim felt himself drop to the ground, probably breaking some sort of bone in the process, but he was preoccupied by the refilling of his lungs. He blinked multiple times, clearing his vision. A smile spread across his face as he saw an all too familiar ray of brilliant light shoot past him.

---------

I had sat down and turned the tv on, wanting to relax and watch some sort of show. Instead I got a news broadcast of some city getting attacked, I settled back into my seat as I saw that it was already being taken care of. Then I looked closer and saw Tim getting his ass handed to him. Sighing, I got up from my couch, cursing Tim for always taking on someone way too big for him.

“I’m too tired for this” I mumbled, opening the door to my flat.

Citizens gave me shocked looks as I ran in the opposite direction of them, using their fleeing as a way to navigate where exactly Tim was. There was a loud boom, as an explosion went off, sending me sprinting in that direction, determined to get my boyfriend out of whatever mess he had gotten himself into now.

My eyes went wide as I saw Tim being hoisted into the air by his neck, being choked out.

“Hey asshole!” I shouted at the villain, shooting an energy blast at him to get him to drop Tim. The other Titans’ head’s turned to face me, wondering what the hell a civilian was doing hurling insults at a villain. “Yeah, I’m talking to you” I shouted again, the villain smirking

“Ah this one will be easy” He made his way over to me, raising his weapon above his head, ready to strike. Before he could bring it down on me, I threw a fireball at his face, engulfing him in flames

“Hey I really don’t care about your stupid villain speech, just die or retreat” I threw another fireball, watching him burn. A few of his minions started to make their way over to me, I waved my hand, putting a wall of lightning in their path. A handful of them running into it, to fall to the ground shaking and smoking.

The main villain fell in front of me, I clenched my fist, distinguishing the flames, to show his burnt corpse. I looked up startled as all the other minions fell to the floor dead

“Ah I see, one of those ‘masters dies, we all die’ situations. Convenient, I like convenience.” I mumbled, approaching Tim on the ground

“Hey Y/N” He smiled at me with a bloody face

“Hey dumbass. Remind me why you were taking on an entire army with what five people?” I scolded, helping him stand up

“Because I’m super cool?”

“That is not the correct answer and you know it”

“Because I’m dumb?” I nodded, accepting that response.

“So Robin, you gonna tell us who this awesome dude is?” Beast Boy butted in, gesturing to me

“Hey I’m Y/N” Beast boy gasped “Yeah I don’t have a secret identity or whatever, hence y’know, no mask” I motioned to my face, which was left uncovered for everyone to see.

“Are you guys okay, Raven?” Robin questioned his team mates

“Yeah, I’m alright, just need to-”

“Do you want me to heal that for you?” I enquired, making my way over to the cloaked hero, pressing my fingers to the back of her head I whispered something under my breath. Raven startled at the sudden hot feeling on the back of her head. “That should do it” I told her as she touched where her wound had previously been, feeling nothing there.

“Thanks Y/N”

“No problemo Robin, just try not to get your ass beat next time, for me?” He nodded in response, as I pressed my lips to his, shocking the team. Walking away I heard various questions thrown at Robin about me.

“That dude, who can do MAGIC is dating you?” Beast Boy exclaimed, not believing it to be true

“Why is that so hard to understand?”

“Because he’s so cool!” I chuckled, hearing Robin try to justify our relationship.

#dc #batman #robin #tim #drake #x male reader #male reader #teen #titans

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

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Rita Skeeter’s Scoop

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Part 13 Part 14

Summary: All is fair in love and war, but why did it have to be a war? And when did you say that you wanted to fight?

Archive of Our Own Link

A/n: Hello my darlings! Welcome to the next part and honestly it took me a while to figure out where I wanted to take this, so please enjoy the angsty fluff of this chapter and I’m happy to introduce Susan! (you’ll understand later). I love you guys so much you have no idea, please don’t stop commenting, reblogging and liking, you have no idea how much it excites me and motivates me to keep writing. ALSO GUYS TOM FELTON IS GOING TO BE AT THE COMICON NEAR ME AND YOU BET YOUR GALLEONS THAT I AM DROPPING COLLEGE MONEY TO GO AND MEET THAT MAN

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

BLOOD FEUD GONE HAYWIRE AT HOGWARTS?

By Rita Skeeter

“Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial visitor decisions, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Over the summer of this year it was decided that the Triwizard Tournament was to be held at Hogwarts to many parents’ dismay as their children were entered into the Tournament without their permission. The Tournament is notorious for the fatalities that it has inflicted among many young unexperienced wizards thirsting for glory. However, this looks responsible and kindly when set beside the fiasco Dumbledore claims to be the Yule Ball.

The Yule Ball, only held upon the year of the Triwizard Tournament, was held upon the Christmas holiday at the school endorsed by Dumbledore and his staff. This year, however, the guest list was not so carefully taken to, endangering the students of three wizarding schools.

A young naïve and foolish fourth year Hogwarts student was taken under the Imperius Curse and forced to do the bidding of the assailant. It seems that this was in place because of a disgrace among pure-blood families. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, this disgrace has largely affected every student in the school along with its visitors claiming it’s “very shameful.”

“I was coerced as well, and my friend Draco Malfoy was only afraid of the blood traitor that he had to play along with her plan unless he too wanted to be cursed,” says Pansy Parkinson, another fourth-year student. “We all hate her, but we’re too afraid of her family to say anything,”

Y/n Lupine has no intention of ending this scourge of disgrace and intimidation, however. In conversation with her family, she admitted manipulating Mr. Malfoy in what she has dubbed the “Consentire Animi Pace,” an outdated excuse for coercion from a desperate lover. This bond, however, is overlooked by the Ministry, and they have not confirmed that there has been a case in over four hundred years. Lupine, however, considers herself to be above such petty notions.

The Consentire Animi Pace was an old tradition that has faded into prophecy and is a poor excuse for the forceful attitude from Lupine. Not but a few months prior to the Ball she and Mr. Malfoy blatantly hated another. “They were at each other’s throats,” Another student comments. “It was a peaceful day when they didn’t see each other,”

So how did these two, descendants of powerful pure-blood rivals go from enemies to lovers at a Ball in a matter of months? Some suspect the use of the Imperius Curse inflicted upon Malfoy by Lupine against his will. It is known that the students of Hogwarts were taught the Unforgivable Curses in class weeks before the two ‘lovers’ got together. The relationship of Lupine and Malfoy are frowned upon by Malfoy’s parents. “She is a filthy blood-traitor and has seduced my son into this relationship for her own personal gain. It is known that the Lupines always held a grudge against the Malfoys. This must be a new tactic for a new generation.””

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

My hands shook as I finished reading the article.

“Are you kidding me!?” I screeched. “Who... how does she even...” I exclaimed and threw the paper down, pacing the common room, Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s eyes on my frantic form.

“No one believes it,” Hermione clarified quickly. “Everyone here knows what really happened,”

“Do they?” I snapped. “Do they really?”

She looked down and I took a deep breath, rubbing my face. My thoughts spiraled. Everyone in the wizarding world would be reading this and apparently make me out to me some sort of whore of Babylon trying to seduce Draco to be with me.

“I... I have to find him,” I realized. “I...”

“Y/n, just think about this a moment,” Hermione interjected. “This Skeeter woman is out there, and as soon as she knows you ran to Draco after reading her piece, what is she going to think?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about what she thinks!” I screamed.

They all stared at me in shock and a few lingering first years scurried away—I never cursed, in front of anyone, ever.

“Y/n,” Harry began.

I narrowed my eyes at him letting him know he was on thin ice.

“Take my invisibility cloak and map. Go find him.” The olive branch startled me.

“What?”

“I know what it’s like to be talked about in papers.” He sympathized. “You don’t deserve this. Not after what you did, or rather didn’t do,”

I wanted to cry at his words.

“Thank you, Harry,” I got out, sinking back onto the sofa as he went up to his room to collect the promised items.

I went to pick up the article again, to reread it, but Hermione stopped me, taking it from my hands.

“You don’t need to reread it and get worked up again,” She chided softly.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” I whispered, glancing over at her.

“It’s alright. I’m just as furious as you are. That... cow of a woman.” Hermione shook her head. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this alright?”

I nodded and my eyes darted up as Harry came back, placing the map and cloak in my hands.

“You know how to work the map?” He clarified.

I nodded, fastening the cloak around my shoulders and taking out my wand.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” I muttered darkly, tapping the map, watching the paper come to life. “Thank you, Harry, he’d appreciate it too,��

“Just go,” He ushered, and I was off under the safety of the cloak led by the marauder’s map.

It didn’t take long for me to find Draco. His footsteps showed me that he was just outside of Snape’s office and heading my way. He probably went straight to Snape about the article and didn’t have the two cents from his friends about tact.

“Mischief managed,” I hissed before tucking the map into my robe.

Rushing down the chilly hallways, I hissed Draco’s name before grabbing his hand and pulling him under the cloak, quickly covering his mouth before he could scream in surprise or fear. He relaxed when his eyes landed on me. Nodding, I dropped my hand.

“Y/n, I swear I’ll fix this,” He hissed softly. “That Skeeter is going to regret ever messing with me and hurting you.”

“Draco, we don’t exactly have a lot of power here,” I argued. “With your father against us as well as this Skeeter, whatever we say, will be twisted and it’ll get worse.” That was the hopeless thought that dragged me down. “We really can’t fix this,”

“So, what do we do? I won’t let her do this to you or your family!” He insisted.

Shushing him, I took his hand and led him down the hallway to the Gryffindor Portrait. Unveiling myself from the cloak, I said the password and the portrait opened.

“Go,” I hissed softly, praying that Draco got the hint as I lingered about half a minute then hopefully followed him through the door, closing it behind me.

“I didn’t mean bring him here!” Harry huffed as I handed back his cloak and map.

“Sorry,” I gave a weak smile. “But I don’t feel safe talking about anything outside in the halls.”

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” Hermione nearly shrieked. “What’s going to happen when Skeeter finds out that Draco’s been in here at night? What were you thinking!?”

Dread weighed like a thick blanket over me. I sank into a chair and stared at the fire, not seeing a way out of this.

“Lay off!” Draco scolded, kneeling beside me. “She can’t spend every moment questioning everything she does!” He defended me, taking my hand and rubbing it softly.

“I wasn’t saying that she should—” Hermione began and was silenced by a cold glare from Draco. I could almost hear the insults that he wanted to hurl at her, like they were tangible.

“It’s okay Dray,” I soothed. “She’s worried and looking out for me. They all are. Please... don’t fight. I can’t handle fighting right now,” My voice was shaky as fear played like a broken record in my mind.

I stood, Draco rising with me, his hands resting at my waist, an anchor in the midst of this hell storm. I laid my head on his shoulder as silent tears slipped out. Hermione was at my other side, rubbing my arm.

“We’ll sort this out Y/n,” Harry promised.

“I’m so stupid,” I mumbled. “This is all my fault,”

“This is not your fault,” Four voices joined together.

“It’s this wretched Skeeter woman,” Hermione hissed.

“And my father,” Draco snarled, his grip on me tightening.

I could feel the anger and betrayal radiating off of him. We hadn’t really talked about his father’s hand in all of this. I didn’t want to bring it up and he didn’t want to mention it, so it left us at an impasse. Maybe we should have talked about it sooner.

I wiped my tears away and took a deep breath.

“Okay, so what are we going to do?” I asked, turning to my group of friends.

“You could give her an interview,” Ron suggested.

“No, she couldn’t,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Whatever Y/n says is going to be used against her,”

“We can write to the paper, tell them that it’s wrong,” Harry pointed out.

“And how bad will that look on us?” I retorted. “New headline ‘Seductress tries to cover the truth.’ No, I don’t think... I don’t think there is anything we can do,”

“What?”

“I... I can’t do anything, we as a group can’t. All I can do is hold my head high and know who I am and what’s true,” I intertwined my fingers with Draco’s.

He gave my hand a gentle squeeze as impressed looks fell upon their faces.

“Well, I know that Skeeter is banned from school grounds, so just be careful I guess,” Ron chimed in.

I nodded and took a deep breath.

“You won’t be alone, Y/n,” Draco remarked. “I’ll be here, we all will,” His eyes swept the room. “We know who you are too,”

I nodded.

“And that’s all that matters,” I whispered weakly.

It was easier said than done, however. After taking Draco to his dorm under the cloak and heading back, curling up into bed, I finally broke down into tears, each of Rita’s words like a stab to the heart. It tore me up inside of how cruel she was to me, and I had never even met her. Hermione, if she heard my cries through my pillow, didn’t prattle me. Instead, she left me in peace to fall apart, and I was grateful.

The next morning, McGonagall called me to her office, to get the true story and to reinforce that I was not alone here at school, and if I needed anything to come to her and she would see that it was done. It took a lot for me not to break down in tears again in her office. With a biscuit she sent me off to breakfast.

Then the mail started to come in. From people I didn’t know and addresses I didn’t recognize. I didn’t dare to open any of them. Instead they were thrown into the fireplace without a second thought. The only letters I opened were from my mother or Mrs. Weasley, or anyone I knew well enough to care about what they thought. Most offered their sympathies. My mother was furious, as to be expected, but I wrote her back quickly before she did anything rash.

The fear always lingered, however. And with Pansy still miraculously walking the halls of Hogwarts, I felt smaller than ever. I hesitated to hold Draco’s hand or show any form of affection towards him. I know he didn’t hold it against me, but it was a new layer of guilt on my soul.

_____________________________

Draco gave you a week to find a new sort of normal and to stop moping—not that he’d tell you that’s what you were doing because you’d argue with him, but you were moping.

It was that Monday morning that he had enough. You were fine with doing nothing and taking all of the hate and living in fear, but he wasn’t. It killed him to see your flame so dull. He missed you, the real you. Not whatever front you were putting up.

So, after writing a very strongly worded letter to his father and mother alike, he took your hand on the way from breakfast and pulled you to the trail that led to Hogsmeade. You had said you weren’t going, but he wasn’t having that. You were his girlfriend and hell be damned if he wasn’t going to show you off.

“Draco, no,” Your voice wavered in fear. “I can’t.”

He turned and cradled your face in his hands.

“This fear needs to stop my love,” He crooned softly. “I miss you, the real you. I hate that she’s doing this to you. Please, go out with me. Let me show you off and buy you ridiculously expensive things and overpriced chocolates, that you won’t eat because you don’t like chocolate,” He amended quickly.

A smile played at your lips, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes yet.

“Please Y/n, I don’t want you to be afraid. I want you to be with me, I want to kiss you in public and have you on my arm. I want you to be my girl and I want everyone else to know that. I don’t give a damn about what the papers say. You’re mine and I love you and I’m not letting you mope anymore,” He panted softly, awaiting your response. “Please go out with me today,”

You blinked slowly, as if you were clearing away the haze in your eyes as you beamed up at him, jumping into his arms.

“I don’t want anything that expensive,” You muttered, and he laughed, the first time that he had a week. “Let me go get my jacket and what not and we’ll go,”

He waited for you outside the common room and you came out, wrapped in his scarf, the jacket and gloves from your mother and snow boots on that had to be new.

Offering his arm, he grinned as the two of you made your way down the hall cozied up together, smiles on the faces of those you passed.

“Long live the prince and princess!” George shouted as you two walked past him and Fred on your way to Hogsmeade.

A laugh escaped your lips for the first time since the article came out and it was the most wonderful thing that Draco had ever heard. You looked up at him, snow on your eyelashes, your nose and cheeks pink from the cold. You were beautiful when you smiled, and he would never take it for granted again.

______________________________

Draco and I ducked into Madam Puddifoot's tea shop and I welcomed the warmth with open arms. For the first time, the article faded from my mind and I allowed myself to be happy with Draco—even though he did order me a ridiculously expensive tea and so many little cakes. To be honest, they were the most enjoyable things I’d had in a long while.

The company was quite enjoyable as well. Now that I wasn’t... moping (I’ll admit it, I was) I realized what Draco had meant by missing the ‘real’ me. I could tease and taunt him, then go red when he’d take it a bit too far and make it slightly inappropriate, before kissing me softly as an apology.

We strolled about Hogsmeade, when my eyes lingered on a storefront for a bit too long, Draco would pull me inside and let me look around. I was cautious to pick things up however, in fear that he might actually take up on his words and buy me things.

However, I tripped up on my caution as a miniature Spindle Tree grew beautifully in Dogweed’s shop window, victim to a shrinking spell, but all the beautiful just the same. Draco rolled his eyes, smiling, dragging me inside, letting me cradle the small plant as he paid for it. The shop tender assured me that it would grow in any conditions and if I had any problems to bring it back.

“I think I’ll name her Susan,” I mused, holding the small pink plant to the sun. “What do you think?”

“You’re going to name it?” He laughed.

“Of course,” I grinned. “So... Susan?”

“Sure love,” He chuckled, wrapping an arm around me. “Whatever you want,”

Part 16?

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings @coffee-addicti @ilikestuffproductions @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @dolphincommander @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @mccloudchloe @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie @littlethingsinmymindla @xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @mccloudchloe @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @go-whovian-universe @darcypottah @atomicpunkrock

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deliasbabe · 4 years

Text

The Distance Between You & I- Harriet x Matt

Words: 2,361

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy, Light Angst, Language

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Hannah Harriet Hayes always had a plan, a strict plan, especially when it came to starting a family. She had run through the scenario many times. It was Matt’s, of course; it had always been Matt’s. There was never a scenario where it wasn’t Matt’s, even when the two were broken up yet again, even when she was with another man. It was always Matt’s. The two of them would be perched on the tub, happily married, together, waiting for the second line to appear with bated breath. They would be overjoyed, after all, they always wanted kids. Matt would grin and hug her tightly, swinging her around in that way he always did when he was excited. The cast would be ecstatic and supportive when they broke the news, and Matt would make a sly joke about how there was no way their child was going to grow up to be a “jesus freak”, causing Harriet to smack his arm playfully. The two would bicker back and forth like they always did, the playful banter that had become the hallmark of their relationship, their very own love language. Harriet had a plan, he was supposed to be there, they were supposed to be in love, but people plan and god laughs, and boy, was he laughing now.

It wasn’t like the two hadn’t tried to make it work, they really did. But one bad pull quote from a terrible interview was enough to put them on the rocks, and soon they were shipwrecked. The banter turned to bickering, which turned to some not so subtle jabs, and then an all-out brawl in Matt’s office. Matt was the one who pulled the plug, after they had gone six rounds in the span of three hours. Then, Harriet collected her belongings from his house and the two barely even spoke, dancing around each other in cast meetings and rehearsals. All it took was one date with Luke and a few too many drinks at an after party for the two to end up having drunk, angry sex in the tech room, and then it was like it never even happened. Matt didn’t speak another word about it, the two never talked, he just gave the cold shoulder like he so often did, and the two did the dance that had become all too familiar, tiptoeing around residual feelings and unspoken words.

Harriet had tried to move on, but six weeks later something just wasn’t right. What she thought was the stomach flu turned out to be something else entirely, and there she sat, taking a pregnancy test in Jordan’s bathroom, alone, listening to the executive soothe a crying Rebecca back to sleep. Harriet had always been meticulous about taking her birth control. She didn’t like surprises and she certainly didn’t like being blindsided. Being unwed and knocked up would certainly put a stain on her good Christian reputation. But after the blowout, she really didn’t see the point. It wasn’t like she was having sex, even when she was with Luke the two never really seemed to be together, and truthfully Harriet always had one foot out the door. It just wasn’t right, he wasn’t him, and Harriet would be a fool if she denied the fact that she knew her person would always be Matt. So, when the second line came through clear as day, it had to be Matt’s.

Jordan could barely keep the grin off her face when Harriet broke the news. Rebecca wasn’t even six months old, the two babies would only be about a year apart, a built in best friend. Still, she was there with tissues when Harriet cried, offering reassuring words. No matter what has happened, you two are a team. You’ve always been a team. Her words were true, despite the numerous breakups and fights and religious differences they still remained each other’s biggest supporters. Harriet was still the only person who could draw Matt out of a writing rut, and Matt continued to throw her the ball every chance he could, not only bringing the show’s ratings up to rival SNL but cementing Harriet’s A-list status in Hollywood. The two worked well together, and right then that was the only thing that was keeping Harriet from losing her damn mind.

Still, the two could barely keep a relationship going for longer than six months. They spent more time pining for each other than they did in each other’s arms, and that was enough to make her heave into the bowl once again. What if they weren’t in love? What if they were both just in love with the idea of being in love? It seemed like they were made for each other, that once in a lifetime kind of love that you saw in movies, the kind that was filled with passion and excitement, the kind where your partner made you want to kiss them and rip out your own hair at the roots. That dizzy, intoxicating love. But intoxication was still toxic, no matter how right it felt in the moment, you still had to deal with the hangover, the blaring reminder that it was truly harmful in the long run. Harriet tried, but she never seemed to learn her lesson, and now they had much more to deal with than just a couple of broken hearts.

She went home early that day, feigning some vague illness in order to ward of suspicion. She just needed time to think, to figure things out. Knowing Matt would be there regardless should have been a huge relief, but all it did was turn her stomach into knots. They were always so hot and cold, so off and on. When they were on, it was great, but it seemed like it only took one small thing, one miscommunication and they were at each other’s throats, hurling insults like it was their favorite sport, not caring the damage they did. They were childish and immature, maybe a little overdramatic. Harriet had spent a majority of her childhood trying to diffuse the tension between her own parents, and she would die before she did that to her own child. But did she have a choice?

Why the hell can’t you two get it together?

The issue was, Harriet did believe they could make it work, if only they had the willpower to stop with these stupid games. They were both at fault, both too stubborn to see their own errors. Harriet hated that she still held hope, that she still was lost in that fairytale land of commitment and honesty. A part of her believed that this, this baby, their baby, could be the missing link, the thing that finally forced them to grow the hell up and put away their own selfish need to always be right. But that wasn’t fair to put on a child, none of this was fair to put on a child. A child should have a happy home, with parents who can at least be civil with each other, and Harriet wasn’t even sure they would be able to do that.

It didn’t help that Matt hadn’t stopped texting her from the moment she left. Are you ok? Do you need me to take you to the doctor? Do you need anything? Her brain was telling her to ignore it, that all it was doing was clouding her judgement. She had been swaying back and forth between making it work and cutting the relationship off completely all day, and each concerned text just made her want to leap into his arms and stay there forever. She had to be rational, she had to think this through, because it wasn’t just about her anymore.

She paced back and forth, wringing her hands as she tried to muster up the courage to reply. She couldn’t put this off, someone was bound to notice sooner rather than later, and Harri had never been a very good liar. She maybe had until the end of the night before Jordan spilled the beans to Danny, and that was being generous. She had to tell him tonight, she just didn’t know if she could. It wasn’t like Matt was a bad guy, he was a great guy, that’s what made all of this so infuriating. Sure, he was a complete jackass sometimes. But when it came down to it he was a really good guy, the best guy, the kind you could depend on, and that made it all so much scarier, because Harriet knew he would be there. But it was too late to worry about that, so with shakey hands, she sent the text.

I need you to come over tonight. We need to talk.

Then, she panicked, not wanting him to read too much into it and rush over.

About the show.

Matt, of course, had a wise ass remark on the tip of his tongue the second she opened the door. “Harri, I told you, you don’t need to rework your Nancy Grace impression. Her voice hasn’t changed in 20 years.” Matt said as he walked through the door. He always liked to act like his coming over was a hassle, yet he responded to her beck and call without hesitation. As much as he tried to keep up his macho persona, he was totally and completely whipped, and they both knew it. He never would say no to her, he never could say no to her. When she needed him, he was there, he would always be there.

Harriet threw him a look, “I didn’t call you over here to talk about Nancy Grace, genius.”

Matt gave a knowing smirk, “I knew that. I just thought we should get the theatrics out of the way before we get into the real reason.” Matt watched Harriet worry her bottom lip between her teeth, knowing her well enough to sense that whatever she called him over for was important. “What, is this about the note I gave earlier? Look, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of Simon and Tom but you know I can’t give you special treatment. The guys have already started calling me a pansy ass.”

“It’s not about the note.” Harriet said quickly, looking up at Matt with wide, scared eyes. This was supposed to be simple, easy, and it would be if Matt would just stop talking. She felt tears prickle behind her eyes, silently cursing herself and the damn hormones that had already seemed to have her in their grasp. She was confident five minutes ago, but staring at the object of her affections was enough to make her go weak in the knees and have the panic completely consume her. As soon as a tear escaped and she moved to wipe it away Matt was all over her, he hated to see her cry. A gentle hand on her shoulder and she was done for, burrowing into his arms and crying into his chest as he tangled his hand in her hair and held her tightly.

“Harri, what is it? You’re scaring me.” Matt said, his macho persona quickly dissolving, his eyes filling will concern once she looked up at him with smudged makeup and running mascara, “You know you can talk to me.”

“I’m pregnant.” Harriet blurted, sucking in a sharp breath before burrowing back into his chest, scared to see his reaction.

It was silent, too silent, unnerving. Harriet braced to defend herself, to tell him that she hadn’t gotten into this mess by herself, that they both were equally responsible for this shit show, but then Matt laughed, “Maybe there is a god.” And oh, if looks could kill, the daggers Harriet was shooting out of her chocolate brown irises would have slit his throat, but he just grinned down at her, and suddenly, she didn’t know if the tears running down her face were from joy or frustration, or maybe the wind had shifted direction. He grabbed her by the shoulders, studying her face for a moment with his brows furrowed, “Why are you crying? Harri… this is great!”

“Why am I crying?” Harriet asked indignantly, huffing as she wiped the snot that was dripping down her top lip with the back of her hand. “I’m crying because we’ve barely spoken in months! We aren’t married, we aren’t even together and…” Harriet ranted, only to be cut off by Matt’s lips on hers, instantly melting under his touch.

He was good, too good. He always knew just what to say and do to make Harriet’s head spin and send the butterflies in her stomach swirling about. He pulled back, holding her face between his hands softly, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Harriet, I’m here. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.” He said earnestly, waiting for her to nod before breaking into a grin, “I’m going to be a dad!” Before Harriet could even blink, he looped his strong arms around her waist and swung her around, not stopping until he could hear her soft giggles, “God, I love you.”

“I love you too.” Harriet said, giving a soft smile as she wiped at her wet cheeks.

“Why are you still crying? We’re going to have a baby!” Matt practically yelled, his excitement so palpable Harriet wondered how his cheeks hadn’t started to hurt.

“I know, I know. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I was just… scared.” Harriet admitted, ducking her head. The fear still lingered in the back of her mind, but it wasn’t the right moment for that, not when everything seemed so good.

“That I would be upset?” Matt asked, the hurt behind his eyes obvious.

“No! No… I knew that you weren’t going to be upset.” Harriet said quickly, “I just thought you would have made at least one wise ass comment by now about not knowing if it was yours.”

“It’s mine.” Matt said confidently, a condescending grin plastered on his face, “I know it’s mine.”

Harriet playfully smacked his arm with a grimace, “You’re so damn cocky.”

#This is total garbage but here we are #harriet hayes #Matt Albie #studio 60 #sarah paulson #sarah paulson imagine

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geralthastwohands · 4 years

Text

An Unspoken Apology

I wanted to give my take on the ‘Geralt Apologizes to Jaskier for what he said’ trope we’re all developing here. It’s not explicitly geraskier but I wrote it with that as my intention.

Summary: It's been nine months since that day on the mountain. Geralt finds Jaskier and apologizes in his own way.

Read it on AO3 (x)

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

“You’ve all been absolutely wonderful,” Jaskier calls out to the crowd. He takes a peek down at the thrown coins littering the stage. “And so wonderfully generous, but this bard must take his rest.” He sighs out and lets his shoulders slump. His words are met with loud noises of disproval from his drunken crowd.

“C’mon, bard, one more song to send us off proper!” A man cries out. Many others cheer him on and lift their drinks in agreement.

Jaskier makes a show of tilting his head back and forth in consideration. He’s played all the songs he knows by heart. All except two. One that he hasn’t played since the hunt for the dragon. The other he plays for his ears only when the nights are dark and lonely and his only company is a warm fire.

“Oh, alright, but only for such a lively bunch as yourself! Don’t go spreading word of this encore to other taverns or they’ll think I’m playing favorites.” Jaskier teases, winking at a busty barmaid who’d been watching him more closely than the others. Perfect for getting his mind off of this all after he finishes his last tune. She cheers the loudest when he brings up his lute to play once more. “Toss A Coin To Your Witcher, sing along if you know it!”

As he strums the opening chords, the door opens and heavy steps make their way in. Jaskier ignores the sound in favor of the laughing and clapping patrons he’s already grabbed the rapt attention of. It’s not until he turns to the barmaid once more that his voice falters.

Geralt. Ale in hand and watching him sing his song.

Gods, he wishes the man was easier to read. Geralt’s expression is as blank as ever but his eyes hold so much weight to them. Jaskier thinks he sees a layer of golden guilt brush the surface and cold satisfaction runs through him.

Good, he thinks. Feel guilty. Feel every bit of pain I felt. He doesn’t truly wish Geralt any pain, but to see even the slightest crack in his so carefully constructed mask of no emotion...

The crowd has moved forward in the song without his voice leading them, his fingers moving on the lute through pure muscle memory. The Witcher looks away first.

Jaskier turns back to the crowd to finish out the song with a fake smile. The crowd claps and applauds and more coin is thrown to the stage. He bows in silent thanks as his throat seems to have closed up. He quickly collects his coin in his sack and straps his lute to his back. All thoughts of the busty barmaid were forgotten in favor of cat eyes and silver hair.

“You still sing about me.”

Speak of the Devil, Jaskier thinks. He turns, slowly, and there is Geralt of Rivia standing right behind him. “What can I say,” His voice lacks the bitterness he wants it to have. “You’re great at making me coin.”

If you had asked Jaskier nine months ago, when Geralt’s words were still fresh in his head and heart, what he’d do if they met again, “Beg him to take me back,” would have been the response. If you asked him three months ago, “Take a dagger to him.” would have been the response. Hurt settled into anger like an old friend, over time. He thought of several different things Geralt would say to him and every insult and curse he’d hurl back.

No words come forth.

Jaskier looks away first this time. “If you’ve tracked me down to apologize, just staring at me isn’t doing anything,” He starts because the silence is squeezing too tight. “Yes, I still sing about you. Even wrote a brilliant song about the valiant dragon-slaying - once I got the story for the dwarves. Never sang it more than once but-”

“I didn’t.” Geralt interrupts gruffly. Jaskier shuts his mouth and frowns at him.

“Didn’t what? Come to apologize? Not that I expected one from Mr. Petty Squabbles of Men’.”

“Didn’t slay the dragon. It was already dead.” Geralt finishes. The witcher looks dazed but Jaskier barrels forward. The patrons have begun to watch the spectacle.

“Oh, well that’s even better! All that climbing and emotional trauma for fuck all!” He shouts. “And still not an apology might I add-

“Jaskier.” Geralt breathes out. One word and the bard’s breath gets taken away. His throat closes like Geralt wished it. Again. “Jaskier.” He says again, bordering on a prayer.

“This is wrong,” Jaskier chokes out. “You’re the White Wolf. You’re a Witcher. You’re not supposed to come here and say my name like that, like you care. You have no right to act like you need me now.” His tears are hot with anger as he shoves Geralt back a step.

The crowd collectively lets out a gasp. No smart man lays a hand on a Witcher and expects to have it any longer. Not even if that witcher was a friend to humanity, as the song claimed. Even Jaskier’s eyes widen as if he can’t believe what he’s just done.

Geralt lets out a low growl from deep in his chest. Jaskier tenses and squeezes his eyes shut, knowing he’s pushed the Witcher too far. Expected too much.

A loud thump echoes through the silent tavern and the patrons explode into loud whispers.

“What’s he doing then?” “I don’t know!” “Didn’t expect that from a Witcher.”

Jaskier opens his eyes.

Geralt was on his knees before him, in front of a full tavern. The witcher - his witcher - was kneeling on the ground with his head tilted back to look up at his bard. Throat bared and hands limp at his sides. Jaskier could take his dagger across his neck right now. He gets the feeling Geralt would let him.

He sees the display for what it is. No words are spoken, but Jaskier nods.

“Apology accepted, Geralt.” He whispers. He takes a moment to wipe his tears and smile, genuinely smile, before sinking back into the role of the best friend. “Alright, everyone, shows over!” He speaks to the crowd which scatters back to their seats. “Now get off your the floor, you beast. Honestly, with the amount of filth on any given plank in here we could build a snowman made out of grime. And speaking of filth, your hair, Geralt! When’s the last time you took a bath?!”

They don’t speak much that night as they bathe and get ready for bed. Geralt was never much of a talker and Jaskier feels he’s talked enough, for once. The witcher worries that his apology wasn’t good enough. That Jaskier’s forgiveness was a show for his loyal audience. That he can never fix what he said.

But then Jaskier looks at him with those blue eyes and tells him to “Get in the bed, you big oaf, it’s big enough for two.” And Jaskier runs his fingers through his hair and hums out his song.

And Geralt knows it will be okay.

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

#SoftBoyGeraltRights

(know that things did not heal in a day. they still argue and bicker and geralt sometimes says things he doesn't mean because he's angry and jaskier sometimes doesn't know when to let geralt have his silence. but they know how to apologize and come back together now, and that's what truly matters.)

If you have any requests, I just reblogged a prompt meme you can use! Or if you just have a general request, throw it at me!

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gerskier #fanfics #by the bard #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

Text

Phango - Not So Strangers In The Night

(Swagger Bishie + Identity Reveal + Ghost King)

Dash wants many things but there’s two he’s sure he just can’t have, Danny meanwhile, doesn’t think ‘can’t’ is an actual word.

Dash sighs mentally, eyeballing Danny out of the corner of his eye. There had always just been something about how lithe the guy’s body was, the way his clothing would occasionally cling or hang off him giving away the skinnier body underneath. Personally, he would never wear oversized clothing himself, but it was more than a little attractive on people with petite frames.

Watching Danny stretch his arms over his head and yawn in a way that was almost cat-like. He doesn’t know when Danny’d gotten his teeth done like that, the fangs, but they added an even more slender and sharp edge to his face. Moving his gaze up the other teens' jawline to mentally trace out a sharp line all the way past the tapered ears. Everything about Danny’s face was sharp, defined...and incredibly attractive.

Glancing back to Danny’s arms just before he lowers them, the oversized sweater just thin enough and just heavy enough to give away the ever so slight hint of defined muscles underneath. Dash has no clue how that happened and he was honestly a bit hurt and dismayed when he noticed Danny bulking up. How could he not notice? It was so very obvious every time he grabbed around the now practically rock hard biceps to drag the kid off for his daily beating. Or when he snuck a peek down Danny’s shirt, as he always did, when pinning him up against some locker. He knows attacking Danny is pretty stupid, but Dash knows he’s not a smart guy. And really? A jock with a loser? A freak? Never. He’d be a social pariah. So he gets his hands on his secret little crush the only way he knows how. With rough hands and a strong dose of aggression. He does relish the closeness too though with that strange muscle Danny’s built, he does wonder why Danny never truly fights back. He honestly wouldn’t mind getting rough up by the lithe teen. That was half the reason he loved football after all, and working out. The bruises, the cuts, the sore muscles. Pain was a pleasure and carried a feeling of power. Knowing just what your body could do and take. And he’ll admit to testing Danny’s limits sometimes. Seeing just how much pain he could take, which honestly just left him feeling very impressed...and attracted.

But back to why Danny’s muscle growth had bugged him. In the beginning, it did anyway. See Danny had always been skinny, there was a daintiness to him, yet lithe. It’s not like Danny never had muscle, no, it had just been muscle potential hidden away. And wondering just what he could do if that potential developed was a bit exhilarating. Just like getting a new teammate on the field. But his fellow jocks were all rather brutish in their muscle and psyche, which Dash firmly did not have an interest in. And sure, maybe he had gone a little blind, thinking that the only real options were skinny, beefy, or fat.

So imagine his hidden horror with that mindset, when Danny -with the perfect femboy bod, with all the sharpness needed to have a somewhat pixie look- seemed to be transitioning into the beefy category? Over time that worry was quelled, Danny’s muscle was so different. He never seen such a lean tight kind of musculature, Danny even seemed to become more sharp; sharper jaw, the ears, even his eyes had a sharpness. It was, dare he say, exotic. Which if anything, only added to the femboy pixie look. Which okay, sue him, he liked cutesy shit; definitely explained his taste in men. Not that anyone actually knew that. Dash Baxter, number one football star and the example of masculinity, being interested in anything ‘cute’? Never. He had an image he had to keep.

That was one thing he was insanely jealous of Danny over. Danny’s freaky family made it so that it didn’t damn matter what he did or how he acted. Nothing was unexpected behaviour from a Fenton. And he was already a social pariah. Danny could literally transform into a dog or some shit and no one would really be all that surprised. He might get a few new insults hurled at him but that’s it. But Dash? The slight wrong move and goodbye scholarships or dealing with a furious father. ‘Cause don’t let it fool you, regardless of what the colleague heads said publicly, they absolutely did discriminate. Especially in sports. And bi in football? Bi and hocked up with a cute little thing who was a social outcast of the lowest most mocked kind? Surely his life and future would explode right in front of his face.

And of course there was the issue of if Danny would even be interested. Because finally owning up only to get rejected? By said lowest of the low twink? That would beyond worse. So yeah, the risk wasn’t worth it. And he wasn’t quite dull enough to not realise that Danny probably did not like him, the ‘bullying’ and all that. So even if Danny did swing that way, well, Dash’s chances were pretty well nothing.

Making a damn point to jeer mockingly and with a level of intimidation at the weirdo trio as he passes them on his way to class, firmly making a point to not react to picking up on Danny clearly not being fearful and even smirking slightly. It honestly pleased him immensely that Danny didn’t seem to actually fear him. Again, it was something like hidden strength. That was one thing that had always separated Danny from the other skinny kids, he wasn’t fearful. He was bold and loud. Even if that only really showed if you looked for it or caught him on more of his more mirth filled days. Simply put, Danny had never been pathetic. Never been weak. Even back when he was physically very much weak -Dash had to give him fitness training for peats sake- he had never been mentally weak.

Sitting at the back of the class next to Kwan, sneaking glances at Danny here and there. This was something he liked to do in the less important and boring classes, recently anyway. Sure he had always admired Danny with glances here and there but another one of Danny’s changes was just too intriguing not to watch.

Danny often slept in classes, that was boring and honestly made him worry some which is why he went easier on the guy on the days he seemed to be napping more often than not, but when he didn’t and it was one of these more useless classes? He’d go between looked over the other students and scanning the town through the window next to him. The sharpness to his eyes was most noticeable then and there was something about the way he looked over the rest of their classmates. It reminded Dash of how people talked about how gods and angels would gaze upon humans. Like they were impossibly and unimaginably above them yet fond and even protective. It really added to that pixie aesthetic Danny had, made him seem just that more ethereal. ‘Ethereal’ that’s a new one, maybe he got more out of Lancer’s crappy poetry babble than he thought. That thought makes him wonder if Danny would like fancy words and that poetry stuff. All the fae in his moms' romance novels -which yes he did secretly read- seemed to love that kind of stuff. And sure, he’s pretty sure Danny’s human, ethereal aspects aside, but a guy can imagine can’t he? Dash quickly brings his attention back to the teacher as Danny’s watchful yet distant gaze travels to him. At least he isn’t a blusher, Dash is more than a little thankful for that.

Dash is laying on his bed, quickly turning his head to the side as an explosion sounds. Promptly springing up and sticking his head out the window at spotting Phantom zip by, “WOOOO! Go get him Phantom!”, he can’t help but beam as Phantom glances back and sends him a little wave with a cocky smile.

Dash sighs and flops back against his bed, his crush on Phantom was another dirty little secret. Sure he may pass himself off as ‘his biggest fan’ and he certainly wasn’t nearly as bad -or delusional if he’s blunt- as Paulina, but he definitely was a part of the Phantom Crush Club in spirit. Since of course no one knew about this crush either. Queer thing aside, Phantom was a ghost. Which yes, was part of the attraction so sue him, again the whole ethereal thing. Man that word’s becoming a personal favourite.

Phantom’s glow combined with the white of his hair and skin, that definitely qualified as ethereal. The powers were whatever really, cool and probably really fun but not where Dash’s attraction is based. And really, if anything made Dash’s type clear it was his two crushes. Both of them had the lithe pixie feel to them. Sharp in all the right places and brimming with hidden strength. Though Phantom’s might be much more literal. But honestly, Dash preferred Danny’s less showy nature. Phantom demanded attention, the skin-tight jumpsuit definitely did not help reduce that, and he was loud in a way that could border on obnoxious. Danny was a sleek black cat with piercing knowing eyes, Phantom was a mighty dragon always coiled for a fight.

Blinking at the ceiling, “I’m getting all fancy, man I really need to sleep”. Turning over in his bed only for his hand to brush against the corner of a book, “hurgh?”, pulling it out towards his face and squinting. Staring at the little scrap paper used as a bookmark, “probably a bad idea”, but flicking the book open anyway; a bit curious where he left off.

“I wondered if my head and heart would ever reconcile, or whether I'd just cursed myself to relive this moment for the rest of my years, half assured I'd made the only choice available to me, half always whispering if only, the whole of me filled with bitter regret“ ~ An Enchantment Of Ravens

Dash blinks and grumbles, “you didn’t have to call me out like that”. Deciding to flip around to a random page.

“Are you in love with me?" I blurted out.

A terrible silence followed. Rook didn't turn around.

"Please say something."

He rounded on me. "Is that so terrible? You say it as though it's the most awful thing you can imagine. It isn't as though I've done it on purpose. Somehow I've even grown fond of your - your irritating questions, and your short legs, and your accidental attempts to kill me."

I recoiled. "That's the worst declaration of love I've ever heard!” ~ An Enchantment Of Ravens

Dash chuckles but sighs, “fate hates me”. Deciding to try once more, flipping closer to the beginning.

“My cheeks warmed, and a wistful pang plucked a sweet, sad chord in my stomach. It was simple, really. He didn’t want me to forget him once he’d gone” ~ An Enchantment Of Ravens

Dash blinks, he did always rather like seeing the slight busies he left on Danny. Which now that he thinks about it, they didn’t seem to form anymore or stay for long. Which, okay yes, bugged him, not like he knew why really. Guess it was kind of obvious now. Maybe Danny would See those bruises and remember him. Was that stupid? Likely. Snapping the book shut and sticking it more securely under the mattress, before making a point to force himself to settle down to sleep.

He finds himself waking up way too early for a school day, turning his head to look at the little football-shaped clock, it’s red light glare at him reading ‘3:42’. If non-ghostly objects could be malicious, he’s sure every alarm clock would be. The early morning leading to him thinking back on his current book, the story of a fae royal and human falling in love. Forbidden love that would cost the fae his reputation. Sounded a little familiar huh?

Twenty minutes later and his mind’s still on that damn book, so he throws the blankets off and decides to get dressed. Thankfully sneaking out was relatively easy in his house, normally everyone was so loud that quiet noises went completely unnoticed. So just walking out the front door was a perfectly fine thing to do.

Five minutes later finds him wandering the sidewalks of Amity. If he’s being totally honest, even if Danny wasn’t some social peasant or whatever, he still wouldn’t go for it; even if he was a girl. Why? Hitting on girls like Paulina was easy, expected even. There was no risk. Even if girls like we rejected him, that’s what they were expected to do most of the time. But someone he was actually interested in? That was risky. The thought of trying to take it was thrilling, attractive, fun. Actually trying? Nope.

Kicking a rock down the gravel as he enters the park, eventually bumping into to something or someone. Snapping his head up and cursing his luck -or maybe he should be thanking it?- at seeing it was Danny he ran into...literally. Watching as Danny steadies himself quickly, his hood fällig down in the process. Dash has to make a damn point to not stare and change his face to a scowl when the moonlight practically glows of Danny’s pale skin. Why did he have to be so, um, right, ethereal? “Watch it loser”.

Danny squints at him, then throws Dash through a loop by responding with, “no one wanders around at four am for good reasons”.

Dash blinks a bit at those watchful blue-eyes, losing a bit of the fake bite that Danny hopefully passes off as tiredness, “then why are you here?”.

“Why would I tell you why?”, with that Danny turns back to look over the rest of the park from the little bridge thingy they’re on.

Dash scoffs, “whatever Fentwerp”, joining in looking over the park. The two settle into silence, though it doesn’t take long for Dash to glance at Danny’s back; the dark grey hoodie was arguably in horrible condition but it just looked like a style choice on Danny. Everything probably looked good on him. Flicking his eyes away to avoid Danny possibly noticing, because really, there was no one else here so any staring from him would be rather obvious. That gets him thinking though, when had he ever been just one on one with Danny? With neither of their friends around or teachers? Never. It had never happened. Dash didn’t do lonely, he also didn’t do silence for that matter, and Danny’s friends were practically attached to him. Honestly, he’s pretty sure both of them are crushing on Danny; Valerie definitely still had a thing for him, everyone knew the goth did and the techno-geek had a thing for everyone. And yet none of them were going for him...why? They didn’t really have anything to lose and Valerie already had once. Right, even Paulina had dated him; even if she claimed it was to piss off the goth. Maybe there was just something about Danny that made him easy to crush on but impossible to love? Maybe it had something to do with how he was, what was that word? How could he have forgotten it already?....oh right, ethereal. Or maybe it was because he was ethereal. It was pretty obvious people are, um, put-off? -That sounds right- by things that seem inhuman. What with all the horror movies about such people, and that was a pretty common theme with human/non-human romances. Personally, he didn’t get it. Sharp, predatory, the thrum of potential power or danger, the otherworldliness -he’s pretty sure he’s read it described with that word once- he liked that.

Flicking his eyes back to Danny watching as he opens his mouth to sigh almost soundlessly, fangs dragging across his lips. Yeah, shit like that is going to be the death of Dash. With the silence officially be too much for the jock, Dash mutters, “four am is a stupid time”.

Danny snorts, “perfect for you then”, before pushing off the railing and eyeballing Dash. Smirking slightly, “you still keep a collection of teddy bears?”.

“Oh screw y-”, Dash cuts himself off, there’s not really anyone here to play pretend for. “Yeah, so what I like cute shit, what’s it to ya Fenton”. Including cute shit like you, being left unsaid.

Dash doesn’t miss how Danny’s eyes seem to glint while Danny tilts his head at him before those eyes glance around a little. Dash isn’t sure what he sees or is looking for, while Danny hums before speaking, “so often you aren’t quite what you seem, huh Dash?”. Then walking a bit to stand side to side with Dash, hands in his pockets, “you allow those around you to dictate who you are. Stop that, it’s stupid. You’ll never find what you want or who you fit with that way”.

Dash turns and watches Danny walk off. In some way it almost feels like Danny was never actually here. Looking back tot the bridge and touch where Danny’s hand had been to find it cold. Was he tired enough to actually be imagining Danny being, well, Danny? He’s not sure he’d even be able to imagine the sharpness of Danny’s eyes. Sighing a bit and not sure if he wished the maybe Danny had stuck around or not. Before deciding to walk some more, the air smelled nice at least and no one was around to give a damn how he acted.

Turning and walking off the bridge only to nearly shriek from some blonde-haired guy just suddenly being there. He doesn’t look friendly and the scar over his face doesn’t help that, yet Dash finds himself frozen in spot. He knew he could move, kinda wants to, but something just feels like he shouldn’t. Maybe it was the piercing blue eyes, how even with the strong moonlight he had no shadow, or the cruel-looking smile that somehow felt kind.

Swallowing a bit thickly as the man approaches, the clicking of his purple walking stick being the only sound. The stranger looks up at him slightly, “restless soul, looking for something in another land. The kind heroes and villains dance upon. You think you know your path best, and yet, are just a vagabond too fearful of quicksand to walk from the desert dunes to find an oasis of blues and greens. You are parched dry from your ways, yet refuse to chase waters deeper than you know”.

Dash blinks, catching the moonlight glint off the strange gear cog collar pins, “what?”.

The man chuckles, “you hold tears of the potential of judgment. A soul of man, whose fading light will one day be at its end. Seeking to paint your existences canvas with the lord of graves. One who you’ll grant find in time, one way or another. Painted soot or painted snow. Regardless. Would you not rather run your hands through the textures while you can enjoy it and endeavour it while having a pulse to half match under your skin?”.

Dash’s brain is pretty well mud right now, “who are you?”.

He shrugs, “I’m a tale of time, that history has lost. I see, I guide, I exist. And you, you are a bird that thinks it’s a boar”.

One thing Dash can always do is pick up on insults, and that was an insult, even if he has no clue what that was supposed to mean, “I’m not a meathead”.

The stranger holds up a finger and smiles, his eyes have an oldness to them that is honestly unpleasant, “precisely. You fear not the dark nor the monster with in, you fear the light and things far weaker than you. The boar charges and fights the bull, the bird lives alongside it. You feign your charges, act the boar, even as your flyer eyes see that the target is something to walk with, not against. You do this so others think you are a boar, why would you want to? boars die foolish. Be glad your bull is more of a lording cat, one that won’t strike you down”.

Dash blinks and steps back a little bit, “er, whatever you weird old man”. To make a point, Dash walls forward and around the stranger, but not too close because seriously, what the fuck?

The stranger doesn’t move but follows Dash with his eyes, speaking again just as Dash walks past, “you may find your lithe cat will enjoy your feathers quite fine. And one more thing”, Dash glances back and the stranger winks with a grin, “it’s not time that’s stupid, it’s what you do with that time”.

To say Dash is confused, as he walks the gravel path feeling slightly paranoid, would be an understatement. Lancer’s weird poetry crap made more sense than that. But the weirdos' last words sounding so much like Danny’s is giving him a weird gut feeling that the guy was somehow talking about Danny. Officially deciding he needs to back to sleep, he must be having awake fever dreams or something.

Dash walks through the school doors, firmly glad he got more sleep. Part of him wants to confirm seeing Danny wasn’t some weird fever dream, the other part is a bit distracted when, in his taking in of Danny’s lithe form, he notices the small gear cog charm hanging off his chain belt. It looked exactly the same as the weird guys' pins, has Dash just walked into some strange fantasy story or something?

Looking away and storming through the halls like he owns them, which he does, when Danny looks to him. Catching Danny’s eyes seemingly becoming sharper for a second and his hand brushing the charm on his belt. Why did he feel like Danny noticing where he was staring was somehow...what was that word? Some that started with a ‘c’?whatever, it was somehow a strong play.

Danny just suddenly appearing and stepping out of a bathroom stall, that Dash is sure was empty, during lunch rather confirms his thoughts. Looking Danny over through the mirror, his head was titled and he quickly locks gazed with Dash through the mirror. This was that sharp edge really showing through, and god damn if that wasn’t stupidly attractive. Snapping at him, “what you being creepy for, you freaky weirdo”.

Danny scoffs and rolls his eyes, “it seemed rather timely”.

Dash blinks a bit at Danny almost jarringly quickly snapping his gaze back to Dash’s face in the mirror. The first thought to worm into his head is that this seemed like a cat stalking after a bird. Then basically getting dropped kicked in the brain by Deja Vu. Muttering at the mirror, “what is it with that bird shit”.

“What, someone give you a weird birds and the bees talk?”, Danny snickers, “thought you were too old for that”.

Dash squints at the mirror, was that what that guy was going off about? Honestly anything seems possible. Looking Danny over, if there was one thing everyone knew it was how used to strange he was. How part of it he was, because of his family. But Dash knows there’s more to it than that, that he was something different and strange all on his own. He’s also sure that’s not just his interest in the ethereal boy talking. Deciding to go out on a limb, not like anyone would judge him for using a Fenton to figure out some weird shit, “maybe? Who knows what’s up with weirdos”, turning around and looking more directly at Danny, who’s looking at him with critical sharp eyes, “some guy going off about drinking ‘oasis’ of blue and green. That my cat will like my feathers”.

Danny smirks knowingly and moves to wash his hands in the sink, “sounds like a riddle if I’ve ever heard one. Maybe think of who you associate with blue and who with green”, chuckling and shaking his head a little, locking eyes with Dash in the mirror again, “and who you think of as a ‘cat’. Otherwise, sounds like someone’s telling you to stop holding yourself back and chase after what you want”. Danny walks out leaving Dash just kind of staring at the sink.

Dash spends the rest of the day casting glances at Danny a fair bit more often than he usually does. Pretty well sure the boy knew what the strange guy meant but was just letting Dash figure it out himself. He finds he can respect that a bit, even if he’s definitely annoyed. The fact that Danny is seemingly brushing up against him in the hallways doesn’t help, or maybe it does. Because fine, yes he likes it. The fantasy of Danny being forward towards him in an attracted way won’t stop circling in his head. But it isn’t until the second to last class that something clicks. Watching Danny suddenly stiffening, like he often did before running off to the bathroom mysteriously, Dash could have sworn Danny’s face twisted in anger and eyes flashed green for a second as he stands and speed walks out of the classroom. Leaving Dash blinking and getting slapped by Deja Vu again. ‘Blue and green’, blinking more at that making other things click in place. Everything about Danny was lithe, he’d even described him as cat-like. Was weird dude telling him to get with Danny? The hell? How did weird guy even know that?

He guesses that’s one way for the universe or whatever to say something’s fate or some bullshit. But real life doesn’t work like that...right? Well okay, ghosts are real so there is some make-believe that’s real. But then Dash, Hell no one, would ever describe Danny as a bull. A bull that’s a cat, that doesn’t even make sense. Shaking his head as class ends.

Walking out thinking of soot and snow, and didn’t that guy also say something about heroes? Soot was black right? Googling away to find that yes it was, as he makes it to his next class. Of course snow was white. So black and white. Well shit, that was Danny and Phantom’s hair colours; and Phantom was a hero. Danny had organised that rescue mission, so could he be labelled ‘hero’ too. Not really, it was a one-time thing after all.

Groaning and hitting his head into the desk only for the teacher to snap at him about paying attention. Mentally shoving all this crap away, basically mentally screaming at it to sort itself out.

Seeing Danny after last class across the hall and walking towards Danny with a glare, because he absolutely needs to take out his romantically frustrated aggression and, if he’s honest, mentally frustrated aggression -because thoughts of that weirdo just will not leave him alone- on someone.

Dash grabs him and slams him into the lockers, speaking without a whole lot of power behind his worlds, because he’s more than a little preoccupied and Danny’s eyes glittering with mirth and knowing does not help, “you know, I kinda feel like making you eat locker, weirdo”.

Danny speaks with a smirk, “weirdly cute you mean”. Dash sputters and promptly drops Danny, turning on his heel and speed walking off. Though he does throw a glance over his shoulder back at Danny, who looks more smug than anything he’s ever seen before; making Dash blush furiously and then feeling annoyed at blushing.

Dash decides that night that if his head’s just gonna be stuck in a pit of ‘just ask him, you know you want to’ and weird mutterings about painting with the lord of graves -whatever the heck that means- then he might as well finish his book. Well, his mom’s book but still. It seems suiting enough.

He flat-out drops the book when he gets to the point where Gadfly -an ageless fae who can see the future and all the twists and turns it might or might not take- functionally admits to setting up Isobel with Rook. The mortal with the inhuman prince, who -as Dash finishes the book with a fair amount of shock- comes to stand as the King of all fae. The lord of fae. The lord of graves? Was Danny some kind of ethereal prince? King? Or something? And heck! Gadfly was even blonde too! The Hell? And didn’t weird guy go off about Dash painting or something? Isobel’s a painter. Officially finding this a little too weird, Dash closes the book and tucks it away. Looking out the window and deciding that another -not really early enough to be morning but too early to be night- walk might get him more answers.

Somehow, Dash thinks as he watches Danny fiddling with a dandelion puff from afar on the same bridge as before, this isn’t surprising. Shaking himself off and making a point to shove down all the weird stupid feelings, before walking over with his hands in his pockets. “So you’re out here again”

Danny speaks without looking to him, “so are you”.

Dash scoffs and looks at his shoes a little, something tells him Danny wouldn’t be out wandering the night because of a book and some weird guy. The boy would probably handle it without being fazed much at all, “what? do you just wander around in the dead of night for fun?”.

Danny chuckles and side-eyes him, “maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Under the moonlight seems like a great place to be, don’t it?”.

Dash leans against the bridge railing, “it is ethereal I guess”.

Danny laughs and it’s a bit loud, “ethereal, that’s a big word for you. Now I wonder what could make you learn a word like that. Something so applicable to the strange and otherworldly”.

Dash bites his lip slightly at that, feeling incredibly called out, though ha! ‘Otherworldly’ was a word used for it. For people like Danny. Dash scoffs, “whatever, it’s got it’s uses”.

They stand in silence, both looking in opposite directions for a while. Until Dash blushes slightly at Danny humming, recognising the tune as Strangers In The Night.

Now Dash isn’t that much of an idiot, he’s not smart but he’s not dumb. He can recognise a blatant call out when he sees one. Danny knew. And...wasn’t being a dick about it, much. Wasn’t brushing him off. Dash isn’t sure if he’s confused by that or not.

Turning his head slightly to look at where the strange man had been last night before blurting out, “you’re mean”.

Danny laughs loudly at that and looks at Dash, who firmly avoids turning his head further to meet the gaze, “oh yes, says the bully. But you know what they say, ‘he only hits you ‘cause he likes you’”.

Dash jerks a bit and gapes, maybe he underestimated the boldness of Danny. While Danny sighs after a while of furthered silence, “it’s a darker night out hmmm? The darkness always holds something, a secretiveness to it. Where you can watch without being seen or act without being watched. In every story it crawls with monsters, things of depravity. Things people think are wrong, shouldn’t see the light of day. But those things are free in a sense that those who secluded themselves to daylight can never be. Monsters and those who hide, yet even they need to be brought into the sun sometimes. Wouldn’t you say?”.

Dash’s brain had stalled on the monster comment. That weird guy had gone off about monsters too. The whole him not fearing monsters or something? Danny was clearly weird, different. Didn’t people get called monsters in all those mutant movies over being different? And Phantom, well, the Fenton’s literally shouted that he was a monster. This was turning into some beauty and the beast shit. That makes him practically pitch forwards and face-plant into the ground.

Danny catches him and mutters, “geez, are you so repressed that the idea of not being so makes you want to eat the ground you walk upon?”.

Dash just blinks at him as he stands in front of him, because the whole thing with beauty and the beast was the beast transformed. Could look two different ways. And Danny’s eyes were green. Phantoms eyes were green. Danny raises his eyebrows at Dash sputtering at him, “that’s, it’s not, that ain’t”, Dash blinks, this explained a lot and Phantom was so bold, he took what he wanted, yet here he? -They? However it works- was seemingly waiting for Dash to make some kind of decisions thingy. Muttering, “have my cake and eat it too”.

Danny scrunches his face up and laughs, “I never imagined Dash would genuinely confuse me-”, getting cut off by Dash just saying screw it and kissing him, hard.

Dash pulling back but promptly hugging the weird ethereal creature, “I am so many levels of confused”. Danny just chuckles and pats his back, “yet maybe less in some way. Though you know, you really should ask first”.

Dash jerks and basically holds Danny by the shoulders away from him, Dash wasn’t that dumb of a guy but he was definitely a little stupid.

Danny rolls his eyes but smirks, batting off Dash hands before grabbing his shirt collar and kissing back, “you’re an idiot”.

Dash mutters, “you’re a weirdo”, as Danny backs off. After a bit of silence Dash looks at his feet and sticks his hands in his pockets, “so, uh, now what?”.

Danny shrugs and goes back to leaning on the railing, “I dunno, you work through your confusion I guess”, glancing at Dash, “just know that I am never a confused person anymore”.

Dash looks out across the park, well that was as blunt as anything. Why though? “I’ve literally beat the crap out of you for years. And,”, Dash worries his lip a little, blushing slightly from the unusual coldness on them, a coldness from Danny, “and you could have fought back anytime”.

Danny gives him a knowing look before smirking a little, “so you figured that out too huh?”.

Dash doesn’t give him a chance to say anything more, “as of two seconds or whatever ago. My head is mud”, Dash barely cuts himself off from saying ‘congrats’ or ‘thanks’. Who the Hell says that to some who just kissed them?

Danny screws up his face and it honestly looks like something out of a bad movie where the characters make some great discovery. When he chuckles and shakes his head, “so that’s what you meant by the cake thing”, squinting at Dash a little, “now you know I have to ask this, but knowing isn’t why you did that, is it?”.

Dash doesn’t know whether to nod or shake his head because both would be a lie, “I just figured out my two, um, interests, were smashed into one. Excuse me for not being myself, or whatever, enough and pleased, to have some self-control”.

Danny smiles at that, shoving Dash’s shoulder lightly, “lucky you I guess. Who’d you like more?”.

Dash sputters, Danny was a little much, always was, but that’s part of what he liked about him. The fearlessness, the hard sharpness, and he was cutting Dash the Hell up, “you”, Dash keeps talking as Danny raises his eyebrows, “Danny”, continuing when Danny raises his brows further, “Fenton. The weird lithe kid with sharp edges and the whole pixie thing going on”. Dash looks around some, ignoring the slight smirk on Danny’s face.

Danny bumping shoulders with him, “oh fancy words Dash. You know I love words with meanings, that I love to give out nicknames. Maybe you should be Teddy Bear”. Dash blushes more than a bit furiously at that which just makes Danny laugh, “oh yes, that will do wonderfully”. Danny sighing after a while of Dash blushing and staring defiantly into the distance, “not that we have to be public about... whatever this is”.

Dash looks back to him at that, nodding slightly, “that is...why I never would have tried normally. Weird dude threw me through a loop”, smiling a little and shoving Danny lightly, “I think I’m glad he did though”.

Danny nods, “if there’s anyone who can understand secrets Dash, especially for safety’s sake, it’s me”, gesturing around, “night seems to suit us. It’s always been something of mine. There’s not really anything wrong with hiding in the night, if you care to join me in that anyway”.

Dash gapes a little, that felt like a stupid question. Why would he question if Dash wanted this to be a ‘thing’. Dash should be the one worried about that, “yes. That is- why would you even ask that?”.

Danny chuckles and gives him a smile that’s got a sadness to it, which Dash is officially having none of and feeling more like his rather brazen self, just kisses him again before he can respond. Dash then saying, “it doesn’t matter”.

Danny chuckles and shakes his head a little, “you sure watch me a lot huh. Like what you see?”, Dash forced down his blush this time while Danny smirks and glances around with that searching look before looking back to him, “care to see how I own my night?”.

Dash just nods a little before going slightly slack-jawed at the near blinding ring of light and Danny suddenly being Phantom and just floating around to be away from the bridge slightly, holding a hand out to Dash, “well? I could rip off superman and say I promise not to drop you or you can stop holding yourself back”.

Dash barely wastes a second before grabbing Danny’s hand and letting him pull him up off the ground. Dash asking the only other question he really has or that’s still bugging him as Danny wraps his arms around him and just...goes up, “so weird guy also said something about king of graves?”.

Danny laughs and shakes his head a little, “that cheeky bastard”, before looking down at Dash’s face, “Ghost King, Dash. Something beyond what any ghost or mortal could be”.

Dash again feels slapped by Deja Vu, he’s never going to be able to look at that damn book the same again, “you know, I was reading a book where...”.

Dash winds up explaining his ‘girly’ book interests as they fly around, oddly unfazed and comfortable with the whole fly thing. While Danny simply exists as the strange ethereal being he is, face glowing brightly against the night sky; leaving Dash feeling like he just caught a star in a wishing bottle and think that maybe poetry might be a good idea.

End.

#danny phantom #phandom #phangoweek19 #phango19 #danny fenton #dash baxter #romance #swagger bishie #ghost king Danny #clockwork #identity reveal #homophobia #acceptence #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick #my writing #clockwork is just out here setting people up

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nyanmitsus · 4 years

Text

[RF4] the importance of keeping cool

title: the importance of keeping cool rating: g fandom: rune factory 4 pairing: doug/dylas additional tags: n/a read on ao3

They weren’t always quiet like this.

In the middle of summer, there was nothing to do but sweat. As high up as Selphia was, it still got unbearably hot, and if Dylas had to spend one more minute listening to Porcoline’s commentary about it, he thought he was going to go crazy. He’d excused himself from lunch and headed down to the lake, and he was pleasantly surprised to find no one there.

Well, maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Today was one of those days where a trip to Autumn Road wasn’t too outrageous of an idea; Dylas supposed that most people decided to head out that way instead. Maybe he would have, too, if he’d thought of it earlier in the day. For now, he was content to sit by the lake and wait for a fish to bite.

At some point, Doug had joined him, with nothing more to say but hey. He sat down next to Dylas and stayed sitting up for all of ten minutes before he shed his coat and flopped down into the grass. And it was quiet—save for the lapping of the lake against the shore—which was both a blessing and a curse. It was easier for Dylas to not have to think about what to say for a little while, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Doug was thinking about.

Not like it actually mattered to Dylas. It was probably just something they’d end up fighting over, anyway.

...Right? Right.

The first time either of them spoke was when the sun was beginning to paint the sky dusty blues and pinks. Dylas’s bucket of fish was only half-full; it seemed like not even those under the water could stand the heat, but he made a promise to Porco to at least come back with something.

“I feel like an ice cream cone,” Doug said, and Dylas was entirely too focused on the charming lilt of his voice than what he was actually saying. “Except, like, in a puddle on the ground. A melted ice cream cone.”

Dylas looked away from the water, examining Doug from head to toe. Still completely intact, even with the shed coat and discarded boots. “You’re not melted, rice brain.”

Doug laughed. “Rice brain? What kinda insult is that?”

“The kind for you,” Dylas said. “Your brain’s only as big as a grain of rice.”

Doug rolled his eyes, and Dylas turned back to the water.

Times like these were when Dylas really didn’t know whether he and Doug liked each other or hated each other. They spent so much time hurling insults at each other, but Dylas almost felt like he trusted Doug more than anyone else in this town, despite everything that had happened before. He knew that if he told Doug something secret, Doug would carry it to his grave. Likewise, he’d do the same for Doug.

But it was just too hard to read that damn dwarf! Sometimes Dylas would catch flashes of expressions across Doug’s face that didn’t seem intentional, but he just didn’t understand him. He talked so much about girls and being bored and wondering what he was going to eat next, but Dylas was always left wondering if any of those things actually interested Doug past a surface-level sort of interest. And if Doug didn’t care much about those things, then what did he care about?

Dylas didn’t even know how to approach a subject like that. He’d learned from Lest that there are some things you can’t just ask outright, and that definitely seemed like what Lest was talking about. But Lest was impossibly good at figuring things like that out—it’d taken Dylas nearly a whole season to even recognize that he and Doug were kind of friends.

He shook his head. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to think about stuff like that. He had fish to catch, anyway, even though it felt like nothing had bitten in the past half hour.

He decided to give himself ten more minutes: it was way too hot, still, to wait for ten more minutes, but whether or not he caught something, he was going home. And when those ten minutes were up, he kept his word, standing and collecting his bucket and his fishing rod.

“We’re leaving,” Dylas said, lightly kicking Doug in the side. “Get up, or I’ll leave you here.”

Doug was quick to collect himself, tossing his coat over his shoulder. “Felt like I was laying there for hours. Want me to carry that?”

“I’ve got it. And you were laying there for hours.”

The sun hung even lower in the sky by the time they reached the restaurant, but only because they stopped to talk to Lest on the way back. It seemed like the heat didn’t bother him, even though he’d been working all day. He was telling them all about how he and Dolce were running deliveries all day for someone named Eliza. Somehow, Doug had gotten hold of the bucket during the conversation, and he held it with both hands in front of him, swaying back and forth.

They said goodbye to the prince and resumed their walk back to the restaurant. The same sort of silence from the lake fell over them again. Doug was smiling, though; he didn’t look bored or like he was searching for something to say. Was he really content just taking a walk with Dylas?

No one was inside the restaurant when they arrived—aside from Arthur, maybe—and Doug set down the bucket in the kitchen as instructed. He lingered for a moment, looking like he had something to say.

“You can stay for a little,” Dylas blurted. “Until the sun goes down. So it’s not as hot when you go back.”

Doug raised an eyebrow, like it was completely outrageous that Dylas would extend any sort of kindness towards him, but he nodded. “Works for me.”

“I just don’t want to hear you whining about how hot it was.”

“I don’t whine! You’re way more of a whiner than me!”

“Am not! Did you hear me complain at all about the heat?”

Doug thought about it, just for a few seconds. “Well, no, but you looked so damn miserable hauling that bucket back here that you were practically whining. It was all in the eyes.”

“The hell you lookin’ at my eyes for?”

Doug stammered, but then it was silent again. He didn’t look at Dylas. Instead, he was looking somewhere off to the side, probably trying to come up with some sort of explanation. The thought of there being any sort of explanation made Dylas feel all kinds of strange. It’d be easier to accept that it was just some weird offhanded remark. Maybe it was just a dwarf thing. Or maybe it was something else.

No matter what it was, Dylas didn’t want to know, and the more time Doug had to think about it, the closer an answer came. So Dylas decided to talk about the first thing that came to mind.

“Porco makes ice cream in the summer,” Dylas said, like it wasn’t a fact Doug knew well. “You want one?”

Dylas could almost see Doug’s train of thought crash and burn at the mere mention of ice cream. The topic of Dylas’s eyes was completely abandoned, and they were back to their usual back-and-forth about whatever Doug had to start mouthing off about. It seemed like he’d done a lot of thinking while he was staring at the clouds earlier, and Dylas was half-sure that Doug was just spouting hot air rather than trying to pick a fight.

Still, this felt normal, and normal was something Dylas could handle.

(It was so hot that the ice cream started to melt when they’d barely started eating it. Dylas decided that it must have been the very same heat that warmed his cheeks whenever he thought about staring into Doug’s eyes—or rather, glancing to the side and catching Doug staring at him. He wondered how many of those moments he’d missed in the time they knew each other. He wondered if he’d catch them now that he was paying attention. He wondered if Doug felt the same heat, the same blush, the same feeling in his stomach like there were a bunch of wasps trapped in there instead of the butterflies he’d read about in books and heard about in songs.)

Dylas was sure he’d wiped the same empty table about six times over.

It’d been a few days since he’d had that whole conversation with Doug, but things with him seemed to be normal. They didn’t talk about Dylas’s eyes again, and Dylas wasn’t even sure if that whole thing crossed Doug’s mind nearly as much as it crossed his.

Maybe it was just a ridiculous thing to focus on. If Doug wasn’t thinking about it, then there was no reason for Dylas to be focusing on it either. Right now, anyway, Dylas had to focus on wiping the table for the seventh time. He could see his reflection in it already, but if he looked too bored, Porcoline would surely give him something else to do, and that something else had enormous potential to be something ridiculous. Or just plain unappealing, like going out to pick berries or flowers when it was twice as hot as the day he’d gone fishing.

Arthur walked in from the other room while Dylas was in the middle of his eighth table-wiping, and it was the most activity the entire place had seen for the past hour. Porcoline even stopped his singing to say hello.

“Are you hungry?” Porcoline asked. “You keep yourself cooped up in there all day and all night! You must be hungry.”

“No, I’m alright,” Arthur said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s quite hot today, though. I was wondering if it was cooler on this side of the building.”

Porcoline shook his head. “I can’t say it is. But! What I can say is that you should one-hundred percent stick around for a hot minute, as my darling Dylas has to go on a Porcomission starting right now!”

That seemed to perk Arthur up. He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Dylas, what sort of mission are you going on?”

“Not one I was aware of,” Dylas said, tossing his rag over his shoulder and meeting the two at the counter. “What do you want?”

Porcoline spun around in much too big of a circle than was actually necessary, retrieving a basket that sat by the window. It looked rather delicate, and its contents were covered by a red and white checkered cloth. Knowing Porcoline, it was some sort of care package.

“I’ve prepared the most special soup in the entire world! Or at least this side of the world. You must take this to Blossom, okay?” Porcoline asked, with an unusual sort of seriousness. “Arthur has no problem covering for you until you get back. And if she offers you money, do not take it.”

Dylas wasn’t sure when Arthur volunteered himself for something like that, and by the look on the blond’s face, he didn’t know either. But Dylas knew he was more willing to take a walk in the heat than Arthur was, anyway, so he took the basket and started on his way.

The air felt hot even when Dylas breathed. It was no surprise that not many were willing to head all the way to the restaurant for a bite to eat. The path to the general store was pretty empty, save for a few tourists sitting with their feet in the river. Amber was around, too, looking like she was about three minutes away from wilting.

It was somewhat cooler when Dylas stepped inside the store. Doug was fiddling with something behind the counter, but it must not have been very important. He was staring off into space, and he didn’t even realize Dylas was standing there until Dylas cleared his throat.

“Hey!” Doug greeted him without half as much of his usual energy, looking like he was about to die of boredom. He probably was. “Why are you here?”

“None of your business,” Dylas said. “I have a delivery. It’s not for you.”

“Fine, don’t save me from the icy grip of death. Granny Blossom’s upstairs.” Doug came out from around the counter, and Dylas stepped back. “I’m not gonna hit ya. I just wanna take a peek.”

“No.”

“What? Why not?!”

“You’ll mess it up, you stupid dwarf! Porco said it was special!”

“I won’t mess it up!” Doug huffed. “Alright, keep your secrets. See if I care!”

At some point during all of that, Dylas had ended up looking at the ground. But when he looked up, Doug was staring straight into his eyes. He looked hurt. Like Dylas had wronged him far greater than refusing to let him look into the basket.

It hardly lasted a second, and Doug’s eyes flitted away towards the stairs, where Blossom was slowly descending.

“I thought I heard some commotion down here,” she said, a smile growing on her face. “You’re looking well today, Dylas. What brings you all this way?”

“I-It’s not that far,” Dylas said. He held the basket out in front of him. “Porco told me to bring this to you.”

He wasn’t sure why someone would need soup on such a hot day, but as he passed it to her, he felt her icy hands touch his, and it all made sense. She pushed aside the cloth, and inside, there was a jar of soup, two pieces of bread, and two different types of onigiri. Porcoline must have taken Doug into consideration, too.

“Oh, my! This is so lovely.” Blossom smiled and stretched out her hand. Dylas took it as a sign to lean down a bit so she could touch his cheek. “Aren’t you such a sweet boy?”

Doug snickered off to the side, and Dylas shot a glare at him.

“There’s something here for you too, Doug,” Blossom said, placing the basket on the table. “See, your friend cares about you just as much as you care about him.”

Doug laughed a little louder at that. “Me? Care about that guy?! I’d rather die!”

Dylas never in a million years thought hearing something like that from Doug would hurt, but it did, and he was pretty sure it showed on his face with the way that Doug’s expression changed to something unreadable. Concern? Regret? Dylas didn’t know and didn’t care, and he said his goodbyes and walked all the way back to the restaurant before he punched something.

Or more like some one. Really, he wanted to punch Doug. He also didn’t want to punch Doug at the same time, because he wanted to do something else, too, but punching was the thing that Dylas felt like he could actually do.Something like asking what Doug meant by preferring death over admitting whether or not he cared about Dylas was completely out of the question—Dylas already knew right now that he wouldn’t be able to do that even if he went back right now, fueled by adrenaline.

The restaurant was still as empty as it was when Dylas left. Margaret was there now, too, and her, Porcoline, and Arthur were all crowded around the counter. Their conversation stopped when Dylas walked in.

“Welcome back! Did she absolutely love it?” Porcoline asked.

“Yeah, she was happy,” Dylas said.

“Did Doug absolutely love the goodies I snuck in there for him? How was Doug?”

“He was awful, as usual.” Dylas rolled his eyes. “I can’t deal with him.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Margaret said, touching a gentle hand to Dylas’s shoulder. “He’s not horrible! I know you know that.”

“Whatever.”

Dylas picked up his rag again. He was sure that the table was due for its ninth scrub now that he’d left it for a little while. Porcoline started up some weird conversation about something Dylas didn’t understand, and Arthur excused himself shortly after that got started. Margaret started tuning one of her instruments, only half-listening to Porcoline’s monologuing.

Business didn’t pick up again until the evening, and even then there were no more than five customers. It was a good enough distraction, though. Dylas had managed to get his mind off of Doug for almost the entire rest of the evening.

(He didn’t think about him until he was starting to fall asleep. His bedroom was way too hot, even with the window open, so he had no choice but to think about it. The look in Doug’s eyes was what got to him. Was that what Doug meant about it all being in the eyes? Doug hadn’t said anything else, but after thinking about it so much, Dylas felt like he could get a good idea of what was going through his head just by looking into his eyes. And as he fell asleep, he ended up committing each silver tone in those eyes to memory.)

“Today’s the Firefly Festival!”

Porcoline’s voice rang out through the entire restaurant. It didn’t really need to, considering Dylas was about five feet away from him, but if he needed to make sure every nook and cranny of the building heard him, then he was going to do it to the best of his ability.

“And?” Dylas asked, a bit flatly.

He didn’t know what the Firefly Festival had to do with him, unless Porcoline just thought he was daft and was making sure he knew it was today. Dylas was pretty good at keeping track of festivals, though, and Porcoline knew that, so it must have been something else.

Dylas was fond of festivals, but on this one, he usually watched the fireflies by himself. He didn’t have anyone special to watch them with, and it was somewhat nicer to find a quiet spot where he could sit and watch them fly around without the pressure of talking to someone else about it. It was probably a dreadful way of spending such a romantic holiday, but really, who was he supposed to spend it with? Doug?

...The thought sent chills down Dylas’s spine, and he wasn’t sure if they were bad chills or good chills.

“Hello? Aren’t you excited?” Porcoline asked, his face falling a bit.

Dylas shrugged. He couldn’t meet Porcoline’s eyes like this. “It happens every year.”

“Yes! Every year we get to see those scrumptious little lightning bugs, and every year I am so very excited!” Porcoline crossed his arms. “What’s got you being such a sourpuss?”

Now that was a good stopping point. Dylas trusted Porcoline well enough, but he really did not want to get into whatever was going on with Doug. Not with Porcoline or anyone—besides, if it was like one of their usual fights, it’d clear itself up in a few days, and neither of them would even remember it by next week.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So there is something,” Arthur said, and Dylas nearly jumped out of his skin. When did he even get here?

“Who asked you?!” Dylas took a step back, nearly bumping into Margaret.

She thwacked him quickly on the back of his head. “You need to get yourself sorted out, Dylas. It’s not like you to get like this.”

“I have a wonderful idea!” Porcoline said. “You can clear your head by helping Arthur today! Wouldn’t that be a treat, Arthur? You’ve got a nice, strong boy to do all the heavy lifting for you.”

Dylas never actually agreed, but Arthur swept him up faster than he could protest to it. They met up with Lest along the way, and the three of them were off to Dragon Lake in no time—which appeared to have gotten a facelift since the last time Dylas was there, and that was hardly more than a week ago.

“You don’t have to stay for the actual festival if you’d prefer not to,” Arthur said. “I just need you beforehand, so if you’ve got any business to take care of after that, then please feel free.”

The way Arthur looked at him made Dylas feel like he knew a lot more than he let on. And while Arthur’s gaze was sharp and knowing, Lest’s eyes were wide and asked a million questions. The two looked at each other, and Lest seemed to understand whatever Arthur did. When did these two get so close?!

“You can do it, Dylas!” Lest said. “I believe in you!”

“Weirdo,” Dylas scoffed, but Lest smiled, and it almost made him feel better.

Evening came quicker than Dylas thought it would, the fireflies settling into the venue just as he finished preparing the last booth that Arthur had given him to work on. The area was more flooded with tourists, too, most choosing to sit by the lake or in front of the small stage Arthur and Lest (more Lest than Arthur, really) had spent all day on. Margaret was currently setting up to sing; it was no surprise that dozens and dozens of men were sat waiting for her. It made Dylas bristle a bit.

Regardless of what Arthur had said about leaving, Dylas figured he could stay for a little while. There were so many unfamiliar faces that he didn’t expect someone he actually knew to find him very easily, which, of course, made it a little easier for Dylas to relax.

Margaret’s song began, and the fireflies were drawn to her voice. The lanterns they’d set up earlier were rendered almost useless with how much light the bugs gave off. In the distance, standing near the stage, Arthur seemed quite pleased.

“I caught one!”

Somehow, Doug was in front of Dylas now, cupping a firefly in his hands. He grinned, holding it up to Dylas’s face. The firefly stood in Doug’s hands for a moment, almost as if it were staring at Dylas, before it flew away and joined the rest.

“What do you want?” Dylas asked flatly.

“Can I stand here with you?” Doug asked. “It’s kinda lame to watch these all by yourself.”

Dylas didn’t say anything. He just nodded, chest tight, and Doug stood much closer to him than he probably usually would have. Maybe it was the crowd. Maybe it wasn’t.

Margaret continued to sing, and when Doug got bored of standing still, he started to catch whichever firefly flew too close. He let Dylas hold one of them. Things almost felt normal, and Dylas felt stupid for expecting this fight to be any different than their usual. Saying sorry was tough for both of them, anyway, so it was probably best that they didn’t try.

Still, Dylas felt like there was something missing. Doug’s voice didn’t carry the life it usually did. Dylas couldn’t find it within himself to argue like they usually did. Nothing was the same at all, now that Dylas really thought about it, and it was weird and scary and Dylas didn’t want to lose what they’d built together, even if it was a careless little thing with a foundation of bickering and secret gifts and making sure the world knew they hated each other.

Dylas didn’t hate Doug. He never had.

Margaret’s song finished, and they were quiet, still, in the interim. Dylas had a million words to say that wouldn’t come out right even if he wrote them down and read them off. Doug looked like he had something to say too, but knowing him, he wouldn’t say it anytime soon.

Arthur was on the stage next, thanking everyone for coming and starting something about a beach beauty contest.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Dylas said.

“I’ll see you home,” Doug said, a little too quickly. “I mean, you’ll probably get lost or something in the dark. And I can see better in the dark. Duh.”

Dylas decided to just start walking, and if Doug followed, then he followed. The crowd was a little thinner now that it was later, but not by much, and Dylas instinctively kept checking behind him to make sure they didn’t get separated.

He nearly ran into Porcoline during one of these checks. The man put his hands on Dylas’s shoulders to steady him.

“Oho? Leaving early?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Have fun, you two. Not too much fun.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Dylas snapped.

“Oh, nothing! Au revoir!”

Porcoline was away in a whirl, and Dylas felt like maybe something was up there, but Arthur was starting to announce the participants of whatever stupid contest he made up, and Dylas continued on. There were still people milling around just outside of the lake area, and Doug grabbed on to his sleeve at some point to make sure they’d stay together.

The crowd didn’t thin until they’d gotten past the castle square. He felt like he could breathe a little easier on the east side of Selphia, even if each breath was full of the flowery fragrance of Illuminata’s shop. The fireflies seemed even more plentiful with no one around.

They were halfway across one of the bridges when Doug finally spoke up.

“I wanted to apologize. Kinda,” he said, leaning against the railing.

“You wanted to kinda apologize?”

“I’m bad at this sort of thing, okay?” Doug looked away, staring at a point in the water. “Sorry for what I said.”

Dylas was silent—he didn’t expect an actual apology, especially since Doug said it would only be a kinda apology. The dwarf seemed sincere, though, even with his crossed arms, even with how he fiddled with a button on his coat. He took a breath, like he was going to say something, but he closed his mouth.

He looked at Dylas, then looked away, then looked at him again and said, “Actually, I-I care about you way too much. So I kinda lied when I said that thing before.”

Dylas’s breath caught in his throat. “Y-You…”

“Granny Blossom said it’s best if I just say what I feel. Just to you. So I’m gonna say it.” He breathed in, breathed out, uncrossed his arms. “I like you. You don’t have to say it back.”

“I-Idiot!” was the first thing that came to Dylas’s mind. Doug flinched, and he added, “Wait. Sorry. I…”

Doug shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I just needed to tell you. Don’t worry about—”

“No, I called you an idiot ‘cause you…” Dylas shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Did you think I wouldn’t say it back?”

Doug’s eyes widened. In the glow of the fireflies, his cheeks were pink. “Well, yeah, we kinda have that rivalry going on.”

“I’m not a good talker,” Dylas said, “so you’re gonna have to keep dealing with that. But I li-li-li—Dammit! This is so hard!”

“Don’t force it like that! It’s fine, I getcha.” Doug grinned, clapping Dylas on the shoulder. “Cool! I didn’t think we’d be on the same page. I’m gonna kiss you now. I mean—can I do that? Do you want to—”

Doug’s lips were warm and kind of soft and Dylas had to tilt Doug’s face up so they could kiss properly. Dylas was way better at this—at kissing, at showing what he felt—than talking, and he was glad Doug was used to that by now. At some point during the kiss, Doug wrapped his arms around Dylas’s neck, and they parted for a moment before another long kiss.

A galaxy of fireflies surrounded them, and their moment felt like forever. Even when they parted for good, Dylas just wanted to stay close, to touch Doug’s face and brush away the fireflies that landed in his hair. Doug was whispering a whole bunch of things, but Dylas could only focus on how each high and low sounded like music, and if Dylas could capture it on paper, he’d want to play it for the whole country.

It was much cooler at night. Standing so close to someone seemed like it’d be too hot of an activity for summer, but it was quite comfortable like this.

The world only resumed when they heard Lest’s voice in the castle square, and they both figured out it’d be better to get out of there before the crowds followed.

(They walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way to the restaurant. There was ice cream in the freezer, and it was much easier to talk to Doug now that everything was pretty clear between them. They talked for hours, about the fireflies, about the feelings they’d been holding back, about everything, and the next time they kissed, Doug tasted like vanilla, and all of it made Dylas feel like things were going to be fine between the two of them for a very long time.)

The minute Dylas came down the stairs the next morning, Porcoline asked, “No Doug?”

Dylas felt like he was going to die right then and there. “No,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Why would Doug be here?”

Porocline batted his eyelashes. “It was such an innocent question.”

“Not when you say it.”

“But you did leave the festival with him, did you not?” Arthur asked. “During the main event. I’ve got very sharp eyes.”

“Just because I left with him doesn’t mean he came here!” Dylas huffed. “How the hell would you know that anyway?”

“Well, it was a guess.” Arthur took a sip of his tea. “Thank you for confirming it, though.”

Margaret finally looked up from tuning her harp. “We’re so happy for you guys! Porco’s been waiting for this for weeks. You seem like you’re a lot happier, too.”

Dylas scowled. “I didn’t even say anything about what happened! You’re all the worst!”

“Oh, do tell us!” Porcoline urged. “I’ll make a delectable carrot stew if you tell us every single detail.”

In the end, Dylas didn’t tell them much. He cut his losses and kept it simple: he and Doug were a thing now, and that was that. If he said any more, then Porcoline would tell everyone, and he’d rather have the short and simple version be spread across the town by noon.

(Doug showed up to hide in the restaurant’s upstairs at around one o’clock. Something or other about getting way too much attention about the whole thing, and Dylas joined him when the usual lunch crowd came in with more questions than Dylas had answers. He joined Doug in sitting on his bedroom floor, and Doug took his hand, and he was perfectly content waiting there until everyone’s excitement died down. The summer sun shone through the window, and Doug let his head fall against Dylas’s shoulder.)

(With Doug, the heat didn’t feel so bad.)

#rune factory 4 #doug dylas #doug rf4 #dylas rf4 #mezzosaka xpost

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riveires · 4 years

Text

fight club

@twentysixdegrees

JOOHYUK

It's insult to injury. It may or may not be the right metaphor...or, simile? Shit, he's always been bad at this kind of stuff. Add another language to the mix and things all get jumbled up in his brain, especially when he's in this kind of mood. The bus ride back had been full of tension, and he'd practically jumped down the stairs of the thing, only barely remembering to grab his gym bag before heading back to the dorm.

He's half hoping Joonho isn't there--a part of him knows he needs time to cool off. But the other half just wants to--"What the fuck." It's like he can't throw the bag hard enough against the wall, but he hears something clack against the concrete blocks before it drops down harmlessly onto his bed. "Where the hell were you today?" His hands are balled up at his sides and he's practically shaking. It may seem silly but--Joohyuk needed this. He needed them to do well today and he needed Joonho there because he's--his person.

You'll never hear him admit it though.

"We lost." The tiny space of their room is suddenly too large. "We got our asses handed to us and you were supposed to be there. You fucking promised, and, and, here you are on your ass doing nothing. Nothing." He feels suffocated. He wants to grab Joonho by the collar. He wants to run far away but he can't help himself, either--"You're such a shitty fucking best friend. You couldn't even do this one thing for me?"

JOONHO

the current circumstances have been everything but forgiving lately: if their semi-packed room is looking like something of a shit show right now, joonho's own state of presence is giving it a run for its money. a glance at the wear and tear of the past week is one hell of a revelation: dark circles marked in, coffee of breath, patches of stubble thanks to none other but his negligence. and it's indeed negligence that's to blame this time. diving head first into some logistics project had rendered everything else that mattered completely and utterly lost to him.

so when joohyuk's voice cuts through the air, all he can say is,

"what?"

it takes him a minute for joonho to gather himself: day, time, event. a friday, he notes. upon giving the digital clock a closer look does the second realization drop down like a catastrophic bomb because god fucking damn it, he wasn't supposed to be here but at the soccer field.

but there's no time to salvage the damage, not when it's already done. between them simmers a third presence, the other's anger threatening to boil over.

“christ, that completely slipped from my mind, i—" and he can only flinch, because the next string of words that would fall from his mouth suddenly sounded like the most insensitive thing he could say right then and there: "i'm so sorry, dude."

JOOHYUK

how bitter the realization was, when he scoured the crowd for a familiar face and didn't find the one he was looking for. it was almost like adding salt to the wound; he could have used joonho's nauseatingly affable disposition right after the loss.

for a few seconds, joohyuk breathes in deep through his nose and wonders if he's overreacting. he looks at joonho's face, at the figure he cuts against the harsh lighting of their school desk lamps, and he feels like a fool. this kind of thing has happened before. joonho is prone to getting lost in whatever he's put his mind to, and in many ways that's an admirable trait but in situations like this...how many times does joohyuk gotta utter "it's fine, man" and pretend it really is? fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, thrice--shame on me.

"you said you'd be there, and yeah--life happens, shit happens, but this was really goddamn important to me! and you knew that. why do you do this kind of shit so much? it's not cute." joohyuk keeps balling and un-balling his fist. he doesn't want to get physical but there's an urge to do something with his hands. "'i'm so sorry, dude?' that's all you have to say? you're the worst; best friend my ass--you probably just barely remember my fucking name."

JOONHO

there's a thin line between admission and pure, unadulterated guilt. he has enough shame to feel the latter, enough of a brain to perform the former. thing is, it seems like neither will do any good to pacify joohyuk's brimming rage. from the corner of his eye, he can see the movement of his hands, akin to the clenching of a jaw. a jaw that might be his own after he gets his teeth knocked out raw. be it because of the lack of an immediate solution, or the sight of that alone, traces of annoyance start to snake in right beneath the somber tone of his voice.

joonho sighs. "it's been busy. you know that as well as i do, joohyuk." especially, most definitely of far more pressing issues. the fact that this—no, their, as in under mutually shared ownership—room isn't fully in order, for one. maybe that he's been covering for him whenever he'd been gone, for another. childish is the thought that begins to circle around in his head. so fucking childish.

"it sucks that the team lost. how am i supposed to make it up to you?"

JOOHYUK

"stop saying my name like that." the anger had been dissipating, but then the pity in joonho's voice bled through the temporary impasse. he tries to navigate around the mess of boxes in their room, but his chin knocks against something particularly hard in a box and curses under his breath. it's one thing after the other--he just can't seem to win.

the walls aren't moving but the space seems smaller. "what the hell could you possibly do to make it up to me? there's literally nothing, joonho. you think its that easy?" the laugh that sounds into the room is full of something that creeps, claws, and settles somewhere in between them, just waiting for the perfect time to ruin everything. "god, life's so easy for you, isn't it? we're both here, at this fucking school, in this tiny little room, but you've got your shit together. you've got your priorities--treading water just fine with all these ivy league assholes. but me? i'm just not good enough. not enough for you to care."

JOONHO

there's no reason why he shouldn't be used to it—the slew of assumptions, the implications held under that sting. four years should be more than enough to grow a skin so thick that nothing should cut through, but joohyuk’s gaze is knife-sharp, the words that fall from his lips sharper.

"easy?" joonho narrows his eyes. "well i think it'd be fucking easy for anyone to let something like this go." a pause, one that feels more like a deadweight about to drop over their heads than anything as light as an inhale. "but you're not just anybody, are you? can’t stand if not one person isn’t paying attention to you for one damn second.”

the room bristles, the air crackling. it's palpable enough for joonho to realize that this is impossibly suffocating.

"there'll be other games." a poor attempt to backtrack, if at all. the tightness of his voice loosens, but the hollowness of his gaze betrays him entirely. since when had he become this stubborn? "it’s not the end of the world.”

JOOHYUK

it's the feeling of when you're watching water fill something up, toomuchtoofast but you're too far, too helpless, to do anything about it. the surface tension arches, forming the slightest bulge over the rim, and then-

"you don't fucking understand!"

it overflows, and he's lost this battle.

joohyuk's built a reputation for himself. he likes it, identifies with it, and plays into it. 'oh of course he won't mind! joohyuk's super chill!''you'll love joohyuk, he's so outgoing!him? that dude that's always smiling and laughing about anything and everything? pretty sure joohyuk never gets mad!

so why does joonho get under his skin like this? it's a particular skill - he knows the things that those other people don't. he can read joohyuk without him ever having to say anything. yet - they're not on the same wavelength right now. now, when it might just matter the absolute most.

"i like attention, so what? it's fucking true - that shit doesn't hurt me." his voice is raising. joohyuk realizes, but it doesn't register, not fully. "i wanted you to be there because i fucking need you!" he stutters, regroups - rephrases. "i just -- i needed you there, but you have your priorities, don't you?" the anger deflates, the pressure releasing from his chest and his shoulders. he's unwinding but it doesn't make it better because what replaces that white-hot red tint is pure hurt. "i just don't matter as much as your - your little elitist ass friends!" he'd always joked about joonho's accelerated lecture friends, and truthfully he'd be lying if he wasn't a little insecure - yes, they all go to an ivy league school but he's here on an athletic scholarship, primarily.

and, he's not infallible - clearly.

joohyuk knows he's making assumptions, half-thought out accusations, but this is the only way he can take back what little is left of his pride. he's fishing for anything that he knows may hurt joonho because he's in the middle of his pity party and he needs to tear down the person closest to him in actual distance as well as just, in general.

"they're fucking elitist pricks and you're one of them, too!" he kicks his slightly pushed out chair into the desk, and puts his palms to his temples, as if he can re-center himself with the motion, ease his anger - but nothing is working.

JOONHO

and there it is.

they're not strangers to any of this, to the way joohyuk is at the mercy of his own emotions, and the perilous ups and downs that come with their weight. his words are hurled like pelting stones. they hit where it should hurt the most, one after another, meant to knock him down with each blow.

the last one lands, and then there's silence. all joonho can do is stare.

then, "you really think that."

his expression turns blank, eyes dark, a degree too cold to be mere neutrality. stiffly, he swivels around in his chair. grabs his bag from under the desk to slide in his things from the tabletop with a single sweep of his arm.

"you're only proving my point." he stills, tongue deliberately curling around his next set of words that might push them over the brink. every fiber of his being tenses in warning, to be the one to let go, be the better person. but what little remorse that had held him had long slipped free with his rationality. in its place are the thoughts that never fail to loom at his worst: ridiculous. insolent. a fucking child.

shouldering his backpack, he stands to leave. his voice is void of any feeling. "grow up."

JOOHYUK

tell him to stay. tell him you're sorry, that you didn't mean it.

the rational part of him keeps repeating these things over and over in his brain, but it echoes in the space between his ears - nothing seems to absorb, nothing happens, and he doesn't so much as twitch a finger, as he watches joonho pack his things. joohyuk feels his limbs go numb, and he lets his hands fall back down to his sides.

it's just been a lot, lately. you've missed him so much but have been unable to tell him just how much. you're jealous - of his study budies and don't know how to properly express it without potentially getting too raw and revealing things that might change your relationship forever.

but instead, he twists his face into some sort of scowl, eyes burning not with hatred but with some emotion that is almost too heavy to put into words. "clearly, i'm right - if you're running off like this. i hit a nerve," he accuses. it's always the people closest to you that can inspire the strongest emotions. he's a maelstrom of feelings, and if he were even just a little more clear headed he could maybe try and pick apart and identify the individual emotions causing this shitstorm of a confrontation - and try to explain it in a way that'd be more fair, in a way that could diffuse this -

instead, he hears the last two words from joonho, and he laughs. bitterly. "honestly? fuck off, man." and he turns his back on him, listening closely for the sound of sneakers scuffing against linoleum to fade - going from right next to him to down the hall, around the corner.

going, going, going...gone.

"this sucks." this was far from the way he wanted this to end. but he's here now, and he's alone.

[FIN]

#twentysixdegrees #c: son joonho #opp: nam joohyuk #pr: fight club #/ the way we're powering through threads on discord...amazing

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teacupofdrpepper · 4 years

Note

could I request about flash physically bullies penny and tony and flash's parents aren't really happy about it :D

Okay so, this is technically a chapter for this story https://archiveofourown.org/works/22155316 but I realized it could also be standalone so I decided to kill two birds with one stone!

Tw: Slut shaming, Physical Assault.

And I didn’t go over this well! Sorry for typos!

Not Starker.

He didn’t fucking get Penny Parker.

She had gone through traumatic shit that made him shiver, she had watched her uncle die and had to listen as people in school talked about it for weeks.

And yet she was still kind, she was still sweet and she still smiled at him even when he kicked her into a locker and hurled lame insults at her like some third grader.

And then there was the ‘Stark Internship’

So yes, he really didn’t fucking get Penny Parker.

It drove him insane sometimes, she never brought up the supposed internship unless asked about, Hell Leeds has brought it up more than she ever has and it pisses him off and confuses him to the max.

If he had the internship (which he had admittedly tried to join before getting an alarmingly fast email back saying they don’t hire high schoolers) he would flaunt it and rub it in everyone’s damn face because he wanted them to know he was better than them.

And one day. After the frustration and confusion had been building for too long and to top it off his mother being an absolute bitch while his father fucked some model on a cruise ship somewhere.

He snapped.

And Penny Parker went home with bruises and fat tears that were for once, not by a criminal.

She cursed Thor when her aunt is out on a business trip and she can’t sneak back into the apartment to nurse her wounds.

They’ll only be there for an hour tops, doesn’t mean they won’t hurt.

“Jesus child. What happened to you?” Bucky says, the notepad and apple he held dropping to the couch. “You didn’t go out in the suit without telling Tony did you?”

His metal hand is cold but gentle against her purple wrist, he pulls down the hoodie for her face to be seen which is worse.

He curses under his breath again and brings her to a chair, grabbing the first aid kit out of the kitchen.

“This wasn’t a mugger was it squirt?” He asked dabbing at some of the open cuts.

“You don’t have to do that. They’ll heal soon.”

He grunts. “If they get infected it’ll take longer for them to close up, and quit deflecting, I grew up with Steve. Who did this?” Penny face flushes she ducks down but Buckys grip on her chin holds it up.

“Just… some boy from school.

“ a boy did this to you? What is this? Kiddie school? I thought boys didn’t pull in pigtails anymore.” Frustration flares in her. “Well obviously he didn’t just pull in my pigtails.”

Her shoulder hunch in as she mutters a shameful sorry. Bucky shrugs.

“You’ve had a rough day, no need to apologize. But you need to tell Stark..” Her head snaps up. “No! This is the first time it’s happened! And besides he just calls me lame names like.. Penis Parker.” Admitting it makes embarrassment flare up but she would rather admit to him than Mr. Stark. “And.. I could tell he was having a rough time too, it was a bad day for him and he decided to take it out on the first thing he saw.”

Bucky frowns, “but you’re not a thing squirt, and that doesn’t excuse his actions.”

The silence stretches between them before Bucky sighs.

“I’ll let it go just this once, but if I find he’s done it again you either tell Stadk or I will. Got it?” She nods, sliding off the counter to rush to her room.

“Got it! Thanks Mr. Barnes!”

He shakes his head, going back to his Apple. “Kids.”

It happens again.

And Flash feels so fucking good doing it.

But this time, his usual Penis Parker turns into cunt and slut, the bruise that had healed yesterday without trace of what had happened was back again, Flash’s boot come down on her stomach hard she yells out. But quickly shushed by Flash telling her to shut the fuck up whore.

“Y’know, I used to not believe you when you said you had the Stark Internship” he mimicked her, hands making quotation gestures.

“But now, I think it might be possible. After all those lips are pretty aren’t they? Bet Stark thought they looked good around his cock eh, she chokes back a sob. Not wanting him to have the pleasure of seeing her at her lowest.

“Thompson.” Comes a sharp call out, Flash whirls to see Mr. Harrington hurtling down the hallway.

“What the absolute fuck do you think you’re doing?!” And.. and that’s new. Mr. Harrington had always seemed sad, but nice and awkward but funny but never mad.

He reaches up and grabs him by the caller of his shirt, Flash flinches back like so many times before. Jones steps out from behind him.

“Ms. Jones, please take Ms. Parker to the school nurse.” Michelle nods easing Penny up as gently as she can, Mr. Harrington turns to look at him sharply. “You’re coming with me and I’m calling your mother and Ms. Parker guardian,you’ll be lucky if they don’t press charges.”

Flash hangs his head.

Karma is a bitch.

After the nurse dabs her cuts and gives her some pain relief pills that won’t work, MJ takes her to an empty classroom.

“I knew Flash was a Dick but I didn’t think he was a bastard.” MJ snarls pacing the room as Penny sits quietly.

“Is.. is this the first time?” No response.

“I’m gonna say no.”

“He did it yesterday too. But.. my healing covered it up before anyway saw.. except Mr. Barnes but you know me” she cracks a smile, “puppy dog eyes and I can get what I want.”

MJ’s smiles back, but it doesn’t last long the pinch of her eyebrows together overshadowed it.

“You could press charges. Me and Mr. Harrington both saw and could testify.”

“I can’t, flash has money. Me and may don’t have enough to win, or even go far.”

“But luckily, I do.”

Both girls whip around to see Mr. Stark learning against the door frame. MJ gives him a nod to which he returns.

“Mr. Stark! I-“ a hand in the air dismissed what she was to stutter out.

“How long were you standing there?” MJ asked curiously, Tony shrugged. “Believe it or not, when I don’t want to be seen it works like 99% of the time.”

He strides over to where Penny sits

“Honey. Two times? Two times you allowed this?”

“He.. he’s not.. this hasn’t happened before.��

MJ cuts in. “It doesn’t matter if this is only the second time it’s happened Penny, this isn’t an abusive couple situation where it’s harder to get out of this. This is a school bully that can get what he deserves. And the pattern doesn’t care what type of relationship it is, I watched my mom in it and I will not watch my friend.” She seethed, cautiously she opened her arms. Inviting her friend in for a hug.

She’s even more surprised when MJ falls in.

“I’m okay.”

Mr. Stark’s voice is nothing but symptomatic and truthful when he speaks.

“You won’t If this continues.”

To say that Flash Thompson is surprised when Tony Fucking Stark walks in the principals office is an understatement.

Principal Morita looks tired, to say the least.

His chest heaves high when he says “Mr. Stark, please take a seat.” MJ and Penny followed closely besides him.

“Now… our school has a strict bullying policy.”

“Bullshit.” MJ curses, Tony smirks. “I’m gonna have to agree with Lois lane. I hacked into your security feed, it looks like most of your teachers don’t give a shit.” You have to give Morita props for trying to stand his ground.

“That was illegal.”

“How would you like to be exploited for years worth of bullying? And oh, doesn’t one of- or. A couple at least have some kind of sexual assault charge on their record? Do you think that, if the parents of these generously funding folk knew they’re children, they’re daughters. Were around sex offenders they would still fund you? I have even funded a lot for this school seeing as I had respect for it.”

Morita stares at Tony Stark, looks at Jones leaning back into her seat with her chin raised and Parker’s black and blue face and knows he’s looking at a battle he can’t possibly win.

“We’ll wait until Thompson’s mother gets here. Then we’ll discuss what should be done.”

Yup, Flash thinks.

I’m so fucked.

Mrs. Thompson looks like a bitch, is Tony Stark’s first thought.

Her jaw is set tight, twitching every few seconds as Harrington, Penny, and Morita all explain what had happened.

“Oh.” Her voice is sickly sweet, the gentle hand on Thompson’s back makes him flinch which is something Tony does not miss.

“And.. how much will this all cost?”

Tony does a double take.

“Excuse me?”

“How much will this cost, this whole ordeal? 1K 10k?” She repeats her words.

“This won’t be costing anything other than proper repercussions, Mrs. Thompson.” Tony mimicked her tone, Mrs. Thompson’s smile falls into a curl of lips.

“We were.. discussing Thompson’s punishment, a month of suspension,” she looks like she’s about to argue before he stops her. “I talked them out of pressing charges. Be grateful.” She grunts falling back against her seat.

“And during that time he’ll have to write an apology, and go to the guidance counselor office.”

“Will That Be all? I would like to leave?” Is her response, anger barley resisting.

“You can go. I’ll see you next month Mr. Thompson.”

Morita turns back to Tony.

“You’ll Fire those with a criminal record that involves sex offensive and anything that goes past serious robbery and assault. And you will actually be stricter about this policy of yours? Understand?” Morita’s jaw twitches But he nods.

Stark tacks on- “I’m taking Lois Lane and Penny here out for ice cream. See ya, hopefully never.” And with that Tony Stark walks out the door and out of Moritas life hopefully forever.

The tension in his shoulders finally leak, he turned over to roger.

“Pay attention to that Parker, I don’t want hell unleashed on me the next time someone hurts her.”

Roger nods.

God help them if it did.

#roger harrington #tony stark #peter parker #penny parker #marvel #irondad #NOT STARKER #spiderson #irondad & spiderson #irondad and spiderson #bucky barnes #michelle jones #angst #fluff #irondad fic #spiderson fic #spiderman #ironman #flash thompson

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for August 27 of 2021 with Proverbs 27 and Psalm 27, accompanied by Psalm 69 for the 69th day of Astronomical Summer and Psalm 89 for day 239 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 27]

Don’t brag about what may happen tomorrow

because you have no idea what it will bring.

Let someone else praise you;

compliments are always sweeter from a stranger’s lips than from your own.

Heavy is rock and weighty is sand,

but more burdensome than either is the anger of a fool.

Wrath is fierce and anger is a tidal wave of fury,

but who of us can stand up against jealousy?

Open rebuke is better

than hidden love.

Wounds inflicted by the correction of a friend prove he is faithful;

the abundant kisses of an enemy show his lies.

The person who is full has no interest in honey;

but to the starving, bitterness itself is sweet.

Like a bird that strays far from its nest,

so is a person who forsakes his own home.

The heart is delighted by the fragrance of oil and sweet perfumes,

and in just the same way, the soul is sweetened by the wise counsel of a friend.

Do not neglect your friend or your parent’s friend for that matter.

When hard times come, you don’t have to travel far to get help from family;

A neighbor who is near is better

than a brother who is far away.

Study to be wise, my son, and make my heart glad,

for then your life will be my answer to anyone who hurls insults.

The astute see evil coming and take shelter,

but the stupid plow right on and then, of course, have to pay the price.

If someone guarantees a stranger’s debt, hold his garment as collateral;

if that guarantee is for the debt of a foreigner, make sure you get a deposit.

Anyone who blesses his neighbor with a loud voice

early in the morning,

will find his blessing regarded as a curse.

A constant dripping on a rainy day

and a wife’s bickering are very much alike:

Anyone who tries to control her might as well try to control the wind

or pick up oil in his right hand.

In the same way that iron sharpens iron,

a person sharpens the character of his friend.

Whoever takes care of a fig tree will eat of its fruit,

and whoever cares for his master will be honored.

Just as water reflects a person’s true face,

so the human heart reflects a person’s true character.

Neither the grave nor destruction is ever satisfied;

the desires of people are never totally fulfilled.

The crucible is used for refining silver, the furnace for gold,

but praise is what tests a person’s mettle.

Though you grind a fool like grain

in a mortar with a pestle,

still his foolishness will not be separated from him.

Pay careful attention to your flocks,

and see to the welfare of your herds

Because riches do not last forever,

nor does one dynasty retain power through all generations.

When the hay is harvested and the autumn grasses begin to grow

and the herbs of the mountains are gathered,

Then the lambs will provide wool for your clothing,

young goats can be sold to buy a new field,

And there will be enough milk from your goats

to sustain you, your family, and your serving girls.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 27 (The Voice)

[Psalm 27]

A song of David.

The Eternal is my light amidst my darkness

and my rescue in times of trouble.

So whom shall I fear?

He surrounds me with a fortress of protection.

So nothing should cause me alarm.

When my enemies advanced

to devour me alive,

They tripped and fell flat on their faces into the soil.

When the armies of the enemy surround me,

I will not be afraid.

When death calls for me in the midst of war,

my soul is confident and unmoved.

I am pleading with the Eternal for this one thing,

my soul’s desire:

To live with Him all of my days—

in the shadow of His temple,

To behold His beauty and ponder His ways

in the company of His people.

His house is my shelter and secret retreat.

It is there I find peace in the midst of storm and turmoil.

Safety sits with me in the hiding place of God.

He will set me on a rock, high above the fray.

God lifts me high above those with thoughts

of death and deceit that call for my life.

I will enter His presence, offering sacrifices and praise.

In His house, I am overcome with joy

As I sing, yes, and play music for the Eternal alone.

I cannot shout any louder. Eternal One—hear my cry

and respond with Your grace.

The prodding of my heart leads me to chase after You.

I am seeking You, Eternal One—don’t retreat from me.

You have always answered my call.

Don’t hide from me now.

Don’t give up on me in anger at Your servant.

You have always been there for me.

Don’t throw me to the side and forget me,

my God and only salvation.

My father and mother have deserted me,

yet the Eternal will take me in.

O Eternal, show me Your way,

shine Your light brightly on this path, and make it level for me,

for my enemies are lurking in the recesses and ravines along the way.

They are watching—hoping to seize me.

Do not release me to their desires or surrender me to their will!

Liars are standing against me,

breathing out cruel lies hoping that I will die.

I will move past my enemies with this one, sure hope:

that with my own eyes, I will see the goodness of the Eternal

in the land of the living.

Please answer me: Don’t give up.

Wait for the Eternal in expectation, and be strong.

Again, wait for the Eternal.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 27 (The Voice)

to be accompanied by these lines:

I’m asking God for one thing,

only one thing:

To live with him in his house

my whole life long.

I’ll contemplate his beauty;

I’ll study at his feet.

That’s the only quiet, secure place

in a noisy world,

The perfect getaway,

far from the buzz of traffic.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 27:4-5 (The Message)

[Psalm 69]

A Cry of Distress

To the Pure and Shining One

David’s poetic song of praise To the tune of “Lilies”

God, my God, come and save me!

These floods of trouble have risen higher and higher.

The water is up to my neck!

I’m sinking into the mud with no place to stand,

and I’m about to drown in this storm.

I’m weary, exhausted with weeping.

My throat is dry, my voice is gone, my eyes are swollen with sorrow,

and I’m waiting for you, God, to come through for me.

I can’t even count all those who hate me for no reason.

Many influential men want me silenced,

yet I’ve done nothing against them.

Must I restore what I never took away?

God, my life is an open book to you.

You know every sin I’ve ever done.

For nothing within me is hidden from your sight!

Lord Yahweh of Angel Armies,

keep me from ever being a stumbling block to others,

to those who love you.

Lord God of Israel, don’t let what happens to me

be the source of confusion to those who are passionate for you.

Because of my love for you, Lord,

I have been mocked, cursed, and disgraced.

Even my own brothers, those of my family,

act as though they don’t want anything to do with me.

My love for you has my heart on fire!

My passion for your house consumes me!

Nothing will turn me away,

even though I endure all the insults of those who insult you.

When they see me seeking for more of you with weeping and fasting,

they all just scoff and scorn at my passion.

When I humble myself with sorrow over my sin,

it gives them a reason to mock me even more.

The leaders, the influential ones—how they scorn my passion for you!

I’ve become the talk of the town, the theme of drunkards’ songs.

But I keep calling out to you, Yahweh!

I know you will bend down to listen to me,

for now is the season of favor.

Because of your faithful love for me,

your answer to my prayer will be my sure salvation.

Pull me out of this mess! Don’t let me sink!

Rescue me from those who hate me and from all this trouble I’m in!

Don’t let this flood drown me.

Save me from these deep waters

or I’ll go down to the pit of destruction.

Oh, Lord God, answer my prayers!

I need to see your tender kindness, your grace,

your compassion, and your constant love.

Just let me see your face, and turn your heart toward me.

Come running quickly to your servant.

In this deep distress, come and answer my prayer.

Come closer as a friend and redeem me.

Set me free so my enemies cannot say that you are powerless.

See how they dishonor me in shame and disgrace?

You know, Lord, what I’m going through, and you see it all.

I’m heartsick and heartbroken by it all.

Their contempt has crushed my soul.

I looked for sympathy and compassion

but found only empty stares.

I was hungry and they gave me bitter food.

I was thirsty and they offered me vinegar.

Let their “feasts” turn to ashes.

Let their “peace and security” become their downfall.

Make them blind as bats, groping in the dark.

Let them be feeble, trembling continually.

Pour out your fury on them all!

Consume them with the fire of your anger!

Burn down the walled palace where they live!

Leave them homeless and desolate!

For they come against the one you yourself have struck,

and they scorn the pain of those you’ve pierced.

Pile on them the guilt of their sins.

Don’t let them ever go free.

Leave them out of your list of the living!

Blot them out of your Book of Life!

Never name them as your own!

I am burdened and broken by this pain.

When your miracle rescue comes to me,

it will lift me to the highest place.

Then my song will be a burst of praise to you.

My glory-shouts will make your fame even more glorious

to all who hear my praises!

For I know, Yahweh, that my praises mean more to you

than all my gifts and sacrifices.

All who seek you will see God do this for them,

and they’ll overflow with gladness.

Let this revive your hearts, all you lovers of God!

For Yahweh does listen to the poor and needy

and will not abandon his prisoners of love.

Let all the universe praise him!

The high heavens and everyone on earth, praise him!

Let the oceans deep, with everything in them, keep it up!

God will come to save his Zion-people.

God will build up his cities of Judah,

for there his people will live in peace.

All their children will inherit the land,

and the lovers of his name will live there safe and secure.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 69 (The Passion Translation)

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hati-skoll · 6 years

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Fuck(!) Divine Intervention (2/3)

[AO3] [Part One]

The astrals may denounce him an unruly, ungrateful bastard – and they're well entitled to their wrong and completely hypocritical opinions – but let it never be said that Ardyn Izunia (previously Lucis Caelum) is a sad, boring dullard of a villain.

If there's any bigger insult to the way they've ruthlessly stripped him of his birth right and cast him aside as one would soiled diapers, it'll be to pigeonhole him in the role of the pathetic, maniacal incarnation of pure evil, bent on total destruction for no reason other than just that. How trite. How mundane. How dreadfully lazy.

No, Ardyn's had centuries, twenty of them actually, to help that stuffy prick Bahamut set the stage for a brilliant grand finale. It will be glorious, a beautiful, tragic swan-song that'll go down the ages. But then of course, it only takes the gods ten minutes to derail the carefully crafted climax he's been meticulously planning for ten years.

"I see you're still struggling with human colloquialisms, my dear," Ardyn says, when Shiva appears in his office on the top floor of Zegnautus Keep, unannounced – no appreciation for locked doors, that goddess, "There's no shame in that, I consider modern language rather tricky myself. But I'm sure you meant to say, 'it's a pregnant moment', as opposed to 'he's pregnant'."

Shiva narrows her eyes at him, slighted by the correction no doubt.

Ardyn continues. "You see, the former would mean that you are emotionally invested in the outcome of your little King's pathetic struggling. And the latter would mean-"

"He is with child," Shiva says.

"Well, yes," Ardyn waits for Shiva to tell him he's right, waits for her to avail him with divine knowledge of whatever has brought her to his little shoebox of an office and when none of that is forthcoming, he resists the urge to stamp his foot. "He is a boy. How is he with child?"

"The oracle-"

"Put a baby in him?" It must be Jester's Day; the astrals must be playing an awfully tasteless joke on him, there must be some other reason for Shiva's visit other than the ludicrous notion that the Chosen King is pregnant, "I've always been under the impression that females carried the offspring."

"I'm afraid my brethren misconstrued Lunafreya's intentions when she prayed for life."

"They thought she wanted her husband-to-be pregnant," Ardyn says, voice uncharacteristically flat.

"By his lovers, yes, you can see how the vague wording allows room for misinterpretation."

No, no he doesn't see how the vague wording allows room for misinterpretation, not when Noctis is, for all intents and purposes, a boy – as in male, as in lacking the right organ for childbearing purposes hereafter referred to as a womb.

Shiva continues talking, perfectly reasonably as if the gods haven't just made the most colossal, imbecilic gaffe known to Eos in the past five centuries – only rivalled by the time one of Ardyn's own grandnephews thought it possible to drink the sea dry (he wonders how they've managed to keep their rule for so long). "I understand your agenda involves delivering the Chosen King to the crystal. Should you wish to see your plans to fruition, it would be wise to keep in mind that he is… less sturdy than you might have imagined."

"Can't you… magic the foetus away?"

"Not at the moment," Shiva says, "Not without great risk to the Chosen King."

And with that she vanishes. Without so much as a by your leave. How unspeakably rude. But then the gods were never one for niceties.

Right scoundrels they were, going around impregnating people and leaving others to deal with the repercussions, like… like deadbeat fathers! Oh, that was a thought. Ardyn almost feels sorry for his great-grandnephew. He may even be developing some unwilling sense of solidarity, since they're both being made to host foreign, life-draining entities in their bastardised bodies.

Between the two of them, they've a wailing bundle of petrifying, nightmarish terrors and… a fairly decent cacophony of daemons.

Ardyn is very nearly certain that Noctis has drawn the shorter stick on that count.

He spends the next couple of days corralling his scourge-infected and magitek underlings in the facility, because it won't do to have the Chosen King… expire from shock or whatever it was expectant fathers do.

It's a terrible pain, to have to rework his intricately planned masterpiece almost in entirety, but needs must. The Snagas will almost definitely have to go – they're notoriously dreadful at listening to instructions. There's a possible correlation with their scourge-shrunk stature and diminutive brain size, although there hasn't been enough research in the area to prove the theory factually sound.

He's right in the midst of sending those ankle-biters out when he's rudely reminded that Aldercapt and Ravus are inconsiderate buffoons who have the absolute worst timing ever. An altercation in the throne room, Shiva's disproportionate tits, on a weekend? They're not even paid for overtime!

Aldercapt sends Ravus flying a few stories down, just before Ardyn arrives on scene. The old man always had a flair for cheap theatrics, nothing as polished as the beautiful punchlines Ardyn delivers. But one can hardly expect perfection from a mere mortal, especially so deluded a one. Ravus is struggling to stand as Ardyn approaches him. And Ardyn briefly considers sticking to his original plan of ending the Oracle's line, but… the Chosen is now pregnant, and unfortunately, Ravus may still be of some use.

"At last you've arrived Noctis," Ravus says as Ardyn draws near. Hm, not very lucid, he's probably lost one too many brain cell in that fall. Maybe Ardyn ought to kill him after all. Let that annoying brat of a great-grandnephew find his almost-brother-in-law's corpse.

Ardyn calls a blade to his hand, before remembering that mood swings may be debilitating for pregnant mothers according to the internet, and they shouldn't be subjected to unnecessary emotional upheaval. Ugh. Bahamut's puny balls.

He dissolves the blade and offers Ravus a jaunty wave instead. "High Commander, I'm afraid I don't have the time to deal with your adorable little rebellion, if you could have it rescheduled to next week that would be just lovely."

"You-" Ravus starts, hackles rising, but it only takes a casual flick of his wrist, and the Oracle's boy slumps like a puppet with its strings snapped.

That ought to do it. Ardyn casually steps over Ravus' prone form, humming that incredibly catchy victory tune that's been stuck in his head for weeks- a veritable hit in the daemon's Billboard charts, that one, perhaps they've come to associate it with absolution. He none-too-gently prods Ravus with the toe of his boot and Ravus slides sideways, head thumping against the metal railing at an odd angle. The lad's going to get a crick in his neck sleeping like that. A terrible, terrible crick.

A pain in the neck for his pain in the neck. Oh, how delightfully, poetically evil. Slightly cheered, Ardyn heads back to his Snagas.

And then the Chosen King is on his doorstep, separated from his Shield, his Hand and his armiger, and looking rather miffed. Ardyn hasn't seen fit to dismantle the Wallbreaker Wave, not when one of his great-grandnieces somehow induced an early labour by warping too much. He is not about to take that risk with Noctis. This leads to Noctis flailing about and swearing like a sailor, when Ardyn recalls too late that in his haste to clean out the keep, he's swept all the extra daemons just outside their door, so the welcoming party for Noctis and his band of merry men is… a bit… much.

No matter, Noctis manages to tuck roll his way through the mess. Ardyn is reluctantly impressed, how is the brat not hurling yet? He's practically turning cartwheels and he's pregnant!

Thankfully, Noctis ends up in the somewhat safer confines of Gralea's imperial facility none the worse for wear, although clearly out of breath. Ardyn waits as his great-grandnephew pants and curses and pants some more, it goes on for about a minute- does pregnancy affect one's stamina? He'll have to search that up on the internet later. Assuming the servers are still operational. Although, he supposes it's just the extra weight around the middle that might throw someone off. But Noctis… Ardyn squints at the surveillance feed, hm… doesn't seem to be showing yet.

Oh, now he's dry heaving. And he's taken to abusing a trash can.

Ardyn's been expecting some moping, some tears maybe, but he hasn't expected a tantrum. "Step away from the innocent trash can, Your Majesty. I assure you it has nothing to do with your current affliction."

"It's just the flu," Noctis snipes, not very convincingly.

"Flu? Your Majesty, I'm sure you mean the morning sickness – very common symptom in the first trimester of your pregnancy. Do they not teach you these things in Lucis? What happened to all that extra government budget your father pumped into the education sector?"

"I'm not pregnant!"

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You-" Why is he arguing with the brat like an astral-forsaken five-year-old? Ardyn sighs, "Oh, you don't have to keep the bun in your oven under wraps, Shiva's told me in no certain terms that I'm to be mindful of your delicate condition."

"Bun in my- what?"

"The baby," Ardyn says slowly, "In your womb. Magical, astral-blessed womb."

Noctis is beginning to look rather pale again and Ardyn's about to politely suggest the brat visit the bloody toilet before he pukes all over Ardyn's shiny, clean floor when an awful, brilliant thought strikes him. "They haven't told you."

"They- You're lying!" the brat accuses – which is rather rude, really – but Ardyn sees the flicker of uncertainty on his face and he knows Noctis is slowly joining the dots to reach an altogether impossible conclusion. Oh, this is amazingly dastardly. It truly is. The astrals are simply masters at being callously cruel brutes. Ardyn's thought he's gotten the hang of their wicked ways, but no, no, the Six are just so effortlessly vile it's utterly spectacular.

"Why don't you put on that ring of yours, O Chosen King, and ask daddy dearest yourself?"

The brat makes a face like he's considering tossing the ring just to spite Ardyn, but his better sense eventually wins out, and he petulantly removes it from his pocket – oh such indolent disregard for millennia-old family heirlooms – and shoves it on his middle finger, pointedly at the camera.

He zones out for exactly eight minutes and thirty seven seconds.

After which, he's kicking the poor trash can with renewed vigour.

"You're not taking news of your pregnancy very well," Ardyn observes.

"I-" the brat starts, before doubling over and gagging with a hand over his mouth.

"Room to your right, first door on your left," Ardyn tells him and the brat actually listens for once.

He makes it to the toilet bowl just in time, regurgitating water and stomach acid. The brat ought to be grateful that Ardyn has had all the toilets cleaned spotless just prior to his grand entrance. But of course his pampered, cloistered great-grandnephew takes things like properly sterilised sanitation facilities for granted. And oh, fine, if Ardyn's giving him the benefit of the doubt, he may be a little too preoccupied with puking his guts out to marvel at the perfectly polished porcelain surface of that toilet bowl he's intimately making an acquaintance of.

"You know, this wouldn't have happened if you'd just kept your legs closed," Ardyn says as his pregnant great-grandnephew clings desperately onto the toilet bowl.

"Are you," the boy gags and coughs for several seconds before he continues, "slut-shaming me?"

Slut-shaming… he's unfamiliar with the terminology, but it's clearly a complex predicate of slut and shame, which makes it fairly self-explanatory. Noctis is a slut, and he's shaming Noctis – that seems accurate enough. He quite likes the word, actually. "Yes, I am."

"I'm going to kill you," the brat yells into the toilet bowl, "You tricked my dad, you hurt Luna, you stole our crystal, and now you're criticizing my sex life!"

"Oh astrals, do refrain from hysterics. It's bad for the baby."

Ardyn's supposed to be having the time of his life, watching the astral's pathetic Chosen scramble through Zegnautus' winding pathways like a rat in a maze, but instead, he's babysitting an increasingly testy, pregnant great-grandnephew, who's making excruciatingly slow progress because he's rushing to toilet every five minutes.

"I thought they'd invented this nifty thing called condoms. Apparently, you put it on your penis – or well, you have your lovers put it on theirs, since you're evidently not on the penetrative side of things – during intercourse and it prevents unplanned pregnancies. Also the transference of sexually transmitted diseases, a serious concern considering your obviously promiscuous lifestyle."

"Who's pregnant?"

"Why, you are," Ardyn sighs, "Is memory loss a symptom of your pregnancy or have the gods sent an idiot to fight for their cause?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Ardyn double-takes at the screen, belatedly realising that he has it switched to the wrong feed, so it's Noctis' paramours who are staring up at him through the cameras, from all the way on the other side of the keep, looking both mortified and aghast.

"Oh. Wrong number."

It's thoroughly satisfying to watch the confusion and horror dawn on their faces as they began to 'demand you tell us what that means, at once!' He's chortling to himself as he turns his attention back to Noctis.

"I may have accidentally let the coeurl out of the bag, so to speak – about your being pregnant, to your paramours."

"Paramours," the brat repeats, making a face.

"Ah, I forget you younglings speak in a completely different vernacular, I believe the term you use is 'main squeeze'."

The brat shudders and looks ready to vomit again. Oh, dear.

"The nearest toilet is down the corridor to your left," Ardyn supplies helpfully.

The brat glares at what he thinks is a camera, but is really just the automatic air freshener, and enunciates very pointedly, "Fuck you."

What an odd way of thanking someone. Honestly, the younglings' slang is growing more inconceivable by the day.

If anyone were to ask Ardyn what he considers the three most romantic words in all of Eos, his answer will likely be– no, not the entirely overused, plebeian 'I love you', he'll have to go with the much more unconventional, 'blast the astrals'. It perfectly encapsulates the passions of his vengeful, scourge-riddled heart. But at this precise moment, he'll make an exception and say, 'blast Gargantuas'. Which is only two words, but conveys his passions just as thoroughly.

He swears he's gotten rid of that Gargantua. Seriously, he has, right with that last group of axemen he shepherded out just the other day. But here it is, clumsily slashing at his pregnant great-grandnephew, who's now falling a hundred feet or so, oh good gods. Who in the name of Ifrit's burning asshole let that bloody thing in again? He'll find them and kill them, but they're probably already dead what with the chaos going on outside.

Nevertheless, this is an excellent time for Ravus to make an appearance. He knows he's kept the Oracle's boy alive for good reason. With a flex of his magic, he propels Ravus awake and up, while changing Noctis' trajectory through a stitch in time, just so that he'll land right… there. Right in Ravus' open arms, beautiful, he really couldn't have timed this better – only the force knocks Ravus off his feet, so they both end up skidding across the metal walkway for a few metres, before coming to a halt in an ungainly sprawl. Well.

At least Noctis appears to be properly cushioned by Ravus' fancy robes.

"Ravus?" Noctis groans, "You're hurt!"

Yes, clueless great-grandnephew mine, that's what happens when people fall from an indeterminate height, after which they're assailed by random kings falling from platforms of other indeterminate heights.

"My thanks," Ravus says stiffly as Noctis cracks an elixir over him.

Noctis shrugs – good gods, has no one taught this boy basic royal etiquette. "No problem. And, uh, thanks for catching me. And for keeping dad's sword safe."

"Now that we've all shaken hands and put the past behind us, perhaps we'd like to make haste back towards the elevator, preferably before Noctis requires another detour to the toilets," Ardyn suggests.

His great-grandnephew clambers up to his feet clumsily, oh dear astrals, he's not miscarrying, is he? Or throwing up? No? Ravus steadies the Chosen King with a firm hand on his elbow, just as Noctis waves an angry fist at… he's not sure what Noctis is waving his fist at, but it's about thirty degrees left to where the cameras are actually placed. "You said you'd cleared that floor of daemons, you liar!"

"I did," Ardyn sniffs, affronted, "I've no idea where that one came from. Stubborn thing. I just shooed it out two days ago!"

"I knew you can't be trusted."

Ravus looks at their Chosen King, and then at the cameras, before turning back to the fuming king at his side, and questioning, "Noctis?"

Ardyn rolls his eyes. "Oh, don't worry, he's the real Noctis, albeit an overly emotional Noctis due to the hormonal fluctuations that come with pregnancy."

"Will you stop announcing to everyone that I'm pregnant?" Noctis snaps, just as Ravus says, "I'm to be an uncle?"

Noctis gives him a look.

"Well, if you're pregnant, it stands to reason that the baby must be Lunafreya's as well."

"Tenebrae didn't invest much into sex education," Ardyn stage whispers over the speakers.

Noctis groans and makes a helpless sort of gesture at Ravus. "I'm a guy. Guys don't get pregnant."

"I know," it's Ravus' turn to sniff with affront, "But the gods will what they will, and my sister had been soliciting their blessings."

"Wow," Noctis says.

"Oh my," Ardyn says, "You're being remarkably level-headed about this, High Commander."

"I am of the blood of the Oracle."

Ardyn purses his lips, before adding gleefully, "Then you must know it is not the Oracle's child His Majesty bears."

"You have been unfaithful to my sister?" Ravus accuses.

Noctis glares at the not-camera, before making a face at his almost-brother-in-law. "Technically, yes, but wait, hear me out. I told Luna, before… before everything happened. And she encouraged me to-"

"Cheat on her?"

"I was going to say 'follow my heart', but if you want to put it that way… Well, yeah."

Ravus stares hard at him for several seconds, before sighing. "As much as I'd like to rake you over the coals, that does sound like my overly generous little sister. And you have always been rather naïve and impressionable-"

"Hey!"

"So it thus falls to me, your only living male family member, by marriage in spirit if not in name, to champion and reclaim your virtue from the knave who has so ignominiously trampled upon your trust and good faith outside the sanctity of holy matrimony."

"Knaves," Ardyn corrects, at his great-grandnephew's frustrated cry.

"Astrals," Ravus says, "I… am terribly sorry, Noctis."

"Why."

"For so many of your people to harbour designs on the purity of their monarch, and worse, to act upon those baser desires of the flesh, it is the gravest felony imaginable. Tell me who the riff-raff are and I shall deliver justice expeditiously."

"Uh, okay," Noctis stalls, "Yeah, um, you don't need to do that," Ravus raises a brow and Noctis quickly continues, "Because! Because… they, uh, the fall! Yeah, when Insomnia went down-"

"They ferried His Majesty away like the good paramours- ah, I mean, crownsguard, they are, in a fancy automobile dearly deceased Regis relinquished, to embark on an incredibly licentious road trip en route to His Majesty's wedding in Altissia."

Ravus snarls. "You have been canoodling with Scientia and Amicitia!"

"And the blond one," Ardyn says.

"Prompto," Noctis corrects, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

"A commoner is mayhap not taught to be reverent of his king's chastity, considering the state of Lucis' public education, but a nobleman has no excuse for such insolence!"

"I like them insolent," Noctis petulantly mutters.

"And for the matter, where are they?" Ravus huffs, "How are they to protect you, as is the duty of Shield and Hand, when they are not present and accountable?"

Ardyn takes that as his cue to hurry the duo along. They've spent far too much time arguing about the Chosen King's virginity – or lack thereof. But it's been so terribly amusing he'll have to forgive the delay in his timetable. With a few quick adjustments to several buttons and switches on the main console, he has a new path made available to the last scions of Lucis Caelum and Nox Fleuret. "Up the elevator, gentlemen."

Noctis and his paramours are reunited in a gloriously demonstrative, maudlin, sentimental episode that'll thaw the weariest of hearts – save for ones ravaged by daemons over two thousand years and counting, or ones set on protecting the questionably-existent virtue of the Chosen King. There are hugs all round, and several misty-eyed confessions, maybe a tear or two, slightly wet laughter and quiet, discreet kisses which fail to escape Ravus' unrelenting eagle eye.

The Oracle's boy holds out for all of nine minutes and fifty three seconds, just enough time for them to infiltrate the throne room, shut down the Wallbreaker Wave with extreme prejudice – honestly, great-grandnephew, what has that machine ever done to you – and trace their steps back to the hangar where Ardyn's originally planned a grand confrontation.

Seeing that Ravus is still alive and untainted by daemonic scourge, the confrontation has unfortunately been shelved indefinitely. Ardyn's mourning the death of his ingenious masterplan, when Ravus bursts out, "You… You three have impugned the King's virtue, and I am unable to hold my silence any longer."

Oh, this is… this is an acceptable substitute for the woeful, heart-rending battle that's supposed to take place. Ardyn leans forward in his seat and pulls up the feed across multiple screens. Now, if only he had some popcorn, but the downside to having devastated an entire city is the sad lack of easily available sweet treats.

There's a length of stunned silence, before Noctis' paramours rally around him.

"I assure you any act of intimacy between Noct, Gladiolus, Prompto and myself has only been completely consensual," Ignis Scientia says, slightly defensively.

"Yeah, he wanted his virtue impugned," adds Gladiolus Amicitia, to Ravus' mounting fury and his lovers' obvious exasperation.

"Not that there was any impugning at all, Gladio means," Prompto Argentum squeaks, "No impugning whatsoever."

But the damage is done, and Ravus points an armoured finger at them. "We will duel at dawn."

"I'm not sure if that'll be forthcoming anytime soon," Ignis mutters, and Ardyn finds himself unwillingly amused, ten points to Scientia. "What I mean to say is, Noctis' conduct is outside your purview, Prince Ravus, although your opinions have been duly noted."

"Outside my purview? He was to marry my sister, as his brother-in-law, I find it a mild concern that he is carrying another man's child!"

At that entirely explicit confirmation of Noctis' condition, the three fathers-to-be, defilers-of-monarchs, plunderers-of-royal-virginity gape at Ravus, then at their king's torso with varying looks of bewilderment and resignation.

"So Noct's really pregnant?" Gladiolus balks.

"I'm too young to be a dad!" Prompto wails.

"For once in my life, I'd like my suspicions proven wrong," Ignis says.

Noctis crosses his arms in front of his mildly swelling pecs – his great-grandnephew is going to start lactating soon at this rate – and pins them with an impressively stony glare. "If you don't want the kid, I can take care of him myself."

"Aw, of course, we want the kid, buddy!" Prompto quickly reassures.

"Yeah, we'll help raise the sprog, what sort of fathers do you take us for?"

"I would love any child of yours, Noctis, no matter who his or her other parent may be."

Oh, astrals, Scientia. No. Ardyn quickly grabs for the mic, poised to say something witty, or scathing, he's not sure, just anything to distract the brat before… oh, Ramuh's inappropriately sexy beard, now he's done it. The brat's blubbering like how the little menace pressing on his bladder is going to blubber, whenever they deliver him to terrorize all of Eos. Noctis reaches out to grab whoever's standing closest to him – which turns out to be his Shield – and hiccups. "I love you guys so much."

"We love you too," Prompto replies.

Then they're all holding him and petting him, with nary a care to the exceedingly chagrined Prince of Tenebrae not five metres away, or the impressively intellectual, illustrious Imperial Chancellor who's been guiding them the entire time they've been in this bloody keep, watching them over the cameras – which is terribly insulting, Ardyn thinks.

Titan's shapely butt-cheeks, now there's tongue – he doesn't need to see this – way too much tongue for a two-thousand-year-old great-granduncle, or well, any person remotely acquainted with any of them. Good gods, have some dignity, boys, you're the astrals' Chosen. "Gentlemen," Ardyn coughs into his mic, "You have an audience."

They're still kissing. Why. Why are they doing this? Gladiolus rucks Noctis' shirt up above his swollen nipples, and Prompto slides a hand in between their bodies to palm Noctis' arse. Ignis is placing reverent kisses along his king's jawline and down the line of his neck. Ardyn turns up the volume of his mic. "Boys, that's enough. We know that's how you made the baby."

Astrals, are they unbuckling his belt? And is Noctis smugly grinning at the cameras? He… He is. Oh, that infernal brat. Ardyn's absolutely had enough of this. He slams the heel of his palm down on the giant 'DO NOT TOUCH' button in the middle of the console, and all too suddenly, daemons flood into the hangar.

"Oops. Perhaps His Majesty should run along to the crystal while the rest of you clean up over here."

There is an expected amount of grumbling from Noctis and his paramours, although Ravus looks entirely grateful for the interruption. Clothes righted, his great-grandnephew speeds away to the hangar's exit and Ardyn feels an inexplicable twinge of worry at all that excess warping Noctis is using to get to the doors, while he prepares to leave for the crystal's chambers. Well, then, as amusing as it's been, they both have a long overdue date with destiny.

#ffxv #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #prompto argentum #chocobros #ardyn izunia #fanfiction

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queerinette · 6 years

Text

Love, Chloè

Remember the @miraculeanonmezine? You can check it out at https://gumroad.com/l/Jlkgu. It has great formatting, and it’s amazing. You can tell there was a lot of hardwork put into it.

Also, here’s the piece I wrote for it. I hear it’s tear-inducing? Personally, I don’t see it. Tumblr formatting isn’t the best, but I prefer it the most on the zine anyway. Please, please check it out if you can, it’s amazing. And if you can’t, it’s on AO3 as well.

Dear Sabrina,

Chloè Bourgeois dies on December 17th in the early morning hours. It’d been during an akuma attack; Queen B had slipped off a high roof and landed to her demise, revealing herself to be the mayor’s daughter. Sabrina wants to say that she cried her eyes out, wants to say that she screamed and sobbed and yelled at the loss of her best friend, wants to say the words she knows everyone expects her to.

But she would be lying.

She simply nodded when her father woke her up to tell her, asked him for space, and then got ready like it was just a normal day.

The balance of her world hadn’t even been touched.

I regret yelling at you earlier today. I really do. I promised I would apologize to everyone I’ve wronged, and yet you were the one person who didn’t get one. You’re the one who deserves an apology the most.

Three weeks later, it finally affects her.

It’s not because she suddenly crumbles with grief. She doesn’t start sobbing hysterically at the lack of a shadow to follow.

An octagonal box with Chinese symbols appears in her room. In it is a hair comb Sabrina remembers Chloè wearing for months before she passed. A floating bee materialises and tells her she is to be the next bee hero.

Sabrina doesn’t protest. She doesn’t launch into rants about how Chloè was the best superhero Paris could’ve had. She doesn’t refuse on the insistence that she could never fill Chloè’s shoes.

She just nods, puts the hair comb in, and leaves the house like it’s a normal day.

I wish I could say this to you to your face, but I’m such a coward. Instead I’m writing it on a letter I know I’m never going to give to you.

The thing is, she doesn’t understand why people look at her with pity. She’s not affected. Her life is okay, normal. It’s the people around her that aren’t.

It should’ve been obvious to everyone that she and Chloè stopped being friends since Queen B’s debut. Her blue eyes had flashed when Sabrina continued insisting on doing her homework until she snapped. She’d been the one to end their friendship. She’d been the one to create a rift between them, and she’d been the one to tell Sabrina to never feel anything for her ever again.

Sabrina was only complying with that wish.

She wonders if their friendship was so toxic, people could perceive Chloè yelling at her to burn in the pits of hell as just a regular argument. She wonders how she feels about that.

I should start off by saying that you deserve a best friend who would stayed up late with you, laughing over how terrible some teachers are and crying with you because life gets too stressful sometimes. You deserve the best friend who would be there, and give as much as they take.

Chat Noir bursts into tears at the sight of Sabrina in her new hero costume.

She’s not surprised. She knows they were close partners; Queen B and Chat Noir would constantly patrol together, using the time to randomly pop in to check in on victims. Rena Rouge and Ladybug were the same way.

But something about Chat Noir’s grief leaves her cold. That should be her. She should be the one who can’t wipe away her tears because more are always coming. She should be the one who can’t even breathe in her grief.

But here she stands, taking Chloè’s place without a single thought. She can’t bring herself to care. You were supposed to mourn your friends, and Chloè had made it obvious that wasn’t their relationship.

There was nothing wrong with you. Never think there was. It was me; it was always me. I was scared, and I lashed out on you every time. I should’ve been a better friend.

Rose bursts into tears and hides her face in Juleka’s shoulder whenever she sees Sabrina. Kim goes out of his way to accompany her to every class. Adrien offers her sympathetic smiles and an offer to talk anytime. Marinette supplies her with baked goods.

Sabrina wonders if it’s worse for her to take advantage of them taking care of her, or telling them she doesn’t care about Chloè being dead. She’d always thought she’d revel in attention. Now that the spotlight is on her, she finds herself wanting to rip it away.

But she knows if she were to say that Chloè had destroyed their friendship long before her death, no one would handle it well. So she chokes it down, plays the grieving best friend.

She tries to convince herself that she was grieving the best friend who’d always supported her, who’d given her love and affection and this promise of a joined future.

Maybe if Chloè had been that kind of friend Sabrina would feel something, but you can’t miss what you never had.

I am sorry. I am so so sorry. I just panicked. When I started to apologize, some part of me began to fear that I would end up confessing that I am in love with you.

“Remember that time Chloè tripped me just so you would laugh?” Marinette recalls one day. They’re sitting in the library, working on a project due the next day. A gleeful expression crosses her face as Sabrina turns to her.

“Sorry?”

“You don’t remember?” There’s laughter in Marinette’s voice. She launches into the story when Sabrina shakes her head. “It was after you told the teacher you wanted to be a police officer and he laughed in your face. You didn’t smile for a week . Chloè was so desperate, she tripped me just to get you to laugh. She looked so crushed when it didn’t work.”

She goes back to working, shaking her head slightly at whatever memory crosses her head. Sabrina continues staring for a moment, wondering if her perspective on Chloè is skewed.

But then Marinette asks a question and Sabrina banishes the thought, refusing to even consider it.

Isn’t it crazy? I’m in love with you. I never thought I was worthy of feeling something so strongly for someone. Me? In love? It’s so out of bounds, it terrified me. And I took it out on you. That was stupid and asinine of me.

Ladybug takes pity on Chat Noir and changes the patrol routes so that he and Rena Rouge are together. During their first few patrols, Ladybug shoots quick looks at her before jumping, as if wanting to coddle her.

There hasn’t been another akuma yet, not since the incident. Maybe Hawk Moth has given up, now that a child has died. Maybe he’s realized what consequences his actions have.

Sabrina hopes, but not because she wants Chloè’s death to mean something.

I don’t blame you if you hate me now, but I’ll never stop loving you. I’ll always think of you as the stars I find solace in at night; the sun that continues shining and providing warmth no matter how many times your curse at it; the rain that always comes to comfort you no matter how much you complain. And that’s why I’m going to give you space. I don’t want to bring you down anymore.

“She sure knew how to make someone laugh,” Alya remarks during lunch. They’re all sitting on the steps; it became a Wednesday tradition ever since Chloè’s death. “She’d say the most ridiculous things, sometimes. You could tell beneath her meanness, she was just afraid someone would turn her into a joke.”

Everyone laughs, sharing memories of the insults she’d hurled at them. They talk and giggle out the words that had been poison to them, rocks that had settled deep into their chests to draw out their insecurities.

“But didn’t you guys hate her?” she finds herself asking, freezing at the way they all stopped talking to stare at her. Glances are exchanged before Alix finally shrugs.

“Yeah. But she still saved us as Queen B. And at least she apologized afterward, you know?”

And then there are speculations about whether her remorse had come at the same time as Queen B’s appearance, and what that meant for all of them.

Sabrina stares at the ground, feeling tears build up. She’d never gotten an apology. She’d gotten a one-sided screaming match as Chloè all but stated that she hated her. She doesn’t notice as the tears falling towards the ground, doesn’t notice the way she becomes the center of a group hug.

All she can do is wonder if she really mattered that little to the girl she’d once idolized.

You’ll always be my dearest friend. You’ll always be my first love. You’ll always mean everything to me. And you’ll always matter the most.

Mayor Bourgeois stops by her house.

He looks uncomfortable as he sits on their couch, his eyes appraising their tiny house with apprehension. A sigh of relief escapes him when he finally notices Sabrina.

“Chloè left this for you,” he blurts with no preamble, as if ignoring the motions of a proper greeting will get him out of the house faster. He hands over a white envelope that has Sabrina’s name written beautifully, practically running out of there once it’s in Sabrina’s hands.

She turns to her bedroom, wanting to read it without her parents’ watchful eyes.

Your happiness matters more to me than anything else in the world. Put yourself first; that’s all I ask.

Hawk Moth finally sends another akuma six months after her best friend’s death. Sabrina steels herself, transforms, and finds herself first at the scene.

“This is for my best friend,” she decides, jumping to tear into the akuma.

Love, Chloè

#sabrina raincomprix #chloé bourgeois #chloe bourgeois #chlobrina #miraculous ladybug #my writing #mine #zine peace

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