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small-teacup · 3 years

Text

Kidnapping? I Think You Mean Human Borrowing

Requested by: @languortears

Notes: I'm so sorry I took so long!!! D: It's a bit rushed

Ships: Intruloceit

POV: 3rd person

TW: Kidnapping, sympathetic Remus and Janus, panicked thoughts, mention of torture, skeletons and implied blood, impersonation

Let me know if I missed any, please! :D

Word Count: 1367

“That’s KIDNAPPING, Remus,” Janus explained for the 43rd time that day.

Remus opened his mouth and held up a finger, ready to say something in response before he paused and lowered his finger slightly. He seemed to have multiple ideas, instead keeping his mouth open and looking like he would finally get a few sentences out of his mouth before deflating. It was comical, to say the least. Janus sighed and shook his head, “Take your time...”

After what seemed like forever, one word managed to escape Remus’ mouth, “Borrowing.” “What?” “Kidnapping makes it sound like we’re doing some kind of crime!” “IT IS A CR-”

“What I think you meant was ‘human borrowing.’”

Janus groaned and put his face in his hands. “You know what? Fine. Human borrowing.”

================

Logan sat in his room, peacefully typing away on his laptop. Just a normal day. Nothing different, nothing new, just the same as it was the day before. He actually liked the lack of change, despite his ability to adapt to circumstances easily. Well, he’d usually be able to adapt to new circumstances. As he was working, someone came up behind him and clapped their hand over his mouth so he couldn’t scream. It didn’t seem to be needed since Logan wouldn’t have screamed anyways. Nothing could hurt a side in the Mindscape. He was about to see who it was until something hit him over the head, darkness quickly taking over his vision as he went limp.

He woke up tied to a chair in what seemed to be a basement. There was barely any light besides a flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling right above him. He looked around, unfazed at the shackled skeletons on the wall or the suspicious red stains on the floor. Someone suddenly covered his eyes from behind, shrill laughter filling the air.

“Guess whoooo!~” They sang, disturbingly close to Logan in a failed attempt to make him scared.

“Judging from your behavior, I’m guessing Remus?”

“Nice guess, Logan. But no, it’s Janus.” “What?? How?” Janus uncovered Logan’s eyes and stepped in front of him, a little mischievous smile playing on his face.

“I imitated Remus’ voice and attitude to trick you.”

Logan frowned and tilted his head in confusion. “But what was the point of that?”

The deceitful side shrugged and said nonchalantly, “I don’t know. There really wasn’t any. However, I find it a bit amusing considering the fact that Remus is sitting right next to you.”

“What?”

Sure enough, when Logan turned his head, Remus was sitting like a puppy on the floor next to him. He gave the logical side a seemingly menacing grin, revealing his razor-sharp teeth. Logan simply blinked at him before looking back at Janus, much to Remus’ disappointment.

“Is there a point to any of this?” He asked, half-heartedly tugging the ropes that bound him to the chair. It wasn’t that he was making an attempt to escape, it’s just that it was starting to feel uncomfortable.

Janus had summoned himself his own chair, a velvet one with hints of gold. He crossed his legs and examined his nails boredly, which confused Logan even more since he was wearing gloves. “Ask Remus, it wasn’t my plan this time.”

Logan glanced to the gremlin next to him, sighing. “Before I say anything to him, do you mind if I ask you one more question?” “Go ahead, darling.”

“You don’t seem to be lying to me at all. I’ve seen that you only lie around everyone else except Remus, which leads me to infer that you don’t lie to people you like. Do you like me in some way?” Janus froze up, a light blush finding its way onto his face. “No I don’t! Why would I like you? That’s impossible, you’ve got it all wrong. Stupid…”

He crossed his arms and looked away, huffing. It was supposed to be him and Remus getting Logan all flustered, not the other way around!

Logan turned to Remus, “So why was I kidnapped?” “Not kidnapped, you were borrowed!” Remus corrected. “...That doesn’t make sense.” “It makes perfect sense to me!”

“Answer my question, please?” “Oh! Yeah yeah yeah- so, when the others come to save you, we’ll have this epic bloody fight! Or maybe not...I dunno. And then you get saved, BUT we get to torture you until they get here! And it’ll be so fuuuuuuuuuuunnn!!!”

Logan blinked, then sighed, “I doubt there’s anything you can do to ‘torture’ me. Besides, the others aren’t coming anyway.”

The duke’s face dropped as he suddenly stood up and leaned close to Logan, his hands gripping and clawing into the chair arm. “HUH???!”

Janus had been listening to the conversation, even if it seemed like he wasn’t. The unexpected taste of truth surprised him, causing him to turn curiously to the pair in front of him.

“The others aren’t coming,” Logan repeated, assuming that Remus just didn’t hear him.

“What do you mean??! They have to! They’re your friends, aren’t they?? Plus, that sounds REALLY depressing. How’re you so okay with it??” “I’ve simply accepted it. It just seemed to be the logical thing to do. I can’t change it anyway.”

Janus said, almost a bit too calmly, “And do you think that’s a normal thing? That your friends won’t come and save you?” The logical side shrugged, “I guess not. You can’t really blame them.”

“Elaborate.” “...No,” he muttered, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the floor. Remus deflated and sat on the floor, resting his elbow on the chair arm. The next few moments were a blur for Logan. ‘They weren’t coming. I could be anywhere, dangerous or not, and they wouldn’t care. I could be dead and they wouldn’t notice. The Dark Sides might not be able to kill me, but torture is not out of the question. Mental torture, I mean. I could try and pretend that it doesn’t affect me, but I’ll eventually break and when I show my weaknesses, they’ll laugh. They’ll laugh and treat me like a joke and at that point, I might as well duck out because everyone knows that Logic is essential but Logan isn’t and they’ll be so glad to have someone else in my place that they won’t miss me at all…’

The voices around him were becoming muffled as he sank deeper into his thoughts. How much time had passed? It felt like hours already… There was a ringing in his ears that he couldn’t get rid of, considering his hands were tied behind him. In fact, he was starting to lose feeling in his arms. Was he panicking? Spiraling? But what caused it? Why was he feeling this way? Why now? What’s happening-?

“LOGAN!”

The sudden shout pulled him out of his thoughts, looking up at the two sides that stood by him, concern and worry clear on their faces. Only then did he notice his shallow breathing and the tears slowly streaming down his face. Before he knew it, a pair of arms wrapped around him in a warm hug. Without thinking, he latched onto the person, recognizing the smell of trash and about a thousand years of no showering. Wait- what? He was surprised at the sudden freedom. When did they cut the ropes? Nevermind that…

A gloved hand cupped his face gently, the scent of crisp apples and linen going along with it. He leaned into the touch. It felt..comforting. It felt like home. Maybe this was where his home really was..?

“Remus? Janus?” The two sides looked at him, a silent cue for him to go on.

“..Can I stay with you guys? If that’s alright.”

Remus let go and stared at him wide-eyed. He looked over at Janus and back at Logan. It seemed like Janus was doing the same.

“Of course you can-!” The deceptive side blurted out before clearing his throat and pulling his hand away, inspecting his nails that he couldn’t see. “I mean- I suppose you could.”

Logan laughed, to both the dark sides’ delight. It sounded magical like bells ringing.

Never in Logan’s life had he been so glad to have been kidnapped.

(This fanfic wasn't proofread and neither was this post-)

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violetevents · 3 years

Note

HELLO!!! Mutual pining au + locked in a room + first kiss for willex pleaseeee 💖💖💖💖💖

will i ever stop writing hospitality related fics???? probably not. anyway, alex is a chef and willie is a night audit. i hope you like it :)

It’s the end of yet another grueling shift and Alex finds himself stumbling over his own feet as he makes his way to the elevator. He has changed out of his chef’s white in the kitchen’s little backroom, and is now in a simple sweater and jeans. He looks out of place among the hotel’s guests, who are dressed up to the nines. Alex is pretty sure they don’t have an official dresscode, but no one steps into the Michelin star restaurant of a Ritz-Carlton without at least a suit or a gown on.

To avoid the crowds of fancy dressed guests who will no doubt side eye him for his attire, he heads towards the service elevator. During the day the thing is in constant usage, mostly by the cleaning staff. But it’s eleven at night now, and when he steps inside, the elevator is blissfully empty. He leans against the wall and takes a deep breath.

Service was good today, but it’s his ninth shift in a row, and he can’t help but be exhausted. He loves his job, he really does, but sometimes he wishes he had picked a profession that values sleep and days off just a little bit more.

The doors slide open on the 12th floor, and someone hurries inside, nearly bumping into Alex.

“I am so sorry,” they say, and then glance up, their face lighting up. “Oh, hi Alex!”

“Hi, Willie,” Alex says, trying to not let his smile take over his entire face. Willie looks a vision in a suit, with his hair pulled back into a bun.

He’s smiling at Alex as he leans over and presses the ground floor button. The elevator doors shut behind him and he sighs. “How was your shift?” He asks, leaning against the wall next to Alex.

“Long,” Alex says, and Willie nods sympathetically. “How’s yours?”

Willie pulls a face. “Room 104 had a noise complaint and 117 demanded fluffier pillows. And that’s only been the first half hour.”

Willie has been the night auditor for as long as Alex has been working in the rooftop restaurant, and he guesses he’s had a crush on the guy for about as long. There’s just something ridiculously refreshing about Willie in a world full of strict rules and fancy suits. He’s a breath of fresh air, someone who never fails to make Alex smile.

They run into each other most nights, when Alex goes to leave and Willie’s shift is just starting. Alex cherishes those little moments they have, figuring that’s all he’s ever going to get.

He’s about to reply, when the elevator shudders to an unexpecting halt. They’re nowhere near the ground floor, and the doors don’t open. This can only mean-

“Not again,” Willie groans, digging around in his pocket for his phone.

Alex sighs and slowly lets himself slide down to the floor. Every once in a while the service elevator breaks down. No one seems to know why, or how, or how to fix it, but it’s always ridiculously inconvenient. Trappings can last up to an hour at times, and his was not how Alex was imagining tonight to go. He had a bath planned, for fucks sake.

Willie is talking on the phone, presumably to whoever is manning the front desk right now. He hangs up eventually, sighs frustratedly, and falls down on the floor next to Alex. “They are aware we’re in here, and they’re calling the mechanic.”

In other words: all they can do right now is wait.

“Hey, look on the bright side, at least you won’t have to deal with any more fluffy pillow complaints for awhile,” Alex says, nudging Willie’s shoulder with his own.

Willie sighs ruefully, “Yeah, or people are even more insufferable by the time I do finally get to them because they’ve had to wait.”

Alex pulls a face. “Yeah, probably.” There’s a silence, and then he ads. “I was going to have a bath.”

Willie laughs, “I’m sorry, that’s not funny, you just sound so upset.”

“Are you laughing at my pain, William?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Willie says, and his eyes are twinkling, and it’s a challenge almost, and Alex sticks out his tongue at him.

“I hope everyone demands fluffy pillows for the rest of your night,” he says, and now it’s Willie’s turn to stick out his tongue.

Alex laughs. “For two people working in one of the fanciest hotels in town we are ridiculously immature, you know that?”

“It’s what I like so much about us,” Willie says.

Us. Willie doesn’t mean it in the way Alex wants him to mean it, but god, that sounds nice, doesn’t it? Us.

A silence falls over them while Alex’s spirals down a rabbit hole full of ‘us’ and ‘we’ and ‘ours’ and Willie stares a the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought.

“How’s the boyfriend?” Willie eventually asks, and gets shaken out of his thoughts quite rudely.

“How’s who?” He asks, incredibly confused. He would know if he had a boyfriend, right?

Willie waves his hands around, but he’s pointedly not looking at Alex. “You know, that guy that comes to pick you up every now and then? Dark blond hair, no sleeves.”

Alex stares at him incredulously now. “Luke?!”

Willie looks at him now, if only to frown. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what his name is?”

It comes out kind of rude, and suddenly a lot of things are clicking into place for Alex. How Willie had always disappeared from his side the second Luke showed up. How he immediately changed the subject if the conversations steered only slightly into the love territory. How he had always denied any of Alex (albeit a bit botched) attempts at flirting.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” he says, turning so he faces Willie. “I’m single.”

“Oh,” Willie says, sounding slightly hopeful.

“Actually, I kind of have this crush…”

“Oh,” Willie says, again. This time he’s sounding kind of sad again.

“Yeah,” Alex says, and then he surges forward and kisses Willie full on the mouth.

This is not the kind of thing he usually does, kissing people at work, being the one to initiate the kiss, but this is Willie he can’t not.

They pull back and Willie is looking at him wide eyed, and suddenly the elevator springs back to life and they find themselves scrambling to get up. Only seconds later the elevator opens on the ground floor and they’re greeted by Flynn and the mechanic.

Willie walks him to the door, and there’s a silence between them and it’s kind of awkward and Alex is just starting to regret it, is just starting to think maybe he fucked it all up, when Willie says, “When’s your next day off?”

“Uh, Friday,” Alex says. They’re standing at the employee exit now, and Alex is fiddling with the strap of his backpack.

“I, uh, know this coffee shop a few blocks from here. Really good stuff. Think you maybe want to go there with me?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, smiling widely, “yeah, I would really like that.” And then, because he’s riding this wave of courage all the way to the end, he leans forward and kisses Willie on his cheek before disappearing through the door.

He’s still absolutely exhausted, but he’s not stumbling anymore. In fact, he nearly skips the whole way home.

#willex #jatp drabbles #drabbles #fluff #theanarik

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sorry-i-ship-drarry · 3 years

Note

I like your writing so much !!

Can you please write something where Harry is sick and Draco takes care of him?

45. There's no me without you

Prompt- feeling their temperature | Thank you so much for requesting this, I tried to give my very best, however I'm pretty sure the ending didn't turn up that great.

| Harry is diagnosed with a terminal disease | ANGST | HURT COMFORT |

" you called for us ?" Draco asked as he sat down with harry in the chairs in front of the desk.

" how is my favourite couple doing ?" The healer asked with a gracious smile

" mind me, but it's sound's a bit- well- like there's some bad news " harry pointedly almost slightly worried.

The healer's head bowed, in disgrace of not being able to conceal " before I tell you this, please don't be mad. You know I'd do anything to help you as much as I can "

" you're scaring us Ms. Carnballer " draco's fingers automatically held Harry's hand in a tight grip unknowingly

She sighed, pushing the files towards the couple " after the accident of last week, you had required a full body scan and the results came in today "

" wh- what's does it say then ?" Draco's voice quivered, not even being able to read the words on the parchment

" it's my regret to inform you, harry suffers from a terminal disease, plaganeisis. It's somewhat very familiar to muggle..."

But harry was already falling. All the voices were fading and all his vision fading. He knew something was ought to go wrong sometime, but this soon, he didn't expect. His mind rapidly rushed to all the promises he would break, all the promises of spending his forever with draco, only his forever was now limited.

" Mr. Potter, are you listening ?"

" harry, honey " draco violently shook Harry's body on the chair which has gone into unconscious paralysis.

"huh?" Harry voiced

" I said, you're not so severe. But the disease is ought to spread. I- maybe you should take some time and relax yourself. Why don't I just talk to Mr. Malfoy right now ?" She asked sympathetically. Normally harry would've denied and requested to stay but his mind was spiralling into fading into consciousness to unconsciousness, so harry nodded and slowly left the room and waited outside with his thoughts.

Harry didn't talk to anyone properly for an entire week after that, even to his friends who stopped by his place to console him. It was as if the death seemed nearer than it already was. All he thought for days was about his numbered days and leaving draco so broken beyond his comprehension. If harry cared only Little about himself, he would sneak a peek at draco and stare at him looking out of the window, sadly until he'd turn to harry with a smile. It broke his heart to even think about draco after him. They'd only been together for 3 years, in which they had hurriedly married last year, but they had never regretted that decision until very this moment, harry wondered how would it be to let him go.

" I think you should break up with me and find yourself Someone who isn't dying " harry had said one day on the dinner table

Draco only looked at harry strangely, not responding or eating. Harry only remembered hearing draco's cries late in the night when he assumed harry was asleep. He wanted to make his pain stop, but how could he.

This was until harry met with the healer once again.

" harry, I need you to understand that your death would only be nearer if you're thinking it's near. Keeping yourself motivated right now would seem very hard right now but you have to understand that you're hurting other people around you with forcing them to leave you because you think it'd hurt less. I've told you this before and I'll tell you this again, you can prolong your life for as long as your body wants. If you're forcing yourself to surrender yourself to death, you'd be dead very soon but if you don't, you'd Maybe live another 10 years "

" it will hurt, I know. Leaving everything broken. But make the most of it right now,as much as you can. Draco needs you right now and so do you and you have to remember that " Ms. Carnballer softly smiled at harry from the opposite side. It was then when harry realised, he's not dead, not yet. He's still alive. He still is.

And that very night, harry entered the house with a cake, called over his close friends and spent his time, relished it, till he could. It was an improvement and his friends were very happy to see that but that didn't stop them from giving him a sympathies, pity hugs, hugs for longer than usual. For once harry didn't mind, even if it was somewhere Breaking him inside.

" what was all this ?" Draco furiously asked after everyone had left

" what ?"harry asked confused.

" what was the point of all this ? A reminder that you're dying soon ? " Draco's eyes glimmered with sad tears or anger, that was yet to be figured.

" draco-"

" no- you can't Just barge into the house with a damn cake and call over your friends and spend the night as if nothing has happened. Or tell me I should find someone new. do you even realise how horrid I felt when you told me to leave you and find someone who would never be anywhere equal to you and-" but then he broke down onto the chair behind him, heaving violently as he covered his mouth to not release the screams, the sound of pain.

Harry's heart broke to see Draco like that. In the process of turning on the switch, he forgot that if there was anyone in the world who would be most effected by Harry's death, it would be him. And harry had never understand, nor probably will understand how draco must be feeling.

Harry kneeled down in front of draco, his eyes swimming with tears leaking with water to pour. He took the hand that covered draco's lips and kissed them softly, leaving a droplet of tear over his fist.

" everything is not fine draco, it would probably not even be and we can't change that but now more than ever I need you and you need me. You more than me, this will probably be the last moments I spend with you and I don't want to spend that time fighting with you. I want us to fight together. You're right, I didn't realise how I was imposing on you to find Someone new without even thinking because I assumed it would be easier for both of us and now I clearly know it's not. I can't change what's about to happen love, but we can spend each and every moment making memories that will never leave you. I don't want to see you in pain, ever.. I love today and I will love you tomorrow and I will love you from my grave but we both need to understand that. Will you spend my numbered days with me ?" Harry's voice was soft as honey,as if he wanted to conceal both of them from the already bitterness of the situation but again that Infact what they should be doing.

Draco nodded sobbing, kissing harry for the first time in a while because harry allowed to.

" let's make it count, yeah ?" Draco sighed, theirs forehead against another

" yes " harry replied with closed eyes. Maybe it made it all better.

The next few months, harry's condition only became worse. He started losing weight like heavy bricks, his face sucking in, his fingers shaking even to pick up a cup, his eyes becoming home to sunken eyes with dark circles. Harry had lost that innocence on his face and metaphorically his eyes were losing their lively look and if even so they pretended everything was fine, they both sobbed when the other one wasn't around, draco crying more mostly because he felt helpless.

" you have to help me Ms. Carnballer, I can't- I don't want to lose him. I'd much rather die than lose harry. He's the only thing in my life that makes sense. Please- please I beg you " draco sobbed harshly, pleading, begging.

" it's my immense regret-"

" I don't need sympathies. I need to help harry. I don't want him to die. There must be something, anything we can do to save him. please, I'm literally begging " draco cried.

Ms. Carnballer leaned into her chair, sighing. It was painful to see draco like this, even for her even though she saw people like that everyday but none so desperate like him. Draco looked like he hadn't slept for days, he hadn't, he hadn't eaten properly. In taking care of harry, he had forgotten to take care of his own self. That wasn't his priority.

" I will tell you truth draco, the researches are in progress. There's no cure as for now but if I must say, there must be cure. Nature would never create that It can't find a cure to. I can't promise how Long it will take to find a cure, I hope soon but all I can give you right now is hope. I can prescribe stronger medicines but that's the most I can help "

And with that Draco's helplessly and angrily went home, finding harry out of the bed.

" harry, you're not supposed to get up" draco signed as he put his bags on table, roaming around to find harry. And he did find harry sitting by the window.

" how are you feeling ?" Draco asked as he went closer to harry

" do you want me to tell you the truth or the same lie I tell you each day " harry had been crying and draco knew this by his rough voice.

Draco sighed " let's get you back into the bed. I'll make the dinner-"

" no. Draco. I'm tired. I'm tired of seeing you tiredly coming home each day, making dinner for me, telling me everything will be fine one day when you and I both know it won't be. Stop wasting your time on me. I'm meant to die and I will die " harry told Draco nonchalantly

" wh- I thought we had this conversation and we were done with this Absurdity " draco furiously threw his hands in the air.

Harry turned to Draco, stepping down from the window, standing still.

" you are wasting your life draco. I can't see that. In taking care of me look what have you done to your own self. When was even the last time you shaved or ate a proper dinner or went out with friends or just watched a movie and fell asleep on the couch without a care in the world. You think I don't watch you. I watch you like a hawk draco and I can't let you do this to yourself. This is brutal, harsh, painful to even watch " harry threw

" painful?" Draco scoffed " what do you know about pain harry. You tell me you don't want to hurt me, that you can't see me in pain but everyday you reach new heights of hurting me. It's hurts me everyday to watch you lose yourself little by little. It's brutal and harsh that after everything you will leave me alone to spend the rest of my life alone. I miss being myself but now all I think of is how can i take your pain away. It physically hurts me that I can't do anything to save you. It's cruel and brutal of the world to take you away from me when you're the Only thing that makes me want to live another day and when you're gone, how would I even possibly survive. I cry nights away because I can't stop your pain. After everything you've been through in your life, this isn't what you deserve and it's hurts me to every single core of my soul, my body and my heart. I'd much rather prefer death right now " draco yelled crying.

" If I am such a burden draco, please for the love of Merlin leav-" but harry had started coughing harshly. His body doubled over and in instincts, draco helped him to the couch and fetched water, calming his throat immediately.

Draco started crying rapidly, it was as if large crystal balls were dripping down his eyes and they didn't cease at all " I don't want to fight you. I don't- but I'm so hurt. I'm in pian harry, Maybe less than you but it's just- I can't lose you" draco took Harry's hands in how own, drawing circles over his hand.

" I know draco, I know. I wanted to-"

" no harry. It should be me consoling you yet everytime its you consoling me. There is so much wrong with this, but I don't want to console you because I can't stand losing you. I won't survive a day without you harry. I can't. I don't want to " draco sobbed. Harry gave Draco a sad smile, engulfing draco into a hug and kissing the top of his head.

" well I am Always the better one so " and draco finally chuckled, for the first time in months.

It occurred him that night when harry had fallen asleep, after checking his temperature for any signs that if nobody is going to help save harry, draco will do it himself.

And that very night he apparated to Hermione's place.

" I need help "

" about time " Hermione smirked as she led him into her study and they discussed all night about Harry's condition, anatomically the part of his body affected the worst and how can the spread possibly be stopped. Until Draco disapparated for the first time relieved before harry woke up.

It was another 1 month of brainstorming when one night, Hermione found it.

" it's the bone marrow "

" what ?" Draco confusedly asked

" the spread is only through his blood, right ? And bone marrow is the major manufacturer of helper stem cells in the body that would bring up his immunity. It's not the problem with the cells draco, its the bone marrow. Because harry is sickening, the strength of the production of-"

" the helper cells is reducing and if we just know how to fix that then the leukocytes and his platelets count would increase, thereby his body can fight itself "

" yes "

They both remained silent for a long time, until Hermione finally called Madame pomfrey from ages ago knowing she was the Only one who still performed old school magic for treatment of some very vital disease.

" Hermione, remember in second year when harry broke his arm ?" Draco asked suddenly

" what ? Of course "

" remember gilderoy instead of fixing Harry's arm, basically vanished his bone ?"

" of course. If we could reintroduce finer bone marrow-"

" without the aftermath of graft, harry would become healthy because his body will not reject it "

" call ms. Carnballer immediately "

And Ms. Carnballer agreed .

" of course, it was the muggle theory we failed to apply " ms. Carnballer said In a bit suspicious voice

" but ?" Both of them asked

" it seems too easy. I mean no wonder it might be the solution to it but if just seems so simple. If it were that simple, why couldn't wizards had thought of it before? It just seems as if this will have some drawback "

And then it hit them, it was a little too easy. After discussing, draco headed home with Ms. Carnballer telling him to wait for until she was sure of it.

Only time ran out. Draco was half an hour late than usual today and harry hadn't even woken up, even though he would've normally woken up..

Draco kneeled down next to harry, trying to wake him but harry gave no response. He was still breathing but his heartbeat was falling down little by little. In between panic attack, draco immediately dialled up Ron and Hermione.

" we need to immediately go to st. Mungo's"

And they didn't need more notice. They immediate disapparated to their place with Ron warming up the car and Hermione helping carry harry to the car.

" it will be fine. Everything will be fine " Hermione reassured him but draco had lost every shred of his sanity and was dripping all wet with tears.

" I can't lose him Hermione " draco cried as he held harry closely to himself with Ron almost flying the car

" you won't draco. He's a fighter " Ron assured.

Nodding, draco held harry more firmly to himself, whispering " I love you " and " please don't leave me " In Harry's ear. Ron and Hermione only shared looks.

______________________________

" would you at least try ? " Draco begged Ms. Carnballer

" I-"

" please. It have. 88% chances of Saving harry. Please Ms. Carnballer " Hermione countered.

Ms. Carnballer sighed " the hospital won't be responsible for anything that could go wrong, you must know that "

Draco froze. Anything that could go wrong. Those word's screamed in his head but then there was the faint memory running alongside in his head " it's us against the world. We will try till the end "

" do it " draco confirmed. Hermione looked at him for any hesitation. Met with none, she agreed.

He will not lose harry. He will not.. he can't ?

2 hours in the ward, Ms.carnballer finally came out..

" so ?" Draco asked worried out of his mind

" I- regret- harry is suffering from amnesia as of now " she told sighing heavily

" what do you mean amnesia ? It can't be possible" draco wanted to pound on her but ron held him back.

" it's anterograde. He knows everyone, mostly , but some memories might be lost " she weakly replied

Draco almost fell into Ron's grasp, his tears forming instantly

" can I meet him?"

" you can but don't try to pressurise him or anything. I request you "

Draco heavily nodded, biting off his lip in order to release the horrendous scream boiling inside him.

They all followed into the ward was in. Harry was staring out of the window when Draco approached him a little closer.

" harry ?" Draco asked softly, controlling his tears.

" malfoy ?" Harry turned his head with a frown to draco. It was all it took for draco to understand, he didn't remember them..but he wanted to try.

" you don't remember us?" He asked

" what do you mean ?" Harry asked.

Draco immediately turned around to ron and Hermione, who consoled him.

" he doesn't remember us" draco weeped.

" oh goodness I didn't expect you'd cry like a baby " harry chuckled

Frowning In tears draco turned around " what ?" He sniffed

" I could forget you, like you'd let me " harry raises an eyebrow at Draco comically

" what do you mean? She just told me you got amnesia- I don't believe you "

" alright. I got married to you last year on 31st October, at Malfoy manor. Ring a bell " harry quipped

" but she just- you told her to lie? Didn't you ?" Draco narrowed his eyes at harry

" of course. It was fun " harry laughed softly

" you fucking arsehole. You almost gave me heart attack " draco sneered

" but it didn't happen, so we're all good " harry shrugged

" tell me I can break his face " draco looked at Ron

" I'd agree with you unless he looked like this and unless I knew about this " Ron shrugged

" Ron!!! I wanted to say that " Hermione hit him on the shoulder

" you were in on this ?" Draco looked back and forth between both.

" you'd think otherwise. Of course we were in on it. Harry I'd give you a 2.5 for acting. That was shit " Ron raised an eyebrow at harry

" you tell me that when your wife cries like a damn baby " harry rolled his eyes

" I don't understand?" Draco's face filled with confusion after confusion.

Ron and Hermione shared a look before Hermione spoke up " let harry explain, we'll wait outside until your little war would be over "

And they walked out.

" come and sit " harry patted next to him, making some space for him.

In all anger draco narrowed his eyes at harry but at the same time he couldn't be more glad to be with this harry again "you better have a nice explanation " and sat down next to harry on the bed.

" so this happened last week. I woke up in the middle of night and I wanted to look for you but I couldn't find you, I assumed you must've gotten busy with something but when the next night same thing happened, I talked with Ron and Hermione about that. I was really worried for you and I just wanted to know if you were okay. I initially went to them to talk to them about taking care of you, looking after you mostly when I'm gone and told them the whole disappearance thing. It was then Hermione told me that you were trying to look for a cure. I can't tell you how proud I was and am of you. I really am. But you were doing it secretly and I wanted to maintain that until last night, Hermione, rang me and told me that you've got it. And you fell asleep outside for a while, great thing to do while you're husband is in a ward fighting death. They came in and asked for my approval on whatever it was that you guys came up with, of course it would have some drawbacks as Ms. Carnballer said but I wanted to go through with it just as much as you-"

" you did ?"

Harry frowned, taking draco's hands in his own " draco, it's not my choice to die. But if i were given one, I'd never want to die and leave you. There no you without me, nor me without you. Of course the amnesia idea was Mine to scare you. Hermione called it dumb "

" it was dumb " Draco chuckled softly

" look at me draco " and he did

" I've never regretted anything in my life than these last few months because of the pain you've suffered because of me. Even if I were to die Draco, I- I don't know what Would've happened. I'm really sorry for everything-"

" hey, you don't have to apologise. Remember I promised to take you in sicknesses and in health. It doesn't matter harry whatever happens, I'd always take care of you. I just can't lose you. These last few months had been terrible and I never want to go through something like that ever again " draco smiled shyly as he kissed Harry's hands in his own.

" and he won't" a voice interjected behind them..

" ms. Carnballer ?" Draco turned slightly to get a good look of her

" you've fought valiantly harry. The cure that your husband and miss Granger came up with had Little to no side effects, which probably won't show up until very late in life "

" what sort of side effects ?" Draco asked

" you don't have to worry about the disease falling back in again. Side effects however may include slight pain for over a couple of months in the bones and probably anemia, tiredness. You'll have a bit of fitness problem at some point in your life harry. You will have to look out for any illness for the next two years very carefully though. And that's about it "

Harry and Draco looked at each other in relief..

" we did it then ?" Draco smiled

" you did it " harry diligently said

" you've officially fought death, hm, let me see my record, 6 times. That should go in the Guinness world book record " Ron joked as they walked in after that

And the room again filled with laughter.

In the end some fights are worth fighting for.

It is my immense regret for being so incredibly late at delivering the request this late for the inability to probably provide what you expected. Also regretful for not being able to do a stand alone prompt. (Also plaganeisis is no disease). Happy reading. I tried my best.

Requests open

Day 44- how to get away with murder| Day 46- old habits

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

Text

Remember Me ~ Worick Arcangelo x Reader

Disclaimer: This is going to have mentions of past abuse and supposedly illegal behaviour, but considering it’s Gangsta we’re talking about, I don’t think anyone should be surprised by darker themes addresses.

Birthdays...Have always been tedious. A drag. More work than they are worth...So, I wonder...Why do I actually bother doing a party at my home?

I mean, it’s true, I get it, I’m 21, I’m of age...Legally an adult, legally allowed to drink, legally everything whatever...The same as it has been for the past 3 years...

And MAYBE it’s fun to sometimes gather around with your friends and do the same things everyone always does at parties, loud music, alcohol, cigarettes and gossips...

But there is always that annoying anxiety feeling surging through my veins whenever I have to be around more than 3 of my friends, considering this is a party organised by me, and everything has to be done perfectly, everyone must feel good, and at home, not to be left out...

I can already envision myself being the only outcast, anyway, but that’s besides the point.

It’s already evening, the alcohol is sitting on the table, the pizza boxes are stacked up in a mountain on the floor, plastic cups everywhere, ash trays placed strategically, dim lights, coloured light projectors to make the room look like a disco...

And then there’s me. Sitting anxiously on the couch in the living room, dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a long plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, along with some silver rings and a necklace. Casual, comfy, yet pretty elegant in its simplicity.

My friends arrived soon, very loudly congratulating me on aging one more year, fantastic...But they had a mischievous smirk on their faces...

And they brought in a tall, blond man who looked very macho, and I could only blink in confusion as everyone walked inside.

“Uhm...Who is he? One of yours boyfriend or something?” I asked, eyeing everyone attentively. “Nooo, silly! He’s our gift for you!” my best friend grabbed the man by his arm, shoving him towards me. “I’m...Not sure I follow.” I spoke with even more unease, not wanting to believe what I was hearing. “He’s Ergastulum’s most wanted Gigolo! And tonight, he’s all yours to do with as you please! C’mon, you deserve to let loose and have fun once in a while, y’know? Forget about all those jerks and enjoy pleasure like you’ve never felt before~!” my other best friend grabbed me by my shoulders from behind, putting her chin on top of one of her hands, slurring seductively. “...I see.” I muttered, looking away, trying to mask my displeasure at what I was hearing. “Anyway, let’s get you drunk! You won’t get to enjoy anything if you’re so cold and reserved with everyone, y’know? Maybe that’s why you’re always alone! Now c’mon, let’s have fun!” she dragged me to the drinks table, and we started playing drinking games like never have I ever...

Gotta say, Vodka and Bailey’s has always been a shot combination that I adore, and I’m grateful that it takes a long time to get me drunk, because these girls are wasted, while I’m not, so I can escape their grasp. Drunk dancing isn’t that fun, even to watch, and they were making fools of themselves, screeching, giggling...More or less sounding like pained donkeys.

Or maybe I’m just too judgemental and mean because I’ve been in a bad mood and spiraling since they got in my home. To be fair, I don’t even care what is the truth. These are my feelings and I’m not going to play them off as insignificant or non-existent.

Eyeing them carefully, I take a pack of cigarettes and make my way out of the house and sit on the stairs, taking a deep breath of the cold winter night air, I light up a cigarette, taking a drag and staring up at the sky, letting my endless train of toxic thoughts overwhelm me.

I was so long in my own mind that I didn’t notice the door opening until a shadow blocked my vision, and I noticed the platinum blond man sitting down on the stairs below me, resting his back on the wall on the side.

“Y’know...I haven’t been to many birthday parties before, but I’m pretty sure the birthday girl is supposed to be pampered and the center of attention, and yet, here you are, outside, alone and sad.” the man spoke seriously, with his usual light glint. “How much did they pay you?” I muttered, lighting another cigarette, realising that the other one burn without taking another drag of it. “Hmmm? What do you mean?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me. “I’m tipsy, not stupid. You think I can’t think rationally after 8 shots? You’re dead wrong. Now, tell me, how much did they pay you and what exactly did they tell you to do?” I asked in a pressed tone, side-eyeing him. “You’re certainly perceptive, I give you that. T’was quite a lot of money to spend the night with you.” he tilted his head in a playful way. “Not only they have no faith in me to get someone to even remotely like me...They have to pay someone to do something that I dread with a burning passion. Do you even know my name? I don’t know yours.” I shrugged, hanging my head, gritting my teeth in annoyance. “I see your friends screwed up a bit. Name’s Worick, nice to meet you.” he extended his hand towards me. “...Y/N. Nice to meet you too...I think.” I sighed, staring reluctantly at his hand, before slowly shaking it. “Pretty name for a pretty girl. Wanna talk to a guy you’ll never see again? I heard that venting and letting out pent up emotions helps.” he offered, making me look at him with a weird face. “You know you’re not gonna get any action, so you try to do something for the money you earned, huh?” I snorted, raking my fingers through my hair. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. Contrary to my profession, I’m a pretty chill guy. What do you have to lose, talking to someone you’ll never see again? And besides, I have little room to judge you, so if that’s your worry, you can throw it away.” he lit up a cigarette, puffing up into the sky. “You’re...Not wrong here. Okay, fine, Pretty Boy. Imagine this. You’re not even of age, you get your first lover and you’re happy. You finally feel superior. Someone gives a fuck about you...That’s the definition of a lover, after all, I guess...But here’s the deal. Barely one month into the relationship, the person starts getting very pushy and pressures you, without you realising. Words and actions. It goes to the point that they force you to do things that you don’t want to and you’re not ready to, mentally or physically...And you can’t do anything except for denying, since they don’t listen and they overpower you. How is that, so far?” I spoke, taking a few breaks in between sentences to keep myself grounded and lucid. “Very suckish. Does any of your friends know that?” Worick asked in a gentle voice. “They do...My two best friends do. The ones who apparently paid you. I don’t know what’s in those tiny brains of theirs, but I don’t think a one night stand is going to somehow magically get me rid of all problems, traumas, self-issues and nightmares I’ve been having for the last years. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. I don’t know, and at this point, I can’t stay that I care.” I shrugged, leaning back on the stairs. “Maybe you have the wrongs friends. I heard words about you that I don’t think friends should speak like that about their so called best friend who trusted them enough with their bad experiences.” he pointed out nonchalantly, as I shifted my gaze towards him with a frown. “After today...I...Think the same. I...Just...Wasn’t expecting something like this. What more can I say. I am disappointed. And if that wasn’t enough, my second boyfriend, who was a virgin, saw my own virginity as a prize. And the third pity-dated me. Can it get any worse? Because, if yes, I honestly give up.” I sighed, ruffling my hair, obviously done with life. “Life sure sucks, huh? And most people don’t make it any better. All we can do is get stronger, carry on, and fight our nightmares.” he nodded in agreement, clearly sympathetic. “...I see you’re speaking from experience. I wonder what happened to your eye...It may sound insensitive, but after what I just told you, I don’t think there’s any more need for caution.” I smirked at him with a dark sort of self-deprecation that I could also sense in him. “Well, y’know...Sometimes parents aren’t the safe haven they ought to be.” he shrugged, extinguishing the finished cigarette on the stairs. “I see. Yeah, life sucks. I guess I can see why you become a Gigolo. An attractive guy selling his body for money...By what they said, you are the most popular. I can see why. I feel sorry for you.” I gave him a sympathetic smile that disappeared as fast as it came. “You have a pretty smile, y’know? I always thought that people who can smile despite all they’ve been through are the strongest.” he commented, smiling back. “Is that why you appear to be so cheerful? You’re strong, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally too? Wish I was the same. Maybe people won’t find me such an easy target to take advantage of.” I snorted sarcastically, making him chuckle. “It’s a pity people are shit to the few remaining ones who don’t give in to society’s awfulness. But what is a sweet girl like you doing in a shithole like Ergastulum? Doesn’t quite add up.” he asked, getting in a better sitting position. “Life happened. Dad left us, and mum is abroad working to get me enough money to go to university by the end of this year. This place, despite how scary and dangerous it is, was the cheapest place I could afford.” I bit my lip, trying not to worry too much about the future. “I’m sure you’re gonna nail it, so don’t worry too much. You seem like a smart girl, so just study hard and don’t forget to enjoy life. By your standards, not others’.” he smirked, tilting his head towards the door. “You’re funny, Worick. I wish we met under different circumstances.” my voice became lower, only to get interrupted by the door slamming open and the girls leaving the place. “Well, look at you two, lovebirds! You look so cuuuuuuuute! Hey, Gigolo, better take good care of her, got it?! The night is still young for you two! Awesome birthday party, as usual, Y/N, see ya next time!” the girls left, making me blush from embarassment, looking away. “You’ve got very sensible friends.” he muttered ironically, shaking his head. “I’ll...Go tidy the apartment. Maybe I’ll be able to focus on something else. Come one, I’ll warm up some pizza.” I shrugged, getting inside the house. “I didn’t think you’d want me around in your home.” Worick pointed out, leaning on a wall. “You got paid to spend the night with me, correct? Then you’ll do what you got paid for. Keeping me company. You have no idea how refreshing it is talking to someone with some fucking brain in their head.” I plopped down on the couch, putting my feet on the table, turning on the TV to a rock music program and patting the seat next to me for him to join. “It’s an honour to spend time with you.” he chuckled, taking a slice of pizza, leaning back on the couch and mimicking my position.

For the rest of the night, he was gracious enough to help me tidy up and clean everything, and when we were finally done, I went to change in my nightgown, taking a book and getting in bed, only to see the man leaning on the frame of the door awkwardly.

“Ah, yes, how could I forget. Let me find some larger clothes for you to change into.” I put the book down, going to the wardrobe and finding some oversized clothes in which I sometimes sleep. “Are these yours?” he chuckled in amusement. “Yep.Gotta be comfy when you sleep, right?” I shrugged, getting back in bed. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s why I sleep naked.” his grin grew wider, making me frown in confusion. “Sleeping naked is comfy for you?” I put the book on my lap, looking at him for an answer. “Did you try?” he asked smugly. “Yeah. I felt incredibly uncomfortable and anxious the for hours and couldn’t sleep. At 4 AM I couldn’t stand it any longer and I put a nightgown on.” I scratched my cheek, looking away. “That’s adorable. What were you reading?” he asked, getting closer to me. “Get changed and you can come over. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. You got paid, you deserve better.” I waved my hand at him dismissively, only for him to leave the room, get changed, take the book from my hand, flip through all the pages, and return it. “Ah, Picture of Dorian Gray. I’ve been wanting to read it for a while, thanks for the opportunity, I have to say, I rather appreciate his monologues.” he gave me a shit-eating grin, plopping in bed next to me. “I...You...Huh?! You can’t tell me you just read THIS book, right now, for the first time in your life, by just flipping rapidly through the pages!” my expression was that of pure shock and disbelief, which clearly amused him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, sweet cheeks.” he smirked, laying his head down on the pillow. “You...You have an extraordinary visual memory?!” I asked in a voice that I wasn’t sure was heard. “You’ve got that right, darling.” he chuckled with a satisfied smile. “...WHY THE HELL ARE YOU A PROSTITUTE?! YOU ARE A GENIUS! YOU COULD DO SO MUCH MORE WITH YOUR LIFE! EARN AN UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNT OF MONEY! DO YOU HAVE NO AMBITION AND SAFE-LOVE?!” I grab him by the shoulders, shaking him, until he stopped me. “Calm doooown, Y/N, calm down. Thanks for looking out for me, but life is life. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got all I need here. You, however, have the whole life ahead of you, so don’t waste it like I did.” he advised in a soft voice, making me look at him for a few seconds, before sighing, getting up, and picking another book. “We won’t be seeing each other again, will we? Well, if that’s the case, take this. It’s a thanks for being nice to me today...But promise me you will take your time reading it, unlike now. Rest, relax, drink a hot cup of tea, and read each page carefully. Enjoy it, live it, feel it. Can you promise me that?” I asked, handing him the book. “The Hobbit, huh? Pretty cover, intriguing summary on the back...Fine, Y/N. I can’t 100% promise you, but I will try. Are you really willing to part with this one? It seems special for you.” he asked, more serious this time. “...Maybe sometimes the stupid ideas that your heart gives you are better than the rational ones from your brain. Now go sleep, I want to read.” I looked away from him, opening my book and pretending to read, away from him.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and fifteen, all of them in a deadly silence, almost awkward, until a chuckle split the atmosphere, making me turn around, looking at the man with a confused look.

“Usually, when people read, they turn the page after five minutes. What’s on your mind?” he asked, taking a strand of my hair and loosely twirling it with his finger. “..Well...You’re a stranger. And...We’ve only talked for a few hours. I know it makes no sense to ask this of you, but...I won’t be seeing you tomorrow anyway, so...Uhm...Do you think...I'm...Cold and mean...And unapproachable?” I mutter, looking away from him. “Not at all. I find you very endearing. The quiet ones are always the ones who have the best surprises once you get to know them. People deal with problems differently, it just takes the right person to want to understand you.” he kissed the strand of hair, making me bite my lip and turn off the lap light so my possibly pink cheeks won’t be noticeable. “Great. Thanks for the info. Now...How about you earn the money you got paid? You can do that by holding me and playing with my hair until I fall asleep.” I try to keep my voice from wavering. “You don’t have to put that pretext as a front, I would do that even if I wasn’t paid.” he chuckled lightly, holding me close to his chest, his fingers masterfully soothing my senses as he caressed by hair. “...Thanks.” I muttered, hiding my flustered face in his chest. “I have insomnia and general sleeping problems, including sleep paralysis and nightmares...And the only thing that used to be able to put me to sleep without waking up in the middle of the night would be mum holding me and playing with my hair until I fell asleep.” I confessed, my voice becoming softer and more emotional. “Thank you for trusting me with this precious memory, Y/N. It’s going to be okay. Now close your eyes...Sweet dreams, Y/N.” his peaceful, velvety voice was the last thing I heard before falling into a restful and calm sleep, for the first time in ages.

When morning came and I woke up, the bed was empty on the side that Worick was and I almost feared I imagined the whole thing...Until I noticed a piece of paper on the pillow where he slept.

“You’re a beautiful person, don’t let the darkness take over you. I hope to hear from you again, in the future, under better circumstances. ~ Worick”

To that, a phone number was written, and the first thing that came into my mind was to get that it tattooed on my body so I won’t lose it. Of course, that will never happen, so I’ll settle for writing it everywhere I can.

For some reason, I wanted to make him proud, and I still had no idea why, so I only called him once a year, on my birthday, and on that day, we would chat on the phone all night, in memory of that night. Finally leaving Ergastulum to go to University and get a better life for myself was something revolutionary for me, but after over 6 years, I managed to do just that. However, there was something that never left my brain, and that was the platinum haired man that completely changed the way I viewed life and how to approach it.

And I returned to Ergastulum after almost a decade.

I was dressed in a cute dress, and this time, unlike last time, a confident smile was on my face. Even though it’s fake, I adopted the “Fake it till you make it” motto, and nobody has to know about my problems.

I vibe.

Asking around for Worick, I find out he works as the Benriya with another man called Nicolas, who’s a tag, and even better, I got his address, so I knew just where to go.

As I entered the shabby apartment that was, for some reason, unlocked, I see a meek looking woman sitting on the couch, looking down.

“Did Worick get a girlfriend?” I leaned on the wall, a playful smirk on my face. “Wh-What?! G-Girlfriend?! W-Wait, who are you?!” she shot up to her feet, looking at me with big, blue doe eyes, frightened, might I say. “You’re adorable. What’s your name? And can I ask where Worick is? I’ve been told this is where he lives.” I played with a strand of my hair, trying not to intimidate the girl...Too much. “U-Uhm...He...He’s in his room...Who are you, miss?” she asked, trying to get some courage. “A friend, I’d like to think. From about ten years ago. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” I was ready to go look for him, only for a door to open, and the man in cause to appear, wearing only black boxers, and stretching...He obviously just woke up. “Ally? What’s all the noise?” he yawned loudly, rubbing his eyes. “Do you have a cute nickname for me too, Worick?” I smirked at him, as he widened his single eye, his jaw dropping in shock. “Y/N...?” he muttered my name, making me grin widely. “Glad you remember me. It has been quite a while since we’ve seen each other...And you age like fine wine, I’m telling you...You’re a sight for sore eyes.” he chuckled softly, only for him to come and pick me up, spinning a bit, before putting me down, cupping my face and kissing my forehead, leaving me a surprised and flustered mess. “And look at you! Can you get prettier than this? I told ya, you have a beautiful smile!” he grinned childishly, pinching my cheeks, making me yelp in pain and slap his hands away. “Jerk! That hurts! Ahem...Anyway, dear Gigolo, how are you? I heard some stuff about you working with someone named Nicolas...But I doubt her name is Nicolas.” I chuckled, pushing him softly away. “Oh, yes! Y/N, this is Alex, our new friend. You can say she’s kinda...Our secretary? I guess? Anyway, come over, we have a lot to catch up on!” he guided me to his bedroom that was, unsurprisingly, messy. “Wonderful and clean, just as expected. Have you ever thought of opening the window?” I teased him, plopping on his bed that was unexpectedly soft. “You, lazy little vixen...Here. I bought it years ago, after finishing the book you gave me, and I wanted to find out more. Now, I’m giving it to you. Are we even?” he smirked, handing me a copy of Fellowship of the Ring book. “We’d be even if I’d spend the night over as well. And if you gave me drinks and pizza. Basically a date. That will do.” I told him, looking dearly at the book I got gifted, although I already read it before. “My God, since when are you so bold?” he asked, getting on the bed, resting his chin on my knees, looking at me like a happy puppy. “Did you miss me, Worick? I hope you did, otherwise that little piece of paper you left would be incredibly disappointing and misleading.” I pointed out, booping his nose. “I’ve been thinking about you since then. By the looks of it, so did you. Are you sure you want a date with someone like me? You are beautiful, you are brilliant, your attitude in endearing as hell...And I’m still a Gigolo and my life is here, in Ergastulum. Don’t regret it later on.” he asked with a more serious tone, only for me to scoff and pull on his hair playfully. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. Besides...Unlike you, I don’t need to be paid to spend quality time with you, doing nothing but chilling and chatting.” I teased him, making him laugh, as he plopped next to me, poking my cheek. “Great, problem solved! You’ve got yourself a parasite latching on you. Good luck getting rid of him now.” he grinned cheekily, only for me to cup his face and pull him into a kiss. “Why would I wanna get rid of a parasite this cute? Now shut up and hold me, it’s been ten years and I’m touch starved.” I grinned, nuzzling in the crook of his neck. “Damn, how I missed you.” he held me tightly to his chest, occasionally peppering my face with kisses.

It was definitely worth coming back to this God Forsaken place, even if it is for only one person. There’s place for everyone in this world, and in others’ hearts, and I found my place, in Worick’s warm arms, where I feel safest and most loved.

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Title: Observation.

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairing: Mini!Yandere!OC/Mini!Reader.

Synopsis: It’s like being the pet of a pet. Shrunken down, trapped, and isolated… There are worse things you could do than keep your head down and try to play happy-family.

TW: Shrinking, Violence, Imprisonment, Gaslighting and Mentions of Kidnapping.

“It gets better, after a few days.”

His voice was calm, laced with an unidentifiable accent and heavy with a calm, complacent undertone, the kind you’d expect from someone talking to an old friend rather than another hostage. You’d only been awake for an hour or two, but if he was going to panic, he didn’t seem to have any intention of doing so in front of you. Rather, he’d just greeted you and offered an insincere apology before helping you to your feet, spurring you on with promises of tea and explanations, both of which he seemed in no particular rush to provide.

The strangeness of your current state seemed obvious, by now, even if it didn’t really make sense. Your host was normal, a man of few words and tan skin with the barest hints of a spiraling tattoo peeking out from just beneath his sleeves, but he was the only normal thing you’d seen so far. The kitchen table was too low, pushing against the tops of your knees, but your chair was too high, the soles of your feet barely able to touch the ground. The empty vase on the nearest counter was ornate, but plastic, the cheap, overly-decorated sort of thing you’d decorate a playroom with. Most of the cabinets were false, but the few that weren’t contained plates too thick and too wide, cups that were just too small to be held comfortably, silverware that didn’t feel right in your hands. They were tools for toys, faux-commodities for dolls that didn’t need to really use them.

Things for people like you, now.

You crossed your arms on the smooth tabletop, staring down at your hands. Trying to see if anything about you was different, as you spoke. “I don’t know how you can say that.”

“It does,” He assured, making no exceptional attempt to sound any more convincing than he cared to be. “The headache will start to fade with a little sleep, and you get used to making do. We have a lot, but there’s always something missing.” He paused, chucking under his breath, as if the minor inconvenience was his own, personal joke. “I think he does it on purpose. To ‘simulate the difficulties of real-life’, or whatever excuse he wants to use to explain why I’ve been doing laundry by-hand for the past year and a half.”

You stiffened at the mention of your kidnapper, the person who forced you into their little fucked-up experiment. The details of your abduction were blurry, a nonlinear series of pricks to your arm and nonsensical threats you couldn’t quite remember, but you didn’t push yourself to recall much else. You had a feeling you wouldn’t like anything you managed to dredge up. If someone had the capability to make you into something so small, something so helpless, and the apathy to put you on display like a prized pet… You weren’t sure they’d be nice enough to make the transformation as painless as you’d hope.

“I don’t live here,” You mumbled, more to yourself than to him, although the stranger saw fit to hum in response to the admission. “In this town, I mean. I just moved here for a job - I didn’t even really want to, but I needed the money. They set me up with an apartment and everything.” A kettle whistled, and he nodded sympathetically. He didn’t turn to face you. “I didn’t even get to see it, not before I got… shrunk, or whatever.”

“New faces make the most convenient targets. If no one knows you, no one can look for you. Everyone you used to know is too far to do any good.” You sink into your seat. Somehow, his words of comfort did little to inspire much hope. “I think I was a tourist. I was passing through, stopping at a bar, and then--” He clicked his tongue, waving in some vague, dismissive gesture. “--this.”

You frowned, biting the side of your cheek. “Were you scared?”

At that, he glanced over his shoulder, sending you a loose, careless smile. You attempted to return it as he pulled a mug from the nearest drawer, preparing a still-boiling drink with the idle concentration of someone who’d done this a thousand times before. “At first, but as I said, it gets easier. You never get used to it, but the homesickness fades, and you find ways to keep yourself occupied. The only thing that’s changed is your size.” Your shoulders slumped, your attention quickly drifting back to your own self-pity, but a sturdy hand came to rest on your shoulder before you could start to spiral. “You’re not alone, either. You have me, and we will get you through this. In the meantime, drink.” A mug was delicately placed in front of you, the handle just a little too thick to hold comfortably. “It’ll help with the nausea. You’ll feel better once you clear your head.”

You only leaned back, letting him rub slow, soothing circles into your back as you lifted the mug to your lips and took a sip, if only to see the way his smile seemed to grow.

By the sixth day, you’d come to terms with the fact that you were, undoubtedly, in a dollhouse.

The layout was massive, but easy to navigate. The building was split down the middle by a spiraling staircase, the dizzying structure decorated with halls in either direction, all leading to bedrooms or bathrooms or spaces so sickeningly domestic, you’d come to think of the kitchen as a neutral zone. Most were unused. Leon’s (he’d introduced himself properly later on that night, once you were stable enough to ask) bedroom was tucked into a corner of the ground-floor, but there were signs of life everywhere. An empty cup left in an otherwise unoccupied parlor, a book abandoned halfway through, little things, but things Leon didn’t seem like the type to overlook.

The only aspects of the house that hadn’t been tampered with were the industrial-style security cameras, each protected by a metal box and a colorful array of warnings, and one of the spare rooms on the top floor, this one covered floor to ceiling with pastel colors and stuffed animals, things for someone much, much younger than you or the home’s only other occupant. You didn’t try to investigate further. There’d been a camera in that room, too, and if your captor saw you looking around, they might’ve assumed you were curious about...

You’d moved on quickly. That’s all that mattered.

None of the doors had locks, either. You’d only found two so far, a row of deadbolts on the symbolic front-door and a padlock on the basement, both of which seemed to be later additions. Currently, you were lingering near the latter, unsure if you should persist and risk the wrath of your all-seeing voyeur or leave it alone, live to dwell in paranoid anxiety for another day. A part of you was scared, honestly. Nothing else had to be locked away, hidden behind a bolted door, and if there was something you weren’t supposed to see, you weren’t sure you wanted to. If it was Leon’s secret, you couldn’t--

You never got to reach a conclusion. Without warning, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a broad chest and pretending not to notice how quickly you went rigid. There was a laugh, a playful squeeze to your hip, and just as quickly as you were restrained, you were let go, forced to turn around and meet the dark eyes of your only companion. Leon was like he always was, cheerful and much too enthusiastic, despite neither emotion having an obvious motivation. Still, you fell into it quickly, attempting to mirror his joy. It was the least you could do, considering how kind he’d been, over the past few days. “I didn’t realize you were up,” He explained. “It’s still strange to have another person here. I wasn’t--”

Suddenly, he stopped, pursing his lips and scanning over you. His eyes never managed to rise above your neckline, though. “What do you think you’re wearing?”

It took you a moment to process the question. There was a closet full of clothes in the room you’d picked out, but you’d managed to avoid them, so far. Every piece was stiff, unyielding to shame or preferences, and the color scheme was akin to something you’d see in an ancient sitcom. It was a futile progression to dread, and yet, you planned on putting it off for as long as possible.

Judging by Leon’s expression, ‘as long as possible’ wasn’t for much longer.

“I didn’t want to change,” You admitted, a hand absentmindedly drifting to your wrinkled shirt, smoothing over the thin fabric. “It just feels… I didn’t want to, alright? Is something wrong with that?”

That earned a scowl. It took more self-restraint than it should’ve not to step back. “I left something out for you.”

You’d woken up to a pale-pink monstrosity laid out on the foot of your bed, still on a hanger. It’d been disregarded without a second thought. “I didn’t realize,” You mumbled, bowing your head just enough to seem apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be a big deal… Does it matter?”

His scowl deepened, grew, but just as quickly as it’d come, Leon found a way so cover it up. It was there, but a second later, it wasn’t, an expression of disappointed sympathy sewing itself seamlessly into his features. With a gentle, patronizing sigh, he pulled you into another hug, choosing once again to ignore the gesture’s one-sided nature. “It does, angel, but we’ll make an exception this time, alright? When I do something thoughtful, you’re supposed to show me you appreciate it. That’s how this is supposed to work.”

You opened your mouth, thinking for a moment before closing it again. Suddenly, you were glad he couldn’t see your face. The concern slowly infecting it would’ve been… worrying, and you weren’t sure if you could think of an unimportant agitation to explain it away. “The basement,” You said, instead. “Do you have the key?”

“Don’t ask silly questions.” Leon pulled back, tapping the tip of your nose with his index finger. “Hopefully, that door will stay locked. I don’t see a reason either of us should have to go someplace so unpleasant.”

You nodded, and Leon took you by the hand, wordlessly guiding you back towards the center of the house, towards the spiraling staircase and towards your bedroom, where his selected outfit was still waiting, sprawled out over your comforter.

This time, you didn’t argue when he told you to put it on.

He waited three weeks to start sleeping in your bed.

It might’ve been an impulsive decision, on his part. It felt impulsive to you. One moment, you were huddled underneath thin sheets, just beginning to close your eyes and welcome the darkness, and the next you were wide awake, terrified and paralyzed as your mattress dipped, creaking as Leon moved onto it. If he cared that you were awake, he didn’t make an effort to show it, only sliding under your sheets and throwing an arm over your waist, holding you with a practiced intimacy, an undeserved intimacy. The kind of closeness you didn’t want any part in.

“Leon,” You mumbled, much too quietly to be taken seriously. As if there was anyone else you should be afraid of waking up. “Are you alright? Why--”

“Hush, now.” His voice was low, but not tired. Perfectly awake. Perfectly aware. More of a half-hearted threat and a command made out of fatigued necessity. “Sleep, sweetheart. Don’t ask questions.”

He closed his eyes, his forehead coming to rest against the nape of your neck. You didn’t.

“I see you're fond of your new companion”

Elias didn’t make an effort to pose the sentiment gently. He seemed bored, if anything, his chin resting on his fist as he stared down at you and Leon, seemingly numb to the oddity of talking to two people that barely measured up to his thumb. He’d been generous enough to let out of the dollhouse for - as Leon affectionately put it - the ‘monthly check-in’, or… onto the table it rested on, at least.

It was disorienting, seeing the space that surrounded your world, all bare walls and scientific instruments you couldn’t identify, sterile but cluttered, like an unused room in a very lived-in home. Elias was nothing special, either, not the ominous, foreboding figure you’d imagined. He seemed average, if anything, a pair of black glasses and a head of unruly hair making for a rather unimposing figure. A captor, but not an intimidating one. A man with a hobby that just so happened to need a few unwilling volunteers.

Of course, that didn’t stop you from shrinking into Leon’s side when his gaze shifted towards you.

“They’re good company,” Leon answered, his composure never wavering. Why would it? He’d done this a thousand times before, and as far as you knew, he and Elias got along. As well as a captor and their captive could, anyway. “To tell the truth, I’m starting to think I’ve been here too long. I was almost glad this one wasn’t so stubborn, after last time.”

You felt your throat go dry. “Last time?”

“I don’t want to have to deal with another incident,” Elias warned, brushing off your question as if it’d never been asked. “You got along with your other roommates too, at first. Everything’s wonderful and terrific and perfect, until I come to check on you and find one less participant than I should.” He pursed his lips, shaking his head as he let out a noise of frustration. “I can move (Y/n) to another enclosure if this isn’t going to work. I don’t want to lose resources because you don’t get along with them.”

Leon gasped, pressing a palm to his heart in a show of betrayal. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to make a joke or distract you from the topic at hand. “I’ve never done anything that wasn’t necessary. You told me to take care of my home, and I am. I shouldn’t have to suffer because you have poor taste.” Elias rolled his eyes, and Leon laughed, slumping against you, intertwining his fingers with yours mindlessly. “You picked a timid one, and they’re coming along nicely. I don’t plan to waste such a rare opportunity.”

“Are you sure?” Elias asked, leaning back in his chair and fishing for something on the floor at his feet. A notepad, but you couldn’t make out what was written on it. “I’d hate to disagree, but your track-record says otherwise. I’m patient, but I do have my limits, Leon.”

He glanced towards you for the first time since the start of their conversation, keeping you in the corner of his eye. “(Y/n)’s going to behave.”

You didn’t know whether or not you should correct him.

You should’ve corrected him.

“No,” You spat, not bothering to hide your disgust. It was a terrible feeling, a vile sense of wrong, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be surprised. Everything about Leon was telling, from the grimace pressed into his lips to the anger in his eyes, bright and fiery and terrible. Unconsciously, you pressed yourself against the tiled wall, gripping your towel a little tighter. It was the only barrier between him and you, and by god, you weren’t going to give it up. “Get away from me. Don’t touch me.”

“You’re being irrational,” He said, crossing his arms and taking a step closer. You considered making a run for the bathroom door, but you doubted you’d be able to reach it before he reacted, catching you and doing something worse than staring you down. “Couples bathe together. It’s normal, you’re just--”

“We’re not a couple!” It was the first time you’d yelled at him, the first time you raised your voice, and Leon didn’t try to hide his offense. He edged closer, but you were quick to press yourself against the wall, to bare your teeth and try to make it clear he couldn’t intimidate you just by existing. Not again. “We’re captives. We were kidnapped, I was kidnapped, you were kidnapped. You can’t keep acting like this is normal, and you can’t expect me to. I’m not just going to sit back and play nice while you--”

“I don’t think I like your tone,” He warned, his eyes narrowing. The shower was still running, hot steam beginning to fill the room, but Leon didn’t seem to feel the need to turn it off. You’d barely had time to cover yourself before he came in, your hair and your skin still dripping, but you were glad you had. If only to protect the few traces of dignity you had left. “Stop,” He ordered, grimly. “You’re going to say something you regret.”

That was your sign to back down. That you should give him what he wanted, or at the very least, do your damnedest to make sure you weren’t the reason he didn’t get it. When he stopped trying to patronize you, it meant he was mad. And when he was mad…

You tried not to think about what happened when Leon got mad.

You should’ve backed down, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to let him have his way. “You don’t even want to get out of here, do you?”

Grit teeth. A locked jaw. Your second warning. “You shouldn’t--”

“I shouldn’t ask questions?” You cut him off without hesitation. “What do you not want me to ask? What are you so scared of my finding out? That you like feeling powerful? That you want to be in control? You can’t lie to me, I’m the one that has to deal with you. All your rules and your comfort and your fucking clothes.” You forced yourself to stop, to take a breath and seek out the same composure Leon was so good at maintaining. He took the chance to make his argument.

“You’ve been here for a month, I’ve been here for nineteen. You don’t know what it’s like when Elias doesn’t get his way. You haven’t had to deal with that because I’m helping you.” Another step. He was practically breathing down your throat, now. “You should be grateful.”

But, you didn’t want to be grateful. You wanted Leon to stop acting like you should be.

You swallowed, letting the silence grow tense before you broke it. “Someone was here before me.” He made no move to interrupt. You persisted. “What happened last time?”

He flinched, and made no attempt to hide it. You didn’t need another warning.

You lunged to the side, aiming blindly for the door, a weapon, anything that could help you escape or fight or act. Leon was faster than you, though, and much more practiced. A fist closed around your shoulder, blunt nails tearing into your skin, and just as swiftly, a heel found its way to the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground, something in your ankle cracking as you collapsed. You were slammed into the unforgiving floor, your cheek soon pressed against the cool surface and Leon’s body bent around yours, his weight and his strength keeping you pinned down. Weakly, you tried to push yourself up, but Leon only growled, his resolve strengthened and his grip iron-clad. There was nothing you could do to squirm away, not unless he had a sudden change of heart

“Bitch,” He spat, letting out a string of less specific profanities under his breath. “I took care of you. I kept you safe. All you had to do was let me.”

You didn’t respond. Leon sighed, but his hold on you never loosened.

“You still want to know what happened, don’t you?” He sounded defeated, exhausted, but that didn’t stop him from kissing your shoulder as you struggled to nod, the gesture both fleeting and far too prolonged, at the same time. He pulled back, but didn’t let you go, only scanning over you with the same tight, loving smile he always wore when he was about to do something awful.

You’d never thought that smile would make you feel so sick.

“You’re about to find out, angel.”

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mopeytropey · 4 years

Photo

a beer buds series: chapter 5

newest update available below the cut and on AO3 here :) those of you anticipating more of gay disaster!Lexa should be pleased ...

Timeline: takes place between chapters 4 and 5 of 'apu' after Clarke attempts to host a dinner party only to have Lexa arrive as her only guest

Beer: Sunday Paper IMPERIAL STOUT WITH COFFEE

The smoothness of this beer belies it’s 9.9% ABV. Fresh roasted coffee nose leads into a smooth and rich roasted dark chocolate and coffee flavor with hints of dried black cherries.

ABV 9.9%

Sunday Paper Imperial Stout: Exhibit A (Framingham, MA)

Lexa has settled into the worn comfort of Lincoln’s sofa for all of six minutes before a large, curious ball of grey fur is sitting beside her. The cat blinks up at her with its owlish eyes the color of rust, and Lexa smiles while rubbing behind its ears.

“I still can’t believe you’ve named your cat after my father.”

“Come on! Tell me she doesn’t look exactly like Gus!” Lincoln shouts from the nearby kitchen.

The cat begins to purr at Lexa’s doting touch, and she thinks it enhances the resemblance even further. A docile temperament hidden beneath the imposing stature of her father. Uniform grey coloring gives way to a wide swath of darker fur beneath the cat’s chin, cascading down its chest like an unkempt beard. Lexa smiles again. Gus the cat has a bulky frame but is gentle and affectionate. She thinks the comparison is entirely apt.

“She’s bigger than when I was here last,” Lexa observes as Lincoln enters the room carrying two glasses of dark beer with heavy foam.

“She eats like a horse,” he laughs, setting a drink in front of Lexa before collapsing onto the other end of his couch. “Plus, I’m fairly certain Octavia is spoiling her with extra treats. Cheers, buddy.”

Gus abandons her immediately for the comfort of Lincoln’s lap while Lexa retrieves her glass.

She reaches down the short expanse of sofa cushions to clink her glass against Lincoln’s. “How drunk am I going to be after this one?”

“Imperial stout. 9.9%,” Lincoln smiles. “But, I’ve got lasagna and garlic bread in the oven to compensate.”

“So I’ll be hungover and doubling my running route tomorrow. Thanks a lot.”

“What are friends for?” Lincoln beams. “Hey! We should do 1A down to the island and back—weather is supposed to be super mild tomorrow and I’m done with my meetings by 4:00.”

The route past Clarke’s house.

The new information of Clarke’s residence is like a hot coal buried deep in Lexa’s stomach. The architecture. The pungent smell of the marshes. Seeing Clarke backdropped by her own surroundings had completed so much of the picture Lexa has been composing for months. Everything about the house, and Clarke in it, made sense—from the colors of her open kitchen to the art hung on the walls to the spiral staircase that Clarke practically forbade Lexa to ascend.

She swallows, wondering if the blush she feels on her cheeks will show in the low light of Lincoln’s living room. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“So, how was it on Tuesday? Sorry we bailed.”

Not for the first time, Lexa wonders if Lincoln has somehow infiltrated her inner thoughts based on the timeliness of his ask. The inquiry does nothing to lessen her blush, but Lexa hides further embarrassment behind a large sip of stout.

“You mean showing up for a dinner party to find you’re the only guest in attendance? Not awkward at all, that’s for sure.”

Gus seems to vacillate between the two of them for a moment, finally curling against Lexa’s leg and pushing her paws into Lexa’s thigh when she sinks her hand into thick, soft fur. The sound of Gus’s purring is amplified by Lincoln’s quiet apartment, and Lexa begins to relax with its perpetual hum.

“Yeah, but it’s Clarke,” Lincoln laughs. “I’m sure you guys had fun without us anyway.”

Lexa can’t decide if he’s really so oblivious or playing dumb for her sake, but she looks at him like he’s sprouted a second, immaculately shaved head anyway. She is tempted to recount every movement, and look, and smile, and gesture that she was forced to endure in Clarke’s company that made her feel, in fact, incredibly awkward. And, unsure. Anxious. Elated. Questioning every decision she’d ever made in her life to that point.

But, sure: fun is more succinct.

“We had a nice time.” Lexa smiles into her beer, remembering. “I think I talked a lot.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Lincoln further mocks her by cupping a hand around his ear as if to hear her more clearly.

“You’re such an ass. Why do I even hang out with you?”

“I’ve been grandfathered in,” Lincoln shrugs.

“When we were out on the boat, Clarke shared some things with me—personal things—and it felt like it was time to reciprocate.”

“Her dad?” Lincoln asks in a far more cautious tone. Lexa nods, taking another sip of the dense, dark beer. “The way the girls talk about him, he sounds incredible. A great guy to have lost so soon. O says the Griffins practically raised her. She really loved Jake.”

“I think Clarke’s connection with him was quite strong.”

Lincoln slowly nods through a heavy sigh. “So, how much of the backlog did you offer up in return? How far back into the Brooklyn archives did chatty Lexa venture?”

He’s broken the mood, and Lexa gives him a grateful smile. “Quite a bit, actually. I was also sort of high at the time.” Lincoln almost chokes on a sip of beer as Lexa shrugs. “But, I’m glad I told her. It felt good to talk about it.”

“Yeah.” Lincoln’s dark eyes have taken on a distant quality, and Lexa suspects he may be thinking of Octavia. Perhaps he’s thinking of all the parts of his dark history that he’s been able to share with someone as strong and resilient and unwavering as her. For someone as reticent as Lincoln, it must feel like infinite relief to give that part of himself to someone else. “We beat some shit odds, didn’t we?” he finally says.

Lexa exhales a humorless laugh. “Understatement.”

It had been a childhood of survival for them both. Anya too. But then they found each other, and it started to feel less harrowing, less isolating and alone. Even when they lost track of one another—transported from one family to another, in different boroughs, different schools—Anya taught them to rely on a network of trusted contacts. Information from other kids in the system became the string that kept them tied together.

And then, during that frightening summer when Lexa was thirteen and Anya disappeared, lost to another state—shipped halfway across the country—Lexa wouldn’t let them rest until she and Lincoln found her. It would be another eight months before Anya landed back on New York City asphalt and Lexa could breathe steadily again.

A timer sounding off in the kitchen breaks the atmosphere again, and Lincoln sets his beer down to briskly stand from the couch. “I’m gonna check on the lasagna. You good on beer?”

Lexa eyes him, incredulous. “I’ll be drinking this same beer in an hour. Quit trying to get me drunk.” Her phone buzzes while Lincoln exits, his laughter trailing after him.

Clarke’s name on her phone screen has Lexa shifting around on the couch, setting down her beer and resting her elbows on her knees. That now familiar coil of excitement swirls in her stomach as she opens the message.

Clarke Griffin (6:07PM): new artist featured at the coffee shop has some amazing photography of NY

Clarke Griffin (6:07PM): red hook, I think?

Lexa gives in to the tug at her lips, the way Clarke’s innocuous observation blooms warmth in her chest because of its casual consideration.

Clarke had been thinking of her.

She more often tries to suppress the way her mind wants to calculate just how much Clarke thinks of her. But tonight, she allows it. Even a momentary concession has Lexa biting at her lips to keep her smile from spreading.

(6:08PM): Clarke, please tell me you are not drinking coffee at six pm.

Clarke Griffin (6:08PM): Ok. Lexa, I am not drinking coffee at 6pm.

Lexa is readying her next reply, gently chastising Clarke for her irresponsible caffeine intake for what is likely the hundredth time, when Lincoln’s voice announces his return to the room.

“What’s Costia up to tonight?”

A lurch in her chest has Lexa nearly dropping her phone onto the floor. Mention of Costia while staring at an innocent message from Clarke is like a head-on collision in her brain. She blinks, closing her phone all together and setting it carefully on the table beside her beer.

It shouldn’t feel like an irritant, like vinegar in an open wound, but Lincoln asking after Costia grates the skin at the back of her neck.

Lexa works to remain calm, grinds her jaw, and goes for vague nonchalance. “Boston. Working late.”

“Damn, that sucks. Again?” Lincoln returns to the sofa and stretches his arm along the back cushions. Gus had since wandered off during Lexa’s less-than-scandalous text exchange about photography, but she returns to nuzzle at Lincoln’s calves.

“Par for the course,” Lexa exhales, willing herself to ease the raised hackles she feels along her spine.

Lincoln’s tone is sympathetic. “It’s been happening a lot lately, huh?”

After another sip of beer, Lexa turns into the couch, folding one leg beneath the other. “I’ve lost track, honestly.”

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, but I have a lot of questions.”

Lexa runs her fingers through her hair and stares at the drink held in her right hand. She doesn’t like to think about all the ins and outs and what-ifs of her current relationship, let alone voice her wandering thoughts aloud. But, Lincoln is a good friend—more than that, he is an integral part of her found family. She finishes the last quarter of her pint in two or three gulps.

“I’m probably going to require more beer.”

Lincoln smiles kindly, patting her kneecap before taking the empty glass and standing once again. “More of the same? Or do you want to try something else?”

Lexa stops herself from asking for an entire bottle of whiskey. “What else do you have?”

“Come have a look,” Lincoln offers.

She follows him into a petite kitchen, further dwarfed by Lincoln’s immense stature.

“It smells amazing in here.”

“Should be ready in the next half hour or so,” Lincoln tells her as he swings open the fridge door. There is a low shelf stocked entirely with various cans of beer. “Pick your poison.”

Lexa squats onto her haunches to examine a few of the labels, in the end deciding on an IPA she remembers seeing on the taps at Dockside.

“That’s a good one. Octavia is obsessed with it,” Lincoln tells her as he opens his cabinets for a fresh glass and snaps the tab on the beer can for her. He hands over the new glass of beer before rinsing the can and tossing it into a squat recycling bin beside his trash can.

Lexa rests the small of her back against the edge of his kitchen counters and enjoys her first sip while Gus winds around her ankles and flicks her bushy tail.

“Octavia has good taste.”

“Tell me something I didn’t already know,” Lincoln smirks.

Lexa shakes her head in mock astonishment. “Legitimately. Such an ass.”

His smile transforms to something more genuine as Lincoln props his weight against the counter opposite. “She’s a complete workaholic—never stops thinking about the job, reading up on new techniques, emerging brewers, hop varietals. All of it. The success of that bar is her life. She lives and breathes it, and it shows.”

“But she—” Lexa adjusts the fit of her plaid button down, swallows her uncertainties with another sip of beer, and forces herself to engage in a conversation she has long since ignored. “You two still spend a lot of time together?”

“I think the fact that our mutual interests and careers virtually overlap sort of helps. But, yeah, I think regardless of that, we would still make time for each other.”

Lexa can only nod in response, returning to her beer in lieu of anything profound to say in turn.

“Are you guys able to spend any time together at this point? Costia’s schedule seems heinous.”

“We are. Here and there,” Lexa shrugs. “We went to see an exhibit at the MFA last weekend, which was nice.” Lexa frowns at the floor. “None of this is her fault. She tries.”

“There’s not always someone at fault when things stop working,” Lincoln says, not unkindly.

It doesn’t stop Lexa from grinding her jaw on instinct.

“I moved here for her. If we were to—I don’t even know what I would do if that happened.”

“Lex, you told me months ago that you were moving here to sort things out—not just with Costia, but with yourself, too.”

Lexa nods again and answers softly. “I know.”

“Let me ask you this: if Costia’s schedule were different, if she were able to do what she loved in school while also making more time for you and her, would it make you want to hang out any less with, you know, other people?”

Not so oblivious then.

He doesn’t have to say her name explicitly—the knowing look they share speaks volumes. Lexa looks away and licks her lips, stalling a response as her pulse quickens.

“I don’t know if—”

Her half-formed response is interrupted by Lincoln’s phone ringing on the counter beside him. He grins as he picks up the call.

“Speak of the devil. Hey, Clarke.”

Lexa sips her beer helplessly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as her mind races. He’s answered the call on speaker, and Lexa braces for the distinct rasp of Clarke’s voice.

“Hey, it’s me,” Octavia answers, her voice sharp and distinct in it’s own way, and Lexa relaxes by a fraction.

“Oh! Hey, it’s you. Why are you calling from Clarke’s phone?”

“I can’t fucking find mine. Have you seen it at yours?”

“Uh, no,” Lincoln answers, nevertheless casting his eyes around the kitchen surfaces for any sign of it. “I can look around for it though.”

“We’re actually parked outside—”

“Hi, Lincoln!”

Clarke’s voice pipes through at a distance—as if Octavia hasn’t put the call on speaker but Clarke wanted to be included anyway. Lexa tenses in an instant.

“—on our way to Abby’s for dinner. Do you mind if I run up for a sec?”

“No, of course not. Come on up.”

“Are you sure? I’m not trying to interrupt your bro date with Lexa.”

“Hi, Lexa!”

“Clarke, is it possible for you to have any chill for longer than ninety seconds?” Octavia snaps.

A short and hushed squabble ensues over the next several seconds, likely within the confines of Clarke’s car. Lincoln shares a smile with Lexa across the small expanse of his kitchen as her stomach jumps with nervous energy.

“I’ll be up in a second,” Octavia grumbles.

She’s at the front door a moment later, and Lexa lingers by the kitchen doorway while Lincoln greets her with a brief kiss.

“Hey, Lexa.”

“Hi.” Lexa offers a half wave.

“I’ll be out of here so quickly, I swear.”

“Don’t worry about it. Do you want help looking?”

“Nah, I’m good. Clarke wants to talk to you anyway.”

This jolts Lexa to a standstill where she had begun to move slowly towards the sofa with Gus at her heels.

“Oh, she—I uh,” Lexa swallows down a fresh set of nerves that Octavia doesn’t seem to notice.

“Babe, can you check the back deck while I look in your bedroom? I was out there this morning for a little while, and I might have left it on one of the chairs.”

“Sure,” Lincoln answers, his arm still slung around Octavia’s waist as he leans down to kiss the top of her head.

They’re both gone from the room in another instant, leaving Lexa standing awkwardly between the front door and the couch where Gus has perched herself atop the back cushions. Lexa hesitates for long seconds, adjusting the rolled sleeves of her shirt while gnawing her lip as the decision to stay or go to Clarke flits irritatingly against her conscience.

Gus observes her solemnly, and she swears it’s the same look her own father pinned on her during that summer she turned sixteen and formed an unwavering desperation to impress Nathalie Rivera, who Lexa did not, irrefutably, have a crush on. Even going so far as to bribe Lincoln into teaching her the Spanish he’d picked up from his new foster mom. Lexa’s determination to get her attention could not be deterred, but she was not romantically interested in any way, Anya’s accusational taunts be damned.

“Don’t give me that look,” Lexa tells the cat as she rests her beer on Lincoln’s coffee table, slips into her shoes, and heads for the door.

She practically sprints (without logical cause) down the flight of interior stairs to the main door, which opens onto a front walk, at the end of which sits Clarke’s silver car. Lexa manages to calm her breathing enough by the time she reaches the driver’s side of the car that she’s not visibly out-of-breath, but her lungs feel constricted nonetheless.

“Hey!” Clarke beams as she slips from the driver’s seat when she notices Lexa approaching.

“Hi.”

Lexa forces her mouth closed to keep from audibly stuttering. Clarke is often dressed at Dockside in an expansive wardrobe that feels like a personal attack on Lexa’s wellbeing. But, something about seeing Clarke in jeans and a warm sweater, looking casually elegant for a dinner with her mother, has Lexa stumbling over basic conversation skills like she hasn’t in years.

“You’re, um, you guys have—” she clears her throat, completely ineffectually, and Clarke very poorly hides her amusement.

“We’re on our way to my mom’s. Raven just got this major promotion so we’re celebrating by letting her cook us dinner.”

Lexa places her hands into her front pockets and smiles at Clarke as if her whole body doesn’t feel like a brittle, shaken leaf.

“You maintain very bizarre friendships.”

“That’s an interesting take coming from one of my best friends.”

“I didn’t know what I was getting into,” Lexa smirks. “Clearly.”

Clarke looks away with a laugh and leans against the side of her car to cross her arms along her stomach. The gold of her necklace pendant glints in the streetlamp above them. She nods towards the house at Lexa’s back when her laughter has subsided.

“Sorry we crashed.” Clarke’s face scrunches prettily with guilt, and Lexa makes the wise decision to avert her eyes with a shrug.

“It’s totally fine. Unavoidable emergency, right?”

“Or, they just devised a pathetic excuse to makeout for a few minutes.”

“Right,” Lexa laughs. She cranes her neck to look back at the house. “Maybe I shouldn’t have left them alone.”

“At this rate, they could be grabbing a quickie.”

It’s now Lexa who is twisting her mouth at Clarke’s overt sexual reference, hiding embarrassment behind disgust. “Clarke, ew.”

It only serves to make Clarke laugh again, and Lexa is forced to look away a second time.

“So what’s up? Did you need something? Or, did you just really miss me?”

“What?” Lexa must look horror-stricken because Clarke is sputtering more laughter. “No, I’m just—Octavia said you wanted to see me.”

Smooth. Very smooth.

“I didn’t—” Clarke starts to protest, looking a little unnerved herself before rolling her eyes. “She’s an ass.”

The familiar insult makes Lexa laugh, and Clarke smiles in kind. “She’s well matched then.”

“Lincoln? An ass?” Clarke looks scandalized. “No!”

Lexa shakes her head with a long sigh. “You have no idea.”

A charged moment between them stretches taut, as it so often does, and Lexa is reminded of all the other moments that have preceded it.

Tuesday night spent salvaging a failed dinner party.

A blissful day on the water in Clarke’s boat.

Coffee along the harbor.

Aimless walks about town. Lingering goodbyes.

And, countless other instances in which Lexa must fight this same impulse. She’s not at liberty to admit to such wants, let alone act on them, but the thought of kissing Clarke persists behind a veneer of practiced composure.

Sometimes Lexa thinks that if Clarke were to lean in, make the decision for them both, she would let her.

Clarke is too good a person to make such advances; even hoping for such an outcome is wildly unfair, and Lexa hates herself a little bit for it.

She wears a regretful smile that she presumes Clarke has come to recognize—the way it is reflected back to her as Lexa sighs. “So, I guess I’m going to head back up. Lincoln has promised me twice my weight in carbs.”

“Ooh!” Clarke’s eyes light up as they so often do at the mention of food. “What’s on the menu?”

“Lasagna.” The answer comes from over Lexa’s shoulder, and she turns to see Octavia ambling down the front walk with a small plate and a mouthful of pasta. “And, it’s so, fucking good.”

“Aren’t you two on your way to dinner?”

Octavia shrugs, “Appetizer.”

“I hope you know you’re sharing that with me,” Clarke tells her as Octavia rounds the car and opens the passenger door.

“You’ll have to pry the fork from my cold, dead fingers.”

Clarke scoffs, opening her own door. “As if cutlery has ever stopped me from stealing food off your plate.”

“I’ll see you guys later,” Lexa smiles, taking one or two backwards steps towards the house.

“Later, dude,” Octavia answers before closing herself into the car.

Clarke smiles warmly, her eyes softening even as Lexa creates more distance between them. “Bye.”

Lexa can feel the warmth of Clarke’s gaze at the base of her stomach, swirling lazily. “Bye.”

She ascends Lincoln’s stairs briskly, determined to figure out her emotional baggage sooner rather than later and finally get her life together.

:::

#a beer bud series #apu #a pleasant undoing #brewkru!#clexa fic

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 4 years

Text

Return to Me - Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Hopeless Afterall

A/N: Ayyy! Sorry it’s a little late and a little short! I took the title for this chapter from Rewrite the Stars from the Greatest Showman, and also one of the lyrics slipped its way into the dialogue. I hope you like! There is a lot of good angst in this one, my dudes. Confessions of love, too!!! Anyways, let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged and all that jazz!

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader Word Count: 3,889 Synopsis: Still struggling to make amends for his Dreadnought plan, Poe tries to save the Resistance, while also trying to salvage your relationship, which now more than ever feels necessary after your confession on the bridge.

Tag List: @xeniarocks, @too-many-baes, @araceli91103, @holybatflapexpert, @themihala, @idocarealot, @treblebeth, @treestarrrrrrrr, @thescarletknight2014, @charlottie2998, @ibikus, @mellow-f1, @mrsdaamneron, @trustme3-13 @missjess71, @ella-solei, @minelskede, @gleigh42, @usuallyweepingnacho, @givemethatgold, @and-claudia, @constantdisgrace, @wordsinwinters, @readingvogueonprivetdrive, @trshbb, @kaitlynw011, @ihave2muchtimeonmyhands, @constantdisgrace, @fairytalesforever, @thanos-jeep, @mixedfandxms, @pastelbunny1501, @emotionalcal, @daniellajocelyn

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Neither you nor Poe spoke the entire walk back to the heart of the cruiser. You were each too lost in your own thoughts of the revelation that you still loved him to find the words to say to talk about it. As you were about to turn down the way towards Leia’s room, Poe grabbed your elbow.

“What?” you asked, looking back at him. Your eyes connected with his, making you pull away and avert your eyes.

“I don’t think we should stay in Leia’s room anymore. She needs her rest, and there’s no way Zaisa would let you leave again.”

“Why would I need to leave again?”

“More mutinying, obviously,” he said, grinning deviously at you.

“Of course,” you laughed.

“I was going to head back to my quarters,” he said, motioning down the hall.

“Right,” you said, shaking your head, “You must be exhausted. Go ahead, I don’t—”

“No, Y/N, I meant you should come with me.” Just him saying your name started a fire in your chest, much less his invitation to come back with him to his quarters. “Besides, if anyone deserves to be exhausted, it’s you. You’ve gone through too much in the last day or so. You need to rest. Come with me,” he said again.

“I can’t,” you said with a gentle smile.

“Says who?” He took your hand in his slowly, biting his lip as he did, waiting patiently for your reaction. You didn’t pull away, just looked at him cautiously. This was absolutely a bad idea, but when he was holding your hand and looking at you with those dark eyes of his, you couldn’t find the words to say so. When you didn’t argue, he led you across the cruiser until you came into the hallway filled with crew member designated rooms. He pushed open the door to one and allowed you to walk in first.

“So, what do you think Holdo’s reaction will be when she realizes your plan?” you asked. Poe laughed as he shut the door behind him.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not worried about her response?” you asked, turning to look back at him, the skirt of your dress spiraling out in cascades around you. For a moment, like in the old days, your beauty took his breath away.

“No,” he said after a pause, “Because I have faith in our plan.”

“Our plan?” you asked, your smile growing, “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. When you get caught, the blame is going to be all on you.”

“And when it saves the Resistance,” he said, strolling in front of you, “You can bask in my glory.” You rolled your eyes, laughing at him. There was a pause where the two of you only smiled at each other. You couldn’t help but glance down at his lips. As he took a minuscule step towards you, you turned away, looking at the minimalistic décor in the room.

“I heard what you said,” he admitted with a sigh.

“What?” you asked, turning your head just slightly, too scared to look at him fully.

“To Karé. I heard everything.”

“I know you did,” you said quietly.

“Did you mean it?” he asked. You looked back at him, frowning softly.

“What does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” he said, taking a step closer. You took a breath and nodded slowly.

“I meant every word.” He moved forward until he was right in front of you, his gorgeous brown eyes looking into yours.

“I love you,” he said. You broke out into a painfully sad smile, putting your hand on his cheek. “I know I was supposed to move on, but I couldn’t.”

“I love you, too.”

“Good,” he said, grabbing hold of your waist. He tried to close the gap between the two of you, but you pulled away, your eyes closed. “Y/N.”

“What?” you asked, taking a step back, “We can’t do this.”

“Yes, we can.”

“You think it’s easy? You think I don’t want to run to you?” you asked, shaking your head. “I do. But there is too much keeping us apart.” Poe frowned and set his jaw. “I wish things were different, but they’re just not.”

“And in two years?”

“I don’t know,” you said weakly.

“You know, one kiss wouldn’t kill you,” he said, smiling out of the corner of his mouth.

“I think it would.” He nodded and looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry. I should go.” You didn’t wait for his response as you walked to the door, shutting it carefully behind you.

Poe flopped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. When he found out you still loved him, he didn’t imagine things going this way. When he heard you telling Karé your feelings for him, he only thought about the good things that could come from that. You still loved him, you could fight your way back to each other. But he was stupid to forget about the things still keeping the two of you apart. You were still queen, and if you were re-elected, which he knew you would be, considering how much the people loved you, there would still be another two years before you could get back to one another.

He knew this, and yet, there was still a cynical piece inside of him that knew that these moments you had on the cruiser together might be your last. If things were to go badly, this could be the last chance the two of you had to be together. He’d much rather spend one more day with you in his arms if things were going to end the way they seemed.

Just as he was about to stand and find you, you rushed back into the room.

“What is it?” he asked, jumping up out of bed, taking in the panic in your face. “Are you alright?”

“You need to see this,” you said, taking his hand and leading him out into the hallway. You raced down to the end of the hall until you came upon a viewing window. Poe instantly saw what had caused your panic as he watched in horror as the accompanying ships following your cruiser were destroyed before his eyes.

“What the hell is Holdo doing?” he asked. You were only able to shake your head in response, the fear that you had kept at bay before beginning to creep back in. He started to move towards the door, but you grabbed his hand.

“Poe, don't.”

“You don't even know what I'm going to do,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

“You're going to confront Amilyn.”

“I know she was your mentor and I know she's done a lot of good for the Resistance, but—”

“But you don't agree with her plan,” you finished.

“This isn't a plan,” he said softly, pointing at the floating remains of your medical ship, “I'll try not to make too much trouble.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” you said, looking at him plainly.

“If you're so worried, come with me.” You raised your eyebrows, trying to tell if he was serious or not.

“And stop you from making a scene?” you asked as he opened the door.

“If you think you can,” he called, already making his way up the stairs. You ran after him but trying to keep up in your dress was proving more difficult than you initially thought. By the time you got to the same level, he was already at the entrance of the bridge.

“Dammit,” you cursed under your breath, following him as quick as you could without drawing attention to yourself.

“She in there?” Poe asked, storming right past Commander D'Acy.

“The Admiral banned you from the Bridge, let's not have a scene,” she tried.

“No, let's. Holdo!?” he yelled, stalking onto the bridge. You flashed a sympathetic smile at D’Acy as you also walked past.

“Flyboy,” Amilyn said with contempt.

“Cut it, lady. We had a fleet, now we're down to one ship, and you've told us nothing. Tell us that we have a plan! That there's hope,” he yelled, gesturing to the rest of the crew members aboard the bridge.

“When I served under Leia, she would say, 'Hope is like the sun, if you only believe in it when you can see it'—”

“'You'll never make it through the night,'” Poe finished.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. She glanced over at you, and you could see that she was annoyed by Poe's attitude but clearly trying to keep the scene from escalating. That hope was completely squashed as Poe walked past her and looked at the command screens.

“Are you fueling up the transports?” he asked, “You are. All of them? We're abandoning ship, is that— That's what you got? That's what you brought us to?” he asked, kicking the edge of the screen, and eventually throwing a chair down in anger.

“Poe—” you tried, but he was already well into his rant.

“Coward! Those transport ships are unarmed, unshielded. We abandon this cruiser, we're done. We don't stand a chance. No, you're not just a coward, you are a traitor,” he yelled, getting in her face. At his final word, you sighed. Whatever hope you had about reconciling the relationship on the bridge was lost.

“Get this man off my bridge,” Holdo ordered, her eyes narrowing. Two guards walked up, but Poe shook them off. He stalked off the bridge with the same fervor as when he came aboard.

“Vice Admiral,” you said, cautiously taking a step towards her.

“Speak carefully, Your Highness, or I'll send you off with your ex-husband,” she said, glaring at you, somewhat softer than she had Poe.

“I agree he was out of line there, but you have to admit your plan isn't exactly in good faith.”

“You don't have to have faith in it, Y/N,” she said tiredly, “This is the best plan for our survival, trust that.”

“I’ve always trusted you,” you said seriously. She smiled at you gently.

“Try to convince Captain Dameron to do the same.” You nodded and looked back towards the door Poe had just left out of.

“I’m sorry, he's not usually like this.”

“You didn’t bring this out of him,” she said, reading your face, “He knows what his dreadnought plan did to our chances.” She put a caring hand on your shoulder as you frowned. “Please get back to where it's safe. When it's time, I’ll call for you. Poe, too.”

“Yes, Vice Admiral.” You walked off of the bridge and this time Poe wasn't waiting directly outside. You made your way to Leia's room again, but before you could open it, someone touched your back. You jumped with a gasp and turned to look at Poe. “Hey.”

“Hey, sorry. I didn't think it was smart to hang around the bridge.”

“Yeah, where was that thinking when you called Holdo a traitor?”

“Do you agree with this plan?” he asked, scoffing slightly at your question.

“It’s not my call. Or yours for that matter,” you added carefully. “Where are Rose and Finn?”

“Canto Bight.”

“Still?” you asked. Poe sighed, leaning up against the wall.

“Yeah.” You stood against the wall next to him, looking up at him. “I know I lost my temper, but if we leave in the transports, we're dead.”

“Maybe there's another part to the plan,” you tried. He looked at you, frowning playfully.

“Maybe.” You took in a deep breath and hesitantly touched his chest. He covered your hand with his and looked lovingly into your eyes. You were about to betray all the promises you made to yourself and Naboo, just as the door to Leia’s room opened up.

“Where the hell have you been?” Nové asked.

“Where have you been?” you asked.

“Trying to make contact with Naboo.”

“Anything?” you asked, taking an eager step towards her. She shook her head solemnly. “Why would they even want to attack Naboo? We are a peaceful planet.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ll let me know if anything changes?” Poe asked. You both looked at him incredulously.

“What? Where are you going?” you asked.

“I’ve got to save the Resistance.”

“Alone?”

“If I’m the only one, yes.”

“But you’re not,” you said. Poe sighed and glanced over at Nové. She rolled her eyes but put on a polite smile afterward.

“I’ll go check on Leia,” she said, giving the two of you a minute of privacy. You waited until the door shut behind her before looking back at Poe. He seemed to be little more than an inch away from you, causing your heart to pound faster in your chest.

“You need to tell Holdo your plan,” you said.

“That's the dumbest idea you've ever had.”

“Maybe it is,” you said, pushing him softly, “But if this really is the best choice, then that's what we have to do.”

“You don't believe in this plan anymore?”

“I believe in you.” He looked into your eyes, and you could see every stressor that was clouding his mind. “I know Amilyn. If you tell her the plan, she might go along with it.”

“And if she doesn't?”

“We don't have any other choice.”

“We never do,” he said, sighing deeply. You frowned and nodded your head. He was right. For the last two years, every change and decision was made for the two of you. You hadn’t been in charge of your own fates for a long time now.

“I know.” You waited a few moments, the two of you solely staring at your feet, wanting to say so much that you couldn’t. “So, do you want to tell her, or should I?” He laughed quietly and took your hand in his.

“Y/N, you have to go with Nové, Leia, and Zaisa and get on the escape pods.”

“The pods that have no defenses?” you asked in shock.

“I promise you, you will not leave this cruiser, and you won’t be hurt.” He cupped your cheek in his hand, pulling you in closer. “I know you coming here was supposed to be secret, but by the time we get out of here, and we will,” he added seriously, “I don’t want your reputation as queen to be tarnished because you aided in a mutiny.”

“I’m not sure my reputation will matter if our plan doesn’t work.”

“It will,” he said with a gentle smile.

Down the hall, the doors opened, and a group of officers began walking towards you. You looked up at Poe and gave him one last smile before turning him to the other end of the hallway.

“Go!” you whispered. You spun back around and found yourself face to face with one of the officers. “Can I help you?”

“We're here to take General Organa down to the escape pods. You will need to make your way down as well, Your Highness.”

“Of course,” you said with a charming smile, waving towards the door. The officers went in first and rolled Leia out, still unconscious on her hospital bed. You locked eyes with Nové, and together the two of you walked behind the officers, making your way down to the pods with no idea where Poe was, or how the plan was going.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

“Holdo is fueling up the transports and we’re supposed to get on them.”

“To go where?” Nové asked, her voice rising slightly, turning the attention of the two officers. You gave them a polite smile and they turned back around. You waited a few more moments until speaking again.

“Poe is going to tell Holdo our plan,” you whispered.

“Your plan? I didn’t realize you had such a big part of it,” she said with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at her and continued on.

“I don’t think she’ll take it too well, but Poe has promised me that we won’t be leaving in these transports,” you said as you walked into the hangar. All around you, people were filing into their transports, taking what supplies they could with them. It very much looked like an evacuation was underway, and you started to worry how Poe was going to keep his promise.

“He ever let you down before?” Nové asked, looking at you.

“Not usually,” you said, peering around the hangar to see if he was here yet or not. As the guards began to escort you to your pod, you saw Poe again, talking with Amilyn. You took in a deep breath and grabbed Nové’s hand for comfort, watching their interaction unfold.

“So, a stormtrooper and a who now are doing what?” Amilyn asked, her confusion and annoyance evident on her face.

“They are trying to save us. This is our best chance for escape. You have to give Finn and Rose all the time that you can,” Poe said.

“You have bet the survival of the Resistance on bad odds and puts us all at risk. There's no time now, we have to get clear of the cruiser. Load the transports!” she commanded. The crew around them began to turn and file into the transports, and Nové pushed you along to join. As you walked past, you looked over at Poe who nodded only slightly. You still had to keep up appearances but wanted to give him some kind of reassurance.

“Yeah, I was afraid you'd say that,” Poe said, pulling his blaster out of his holster. The group behind him did the same, turning their weapons on their fellow crew members.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. Nové kept on trying to push you into the transport, but you couldn't stop watching.

“Vice Admiral Holdo,” Poe ordered, “I am relieving you of your command for the survival of the ship, its crew, and the Resistance.”

“I hope you understand what you're doing,” she said firmly, her hands raised. Poe frowned, re-holstering his blaster.

“Yeah. I'm going to the bridge. If they move, stun them.”

“Get on the transport, Y/N,” Nové whispered. “Just follow Holdo's orders.” There was no way that they were going to take off if Poe was in charge, but everyone worked on getting them ready, nonetheless, unsure about who they should be following.

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Poe stormed back up to the bridge, Connix following behind him.

“What’s the plan, Captain?” she asked, the new title still stinging a bit.

“Finn and Rose. They’re close. We wait for them to give us the go-ahead and we jump far away from the First Order.” He stalked onto the bridge, taking a seat at the piloting command.

“Commander Dameron-- Ah, Captain Dameron, Vice Admiral Holdo was looking for you,” C3PO said as he walked past.

“Yeah, we spoke,” Poe said quickly, flipping some of the controls to ready the cruiser for a jump to lightspeed.

“Sir, I am almost afraid to ask,” the droid said, hobbling his way to Poe’s side.

“Good instinct, Threepio, go with that,” Poe said, spinning himself around to face the front of the ship. He switched the power off to the hangar immediately, knowing that he couldn’t waste much more fuel on powering it. As he did though, it wasn’t long after that he saw stunning shots being fired down in the hangar as smoke clouded his view of what was happening.

“Seal that door!” he ordered. Connix ran to do so, looking back at Poe panicked. Poe listened closely to what Finn and Rose were saying. They were so close, he only needed to wait a few minutes longer and then he could get you and everyone else out of here safely.

He heard metallic footsteps and turned to look back at C3PO, who was making his way towards the door.

“Threepio, where do you think you’re going?”

“It would be quite against my programming to be party to a mutiny.”

“Hey!” Poe called as he continued for the door.

“It is not correct protocol.” Just as he was a few feet away from the door, sparking and blaster shots came from the other end. “Oh! Neither is this!” he said, instantly running back away from the door.

“Finn?” Poe asked anxiously, “We’re ready to make the jump!” He listened to what they were saying, but he still needed to stall, and by the looks of the door, he didn’t have much time. He moved around to the backside of the pilot’s chair, pulling out his blaster as he did. He aimed it at the door, still making sure that he could make the jump to lightspeed once Finn and Rose gave him the signal.

It was starting to look worse and worse, and the only thing that was keeping him from completely losing his cool and doing something even more foolish was the fact that you were still on board. He needed to keep you safe. The Resistance needed to be kept safe. Everyone he loved was on this ship, and with you backing him up, he knew that he couldn’t fail, and he absolutely did not want to.

The door was beginning to break and just as Poe was readying himself for a fight, he heard the sound of Stormtroopers order Finn and Rose to get down.

“They didn’t make it,” he said weakly, just as the door blasted open. He waited for the smoke to clear, wondering which one of his friends he was going to have to stun when he saw who came through the door first. Wrapped in her hospital clothing, the one person he looked up to more than anyone stood in front of him, a disappointed look on her face.

“Leia!” Poe said in shock, just before he saw her pull out her own blaster and stun him into the wall painfully.

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“Y/N, would you please just sit?” Nové asked, quickly tiring of you pacing around the tiny transport.

“Someone should have been back by now. What if they did something stupid?” you asked frantically. “Emotions are high, they’re both angry. I know they wouldn’t hurt each other on purpose, but they both think they’re in the right--”

You stopped your rant as all eyes turned back towards the entrance to the hangar. Amilyn walked in first, which you weren’t sure was a good or bad thing. You breathed a sigh of relief though at seeing her safe. The air was taken from you as you saw the next person to walk onto the hangar, or better yet, to be rolled onto the hangar.

Poe was being led in on a stretcher, with Leia walking behind him.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #sw imagine #poe dameron x you #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #sw #sw fanfic #sw fanfiction #return to me

162 notes · View notes

mooncleo · 4 years

Text

and we recover slowly, my love, but surely

Fandom: Harry Potter

Main Pairing: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Description: Ron, Harry, and Hermione live together after the war. It seems like the logical choice, and the next step into comfortable domesticity seems logical as well. They learn and they love and they heal and cope and live and it’s beautiful and painful and perfect.

Words: 6,893

Edited: Literally not at all sorry guys

Author’s Note: Good morning to everyone who did not ask!!! I’m gonna double post my fic for all of my two followers, whom I love and cherish very much 🥰🥰

I honestly was not expecting this fic to end up being ot3, that kinda took me by surprise. So did my 2k turning into almost 7k, that was a little bit of fun.

I’m going to try to put in a read more, if I fail PLEASE tell me I don’t want anyone to have to scroll through everything.

Read it on Ao3 here.

…

It was the cool quiet of the evenings that kept him from even entertaining the thought of returning to London. Nights at the Dursley’s had never been this calm, always filled with Aunt Petunia or Vernon’s yelling, Dudley’s taunts, or the rumbling of an empty stomach, sent to bed without a bite of the dinner that he helped to cook.

He never went to bed hungry anymore. It was one of his triggers, they found out one night when he’d spent all day working on one of his projects and forgotten to eat- laying in the dark with his stomach beginning to knaw on itself in protest had sent him spiralling nearly into a fully blown panic attack. The Dursley’s had fucked him up, for sure.

It was not long that they’d been living together in their little cottage that Harry made a joke about cupboards and beds. It was bound to come up eventually, but he had hoped, somehow, to put the ensuing conversation off forever.

Before they had even gotten into details, Hermione’s eyes had started to water in a way that made him, quite frankly, uncomfortable. “All these years, and we never even knew? You’ve gone home to them every summer! I knew they didn’t feed you very well, but God, Harry. I didn’t think it was this bad."

He could tell that Ron felt the same way, but he’d never been particularly good at expressing it. Instead, Harry got twice the usual serving at dinner, and Ron’s grip was tight around him when they settled down to watch a movie later.

The next day at breakfast, Hermione brought it up again. She’d started by trying to convince him to file a court case against them.

"It’s a serious case of child abuse, Harry. They were horrible to you, and they shouldn’t be able to get away with it.” That argument had not gone down well, as Harry had first denied that there was any child abuse involved, however horrible they’d been, and then added on that he had no idea where they’d ended up after the war. He also didn’t really ever want to see them again, though he left that part out. He had a feeling it might not help his case.

“Well, you should at least go to therapy. It might help you process what they put you through.” She held up a finger when she saw him going to argue and said, “Listen, even if you don’t think the Dursley’s abused you, I still think you should go to therapy. Don’t pretend you haven’t stopped sleeping because of the nightmares, Harry Potter, so help me God. I know what you look like when you’re well-rested and this isn’t it. Those bags under your eyes could carry our groceries. Actually, I think we should all go. It’s not as though you’re the only one who went through a year on the run in addition to all the other fun trauma that comes with war."

Ron was a little confused about what therapy was until they explained the concept to him and he shouted out, "Mind healers! Oh! Yeah, we have those.” This, thankfully, saved them from the ordeal of finding an either muggleborn or squib therapist so that they could talk about magic without being declared properly insane.

Harry had been apprehensive about going to anyone who could claim to fix his mental issues- in part because he was half in denial about those mental issues to begin with. Yes, he had trouble sleeping most nights because of nightmares. Yes, he felt guilty about every single death that had happened during the war. Yes, the Dursley’s had treated him horribly for all of his life. But everyone had nightmares because of the war, those deaths really were his fault because they were all fighting for him, and the Dursley’s just hadn’t liked him that much on account of his parents. The hate was mutual, after all.

It only took one session with his mind healer, Gertha, for him to begin to open up to the idea that maybe he was a little bit misguided. Gertha was an 80 year old witch with gray hair just beginning to pepper her bun, and she took no shit. Her age had given her the grace of being willing to properly fight him when he started to go into a spiral, and she had a dry wit that he appreciated. Halfway through the first time they met, he’d started talking about the war and how it was his fault. Her eagle-eyed stare had stopped him in his tracks, and he’d asked, “What?"

"Boy, you are taking on far too much responsibility here. You think all those people died just for you? You think the war wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been around? No! Voldemort was coming back, with or without you- he would have found a way. And just because you were the face of the war, that does not make you the war. A rallying point does not control those who gather around it, it simply exists as a marker, a way to say ‘we are here.’ Those people did not die just for you, you hear me? They were going to fight either way. People don’t like to lay down and give up when their loves and lives are threatened."

At the time, he hadn’t believed a word she’d said, but he liked the way she said it. It wasn’t quite scolding, more disbelieving than anything else. She also had said that Voldemort was coming back with or without him, even without knowing about the horcruxes. He liked her wit and the easy way she had handled his self-pity. She reminded him a bit of Professor McGonagall, and that in and of itself was a recommendation to him.

He went back the next week, because she had told him to and he liked her. He felt lucky that he found someone he liked right away, because both Ron and Hermione didn’t like the first Healers they talked to. Hermione had not liked the bright, peppy young witch who was apparently entirely too optimistic. "Her office was covered in little paper flowers, as though she didn’t deal with grown adults. As soon as I mentioned the war she started patronising about how she felt there surely must have been a better option than fighting, like maybe talking. First of all, did she do literally any research before I walked into the room? Honestly, what if I had been just a mite more fragile? Or Harry?"

"Hey! I resemble that remark!” A pillow found its way through the air in the direction of his face.

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m ranting. Anyway, she was absolutely insane. 'Why did they have to fight?’ Because when another wizard throws a curse at you, you aren’t gonna just fucking stand there and take it! Good God, woman. I don’t know where she was during the war, but she clearly wasn’t paying any kind of attention to Britain. How did she even get her Healer’s license? Ridiculous.” Hermione took an angry sip of her tea and she and Harry both looked to Ron.

“Yeah, mine wasn’t as bad as all that. I just didn’t really think he had the type of vibe I’m looking for. Kinda reminded me of my dad, actually. Not really what I wanted.” After sympathetic nods from the other two, Ron turned towards the TV. “What are we planning on tonight?"

"Right! I forgot completely. The Princess Bride! The librarian was raving about it when I was checking it out, so hopefully it’ll be good.” As Ron was raised in a wizarding household, Harry hadn’t really had much of a childhood by way of movies, and Hermione’s parents had been very strict, the three of them had decided to work their way through iconic muggle films that they’d missed over the years. They’d all liked The Breakfast Club the week before, though they were postponing Star Wars from two weeks ago until they could get through the fight scenes without having semi-simultaneous panic attacks.

The Princess Bride was a hit, and Hermione liked it enough that she put the VHS on her to-buy list. They wanted to build up their own collection of movies that they liked for rewatching purposes. Hermione had argued that going to the Blockbuster and renting a movie was much more cost effective that just buying all of them outright, since they were trying to get through at least a movie a week. The boys had decided not to argue, as she tended to be right about most things (and was also managing their finances).

Three weeks later, Ron had found a mind healer he liked, and Hermione was still stuck. Ron never said much about the therapy sessions he went to, while Hermione preferred to rant after hers. “God, it’s like he wasn’t even listening! There has to be at least one healer out there that I can actually talk to with a modicum of intelligence."

Ron and Harry traded glances. Harry’s look was quizzical, Ron’s was certain. It seemed that Harry would be the one to say it, then. ”'Mione, do you think that there’s a chance that maybe you’re having trouble finding a therapist because you don’t want to give any of them the chance to help?“

She was quiet for a moment. "I mean. I had considered it, but. Well. None of them- well. I suppose I may not have been entirely fair with all them. Although I stand by everything I’ve said."

"Everything you’ve said? Your main complaint about the last one was that she wore a cardigan instead of doing warming charms on herself. You may want to rethink that, love.” Ron’s tone was gentle and amused. It was a good thing, because Harry was fairly certain she’d have bitten his head off if it’d been anything but.

“Oh. Yes, well. Maybe a tad.” She coloured as she admitted it, and then added, “It was a truly hideous cardigan, though."

"And warming charms are a rather simple.” Harry mimicked the arch way that Hermione said things of people she looked down on, a voice that only those close to her ever really got to hear. She never mocked people in polite company, but both Ron and Harry knew that she could be properly vicious when she felt like putting in effort. Ron laughed, and then Hermione did too, a second later. They descended into giggles for a few moments before subsiding.

“Really, though. Your main complaints about her were her clothing, and not the soundness of her advice. Maybe try a second session with her, and see if it was a one off? If the only thing you could come up with was an ugly sweater then she must have been rather on the nose about everything else."

"Hmmm. Maybe. She did seem reasonably intelligent, actually."

The matter was concluded for the night, and they all went off to bed. After a night of rest, Hermione felt comfortable admitting that, looking back, it was rather obvious that she had been searching for faults as an excuse not to have to be vulnerable around people she didn’t know very well.

The solution to this, according to her mind healer, would be to get to know each other before starting. Hermione raved about how intelligent the woman was when she got home, and Ron and Harry once again traded glances. They didn’t say anything, but they were glad to have been able to help her find someone she actually liked. Neither was surprised that she was happy so quickly. It had been clear to them, before, that she was searching for faults.

Their lives went on. Tuesdays became therapy days, and they’d all go out for ice cream afterwards. Eventually, Harry and Hermione ended up back in the workforce. Ron decided to stay home and take care of the house. (He referred to the two of them as his sugar parents, an idea that deeply offended Hermione. Harry thought it was hilarious.)

Harry had toyed with the idea of going on to become an auror like he’d thought he wanted when he was 15. It did not take him very long to decide that he’d only really come up with the idea in the first place because he’d supposed that his life’s purpose was fighting Voldemort, and the aurors could have given him a leg up in that. With as long as it had taken him to accept that his life had meaning beyond fighting and defeating a dark lord, he wasn’t going to give that up now.

They ended up spending the entire evening brainstorming when he brought up wanting to get a job. Even if he was never going to be an auror, he was still starting to get restless with all the free time they’d accrued living off the map together.

"You could be a- a- um, fuck, what’re they called. Bus driver!! That’s a job.” Hermione, rather drunk on her fourth glass of wine, had taken to suggesting whatever came to mind.

“I don’t drive, I’m gay."

"Mmmm, you’re just as bi as the rest of us, darling. I bet we could figure it out. Actually, you know what, we should probably get a car.” She was starting to light up the way she did when she had a goal, and Ron groaned loudly.

“God, I forgot we never even learned to drive. Do we have to? I can apparate half-decently, and so can Harry. We could just practice and then not drive."

At Hermione’s put-out look, Harry interjected. "I’ll put bus driver on the list, but I don’t know that we need to drive. Where are we going? Half the shit we eat we grow ourselves."

"That’s right! It’s sus- sustains- no, oh my god, I’m drunk- sustainsabilities. Fuck, I can’t speak. Sustainabilities. Yup, it’s sustainable! We’re helping the environment.” Hermione had, at some point during their conversation, migrated sideways so that she was leaning almost entirely on Harry.

“'Mione, you have to move. You gotta- lean on Ron, I have to pee.” She snorted and nuzzled slightly further into his chest.

“Hmmm, you do that."

A few seconds later, there were snores coming from her frame, and Harry looked over at Ron, who was shaking with silent laughter. "Don’t laugh, I have to pee! Help me move her."

Harry pushed at Hermione’s shoulder, and she flopped a little bit onto the back of the couch. Ron doubled over in another round of giggles, and Harry hissed, "Ron, I swear to god- if I start laughing I’m gonna piss! You gotta- oh my god- help!"

At this point, Harry had started laughing and tried to slip out from under his girlfriend. Instead of quietly moving her without waking her, she fell and glanced her head off the arm of the couch. A brief moment of panic ensued, in which Harry and Ron both tried to check on her at once, and only succeeded in bonking their heads together.

Ron was gasping through peals of laughter as he grabbed onto Harry to avoid falling off the couch. "Oh- oh shit, oh fuck, oh my god. Is- is she- fuck- is she okay? Harry, you fucking idiot, check her head."

"She’s fine, dipshit. Fuck, that could have been so bad, shit.” Harry had sobered for the moment that it took to remember the diagnostic spell to make sure that Hermione was actually okay, and upon confirmation he sank back into the humor of the situation.

“Goddamnit, I can’t believe that happened. Good god.” He wiped his eyes and then got up to actually use the bathroom.

“Don’t get a concussion in there, Harry, the last thing we need is two of them.” Ron called after him, and he responded with a one fingered salute in the general direction of his boyfriend. He heard Ron’s collapse against the couch as he closed the bathroom door.

It was as he was staring at the green tiling on the bathroom floor that he found himself reflecting on the fact that if that had happened a few months ago, it would have gone much worse. Any injuries sustained by the three of them were largely blind territory that brought back horrible memories for the worst of the months after the war. It was remarkable that they could laugh through it, now.

When he came out to stick his still slightly damp hands under Ron’s jumper, he found Ron and Hermione curled up together, softly snoring. He smiled and climbed onto their couch next to them, levitating a blanket over the three of them as he went. It was a good night.

The next morning, he woke up first. They’d ended up tangled closer together in sleep, but he was still on the edge and managed to slip out to start breakfast and find the paracetamol for the three of them.

Breakfast was quieter than usual, with lots of gestures and grunts when someone wanted something. Wine hangovers were no joke. Later in the day, they went out to the garden together to weed, and Hermione suggested gardening as a potential profession. Harry vetoed, with the reasoning that he got to do it enough at home.

Ron bounced off that logic to suggest Quidditch, and they had the first of what would end up as their two final options. The other was working as a professor, which Harry took a full week to warm up to the idea of.

“I don’t know, becoming a professor seems like kind of a big deal. First of all, you’re shaping students’ whole lives, and second of all wouldn’t I need, like, higher education?"

"Oooh, good point, actually. I believe you would need to get a mastery in the subject that you want to teach, which you can obtain by apprenticing under an expert in the field. I think that was in Hogwarts: A History? It might have come from somewhere else, I’m not sure. As for the other thing, I’ve seen you with kids, Harry. You’re brilliant. I don’t know that you even really need to worry about that quarter."

"Mate, it might be good for you to get a mastery, actually. They usually discuss them with seventh years at Hogwarts, so I don’t really know much about them. Charlie’s was how he got started in Romania, actually."

"Huh. That makes a lot of sense, actually. I always wondered if wizards had an equivalent to college, but I was a bit busy worrying about the dark wizard trying to kill me for most of my life, so I never got the chance to look it up.” Harry had actually considered asking McGonagall about it during his consultation on his future, but they’d started talking about Defense Against the Dark Arts exams before he could mention it.

“Harry, you should write McGonagall about it. She’s always looking for new teachers, and even if you don’t end up wanting to do it, she can give you advice on how to start looking for a mastery, which you’ll pretty much need for most jobs, anyway."

With that, they’d settled the matter. He wrote to McGonagall, and she replied promptly with an invitation to her office to discuss it in person.

McGonagall had taken Dumbldore’s old office. Harry had known that she would, as Headmistress, but it still shocked him a little to see the space decorated so differently. Minerva McGonagall was a practical woman, and as such had no need for random devices scattered about the room. He walls were lined with shelves full of books of many kinds, and her fire was roaring. She and Harry sat across from each other in matching armchairs that Harry swore must have had some kind of charm on them, because they were the most comfortable chairs he’d ever sat in.

"Professor-” Harry started, and then stopped. He wasn’t quite certain how to go about this meeting, on unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t quite his teacher anymore, and he didn’t know how to approach that.

“You can call me Minerva, Harry. You are no longer my student.” The way she said it was not unkind, but he still felt lightly chastised. “I believe you wanted to discuss how to proceed in finding a career in the wizarding world?"

"Um. Yes. Well. Minerva- hmmm, yeah that tastes strange. Minerva, I’ve been thinking that it would be a good idea to get myself back out into the world, starting with a job. Ron, Hermione, and I have been fine in our cottage, but sometimes it- I just feel like it’s time. I’m getting a bit restless, I think."

Minerva looked amused at his rambling. "I know how that feels. Did you know that after Elphinstone and I got married, I took a break from teaching?"

"Really?” Harry was genuinely surprised, because he couldn’t really imagine Minerva as a house wife.

“Yes, really. I took a year off to take care of our home and try my hand at being a stay at home wife. A year was about all I could stand, honestly. I ended up going back to teaching the following September, I was lucky enough that Albus had been unable to fill my position beyond a temporary professor. I loved our house and I loved spending time with my husband, but I found it difficult to be alone all day and trying to productively fill my days. I also missed my students with no small amount of fierceness."

"I definitely know how that feels. We have plenty of things to do but it’s so easy to get distracted without the structure of school."

"Hmm. Speaking of which, how much do you know about masteries, Harry? I know that you and your peers all missed our usual talks about them, but you are also living with one Hermione Granger, who I am sure knows a fair amount about them through the pure virtue of planning three years ahead at least at all times."

Minerva said it with humor and fondness in her voice, and Harry chuckled. "You’re not wrong. I know that it’s a bit like muggle college, and that it’s essentially an apprenticeship? I am a little bit confused about what one would do if they got to their mastery and found out that they’d picked something that they actually don’t like as much as they thought they did- for muggles they would just change their major, but if you’re working with one specific person because of their expertise in the subject that you’ve chosen, what do you do?"

"That’s a good point. Most students have at least an idea of what they want to do based on what classes they liked while they were in school, but many don’t. Towards the end of seventh year, we allow students to start trying out different concentrations. Many will start to work with teachers in subjects that they like to see if they like the subject as much as they think they do. If we don’t have anyone specializing in the subject that they are thinking of, we can, more often than not, find someone who is willing to allow them to tail their work for a week or so to see if that’s something they like. We encourage students to look into at least three different masteries so that they can fully explore their options. This helps most students decide where they’ll end up, but even if you get to where you want to be and then decide that it actually isn’t for you, it’s not nearly as difficult to try something new as it would seem."

"Good lord, that it a lot of information.” Minerva tilted her head slightly in acknowledgement. “So, if I start where I am now, without any weeks of tailing anyone and a bit beyond graduation, what do I do?"

"Well, I might suggest taking remedial courses for the year that you missed, to start. It might help some with the boredom that you were talking about earlier, and you are a bright young man. I have no doubt that you will find you can complete the courses in far less time than it would take you to complete a full school year. We thought about offering students an option to complete an extra 'eighth’ year, but ultimately decided to keep Hogwarts at its usual seven years, and instead look into alternate options for them to finish. That September, most of our older students weren’t ready to return to the school anyway. War takes its tolls."

"Isn’t that just ridiculously true? We were all wrecks for months, rather a bit. In the end Hermione pushed us to start going to therapy, and that helped loads. As for the completing the courses, I think that’s a good idea- I could probably do them with Hermione and Ron, Hermione’s been trying to figure out the logistics of finishing seventh year since it occurred to her that we never did, nevermind the fact that she’s performing spells of that level since fifth year."

"I’ve been trying to remember that that is a letter I need to send out to everyone, though I keep forgetting. Even this far down the line, we’re still working through castle repairs and damages. There is always so much to do… well, that’s no excuse for slacking, regardless. I’ll have to add it to the list."

She pulled out a piece of parchment from seemingly nowhere, and began to write on it with a quill also pulled from the ether.

Harry was deservedly very impressed. "That was awesome, professor- what spell was that?"

"I am no longer your professor, Harry. That is a useful little spell Filius taught me… "

Their visit went on, with Minerva imparting far too much wisdom for Harry to ever be able to remember it all. They discussed a wide variety of topics, and McGonagall seriously considered all of the options that he had looked into, and was a particular fan of the quidditch idea. "Even if you don’t end up doing it as a career, it’s an excellent way to stay in shape. Far too many of my students simply stop playing when they decide on an office job, such a shame, and so much wasted potential as well."

That particular comment sparked a long discussion about the merits of playing quidditch recreationally, which led to them talking about the professor’s league at the school. Harry was shocked that he hadn’t known about it as a student, had never heard it mentioned, and Minerva laughed at him for it. Apparently there were many secrets of the staff and school that students didn’t know about.

When he left with several biscuits tucked away in a container for travel to bring to Ron and Hermione, he felt better. He was almost entirely decided on what to do for his apprenticeship, and he had a solid plan for his next few years. After the uncertainty of being on the run for a year combined with the certainty that he wouldn’t live past 17, it felt good to know what he was going to do, and additionally know that it had nothing to do with dark wizards. It was rare for him to be anything resembling normal.

Ron and Hermione listened animatedly to his recollection of the meeting. Hermione was especially delighted to find that they’d have a way to complete their schooling, while Ron was relieved that it was from home. "Gotta be honest, I don’t want to go back to Hogwarts. It’s lovely, and in a special way it will always be home, but I think there are a tad too many memories lurking around corners for me to be completely comfortable there ever again."

Harry nodded, though he wasn’t entirely certain he agreed. It was something he’d not considered, the memories contained within the school’s walls. Hogwarts was his home, and it likely would always be in his mind, the first place that he ever truly felt comfortable. But with how bad his PTSD had been, and still was on occasion, would he be able to live there? Walk its halls the way he had as a child? He wasn’t sure.

They started their schooling a month, later, when it became widely available. The three of them were in some of the same core classes, as they’d always been, but they were all taking different paths and therefore most of the time they spent with papers spread out around them at the dinner table that they never ate at were for actual working, not talking.

Ron was taking only what interested him, just enough courses to be able to get his degree. He tended to finish his work before the other three, and would go kiss the top of their heads as he got up to go start dinner. Hermione had taken as many courses as she could fit, as always. It was almost worse than third year, because the courses weren’t held in person. She had taken that to mean that if she could find the time for it in her personal schedule, she could fit it in.

Ron and Harry had talked her down from taking all available courses. She’d ended up with a fairly large courseload regardless, but that was to be expected.

Harry was, as ever, in the middle. He found himself with a courseload he was happy with, a few extra classes that he thought could be interesting, but not so many that he was constantly doing work. That worked out well for him, because he’d taken an herbology elective having to do with the growing of potions ingredients in the wild. It turned out that understanding the ingredients in a deeper sense than just their names was immensely helpful for potions. He’d never been doing better in a potions class without cheating, and he’d also begun to actually understand some of the notes Snape had left in the margins of the stolen book.

They got through their class work and watched movies and made tea and went for walks and before they knew it, the holiday season was upon them. Their classes all had breaks for Christmas, and they took full advantage of that time.

"What d'you think we should get Molly this year?” Harry through the question out from his position on the couch, draped across Ron and Hermione’s laps.

“That’s gotta be some sign of adulthood, having to give your parents Christmas gifts.” Ron’s fingers paused their carding through his hair as he digested the question, and then he resumed. “I bet she’d like some of that cleaner we saw the other day, the one that changes scent."

"Oooooh, good point. I was thinking maybe some new knitting patterns, actually- I found a bunch in the clearance section in the bookshop we went to the other day.” Hermione started diligently scribbling on the parchment in front of her under the “parents” section of her well-organized christmas shopping/gift ideas list. She turned to her boys to say something more, but as she opened her mouth the tinny sound o a timer going off filled the room “That;s your turn done then, Harry. Scoot."

"Awww, but I’m so comfortable, 'Mione.” Harry pleaded to Hermione’s uncaring eyes as he heaved himself upwards out of Ron’s lap. Ron scooted down the couch to take Hermione’s place as she laid down to replace Harry.

“Mhmmm. Well, it’s my turn to be comfortable.” Harry’s fingers found their way to her hair as her quill and parchment floated in the air by her head. “Alright, where was I? Okay. Ummmm, right! Under Molly, I want: "knitting needles, pattern books, and scent changing cleaning spray."

The quill started scratching across the page as Hermione explained, "The other day over tea she mentioned to me that she hadn’t a good way to organize her needles, and usually has so many projects going that half the time she doesn’t know which ones are already in use and which aren’t. I think we should get her a new set so that she can have doubles AND an organizing system. I’m sure if we look hard enough we can find a case that has an extension charm on it, or we can do one ourselves."

Ron looked down at Hermione with a smile on his face. "Brilliant. Alright, who’s next?"

Harry glanced at the parchment hanging in the air to see which space was blank. "Looks like we don’t have anything for Ginny, which should be easy enough. She was complaining about her broom the other day, but I know she likes the model too well to want a new one. I was thinking a broom servicing kit?”

The evening went on like that, and they eventually had at least a rough sketch of what they would be looking for when they went out to do Christmas shopping. They found a fair amount of the things actually on the list, and were able to get suitable substitutes where they couldn’t.

Their Christmas plans were this: they spent Christmas Eve at Hermione’s aunt’s house. She explained to them that her mother’s siblings had a rotation going, and that next year the three of them would likely be required to come to her parents’ aid with hosting. Her family was surprisingly large, and she told them that they tended not to gather for anything other than holidays. She never talked about them because there weren’t any other wizards in the family.

They found out that this was not actually true on Christmas Eve, when Ron walked in on one of the cousins changing her kid’s diaper with a spell. It was a rather awkward conversation, while Ron tried to explain that he was a wizard and she tried to obliviate him. Eventually, the truth came out: her cousins were American, and hadn’t been particularly affected by the war. They, in all honesty, had been remarking to each other all night that Harry looked oddly familiar to them, but had been unable to parse out exactly what it was.

They ended up setting up a lunch date for all of them for later that week before they apparated back to Minnesota. The cousins were very excited to find that there was another wizard in the family, and Hermione was similarly vibrating.

“I can’t believe, all this time, and I didn’t even know! I knew it would make sense that some of my relatives would be magical, but I didn’t think it would actually happen. I obviously wasn’t going to sniff around and risk them finding out just to see if they really were muggles or not. Oh my goodness, this is amazing. I wonder what schooling looks like in America? I mean, I know the basic principles, of course, but I would love specifics. It’s such a big country, and Ilvermorny is the main school that we hear of, but I’m certain they wouldn’t have travelled that far just for school, that doesn’t make sense, does it?"

”'Mione, we’re having lunch with them later this week. I’m sure they’ll be happy enough to answer your questions. We certainly don’t know the answers.“

Ron nodded as he hoisted the backpack holding their gifts in it higher on his shoulders. They were walking to the closest apparition point. According to Harry, who was using google maps, they were about 5 minutes away.

"Turn left here. For tonight we should just focus on trying to get ourselves home, I think. Did we end up finishing the wrapping for tomorrow?"

"Oh shit, I forgot, actually. We ran out of wrapping paper. We only have a few left, but still. Should we find a Tesco and stop in? It’s not too late, is it?"

"They’re open til 10.” Ron stopped walking for a moment to consult his watch on the time, which read out 9:37 p.m.

“Alright, let’s go then."

The tesco had one roll of wrapping paper with lumberjack Santa Claus’s dancing across it with axes. They were not literally dancing of course- there was a Tesco in London with a wizard section where they might have found something similar, but they hadn’t the time to go to it.

The next day, George refolded his "hot santa claus” wrapping paper into a hat and wore it all through dinner. Molly was too happy that he was smiling to scold him about it, although she did have to excuse herself at one point. When Harry came in to check on her, she was crying lightly into a handkerchief.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll be alright- he just- oh, for the love of- he looks very much like his brother.” She blew her nose and took a deep breath. A weak smile graced her face as she looked up at Harry. “It’s hard, still. It’s been getting better, but- well, I didn’t think they could even survive without each other. I used to look at the two of them, always together, always finishing each other’s sentences, and think, god, they’re just like my brother’s, and oh, thank goodness they’ll never have to be apart. I just- I just wish I’d been right.” Her voice broke a little bit on the last word, and she started dabbing at her eyes again.

“I know. I remember in school, they were always together. No one thought they should ever be apart, but. I don’t know. George is doing- not well, but- he’s surviving. That’s all we can ask of him. That’s all we can ask of any of us, really. I think he’s being happy in Fred’s memory, instead of in spite of it, you know?"

"Oh, I know, dear, I know. It’s just difficult. I’ll get over myself, I just needed a moment. I love seeing him smile again, it’s like Fred’s back, just for a little. Fetch me a glass of water?"

Harry nodded and swiftly vacated the room. Even after all his therapy, he was still shit with emotions. He found Arthur and informed him of the situation, sending him back to his wife with the water she requested. He knew that was the right decision when he saw Molly again, tears dried, laughing at something Arthur was saying. Her arm was laced through his, a glass of wine in her hand as she leaned against him on the couch.

He took a minute to reflect that he rarely saw Molly so relaxed, and especially not since the war. He was glad that they’d healed enough at this point that they could, at the very least, enjoy Christmas. His musing were interrupted when Ron came up to him from behind and hugged him. "We’re going to play pick-up, you’re on my team. Ginny’s pissed about it, come on."

He turned into his boyfriend with a smile on his face and give him a peck. "Excellent, let’s go crush her."

Ginny, who was training to be a professional quidditch player, soundly kicked their asses. George and Bill helped too.

As punishment for losing, Ron, Harry, and Charlie went skinny dipping into the pond on the property, but ended up just getting everyone else wet until they all went swimming together, whooping and laughing.

It was a good night, and Harry woke up sandwiched between Ron and Hermione. He was content to lay there and wait for them to wake up, listening to their breathing and looking at the rise and fall of their chests. They were here, and they’d made it through- he hadn’t thought they would. In the deepest recesses of his mind, he’d done out the math and he had been so certain that they wouldn’t make it through the war all together- something would have to give. Thank god he was wrong, pseudo death or no. He wanted to be nowhere else than where he was, listening to the Weasley household wake up on a Christmas morning.

They all got up eventually, slowly stumbling their way into the kitchen as the lure of coffee and sausages called to them. Mrs. Weasley seemed happy to have all of her birds back in the nest. Percy kissed her cheek as he left for work, the only one who hadn’t been able to get the day off. The rest of them sat down to eat.

Overall, it was one of the best Christmases he’d had in a long time, one of the few that he’d truly been able to enjoy. It was reminiscent of some of his first Christmases at Hogwarts, the first ones that he’d ever known what it was like to get presents that weren’t hand-me-downs or worthless garbage.

He thought about that feeling of being new to a world of literal magic, and the fact that the most magical part of it all had been that he’d had an out, that he’d been able to get far away from the Dursleys for 9 months. He liked this feeling better. Contentedly settled into his skin, with a wide and bright future set out in front of him. He couldn’t help but think that just maybe, there was nowhere better to be.

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suffering-is-my-comfort-zone · 5 years

Text

Prompt for @smallballofanxiety: Virgil teleports to anyone who gets anxious and this time it happens to be someone he never expected

Pairing: Platonic Virgil and Deceit

Word count: 1694

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Panic attacks, Self deprecating thoughts, slight suicidal thoughts

Virgil wasn’t quite sure when it started, he knew that whenever Thomas was experiencing anxiety he would show up. He had always just assumed it was because he was the embodiment of anxiety. Slowly, however, he noticed it was whenever someone was anxious. First it was slow, he had a feeling that he was being summoned to whichever side was experiencing it. Soon it escalated to him suddenly being teleported to their side.

Whenever Roman was anxious about Thomas’ new audition, whenever Logan was stressed out about the schedule, or when Patton was becoming overwhelmed by emotions there he was. Out of nowhere he was right next to the side where ever they are. This put him in some compromising situations at times, especially when they would blame him for the anxiety they were feeling. After a while of mysteriously popping up, the light sides became used to it. They no longer jumped when he appeared but instead talked to him about it. It made Virgil feel more like one of the light sides. He never expected to pop up next to one of the dark sides.

That particular day Deceit had just gone back to his room after attempting to get the light sides to see his point of view. He couldn’t figure out what else to do to get them to see that he was also trying to protect Thomas. They all saw him as nothing more than a liar, a snake who was always poised to bite. It wasn’t his fault that he was created specifically to deceive Thomas and those around him. He was able to tell the truth; he just had a hard time with it. Anxi-Virgil, should know better than anyone what that’s like.

How was it that he was able to escape being a dark side? Why were they called the dark sides anyways? They all served the same purpose, helping Thomas. Deceit couldn’t understand why Virgil would act that way towards him, they used to be so close. Did he simply forget about all that? Did the light sides trick him into thinking that Remus and him were so much worse than the three of them? Would he ever be able to work along side them? Yes, he was a little overpowering with his lies but he didn’t mean any harm. Neither did Remus. Did he do something wrong? Was his lies the reason Virgil left him? Was he giving too much of his time to Remus? Virgil had to understand that Remus needed more attention because he did dangerous things, right?

Virgil was in the middle of talking to Roman about Nightmare before Christmas when he suddenly was back in the dark side of Thomas’ mind. For a moment he froze in fear, thinking that maybe he did something to be forced from the light sides. Then he noticed Deceit in the corner, curled up with his knees to his chest. He hesitantly took a step forward and cleared his throat in hopes to gain the others attention.

“H-Hey Dee, is everything alright there?” Virgil crouched down by his once good friend. He could see the tears streaming down his face as Deceit quickly sat up and wiped his eyes.

“Of course not, why are you here?” Deceit’s voice cracked as he lied to the anxious trait. He didn’t want anyone seeing him cry. He had a reputation to uphold.

“You sure about that? You seem upset.” Virgil wasn’t sure how to react, he could see through Deceit’s lies. One of the perks of knowing him for so long. He didn’t want to associate with the dark side for longer than he needed to, but he also knew that even if he left, he’d be teleported right back. When Deceit looked up at him, he saw everything he needed to know. Deceit’s eyes showed all his fear and anxiety even as he stood up.

“Shouldn’t you not be with your new friends? Planning all the ways to keep us around.” The lies didn’t flow as easily as he wanted them to. He still was lost in his thoughts. Why was Virgil here? To rub his betrayal in his face again? Make fun of him for failing at his attempts?

“I uh-had a feeling that something was wrong. I can sense anxiety, it is kinda my thing.” Virgil ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t want to deal with any of this, why would Deceit be anxious about anything. He was cocky about everything he did. Even when they hung out he was always so confident. It was one of the things Virgil admired about him.

“I’m not anxious!” Deceit yelled out accidentally causing Virgil to flinch. He looked down at the ground, of course Virgil left them. They were always too loud, too energetic, too overwhelming. Deceit started to hyperventilate as he thought about more reasons why Virgil left. He assumed that Virgil had already left when he yelled as the anxious boy hadn’t said anything. Everything was messed up because of him, he couldn’t do anything right, he couldn’t even keep his small family together.

Virgil watched as tears started flowing down Deceit’s face again. He hesitated for a moment before pulling the older side into a hug, shocking both of them. Deceit tried to pull away from the hug but Virgil just tightened his hold.

“Shhhh, breathe. Just breathe. Match your breaths with mine.” Virgil led him over to the bed and sat him down. Deceit was starting to have a panic attack and Virgil needed to calm him down now before it got out of control. He put Deceits hand against his own chest to have him feel the anxious traits breathing. By now Deceit was full on sobbing when he realized that Virgil hadn’t left his side.

“Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be with your friends instead of being here with me?” He couldn’t bring himself to lie about his current feelings with everything going on in his head. After the way Virgil treated him in front of the others it didn’t make sense for him to stay. Virgil shook his head and rubbed Deceit’s back with his free hand.

“I can’t leave you like this. I’m not gonna let you spiral into a panic attack; I know how fun those are.” Virgil tried to crack a joke to make the other side laugh. His attempt was unsuccessful but he did get a small smile in return. Deceit’s breathing was starting to return to normal but he was still crying.

“I can’t imagine how those are any fun at all. Maybe for Remus.” Deceit looked over at Virgil looking for any sign of a lie. All he could see on the anxious trait face was true concern. “Why are you so concerned? Aren’t you supposed to hate me?”

Virgil’s face dropped at Deceit’s words; he didn’t realize that he had hurt Deceit’s feelings so badly. “Dee, I never hated you. I just don’t want the others to hate me again. You’re still my friend, I still care about you.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be the other way around V? I’m supposed to comfort you when you panic, not the other way around.” Deceit chuckled slightly, hiccuping halfway through his statement. It was very reminiscent of the times before Virgil left, only with the roles reversed. Virgil rolled his eyes and gave Deceit a rare smile.

“Part of growing up means I don’t need to rely on you all the time. What’s caused you to panic so badly? Aren’t you always confident?” Deceit’s face fell slightly, he didn’t want to admit his fear to Virgil. He wanted Virgil to still look up to him, especially when the anxious trait called him confident. He pulled away from Virgil slightly and put his hand behind his neck.

“Its stupid really. Nothing you need to be concerned about. You should head back to the others before they realize you’re gone.” Deceit was trying to force Virgil to leave, trying to lie like he’s supposed to be. Virgil simply shook his head; he knew that Roman had assumed he was transported to another side. No one questioned his random disappearances anymore.

“Talk to me Dee, I’m here for you.” Deceit looked at him warily, deciding whether he could trust Virgil. He never questioned the anxious trait before but what if he’s changed after hanging out with the light sides. He wanted to trust Virgil, like how Virgil always trusted him. After deliberating for a few seconds, he sighed.

“I’m just- It’s just- Ugh.” He took off his hat and played with the rim. “I’m not insecure about my position in Thomas’ mind. I’m not thinking that Thomas would be better if I didn’t exist. I’m not wondering if I’ll ever be accepted as a legitimate side. I should just duck out and not come back.” Virgil stared at Deceit in shock. Dee thought that he wasn’t worth enough to be an actual side. Virgil knew how that felt, that’s why he tried to duck out before.

“Dee, you’re very important to Thomas. Without you he wouldn’t be able to ignore all the negative comments that he gets. Ducking out isn’t the answer, what would Remus and I do without you? You help all of us, without you Remus would be too prominent in Thomas’ mind and I would be too much of a nuisance to him. Don’t you dare talk about ducking out.” Virgil grabbed Deceit’s shoulders as he talked. The anxious trait looked Deceit in his eyes and frowned. “You’re my friend Deceit, I can’t imagine you not being here. I care about you and I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t. I promise I’ll make more time for you, just don’t duck out, please.”

Deceit’s eyes teared up again, Virgil’s eyes showed nothing but the truth. The anxious trait generally cared about him; the reason why didn’t matter. He was just happy to hear it. Virgil pulled him in for another hug and Deceit thought that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t as bad as he thought they were.

#tw panic attack #tw suicidal thoughts #tw self deprecation #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sanders sides #my writing

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thedarkstrangeson · 4 years

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Falling, Failing, Rising (2/7)

A/N: This is chapter 2 of my pride fic! So it is highly recommended that you check out chapter 1 first.

ao3

Ch1 | Ch2(here) | next

Warnings: Lots of (accidental) misgendering, dysphoria, occasional cursing, panic attacks, anxiety, slurs, violence, (graphic/descriptive) threats of violence, transphobia, injuries and descriptions of them, blood.

General Summary: Being trans is hard. It’s panic attacks and dysphoria and nights of not knowing. It’s figuring things out and letting it knock you over, it’s understanding and trying so damn hard to say something but failing, always failing. But sometimes, when you make it through all the dark parts and you see yourself for who you are, sometimes when those words finally come out, sometimes… Sometimes it’s happiness. Sometimes it's love. Sometimes it's rising on unsteady legs and standing anyway. Sometimes, it’s pride.

This is a Virgil-centric fic for pride month, featuring all of the sides portrayed sympathetically. It’s also got fem!Logan (Her name is Eibhlin, for pronunciation it is usually anglicized as Evelyn) and fem!Janus (she does not get a name change because Jan is just lovely like that). Virgil is afab and named Adeline.

Chapter 2: Fight the Transphobe

It was a Friday. School was hitting the half-way point of the year, and, finally, things would be closer to the end than to the beginning. Addie was convinced that things would be an improvement once school ended, but it would leave only the summer between her and her friends all parting ways for college. But until then, she was stuck in this hell-hole. And this hell-hole had a particular tradition of club rush. Once every term, all the school’s clubs would set up booths in the quad and attempt to recruit new members.

As she was the treasurer for Theatre Tech, it made sense that she had to be there. That didn’t mean, however, that she was happy about it. So that’s how she ended up sulking behind the club’s booth, just waiting for lunch to be over so they could all pack up and get off to class.

The booth was sandwiched right between Speech and Debate(popular), and the Gender and Sexuality Alliance(vaguely present). Each were running their own spiels, GSA handing out flags, Remus performing a particularly gory Humorous Interp from his last tournament, and Theatre passing out flyers for their upcoming performances. Addie was content to pretend like she was busy keeping the booth’s poster from falling over, until a commotion at the GSA booth caught her eye.

There was a bit of a standoff going on, between one of the GSA’s face painters and another student. He seemed to be taunting the kid, but Addie couldn’t really make out the words—

“...do you think you’re doing, faggot?”

“P-please treat all students on campus with respect, it’s in the student handbook.”

“Well, ma’am , you can shove your damn student handbook.”

This was… not okay. Addie really really needed to say something, to shut the guy up, didn’t he know that misgendering someone was just so hurtful . Where did he get all that venom? None of these kids were doing anybody any harm.

I will say something. Her shoulders tensed, and her breathing went unsteady. Oh gods how could I possibly say something? But she had to, this was wrong . It was hurting so badly and she just couldn’t move. Something stung at her eyes, and she blinked but it didn’t go away.

“And you know what? You can shove your whole fucking booth, too. We don’t stand for trannies in this school,” the guy said, reaching to grab at the club’s poster.

Please, can you just shut the fuck up?

And then there was another person on the scene, Remus striding over from the speech booth with a bloodthirsty glint in his eye.

“What did you say, girlie?”

The guy took a step back, almost involuntarily. “Stay out of this, or you’re just as bad as they are.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will, worm’s meat,” said Remus. He seemed to be bubbling with anger, dark and deep. But why did he care? Why would Remus, of all people, defend the gay club on campus? Regardless of his motivations, Addie could only watch, rooted to the spot, as Remus went on. “Back off, or you’ll find your kneecaps unpleasantly reversed.”

“I’m not scared of you,” said the bully, although he sounded far less certain now.

“Shut your mouth,” Remus measured his words carefully, “Or I’ll tear off your nipples and shove them up your nose.” He grinned, wild and frenzied for a fight. And the bully gave it to him.

“You wouldn’t dare,” the guy said, taking two steps forward to shove him. Remus was too quick, and sidestepped to grab his arm as he went past.

“Is that a challenge?”

With that, they were on top of each other, Remus yelling out obscenities and clawing, biting, fighting dirty like there was no tomorrow. The other kid, although bigger, really had gotten in over his head. He spun wildly, trying to get Remus off of him, to no avail. Someone was screaming. Then, something red wading into the fray.

As quickly as it had started, it was over.

Roman had his brother by the back of his shirt and was dragging him off.

“I will peel your skin off layer by layer like an onion until you are nothing more than a bony husk, you bastard, you scum of the earth, go die in a hole and fester until even the vultures won’t touch you—”

He kept going, the words flowing, unendingly, all the way until the door to the office shut behind them and Remus’ voice was cut off from the quad.

Addie was shocked into silence, along with most of the students present. Remus getting into a fight wasn’t exactly uncommon, but that was the angriest she had seen him in a long time. Thank goodness Roman was around, or it was possible nothing would have been able to get him to stop. As it was, the kid lay bleeding out of deep scratches across his face and arms. It was like he had been mauled. In a way, she supposed he had.

Not to say what Remus did was right, but Addie was just about ready to punch the kid herself. The things he was saying, the purposeful misgendering, it just cut. Deep. And she didn’t know why. At least I’m not trans. I couldn’t bear to have those words thrown my way.

Wait.

Fuck, what if I’m trans?

It would explain so much, it would hurt so much, it would be a blessing and a curse and everything rolled into one, and oh no I’m spiraling how did this happen .

Deep breaths, take deep breaths, get out of this damn crowd get out get out.

She made it behind the booths, there was a little bit of an open area here and the pressure on her lungs let up, just a little bit. But then there was someone there with her.

“Addie?” said Patton, quietly. He reached out but she stepped away, pressing her hands over her ears because why did her name hurt this much? The pressure clamped back down and she was struggling to breathe and Patton did the right thing this time, he stepped back but he kept talking to her.

“Hey, can you look at me? It’s going to be okay. Let’s count, alright? Just breathe with me and count. In for one, two, three, four, hold it with me for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, you’re doing great. Let’s breathe out now…”

Patton kept up the steady rhythm and Addie slowly came back to herself, out of that dark hole that was far too easy to fall into.

“Sorry, Pat,” she studied her shoes, trying to keep up the focus on her breathing.

“Aww it’s okay, I always want to be here for you, you know that right? I’m Patt-on call!”

“I—” she resolved to just let that one slide, “Thanks.”

“No problem, kiddo! But I think we might want to head off to class now, lunch is over.”

Sure enough, all the booths had been packed up while Addie wasn’t watching. It was disorienting, to say the least. All that was left was empty tables and a few drops of blood on the pavement.

Addie tried to put it out of her mind as quickly as possible.

They headed off to 3rd period.

She tried to breathe.

She couldn’t tell whether she was succeeding.

Ch1 | Ch2(here) | next

#ts sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #trans!virgil #afab!virgil #fem!logan #fem!janus #fem!sides #high school au #fic #dark strange writing #dark strange creations #pride fic #FFR fic

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winterknight1087 · 4 years

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Flower from the Fae (ch 1)

Chapter Title: Mushrooms Were Not the Plant I Was Looking For

Summary: Virgil likes plants, but when he goes to investigate a plant his friend Remy tells him about, he doesn’t exactly check out the plant. Little does he know that the handsome man he meets there is a fairy who is about to challenge the world Virgil knows.

Word Count: 1647

Chapter Warnings: cursing, poisonous mushrooms (no harm from though), death mention, anxiety attack, sympathetic deceit

Pairings: Eventual Romantic LAMP; Analogical

AO3 Link My Writing

A/N: Yeah, I’m not sure how this one happened, but writing this story has been fun. I have a couple other chapters in need of editing, so if you like this bit, be prepared for Virgil and Pat’s interaction.

Bzzt.

[Trenta4Sandman]: So? New trend or stale coffee? [sent at 1642]

Virgil rolled his eyes at the message before responding.

[Anx’sWitch]: you literally told me less than five min ago. I can’t just Apparate like you when you run out of coffee. [sent at 1643]

[Trenta4Sandman]: bitch u aint tryin hard enough then [sent at 1643]

[Anx’sWitch]: y don’t u go flirt w/ ur SO? [sent at 1644]

[HissHissMFs]: plz. I can’t concentrate on my work with u blowing my phone up. [sent at 1645]

The purple-haired man sighed as he pocketed his phone. There were more vibrations, telling him that the conversation was far from over, but he knew it wasn’t anything important. Remy and Dee could go back and forth for hours about nothing. Virgil could always check his phone later and see which he needed to visit later. Right now, he really only cared about finding the plant Remy told him about and seeing if it were something worth his time.

Of course, the hill Remy told him the plant was located on was almost three miles from the center of town. How he even stumbled upon it was beyond Virgil, not that he would bother questioning it either. What Virgil did know was that of his friend group, Remy had the best eye for finding him new and often times endangered plants. So, he struggled out of his house and on this disgusting walk to see whatever plant it was that Remy had seen.

The top of the hill had a giant sequoia tree, tall grass, and mushrooms. Virgil set his bag down under the tree before beginning to look over the plants, reveling in the silence. First, he looked at the mushrooms, duly noting that they appeared to be a poisonous species. Next, he started looking intently at the grass.

“How peculiar. Rare to find someone so intent on staring at grass.” A voice commented.

Terror ran through Virgil, but he pushed it deep down as he turned to look. Oh, great. There goes his poor little gay heart, he supposed. The voice belonged to some other-worldly man. He had well-kept black hair so dark it almost shone a dark blue. The eyes behind rectangular glasses were a brilliant blue that put even Virgil’s prized Black and Blue Sage plants to shame.

Remy is going to lose his shit when he finds out I died because I was too gay. Virgil thought dully.

“I apologize. I appear to have startled you.” The man commented.

“I…uhh…it’s… umm… well…”

The man raised an eyebrow to the gay mess. “Very eloquently put.”

“I… uhh… sorry… anxiety…” and you are too hot to be talking to me.

The man simply nodded. “I apologize again then. Do you require any assistance in lowering your adrenaline levels?”

What. “Ah, no, it’s alright… I’ll get over it.”

The man tilted his head looking over the scene of the poor man’s to-be death scene. “You appear to be searching for something. Might I inquire what you are searching for? I may be of some help in locating it.”

He really is trying to kill me; hot and nice? “Well… uh… a friend told me he… well, you’ll think it’s weird. I mean most people think I’m weird in general so that isn’t saying anything. It’s just not what most people would expect someone like me to be doing with their life, you know? Most people just don’t understand that it works and I enjoy it you know? But I can’t really blame them for thinking it’s weird.”

The man watched as Virgil began to spiral before kneeling and telling him to follow his breathing. He had never had to deal with what the other was undergoing, but he did enjoy research and anxiety was such a common thing among the human population that it was just a useful thing to understand. For that, he was glad as he helped the man control his breathing.

“Now, let’s try this again, without the down-spiral.” He commented to the purple-haired man. “Would you like me to help you find whatever it is you are looking for? If so, what would it be?”

“Well, my friend told me that there was a rare plant up here. Something with purple flowers.” Virgil answered awkwardly. “I’m a botanist who studies plants and from his description of it, it sounds to be an endangered plant.”

The man pursed his lips, thinking. Of course, he knew exactly which plant the human was speaking about, it was only a few feet from his hand. Yet, did he trust this random human not to harm one of the few of its species? Humans usually aren’t interested in plants just for the plants. Yet, this one did not appear to be lying to him. He’d heard of these botanists before, but this was his first meeting with one.

“Pardon this question, as I am not fully aware of what botanists do. What do you plan to do with it, if it is what you think it to be?”

“Oh… umm… well, first I tend to study new plants in their native environment. If it is the one I believe it to be, I would begin a process with the government to bring the specimen back to my greenhouse for conservation efforts where I can control threats, maintain a healthy environment, and breed it with other specimens. Botanists study plants and most attempt to promote their health.”

“So if you find this plant, it’ll be safe?”

“Great, you’re hot, kind, and care for plants,” Virgil muttered, to which the other man decided to pretend he did not hear, though he couldn’t stop the tint to his cheeks. “Yes, I do my best to ensure the safety and survival.”

The man still looked uncertain, and Virgil realized just how much this man seemed to care about the plant they were discussing. He thought before moving over to his bag to pull out his gloves. The man watched, now curious as to what the human was doing as Virgil moved towards a small bunch of mushrooms.

“Here, I can show you what it is I do,” Virgil said, with a fake confidence that he only had in his knowledge.

The other considered this before moving over. He glanced at the mushrooms, knowing exactly what type they were before looking at the human. Virgil nodded as he carefully maneuvered the fungi, double-checking what he had observed earlier.

“There are roughly four kinds of fungi here. These two are an invasive species that appear to be losing the battle for water, so they are less interesting for this partial study. My assumption is that a bird or another animal accidentally transported these here from their normal habitats. They are not remotely endangered, so I am content to let nature do what it will with them. These salmon pink ones are called marasius oreades or the Scotch bonnet. They are relatively safe and edible. These are traditionally arranged in a large circle and are the most commonly associated mushroom with the fairy circle folklore. On the other hand, these ones here are clitocybe rivulosa, or fool’s funnel, which are poisonous due to having deadly levels of muscarine.”

The other man sat there listening as Virgil went on one of his normal plant tangents, finding it easy to do so with the curious but intent look in the other’s eyes. Oh yes, Remy is going to lose it when he finds out later. Virgil found himself talking about the various mushrooms, one plant he really hasn’t been interested in before, while the man beside him began to ask different questions.

Neither was aware of the sun slowly setting until it became a bit too dark. If there’d been more light, the other would have noticed the blush on each cheek, but they pretended not to feel the flames on their faces.

“I apologize for taking so much of your time. I had intended to show you the plant I believe you to be looking for, but I became enthralled in your knowledge.” The man commented.

Stop being a useless gay mess, Virgil! “No, no. I should be the one apologizing. You probably weren’t looking for a long lecture on plants, much less on mushrooms of all things.”

“While I admit that it was not what I had intended on doing today, it was pleasurable listening to your knowledge.” The man paused before deciding on something. “I can tell you that if you come back before sunrise, you will be able to find the plant easily. One of my partners will probably be here as well if you would like to meet him. I am sure he will be thrilled to meet you… uh?”

“Oh… sorry. You can just call me Anx, he/him pronouns. Everyone does.” Virgil answered.

There is no way this human already knows who he was dealing with… was there? “Well, people refer to me as Logic, though my partners call me Lo.”

“Do you have a preference?”

The man looked over the purple-haired man. “You can call me Lo if you wish.”

“And do you have pronoun preferences? I forgot to ask earlier.”

“I am not particular. He/him work well enough.”

“Well, Lo. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Virgil said, with a small smile.

“Pleasure to meet your acquaintance as well, Anx.”

Virgil went to pick up his bag and turned back to ask if Lo wanted to walk back to town with him. Yet, the man was gone, without a sound to announce his departure. That took Virgil aback, but he did basically say goodbye, so maybe the other took it as his queue to leave. Oh well. Virgil pulled out his phone and saw that he had over two hundred messages, meaning Remy and Dee had really gotten into their fight.

Next Chapter

#Flower from the Fae #romantic lamp #tw deceit #sympathetic deceit #tw death mention #Virgil is too gay for life #mushrooms #tw anxiety attack #tw cursing #Sage writes

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whitebear-ofthe-watertribe · 5 years

Text

That Which Holds Us - Chapter 6

Pairing(s): Adrien / Marinette, Nino / Alya

Summary: It has been several months since Ladybug and Chat Noir discovered their true identities. Now that they are not trapped by secrets, they can finally be their full selves around each other and have never been closer. Marinette is going into her final year at university, Adrien is exploring new classes and passions, and their friends Alya and Nino seem to be moving towards a happy future together. It all feels like things could not be better.

But of course, nothing in life is quite so perfect.

When Adrien starts having vivid nightmares and visions about his mother, old questions begin to resurface. Will he be able to find the answers, or will these ghosts from the past tear apart the heroes of Paris for good?

Reminder, you can also read / follow this fic at AO3 here, and FF.net here.

Previous Chapters

Chapter Word Count: 6,909

Enjoy!!!

Alighting onto the roof of a building across from student housing, Ladybug paused.

Chat Noir stopped beside her, his cat ears swiveling as they picked up on the screams of people bolting from one of the apartments.

“What in the –” Ladybug began, but before she could finish, an explosion brought them both to their knees.

An entire wing of the apartment’s third floor had been blasted open. Great plumes of dust and debris billowed onto the street. Another round of screams echoed from the people below.

Without hesitating, Ladybug stood up again and launched herself over to the explosion site, soaring through the wreckage of what used to be an exterior wall.

Chat Noir was right on her heels.

Ladybug coughed, covering her mouth and nose as she peered through the thick cloud.

“Hello?” she called. “Hey, is anybody –”

Click-click.

“Look out!” Chat barked.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked her back as a small flock of odd white birds suddenly appeared from the rubble.

They hovered before them for a heartbeat. Then, letting loose an eerie cry, they attacked.

Chat whipped out his staff and spun it lightening quick, creating a shield against the birds.

One by one, they smacked against the room’s remaining wall and fluttered to the ground.

Ladybug squinted at the birds. There was something strange about them. Something… not quite alive.

Click-click.

Ears perking at the noise, Ladybug craned her neck towards the hall, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from.

Click-click. Click-click.

“Well, I suppose I should be flattered to have the two most renowned superheroes of Paris in my room,” came a voice. “But honestly at this point, it just drives home my humiliation.”

A young woman stepped through the battered doorframe and turned to face them with a glower.

She looked to be made entirely out of parchment. Inky dark circles hollowed the skin beneath her eyes and ran down her cheeks like tear stains. Her hands and forearms were stained as well, the ink rolling down her fingers and dribbling into a murky pool on the ground, almost as if she stood in her own blood.

Click-click. Click-click.

The Akuma played with something small in her hands.

Ladybug guessed that whatever it was must be the source of the clicking.

“We’re here to help you,” she said, raising her hands placatingly. “We don’t want to hurt you, and I’m sure you don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“Oh! So now it matters what I want?”

Click-click. Click-click.

The Akuma let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria.

“It sure as hell didn’t matter to my professor when they rejected my theses as plagiarism this morning! It didn’t matter that I’ve spent weeks researching everything and killing myself to get everything written in time! But no. All it took was some asshole turning in my own work right before I could, and suddenly none of it matters!��

Click-click. Click-click.

“I’m sorry,” Chat Noir said, taking a hesitant step forward, his eyes sympathetic. “I can’t imagine how much that hurts.”

“I don’t want your pity,” the Akuma spat, her inky hands balling into fists. “I am Plagiaress, and I will take back the words that were stolen from me.”

Click-click.

With a snarl, Plagiaress raised her arms and the birds, which had been laying motionless on the ground, suddenly rose to attention.

‘Not birds,’ Ladybug realized, getting a better look at them. ‘Paper airplanes!’

But before she could think more on it, the planes had shot forward and blasted them both through the wall.

Ladybug spun blindly through the air. The airplanes whirled around her, blocking her vision and causing dozens of paper cuts across her face. With a shriek of frustration, she whipped her yo-yo out and flung it in a direction she desperately hoped was up.

For a heart stopping second, she fell.

Then, with a violent tug, the string of her yo-yo snapped tight; it had caught on the roof of the dorm building. Ladybug soared out of the cloud of paper as the ground rushed up to meet her. Stumbling onto the cobblestones, she spun around just in time to see Chat Noir’s startled face before – WHAM!

He plowed into her.

The wind left her with an “Oompf!” as her back hit the ground. The part of her mind that wasn’t ringing in pain expected the sharp edges of paper airplanes to tear them apart. But after a moment of nothing, she opened her eye.

Chat Noir had bolted to his feet. He spun his staff rapidly, fending off the whirlwind of paper that had them surrounded.

“Sorry about that!” he called over the loud flapping. “You alright, M’lady?”

“Yeah,” she muttered weakly, wincing as she got to her feet. “Just peachy.”

“Any thoughts on how to stop these things?” he said, putting his back to hers as she started spinning her yo-yo.

“I don’t know! Did you see anything that the Akuma might be inside?”

“Did you see what she was holding before she –”

Click-click. Click-click.

A furious bellow rang in Ladybug’s ears, drowning out Chat’s words. Something slammed into her, knocking the breath out of her once more as she tumbled through the whirling airplanes. She looked up just in time to avoid another direct hit from Plagiaress.

A pen in the Akuma’s hand caught Ladybug’s attention as she righted herself again to block another jab.

Plagiaress was brandishing the pen like a pocket knife.

Click-click.

Ladybug didn’t know what would happen if Plagiaress managed to cut her with the pen, and she certainly didn’t want to find out.

“Ladybug!” Chat shouted, struggling to cover his flank once more as her absence left him vulnerable to the airplanes.

“It’s her pen, Chat!” she shouted, dodging another swipe, which was difficult as a new wave of planes circled around her once more.

“Give me your Miraculous!” Plagiaress cried, twirling the pen and stabbing out at Ladybug’s ribs. She missed and tried again for an arm.

“How is my Miraculous supposed to help your situation?” Ladybug said breathlessly, her attention torn between the planes and the Akuma.

“How the hell should I know?!” Plagiaress snarled. “Obviously, life isn’t fair, Bug. I’m just trying to get by like everyone else. But at least getting your Miraculous is a tangible goal! And I won’t fail this one.”

With a snarl, Ladybug kicked at the Akuma’s shins.

Plagiaress lost her footing and toppled to the ground.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug cried, seizing her chance and tossing her yo-yo high into the air. A strange rubber bag fell back into her hands. In an instant, she realized that she now held a polka-dotted hot water bottle.

Plagiaress jumped back to her feet, her expression murderous.

A dark shadow behind the Akuma caught Ladybug’s eye. She glanced up to see Chat launch himself forward, his hand swirling with Cataclysmic energy.

But Ladybug’s distraction was all the warning Plagiaress needed.

With a snarl, the Akuma spun on her heel and flung her arm out at him.

The tornado of airplanes shot forward and blew Chat away. With a dreadful THUD, he hit the wall of the half-destroyed dorm building. Cracks spiraled across the stone where his Cataclysm had made contact.

Ladybug winced.

“Chat! Are you ok – ?”

It was then that she saw it happen. Something in Chat Noir’s expression changed. No longer were his bright green eyes focused on the battle. Now his pupils had turned to slits, and his entire face paled.

Ladybug’s stomach plummeted.

“Chat?!” she shouted. “Chat Noir!”

With a snarl, Chat Noir’s eyes closed, and he clutched at his head as if his very skull were about to crack. His snarl turned into a scream.

‘No!’ she thought with a horrified realization. ‘No, not again! Not now!’

She stumbled forward. She didn’t know how she could help him, but she had to try.

Before she could take two steps, Plagiaress lashed out.

The tip of the Akuma’s pen lanced across her left wrist, and a searing pain shot through her.

Looking down, Ladybug saw a dark stain blossoming from the place that hurt most.

‘Blood?’ she thought in alarm.

But no… not blood, ink. Just like the ink that dripped from the Akuma’s arms and stained her cheeks.

Ladybug’s hand seized up, and she felt the muscles turn as brittle as paper. The sensation slowly began to creep up her forearm as the ink stain grew.

“Chat!” she screamed again, panic growing in her chest.

Chat Noir had fallen to his knees, still holding his head as if trying to stop it from splitting open.

Plagiaress lunged forward once more, narrowly missing Ladybug’s neck. She called upon her airplanes, and the whirlwind that had barraged Chat now returned to attack her in full force.

“Chat, snap out of it!” Ladybug cried, her voice breaking in desperation as she flung her yo-yo about her, trying to keep the Akuma at bay while hundreds of airplanes pelted her, stabbing like needles. “Chat, please! Help me!”

“He can’t help you now,” Plagiaress said with a wicked grin. “Monsieur Hawkmoth has other plans for him.”

Ladybug’s heart shuddered at the Akuma’s words as she realized she was truly alone in this.

‘I need to destroy the Akuma,’ her mind raced as fast as her yo-yo. ‘I’ll get to Chat when I destroy the Akuma.’

Everything that followed became a blur.

In desperation, Ladybug pushed against the onslaught and began her own attack. Her left arm grew limp and useless as the ink stained its way past her elbow. Each of the razor-sharp airplanes sliced at her, but she gritted her teeth and ignored the searing pain.

Her single focus became destroying the vile Akuma.

‘Destroy the Akuma, get to Chat.’ The words ran through her head, over and over, the two goals intrinsically linked. ‘Destroy the Akuma, get to Chat. DESTROY THE AKUMA, SAVE CHAT NOIR.’

A deafening rumble sounded as the ground shook beneath them. Clouds of dust rose out from the dorm building that Chat had Cataclysmed. Its foundation was collapsing.

Ladybug ignored it. She could fix it with her Lucky Charm. She could fix everything. She could save Chat Noir. She had to.

The Akuma charged, brandishing her deadly pen with a crazed scream.

Ladybug flung the hot water bottle out with her good arm and caught the pen inside the small opening at the top. Using Plagiaress’ momentum, she spun with the Akuma in a wide circle and yanked the hot water bottle upwards.

With a snap, the pen broke.

All around her, hundreds of razor-sharp airplanes froze before fluttering to the ground. A small, dark butterfly emerged from the pen’s broken pieces.

Ladybug quickly tossed her yo-yo forward to capture it. In the span of two heartbeats, the insect was cleansed of its vile magic.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” she said, flinging the hot water bottle high above her. A glittering cloud of familiar magic surged around her, healing her arm and restoring the surrounding buildings to their original state.

The young girl – now transformed back into her normal self – sat on the cobblestones looking around in a daze. Catching sight of Ladybug, her eyes grew wide and she opened her mouth in horrified realization.

But for once, Ladybug couldn’t bring herself to bother with the Akumatized victim.

A few yards away, Chat Noir was kneeling on the ground, his head still in his hands and his shoulders trembling.

Hurrying over, Ladybug frantically crouched beside him to find his eyes blown wide in alarm.

“Chat,” she whispered, running her hands along his arms helplessly. “Are you ok? What do you need, how can I help you?”

“I – I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking as he stared past her. “Th-this is… it happened again…”

“Ladybug!” someone called her name, and she looked up to find that a small crowd was forming as people came out of hiding. Most of them were the students that had fled their apartments during the beginning of the attack. A lot of them were still in pajamas.

“Chat Noir, if I may ask you both some questions!”

A reporter was pushing past others to get close to them, his camera held high.

“Chat Noir! Why did you collapse like that?” came another shout from behind them, and turning, Ladybug saw three more people with their own cameras pressing in.

“It looked like you were holding your head! Were you under psychic attack?”

“Is this a repeat of what happened to you last night?”

A couple of the cameras flashed.

Ladybug felt Chat flinch as they went off. He tried unsuccessfully to turn away from them.

“Ladybug, do you feel let down by Chat Noir?”

“C’mon,” Ladybug murmured. She stood and gently pulled Chat up with her. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Chat Noir, are you even still fit to be fighting monsters?”

“Do you still feel up to defending Paris?”

“Is the pressure of years of fighting finally causing you to have a breakdown?”

“I’m sorry,” Ladybug raised her voice to be heard over their chatter. “We don’t have time to answer any questions right now. There’s important business we need to attend to!”

Chat had his head ducked down as he held on tight to her arm.

She wrapped her fingers securely around his.

“Please,” she tried to back away from the onslaught, pulling Chat with her. “We really need to go, please let us go, now!”

“You heard her!” came a voice, ringing just as loud as her own. “Back off! Please allow our heroes to move along.”

Ladybug looked around to see a young man sporting bright ginger hair carving a path through the people surrounding them. Taking in his uniform, she recognized him as the recently appointed Chief of Police, Monsieur Thomas Benoit. He was flanked by several fellow officers who were giving stern looks to the reporters.

“Clear off, everyone. Go about your business. Move along!”

The officers were holding their arms up, working together to form a small path for the two of them.

Ladybug hurried past them with Chat pressed against her side. She shot Benoit a grateful look, and he nodded in return.

Together, she and Chat Noir launched themselves out of the square and hurried across several rooftops before stopping some ways away from the commotion.

Ladybug turned to Chat as he began pacing and running his hand agitatedly through his hair.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he said finally, turning towards her.

She could see the panic pulsing in his wide green eyes.

“I don’t even know where to begin… I… I don’t know what triggers it or how to make it stop, I just…”

He slumped down against the roof’s railing, pressing his face into his hands.

Ladybug’s breath caught in her chest. She moved towards him and put her hand on his shoulder.

When he looked up at her, he was on the verge of tears.

“I’m so sorry for letting you down,” he said, his voice breaking.

Ladybug’s mouth falling open.

“Excuse me?”

Chat’s hands fell to his sides as he stared down at his feet.

“I was useless out there. More than useless. I should have been able to have your back but instead I just… put you in more danger.”

“No!” Ladybug said hastily, gripping his shoulder tighter and giving it a small shake. “No, no! You’re not useless! Don’t you dare listen to what those people were saying, they don’t –”

“I was a liability,” Chat said firmly, avoiding her gaze. “You had to do twice the amount of work because of me, and it almost got people hurt.”

“N-no! Chat, I… Everything turned out ok!” Ladybug spluttered. “You were under attack, it couldn’t be helped –”

Her protests were cut short. A loud clanging bell rang out just then, making them both jump. Looking around for the source of the noise, they spotted a clocktower a couple blocks down.

Ladybug looked back around to see Chat close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I’d forgotten I was supposed to meet with the group from Valentino this morning.”

Ladybug stared at him incredulously.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m sorry, I need to go –”

“I kinda think that dealing with what just happened takes precedence!”

Chat shook his head sadly, never once looking directly at her as he pulled away. “I know, I – I know. But I can’t –”

“Wait, no!” Ladybug reached for his hand and held it firmly within both of hers, trying to pull him back. “Chat, we need to talk about this! Can’t anyone else do it? Call Zacharias –”

“You heard them last night, they insisted on meeting with me. They’re only here for today, and I’m responsible for it…” He gently extracted himself from her grip. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just… I feel like I’m suddenly losing my grip on life, I can’t let this be ruined too.”

“Chat Noir you CANNOT just leave like this!”

Ladybug took a step towards him, preparing to tackle him to the ground if that’s what it took.

Beep-beep!

She froze in her tracks, a hand instinctively reaching up to her Miraculous.

Chat finally looked back at her.

“You’re about to detransform,” he said, a sad smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

“Well, so are you,” she angrily gestured at his ring, which displayed that he had only a couple minutes left.

“Tonight,” he said. “Before we head over to Nino’s, we’ll talk. I promise.”

“Chat, wait!”

“I’ll leave early this afternoon, I promise we’ll talk more about it later.”

“CHAT!”

But he had already gone.

Ladybug gazed after him as he disappeared over the rooftops. She had half a mind to just throw caution to the wind and chase him down. They could probably catch one another if they ran out of time, right?

Beep-beep!

With a heavy sigh, she turned and slid down the side of the roof and leapt down to the alley below. Detransforming, she caught Tikki up in her hands and gently helped her into the bag at her side.

“Do you think he’s going to be ok?” Marinette asked, walking along the alley towards the busier road ahead.

Tikki looked up at her, wide eyes filled with worry.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice small. “I haven’t seen this before. Something is definitely wrong.”

“I hope he gets done with work early. I’ll bet he and Plagg are just as exhausted as we are, they really shouldn’t push it.”

Tikki just nodded before ducking out of sight.

Shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, Marinette made her way out of the alley and onto the street. Her feet carried her in the direction of the nearest café. Glancing through the large windows, she saw that it bustled with activity. She pushed the door open, catching the strong whiff of roasting espresso.

The line up to the counter moved slower than she had anticipated.

Letting out a sigh, she let her mind wander back to Adrien. Her stomach twisted with anxiety as she wracked her brain, trying to come up with any solution to these nightmares and hallucinations. But in all their years of wielding their Miraculous, she had never experienced what he was up against.

‘It’s all Hawkmoth’s fault,’ she thought, gritting her teeth.

He was the one making Adrien suffer. She could hardly stand it, knowing how much Adrien had already been through, how much he’d fought past the loneliness and fear to get to a place of happiness. And now, that villain was slowly trying to strip it away.

“… at the sight of the most recent Akuma attack, where Ladybug and Chat Noir recently left the scene.”

Marinette looked up.

Several people at a table nearby were crowding around someone’s laptop, which had a live newsreel playing at full volume. One of the reporters from earlier was speaking to the camera in front of the student housing building, now restored to its original structural intregrity.

“Eyewitness reports have stated that something rather strange seemed to be happening to our feline hero.”

“It looked like he was having some sort of episode,” came another voice.

Marinette strained her neck to see the reporter was now interviewing a couple students. It was a student that spoke into the mic now.

“He just froze up and wouldn’t respond when Ladybug was screaming at him to help. I dunno, I don’t think we’d be so worried if this hadn’t apparently happened last night too.”

“Do you have concerns about Chat Noir being able to properly defend civilians now?”

“I don’t want to be concerned,” said another student. “But if this sort of thing keeps happening to him, then there might be something seriously wrong, you know?”

“Well, you heard it here first,” said the reporter as he turned back to the camera. “The people of Paris are afraid. Is Chat Noir still fit to protect us from the evils that plague our city? Tune in for more at ten.”

Utterly floored, Marinette starred as the group pulled away from the screen and began whispering amongst themselves.

Was this what other people were thinking? Did it only take a couple missteps for them to turn their back on him? Should she have said something to those reporters when she had the chance?

“It looks like the ol’ Chat Noir isn’t doing his job so well anymore.”

Marinette frowned. Raising her chin, she glanced around, trying to see who belonged to that voice.

“Well, it seems he was under some sort of attack more than anything else,” another voice responded. “Who’s to say he wasn’t fighting off an Akuma mind trick?”

Marinette turned to stare at two men who were waiting off to the side of the counter for their order. They, much like herself, had clearly been near enough to that group to hear everything in that news report.

“If it’s happened twice in a row it just seems a bit suspicious,” the shorter man was saying while his companion frowned. “If we need someone defending us against all these crazed monsters, I think I want people who are actually fit for the job.”

“I dunno, man,” the taller one said. “They’ve done their best up till now, shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“Well, their ‘best’ still has us left with effing Akuma attacks every week! Obviously their ‘best’ isn’t going to stop it all anytime soon. Maybe this is a sign we need some new heroes, who are mentally stable and actually competent!”

Marinette grit her teeth.

“Oh, come now,” sighed the tall man. “Who would you possibly replace them with?”

“All I’m saying is we shouldn’t have to risk our safety on a superhero who can’t even avoid a mental breakdown in the middle of an attack!”

Marinette caught the shorter man’s eye, and her steady glare made him shift around uncomfortably.

Their order was called just then, and – doing his best to avoid her gaze – the man ushered his companion along. They hurried out of the café before she could think of how to confront them.

Breathing hard, Marinette clenched her fists around her bag’s shoulder strap.

First those reporters, and now this? They all had no idea, no idea how hard Chat Noir fought for them! All those times he’d risked his life to save innocent people, and they can’t even be bothered to give him a little grace?

She suddenly found herself at the front of the line, gazing into the face of an expectant barista. Blinking, she opened her mouth for a long moment, before bowing her head apologetically and shifting back out of line.

She wasn’t in the mood for coffee anymore. Her blood was already boiling.

Turning, she made her way through the throng of people and hurried back onto the street in the direction of her studio.

She knew these latest attacks would be all anyone could talk about now. And imagining how Adrien would feel once he heard what they were saying made her stomach churn.

Climbing the stairs up to her class’s floor, she shoved open the door and stalked over to her usual corner. She was the only one there so far, which turned out to be lucky, for when she pulled her bag off her shoulder and threw it onto her desk, Tikki let out an indignant squeak.

“Sorry, Tikki,” Marinette mumbled, slumping down onto her chair and wheeling it over to the mannequin that sported her half-completed dress.

Tikki peeked her head out of the pocket she hid in, and seeing the empty room, she floated out to sit on the mannequin’s shoulder.

Marinette rubbed at one of her temples.

“He’s going to be ok,” Tikki said softly.

Taking in a deep breath, Marinette straightened up to look at her.

Tikki gazed down at her sympathetically.

“I hope so…” Marinette said finally, releasing her breath in a long sigh. “I’m just worried that the people of Paris won’t give him that chance.”

“You can’t control what people think and say,” said Tikki. “You can only keep doing what’s right.”

Marinette didn’t respond. She wasn’t in the mood to think about how easily Paris was persuaded to doubt and mock someone who had done nothing but give so much to them.

Rolling her stool back over to her desk, she dug a pair of earphones out of her bag and set some loud music on her phone.

Tikki gazed at her for a long moment before settling down out of sight once more.

Marinette threw herself into her work, desperate for distraction.

She and Mathis had made a surprising amount of progress in the last few weeks, despite butting heads every five minutes. They collaborated only when necessary. For both their sakes, it was easier to remain as far apart as possible. To his credit, Mathis had behaved better recently than she had ever seen him in all their years of school. But every time she considered giving him the benefit of the doubt, memories of what he had done to her the previous year flashed across her mind, convincing her to keep her guard up.

Fortunately, between Mathis’ unparalleled skills in clean lines and perfect construction, and her own flair for the dramatic, they had cobbled together a series of dresses that even she had to admit were impressive.

The dresses were structured in ways that fit the forms of their models like nothing Marinette had ever made before. Mathis had constructed swirls of material that shimmered like burnished metal and floated along the runway like liquid smoke. She had then come up with embroidered patterns that gave off the impression of molten steel in a forge. Upon closer inspection, however, one would see the intricate details of countless flowers and stars whirling through the folds of fabric.

Three dresses had been mostly completed. A fourth now hung on Marinette’s mannequin, and the beginnings of a fifth lay atop Mathis’ desk across the room.

Pulling out spools of crimson and gold thread, Marinette hunched over the latest garment – a short and simple asymmetrical dress with a dramatic cloak that draped across the shoulders – and carefully stitched a starlight pattern into the fabric. All five fingers on her left hand were guarded by thimbles; growing up, she’d had more than enough experience accidently stabbing herself with needles.

As the morning turned to afternoon, the studio filled up around her with fellow students.

Meesh and Alec both arrived at some point, but Marinette barely spared them a nod. The needlework was involved enough that she was finally able to quiet her worried thoughts for Adrien, focusing instead on each of the tiny details. The stress still sat at the back of her mind, but her music was almost able to drown it all out.

Almost.

“Well, well, Marinette,” a familiar snide voice said over the song playing through her earphones. “It looks like your super-feline friend isn’t doing so hot lately.”

Frowning, Marinette looked up to see Mathis standing casually beside her, his cold grey eyes inspecting her embroidery.

“What are you talking about, Mathis?” she sighed, removing her earphones and raising an eyebrow pointedly.

“Have you not been paying attention to the news?” he asked, incredulous. Coming from him, the concern in his tone sounded particularly mocking. “The videos have been playing everywhere.”

Pulling out his phone, he flipped to the local news and scrolled down to the day’s headlines, holding it out for her to see.

Marinette stared. The first article read:

CHAT NOIR CAUSES CATASTROPHE

And below that:

LADYBUG LET DOWN: CAN OUR BELOVED HEROINE STILL COUNT ON HER SIDEKICK?

Images of the morning’s attack were coupled with those from the fight during the party.

Marinette’s jaw tightened as she watched shaky footage of Chat Noir collapsing to the ground. A fresh wave of pain stabbed through her heart as he cradled his head in his hands, his entire body trembling. In the background, she saw herself desperately battling the Akuma while shrieking for Chat to snap out of it.

She finally tore her gaze away as the footage clipped to a news anchor comparing the two attacks. Staring down at the pile of thread and fabric in her lap, she clenched her hands into fists to stop them shaking.

“Yes, I’ve seen it,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Hmm…” Mathis murmured. “I would have thought that you might care a bit more about this. After all, he was the one who saved your collection last year from that terrible intruder.”

Marinette stiffened, remembering how Chat Noir had come to her room several months prior, carrying the garment bags that held both her Gala collection and Meesh’s. Chat had told her of a masked person who had broken into their studio and would’ve destroyed their collections had he not been there to fight them off.

At the time, there hadn’t been enough evidence to prove Mathis was behind it, but whether it had been Mathis himself or someone he hired, they remained convinced he was the one to blame.

“I mean, of course I hope he’s ok,” Marinette said stiffly. “But I’m sure it’ll all be fine. For all the media knows, it could have just been part of the Akuma attacks. Weirder things have happened.”

“I don’t know,” Mathis said, shrugging. His expression might’ve been sympathetic if it had actually reached his eyes. “It all seems a bit strange to me, seeing as how nothing similar happened to Ladybug.”

Marinette shrugged.

“Well, who knows?” she said dismissively, biting down on the many colorful retorts that ran through her head. “Listen, I have a lot I want to get done today. Is there something you need?”

Mathis sneered down at her. Clearly, he had been hoping to get more of a reaction from her about Chat Noir.

“No,” he finally said after a long moment. “I’ll be at my desk if you need to discuss anything.”

Marinette nodded, without looking back up at him. After a moment, she saw him turn and walk away out of the corner of her eye.

Letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, Marinette gathered the thread in her lap and began to insert a new piece through the needle.

The tension she’d tried to ignore all morning was back again in full force. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the image of Chat Noir helplessly fighting an invisible enemy out of her head. It took a tremendous amount of effort to try and focus back in on the pattern she was embordering.

“Hey, were you guys just talking about the Akuma attacks?” someone said, and Marinette looked around to see Meesh peering curiously over her own work. “Whatever was going on with Chat Noir seems pretty odd, right?”

Marinette frowned and opened her mouth to speak.

“Oh man, that footage was crazy!” Alec chimed in before she could reply. “I mean the guy went straight out of commission!”

“Oh, I suppose you both are doubting his abilities too, huh?” Marinette snapped, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“I didn’t say that,” Meesh said, surprised. “I just thought it all seems pretty weird. I mean, am I wrong?”

“No, something is definitely off,” Alec nodded emphatically.

“It’s not his fault!” Marinette clenched her garment’s fabric tightly as she glared at them.

“But you have to look at the facts, Mar,” Alec continued. “I mean, clearly something is wrong with him!”

“I can’t hear this.”

Marinette spun her stool around so her back was to her friends.

As much as their words irritated her, she held her tongue. She supposed they at least didn’t mean anything by it. Even if they, like everyone else, didn’t have the advantage of knowing Chat Noir like she did, both Meesh and Alec had also grown up in other countries. They didn’t have years of seeing him fight on their behalf; to them, he was just some intangible comic book figure come to life.

“Hey Mar?”

She jumped.

Meesh had come up beside her.

“Are you ok? You seem pretty upset.”

“I’m fine,” Marinette shrugged. What else could she say?

“Are you sure?” Meesh asked, dropping her voice and leaning forward slightly. “I mean I’m worried about Chat Noir too. But you know you can talk to me, right?”

“I –” Marinette opened her mouth hesitantly. Unfortunately, as much as she trusted Meesh as a friend, she could never share the truth. “I just have a lot of… work to get done.”

Meesh gazed down at her with concern before finally nodding. Reaching out briefly to give Marinette’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, she turned and made her way back to her desk.

Marinette sighed as she went back to her own work. But her eyes no longer saw the embroidery she held. Instead, the images of Chat, so helpless and in pain, kept replaying across her vision.

Clenching her jaw, she squoze her eyes shut and shook her head vehemently. No, she couldn’t bear to think of it anymore, not while there was nothing she could do to help him. If she could just focus on her work for a little while longer, Adrien would be coming to get her, and she’d finally be able to leave.

But her efforts proved useless. Now that she had removed her earphones, she became increasingly aware that Chat Noir and the most recent attacks were all anyone in the studio was talking about.

“It’s hard to say,” she heard someone nearby mutter. “I mean it sounds like no one really knows what’s going on.”

“Have you seen the videos?” another voice responded.

“Yeah, it looks like the guy is having a mental break, right?”

“I dunno… I’m worried about him, you know?” a third voice chimed in. “What if something’s happened to him and he can’t help Ladybug anymore?”

Marinette grit her teeth, trying to tune out the conversations around her. Could no one talk about anything else for even five minutes?

“Well this is two times in a row now that he’s gone all weird like that. Ladybug’s been lucky so far with defeating the Akumas by herself, but how long do we expect that luck to hold?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I hope the guy comes out of this ok. I just don’t think he’s cut out for the superhero stuff anymore, you know?”

“Yeah, I mean how is some crackpot going to be able to save lives when he can’t even save himself?”

“Well, I s’pose you do have a point there.”

“Let’s face it, Chat Noir isn’t useful to anyone like this.”

“We need to be able to rely on the city’s heroes, not be worried that they’ll slip up. Someone could die like that.”

“Ladybug needs to move on to someone better.”

“Yeah, I agree!”

“ENOUGH!”

The entire studio fell silent, turning to look at Marinette as she stood, breathing hard, before the group who had been talking. Her embroidery needle was still gripped tight in her hand.

“What’s the matter with you people?!” she growled, her voice shaking with rage. “How dare you talk about Chat Noir like that! He’s spent half his life defending this city, defending people like you every single day! And the second something happens, you’re all ready to just turn your backs on him? To just reject him and say you want someone else for the role instead?”

“Marinette,” one of the boys who had been speaking against Chat broke in. “All we’re saying is that if someone is going to help protect everyone, he needs to be fully reliable.”

“Yeah!” said another girl. “Ladybug deserves a partner who won’t let her down like that! She needed his help and all he did was lay down for the Akuma to pummel them both.”

“Ladybug figured it out!” Marinette said, advancing toward them. “They’ve been in much worse situations and they always find a way to save everyone!”

“Not always,” Mathis said from across the room. Everyone turned to look at him, so he shrugged and continued. “They haven’t always been able to set everything back to normal, and people have gotten hurt. I thought you would’ve been the last person to forget that, Marinette.”

She balled her fists tighter. The needle she held stabbed into the palm of her hand, but she hardly felt it over the rushing in her ears.

It was true, they hadn’t always been able to miraculously restore everything – the scars hidden along her hairline where proof of that. If it weren’t for Chat’s sacrifices, she would be dead.

But how dare Mathis, of all people, bring that up? If it hadn’t been for his attack as the Puppet Master, none of this would be happening. Chat would never have had to absorb the Akuma’s darkness, and Adrien would not be suffering from the nightmares and hallucinations now.

Mathis’ expression was unreadable as Marinette glared at him, though she thought she saw the smallest hint of amusement tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Regardless of what went down before, something really weird is going on now,” someone finally said, drawing murmurs of agreement from their classmates. “If Ladybug hadn’t been there, her sidekick would’ve been toast.”

“And so would everyone else, for that matter.”

“Chat Noir isn’t Ladybug’s sidekick, they are equals! Partners!” Marinette’s voice rose to a shout as she spun back on them.

“Then she deserves a better partner!”

“Marinette?” came a quiet voice from behind her.

Marinette whipped around and froze.

Adrien was standing just inside the studio door. From the look on his face, she could guess that he had heard more than enough of the argument.

“You about ready to go?” he said, putting on a pleasant smile.

To anyone else, he might look perfectly relaxed, but Marinette caught how the corners of his eyes tightened.

“Yeah,” she said finally, nodding. “I just have a few things to clean up.”

“Kay, I’ll wait downstairs, then,” he said, bowing his head and turning back towards the door to the stairwell.

Marinette watched him go, her heart clenching in her chest as she saw his shoulders droop. Then, shooting a venomous glance back at her silent classmates – Mathis was watching her with a raised eyebrow – she swiftly returned to her desk to gather her belongings.

The needle she had been gripping so tightly was lodged far deeper in her palm than she’d realized, and it went in at an unfortunate angle. Pain jolted sharply through her hand as she pulled it out, and a dull sore throbbing replaced it as a trickle of blood began to flow. Swinging her bag over her shoulder, she grabbed a small piece of scrap fabric and held it tightly to help staunch the bleeding.

The murmur of voices had returned as people began discussing the superheroes’ troubles once more, but Marinette couldn’t be bothered with them anymore.

Meesh and Alec offered her small smiles as she made her way towards the door. Meesh especially looked sympathetic.

Marinette gave them a farewell nod in return as she pushed the door open and hurried down the stairs.

Adrien stood leaning against the railing on the bottom landing. He offered her a small smile, which she might’ve returned had she not felt so sick with worry.

“So, your day seemed a bit tense,” he said lightly, pushing himself off the railing and moving to hold the door open for her. “People seem to be pretty upset about this whole Chat Noir thing, huh?”

“Adrien…” she sighed, following his lead and stepping outside.

“It’s fine, Mar,” he said shrugging. “Really, I’ve been hearing it all day.”

“That doesn’t make it fine,” she retorted as they began walking through the quad. “I can’t believe the things people are saying!”

“Can’t you?” Adrien shot her a sidelong look.

“Stop it,” she snapped.

He shrugged but said nothing more.

“Are you sure you’re up for tonight?” Marinette asked after a moment as he yawned. “You haven’t exactly been able to rest much lately, maybe you should take it easy…”

Adrien paused thoughtfully.

“I want to go,” he finally said with a resolute nod. “I could use a bit of normalcy in my life right about now.”

Look at that! ME?! Actually updating when I said I would??! AND in just a week instead of a year and a half like last time??!? I dunno, seems fake.

Haha I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! And never forget, I’m a slut for comments! ;D Love you all, and thank you SO MUCH for reading!!!

PS: I also just got a brand spankin new computer!! It definitely cost more than three months of my rent, but it’s been a long time coming. The important thing is that I can FINALLY use my drawing tablet again and start making art to go with this story! Also (no promises) I’m seriously thinking about doing a short animation for one of the scenes from chapter 12... Keep an eye on the #TWHU fic tag!

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fic #adrinette #marichat #ladynoir #ladrien #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #twhu fic

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vincent-frankenstein · 5 years

Text

Shatter

Chapter Fifteen: Let It Out

Summary: Logic is a storm. He’s a furious fire, raging deep inside; thunder strong enough to tear the mindscape to pieces, lightning bright enough to take control. And the storm grows with each time he’s ignored or disregarded, each time his so-called “family” pushes him aside. This is a golden opportunity — how could Rage not take it?

When lightning strikes, Deceit is left to pick up the shattered pieces left behind. The light sides are the only ones who can stop Logic and take Rage off his throne, the only ones who can save Thomas. Deceit just has to fix the damage Logic wrought. He just has to bring back the light.

(And maybe, maybe fall in love with them in the process.)

Warnings: violence, manipulation, blood, corruption, sympathetic deceit, villain logan, swearing, dark side ocs, basically just logan and rage being ASSHOLES and hurting everyone including thomas

Pairings: eventual DAMP (starting with Roceit, then Moceit, and finally Anxceit)

{ Read on AO3 | Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Interlude | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen }

@dante1138 @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur @dealings-ofthe-raven @nerdypandastuff @sammy-the-eye @spirits-in-my-thoughts @c0re0psis @just-a-baby-bee-witchblr @theultimatemomfriend @brownie-aunt @jemthebookworm (lmk if u wanna be added to/removed from the taglist!)

It was far too quiet after that.

Something had shifted between them, something that never should have been there in the first place, and Deceit didn’t know if he preferred the burn of the prelude or the silent sting of the aftermath. Roman’s improvement stagnated. The tower — which had begun to feel like something that could, under certain circumstances and never out loud, be called a home — became a prison once more, and Deceit itched for release, itched to escape the tension he’d caused.

But they didn’t speak of it. They never addressed it. An idle conversation here, a bout of banter there — but the dance and its byproducts were never mentioned. They danced around the issue as they’d danced around each other; slowly but purposefully, spiraling deeper and deeper. Roman stayed distant, cold.

And Deceit shed his desire to flatter and flirt until he got his way as easily as a snake sheds its skin. He’d delivered the wrong message, the first time around, but now he knew that manipulating Roman into his good graces wasn’t necessary. There was no reason to address any of what had occurred.

But as the days went on, his certainty plummeted. His progress with Roman had slowed to an agonizing crawl. Why oh why had he decided to deal with the romantic side first? Alone? It made all the sense in the world that Roman had latched onto his affection after such a dreadful ordeal. Why hadn’t he thought to go to Patton first, or Virgil? Someone equipped to deal with this sort of mess, someone who could field Roman’s feelings without tearing everything apart in the process?

But, well. He hadn’t thought to go to them first. He considered Roman the easiest — and in a way, he was, but only if Deceit set him up for heartbreak later on. He was a bastard, but he wasn’t cruel, and he certainly wasn’t an idiot; building Roman’s self-confidence back on a foundation of romance was a surefire way to ensure he crumbled when Deceit had to leave.

But regardless, he had to build it on something. Perhaps… as much as it pained him, as much as the mere thought made his stomach roll, perhaps he’d finally found a scenario where honesty was the best policy.

Which, really. Hadn’t the universe punished him enough?

They had to talk about it. Someday, somehow, they had to address what had happened between them and move on. Deceit — who had never been one for dealing in absolutes — had to set some boundaries in order to move forward.

“Roman,” he said, one maddeningly silent morning, when he felt they’d avoided the issue for long enough. “We need to talk.”

“Ah… about what?” Roman asked, and Deceit could see the wariness in his eyes. He already knew what. Deceit sighed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“You know exactly what, Roman,” Deceit said, and Roman shrank into himself. His eyes had lost some of their shine; the rest of him was still as black-and-white as ever. “We cannot continue to ignore what happened. We need to be —” He choked, and forcefully cleared his throat. “Honest. We need to be honest.”

“Why?” Roman asked, shaking his head. “What good will it do to talk about it? It was a mistake. Just a stupid mistake. It doesn’t matter.”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. Inwardly, he screamed. Why had he almost flinched at the venom in Roman’s words? What was happening to him? “Oh, you’re right, it doesn’t matter,” he said, as smoothly as he could manage. “You’ve been doing so wonderfully ever since it happened. Clearing the air between us won’t help at all.”

Roman glared, fingers curling around his sash. “It won’t help,” he said, more forcefully than before. “It won’t help because nothing happened, nothing important.”

“But something did happen!” Deceit burst out, standing. “Roman, whatever that was, it was not nothing. We almost — we —” He cut off with a groan, his face impossibly warm. God, he hated it there. How did Roman survive in a part of the mindscape that toyed so badly with their emotions?

“Stop!” Roman stood too, running a hand frantically through his hair. “Stop acting like it matters! It doesn’t, okay? I was confused! It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Roman —”

“Stop!”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

And everything froze. The world itself forgot how to breathe. Roman reeled backward as though he’d been struck, his face darkening, cheeks dusted with a grayscale approximation of a blush. A million emotions crossed his face at once and Deceit regretted, regretted having a mouth, regretted everything that had led to this moment. They stood and stared at each other from across the tightrope, and Deceit’s heart froze in his chest.

“No.”

The world tilted.

“Absolutely not,” Roman continued, voice pitched and furious, as though the mere thought offended him. “I already told you. I. Was. Confused. Nothing important happened between us, and nothing ever will.”

“Good,” Deceit said. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” And he smiled, satisfied, as his insides crumbled to dust, as veins of ice shot through his lungs and stopped him from breathing. It was what he wanted to hear, more than anything — that he hadn’t messed up as badly as he thought, that he hadn’t manipulated Roman into something he couldn’t undo.

He refused to check Roman’s words. He didn’t want to know if he was lying or not.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his words died the moment he saw Roman’s expression. Equal parts fury and devastation and drowned in too many other emotions to name, it flickered across his face for a moment or two before settling on a cold, broken look.

Deceit’s blood ran cold. Perhaps he’d been too harsh, too cold. He’d forgotten Roman was still Insecurity. What if this set them back to square one? What if —

But then Roman’s expression darkened, and he turned, striding over to the wall. “I’m done with this,” he said, his voice shaking but still impossibly firm. “You cannot fix me. You cannot fix the mess he made. Go home, Deceit.”

And he placed a hand against the wall, and it crumbled at his touch, bricks flying through the air and reforming into a great, arching bridge, which spanned the length of the briar patch and landed on the other side. Deceit gaped, eyes wide. After all this time… freedom, finally, was in his grasp.

And he couldn’t take it.

“I can’t,” he said.

“You can and you will,” Roman replied instantly. “Go back home to your little dark friends and leave me here to rot! The world out there doesn’t need me anymore.”

“I can’t!” Deceit said again. “My ‘little dark friends’ won’t let me back in. Logan kicked me out.” His voice cracked and he sneered to cover it up, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. It still hurt like hell, to be separated from his home, from everything he’d ever known, but he’d be damned if he let Roman know that.

For a moment, understanding flickered across Roman’s expression, but it was gone in an instant. “Fine,” he snapped. “Then go live in the In-Between for all I care! Just get away from me.”

Now it was Deceit’s turn to be angry. Furious. He hadn’t spent all this time working against every instinct he’d ever had to bring Roman back to the light only to be kicked out again. Roman wanted to see him as a villain? Sure. He knew how to play that role.

“Why?” he sneered. “So you can hide away in your little broken kingdom like the coward you are? So you can pretend everything is fine while Thomas crashes and burns? Some Prince you are.”

Roman took a step back, unbridled hurt flashing across his face. It seemed, whatever he’d been expecting, he hadn’t expected this. “That’s —”

“That’s what? Go ahead, Roman, try to defend yourself like you couldn’t defend your family. Do you know where Patton and Virgil are right now? Do you know how much they’re hurting? You paint me as the villain, go right ahead, but don’t forget that I am the only person in the entire mindscape who has actually tried to do something about this mess!”

He was breathing heavily, the human side of his face blazing a bright, passionate crimson. “I don’t care what you think of me. I refuse to allow you to sit back and pretend everything is fine while the world crumbles around us! While Thomas crumbles! You remember Thomas, right? The one we’re supposed to protect?”

“Thomas —”

“Needs you,” Deceit cut in, finishing Roman’s sentence for him. “Thomas needs you, and he needs me. Whether you listen to me or not makes absolutely no difference to me — but I will not allow you to hurt Thomas with your inaction. If I am leaving, you are too.”

Silence fell over the two. Deceit drew himself up to his full height — which, admittedly, was not that much — and glared resolutely, face set and stony. Roman blinked, his anger melting away in favor of something more vulnerable, something horrified.

“You’re — you’re right,” he breathed, his voice trembling. “I-I didn’t even… I didn’t even think about Patton and Virgil, I — how could I —”

“Oh good, now’s the perfect time to fall back into a pit of self-loathing,” Deceit deadpanned. “You want some advice, your highness? Wait to break down until after the battle has been won. It’s the healthiest thing to do.”

“That doesn’t sound very —”

Deceit didn’t stay to hear the rest of Roman’s sentence. With a sharp nod, he started down the bridge, and hoped against all hope that Roman would follow. At least, it seemed, he’d finally gotten through to Roman, finally impressed upon him the severity of their situation. Whether he’d been too harsh or not…

No. No, he hadn’t been too harsh. Roman needed a kick in the royal ass to get moving. Who knows how long they could’ve been stuck there otherwise? He tilted his chin up and clasped his hands behind his back, and tried not to think about all the loose ends he had yet to tie up.

He was halfway across the bridge when he heard Roman’s footsteps behind him.

#go OFF dee #deceit sanders #roman sanders #ts deceit #roceit #shatter fic #sanders sides #sympathetic deceit #celeste's portfolio

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nosecrinklewrites · 5 years

Text

Human Disaster Kylo, part 12

part 1 – part 2 – part 3 – part 4 – part 5 – part 6 – part 7 – part 8 – part 9 – part 10 – part 11

Hux had kissed him.

Hux had kissed him like he wanted him.

Hux had kissed him goodnight.

–

Kylo had made it through the night, sleeping in fits and starts. And woke to a silent phone. No messages. It was late enough for Hux to have been up and around for hours. But there was no text.

At work, Kylo found himself, once again, unable to leave his phone in his locker, like he was supposed to.

Waking up to a message from Hux was so ingrained in him, he felt off for the rest of the day. Kylo was prone to catastrophic thinking. He was aware of doing it, but he couldn't seem to stop. The thoughts kept on coming.

He must have said something. Something Hux didn't like. Or maybe seeing Kylo having a panic attack made him realize Kylo was more trouble than he was worth. Kylo had never seen someone else have a panic attack, so he didn't know what it looked like. Was it a frightening sight? If it looked anything like it felt, it must've been horrifying.

Maybe he'd changed his mind about the date? Maybe he just said the thing about the date to make Kylo feel better?

If Hux no longer liked him, Kylo would have to do something. If Hux didn't want him anymore, how would he get his books? Hux might be able to continue going to the bookstore, but Kylo sure as Hell wouldn't be able to work there. Not if it meant he had to see Hux regularly.

Clearly, Kylo had to quit his job.

Dopheld startled Kylo out of his thoughts.

”Kylo.”

”Y-yeah? Sorry. You were saying?”

”Do you need to get off the floor?” Doph asked, hands on his hips.

”No, no, I'm fine. This is fine.” Kylo looked over Doph's shoulder. The customers in the vicinity were eyeing him wearily.

”Did something happen?”

Kylo shook his head. ”No, I just– Had a rough night, I guess.”

Dopheld looked at him, intensely. ”You left with Hux, last night. Did he hurt you?”

Kylo gaped. ”What? No! No, he was perfectly fine.”

”You can tell me,” he said firmly. ”I'll kick his ass if he did.”

Kylo and Dopheld looked at each other, equally startled by the offer. Dopheld visibly steeled himself and didn't retract it.

”No, I– Thank you, but really, it's– ” Kylo swallowed. ”It's my anxiety. I'm not doing so good,” he muttered.

Dopheld nodded sympathetically. He let Kylo hide in the stockroom for the day.

Counting inventory was just mindless enough for Kylo to keep on spiraling. Clearly, Kylo must have done something wrong. Something Hux just couldn't get behind.

Maybe it had happened weeks ago and Hux had just been waiting for Kylo to do something unforgivable, something so bad, he didn't have to come up with an excuse to cut ties.

Dopheld tried to talk to him again, but Kylo brushed him off. Jessika tried as well, but with the holidays coming up, they didn't have much time to spare.

–

After more than a week of radio silence, Kylo was slowly losing his mind. He was running out of things to do in the stockroom and was starting to contemplate how to convince his mom to give him his uncle's phone number. Surely, uncle Luke must have room for him in his … tent? Hut? Last time he'd heard from his uncle, he was somewhere in the Middle East, trying to find himself.

His dad would understand. Hopefully.

Or maybe he should just call his mom; ask if he could come live with her, in the city. Possibly change his name again. Maybe dye his hair.

”Kylo!”

Kylo startled and dropped a box of pens. The box wasn't closed properly and the pens went flying, scattering all over the floor.

”What?” he called back.

”Need you at the register!” Jessika called, moments before the door slammed shut.

Kylo looked at the pens and sighed heavily. He stepped around the pens and grabbed the doorhandle.

He paused.

Instead of opening the door, he leaned his head against it and breathed for a moment. He pulled off his glasses and stuck them on his collar.

Just keep breathing, he told himself and turned the handle.

There were no windows in the stockroom and the bright sunlight in the store momentarily blinded him. Kylo tried to blink away the bright white spots in his eyes. ”What,” he said as he rubbed his eyes.

A pause, and then –

”Hello, Kylo.”

Kylo startled, bumping into the counter quite violently at the sound of his voice. Kylo looked blearily at Jessika, who eyed him.

Hux was there. In the store. Smiling at him.

”You look like shit,” Kylo blurted, making Hux laugh. The laugh instantly turned into a coughing fit. A painful one, judging by the sound of it.

”In that case, I look better than I feel,” Hux croaked. He was wearing his nice coat, but was dressed in sweats underneath. ”I have the flu,” he sniffled.

Even through several days worth of beard, Hux looked gaunt and miserable. His eyes were red and irritated; the red making his eyes appear brilliantly green.

Hux rubbed his nose on his sleeve. ”'M sorry I haven't been in touch.”

”Why aren't you in bed?”

”I'm out of food,” Hux sniffled into his handkerchief. ”I'm on my way to the store. Thought I might as well stop by, see if you were here. I can't look at my phone at the moment. The screen makes my brain hurt.”

Kylo frowned. ”I can do that. You should be in bed.”

Hux sniffled at him for a moment, before sneezing so hard he had to bend over and grab his knees. ”I'm fine,” he grunted.

”Hux. Go home,” Kylo said. ”Please.”

Hux straightened back up and squinted at him.

”I get off in, like, two hours. Tell me what to get and I'll come by after work,” he said softly.

”You don't have to do that,” Hux sighed. He looked dead on his feet.

”I want to.”

–

Armed with Hux's tote bags and a list, hastily scribbled on the back of a receipt, Kylo ventured to the grocery store.

He held Hux's bags close to his chest, while dragging a cart behind him. Hux's list was nothing but bland, soft stuff. Oats, bread, bananas, tea, honey. He had told Kylo to get creative, which was a challenge. Kylo didn't really cook himself. He subsisted on sandwiches and ready made meals.

Kylo perused the produce for a while, poking and squeezing here and there, to see what was soft. Hux probably wasn't eating a whole lot, so Kylo didn't get much more than what was on the list.

He swung by the candy aisle on his way to the register. He'd seen some of the sweets Hux kept on hand, when he'd been at Hux's apartment.

It was hard not to feel like an idiot. All the things he'd been worrying about for the past week, seemed to have been for naught. That was the worst part about the catastrophic thoughts; Kylo always felt dumb afterwards.

They'd talked about it a lot in therapy. Not that Kylo wanted to, but his therapist said it was important. He wasn't broken or wrong – he was ill. Mental illness didn't always make sense, and that was ok. He was ok.

Acceptance was the hardest part.

A bag of Werther's and a chocolate bar later, Kylo shuffled to the register.

–

When Hux answered the door, he looked a bit better. His hair was no longer greasy, the ends were dark and damp. He must've taken a shower when he got home.

”You really didn't have to do this,” Hux said, as he let Kylo inside.

”But I wanted to,” Kylo said.

Hux looked tired and worn down. ”Thank you.”

Kylo nudged him toward the sofa and offered to put the groceries away.

”Just put them on the worktop,” Hux said and curled up on the sofa.

The whole apartment showed signs of Hux being sick. Most surfaces were cluttered with tissues and mugs.

In the kitchen, Kylo moved the dirty dishes into stacks, making room for the food. He stuck his head around the door.

”Want some tea?”

”That would be lovely, thank you.”

Kylo smiled. He had to rinse out a mug while the kettle was boiling, but he didn't mind. Hux said he didn't need to, but he might as well. He opened up the cupboards and put the groceries away.

The bedroom door was open, and Kylo could see into the room from the kitchen. The bed was a mess, blankets and sheets twisted together, half of them lying on the floor.

”Hey, Hux? Do you have spare bedding?” He called, while pouring water over the teabag.

”Yeah, why?”

Kylo took the mug to Hux in the living room.

”I'm changing your sheets.”

”You most certainly are not!” Hux said hoarsely, doing his best to keep the tea from spilling into his lap.

”I am. Stay here,” Kylo said and tucked the blankets in around Hux's legs and hips. He looked cross, but was too lethargic to fight him.

Hux sighed. ”They're in the wardrobe.”

Kylo was careful not to slip on a blanket corner and headed into the bedroom. He'd never been in Hux's bedroom before.

The first task was opening the window. Kylo gently moved a plant aside and opened the window, letting the frigid air rush in around him. Hux had a nice bed. It was big, the frame looked second hand.

Pulling off the bedding was easy enough. The smell of stale sweat clung to the sheets, but it wasn't unbearable. A stray tee shirt had found its way under one of the pillows. Curious, Kylo shook it out. He was greeted by the familiar face of Jane Doe. It was an old, worn thing. Must have been black, once upon a time.

The shirt was tossed in the laundry basket, along with the bedding. Kylo dug out the fresh bedding from the top shelf of the closet. Hux couldn't see him from his spot on the sofa, so Kylo allowed himself to snoop a little.

The closet was half neat order, half chaos. All the beautiful suits hung neatly on hangers. There were a few Kylo hadn't seen before. The button up shirts were neatly folded on a shelf. Kylo ran his fingers down the stack, taking in all the lovely patterns. Hux had a lot of subtle florals.

It was easy to tell what clothes Hux cared about. All his sweats, jeans, and tee shirts were shoved onto the shelves, with no rhyme or reason. Apparently Hux didn't care to keep up the act in his own home.

Kylo closed the closet and went to the task at hand.

While struggling with getting the sheet into place, Kylo wondered why taking care of other people was so easy, when taking care of himself was so hard.

The sound of Hux's blowing his nose reached Kylo and he laughed a little. The bedside table was cluttered with more mugs and tissues.

”You didn't have to shower just because I was coming by, you know,” he called out.

Hux coughed before he replied. ”I vomited for three days. Showering was the decent thing to do, trust me.”

The bed looked somewhat decent, so Kylo decided he was done. He closed the window, and shuffled back into the living room. Hux was lying down, taking up the whole sofa.

Kylo sank into the armchair, pulling his legs up onto the seat.

Hux was very obviously sick, but he still looked good, to Kylo. He'd slung a skinny arm across his eyes and was breathing slowly.

”I'm really sorry about not texting you. Or calling.”

”Don't worry about it,” Kylo said, softly.

”I told you I would, though.” Hux pulled his arm back a little, peering up at him.

Kylo shrugged a little. ”You were sick. That's a valid excuse.”

”Mm,” Hux closed his eyes. ”Wanted to ask about the sir thing.”

Kylo groaned, ”Oh god, please, don't.”

”Ask might be the wrong word,” Hux laughed. His voice sounded rough, like he was on the verge of coughing. ”Tease you might be a better choice of words.”

Kylo sunk further into the cushions, but couldn't help but smile.

”Is it something you're into?”

”I don't know,” he said to his knees. ”It just … came out. I guess it just– Felt right.”

When Hux didn't say anything, Kylo raised his head, looking at him over his knees. Hux was smiling tiredly.

”If it makes you feel better, I think it's sweet.”

Kylo knew his cheeks were burning. ”Aren't you too sick for this conversation?”

”Oh, shush,” Hux waved him off. ”I left the house today. I showered. Sure, I had to sit down halfway through, but i persevered!”

Biting his lip, Kylo pondered his options.

”If you let me help you get into bed, I promise I'll talk about it the next time I see you.”

Hux squinted, brows furrowed sceptically. ”You promise?”

Kylo nodded.

”You'll answer anything I ask?”

”That's not at all what I said,” Kylo laughed. ”The sir thing! You can ask about that, and I'll answer.”

Hux heaved a sigh and threw off his blanket. ”I'll take it.”

Kylo unfolded himself from the armchair and took Hux's outstretched hand, pulling him to his feet. Hux allowed him to take most of his weight, and steer him into the bedroom. Kylo got him under the covers and tucked him in, nice and snug.

”I hope I don't get you sick.”

”I'll be fine,” Kylo said.

Hux took a hold of Kylo's wrist, pulling him closer. ”Thank you. For this and– ”

Kylo looked a bit startled, but let Hux hold on to him.

”I'm really happy I met you.”

”Do you have a fever?” Frowning, Kylo moved to touch his forehead, but Hux batted him away.

”I'm trying to be honest here, give me a moment to get my words right.”

Kylo bit his lip and sat gingerly by Hux's hip.

He took a deep breath and locked eyes with Kylo. ”This … thing we have? It means a lot to me. You keep going out of your way for me. I– It means a lot to me.”

”For fucks sake, Hux,” Kylo whined and hid in his one free hand; Hux was still holding the other tightly.

”If you want to leave, you can, but I needed you to know that.” He let Kylo's wrist slip from his fingers.

”I– I don't know how to respond to, to this. I need to, I need to leave, so I'm gonna go do that,” Kylo said in a rush, and stood up. He wiped his hands on his jeans and just stared at Hux for a moment. ”I definitely need to leave – but I'll call you! Or something! I'll … I need to leave.”

He didn't run, but it was a near thing. He was in such a rush to leave, he had to pause by his bike and tie his shoes and zip up his jacket.

Halfway home, he started smiling. He was grinning by the time he made it home.

(also on ao3)

#kylux #human disaster kylo #modern au

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betweenlife-and-death · 4 years

Text

Firsts- Chapter 2

POV: Losander, 17-18 years old

Time: 1893

Summary: Losander’s life spirals in a string of unfortunate firsts…

In the year since his first kiss, he’d done everything to push the memory from his mind. He kept himself busy- it was easy enough to do as a Reaper. There was always a mission to go on, always an undead something-or-another to track and dispel, always reports to dig into. Even when things grew quiet, no one in the Altum- the Reaper’s fragmented society- would bat an eye at an unhealthy obsession with training. His family was impressed by his sudden drive- how he took up every report that filtered through, even those no one else thought deserved the time of day. It was working for a time, constant travel and distraction. It kept his mind from wandering too far. And when the memory of what happened with Sebbe dared enter his mind, he’d taken to biting his lower lip as hard as he could until the thought subsided.

Atticus was thrilled that Losander was finally taking him up on the sparring sessions he was always inviting him to. Of course, Sebbe would be there, but in good fashion he had refused to spar against Losander.

“I can’t hit your little brother!” he gawked, face ever so slightly red, “He must be ten years younger than we are!”

And though Atticus had protested that it was only four years, he mercifully hadn’t pushed the issue. In time, Losander found he could talk to Sebbe again, like they use to, though his heart still threatened to punch a hole through his chest when they got too close. Sebbe’s face heated whenever they were alone, and Losander knew it was because of what he’d done. But despite it all Sebbe never treated him differently. He still laughed and patted his shoulder, still told the others to knock it off when their playful jokes at Losander’s expense dug a little too deep. For six months, it seemed like everything would be alright. Six months of repair, six months of distraction, six months of relative normalcy before all hell broke loose.

It started with Sebbe’s engagement. The announcement was so sudden that even Atticus seemed a bit confused, though he hooped and hollered and patted Sebbe’s back at the news. It was during the Spring Solstice celebrations, one of the Altum’s biggest gatherings, that Sebbe’s father had tapped his glass and shared the news that “Sebastien Pryor and Florence Harkross” would be wed that coming June. Though his heart squeezed in his chest, he could see why the match was perfect. Florence Harkross was gorgeous, standing a foot taller than most of her peers, with long brown hair done up in elaborate pleats and sharp, piercing blue eyes. That, and as the oldest of her siblings she was to take up her father’s position as Judge and become one of the 12 most powerful and influential Reapers in all of the Altum. Beautiful enough for Sebbe, powerful enough for his family’s status. A perfect match. He drank a toast with the others, then feigned feeling ill and excused himself to get some fresh air.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. His heart pounded hard against his chest, his stomach twisted and squeezed. He could feel the tears burning behind his eyes even as he spoke the words, and gods if he were to lose his composure- he didn’t even want to consider it. He had always loved Myriv in the spring. It was the closest the Reapers had to a homeland, the tiny city where their parliament buildings stood, where the Altum had been formed centuries ago. He wondered numbly if the whole season , the whole city, would be tainted for him after this.

He made his way to the side of the parliament building and pressed his back against the cold stone wall, shaky breaths teetering on the edge of sobs. He willed the tears to disappear back behind his eyelids. He would not cry about this like a child, he refused to! The entire situation was ridiculous, what difference did it make if Sebbe got married? He bit at his bottom lip, staring through the slushy March snow at his feet. He didn’t hear the footsteps until they were nearly on his toes, and Sebbe’s quiet “Hey” nearly broke any resolve he had mustered up.

They stared at each other a moment in the dim evening light. He couldn’t quite decipher the look on Sebbe’s face; angry, scared, sympathetic, confused, all wrapped up in one. Losander swallowed, taking a shaky breath in. Eventually, through the thick feeling in his throat he managed to croak, “Congratulations, Sebastian. Florence is… shes lovely.”

This only seemed to make things worse. Sebbe let out the breath he was holding, his whole body slumping just a little bit where he stood. “Don’t… just don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t congratulate me, Losander, just-” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, “Gods, this is all your fault.”

His fault? Losander kept his eyes trained on Sebbe’s face, trying and failing to figure out just what he meant. When Sebbe stepped suddenly towards him, he’d half expected a punch. But then Sebbe’s hand was in his hair, the other cupping his cheek as he pressed their lips together. He didn’t know what to do with his hands… what did one do with their hands while kissing? He settled them on Sebbe’s shoulders, worrying at the shoulder straps on his coat. Sebbe ran his tongue over Losander’s swollen bottom lip, and after a moment of him not knowing how to respond Sebbe moved his hand to Losander’s chin, pressing it gently, parting Losander’s lips so he could-

Oh.

Oh that’s how it worked.

It must have only been a few moments but when they parted Losander’s face was practically aflame. He was squeezing the shoulder-straps in his hands now, so tightly he feared they may rip. Sebbe’s dark brown eyes bore into him- why did he still look so sad?

“What,” Losander’s voice was rough, and he paused to clear it, “What does this mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“This.” Losander insisted, pulling slightly at the shoulder-straps. Sebbe’s gaze fell.

“Nothing, Losander, it can’t.” He sighed, swiping at his own mouth, as if it could erase what had happened, “I’m.. I’m marrying Florence.”

“Noone has to know.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and Sebbe’s eyes grew wide.

“I won’t do that to her.”

Losander pried his hands from the shoulder straps, wrapping his arms around himself. Sebbe brushed a thumb along his cheek, “I’m sorry Lo.”

“So am I.”

That was the last time they allowed themselves to be alone together, and it was probably for the best. Wedding preparations started soon after the announcement, and Atticus was to be the best man, of course. Sebbe’s twin sister Rebecca was also heavily involved in the proceedings- she stopped by nearly once a week to instruct Atticus on how to walk down the aisle, how to hold her arm, how to properly tie his tie. She was kind like Sebbe, but more authoritative, and despite it all Losander found himself laughing at his brother’s expense as he tried and failed to meet the girl’s strict standards.

“I can’t believe he’s getting married!” She said one afternoon, more to the air than to Losander, but as he was the only other person in the room he gave a small noise of agreement.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m excited,” she didn’t really sound it most of the time, “But it’s just happening so fast! They didn’t even go on dates before the announcement- my father just wanted to get the ball rolling, I suppose.” She worried her skirt in her hands, “Say, Losander-”

He never did get to hear what she had to say. Atticus had entered the room and she went instantly quiet, face lighting up bright red. She fussed over Atticus’ tie, remarking that he’d done better that time before adjusting it.

He tried to keep his cool as the date grew closer, but after a time it became obvious to everyone that something was wrong. The way he jumped every time Sebbe entered the room, the blank stares into space as he mulled over his latest personal failing (because yes, this discovery was only the latest). He wanted to pull Sebbe aside, kiss him, beg him to run away together. It wasn’t unheard of, though he knew without a doubt that they’d be struck from the Altum’s record like any other deserter. Gods, he hardly cared anymore. Of course Atticus could tell more than anyone that something was wrong. He bore into him one evening, demanding he open up and explain why he was acting so strangely, but how could he possibly tell his brother, of all people?

So he started to pull away from it all. From the political spotlight, Altum proceedings, Atticus. It wasn’t too hard. Teasing became true jabs, ones he knew would get under his brother’s skin, make him stop asking what was wrong. Stop wondering, even. It was best that way. His brother had enough to worry about, keeping up with the Altum’s politics, preparing to become the next Judge Cardwell. He didn’t need this on top of everything else.

He had attended Sebbe’s wedding, of course. His father was a Judge, it would be poor form for him to miss it, even if his stomach did threaten to empty itself onto the floors from nerves. He shook Florence and Sebbe’s hands as he left, and locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, staring through the ceiling, hoping it would open up and swallow him whole.

Two weeks after his eighteenth birthday, just as summer was coming to a close and a cold autumn wind blew through Myriv’s streets, his father gave him the good news. Another engagement. Losander’s engagement, to Rebecca Pryor. He nearly passed out, though he tried his best not to let it show. He supposed it made sense. The Pryor family was influential in the Altum; rich, powerful Reapers with a strong bloodline, and Dean Pryor seemed more-than-eager to get his children married into Judge’s families. But why him?

“You should be happy.” His father said plainly, not even looking up from his papers, “She’s a beautiful girl.”

“Yes, she is…” Losander said, slowly, “A shame, then, that you’re marrying me off to her, rather than Atticus.”

His father looked up then, and Losander did his best to keep his face neutral.

“I mean, Atticus will be taking up your position soon enough, and his children after him. Wouldn’t it be prudent to have someone of such status and power by his side?”

“Losander…”

“It would be a good match, I think. She’s grounded, has a good head on her shoulders, and by gods you know Atti needs to be reigned in by someone or else he goes off the rails. Besides, Atticus is the older of us, shouldn’t he be the one to marry first? I’d say it’s much more important to secure him a suitable wife before we start searching for m-”

His father slammed a hand down on his desk, rattling the pens and inkwells scattered around him, cutting off Losander’s increasingly desperate rambling. The man took a deep, measured breath, regaining his composure before he said, “There have been rumors, Losander, ones that your mother and I would like to dispel.”

“R-rumors?”

“Don’t make me say them aloud, I’m sure you know exactly what they are.”

There was no reasoning with his father. The ceremony was set for December 3rd. His first date with Rebecca was… strange. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along, they had a lot in common. They laughed and smiled, discussed literature and their mutual love of crackling fires. She looked somewhat like her brother, the same dirty blond hair and deep brown eyes, and for the life of him Losander couldn’t decide if that was a curse or a blessing. They kissed, awkward and chaste, hands by their sides, nothing like-

No. He wouldn’t think of it.

It was November when they sat across from each other in the Pryor family’s greenhouse. Rebecca was knitting a scarf, wrapping the finished half over Losander’s shoulders to gauge the proper length, while he stared up at the stars through the glass roof. Sebbe had given them the news that morning- Florence was pregnant. Rebecca had jumped and squealed with excitement, but as soon as they parted ways with the married couple she had wrapped her arms around Losander like she was afraid he’d fall to pieces. They spent most of their time together now. He dared say Rebecca was the best friend he’d ever had- he wished they’d begun spending time together sooner.

Well, they had their whole lives now, he supposed.

“I’m sorry Lo.” She broke the silence, the all-too-familiar sentiment instantly bringing tears to his eyes. He turned his head from her quickly, but she didn’t back down, “I know you’re upset. I know what’s wrong.”

When Losander dared glance back at her, he found that same penetrating stare, the kind but insistent eyes that the twins shared. He bit his lip, then hazarded to ask, “What… what do you know?”

She laughed, humorless and tired. It made her sound far older than she was, almost world-weary. “I know my brother, Lo, and you’re not the hardest person to read, especially for an empath,” she rested her hand atop his, “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want.”

“It isn’t what you want either.” Losander sighed, “I tried to convince my father that you and Atti would be good together, but he wouldn’t listen…”

There was a little more humor in her laugh that time. She squeezed his hands in hers, “Well then, aren’t we a pair?”

#losander #writing #firsts

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