#to get round too. and feeling rather guilty because I knew it was a vital part of the convo I was missing. And then I heard Ta-Nehisi on

[ravencromwell]

Americans deify democracy in a way that allows for a dim awareness that they have, from time to time, stood in defiance of their God. But democracy is a forgiving God and America’s heresies—torture, theft, enslavement—are so common among individuals and nations that none can declare themselves immune. In fact, Americans, in a real sense, have never betrayed their God. When Abraham Lincoln declared, in 1863, that the battle of Gettysburg must ensure “that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth,” he was not merely being aspirational; at the onset of the Civil War, the United States of America had one of the highest rates of suffrage in the world. The question is not whether Lincoln truly meant “government of the people” but what our country has, throughout its history, taken the political term “people” to actually mean. ...

Thus America’s problem is not its betrayal of “government of the people,” but the means by which “the people” acquired their names.

This leads us to another equally important ideal, one that Americans implicitly accept but to which they make no conscious claim. Americans believe in the reality of “race” as a defined, indubitable feature of the natural world. Racism—the need to ascribe bone-deep features to people and then humiliate, reduce, and destroy them—inevitably follows from this inalterable condition. In this way, racism is rendered as the innocent daughter of Mother Nature, and one is left to deplore the Middle Passage or the Trail of Tears the way one deplores an earthquake, a tornado, or any other phenomenon that can be cast as beyond the handiwork of men.

But race is the child of racism, not the father. And the process of naming “the people” has never been a matter of genealogy and physiognomy so much as one of hierarchy. Difference in hue and hair is old. But the belief in the preeminence of hue and hair, the notion that these factors can correctly organize a society and that they signify deeper attributes, which are indelible—this is the new idea at the heart of these new people who have been brought up hopelessly, tragically, deceitfully, to believe that they are white.

These new people are, like us, a modern invention. But unlike us, their new name has no real meaning divorced from the machinery of criminal power. The new people were something else before they were white—Catholic, Corsican, Welsh, Mennonite, Jewish—and if all our national hopes have any fulfillment, then they will have to be something else again. Perhaps they will truly become American and create a nobler basis for their myths.

--Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between the World and Me

#Ta-Nehisi Coates #book babbling #lit geekery #this is one of those books that is constantly coming up as an act of political reading; the sort of thing I was constantly reminding myself #to get round too. and feeling rather guilty because I knew it was a vital part of the convo I was missing. And then I heard Ta-Nehisi on #Chris Hayse's podcast and was just. floored. not only by the clarity of his thoughts but at how readily he stepped onto the fourth rails of #discussion in our modern era: his utter. deserved saltiness about American exceptionalism; the way in which he just brutally eviscerated #the idea of the events of the Trump presidency being some aboration rather than the newest itteration in a long. long pattern of American #minoritarian rule. but mostly. honestly. the exceptionalism thing. I've rarely heard thinkers link up the intersections of the overblown #American myth abroad to racism at home. So I went yep. it's time I pick this up; the entire conceit of the book is that it's a letter to #his teen son. and I've cut some stuff directed toward him that doesn't make sense out of context. but I wanted to capture this quote in its #entirety. the idea of deifying! democracy holy shit; to the extent that we forgive our own barbarism I'd never seen that metaphor employed #like that and now it's jangling about in my head sparking off all sorts of ideas. and the racism as mother nature discussion and how #that allows the excusing of the inexcusable. this man's thinking is just pure knife-sharp clarity and I'm in awe #politics

[jovialyouthmusic]

Two’s Company

Brad retrieves a vital memory, and Lucy goes to visit Hana and Sophia Lykel at the Palace.

Word Count 3973

A/N No smut, some drama and a lot of fluff. Still, due to the adult nature of other chapters No under 18s please

8 Looking to the Future

‘Sorry I’m late. Thanks for your patience, Miss…?’

‘Uh, Lucy’ The young woman looked at him with a strange expression, as if she had been knocked off balance.

As had he. There was something about her that he couldn’t put his finger on. None of the ladies of the Cordonian Court had whatever it was she had. His stomach did somersaults and his heart faltered as he gazed into her eyes, hypnotised. He pulled himself together.

‘Charmed to make your acquaintance, Lucy’ The words came easily as soon as he drew himself up into what Drake called ‘regal mode’ – the role he had practiced with his brother but never thought he’d have to fulfil. Apparently the young woman was having similar problems, as it was a second or so before she responded with…

‘The pleasure’s all mine. It’s nice to meet you’ The strange vacant expression on her face cleared, and she tucked her note pad into her apron pocket with a smile ‘Now let me put your order in. Be right back’ She turned and whisked away behind the bar, leaving him feeling like a fish stranded on dry land, and he stood gawking.

‘Brad – Brad?’ The voice seemed to come from far away. He didn’t want to answer it. He wanted to wait for the young woman to come back. He wanted to put on his best smile and charm her into lingering at the table.

‘He didn’t hit his head, did he? Please tell me he didn’t’

‘No, he went down like a bag of rocks, but he didn’t hit his head’

‘I didn’t think he’d take it like this. Should we call a doctor?’

‘He’s coming round – his eyes are flickering’ The voice was Maxwells. He opened his eyes to see his friend bending over him, a look of consternation on his face. Behind him was Drake, and beside him…

‘Miss - Lucy? Is our order ready yet?’ His own voice seemed strange, and his head hurt. He was lying on the floor, and went to sit up. That made his head feel worse, and he put his hand up, groaning. His mind was a whirl of images and voices. The young woman was by his side, supporting him and murmuring quietly. She smelled of roses and lavender.

‘Brad, take it easy. It’s okay, I’m here – and Drake, and Max’ He looked beyond her at Drake. One moment he knew who Lucy was, the next – she was a stranger. He tried to get up, and Drake helped him to a seat in the booth. It looked exactly like…

‘The dive bar – in New York’ Half of his mind understood, half did not. ‘Lucy’ his head snapped toward her ‘We met here’ She sat heavily at his words, tears welling up in her eyes and a weak smile on her face.

‘You remember’ she said, her voice faltering.

‘I - I’m not sure’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘It comes and goes.’ His hand fell to his lap and words poured from his mouth. ‘We were in New York, on my bachelor party. Drake arranged it’ Lucy was nodding, eyes bright. ‘We went to a bar like this – Max was here – and Tariq.’ He looked round ‘Where is Tariq?’ Lucy shuddered.

‘One step at a time, Brad’ she said softly ‘don’t try too hard, let it come naturally’ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His face cleared, his expression peaceful.

‘You took me to the Statue of Liberty’ he murmured. ‘You were – like nobody I’d ever met before’ he reached out to caress her cheek. ‘Thankyou Lucy’ The two of them sat staring at each other until Maxwell piped up.

‘Yay, Brad remembers. Now where’s those burgers?’

------

‘So I had the staff make the cellar out like my old bar and went into town to buy this outfit’ Lucy said as she munched away on her burger. Max was on his second and Drake had gone to fetch more barbeque sauce and salad. Alcohol was again off the menu, despite them sitting in the mock up of the dive bar Lucy had worked in when Drake had taken Maxwell, Tariq and Brad there. Drake was still not drinking and of course Lucy couldn’t. Brad felt a little guilty for having had a small whiskey beforehand.

‘Strictly speaking, if we’re going for authenticity, you should be serving at the bar, not eating with us’ Drake pointed out. Lucy reached across and punched his upper arm. He yelped and rubbed at it ruefully.

‘Shut up, you. All that matters is Brad remembering when we met’ she said sharply, then turned back to him. He was feeling a lot better with some food in his stomach, and his memory was consolidating.

‘I do!’ he said triumphantly. ‘I remember that evening. I remember waking up the next morning and wishing I could see you again, then…’ his face fell. ‘That’s it so far’ Lucy patted his hand.

‘It’s a start. We’ll try revisiting some other meetings, but I’ll check with  the doctor again and make sure you don’t have a reaction like this one.’ She frowned ‘You fainted clean away. I’ve never seen anything like it. How did it feel?’ He put his burger down and wrinkled his forehead.

‘It was all muddled. Seeing you in that outfit – it was so confusing, but it must have triggered something. I just – blacked out when it got too complicated. It was – it was like an electrical fault. Everything flickered.’ He nodded in affirmation ‘and then the memory remained.’

‘I’m so happy’ Lucy said, scooting closer to him on the bench and putting her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, but inwardly he wasn’t sure just how much more he was going to recall, or even if the memory he had just unearthed would remain. The question of where Tariq was niggled at him, but he could tell that it was something Lucy didn’t want to talk about.

Drake returned with more food, and Brad smiled to himself. Both he and Maxwell had healthy appetites – it was perhaps the only thing they had in common. Usually they bickered and sniped at each other, but Lucy seemed to affect the two of them in a positive way.

‘It’s the Lucy effect’ he said aloud, another memory bubbling up. Wherever she went, she inspired and united people. She was a catalyst, changing others but remaining the same. He was so lucky to have met her, and even more fortunate to have ended up marrying her – even if he couldn’t remember it. She twisted to look up at him, her expression bright.

‘Oh, you remember that?’ she said. ‘That wasn’t so long ago – or at least you told me just after we called Drake…’ her voice trailed off as Brad looked blank, and shook his head.

‘I may have made some progress, but something tells me we still have a long way to go’

------

Understandably, Lucy wanted Brad to sleep with her that night, so Drake and Maxwell sat up in the mock bar shooting the breeze.

‘It looks like Lucy’s idea worked’ Maxwell remarked ‘But I suppose you’re not letting the whole story out to the press. How is he really?’ He leaned forward on his elbows and Drake sighed heavily.

‘It’s odd. Without Lucy I don’t know how he’d cope – but he can only remember snippets of their time together. There’s other bits missing from his memory, but we can’t find anything in common with the gaps’

‘That must be hard, man’ He seemed lost for words for a moment and leaned back into the padded back of the bench. Drake was unsure about whether to tell him about Lucy’s pregnancy. She’d not mentioned it to Max herself and had been too preoccupied with setting up their distraction to discuss the matter with him. Drake’s sister knew, but he didn’t trust Max not to accidentally let it slip. That was a solid ‘no’ then.

‘So what else are you going to try?’ Maxwell asked ‘I could do an interpretive dance if you like’ Drake snorted.

‘I’ll take a pass, thanks. But the next thing has to be the Ball. Lucy still has the dress she wore, and there’s a charity event coming up for the orphanage.’ Maxwell pushed out his bottom lip and nodded.

‘See, I wasn’t far off the mark.’ He yawned ‘I’d better get to bed. Lucy said she’d arranged to see Hana tomorrow, so I said I’d give her a lift’ Drake blanched as Max got up and stretched.

‘Please tell me you’re not driving.’ Max scoffed as Drake’s expression changed.

‘You and Bertrand – I don’t know why you don’t trust me behind the wheel. Don’t worry, I’ve got my driver, remember.’ Drake scowled.

‘Just because you’ve got a chauffeur doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll be in the driving seat.’ He glared at the younger man ‘Promise me you’ll sit in the back with Lucy, or so help me…’

‘It’s fine, I’d rather sit with her than drive. Then we can hold hands and canoodle…’ he dodged as Drake lunged at him, but he failed and ended up with Drake’s fist grasping his shirt front, other fist cocked. ‘Joke, Drake, joke!’ he squeaked ‘She’s already got two men to keep her happy, I’d never…’ Drake let him go, and he readjusted his tie.

‘You’d better not have any ideas’ he growled.

‘Of course not, she’s like a sister to me’ Max said reassuringly ‘And…’ he looked down at his feet, shuffling uncomfortably. ‘I think I’ve met someone.’ He looked up quickly ‘But don’t ask me anything, I don’t want to jinx it’

‘Fine, Max, find. Just don’t even hint at making my life any more complicated’ Drake shook his head ‘You have no idea’ Max looked at him with sympathy.

‘You can always talk to me, y’know. Friendly ear, a trouble halved – all that’ Drake softened. Max meant well, he was sincere – but he couldn’t risk it.

‘Thanks. I appreciate it, but maybe another time, Max. I’ll get off to bed too. See you in the morning’

--------

The following day, true to his word Max set off with Lucy, and under Drake’s watchful eye made a show of sitting in the back seat with her. Hana had been at Ramsford helping to look after Bartie, but she was at the Palace ready to help Bastien and Sophia when the twins came. She had discovered that she doted on small children and babies, and Savannah had recommended her as support and babysitter. Maxwell was only stopping to say hello before going back home to help or hinder his brother.

Hana waited for Lucy at the front of the Palace, and hugged her tight as she got out of the car. Bastien hovered behind her keeping a respectful distance.

‘Lucy, you look amazing!’ she smiled ‘How’s his Majesty?’

‘Brad is improving’ she said ‘But it’s difficult to say how much of his memory he’ll get back’ She turned to Bastien ‘How’s Sophia? It can’t be long now’ He stepped forward and took her offered hand, clasping warmly it in both of his.

‘She’s – well to be honest she’s cranky and bored’ he smiled ruefully. ‘Thankyou for asking, your Majesty. If you have time to pop in to our rooms and say hello she’d be grateful’ Bastien and Sophia had married shortly after Anton’s trial, and he had stepped down from his role as Captain when Sophia became pregnant. He was still employed as security advisor and also sat on the new Council that Brad had set up to break the power of the nobility and involve commoners more in the running of the country. For the time being they still lodged at the Palace, moving into a larger suite in the staff wing, and planned to move to their own place when they had settled more into family life.

‘I’ve ordered afternoon tea in my suite. I know it’s only lunchtime, but I thought I’d be rebellious’ Hana interjected, a hint of mischief in her eyes. ‘Sophia’s more than welcome to come along’ Bastien made a face.

‘That’s most kind of you, but she’s suffering from heartburn and can only tolerate small meals’ he replied.

‘I could go and see her first’ Lucy smiled ‘I’d like to talk to her and Hana together if it’s possible’ Bastien ran his fingers through his carefully styled hair, and Lucy wondered how his personal grooming routine would stand up to dealing with newborn twins.

‘I’ll go and ask her now – I’ll let you know, your Grace’ he inclined his head politely and went back into the Palace. Lucy turned back to the car.

‘Thanks for bringing me, Max’ she said ‘Say hi to Savannah for me. I’ll try and pop by in a week or so. Are you coming in?’

‘Nah’ Maxwell waved his hand dismissively ‘Savvy’s been texting me asking when I’ll be back, so Bartie’s probably playing up. Fun Uncle Maxie is needed’ he winked, gave her a salute and got back into the car. ‘Ramsford next – full speed ahead, Steve’ Within seconds the car had set off back down the drive.

‘What’s the betting he’ll be in trouble with Bertrand before the end of the day?’ Hana laughed. ‘Now then, you said you had some important news for me’

‘I do, but it’s strictly hush hush, and I’d like to tell Bastien and Sophia too’ Hana clapped her hands delightedly.

‘Oh – I think I can guess’ she cried, ‘More cuddles for Auntie Hana?’ Lucy looked around carefully

‘’Shhh don’t let on, it’s a secret, but you guessed right’ Lucy smiled ‘I hope Sophia’s feeling up to us visiting’

‘Oh she’s fine, she just likes to keep Bastien on his toes’ she giggled. ‘We might as well make our way there, she’ll be delighted to see you’ The two women went into the Palace and strolled the corridors on their way to the Staff wing. Just as Hana predicted, they were only halfway there when Bastien caught up with them.

‘Sophia says go right on in. If you’ll excuse me your Grace, I have a meeting. Lady Hana knows where to go’

‘Could you spare us five minutes first please, Bastien?’ Lucy asked ‘I have some news I’d like to share’ He frowned, looking at his watch, then looked up brightly.

‘They can’t start without me, so of course. Follow me’ He stopped outside the door to his quarters and paused ‘If you don’t mind, can I ask how the King is coping? He seemed to be doing quite well when he was here, but of course you’d notice more’

‘He’s improving. We’re building up a relationship. It’s almost as if we’d just met, but he’s accepted who I am and we’re working on it. I’m planning a few events to jog his memory, and we’ve had some success already.’ Bastien nodded solemnly.

‘That sounds good. Now come on in’ He ushered them inside to the lounge, the décor and furnishings showing Sophia’s softening influence on Bastien’s love of order and neatness. Sophia rose to greet them, belly prominent. She wasn’t a slight build, but Lucy wondered how her body could possibly adapt to growing two offspring. Sophia put her hand in the small of her back, and Bastien rushed over to help steady her.

‘Be careful theà mou, not too fast’ he chided, and she rolled her eyes.

‘Stop fussing, Bas. I need to get up every now and again, I can’t just sit.’ she muttered, but still held onto his arm as she made a tiny curtsey, grimacing slightly as she rose. Lucy went forward to take her hand. ‘So good of you to come, your majesty - sorry, hugs aren’t really practical right now’ Sophia smiled ruefully ‘I can hardly remember what it’s like to be a normal size.’

‘Please, call me Lucy – you too, Bas. There’s nobody to judge your lack of formality.’ She and Hana sat, and Sophia lowered herself back into her easy chair with Bastien’s help. He pulled up a footstool and helped her to rest her feet.

‘I’d offer you tea, but I can’t stomach it at the moment. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely meal with Hana’ Sophia grimaced a little, and her partner solicitously rearranged the cushions for her. She touched his hand gratefully and gazed up at him. It was obvious that they were devoted to each other, and Lucy envied them for a moment, despite Brad’s returning memory and affection.

‘I’m glad Bastien could join us’ Lucy started, her hands in her lap. She drew a deep breath. ‘It’s early days and we’re keeping it quiet for the moment, but… I’m pregnant. If all goes well, Cordonia will have a new heir in seven months’ Sophia’s hand flew to her mouth in surprise, and Bastien beamed broadly.

‘I suspected as such. Congratulations, I trust his Majesty is pleased. I know he’s always wanted a family’ Sophia was smiling after her initial shock.

‘Oh your – Lucy, that’s marvellous news! Don’t mind me complaining about all this’ she rubbed her belly. ‘You’ve caught me at the worst stage, and I’m told it’s not difficult.’ she rolled her eyes at Bastien.

‘Now that’s not what I said, theà mou’ he started ‘I just pointed out how many women…’ she smacked his hand.

‘Stop mansplaining. I don’t care what other women did, every pregnancy is different’ she snapped, her sunny mood breaking a little, and he winced. She turned to Lucy. ‘If you need any advice, ask away. How’s the morning sickness?’ It was Lucy’s turn to grimace.

‘Not pleasant’ she sighed. ‘Dry biscuits help’

‘I was lucky, it didn’t last too long, but this last trimester is a beast with two on the way. I feel as big as a whale’ Sophia sighed.

‘Well, I have to go’ Bastien said, and bent to kiss his wife ‘Is there anything you need?’

‘No, I’ll be fine. I’ll call housekeeping if I do’ He was almost at the door when she called him ‘Oh, but you could bring me some Ben and Jerrys when you get back’ He paused mid stride and turned. His face was impassive and his tone neutral.

‘Of course, my goddess, what flavour?’

‘Surprise me’ He blanched slightly at that, but smiled and made a little bow to Lucy and left. Sophia threw back her head and groaned.

‘Oh my god, there’s nothing I can do to rattle him.’ She looked at the two women’s astonished expressions and pursed her lips. ‘Bas is just so bloody perfect. I’m trying to get him to crack, it’s my only entertainment right now, he won’t let me go anywhere. Not that there’s anywhere I want to go, and I can only really manage a waddle.’ Hana made a sympathetic noise.

‘Are you sure you won’t take early afternoon tea with us? I can always have it brought here’ Sophia picked at a piece of lint on the swell of her belly, sighing heavily.

‘No, it’s fine. I’m pretty tired, I’m going to try and have a nap’ She stopped and made a little squeak and Lucy swore she could see a tiny lump appear and disappear on her baby bump. ‘If these two hooligans let me. I swear they’re having a party in there’

‘Well, I’m sorry you’re having a hard time, but it won’t be long now’ Lucy said ‘You’re welcome to come stay at Valtoria and have extra hands to help, and it will give the boys a taste of what’s to come.’

‘I’m pretty sure we’ll have that here, but if we want a change of scene I’m sure Bas will bring me over’ Sophia made as if to rise out of her seat, but Lucy put out her hand to stop her.

‘Please don’t get up again. We’ll see ourselves out. We could ask a member of staff to come and sit with you’

‘Oh don’t worry, Bas checks on me regularly. I have a panic button and he actually tunes into my fitness tracker to check my heartbeat. One of his staff hacked into it and he can keep tabs on me with his phone.’ She showed her the band she wore on her wrist. ‘If I really want to freak him out all I have to do is take it off. He’d get an alarm message and he’d be here so fast it would cause a sonic boom’ Lucy chuckled.

‘When it comes down to it I’ll probably have either Drake or Brad hovering at my side twenty four seven when I get near my due date. Probably sooner knowing them’

‘Well good luck.’ Sophia smiled ‘Thanks so much for coming. Are you staying long?’

‘No, I’m staying over and going back in the morning, but I’ll be back for a few days with Brad when the charity ball’s on. I have a plan to jog his memory’ Lucy could see Sophia was a little flushed and she looked tired, so the two women left her to rest.

Back at Hana’s quarters, afternoon tea was beautifully presented on a table by the window overlooking the grounds. She could see the maze and the knot garden, and in the distance, the summerhouse was hidden in the trees by the lake. Lucy eyed the spread of food laid out, wide eyed. Tiny sandwiches, savouries and pastries were arranged on a cake stand, and a jug of sparkling apple juice stood ready with two glasses.

‘Oh my goodness, is that Brie on the cracker? The guys would freak if they saw – and chorizo?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s safe’ Hana smiled ‘I tried to get a few things that look naughty but aren’t. You can eat anything on the table. All the cheeses are made with pasteurised milk, and the meats are vegan substitutes. I even taste tested them to check how good they are. The kitchens had already sourced a lot of pregnancy friendly things thanks to Bastien.’

‘Well, it all looks spectacular, and I’ll ask for them to send their recommendations to the Cook at Valtoria.’

‘Tuck in’ Hana smiled ‘How’s your appetite?’ Lucy frowned as Hana picked up a tartlet.

‘It’s increasing. The guys don’t know it, but I have a secret chocolate stash in my study. I locked it away in the desk and keep the key in my purse’

‘Well, you’re eating for two’ Lucy picked up a tiny sausage and popped it into her mouth, rolling her eyes at the spicy tang.

‘What is it about men trying to control what we do and what we eat? I’m only eight weeks in and already Brad’s turned into the food police.’

‘Let me guess, Drake sneaks you a few treats’ Hana giggled ‘He always did like to challenge authority’

‘Not so far, but they are kind of ‘good husband, bad husband’’ Lucy replied ‘Whatever one insists on, the other one vetoes. It’ll probably be the same with our kids. They’ll be champions at playing one off against the other.’

‘They mean well, I’m certain’ Hana picked up a dainty sandwich and nibbled at it ‘They only want to make sure you’re properly looked after’

‘I suppose so’ Lucy sighed ‘I just like a bit of alone time to feel normal, you know, and not have to think about it constantly’

‘Well you can always come and visit me, though I may have my hands full with the twins if all goes well’

‘Even better, I can get some first hand experience.’ Hana poured some sparkling water out for the two of them.

‘Let’s drink to Sophia and Bastien’s new family, and to yours too’ she smiled, and they clinked glasses and drank to the future.

@sirbeepsalot @fluffyfirewhiskey @katedrakeohd @dcbbw @camillemontespan​ @kingliam2019​ @notoriouscs​ @texaskitten30

#Two's Company #lucy valois #lucy and brad #drake x lucy #drake x lucy x brad #Hana #sophia x bastien

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

You are the absolute best idea I ever had - part 1

Ok so I’m still not sure about doing the chapter thing because it’s been so long since I wrote anything I have no idea how long my inspiration will last (or my fingers for that matter) but let’s go for it. *bites nails nervously*

Thanks as always to @amandaj718 for listening to me ramble about this and convincing me it was a good idea. It’s based on Red, White and Royal Blue, probably fairly loosely in some bits and more in others. We’ll see.

(They’re a similar age here and about Aaron’s age on the show when they met, maybe a bit younger, but it’s not vitally important)

AO3 Link

*******

Robert looked round the room as he dumped his bag on the bed. It did look comfortable he supposed, but that didn’t mask the fact that he didn’t want to be here. The room itself was nothing special, nothing like most people would expect in the home of the British Prime Minister he had no doubt. It was bigger than he expected, no doubt thanks to the Blairs and their renovations back in the day. It wasn’t his home though. He had a flat, a perfectly nice flat in the middle of the city that suited him and yet here he was.

“You’re here then.” He turns to see his Dad standing in the doorway, suit as immaculate as always. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look casual, even when his Mum used to force him into a sweater or polo shirt during the summer.

“You didn’t give me much choice.” He’d expected the call, as soon as he’d woken up to a phone full of news notifications. He supposes it’s not every day the son of one of the most popular Prime Ministers in recent history is caught red handed with the sister of his beloved wife. It didn’t matter that in private their marriage had been over for months, that Chrissie was already with someone else. No, he was the one at fault, all manner of rumours doing the rounds, because they’d kept their separation private so as not to harm his father’s reputation.

What rankled most, as it had most of his life, was that his Dad hadn’t even called himself, not even his closest assistant had been the one to make the call, a lowly staffer was all he got, telling him that ‘the PM thinks it best you move into 10 Downing Street for the foreseeable’.

It wasn’t that he wanted to be front page news, he didn’t go looking for it like some, but ever since his father had swept to power on a promise of reuniting the country, the press had been on him like bees round a honeypot, half the time making up their own gossip without him even leaving his living room. He wasn’t like his brother, the fine upstanding Andy, who still ran the farm that their Dad had grown up on, Andy with the sick daughter who everyone doted on, including Robert, he’s not that terrible a human being. Then there was Vic, the darling of the press, who smiled and waved every time she left the building, who would often take some of her newest creations out to the waiting press gaggle for them to try. Robert was just trying to live his life, but that wasn’t good enough, never had been.

“I need you to come with me tonight. I think it would be a good idea for people to see you doing some good for a change. Diane is already attending a charity event.”

“Where is it?”

“The palace. Be ready for 7.” He turned to leave. “And Robert, I don’t want any silliness, not like last time.”

Honestly, you get slightly merry one time at a Downing Street party and you never hear the end of it. It’s not like he declared war on anyone, he just, well he might’ve broken a vase. It was hideous anyway and deserved to be broken, but apparently it’d been a gift from some country or other that the country needed to trade with. Robert really didn’t think that trade deals depended on a frankly ugly piece of china but as had been pointed out to him many many times he knew nothing about politics and should keep his nose out.

It wasn’t that he was politically ignorant, he voted, he read the news, he researched anything that might be relevant to him or his job, but after years of hearing his parents fighting because his Dad was forever away from home or spending more time sorting out his constituents problems than those in his own family, as far as he was concerned the whole thing was a pantomime. The happy family that had stood on the steps outside, smiling and waving, was nothing but a charade. He and Andy barely spoke, which was fine by him, his Dad could barely stand the sight of him and Diane and Victoria just wanted them all to get along and that meant Robert should shut up and get on with it.

“Robert?” He stops unpacking and turns to see his little sister leaning on the doorframe, hair done up in her usual braid, already coming loose at the front. She’s holding a plate in her hand, his favourite flavour of doughnut sitting proudly on top. He’s missed her. The downside to avoiding his Dad is that he doesn’t see her as much as he likes.

“Hiya trouble.” He pulls her into a hug. “That for me?”

“Thought you might need it. Dad said you were going with him tonight?” She hands him the plate before bouncing on the bed. Sometimes it’s hard to believe she’s a fully fledged adult.

“Not willingly.” He mumbles around his food. “This ’s good.”

“It’s boring is what it is. Why won’t you try some of my other flavours?”

“Because you do not mess with jam doughnuts Vic. Some things have to remain sacred in this world.” He smiles a little at her huff and licks the sugar from his fingers before joining her on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go tonight?”

“I went last time. Besides, it’ll give you the chance to stare at you know who all night.” He groans, regretting once more the late night conversation a few years ago when he was still living at home.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Debatable. Anyway I don’t want to stare at anyone, least of all him.”

“So the words His Royal Hotness didn’t pass your lips?”

“Vodka had passed my lips.”

“So you don’t fancy the second in line to the throne then?” He shakes his head at her, irritated but loving her all the same. She was the only one of them who knew he was bi, well no, he supposed his Dad did even if they’d never actually managed a conversation. He idly wonders what it’d be like to tell everyone what had happened, the see the scales fall from the eyes of the nation about their perfect leader. He’d never do it, would never hurt Vic like that, but sometimes the look on his Dad’s face if he did would comfort him somehow.

“No!” He could admit, if pushed that Aaron was good looking, he wasn’t blind, but so were lots of people.

“Hm.”

“The man never smiles Vic. Last year, at his cousin’s wedding, did you even see him without a scowl?”

“You took notice of him then?” He half heartedly smacks her arm, making her laugh. “I’m glad you’re here, Rob, I missed you.”

“I’ve been here.” It’s lame, because he hasn’t, not really.

“I mean more than a couple of texts and a phone call once a month. How long are you going to be here?”

“Until I’m not grounded anymore.”

“Idiot. I’m going, Adam’s picking me up at 4.” She’s gone before he can even ask who Adam is. It just proves how distant he’s been from her and he feels guilty all over again.

*******

“I meant what I said Robert, best behaviour tonight. I think you’ve made enough headlines with your dalliances for a while, don’t you?” It’s on the tip of his tongue to drag up Rachel, something else that no one knows but family, but he stops himself. It’s not worth the hassle. Hopefully if he gets through tonight he won’t be asked again for a long while.

“Just once it’d be nice if you pretended to have even an ounce of faith in me. You do know Chrissie is right now shacked up with someone else, don’t you? And was before I went anywhere near Rebecca.”

“No one cares about that. Just behave yourself. Is that too much to ask? This isn’t just some party, it’s the Queen and her family. Show some respect.”

Privately he thought that Queen Faith looked rather fun and would be quite at home gossiping over a few glasses of red rather than endlessly shaking hands but he keeps it to himself as they pull up the gates of the palace. He can’t help looking up at the building a little in awe. He’s wouldn’t really class himself as a monarchist, but he doesn’t wish any of them any ill, and he watches all the pomp and ceremony on TV like everyone else. He just doesn’t particularly want to spend the night minding his P’s and Q’s because he’s really not all that good at it.

He takes a deep breath as the car stops and the door is opened. As he watches his Dad step out he can’t help but think his world has really taken a turn in the last 24 hours.

#I am incredibly nervous #because it's been a year almost #but here you go #enjoy #i'm taking liberties with lots about politics and the royals but hey who doesn't #right? #robron fic

[thedarksideofriverdale]

In Unity, There Is Strength (Riverdale AU - Kurtz X OC)       Part 7

Masterlist     Guide to Creatures and Characters    Meet the OC, Zara

Playlist

A/N: This part is wild, but I needed more supernatural goodness, so enjoy!

“I’m not going to school today,” Zara said, sitting on her sleeping bag with her head held down. Kurtz, who had just come out of the bathroom, looked at the girl’s back without saying anything. He heard her heartbeat racing, and that was a clear enough indication that she felt uncomfortable around him. His ears picked up the noise of the front door opening and closing, and realized that the deputy had left.

He then packed up his books and left the house. After seeing him cross the road, Zara started breathing heavily which eventually led to her crying. Not tears of sadness... no, but of fear. She always knew the risk associated with being a part of a werewolf pack, and she was always in dangerous situations. But, last night was different.

She gave a small chuckle. I actually thought I could change this maniac, she thought. What scared her was the fact that the one time she tried to fix something, someone, supernatural without the rest of the pack, it blowed up on her face.

After sulking for awhile, Zara looked up at her clock, her vision blurry from the tears trapped in her eyes. She made out the time to be just before first period, so she grabbed her phone from the desk and called Archie. “Come on, pick up-“

“Hello? Zara, where are you?” Archie asked from the other end.

“I’m at home... I couldn’t come to school. I’m a bit out of it today,” Zara said quietly.

“Zara, did something happen? Was it Kurtz?”

Zara choked out a sob, holding the phone away from her face so that Archie wouldn’t hear. Clearing her throat, she replied, “Yes, it was Kurtz. I don’t think I’m changing him by letting him stay with me. I know that wasn’t the plan in the first place; it was just a deal, but I thought if I made him better, he’d be able to join the pack and give you some power against Hiram. But... it’s all gone to shit, Arch.”

Archie was silent on the other end, and then, the bell rang in the background. “Listen, Zara. We’re gonna talk later, okay? Just remember, you didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t blame yourself.” The call cut off, and Zara set her phone back down on the desk after she sent a quick text to her mom that she wasn’t feeling well and to call the school, to which her mother responded with a simple ‘okay.’

She laid back down on her sleeping bag and stared up at the ceiling. Moping around wasn’t doing any good- no, she needed to do something with the time she had today. Even if Archie said it was okay, she knew it wasn’t. She had to redeem herself in his eyes. Getting up quickly with a new found motivation, she slipped out of her room with a plan. The plan: solve the case.

“Has anyone seen Zara today?” Jughead asked, setting his lunch tray down before sitting down at a table with the rest of the pack.

Cheryl, who was staring at her reflection through her makeup compact, looked up at Jughead with a tight smile on her face. “Does it look like I keep tabs on the sad human nerd of the pack?” she asked, and Toni hit her arm lightly at the jab. Archie inhaled deeply when he heard the word sad. 

Jughead rolled his eyes and then saw Archie’s worried face across from him. “What is it, Archie?”

Archie, who was caught off guard, looked at Jughead with wide eyes. But, he cleared his throat and said, “I didn’t want to tell you guys but... Zara’s been on her own ‘private mission’ if you want to look at it that way. She would get information from a vital source if she did a favor for this ‘informer.’ But, the informer wasn’t what she thought, so she’s having a bit of a mental crisis and needed a break.”

Jughead hated the ambiguous response, but took it nonetheless because he respected his alpha. The others looked ready to question Archie as well, but held it in. And, it wasn’t like Archie didn’t want to tell his pack, but he respected Zara’s decision to keep it discrete. Eventually, everyone went back to the regular lunchtime banter, but Zara was still on their minds.

Meanwhile, the sad human nerd in question was walking through the woods with a manila folder with the word confidential written in red in her hand. The first sacrifice, the history teacher, happened in a clearing in the woods, the very clearing Zara was standing in. Well, the police report didn’t say the murder happened here but rather the body was found here. His body could’ve been placed in the clearing after he was murdered, Zara thought.

“The body was found on the ground, faced down, blood oozing out of it from the open chest cavity. But, why? Why would the killer put the body faced down? Usually, killers like relishing in their crimes and try to show it off to the police as much as possible, but this one was different. This killer felt... guilty? However, sacrifices are meant to be glorious; the society that partakes in them owns the fact that it is part of their culture,” she said to herself.

Just then, the loud crunch of leaves to her left side made Zara jump and yell out, “Hello?!” No response. Zara breathed loudly out of anxiety. “Come on, Zara. Be brave,” she muttered as she steadied her breath. Rounding her shoulders back, she went towards the source of the noise.

Over at Riverdale High, Cheryl was feeling uneasy. “Guys, something’s wrong. I’m getting the stupid supernatural ‘tingly’ feeling.”

Before the others could question her, a certain black clothed omega approached the table and said, “If the banshee feels uneasy, it doesn’t bode well.” The others looked at him inquisitively, while Archie glared at him. “There’s going to be another dead body. Did you sense them before?”

Cheryl nodded and said, “But, I knew nothing about them. Like when it was going to happen. I never sensed anything; I just screamed after their death. This feels different. Like-“

“A death is about to happen,” Jughead said solemnly. Betty stared at him wide-eyed and got up quickly from the table. “Betty, we don’t know anything. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, Juggie. But, we can’t just sit here when a person is about to die! Cheryl, you need to come with me so we can track them. I know your senses are going to be heightened the closer we get to the source. Come on,” Betty said, motioning Cheryl to get up. The banshee complied, and the two ran out of the cafeteria. Toni ran out soon after them.

After looking at each other for awhile, the pack followed the three girls with Kurtz in tow.

“Anything, Cheryl?” Jughead asked after getting out of Betty’s car. Then, Kurtz’s car came to park next to them near the woods. And soon after came Reggie with Moose.

The two cousins with Toni, already standing outside, were looking around the edge of the woods. “I know it’s something in here, but I have no direction,” Cheryl said with hint of worry in her voice. Then, she decided that staying out of the woods wouldn’t work and started walking forward.

Toni yelled out at her, but the banshee kept walking. The others followed her, but with tentative steps. Sure, they had supernatural powers, but it didn’t mean there were no risks. “I need to tell Daddy about this,” Veronica said, pulling out her phone. Archie put his hand on her wrist and shook his head.

“The last thing we need is hunters making the murderer go crazy and sacrificing the victim quicker. We have to be stealthy about this,” Archie said. Veronica wanted to fight his response, but a part of her knew that Archie was right. 

The forest parted into a clearing, the same clearing Zara had come across. Except now, there was no one in sight. Just a manila folder on the ground. “It’s something here,” Cheryl whispered. She started circling the clearing, the others looking at her. Before she could speak, a loud scream was heard in the distance. Archie and the rest of the wolves took off running towards the noise. “It’s Zara,” Kurtz said, running next to Archie. And then, the omega ran ahead of him.

What he saw made his blood boil. Zara was tied to a tree with a thin piece of wire dangerously tight against her neck. A hooded figure was pulling that wire tighter against her neck. Claws sprang out of Kurtz’s hands, and his face began transforming.

He grabbed the hooded figure by the throat in a flash, but the man was strong. Supernaturally strong. Moving Kurtz’s hand off his throat, he kicked the wolf in the shin and then punched him across the face. But then, Archie grabbed the man by the arms and held him steady, the power of an alpha being unmatched. Reggie ran up to Zara and cut the wire with his claw. The girl began coughing, and Reggie went around the tree to untie her. When she began to fall forward, Kurtz ran to catch her.

But, Jughead came and took her out of his arms quickly. Kurtz, looking at them for a minute, turned his attention now to the sacrificer. Not changing back to his human form, he marched forward and grabbed the cloak hood off the person’s head. What he saw was a stranger, not Hiram Lodge. He tilted his head, wondering who he could be.

“I don’t know him,” Kurtz said to Archie, and Archie responded, “Me neither.”

Jughead, still holding on to Zara, asked, “Why were you trying to sacrifice Zara? She doesn’t fit your pattern.”

The man chuckled darkly. “My pattern? Oh no, I work for the Dark Lord. This girl was snooping around too much, and the Lord told me to get rid of her. She’s just a girl who knows too much.”

Then, Archie asked, “What are you? To be able to overpower a werewolf?”

“The Dark Lord grants us powers. If I had killed the bitch, he would’ve given me more.”

Kurtz’s eyes glowed a brighter blue. Gritting his teeth and with his claws still out, he slashed the man’s neck before anyone could stop him. Archie, now back to his human form, stared at the body with wide eyes. Realizing his hands were on a dead body, he let it go quickly. “Dude, what the hell? We could’ve gotten more information from him!” Archie exclaimed as he went to punch Kurtz, but Reggie and Moose held him back.

With a dead expression in his eyes, Kurtz said, “He was pissing me off.”

Notification Squad: @the-gargoyle-queen @-thatgirloverthere- @that-idiot125 @kurtzyoufunkylittledruggy @sweetscamille

#in unity there is strength #kurtz #riverdale #zaraxkurtz #werewolf AU #riverdale AU #jonathan whitesell #archie #veronica #betty #jughead #cheryl #reggie #moose #toni #part 7 #riverdale imagine #kurtz imagine #alpha beta omega #sacrifice

[fidemcanem]

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send  ❛ ♡ ❜  to suddenly hug my muse // accepting

@pr0ngs -- cut for length (5K+)

It’s 1971, and Sirius Black is eleven years old.

He’s fluent in French, and proficient in Latin. He’s got all sort of books under his belt ---- treatises on magical theory, histories of the pureblood wizarding families, dense histories and slim essay collections alike ---- though very few voluntarily. He’s been schooled in manners, in acceptable pursuits, in wizard chess and dancing and which fork to use.

His parents deign to see him off onto the train, noses stuck in the air at the crowds around him. “Remember,” his mother tells him, “you are representing this family. I expect you to do whatever is necessary to represent it properly.”

Sirius can hear another boy’s mother in the crowd telling her son to be nice, to make friends, to have a wonderful time, to write home often. He nods, sullenly, but doesn’t object. He’s itching to step away from her, to discover what life is like away from her rules and strictures and scathing, sharp rebukes.

His father merely nods at him. Sirius often feels like his father believes that his sons are not worth his words; he reserves them for his wife, for those who are useful to him. One day, his imperious gaze seems to say, one day you might be worth my time.

Sirius hugs Regulus, but neither of his parents, ignoring his mother’s impatient tsk.

And then he’s on the train, pushing through a sea of nervous and excited faces that he doesn’t recognise, until he finds a compartment empty aside from one boy with messy, dark hair and glasses.

“James,” he introduces himself as.

“Sirius,” comes the reply, and he sprawls himself onto a seat with no regard for posture or decorum, because he can, and nobody’s there to stop him. When the train pulls away, each breath tastes a little more like freedom.

By the time they reach Hogwarts, he’s got a firm friend (and ---- perhaps ---- a firm enemy; the greasy-haired boy in the carriage who’d been oh-so-proud of Slytherin had rubbed him the wrong way entirely) and he can’t believe that his house and his mother are so far away from him, that he won’t be back there for another three months.

He’s a little nervous, as they gather to wait outside the great hall, though he doesn’t let it show. He and James have connected with an ease he’s never experienced before; for the first time he’s found a friend that he’s chosen for himself, who isn’t defined by name or money or social status, hasn’t been vetted for appropriateness. What if he does go into Slytherin, and James isn’t interested in being his friend anymore ---- leaves him stuck with Severus?

James catches his eyes just then and grins. It’s a wide and easy thing, and Sirius can almost taste the promise of late nights and whispered conversations, homework completed by committee, catching quaffles without having to look to know they’re coming.

Something resolves in his chest. So easily, are eleven years put behind him. Toujours pur, he thinks, derisively. No, not for him the tiring rhetoric of his parents. He’ll make a new Black family motto, carve out his own path. Toujours courageux, perhaps: always brave. Like James.

James whoops from the gaggle of first-years when the sorting hat, after a moment of deliberation calls out Gryffindor! to the room. Sirius can see the disconcerted expressions at the Slytherin table ---- cousins and peers who’ll write home in shock, tonight ---- and doesn’t care, because James is grinning at him again, and he’s grinning right back.

The hat barely has to come to rest on James’ mess of hair before it shouts the same, Gryffindor! sending a thrill through Sirius’ body, right down to his toes. James comes barrelling towards the table with no regard for the professor who tells him to slow down, Mr Potter!, and Sirius barely has time to twist his body before he’s caught up in a rough hug. James squeezes him tight and ruffles his hair and says “I knew it, knew we’d be together!” before he lets go and slides himself onto the bench next to Sirius, their legs pressed close together and their shoulders touching.

Across the table, a sandy-haired boy whose name Sirius can’t remember looks a little bemused, and he’s not the only one. Sirius doesn’t care; his heart is an uncaged bird. His blood is singing. He feels like he could live forever, with James Potter by his side.

It’s 1973, and Sirius Black is thirteen years old.

It’s July, the dog-days of summer. Sirius ---- cheeks pink with the heat, shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows ---- is sprawled on James’ bed, his half-packed trunk abandoned some time ago. He scowls as he stares up at the canopy of his best mate’s bed, wallowing in the uncharacteristic silence carpeting the dorm.

It’s only a day before they’ll be back on the train, returning to King’s Cross and then back to their own houses for the summer.

There’s a dread in the pit of his stomach ---- a sour, lingering thing, like the taste of bad milk that just won’t go away. It’s curdled inside of his bones, all lumps and lactic acid, and he feels like he’d rather lie here and starve than willingly leave his friends for the oppressive walls of Grimmauld Place.

If last summer is anything to go by, it’ll be miserable. His mother can barely look at him anymore, save to fix her startlingly clear eyes on him with a look of tight disgust.

(“I might as well only have had one son,” she’d said to his father when they’re sat at the dinner table, Sirius obnoxiously chasing limp vegetables around his plate.

“Why, what am I?” he’d found the courage to ask acerbically. “Chopped liver?”

He’d regretted it the second she’d turned her furious gaze on him. She looked at him like something not human, like something she’d like to squash under the heel of her boot, given half a change. Toujours courageux, he’d reminded himself, but shrank away from her ire nonetheless.

“A parasite,” she’d spat. Regulus looked like he was about to cry. “And an ungrateful one at that. Leave this table: I’ll not have you and your petty rebellions ruin this family.”)

His father will barely consent to be in the same room as him. His brother ---- a guilty pang, as he realises he only write twice this term ---- is wide-eyed and uncertain, not sure whether to talk to Sirius or to follow his mother’s example.

Maybe, Sirius thinks, he can just stay here, the whole summer. He’ll sneak food from the house elves and hide out in the dorm, and nobody will know. His mother might not even miss him; she’ll go the whole two months of the holiday passing bitter remarks on a son who’s not even there. James and Remus and Peter will come back to school and find Sirius already there, living like a castaway, only much better fed and far less sunburned.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door; he heaves himself to sitting in time to see James push his way into the dorm. James is all packed ---- or at least, everything’s been thrown in the vague vicinity of his trunk ---- because James doesn’t feel like he’s going to be sick when he thinks about going home.

“Cheer up,” James says, unable to miss Sirius’ drooping shoulders and turned-down lips. “We’ll be back before you know it. Besides, mum said you can come stay for a whole two weeks, if you want.”

“And what about all the other weeks?” Sirius mutters, darkly.

“I’ll write.” James promises.

“And what about when you’re sleeping?” Sirius is aware he sounds pathetic, wheedling. But they’ve barely spent a minute apart this term. James smiles when he says it, so he doesn’t bother to feel too embarrassed by it.

“Then you’ll be sleeping too, idiot.”

“And if I’m not sleeping? If I’m trapped in a waking nightmare about my mother strangling me to death with my own Gryffindor scarf so she doesn’t have to touch me?” James snorts.

“Then I’ll be having nightmares too.”

He says it with such confidence. Like he really believes that across all that distance, something will keep him awake if Sirius is awake. It’s nonsense, Sirius knows, but it makes him feel better nonetheless.

“Yeah, all right,” he sights. “Do me favour and take my scarf, will you? If she’s going to strangle me, I at least want her to have to do it the hard way.” James laughs, and Sirius manages a smile, too, less sickly than before. Then all at once he’s pushed backward onto the bed, enveloped by the warm weight of James. It might be comforting, if James didn’t have such sharp elbows and a tendency to jab them right into Sirius’ more vital organs.

“It’s not that long, really,” James promises, and Sirius wraps his arms around his friend and breathes the scent of his jumper and wonders if it would be weird to steal one from James’ trunk. Just to feel a little closer to him. “I’ll write to you every day. Twice a day.”

It’s little consolation, but at least, Sirius thinks, making no effort to extract himself from this pointy jumble of limbs, he’s got this to look forward to come September.  

It’s 1973, and Sirius Black is fourteen years old.

Or he will be in three minutes, at least ---- according to his watch. Halloween clings on in discarded decorations and leftover sweets, tongues stained pumpkin orange and liquorice-dark. They’ve all sorts of plans for tomorrow, given that Sirius has scored the ultimate prize this year with a birthday falling on a Saturday.

All of which means he ought to be sound asleep right now. Instead, he lies awake and watches the second hand tick ‘round, and the minute hand press closer to midnight. He wonders if he’ll feel any different. More grown up.

James had been delighted on finding out that Sirius was the oldest; last year he’d added a zero onto the birthday card he’d slung Sirius’ way, so it read 130 today, and it had been packed full of jokes about getting old --- creaking knees and failing hearing, and the inevitable decline of Sirius’ rugged good looks (James’ words, not his).

James’ birthday card, when it had eventually come around, had been addressed to young whippersnapper.

Sixty seconds to go. Sirius has seen James hiding something in his trunk, and is mostly sure that it’s a present for him. He can’t help but feel pleased at the attention. James’ mum had sent him toffee, last year, and he wonders if she’ll do the same again ---- if she’ll remember.

(His own mother sent him nothing, of course.)

Midnight.

He takes his first breath as a fourteen-year-old, and finds it tastes much the same as before. He’d half-hoped, idly, that getting older would make it easier to be his mother’s son. Before he can think to be disappointed, or annoyed, his hangings are whisked open and he lets out a startled yelp.

James is there, grinning in the dark, barefoot and with his glasses askew, wand illuminated but covered in his cupped hand so as not to wake the others.

“Budge up, grandpa,” James whispers, and Sirius does. James shoves a horribly wrapped present at Sirius, and then clambers in under the covers. His feet are freezing, and there’s a brief scuffle before Sirius ---- always warm ---- gives in and lets James press them up against his legs.

He looks down at the mess of wrapping paper and spellotape in his lap, and thinks to himself that cold feet in his cosy bed is a cheap price to pay for the fire that James has kindled in him all these years.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” James demands.

“Sure,” Sirius says, and some of his emotion must have spilled over onto his face without his permission, because James laughs and leans sideways to envelop him in a hug. It’s not rough or shoving, there’s no hair ruffling or teasing; James simply wraps him up on his arms and stays there with him, content.

Sirius couldn’t care less what’s in the present. James is the best gift he’s ever had.

It’s 1974, and Sirius Black is fifteen years old.

He was ‘politely asked’ to quit the quidditch team three months ago. Why his own house wanted to deprive themselves of their most handsome and second-most-talented player is a mystery him, except in all the ways it’s not.

So he had a habit of hovering around James and ignoring the rest of the team, what of it? There was another beater, wasn’t there? And someone had to protect the star player and his boyishly handsome jaw from the inevitable threat of bludgers.

(“Black! What the hell are you doing shadowing Potter? The bludgers are down the other end of the pitch harassing our seeker!”

“Yeah, but one of them was looking at him funny. Trying to lure me away, I think; I’d best stay right where I am. On the off-chance, you know----“)

It’s all rather a shame, really. When they were legitimately required to work in tandem, they flew like nothing else Hogwarts had ever seen. Even their erstwhile captain ---- departed now for the fair shores of adulthood ---- had grudgingly admitted that there was nothing to frustrate an opposing team more than Sirius and James flying in perfect synchronicity, one clutching the quaffle and the other with a devastating aim with bludger.

Apparently, though, he’s not dedicated enough. Doesn’t take it seriously.

    (Ha, ha. Oh, how his teammates had laughed when he’d made the requisite joke. Or at least, James had.)

He’d bowed out gracefully, because to be fair, they weren’t all that wrong. Sirius loves nothing more than flying with James, but his fellow beater had been a bore and the rest of the team insipid at best. Loyal to his friends and his house though he may be, he’s not the world’s most enthusiastic team player.

He’d commentated once, after that, and once only; McGonagall had been furious when she’d got to him, mid-match ---- who knew that the general student body didn’t want a running commentary of James Potter’s every, dashing move ---- and then been relegated altogether to the stands with Remus and Peter and the rest.

He doesn’t mind, much. Watching James fly is a treat ---- nay, a privilege.

Especially in a match like this. The winner will take the cup, and Sirius feels like the crowd’s every roar is funnelled straight through him. His stomach swoops as elegantly as James’ broom, drops out when the quaffle is stolen, soars when James wins it back once more.

Come the end, he’s got one arm around Remus’ neck and one around Peter’s pulling them both uncomfortably down towards his level. There’s a knot of tension in his stomach; it’s been a long, difficult match, fought tooth and nail.

The snitch has been sighted and both seekers are pelting towards it; Gryffindor have a one hundred and fifty point lead (thank you, James Potter), and if Ravenclaw catch the snitch it’ll be a tie. They hurtle closer, skimming the grass before shooting up again, and Sirius must be the only person in the crowd not paying them the slightest bit of attention.

Because James Potter, a hero dressed in red and gold, has just bodily slammed a Ravenclaw chaser out of his way and snatched the quaffle from mid-air. He flies low and close to his broom, eyes focused, and the deftness with which his manoeuvres is incredible.

He slams the quaffle through the hoop from only inches away, and Sirius roars a half-second before the rest of the crowd as the Ravenclaw seeker’s hand closes around the snitch.

It doesn’t matter; James has won it for them.

They pour onto the pitch, a knot of seething celebration around the red-and-gold team at the heart of it. Sirius and Remus and Peter are all fighting to get through but it’s no good; the wall of human bodies is too deep and, in Sirius’ case at least, tall.

But then James Potter bursts through the crowd, still being patted on the back and clapped on the shoulder, eyes bright and grin wide and lip split from a close call with a bludger (wouldn’t have happened if Sirius had been up there), and throws himself at Sirius.

He goes so far as to lift his friend’s feet off the ground, earning a yelp and smack from Sirius and laughter from Remus and Peter, who are quick to join the embrace.

“Just proves it,” Sirius shouts above the crowd. “You’re the only worthwhile player on that team!”

“Oi,” comes the offended voice of the Gryffindor keeper to one side. Sirius ignores it, and clings a little tighter to James.

It's 1975, and Sirius is fifteen years old.

He's giddy with achievement. No other victory has tasted this sweet; no other glory has carried him higher. Three years it's taken them, but finally ---- finally ---- here they are, animagi at fifteen years old. And all right, they'd had to revise their expectations a bit from lions and tigers and bears (oh my) down to dogs and deer and rats, but even that can't take away from it.

They've been grinning for a week now, all wild-eyed secrecy and knowing laughter. If they'd been close before, now they must seem impenetrable.

Remus, who'd been flustered and grateful and disbelieving, and a little tearful, looks at them sometimes, with this small smile on his face that makes Sirius’ gut churn in a way he doesn't quite understand.

The moment of truth comes; the gloomy press of dusk, the sour taste of nerves behind his tongue. They're going to run with a werewolf tonight, and even if that werewolf is their friend, it impresses a quiet awe on them all.

And oh, do they run. The night is velvet-dark and apple-sweet, and they clutch it between their teeth as they thunder through the forest, weaving and tumbling and wrestling with the wolf who doesn’t seem sure how to react to its new companions, alternately curious and aggressive. But they keep him from leaving the trees, they keep him occupied ---- too occupied to bite and scratch and claw at himself ---- and it’s worth a wound, worth every wound to know that Remus might wake a little less pained and weak in the morning.

They’re exhausted by the time the moon sets, and they’ve nudged and chased and tempted the wolf back to the shack. They retreat, as they were asked to do ---- ‘I don’t want you to see me change. Horrible doesn’t begin to cover it’ ---- and creep back through the tunnel, towards the greying dawn.

It’s Remus that’s his downfall.

As a dog, Sirius can smell the sweat from Prongs’ flanks, rising as faint steam in the morning chill. He can smell the rodent scurrying ahead of them. He can smell the air and the decaying corpse of something small, can smell the vegetation and undergrowth and paint a picture of it all, even with his eyes closed.

But behind him, he can smell blood and wolf and man and pain and despair, somehow, and he doesn’t realise the low whine he can hear is from his own throat. He hesitates. He wants nothing more than to go back, than to stay with Remus, to hold him and keep him warm, to ease his aches and to help, in anyway he can.

That moment is all it takes; the willow shivers back into life above them, and though the deer and the rat might be beyond its reach, there’s a big black dog standing with its ears pricked, peering back towards the tunnel it guards.

It hits him like thunderbolt.

Sirius doesn’t realise he’s flying through the air until he hits the ground, a strangled canine yelp beaten from his lungs as his body bounces, paws scrabbling to right himself and unable to do it. There’s sharp pain in his hind leg, and he pulls himself away from the tree with it dragging behind him.

“Sirius!”

It’s James’ voice, faint with terror, and human once more. Will it be better, or worse, Sirius wonders, if he’s human instead of dog?

The change is brief, and agonising. He doesn’t cry out, but he can taste blood where teeth have pressed hard against tongue to stymie the sound. He rolls over onto his back, and looks down at his leg, and immediately regrets it. His ankle is twisted around the wrong way, like a comical mistake on a five-year-old’s drawing.

James and Peter half-support and half-carry him back to the castle. He doesn’t whimper with every step, because that would be pathetic, but he does crack a few jokes about it. Neither of his friends laugh.

They tell Pomfrey he fell down the stairs, in the dark. She probably wouldn’t believe them, except she’s distracted ---- she should be leaving to tend to Remus, Sirius knows, and the guilt of knowing Remus might spend any more time half-conscious and bruised in that shack than he needs to is somehow more painful than his broken ankle.

And so, in a thoroughly uncharacteristic display, he doesn’t joke or whine or flirt; he takes the frankly disgusting potion she pushes into his hand, grimaces hard when she flicks her wand over his foot and he feels the bones grind back into place, and lets her hurry away.

James clings to him when she tries to chivvy him out of the hospital wing and back to bed.

“You may come and see Mr. Black in the morning, after breakfast,” she tells him. “He’ll be perfectly fine.” James doesn’t let go, and neither does Sirius, because both of them know a broken foot could have been so much worse, in the circumstances. Eventually, he consents to be chased out, and Sirius watches him go.

He’s asleep not long after, and he dreams of having four legs, and freedom.

It’s 1976, and Sirius is sixteen years old.

He feels rotten.

Not just bad, or upset, or guilty. He feels rotten, to his very core; like he’s been riddled with maggots or termites this whole time, slowly hollowing him out with nothing to show for it until now. All it took was pressure in the wrong place, and he’d crumbled ---- showed what he truly was.

He’d cried for hours: wretched, self-pitying tears that left him somehow feeling heavier than before, until his throat ached and his diaphragm ached and his lungs and his eyes and his teeth ached, every sorry part of him punishing him for what he’d done.

How could he ever have thought it was harmless? How could he ever have let the words trip from his tongue like any other words, like they weren’t the words that would ruin his life? Maybe you should follow him to the Whomping Willow and see for yourself, Snivellus. Just a collection of consonants and vowels; verbs and nouns and connectors, all strung together in such a way as to leave him like this.

No-one’s talked to him, yet. For all Sirius knows, they might never talk to him again. They might cast him to one side like the false friend he is. He doesn’t deserve them, any of them ---- not Remus, not Peter, and not even James, who almost single-handedly moulded the image of the man he wants to be. Especially not James, perhaps, who’s brave in the real way that Sirius is not, and good in the real way that Sirius can never be.

In the end, blood is blood: it doesn’t come out in the wash. He is his mother’s son.

And yet, James comes to him, in the end.

Sirius is all out of tears; his head is throbbing, his eyes red and puffy, his face blotched and streaked through with tear-tracks. He looks a mess, and he knows it. James only regards him, serious and uncertain, lip caught between his teeth.

“I didn’t mean to,” Sirius croaks. “I didn’t think ---- I was just so ----”

He trails off, because there’s no real explanation past the first. I didn’t think. He has no excuse, no justification. Somehow, that makes it worse. This was all instinct. Didn’t that mean it was his true self, his real colours?

“I’m an idiot,” Sirius whispers, and knows the word doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Yeah,” James agrees, curtly. The lump in Sirius’ throat rises a little further. He’s not sure what it is ---- shame or bile or perhaps his treacherous intestines trying to choke him from the inside. At this point, he’d consider it a mercy.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispers, even though it’s Remus who needs the apology, really. This isn’t sorry for what I almost did, this is sorry that I disappointed you, sorry that I wasn’t good enough, sorry that you thought you had a brother but he turned out to be a hollow, porcelain thing that shattered at the faintest knock.

James lowers his head, hands shoved in his pockets.

He’s not far away, but the distance is deafening. Even where they’re mad at each other, squabbling and arguing amongst themselves, there’s still a closeness. They’ll snap and snarl but their knees will still be touching, or their shoulders brushing.

The inches between them now are a gulf, a canyon. Sirius has burned his bridges without evening meaning to, and tossed his ropes into the abyss after them.

James heaves a sigh, and turns to go. Sirius chokes back a sob, the sound catching in his throat as he does his best to hide it ---- he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t deserve pity --- and James pauses. Sirius covers his face with his hands, tugs hard at his hair so the sharp pain in his scalp is all he can think about it.

He flinches as James’ arms close around him. He’s half-expecting to be punched, or shoved, but he’s not expecting this gentle embrace.

“You’re an idiot.” James places the words carefully, gingerly in the space between them. “You’re not evil. Give it some time, Sirius.” And then he’s gone, and Sirius has forgotten how to breathe, and he’s sure that this is how he’ll die ---- rotten and hollow and broken and wretched, choking on his own betrayal.

It’s 1978, and Sirius is eighteen years old.

There’s a bittersweet, syrupy regret clinging to him. These days have been the best of his life, and soon enough, they’ll be over. It’s mere weeks before they’ll leave Hogwarts on the train for the last time.

It’s impossible to ignore that the world outside these walls and grounds is a darker place than it was once. The saccharine glow of their childhood is fading, melting away from them. There’s no catching it. They’re grown up, and there’s a war building. Some nights, Sirius tries to hold the concept in his mind, to understand it; more often than not he finds that he can’t. It’s something far away, and abstract, something that happens to other people in other places.

Tonight, wedged tightly in the small space between their tower window and the cornice ---- even he doesn’t fit as well as he used to, though he’s been slower to grow than the rest ---- it feels all too real. Unavoidable, like it’s hiding behind every word and glance and thought, a shadowy presence that he can’t shake.

If he takes a breath too deep, he’s sure he can feel it as a crackle at the bottom of his lungs, like kindling ready to be tossed into the fire.

Sirius doesn’t often seek out time alone. Today, he’d slipped away without a word ---- they can find him if they need to, after all, they’ve got the map ---- and has been soaking in this silent solitude for hours now. Weightless, like he’s teetering at the edge of something, and he can’t quite find the courage to leap.

It’s a queer feeling that’s overtaken him, and all the stranger for the fact that it doesn’t seem to have gripped the others in quite the same way. Late last night, Sirius had sat up from where he was curled up against Remus’ side and looked down at him with a dark intensity in his eyes that had made Remus frown.

         (“Promise me,” Sirius had said, low and fierce, “promise me that leaving Hogwarts won’t change a thing. With us, you know.” Remus’ frown had softened, and he’d reached up to brush Sirius’ hair from his face. Sirius had chased the cool touch of Remus’ palm with his cheek, leaning into it.

    “I promise,” he’d said, but Sirius hadn’t  been content until he’d heard it a dozen times, pressed close against his ear between kisses.)

He wonders if there might be something wrong with him, and pretty quickly dismisses the thought. It’s a dark rabbit-hole to go down. He thinks he’s all right, usually, and so do his friends, so what can it matter, anyway?

It’s James who comes for him, of course.

They barely fit up here, anymore, and James’ feet hang sickeningly over hundreds of feet of empty air once he’s wrestled himself up next to Sirius and stretched out his legs.

“All right?”

“All right.”

A call-and-answer that spans seven years. They have whole conversations in those words, meanings deeper than the brief syllables. Tonight it’s are you okay and I’m staying and you can’t stop me, and it’s the answering I’m not sure and I won’t try.

They sit in silence for a while, Sirius on the right and James on the left, just the way it always is, and their legs and their arms pressed together, just like they always are. Sirius feels sick with longing, missing something that’s not even gone yet. Where will they tuck themselves when they no longer have this vast network of corridors and rooms, passages and alcoves, towers and dungeons? Is there a space for them, out there?

“I’ll miss this place,” Sirius says. An obvious statement, and one that barely scratches the surface of his feelings. He doesn’t need to try and explain, with James.

“Yeah,” James agrees, quietly.

“I love you.”

It’s a muted admission. He proclaims his love for his friends often and loudly, grandiose, sweeping gestures and honeyed words stolen from Shelley, from Ovid. This softness is rare indeed, unprompted and unfiltered, free from his usual dramatics. James looks at him in surprise from behind his glasses, the sunset glinting from them in a burning yellow-orange.

“I love you too,” James says. As if it’s obvious, as if Sirius is an idiot.

He reaches over for a hug, ignoring Sirius’ mildly alarmed exclamation as they tip over in the tiny space, Sirius’ elbow hitting the wall and his head the window ---- inside, Remus peers out with some mild concern before he returns to his book.

“You’re stuck with me,” James informs his friend, once he’s got him trapped. “Stop being so unbearably dim and morose. Nothing will change when we leave school.”

Sirius doesn’t know what to say that won’t sound trite or twee, so he does the only obvious thing available to him, and licks a stripe across James’ face to get him to move. James does so, cursing him, and managing to land an elbow in his stomach (they haven’t got any less sharp, over the years.)

They lie there, tangled and laughing and oblivious and on the edge, waiting, waiting, waiting.

It’s 1981, and Sirius is twenty-two years old.

James pulls him into a hug, and Sirius pinches his arse to draw a laugh from him ---- few enough of those, these days ---- and looks at Lily over James’ shoulder, clutching Harry, his godson to her chest.

“See you soon,” James says, and it’s a demand rather than a statement.

“Promise,” Sirius says.

If he’d known this was the last time ---- the last hug ---- the last goodbye ---- he might have held a little tighter, a little longer. He might not have let go at all.

#;drabble: m #pr0ngs #i crey

[morningsound15]

au game for astury queen octaven specifically:)

fuck ok you know what i’m going to answer this because i literally HAVE THEIR STORY ARC ALREADY WRITTEN for that fucking story but i can’t motivate myself to write the rest of the story AROUND their arc and like proper scene transitions and shit like honestly at least for like the foreseeable future so you know what?

i’m just gonna post what i have written for them here. because fuck it.

this is gonna be a long fucking post sorry in advance.

1.)

For the past week, Octavia had been spending her lunches not in the hospital cafeteria, not in one of the many break rooms, but rather inside room 307, with her legs tucked up under her as she folded herself into the uncomfortable chair in the corner that she was coming to see more and more as belonging solely to her.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she started doing it. The first time it happened she just happened to be checking Raven’s vitals right as her lunch tray was being delivered, but after that… well, she wasn’t exactly sure how it started happening, but that first instance turned into another, and then another, and now it had fully become a part of her routine. Octavia would bring her bagged lunch up to the third floor — or she’d bring up a tray from the cafeteria — and the two of them would eat together, sharing companionable conversation. Octavia even started buying those individually-packaged pudding cups to trade for Raven’s Jell-O (because apparently Raven couldn’t stand Jell-O), and what started off as a one-time deal had become something quite unexpected.

On this particular day, Octavia had really pulled out all the stops and sprung for something special (and smuggled in from outside). Not that outside food wasn’t allowed in the hospital — it definitely was. But Octavia was pretty sure that Abby wouldn’t approve of her feeding a recovering patient fast food, no matter how delicious it might be.

Today, they were sharing a sampling of every kind of fry from the fast food restaurants that sprinkled the area. Octavia had managed to snag no fewer than six different varieties, and they were working through them slowly, providing carefully thought-out ranks for each new batch.

Raven picked up one of the thicker, drier options. She eyed it suspiciously, like it had personally offended her, like she already knew she was about to be disappointed. She popped it into her mouth anyway. She chewed slowly, contemplatively, taking on her role as Supreme Fry Judge with an air of deep solemnity. When she finally swallowed, it was with a grimace and a shake of the head.

“Nope,” she said seriously. “That’s the worst one. Sixth place. Take it out of rotation.”

Octavia laughed but did as she was told, sliding forward the next group. “As you wish, Your Honor.” She bowed her head slightly, and Raven returned the gesture with an elaborate flourish of the hand.

Octavia grabbed another container and started munching happily, a small smile on her face. She was happy, here; she was happy doing this. It was nice. Hanging out with Raven and sharing a bunch of fast food fries was a lot of fun. For most of her adult life, Octavia’s only real friend had been Clarke. Having another person to talk to — someone she didn’t live with or work with or spend every waking hour with — was honestly a treat; something unprecedented; something novel and exciting.

It was nice. But admittedly, Octavia knew that it also wasn’t exactly the most professional thing in the world she could be doing. But she was a surgical resident, and Raven wasn’t even technically still a patient of hers. Now that she was in recovery, the general residents and attendings were responsible for her care and well-being. And there were no rules about when or where Octavia was supposed to take her lunch breaks; she could visit a friend on her down-time. There was nothing wrong with that at all.

(So why did she still feel so weirdly guilty about all of this?)

They sat in comfortable silence as they ate their food. The room was warm and bright; the air dry. If Octavia inhaled strongly enough she could pick out the scent of flowers wafting over from the pile overflowing on Raven’s dresser (Sinclair made sure to drop by every other day with a new batch from him and his wife, just because). Octavia leaned back in her chair, her legs crossed at the ankle, and allowed herself to sink into the feeling of being in this room, of being around this woman. She allowed herself to sink into the feeling of comfort, and just breathe.

It was quiet for a few more minutes when Raven finally spoke. “The doc says I’m gonna have some pretty gnarly scars,” she said softly, her fingers toying with the edge of a napkin, her eyes downcast.

Octavia’s face slipped. She swallowed, her appetite suddenly disappearing. She wasn’t sure what Raven’s sentence was supposed to convey. She wasn’t sure if it was accusatory, or self-pitying (though Raven didn’t seem the type for either of those emotions). She wasn’t sure how to respond, so instead she said, “Have you looked, yet?”

Raven shrugged and picked up another fry. “Not really. Kinda been too scared, kinda been too grossed out.” She took a bite and smiled, seemingly pleased. “Plus, it’s hard to check yourself out in a mirror when you need a nurse to help you shower every day.”

Octavia bit her lip and spoke almost without thinking. “Do you want to see?” Raven’s head jerked up. “The one on your back’s the biggest. I could take a picture?”

Raven didn’t move for a few long moments, and Octavia felt a wave of panic overtake her. She did something wrong. She said something wrong. She was being completely inappropriate, offering to do something like that for this girl she barely knew, and she’d made Raven uncomfortable and she had to come up with an apology quick or else risk—

“Sure,” Raven said, and Octavia’s internal, panicked monologue fizzled out as quickly as it had erupted.

Her fingers felt a little thick and fumbling as she wiped them swiftly on her scrubs. But even with her rubbing, the tips of her fingers still felt oily; the palms of her hands still felt dry. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do about that.

“Okay,” she said, standing up slowly and trying not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. “Um, I guess I’ll just… help you out?” Raven nodded, and Octavia put her hands gently on the woman’s shoulders, turning her slightly away from the bed. She didn’t move her too quickly, ever-mindful of the sutures still in Raven’s skin, so it seemed to take eons before Raven was laying on her side, facing Octavia completely.

Octavia smiled at her, a little nervously. “Sorry, I’ve never done this before,” she apologized.

Raven smiled back. “I’ve never done this before either.”

Right. Obviously. “Want me to use your phone or mine?”

“Mine,” Raven answered easily. “I’ll text them to all the guys at the station. They’ll probably get a kick out of it.” Raven used her chin to gesture towards the bedside table where her phone lay, undisturbed.

Octavia wiped her hands furtively one more time before she picked it up. She moved around Raven’s bed until she was behind her, grabbing one glove from the box next to the sink on her way. She slipped the blue latex onto her non-dominant hand, the hand not holding the phone, as she rounded the bed completely. She then used her now-invisible position to take one quick breath in, before she let her hand reach out and brush against Raven’s side.

The woman twitched under her touch, and Octavia grimaced. “Sorry about that,” she apologized into the silent room. Only the steady whirring of the air conditioning unit and a few of the machines around the room kept it from being completely absent of noise. But still, it was remarkably quiet between them. “Also my hands are probably cold,” she said as her fingers carefully undid the ties on Raven’s hospital gown, “so… sorry for that, too.”

Raven hissed as soon as Octavia’s knuckles brushed the skin near her shoulder. “Geez, they’re like ice. What do you do all day?”

“Poor circulation.”

“Jesus,” Raven muttered, “I would die.”

Raven’s skin was warm. So warm it was almost hot. Octavia pushed her gown aside, pushing the split open so that most of Raven’s back was now exposed to the air and to her line of sight.

She paused, for only the tiniest of moments, at the image that greeted her.

It was only for a moment, but Raven still noticed.

“I’m sorry if it’s disgusting,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

Octavia shook her head, though she knew Raven couldn’t see her. “Raven, I’m a doctor. I’ve seen worse. Plus, I helped make this one, so.”

“Right.” A chuckle. “Always forget that.”

Octavia placed her gloved hand on Raven’s scapula, just to the right of the jagged line marring her otherwise flawless skin. It was still wrapped in gauze and held shut with staples. If Octavia moved her thumb just an inch, she’d brush up against the wound. “You always forget that I’m a doctor?” she mumbled, her voice low.

“That you’ve seen worse than me.” Raven’s voice was just as soft as hers. “That there’s been worse than me.” Octavia’s hands slowed to a complete stop.

When Raven spoke next, it was with a surprising degree of sincerity — perhaps because, with Octavia perched behind her, she couldn’t see her eyes. “I can’t walk,” Raven said, and Octavia forced her hands to restart their task. “I need help to do everything. It hurts to just lay down. And someone has to come in here every two hours and turn me over so that this stupid thing can ‘breathe’, or whatever.”

“The air is good for your back.” Octavia fumbled only briefly with the cellphone in her hand, but she managed to take a not-too-blurry picture without embarrassing herself.

She carefully closed Raven’s hospital gown, her fingers applying barely any pressure as she tied it shut. With one more quick brush to Raven’s shoulder, Octavia quickly cleared her throat and pulled away. She rounded the bed and peeled off her latex glove, using the opportunity while her back was turned to take one more quick, steadying breath. God, but that was a completely inappropriate reaction. She was not acting professionally in the slightest.

“Can’t wait until I can wear real clothes,” Raven said from behind her. “These hospital gowns do absolutely nothing for my figure.”

Octavia smiled and held out Raven’s phone to her with hands that didn’t shake at all. “When your back’s better I’m sure they won’t have any problem with you wearing your own clothes. Just make sure they’re loose and won’t interfere with your mobility.”

Raven snorted. “What mobility?”

“When your physical therapy starts.” Raven scrunched her face, looking skeptical. Octavia shook her head. “I know how you feel about physical therapy, Raven, but they’ve got a really great program here. And it really will help a ton. Now, look at the picture I worked so hard to take, please.”

Raven chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain Blake, but okay.” She unlocked her phone and immediately pulled a face. “Oh, gross.”

“Obviously it won’t look like that forever. Once the stitches come out—”

“No, I mean it’s cool-gross. I like it. I’ll look like the freaking Terminator. Or Doc Oc from the Spiderman comics. Nice.”

“You have a remarkable attitude about all of this. Most people don’t react that way when they see their scars for the first time.”

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?”

“No. You definitely aren’t.”

“Besides, chicks dig scars.” Raven winked, a drawn out and exaggerated motion that nonetheless had Octavia’s stomach doing somersaults. She fought to keep her face impassive. “Isn’t that right, Doctor Blake?”

“That’s what they say in the movies.”

“So, a girl can dream.” They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity then, the silence stretching between them, charged with… something. Something that felt big. Something that felt too important and too significant for 12:45 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon. Something that—

“French fry taste-test?” a voice said from the doorway and Octavia jumped, immediately pulling back. She had started to lean forwards, to lean towards Raven, without even really noticing. She tried not to look guilty as her eyes flicked to catch Clarke’s kind and smiling gaze.

“Clarke. Hey,” she said, standing quickly from her seat. “We were just—”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the boss,” Clarke said with a wink, taking a few steps into the room and snagging some of the food from Octavia’s tray. “Just wanted to see when you were off. I’m headed back to our place, and thought maybe you’d be my favorite person in the entire world and drive us home?”

Octavia immediately started cleaning up the mess of fries, containers, and napkins that littered Raven’s space. “Yeah, of course. My shift ended like an hour ago, so no need to wait around.”

“Oh,” Raven said, clearly surprised. “You didn’t have to stay, Doctor Blake. I didn’t know you were on your own time.”

Octavia shook her head. “No, no it’s not a problem. Had to wait for Clarke, anyway.” She smiled against the anxiety swirling in her chest. “Plus, you’re great lunch company.”

Clarke wrapped her arms around Octavia’s waist from behind and gave her a firm squeeze. “And to think, that used to be my job.”

Octavia flushed and turned away, brushing Clarke’s arms away from her. “Knock it off, Clarke,” she muttered, dumping the trash in her arms into the trash bin by the door.

Raven was shooting her a strange, semi-indecipherable look from the bed. “Sorry,” she said slowly. “Who are you, again?”

“Oh!” Clarke took a few steps forward and stuck out her hand. “I’m Doctor Griffin.”

Raven took her hand tentatively. “I don’t think so. I know Doctor Griffin.”

“Common mistake.” Clarke smiled, one side of her mouth pulling up higher than the other. “She’s my mom.”

“Oh.” Raven looked at least moderately-surprised. “And you and Doctor Blake… live together.” She didn’t say it like a question, but Clarke answered her anyway.

“Yup! Since college.”

“Right.” She still had that inscrutable expression on her face, and it was making Octavia increasingly more uncomfortable. “Sorry.” She shook her head again. “Sorry, I didn’t… sorry.”

For some unknown reason, Octavia felt compelled to twist her hands together. Clarke frowned. “What are you sorry for?”

“Nothing.” She cleared her throat and bent slightly forward, peering at Octavia from around Clarke’s body. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doctor Blake?”

Octavia nodded, her throat dry. “Yup,” she croaked. “Ready to go, Clarke?”

Out in the hallway, Clarke slid her arm through Octavia’s elbow. She squeezed tightly, knocking their shoulders together. “She’s cute.”

“She’s a patient, Clarke.”

“She can still be cute.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Will you lay off, maybe? You already make me drive you andfrom work, we do everything together… I can’t have one friend that isn’t you?”

Clarke pulled back. “Woah, okay. Testy. What’s going on with you today?”

“There’s nothing going on with me,” Octavia shot back shortly. “I’m fine.”

2.)

It wasn’t long after that that Octavia started dating Atom. She met him at the gym (story of all fascinating stories), and truth be told if you really pressed her for details she had to admit that she wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, that ultimately compelled her say yes when he asked her out. Maybe it was something about the way her stomach turned any time she thought about her earlier interaction with Clarke. Maybe it was something about the way Raven had become more emotionally withdrawn from her in the past few weeks, sharing fewer personal anecdotes and cracking fewer jokes. Or maybe it was the way Raven smiled at her now, always soft and mild and politely-interested but lacking the warmth and sincerity Octavia had come to expect from her. Maybe it was some combination of the three.

Either way. He asked, and she said yes.

.

.

.

.

She waited longer than she probably should have to tell Clarke. But could you blame her, really? Atom was exactly the kind of guy that Clarke always freaked out about, worried over, frowned disapprovingly at. Octavia just didn’t need that kind of stress weighing over her right now.

At least, that was the excuse she used to justify keeping the secret for a month and a half.

When she finally did tell Clarke, it went over about as well as expected. Which is to say, not well at all.

She listened to Clarke rant at her for a full seven minutes before she’d finally had enough.

“Would you stop, please?” she cut in quickly when Clarke paused to take a breath. “I get it, okay? He’s the sketchiest dude you’ve ever seen, he’s not ‘boyfriend material’, I shouldn’t be wasting my time with him… I get it, alright? So can you cool it with the lecture?”

Clarke frowned at her, her earlier anger and annoyance immediately melting away into genuine concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m just…” Octavia sighed, pushing a hand roughly through her hair— “I’m sick and tired of being alone, Clarke. I haven’t had a serious relationship since… since college, and… Jesus Christ, I’m just tired of being alone.”

“But this is…” Clarke looked almost pained, now. Whether it was at Octavia’s clear emotional distress or because of her own personal desire to voice her full opinions about Octavia’s occasional-sexual-partner, uninterrupted, it was impossible to say. “Octavia, this isn’t what you want; you know that, right? This is… I mean this Atom guy isn’t any—”

“Can you stay out of my business for once, maybe?” She bit angrily, jaw clenched and eyes burning.

Clarke huffed. “I’m not trying to be in your business, I just—”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of choice in who I date right now considering the person I actually want to date is—” Octavia stopped speaking abruptly, flushing darkly, and looked down at the too-large scrubs engulfing her small frame.

“What was that?” Clarke prodded in a low voice.

Octavia shook her head and turned away, busying herself as she gathered her clothes. Clarke took a step forward, wanting to place a comforting hand on her roommate’s upper arm but not knowing if she should.

“Who do you want to date, O?” Clarke asked quietly.

Octavia rubbed hand over her face and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. At least Clarke couldn’t see that part; she was relieved for that. She hated crying. She hated when people saw her cry. “You’re not going to approve.”

“Try me.” When Octavia still did not say anything, Clarke ventured, “This doesn’t have anything to do with that cute patient in 307 who you spend most of your lunch breaks talking to, does it?”

Octavia flushed and shifted on her feet but did not deny it.

“Why would you think I wouldn’t approve?”

“Because she’s a patient, Clarke; a patient I operated on and a patient I—”

“You weren’t even chief surgeon, you just assisted. My mom was the one who… You have to know that what happened with her leg wasn’t your—”

“I know it wasn’t my fault but she’s still… God, how unprofessional would it be to… to sleep with her or date her or…?”

“She isn’t going to be a patient forever. Probably not even until the end of this week. After she’s discharged, you should ask her out. I’m sure she wants to go out with you.”

“You think?”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

3.)

“So, what do you say to getting some food someplace far away from here that isn’t served in Jell-o form?”

Raven laughed, pulling her coat over her shoulders. She adjusted the brace on her leg and winced as it pinched against some of the skin of her upper thigh. “As long as you’re buying. I could really use some good food and since I live alone and can’t cook for shit…” She trailed off, a smirk present in her eyes and on her lips.

Octavia beamed. “Yeah, yeah sounds good. What do you say about Friday?”

“Sounds great, Doctor Blake.”

“You can call me Octavia now, you know; I think we’ve reached that point.”

Raven beamed. “Octavia it is.” She grabbed her crutches and adjusted them on her forearms, testing her balance. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ve lived here two years and still I don’t think I have more than three friends, and I work with all of them.” She smiled and reached out to grip Octavia’s upper arm. “I’m really glad we’re going to keep seeing each other. I’m kind of in desperate need for more friends.”

Octavia kept the smile planted on her face even as something in her stomach sank with what felt strangely like disappointment. “Of course,” she said, “I’m happy to help.”

4.)

Octavia tried to be just-friends with Raven. She tried. She tried to respect Raven’s boundaries for the sake their existing relationship.

She really did try.

There was just only so much she could take, in the end. Only so many late night Netflix binge-sessions she could sit through, only so many not-dinner dates she could go on, only so many times she could make sexual-tension-filled eye contact with Raven across a room before she finally broke.

She lasted all of about three weeks.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

Raven looked up from the cup she had been playing with. Her brow furrowed. “What? We… we went out tonight.”

“No, I mean, like…” Octavia took a step forwards, reaching out and brushing her fingers against the soft skin of Raven’s wrist, “like go out with me. Like on a date.”

Raven pulled back, looking (confusingly) very shocked and more than a little concerned. “Octavia I… I mean I don’t—”

They heard keys in the lock and seconds later the door swung open. Clarke stumbled inside, dressed in dirty scrubs and looking utterly exhausted. “Hey babe,” she said, kissing Octavia on the cheek as she passed them on her way to the kitchen, “do we have any beer? Anya was on my ass today and I really need a pick-me-up.”

“Yeah, check the fridge!” Octavia called out, her eyes never leaving Raven’s face. “So, what do you say about that date?”

Raven flushed and stared back at Octavia, eyes wide and mouth open. “I don’t date women who are already in a relationship,” she hissed, her eyes glancing furtively towards the kitchen. Octavia just looked confused. She couldn’t understand where this reaction was coming from, because her thing with Atom ended weeks ago and there definitely hadn’t been anyone else who might have— “I’m not a slut, Octavia, Jesus.” She turned and made to leave, limping steadily and cursing the ache in her leg. She grabbed her crutches from their perch by the door before it finally all clicked in Octavia’s mind. She wanted to slap herself.

“No… hey Raven wait!” Octavia darted past her and blocked her path to the front door.

“You really aren’t who I thought you were. I mean… Jesus, Octavia, your girlfriend is right—”

“Wait wait wait.” Octavia held up a hand, effectively stopping Raven’s tirade. “Wait. No, you’re confused, I’m not… Clarke is not my girlfriend.”

Raven blinked. “What?”

“She isn’t.” Octavia shook her head furiously. “We are not, nor have we ever been, seeing each other.”

“But… but I thought…” she blinked rapidly a few times. “You live together.”

“She’s my roommate.”

“She calls you ‘babe’. She kissed you on the cheek when she walked in! She was… she was always coming to check on you during your rounds, I… I thought…”

Octavia laughed and took a step forward, hand moving to cup the back of Raven’s neck. “Well, she’s currently banging our boss, so if we were dating then that would make all of this really awkward.” Raven spluttered. Octavia laughed again. “I’m not dating Clarke. I would like to be dating you, though… if you’re feeling up for it, and if I totally haven’t misread all of the signs these last few months.”

Raven stared at her for a few more seconds before she lunged forward, claiming Octavia’s lips in a fierce kiss that knocked them both off-balance. Octavia stumbled, crashing back into the apartment door as Raven’s body fell on top of hers, pinning her in place, lips still moving at a breakneck pace. Octavia smiled into the kiss.

“Hey are you guys okay? I heard a — woah, okay, yeah, cool, you look busy. I’ll just…” and they were sure Clarke had backed out of the room and back into the kitchen, but neither one pulled away to check.

5.)

It wasn’t easy. There were days when Raven woke up and forgot her leg no longer worked, and she only remembered once she came crashing to the floor with a sharp yelp of pain and agony because she had tried to put too much pressure on her useless appendage and it had collapsed under the unexpected weight. There were days when she got so fed up with having to lag behind her friends as they walked in front of her that she found herself crying and punching at walls in order to feel something besides helpless. There were days when her joints were so stiff she didn’t think she’d ever feel good again. There were days when she missed being able to lift heavy boxes and walk up several flights of stairs without getting breathless or needing assistance. There were bad days, as there always would be.

But there were good days, too. There were days when she would feel almost as good as new, brace on her leg and hardly any hint of a limp in her walk. Days when she could forgo her non-weight bearing crutches and just walk. There were entire days she spent hanging out on the couch with her sister, and when she had those days she forget all about the injury that ended her old career. But she had a new one, now, that she loved very much, and most of the time it was easy forget that she had ever truly had something she loved taken away from her.

There were days when she would stay at the lab until the wee hours of the morning, bent over some project or invention, when her boss would pat her on the shoulder on his way out and say, “Don’t forget to lock up, Reyes,” and she’d realize how acutely fulfilling her life was now. There were days when she would be at Octavia and Clarke’s apartment, when her knee would get stiff or her muscles would spasm, and she would groan in pain, and Octavia, without needing to be asked, would lift her bum leg onto her lap and start rubbing at the joints and the muscles and kneed away the stiffness without breaking her concentration on the television or on her readings for her rounds the next day. There were days when Raven would wake up, arms wrapped tightly around the girl she was slowly falling in love with. There were days when Octavia would kiss her breathless against the wall outside of their favorite bar, murmuring in her ear about how beautiful she looked, how badly she wanted her, and Raven had never believed any words more sincerely than she believed those.

There were bad days, sure, as there always would be. But there were good days, too. And the good days with Octavia were slowly drowning out the bad. She was with her friends, she was wanted, she was loved, she was doing a job she adored, and she was having amazing sex almost every night of the week. There were good days.

And Raven loved them.

And on some days, she really couldn’t even find it in herself to be upset that she no longer had the full use of her left leg. She was that happy. And besides, ruining her leg brought her to Octavia.

She couldn’t hate anything about that.

Send me an AU and I’ll give you 5 headcanons for it

#octaven #astuary queen #au game #headcanon #anonymous #asks #long post

[hitandrunduorp-a]

Diverging Paths

@hxnterwxlf​

//TBH I’ve had this on my google docs forEVER, and after rereading it again I wanted to share it. Set in the ‘School Days’ AU, rather than Ezhno being sold off... Mattie’s life ended up taking a different turn instead...\\

______________________________

It had been close to six months since Matthew moved from the little town, now half a state away from the native. Though apart, Ezhno would almost always be talking to his boyfriend, be it through countless text,  or hours on end phone calls...

Matthew had told him he was adjusting well enough to the new school and home. His parents went back to being an officer and a nurse, and the blond spent a bit of time with some girls he’s made friends with, and now was almost like an older brother to them.

Though eventually everything...stopped? No texts, no calls, nothing...and for close to a month, Ezhno would only be able to worry and panic. What was going on?!

Eventually, he’d finally get a call...but it wasn’t Matthew who spoke.

“Umm, i-is this Ezhno?” A familiar voice could be heard, quiet and dazed, but it was unmistakable.

“...Andrew?”

“Ah, it is you...! Awesome...”

“Andrew! W-What’s going on?! Where’ve you guys been?!? Where’s Mattie?!” Panic slowly set in as he listened, hearing Alfred groan a little in pain. Was he alright?

“...that’s...why I called... Are you able to chat for a bit? Oh, I, uh, suggest you sit too...”

“...what happened?!” A deep sigh could be heard through the phone, and a moment of silence until the twin spoke up once more.

“...It’s been a hell of a month, I tell ya... You remember the girls, Mattie's’ friends? Well, a couple of them had boyfriends, nasty bastards that all but hit them... He... he helped them escape their relationships and kept them protected... The guys had tried a few times to jump him, but they’re scrawny little potheads; not really much of a threat to Mattie.

...one day though, when I was walking home...my club meeting was cancelled, so I ran, trying to catch up to Mattie and walk home with him. I passed an alley and...and I saw him cornered by the two guys...and a third one I didn’t recognize. I jumped in to help Mattie and after a few minutes of fighting I...remember a sharp pain and just...falling. Turns out, I found out that the third guy was a drop-out who was in a gang...and he had a knife,” Another soft groan escaped the twin as he could be heard moving, assumingly trying to get comfortable.

“Our phones at one point fell from our pockets and got wrecked during it all. The two assholes freaked when they saw what happened and ran; they wanted to intimidate Mattie, not go to jail for murder...

...This...is where things get fuzzy... I remember waking up in the hospital, and Mattie was at my bedside, asleep. A nurse came in and explained that I...nearly died from blood loss when I arrived...

...a week later, while I was healing still, I tanked again. Turns out the knife was severely dirty, more than the doctors thought. I got really sick from a bad infection and... and Mattie was right there, watching my vitals go from fine to absolute chaos... They apparently had to sedate him to finally get him out of the room.

I’ve...only been home for less than a week, or I’d have found a way to call you sooner...we don’t have landlines, and I’m using my mom’s phone right now...” Through all this, Andrew’s voice had been growing quieter and shakier, sounding as if he was trying to keep from breaking down.

“...where’s Mattie, Andrew...?”

“...he’s gone,” Those two words made the other’s blood run cold. He didn’t...he didn’t mean- “He’s not dead but...he’s gone...”

“...wh-wha...?” Ezhno could only stare ahead blankly as he heard the twin sigh heavily.

“...when Mattie finally returned to school, the girls avoided him and downright ignored him...I was still heavily sedated so I...I could barely talk to him... I found out later that the guys, the exes, had threatened all of them that if they talk to Mattie, they’d kill me, him and then them... they were so scared for our safety, and, well, as he wrote in the letter for us...it was too much for him,” Ezhno was shaking, a mixture of fear, anger, and disbelief.

“...where are those guys?” His anger bubbled in his chest, but what he hadn’t expected was the soft, tired chuckle from over the phone. “...what are you not telling me, Andie?”

“Well, as I said...Mattie wrote he left because he was so alone and hurt...but I remember...the last night I saw him. He looked so calm and peaceful as we talked. At first, I thought he was calm because he had decided on leaving...

...it’s been a week since he left...and turns out yesterday, three bodies were found; mauled and mutilated. It apparently took a while to finally ID the guys...I think you can guess who they were. Being the place they were at, the police chalked it up to ‘gang-related’, and left it at that...”

“A-Andrew...you can’t be insinuating-”

“I can, and I am,” The black haired male tensed at Andrew’s seemingly calmness over what he was saying. “This has him written all over it...”

“Andrew, are you hearing yourself?! Mattie would never kill someone!” Ezhno snapped. That dear sweet blond he loved so much...he couldn’t! He always looked so guilty for hurting someone!!

“...If I hadn’t seen him nearly do this before, I’d agree with ya, bro,” His heart stopped, emerald eyes widening as he trembled. He was out in Whisper’s den, the wolfdog having been asleep this whole time and only waking at his human’s outburst.

“You’re right on one part; he hates hurting people. He’s got a giant bleeding heart, and he cares so much about others...But you saw what he did when Mel ruined his life; he didn’t do all that because it ruined only his life. It affected you, me, mom and dad...That was why he went out of his way to destroy her image. When he heard she offed herself? Shit, I heard him laugh at that...

...Mattie’s dangerously protective, and between not being able to contact you, nearly losing me twice, and finding out the girls were being threatened?

...I’m damn sure he left because he knew what he was planning on doing...and I don’t think he can face mom and dad for that sort of sin,” Andrew sighed, rubbing his face a little. Ezhno stayed silent, eyes staring hard at the ground, not even reacting as Whisper sat up, pressing his cold, wet nose against the teen, trying to make him feel better.

“He...left a letter for you. He asked in mine that I...that I get it to you. Do you know where I could, uh, mail it to you or something?”

“...Hold onto it for a bit for me, will ya? I’ll...I gotta go...but I’ll come visit and get it myself,”

“...alright. And Ez? I’m...I’m sorry...that I couldn’t have called you sooner about this... I’m so fuckin sorry, man...”

After the call, Ezhno could only cry and scream in frustration, emotions running wild. 

He lost his light, his sun, his life...

He was all alone...

______

My dearest love,

If you’re reading this, then I suppose Andrew managed to get this to you...unless you ARE him, in which case, put the letter back, Andie.

...I wanted to start off by saying; I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for many things; for losing contact with you, for not being stronger, or smarter… but what I’m most sorry for right now, is… that I may not see you for a while… Things have happened, and I’m sure Andie’s told you the brunt of what happened. I can’t stay here anymore, it all...hurts. And I know I’m going to do something I will regret...not because I’ll regret the action, but because of how it will affect all those around me.

...I’m going to be going away for a while. I think I need some time alone...and I don’t think I could face you, not with a clear conscience...but I promise you, I’ll come home to you one day…

...if you...hate me for this, I wouldn’t blame you, or during that time you find another...someone who better deserves you, who makes you happy...I’ll hold no ill will...I just want you to be happy, live happily, and if you find your happiness with another...then I hope one day we can be friends again at least?

I love you, Ezhno. Now and until my dying breath, my heart only belongs to you. And I hope that one day...you can forgive me for this… 

Forever yours,

Mattie

Ezhno read and reread the letter. It’s been two years since then, and he’s never stopped waiting, hoping...looking. With the letter was a cheque, and a post-it note attached to it, asking the other to use it to find a home, and escape his uncle...and after a long while, he’s managed to do so, a small cottage hidden deep within a forest...but that wasn’t where he was right now.

He kept in contact with Andrew, who after a while started getting postcards, never signed, but they knew who it was from...it had to be him. So, here he was in Las Vegas, the last lead they had for now...course, who knows if he was here...but Andrew hadn’t received a new one in a couple months…

It was late, Ezhno wandering the flat with careful eyes. Shops littered the streets, prostitutes shamelessly handing out call cards to passerbyers, and others advertising various casinos and strip clubs, trying to entice customers into pouring their wallets out. The native sighed heavily, before deciding to give up for the night. He had been searching all day...but he figured he’d go get a drink or two before going back to his hotel room.

Finding a gay club he walked in, looking around boredly. It was a lot like the old place he worked at, the major appeal of the place being the anonymity it held with the workers, everyone wearing masks of some sort; some more elaborate, Venetian masterpieces, and others who didn’t seem to mind possibly being recognized, wearing thin wire ‘masks’ that looked more like veils in a way.

Finding a seat, Ezhno waited for one of the servers to come by and take his order as he watched someone perform on stage. They were alright, but an amateur for sure...He guessed they must have started recently.

“Alright gentlemen~ Give a round for our new little kitten~” Called it. Some hollers and whistles were heard, the performer was flustered as he bolted off, mentally making Ezhno chuckle. Sorta reminded him how Mattie would get...so flustered and adorable...but that dancer was brown haired and darker skinned, olive-ish, so he knew it wasn’t him…

“I know, I know, all you hungry dogs are just dying for this next guy~! You know him, and you all love him~ Come and play, Vixen!” Lights cut out for a moment, and as they came back on, the next performer was already center stage, back against the pole as the music kicked up.

This dancer was far better than the last, his body keeping in time with the music. Wearing a small red ‘cloak’ and hood, all that could be seen on his face was his lips as he sang, and the fox-like mask that hid him from the crowd.

♪ Each and every day

Hiding from the sunshine

Wandering in the shade

Not too old, not too young ♪

♪ Every night again

Dancing with the moonlight

Somewhere far away

I can hear your call ♪

His voice rang, his body moving fluidly with the beat before he walked, moving off the stage and towards the crowd. Ezhno hadn’t realized how hard he’d been staring, finally pulling his gaze away as he looked around, seeing all the enchanted men around him, looking just as the DJ said; like nothing more than starved mutts.

♪ Sneaking in the pain

Every truth becomes lie

I won't trust myself

Once I hear your call~  ♪

As the performer walked, he would momentarily sit in some men's lap, teasingly holding their chins, or trailing a finger down their chests. Unless they were slipping bills into his short shorts, any who got handsy were left behind, the performer moving to another customer to tease...at least, until he got to Ezhno.

♪ I'm out of my head

Of my heart and my mind

'Cause you can run but you can't hide

I'm gonna make you mine♪

He slipped himself onto the native’s lap, but unlike any other man, he was all over him, hands none too shyly rubbing the other’s chest. Being so close, Ezhno could see the mask’s subtle details, looking almost like it was painted to look like flames burning around the dancer’s eyes...though trying to see behind it, there was a thin veil of black fabric, hiding the other’s details...they looked almost blue...but not quite...

♪ Out of my head

Of my heart and my mind ♪

The other smirked, moving to the side to nip Ezhno’s jaw ever so slightly, pale hands wrapping around the other in a type of ‘hug, as he grew closer to the older male’s ear.

♪ Cause I can feel how your flesh now

Is crying out for more… ♪

Ezhno felt stunned, but he wasn’t sure why...and questions would be left unanswered as all too soon, the other had slipped off his lap, giving him a small wink as a few gold curls peaked out of the crimson hood… and soon he was back on stage, continuing his routine, many not caring about what just happened, while others were glaring daggers into the native.

When he was done, and a few kisses were blown to the crowd, the dancer disappeared behind the curtain, men hollering and howling. Ezhno though, just stared at the drink he was brought, finally. For the first time in a long one, his heart was racing. 

“Sir?” A larger man walked up to him, a security guard going by the tag on his hip. “Could you please come with me” “Why?” “Well, lets just say that a certain ‘Vixen’s taken a liking to you,” So, the dancer wants to see him? Maybe at least he’s going to get some answers. So, as much as he didn't want to, he ignored the glares and scowls as the guard guided Ezhno, and eventually stopped at one of the private showrooms. 

Walking in, he would see it was set up almost like a miniature version of the main room; a long, plush bench built into the wall at one side, a stage with a pole on the other, and off to the side was a minibar. ‘Vixen’ was currently sitting on the bench, legs crossed and a glass of wine in his hand...to most, the scene would be quite seductive…

“I’m glad you accepted my invitation~” He motioned for Ezhno to sit, and he obliged, but at no point did he look happy. It was obvious he was here for something, and pleasure wasn’t at all a factor here. Vixen moved onto his lap again, but he didn’t do anything, not like out on the floor. “...why did you want me here?” “Mmm, why not~?” The smaller mused, a hand slowly trailed to loosely rest around the other’s neck again, one hand gently dragging a finger along Ezhno’s jawline teasingly. “You’re a new face~” The boy purred, moving ever so closer to Ezhno. “Really?” He growled lowly; this was a waste of his time. “I’m not in the mood to be playing games, fox,” “Ooh~? How boorish~” The other teased. Their noses were nearly touching before squeaking as he was pushed back off and onto the bench as Ezhno got up to leave. He wanted a drink, but now he needed a whole damned bottle…

“...My, my~… Is the Wolf really so upset that he can’t find his little bunny~?”

 His hand gripped the doorknob when he froze, eyes snapping back at the other who was sitting there, an amused grin on his lips. His hood had fallen, revealing the golden blond locks that framed his face, and Ezhno could only stare, emerald eyes wide. “Or maybe he can’t find him...because he was never the ‘innocent little rabbit’ he was believed to be…”

He felt like he was in a trance. Ezhno walked back over, before falling to his knees before the other, disbelief written all over his face. Vixen moved again, slipping down to the floor with the other, wrapping his arms tightly around Ezhno as he pulled the other close, their lips barely touching…

“It’s been a while...mon cher loup~”

#off the clock #ooc #hxnterwxlf #long post #v; school days #tw death mention #tw murder mention

[mspriss-2u]

Before the Fame

*Finally, I have reached the end of this story. I apologize for this taking so long, but some serious writer’s block. Thank you to those who stuck through this with me. I will be getting back to my J.J. Watt roots and maybe some Game of Thrones couples in the future. * 

Chapter 11

Luke had to admit he was a nervous as ever. He knew he was putting everything he had on the field and the sportscasters were projecting him to go in either the first or second round. He knew it wasn’t smart to listen to the gossip, but he had to admit it was exciting. Though football life was going well, he was having issues with extreme guilt. It wasn’t long after his talk with Fiona he had increased his neglect of Janelle. He made his main priority football, until the point where their weekly get together was now once a month. His girlfriend was patient with him so he could do his studies and focus on looking good for the scouts. However, it wasn’t this that was his reason for dying with guilt….he had decided to lie to get what he wanted. A month after his last meeting Fiona he told her him and Janelle had decided to take a break, knowing Janelle hadn’t even a clue he was contemplating ending their relationship. Fiona didn’t ask many questions beyond that. Luke was now being her plus one to important events, spending time at her local penthouse when he was not busy doing his own thing. He knew it was wrong, but he felt himself rekindled with the excitement and connection he felt he was losing with Janelle. It wasn’t fair to her. He knew he would need to say something, but ironically he loved her too much to see her heart break.

XXX

It was the month before the draft.

Janelle kept looking at the computer screen. She had tried to forget it, but she just couldn’t help but be affected by the comments. It had been like this maybe since December, but now that they were only one month from the draft it was ridiculous. It was Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter, and whatever other platform there was ripping her apart. She didn’t anticipate being such a vital part of the media surrounding Luke, especially since he wasn’t officially a NFL player. She knew to expect some local hate from other girls at the school, but to find people from all over the country had an opinion on her from her looks, to her major, to her compatibility with Luke was getting the best of her.

She hadn’t really said much to her boyfriend as he had been busier than ever. She knew this month was probably causing him some serious stress and she was being supportive and understanding as she could, but frustration always rang its ugly head.

As she scrolled through some of the comments, she noticed a picture that made her heart stop.

“NFL prospect with his new beauty at the Player’s Gala.”-read the caption

It was her boyfriend, not with her, but with the woman who was supposed to be working with him. It wouldn’t have been an issue if the picture had not caught him kissing her forehead and her smiling into his neck as they sat next to each other.

Janelle sighed in disbelief. This picture was from three weeks ago.

Her mind was blank as she tried to come up with a rational explanation for this. The decrease in visits, the overly lovey way he would be with her as if guilty. It made sense now. His actions were all driven by the fact he wanted the best of both worlds without giving up anything. Janelle felt the tears on her face, but it didn’t feel nearly as potent as the rage boiling in her. She knew (since there was an actual poster for it) that Luke was at a Banquet for his team honoring those who would be going to the draft, so she wouldn’t be able to get to him. Janelle knew she needed this time to try to calm herself before she went crazy and did something to embarrass herself confronting Luke.

XXX

Luke left the banquet feeling like he was walking on air. It was one thing to get praise from coaches, but to have the guys he played with share their thoughts on working with him was always an awesome feeling. They were the ones that mattered. It was late, but Luke felt in the mood to share some of this ar with Janelle. He had been putting in more effort lately to see her more. It was a few weeks ago, but he had decided to end things with Fiona after four months of being in a fling, or whatever it was. It was three weeks ago at the Player’s Gala when shit hit the fan.

Flashback

Him and Fiona had been all curled up next to each other at their assigned table talking with other people when another prospective player, he noticed from television, had come up to them looking quite angry.

“Hey Fiona! What the fuck’s going on here?” the guy said clearly ready to brawl.

“Matt, please calm down. Nothing is going on. I’m just being friendly,” she said trying to placate him as she placed a gently hand on his arm to pull him away from the table to a more private area. Luke was clearly embarrassed, but concerned as well, because the Matt dude looked like he was ready to punch her.

“That don’t look like friendship Fiona. That looks like a fuck buddy!” Matt said rather loudly.

As embarrassed as Luke was, the longer he listened he started feeling dread and as if he had been duped.

“Matt, Luke is just a really good friend. Sometimes we get carried away with how affectionate we can be,” she said, forgetting Luke was in earshot and could feel himself shattering as she said this.

Matt looked over at Luke as she said this. Luke’s face was red and he knew his eyes were red rimmed.

“No worries man, you can have her. I was just getting ready to leave anyway,” Luke said turning around to make his exit.

Before he could turn, he felt a hand turn him back around and then the world went dizzy. He could hear some commotion faintly in the background, but he was out cold before he could make any sense of it.

Luke found out the next day his friend, Rex had been the one to come get him and take him home. Rex shared that Matt had been one of the clients his agent had signed and Fiona had obviously been dating him too. Wiith some serious coaxing and his actual agent trying to save him as a client, Luke was able to avoid a big media fallout. Fiona had lost her job after that, as her boss saw her as a liability to the company. Luke knew he did not have a right to feel betrayed, because he had done the exact same thing to Janelle. ‘The grass ain’t always greener’ kept rumbling through his mind as he thought back on that incident a few weeks back.

Luke cranked up his car and decided to make a trip to see the one who had been true through this whole thing.

XXX

Frieda was in complete friend mode when she had found Janelle crying her eyes out after getting her text. She had grown quite found of Janelle and to hear that Luke had been a slime ball really made her upset; she really thought he was above it, but then again he was about to be famous in his early twenties. Maybe it was better it happened now than later. As Frieda was soothing Janelle, she heard the knock on the door. When she saw Luke through the peephole, she looked to Janelle to see if she wanted to invite him in. Janelle shook her head no. She wasn’t ready for this now. She was still trying to wrap her head around it all.

“What do you want Luke” Frieda said with a stone face as soon as she cracked the door open.

Luke was taken aback by her tone.

“Umm, I’m here for Janelle. I just wanted to come by and share how the night went,” he said with a tentative smile.

“Well, glad you’ve been getting so lucky, but Janelle doesn’t feel in the mood to talk, especially not to you, so goodbye,” she said slamming the door, but Luke was too quick.

“What the hell Frieda! What’s going on? “ he asked as he had his foot in the door and his forearm keeping her from closing it.

“Janelle! Baby, what’s going on?!” he yelled passed Frieda trying to get his girlfriend’s attention.

Frieda kept trying to push him out, but she was no match for him. Luke pushed past her and saw Janelle puffy faced, tear streaked and looking at him with utter betrayal in her eyes.

‘Fuck, she knows,’ was the thought running through his head.

“Baby, please talk to me. What’s going on?” he pleaded going over to her bending on his knees to be eye level with her.

“Just go Luke, you’ve had your fun. I saw you and your new “beauty” all over social media. Just go and find someone else to play with,” she said in a defeated and tired tone.

Luke shook his head no. “No, I can make this right. I’m an ass. I didn’t know what I had, but all of that is over,” he said weakly.

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place you ass!” yelled Frieda.

“Frieda, I appreciate it, but could you just give us a minute,” a tired Janelle said.

Frieda reluctantly stepped out while they talked.

“Please listen I’m sorry. I love you Janelle. I didn’t mean to do this. I have no excuse for why I did it, but I know now how flawed I was in my thinking. I’m so sorry.”

Janelle just looked at him with pain in her eyes.

“Well we all make mistakes don’t we,” she said nonchalantly.

She got up and walked to the door and opened it.

“ I hope you do well in the draft. I know it is what you have always truly wanted,” she said in a montone voice.

Luke couldn’t believe it. No argument, no pleading just a goodbye.

He got up and walked to the door in defeat. This was it and if she could muster up enough dignity to deal with everything so would he.

Epilogue

“And the Carolina Panthers’ selection for the 9th selection overall in the 2012 NFL Draft …Boston College’s Luke Kuechly!”

As he walked up to the commissioner to receive his shirt, he felt like all the noise in the background had faded. This was his moment. He finally made it. His work had paid off. Luke’s face hurt from smiling so much and doing interviews throughout the rest of the night, but he would never forget the feeling of hearing his name especially in the first round.

It was two weeks after the Draft now and Luke was returning back to Boston after doing conferences in Charlotte and meeting his new team. He knew he would be expected to return for rookie camps in a few more weeks, so he wanted to take time to finish moving his things to his new place in Charlotte and saying goodbye to good friends.

It was his walk across campus, he noticed a familiar figure in the Olive Oil Café. He hadn’t seen or talked to Janelle since the night she told him a gracious goodbye and he walked out of her life. He still felt an ache within from the way things ended with them. However, he had to own it and learn from it. Luke knew at this point in life he needed to focus on adjusting and learning how to deal with this monster called fame. He had to sift fakeness, schemers and plots to get ahead in order to truly give another shot at having a relationship with anyone. Luke gave a wistful smile as he saw Janelle, with an actual smile laughing with Frieda and Callie. He was glad she was finding her happiness and who she was. He continued walking on to go say goodbye to his coach. Maybe in another chapter of life he would be able to face her and show himself to be a better man than he had been.

 THE END

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