#i have never drawn fire before please forgive me
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You Call It Madness But I Call It Love
Chapter 6: Batter Up
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV
Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter six of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)
Word Count: 3.1K
Warnings: References to Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Cursing (a few times), Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!
Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
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Philadelphia 1935
"Only you would bring a sketchpad to a baseball game." Ben shouts over the screaming fans in Shibe Park Stadium. The sun catches his hair turning it into a honeyed brown that drips down into his gorgeous green eyes that shine with charm.
"I want to capture the devastation on your face when the Phillies lose." You snark back, tracing the curve of his mouth as it pulls down in a frown with the tip of your pencil on your sketchpad, and wishing that you could do the same with your fingertip. It was not the first time that you'd drawn him and by now you didn't need to look up at him to capture the angular structure of his face, but you couldn't help it.
"Funny." Ben taps the ridiculous white and red pinstriped baseball cap on your head that he bought you before the game.
It was a few days after your party, one day before Ben had to go to boarding school number seven, and Ben, being the person he was, decided to drown his sorrows in cheap beer and the electric atmosphere of a baseball game. Before his mother died Ben's father had taken him to a single baseball game, but Ben never forgot. He didn't have to tell you for you to know that it was one of the only happy memories from his childhood, despite his father getting so drunk that he forgot Ben was with him. You figured that Ben liked going because it reminded him of one day that his father didn’t tell him what a disappointment he was. Your heart ached at the thought. Ben didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve the constant disapproval of his father. Yes he got kicked out of numerous boarding schools, he swore like a sailor, ran after whatever caught his eye, and he drank so much alcohol you wondered how he wasn't flammable. But Ben deserved more. And you wished that he would let you give it to him all the time, not just on the days you were out together or the times he snuck into your room.
Your thoughts drift back to the numerous boarding schools. Although you wanted to defend him, you couldn't come up with an excuse for that, especially since Ben didn’t just flunk out, he made an effort to get kicked out. Ben had a different story that resulted in his expulsion for each that never ceased to amuse you. Boarding school number one was vacated when Ben was only thirteen years old because he glued the history instructor to his chair. Boarding school number two was evacuated due to an “accidental fire” in the science lab, which Ben insisted he didn’t start. And then complained that he didn’t think that his lab partner's coat would catch fire quite that fast. Boarding schools three and four were within months of each other and both due to the fact that Ben got caught with a girl in the dorm. Something you wished he hadn’t told you. Boarding school number five you were the most proud of. Only because Ben used some of the minimal art skills you showed him to draw a naughty doodle of the English teacher on the chalkboard before class. Ben replicated the doodle in one of the sketchpads that you hid under you bed just in case someone were to find it. Finally, Ben left boarding school number six because he drove the dean's car into the swimming pool. When you asked him why, he said that he thought it "needed a wash."
"So is it everything you ever dreamed of?" Ben asks with a smirk.
"What?" You look up from the sketchpad at him in confusion.
"Your first baseball game." He emphasizes the word suggestively.
"It's certainly loud-" You begin to say, leaning towards him so he can hear you over the roar of the crowd.
"Yes, well lots of screaming is expected your first time." Ben wiggles his eyebrows. "Though I'd say that there should be screaming all the time-"
"Ben."
"But I told you that I'd be gentle-" He taunts.
"BEN."
"What? I like that I'm your first." His smirk widens and your cheeks flare bright red, prompting you to punch him in the shoulder.
"Shut up." Your mind can't help, but drift back to the other day when he trailed his fingers down the back of your corset and loosened the ties, which makes you flush a brighter red as a shiver goes down your spine.
The boos around Ben and you get louder as the bottom of the eighth inning begins and as one of the New York Giants' infielders steps up to the plate. Despite Ben's teasing it was your first official baseball game. He was outraged when you told him that you'd never been to one a few days before your birthday and he believed that it was his responsibility to take you to one before he went back to boarding school.
And as much as you pretended to hate it, you were having a lot of fun.
The roar of the crowd is electric and surges up over the trumpet blasts that fill the loud speakers, broken up by the sound of the vendors selling cracker jacks and other food items where they wander up and down the concrete steps of the stadium. The smell of beer, hotdogs, sweat, and peanuts swells over the crowd, while the golden glow of the noon day sun flashes against the metal overhang that shields the crowds from its rays.
"Are you hungry?" Ben asks, nudging your shoulder to grab your attention again.
"A little."
Ben waves down one of the vendors and buys you both hotdogs and a beer to share. And as you sit there and begin to eat, you realize that something about today feels different.
You can't put your finger on it, but him buying you a baseball hat and food kinda feels like a… date. Ben had bought you things before from street vendors as you walked through Philadelphia, ice cream, pretzels, but being here, sitting so close that your shoulders brushed every few minutes was different. You briefly circle back again to the other night when he helped you out of your dress. Neither of you had brought up what happened, but you wanted to. You wanted to know if he did that to help you or if he did that because he wanted to go further.
But at the same time you wondered if it happened because Ben was drunk. When he got drunk Ben tended to be a bit more clingy, well at least around you he was more clingy, but he’d never admit that.
The crack of a baseball against a bat pulls you from your memory of the other night and Ben groans as the ball soars over the wall at the back of the stadium.
“That’s another 5 bucks.” He mutters.
“Told you not to make that bet with Adam.” You sing-song.
“You made a bet too.”
“A winning bet I might add.” You poke his muscular bicep with your pencil.
Adam Winthrop was one of Ben's drinking buddies and someone you had run into at the ticket booth before the game. Ben bet him that by the eighth inning the Phillies would pull ahead, whereas you bet Adam that the Phillies would be down exactly four points. Adam laughed at you, but agreed, while Ben stated that the Phillies were better than the New York Giants and you would lose.
You were eager to make him eat his words. And one look at the scoreboard meant that Ben was suffering through a four course meal.
"I have no idea how you did that. You don't even know what baseball is! How could you know that the Phillies would be down four points in the bottom of the eighth?"
"I've meant to tell you, I'm secretly psychic."
"Oh really?" Ben smirks, eyes darkening as they lock with yours. "What am I thinking right now?"
"That you're happy you didn't bring Missy Callahan." You smirk back at him to stop the butterflies that have erupted in the pit of your stomach.
"I am." He cocks his head to the side in a way that makes his dark hair fall into his eyes.
"Good." You turn back to watch the game so you won't focus too much on how good he looks and to resist the urge to run your fingers through his hair. "And I am getting it a little. My teacher is very good at explaining things."
"I'm good at explaining lots of things doll." You don't need to look at Ben to hear the smirk in his voice.
Damn it. The blush that creeps into your cheeks with his words feels like fire.
"Trollop." You snort, taking the beer from his hand so you can have a sip.
“You should be nicer to me, I got you food.”
“And a ridiculous hat-“
“You look cute.” Ben rolls his eyes and turns away, but his words stick to your chest like fly paper.
He thinks I look cute?
“I don’t think you look too bad yourself.” You respond, turning your eyes back on the field, but watching him in your peripheral vision.
“I know.” He grins.
“Keep being all cocky and I won’t buy you cotton candy with all the cash I’m about to make on this game.”
“What happened to gambling being unladylike?”
“We both know I’m far from a lady, darling.”
“Well the Dawson School for Girls will clear you right up.” Ben sighs, but you can hear the disappointment in his tone.
Oh yes, the wonderful news my mother dropped in my lap, how exciting!
When your mother had come into your room the other night she told you she had a big birthday surprise, which was that she was sending you to the Dawson School for Girls in Boston. You don’t know what prompted her to send you to a boarding school, only that she said it would be good for you.
Which probably meant she was doing it to keep you far away from Ben.
Maybe it won't be so bad. New city, new exciting people-
But no matter how hard you thought about it, you weren't excited and it was because of Ben. Not only would you miss him, you really didn't know what he would do without you. You weren't sure how long that Ben would be at his boarding school in New Jersey, and you didn't know where he would go when he got back.
If I was gone, who would be there for him when he got back? Who would he go to when he didn't want to go home? Would he end up at Missy's?
The thought that he would sleep over at her house makes an ice pick of jealousy stab you in the chest. You still weren't over what happened the other night at your birthday party, but you were getting through the best you could. Being here with Ben was helping you forget how mad you were.
"Y/n?"
"Hmm?" You look up at him.
"Don't focus too much on what they teach you there." Ben says, his eyes are still on the game tracing the pathway of the ball as it soars into right field.
"Why?"
"Because you don't need to change." He glances over at you with a frown as if the thought hurts. "And all those boarding schools are the same, they try to make you like everyone else. Strip you of everything that makes you different.”
"Is that such a bad thing? I've been the odd one out for a while-"
You think about all the other girls that you'd met over the years and of course Missy pops up. She was popular, pretty, and she'd caught Ben's attention. You'd never been that popular, Ben was the only close friend you had. Plus most of the people you interacted with were Ben's friends/drinking buddies who seemed to like you as much as he did. That always made you feel better, that Ben's friends liked you enough to let you come out with them sometimes, even if it was to the bar on the corner and even if it was completely unladylike when you staggered home drunk. It was usually Adam's fault when he bet you that he could drink you under the table and you weren't one to walk away from a challenge. Ben was always there to help you down the street and make sure that you got home okay, laughing when you tried to go into the wrong house or sang off-key. Of course when you arrived home those nights your mother practically locked you in your room, making you feel like Rapunzel, but never dissuaded Ben from coming in through the window.
"For you it is."
"Why?"
"Because you're different."
"I can't tell if that's a compliment or not." Your brow wrinkles and Ben presses a fingertip to the scrunch between your eyebrows under your hat, surprising you.
"I like that you're different." Ben shrugs.
Your cheeks flush bright red with his confession. It's the first time that Ben's ever said anything remotely like that before.
He turns back to the game as if he hasn't said anything.
“I like that you’re different too.” You whisper, barely audible over the crowd.
“Good.” Ben shoots you a sideways grin that makes you warm from head to toe.
“So is that why you don’t stay?" You look back at your sketchpad, shading along the bottom of Ben’s strong jawline, reveling in the familiar scratch of the pencil against the paper.
“Huh?”
“At the boarding schools? Because you don’t want to change?”
Ben frowns for a minute before reaching for the beer between you. “I don’t like being there.”
“Because?”
Ben shrugs. “It’s not home.”
You didn’t understand that. Ben hated being at his own house with his father. Well, hated being anywhere with his father. The only place that he spent enough time sleeping was in your bedroom and you doubted that’s what he meant.
You wait for him to clarify, but he doesn’t. “Well I'm pretty sure I'm going to hate being in Boston because I'm just going to worry about you the whole time." It slipped out before you could stop it.
"You worry about me?" The corner of his lip twitches.
"Of course I do. You're my friend."
"And what do you worry about happening to me?"
"The usual: barroom brawls, alcohol poisoning..." You smile. "That or sleeping with someone's girl and having the guy come after you."
"I hope you know that you're my alibi if anyone tries to catch me."
"After all these years I'd expect it. And everyone believes me, because I'm trustworthy-"
"I'm not so sure about trustworthy, when we first met you lied for me." Ben's fingertips trace against the back of your hand where it is on the armrest between you.
"Yes I did." You swallow the lump in your throat, trying not to focus on how electricity seems to follow his touch, mildly surprised at the boldness of Ben's touch.
You remembered that night. When you ran into your father's study to hide from your mother and Ben was behind the couch hiding from his father. He had looked so cute with a scowl on his face, when he peered at you from over the back of the couch when you came through the door. You remember asking him what he was doing, but he hadn't said anything, just stared back at you. His father had been enough of an answer when he practically crashed through the door of the study, stumbling around the room and slurring his words together as he demanded you tell him where his son was. You had held his gaze and insisted that you hadn't seen Ben, and his father had left cursing under his breath. It was hard not be friends after that.
"Why?" Ben asks.
You pause considering. Ben's face is impassive, but you see a glint of curiosity in his eyes. His fingers are still resting on the back of your hand. “Do you really want me to tell you? Or do you want me to lie?”
“I don’t think you’ve ever lied to me before.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know your tell.” He replies smugly.
“I don’t have a tell.”
“You do.”
“What is it?”
“It’s no fun if I tell you.” Ben smirks, tapping the brim of your hat. “But why?”
You didn't want to admit it to him, because you thought that he would mock you. The truth was you'd helped him for two reasons, one because he'd looked scared. Ben wasn't afraid of anything and you hadn't seen the look in his eyes since the day you met, but you know that you did not imagine it when you locked eyes in the study. The other reason was because you thought that your problems with your mother and his problems with his father made you two the same or at least connected in some way. You were happy to meet someone that understood you. None of the other people you met understood what it was like to have a parent that never thought you were enough for them. And as you grew up together, Ben was someone that you could depend on no matter what, just as he depended on you. Even if he couldn't admit it to you or to himself.
“It might have also been because I was also in the study hiding from my mother and it kinda felt like we were sharing a secret.” You press your lips together. “I know that sounds stupid.”
“It’s not.” Ben breathes, holding your gaze with a sincerity that makes your heart warm. “I never said thank you.”
"You’re right. And I’ll hold that against you for as long as we live.” You smile up into his handsome face again admiring how the sun reflects off the perfect angles and rests in his green eyes.
“I wouldn’t have expected anything less sweetheart.” He holds your gaze for another few seconds before turning back to watch the final inning, his forearm pressed firmly against yours where your arms rest between you. And instead of moving back you allow yourself to lean into him, so close that your shoulders are touching, continuing to sketch through the final parts of the game and ignoring the urge to look up at him.
It really was a wonderful day, but that's the thing about wonderful days, they always have to end.
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Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, let me know :)
Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs
#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x you#jensen ackles soldier boy#soldier boy#soldier boy x female reader#soldier boy x y/n#soldier boy/ben#the boys amazon#the boys fanfic#jensen ackles#soldier boy fanfiction#the boys series#the boys tv#soldier boy fic#the boys season 3
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Do you know what? I've been thinking and I personally would love to read about when Jake got the curse in Fool's Fare. What he felt physically and emotionally. Even just as flashes from a nightmare or flashback, basically in any form. I just think it is super interesting. I don't know if you were already thinking of including this. If not, no worries, only write what you want.
I actually did not think about including this, but I would LOVE to talk about it actually!! Also, just know that this curse is different from the one in the teaser because I changed it up to suit the story better.
The rain poured down in heavy sheets, and Jake wouldn't be surprised if they left bruises behind at their ferocity. The sand beneath his feet stuck to him like glue, and his heart thundered at the sight of the glazed, white eyes that stared at him, down to the depths of his soul. There were no pupils to break up the milky white, but still he knew they were locked onto him.
There was no color to his skin, and the flesh was drawn tight around his face, a salt and pepper beard hiding the lower half of his face. His clothes were near rags. He looked like death come to life.
"For your arrogance, a token I leave for you," he rasped, the sound sending chills up Jake's spine. It didn't sound fully human, but like a voice you would hear in a distant memory. Whispery, not quite there.
The man lifted a spindly arm slowly at him, a shock running through the blond as he fell to his knees, gripping his sides in a feeble attempt to stop the pain.
"This Earth you'll walk neither dead nor living."
Jake felt something inside of him snap, he howled in pain.
"No meat or marrow will quell your hunger. Only ash will you taste."
Jake suddenly felt hollow, a bottomless emptiness that knocked the wind out of his lungs.
"No wine or water will quench your thirst. Your throat shall never know relief."
Jake felt fire in his throat, like all the moisture had been sapped out of it.
"Your touch remains, but no relief will you feel at the hands of another. You too will know the agony of being parted from the one you love, a yearning inside you for the touch of another that will never be sated no matter how many arms you throw yourself into."
Jake couldn't describe the hunger that suddenly filled him. Not for food, but for the touch of another person. A yearning so strong that it brought him to tears.
"Please," he groaned out, begging the man to stop.
"Your pleas won't work on me, boy," snarled the figure. He slowly walked over to where Jake was curled in on himself in the sand. He crouched down, eyeing Jake with a look that would have made any man beg for forgiveness. “And any man who stands with you will suffer the effects as well.”
"Please," Jake tried again, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. "I'm sorry."
"You're not," Davy Jones murmured, cocking his head to the side. Jake let out a sob that any other time would have caused him to be embarrassed, but now? Now he was at the mercy of the lord of the seas. "You will be though, once my curse has had time to settle."
"Please," Jake let out weakly, reaching out his hand. Davy Jones considered the young man before him.
"Alright, boy," he rasped. "Today I shall show mercy to one who did not see fit to give it himself."
Davy Jones leaned closer, stopping next to Jake's ear, and he could make out what smelled like dust and the ocean drift over him.
"You'll have seven years to the day to find that which is most valuable. The greatest treasure of all."
"What is it?" Jake asked him, eyes wide and desperate, pleading. Davy Jones chuckled, standing up to step back. He peered down at the blond.
"What would be the point in tellin' you, lad?" He chuckled. "Find it, and I'll lift the curse. If you don't..."
He paused, cocking his head to the side.
"This will be your fate for all eternity," he finished, booming out a laugh.
Jake shot straight up in his bed, sweat drenching his skin as he fought to regain his breath. He was safe, he told himself. He was on his ship, in his bed. Nowhere near Davy Jones.
Jake winced as a wave of pain rolled over him, a tugging in his chest begging him to go to where you slept in the next cabin over. He sighed, laying back down.
Seven years had come and gone. Seven years was almost up.
#answered#anonymous#hey nonny nonny#i hope you liked this#it was fun to write lol#fool's fare#ff#drabble
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Messing With Remnant: BTC AU Bit - Part 1/3
Page Count: 5
Word Count: 788
Author’s Note: Hi hello hi hello HIIIII
I’m finally writing something for this AU. Finally. Fucking finally. Oh I’m so ill.
Idk if the events described in these little oneshots will actually happen but for now their purpose is simply to showcase the dynamics among the characters. For actual canon BTC characters, I’m gonna try to stay as true to canon as possible with what little info I can get. As for River, the relationships between her and the canon characters are.. headcanon?? I think??? Idk.
Also yes I do mention River having games on her phone and I’m just gonna give an explanation for that now cause it’s not much of a spoiler lmao: she does NOT have any kind of internet or signal. The most she can do is use her notes app and listen to already-downloaded music. And play the tons. And tons. And tons. And tons did I mention TONS of no-wifi-required games she’s got on her phone. So yeah she may or may not use that to distract Tom every so often when she and Springtrap embark on their mischievous little evil terrible endeavors.
(I swear I have an explanation for Tom being able to interact with objects she gives him I will talk about that within either the second or third part).
But yeah BTC Springtrap has infected my brain and I will never forgive @skeletoninthemelonland for that. /lh /j
All BTC characters as well as the general story belong to them ofc so please follow them I love BTC and their art and they’re a very cool person :33
Also skeleton TELL SPRINGTRAP TO START PAYING REMNANT TAX FOR INFECTING MY BRAIN. IF IT’S GOING TO ROT AWAY HE SHOULD GIVE ME FINANCIAL COMPENSATION!! /lh /hj
Okay anyways uhhhh hope you guys enjoy this!! :3
***
Pure energy.
That’s what it looked like to her, anyway—it was the only way she could think to describe it—even though she already knew from the start that this would go much deeper than that. She’d have been shocked if Springtrap of all people knew exactly what it was, though, let alone be able to articulate it in a way another person could understand.
She couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but she was almost drawn to it, having recalled a vague, childhood memory of fire, how it pulsated and flicked around wildly despite being contained within the constricting wick it was lit upon.
Whatever this energy was: it reminded her of that.
Unlike fire, looking at it sort of hurt her eyes…
“What are you doing?”
She blinked, flinching back to reality. Without realizing it, she’d begun to reach out to it. “Uh…”
That was all she could muster. Springtrap rolled his eyes and lightly smacked her hand away.
“You didn’t hear a word I said,” he sighed irritably. “Did you?”
“You were talking?”
He smacked his right hand against his eyes, grumbling to himself. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”
“Absolutely not,” River replied without missing a beat, flashing a grin. “You should know this by now.”
“Well, what I was trying to say,” Springtrap said, taking a step toward… whatever it was and lowering his hood. “That this is what I mentioned yesterday: remnant.”
“I mean, I guess I see why you’re so obsessed with it now,” she shrugged, lowering the hood of her cape, as well. “It’s kinda pretty.”
“Oh, yes!!” Springtrap exclaimed, suddenly in a weirdly sing-song voice drawling with sarcasm every syllable. “Because I’m obviously dedicating my life’s work to this substance just because it ‘looks pretty’!!”
He paused, then said, “Stop taking me for some moronic, shiny-object-obsessed kleptomaniac!”
“...I mean I was tryna be nice by not mentioning your crazy hoard ‘o metal parts, but—”
“Moving. On.”
River snickered to herself before turning back to the remnant. “Yeah, yeah. So… what is it, again?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, to which she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “That isn’t the important part yet, anyway; what’s important is what I- we can do with it.”
“Skip to the part where ya actually elaborate on somethin’ for once, please,” River interrupted. “I don’t know how long my games are gonna distract Tom and co. for.”
Springtrap heaved a pointlessly dramatic sigh once more, shaking his head. “Fine, whatever. We use it to generate power; that’s the most basic the explanation can get, at least. But I take as much as I can to use for… research purposes.”
“Real convincing, Spring,” River said, wearing a sarcastic smirk.
“I thought I told you not to call me that.”
“I won’t hesitate to get Tom to start saying ‘Springle’ again.”
Springtrap went back to the subject at hand, but his eye twitched rapidly. River thought he’d pop a vein, if… well, if he had any that still worked.
“Based on what I currently know about remnant—albeit my knowledge is a bit limited—I have a theory that it may help you.” He paused again, absentmindedly scratching the side of his head. “Though I can physically interact with it just fine, I’m unsure what sort of effect it would have on actual, living matter.”
“Is this your lame attempt at convincing me not to touch it just ‘cause you want it?”
“Of course I want it,” Springtrap scoffed. “But I’m being serious, kid! I don’t know enough to just let you grab it out of the air right when it appears!”
“Then why did you bring me along?!”
“Because you need to know about it if you have any hope of returning to wherever you came from!”
Out of spite, River glowered up at him, holding eye-contact as she reached her hand out and grabbed the remnant, clutching it in her hand as tightly as she possibly could.
It burned. It was as if she’d shoved her hand into actively boiling water. She couldn’t take her hand away from it, because it’d already faded from her grasp. Not that she ever had been, but the feeling traveled through her veins as if she’d been bitten by a snake that wouldn’t retract its fangs, or struck by lightning with a metal rod in hand. This was about how she’d imagined it at least.
She couldn’t even scream. Her voice was caught in her throat. The tears that streamed down from her eyes stung her skin. All she could do was stand there, but even that became too much, and her knees buckled under her weight.
All noise dulled, the last of them she could only just barely make out being Springtrap yelling her name.
***
#fnaf#five nights at freddy's#fnaf au#au#au lore#fnaf oc#fnaf springtrap#springtrap#springtrap.#btc#btc springtrap#behind the codes#behind the codes springtrap#behind the codes springtrap.#they are the sillies#THE sillies EVER in fact#River figured out pretty easily he gets an ego boost from intimidating people#so she bullies him for shits and giggles#they both bully each other tbh#they are also both incredibly evil#they are silly and dumb and selfish and evil#and yet when one of them is hurt or sad suddenly they know what empathy is#they do the same with Tom#nobody else though#their idea of bonding time is murder#they’re a little fucked up#they like to claim they hate each other#but they’d die a second time if it meant the other would be okay#not at the point in time Messing With Remnant is set though#this is fairly early on in their little father daughter shenanigans
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Burned
I had an idea and needed to get it out.
Sabo x gn!reader - angst, so much angst. OP Universe. there is no catharsis in this ending.
(I'm literally just writing this into a tumblr post in one solid go, so please excuse any major errors.)
Years after Marineford - the world is different. A New Pirate King rules the seas, the World Government is in tatters, the Revolutionary Army has swarmed over the islands and it's all different.
Sabo finds himself on an island in the West Blue. In the quiet hours of the morning something has always pulled him in this direction. He never had time to consider it or worry about it, but the pull is harder lately, more urgent.
Right now the sun is high in the sky and he walks through the peaceful town easily, following the direction of the tug. It almost feels like the pull is from the devil fruit that's a part of him. It's formless and desperate and insistent.
His feet bring him to the doorstep of a small brick home, a few kilometers outside the edge of the town proper. A few farm animals meander around, and there's a small garden wrapped around the back of the home. A line of laundry sways in the warm breeze of the day, and Sabo knocks on the door.
He has no idea what he'll say. He doesn't even know why he's here, only that something compels him.
There's a sound of something being dropped from the other side of the door and quiet gasp that finds his ears despite the impossibility of it. Fast foot steps rush toward the door and as it swings open bright eyes and a wide smile greet him.
"Ace you're aliv-!" The words die along the joy on your face, and a dark shadow falls over eyes that had been so beautiful just a moment ago. "F-forgive me, sir. I mistook you for the impossible."
"No it's," Sabo steadies himself. He feels near to tears, but he has some inkling why. "It's quite alright. I apologize, I was... well, I was compelled to come here, and I didn't know why."
"Are you a bounty hunter, sir?" You ask, a weak smile on your face.
"No. No, I'm... I'm a member of the Revolutionary Army." He admits.
"If you came here to recruit an ex-pirate, I can't help you." You say sourly. You look around and notice the young blonde is well and truly alone and on foot. "It's quite the walk from town to here, I can offer you a drink before you leave. The Revolutionary Army's done good by the people, I don't mind sparing a cup."
"That's... very kind of you. I would love a bit of tea, if you have it."
You step back and allow him inside. It takes everything Sabo has not to react. The simple home is well-cared for, but there's no real life in it. It's dark inside, most of the windows are drawn and shuttered, but it's clean, and the scent is... painfully familiar.
Everything is patches of orange and red, and there's a small collection of sketches on the table as he sits down that have a face that twists his heart.
"Pardon the mess." You say absently. "I've not had a guest since Kaido was defeated."
"It's quite alright..." Sabo says carefully. "I... I apologize, but I must ask you something."
"Fire- er, shoot, Army Man." You say, setting a kettle to boil on the small stove you had.
"Did you know Portgas D. Ace?" As the question leaves Sabo's lips he regrets it. The pain that twists your features twists his heart.
"... Forgive me." He says before you can answer.
"You knew him too." You say, nodding toward your sketches. "I lost my wanted poster of him a few months ago and have been trying to make sure I don't forget - ah, I mean. They're not making new posters of him, you know."
"He... he loved you, didn't he?" Sabo asks hesitantly. There's a tear slipping down his cheek and he can't reconcile the absolute pain in his heart. He doesn't even know your name, but he wants to comfort you somehow.
"I did. We did. It was..." You stop as the kettle starts to whistle and turn your attention to brewing the tea.
"I never knew I could love fire." You admit, as you set two cups on the table. Before the young army man can ask you pull the legs of your pants up and show him the burn scars. "I have some on my back too. I got them before I joined the Whitebeard crew. A decade or more before I ever even met him."
You force yourself to smile. You were well-practiced at this conversation, and you'd managed to get Marco to leave you alone not too long ago.
"He died protecting a dream, and that dream came true." You say, holding onto your smile. "I can take comfort in that."
The sad smile on the young man's face makes you feel like he understands. You both drink tea quietly for a few moments, but the longer he stays, the harder it is to keep your mask on. Something about him pulls at you, reaches for you, begs for you, and you're not sure what it is.
You also know that you don't want to know.
"Thank you," Sabo says, as he drains his cup. "For the tea."
"Of course, Army Man." You reply evenly.
Sabo gets up, stopping after he's only taken a step toward the door.
"I'd... like to return, if I may? I have much left to do, but it won't be for forever. I think I'd like to get to know you better."
You consider it for a moment and then shake your head. "No offense, Army Man, but I don't want to ever see you again." You look up from your tea cup, smiling despite the tears in your eyes.
"I've already been burned twice in this life."
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GTober Day Three: Candle
(A/N: Took some time off for my birthday. So that's why this is posting late.)
Sure, opposite day wasn't really a thing in Ancient China. Wasn't even really a thing in modern China unless you counted on the internet, but sometimes an author got bored or ran into writer's block and started researching random shit, okay? It kept the words going and that meant it kept his rent paid and food on the desk. (Because be realistic, he never actually ate at the sad excuse for a table he'd shoved into the corner of the 'kitchen' part of his apartment.) He'd had the idea of a silly little spell that could flip things around for a limited period of time, good for a rare reverse harem scene where Binghe had gotten a little taste of his own talents for once until the cursed necklace broke and the orgy reversed course. Not really a fan favorite, but there'd been a lot of fanart drawn of the scene.
Shang Qinghua hadn't counted on running into it while looking for an entirely different cursed necklace that his king wanted for some reason. And to be fair, nothing had happened when he'd picked it up and hauled it back to the northern palace. The one he'd been looking for was supposed to drink your blood if you wore it on the full moons, but in return would direct you to a treasure trove. Pretty light in terms of curse territory, really. And surprisingly non-sexy. And who would have guessed that... he might have re-used the same design on at least a dozen magical pieces of jewelry over the years he'd been writing the book.
His king had put on the necklace, Shang Qinghua ready to jump if it drank too much blood. But nothing happened.
At least, not until his king vanished between one heartbeat and the next, his empty clothes dropping to the ground without a body to support them.
He stared in horror at the place Mobei-Jun had stood. Had he just killed his king?! A curl of smoke rose up as if to drive in the point, and the author followed it down to the pile of royal silks and furs... Which had started to burn.
"No no no..." Shang Qinghua whimpered, diving forward. He slapped at the flames to put them out before they could engulf Mobei's clothes, but every time he put one part out it seemed like another would start to burn as he panicked. And then he felt a burning on his hand itself and jerked back with a yelp, tears coming to his eyes. "Noo..."
"Qinghua!"
He froze, still clutching his injured hand. "My king?" Did he become a ghost right away? Was he trapped in an alternate world? "Where are you?"
"Down. Here."
Shang Qinghua looked down, but all he saw were the still burning clothes.
"I don't see you, my king," he said with a hiccup, shaking his head. "Are you haunting me?"
A sudden flare of heat to his kneecap made the author let out another yelp and swat at his knees to put out what had to be the flames moving to his clothes. He didn't want to die too!
But when his hand landed, there was something small and solid between his palm and clothed knee. Small, solid, and moving. And strong, shoving his hand up before Shang Qinghua lifted it himself to face the angry blue eyes of his king.
"My- my king?" he whispered, forgetting the pain as disbelief and relief fought over his nervous system.
Mobei-Jun had been changed. Where the demon had been large and cold... he was now small and hot. So very small, and very hot. Standing in the middle of a little flame that burned around him kind of hot. Staring at him, the realization of what he'd just been trying to do sunk in and his eyes flew wide.
"Please, I beg your forgiveness my king! I didn't know it was you setting the fires! The necklace must have been switched with the cursed charm of opposites at some point, or I never would have presented it without warning. Please forgive your worthless servant for this oversite. I do happen to know that the effects should only be temporary and will wear off after a day or two."
"A day or two?" the demon repeated with a growl, staring up at him. Being surrounded by fire was... terrifying. No matter that he would never put such a thought to words. He was an ice demon. There were reasons why his servant's deception had worked so well against his uncle before. And then being so small on top of it. How was he going to rule his kingdom or protect his cultivator and future spouse like this?
"Yes, I'm sorry my lord, but of the ways to break the curse of opposites, that's the only one I can think of as viable! You'd burn anyone who tried to cure it physically," Shang Qinghua said. He started to wring his hands before flinching as he was reminded of the burn.
Seeing the flinch made Mobei feel a little guilty, even though the wound had been made trying to survive. He'd promised not to hurt him again. Taking a deep breath (that made the little flame flicker larger for a moment), he reached for the calm that usually served him well. "What do we need to do?"
"Well, you're a flame demon until it wears off it looks, so we have to keep your flames fed. Bigger the fire, bigger you. But if it wears off early, it wouldn't be safe to make a bonfire and have you return to your ice demon self in the middle!" Shang Qinghua said, talking them both through it at the same time. It kept him from panicking, which would not be useful for his king. "But rest assured, I have an idea that should keep you going for hours at a time."
A candle. His idea was a candle, bringing it to the little flame demon and tilting it down so the wick could be reached. Mobei-Jun studied it wearily before grabbing the wax-stiffened wick to pull himself up. The little flame around him flared as Shang Qinghua brought it back upright before settling into what would have been a normal, if maybe somewhat large, candle flame. Except for the demon in the middle of it, that was.
"I'll find you a better candle as soon as I can, my king," the author promised, cupping his hand around back of the candle as he climbed up to his feet, protecting it from any stray breezes that could risk blowing it out. He didn't want to find out how quickly a flame demon died when put out when said demon was Mobei-Jun! "This was just the first one I saw when I was looking, and this servant didn't want to make you wait too long."
Mobei scowled up at him. Which... wasn't quite as intimidating as it normally was. His king was smaller around than his fingers after all! And now that he had enough focus to actually study him... completely naked.
The realization made him blush and look away, telling himself the excuse that staring at fire too long was obviously bad for your eyes, and he had to watch where he was going as he slipped out of Mobei's study and headed right for his rooms. One of the few places in the northern palace that actually was built for heat and had a good supply of lamps and candles! And some of the best locks in the palace, which had been for his safety originally, but now Shang Qinghua activated them once they were inside to keep anyone from coming in and seeing his king in a vulnerable position.
Setting the candle down carefully, he hurried to start digging into his chest of supplies. "One moment, my king. This servant should have something with a longer burn time. Or even multiple wicks! Those have bigger flames so you won't have to stay so small. Though you're kind of cute like that..." The last part, of course, he muttered to himself as he continued to dig. "And a prettier holder!"
"Qinghua."
It was just too bad that he couldn't touch him without getting burnt, because he just bet that Mobei's skin would feel all soft like this, and he could poke and prod him without fear of being turned into a popsicle.
"Qinghua."
On the other hand, he couldn't give him any clothes either, because he didn't have anything fireproof and anything else would just burn off as soon as it was given over.
"Shang Qinghua!"
He jumped, hissing when the lid was jostled enough to bring it down on his head. Shang Qinghua turned around, rubbing what was sure to be a lump soon. "Yes, my king?"
The demon pointed across the room towards the bed piled high in furs. Or, more precisely, at the glass lantern that sat on the table beside it, a deep blue candle sitting inside. "That one."
Shang Qinghua blinked, looking between them. "That one, my king? But it's an old lantern and not even a fresh candle. Surely this servant can find something better for you."
Mobei-Jun shook his head. "It's the most suitable. I will rest on that candle. And no other. Will you deny this king?"
The author sighed. He'd liked that little lantern! It'd been one of the things he'd actually brought from his leisure house when Mobei had given him a room in the northern palace. Even if he didn't quite remember where he'd gotten it from. It wasn't exactly shiny and new, but there was a pretty frost and flower pattern in the metal and etched into the glass. And the glass sides had meant he didn't worry so much about falling asleep reading to its light. "Of course, my king."
He fetched the lantern from his side table and brought it over, opening the little glass door so Mobei could move from one candle to the other, watching to make sure he was settled before putting out the first candle. "Where would you like this servant to place you for the night, my king? Some privacy can be arranged if you'd like."
"Back where it was," Mobei-Jun said after a moment. He wouldn't say it, but he wanted the cultivator close. Even if he couldn't touch him without hurting him at the moment. And he'd promised himself he wouldn't hurt him again. "You should remain close until I return to my correct form."
Shang Qinghua felt a warmth climbing up into his cheeks, nodding his head as he picked up the lantern, king and all, to bring back to his bedside table. "Can this servant get you anything else, my king?"
"No. This king will meditate for now. You may rest."
"Thank you, my king." Permission given, he gathered together his sleeping robes, stepping behind a privacy curtain to change. Obviously he wouldn't be returning to his office to do any more work that night. Perhaps tomorrow he could carry Mobei with him? Or bring his paperwork in to work at his personal desk. Wrapping his hand before taking down his hair to comb out for bed, he felt eyes on him from across the room with the kind of intensity that made him squirm even without needing to look over his shoulder. Shang Qinghua quickly braided his hair and returned to the bed. "If you feel yourself growing, please wake this servant. I would hate for you to have to break out of the lantern. It's my favorite."
Mobei-Jun nodded his head, eyes closed as if he'd never been watching him. Ha. You aren't that subtle, my king. "This king will do so."
"And if you need anything else too! Especially if the candle gets low," he pressed on, pulling back the thick layer of furs so he could slid under. "Anything my king needs."
The small demon huffed, his flame flaring. "Sleep, Qinghua."
"Right, right, of course," the author said quickly. He automatically started to reach to blow the lantern out, jerking his hand back as his brain caught up. Right, can't do that. Instead, he laid down and turned his back to Mobei-Jun, closing his eyes to further block out the light. "Goodnight, my king."
Mobei didn't answer, watching the back of his servant's head, the only part he could see, until Shang Qinghua's breathing finally evened out. Despite the situation, he once again felt a little smugness. Clearly, he'd been wise in his choice. Both in giving the gift, and choosing his place to rest for the night. While it was a pity that he couldn't touch the human, the chance to watched him so close, and see him so unguarded...
Perhaps he would have to become cursed more often.
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May 13th "Wait right here"
@themerrywhumpofmay
Betrayal | Pistol | Nowhere in particular
“You want me to what?” Caretaker gasped with astonished terror.
“Shoot him.” Whumper ordered, pointing at Whumpee’s trembling form, kneeling in henchman’s grasp.
“What? Y-you can’t be serious,” Caretaker cried. “I can’t do that. I can’t.”
“I am deadly serious. You will do it, or I’ll do it for you, and I don’t have the medical background you do. I may shoot him somewhere that would actually matter. You don’t have to kill him. Just shoot him,” Whumper stated with a deadly grin.
“Wh-where?” Caretaker said with a terrified tremble in his voice. This can’t be happeneing. He glanced at Whumper and Henchman 2, both with their guns drawn and pointed at whumpee and caretaker respectively.
“Nowhere in particular,” Whumper said with a disinterested shrug.
Whumpee whimpers from behind his gag but nods to caretaker that it’s okay. He understands. That really doesn’t make it better. That implicit trust makes the betrayal a thousand times worse.
Caretaker is handed a weapon. It’s cold and heavy in his hands. So much heavier than he expected. It is definitely heavier than the chains around his wrists. He blinks back tears. It’s not a matter of knowing where to shoot. He’s never fired a gun. He doesn't even know how to properly aim it. If his aim is wrong…
Caretaker looks at Whumper. “Please. I can’t. Don’t… don’t make me do this. I’ve never even taken a practice shot before.”
“It’s really not that hard. You point the gun where you want and then you pull back on the trigger.”
“But if I get it wrong…”
“I don’t care. Pretty sure if you delay any longer, one or all three of us will shoot him for you. Do you think he can survive three bullets at the same time?”
“No! No…” Caretaker draws in a shaky breath.
His tear-filled eyes meet Whumpee’s. Whumpee gives him another nod of approval. He is shaking harder now, body visibly convulsing in terror, just wanting it to end.
Caretaker raises the pistol. He’ll never forgive himself. He’s betraying every oath he’s ever taken or sworn to himself to do no harm. The best he can hope for is less harm. Do less harm than if Whumper were to carry this out.
There was a deafening BANG!
Followed by howls of agony.
#the merry whump of may#whump#whump writer#whump community#sadistic whumper#Shot#gunshot#whumper#whumpee#caretaker
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Fic prompt: After the fight in 4x23, Kate is injured in some way and hospitalized. Castle is contacted and rushes to her side. 🥹
His mind was a storm, clouded and dark, a million possibilities spinning like a hurricane.
He had known this wouldn't end well: that's why he had walked away.
It's your life. You can throw it away if you want but I'm not gonna stick around and watch you. So this is, uh... over.
It was an empty threat though, wasn't it?
I'm done.
But they both knew he wasn't.
Stupidly, he had hoped the empty threat would be enough to save her.
Stupidly, he had hoped that she would realise what she was losing, that she would rush after him and apologise, confess that she loved him too.
Stupidly, he had hoped that this wouldn't end in exactly the way he dreaded it would.
But when he turned his phone on after Alexis' graduation only to find several dozen missed calls - Ryan, Esposito, Gates - he knew that he had been naïve.
He dialled into his voicemail, clicked on the most recent message and held his phone to his ear. Gates' voice, heavy with sorrow, sounded quietly through the speaker and shattered his heart into tiny pieces.
He had remained composed long enough to kiss his daughter goodbye, to remind her to have a good time with her friends. To stay safe; always stay safe.
After a torturously long drive to the hospital, impossibly slow elevator ride up to the fifth floor and the too-long trek down a seemingly never-ending corridor, he finally arrived at her room.
He burst through the door, eyes searching frantically for her; hidden behind the half-drawn.
She was bruised and bloody, hands bandaged and arm in a sling; but she was alive. And for the first time since Gates' solemn voice broke the news of her hospitalization, he felt like he could breathe.
"I didn't think you would come," she said meekly.
Teary, hazel eyes looked up at him; so tired, so broken. All the fire and anger from before had vanished, there was nothing left but the empty shell of her.
"I'm still mad."
"I know."
He stayed still, as if his feet were glued to the ground. His mind was shouting - go to her - wanting nothing more than to hold her, to place his hand over her chest and feel the steady rhythm of her heart beating under his palm, to reassure himself that she really was okay. But she looked so fragile, and he was so scared of causing her any more pain.
"I'm sorry," she whispered shakily, so quiet he almost missed it. "I'm so sorry, Castle."
"Tell me it's over," he whispered back, hopeful.
She shook her head. "He got away."
"Tell me it's over," he repeated, firmer.
He didn't care about Maddox, didn't care about the case: he was giving her one more chance. One more chance to walk away from the case before he would really have to make the decision to walk away from her.
"I'm here, Kate." Right here, for four years. "But I need this to be over."
She rose, gingerly, from the bed and he rushed toward her, placing a supporting hand under her elbow.
She looked up, into his eyes and touched her freed hand to his face.
"I promise you, I'm done." She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaking breath. "I don't want to lose you over this."
She tilted her head and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.
"I love you, Castle," she whispered into his mouth. "Forgive me? Please. I'm so sorry. I love you."
For a moment his brain battled with his heart, unsure if he could really trust the words that spilled so freely from her lips. But that moment was short-lived and before he knew it, he was kissing her back; a tender, reverent kiss.
Because when it came to Kate Beckett, he knew his heart would always win.
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if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to the very lovely friends who have relentlessly sifted through tumblr archives to recover them, thank you all so much!! ♡
Draco x non-house-specific she/her!reader
Empty Space
Dragging your suitcase behind you, you began counting the steps you took, to further extend your effort of keeping your mind occupied by anything but the weather. If it had been snowing you could forgive the cruel London cold, and even then the likelihood of your favourite kind of weather bringing you joy was next to none, given the circumstances. Darting your gaze upwards, you manage to avoid walking straight into someone who was staring down at their phone while you swerved around them. As you neared the station, you spotted something from the corner of your eye and quickly turned to investigate it further. Despite it being impossible to see him in the muggle world, you found yourself convinced that you were staring at the faint reflection of Draco Malfoy in a shop window. Instinctively you spun around to face him, but nobody was there, and when you looked back towards the window the echo of him had disappeared. Shame filled you, and you lowered your head once more, continuing your brisk walk to the train station.
I don’t see you,
You’re not in every window I look through.
After all these years of attending Hogwarts, you would think that by now you’d know the route to the platform off by heart, but still you found yourself puzzled over the map you held in your hands as you followed the route you had carefully drawn out with a green marker. When you neared the wall that led you to your platform, you were greeted by the sight of half a dozen first years making their way to platform nine and three quarters. You couldnt help but smile at their excitement, but as the memories of the start of your first year flooded your mind and you remembered catching a glimpse of a certain platinum haired boy before he crossed through the wall, your smile fell.
And I don’t miss you,
You’re not in every single thing I do.
Little did you know on the other side of the wall, he, too, was staring longingly while his friends stood around him, gossiping about things that never mattered to him. He was waiting desperately to see you come through the wall, but his friends ushered him onto the train just seconds before he could have seen you again. The two of you missed each other by a fraction of a second, and neither of you knew.
Nor did you know that you sat in train carriages that were next to each other, both of you staring out of the windows with similar but simultaneously completely different thought processes. While you felt shame, embarrassment, and a desperate yearning for the boy that had left you behind, Draco felt guilt and a sense of stubborn determination; he was at war with himself, trying as hard as he could to constantly convince himself that you were never right for him.
I don’t think we’re meant to be,
And you are not the missing piece.
The carriage you were sat in held other students who were thankfully not in your year, and therefore wouldnt want to create small talk about what you did over the holiday. Thoughts clouding your mind had left you utterly oblivious to their conversation, until one of them spoke a name that previously set your heart on fire, but more recently was the cause for a pit forming in your stomach.
“What do you think is going on with Draco Malfoy?” One of the younger students asked the others.
Immediately your ears were tuned into their conversation, but your gaze stayed fixed on the raindrops hitting the train window.
“I dont know, and I really dont care. He’s stopped bullying us and seemingly everyone else, that’s all that matters.” Their friend responded bluntly.
Another chirped up. “I guess you’re right, it just seems a little…odd? It makes me uncomfortable that he just walks past us now, and he looks so sad all the time.”
The pit in your stomach grew until you feared it would swallow you completely. You dont want to admit that their conversation worries you, but you cant help it.
I won’t hear it,
Whenever anybody says your name.
Ever since the day he walked away from you last year, you have done your best to avoid seeing him at every opportunity possible. During the classes you shared and had previously been work partners in, you quietly asked your professors to assign you a seat next to literally anybody else, because after what had happened you simply couldnt face him. Anytime you werent required to be in class, you stayed in your dormitory, because there you could be sure that Draco would not see you. But there were times you couldnt avoid him, such as every meal, and it was those occasions that reminded you of why you couldnt be in his presence anymore. Because you couldnt help but glance up from your food to look at him, expecting to see him laughing and having the time of his life without you, but never being greeted by a sight. Instead, the sight your eyes landed on, was Draco staring down at his food with his chin in his hand, not eating, and not talking. Even with how evidently out of character he was acting, the sight of him was enough to set your body alight, and that was a feeling that should have ended.
You didnt know that he was fully aware of just how badly you were trying to avoid him. Despite what he had said and done to you, the hurt he felt when you first moved seats in potions class brought a pain to his chest that he was surprised by. Of course, the moment he had ended things he had doubted whether it was the right thing to do, but he had managed to mostly convince himself after that. However, upon realising the physical and emotional distance that was growing by the day that he had caused, Draco fell into a terrible despair as the side of him that he believed to be irrational told him that what he had done was the furthest away from what was right. His appetite disappeared, because the only thing he felt starved of was the warmth of the fire in his heart that only you could start.
And I won’t feel it,
Even when I’m burstin’ into flames.
The day he walked away was something you wished you could forget, and ever since it happened you wished you could forget every moment you had spent with him. After being cold towards you for three days, you confronted Draco in the hallway, standing in his way as he tried to walk to his next class. You questioned him, but not in a way that was even slightly accusing, all you wanted to know was if he was alright, if you had done something to make him act the way he was, and that killed him. He had tried so hard to make you angry at him because that would make what he had planned to do so much easier, but you could never hate him. With a blank expression, and eyes that wouldnt meet yours, Draco explained that he no longer felt love for you, that he wondered if he had actually ever loved you at all because of how quickly he managed to fall out of love with you. If looks could kill, the way your face contorted in pain as your heart fractured inside your chest could have sent Draco straight to the stairway of heaven. Or, more reasonably for what he had done, the long road down to hell. He did his best to stay composed and stop himself from looking at you, but just a half second glance at you was enough to send him speed walking past you without another word.
As you stood there, frozen, you didnt see Draco hurriedly wiping away the tears rolling down his cheeks as he rushed into the bathroom down the hall. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and compartmentalised how he felt, deciding that the pain in his heart was simply caused by how obviously he had hurt you, and was definitely not a result of him forcing himself to let you go. It couldnt be that, because what he did was the right thing to do for you, and he wasnt allowed to regret that, not even for a second.
I don’t regret the day I left,
I don’t believe that I was blessed.
But as hard as he tried to tell himself it was right, Draco was losing the battle within himself. If his efforts to keep you safe from harm meant that you were so broken that you hid yourself away from everyone, had he really kept you safe at all?
And no matter what you told yourself, you could never truly wish that you would forget every memory you ever made with Draco. You knew the spell that could do just that, but even if those memories meant nothing to him anymore, why would you voluntarily erase the happiest moments of your life?
Neither of you were being honest, to yourselves or each other.
I’m probably lyin’ to myself again.
While you welcomed the feeling of loneliness, Draco couldnt stand it. You accepted it as what your life was going to be, you knew that nobody else could ever come close to him, the silence couldnt be filled by anyone but him, and if you couldnt have him you would live with silence. But Draco couldnt bear it. He became so desperate for any form of romantic connection that he resorted to sleeping with Pansy, but after just one incident, he quickly came to the same realisation you did: if he couldnt have you, he would be by himself, because nobody could possibly compare to you.
I’m alone in my head,
And lookin’ for love in this stranger’s bed,
But I don’t think I’ll find it,
‘Cause only you could fill this empty space.
While Draco battled his opposing convictions, you wallowed in your conclusion. If Draco had so easily dropped you, how could you possibly believe that his love for you was ever real? He told you himself that he was unsure of that exact point, and that only made it more impossible for your mind to argue against, so you gave up. Although you werent letting your grades slip, your professors noticed the change in you. In classes, you were less responsive, less involved, and the humour you brought to every class you attended seemed to evaporate into the air. Initially, Draco’s reaction was much the same, but after the holiday, he often didnt bother attending classes at all. This, naturally, filled you with a worry that you resented for still existing, and it sent your mind spiralling off with potential answers that explained why he was so frequently absent. Could it be that he really hated you so much that he couldnt stand being in the same classroom as you anymore? You turned into a machine that got it’s work done and worried about Draco, and nothing else. You were lost the moment you lost him.
Overthinking.
I don’t know who I am without you.
The anxiety that the situation brought you gave an even more noticeable problem to the attention of your professors, who all quietly discussed both yours and Draco’s wellbeing. Of course, the professors knew what Draco was going through in his transition into a Death Eater, and they agreed that keeping you in the dark was the best way to keep you safe, but was it worth losing the person you were before? His parents supported his actions too, regardless of their love for you and the happiness you brought Draco. That was part of the problem, he knew that so many people believed his actions to be right, and logically, they were. But he had to lie to you, break you into pieces so small that it wouldnt be possible for you to find a way back to loving him again. He let the words of his superiors instruct him to a fate worse than any mission the Dark Lord could test him with, a fate that was worse than death itself. Draco cheated the Dark Lord by pushing you away and keeping you oblivious as to what was going on, so that you couldnt be used as a pawn to test his obedience, but cheating the Dark Lord didnt go without consequences, and Draco was paying the price.
I’m a liar and a cheat,
I let my ego swallow me.
Draco hid in his dormitory when he was supposed to be in classes, avoiding you more than you had avoided him before, and for a different reason. You couldnt face him because you felt so suddenly insignificant and meaningless to him, while he couldnt face you because you were absolutely everything to him, and he could no longer fight the fact that if he saw you again he would do anything in his power to get you back. And because of how desperate he was to keep you safe, he forced himself even further away from you.
And that’s why I might never see you again.
Draco sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, his throat raw from the past hour he had spent sobbing hysterically because his heart yearned for you so painfully. His swollen red eyes lifted their hooded gaze and stared out of the window at the snow that was falling, and his breath got caught in his throat. Winter was always your favourite time of year. He remembered the bright smile that would stay plastered on your face from the second the snow started falling until the moment it stopped, he remembered the relentless snowball fights, the laughter, your rosy cheeks, your soft mittens against his face as he kissed you. He broke, his body shivering as endless streams of tears fell from his eyes. Because of him, you may never feel such happiness again. He ruined you, and for that he is nothing short of a monster.
I’m alone in my head.
Noticing Draco’s absence again, you felt a gentle tug at your worn heartstrings, this had been happening for months now. You tried to distract yourself by glancing out of the classroom window. The sight of snowflakes dancing towards the ground brought a nostalgic warmth to you, and you wondered if wherever Draco was right now, he was looking at the snow too. Internally kicking yourself, you raise your hand and turn towards Professor McGonagall.
“Excuse me, Professor, but can I be excused for a moment, please?” You asked her politely.
Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened, she knew that whatever the reason was for your request, it was important enough for you to speak up for the first time in months, so she nodded, giving you permission to leave. Without any further hesitation, you rose from your seat and exited the classroom. No matter what Draco had said or done, both you and him would be alone if you didnt do something about it, because he’s far too stubborn to do so. The only way to resolve this was for you to try.
'Cause only you could fill this empty space.
After asking a few portraits if they had seen him, you were informed that Draco had hidden himself in his dormitory in the Slytherin quarters. Not a particularly clever hiding place, you thought to yourself as you approached the Slytherin entrance and spoke the password without even having to think about it. He’s almost made it easy for you to find him.
Standing in the doorway of the dormitory that he shares with the other Slytherin boys, your eyes immediately locked onto the sight of him crying into his hands, with his back to you, and his body facing the window.
“Draco…” You spoke softly from the doorway.
He silenced, and frantically rose to his feet, turning to face you with a well-rehearsed harsh expression that he should have known you could always see right through.
“Leave me alone.” Draco spat, but you could hear that the tone in his voice has defensive, he was scared.
“No.” You told him confidently.
“Didnt you hear me? Get out!” Draco pointed towards the door.
“Did you hear me? Did you ever hear me, all those times I said I’d never leave you? Just because you’ve left me doesnt mean Im going to do the same to you. So go ahead, get angry, ignore me entirely, cast a spell to throw me out of this room, because I will just come right back in! Im staying.”
Draco was stunned, he hadnt anticipated such a response from you, and it was enough to break his defences. He should have known, you would always be enough to get through to him.
'Cause only you could fill this empty space.
Draco crumbled before your eyes, and without sparing a second thought, you ran towards him and pulled him into your arms. With his defences destroyed, Draco had no reason to stop himself from wrapping his arms around you, holding you tighter than he ever had before, because he had made the mistake of letting you go.
“Merlin’s beard, (Y/N), I am so sorry, for e-everything! I lied to you, about everything, b-because I couldnt ask you t-to stay once you knew the truth, I couldnt do that to you, I couldnt put you in danger! It’s my job to keep you safe, and I sacrificed everything to do that, I lost you, and y-you are everything!” Draco stumbled over his words, his cries getting caught in his throat and causing his body to shiver in fear. “I-I couldnt ask you to keep loving me once you knew the truth.”
I couldn’t make you love me.
You tried to pull away from him slightly so that you could calm him down, but he cried out and held you flush against him. Rubbing circles into his back with one hand while running your fingers through his hair with the other, you gently shushed him until his breathing had calmed down considerably.
“Draco, I want you to listen to me. Whatever it is that’s going on, it will not stop me loving you, nothing has the power to do that. Tell me what’s scared you so much, and we can work through it, together. I promise you that whatever it is, we can handle it better together.” You spoke softly, continuing to reassure him with your actions as well as your words.
“I cant ask you to love a Death Eater, (Y/N).” Draco whimpered.
You shook your head. “I dont love a Death Eater.” Draco’s body stiffened at your words as he braced for you to break his heart, and you continued. “I love you, Draco, and you are not a Death Eater. I dont yet know your reasons, but I know that you did not enter into that through your own choice, because I know you. You dont have to ask for me to keep loving you under any circumstances, because I will continue to do so unconditionally.”
I couldn’t make you love me.
Draco’s previously swarming negative thoughts suddenly fell silent. He couldnt believe what he was hearing, but the more he thought about it he wondered how he could have ever thought you would say anything else.
“You know the danger you’re put in by being with me? I could be asked to kill you, or you could die at someone else’s hand because of me! Even if I dont have to ask you to love me through this, Im asking a lot of you in regards to putting yourself at risk. Staying away from me would be the best thing for you, my darling.” Draco gave one last feeble attempt at pushing you away, and you stepped back from him slightly. This time he let you go, because he thought you were saving yourself.
“We already tried staying away from each other and I’d rather not go through that again. We havent tried facing this together yet, so how about we give it a shot before you deem it to be impossible?” You smiled at him playfully, and he couldnt hold back the chuckle that fell from his lips.
“I suppose you’re right, but you know me, ever the pessimist.” Draco joked as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, gentle caressing your cheek with his fingertips as he did.
You reach up to hold his hand against your cheek. “And you know me, always the one to remind you that optimism isnt always a bad idea.”
He rested his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. “I tried so hard to make you hate me, you know.”
You tut at him. “And yet you didnt have to try at all to make me fall in love with you.”
Draco grinned down at you. “Didnt I?“
You rolled your eyes teasingly. "I didnt fall in love with you for the roses you sent me or the necklaces you’d buy me, those were things you made a conscious effort to do. But the way you smile at me, the secrets you confide in me, how you look at me when you think I cant see you, the way you make me feel whenever you’re with me, those are just a few of the things I fell in love with you for, because they were just so truly you. You couldnt have made me fall in love with you, you didnt even have to try.”
Draco smirked smugly. “I couldnt make you love me, you just couldnt help yourself, is that it?”
You sighed in mock disappointment at his response. “I see your ego is back in check!”
Draco laughed, taking his hands in yours and swinging them around in the gap between your bodies. "Hey, it’s not my fault, you’re bringing me back from the dead, I wasnt me without you!”
You giggled. “What do you need to fully bring you back, then? The kiss of life?“
His eyes lit up at the idea, and he nodded wordlessly, slowly leaning forward and closing his eyes to capture your lips with his own. The kiss is soft and brief, but it’s enough to reignite the fire shared between the two of you. Draco pulled away reluctantly and rested his forehead against yours, smiling down at you again.
"I dont think you could have purposefully made me fall in love with you either, but I’ve never been more thankful for such a perfect accident.”
#draco malfoy#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy x reader#x reader#harry potter#imagine#imagines#fanfic#fanfiction#Spotify
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Not sure if you're still looking for prompts, but what about the Comfort prompt Journal/Diary for Henry and Nate? <3
Oops, I went and made it sad. Sorry... Thank you so much for the prompt though! Here's a journal entry from Nate from just before he has his big conversation with Henry at the end of Book 3.
Journal/Diary - Henry/Nate
I am afraid.
I have been afraid every day of this existence. I know too well what could happen if I fall to weakness and temptation. Having lived through that experience once strained my mind to its breaking point, I do not know that I could, or would want, to survive the aftermath of being responsible for such a thing again.
However, that fear pales in comparison to what I feel now. I’ve felt fear and concern for those around me, those I love like family, many times. It too lingers in the back of my mind, an almost daily companion. But what I feel for, with, Henry is so much more.
I am terrified by the feelings that his presence pulls forth from deep inside of me, feelings I’d thought lost or given up on. The mere thought or memory of him is enough to make my heart flutter like that of a schoolboy. When we’re near, I‘m drawn towards him, the slightest touch enough to light the fires of passion. In all my long years, I never thought I’d meet a person who could cause such strength of feeling to grow within me. I assumed the time for great loves passed me by when I was transformed into this, if such things ever existed in the first place.
Oh Henry, I cannot imagine a life without you. I want you by my side for all eternity, our love one that the endless future generations of poets and musicians could never capture the depth of. To know that I could begin each day curled against the warmth of your body. That I would never have to face leaving a piece of my soul in the past. It is almost too much to think of, too much to hope for.
It is all too much because I cannot deny that beneath my feelings lies something dark and dangerous. For all the love that fills my heart, there is sharpness in the back of my throat that reminds me of my other desires. This is the thing that scares me more than almost anything else I have ever known. It isn’t enough to know what I am truly capable of, but to know that power could be made more, so much more, and it could cost me the most important thing I have ever found.
Every flush on his cheeks, every quickening of his pulse, every kiss I trail down his neck causes the siren song of his blood to flood my senses. I try to push it away and not give into the thoughts that follow. I love Henry for who he is, not what flows beneath his skin, and yet-
I feel the currents beating against me. There is a tide that threatens to sweep me out to sea and I am terrified that I will let it. I am terrified that the water will carry me away along with everything I hold dear and my only consolation is that I might perish should I not find the strength to keep swimming.
I am in love with Henry. I have no control over the fact that every fiber of my being is in love with him. How do I give into one part and hold back the other?
I’ve grown selfish over the centuries, holding onto people and things to keep me grounded. Is it too much to not want it to feel like everything is always slipping away?
Henry, may my love be enough to give me strength. I hope it is enough to carry you through what I know is the right thing, no matter how painful it may be. I do not know how to trust myself. I do not want to hurt you. Ya rouhi, please forgive me.
#twc#the wayhaven chronicles#nate sewell#henry kingston#detective x nate#Nate is both selfish and afraid#how do you give up on something that fills a hole you didn't know was there#he will always know that there is piece missing now#but it would destroy him if he ever did anything to physically hurt henry#more than it would to emotionally hurt him#but his hunger is selfish as is his love#so what will win out in the end#nerdy writes#life at nerdy holler
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Hello please do you have a list of drarry canon rewrite fic recommendations ? Not necessarily from year 1 just i really want to find new reading materials like Leo inter Serpentes series for example
Hi there! I do know a few fics but I haven’t read all of them because canon rewrite is not really my jam. I can vouch for the ones I’ve read and the other ones are all quite popular and well recommended too, I’m sure they’ll be fantastic reads! Enjoy :)
Dwelling by aideomai (2017, T, 83k)
Curses, James and Lily Potter ride again, several Ministry balls, a teenage Summer of Love, a grim young adult dystopian winter, a few different Draco Malfoys, secrets and the problems re: not having any, alternate lives, impossible lives, real lives, allusions to Dirty Dancing, and just because it's not called the Mirror of Erised doesn't mean you shouldn't know better.
Chaos Theory by Tessa Crowley (2017, E, 102k)
Chaos: when the present determines the future, but the approximate present does not approximately determine the future. One gene varies, one neuron fires, one butterfly flaps its wings, and Draco Malfoy's life is completely different. Draco has always found a certain comfort in chaos. Perhaps he shouldn't.
Changing Tides by carpemermaid (2018, E, 109k)
Draco has spent half of his life spouting the things his father has taught him without much thought about how he feels about what he says. When he unexpectedly comes face to face with the Dark Lord, he grapples with the harsh realities of the world and struggles with his changing views on life.
Evitative by Vichan (2019, T, 222k)
In the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry is drawn to a room in Grimmauld Place. Like the Gryffindor he is, he enters the room without fear. The room is a library, and Harry is surprised to find that he’s eager to learn.
Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (2012, T, 315k)
Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness. Pairings: HP/DM (Slash) Timeframe: 1994-2002 Goblet to 4 yrs post-DH EWE Rating T for language, high angst, content.
The secret language of plants by Endrina (2017, M, 373k) - Lupin/Snape, eventual Drarry
“Just… tell me. Tell me what is going on, Snape.” What was going on was that Severus Snape had no trouble tracking down one Petunia Evans, now Dursley, to a little town in Surrey where he saw how exactly she was treating her nephew. Which somehow led to last night and Severus knocking on Lupin’s door with a toddler half-asleep in his arms.
survival is a talent by ShanaStoryteller (T, WIP)
In the middle of their second year, Draco and Harry discover they're soulmates and do their best to keep it a secret from everyone. Their best isn't perfect.
The Mirror of Ecidyrue by starbrigid (T, WIP)
All it takes is one look in a mirror and an ill-advised attempt to shatter it, before an embittered Draco Malfoy fresh out of Azkaban is sent back into his body on the day he gets his Hogwarts letter.
Muggle Harry AU
Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi (2016, T, 93k)
You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.
The Secret Keeper by @the-fools-errand (2021, M, 225k)
On Halloween 1981, Albus Dumbledore made a decision that would change the course of history, concealing Harry Potter’s survival at the hands of Lord Voldemort underneath a Fidelius Charm. But when Harry comes of age in the Muggle world, Dumbledore realises too late that the fate of the world may depend on a boy who has never held a wand.
Thanks @thegreatzeldini for reccing this one:
The Sacrifices Arc by Lightning on the Wave (2005)
AU, eventual HP/DM slash, (very) Slytherin!Harry. Harry's brother Connor is the Boy-Who-Lived, and Harry has devoted himself to protecting him—by being ordinary. But certain people aren't content to let Harry hide in the shadows.
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I was thinking about Charlie and his anger this morning and then I got to thinking how did Stede process his anger towards his own father? Because it seems like that man only ever saw Stede as a particularly useless pawn in some sort of game and that would mess a person up. Like does Stede ever look at a decision he's making and wonder if he's doing it because he wants to or because his father would hate it?
(such a good question and I thought who better for Stede to talk about it too than Charlie himself? This takes place during Charlie's visit to the city at the end of 'I Wanna Sink to the Bottom With You')
Stede observed the sweet tableaux as he made himself a cup of tea.
Seated on the velvet couch was Charlie, one foot tucked under the other leg, a book in hand. Stretched out with his head pillowed on Charlie’s thigh was Felix, his dark curls spilling over denim. Charlie’s free hand was idly resting on Felix’s shoulder. Their youth was all the more apparent in the forgiving light of late afternoon.
Stede couldn’t help, but see another familiar scene laid over it: himself with his own book and Eddy draped over him, drowsing and occasionally stirring to ask a question or prod Stede into reading whatever it was to them. The couch had seen so many afternoons just like this. Charlie may have carved his body into a new shape for his sport, but there was little he could do about his face which was almost entirely Stede’s. Aside from the lighter color of his eyes and a slightly sharper cut to the shape, every feature had been drawn down the Bonnet line.
Was this what an outsider might see of Stede and Eddy? There would be differences. Eddy was never as still as Felix was, awake or asleep. Felix was a quiet man, and not inclined to fidgeting. He smiled easily though, and wasn’t reticent when a question was aimed at him. Watching him pitch the day before had been interesting. It was a graceful movement, which Stede hadn’t reckoned on.
He waited for the hot water and watched as Charlie turned a page, apparently entirely lost in thought. Was that Stede's expression too?
Keep reading
“Stare any harder and my head is going to catch on fire,” Charlie said without looking up from his book.
“Sorry,” Stede whispered. “Just lost in thought.”
“You don’t have to whisper. He’s out. Sleeps like a rock,” Charlie told him. “Can I have a cup too?”
“Of course. Milk and no sugar still?”
“Yep.”
Stede brought him the mug when it was done and sat down in the chair next to the couch.
“Thanks,” Charlie put his book down on the arm, cracking the spine. It was already a well-loved copy, but Stede still had to hide his distress at that.
“Are you two going out tonight or should we figure out something for dinner?”
“Going out. He’s got a few friends in town from the minors,” Charlie smiled into his mug “Wants to introduce me.”
“That’s good. Where are you headed?”
“Some hotel lounge, I didn’t really process the name. He’s got the address.”
“All right. We’ll probably still be out when you get back.”
“Might crash in his hotel room anyway,” Charlie said casually.
“I see.” What could Stede say to that? Charlie was a man now. He could go about the world as pleased. As he had apparently always done. It would just be hypocritical to stop him now when he was happy. “Let me know if you don’t mind. We’ll be careful of our clatter if we know you’re home.”
“Sure thing,” Charlie sipped his tea.
“What are you reading?”
“Going back to the classics. I need stuff I can just let wash over me right now, so my brain isn’t in the pool all the time. But I can’t absorb anything new.” He tilted the cover so Stede could see ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ by Shirley Jackson.
“What’s that about?”
“Right,” Charlie had a rueful smile. “Classic for some, I guess. Uh, let’s see...Plot wise it’s straight forward. A woman takes a job to live in a house for a summer with a paranormal investigator. She had this weird experience as a kid that the researcher thinks might make her open to the experience and it does. It established a lot of beats in haunted house narratives.”
“Oh, so ghosts and ghouls?” Stede held his own mug close. He never understood his children’s fascination with the macabre, but it was starting to occur to him that he better learn and fast. The things they had in common beyond memories were a shrinking iceberg.
“Yeah, but that’s not really what it’s about. It’s rarely what a horror story is about,” Charlie tapped a finger against his mug. Felix twitched in his sleep. “Ghosts are stand-ins for so many things. For Eleanor, it’s a lot of things. She’s scared of the world, she feels stripped of her power. She has this moment where she sees a little girl, who won’t drink her milk unless it’s out of this special cup- a cup of stars- and Eleanor wills the little girl not to give into her mother’s persuasion to drink without it.”
Charlie paused, he looked to Stede, as if checking for- for what? Engagement? Interest? Was there some undercurrent that Stede was missing?
“A cup of stars sounds like it’s worth waiting for,” he offered.
“Yeah,” whatever he was looking for that seemed to satisfy it and Charlie went on, “Eleanor feels trapped and powerless. She meets the other woman in the experiment, Theodora, and it’s hard to deny that there’s attraction there. This sublimated desire. Jackson is great at hiding things from the reader and from the protagonist themselves, so you never know how real the haunting is. Could be Eleanor’s mind playing tricks or maybe she has some ability all on her own to effect the people around her. Could be ghosts, could be repression.”
“What do you think?” Stede asked into the sudden silence, moved to chase this down. To see Charlie continue his impassioned lecture.
“Through the whole thing, Eleanor wants to find a home. She’s never been comfortable anywhere. She decides that Hill House is her home, even though we know from the beginning of the story that the house itself is ‘not sane’. I think...mm. I think it doesn’t matter if the ghosts are real. It matters that they feel real to her and as horrifying as the haunting may be, it doesn't matter. She wants to make a home in it. All her life, nowhere has felt home, you know? Her mother was dependent on her and Eleanor seems to have hated her. Her sister discourages her and makes her feel less than.
"Her desire to find a place where she belongs means she'll ignore every sign that it can't be where she is. She wants to connect to anybody. When her hope that's Theodora is cut off, it all gets poured into the house itself. And the house pleads where her to 'come home'. So maybe it's that. Maybe she's in love with the house, in love with death itself. Maybe it's just about wanting someone or something to accept you so badly that you'll die for it.”
“Goodness,” Stede regarded the volume. “I’ll have to read it myself.”
“Really?” Charlie asked, hand falling over the book, covering it.
“Really. You know, if you do decide to pursue your doctorate, I think you’ll make an excellent professor.”
“Why?” Charlie closed the book, not even holding his place, as if he could drag it back out of Stede’s sight. He would definitely have to read it now.
“You really care about all this. That kind of love is contagious, I’ve found. The best teachers can convey that passion to their students.”
“Yeah? That’d be cool. I wouldn’t mind selling other people on horror.”
“You sold me. Certainly a discouraging family is a resonant theme.”
Charlie nodded vaguely, then frowned. “You know, you don’t really talk about them.”
“About who?” Stede sipped his tea.
“Your parents.”
“Oh. Well. For good reason.”
Charlie stared at him and when nothing else was forthcoming, made a ‘go on’ gesture with the paperback and Stede had to concede to that.
“Your grandmother died before I could know much about her. I remember she had a nice voice, unusually low for a woman. That she had a yellow dress that I liked. There’s photos, you’ve seen them, and I think Alma looks a bit like her, but I don’t know much else. She had money, no career that I know of, and she married Father when she was just seventeen. He never spoke of her with any particular feeling. Her parents were disinterested in me.”
“Disinterested,” Charlie repeated, question curled there.
“They were cold people, Charlie,” he sighed. “All of them. Like someone had told them a long time ago that feelings were for the poor. I’m not surprised that my father married into a family like that since he was just the same. I hope my mother was different, but I really don’t know.”
"I remember him visiting a few times," Charlie nodded. "He didn't really look at us though. Said something mean to Mom, but I can't remember what."
"He never had a kind word to say about anything to do with me. I tried to keep him away from you two. He thought children should be invisible and it seemed best to let him go on thinking that."
“You hated him,” Charlie said, outright and bald as if Stede had told him this many times.
As if Stede had ever said it aloud even to himself. Certainly he’d talked around, told Eddy the stories, but the words had never been laid out so naked.
“He hated me,” Stede frowned. “He didn’t even try to hide it.”
“Oh,” Charlie said softly. “That must’ve sucked.”
“It wasn’t pleasant,” he looked into his tea, hoping for guidance and finding only sediment. “I don’t- when I held you in my arms for the first time, I promised myself that I’d do better. It would’ve been difficult to do worse.”
“You did do better,” Charlie assured him in a rush.
“I don’t know about that. I think you turned out well despite me, not because of me most of the time,” Stede smiled tightly at him. “I was so angry. The kind of anger that you don’t know is there. It just...smolders like embers in a fireplace, burning you from the inside out and on the surface you smile and laugh and pretend that everything is fine. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes,” the word broke out harsh and torn. “I do.”
“I was afraid that you would say that,” Stede sighed. “I carried that in me. Never looking at it. Never thinking about it.”
“What changed?”
“He died,” he said with a shrug. “It was like a weight came off the world for me. For all of us. I could ensure that you and Alma would get the money without any more strings attached. Your mother and I could stop pretending we were what he wanted us to be. I could breathe. And with all that space...you think about things more.”
Charlie nodded, staring off for a minute, “I think I needed to leave for that.”
“Maybe it’s what all of us need eventually. To leave the nest,” Stede nodded a little. “As long as you know you can always come back.”
“Here now, aren’t I?” his focus returned to Stede’s face. “Do you think you’d ever forgive him?”
Stede tried to imagine such a thing. How would that feel? What would it look like?
“I should say yes.”
“Just say the truth, Dad,” Charlie told him.
“No. No, I don’t think I will. That kind of cruelty to a child is...should be, unforgivable. Especially without repentance or acknowledgement.”
Stede could feel that coldness in him, the hard rock that his father had left behind. Years of care and warmth had thawed out most of it, but there would always be a pebble lodged there.
“Yeah,” Charlie nodded. “Good. He sounds like a dipshit.”
“Of the first order,” Stede agreed.
“But-” Charlie hesitated. He looked down at Felix, who hadn’t moved again. He was still lightly snoring. “I meant what I said too. I forgive you. And...and I’m sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?” Stede set down his tea.
“I didn’t give you a chance sometimes. To do better.”
“Oh, Charlie,” he got up and though the angle was awkward and he was trying not to wake Felix, Stede managed to hug him and Charlie hugged him back hard. “You never ever have to apologize. Not for any of it. I’m so proud of you.”
“Don’t know why.”
Stede pulled back enough to kiss his forehead like he used to when Charlie was small at bedtime. He definitely didn’t smell like talcum powder anymore. He smelled like chlorine and some harsh shampoo. He was a man, in many ways.
“Because you’re living your truth, right now. Even though it’s hard, even though you’re scared. I wish I had been that brave. I wish I had told my father how angry I was even if he was never sorry. I’m proud of you and I love you.”
“Yeah,” Charlie choked out, voice thick with feeling. “I love you too, Dad.”
There was not much that could follow that up. So Stede just held out his hand and with a reluctant nod, Charlie put the the book into his hand. In return, Stede went to his shelves and pulled out a volume, passing it to Charlie.
“I read this last summer. I kept thinking you might enjoy it, but I never had a chance to give it to you.”
“The Secret History...oh yeah! I keep meaning to read this.”
“If you think it’ll be too much while you’re trying to keep your head out of the pool, I’d understand.”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
So they settled back into their separate worlds. They’d always done this well, reading together, enjoying the quality of shared silence.
No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more.......
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Peace and Quiet
(Also available on AO3)
+18 MDNI Includes: +1.5k words, Papa Emeritus II x OC, Secondo x OC, domestic fluff, all the cuddles, memories, grumpy old man finds love
Notes: This is really just the fluffiest fluff. Secondo is feeling contemplative and counting his blessings. And I would die for soft boy Secondo. I'm not even sorry.
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The rooms were all dark, quiet and still for the night. The only light in the sitting area was the flickering of the TV, turned down as low as possible for Secondo to still hear. He’d thought of giving in and going to bed several times but, the truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to break the sense of familiar comfort and peace that permeated the space. Something he attributed entirely to her presence.
Ophelia rested against his side. Tucked under a blanket and dozing, his arm wrapped around her protectively. Looking down at her, he wondered when, if ever, anyone had found so much comfort in him to be able to fall asleep so easily in his arms. But she was not anyone. She’d never looked at him like the rest, never been afraid or intimidated. To hear her tell it, he’d drawn her in. Secondo knew for a certainty, however, that is had been the other way around.
From the first moment he’d seen her, he had wanted to know more. The Sister with the steely determination and fire in her eyes. The one who met his gaze, unflinching. The one Sister Imperator grumbled about with an amusing regularity. Willful and stubborn. The one he’d seen, on a number of occasions, punitively scrubbing the chapel floor with that defiant look on her face still unbroken. And finally, the one who had told him off sharply for treating her, as she claimed, like a bed warmer or a call girl.
He could still remember the anger in her voice and her refusal to back down simply because of who he was. The way she jabbed her finger at him, accusingly. When was the last time anyone had dared? Certainly before his time as Cardinal. But this woman burned as hot as hell’s own fire, undaunted by his reputation, his office, or his title. “If it’s a whore you want, then go pay for one. I am not at your beck and call. You can treat me treat me with basic respect, at minimum, or you can lose my number.” She had marched out, leaving him there as stunned as if she had slapped him. Part of him wanted to chase after her, to apologise, to beg her forgiveness. His own pride and stubbornness kept him rooted to the spot.
It took a week for him to finally relent. He’d tried a few times to find someone else to share his bed but, each time he ended up feeling a kind of guilt and shame that he hadn’t experienced before. What would he possibly have to feel guilty over? He was Papa. He could do as he pleased, bed who he liked. Couldn’t he? And each time, he’d end up back in his quarters, alone, staring at her number in his phone.
S: You were right.
O: I often am. Can you narrow down what I’m right about this time?
S: You are being difficult on purpose.
O: And I still haven’t heard an apology. Just something I already knew.
S: You are not a whore. You are not at my beck and call. Forgive me my poor manners.
You deserve better than that. I give you my word, I will do better. For you.
I am sorry.
O: Thank you.
I know you don’t hand out apologies on a whim.
S: I would like to see you again.
I have missed you.
O: I miss you, too.
S: Would I push my luck if I ask you to come to my quarters?
O: Probably, but you’ve always seemed like a man who enjoys pushing his luck.
Give me 20 minutes.
S: I will be waiting, Tesoro.
Things had changed after that. In a way that took longer than he cared to think about to actually admit. She’d become a permanent fixture. Slowly woven into the very fabric of his life. Until he realised that he couldn’t imagine any of it without her. She brought down defenses he’d convinced himself decades before no one would ever get through. Not by force or deceit. But through time and care and honesty and love. Until his soul was laid bare before her and, to his own astonishment, he found actual comfort in it. More than that, she was as willing to be as open with him. Even in his darkest moments, even when it would have made far more sense for her to leave, she had stood firm. More devoted than before. A marvel that he would never fully understand but one he was eternally grateful for.
This woman, fire made flesh, his Dark Queen… His own Lilith.
Beside him, Ophelia’s brow furrowed in her sleep and she grumbled something unintelligible. Secondo’s mouth turned up at the corner, chuckling to himself. Trust her to be fighting people even in her sleep. His fingers gently brushed the loose hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. Whispering as he leaned down to kiss her brow. “Sei tutto, Ophelia. Sai quello?”
Her eyelids fluttered as he sat back, one hand seeking his before she’d even woken. Her first concern, always. Blinking up at him dreamily once her fingers finally found the warmth of his palm. No cheering crowd, no stage in front of screaming admirers, had ever come close to the way one sleepy, loving smile from her felt. The rush of it, the way she looked so peaceful and content, not a care in the world, because he was there. Even when he’d been very young, stories of brave princes in shining armour saving the damsel to win her heart had never interested him. But he was starting to see the appeal. Ophelia was no damsel, but feeling her faith in him, her trust… it made him feel like the brave hero he’d never cast himself as before.
“Did I fall asleep?” She mumbled softly.
“Only a little,” He smiled, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Non ti preoccupare, Amore. Tu dormi.”
“It’s late.” Ophelia buried her face in his side to try and cover a yawn. “You need sleep too, my heart.”
“Non senza te.”
She pulled his hand a little closer and softly kissed his fingers. “Portami a letto, bello.”
Secondo drained the last of his drink and set his glass on the coffee table. A problem for the morning. With the TV off, the room was lit only by the little bits of street light that peaked in around the edges of the curtains. But his rooms were as familiar to him as the back of his hand and, scooping his love up in his arms, he carried her off to bed. Savouring the way she curled up against him, looping her arms around his neck.
He set her down gently onto the mattress and, before he’d even managed to shed his robe, he could hear the sound of her digging in the night stand. The same woman who’d been fast asleep, not five minutes before, was still set on taking care of him. Not for the first time, Secondo was grateful for the dark hiding the idiot grin on his face. He didn’t say a word and she didn’t ask, he simply sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. Ophelia shuffled closer, unscrewing the cap from the small pot of muscle rub while the familiar medicinal smell drifted around the room.
Before the cold of the initial touch of the cream, she pressed a trail of kisses across his shoulders. His hand reached back, sliding along her thigh. Ophelia only chuckled softly. “Let me at least do this first. I’d prefer you don’t wake up grumpy and sore.”
“Only grumpy then.” He teased.
“Mmmm… just the way I like you.” She nipped at his ear, grinning to herself when he hissed at the cold. “Lo so, sono così crudele con il mio amore più caro.”
“E dopo che ti porto a letto come una principessa.”
Her hands rubbed over his sore muscles, massaging the cream into his lower back, between his shoulder blades, and up his neck. His posture loosening as it began to warm on his skin. “You see? Better all ready.”
He sat patiently until she was finished fussing, tucking the cream back in the drawer and cleaning her hands. Secondo slid into the cool sheets and hooked an arm around her, pulling her close. His chest rumbling deeply as she melted first into his arms and then into his kiss. Her nails scratched softly over his scalp sending a rush of goosebumps down his arms.
“Cosa farei senza di te, Amore?” Secondo asked in a whisper, forehead pressed to hers.
She stayed pressed against him, speaking as quietly. “Non posso parlare per te, cuore mio, ma sicuramente morirei senza di te.”
“Allora dovrò assicurarmi che non accada mai, no?”
Ophelia smiled, her eyelids getting heavy. “I will fight anyone who tries to take you from me. Even Satan himself. You are mine.”
His warm hand pressed into the small of her back, holding her closer. “And you are mine.”
“Sempre e per sempre…” She slipped off to sleep, a faint smile still on her lips.
Secondo gently tucked her closer and kissed the top of her head, nuzzling into the comforting smell of her hair, her lingering perfume. Letting himself fully relax. His eyes slid closed in silent prayer, thanking the Dark Lord for his most generous blessings and offering up whatever it would take to know her love until the end of his days.
“Non c'è nulla che non farei per te, Ophelia. Niente.”
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Official Summary:
Before the tides turn, there is simply two men and a boat. One is trying to pull the other out of the storm. The other is the storm.
Sometimes love is closing your eyes to the lightning and choosing not to fear the thunder.
------------------------------
“And if you need to, you can break me too
You can disappear
Please just take me with you when you go
Oh, let me follow”
-Let Me Follow by Son Lux
------------------------------
Top Three Songs:
I Follow Rivers- Marika Hackman
Ocean- Alice Phoebe Lou
Without You- Ursine Vulpine, Annaca
Sound tags and genres:
indie, dark, haunting, slow, reckless, devoted, sacrificial, resigned, trapped
See more for the curator/author's personal notes and additions. Or don't. You really don't need them, they're just quite talkative.
Disclaimer: if you somehow ended up here and you don’t believe in Angeal x Genesis then this playlist is going to be pretty moot for you because I completely centered it around a romantic view of them. If you here for that, perfect >:)
Second disclaimer: this is heavy, heavy headcanon. this is my version of the characters and events and my interpretation based on that version.
Because WGPCMFG is told from Cloud's perspective there isn't really a way for me to dissect their fall in the storyline, so instead I will heavily headcanon and make playlists to get sad about them to.
This is a playlist that’s sort of both their perspectives but I think I let Angeal’s narrative dominate for the most part. Which is fine because Genesis narrative is primarily covered in The Red Sea.
I have this strong feeling that, even if Genesis was very fond of fire, Angeal never saw him as fire. He’s always been drawn to Genesis like a man is drawn to water, helplessly in need of it, amazed by the power of the torrents, unable to leave even under threat of drowning. There are a lot of references to water in both this playlist and The Red Sea, in songs like “I Follow Rivers,” “Fear of the Water,” and “Ocean.” So Genesis’ playlist being called The Red Sea is indeed purposeful, but his playlist has more fire metaphors to delve into his view of himself. But that’s for another post lol
You can’t really talk about Genesis’ degradation without talking about Angeal’s and that’s got its own level of terribleness if you think about it. Angeal’s forced to watch Genesis become this sad mockery of his true self, but even if it’s a mockery, it has Genesis’ image. It’s a monster with his lover’s face and, even disagreeing with what he’s doing, Angeal is still in love. There’s this teetering between what his honor says is the right thing and what his heart longs for and his degradation only enhances this, makes him indecisive in a place he’d usually lack no hesitation. There’s also some resentment, only on occasion, of how helpless he is to his love for Genesis, which I tried to bring in the sound of “Hate That I Love You”, “I’m Tired, You’re Lonely,” and “Everything We Do Is Wrong.”
Then there’s how Angeal is also losing his sense of self. He doesn’t physically degrade, but mentally, he can no longer view himself as human. His love of Genesis ironically feeds this, as he can’t forgive himself for continuing to side with what remains of his lover even as he attacks Zack and continues to get people killed. He can’t help but view himself as a monster and a danger, because if he can’t bring himself to truly leave Genesis alone, even as Genesis is slowly lost to his own obsession, then who can tell what he’ll do if Genesis truly asks?
Genesis’ view is very scattered throughout but it’s very much there. “Beautiful Undone” is probably the best example of it because, even in degradation, Genesis’ is a bit of an attention whore. Angeal doesn’t need to outright choose his side in the war for Genesis to know where his heart is. Genesis knows his heart is too large to outright fight against Zack, but he’s not fighting against Genesis either and it says more than enough. "Sane" is how he somewhat recognizes Angeal's horror at what he's become but he's too tied in his liberation to truly care. Even horror is captivation. Even begging and falling apart, Angeal is still beautiful, and if he’s begging, then he’s still Genesis’. He still finds what they have to be love, even if it’s sick. I also consider "Power" to be from his perspective, because even with him becoming a far more unhinged version of himself, he considers Angeal to be a large piece of him.
I'll leave things there because I've made an absolute behemoth of comments and honestly, I have more to say about quite a few of the songs, but I won't LOL. You guys please tell me what you think of the playlists and if you have any requests and/or recommendations :)
#Spotify#ff7#final fantasy 7#fanfic#with great power comes meddling fucking gods#wgpcmfg playlists#archive of our own#ao3#ao3 fic#ff7ccr#ff7 genesis#ff7 angeal#angeal hewley#genesis rhapsodos#angeal x genesis#character playlist#wgpcmfg
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[I.D.: Jevil, drawn in light blue; and the Tree the Man hides behind, drawn in white, represented with blocks of scribbles and notebook paper. The background is black; the floor is scribbled to look like the Roaring's fire. The trunk of the Tree has "this next experiment seems / very / very / interesting" written vertically on its lines in all caps. Jevil reaches up to take Gaster's hand, which is reaching down from the tree. He has a huge, desperate smile on his face.
There's narration above this; the dialogue's written in Jevil's light blue, and the rest, in Gaster's white. It says, "'i have the smallest knot to untangle,' he spoke. 'one which i lack. coupled, i ask for forgiveness.'" End I.D.]
i thought: JEVIL had never looked this afraid before. or, to be more precise, this sort of afraid. he had never feared consequences, even on a cosmic scale.
and yet.
and yet. the look in his eyes. the darkness running down his face. the way he held himself.
"forgiveness?" i asked him, quiet. "dear jester. you could never transgress me. that is not your meaning."
his smile grew. "you have done so much for me, so much for me," he said, his voice musical in a minor key. "we have had so much fun together!! you have brought me so much joy, joy!! and to- to question- to question this absolute- to question-- t---"
"you may bring anything to my feet," i said when he could not speak.
"did something... go wrong?"
he took a step closer to the tree.
"it made me so happy," he said. "to learn how paper-perfect this world was. how much could be messed with!! how little anything needed to truly change upwards, upwards!!! we could all rest, rest, we could all play, play, and i thought- i sought to spread that joy!"
"...understandable," i said.
"and yet." JEVIL's every word thrummed. "the boring fellows, they never listened, listened. all-crashing, a cascade- t'was understandable, though, understood!! understood!! and i minded them not, but i had someone i needed to save, so i thought- i thought SURELY- i thought, if one saw what i saw... so... i drew the light. i took the looking-glass."
"and?"
his voice dropped in volume. "and seam looked, seam looked, seam looked, seam looked so scared. i never. i never, i never. saw the mage look that scared before..."
"...did you... talk about it? to the magician?"
"NO!! i sought your advice firstmost." JEVIL squeezed the hand that was not my hand. "i sought your answer firstmost. now, tell me!! you know all!! how can i make the old keep understand, understand?"
i was silent.
his smile stretched wider than before. "so i did it wrong, wrong? can you fix it? could you tell the story to seam as well? can you do anything for this?"
i stood there, looking down at him.
(there was nothing i would do to stop it.)
"you will do alright," i said.
jevil's smile disappeared.
"please. go back. live. do what you've chosen." i touched his hat, and its bells jingled a little.
with fondness, "i shall see you again, jester."
"i," said jevil, unsure.
but there was trust between us.
he took his knife upon his hands, and as it shone, he smiled up at me, true, true. "well, i'll see you very, very soon too, dear doctor!! perhaps i'll bring a friend, friend!!!"
"i hope so," i said.
we said goodbye.
a hundred years passed.
#personal#described#safeutdr#jevil#also my favorite character here! can you guess who it is!#that's right! Tree#fanfic under the cut that's really me figuring out jevil. i've been writing him nonstop i think i've mentioned this before and he feels a#lot more uh. a lot more. I Love Him#seam was supposed to show up too but seam would've broken the tone unfortunately#lol. lmao#jevil delt of rune (strum) i love you (strum) have a really nice nap (strum) and/or help susie beat people up (strum)#jevil's so fucking. silly.#i wanted to write about jevil being like hell yeah i love being alone and not talking to anyone and going to sleep until the world ends#but there was no room so you can just have that
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Happy Friday! For DADWC, I was thinking: "This is for your own good" for Thalia & Vivienne?
This prompt was so spectacular it took me a few months to do it justice. Sorry for the wait, but it fit so well into my plans for nightmare au that I had to wait until the opportune time. It was my first time writing Vivienne and SHE IS FABULOUS.
Here is an excerpt from the upcoming chapter 5 of Through a Glass, Darkly (and a direct continuation of this).
For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo
WC: 1371
Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition
CW: Discussion of major character death (cuz it ain't sunshine and roses au 🤷♀️)
---
“Cassandra?”
“Killed in the seige. Died in battle holding off six Red Templars, so the tales say.” Vivienne sighed. “Leliana was captured, as was Josephine. It was public executions for them on the steps of Skyhold. Corypheus needed to make a statement early about the Inquisition, you see.”
Thalia felt ill. She let the spoon of the stew she’d just been shoveling into her mouth drop back into its bowl. She and Vivienne sat in the Chantry kitchens, amid baking bread and a roaring fire in the hearth. Vivienne had removed her mask, and in brighter light the toll could be seen on her as well. She looked thinner, tired. Her hair had grown out slightly in the intervening months, and Thalia saw spots of grey amid the dark. She’d always known, in a vague sort of way, that Vivienne was older than her, but this was the first time she’d stopped to wonder how much.
She lowered her eyes to her stew. Potatoes and leeks and a bit of carrots bobbed in the broth, but no meat. Come to think of it, had she and Cullen seen much wildlife at all, since they’d escaped? It had been so cold and dark.
“Varric?”
“Escaped Skyhold.” Thalia’s heart leapt, but Vivienne held up a hand to stay her joy. “But reports are he fell in battle a few weeks ago, alongside Hawke, her sister Bethany, and a battalion of Grey Wardens out of the Anderfels.”
I won’t cry, Thalia thought, blinking back tears. That there was even still resistance at all was good news. “What of our other warriors? Iron Bull?” Her voice felt stuck in her throat. “Blackwall?”
“The Iron Bull vanished after the seige of Skyhold, as did Cole and Solas. I’ve no intelligence on any of their whereabouts. As for Blackwall… some say dead, some say fled.”
“He wouldn’t flee,” Thalia retorted. “He was right in front of me during the battle, like he always was.”
“Once you fell, Inquisitor, it was pure pandemonium. Most of us did not know what direction was up.” The corner of Vivienne’s mouth tugged upward into a poisonous smirk. “And it would be far from the first time Captain Rainier deserted his post, wouldn’t it?”
Thalia tensed as if slapped.
Vivienne softened. “Forgive me, my dear. I forgot you harbored some tenderness for the man.”
Thalia put her face in her hands and rested her elbows on the table. Out of anyone she could have found, why did it have to be Vivienne? They’d been barely civil in the in the days of the Inquisition, clashing on everything from the topic of the Mage Circles to the role of the Chantry in society to the way she needed to present herself as Inquisitor. It surprised Thalia not at all that Vivienne had survived, and she was grateful she had built a small community of “resisters,” as she’d called them, but being on the same side had never made her easier to deal with.
“Perhaps now isn’t the best time to discuss this,” Vivienne said, placing a surprisingly gentle hand on Thalia’s arm. “You’ve had a terrible ordeal. Drink, eat, recover your strength. Then we can talk strategy. I’ll have a bath drawn. You can replace those ghastly rags and get a good night’s rest. Then we can return to the matter of—”
“Vivienne, please.” Thalia lifted her head. “Before any of that, I need to know. I was traveling with Cullen, and we got separated. Have you seen him?”
Vivienne dropped her cool palm and straightened her shoulders. “The Commander is still alive?”
“Yes,” insisted Thalia. “We escaped Skyhold together. Samson was holding him for Maker knows what reason. He was already hurt, the Red Templars had been torturing him, and then…” She felt a rush of shame over the argument they’d been having when Cullen slipped. I’m such an idiot. I should have just told him the truth. “I haven’t been able to find him.”
Vivienne may as well have donned the mask again, for how unreadable her expression was. “You said they’d been torturing him. They used the red lyrium, I suppose?”
Thalia nodded, but the question struck her as odd. “Why do you suppose that?”
“It’s consistent with our reports,” Vivienne said evenly. “Templars are highly valued for Corypheus’s forces, for how quickly they’ll respond to the red. Though they’ll take anyone and everyone, these days.”
Thalia thought of the makeshift town walls, the barricades on the doors, the deserted village streets, the blood on the outer Chantry walls. A shiver ran up her spine.
“He didn’t drink any, though,” Thalia said quickly. “He’s fine.”
Vivienne gave her a careful look. “Is that what he told you, my dear?”
“Yes, that’s what he told me, and I believed him. He hasn’t had any lyrium at all in months, in fact.” Thalia huffed. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“You’re right. It isn’t.”
“I just want to know if you’ve seen him, that’s all.” She felt dangerously close to crying.
Vivienne’s eyes remained as opaque as ever. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said gently. “I haven’t.”
Thalia sniffled, drawing herself up. Shoulders straight, chest forward, her old etiquette instructor had drilled her, making her balance a book on her head. She could be as dangerous as Vivienne, if she so chose. “Then why did your sentry call him ‘the Templar’ when I described him at the gate?”
Vivienne’s mouth curved downward in an expression of distaste. Thalia had knocked her off center.
“Why are you lying to me, Vivienne?” Thalia asked softly.
Vivienne’s shoulders slumped, pressing a hand against her face. Thalia wanted to be angry, but could not summon the energy. The other woman seemed well and truly exhausted, and Thalia felt that in her bones.
“I wanted to spare you,” Vivienne said at last. Wearily, she dropped her hand and fixed Thalia with an apologetic expression. “When did you last see the Commander?”
Time was difficult to tell when the sky stayed a swirling grey. “A day ago. Maybe two.”
“He came to our gate last night. He… did not seem like himself.”
Thalia’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Since you escaped, has his behavior been erratic at all, my dear? It begins with small things. Think back.”
Thalia pressed her lips together and avoided Vivienne’s gaze. She had no intention of telling Vivienne anything they had quarreled about. “I told you, he was fine. You’re saying you saw him, and he wasn’t? What happened then?”
“It is dangerous,” Vivienne said carefully, “to let a man with the rot into our community.”
Her terminology turned Thalia’s stomach. “Is that what the rot means, then? Corruption from red lyrium?”
Vivienne nodded. “The villagers coined the phrase, but it is all too fitting, I’m afraid. It’s everywhere these days. We’ve been spared, more or less, but it travels from person to person with increasing ease. The land itself is becoming blighted. It’s not reached us here, but farther west the forest is being swallowed. Trees, grass, soil… all of it, overtaken by the red crystals.” She paused. “You have to understand, I could not risk exposing my subjects to such a thing.”
“So you just turned him away,” Thalia whispered. “Left him to fend for himself out there, disoriented and alone.”
“Inquisitor…”
“Don’t,” Thalia snapped. “There’s nothing you can say to make it better, so don’t try.”
She shoved a final spoonful of stew into her mouth and pushed away from the table. Vivienne watched her, expression unchanging. “Where do you think you’re going, my dear?”
“I can’t stay here. Not while Cullen is still…” Thalia stood, and a wave of fatigue so strong washed over her she had to grasp the table for support.
“Don’t be absurd; you’re about to collapse.” Vivienne stood beside her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You need rest. Rushing back into the wilderness while in this state won’t save him, darling.”
To her mortification, Thalia burst into tears.
“Oh, there, there.” Vivienne wrapped her into a surprisingly maternal hug. “Let’s get that bath drawn up, shall we? I promise once you’re clean and rested, things won’t look quite so bleak.”
#thalia trevelyan#vivienne#fics#nightmare!au#dragon age drunk writing circle#cullen x trevelyan#bad things happen bingo
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No Dawn Shall Come - Oneshot for Angel Week
Ao3
May 25: Torture/Betrayal/Orders (x) @heaven-ecologist
a/n: uriel my beloved <33 enjoy!!
Summary: War is a cruel things, to make brothers fight, but it's what must be done.
Warnings: Major(ish) Character Death, Light Angst
Word Count: 635
“Come now brother, join me, for true salvation.”
Uriel knew, long before he asked, that Sidriel would deny him. After so many losses and gains, it was time for Uriel to get it over with, to supply himself with a sliver of faith that his brother may change his mind before any blade had to be drawn – but fate always had a cruel sense of humor.
“Salvation can only be found in the forgiveness of our Father. Do not mistake that you can find it with another, Uriel.”
Sidriel was too kind, too loving, too faithful. He had found awe in the creation of humanity, how separate they were, each fickle being their own – and how they were prideful in that existence. He held resentment towards Lucifer for attempting to destroy that and found dignity with Michael for striking him down.
Uriel pressed words of reassurance and debate; he could only watch in vain as Sidriel received them as if they were boiling water down his throat.
In Uriel’s mind, humans were just like stars. They spun, meaningless, absent in purpose – at least the stars had the gift of being beautiful.
“You have become prideful with devotion for Lucifer? Why would you hold yourself to such a worthless existence?”
His brethren could paint him as the villain all they wanted, but Uriel knew the truth. Heaven had been built upon quicksand, cheapened pillars stacked on top and spackled with lies of beauty to hide how they slowly sunk. God had created a home for them to drown in, raised in a cage to where they knew no different.
“Lucifer will save us! Freewill does not need to be a privilege, obedience doesn’t have to be the answer.”
To cage freedom had not been the answer, it had just begun to beg the question of how far God would go to make the angels apply their own shackles. Divinity is but flaying your individuality, allowing hands of faith to grapple with your wings as if they were never meant to lift the weight of freedom.
“Please, Sidriel, do not let this be your final worth. Join me, like many others already have, so the sun may shine on us again.”
The sound of Heaven was to be the shattering upon the altar of faith, the echo of prayers not answered – and it would continue to be, till the universe held no more of God’s angels
“You know what my answer is! I am ashamed that you think me so foolish to join you, to join Lucifer.”
Maybe it was wrong to say his choices, his own will to stab his brother, made him upset, but he wasn’t being untruthful. He wished he could brandish the verity of their orders, uncover the lies the angels were created from, but he did not have the time. If Sidriel did not want to join, that meant he was against him.
A blade was sheathed inside the meatsuit that held his brother’s form before Sidriel could continue to shame the name of Lucifer. His body moved to enact the rituals of survival, to fight the burning that began to roast his wings. The vessel’s lips shook, betrayal constricting any words that tried to crawl out.
Uriel was captivated by the feigned fire, the cold glow that cradled Sidriel's face, almost making it seem desirable as it devoured him from the inside out. How faithfully devastating, that death and beauty could be seen so near each other.
In the eerie silence that followed, the proof of fate sealed so long ago, Uriel saved his grief. The freedom for all of Heaven would far outweigh the deaths of so few, he knew this well. Lucifer would come and Uriel could be free to mourn then.
Sidriel did not echo of devotion anymore.
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