#i have so many injuries from my abuser that will never heal

[farfromstrange]

Daddy Issues | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Inspired by this song.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: There are some scars from our childhoods that just won't heal, like daddy issues will somehow always affect our relationships, especially with men. It's the trauma that makes us afraid. Matt Murdock is a considerate boyfriend and he hardly ever raises his voice, so when he lets his anger out on you, he triggers something in you that you have never told him about.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of child abuse, daddy issues (not the sexy kind), childhood trauma, yelling, crying, small injury (reader cuts her finger), not proofread

A/n: This is entirely self-indulgent. I won't tell you why exactly, but let's just say today was not a good day and I needed to write this to feel better. It helped, for the most part. If you have/had a father who yells a lot and likes to blame you for everything, this is for you. But also basically everyone who's afraid of men yelling at you because you've been traumatized before. This has not been proofread or beta-d. It’s just a silly little comfort fic.

Tags: (people who answered the original idea and I think would enjoy this or asked to be tagged)

@igotanidea @lina-mar @redzie02 @hellskitchens-whore

[not my gif, credits to the owner mentioned under the gif]

In the heat of the moment, some people raise their voices. May it be a fight or a moment of excitement. When we get angry, we often resort to a louder volume and sometimes even verbal abuse. We say things we don’t mean. We wouldn’t be human if that didn’t happen sometimes, although most fights can be resolved by talking civilly. There is no point in screaming when talking like adults is a viable option that won’t hurt anyone. But it hardly ever happens, not when both parties are already worked up to the point of no return.

For you, there has not been a fight or discussion in your life that hasn’t resulted in a screaming match. Your parents often yelled at each other. You grew up like this, the voices of your fighting parents constantly in the back of your head until the day they divorced. And even after that, you figure you started hallucinating their fights whenever the world went quiet around you so you would have some noise in the back of your head.

Your father was the one who screamed the most. He yelled and scolded you whenever you didn’t act according to his standards or made even the smallest of mistakes, didn’t do something or just used the wrong tone with him, something that often didn’t sit right with him.

He always resorted to screaming. The context never really mattered, he just got louder, harsher and he used words that would confuse every kid and make their tiny brains overflow with the guilt they caused. And when you cried, he only waved it off because “there is no reason to cry, I’m just stating the facts”.

It traumatized you in a way many children who grew up in such families understand, and he made you believe that every man in your life has a reason to yell at you, to use you, to abuse you and constantly ask you for things even though you can’t possibly match up to all of their expectations.

You always expect to be yelled at by the men in your life. Even the smallest hint of the disappointment in someone’s voice makes you anxious and more often than not, you start to cry. It’s your defense mechanism. You’re fragile and you get scared easily. A switch gets flicked and you’re suddenly standing in the same house you grew up in, letting your father rain hell down on you because you were too scared to fight back.

The constant screaming made you scared of men, and it made you more careful with what you say or do around others. You tread carefully. You try to please and not to screw up too much, too scared of the consequences and possible negative reactions. In school, you used to do the same, always wanting to please the teachers and when they raised their voices, you often excused yourself and were left shaking and crying in the bathroom. 

Matt Murdock has always been a man with a heavy internal conflict, and that conflict resulted in anger issues and his ever-present catholic guilt. When you met him, he came across as attractive yet dominant, and that scared you a little until you talked for the first time in the middle of a cozy coffee shop and he showed how soft of a man he actually is. He keeps himself locked away and that might make him seem unapproachable, but he isn’t. He’s the kindest man you have ever met, and his heart is set right. Out of all the lovers you’ve had, he is truly the best and most considerate when it comes to your relationship.

He treats you like you’re the universe to him and when you fight, it’s more often bickering than it is an exchange of vulgarities and screams. He takes his anger out on punching bags, not you, and when he hurts someone, it’s often criminals who deserve his wrath. His life is complicated, but it’s easier with you in it. He feels alive, he’s told you, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world, so he always makes sure you’re taken care of and happy before he looks after himself.

There is, of course, the issue with his enhanced senses. He’s blind but his senses are enhanced to an extent that most blind people don’t have. You found out about that early on in your relationship, but there’s never been a doubt in your mind about the love you feel for him, so it was no hard choice to stay.

Though dating the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its collection of issues. More often than not you have to stitch him up or search him in dark alleys and trash cans because he keeps getting in trouble, and the worry often eats you alive. Still, you comfort him when he’s had a bad day, always, and you make him the spotlight of your life every time. In your mind, taking care of him comes first.

But Matt always gives back. It’s his Catholicism, you’re sure of that. He can’t take help. He has to be the one doing the work and moving mountains. He is God’s disciple and he feels responsible for his city and the people living in it. His blindness feels like a gift given to him by God to conquer all possible battles, and while you don’t really believe in God, you have accepted that part of him with open arms and more often than not join him in his faith because life with him is surely not the easiest.

When Matt Murdock feels overwhelmed, he tries not to show it. He’d rather lock himself away than burden you. He’d rather struggle on his own than put the people he loves in danger or hurt them with his personal struggles and the pain that consumes him.

Matt is patient and he doesn’t care if you screw up, even though you apologize profusely most of the time. He’s patient because we’re all human. We all screw up. That is the principle that he lives by and he makes you feel like you can be more of yourself around him. So after a year, there are no more reservations and you feel a lot more comfortable in your skin.

Until this day, he had never let his anger out on you, and he had never opened his mouth to yell at you in any way. Until that day.

He’s different when he comes home. He finds himself at his wit's end, and he has been ever since that godforsaken murder trial started. When he comes home, you don’t think much of his distance toward you, the denial of a proper kiss, and his grunts as he lowers himself on the couch instead of asking you about your day. You don’t think much until it all goes wrong, and you’re not even sure at what point it does or what you did to deserve this, but there has to be a reason because the man you’re seeing right now is not the Matt you usually get to see.

We all have bad days sometimes, others more often, but this seems deeper than just a bad day at the courthouse. This is not the face of an exhausted man after a long work day that just needs some kisses and maybe a blowjob, or to have sex with his girlfriend in all his dominant glory with aftercare to put the cherry on top. This is not Matt Murdock, this is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that comes through the front door, tosses his cane into a corner, and then just falls on the couch like a wet sack of potatoes, his fists clenched as if he is ready to explode any second.

You’ve been taught to tread carefully, so you do. You approach him only slowly because you are worried, you always are. Perhaps it’s the line of questioning that has him exploding in no time.

“You okay?” you ask.

He props his feet up on the living room table and huffs. “Fine,” he says.

“You don’t look fine. Did something happen?”

You’ve brought him a glass of water, which he takes with a curt nod. Something is bothering him, but he won’t talk to you.

“Bad day at work?”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’m fine. I just want to forget that today ever happened.”

“You want some coffee?” you decide to ask instead.

“No,” he says.

His leg starts to bounce. It only does when he is agitated or overstimulated and is trying to deal with the world around him. 

“Do you want me to run you a bath?”

He sighs. “No.”

“We still have leftovers, maybe I could warm them up.”

His tone is harsher this time, “No!”

You blink, a little taken aback by the force in his voice and involuntarily, you start to shake.

“I just want to be alone,” he adds, softer this time. “Can you… you know what, I’m just gonna get changed.”

And like that, he is gone. He disappears into the bedroom and you’re left flabbergasted. You want to ask what’s wrong, but you’re scared. You’ve never been scared of him before. It’s not him, it’s his reaction, and so you retreat into the kitchen. 

Eventually, he comes out again, though he is still missing a shirt. “Have you seen my Columbia sweater?” he asks, the lights of the billboard reflecting off his marble skin. 

“It’s in the washer,” you tell him.

“Why?”

“Because it’s dirty. Matt, what is going on?” You place your mug down and look at him, eyes soft and full of concern.

He only rolls his. “I just want my sweater.” Grabbing the used shirt from the chair at the dinner table, he slips it on. It’s not the fabric he wanted and he tenses up, hating the new sensation already.

“Are you sure this is about your sweater? You’ve been on me ever since you got in.”

“Yes, because you keep asking useless questions.”

“Useless?” You scoff. “So my interest and worry for you are useless?” 

If there is one thing you have gotten good at it has to be defending yourself.

He brushes past you to get a beer from the fridge. “I told you, I’m fine.” He is good at brushing you off because he doesn’t like to admit when he feels weaker than usual.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Oh, my God, then stop fucking looking!”

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

He scoffs. “You don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Everything.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“It’s not…” his chuckle is bitter. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna keep seeing problems where there are none, so talking to you makes no sense anyway.”

What did he just say? You are so confused and suddenly very angry that you forget you are holding a glass. You smash it down on the counter, and, as expected, it shatters into a million pieces. Most of them fall to the floor and right at his bare feet. His eyes darken.

Oh.

Now you are scared, and not in a way that resembles sexy foreplay. You are scared because he is turning into a stranger right before your eyes. Suddenly, all you can see is not your loving boyfriend Matt Murdock, you see the anger of both your father and your stepfather in his eyes and hear it in his voice and it instantly tells you, 'this is all your fault'.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t see…”

“One night,” he says. He moves out of the kitchen, trying not to step into the glass.

You follow him with wide eyes. “What’s that?” 

“One night,” he repeats his earlier statement. “That’s all I wanted. One fucking night where people don’t prod or- or want things from me. And what do you do? You keep talking and talking, and you don’t even care that I simply don’t want to talk.”

“Matt, that is not fair. I just wanted to-“ the tears start to prick in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ.” And that’s where your strength stops and you retreat into your shell – the next words out of his mouth come so loud, you could have sworn they echoed off the brick walls and shot straight into your eardrums. “For once in your life, stop fucking apologizing!” 

His hand lifts, mostly to underline his words, and with the bottle in his hand he is suddenly so close, your eyes squeeze shut at the gush of wind. You flinch, your entire body caving in on itself. It’s not even intentional, you can’t help it. You’ve been conditioned to expect the worst when someone raises their hand, and Matt has never done it before. 

He realizes what it looks like the second your heart jumps and your blood rushes loudly in his ear. He can smell your sweat, the tears, and the fear that surrounds you. It’s your pheromones that change and something lingers in the air that makes him stop and think, what did I just do? 

He has been so in his head and the city has been loud for hours, he lost most of his patience at the courthouse, and then you’re there all caring and lovely and he can’t help but tell himself he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you. He just wants quiet and to be alone while at the same time, all he wants is you, but it’s too much. It’s all too much.

And now, as you flinch away from him and his booming voice, he snaps back to reality and realizes he made a mistake. He’s never experienced you like this before, and it scares him. 

“Did you just…” he begins, his voice soft and barely above a whisper.

He hears you fall to your knees, the taste of salt thick in the air and your breath shakes with every intake. You bite your lip and you collect the shards, trying to clean up your mess as if he would hate you if you didn’t. You whisper a silent, “Sorry.” And then he hears it. You’re sobbing, you try not to but you are, and it is his fault.

“Did you think I was gonna hit you?” he asks, dreading the answer.

You sniffle, not answering.

You flinched, he heard it, and not because you were surprised. You are scared, he knows. 

He slowly approaches the kitchen. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

“I just gotta clean this up,” you whimper and you brush the glass together with shaky hands. The tears are running down your cheeks in thick streams and your teeth have gnawed your bottom lip bloody, your throat dry with the denied sobs.

“I just gotta clean this up and then I can make you dinner or something. I don’t… I can fix this. I’ll fix this. I’m sorry.”

It’s your fault, you tell yourself. You pushed him. You deserve this. He worked hard the entire day and you annoyed him. He has every right to do this. In your head, at least. It makes all sense in your head while in reality, Matt has never been more shocked to read your body language than he is now.

He slowly kneels in front of you. “Answer me this,” he says, “did you flinch because you thought I was gonna hit you or because I yelled?”

You shrug, unable to look at him. One of the shards slides across your finger and you hiss, the smallest cut forming and causing blood to pool out of your skin. Still, you don’t stop. You need to clean this up before he gets even angrier at you. In your state, you don’t realize his voice has softened and he no longer stares at you with those blacked-out eyes. He looks sympathetic, almost, but most of all the guilt has spread throughout his features and his heart. He is aching to touch you, but you are scared and shaking and he doesn’t want to hurt you any further than he already has.

He had been so ignorant that he didn’t see the signs before.

“Why are you crying?” he asks again.

You wipe your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. It’s my fault,” you say. “I’ll clean this up, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Hey.”

“No, I gotta-”

“Stop.” His hand is on your arm then. “You cut yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s a mantra you’ve taught yourself to say in the hopes you could somehow fix this before it’s too late.

But it’s not too late. When you finally look up, he’s smiling softly, and his thumb is stroking over your skin in circles. 

“I’m sorry,” it’s his turn to say it. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. None of this is your fault. I was so caught up in my own shit, I… God, I would never hit you. I just- I didn’t think when I raised my hand. I didn’t think what it might look like to you. And I didn’t think when I yelled because I… in my head, I wasn’t thinking.”

Your facade cracks even more to the point you are seethrough and your defenses have fallen completely. You’re a snotty mess, shaking violently in his grasp. 

“I’m trying, I swear I’m trying to be better. Just don’t be angry with me,” your voice is bordering on helpless little sobs, your lips turned downward and God, you are shaking so badly, you haven’t done so since the last fight with your father when you were a teenager. 

Matt’s face softens even more, but there is a pain in there too. He takes a paper towel to wrap around your injured finger and he holds your hand, not sure if he is allowed to touch anywhere else, but he wants you to know he is here and he is going nowhere. He is neither mad nor is he going to break up with you. You try to tell yourself that, but it’s hard with the demon in your head whispering all those awful things into your ear, reminding you that everything bad that happens can only be your fault and that there is no use for you but to destroy and disappoint. But you don’t want to disappoint, you want him to be proud of you. You want him to hold you and tell you everything is alright. But you’re scared and you feel so stupidly guilty for something you can’t even put a finger on. Your bleeding finger.

“Angry with you?” he says. “No.” Matt chuckles, but it’s broken and almost whiny as he does so. “I’m not angry at you, bug. Of course not. I was just angry with the world. I was angry at everything else, but not you. I’m not angry at you. I couldn’t possibly be. I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you. I realize that now. And the glass…” he forces you away from the chaos gently, helping you stand up without hurting yourself further. “It’s just glass,” he tells you. “I’ll clean it up. There’s nothing bad about breaking something.”

“But the mess,” you say. 

“Fuck the mess. The whole apartment’s a mess.”

“I’m so sorry! I can clean it. I can clean up, I promise. I just… I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“Stop apologizing, baby, please. The mess doesn’t matter. The apartment doesn’t matter, and the glass does not fucking matter. None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything but try to help. I had no right to yell at you. And my hand… I would never hit you. Never.” He squeezes your hand. “I love you.”

You hiccup, whimpering when he pulls you away from the glass on the floor and pulls you into his arms. His chin rests on the crown of your head and you mold into him, the tears taking on new speed and wetting through his shirt. He strokes your back, not sure what else to do, and his lips find your temple. “God, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, none of that.”

You cling tighter to him. 

He keeps asking himself the same question over and over again. “Who hurt you?” he asks. It’s a valid question. A fear like that doesn’t just stem from nothing. Something happened in the past to have traumatized you this badly. 

Your breathing eventually slows down, as do your tears, and you look up at him through swollen eyes. His white shirt is wet now, but he doesn’t care, he only hugs you back to his chest. “My father used to yell at me whenever I did something wrong,” you tell him, your voice muffled through his chest, but he understands every word. 

His grip tightens. “Did he hit you?”

“Sometimes, but… I remember that one time I forgot to clean up after myself and he just… he…” The lack of oxygen makes you shudder and you hiccup again, nails digging into his back. “I’m sorry, he just… yelled at me. Sometimes, he’d slap me, but only sometimes. He’d threaten most of the time, but he didn’t do it often. And I mean, I was a hard kid to raise, I-“

“No, don’t blame yourself,” he is quick to cut you off. “You were a kid.”

You shudder again. “Well, I… you know, he blamed me for the smallest of things, so I got used to apologizing and trying to please everyone, but I can’t always do that. I try to fix things, but it doesn’t always work. He used to yell at me every damn time and I just… I get scared. I don’t like it when people raise their voices. It makes me feel so guilty and now I even broke a glass. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have… you had a bad day, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry like this. I swear I’m not a baby.”

You move away to rub your eyes. He grabs your face, smoothing the pads of his thumbs over your wet cheeks. The heat has pooled under the skin in an upset blush. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “It’s okay to cry. If I’d known, baby, I…” Matt can only shake his head in disbelief.

He loves you more than anything and to see you hurting because of something another man did to you, a man who is supposed to protect you, makes him feel all kinds of things, but none of them positive. 

But his anger doesn’t matter. This is about you. He has to take care of you now, not himself, and definitely not your father. It’s just you on his mind.

You choke on nothing. “He told me I have no reason to cry because he’s just stating facts.”

Matt clicks his tongue. “No, don’t ever think that again. You have every right to cry when you feel the need to.”

“It makes me weak,” you say.

“Your father’s wrong. You’re the strongest person I know,” he says. “And the fact that he yelled at you and blamed you for things that were out of your control… no one has the right to treat you like that, not even your parents, and he should have never even thought about raising his hand against you. That’s abuse. I can’t believe- fuck! Do you understand that it wasn’t your fault? That he had no right to do that?”

“Yes, but… it happened. Maybe I deserved some of those slaps. I mean you… I- I don’t know. It happened, we can’t change it. And who knows, maybe he was right.”

“Stop it! That’s not true and you know it.”

“I know, but-“

“No buts, sweetheart. I would never raise my hand against you, I promise. I’m not like your father. No one should be like him. You deserve so much better.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you sniffle, “it was just instinct.”

“Shh,” Matt kisses you gently, “I know. It’s like me dodging punches in a fight. It’s a defense mechanism. Your father, I… you’ve never said anything. I would’ve never suspected this.”

“‘Cause I didn’t think it was important. This never happened before. You never yelled before.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. You should have told me,” he says. “It’s important to me. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you. I want you to feel comfortable around me, not scared.”

You nod. “And I am, really, it’s just… I thought I did something wrong.”

His smile is soft when he leans in to kiss you again, tasting the tears on your lips. “You didn’t. I let my anger out on you for no reason. You didn’t deserve that. It won’t happen again, I promise,” and he dives right back in. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, relaxing in his arms as his lips move against yours with sweet precision, making you feel lightheaded. He scared you, that much is true, but it was neither you nor his fault and you realize that now, safe in his arms as he proves his devotion to you with a single breath into your mouth. With his gentle touch around your waist he promises never to hurt you, never to let his anger out on you again, and he promises that he will drive himself to hell personally if he ever scares you like that again because he couldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to you because of him. He couldn’t live with himself if he broke your heart or triggered the trauma you brought into the relationship from your broken childhood, and he promises that he will never leave you, never put you second and always hold you when times get hard because people screw up, bad things happen, and you might be at fault sometimes, but so is he and there is no reason to be put down for being human. He wants to teach you that, he wants to help you heal yourself, and you have never felt more in love than at that moment, losing yourself in his lips, eyes and arms.

He breaks the kiss, moving on to your forehead. “If there is anything else I need to know,” he breathes hotly against your already heated skin, and the exhaustion slowly starts to seep into your bones as the shakes and tension subside from your bones, “please tell me before I make another mistake that might trigger you.”

You take in a deep breath, shaking your head. “There is not much else. My childhood wasn’t the best, but that’s okay,” you say. 

He brushes his knuckles over your cheekbone. “Bad enough. Promise you’ll tell me if something else might come up?” He resembles a puppy as he tries to meet your eyes, but he fails miserably.

So you promise him, “Okay.”

“Can you forgive me for yelling?”

Your tears have finally come to a halt. “Yes,” you say. 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes fall on the mess on the kitchen floor again and you go to grab the broom. Matt’s arm around your frame stop you and he gently pushes you out of the kitchen. “Let me clean it up,” he says. “Put a bandaid on your finger and then go lie down. I’ll deal with it.”

“No, I broke it. Please, Matt, let me do this.”

“Not everything is your fault, sweetheart. Besides, you already cut yourself once and with how you’re shaking, the next time you accidentally cut yourself I’m sure you’re gonna cause more damage.”

“But I-”

“Go to bed,” he insists, “I’ll be there in a second and then we’ll cuddle so you know I’m serious when I say that I love you more than life itself.”

The weight and guilt fall off your heart. “I love you,” you tell him. “More than life itself, too.”

It’s not a lie. If there is anything or anyone you love, it’s him, and you’ve never been this in love with anyone before. It’s sickening to the point it hurts, but the pain is sweet and it’s all worth it because with Matt, you can be yourself. 

The past matters just a little less with someone who loves you right by your side, and he would never give up on you like everyone else did before him. 

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #gender neutral reader #matt murdock imagines #marvel #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #mentions of child abuse #hurt/comfort #matt murdock fic #daredevil fic #daddy issues (but not the sexy kind)

[ellecdc]

Come Back, Be Here (part 7)

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

Sirius Black x fem!reader - First Wizarding War Order of the Phoenix - 4.5K

CW: mentions of past abuse/torture, amnesia, healing/blood and injury, Bellatrix's cursed knife, angst, hurt/comfort, use of Y/N, character death

Synopsis: After sacrificing yourself to save your friend and Order partner James months before, you're found on the brink of death. It's now October 31st, and the Order has a plan.

Narcissa Black Malfoy was many things. She was a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a wife, a new mother, a Malfoy, and a Black. She was a proud pureblood, a cunning Slytherin, a noble woman, a powerful witch, and exceedingly loyal.

It was this last trait that seemed to be causing her the most problems, however.

Loyalty. 

It was her loyalty that caused her to bite her tongue and smile when her husband announced that he had joined the ranks of the Dark Lord, who promised to bring the purebloods glory and to protect them from the likes of muggles and mudblood’s who were threatening their way of life. It was because of her loyalty that when her sister asked her to hide something of grave importance to the Dark Lord, even though the object exuded Darkness and Evil, she hid it in the rafters of their attic. 

And it was because of her loyalty that when her baby cousin showed up at Malfoy Manor covered in blood, ash, and rubble with a lifeless body hanging limp in his arms begging for her help that she responded with, ‘bring her to the cellar’. 

Narcissa needn’t wonder how she got here; she knew all too well. She was loyal, and she protected her own.

When exactly her disowned blood-traitor Gryffindor cousin’s muggle-born partner became one of her own, Narcissa wasn’t sure. 

(The day you ‘died’)

“What have you done!?” Narcissa gritted through her teeth as she pulled the clothing off of the nearly-dead-witch’s body.

“’Cissa, please, I couldn’t leave her there-”

“Why not!?”

“She’s – she’s Sirius’, she’s...” Regulus took a steadying breath. “She’s Sirius’, Narcissa.” 

“For crying out loud.” Narcissa growled. She wanted to argue, she wanted to scream and curse and tell him to dump this witch back where he’d found her. But she knew...

She knew she would have likely done the same. 

When her son Draco was born, Narcissa had never felt so alone; her mother was long passed, her father was distant and cold, Bellatrix was insane, and she had long ago lost her favourite sister.

She thought at that moment of Andromeda and her husband and daughter.

If this had been Ted Tonks lying nearly dead on a hastily conjured drafting table, or their daughter Nymphadora...

Narcissa knew; her dog-like loyalty and her dragon-like possessiveness knew no bounds. 

So, she pulled on all the blasted magic she could think of – light, dark, and ancient. Types of Oriental, coastal, Scandinavian and Aboriginal magic; anything and everything she could possibly think of to bring this witch back from the brink of death.

 Spending her life as a dedicated pureblood meant spending a lot of time hiding away in libraries – no one could scold you for it, and you could hide away from whatever nonsense they were currently shoving down your throat. She thanked the deities for all of that time spent researching now. 

Thoroughly exhausted and covered in another person’s blood, Narcissa stepped back as the witch finally took a breath on her own.

“Thank you, Narcissa.”

“Do not go thanking me yet, cousin.” Narcissa huffed. “What exactly is it you plan to do with her?”

Regulus stared dumbly at her. “Uhm...well, return her?”

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Right, and then the Dark Lord suspects a traitor amongst his followers and kills us all for the act of disloyalty. Really cousin, did you hit your head in this battle or something?”

“Well, what do you suggest I do then, Narcissa, since you are clearly so much smarter than I?” He questioned hotly.

“This is not my mess, Regulus. You should have left her there to die.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Narcissa asked incredulously.

“Why should she have to die? Hm? Because she was born into the wrong family? Does that make her evil? Fate does not make us evil, Narcissa; choices do. I did not choose to live as a pureblood, I was only born into this life. But I chose to follow the Dark Lord, and I chose to join this war. I choose to aim my wand at people who raise their wands in defense whilst I wield mine in hope for power and glory. So why her? Why should she die while I go home to eat from my silver spoon that was promised to me at birth?”

Narcissa balked at her cousin. “Regulus, what - what are you saying?”

But Regulus did not have a chance to respond before Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape and Barty Crouch Junior followed a small house-elf down the stairs into the cellar.

“My, my, don’t tell me you’ve plundered some booty for us, dear Reggie!” Barty exclaimed excitedly. 

“What, pray tell, is the meaning of this?” Snape asked as he eyed Regulus and Narcissa skeptically. 

“We were wondering where everyone got to – oh.” Mulciber added as he stepped down into the cellar with Goyle trailing behind him. 

“I found her at the set-up.” Regulus said plainly after throwing up a hasty occlusion behind his eyes.

“I see. And why exactly is she here.” Snape asked again. 

“Did you...heal her?” Lucius guffawed.

“Why waste your energy on a pathetic mudblood?” Mulciber asked.

Narcissa stayed quiet and allowed Regulus to swim his way out of this on his own. She would not risk her own life protecting his mistake.

But what made it a mistake?

Narcissa had never once questioned the pureblood rhetoric that her parents entrenched in her. Not when she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Not when she watched her classmates get bullied and harassed for their muddy blood. Not when it was announced she would be wed to her own cousin upon graduating from Hogwarts when she was only twelve years old, and not even when she was again announced to be wed to Lucius Malfoy instead at thirteen, after said cousin was sorted into the wrong house – bringing disgrace to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black; and not even when her older sister defected from the family by falling in love with a filthy mudblood. 

She looked at Regulus then. As the baby of the family, Regulus had seen all of this. He had witnessed the announcement of his big brother’s betrothal to his first cousin when Sirius was only ten years old. He saw the fallout and witnessed Sirius be ignored, embarrassed, and humiliated that first summer home after being sorted into the wrong house. He watched Sirius get tortured, brutalized, and starved every summer after that until he left home for good. He watched Andromeda be chastised and forced to choose between her family and her heart for falling in love with the wrong person. He watched Bellatrix descend into madness as she became more and more involved with Dark Magic.  

Regulus, the baby of the family, had witnessed all of this.

Narcissa thought of her own baby then, upstairs being looked after by a house-elf whilst she was downstairs with her husband and his house guests while they argued over who had more of a right to this unconscious witch’s body than the others. 

Did Regulus make a mistake?

Did she?

“Hmph, well, we’ll see how long this lasts.” Mulciber spat at Regulus before the five newcomers moved back upstairs leaving Narcissa alone with Regulus and the witch. 

Narcissa watched as Regulus used Legillimency to peer inside the witch’s mind before he spoke. “You’re awake.”

The only response Regulus got was the tightening of the witch’s eyes.

“Squeezing your eyes shut will not change the fact that I know you are awake.” He commented with an eyeroll.

Narcissa watched as Regulus continued to monitor the witch.

“Yes, I am talking to you.” Regulus responded verbally.

A beat of silence.

“Very elegant.” He muttered.

“Indeed, you are.” He quipped again.

Narcissa watched as you peeled your eyes open and blinked against the light above you; she heard your neck crack loudly as you turned your head towards Regulus before your face fell.

“You can’t be serious?” You rasped disbelievingly. 

“Close, but no.” Regulus smirked as he stood and moved toward the table you were lying on. “The name is Regulus. Regulus Arcturus Black.”

Narcissa watched as a look of panic crossed your features as you took in Regulus.

“I don’t suppose you happen to know occlumency, do you?”

You shook your head in response.

“Shame. Well, for your sake, I hope you are a quick learner.” Regulus said before he stupefied you. 

“This just got an awful lot more complicated, Regulus.” Narcissa commented quietly.

“I know.” Regulus sighed before he turned to his cousin. “Narcissa, please, will you help me?”

Narcissa looked between her cousin – the only relative she really had left – and the unconscious witch beside him. Suddenly, the witch wasn’t just a nearly dead burden – she was a chance. An opportunity for more. An opportunity to do better. An opportunity to have better.

“I do not want this life for my son.” Narcissa admitted quietly.

“What?”

“I do not want Draco growing up worried about who he will be betrothed to before we even send him off to Hogwarts. I do not want him watching children be jinxed or hexed for being born to the wrong family – or worse – be the child jinxing or hexing them. I do not want to watch him slowly lose every single person that ever meant anything to him because they could not adhere to the same drivel. I do not want this life for him.” She took a deep breath.

“I want more for him, Regulus. I want better.”

Regulus searched Narcissa’s face for a few moments before nodding.

“Let’s do better, then.”

October 31st

“Okay, explain the plan to me one more time.” You muttered as you continued to pace a hole through Narcissa’s vintage Persian rug. Regulus fought the urge to groan and repeated the plan that Dumbledore had discussed with him for a third time.

“Remus Lupin has been made secret keeper of the currently vacant cottage in Godric’s Hollow. He, as Peter Pettigrew, will meet the Dark Lord in the town square of Godric’s Hollow at eight o’clock tonight. He will then escort the Dark Lord to Potter’s cottage where I will be in the form of James Potter and Narcissa in the form of Lily Potter. Apparently, to no one’s surprise, Sirius has demanded he be there – so Sirius will be there in his animagus form as will Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore will be hidden under Potter’s invisibility cloak. Dumbledore has the sword of Gryffindor, and Narcissa was able to purchase Basilisk venom from Borgin & Burkes on Knockturn Alley, which means the Order will be able to slay Nagini without resorting to unforgiveables. I, however, will have no qualms firing an avada at the Dark Lord, so we will see how the rest plays out. Either way, he will die.” Regulus spouted in monotone.

You seemed to consider this as you continued pacing. “And I...”

“And you are staying here.” He said with finality.

“Why?” You asked petulantly. Regulus did not find it at all endearing.

“Because you have to look after Draco.” Narcissa offered.

You softened at the mention of the boy but seemed unconvinced. “You have a manor full of house-elves; I’m sure Dobby wouldn’t mind-”

“It has to be you, Y/N.” Narcissa said. “It needs to be someone who will not be swayed, regardless of who shows up and starts barking orders.”

Your head fell back in resignation as you looked at the ceiling. 

“Okay?” Regulus asked quietly.

“Okay.” You admitted in defeat, bringing your gaze back to him.

Regulus offered you as kind a smile as the youngest Black and a chronic Slytherin could manage. “Your nose is bleeding again.”

“God damnit.” You muttered as you conjured a tissue into your hand and held it to your nose. More and more of your memories were flooding back in, and - just as the Healer had suggested - it was extremely painful. Not only were you now privy to migraines, nose bleeds, and the occasional seizure; you had an overwhelming sense of anxiety laying its damned wet blanket over you. You were somewhat annoyed that your memories appeared to be attacking you now when you would have benefitted from not remembering all of the reasons why this plan had to go just right.  

“Why did it have to be Halloween?” You muttered miserably.

“Why did it have to be Halloween?” James whined. “I love Halloween.”

Lily patted her husband’s shoulder in sympathy, though neither her face nor her tone held any warmth. “You can love Halloween next year.” 

James and Lily stood in the doorway of 12 Grimmauld place with Harry strapped to James’ chest. Sirius triple checked their bags before shrinking them down and putting them into a backpack and placing it onto Lily’s shoulders. 

“Okay, explain the plan to me one more time.” He ordered the Potter’s. 

Lily and James shared a quick glance before the former rolled her eyes. 

“We’re heading to an undisclosed location. We are to set up protection wards the second we get there, and we are not to leave until Sirius’ patronus reaches us. If, in the event that we do not receive a patronus from Sirius or Moony in the next two days, we are to assume that the plan has failed. In that case, we are to begin heading west via muggle transportation and make our way to Ireland before boarding a flight to Canada where we are to remain for the rest of our lives.” She relayed to him in monotone. 

Sirius beamed at her and kissed her cheek. “Right-o, Red! But, not to worry, you’ll be hearing from my patronus in no time.”

Remus watched with a small smile from the staircase. He knew Sirius was trying to stay positive mostly for himself; he’s been in such a state since you were taken, and he was running on fumes waiting with bated breath for this to be over so you could return home - return to him. He had so many questions about so many things; questions for you, questions for Regulus, questions for Dumbledore. Remus watched his friend become manic, almost as if Sirius was the one expecting the full moon at the beginning of next week. The friends tried to stay patient with him, but they were all looking forward to this being over.

“It’s me and my family they’re after, I should be here to end this.” James muttered. 

“And you’re our family, Prongs. So, we’re here to end this.” Sirius responded.

“He didn’t just threaten you and Lily and Haz, he threatened all of us.” Remus added.

“I owe her my life, guys. I owe it to Vix to see this through.” He responded, shifting his gaze between his two friends.

Sirius’ eyes welled at the thought before he quickly shoved his feelings back down into his stomach – he’d deal with those later; for now, he had a megalomaniac to kill. 

“You’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to her, Prongs.” He offered with as much a smile as he could muster. 

James gave his friend a sad smile of his own before enveloping him in a bone crushing hug.

“I’ll see you soon, Pads.”

“Once the mischief is managed.” Sirius answered.

As Lily, James and Harry left Grimmauld place and apparated to location unknown, Remus and Sirius exchanged a look.

“Ready to finish this?” Sirius asked Remus.

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

The clock tower in Godric’s Hollow’s town square rang signifying eight o’clock. Remus tried rubbing his clammy hands against his cloak, not wanting his hands to be slick when it came time to brandish his wand. Thankfully, with the full moon this close, and it (by the grace of every god) seeming to be a ‘manic moon’, Remus was at his strongest, and he would not be letting that go to waste. 

The rancid smell of dark magic permeated Remus’ senses signifying the arrival of Voldemort and his last horcrux.

“My dear boy,” Voldemort sang out, “are you ready to face victory in the name of your Lord.”

“Absolutely, my Lord, it is my honour to help you see this through.” He responded verbatim to what Dumbledore coached him on. 

“Lead the way.”

So, Remus did. 

In what felt like a death march, Remus (as Peter Pettigrew), a twelve-foot snake and melted-wax figure looking Tom Riddle made their way to the Potter’s cottage in Godric’s Hollow. Remus listened to the sound of his heartbeat and Nagini’s skin sliding along the gravel lane as he unlatched the hook of the fence and made his way up to the door.

He looked behind him to see Voldemort smiling victoriously at the house as it materialized in front of him. Remus turned back to the red painted door and knocked three times, paused, knocked once, paused, knocked twice more.

“Come in!” The sound of Lily’s voice filtered through the wood of the door and Remus heaved a breath before opening it in front of him. 

“Hey Pete!” James greeted as Remus stepped inside. “We just put the kid to bed, glad you could come by.” 

Remus watched as James turned his back to the door and continued toward the kitchen whilst Voldemort and Nagini let themselves in. With a quick flick of Remus’ wand, the door shut and locked behind them. No way out now, fucker.

“Come on in, Peter! I’m just making something to drink, would you like one?” Lily called from somewhere in the house as the trio continued in, watching as a cat wandered its way towards the kitchen seemingly unawares of the company behind it.

As they passed a hallway leading to a half-bath, Padfoot began to bark.

“Oh, come now Pads, it’s just Peter! You know him.” James said as he came back out into the hallway where he saw his good friend Peter in the company of Nagini and Voldemort.

Voldemort whispered something in parseltongue and in response, Nagini poised to lunge. 

When the snakes body elongated and her neck stretched as she launched to sink her fangs into James, Sirius had turned back into his regular form, and with the sword of Gryffindor swung at the snake, severing its head from the rest of its body; the snake’s body and its head fell to the ground with a sickening wet thud.

“No!” Voldemort cried before Dumbledore ripped the invisibility cloak from his form and Lily exited the kitchen. Suddenly, the forms of Lily, James and Peter and the actual Dumbledore, McGonagall and Sirius stood with their wands aimed at Voldemort. 

“What have you done?” Voldemort seethed at Remus. Remus smirked in response.

“I won.” He said simply.

Voldemort growled as he pulled his wand from his cloak, blocking an expelliarmus from Dumbledore and a bombarda from Sirius. 

“Incarcerous!” McGonagall shouted and Voldemort was bound by invisible restraints.

Dumbledore stupefied the flailing Tom Riddle and the six exchanged glances. 

“Did...did we do it? Did we just...stop Voldemort?” Sirius whispered.

“It feels sort of anti-climactic, does it not?” Lily asked before she cast a quick finite over herself, revealing Narcissa Black. Remus opted to follow suit and shed the skin of his rat of a friend.

“Narcissa?!” Sirius balked, earning him a smirk.

“Hello, cousin.”

“But, why? How?” he asked.

James followed suit and cast a finite, melting away the enchantment and leaving behind the form of Regulus Black, causing Sirius to choke back tears.

“Reggie...” he whispered reverently.

“Sirius.” Regulus responded with a curt nod, seemingly unable to meet his brothers’ eyes.

A sob tore its way through Sirius as he lunged himself at Regulus and embraced his little brother. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

“Disappointed?” Regulus asked, seemingly unable to figure out what to do with his own arms which were pinned under Sirius’ grasp. 

“No, not in the slightest.” Sirius answered honestly as he pulled himself back from his brother only to bring his hands up to clasp either side of his brother’s face and scrutinize him. “You’re really okay?”

Regulus’ brows scrunched together at his brother’s words. “Could be worse.” Regulus responded in a whisper. 

“Why don’t we catch up later, once we have everyone together again?” Narcissa offered with a soft smile. This seemed to snap Sirius into action.

“Yes! Okay, yes. Let’s go get Y/N and then we can send the Potter’s a patronus!” He exclaimed as if were a child being told they were heading to the mall to meet Santa. 

Remus chuckled and even Regulus seemed to smirk at his brother. 

“You go, Minerva and I will escort Mr. Riddle here to the Ministry.” Dumbledore said with a wink at his four former students. “Thank you all, for your bravery and cunningness today.” 

The four offered Dumbledore varying levels of smiles: Remus a wide one, Narcissa a polite one, Regulus’ looked more like a grimace and Sirius’ mouth stayed downturned as they watched the headmaster and deputy headmistress leave with Voldemort in tow. 

“Let’s get the band back together.” Remus announced, and Narcissa held out a portkey for Remus and Sirius to use to travel to Malfoy Manor.

“See you there.” Narcissa said as she and Regulus spun and apparated to return to you. 

Regulus and Narcissa were just heading toward the vine covered gate when Remus and Sirius fell unceremoniously from the sky. 

“Fuck, I hate portkey’s” Sirius commented as he stood with a grimace and wiped grass stains off his jacket. 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Narcissa commented from her place as the two men joined her.

“That’s like asking a fish not to swim, dear Cissy.” Sirius responded with a smirk.

Narcissa gave him a fond eyeroll before leading the way to the hidden library.

“PUT THE BOY DOWN!” The shrill voice of Bellatrix could be heard. The sound caused each of their throats to tighten as they all took off in a run towards the library.

“Get away from us!” Sirius heard you shout back. 

As the four of them rounded the corner, Sirius saw you standing with a crying Draco Malfoy in your one arm as you bounced him consolingly while your wand was in the other aimed at Bellatrix in front of you. Behind Bellatrix stood Barty Crouch Junior and Mulciber. 

“Bella!” Narcissa called causing the witch to turn her onyx gaze on her for a second, though her wand never faltered in its aim at you.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, NARCISSA?!” She screeched. 

“Bellatrix, get away from my son this instant.” Narcissa barked. Remus took this opportunity to try to move closer to you and Draco, which earned a purple spell being shot at him from Junior’s wand.

Suddenly emersed in some kind of gothic-style Western standoff, every witch and wizard in the library had their wands pointed at someone and someone’s wand pointed at them. One errant sneeze and someone would avada or be avada’d. 

“Bella, you’re frightening Draco.” Narcissa tried quietly.

“He’s frightened, Cissa, because you’ve left him alone with the likes of a FILTHY MUDBLOOD.” 

“It’s over, Bellatrix.” Sirius shouted. “Voldemort has been captured, he’s on his way to Azkaban as we speak.”

Bellatrix’s already rage filled face contorted in pure outrage. As the Death Eaters were distracted by the news of their leaders down fall, Regulus and Remus began duelling with Mulciber and Junior. Narcissa and Sirius both shot curses and hexes at Bellatrix at the same time, but she quickly defected.

“You, you-you FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR. You’ve betrayed your kind and defied OUR LORD, YOU INSOLENT-” As Bellatrix continued to rage, you began to slowly side-step your way over to Narcissa and Sirius while cooing at Draco. Sirius kept his gaze locked on you as you kept yours on Bellatrix, and both of your wands stayed on their mark. Remus had Mulciber in a muggle choke hold looking far too pleased with himself as Regulus cast an expeliarmus at Junior.

“YOU SHOULD BE DEAD! I KNEW BETTER THAN TO LET THOSE STUPID, STUPID MEN USE YOU AS THEIR PLAYTHING.” Bellatrix seethed at you, now standing directly beside Sirius, keeping the arm holding Draco just behind him. “YOU WEREN’T EVEN GOOD ENOUGH FOR A WHORE!”

At this, Sirius shot a curse at her which she deflected and began rallying more off. Bellatrix brought her other hand up to her hair and then swung her hand forward. Flying towards Sirius, you and Draco was Bellatrix’s cursed blade.

Narcissa took but half a step to her right, placing herself directly in front of you as she cast an avada kadavra at her sister. Bellatrix’s eyes rolled back as she fell to the ground with a thud and the room became deathly quiet save Draco’s sniffles. 

“Oh my gods.” Sirius breathed.

Remus and Regulus were readying their captives for the Auror department as Sirius turned to face his cousin, only to find her holding her chest as blood seeped through her robes and fingers.

Narcissa slowly began sinking to the ground as you gasped and held Draco’s head to your shoulder to shield his view.

“Cissa, no!” Sirius cried as he helped lower his cousin onto the rug. Narcissa took some gasping breaths as she looked at Sirius and you, and then at her son. 

“Y/N.” Narcissa called weakly.

“I’m here, Narcissa.” You offered through a sob. 

“Take care of my son. Take care of Draco, please.” She begged you.

She turned her gaze to Sirius. “I want better for him. I don’t-I don’t want...” She trailed off as she choked, blood appearing in the corners of her mouth. “I don’t want him to be raised with so much hate. I want – I want him to only know love.”

She looked back to you as you bounced her son back and forth. “Make sure he knows love for me?”

You nodded emphatically as tears trailed down your face. “I promise to do good by you; both of you. He will always be safe with us, Narcissa.”

“And loved.” Sirius added. 

Narcissa smiled at the two of you. “Thank you.” She said as she closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. 

Narcissa Black Malfoy was many things. She was a daughter, a sister, and a cousin. She was a wife, and new mother. She was a Slytherin, a noble woman, and a powerful witch.

Narcissa Black Malfoy was extremely loyal. And it was this last trait that cost Narcissa her life. 

Continue to the finale here.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fic #marauders x reader #first wizarding war #first wizarding war fanfic #reader insert #escapism #self insert #canon divergence #hurt/comfort #sirius black hurt/comfort #sirius black one shot #sirius black blurb #sirius black ficlet #werewolf mcswearwolf #remus lupin swears a lot it's canon #regulus black #regulus makes his appearance #sirius is not well #thoughts and prayers #narcissa malfoy #narcissa black #baby Draco Malfoy

[melukonova]

LOVING SEPHIROTH, sephiroth x reader.

tw. mentions of his hurtful past, emotional abuse that miniroth didn't deserve :( this post can be seen as suggestive but it's left mostly to your interpretation

a/n. for @silverflqmes , my best friend who has inspired me to write yet again for something i love and for writing various requests for me, indulging me in my own happiness. you are never leaving this deep hole of ff7 that i dug for you AHAHAHAH! this is also for the many fans who have made fanfics and such that have shaped me now<3 much love to you all! (i will make more headcanons if this gets love) also sephiroth might be a little ooc since he's new territory of writing for me :,)

info. very lovable and soft sephiroth<3 very short blurbs! inspired by the song everything by lifehouse, i can see him relating about you, the reader, and how he feels for you. enjoy! pre-nibelheim!!!

𐚁. sephiroth's love language can be seen as quality time as seen with the time he spent with genesis and angeal, he grew very attached easily. i can see this in a similiar way since i'm sure once you've caught sephiroth's eye, you're happily in his heart. he enjoys just being together, perhaps he'll teach you how to use masamune (a toy version at least since he wants to protect you from injuries). don't get me wrong, every other love language applies for him too but i know he's happiest with the fact that you're there by his side.

𐚁. he is very awkward with affection so the first time you hold him, i think he wouldn't know what to do but he'll awkwardly pat your back while trying not to freak out a bit by being touched since he was experimented on as a child. please teach him how to love, he didn't get enough as kid... i think being patient with him would also warm his heart with you as well. he isn't the best with people, just in using his sword... which is why it's an anomaly to him if you stuck around for this long.

𐚁. indulging ellie on this one: sephiroth with a kitten. he probably is the one to adopt a kitten out of the two of you except what you didn't expect was him to basically mother the kitten. i think his wounds are still healing from the fact that the locket of his mother was torn away from him.. but you guys both loved that kitten very much, naming saikou which means radiance. it is the radiance of both of your lives and definitely a way to heal from your guys' pain, whatever it may be from your end but i know sephiroth suffers from loneliness and feeling not good enough. he feels this much less because of you though and of course, saikou. saikou is now your love rival... the kitty is his precious baby but you are his most prized treasure.

𐚁. while i said quality time is his favorite love language, i think that he likes physical affection as well since he never really knew what it's like to be loved. he wanted to learn though as well as learn to love you which led to teaching him how to cuddle. still very awkward, he's trying his very hardest as he pats your head and encases you into his body. eventually it led to couch cuddles every time he came home from work, he won't say it out loud but this is his favorite part of being able to be with you. he is so beyond smitten.

𐚁. as sephiroth had been in SOLDIER all of his life, he's not completely sure the best way to comfort you on many things but what he can do is to give you a better night! he'd come home with flowers since somehow zack had talked him into buying flowers from his girlfriend, what can i say? zack was a persuasive businessman and sephiroth had no clue how to be a good boyfriend. he'd probably panic if he couldn't make you feel better, he just wants you happy and would slay his enemies (those who wronged you). he'd indulge you in just about anything that you wanted to do between him trying on your favorite dress, self-care day with face masks, kisses all over to make you less insecure or just to feel more loved, an ice cream date, etc. you name it and it's done. he'd even sneak you into the training room on the SOLDIER floor to take you on a loving date with an even more beautiful sunset but all he could see was his sun, you.

𐚁. you already know his hair care routine since it was leaked from your mail, did i mention you were apart of sephiroth's fan club? he uses a WHOLE bottle of shampoo and conditioner. one day you had to braid his hair, adding in flowers to his hair as you braided it. he loved it since it kept his face clear for combat, meanwhile genesis and angeal snickered at him since his s/o made him look all pretty so none of his enemies would take him seriously. masamune said differently than his hair did. if somebody ruined the artwork of your braiding? they ALSO had a date with masamune.

𐚁. he doesn't like a lot of attention as many would say since he is so famous. this is the big question, how did you enter his life in comparison to the fangirls? you understood him. it was a new feeling for him and he didn't know how much he would end up loving it. no thirsting over how hot he was or saying how strong he had been. just a simple: "i know you've been working hard for so long, you deserve some rest," was enough to make him moved by you. nobody could compare to you in his innocent heart. he was so new to every experience, every hug, every kiss, and every touch you gave him. each time was something new that he had learned to love about you and eventually love about himself as well. you helped him to understand he was more than a monster, more than a soldier, more than just a test subject.

𐚁. what you hadn't expect is to find a loving sephiroth in the kitchen with you, holding you close to him as you listened to italian cooking music (the pasta addict in me thinks he'd want to learn more about pasta and its origin). his head was leaning down towards yours while staring down at your lips as you both had been swaying. his hand had been on your waist and the other had been moving up from your shoulder, over your neck slowly with care, to your soft cheek. capturing you in his lips, the water had boiled over but he didn't care at that moment. the thing he clung onto most was this moment because at this moment, sephiroth just knew. he was in love and he finally felt free as he deepened the kiss. he knew where home was and he was kissing his own home, taking in all of what makes you so lovable as well.

melukonova, 2024. 𐀔

#smash bros (🌿) #sephiroth x you #sephiroth x reader #sephiroth ff7 #sephiroth #ff7 x reader #ff7 #ffvii x reader #ngl i can appreciate sephiroth more now cause my bestie open my eyes to the beauty that is analyzing sephiroth

[alpaca-clouds]

Let me use Astarion as an excuse to talk about CPTSD

You know what? I think this might be a good moment to talk about CPTSD and how Astarion really is a textbook example of someone with CPTSD (though it is very likely that basically our entire main cast of characters in BG3 is suffering from it to some degree, they just are less textbook in their presentation).

Let me start with a simple question: What is CPTSD?

CPTSD is the shortened version of Complex PTSD, or rather Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. So, to dumb it down: It is like CPTSD, but it sucks a lot more.

While normally PTSD is caused by one traumatic event (like having a car accident, seeing a loved one die, being subjected to random violence at some point), while CPTSD is caused by a traumatic situation that goes on for a while or repeats several times. In the western world, we see a lot of CPTSD in survivors of parental abuse or intimate partner abuse. Aka, traumatic situations that went on for a longer while. You will also find CPTSD in some people from marginalized groups, as the traumatic situation of discrimination is constantly repeating. And of course you will find it in survivors of war or similar ongoing events.

PTSD will often lead to having triggers related to the trauma, showing avoidance behavior towards possibly triggering situations. It might also lead to flashbacks, nightmares, and a raised awareness/carefulness, often especially regarding relations with other people (though this might depend on the traumatic event it stems from).

CPTSD will have all of that, but often in more complex ways (as a longer experience will allow for complex triggers to develop - and a lot more situa´tions to become triggers as well), but it will also lead to a difficulty to regulate emotions, a general mistrust towards other people, inability to have healthy relationships, prolonged moments of dissociations, a generally negative perception of the world and events, feelings of worthlessness and internalized shame.

It should also be noted that in many cases the symptoms of CPTSD only start showing, once the traumatized person is removed from the traumatizing situation.

Neurally the reason for CPTSD is basically, that the nervous system is put into a prolonged survival mode. Which is also why the symptoms often trigger after the survivor is removed trauma inducing situation.

And, oh look, it is Astarion lol

Looking at the character from this perspetive, you really see pretty much all the symptoms in him.

Does he struggle with regulating his emotions? Fuck yeah, he does. He tries to regulate them, but he very often fails at it.

Does he get triggered by some situations? Yeah, it does. (You get that especially when you play his origin.)

He is super mistrustful towards other people - which is also why he does not intermingle with other people that much.

His view of most things as negative is also fairly clear - I also would argue that his "let's kill some puppies and kittens" behavior is also very closely connected to this.

And that he struggles with feelings of worthlessness and shame is again something that is found in the text.

He really is a very textbook example of CPTSD, which also brings me back to what I already talked about this week: Both CPTSD and PTSD will permanently change the nervous system. Which as far as we know will never quite go away. (Like, not to be a nerd, but there has been some recent research, that has shown that certain medication might permanently eleviate some symptoms - but not heal it totally.) It is basically scars from a nervous injury, if you wanna think of it like that.

You can however learn to live with the symptoms and learn techniques to regulate them. If you have read any of my Tavstarion stories (like this one), I bring some of those techniques into that. Stuff like breathing techniques or techniques to get your brain out of a flashback spiral (like consciously perceiving your surroundings). But to learn to deal with it, you also need to confront the trauma, which is probably the hardest thing to get Astarion to do, because he seems to be very avoidant. Like, his entire "I need to ascend" thingie is all avoidant behavior. Basically, he wants all that power that comes with ascending to prevent him from ever ending up in a situation that would be in any way similar to his trauma again.

But even if he does not ascend, there is a good chance he will still show a lot of avoidant behavior in the future.

When I write him, there is a reason that I do not have him leave home for a good seven months outside of what he has to do (like feeding). Which is very typical avoidant behavior.

The thing is that often trauma and especially CPTSD is not always the very big reactions - though those might be there too - but a lot of those more muted things. Avoiding going outside. Avoiding new situations. Being just a bit anxious. Feeling that nice things are done with bad intentions. Things like that.

Just, you know... A heads up.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #cptsd #cptsd recovery #ptsd #mental health

[yourheart-inmyhands]

I have a requests thats more on the darker side of things, do feel free to ignore it if it makes you uncomfortable.

Do you think any of the yanderes would stright up break their lovers Legs do they can't escape?

If it's not a problem could you do 1 male and 1 female character?

ahh this was so great! there's so many characters i felt could fit this but i went for the two most prominent in my mind at the moment, I would love to revisit this sometime though! :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including bodily harm, intentionally hurting reader, abuse, violence towards reader, delusional behavior, and other potential topics. Please Read At Your Own Risk!

Yandere!Wanderer would have no qualms about breaking your bones. If it meant keeping you tether to his sides, he’d gladly smash any parts of you into bits. He feels a little guilty when he sees you cry, but it’s quickly absolved when he reminds you of why this had to be. It was your own fault for behaving this way, if you had just stayed inside the house where you belonged, then he wouldn’t have to do this. You put him in this position, this is your fault, and now you’re gonna pay the price.

Yandere!Raiden wouldn’t hesitate to shatter your ankles or legs, her face cold and unflinching as he feels the crunch of your bones beneath her feet. She’ll continue to press down on your shattered ankle, using her foot and angling it to cut off as much blood flow as she can. When your feet turn a sickening array of blue and purple, she’ll finally let up, granting you some relief. It doesn’t last long though, as she uses your newfound injury as an excuse to be even closer to you. Always holding you, carrying you everywhere, coddling you as you ‘heal’ from the injury. It’ll never be the same though, she’s made sure of that. But it’s alright, you’ve got all eternity together, and she’ll take care of you every day of it.

#genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x gender neutral reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer x male reader #wanderer x gender neutral reader #yandere wanderer x reader #yandere wanderer x male reader #yandere wanderer x gender neutral reader #raiden x reader #raiden x male reader #raiden x gender neutral reader #yandere raiden x male reader #yandere raiden x gender neutral reader #yandere genshin #yandere wanderer #yandere raiden #genshin yandere #wanderer yandere #raiden yandere

[tunastime]

hello hello! I am insufferable :D (this is really long sorry-)

imagine jimmy and tango so exhausted from rebuilding the ranch and collecting resources for it that the only time they are really together is when they fall into bed and pass out immediately

but jimmy’s hands are still badly burnt from when he was restraining tango, and all that building has Not Helped, but he didn’t stop until tango essentially dragged him away, because of course he felt how much his soulmate was hurting

jimmy kept trying to sneak away when tango wasn’t paying attention (“we don’t have any good armour, we need at least one layer of defence!”) so tango came up with the better plan of just laying on jimmy

it started out as a last-ditch attempt to keep jimmy resting. tango fully expected jimmy to push him off, but instead jimmy just sort of froze in surprise before relaxing into it—it’s at that point where tango realises jimmy is The Most touchstarved person in the world, ever, and will do pretty much anything for cuddles

so what does one do with this information? abuse it, of course!

even after jimmy’s hands have healed (wounds like that heal fast on life games—They find it boring when one person is unable to do anything because of an injury) tango insists on cuddle sessions every afternoon, something jimmy is obviously trying to pretend he doesn’t like as much as he does

tango spends most of the time teasing jimmy about how sweet he is, what with how his will crumbles every time tango asks him for something if he’s holding jimmy’s hand at the same time. so you can imagine jimmy’s delight when he found out tango purrs

they’re especially tired after the whole warden ordeal, both half asleep in each other’s arms. tango has his nose pressed against jimmy’s neck as he rests his head on jimmy’s shoulder, jimmy with his wings around them both.

jimmy blinks sleepily and smiles at tango, who looks like he is about to pass out right there. he moves his head slowly, as to not disturb him, and presses a kiss to his hair.

he almost yelps as he hears a low rumbling, expecting it to be the warden or pearl’s dogs, but as he listens, he realises it’s much too soft to be something aggressive.

for a second, jimmy is utterly confused as to where the noise is coming from. then, he turns back to tango and notices how his throat—currently pressed against his shoulder—has begun to vibrate.

jimmy presses a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing in delight. tango, mr ‘i’m going to bring the warden from the deep dark’, resident redstone mad scientist, creator of decked out, is purring.

“tango,” jimmy whispers gently. “hey, tango.”

tango cracks an eye open, and wow he really is a large cat. “mm?”

“you didn’t tell me you purred.” jimmy grins.

“wha..?” tango does not look awake enough to understand anything.

“you’re purring.”

tango just blinks for a moment, before apparently processing what jimmy just said and going bright pink. “oh! oh, no- I wasn’t- y’see, I just-“

“I kissed your head and you started purring!” jimmy exclaims, partially to tease him and partially because it is, in all honesty, adorable.

“yeah, well,” tango mumbles, trying (and failing) to hide his face. “… shut up.”

“tango, I am never going to shut up about this.”

them <3

HI THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY ASKS FOR MONTHS AND I JUST KEEP RE-READING IT INSTEAD OF POSTING IT.

I don't know if I've ever actually written it, but I'm in love with a tango who purrs. I've assigned this man so many silly cat traits it's starting to get ridiculous. He's got his cat-ish eyes and tail, his purring, his teeth, though there's a special place in my heart for my lovely mutual Theo's hc of something inside him literally glowing, him being toasty warm, and a collective headcanon of him needing his blaze-rod crown to stay energized during the life games. I could go on and on about blazeborn and tango, please hold me back.

And jimmy who won't admit that he enjoys the attention but won't ever say no to it, i adore him. I think about the ranch burning way more than I should for it being a year ago, there's just so much to unpack in relation to what DL was for jimmy as a character.

Also:

mr ‘i’m going to bring the warden from the deep dark’, resident redstone mad scientist, creator of decked out, is purring.

AS HE SHOULD! AS HE SHOULD!! I ADORE HIM.

anyway, I'm still crazy about them! I think about this all the time!! I'm so sorry i didn't get to this ask as soon as you sent it, it's been on my mind since then and i <333

#wren-kitchens #team rancher #text #tangotek #jimmy solidarity #asks #im always going through it about them it seems #THEY ARE SO SOSOSOSOSO #I LOVE THEM SO DEARLY #thank you so much for this!! im sorry it took so long #shout out to shep and theo my enablers for ranchers hcs by accident it seems

[thatfreshi]

A Post-party Interlude (Uni AU P. 19.5)

Hello everyone! Here is an interlude to catch up with our characters after the fated Halloween party, divided by hours of the night.

TW - mentions of self-harm, mentions of grooming, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of alcohol, extensive talk about sexual trauma in the 5AM section

-1 AM, the RU Rooftop, Gale and Shadowheart-

"You want a hit Gale?"

"No, not now."

...

"I'm sorry I dragged you out there like that. You can't just say that kind of stuff about people. Especially not about me."

"That's hardly fair, considering how you've been about Mystra."

"Two entirely different situations."

"Shadow, you're hurting yourself."

"So are you."

...

"I just don't get why you can't be happy for me."

"Because, she doesn't love you. Not like your friends do, not like your mother does, not like I do. I've been your best friend for how long Gale, how long? And you don't trust me on this?"

"But you clearly don't trust me either."

"It's different! Things at the church are very-"

"Very what? Private? Painful? You've been different ever since you stepped foot in that place, and I just stayed quiet. I just never thought it would go this far."

"It's a religious reminder Gale-"

"Bullshit, it's a way for her to control you all."

"And Mystra isn't controlling you?! How you're always on the phone with her at her beck and call? You're no better than me, so don't get on your high horse as if you can judge me. School is hard, studying medicine is hard, I need something."

...

"I can't watch you hurt yourself."

"Then don't. Maybe someone else will get it, but you don't have to. Go cry to your girlfriend about it."

-2AM, Lae, Shadow, and Tav's Dorm, Lae'zel-

(This conversation has been translated from Lae'zel's native language.)

"Yes?"

"You haven't called in a while. You're supposed to call."

"Yes, I know. I've been-"

"Training, right?"

"Of course, what else would I be doing?"

"Really? Because a little birdy told me you've been slacking. You think those 'injuries' are really that serious, don't you? You think you're allowed to make the K'liir family look like this?! We're warriors! You're, a warrior!"

"Of course. I will not disappoint Grandmother. I shall be healed soon."

"Perhaps it should be 'Vlaakith' to you for now, until you can earn the right to call me kin again, if you ever earn it again."

"Yes Vlaakith, I'll call you back soon."

-3AM, Karlach's Dorm, Karlach-

"I know Coach won't stop bothering me about it, but should I really do it? It's tricky I guess, seems more like she's threatening me than anything. Purposefully injuring people in my matches isn't enough for her I suppose. Steroids though? What even are the side effects of that?

...

Aggression, stomach pains, sleep problems... is that really so bad? I have those sometimes. Everyone has a good ol' bout of insomnia from time to time... right?

...

If I don't though, and she kicks me off the team... I can't get kicked off the team, I would lose all my funding, my friends, Shadow... I'm sure it'll be fine, right?

...

Where did she even find these? Are they safe? I mean, she wouldn't want to kill her best wrestler, right? This is to enhance my performance not, uh, de-hance it. So, I guess I just go for it? Maybe one to start, it's not like there directions on this thing right? Nope, thought so.

...

No turning back now I guess. Tell Coach, secure my place here, get to stay with my favorite people in the world... it'll all be perfect.

...

Right?"

-4AM, Wyll's Bedroom, Wyll-

"Deal Wyll Ravenguard, I'm Professor Mizora, although I'm sure you know me more as an administrator. I've seen your work around campus and would love to offer you the opportunity to do more good, especially since your father doesn't get many things moving around this school. Please reach out if you're interested, in haste if you can. I look forward to hearing from you. Best Regards, Professor Mizora.

...

Huh, odd. I've never heard of her before. You think my father would've mentioned her at some point. Then again, he doesn't talk much to me anymore, so I guess not. I cannot believe Astarion said that to me at the party. I mean, he wasn't wrong, but still, how impolite.

...

Maybe I need to hear it though. That perhaps what my father and I had... it's beyond repair. This Mizora character though, she seems to know about how he is now, and she clearly knows about me.

...

Dear Professor Mizora..."

-5AM, Astarion's Dorm, Tav and Astarion-

You wake up to pacing around the wooden floors, trying to turn in a bundle of blankets and sheets that have been strewn about. You sit up and try to wipe at your eyes, only crusted over from a few hours of sleep.

"Aster?"

Your voice comes out a little torn up from laughter and words shared hours prior. You certainly spoke for a long time, and not all of it you can remember. It is him pacing, as you could only assume in your half-asleep state.

"Hm? Oh, I didn't mean to wake you darling. You can go back to sleep."

"Are you alright?"

He pauses, stopping his eyes from darting around for your question.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because, if your pacing woke me up, then it's probably not just for fun."

"No dear, I was simply cleaning a little. I woke up, I figured I'd do something useful with the time."

"Don't start this out this way."

Your sentence comes out more strained that you would've liked, but it's true: you don't want to start things with him with secrets.

"You didn't lie to me before, don't lie to me now."

You pat his side of the bed, beckoning for him to come sit. He follows reluctantly.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

You furrow your brow and pick up a nearby pillow, threatening to start a fluffy fight.

"You know what! C'mon, talk to me."

He sighs, and you put down your weapon.

"Fine, if you insist on being open and honest or whatever... I got a little more drunk at that party than I wanted to admit, especially after I told you I can handle my liquor and all-"

"Out with it Astarion."

"Hey, don't you full name me."

You try not to smile at his banter, but it feels nearly impossible.

"I'm serious, out with it."

He runs his hands through his hair.

"We didn't... we didn't do more than kiss, did we? Ugh, that sounds ridiculous, I sound ridiculous!"

He gets up to anxiously move around again, and you get up to go after him.

"Hey, hey, no, that's not ridiculous! That's not ridiculous at all."

Astarion turns to face you.

"Why do you think that's ridiculous?"

Your question sounds meek, sad.

"You know... I mean I've slept with plenty of people, and I don't really talk about it with you because I didn't want you to see me that way, but I know other people have probably told you, and I know what happened when we met and I-"

You lightly grab his hands.

"Hey, as if I'd listen to other people. The only facts I've ever taken about you, are from you, okay? And sure, I've heard things, but it doesn't matter. And no, we didn't do anything else, and I wouldn't have done anything without your clear consent to do so, I hope you know that."

You gently pull him to sit back down with you on the edge of the bed.

"It just... it wasn't really up to me before. It was a survival tactic, you know? For money, because Szarr told me to... And that night? I only did it because I was scared you'd go off and tell someone the wrong thing at the wrong time, that it would only end up worse for me, and so I did what I always do. I did what I've always been taught to do."

"And you didn't want to do that this time..."

He seems embarrassed, as if he's trying to close up away from you.

"I don't think I've ever really had a healthy relationship with that kind of thing? And I just got really- really scared that I did what I've always done, that I did something I wasn't ready for. That just feels so stupid though."

"Why? Why does not wanting to sleep with me have to be stupid and ridiculous?"

"Because! Because you could go hook up with anyone you want. Everyone at this age, we're all doing it all the time. I'd be the weird one, right? I'd be the weird one, and you'd run off to someone else who actually wants to do something with you and then I would've ruined this before we even started it."

You pause, trying to find words.

"And this is why I didn't want to say anything."

"But if you didn't say anything-"

"Yeah. Yeah, if I didn't say anything, I suppose..."

He starts to choke on the sadness a little, that overwhelming feeling he's been trying to keep bottled up for hours.

"Astarion, look at me."

He does, with a look in his eyes as if he's been punished.

"I would never want you to do something you don't want to do, ever."

"But-"

"Nope, there's nothing else. You just never have to do anything you don't want to, ever again, unless it's like homework, or I don't know... not murder someone? Starting now, your body is entirely yours again, as it always should have been. Okay?"

He wraps his arms around you.

"Okay."

A mumble into your tattered adventurer's shirt from the night before.

"To be very clear though, I still want to kiss you, often."

You laugh as he leaves a kiss on your cheek, still crying some, your face matching.

"Of course."

You go on to talk for a while that evening, about boundaries, about various little things, even about how apparently one time he dyed his hair in middle school. Somehow, you get him to show you a picture. It's one of those nights, or rather, mornings, you know? One of those mornings where you laugh a lot, and then go back to crying, and you share that one traumatic story you thought you'd never remember. He tells you a lot that evening, good and bad, and you share a lot of tears. They're good tears though, tears that mean something. That morning, the good and the bad, it all means something.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #freshiau #angst #comfort

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

cw: mentions of past abuse and injury

May Part One

Golden haze

“It’s fine, it’s just been acting up. A little. Just a little—not like—I can play. It’s just been hurting, just a little.”

Cole wished he could take back at least half of those words as Layla looked over her shoulder at him from the sink in the PT room. “Sorry, didn’t hear you, did you say just a little?” She smiled as she tore off a paper towel to dry her hands with. “Get that look off your face, I was kidding, C.”

Cole smiled, looked down at his knee. “Yeah.”

“Do you know how many of you come in here and say the same thing to me?”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “What do we say?”

“You tell me something’s wrong, first of all.” Cole watched her as she flicked some of her braids behind her shoulder, a few of the gold rings in them flashing in the harsh ceiling lights. “And then you tell me how little of a wrong it is.”

“Okay…”

“But then you tell me something’s wrong again. You know, in case I forgot.”

Cole smiled. “We’re that simple, huh?”

“Not at all.” She looked down at Cole’s knee, reaching out to hold around the cap of it gently. Cole noticed she’d removed her rings. “Because you know what my job is?”

“Helping us?”

“Nope.” She smiled. “Figuring out which part of the act you’re lying during. The hurt-hurt, or the just-a-little.”

“We sound difficult,” Cole said wryly.

“You are. You know who’s the worst?”

“Hm?”

“Remus.”

Cole laughed. “No. I don’t believe that.”

He winced a little at the movement of her fingers and she did it again before motioning him to bend it.

“Cross my heart,” she said.

“But he was—he was you. Shouldn’t he know better than to hide it?”

“Sometimes we become what we need. You know that expression?” When Cole shook her head she continued, reaching down to flex his ankle. “Planners need surprises, the care-takers need taking-care-of. Explainers need help.” She raised a shoulder. “PTs need to be told to rest when they’re hurt.”

“Loops isn’t hurt, is he?”

“Well, he’s got that shoulder of his.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the scar.”

Layla nodded. “When it comes to putting metal in, or pins…Stuff like that never really goes away.”

“Guys like to trade stories,” Cole said, and gestured to his own cheek, where he had a nasty scar from a puck just on the underside his chin. He’d been young (younger, Thomas would have said. You’re still young, Twenty.) and stupid and hadn’t let it heal well. “You know, about scars and stuff. But not Loops. I asked once.”

“Well…it’s not just a scar, I guess.” Layla said. “I mean, it was career ending. For a long time. It’s probably painful to talk about.”

“It happened in college, right, I know,” Cole said, and then, after a moment, “you ever notice how much he hates Grayback?”

Layla looked over at him. “Easy guy to hate.”

“Yeah, but, I was just thinking about it because we’re up against them in the first round. And one time we were all at lunch—beginning of the season—I mean not all of us, some of us. Anyway, sorry. Anyway, and I said this thing about how good Grayback was and everyone, like, froze up. I remember because I felt so awkward after. And then when we matched up with Vegas this season, there was all this…I don’t know, they all hate him. Like Cap, Thomas, Tremzy, all they wanted to do was fight him and Loops kept telling them not to.”

“Well…Okay?” Layla said. “And?”

Cole scooted forward on the examination table. “I’ve watched the clips, though.”

Layla unlaced his shoe, sliding it off easily before straightening his leg and flexing his foot. “God, you really are a tape-junkie, huh. How’s that feel?”

Cole shrugged, as if it were a given. “Hurts a little. Not gonna lie. But—anyway, Loops was incredible, even in his last game, and then he gets hit—by Grayback.”

“Grayback? I thought they were teammates.”

“They were,” Cole said. “Grayback hit his own guy. And it’s not a clean hit, it takes Remus a long time to get up, Grayback tries to play it off like an accident but then Remus doesn’t come back—at all. And that’s that.”

Layla frowned. “A hit?”

“Yeah,” Cole said.

“Remus’ injury isn’t…” Layla stood up, words trailing into a thoughtful expression.

“Isn’t what?”

Layla was quiet for a long moment, then waved a hand at Cole. “Take out your phone. Show me the clip.”

“It isn’t what, Layla?”

“I’m not talking about his injury with you, just show me the clip.”

Cole frowned but pulled out his phone. He tried to keep his breathing normal as Layla came to lean against the table next to him, their faces close.

He didn’t know what she was looking for, but Layla watched intensely, lined eyes narrowed at the screen. The video played it four times, and Cole winced at the third, and looked away for the last time, which was in slow motion. He didn’t like to watch the way a much younger Remus’ head snapped back when his own teammate, his teammate hit him a hard and high, mid-ice. It was unimaginable.

“What do they call it?” Layla asked, looking up from the screen. “Like actually, what do they call it when they say later why he hadn’t returned.”

“Upper body. They say it happened when Grayback hit him. Grayback even talks about it in a post-game interview, about how guilty he feels.”

“And Remus?” Layla asked. “What does he say after?”

“He didn’t,” Cole said. “He doesn’t say anything. They say he’s in the hospital recovering. And then he just…doesn’t recover.”

“He was going to go number one,” Layla said. “They didn’t follow up with him? How?”

“He was going to go number one,” Cole said. “And then he didn’t. People tend to move onto the next ‘great one’ around here. I know we’re all sitting next to Sirius Black and it seems like we couldn’t forget him, but if this had happened to Sirius…we would have.” Cole offered a one sided, sad smile. “It’s why this is so scary.”

“Hm.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Layla. It’s me.”

It’s me. What the hell had he meant by that? He didn’t have any reason to say that to her. They’d shared moments, of course, and they hung out with the Dumais kids, but they were rarely alone. They weren’t best friends or anything. They weren’t close in the way that he was becoming with his new teammates. Thomas, Olli, Jackson and, well, he had been getting a little close with Logan. He’d walked into the locker room the first day after his trade and was surprised to see how much he noticed he wasn’t there. Missed him, even.

But Layla was still someone he felt comfortable with. And that was pretty rare for Cole.

“I’m not telling you nothing because I don’t think I can trust you, I just don’t think we should speculate. That’s all.” Layla sighed. “Obviously, yes, something did happen. But it’s painful, and sounds complicated, and…” She gestured between the two of them. “Us? We’re the rookies. We haven’t been here.”

Cole paused. “Yeah. Sorry, yeah. I know. I don’t know why I’m…I think he only really talks to Thomas about it. I mean, Cap, of course, but Thomas, too.”

Layla shrugged. “Thomas is easy to talk to.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Cole said. “Um. Yeah. Thomas is, yeah.”

“Like…about how I’m your girl?” Layla asked, smile forming on her face.

Cole would have been happy to swallow his own tongue—even if he could tell she was also trying to change the subject on him. He had a vivid, horrible flash of shushing Thomas at the airport. “You…you heard that?”

“I don’t think Thomas Walker knows how to speak quietly.”

Cole sat up, not caring even a little about his knee now. “Oh my God. Layla—no, I never said that to anyone—”

But she just laughed. “Cole, I’m joking. Relax, you’re gonna pull a muscle or something. Lay down.”

Cole felt a little dizzy as he lay back and stared up at the white ceiling. He could feel AC coming in from the vent, lukewarm and needless.

“Why not?” Layla asked after a moment of prodding at his leg.

“What?” He didn’t dare look down at her. Was he sweating now? God, he was. Not that it would bother her but—but this wasn’t—this was different. This felt different.

“Why don’t you say I’m your girl?”

Cole let out a slow breath. “Layla…”

“I’m just messing,” Layla said. “Sort of.”

Cole did look at her this time. “Oh, so does it hurt-hurt or not-hurt?”

That made her laugh, really laugh, palms pressed to his thigh, and all Cole wanted was to do that again. To make her laugh like that again. Instead, he took a breath and tried for some honesty—even if it could hurt-hurt. He sat up again, letting her hands slide away from his leg as he faced her, still siting on the examination table. Layla was tall to begin with, and like this they were eye to eye.

“I thought you just saw me as…you know. The rookie. I know I’m not—like, outgoing.” His eyes darted away, then back, then away again. “Or—like so many of these guys can just hold the fucking room, you know? I know I’m quiet. And you’re not, you can talk to anyone you want, anywhere.”

Layla just looked at him for a long moment, long enough that he cleared his throat and laughed awkwardly, feeling his face get hot. When she reached out a traced a finger over the line he had shaved in his eyebrow, his heart all but stopped.

“Why don’t you come over tonight for dinner after the game. My apartment. You can even help me study if you want to.”

“You’re not at Dumo’s tonight?” he managed to say. Cole, secretly, loved when Layla was at the Dumais house with him. They never did anything—God forbid he ever be caught a situation like that by Pascal fucking Dumais—but they played with the kids, and ate dinner, and sat next to each other while the kids kicked up a fuss over what movie to watch. Held hands under the blanket sometimes, which was nice, but also sent half of Cole’s brain into a spiral of is my palm sweaty? Did I put deodorant on after practice? Did I Am I Did I Could I Should I—

“Nope.” Layla leaned a little closer. It put her right between his thighs.

Cole’s eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes.They hadn’t kissed. It was game-day, her brown eyes were lined in black and gold, gorgeous against her dark brown skin. They hadn’t kissed. Yet?

“So, you have a big test tomorrow?”

Layla smiled. “Nope.”

“Are you just trying to torture me?”

“Yes.”

“Will we…study?”

“We’re going to cook dinner, Reyes.”

“Oh.” Cole smiled. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? Sound okay?” Her eyes dropped to his mouth, just for a moment.

Cole vaguely wondering if he was about to get that kiss. “Layla.”

“Reyes.”

“What do you need?”

Layla smiled at having her words given back to her, but gave a slight shake of her head. “I don’t know yet. Patience, I guess.”

Cole nodded. “Yeah.” He could be that. “Okay. Dinner, then.”

“How does the knee feel now? Think you can play Vegas?”

“I can play.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. No hurt-hurt, just wanted some—uh, maintenance.”

Layla smiled. “Round one. This is my first ever NHL playoffs, you know.”

“Better make it a good one then. Just for you, of course.”

Layla laughed. “Yeah. Just for me.”

~

“Round one, baby!” Thomas’ voice echoed through the locker room but Remus barely heard it. He’d seen the Golden Knights arrive on twitter, and was pleased to find that he didn’t have that same rattled feeling that he had grown used to settling in his chest at the very sight of Grayback. It wasn’t a triumph exactly. He still never looked directly at his scar in a mirror. When he woke up on especially cold days to it aching and stiff, the frustration burned up in him just as strongly as before. But the sight of Grayback’s face didn’t turn his stomach anymore.

“Home ice advantage,” Sirius said as he and Thomas high-fived, and Remus looked up at them. He watched the way Sirius smiled and laughed easily at something Thomas had said. He wouldn’t have done that last year. Sirius would have been zeroed in so hard it hurt.

“Do you notice,” Sirius said to Remus across the empty stalls between them. “That I am not asking if you’re okay every two seconds?”

Remus laughed. “Yes. I noticed. But in case you were wondering…I am. Really.”

Sirius smiled, pressed a kiss to his fingers and then reached it out towards Remus, only for it to be intercepted by Thomas, sitting down in his stall. He grabbed Sirius’ hand and pressed it against his own chest.

“Wow, thank you, Cap, I needed that.”

Sirius just rolled his eyes.

“Hey, that was for me,” Remus said.

“Intercepted.”

They both looked up when the locker room door open, only for Finn to come in, followed by a camera and holding a microphone.

“Merde, not one of these.” Sirius sank back into his stall. “Isn’t the Showtime thing enough?”

Remus laughed. “I think the Showtime documentary is going to be a little bit higher in quality. This looks like it’s just to torture you a little bit extra.”

“Hello and welcome to the room where it happens,” Finn said to the camera brightly. “This is an episode of In The Lion Den, and it’s me, hi, Finn O’Hara. We’re gonna ask the boys some playoff related questions and…” Finn smiled as he looked around behind the camera. “They’re all hiding from me now because I said that. Hey, Knuter-butter. Yeah, yeah, yeah, here I come, baby.” He did a mock little jog towards Leo.

“No,” Leo said, and Remus laughed as Finn sat down in his own stall beside Leo’s anyway, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Hello, lover.” Finn grinned, and Remus had the briefest flash of alarm before he remembered. He caught Sirius’ eye, who smiled.

“Look at me,” Finn was saying, giving Leo a jostle. “Bothering a goalie before a game.”

“Kasey’s in,” Leo said pointedly.

“So, what you’re saying is I’m allowed to bother you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Great. So, Leonardonius. Tell us…” Finn looked down at the card in his hand. “Tell us your favorite pre-game meal.” Finn sent a smile to the camera. “I know this one.”

“Say it at the same time,” Leo said.

Finn laughed. “Okay, yeah. Okay, three, two, one, pasta with chicken and peppers—yes.”

“Yes, you know me so well,” Leo said, then mockingly rolled his eyes at the camera.

“Oh, but I do.” Finn ruffled Leo’s hair—and friendship still lingered in the gesture. Remus remembered breaking that habit, especially in public. It was hard. It was working against forced instinct. Finn seemed to remember at the last moment, and let his hand cup the back of Leo’s neck briefly as he looked back down at his cards. “Okay, next question—especially interesting one for a goalie. If you could score a goal with any one of your teammates—I assume that means playing on the same line, then?—Who would you choose?”

Leo saw the opportunity and took it. He looked up, as if thinking hard. “Hmm…”

Finn bonked the microphone on his own forehead as he seemed to force himself to be quiet for as long as he could. Finally, he broke with a huff. “Really? Really? I am sitting right here.”

“I can see that, I’m just thinking.” Leo’s smile was playing around his mouth, his fingers messing with Logan’s necklace around his neck. “Hmm, let’s see…how about…”

Finn leaned forward, as if trying to block Leo’s view of the rest of the room.

“Let’s go with…” Leo said, looking at Finn now and grinning, their noses close together. “Bliz.”

Finn scoffed, pressed his palm over Leo’s face and pushed it gently away, making Leo laugh. “Bye, Knut. Captain!”

“Non,” Sirius said, and was out of his stall before Remus could blink.

“Oh, come on, Black!” Finn called after him. “No fun!” He sighed and looked at the camera. “Sorry, guys. But I guess we all know his superstitions, right?” Finn pointed at Remus. “Right, Lupin?”

“Mhm,” Remus hummed noncommittally, bending down to tape his sock.

“All right, Loops,” Finn said. He slid into the empty stall to Remus’ right. Remus sighed but smiled, crossing his arms.

“Yes?”

“What, you don’t want to talk to me?” Thomas asked, pressing an offended hand to his chest.

“You’re next, T, you’re next.” Finn cleared his throat. “Okay, Loops. Let’s see…” He scanned his cards. “Do you have a prediction for how many games this series against Vegas is going to go?”

“God no,” Remus said. “Why would I ever say something like that out loud?”

“T?” Finn held the microphone out to Thomas—much too close to his mouth.

“Can you back that thing up?” Thomas said. “Yes, thank you.” He looked right at the camera. “Hello. What is it thou beith my question?”

“Same question.”

“I’m not answering that in a thousandth of years. Next.”

“Fine. What’s the most important thing you do before a game?”

“Call my girlfriend.” He winked at the camera. “What’s up, Christmas?”

“Daww,” Finn laughed. “Very cute. Logan Tremblay’s sister, for those who don’t know.”

Thomas held out a fist. “Gotta love those Tremblay’s, eh?”

“Tell me about it,” Finn said, and bumped his own fist to Thomas’.

Remus laughed loudly, drawing the camera onto himself, only for it to follow his gaze to where Sirius was peaking his head back around the corner. “Is it safe?”

“Cap, come here.” Finn slapped his own thigh. “Come here, sit on my knee and let me tell ya a story.”

“Non.” Sirius did walk back into the room, though. He wasn’t dressed yet, still in only his  leggings and shorts. Remus took a moment to admire the way the 12 pendant glinted against the strong muscles of his chest.

Finn held up a finger. “One question! One.”

Sirius sighed but let Finn jog up to him. He plucked the question card out of Finn’s hand and scanned them quickly before pointing. “Only that one.”

Finn snorted, sent the camera a look. “Fine. Oh, come on, really? Okay, fine. All right, Captain, let’s see, which question shall I choose…ah. This question looks good. What is your preferred pre-game song choice?”

Sirius smiled right into the camera when he said, “I don’t listen to music before a game.”

Finn rolled his eyes, nearly tilting back his entire head. “How interesting. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Sirius said. He patted Finn on the back before going to take his place in his stall again.

The camera went around to a few of the other guys. Remus liked the little segments, it was funny to watch the guys having fun—Evgeni putting a sweaty towel over Finn’s head, Finn going back to ask Leo another question four times—but he was glad for the pressure to be relieved when the cameras turned off. The Showtime crew had been in and out for the last couple days, pulling them aside for interviews with a bright ring light and a guy sitting in a chair asking them questions. Cliff, his name was, or something like Cliff. It was tiring, though, choosing your words carefully. Sirius came back looking drained each time. Remus had stumbled on something-like-Cliff and his crew watching a playback of one of Sirius’ interviews. He hadn’t caught much, he hadn’t wanted them to notice him listening, but he’d heard enough to understand Sirius’ quiet, locked-up posture. How do you think your parents feel about having a two-time Cup champion in the family? That’s more than your father.

Remus could have killed them. Didn’t they fucking know better?

But, even still. When he’d asked Sirius about it, all he had said was, “It went fine.” Remus was still trying to figure out if this was a moment to push, or to let Sirius come to him.

He was glad, at least, that they were starting the playoffs on home ground. It was their people out there, a sea of red who held grudges just as fiercely as their Captain did. Not to mention, if there was one team that Gryffindor held a rivalry with that was equal to the one with the Snakes, it was Vegas.

He went through his routine. He found himself missing Logan while he was warming up on the bikes, wishing for his calm presence beside him. He missed the way Logan would check quietly that he was okay, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He stretched out on the mats with Thomas, and went into the equipment room to sharpen his skates one last time. He rubbed his thumb along the sharp, even blade after, and he did feel calmer. Ready.

Coach’s talk was brief—they were all playing well. Remus had a steady point streak that had ended last game, but he wasn’t worried about rekindling it. Finn had shaken off the stupor that Logan’s absence had tripped him into. Sirius was murderous around the net, Evgeni drew penalties almost every time they needed them. Thomas pinched in and cut off good plays—he’d do the same to Vegas. And Kasey. Kasey was fighting through his pain in a way that Remus, had he not known about it, wouldn’t have been able to see. It was the very thing they had agreed on hating most about hockey, but it was necessary. At least for now. Kasey was doing so well, though, and Remus couldn’t help but be thrilled about it, even if it did keep Leo on the bench more games than not. There was always a chance, and a rather high one, too, that Leo would, like last year, suddenly find himself in the starting slot.

Remus looked over at Kasey now, strapping on his pads, white and maroon, hair kept out of his face by a ball cap. He wanted these last games, Remus knew, no matter how many there were. It could be four. Could be seven. Or they could take this thing all the way to the end. Back to back Cups.

Sirius was in his usual place by the door soon enough, the cameras honed into every bit of encouragement he gave, every smile or head tap he delivered. He looked good and ready, helmet shading his eyes a bit, even with the extra lights the Showtime crew had brought. Sirius changed shapes, just a little, for each player he greeted. He didn’t become different exactly, but he was quieter with James—who was loud—and gave specific encouragement to Cole—who ate it up and would no doubt do his best to carry Sirius’ words through at some point during the game. Remus waited his turn behind Thomas, who jumped up to bump chests with Evgeni before tapping helmets with Sirius.

Remus felt it when the cameras went to his face. He didn’t like it, but he liked that they couldn’t control what he and Sirius gave them. It wasn’t the same as a press conference, where they had no control over some lame rookie-reporter asking whether or not they brought the game home, or brought home life into the game.

Remus held out his fist as usual, and watched Sirius shift into what he considered his Sirius. Smile lines and shoulders not as tall and broad, but curving down into Remus, chin ducking down, too, as if to put them into their own little bubble of space. People were always hoping for some sign of a divide between them, some slip up in their professional lives that they could somehow blame on their personal ones. But instead, they got this. Sirius Black, on a characteristically long hot streak right now, smiling gently down at Remus and bumping his hand over Remus’ heart.

“Okay,” Sirius said simply. Maybe they couldn’t help their smiles, but their words would stay their own. Remus knew what he really wanted to say, and he brought their visors together in a gentle knock.

“Let’s take this one.”

And just like that they passed each other, Sirius with a glove briefly on Remus’ back. Remus heard some cameras flash as Sirius followed him—man, did they love that shot of their numbers and names across their shoulders, one after another. How many times could someone take the same picture?

Remus could hear the opening video booming through the walls. A compilation of that season’s best scores. Black steals it right from between—Potter digging deep out in the high ice—Oh, what a pass from Tremblay to O’Hara—Kasey Winter, the Great Blizzard! Can’t drive through him, no sir! It gave him a jolt when he heard his own name. Lupin! It’s a power play goal!

He realized that his heart was pounding, and as they came out of the tunnel to spill onto the ice, the crowd went wild. The fact that this was real clicked into place all over again. He’d been realizing and re-realizing ever since he’d signed his NHL contract (with a pen that he kept in his bedside drawer and looked at sometimes.) He was a top six starter for a play-off team in the National Hockey League.

This was real, despite the face and number looming at him in gray and gold from across the ice. He no longer felt like he was skating out on the ice to play against Fenrir Grayback. He felt like he was going out, with his team, to play the Vegas Golden Knights.

Back here again, Lee! Good Lord, was the stadium this loud when you were a Lion?

Ha! Gryffindor fans have always been passionate. But all that goes to say, I’m no Sirius Black. There’s the Captain now, at the end of the line, as usual, behind Lupin. Falling into stride with his long-time line mate, James Potter.

Oh, I met his son, Harry, earlier. Adorable.

Did you? That kids gonna be trouble when he’s older if he’s anything like his old man.

That’s for sure. Welcome in to Game Night in Gryffindor everyone, as we begin game one of the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. The Lions take on Mark Stone and his Vegas Golden Knights tonight. These two teams have a lot of history, don’t they, Lee?

Oh, you can say that again. The highlight on your screen right now is just one of the nasty fights that have broken out between these two teams.

I wouldn’t so much call it a fight as Fenrir Grayback getting what’s coming to him. No doubt Lion fans still have some words for him tonight, leftover from last season.

Ha! Would you now?

The kid’s got a temper on him that’s for sure.

Can’t say you’re wrong about that. Should make for an interesting series. The Knights have been a sorry victim to injury this season. Grayback was out for almost a month with an upper body, a few other guys with lingering issues. We’ll see how they hold up against the Lions tonight, eh?

We will. The Lions have remained fairly healthy for the most part. We’ll see.

“Think he’ll try and say hello again?” Thomas asked as he and Remus dropped out of the skate around. Remus could feel a welcomed burn of warmth in his muscles.

It was a long road ahead, but Remus was familiar with those.

“Not if I can help it,” Remus said, sliding up to the boards for some water. He wanted the National Anthem to be done with already. He wanted the puck to drop. But he took his time looking over at the other side. His heart startled a little when he noticed one player, hovering near the center ice line. Grayback, he thought instantly, tensing up.

But no. It wasn’t Grayback. Grayback was by the goal, not even looking at Remus’ side of the ice.

Théo Angevine, number 8, was standing there, passing a puck to himself lightly between one side of his stick to the other. He glanced over at them once. Twice. Towards Sirius. When he noticed Remus’ gaze with his calm brown eyes, he turned away.

Sirius had never so much as mentioned Théo’s name before that story about his pre-game tradition. Remus’ heart tugged at the image of a small Sirius, gray eyes going wide at an act so simple as someone offering him half of a sandwich. Even more simple—that sandwich tasting sweet. So desperate for a bit of softness in his life that he would settle for just a taste of it. He never mentioned anything, really, that came before the Lions. His family. The most Remus had ever gotten about it was a sense of how horrible it had been, but that was mostly what he picked up from body language. He knew there had been physical abuse. He knew that he had been driven harder than a work horse. He knew Sirius’ darkest moment had been needing to leave Regulus behind.

It occurred to Remus that maybe it wasn’t only that Sirius didn’t mention it. Maybe Remus himself was too careful about not asking.

Sirius was a very carefully aligned person. The superstitions were only the tip of the iceberg.

“Jeez,” Thomas said, coming to stand beside Remus. “What are you thinking about with a face like that?”

Remus looked at him. He shouldn’t be thinking about this now. This was maybe one of the most important games in his career. And Sirius seemed okay. Joking around the locker room. He hated the Showtime interviews, that was all. He didn’t like cameras in the locker room, Remus could see that much. He’d kicked them out a few times already, claiming a player’s only meeting, only to sit back down in his stall and go about business as usual, only with his shoulders considerably more relaxed.

“Nothin’,” Remus said, then nudged Thomas. “The goal we’re gonna score tonight.”

“Excuse me, that would be goals, plural.”

Remus smiled. “That a promise?”

“Sure is.”

Remus just laughed, but he let his eyes wander back over to the Golden Knights. To Théo. He was skating mostly by himself, handling a puck deftly with his head down.

Sirius skated to a hard stop in front of him and reached up a glove to gently turn Remus’ face towards his own. Remus couldn’t help but smile. Sirius thought he was looking for Grayback.

“Eyes on me, mon loup,” Sirius said.

Remus tapped a glove to Sirius’ chest. “Always.”

“You know what I want to do?” Sirius said as he squirted some water into his mouth.

“Hm,” Remus said, eyes flicking momentarily back to the gray and gold jersey.

“I want to get a tattoo,” Sirius said.

Remus’ head wasn’t the only one that snapped towards him. Cole looked up, James and Thomas, too.

Thomas laughed. “All right, Cap.” He nudged Cole. “Me and twenty know a great place.”

“Tattoo…” James said from Remus’ other side, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Should I also get a tattoo?”

“What?” Remus shook his head, caught off guard. “You want what? Of—of what?”

“Of my wedding ring,” Sirius said. He tapped his ring finger through his thick glove. “Can’t wear it while I play.”

Sirius said no more, just patted Remus’ helmet then skated away to trace the Gryffindor logo.

Finn leaned over from a few slots down the bench and whistled to get Remus’ attention before sending him a grin and a wink. “That’s what we boys like to call distraction.”

Remus stared at him for a moment, then laughed, looking back out onto the ice. Sirius was still looking at him, mouthguard hanging out between his teeth as he smiled.

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Right…”

~

Logan pressed his knee out in front of him in a stretch, forearms down on the matt and head bowed. His headphones were loud in his ears, cranking the playlist that he shared with Finn and Leo. They’d been finding things that helped close the distance, and Logan hadn’t thought Leo’s idea to share music would help much, but that was before his heart gave an excited kick each time a notification popped up that a new song had been added.

There was a scuff on his head, knocking his hat askew and getting his attention. Logan looked up to see Luke sitting down on the mat beside him. He pushed his headphones around his neck.

“Sup,” Luke said.

Logan shrugged. “Fucking Bruins.”

“Amen.” Luke got down into the same stretch. He had a blue sweatshirt on, and a backwards cap. His short brown hair stuck out over the adjustable bar. “The fuck is this? Pigeon pose, or something like that?”

Logan snorted and pushed up onto his palms, feeling the stretch on his core. “Ouais? Don’t know why though.”

Luke gave him a rare smile and tucked the ties of his sweatshirt away so they didn’t get beneath his arms. “So. We’re on the same line.”

“We were good in practice.”

They had been great in practice. It was the closest thing Logan could think of to playing with Finn. Not even playing with Sirius had felt that good. They were too similar, both too hungry for the puck. Luke was different. As soon as he had the puck, he didn’t try for movement like Sirius did. He was incredible at keep-away, though, and that bought him all the time in the world to asses which lanes were open, to see all of his options. Logan, like with Finn, was good at being just where Luke needed him to be. Plus, they were friends now. Logan hadn’t been sure in the beginning, but the second Logan had poked fun at him—just a little, testing the waters with a jab at the way he skated—Luke and given him a hard shove and went after him about his height. And that had been that.

“Yeah,” Luke said. “We were good.”

He sounded hesitant, though, which sent an entire new avalanche of worried, insecure thoughts through Logan’s head. The kind that came with new friends. Each step could feel like the wrong one—especially when you wanted that other person to like you. Logan had had those his entire life. It could be terribly difficult to remember to just be himself and not only try to please the other person. He’d learned a lot from Finn and Leo in that regard.

“Is that…okay?” Logan asked hesitantly. He almost hadn’t. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if the answer was no, at least not tonight.

“Yeah, of course,” Luke said. “I was just thinking…we could be playing your boys in the second round. If we win out against Boston.”

Logan arched a brow. “The Lions aren’t my boys anymore.”

“I know,” Luke said. “I meant your boys.”

“Oh.” Logan couldn’t help but smile. Your. “Right. Ouais, we could.”

“We’ll be playing for the Cup. Trying to knock them out.”

“I know,” Logan said.

“I just…I want to make sure…”

Logan turned to look at him. He paused the music that was still coming through softly from his headphones. “Are you asking me if I can play against them?”

“No. God, Jesus, no.” Luke shook his head. The wedge of green in his brown eyes looked especially bright tonight. “I’m just saying—I know it’s hard for you. I’ll like—I’ll be on the ice. I know we practiced it where you’re the one who takes shit to goal, but…I can get up the ice instead. If you ever need me to.”

Logan froze, then realized his leg was beginning to ache in this position and pushed himself up. Luke followed, brown eyes…amused, maybe.

“Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Sorry,” Logan said. “Sorry I said…I didn’t mean that you’d think I can’t…”

“It’s okay. I understand. The media goes after you enough for that storyline, you don’t need it from me. Normally it’s just guys switching teams. You’re just dumb enough to have fallen in fucking love with yours.”

Logan couldn’t help the laugh that startled out of him. It was still such a surprise, and so nice, to hear things like that in normal conversation. Percy leaning over the back of the bus seat and ask him which of his lover boys he was texting, and if it was Finn to type something strange and nonsensical like yellow hi!! Morgan asking what Logan was up to this summer, and if he wanted to bring Finn and Leo around to his place in Miami some time.

Logan had never had the chance to use the term we like this before. We’ll be in France for July, but what about August? We’re talking about training in New Orleans for a week or two. Or, when Zibanejad asked after his favorite restaurant in Gryffindor, we love this place called Sid’s, we’ll take you out some time.

We we we we we.

He was sure Finn and Leo were feeling the same, but the we that Luke was talking about was entirely different. There was the bigger we, the hockey we. The team.

We could be playing against Logan, had no doubt crossed Finn and Leo’s mind. We might have to take a Cup chance from Logan.

“Thanks,” Logan said. “Really. Merci, that means a lot.”

Luke just shrugged in his typical way that Logan was coming to interpret as meaning the same thing as a big smile from Leo, or a little shake of the shoulders from Finn.

“I just know it’d be hard,” Luke said.

Logan nodded. He was tempted to ask him about Saint, but he didn’t. He tried to picture someone, a new person especially, asking him about Finn or Leo before they had come out, and flinched. He wouldn’t ask. Luke would have to come to him.

“What?” Luke said, and Logan realized he had been staring at him.

Logan gave an imitation of Luke’s shrug and pulled Luke’s hat down over his eyes.

“You have resting bitch face,” Logan said.

Luke punched him in the shoulder.

~

Remus lowered himself into the metal tub beside Thomas’, filled to the brim with ice, and let out a shaky breath.

“One down,” Thomas said, flicking through his phone as the ice clinked softly around his body.

“How the fuck do you like these?” Remus could already feel his teeth chattering.

“It’s so relaxing, man,” Thomas said. “Gets the blood flowing, slows my heart, and I wake up good as new in the morning. Fucking love it.”

“My balls feel like they’re going to freeze off.”

Thomas tisked his tongue. “Accept the cold, Lupin. C’mon, you’re a child of real winters! Embrace it.”

Remus tried to relax his neck, to slow his breathing. “I want to embrace a warm towel.”

“Warm towel or warm Sirius?”

“Hm, both.”

Thomas just laughed and then turned his phone to show Remus a video of two puppies.

His body did manage to get more accustomed to it, after another few minutes. He felt his muscles release a little bit, or maybe he was just going pleasantly numb. He opened his eyes when Thomas sighed happily and put his phone down.

“How’s Noelle?”

Thomas grinned and reached up to pass some of the icy water of his head and face, the droplets dewing up like crystals in the tight black curls of his hair. It was the longest Remus had ever seen it, with shaved smooth edges by his temples but longer at the crown. “What gave me away?”

“The heart eyes,” Remus laughed.

“Her season’s over, she’s gonna come stay with me for the playoffs.”

“You guys thinking about moving in together?”

Thomas gave a wavering sort of nod. “Well, as much as we actually can. We lived together last summer but, you know. Different cities and all that.”

“Yeah,” Remus said.

“Wish I’d gotten you one tonight,” Thomas said. “Against Fuckrir Grumpback.”

Remus laughed. “Ah, right that’s his name. I’d forgotten. We have three more games to score.”

“Oh, three is it? Cocky.”

Maybe it made Remus sound a bit more sure than he actually felt, but he was okay with that. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about him that much tonight.”

“Yeah?” Thomas smiled. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Remus looked out over the rest of the recovery room. Kasey with some ice around his thigh, Layla talking softly to him. Finn and Evgeni walking in to tape up some jammed fingers. “Felt funny, though. Like I was forgetting something.”

“Pretty sure that’s something you’re allowed to forget, man.”

“Fuckrir Grumpback?” Remus snorted. “Yeah, I think I can forget him, too.”

Thomas threw his head back and laughed, settling back into the water.

Remus had closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the cold, which had surged back up into his senses again, when Thomas spoke in a low voice.

“Think Kase is gonna make it through?”

Remus had to fight down the urge to open his eyes too quickly. When he did, Thomas was looking at him. He seemed to be actually asking the question, not only posing it to see what Remus might say. His brown eyes turned sad.

“You know something,” Thomas said softly. “Don’t you.”

Remus didn’t say anything, and Thomas sighed but nodded. He looked over at Kasey, who was laughing at something Layla was saying to him.

“I feel like its changing,” Thomas said.

“What?”

“The locker room. You know? You can feel it happening sometimes. Especially after a Cup, that’s what guys say. First Logan. Kasey. God, probably Dumo soon.”

“That’s what happens,” Remus said.

“I know,” Thomas nodded. “God, I know, but I miss it. I miss, like, this time one year ago. I mean, other than you being on the team, of course.”

“You’re sweet,” Remus said wryly.

“But it was all—it was all beginning, it was all happening for the first time.”

“Why is that better?” Remus asked.

“What?” Thomas asked.

“Why is the first time better?”

Thomas smiled. “Are we going philosophical?”

Remus laughed. “Sort of. I mean, some first times are the sloppiest. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“Are you talking about sex?”

That made Remus laugh louder, and he splashed some water at Thomas. “I mean anything. You don’t know what you’re doing, you’re not good at whatever you’re trying to do, you’re scared…So, why’s it always feel so…”

“Shiny,” Thomas said.

Remus nodded. “Shiny. Why is it better?”

Thomas thought for a moment. “Not better, then. But there’s something different.”

“I guess I can agree to that,” Remus said, then looked up with a smile when Sirius walked through the door. “Oh, hi there, Mr. Top Shelf.”

Sirius laughed and crouched down beside Remus’ tub, dipping his fingers into the icy water. “Mr. Top Shelf?”

“Uh, yeah,” Thomas said. “Since when do you shoot high? Since tonight.”

“Since their goalie can’t get his hands up,” Sirius said, then leaned into kiss Remus softly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Remus pressed a cold hand against his warm neck. “This sucks.”

“You’re getting out soon, embrace it!” Thomas said.

Sirius didn’t even jerk away from the touch. “Well, I’m sweating, an ice bath sounds pretty good to me right about now.”

Remus smiled. “Oh yeah? You getting in?”

“Not a chance—non, hey.”

Remus laughed and splashed him again, ice clattering onto the floor.

“Keep it in the tub!” Layla called from where she was guiding Kasey through some stretches.

“Sorry,” Sirius called back, before turning his attention back on Remus, tucking his fingers into his damp hair and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Gonna shower and get changed. Home in twenty?”

Remus nodded. He spent the moment that Sirius smiled back at him searching his face for any of the uneasiness that had been there at the beginning of the game, but it seemed to have dissipated with the win.

“Okay,” Sirius said, and Remus watched him walk away, fist bumping Cole on his way out.

“This is you,” Thomas said, and then slumped into his bath some more, gazing up at an imaginary Sirius, batting his eyes.

“Fuck off,” Remus laughed, and groaned as he pushed himself out of the tub.

~

The house felt quiet and warm, but it had the unsteadiness that came with the knowledge of an early flight the next morning. Remus watched Sirius dump a can of tomato sauce into a pan to heat up while the pasta boiled. Their bags were ready by the door—Remus’ doing. Really, they should have all been flying out tonight, but Remus was glad to be able to sleep at least a few hours in his own bed. He would have to let the adrenaline wear off first. He could see the very same coils of energy in the set of Sirius’ shoulders. It wasn’t unease, exactly. It was just the game.

Remus fiddled with the salt and pepper bowls they kept on the table. They had little spoons in them, as if made for fairy. He scooped the white grains up before letting them spill back down, over and over.

“I saw Théo,” he said, finally.

Sirius was quiet for a moment. He put a dish in the sink. “Ouais. Me too.” He glanced over his shoulder when Remus didn’t reply right away. “We’ve seen him before.”

“I know, but I didn’t—you know.” Remus scooped up the salt again. “I didn’t know before. And…I think maybe he looked at you a few times.”

Sirius’ release of breath was short. Maybe a little impatient—or he was just tired. “They all look at me.”

It was true enough, but it was still strange to hear Sirius say it. Even if his fame was blunt and obvious, Sirius rarely acknowledged it outright.

“You don’t want to talk to him?” Remus asked.

“Not—not now.” Sirius didn’t look at him, still had his back turned as he carefully spooned out a single noodle to test for doneness. “Not with Grayback on his team. Not with the playoffs.”

“Not with Grayback? What’s that mean?”

“It means…you know what it means.”

Remus switched to the pepper. Black and gray and red, more finely ground. The sound these grains made again each other was softer.

“I’m not worried about Grayback,” Remus said. “I told you that. I’m talking about Théo, and that story just sounded like it meant a lot to you—”

“Re, I’m over it. I don’t really think about it. I just told you that story, that’s it.”

Remus hesitated. The tension was back in Sirius’ shoulders now, and Remus was sorry to have put it there, but it was moments like these that Remus finally felt like he was getting a handle on. Moments where Sirius tensed up, but let something slip.

“You’re over what?” Remus asked.

Sirius let out a little laugh, tired and frail. “Re…”

“No, really, baby, over what?” Remus stood from the table, walking forward to the island to lean his elbows on it.

Sirius didn’t turn away from the stove. “You’re talking about Théo, fine, but you’re really trying to get me to talk about my parents. I know.”

Remus pressed his lips together. So, he was going to have to push, then. 

“You don’t talk about them.”

Sirius made a dismissive gesture with his hand that was entirely something picked up from Pascal. “I’m over it.”

“Not thinking about it doesn’t mean you’re over it. And you—you don’t have to be over it, you just have to…like, you know…process it.”

“Process what?” Sirius turned around. His grey eyes were hard, the dish towel in his hands twisted tight. “That some kid was nice to me when we were little? I’m not that pathetic.”

“I never said that,” Remus said softly. “I just said you can talk to me about it.”

“I don’t like talking about it. I talk to Heather. I go to therapy. I’m better than I was.”

“I don’t really love talking about Grayback, either. I still told you. And I felt ten thousand times better tonight. Because you were there for me tonight. And you could only do that because you knew exactly what I was going through.”

“Re,” Sirius sighed. “Come on. Not tonight, okay? I don’t understand why you’re bringing this up.”

“Because of the Showtime thing,” Remus said. He walked around the kitchen island, pressing gently into Sirius’ space. Sirius let him, which was a good sign. “I know you don’t like the cameras in the locker room. And I know…I overheard them watching your interview. I know their questions got a little touchy the other day.”

Sirius shook his head and turned back around. He reached for the plate he’d already cleaned and ran it under the tap. “It’s fine.”

Remus reached out and turned the tap off. He took the plate out of Sirius’ hands and set it down.

Sirius sighed. They let the quiet of the kitchen settle around them again, with just the faint bubbling of the pasta and warmth of the steam interrupting them.

“I…I am much better with it,” Sirius said. “I am.”

“You are,” Remus nodded. “I know.”

“But…Ouais.” Sirius gave a little eye roll, as if he was annoyed with himself. “They stirred a few things up, I guess. That’s all.”

Remus pushed his hands into Sirius’ hair, carding his fingers through it the way he knew Sirius liked. Sure enough, Sirius let his eyes slip closed.

“It’s nice when it starts getting longer like this.”

Sirius’ smile looked young with his eyes closed like that. It looked like the first time Remus actually saw him smile, a real smile, all those years ago. “Oh yeah?”

“So I can do this.” Remus tightened his grip a little and angled Sirius’ head down to kiss him. Sirius made a soft sound into it, his hands smoothing over Remus’ shoulders.

“Don’t shut yourself in on me, baby,” Remus whispered into it, then kissed him harder.

Sirius smiled at that, pressed their foreheads together. “The hotel in Vegas has a pool.”

Remus laughed, surprised. “Okay?”

“Just came to me, I don’t know why.” Sirius cradled Remus closer, hands low on his back. “I…I don’t talk about it because I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to know what to say. Not with me.”

Sirius nodded slowly, then sighed and kissed Remus again. “Can I not know while we eat? I’m starving.”

Remus laughed. “Yeah. Go sit, I’ll finish it up.”

~

Leo stared down at his phone. He was half listening to what Finn was saying to him and Logan, who was on FaceTime with the iPad propped up against the pillows. Finn was walking around the bedroom, haphazardly packing. The sky was barely pink outside. Leo would usually have been anxiously helping him, and reprimanding him for not doing it sooner, but there was this. His phone.

“Alex is showing me this place,” Logan was saying, and then a name that Leo didn’t quite catch.

“Aw, no. I wanted to take you guys there.” Finn sighed and tossed a t-shirt in the direction of his bag and let out a big yawn. “Tell him thanks for nothing.”

Leo was still staring at his phone. At the text that had come in an hour earlier. He hadn’t opened it. The blue dot of unread still signaled beside the message preview.

Hey just got my first call up! Made me think of you. Hope…

“—right, Le?”

Leo looked up. Finn was looking at him and Logan was doing something off-screen—making breakfast by the sound of it. He was shirtless and looked soft and familiar in his in kitchen lights. Leo ached for him. He clicked off his phone and set it face-down on the bed by his own bag. “Sorry, what?”

“We’re not saying the Rangers should win anything,” Finn said. “But we’re not rooting for the Bruins, either.”

“Oh. Right, no, definitely not.”

Leo knelt on the bed before letting himself flop onto his stomach in front of the iPad, chin in his hands. The noise made Logan look up at the screen, and Leo got a perfect view of watching him smile. “You look handsome like that.”

“Without a shirt?” Logan laughed. “Yes, you have told me this.”

“No. Cooking.”

Finn laughed from behind him. “Pretty sure he’s buttering toast, baby.”

“I like it when he uses his hands.”

Finn tossed another shirt in. “Ooh, can’t argue with that.”

Logan smiled at Leo again, and made a grabbing hand at his screen. “Makes me want to smush your cheeks when you sit like that.”

“What are you actually making?” Leo asked.

Logan held up a piece of toast and laughed. “Toast.”

Leo smiled. “Do I still make it better?”

“Leo, you make everything better.” Logan glanced up at him again, through his eyelashes. His accent was thick with sleep. “There’s never any chance of that changing.”

“Good,” Leo said, then turned his head int he direction of Finn. “Hey, Fish, when’s our flight?”

“Do not passive-aggressively ask me when our flight is,” Finn said, and gave Leo a little smack on the thigh. “I’m disorganized but you love me anyway.”

“I do love you anyway,” Leo said, and turned to Logan. “You however keep distracting him and I refuse to miss this plane to kick Vegas’ ass again.”

“Ouais, you do that. We’ll try to beat the Bruins this time.”

Leo nodded, trying not to think too hard about what that would mean. If the Lions won this round, and the Rangers won theirs…

“All right, have a good game,” Finn flopped on his stomach beside Leo and leaned in close to the phone with an exaggerated kissing noise. “Love you, baby. Wish you were on our plane.”

“Ouais,” Logan said, mouth full of toast. Logan leaned down on his elbows, and Leo took the silver fleur-de-lis pendant in his fingers, as if he could touch Logan instead. “Fly safely.”

“You, too,” Leo said. “Text you when we land.”

Finn groaned after they ended the call and rolled into Leo until he was on his back, looking up at him. Leo pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then laughed when Finn pressed a palm to each of his cheeks and squeezed.

“Wanna watch more of that show on the plane?” Leo asked around his palms.

“Yeah, definitely,” Finn said, and closed his eyes as he let his hands drop. “Tired just thinking about going through an airport right now.”

“Yeah,” Leo said vaguely. He studied Finn’s face, stroking his red hair back from his forehead. He thought of his phone. The text didn’t mean anything. He should probably just ignore it, or delete it, but he couldn’t help the part of him that felt like that was admitting defeat.

“That’s nice,” Finn mumbled, eyes still closed and pressing up against Leo’s palm.

“You look so much younger when it’s pushed back,” Leo said.

“Are you telling me I look old?”

Leo laughed. “No, I’m just saying.” He pressed a kiss to Finn’s forehead. “C’mon. Gotta zip that suitcase of yours.”

He let himself get a little lost in the familiar chaos that was getting Finn out of the house on time. The running back and forth, nervous energy of him. It made Leo smile to think of himself waiting by the door while Finn and Logan walked back and forth remembering things that Leo had asked them if they had packed ten times. Charger? Toothbrush? Finn walked back and forth more slowly this time, though, as if he needed to feed off of Logan’s energy.

“Set?” Finn asked when they were locking up the apartment. He was turned down the hallway and held out his hand behind him, in the perfect position for Leo to take.

Text be damned, Leo thought, as he laced their fingers together. Thank God Jack Archer had been what he was in high school, thank God he had done what he’d done. And anyway. It was a long time ago now. Leo should forget about it. But things that hurt were stubborn that way.

~

“Loops!”

Remus passed blindly in the direction of Thomas’ voice. It felt like flying to be able to think like that, to be able to find someone with such ease. He shouldered back against Stone as he turned to see Thomas catch his pass on his stick. It pinged hard off of the crossbar and deflected into the net. The whistle blew.

“Fuck,” Remus breathed, and pushed his helmet back, taking his mouth guard out while they reset. The Vegas crowd was singing some song that Remus had heard so many times he’d forgotten the name. He glanced up at the clock. Five minutes left in the game and they’d been trying to break the tie of 3-3 since the first period.

“They’re singing again,” Thomas asked as they made their way towards the bench to swap out with Pascal’s line. “Why are they always fucking singing?”

“Look who they’re rooting for,” Remus said, and gave Finn a tap as they swapped out. “They’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Good shift,” Layla asked as they settled onto the bench.

“Thanks,” Remus said. “iPad?”

She passed it to him, and Remus nodded his thanks quickly before turning back to look again. Layla had a funny expression on her face. Watchful almost.

“All right?” Remus asked.

She blinked, and then smiled. “Yeah, you?”

Remus nodded, trying to shake the feeling that she had realized what her face had shown. He was flooded with adrenaline right now. It could be nothing. He looked down at the iPad. “Just want to pull this thing off in regulation.”

“Ouais,” Sirius said from the other side of Thomas and Olli. “We’re—allez, switch—I want to sit next to him—ouais, merci.”

Thomas snorted, but allowed Sirius to scoot past him to settle beside Remus. If Remus didn’t think the cameras were on them, he would have gave in and smiled in the dopey way he wanted to. I want to sit next to him.

“We’re playing mostly in our zone, we don’t want a momentum shift,” Sirius said. He leaned in to watch the shift with Remus as the puck slapped the boards somewhere beside them. In a lower voice, he said, “You know what it does to me when you no-look pass.”

“Why do you think I do it?” Remus clicked off the iPad and sent him a grin—maybe not the dopey love-struck one he had felt a moment ago, but one sharpened by the way Sirius’ voice sounded when he whispered to him on the bench like that.

Sirius’s smile was a little dopey, a little love-struck, and Remus stared at it for a moment before letting his own melt into that, too. He felt that he should probably have stopped feeling like he shouldn’t show these things by now, but it was still a pleasant surprise when he remembered that he could.

Black and Lupin…strategizing on the bench. Big smiles. Expecting to get out of this tie do you think, Dean?

I’d think so. This is a confident team, Lee. Stanley Cup champions. I’d say they badly want a second look.

Pascal came close twice in the time it took for the clock to tick down to three minutes. Kasey made three saves, one of them that made Remus hold his breath with the way he had to stretch down into the splits, glove hand arching over to snatch the puck out of the air.

Finn put his body in front of two pucks and took one hard in the ankle. He sat on the bench, head down and covered by his arms next to Leo, and let the ache wear off.

“Game update, Layla?” Leo called when Finn got back out there again, Remus taking his seat.

“Bruins are down 2 to the Rags,” Layla said.

Leo just nodded serenely. “All righty.”

“Keeping track of Logan?” Remus asked, wiping his visor clear of sweat and ice.

“A little.” Leo glanced at him, blue eyes bright in the shadow of his cap. “I get really nervous sometimes that he’s hurt and I don’t know about it.”

“Aw, Peanut,” Thomas said, leaning over from beside Remus.

“I know there’s nothing I could do either way, like even if he was here.” Leo offered them a smile. “But I don’t know. I get nervous.”

“Second line!” Coach’s voice boomed.

Remus stood to swapped out with Sirius’ line.

The ice calmed it all. Thoughts of Kasey, Sirius, Logan. Grayback who had skated out, too. He stayed in Remus’ peripheral vision, but not like a looming shark. Like all the others. Just another part of the game. And if Remus’ shoulders were burning that was because he was skating hard. It was because Thomas was right where he needed him to be, and so was Evgeni. Remus called for the puck, and felt it in his chest when Evgeni nailed Grayback in a mid-ice hit before he could get to Remus. The crowd booed. Remus just carried on up the ice, head low. He was fast. He’d been told that his entire career, and the clock might be quick, too, but he wanted to try and beat it.

“Loops!” Thomas’ voice came.

Remus was tempted to try the same thing. No-look. Keep his eyes on the defensemen in front of him. But he saw Ullmark reposition, subtly, ready for the pass. He put on the breaks hard, threw the defensemen off of him, and flicked the puck up.

The goal horn blared.

“Fuck,” Remus breathed, then laughed, and then he put his arms up just in time for Thomas to happily slam into him against the boards.

~

“Two-nothing,” Logan said, voice coming through the iPad speakers. “Impressive.”

“You guys will pull through, too,” Finn said, then grinned at Leo. “And Le’s getting the start for game four. I’m calling it now.”

They were laying in bed, Logan on the iPad between them, Leo and Finn’s feet tangled. Leo felt like his eyes should be half-closed, but instead he was wide awake. He and Finn had watched the highlights of the Rangers’ game, but those wouldn’t have showed any bad hits. Twitter wasn’t saying anything either, but Leo wanted to be sure.

“You’re okay, right?” he asked.

“Me?” Logan said, head popping out again through the neck of his hoodie. “Ouais, of course. Why?”

“Nothin’,” Leo said.

Finn smiled. “He’s just checking. Classic goalie, doesn’t like any of his players out of his sight.”

“It’s true,” Leo confessed.

“I’m okay, Soleil.” Logan fell back into his pillows, too, with a groan. “But these pillows are too hard and I wish you were hear to change the lightbulbs.”

“Me too,” Leo laughed.

Logan smiled, then looked up. “Hold on, my tea is here.”

They listened to Logan answer the door, voice changing the way he did when he talked to strangers. A little nervous, accent going heavier. Ah—yes, okay, thank you. Yeah, good night.

“You okay?” Finn asked while they waited.

“Me?” Leo looked over at him, his red hair sticking up against the pillow.

“You were quiet on the plane home.”

“What’s happening?” Logan asked, settling back on the bed with a steaming mug this time.

“Le was just quiet on the plane,” Finn said.

“I’m…” Leo hesitated. Hey just got my first call up. Made me think of you. “I’m fine.”

“Okay…” Finn said, but Leo could see the look he exchanged with Logan, even through a screen.

“No, no, I’m good,” Leo said but he picked up his phone from where it lay on the sheets beside him. “I just…Well, the other day I got…”

He felt Finn tense beside him, even sitting up a bit.

“Leo,” Logan said, voice tight and almost a little harsh. Leo looked up at him, surprised to find his green eyes wide, afraid. Finn was staring at him the same way.

“What?” Leo began, but then he realized. He’d trailed off, holding his phone, and it sounded like—

“Oh, God, no, I didn’t get a phone call. No, nothing like that.”

Finn let out a breath and slumped back down again, head dropping back against the pillows, eyes closed. “Jesus Christ.”

Leo reached out to rub a hand over his chest. “Sorry, sweetheart, sorry. No, I just got a text.”

Finn opened his eyes, blinking. “It’s okay, I just need to restart my heart. One sec.”

Logan laughed a little, but his eyes were still on Leo. “Text from who?”

Leo hesitated, then sighed. He knew what would happen next, but he wasn’t about to hide it from them. He didn’t want to. They knew all about Leo’s high school relationship—all of its lows. He wanted advice and, if he was being perfectly honest, he liked how protective they got. “From Jack.”

Their reaction was identical. Logan rolled his eyes, Finn made a bleh sound and lifted his head up. Leo couldn’t help but laugh.

“High-school Jack?” Finn made sure. “Your gross, idiot—”

“Stupide,” Logan muttered, blowing on his mug.

“Selfish,” Finn raised his eyes to the ceiling as if more adjectives were up there. “Insensitive, book hating—”

“Your butterscotch cookie hating,” Logan added pointedly.

“Meanie, butt-head, protein shake addict, triple shot latte monstrosity,” Finn was still going and Leo laughed harder, the bed shaking a little beneath them.

“Fuck-head,” Logan said.

“Asshole of a high school boyfriend texted you?”

Leo passed Finn the phone with the still unread message. “Yep.”

Finn sent him a questioning look, and when Leo nodded, he clicked on it. “Hey just got my first call up,” Finn read out. “Made me think of you. Hope you’re good.”

Logan scoffed. “Hope you’re good?” He raised his voice, chin tilted up like he could shout right through the camera. “Ouais, he’s good. He’s got a Cup and two boyfriends.”

“He’s good,” Finn said to the phone. “Leave.”

“Who even has him?” Logan asked, shaking his head like he was about to scold Jack from afar. It was a gesture that was very much like his mother.

Leo bit his lip. “He got called up from Hartford.” His eyes went to Logan, who all but choked on his drink.

“Non,” Logan said. “Non, non, non.”

“Nom, nom, nom,” Finn said, but he looked just as horrified. “I thought he was playing in the AHL for—for Tampa!”

“I did too, but no, he’s going to New York.” Leo said. “I kind of stopped keeping track though.” He reached out and brushed a hand through Finn’s hair. “Why waste any more of my energy you know?”

“Jack’s in New York now?” Finn asked. “Shit. Lo…”

“He’s going to be in my locker room,” Logan said, and then the camera went dark, like he had knocked his phone in the bed sheets and quilt. All they heard was a muffled groan of, “Non.”

“I looked it up,” Leo said. “He’ll be in your practice tomorrow morning and then, well, obviously for the next Bruins game.”

“I hope he fucks up and gets sent down,” Finn said.

Leo laughed. “No, come on.”

“He deserves it.”

“We were in high school,” Leo said, but he didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

Logan appeared again, looking rumbled like he had set his tea down to face-plant into the too-hard pillows. His green eyes were set, but not in the glare Leo had expected. It was almost earnest. Determined.

“I’m going to keep track of how many times I get to tell him I’m Leo’s boyfriend.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Leo said, heart pulling. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Non, non,” Logan said, smiling.

Finn pressed a kiss to Leo’s cheek and kept his lips there when he said, “Nom, nom.”

Leo laughed and turned his head for a real kiss. Behind his closed eyes, he saw the flash of Logan taking a screenshot.

“You must have six hundred of those by now,” Finn said.

“Yes, and I love them,” Logan said simply.

“You should look through them all whenever Jack’s around,” Finn said.

“That might be kind of weird of him,” Leo said.

Finn scoffed and got an arm around Leo’s shoulder to pull him in against his chest. “It was weird of him to break my baby’s heart.”

Leo just rested his temple against Finn’s shoulder and smiled at Logan. “It wasn’t heartbreak exactly. It was…it was just hard.”

“Sounds like heartbreak to me,” Finn said.

Logan shifted on his end of the call. “I don’t like talking about your hearts breaking.”

Finn pressed a kiss to his fingers and pressed it to the screen. “All healed up, baby.”

Leo paused for a moment although, beneath his cheek and hand, he didn’t feel Finn do the same. No tense up. Leo tried to look up at Finn’s face without moving too much, and it was calm. Logan’s too.

Leo knew how much pain they had put each other through. Somehow, the word heartbreak still startled him, even if the two of them said it like it was a fact.

“Don’t worry about Jack, Le,” Finn said, and Leo blinked, realizing they were both looking at him. “You don’t have to reply. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know.” Leo pulled the iPad closer. “Hey, if we close our round earlier than you guys, maybe we’ll have enough days off that we can come see you. We’ll be coming to New York anyway because the Rangers are looking great.”

Logan smiled. “Merde. Don’t even bring it up yet.”

“Yeah,” Finn rubbed his eyes. “I can’t imagine one of us, like, knocking out the other—”

“Lo’s right.” Leo patted Finn’s cheek. “Yeah, not yet.”

“We should get some sleep,” Logan said. “Even though I love talking to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Finn said. “We always start out saying we just want to say goodnight and then talk for four hours.”

Leo laughed. “We should expect this by now.”

“Ouais,” Logan said, and Leo watched his eyes look between them. “I miss you.”

“Miss you, too,” Leo said. “But soon, yeah?” But a little curl of dread pushed up through him at the thought of facing the Rangers in the Conference Semi-Finals. He’d honestly rather play the Snakes, who seemed to be pulling through the first round as easily as the Lions.

“Soon,” Logan said, and Leo swore he saw the same thoughts flicker through his face, too.

“Jack doesn’t know what’s coming for him!” Logan called at the last moment, and flashed them a big grin before ending the call right as Leo laughed.

~

Remus should have been expecting it.

The Knights were losing the series two-nothing, and also losing this game 4-1. Remus was caught up in the sheer, impossible delight of it all. The entire league was watching with awed, slightly confused expressions. Twitter was all question marks and amazement because the Lions were good, but they weren’t that good. The beginning of their season had been shit. The Knights had had injuries but they weren’t bad. This streak felt unbalanced and odd.

And the Knights weren’t happy to be losing like this. Who would be?

So Remus really, really should have seen it coming. The desperation, and the dirt.

Sirius got the first of it. A high, fast hit on the blue line from Carrier. Sirius, usually so aware, had been looking from the pass from James. Remus watched it in slow motion, and yet somehow didn’t even have time to shout.

The crowd cheered with the hit, but the entire Lions bench stood up.

Oh, wow, what a hit by Will Carrier on the Lions Captain.

Little high, if I do say so myself. I’d say that’s a penalty for sure, Lee.

We were talking earlier, weren’t we, Lee, about how we were surprised Vegas wasn’t being very aggressive. What do we say now, eh?

Its frustration, I’m sure. It can’t feel good to be losing this totally. Whether its injury issues or puck luck or simply Gryffindor’s domination, it can’t feel good at all.

Remus held his breath, watched Sirius on his knees checking his mouth for blood. James was on Carrier, giving him a shove and gesturing to the ref. The ref nodded, looking like he was telling James to calm down, and blew his whistle, pointing a scowling Carrier to the penalty box. 

Sirius went up to a knee, and Remus watched him take a breath. Fix his helmet. Check his mouth again, but his glove came away clean. He worked his jaw a little, rolled one of his shoulders. He looked like he was about to rise fully, when a gray and gold uniform skated right in front of him and offered him a gloved hand.

It was Théo Angevine.

“Huh,” Jackson said from beside him. “They know each other?”

Remus watched as Sirius took the hand and rose. He wasn’t much taller than Théo, and the two of them looked at each other for a moment. Remus didn’t think he saw either of them say anything, though, and after a second, Théo skated towards his own bench.

“Re?” Jackson asked.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Remus said vaguely.

Huh. Some nice sportsmanship there, Dean. Wouldn’t have seen that coming.

Yeah. Théo Angevine, with a helping hand up for the Captain. Théo’s scored two of the Knights’ goals in this series. I guess we’ll see now if a hit like that does anything for Vegas’ momentum.

It didn’t.

The locker room was breathless and happy. 5-2.

“Let’s pull this off in four, boys,” Coach said, standing in front of them. He folded his glasses away and stuck them into his shirt pocket. “Cap, keep that pressure on. Harzy, good job with that pass in the second, Kuns, drawing the penalties. Keep it up.”

There was a chorus of thumps delivered to stalls and shouts, and Remus just smiled as he bent to tug at his skate laces.

“Remus?”

He looked up. “Oh, hey, Layla.”

Layla smiled. “Congrats. Uh—Could I see you for a second?” She pointed behind her, towards the visitor’s PT room.

“Uh, sure.” Remus thought about taking his skates off, but stood instead. “I’ll follow you.”

“You all right?” Remus asked as he closed the door to the office. “I only mean—I mean, I’m fine, didn’t get one of those hits, so…”

“Did you expect to?” Layla asked. She had her back to him briefly as she set her bench bag down, but when she turned to him, her brown eyes held that same look he had seen before. Watchful.

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Did you expect to be a target tonight?” Layla asked. “From…From Grayback?”

Remus just stared at her. He felt the back of his neck heating up and suddenly wished they weren’t in a small office.

Layla took a breath, moving her braids to the back of her neck. “Would you mind if I ask you something, and…and when I do, you can feel free to tell me to mind my own business? I’m just…I’m worried. And no one deserves to be alone in anything.”

“Um.” Remus glanced back at the door. “Okay…”

She nodded towards Remus’ shoulder. “How did you hurt your shoulder?”

Remus didn’t move. “I didn’t.”

He wasn’t even sure why he said that, only that the deflection had risen up in him instantly and of its own will.

“I don’t mean tonight.”

Remus wasn’t proud of it, exactly, but he was glad he hadn’t taken off his skates. It was good, just then, to feel taller than he really was.

“I mean your last game,” Layla said. “I mean your scar.”

Remus was shaking his head before he even meant to. “Layla. I’m okay. I know what you’re thinking—”

She took a step forward. “It isn’t an impact injury.”

For some reason, what he thought of right then was the Showtime film crew. It’s ridiculous name. The Road to The Stanley Cup.

So, Remus, excited to play against your old college buddy?

Remus sighed and sat down in one of the chairs. The added height from his skates made him feel more curled up like this, caved in on himself.

“No,” Remus said softly. “It isn’t.”

He heard Layla’s short intake of breath. She had her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were gentle and worried.

Remus drew in a breath. It stirred it all up. The questions. Even the ice.

“I could have tried harder, that’s true,” Remus said, and then realized she hadn’t asked anything.

“What do you mean?”

He let out a humorless laugh. To talk about it when it first happened. He could have told his own mother at least, when he had woken up in the hospital. He’d thought about it a thousand times since then. It’s not the hit, he cornered me and—and—

Instead, it had taken him months, and a hundred nights of sobs muffled by his pillow. When he had finally whispered it to his mom, in the complete dark, tucked into her side in his bed like he was Julian’s age rather than his own, he had felt so good. But not quite good enough.

“The road to the Stanley Cup,” Remus sighed. He was suddenly bone tired. “Some are rougher than others.”

“So, it was him. Cole was telling the truth.”

Remus snapped his head. “What?”

“Grayback.”

“What the hell does Cole know?”

Layla cursed, rubbing at one of her eyes. “A lunch? God, Remus I promise we weren’t—he just said—he asked me, because some of the guys…well, they do protect you.”

Remus had a flash of that summer, discussing predictions, sitting at a sunny table eating.

“Remus,” Layla sat beside him. “I promise, I would never discuss—”

Remus just shook his head. “I know.” He sighed, rubbing a hand through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, there was a moment this summer. I know. Smart kid.”

Remus didn’t know why, but he smiled.

Layla frowned at him. “Remus…”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, then laughed a little, emotion lodged in his throat. It felt like too much. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. Oh my God, sorry, it’s not funny.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Jesus, it’s not funny.”

“What happened?” Layla asked softly.

“Layla,” Remus said weakly. “It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Layla said. “It was something off ice. Am I right?"

Remus sighed. Are you excited to play with your old college buddy?

“I was going number one,” Remus said. “And he wanted that instead.”

Layla’s eyes went sad. Horrified. “So he…”

“I could have tried harder to stand up to him,” Remus said. “That’s what I meant.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I…” Remus laughed again. “Sorry, I really don’t know why I’m laughing. I suppose it’s just…frustrating. He told me he knew about me.” When Layla’s eyes widened he put a hand on her knee. “He didn’t know anything. He couldn’t have, but…I was scared, I wanted to succeed. What I realize now is that I didn’t have a secret.”

“That’s…” She looked horrified as they went to where she had seen his scar before. “Disgusting. He needs to answer for what he did.”

“No. No, Layla. He doesn’t.”

“But what he did—”

“Did what? He hurt me, yes, but what else? No, I’m not belittling what happened to me, but did he ruin my life? No. I chose another path, a path that I loved. That you love. Because of it I found the man that I love. The man I’m going to marry.”

“But…but you deserve…”

Remus just smiled. “In any other universe, Sirius and I probably would have been rivals. Or if not rivals, just not have known each other. I have what I deserve. He has nothing but a bad reputation. That’s how I’m trying to learn how to think about it.”

Remus was pleased to find that, as he said the words, he found them to be true. Something eased, just a little more, inside. He would always have to live with the nagging feeling that he hadn’t thought it through. It had never occurred to him that one day he’d be ready to tell his truth. That regret was easier to breathe through than it had once been. Peace was slow in the making.

Layla straightened, watching him carefully. “Are you angry I asked?”

Remus shrugged. “Not…exactly. I have been trying to shut the door on this thing for a while, but…” He thought of Sirius. “Maybe that’s not the kind of thing you do to your past.”

Layla smiled. “Maybe not. Thank you for telling me anyway. I just…I only asked because I worried you were just…sitting with it. But the boys know?”

“Most of them,” Remus said. “And if it makes you feel better, I like that you know, too.”

“Your doctors didn’t? How could they not?”

Remus shrugged. “They had a patient they needed to stitch back together. I’m sure they weren’t thinking about the politics of it.” Remus rolled his eyes. “Politics. You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Layla sighed, but nodded. “All right. Okay. You know you best. Isn’t that the PT rule?”

“Most of the time.” Remus smiled. “But you still gotta be able to know when they’re lying and it’s hurting. Am I lying?”

Layla smiled back and shook her head. “Maybe you were at one point. But, no, not right now.”

~

“He helped me up.”

With the bathroom door open in their hotel room, Remus could see Sirius laying on the bed in the mirror. 

Remus folded the wet washcloth and turned off the tap, then the bathroom light. “Théo?”

“Hm,” Sirius nodded. He opened his arm when Remus kneeled on the bed and Remus tucked himself against his side.

Sirius kept his gray eyes on the ceiling. Searching. Thinking. “It surprised me.”

“I saw,” Remus said. “Everyone saw. Did he say anything?”

Sirius shook his head. “Non. Just…looked at me for a second.”

“Maybe that means you don’t have to be strangers after all,” Remus said, softening it with a kiss to his jaw.

“Maybe,” Sirius said softly. “I’m not sure. We’ll see.”

“We will,” Remus said. He propped himself up on an elbow. “But I don’t think that last game is something to be worrying about and thinking over. You were outstanding.”

Sirius smiled. “I’ll never get tired of seeing you on the ice.” He leaned up towards Remus, pushing gently until Remus was on his back. “Switching places with you over the boards.”

“I love it, too,” Remus said, settling his hands on Sirius’ hips. “Showtime get you after the game?”

“Ouais.” Sirius sighed. “Asked me if I thought we could take it in four.”

Remus snorted. “I feel like I should be happy they’re here, like it’s a privilege, but I just don’t.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they just love asking you about your old college buddy.” Sirius wrinkled his nose. “I know they don’t know what they’re saying, but it makes me want to throw their cameras.”

Remus smiled, but it felt tighter. “Hit one of them with their microphones.”

Sirius laughed, messing with one of the ties on Remus’ sweatshirt. “Ouais.”

Remus took a breath. “Layla figured it out.”

Sirius’ eyes didn’t move from the ties. He pulled at the neck of his sweatshirt a little and bent down to kiss the dip between Remus’ collarbones, then over his adam’s apple. “Hm?”

“Cole, too. About Grayback.”

Sirius pulled back quickly at that, looking down at Remus with alarm. “What?”

“It’s okay,” Remus said quickly. “Cole knew because of the way you guys act about him, and Layla noticed that my scar wasn’t what I said it was.”

Sirius took a moment with that, eyes going somewhere over Remus’ head, searching, before he nodded.

“Why did she ask you about it?” he finally asked.

“She thought I was just sitting on it,” Remus said. “And I guess I am, kind of, but she thought I was doing it alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Sirius said, a fierceness creeping in.

Remus smiled, reaching up to curl a strand of Sirius’ hair around his finger. “Could say the same thing to you.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, then grumbled when Remus flicked his temple for it.

“This hotel has a pool,” Sirius said pointedly.

Remus paused, then laughed hard. “Is that your out for these kinds of conversations?”

Sirius just grinned and leaned down. “That’s my in.” He pressed a quick kiss to Remus’ lips before pushing himself up. “Come on, allez.”

The pool was dim, with soft, warm lights along the edges of the room and below the water, making the blue tiles shimmer. They were alone as they dropped their towels on two of the lounge chairs.

“Coach would kill us if he knew we weren’t sleeping right now,” Remus said, dipping a foot in. “Oh, it’s warm.”

“Beats an ice bath?” Sirius asked.

Remus sat down on the edge before lowering himself in. “Oh God, it’s heaven.” He dunked his head under and let himself luxuriate in the world going silent for a moment. He pushed his hands upwards gently to keep himself down and let the water ease some of the soreness from his muscles before coming up to float on his back. “Get in here,” he said in Sirius’ direction, before he felt two hands on his hips and opened his eyes to see Sirius wet up to the chest and right in front of him. “Oh. Hi.”

Sirius just pulled him in until Remus’ legs were around his waist, lighter in the water. “Hi.”

Remus pushed his wet hands through Sirius’ hair. “You have to dunk.”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Then I’ll sleep with it wet. I already took a sho—”

But Remus used his position to push down on Sirius’ shoulders and bring them under together, laughing, maybe getting some bubbles up his nose, but it was worth it for the wet puppy look of Sirius, his dark hair plastered against his forehead and in his eyes.

“Thank you for that,” Sirius coughed a little.

“You wanted to come to the pool,” Remus said, tightening his legs around Sirius’ waist. He pushed Sirius’ hair out of his eyes so he wouldn’t let go of Remus’ waist, and watched as the gray of his irises took on the blue-yellow of the water and lights. “Now the pool has come to you.”

“Ouais, it has.” Sirius smiled, real and easy.

Remus just smiled and let the water settle itself around them. Sirius had one hand supporting him, the other beginning to trace up and down Remus’ spine. He walked them a little deeper in, until they were up to their shoulders. When Sirius leaned in to press a kiss to Remus’ scar, just above the waterline, Remus sent him a soft, half smile and kissed one of the scars on his cheeks that, to be honest, Remus wasn’t sure had come from hockey at all. When he pulled back again, Sirius had a complicated expression on his face.

“What?” Remus asked softly, arms draped loosely around Sirius’ neck. “What’s that look for, tell me.”

Sirius swallowed, his eyes darting over Remus’ face. Remus watched drops of water trail over his skin and cling to his eyelashes. He waited until Sirius’ eyes found his again.

“I want to take your name,” Sirius said.

The only sound for a long moment was the water lapping at the sides of the pool. A phone ringing far off. There was a drop of water trailing down Sirius’ cheek, and for a moment Remus thought it was a tear. He caught it with his thumb anyway.

“What?” he whispered, biting his lip against a smile. “You do?”

Sirius nodded. His hands had stilled against Remus’ back, only holding him now. He looked nervous, lips pressed together and biting at the inside of his cheek. God, Remus hardly knew what to say.

“Gonna cause a lot of people to have to buy new sweaters,” was the first thing that came to mind.

It had the intended effect. Sirius smiled, gave a half-hearted shrug, but he still looked like there was something else, something more, that was tugging at him.

“Baby,” Remus said gently. “If this is about—what I said the other day. And your family…you own your name, Sirius. You do.”

Sirius looked away, around at the dim blue glow. “It’s not—well, it is. But it’s not. It’s just—I want to be in your family. I love them, I love your mom and dad, I love Jules so much. I want to be in a good family. I don’t want anything to do with mine. Merde, not Reg, I don’t mean Reg, just…them.”

Them. His parents.

Remus frowned. He touched Sirius’ cheek, brought their eyes back together. “The family you have around you has had nothing to do with names for a long time now. Nothing to do with blood.”

“I know,” Sirius said. “I know, but…” They were far away from anything, floating quietly, in the middle of the pool. Remus knew Sirius’ feet were touching the ground but it felt like neither of them had to. “I still want it.”

Remus brought his hands to Sirius’ neck, steadying them in the blue. Sirius leaned forward briefly and pressed a gentle kiss to Remus’ mouth.

“You want my name?” Remus whispered. The words were pinging around his mind. Sirius Lupin. It kind of made Remus want to cry. They hadn’t talked about this yet. Not really. Remus Black had crossed his mind, but it felt like something he would have scribbled in a school notebook. This all felt so much realer than names, the ties so much deeper. But if it felt real to Sirius, then…

“Yeah,” Sirius said firmly. “I do.” Then, he smiled, secret, just between them. “Mon vœu.”

Remus bit his lip, unable to help the slightly giddy laugh that escaped him. He brushed a thumb over Sirius’ bottom lip. “Well. Okay, then.”

Sirius smiled. “Merci.”

“But, really, in all truth, a lot of people are gonna have to buy new jerseys.”

Sirius tilted his head back, laughing. “Too bad.”

Remus drank in his smile. Mon vœu. “S. Lupin doesn’t exactly have the same punch.”

“That sounds like someone else’s problem,” Sirius said.

Remus laughed. “Fine, fine. God, I love you, you know that?”

“I think I might,” Sirius said.

He was leaning in for a kiss when a voice echoed over the pool.

“Oh, come on.”

They jolted, looking up to see Finn and Leo standing there holding towels and wearing swim suits.

“This room’s taken, boys,” Remus called back, tightening his arms around Sirius’ neck.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Finn tossed his towel onto a chair, waving a finger. “Nope.” Leo made a startled sound when Finn promptly picked him up around the waist, half over his shoulder, before running and jumping into the pool. The splash sent the water in a wave up to their necks. Remus could feel Sirius laughing against him when Finn and Leo both came up spluttering. Finn flicked his soaked hair out of his eyes. “I just claimed it.” He sent a splash in their direction.

“Wow,” Leo said, blinking chlorine out of his eyes. “So you can throw me over your shoulder. Okay.”

“How long you been here for?” Finn said. “Times up! Give me and my lover boy the pool.”

“Non, you can have that side over there,” Sirius said, and then the door opened again.

“Oh, hey, big party!” Evgeni’s voice boomed, and he, Jackson, and Kasey appeared in the doorway. “Not text? Mean.”

“Fuck,” Finn moaned, and Leo just laughed.

“Sorry, baby,” Leo said. “Looks like we’re gonna have to make new plans. But hey,” Leo nodded to Sirius and Remus and then wrapped his long legs around Finn’s waist from behind. “They seem to have some good ideas.”

The door opened again, and James’ face lit up when he saw them.

“Team swim! Yes!” James chanted, fists raised in the air. Pascal, rubbing his eyes, followed him in, then followed by Kota, then Olli, then Cole, then what looked like most of the entire team.

“I am too old for this,” Pascal sighed.

“Nah,” Kasey said, and gave Pascal a firm tap on the butt. “Get in that water, old man.”

“Wow,” Remus said. “At least we got a head start.”

Sirius just laughed as the team’s voices echoed warmly all around them.

“Hey, Le, you know the song Nightswimming?” 

“Twenty bucks, Nado, bigger splash than you!”

“Do you think they would room service in here? Fucking starving, man…”

Sirius and Remus watched the pool fill up around them, water choppy with laughter and movement.

“See?” Remus whispered. “Family.”

Sirius blinked fast a few times, and Remus was more sure this time that it wasn’t just pool water clinging to his lashes. “Ouais. I see.”

~

Logan was exhausted, frustrated, but at least Luke had ordered burgers and fries and Percy was making them double over with laughter. They were all at Luke’s apartment trying to wind down enough to not be painfully aware that they had a lose-all game tomorrow. The Bruins were one game away from knocking them out. They couldn’t lose.

They had a video game paused on the TV, and ginger beers all around—they were too tired for anything more. Logan didn’t want any extra haziness. They could have been watching the Gryffindor-Vegas game, but Logan figured the others knew him well enough by now to know that it’d just be stressful for him. He appreciated that no one had suggested it.

Percy and Will were arguing over some play from two games ago, but smiling while they did it. Logan didn’t think he’d ever seen those two fight. Luke and Saint were listening, Saint occasionally throwing in a few words with the purpose of stoking one side of the fire, or the other. His feet were in Luke’s lap, and when Luke squeezed his ankle with a teasing look of warning, trying to get him to stop keeping Will and Percy going, Saint just reached up with a toe and poked him in the chin. It drew one of Luke’s realer smiles out, and when he caught Logan watching, the smile stayed in place.

A few months ago, Logan never would have been able to dream of this level of happiness. He missed his boys. God, he missed them. It was a bruise that pricked and darkened every time he thought about it. But it was only a bruise. Not a break. It might not fade, but it wouldn’t leave a scar on him, either.

Logan just smiled, giving Percy a scuff on the back of his head on the way to the kitchen. He liked Luke’s apartment. It was simple, pretty sparse but still homey. In the bathroom, there had been two toothbrushes. Logan wondered if one of them was Saint’s, and if it was there for the occasional night, or for the regular ones. He reached into the fridge and grabbed another ginger beer. He was contemplating one of the fruit popsicles Luke had said were up for grabs in the freezer when Luke called out to him from the living room.

“Hey, Tremz!”

“Ouais?” Logan called back. He pushed the wooden stick of a strawberry one through the rapper and pulled it out. It was sweet and tangy, better than the spicy ginger beer.

“Check your phone! Your boys just took Vegas out of the playoffs in four.”

~

Remus had dreamed of this so many times. The Cup, yes. The history making, yes.

But more than that: the celebratory ice pile.

Sirius had him crushed against his chest, and everyone was jumping around him so that he had to jump, too. Someone was shouting right in his ear, but he didn’t care. He threw his head back and shouted right along. The Vegas crowd was dejected around them, but enough Gryffindor fans had made the trip to be jumping and victorious right there with them.

It might’ve be only the first round, but this was farther than Remus had thought he would ever skate.

“Re,” Sirius shouted, and then pulled him into a jostling, sloppy kiss. Remus didn’t care if any cameras were there. He wanted to be able to watch the way Sirius smiled into it when he got home.

The next moment, he was being pulled away, into another set of arms.

“Hey, hey!” Thomas was grinning hard. He pressed a kiss to Remus’ cheek before looking him in the eye and pounding a palm against his chest. “Here’s to second times, Lupin.”

Remus grinned and pulled Thomas down for a tight hug. “Second times. Second chances.”

#vaincre lumosinlove #wolfstar #coops #o'knutzy #cw: mention of abuse #cw: mention of injury

[miracles-and-butterflies]

How did fractured Luisa react when she find out that Pedro abused Mirabel?

*fan girl screaming* You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this question.

Very, very sickened.

Warning: sensitive topics below.

~~~~~~

And Yet He Shot the Fawn

Luisa almost forgot what she was meant to be doing. A hug is the furthest thing in her mind. She is too busy staring at Mirabel’s back, neck and upper arms through the tears in her blouse, now that she’s closer… it looks awful. She can see the inside of Mirabel’s neck in one of the cuts.

Some of them are deep, like slices. Some are barely there. Some raised on her skin. Some are bloody and leaking profusely. Some are pink and angry. Some are white and fading.

There isn’t a patch of skin that isn’t marked.

All this time Luisa and Camilo have mocked Mirabel’s perfect posture and stiff back and shoulders…

No wonder. She looks like she would shatter.

But how did she get these injuries?

They look too precise to be an accident or an animal. Mirabel wouldn’t get into a fight. And it’s not like she could have done it herself, the angle is wrong.

It has to be someone else. Nobody spends time alone with her…

“Abuelo did it.”

Mirabel’s coldness broke a little at the name. She paled and took a small step back.

“You are tired and stressed, Luisa. You should get some rest—”

“He did. Didn’t he?”

Mirabel shifted from one foot to the other. “He and my tutors.”

There’s been so many tutors over the years. Is that why they were replaced so quickly? Coming and going from nowhere to prevent gossip?

All those adults… adults who were trusted by their family.

“When?” Luisa asked.

“I-I lost count; I don’t know the dates… it started when I was six. It hasn’t stopped.”

Is that why her blouse is all bloody and ripped now? Is that why Abuelo had been in her room just now? Is that why he has a riding crop - even though he has never owned a horse?

Has he been using a weapon on her this whole time?

“Why?”

“You have to understand that he isn’t doing it to hurt me.” Mirabel insists. “I was making mistakes and getting emotional. He is doing it to help me. I failed. I was being a burden to our family, I had to be taught a lesson.”

She doesn’t actually believe this… does she?

“I should find our parents, or someone else in the family. They can help—”

“Nobody will care.”

“What?”

“I call them Señor and Señora. I can’t feel, Luisa. Everyone is scared of me. Or thinks I’m a heartless monster. Or both. I haven’t had a relationship with anyone since I was Antonio’s age.” Mirabel’s eyes and voice are wracked with distress; the rest of her is oddly calm. “I don’t know what it feels like to love and be loved anymore. Abuelo does not love me. He loves my gift - if it were to disappear tomorrow, he’d want nothing to do with me.”

A tear slips from her eye then.

Luisa hates herself.

She (and Camilo) have teased and mocked and bullied this girl senseless. Abuelo Pedro’s little favourite. Señorita sin corazón.

She remembers Mirabel before her ceremony, a very different girl, begging Luisa to protect her.

“I don’t want a gift,” she’d weeped under their beds, ten years ago. “I want to stay here with you in the nursery. It’s safe here.”

And fuck. She was right.

That whole thing with Isabela? All those years ago was true… Isabela wasn’t just being bossy and annoying when she’d hiss at them to stop. She knew it happened once. Does she know it’s still going on?

And their parents? How could they not know? Even if they didn’t believe Isabela back then, wouldn’t they have checked with Mirabel?

What about Tía Pepa? She heals people. She heals everyone. Didn’t she ever think it was strange how she’s never treated Mirabel in the past nine years?

“I heard the cracks that night.” Luisa gasps dramatically before she can stop herself. “I wasn’t sure with all the commotion at first. I told him when we went back into Antonio’s room. He said, ‘If you can’t use your gift correctly, I will bash your head into the wall until you do. Like a soft arepa.”

Luisa just put a hand over her mouth.

At least she’d just been made to look like she was drunk.

“He didn't say the arepa bit.” Mirabel said, flat. “I thought it would be funny. I thought if I could cry, I could smile too. I suppose not.”

Luisa felt bile in her throat.

#encanto #encanto fracture au #ask me anything #my writing #luisa madrigal #mirabel madrigal #pedro madrigal

[iravaid]

🎮🩹🩸💯🎄---for Mr Tommy Riley (yes, I consider him your oc) (yes, I picked the Christmas tree on purpose mwah 🫰)

(from this meme)

Heehee hii womby!! Snatching Thomas E. Riley from Lapham's cold, dead hands after Szilvi's oviraptor attack squad is done with him. I'm so happy you asked heehee

(and oh, so you're evil? You're evil, now? you're sick and twisted and evil?)

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

Being a munch Although it was initially going to be his career (tattoo artist Tommy-truthers make some noise), I can see Tommy enjoying art as a hobby and way to relax/clear his head. He never used to draw a lot of people before, focusing instead on other popular subjects for tattoo designs such as ships and snakes and tigers. But his newer sketchbooks feature a lot more of Beth and Joseph, with a few of Simon and his mum interspersed between his studies of household items and appliances.

Tommy is a Man U fan, as is family tradition. I count football fanaticism as a hobby because have you seen these people. Do you understand the dedication to know so much about all those balls and points and such? Dear god. Tommy, Simon, and Beth on footie nights out were terrifying concepts, many Chelsea fans mauled. Sad!

It mightn't be strictly a hobby, but I can see Tommy redirecting any pent up energy towards making small renovations in his home/his mum's home, or even woodworking and making things like a jewellery box for Beth, or little carved nativity scene for Joseph's nursery class. Man works with his hands and his thoughts can get a bit much at times, so may as well redirect towards something productive, as he's been taught (even if this does encroach into dysfunction territor when he's working to exhaustion so he doesn't dream when he finally sleeps).

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

I can see Tommy having chronic pain from his back injury and the resultant muscle strain and poor healing that came of it. Nothing a couple heat pads and, uh, working a labour intensive job can't fix...

Between drug addiction and childhood trauma, it's not out of the picture for Tommy to also have developed PTSD/CPTSD from his experiences. For a myriad of reasons (potential access to counselling, access to familial support, not being autistic, not being in the military) it's not as extreme as Simon's, and so his emotional intelligence isn't as stunted, but he's still very much living with the effects of being physically and verbally abused as a child, as well as being addicted to opiates in the past, far into adulthood. Again, has better tools to cope with it, but Tommy isn't perfect, and I can see most of his symptoms manifesting in fawning responses than Simon's fight.

Tommy also has leanings towards depression, and there are times when his mental health declines to the point of it being disabling. I don't see him being diagnosed with depression, nor complex PTSD, as the NHS mental health services are in fucking shambles and some doctors mightn't even recognise the latter in his time.

🩸 DROP OF BLOOD — what is your oc's blood type?

So. I don't have a clear answer to this, because I need to know what Simon's blood type is, and it's not listed anywhere. I think there is a fun off-stage/underlying tragedy in Simon and Tommy having incompatible blood types, in that even if Simon had gotten to the flat in time, he wouldn't have been able to 'save' Tommy via donating blood. Something something, the nature of tragedy so deeply set in Ghost's being that it's biological.

Perhaps it's campy, perhaps it's too much, but whatever‼️my oc now.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

TOMMY IS THE YOUNGER BROTHER! The wiki is LYING the comics confirm so here:

Tommy is 6'2" and lanky as anything, and unless his brother is on leave, he tends to be the tallest person in the room, bless. Additionally, I can see Tommy having insane forearm and grip strength just from being a tradesman for the better guts of a decade.

Some people have noticed, but Tommy doesn't drink alcohol at all in 'I Wait For You', which is on purpose. He's chosen not to drink, in spite of Britain's heavy drinking culture, as a means of preventing any reliance/gateways, as well as the fact that he doesn't like getting drunk, anyways, primarily because of bad memories of his father after one too many drinks.

🎄 CHRISTMAS TREE — what is your oc's favorite holiday?

Of course it's christmghjgkfgwlisfhdn-

(jokes aside I can see Tommy not having a favourite holiday until he's an adult and meets Beth and falls in love with her, and they eventually have a family together. Then his favourite holiday becomes Mother's Day.)

Augh thank you for the ask :'D It reminded me i have very big feelings about Tommy Riley and his everything, and now my chest hurts heehee

#tommy riley #call of duty #cod mw2 #ask #codposting #riley brothers save me... save me riley brothers... #gif warning #dunno if it's needed but that thang moves fast lmao #addiction

[thepariahcontinuum]

For the ask game

A cape whose power in the ability to control damage that have made.

Like if they cut someone with a knife, they can move the cut around their victims body, or transfer it onto anything their victim is touching as a structural crack(or vice versa)

After harming something enough it allows them to puppet that object or person around.

Oh so this is just "Cycle of abuse, the person" then isn't it?

Okay since you specified that the power works on people I'm gonna say that it only works on people/living tissue, Manton limits and all that....So this is someone who has been hurt, is hurting everyone around them as a response to that and eventually, unable to heal or move beyond their trauma becomes someone who uses pain and abuse to control people (Literally with the puppeteering someone through their injuries).

I wanna say this is a Villain who tried, I mean really tried to be a hero, tried to be better but just couldn't do it. They went to the authorities and got nowhere until they triggered and then went to the PRT who got them out of that situation but didn't have the resources to help them beyond making them a Cape (We saw how much therapy the Wards actually get, it's not enough) and eventually it solidified in this kid's mind that all that really matters in life is power and who has it over who.....One fuck up on the job was enough to send them running away from everything, to another city where they reinvented themselves.

Smalltime villain, someone in the same sort of league and scale as pre-Boston Games Damsel. They have a crew around them but they don't have and don't want other Capes in it, they stay small-time and off the radar, not really interacting with the other villains in the city. it's about control, because control means power and power means safety.

Costume wise.... I'm thinking something Mall Goth/Scene Kid, something that looks "Early teens" even when she (And now the character is solidifying in my head I'm thinking young woman) reached late teens/early 20s. Basically she never let herself grow beyond a certain point. So Black leather trenchcoat and platform boots, the rest of costume is blood red and hot pink deliberately clashing, ripped tights and too many belts....Her mask is a cartoon smile full of fangs that covers the bottom of her face and she wears a bright wig which hides more of her face.

She's always got at least two weapons on her person, usually a flick-knife and a baseball bat, along with her boots, sharpened nails and wearing a lot of rings....And also a lighter, usually for punishing fuck ups. Because if your whole routine is controlling the pain you inflict on people, may as well have options for the kind of damage you're doing.

She changed her cape name when she became a villain and because she's still stuck in her hot topic phase she went for something deliberately edgy: 'Scarlet Anguish' (Definitely the name of a band she was in when she was in school).

#wormblr #worm web serial #parahumans #Worm oc #Dyssols

[dreamsclock]

prompt u say... in a no nuke universe, how does c!tommy handle seeing the absolute worst of c!dream's scars?

(and vice versa?)

not gonna write this as a fic and instead gonna write it as a mini analysis because i wanna discuss different scenarios so!! buckle in!!

this is a mess. warnings for: scars, death, murder, mild gore (Detail of injuries and scars), unhealthy dynamics (diskduo), mentions of torture, abuse, etc. warnings for general themes in exile, prison, and c!diskduo's general dynamic).

operating under the popular headcanon that canon deaths leave scars, i would imagine the worst of c!tommy's scars are from his canon deaths: one over his heart from the l'manburg independence wars, one across his neck from the final control room, and a head scar from being beaten to death in prison (along with others, but the most common c!tommy final death i've seen has him with a head wound for this). of course, he probably has other scars - from the manberg explosion, from doomsday, from exile, etc - but i imagine a lot of those would be straightforward enough?? along with the first two of his deaths. i think in any of those scenarios, c!dream would be either patching up a wound for c!tommy or something similar, see the scar, and then ask him about it - i like to imagine he doesn't even REMEMBER the final control room death (because i also forgot it LMAO) and tommy takes the biggest offence to this. what the fuck do you mean you don't remember??? that was the biggest deal of my life!! "look, it just slipped my mind-" SLIPPED YOUR MIND???? MY DEATH SLIPPED YOUR MIND?????

for the final death, i think it resonated a lot more for both of them. the first two of tommy's deaths happened even before the life system was canonised, and happened before exile, manberg, and everything that followed. after manberg, things felt like they had a lot more weight to them. tommy's final death came from a very personal place, for both of them. it wasn't war, it wasn't for a kingdom. it was a matter of emotions and desperation and fear and trauma, for both of them, and i think it would be a lot more of a big deal for them both too.

dream finds it when he's trying to wash blood out of tommy's hair after growing tired of him complaining about the mess. it's a knotted, gnarly scar - half feels like there's obsidian still lodged in there - and dream's hands pass over it once, before pausing. tommy's squirming and griping stops very quickly when he realizes what dream's found.

both of them know what it is. neither of them need the confirmation.

but dream isn't going to ask. and tommy isn't going to tell. so dream continues until the back of tommy's head is blonde, free from blood, and tries to be careful when washing near the scar.

maybe later that night, when they're both lying half-asleep (read: staring restlessly at the ceiling of their base), dream asks quietly. does it still hurt?

at the other end of the room, tommy turns over in bed, and sniffs.

do yours?

because dream's scars... they're not exactly hidden. sure, dream wraps up what he can - his mask hardly ever comes off, and he's usually clad in armour and extra clothes and bandages anyway, which cover a lot of skin - but torture scars can't exactly stay hidden. especially not that many. tommy sees new scars every day, though he never asks about them any more.

i don't know how to begin classifying which of dream's scars would be the worst. neither does tommy, who sees burn marks and places where bones have broken the skin and scars from swords and axes and patchily-healed skin where shears have been involved.

he'd tried asking about them at first. what the fuck? he'd said, seeing the first - a strip of skin that hadn't healed right on dream's back, nasty, scarring. a messy little smiley face is cut into it too. dude, you look like you've been fucking cut into little pieces.

dream goes rigid. how are your scars, tommy? he'd snipped back, voice curt, mocking. how's the neck healing? how's the arm?

they'd fought. obviously. they fought a lot, in the early days.

but tommy's unease around dream's scars only grows when he realizes the extent of them. they seem endless, a mural of torture and torment that he just knows are from the prison.

quackity did this, didn't he? he asks, when they're too tired months later to fight. quackity and sam. in the prison.

dream doesn't reply to that.

but tommy is woken up by him that night, when dream shrieks, bolting awake in bed. it's not a human sound. it's barely even animalistic.

tommy never tells him that he'd woken that night. there's no point. dream won't thank him for the knowledge that tommy had seen him curl up in bed, whole body trembling. he won't thank him for the knowledge that tommy had heard the choked gasps and sobs as he'd struggled to breathe, that he'd watched through half-closed eyes as dream had paced until the sun came up.

he didn't tell him any of that. he didn't tell him about the new scar he'd seen either - two of them, wrapping around his neck from the axe of peace, from the staged disk war finale.

tommy remembers how good it had felt, slamming that axe into dream's body.

when he eventually falls back asleep that night, he dreams of prison, and the break in dream's frame when he'd killed ghostbur.

SEND ME MORE C!DISKDUO / NO NUKE PROMPTS OR ASKS!!

#> au: no nuke finale #dreblr #c!discduo #> c!diskduo

[shywhumpauthor]

Day Off - Part Two

Part One

Back by popular demand

Cw: noncon touch, abuse of power, mistreatment in a workplace setting, past torture, unrequited crush, humiliation, dehumanization, implied upcoming torture, injuries, exhaustion, overworking

“Don’t worry, pet, I’ll make sure you get the day off tomorrow.”

Hero was many things, but they weren’t a liar. Henchman thought back bitterly, biting the inside of their cheek as they glared at the folders on their desk, their laptop open to their work email which was flooded with over thirty new messages.

“I’ll even be generous.”

Henchman wasn’t sure what they said to Villain, and honestly Henchman was sure that they didn’t have to say much—a few smooth words from Hero and the criminal complied to almost any desire of theirs. Expensive jewelry, some bought with stolen funds and others snatched right out of the case from the lavish boutiques that sold them. Rings adorned the Hero’s fingers, collars of diamonds around their throat that they wore for no reason other than to flaunt what they owned. It only took a minute, after they had slipped into Villain’s office, before Henchman received the text to take the next two days off.

Whatever it was, they weren’t going to protest. That evening, after they had worked up the energy and the will to practically drag themself out of the van and back to their room, they had all but collapsed into their bunk, not bothering to change out of their torn, bloody clothes, or even pull back the sheets. They were so exhausted, tears and blood dried alike on their face.

It fucking figured.

Henchman wasn’t sure why they hadn’t realized it before. How it had never become apparent until that moment. How they hadn’t heard of Hero’s ability, hadn’t witnessed it during any fights or just in freaking general. The more they thought back, the more it made sense, though. All of the times they knew they wounded Hero in a fight, only for them to be chasing them across the rooftops later that same day, fine.

“Let’s keep this between you and I for now, alright pet? Villain doesn’t need to know just yet.”

Of fucking course the hero would have healing powers. Every slash, every stab, all Hero had to do was drag their fingers across the fractured skin and it would mend, which was about the time Henchman lost consciousness. It hurt, holy hell it had hurt, worse than it had when the wounds were inflicted.

And it barely left a scar. Slightly raised across their skin, like a wound inflicted years before, given the time to heal and settle.

Hero had been an asshole, though. Henchman didn’t know there were stages of healing abilities—as far as they thought, when they heal something it’s just healed. At least that’s how villain’s medic worked. Hero, though, left it in stages. They healed everything against their face, their neck and their hands, leaving only faded scars in their wake. Their collar bones, the rest of their arms, and the very top of their chest, they left some bruises and scrapes, healing the worst but leaving all else.

Their torso and abdomen, Hero didn’t touch—except for the gash they sliced straight across Henchman’s stomach, which went a bit deeper than expected and they quickly had to mend lest Henchman’s internal organs became external. Everything else was left.

Everything else. Down to the deep lines carved in their side, about halfway above where their elbow touched their midriff to their shoulder, the initials dripping blood despite being together just under the size of Henchman’s pinky finger.

“Now, Henchman, you’ll keep your mouth shut, won’t you? I’ve sentenced criminals to life for less than what you’ve done, if the agency were to somehow get their hands on you, oh my pet, you’ll be in for one hell of a time.”

Yeah. A hell of a time alright.

Henchman flipped through the file, eyes barely skimming over the words, flicking across the diagrams without comprehending a single letter. Part of them nagged that they should be paying better attention—this was Villain’s newest plan, after all. They couldn’t risk missing something and potentially compromising the mission.

They’d check it again later, when their head wasn’t pounding and their ribs felt like they were going to snap with each breath. While Henchman knew Hero wouldn’t turn Villain in themself, a direct infiltration into the agency’s headquarters was beyond risky.

They set the folder aside, scribbling a note to themself on a post it and sticking it onto the front. Their words looked more like scribbles than strings of letters, Henchman’s hands had been shaking a lot recently. Sometimes they could barely focus enough to keep the tip of the pen on the page.

Next… next… Henchman squinted at the front of the next file, and leaned in slightly, but the words refused to focus in their vision so they slumped back in their desk chair, setting down the pen with enough force to make a small clatter, a hand rubbing at their eyes.

Hell, they were a mess.

Yesterday they had gotten nothing done. They wished that was an exaggeration, but it wasn’t. They sat at their desk and stared at their laptop waiting for the ache in their bones to settle enough to allow them to focus. It hadn’t.

And all Villain did to check in was text them, a simple “you up for working?” That was it. Henchman had looked at the text for over an hour, waiting for a follow-up “are you alright?” or “how’re you doing?” or even a “why’d you need days off?”, but they had set their hopes too high.

They saw Villain the day before. In the hall, walking back to their bunk, and all the criminal had offered them was a nod and a small smile. The same small smile that made Henchman lose focus every time the Villain looked their way. They always thought it was too kind for the face of a thief, a killer.

Once Villain passed, they had to glance back over their shoulder to make sure there was no one else in the hall. Confirming that the smile had been for them.

And they knew why they didn’t quit.

A knock on the door drew Henchman’s attention back to their small office, and they twisted around in their chair to face the door as it opened. A small flicker of hope sparked in their chest, anticipation dancing across their face as they expected the kind eyes and the soft smile that was about to enter. Only Villain ever interrupted them during the hour—the other henchmen knew to save all regards until either ten, twelve, two, or six. Urgent situations were a different matter, but this knock was much too gentle to be of great importance.

The warmth in their chest, the soft heat of the embers quickly turned to cold shards.

Henchman was out of their seat in a moment, their movements driven off of instinct alone as their mind seemed to sputter to a stop. They weren’t sure what they were going to do, whether they were going to fight or flee or cower to the corner. They never got to find out, either. All Hero had to do was take a single step forwards and they had squared up to them, their boots inches away from Henchman’s own feet as they placed a single hand against Henchman’s chest and shoved them back into their seat.

“All that looks important, doesn’t it?” Hero tilted their head, glancing over Henchman’s shoulder to the documents spread across their desk. “It doesn’t look like you can afford to get distracted, now, can you?”

With their other hand, Hero reached behind them and pushed the door closed.

Henchman wasn’t sure what to say that would spare them from whatever Hero’s intentions were, so instead of biting their tongue and biding their time, words spilled from their lips, a disorganized mess of emotions bleeding into half formulated thoughts.

“No, hero- yeah, I, I need to get these done—Villain, Villain needs me to get these done by the end of the day-”

“Do they now?” Was all Hero hummed, their hand still pressed to Henchman’s chest, keeping them down despite Henchman’s lack of struggle. They didn’t miss the small stutter in their breath as Henchman began to process just how close the hero’s hand was to their neck, a single finger brushing over the high neckline of their uniform to trace the unmarked skin just above their sternum. As untouched as it seemed, Henchman shuddered as the memory of a knife dragging across their throat seemed to overlap the present.

“Hero, please. Just- just leave me alone. Not now, I- I need to get this done, for- for Villain,” Henchman was silenced a moment later as Hero’s hand suddenly drew back, them glancing back towards the door.

Henchman wasn’t given a moment of relief, before Hero’s gaze was back on them, a grin twisting across their lips. They reached around Henchman and snatched the first file they got their hands on, a few loose papers scattering to the ground as they skimmed over the open page. Henchman couldn’t help the clench in their jaw, all the time they had spent organizing everything perfectly so that Villain wouldn’t have any difficulties navigating their reports.

“Planning a heist, I see…” Hero clicked their tongue, a soft hissing sound of undistinguishable emotion. “You know it’s my job to prevent these kinds of things, don’t you?”

Henchman felt trapped. The arms of their chair keeping them boxed in, Hero’s legs barely inches from their own, one of them almost sticking between Henchman’s knees, their presence nearly suffocating. Something twisted Henchman’s stomach into a tight knot, the overwhelming sense of overpowering crushing them beneath the Hero’s strong stare.

“It’s Villain- Villain’s plan, Hero, I need to finish this-”

“Villain’s plan, you say? I wonder how your boss would like knowing you just ratted them out to a city official…”

The file fell carelessly from Hero’s hand, scattering across the office floor in such a perfectly chaotic manner it seemed like it was pulled from some iconic scene in whatever movie. Henchman bit their tongue, though they weren’t sure whether to hold back a curse or a cry. Literal hours had gone into organizing that, making sure the plan was clearly comprehensible and laid out in a careful order.

“Stop- Hero, please, just let me finish this,” Henchman felt a flicker of heat in their chest, creeping up their neck but they didn’t let the humiliation become apparent in their face. Or at least they tried not to. They didn’t need to hand Hero another means for torment.

Not that Hero seemed short of those.

“Oh, pet, are hoping Villain will give you a treat for your obedience? Maybe if you roll over, they’ll toss you a bone.”

The taunt was childish, insolent, but Henchman couldn’t fight the burning as it crawled across their cheeks, flushing all the way to the tips of their ears. Hero’s grin was devilish. It was exactly the reaction they had been looking for, and Henchman had all but handed it to them on a fucking platter. Goddamn it, they were really just as fucking pathetic as Hero said.

“I wonder, do you do tricks for anyone else, or is it just Villain? I didn’t get the chance to test that out the other day,” Hero continued, now that their hands were free of the file able to lean forwards and grip either of the armrests, drawing in close to Henchman.

“Hero- stop.” Henchman’s voice broke into something small, any shred of authority they managed to muster in their tone spilling through the cracks, splintering like a branch under increasing weight, inching towards the moment where it would become unbearable and the limb would simply shatter. “Leave me alone.”

Hero’s face was inches from their own, even as Henchman retreated, shrinking into the chair. For a moment, instinct urged them to kick out, but the stirring thoughts hesitated their actions. Villain made one thing clear on missions—they weren’t to hurt Hero. While Henchman doubted a blow would do little more than annoy the city’s protector, they were sure Hero would twist the situation beyond the bounds of reason that fueled them now.

Hero must have seen the twitch in their leg, muscles itching to lash out and knock the other away, because they moved their foot a few inches, and the heel of their boot was digging against Henchman’s shoe as Hero shifted their weight. Henchman felt the touch like electricity, prickling their skin through their unostentatious uniform, Hero’s other leg shifting to shadow Henchman’s knee, shins touching along the side as Hero smirked.

The same static stung across their legs, up their bones throughout their body. A new kind of fire kindled in their chest, but these flames were as cold as stone, dropping to their stomach. Their hands clenched, itching to push away but there was nowhere they could go. Their ribs a cage around their lungs, closing in and sealing their breath in an unyielding embrace.

There was something in Hero’s eyes. A look, a glint of something darker than the industrial office light’s unrelenting white glare.

“Here’s one trick I know you can do,” Hero’s voice was pulled with a cruel delight, dancing along each syllable a calm that Henchman’s growing panic strictly contrasted.

“Beg.”

————————————————

Tag list: @pickleking8 @zillobeastrevival @urmyhopeeee @d-cs @fluereaux @roblingoblin285

And like the 5 other anons who requested a continuation

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #its me coal #coal wrote something #whumpee #whumper #whump prompt #whump prompts

[wheelie-sick]

brain injury awareness month is almost over and this has been sitting in my drafts since the first so I guess it's time to post it

I have a lot of brain damage from childhood abuse and it's a huge contributor to my disability. it's actually one of the main reasons I use a wheelchair. I don't really... talk about it though.

I feel like I'm so open about all of my disabilities expect for my brain damage and it's not because I don't think about it. I think about it every time I drop something, or fall over, or I struggle to open my hands all the way, or I'm signing and my brain just can't figure out how to make a letter, or I forget a word, it is a constant presence in my life but I don't think I've ever used the word "brain damage" when I was talking to someone (that isn't a doctor) and I think it's because I feel ashamed. I dread the follow up question "how did you get brain damage?" where I either have to say "I don't want to talk about it" or I have to explain that I was abused for my entire childhood and experienced many brain injuries from it.

I also think I haven't accepted it. I've accepted being disabled, the only disability I haven't accepted at all is my brain damage. I think I'm struggling to accept the brain damage because accepting it means I have to accept that I can never recover from my abuse. It means that I can graduate from therapy and living a happy life without medication but my abuse will still be present in every day of my life because my brain damage is present in every day of my life. I can literally never fully heal because my brain can never fully heal. It means the damage done by my abusers is permanent.

and that is so hard to accept

how can you continue holding hope for your recovery while also trying to accept that no matter how good things get there will always be this one piece of you that can't heal

#disability #disabled #chronic illness #chronically ill #traumatic brain injury #brain damage #neurological disability #tw abuse

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for saving my brother from an abusive relationship?

This has weighed on my mind greatly for several years now and I seek a nonjudgmental answer.

I owe my life to my elder brother for raising me through difficult times. When I was a child, he would indulge me and play with me for hours on end. Those memories are some of my most cherished.

However, we grew distant as I became older, particularly when my brother began a long-distance relationship with a woman. This would have been fine had she not been a troublemaker. My brother raised me with strong morals and she was involved in a frankly startling number of immoral and harmful activities, and I suspect she involved him in these activities. We were both adults, but I grew truly worried for him. He very obviously did not have a future with her, which I attempted to tell him many times, but it was as if he had changed suddenly. I feared she was manipulating him and told him as much. He had even "jumped the aisle" politically, so to speak!

After some time, he disappeared and I imagined the worst had happened. I believed he had died whilst visiting her and therefore paid her homeland a visit. When I say that she came from a horrible place... you truly would not believe how disgusting and vile her homeland was. It was an affront to the proper way of existing. Her people had a frankly barbarous religion with little in the way of laws or morals, let alone decency. The locals treated me horribly whenever I would ask for help.

Imagine my surprise when I found him alive and well! She had kept him alive for God knows what horrible reasons, and had clearly brainwashed him even more, to the point where I hardly recognized him. It was as though he'd died after all. I believe she may have trapped him in their relationship by becoming pregnant and forcing him to marry her to avoid the embarrassment of my brother having a bastard.

I attempted to show him the error of his ways and our argument became more heated than intended. I could genuinely not believe how passionately he argued on her behalf! I thought the only way to make him see reason would be to end her manipulation once and for all, in a sense. While I abhor the idea of raising a hand to a woman, this vile seductress had undone my brother's frankly outstanding morality and warped him so gravely. I would not suffer her to live.

During this argument, my brother attempted to intercept my hand and I accidentally injured him through no intention of my own. Alas, the injury had been too grievous for any modern medicine to heal and he passed away as a result. I truly regret this. If he had only listened to reason, this would never have happened.

I know my brother, free of this wretched woman's manipulations, would have thanked me for freeing him. I did succeed in removing him from her wicked ministrations. I must confess to my own wrongdoings, however, though it pains me to admit. Using unethical means, I was able to recreate my brother in the flesh, in hopes of giving him a fresh start and redeeming him. However, at every opportunity, he has chosen to betray me, and for this reason I believe that removing him from her influence was the correct thing to do. I hope I may convince him yet.

I digress. This genuinely keeps me awake at night, which is an issue as I have many things to do. I am trying to institute sweeping reforms in this terrible place in an attempt to avenge my brother, so that no good man may ever fall to someone as he did. I do not forgive this woman or her people for what she did to him.

AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #ABUSE MENTION

[weixuldo]

Never Forgotten// ch 4

Vader x F!Reader

(A/N: omgggg idk how to feel hddjdj this chapter is the longest one so far, so i hope that’s ok :/ but i’m pretty happy w this one and i’m even more excited abt the next one!! thanks for reading <3)

You begin Lord Vader’s treatment.

F/N- First name

Warnings: detailed injuries, mentions of abuse, mention of slavery, bad grammar & punctuation lol

Wc: 2167

__________________________________________

You woke up early to finish the final details of the health plan you created for Lord Vader. You would tend to his most recent wounds from his last mission, from there apply salves to his body (well what was left of it) to subdue inflammation. The scar tissue over his burns healed by itself, but it could have healed better with medical intervention. So you would work to alleviate the aching and inflammation, especially where they rubbed on his suit. You knew he often visited his bacta tank, so he was already familiar with that treatment. Once you got further along you wanted to observe his lungs and hopefully increase the time he could breathe without his helmet.

Ready for the day, you gathered your things and put them in your bag. You opened the door. Much to your surprise, you were met with the unmistakable form of your new patient. You covered your mouth to stop yourself from squealing. He turned to face you, tilting his mask to observe your frightened state. 

“Am I that intimidating? You seemed just fine the other night.” He quipped. 

“No, no sir. I was just not expecting anyone to be on the other side of my door. Especially not… you?”

“I have upset you with my presence then.” He said as he placed his large hands onto his belt.

“Of course not sir. I am actually looking forward to getting more acquainted with you” you smiled wistfully.

“I would be careful what you wish for.” 

Your eyes widened as you tried to think of something to say. After a moment he spoke, “you won't be needing that ''. He made a gesture towards your bag.

“Oh, I bring it everywhere with me. It has-“

“You won't be needing that.”

You begrudgingly sat your bag back onto your cot. 

He began to walk. 

“The emperor wishes for you to begin treatment at once. Today you will only have one hour. I have many obligations to attend. Now that I am showing you the way to my medical wing, I expect you to be on time from now on. Should you fail, I may have to reconsider this arrangement with my Master. If I tell you we are done for the day, we are done for the day. No questions. Do I make myself clear?”

Struggling to keep up with his long and powerful strides you nodded your head for him. 

“Good.” Was all he replied back.  

He led you to a secluded wing in the fortress, there were stormtroopers guarding the entrance. Lord Vader walked through as you nervously followed. You reached another door and for this one he typed in a pin. It opened and revealed a large room with all types of materials and even some droids. There was a sort of docking pad in the middle with robotic pieces surrounding it. 

You were so caught up in examining the machinery that Vader’s voice made you jump.

“You should enjoy this” he said as he pressed a button that opened a Panel in the wall. Inside was a walk-in room filled with shelves of different plant species. Your breath hitched. 

Everything you have ever used was in this small room. Shelves of plants, warmed by heat lamps, or cooled in a freezer, even some deep water plants were in pressurized tanks. Some plants you had to travel months for, right in front of you. This was a dream. 

“I-I’m allowed to use these?” You asked, gaping at the sight in front of you.

Vader nodded, “as long as you are employed as my physician, you may do with these as you please.”

You wanted to hug him. He technically wasn’t the one who gave these to you, but he was the reason the emperor sought you out. The reason you had access to…this. 

“Ok! Would you like me to explain the course of recovery I have designed?” You asked, still beaming.

“Yes.”

__________________________________________

After explaining your plans you began to check his vitals through the suit. He was seated upon a chair on the right side of the room as you hovered over him with your equipment. The beeping of the heart monitor and the steady paced breaths of your patient filling the room. His oxygen levels were low, not surprising. You looked at the box upon his chest, you weren’t much of a mechanic, but you did know what healthy vitals looked like. You were briefed on the inner workings of his suit in the file too, so you did know the box controlled the life support system. 

“May I?” You gestured at his chest.

“Go ahead.”

You gently fiddled with a knob on the box and then flipped one of the switches. Almost immediately his oxygen intake went from 67% to 85%. He gasped at the sudden change of oxygen. 

“Does that feel better?” You asked, your hand still on the box.

It took a minute for the Sith Lord to get adjusted, but once he did he confirmed. 

“Great!” You smiled. Sadly it seemed that even on full power his oxygen wouldn’t go higher than around 88%, his suit looked to be outdated. But getting his levels up to the 80’s was enough for now. You continued to check his blood pressure and heart rate.

__________________________________________

Your hand was on his chest box. 

You were the closest thing he got to physical touch in years. He felt his hardened heart begin to race. You were such an interesting woman, getting excited over plants. Ha. He began to study your face as you concentrated on his vitals.

Your brows knitted together, a few strands of loose hair falling in front of your face, your lips drawn thin, your pretty lips. Oh so prett-

“Are you ok?! Your heart rate is unnaturally high! Here let me help you” you exclaimed reaching for him.

He put up a gloved hand. “No! I am perfectly fine.” Did you really have that effect on him? Slightly embarrassed, Vader focused on slowing his heart rate. Ah, back to normal now. 

“Ok, you scared me, Vader. May I continue?”

Not even realizing you skipped his title, he agreed.

__________________________________________

Breaking the silence as you finished up what you could do with him in the suit, you asked where in Tatooine he had visited.

“Many places. A notable one being Mos Espa.” He responded

You stopped what you were doing, “Really? That’s where I’m from!”.

Is it possible? He wondered.

“They had a large slave quarter last time I was there.”

“Yes, they did. I lived there as a child. It was hard, but I had people who made it bearable”, Fondness washed over you as you thought of the Skywalkers, especially Anakin.

He had to know. 

“Have you heard of a junk dealer named Watto?”

“Hah, know him? He basically owned me. So yes to your question.”

He felt as if his heart would give out. He was conflicted. He was glad you were alive, and here, of all places. You followed your dreams. You came back to him. But he also thought of himself. He changed so much, did he even have the capability of sustaining friendships? Or even love? Also he no longer looked like the Anakin you once knew. What if you found him disgusting? Would you judge his actions? What if knowing his identity changed your view of him?

What if you left?

“Yeah, it was rough there, but I had a great community. And my best friend Anakin got me through the worst.” You continued on.

“He was a respectable boy, and I just know he was an amazing man. But I don’t think he’s around anymore.”

F/N

If only you knew. 

Your voice was so pained when you spoke of him. You truly did mourn him. He wanted nothing more than to embrace you and tell you everything’s alright. He could imagine himself calling your name, you in his arms, you finally his. You could be his empress.

His fantasy was cut short by you loudly rolling a cart up to the side of his chair. “Ok, so I’ve done all I can with you in the suit. But now I’m going to need to see your face for the next part.”

Could he face you? 

You grabbed a salve you mixed up, it was to reduce the irritation of the burns. 

“May I?” You said gesturing to his helmet.

Reluctantly, he nodded.

Your hands reached for his dark mask. He could feel them on the sides of his head. You began to gently remove the covering, curiosity bubbling inside. You were probably one of the only people allowed to see Vader’s face. You couldn’t imagine others seeing him and him allowing them to live. 

You were lifting it slowly so as not to catch him on it. You could almost start to see his skin as he grabbed your wrists. You gasped.

“We are done for today.”

You were just about to start actual treatment, “But I-“

“We are done.” He stated.

He adjusted his mask and rose from the seat. Now towering over you he could clearly see the worry and shock in your eyes. He felt a little bad for startling you so suddenly, but he could not do this today. Hell, he didn’t know if he would ever be able to. 

“This has nothing to do with you, I sense my presence is being requested elsewhere.” He tried to reassure you.

“Oh, ok. T-that’s no problem my lord.”

You looked so scared. He sighed, you used to make that same face when Watto would get violent with you.

“Um… may I stay here? I would like to make some medicines with the plants.”

Of course you could. 

“That is acceptable” he wanted to sound more comforting, but he just couldn’t. 

You thanked him and he went on his way.

__________________________________________

You were in the botanical room mixing up calendula, turmeric, and lavender oil to make an ointment that would repair connective tissues and prevent future scarring. 

You hoped you didn’t hurt Vader. Everything seemed to be alright. You talked about your home, asked for his consent before proceeding, what did you do?

He fled to his meditation chamber after he left the med bay. He needed to think. Once inside the ovoidal chamber he allowed himself to be unmasked. Breathing in the highly pressurized air he processed what just happened. 

You were here. You were really here. He had left his past years ago. Everything in that life resulted in pain or heartbreak. Though you never contributed to those feelings…

But he loved Padme.

He loved her so much, even though she could not accept him as he was. 

How could you accept him if his own wife couldn’t?

 You seemed fond of your past with him and his mother. He didn’t want to mess up those good memories for you. He thought of all of your interactions from today and the other. 

He tried to kill you. 

He tried to kill

…you. 

How could he expect you to stay?

__________________________________________

You and Vader’s visits ended the same way as your first, him leaving before you could lift his helmet. This went on for days. You knew you were in no place to tell him what to do, but if he wanted a quick recovery he was going to have to work with you. You sighed as you mustered all the courage you could. 

“Look, we both know you were injured recently and for me to help you heal, we’re going to have to get past the mask.”

He closed his eyes.

“If you’re worried about something you can tell me. This is my life, I live to help others. I am here for you, and you only. I am your physician, It would be against my morals to bring harm to you. I’ve read your file so nothing about you would surprise me.”

He wanted you to be there for him regardless of your profession. He longed to hear those words from you,

 not the botanist,

 F/N.

“You do not understand.” He said

Your features softened, almost pleading you said, “I want to understand Vader. I hate to see you in pain, I want to help you. So please. Let me.”

Let you.

That’s all he had to do. Just let you in.

In the span of a few minutes he felt his life flash before his eyes. He didn't know if he could take another loss. He had you here with him, but he wanted all of you with all of him. But if he told you who he truly was, would you leave him behind?

He couldn’t let you believe he was dead. He felt the emotion in your voice when you talked about him, “Anakin”. You had been so patient with him, asking permission, allowing for him to adjust.

Was he ready for all of that to change?

***

(a/n: eeekk!! i hope u enjoyed!! this is turning into more of a slow burn than i expected! whoops. anyways little sneak peak for the next chapter….. f/n reunites with anakin)

taglist: @dokoni-mo, @the-official-memester, @wizardofrozz, @guinea-pig16, @jar-of-moondust , @stxrrielle, @astra-1780, @katsukiswrld, @bisexual-snake, @hyojin-2579

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