#tom at least Try and hide how pleased you are. good grief.

[gregoftom]

i’m soooooooooooo normal about 4x01 btw

#tomgreg #look at this s horse shit !!!!!!!!!!!!!! look! #fucken. greg having to turn his head bc tom made him laugh abt the bag. NO I DONT FIND HIM FUNNY AND CHARMING #and tom looking at his mouth later like. whasnamsaks #AND THEN TOMS LITTOL SMILE WHEN BRIDGET COMES OVER AND PROVES HIM RIGHT #proves his bitchy little comments to greg were right #tom at least Try and hide how pleased you are. good grief. #instead he's just like. c: #sick to bastard death of them

[antihero-writings]

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch1)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Notes: I’ve actually had this idea ever since the first or second time I read Chamber of Secrets. Though Tom has never been my favorite character, I found young Tom interesting, and I always thought things would have gone differently if he had come back when he was Harry’s age. I was always curious if he could have been redeemed if things had gone this way. Now, I know JK Rowling purposely wanted to create an irredeemable villain, so she wouldn’t have redeemed him even then, but I wanted to write a fic playing with that idea myself.

Despite having had this idea for a long time, I didn’t write it because I was afraid I’d bite off more than I could chew, and wouldn’t finish. But this last time I read Chamber of Secrets, I decided I’d just go for it. I’m still afraid I won’t finish, as this is the longest premise of any of my fics posted, (and I haven’t finished any of my other, shorter, long fics…) but I didn’t want that to stop me from at least trying out the idea. Even if I don’t finish it, at least I’ll have something to show for it!

All that being said, if you like this fic and do want me to continue please consider commenting, and/or reblogging. Sometimes one comment can mean the difference between me continuing, and me leaving the fic behind. It really helps to know people are interested.

Above art from the internet. 

Chapter 1:

He didn’t know how fitting it was.

Tom Riddle didn’t know just how fitting it was that the first two things he sensed after waking up were the sound of crying, and the stench of blood.

He didn’t remember how much of his past—or perhaps one could call it his future—was comprised of tears, blood, muffled screaming, and the words avada kadavra! hissed in a cold, high voice that was surely not his own.

Right now, he didn’t remember much of anything at all.

Sixteen years or sixty, he remembered none of pain, the loss, or the victory.

All he knew in this moment was that world was damp and cold, it smelled like death, and someone was weeping.

That was the world to him; an ink spill on living canvas. A hole made in screaming pages.

The sound of weeping was the first thing he knew in this new life—(or this old life, made new)—it echoed and filled the place—whatever the place was—like the slow drip of water in an empty cave; tiny on its own, mistakable in a crowd, but sharp, vast, and overpowering when the world was hollow.

And the world did feel hollow.

He did not wake to a warm, dry hospital bed, a fire, and a heap of get-well cards. His family did not surround him, showering him with love and gratitude, asking what he did and did not remember, and what had happened to their sweet boy. No one held up pictures, pointing to the scenes and people within them fervently demanding remember?!, praying amnesia would leave him sooner rather than later.

Instead he woke to a place in which every sensation burned: cold searched for weaknesses in his damp cloak and slithered across his skin; the smell of blood bored into his nostrils, enough he could almost taste it; and the longer he heard the wailing it burned in his ears too.

Burned because it hurt his heart not just his ears? Because it was sad? Because it mattered, and he needed to know what was wrong?

Surely not.

Burned because it was annoying, and he wanted to shut it up. Burned because it wasn’t a nice sound to wake up to, and whoever they were ought to have more courtesy for orphan boys who just wanted to wake up in peace.

Everything burned because something about feeling, sensing anything at all, was…oddly unfamiliar. Not strange as in a new way; it was like something he once knew well that had been forgotten, left behind for a while, like nostalgia.

And if simply living was this foreign…how long had it been since he was last alive? How long had he been a ghost? And what brought him back to his body?

He opened his eyes.

Sight didn’t change the impression he had received from his other senses; mostly it just added ‘dark’ to the list of not-very-nice things the world was made of. And due to this fact, sight didn’t burn nearly as much as his other senses. Still, the world was crisper, more colorful, somehow, despite its drab nature…

He was in a chamber, a dungeon of sorts—probably underground. Stones and statues, turned brownish-green in the humid atmosphere, lined the walls. Snakes poked their heads out at him from the walls, their eyes glittering as if they’d come alive at any moment. And before him was a particularly large statue of a man.

But, as he sat up, his clothing—long, black robes, with a green patch on the chest—clinging to him uncomfortably, there were a few things sight showed him worth noting:

The first, most obvious, was the gigantic snake lying beneath the statue some ways down the chamber, its scaly green tail glistening in the low light. It was clearly dead; lying still, its belly up. There was blood where its lifeless eyes had been scratched blind, and a hole in the roof of in its gaping mouth, one of its front fangs missing. This was most likely the source of the foul smell. How long had it been dead? Couldn’t have been long, considering the other things around the room…

The second, what may have once been a book. This one was very close to himself. Its pages were ripped out of their bindings, in shreds, surrounding him like fresh snowfall. The leather cover had many holes and gashes in it, apparently made by the missing fang, which also lay beside the book, blackened ink on its tip—(but can words bleed?)—the book mutilated beyond repair. This was one of the strangest sights. It was almost as if someone—probably the person crying—blamed it for their problems and took their anger out on it, before that anger became the sorrow that resonated through the chamber now.

The third was a gleaming orange and red bird, long tail feathers unfurled on the floor, like a flame, its head held high, sitting quietly beside the mourner. It didn’t look like it didn’t belonged in such a grim place—like a rich person walking in a slum.

There was another glittering thing beside him: a silver sword with jewels encrusted in the hilt. This was likely the cause of the snake’s death, especially considering it had blood coating it.

A little way from it was a pile of raggedy brown fabric. …He couldn’t quite tell what it was supposed to be.

The sixth: the source of the crying, a boy. He had unruly black hair, and his black robes—(the same robes, he noted, that he himself was wearing, or very similar)—were christened with the blood and slime of beasts—(and maybe men, he couldn’t know)—and ink. He was possessed by the demon that was tragedy; his entire form shaking, heaving, whether from sadness or rage, or both, only time, and a healthy dose of good questioning would tell.

The last thing of note, and what was most likely the source of the tears: a corpse. A girl specifically, with red hair—almost as fiery as the bird’s feathers—ashen skin, and, once again, the black robes—(must be a uniform of some sort). Perhaps they were at a school? Quite a dreary school it was, if so. She was small, apparently young.

The scene was both a lot, and not much, to go on.

Three living things—one without memory, another without peace—two dead, and four inanimate, one of the inanimate things more mauled than any of the living or dead.

His mind started to provide theories about the scene,

Theory one:

The snake had killed the girl, the boy had taken up the sword and killed it in outrage.

Made sense, but that still left the diary, the bird, and himself. As well as the pile of fabric…

He didn’t see the bird having a big role in this; his best guess was that it belonged to the boy, as it seemed loyal to him, sharing his grief, and that its role was the scratch marks on the snake’s eyes, helping the boy defeat it.

Theory two: The girl had written something in her diary the boy didn’t like, perhaps something about he himself. He had torn the diary apart, and in a jealous rage sent his pet snake after her, but regretted it after the snake went too far and killed her, and decided to kill it after all.

Theory three: Reverse of roles; the diary was the boy’s, and she had found it, and he was either mad she found it and tore it, or she had after finding something she didn’t like in it, potentially about him, and the offended party let loose the snake.

Theory four: The snake belonged to neither of them, it was by accident they happened to wake it, or stumble into its home while fighting about this diary.

But why did they find an underground chamber the best place for an argument? Did they live here? Was this a normal place for them to spend time? Like some sort of secret hideaway? Were they in hiding from something?

Four(a): Or else were they on some quest to find it—was the snake guarding treasure? Did the diary hold the map to it, and they tore it simply to keep anyone else from finding it, or else falling into the same trap?

Theory five: The diary was his own; not the boy's or the girl's. He had some relationship to one or both of them that went awry.

Five(a): The snake was his own, and he had set it loose on the girl for some reason, perhaps he was the jealous and angry party here.

Theory six: The snake didn’t kill the girl.

Six(a): She was already dead or dying before the snake even arrived. Maybe the snake's venom, or something else about this chamber, was meant to cure her and failed.

Six(b): The boy killed her. Perhaps in his aforementioned jealous rage he had took the sword to her himself, and now he regretted it.

Six(c): He himself killed her.

He sat up, blinking at the dreary universe. The boy didn’t hear him, just kept on crying. It was a very tiresome noise to hear so constantly.

He reached over and, quietly as possible, drew the diary closer. What made its disfigurement all the stranger was that every page he could see appeared blank. People didn’t usually have qualms with blank diaries—it was the words that people were so touchy about.

When he lifted up the cover, he could see beneath the gashes a name: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The sight of the name sent a curious sensation through his stomach; he didn’t remember who it belonged to, but the name set a fire boiling in his gut, a bubbling, swirling, writhing fire within him. A fire that threatened to destroy everything around it too.

He looked up at the mourner. Was that his name? Or was the girl, in fact, a very petite, long-haired boy? Did the diary belong to no one present, and it was the secrets within, not the owner, that mattered? But there were no words at all, let alone any secrets…

Or…was it perhaps his own? His own name that he didn’t even remember.

Sitting here theorizing wasn’t going to get him any closer to the truth.

It didn’t seem like a good idea to disturb the boy in his grief, but he didn’t have much choice—losing your memory is an ordeal of its own, you know.

He got to his feet—this sensation too didn’t feel completely mundane to him. Everything felt nostalgic—like in some fond childhood he walked, and smelled, and saw, and heard, but as he grew up, sense left him, and he forgot what it meant to be alive. His damp clothes clung to his body, making him shiver.

His footstep broke the atmosphere; the first new sound in the stagnant place, the pieces of peace cutting through the tears. The boy gasped—the kind of raw gasp, full of dread and despair, one takes when they realize the dragon is awake.

But the dragon in this particular chamber was slain…

His slow steps filled the chamber, an ominous repetition, the ticking of a clock.

When he got close, the boy’s hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword, the metal twinkling in the dim light, scraping and clattering on the stone as it moved.

“I’d stay back if I were you,” his voice was soft but solid, dangerous, wet with tears, shaking with rage, hoarse from screaming.

He stopped. He didn’t know what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

Hmm…What to ask? ‘Why’s that?’ ‘What happened here?’ ‘Who are you, who was she, and, while you’re at it, who am I?’

The scene was still fresh; if he touched the embers it might reignite.

“And…If you were me, what would you do?” he decided to ask. Speech, words forming on his tongue, felt odd too… but it was the sound of his voice that caught him most off guard…why? Had he been expecting to hear something different?

It was an odd question; he could tell the boy wasn’t expecting it. He paused. Then he scoffed,

“I’ll never be like you.” Then his voice grew quiet and dangerous, “But if I were in your place…I would run. As far away as I could, and as fast as I could, before I found out what the famous Harry Potter is capable of when you take something important from him.”

An even odder response.

The boy turned. One of his most defining features was the circular-rimmed, cracked glasses he wore. That, and the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which was red and irritated. Seeing this scar, for some reason, made ire rise in Tom’s throat too. His glasses shielded eyes of a bright green which also heralded from a distant memory.

Bright, but dark. A green that pierced the veil of shadows, yet reflected the rest of the world. He wondered if he had ever seen such hatred in someone’s eyes before, in that past he didn’t remember. They burned as bright as the bird by his side, bright as the girl’s hair. They were bright enough to set the chamber ablaze, dark enough to enact the threats in all the room’s corners. Yet his name didn’t immediately come to mind.

Harry Potter. That was what he said his name was. Once said aloud, the name was more familiar than sensation itself; a burning scar upon his mind, never quite healed. The name was rage, and humiliation itself to him…though he couldn’t place the source of these emotions; no memories came to mind.

They were enemies.

Only two names he knew so far, and both sent the same sort of mad fury through him. Curious.

He couldn’t be more than twelve years old. Twelve years old was quite the young age to be defeating monsters, watching girls die, and to hold such hatred in one’s eyes. Very young to be so hated by he himself.

He was just a kid. Did this Harry Potter really deserve all this?

Why did they hate each other so much? Was it normal for him to hate twelve-year-old boys?

Come to think of it, how old was he himself? He sounded young, not much older than him. But he didn’t feel young.

Why did he hate him so much?

It was starting to look like Theory six(c) might be the most likely.

He didn’t take his advice. He didn’t know much about himself, but he didn’t think he was one to take people’s advice, especially not that of his enemies. In ignorant defiance he took a step forward.

“Stay back!” Harry Potter barked, as vicious as a loyal guard dog.

That same hatred he felt buzzed behind his words.

Another step.

He held up the sword.

“I’m warning you.” Tom knew the threat in his voice was very real.

Yet he came closer. Close enough to see the face of the girl.

He didn’t recognize her. Predictable, but aggravating. He had hoped that perhaps seeing her would bring him to his senses. Alas, she was just a dead girl.

He leaned in closer.

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!!” the boy’s words, along with the sword, were at his throat without a second to spare.

He simply flicked his gaze to him; no sign of shock or emotion at his outburst on his features.

The world must burn for this boy too. Burn, not because of sensation itself was strange, but because what he felt was currently was too much to bear.

Hatred, horror, heartbreak…hell. It all blazed and overflowed in his eyes.

He backed up one step, then another, and kept backing away until the sword was no longer close to his skin. Harry could have easily followed him, keeping the threat alive, but it seemed staying by the girl, protecting her lifeless body was his highest priority—Why? What could he possibly do now that she was dead? Was he prone to mutilate dead girls? Was his touch repugnant enough on its own to warrant such violence?

The anger was still white-hot, but confusion was in the boys’ eyes too now.

Yes, six(c) seemed pretty likely.

So, how had he lost his memory? He himself didn’t seem hurt in the slightest physically, he didn’t even have so much as a spitting headache to tell him he’d knocked his head hard enough to lose his memory. It didn’t appear as though he and the boy had dueled, despite the indication they were opponents, and the sword in his hand. Nothing indicated how he could lose his memory, or why…or, come to think of it, why he was still alive.

If it was true he had killed her, that they were enemies, why hadn’t Harry killed him in his sleep? He surely had the chance, in the midst of all the wailing. Why didn’t he walk up to him, send that sword through him and be done with it? Why didn’t he fight him, run him through, now? Tom was clearly unarmed, and Harry was likely the one who killed the snake, clearly he had the upper hand, the power to do so. It all made too much sense.

He could tell he wanted to.

…The diary. It must be connected to everything. Would it reveal the truth of the situation, and his lost memories? Everything seemed to trace back to it. From the looks of things, it was the source of the scene…and it was the most confusing part of the scenario. If he started with it, perhaps he could get somewhere.

He sauntered back to it, crouched down and picked up the mangled cover, staring at the name, the holes where someone—presumably Harry—had stabbed it, a few blank pages hanging limply out of the binding. But why would he hurt an inanimate diary?

“Who’s Tom Riddle?” he asked.

#harry potter #tom riddle #severus snape #harry potter au #voldemort #young voldemort #harry potter fanfiction #hp au #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fic #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #hp #hp fandom #harry potter fandom #harry potter and the chamber of secrets #hpatcos #chamber of secrets #chamber of secrets AU #harry potter books #hptacos fanfiction #hptacos au #severitis #harry potter & tom riddle #Harry potter & severus snape #potterhead #Albus Dumbledore #potterheads

[im-the-punk-who]

Hey, I was wondering if you have a book rec

!!

Okay so in full disclosure, I have a really hard time reading books. My brain sometime around six years ago just decided that wasn't its style anymore, so I don't read a TON. A lot of these aren’t going to be recent releases. However, here are a bunch of books I would absolutely recommend checking out! I tried to include a variety of genres but I have uh.....five bookshelves in my apartment so if you're looking for more of a certain genre let me know!

Theatre:

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead - Tom Stoppard

Waiting for Godot - Samuel Beckett

These are my two favorite plays - they're both absurdist, humorous, and have some fun things to say. They’re both by old white guys but like....I love both Tom Stoppard and Samuel Beckett DEEPLY and they have all of my love and respect.

Non-Fiction/Educational:

Why are all the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria by Beverly Daniel Tatum - this is considered a 'classic' on the psychology of racism, and was particularly helpful for me as a white person in arming myself against 'reverse racism' thoughts and in dissembling my own prejudices. This is mostly a rec for other white folks, but Tatum also addresses 'having the courage to sit at the black table' as a way of claiming your own identity outside of the stereotypes the dominant society expects of you.

Daring Greatly by Brene Brown - Okay listen I just really REALLY love Brene Brown, she is a therapist most famous for her TED talk about Vulnerability and this is just...listen I really like to read this book when I am sad and feel like shit because it makes me feel strong. I reread this book at least once a year.

Imagined Communities by Benendict Anderson - This is an absolutely fascinating read on the rise of nationalism. It’s a bit dry and wordy, but the ideas and use of history as propaganda, spinning the story of a nation to pit it against or on the same side as other nations, and the ways in which these tactics shaped cultural history is just!!!! Amazing.

Gay New York by George Chauncey - This is just one of the most informative and interesting reads of queer history in New York that I’ve ever come across. It’s one of the ‘must reads’ of queer history and has so many interesting tidbits that I have to recommend it. It’s a bit old(published in 1994) but I still find it relevant and interesting to read.

Personal Fiction/Autobiographical Fiction

White Girls by Hilton Als - I went to a reading of this book when it first came out. It was so much fun and so eye-opening for me as a baby queer in NYC that I bought the book there. I wanna be really clear that Als does not pull punches and a lot of people don’t quite like it, but I love Als’ style of writing. The stories and essays in this book are amazing and funny and heartbreaking and informative of queer experience - particularly black queer experience - that I always feel like...honored? to experience through writing? This is one of those ‘you’re gonna suffer but you’re gonna be happy about it’ reads - it can be hard to face because of how very hard the pills are to swallow but like....gosh I just love this book and it’s interesting and hilarious and great.

Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins  - this is my tin hat favorite. It hits....ugh. This is one of those books that came out and like every government agency freaked the fuck out over it. It’s an interesting look into the quote-unquote dark underbelly of capitalism; how and why countries manipulate each other through economic policies. Super interesting read with a nice style of prose.

The Know-It-All: One Man's Humble Quest to become the Smartest Person in the World by A.J. Jacobs Okay so full disclosure I have not finished reading this, but I’m far enough through to rec it. This book chronicles the author’s attempt to read the entire Encyclopedia Brittanica from front to back, and it is just as kooky and hilarious as it sounds. I am very incredibly and deeply offended this author stole both my schtick and my initials, thereby preventing me from doing this exact thing. I read through the phone book in its entirety when I was three. I had it in me. Anyway, this is basically the author just listing weird interesting facts he’s read about and connecting them to his daily life, but it’s a fun read, and you learn a lot of totally useless facts, which is absolutely my jam.

When Skatboards Will Be Free by Saïd Sayrafiezadeh - HI I LOVE THIS BOOK. I’ve read it maybe three times over. It’s so fun and interesting. You may notice that a lot of the books I rec are very absurdist in their humor, and this is no exception. This book is full of the dry wit and just weird goddamn shit you could only expect from the child of a revolution that never came. You want to read a book about someone who Went Through Shit? Read this book. It’s funny and heartbreaking and just. AHHHH. Seriously I cannot recommend this enough.

Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosch - FIGHT ME ON THIS. I love this book.....so much. Yes it’s technically a comic book but the stories are so INTERESTING and hilarious and full of exactly the dry absurdist humor I eat the fuck up. Also! Allie Brosch recently released a sequel of sorts called Solutions and Other Problems that I recommend without even reading it.

Poetry

Pansy by Andrea Gibson - IF YOU ARE NOT READING THE POETRY OF ANDREA GIBSON WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING WITH YOUR LIFE. I cried seven times reading this book. There are only like 14 poems. Please please read this to break your own queer heart :)

Bloodsport by Yves Olade - This is a tiny book full of absolutely devastating poetry. Most of it has to do with the grief of relationships, but like....gosh I love all of Olade’s stuff. (Also!! This is available as a pay-what-you-wish pdf!!)

Bright Dead Things by Ada Limón - This book focuses a lot on the author’s experiences of loss, and knowing that loss is going to happen. I’m completely devastated every time I read this.

Science Fiction/Fantasy

The Bartimeaus Sequence by Jonathan Stroud - So what if I am a dumb millennial I love this series. It’s another dry and deadpan humor, with weird additions and Stroud’s use of footnotes to absolutely crack me the fuck up means I gotta rec this. I just gotta. Four(I think?) books following the deeply unlikeable Nathaniel and his Djinn Bartimaeus, who just wants to eat humans and have a deeply enjoyable enemies to lovers plotline with his arch rival.

The Magic's Price Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey - Okay I know I’ve recced this before. I will rec it again. This was the very first series I ever read that featured a gay protagonist and I was. Devastated? Reformed? I latched onto Vanyel Ashkevron and I am never letting this depressed emo boy go. Try me, I bite. Seriously, this book was released in the 80s and yet it is still relevant, I still cry - god i LOVE this series SO MUCH. And, MERCEDES LACKEY actually invented unbury your gays, sorry I make the rule on that one. :) Also there are magic talking horses??????? Seriously please read this series I love it so much.

Fire Bringer & The Sight by David Clement-Davies - This is another series that was absolutely formative in my baby lexicon. These are books about magical animals and their inner societal workings and both books address the ideas of good, evil, darkness, compassion and good will, and destiny. I am obsessed with these books, they are some of the most interesting of the genre I’ve read, and so incredibly intricately written. LOVE these books.

Vampire Earth Series by E. E. Knight - The Witcher before it was cool. Sort of but like...there are schools of Cat, Bear, etc and it has COOL VAMPIRES I LOVE THSI SERIES. Basically, earth has been taken over by a race of alien ‘Vampires’ and follows a human involved in the resistance. The writing in this series is...wow. It’s so intricate and interesting and involved. I own the whole series because I love it so much, including the after-series hardback novels. I’m so messy and I love it.

Kindred by Octavia Butler - You know how people are like ‘YOU SHOULD READ OCTAVIA BUTLER!!’ ? You should absolutely do that. This novel is mindblowing and interesting and the pace and narrative are so so so interesting. Heartbreaking, god, horrific. Butler is an amazing writer and this novel, while my personal favorite, is not by any means the only of her books I would recommend. STORIES. STORIES!!!!!!!

Fiction

The Ballad of Barnabas Pierkiel: A Novel by Magdalena Zyzak - This book is so fucking good. It’s imaginative, funny, intelligent....it’s honestly one of the best fiction novels I’ve ever read. Again, dry, absurdist humor, this book sort of reminds me of Terry Pratchett’s style of writing.

The Call of the Wild by Jack London - This is a classic, a true classic. The social commentary of this book is so so good, London’s style flows and, personally, as a dog and animal expert, the anthropomorphisation of Buck and his fellow animals is just so well done. I love this book, it’s quite an easy read, and I reread it at least once a year.

Rolling the R's by R. Zamora Linmark - Okay. Okay okay!!!!!! I gotta take a deep breath about this one. This book is. Yuh. This is a bit younger leaning than the other fictions, focusing almost entirely on high school level characters, however the experiences and commentary is just so so good. Focusing on a diverse group of characters growing up in Hawaii in the 1970′s, this book addresses the intersectionalities of gender, sexuality, race, immigration, education, and how we define who we are. I’m obsessed.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles - A heartbreaking novel about war, innocence, adolescence, and how we hide from our truths. It’s...so good, this book hurts me a LOT okay. The prose is phenomenal, the story is poignant, and it feels like I’m ripping my own heart out with a fishhook every time I finish it.

The Toss of a Lemon by Padma Viswanathan - This is one of those books I half recommend because it’s so good, and half because of the deep wealth of knowledge it presents the reader. The author’s use of her own culture is just....goddddddddd. Intricate and interesting and so delicately included in the narrative that you can feel the love the author has for it. It’s a long read and it took me almost a month to get through reading every day, but god. It’s so soft and amazingly written I both wanted to read it all at once and take my time with it. This is another one that deals with the duality of humanity and how we connect with one another. Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!

P.S. Your Cat Is Dead by James Kirkwood Jr. - I love this book I love this book I LOVE THIS BOOK. It’s fucking hilarious, entertaining, I literally laughed out loud at every single chapter. Hilarious and poignant and surprisingly deep, this book literally follows the journey of a man in which literally everything that could go wrong does. It’s fucking hilarious.

I hope that helped and gave you some new books!!! <3

#long post #book recs #milo writes

[coffeeblack75]

20 Fic Questions for 2020

Thank you so much for these, curator-on-ao3​ – such a great idea!

1. Fandoms you wrote for this year

Star Trek Voyager, one for Picard.

2. Favorite fic you wrote this year

Your Shadow Falling (Caesar). It may not the best fic I’ve written technique-wise, or anything-wise, but it’s the one closest to my heart and of which I’m most proud. I loved writing about Chakotay in the place he is in that fic; I loved of the adult relationship of equals I wrote for C/R and hinted at with J/C – it represents the development of my understanding of Chakotay and Rios, and J/C. But, most importantly, I loved all the behind-the-scenes that brought me to the spot from which I could write it: it wouldn’t exist without @traccigaryn – all the discussion we had over the year on the characters and in developing this fic series, and her ideas in Wherever We’re Lost (Jupiter), which she graciously let me spring from in my story.

3. Favorite fic you read this year

You are kidding, right? ‘Fic’ is plural, right? 😂 I could not hope to pick just one! Here are some of the fic that I’ve loved and/or which have been influential to me in terms of my writing and/or my understanding of the characters this year:

Between Decks 4 and 5 by @traccigaryn (J/C, G-rated) – the adult J/C conversation the show owed us

if you came this way, by tree (J/C, E-rated) – this beloved fic does not need a gush, surely?

Sparks, by Jaye_Voy (C/P, E-rated) – for its exploration of Chakotay’s (and Tom’s) backstory, among other things ...

Motif by Filenotch (C/P/T, E-rated) – a wonderful look at B’Elanna and Chakotay’s friendship, among other things ...

BlackVelvet’s Lucky (J/C, M-rated) – so much wisdom in this fic!

@curator-on-ao3’s Cutting it Close (J/C, G-rated) – beautiful in every way

Pessa’s Final Bell (J/C, G-rated) – an example of the kind of closure J/C could have had on the show

(Oh How I Need) Someone To Watch Over Me, by zjofierose (J/C, E-rated) – the first fic I read that paid Chakotay some of his due. I cried the first time I read it! (And the next few times!)

Soft Light by northernexposure (J/C, E-rated) – the first E-rated I ever read ... I’ve not been the same since! 😏

Feels So Good (G-rated) and Venice (E-rated) by @killermanatee – gorgeous, adult J/C

Good grief, I have to stop ... We are blessed in this fandom with so many incredibly talented writers!

4. Favorite opening line/scene you wrote this year

Ah! I normally hide from openings, lol. Perhaps the first few lines from Blue Sky:

She remembers the sky was so blue, like Earth’s. And the sun on their backs and the feel of his hand in hers and a monkey that always interrupted but was never unwelcome in the fullness of a life that stretched out before them.

5. Favorite ending line/scene you wrote this year

The last line to Slippery Slope:

She’s not a poet. But there is a song in her now.

6. A trope you wrote this year

Corn porn?! 😂 Does that count as a trope in the Voy fandom? In The Other Side. Or ... first-time sex – I wrote a few of those!

7. Pairings you wrote this year

J/C, Chakotay/Cristobal Rios, Janeway/Neelix (hahahhahhaha!)

8. A fic regret from this year

I don’t think I have any regrets. All of the fic I wrote are what they are and were the best I could do at the time I wrote them, so I’m just pleased I achieved what I did! They’re all stepping stones!

9. A song that helped you write

Again, just one!? Nope! I write all my fic to songs – I usually have a playlist for each fic! I’ll restrain myself and just hit you with three ...

Phoria’s Yourself Still (listened to when writing Slippery Slope mainly, but also Someplace You Know)

Heavy Metals by Noah Gundersen (various WIP fic – it’s my get-J/C-to-a-place-where-they-can-be-together song)

Beast by Wednesday’s Wolves (listened to when writing WIP fic as part of my Other Side series and ... my vamp!Chakotay WIP)

10. Total number of fics you posted

13 (one of which was written in 2019 [Space] but only posted this month)

11. Total number of words you posted

44,199 (not including Space) – I ... cannot believe I wrote that much! 😵

12. Most popular fic written this year

Someplace You Know – in terms of kudos and hits combined. Looking at hits:kudos, it would be Blue Sky. I have a feeling though that The Other Side was actually my most popular, but this is not really reflected in raw stats.

13. Least popular fic this year

By hits and kudos, probably Reflection, a little Janeway/Neelix drabble. I’ve no idea why that one hasn’t been more popular? 🤷😂

14. Longest completed fic you posted this year

Someplace You Know – 10,529 words.

15. Shortest completed fic you posted this year

Reflection and Made It, both drabbles at 100 words each.

16. Favorite character to write about this year

Chakotay. Of course. I expect this will be the same every year!

17. A fic you didn’t expect to write

Um ... all of them? They come from ... strange inspiration. Perhaps I’ll go with The Other Side. I was feeling especially crappy about my writing prior to writing that and the wonderful @caladeniablue gave me a prompt and a pep talk and ... corn. She gave me corn. And away I went!

18. Most memorable comment or review

Probably this one from @mia-cooper on This Day:

YES. This is a diamond with a crack right through it and it's so perfect. Love the despair, love how bleak this is. Love that there's not even a shred of a happy ending. Fucking yeah. #2020MOOD

19. Fics you wanted to write but didn’t

I think I started all the ones I wanted to write at this stage. I do wish I’d got further along with my vampire!Chakotay one though!

20. Something to write next year

Vampire!Chakotay, ofc. It’ll have him on the label, but it will (probably!) be a story about KJ growing and dealing with some of her issues, so she can best help him. And smut, naturally. And my fun ooc Indiana Jones J/C AU. I just want to keep learning and progressing as a writer, trying different genres, writerly techniques, learning to plot properly, etc.

It’s been an amazing year in this fandom – my first full year! Thank you to all the wonderful people who’ve welcomed and helped me along the way with my writing – in discussion, in betaing, in reading. ❤️

And if you’re reading this and a fic writer, consider yourself tagged to answer these questions too! 🤗

#fic rec #star trek voyager #20 fanfic questions #star trek #my fic #star trek picard

[kyloswarstars]

Come on! • Part 1 – „A Stranger“

Peaky Blinders • Mini-Series

Vendetta had brought your family back to Small Heath for a while. As a Blinder you received orders from Tommy like everyone else did as well. Your current one: Keep eyes on Bonnie Gold. When you first heard those words you wouldn’t have dared to imagine this order would take a complete turn on you.

Pairing • Bonnie Gold x Shelby!Reader

Words • 2.1k

A/N • This Mini-Series is following the events of Peaky Blinders S4 (means: SPOLERS). Lemme know if you like ittttt 🌚

Come on! • masterlist

/////

There was one rule you had set for yourself: Never. Fucking. Care. You did what you pleased. With anything, anyone, at anytime. Life was too short – perfect example: your brother John – to stick to someone else’s ideals or follow the law. Or, worst of all, society’s expectations.

Being a Shelby was innate. Being a Blinder was a choice. One your brothers may have disliked because you were together with Finn, the youngest Shelby, but… you didn’t care. The first time you stole a Peaky cap and caused havoc was thrilling. Who said only the boys could have fun? Yes, society. And what did you do about that? Exactly, you didn’t fucking care.

You should probably care a little more sometimes as it would be good for your own health, but after John passed recently, that thought was thrown in the cut before put into reality.

Being back in Small Heath, due to the vendetta, didn’t automatically mean everything was back to normal. A lot of things were different. Your temper, boiling under your skin and making you want to destroy something, was the same as ever. It was fuelled by dismay over the grief that was still lurking. Every other day it dragged you into this black cloud. The strange thing was that it felt so soft, so easy to fall into it. And once you let yourself fall and started to grieve, it seized you tighter, not wanting to let you breathe again. Once you cried, you wouldn’t be able to stop. So, whenever you felt that grief creeping up on you, you harshly removed yourself out of this black cloud before you couldn’t stop missing John anymore.

One of the disadvantages of running away from your feelings: Your temper, this always hungry beast inside of your chest, asked for an outlet. Throughout the day this outlet came in the shape of boxing. Even as a kid you had imitated Arthur throwing punches whenever something was troubling you. The physical exhaustion numbed your thoughts. But in the nights, boxing wasn’t so easy. Punching air didn’t do shit.

Standing in your old room at Watery Lane, already having pulled every piece of clothing out of the wardrobe and the pillow cut open, feathers flowing around the room, you took a look in the mirror. The way you viewed yourself was normal to you – you knew it wasn’t how most of the others viewed themselves, though. You just didn’t care at all for your appearance. The time people spent with worrying over their appearances was just wasted lifetime to you. What did it matter how you looked in the end? Everyone dies no matter what you look like.

Dead. John is dead. Tiny black clouds were reaching out for you, trying to make you sit on them and carry you into their nightmare land. Not with me.

Not being able to throw your fists into a punching bag, you closed them around the scissors you found in a drawer. In the rush of letting out air, getting free of that intense feeling of being trapped, you didn’t care at all when you took the scissors and started to chop your hair of – strand for strand.

All of the cut hair gathered at your bare feet, tickling between your toes. With every trim your breathing returned to a steadier rhythm. The mess on your head, when the scissors couldn’t cut anymore hair, didn’t allow you to fully settle yet. Opening the door and glancing into the hallway, none of your siblings seemed to be awake – every door was closed but one. You rushed to the only door being open: John’s old room. And indeed you found an old bar of shaving soap and brush in his bedside cabinet.

Picking up your knife, which had been laying on the floor with your shoes, you soaked the shaving brush in some water, swirled it over the soap and applied the rising foam on the remnants of your hair. It was the first time ever you felt a blade being pushed over your head and it was great. You could almost hear every single hair being relentlessly shaved off. The thoughts wouldn’t leave your brain faster, without hair in the way, but you were finally able to fall asleep now, once you were done shaving your head.

/////

Sun was just starting to rise outside, meaning you didn’t sleep that long, but at least a little bit. Throwing on some pants and a shirt, you grabbed your bag and cap after brushing your teeth.

The betting shop was still quiet but that would change soon. You planned on being out of the house by then.

Arthur was sitting in the kitchen, having some breakfast and sipping on his tea. When he saw you coming in, he choked on a sip. Crashing the cup down to the table, he coughed it out, looking at you in shock. „Y/N, what the fuck happened to your hair?“

„It’s gone,“ you shrugged.

„Yeah, I can see that.“

„So… then you know what happened,“ you teased and grabbed a slice of bread, making your way to the door.

„Nah, you’re ain’t going nowhere.“ Arthur got up and pointed over to the betting shop. „Tommy has an order for you.“ A small chuckle escaped him. „And I’m gonna go with you to see his reaction on your baby head. Can’t miss out on that.“

If you cared you would’ve hit him for saying you looked like a baby with the bald head but you really, really didn’t care. It was the awaiting order which you cared about. You just wanted to leave for King Maine’s, not being bothered with a job to do first.

When you entered the office, Tommy didn’t look up. Only when you reached his desk did he spend a second on diverting his eyes from papers to Arthur and you. For a moment, Tom’s eyes were fixated on your head, you knew because they were looking to high up for the goal being your eyes, but he didn’t care. Just like you.

„New order, Y/N. Keep an eye on Bonnie Gold when you’re at the boxing hall. Need to know how he’s keeping up.“

Bonnie Gold? The guy who had shot a man at John’s funeral, rode by with his father on a horse and later killed another Italian, one of Changretta’s men? „I’m not a fucking babysitter, Tom.“

„You’re not. You’re my messenger. So go do your work.“

„Even worse,“ you muttered under your breath, but that was how Blinder business worked. You did as you were told.

Leaving Watery Lane before anyone else could stop you, your excitement was slightly impaired. King Maine’s was your hiding spot where you went to when everything got too much. You punched your thoughts out, your grief and also your fucking heart because some days even feeling it beat in your chest seemed to be too much to take. All you could hope for was to have some peace before he would show up at King Maine’s. 

That wasn’t the case, though. Bonnie Gold was already there. Of course he would be.

Your immediate reluctance to ‚keep an eye on someone‘ faded as you entered the hall and stood there, watching him for a minute. It wasn’t even eight and Bonnie was already sweat-soaked, fully invented into mauling a punch bag. That was some dedication right there. 

Leaning on a pillar and still observing him, some of the other boxers greeted you silently. For a long time you were visiting King Maine’s now and never has there been any strange glances or lewd whistles. Perks of being a Shelby probably.

His fists slowed down. Bonnie placed some final punches then let go of the sandbag, went over to a bench, and grabbed a bottle. While he was drinking he looked around and eventually spotted you.

You didn’t hide you were watching him. Actually, you stared right back in his eyes from afar. Until Maine shouted from the other end of the boxing hall to not distract the Gold boy. Cautiously regaining your balance, you grabbed your bag and went to change in this super tiny lumber room. It was your own personal changing room, provided by King Maine with some reluctance. But as a Shelby one of your brothers, if not yourself, always made sure you were treated the right way.

Starting your boxing session, your thoughts that had kept you awake all night until you chopped of the hair, were slowly starting to fade. You hit them right into the punch bag where you wished they would stay forever. From time to time you felt two eyes on your back. And whenever you turned around you stared back at those two eyes, Bonnie Gold’s eyes.

The first boxers who had come to King Maine’s studio in the morning were replaced by a few other locals by now. It were always the same guys here. Fellas, pretty loyal to the Shelby’s, and most of them trying to become a Blinder one day. But except for a handful they were just pricks, all mouth and no trousers. If you gave them a cap to cut someone’s eyes they would probably shit themselves.

By noon you had tired your lungs out, your clothes were soaked in sweat, and you granted yourself a minute on a bench before you would go back to Watery Lane for lunch.

Bonnie Gold was still there. He walked over to you when you started to unwrap the bandages on your hands.

„I know you’re supposed to watch me.“ His voice didn’t sound like you had expected it. It was calm and almost a little teasing. 

Only looking up for a second, you turned your attention back to the bandages. Untangling them was a profession you still hadn’t managed after all those years. „A strange way to start a conversation with a stranger.“

„You’re not a stranger.“ He sat down next to you.

I didn’t invite you to sit with me, you thought. „I never talked to you before so I would call you a stranger.“ 

„Okay, then let me restart.“ He turned towards you and reached out his hand for you to shake it. „I’m Bonnie Gold.“

„I know.“ You didn’t shake his hand as a matter of principle. Strangers, even though he wasn’t really a stranger, didn’t get body contact from you. Maybe during a training fight in the ring but not because society expected you to shake someone’s hand even though you rather liked to keep your personal space.

„See! You know who I am. And I know who you are.“ He didn’t mind you not shaking his hand; he only grinned at himself.

„Doesn’t change the fact you’re still a stranger.“ You rolled up the bandages, which you were finally able to wrap off your hands, and shot him a smirk. 

„A stranger you’re supposed to watch.“ Bonnie winked at you. „But Tommy gave me orders too.“

The question as to why he even knew you were supposed to keep your eyes on him popped up but you really didn’t care for that. „Well, there are two things you need to know, Bonnie Gold. First thing: Tommy gives out orders to everyone, including me. I may have gotten an order but the second thing is: I don’t do things, not even following Tommy’s orders, if I don’t enjoy doing them.“

„Is that so?“ His smirk still didn’t leave his lips. He seemed to quite enjoy this conversation.

„Indeed,“ you confirmed your previous statement, kinda playing along with this vibe.

Bonnie leaned over a little and lowered his voice so only you were able to hear him. „Didn’t your brother also tell you to stay away from dangerous men?“ 

Leaning in as well, mimicking him: „You think you’re a dangerous man? To me?“ This thought made you actually laugh out loud for a second.

„I killed men,“ he stated in all seriousness.

„So did I,“ you returned, enjoying the blindsided expression on his face. „I guess that equals it out.“

Bonnie Gold slowly found his grin again, stood with his hands up in surrender. „One point for you.“ He walked off but decided to come back once more. „If you’re willing to we should get in the ring together for a training. I think this could be interesting.“

Contemplating it, you stood as well, slowly backing up. „Tomorrow at seven. I promise I’ll go easy on you.“ Hearing him laugh at your words when you turned and left for the small lumber room, you had to grin again. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad having to keep your eyes on him. He was kinda… cute.

#peaky blinders #fanfiction #imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #bonnie gold #peaky blinders bonnie gold #peaky blinders bonnie #bonnie gold x reader #bonnie gold x shelby!reader #bonnie gold x shelby!sister #shelby!reader #shelby!sister #peaky blinders sister #shelby sister #shelby reader #peaky blinders bonnie x reader #bonnie gold fanfiction #bonnie gold imagine #kyloswarstars

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Black Hole

Pairing: Tom Holland x Gender Neutral!Reader (undetermined relationship, could be romantic or platonic)

Warnings: VERY TRIGGERING PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING! This contains very vivid descriptions of grief and reverting back to the memories of losing someone. I recently lost my grandmother and it has been hard for me. I wrote this right after I had this exact same experience and I wrote it as I was feeling and based on my experience. Loss is very difficult and everyone grieves differently so if this is going to make you upset, please do not read it.

Summary: Losing someone you love is something you never truly get over. Thankfully, Tom is there to help you through it. (The person/animal the reader has lost is not specified nor is the memory of losing the person so I'm hoping it can apply to anyone who may be going through these hard times)

A/N: Due to the nature of this work and the fact that I wrote it as a sort of therapy when I was experiencing this exact thing, it is very minimally edited. This may not be my best work but I chose to post it in hopes that maybe someone else could relate. I'm also sorry if this is formatted poorly. I'm posting it from my phone and I usually post from my computer.

__________________

It always hit you. No matter how much you thought you had found peace or at least a way to cope from day to day, the inevitable dark cloud of grief and pain always found a way to suffocate you. 

Oftentimes, it was out of nowhere. You'd have one innocent thought that led to another which led to another and before you knew it, you were reliving the news, reliving their death, reliving the soul crushing pain of knowing you'd never see them again. The weight of all the unspoken words hung thick around you and the pain, a pain you never knew could hurt so deep, set in. 

It was times like this, standing in the shower, just humming along to your music as you washed the suds of shampoo from your hair, Tom fiddling around in the other room,  that it hit you. Things that would seem fine to any other person, right? And it was all fine until that one line in the song was sung, that one line that reminded you of them, that one line that launched your brain into that deep dark hole that consumed you. 

At first, you froze. The lyrics stopped leaving your lips, the breath quit expanding your lungs. Your eyes zoned out on that one crack in the corner where the shower walls met. Your brain couldn't even move enough to process why you froze but the sudden weight of your emotions was enough to tell your brain what was happening. When you could finally breathe, it came out in a choked sob and you heaved, trying not to hyperventilate as your ribcage seemed to collapse on your lungs. Your hand flew to cover your mouth, hoping to stifle the sounds so as to not alert Tom who was in the other room. You were in a weird state of mind where all you wanted was to be held and to talk but to be left alone to sob in a dark corner. 

Images of the moment you knew they were gone seemed to be all you could see. It was like you were living it again. As you stared at the wall, unaware of the hot water hitting your bare chest, you began to imagine you were where you were when it happened. Everything looked like it did in that moment down to the smallest details. It was like when you were stuck in a nightmare that you couldn't seem to wake up from,  no matter how many times you reassured yourself that you were dreaming.  

Without feeling in control of anything,  you shut the water off and paused the music. A new song, one that was all too happy for the agony you were experiencing, had come on and the very positivity of it felt like it was mocking your sorrow.  Reaching over, you sloppily wrapped the towel around your body before your knees collapsed and you crumbled into a ball on the ground. You bit down on the soft fabric of the towel, desperate to stifle the sobs that racked your body.  

You sat like that for a while, unable to calm down or pull yourself from this blackhole.  You just sat there, shaking, stuck in the loop of reliving one of the worst moments of your life over and over again. You had no idea how much time passed. It was only when a knock on the door just before it opened without waiting for your response and Tom's sweet voice blindly asking if you were okay that you realized how long you'd been hiding. 

"Are you okay? You've been in here for a-" his voice trailed off when he finally saw you, back leaned up against the side of the tub and your knees scrunched into your chest. The towel only covered your top half now but that was mostly just from you clutching the fabric so tightly to your chest, "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Tom asked, his voice suddenly laced with panic as he landed on his knees beside you and inspected your body for any sign of injury. 

You leaned your entire body into him, totally collapsing into his arms that had fallen open when he saw that you had leaned over. He caught you firmly and one hand flew up to stroke your hair as you cried, "They're gone. They're really gone." 

Tom knew what you were talking about. He knew all about the massive loss you'd suffered and had held your hand through the entire time.  He was the first person you told and had been there to hold you night after night, whenever the nightmares set in and you woke up in either a numb daze or crying. The tragedy wasn't quite as fresh now that some time had worn past and it had been a little while since he'd seen you so upset about it but he knew that no matter what anyone said, time did not heal all wounds. Feeling your body shiver and lurch with each choked cry shattered his heart as he remembered just how much you'd been hurting. 

He didn't know what to say. What could he say? It was the truth. They were gone. They weren't coming back. He couldn't tell you it was okay because it wasn't. He couldn't tell you it would be okay because it would never be okay again. So he just held you and allowed you to continue in your own time. 

"I miss them so much. I miss them so fucking much. And I know I should look back at all the good memories but all I can ever see or hear are those last few moments. I hate this. It's like my entire memory of them has been tainted by death!" You buried your face into Tom's blue shirt that was now wet from your tears and wet hair. 

Tom brought his hand to hold yours, trying whatever he could to ground you in the present and to pull you back. "They loved you so much, Y/N. They still do. And I know they're still with you, watching and rooting for you. And I think it would kill them to see you hurting like this." 

"But I do!" You sobbed, tears streaming hot down your face, "I do and I can't help it. I want to stop hurting so fucking bad. I want to look back and be able to see the good times. I want to be able to think about them without falling apart but I fucking can't!" You didn't mean to be yelling at him, you really didn't. And thank God he understood that. 

Tom squeezed your hand tighter, "Then maybe you need to stop trying to push it all down and just have a good cry." He suggested simply.

 So that's what you did. You and Tom sat there on the bathroom floor, you practically naked and sobbing against Tom's shoulder. You ended up recounting the story of the end in detail that he'd never heard and as you did, you felt a strange lightness in your heavy heart. It didn't do away with the pain but you strangely felt better without really feeling better. Then Tom asked about your favorite memories and you recounted them, feeling a nostalgic smile break your quivering lips. Tom had noticed that your body slowly began to stop quaking in his embrace as he helped coax you through all the good memories you had until eventually the two of you found yourselves just sitting there, your head in his lap as he just held you. Nobody said a word and your cheeks felt stiff from the streaks of dried tears but at least you were back in the present, finally pulled out of the memory. 

Although no amount of tears would ever replace what you lost, you felt vaguely better afterwards and you were extremely grateful to have such amazing support from Tom. 

#tom holland x reader #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland #peter parker #spiderman imagine #platonic #tom holland platonic #gender neutral

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (36) Visiting

Ao3 | FF.net

Waking up was slowly becoming Adrien’s least favorite activity. Of course, that was shortly followed by falling back to sleep. He was in a state of barely wakefulness, while also being too tired to sleep. His mouth was dried out and scratchy, and the tingling sensation of numbness had settled into his limbs.

Breathing was still difficult. He knew that the tube in his throat was supposed to be helping with that, but it just sucked. It all sucked. Everything hurt, and he felt disgusting, and his nose itched.

Was this his existence from now on? He didn’t know if he could bare it.

The doctor was standing in front of him. “Hi Adrien, how are you feeling today?”

How was he supposed to answer that? With a moan? A smile?

“Wink once for yes, and twice for no.”

Wink.

“Excellent. Now I know you’re uncomfortable, but we need to wake you up for a little bit. In about an hour, we’ll sedate you again.”

Oh so he wasn’t even sleeping on his own? Damn.

“Are you warm enough?”

Wink.

“Are you thirsty?”

Wink.

“Yeah, I’m sure your mouth is dry too. But you can’t take any fluids by mouth right now. You have a feeding tube in your mouth, and a nasotracheal tube in your nose so you can breathe. Then we have an IV for fluids. Because you’re thirsty, that’s a sign that I can up your fluid intake.”

Adrien closed his eyes, emotion building behind his eyelids.

He didn’t want this.

“We’re going to get some food in you too, while you’re awake. It might feel a little awkward because you won’t be swallowing on your own, but you have to eat.”

It not like Adrien could protest.

So food was forced down the tube in his throat by a pump. It wasn’t a lot, but it helped to ease the pain in his stomach.  

“There’s someone who’s been dying to see you. Well, he’s been here for a while, but he wants you to see him,” Said the doctor. “Are you up for a guest?”

No. He wasn’t. He didn’t want anyone to see him.

Unless it was Marinette. In which case, yes.

Wink.

Instead, a black blur floated in front of his face. “Hey kid,” Plagg greeted, with a soft voice full of affection.

Looking into Plagg’s infinite green eyes, Adrien felt a hurricane of emotions. Feelings of abandonment, betrayal, grief, and failure. Of sorrow and anger, confusion and hatred.

It was awful and unfair. Plagg hadn’t done anything wrong, and Adrien knew that in his head.

But trauma messes with the brain.

Adrien clenched his eyes shut, as tears leaked out.

“I missed you,” Plagg said, nuzzling against his cheek.

Where were you?! Adrien screamed in his head, I needed you!

“You’re so brave, Adrien.”

But Adrien didn’t want to hear it. He was so lost in his hurt, he couldn’t bare it. He swatted Plagg away, feebly.

The Kwami sunk to the mattress, staring at his charge. This was not the tearful reunion he expected. “Adrien?” He whispered.

The boy kept his eyes shut as tears continued to slip out.

The doctor carefully wiped his face. “Alright, that’s enough for today.” He urged.

Plagg disappeared, hiding somewhere out of sight, and that was just fine with Adrien.

“That wasn’t very nice, Adrien.” Gabriel scolded.

Ugh. He wanted to talk to his father even less. Especially right now. Why was he even here? Wasn’t he profoundly disappointed in him already? Was he a glutton for punishment?

“Plagg has been here all along. He’s been worried sick. I’ve been worried sick.”

Yeah right.

Adrien rolled his eyes and turned his face towards his pillow. This was unfair, having to listen to this, not being allowed to leave. Not being able to defend himself.

“Mr. Agreste,” the doctor interrupted. “Adrien’s heart rate is accelerating. We’re trying to keep him calm. Perhaps now is not the time for a lecture.”

“Of course. I’m sure he’s just confused.”

Confused? No, he was perfectly aware of what was going on. He was in a hospital, bound to a bed, and being prepared to fit right back into the peg he didn’t fit anymore. He could see it unfolding around him.

And it was maddening.

“I can see you’re feeling tired. Ready to go back to sleep?”

Please. Please for the love of God.

Wink.

“Alright. Just try to relax and take a deep breath, counting down from ten.

1…

2…

3…

Well it didn’t work, because here he was awake again.

“Good morning Adrien, how are you today?”

Again, he couldn’t talk. Hadn’t they just had this conversation? Perhaps not, considering the doctor had been wearing a blue shirt yesterday, and today he was wearing a red one.

Had he slept that hard?

“Are you cold?”

Wink wink.

“Are you hot?”

Now that he thought about it, he was stifling under these blankets.

Wink.

The doctor rolled back the top layer.

Again, he was force fed some unidentifiable substance through a feeding tube, and he was asked a dozen yes or no questions.

“I have some more visitors for you. If you’re up for it.”

Why not? It’s not like he was really given a choice.

But when Tom Dupain came into view, with a warm and tender smile on his lips, Adrien relaxed.

“Hey kiddo, look at you! You’ve got some color in your cheeks!” He said softly, brushing his thumb over his forehead.

That felt nice.

Sabine was up further by his head. “We’ve been with Marinette most of the time, but when the doctor said you were going to wake up for a little bit, we just had to come say hi!” She was lightly scratching his scalp.

That felt really nice.

Now these were parents. Always a warm welcome, full of hugs, ready to stuff him full of carbs. Whenever he had come over to Marinette’s house, they had both asked about his day, his well-being. It was everything he craved in his own father.

They were a comfort. The comfort of having a mom and dad around when you didn’t feel well. Though they couldn’t necessarily make the pain go away, the kiss on the head was soothing.

“Marinette’s sitting up now and eating on her own.” Sabine said, as she squeezed his hand. “Isn’t that just wonderful? She still sleeps most of the time, but that’s really good.”

It hurt to hear about his lady. Hurt to hear and not see.

“She came to see you a few days ago,” said Tom. “When you were severely unstable instead of mostly unstable.” He joked. “She really misses you.”

And he missed her. Even though they were mostly separated in the catacombs, she was still with him in experience. The fear for her safety, wondering if she was safe, it kept her close when he couldn’t be with her. Her voice from the adjacent cell, her hand in his...

What a horrible thing to bond over.

“She’d come see you every day if she could.” Tom insisted, “but the doctors want you both to stay as calm as possible. Especially you. But it won’t be long until we move you into the same room.”

Sabine swept the bangs from his forehead. “And Marinette is really looking forward to spending the Christmas season with you. Hot cocoa, cookies, evenings in front of the fire and watching the snow fall...”

All things he had seen in movies, but nothing he had emotional attachment to. Maybe having them around for the season would make things more bearable, but he doubted Sabine had any idea how unmotivated the holiday made him.

“You’re so strong.” Sabine whispered, before kissing his forehead. “You’re fading fast, but just know that we’ll be checking in on you when we can.”

Adrien felt a tear run down his cheek.

What did he do to deserve such love? Did they just love Marinette so much that it overflowed onto the people she loved? Was that what a parent’s love was like? Or what it should be like?  

With one last squeeze to his hand, they left. Their departure was foggy, as the drugs started to kick in again.

“Just sleep Adrien, you’re doing so well,” praised the doctor.

1…

2…

3…

And then he was awake again. And the process repeated himself. Hot? Wink wink. Cold? Wink. Blankets. Food.

Guest?

Wink.

This time, it was someone he was unfamiliar with. A woman with short gray hair, stout, Coke-bottle glasses.

“Well hello there, Adrien. Adrien Agreste, the one and only! How’re you feeling sweetie?”

Oh, so this was a fan then? Or perhaps another nurse?

“My name is Dr. Robin Zollar, I’m a board certified clinical psychologist, and I specialize in the treatment of physical and emotional trauma in youth. I’m going to be working with you and Marinette going forward.”

Her voice sounded so familiar to him. Who did she remind him of?

“I know it’s kind of a kick in the pants not being able to talk things out right now, but I just came to introduce myself and let you know I’m here for you.”

It was a cartoon character, for sure. An older woman in a cartoon...

“I’ll be keeping an eye on your recovery, and when you can talk, I’ll be right here to listen. And if you don’t want to talk about it right away, you don’t have to. I won’t judge, I’m just here to help.”

Ah yes. The fairy godmother from Cinderella. An odd connection, but it felt accurate.

“What you’ve both been through is extremely traumatic, and it’s one that no one else can sympathize with. From here on out, you’re going to have to learn what your new normal is. Don’t expect to get right back to where you were. You need to be patient with yourself and know your limits. Most of all, I want you to talk out what you’re feeling. Don’t bottle stuff up, though it might be easy to do so.”

What, no bippity boppity boo?

“You have a great support network here. It’ll be really easy to shut everyone out, but I recommend against that.”

A strong support network? Where was that network the rest of his life? When his mother died? Through all those years of grieving and neglect? When he asked for therapy?

Where was the comfort then? He had asked for help. And he had been told he didn’t need it. It took the trauma to be public to get help.

And that was bullshit.

“Is that something you’re interested in? Wink once for yes, twice for no.”

Wink wink.

The woman nodded. “Okay. Well, if you change your mind, your father will get in touch with me.”  

Yeah right. If he changed his mind, his father will ridicule him for it. ‘Why didn’t you take it before?’ He’d ask, ‘it’s been long enough now. You don’t need it anymore.’

But it’s not like it would help anyway.

The psychologist bid him farewell while he was lost in his thoughts, and soon he was put back to sleep again.

The next morning, while felt like a minute later, Adrien blinked his eyes open, seeing Doctor Boucher nearby.

But there was someone else too. A warm, familiar face that he hadn’t expected to see.

Nino.

Nino was smiling at him. Just a patient, friendly smile.

Adrien hated it. And he hated that he didn’t know why.

Nino rested a hand on his shoulder, rubbing a thumb back and forth over his collarbone. He comforted him while he was fed, and all his vitals were checked. Then the doctor backed off.

“Hey bro, you look like death.” He said it with a laugh, trying to make a joke. To loosen him up as always. To bring laughter and happiness to his dull, gray, lonely life.

“I mean, you look better than when you were brought here. Got a little color in your cheeks. Well, your face in general, I can’t really see your cheeks.”

Right.

“Chloe really wanted to come, but your dad was afraid she would jump on you in her excitement.”

That was probably true. He didn’t really want to face Chloe right now anyway.

Nino swallowed thickly, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with emotion. “I really missed you, Adrien. You’re my best friend, my brother…the best person I know.” He sniffed. “I want you to be happy, you know? I want…to help you. And I’ll do anything for you. You know that, right?”

There was a tickle on the back on his head. A memory locked away that was demanding to be recalled. A moment on a rooftop, standing in the drizzling rain. Nino on the ground, terrified, staring up at him with nothing but fear.

“Hey, hey dude…come on man…you didn’t know.”

Shame. That’s what he felt. He had hurt his best friend, though he couldn’t remember the specifics. But why wouldn’t be feel shame? The whole world saw him naked, crawling on the ground, wallowing in his filth and crying crying crying…

Wasn’t Nino embarrassed by him? Wasn’t he disgusted? Everyone else was.

He had to be faking it. Cutting him off like he wanted to would make him feel too guilty. That had to be it.

Who would want to be friends with him?

Nino kept talking, but Adrien didn’t want to hear anymore. So he closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep.

Eventually he left, by suggestion of the doctor, and the room went quiet.

Every once in a while, he’d hear the flip of a piece of paper, and the beep of a machine. Cracking one eye open, he saw his father reading a magazine. The lights were dimmed, and they were alone.

The doctor hadn’t put him back under for sedation.

Which meant he could finally rest without the jarring sensation of the scene changing every hour, but it also meant he had to fall asleep on his own. It also meant he had time to think. And only think.

His pain was low, but with each passing minute, it was starting to rise again.

It would be really nice to lay on his other side. Ugh, but he was too weak to even try.

God his throat was dry.

His father flipped another page. Why wouldn’t he just go home? Why was he here? Pretending to care?

A throat cleared, but it wasn’t Gabriel’s.

Adrien raised his eyes to the door, where a figure in black leather stood.

Adrien’s throat was already dry, and he almost gagged on his feeding tube.

“Relax, it’s just me.” Said the figure, becoming more visible.

Chat Noir had come to visit him.

Wait.

He rubbed his thumb over his ring finger, not feeling his Miraculous.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’m a hallucination born of a lot of pain meds and trauma. I don’t think the doc ever had a time to explain that to you.”

So he was crazy now?

“No, you’re not crazy. My visits will fade with time. But you have to talk somehow.”

To who? Himself?

“Yeah. Better than no one. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why Chat? Why not regular Adrien? It’s because you don’t want to be Adrien right now.”

True.

“But Chat’s always been your creative outlet. Your source of bravery, your fun side. Maybe you’ll listen to me better.”

Listen to him? What did he have to listen to?

“Your attitude stinks,” Chat said fiercely. “How dare you. You should be glad they can’t see your facial expressions. Nino was so worried about you, and you tuned him out! Tom and Sabine? They took time away from their own daughter, who’s hurt just as bad as you are, to come see you and to love on you, and you doubted them! Your own father, who has never showed an ounce of care for you in years, is here, right here!” He gestured to the man who was oblivious to the exchange. “He’s left his house, he appeared in public, and he looks like a hobo! Because of you! I know this isn’t going to undo all those years of hurt, but you have to acknowledge him. It’s not fair to him, and it’s not fair to you if you don’t.”

And when he wasn’t dying in a hospital? When Gabriel decides everything is fine now, and turns back into a robot?

“Then that’s his problem. Then you can say ‘screw it’ and be with Marinette.” He took a few steps closer and loomed over him, threateningly. Though he was a hallucination, Adrien feared he might actually get hurt.

“More than anything, you need to apologize to Plagg.”

Plagg abandoned him. No matter how many times he called for him, he never came. Not in the darkest places, in the longest nights…

“He was asleep in the ring! You can’t blame him for that! Don’t you know how much he loves you? He’s been with you every moment since you got the ring. He’s your constant companion, and he knows how to make you feel better. Why would you push him away?”

He promised never to leave Adrien alone ever again.

“That wasn’t his fault. You know that. I’m right here, telling you. And I am you. That part of you that Salo tried so damn hard to stamp out. That part of you that loves unconditionally, that gives second chances to those that don’t deserve it. The part of you that made you worthy of the Miraculous.”

Well, Adrien was tired of that part of him. It only lead to trouble.

“Deny me all you want, but I’m the foundation to your very being. I’m not going anywhere. This is who you are, Adrien. Accept it, or spend the rest of your life in denial and misery.”

“Adrien?” The small, timid voice of Plagg spoke up. “Are you still awake?”

The kwami floated into his vision, his limbs limp, his ears drooped, and eyes downcast. “Listen…I know…I know you feel like…” He sighed, unable to find the words. Adrien knew he was always bad with feelings. “I love you, Adrien,” he said finally. “You’re my favorite holder I’ve ever had. I would never, ever intentionally abandon you. When Salo took off the ring…I felt ripped away from you. I felt it. It was the worst feeling ever. Then I was alone in the ring, waiting. I didn’t know if you were killed or—“ Fat tears fell from his eyes as he struggled to continue. “And then I woke up, and I found you…and you were in surgery and there was all that blood—“ he dissolved into quiet sobbing.

Maybe Chat Noir had a point. Maybe everyone was right. Even if the only person, or kwami, gunning for him was Plagg, he would be unstoppable.

It took great effort, but Adrien raised his hand and wrapped his fingers around Plagg’s small body, stroking his head with his thumb.

“Are…are you still mad at me? Wink once for yes, and twice for no.”

Wink wink.

#longest night #ml #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #adrien agreste #chat noir

[iron--spider]

Okay, I just saw FFH

I’ll say right off the bat, it was a million billion times better than Endgame, despite the lack of Tony Stark. I’m already planning on seeing it again. But I do have both positive and negative feelings, which I will discuss in full spoiler openness, under the cut.

It’s very strange. I did....I would say I liked it a lot. Almost loved it. But it also makes me feel strangely empty. I guess this links with the fact that I feel very separate from an MCU that doesn’t contain a living Tony Stark. It feels very, very weird to think he’s not alive anymore. My brain still doesn’t compute it even though I know it’s a stone cold fact, and it’s like I’ve built a glass wall between myself and this new world they’re living in. I see it, but I don’t feel like it’s the same world I’ve been in love with for eleven years. And while I can say it was a very good movie, it’s hard for me to connect with it the way I previously would have.

I’m gonna do pros and cons, and start with the cons, so I can end this post on a positive note. But I do have more pros than cons! So that’s good.

CONS:

- I know the MCU is not known for its nuance or it’s emotional content, but I would have liked a lot more personal details about Tony from Peter. We know they were close. A few lines would have done it.  - Brad. We didn’t need a love triangle, and he added nothing to the plot. - What EDITH stands for. I think I’m the only person who thinks that’s out of character. It feels like what people believe Tony is, that facade he puts on, but it’s not who he actually is. Maybe we can take it as he’s making fun of what people think of him? I don’t know, but it felt off to me. - The timing of the MJ/Peter romance. There will be more about them in the pros section, but the timing still feels wrong. I don’t know why this sudden romance needed to be the focus of this movie. I understand that he was distancing himself from his grief, but the grief felt.......barely present. It was good, when it was there, but it wasn’t there enough. I wish we had gotten more friendship between MJ and Peter, or at least a rundown of what they’d been through in the year we missed? And am I getting that right? Did a year pass? Is that what they were telling us in the beginning bit? - Going off that, I wish we had seen Peter deal with losing five years like....at all. Even a little bit, lol. He was essentially dead. That would have been an amazing focus, along with dealing with losing Tony and his want for a normal life/girlfriend. Why can’t they balance this shit? - I wanted more about the world and what was going on, obviously. But I knew we weren’t gonna get that.  - Peter shouldn’t have walked right by that one gorgeous Iron Man mural with the candles. He didn’t even spare it a glance and that was weird to me. - I really wish we had been able to see Peter’s actual face during the horrifying Iron Man illusion. I love the Spidey suits but I really wanted to see his face. - Take off your clothes scene was very uncomfortable lol, and it was even worse because PETER was uncomfortable.

PROS - Tom. Tom Tom TOM! He was just......incredible. He does so much with what he’s given, he brings everything to the next level and he’s our best Spider-Man. I can’t even say enough about him. I love his face, I love his inflections, I love how he moves, I love his expressions, I love every single thing about him. He has wonderful timing. He’s the best. - Happy. He was so great. He added to every scene he was in. I loved his interactions with Peter’s friends, especially when they were hiding with the crown jewels lol. I loved him handing it to “Nick” in the end, saying Peter would call him :) - MJ. She got so much more to do in this and it really makes me wish we had seen more of her in the first movie.  - Going off that, MJ and Peter. Despite the terrible timing of their romance, it was surprisingly cute. I really liked how MJ was softer and changed when she was alone with Peter. They felt genuine and I wasn’t expecting it and I really enjoyed it. They were sweet together. I will say I preferred when they were physically together as opposed to Peter talking to Ned/Mysterio about her. - Ned. Amazing, as always. So funny, so sweet, the best friend. I loved his and Peter’s hug. - Betty and Ned. Really funny kind of critique of teenage romance, lol. - Jake G. I wasn’t really feeling him, but then....THE TURN. He was incredible. One of his best performances, for real. - And going off that....he was so insane. So, so insane. All the music cues helped too. I don’t think Tony’s legacy or character is tarnished AT ALL because this dude was so, so cuckoo bonkers. He was ordering hits on kids and nonchalantly talking about casualties and he was just a LUNATIC. I’m not worried about Tony. And anyone who uses Beck as their source for their Tony hate? Doesn’t look good, fam. He had his crazy eyes on from the bar scene forward. Insane person. He was willing to kill all his pals. He was the worst, lol. - Annnnddd in relation to that, MJ giving Brad the business in the end and specifically using the phrase about how “Peter isn’t here to tell his side” or whatever it was. I think that totally was meant to go along with all the Tony/Beck stuff. It felt purposeful. - I liked the ‘I Will Always Love You’ tribute - The Tony murals in every damn city? They were gorgeous. I hope they release images of those because I wanna see them lol. He was so loved. - I’m glad they had May talk about ‘blipping’ back into her apartment and someone else was living there. They actually addressed something! - Peter having a panic attack at the beginning when Tony was mentioned? Really good. Really sad. - I like that Tony trusted Peter enough to give him the glasses. It shows just how much he trusted him. And this is nothing like project insight, because Tony isn’t Pierce. He has good intentions. It is for protection. People need to chill, lol. Peter was acting like a bit of a moron on the bus, but I believe by he end he has a handle on it and will be much, much better about it. Him jumping out of the bus and destroying the drone was cool. - Bar scene was really good. I know Peter saw Tony in Beck when he put on the glasses :( And his self doubt is so painful. Tony had such trust in him and Peter just can’t believe it. HURTS. - The illusion scene had such magnificent visuals. I want to see it again in 3D, but it was awesome. I said earlier I wanted to see Tom’s face, but he did a great job with all his body movements. He’s just so great, lol. - Iron Man zombie shook me, made me jump, got me upset. As did Mysterio’s taunting in that moment. What an asshole. - I liked the “stakes” in terms of how Peter got so, so messed up in this movie. Poor thing. He was still limping in the scene at the airport! Seeing him get hit by the train was so hard. - The plane scene was my favorite part of the whole movie, from the tulip field to the suit getting built. I loved the hug, Happy trying to be soft and dealing with Peter’s outburst. Peter crying, their talk, “i miss him so much”, Tony never, ever second guessing Peter. THE ONE THING. That hurts so bad lol. And Happy watching Peter make the suit, fondly, seeing Tony in him. It makes me cry thinking about it. Peter carries Tony with him always, because he’s part of him, he’s in his heart, he was his protege and even if he doesn’t believe it, Tony believed in him. He knew he was the best of them. GODDAMN THEM. I love seeing Peter and Happy interact as they did here because they really remind me of Happy and Tony. Peter’s Tony’s kid. There’s no denying it at this point. - MJ and her mace. Chef’s kiss. - The whole final battle was fucking amazing. Some of the best shit in the MCU. I loved seeing Peter get to be a BADASS, get to show his smarts and his strength and use that Spidey sense. He was amazing. - Stopping Beck from shooting him? Incredible. One of my favorite Marvel shots. I loved Peter angry and standing up for himself here. So good.  - The kisses were pretty cute. The holding hands was definitely cute. Swinging was very cute, as was how excited Peter was about it. - I really like Happy and May and I hope it goes somewhere. C’mon May! - I’m of two minds on the reveal. It pisses me off that fucker did this. He was obviously planning it and now he’s painted a target on a 16 year old’s back, and once again, anyone who tries to use him as a source is a SOCIOPATH. I feel so bad for Peter, and it makes me really sad because this would be an amazing thing for Tony to be involved with. Peter definitely needs Tony right now, and I hope SOMEONE reliable helps him. I know Happy will, but he needs a powered person too. PLEASE. I worry about where they’ll take this. It could be cool, possibly seeing him on the run, but if they have any ideas about killing May or any of his friends because of this, I’ll kill them. - Skrulls thing was funny and it also explains why Fury felt so off. SLJ did an amazing job with that, lol.

In conclusion, I really loved a lot of what they presented to me. Mostly because Tom is truly spectacular. But a world without Tony Stark will always have a certain amount of emptiness to it, and I won’t be following any other Marvel films save for Spider-Man. I’ll follow Spider-Man because I love Peter/Tom. But it’s always gonna be really painful knowing Tony is gone and they’ll never give us the amount of emotional content that we deserve when it comes to him.

But I will recommend FFH. I give it an 8/10, and I think I’ll enjoy it even more on a second viewing. For being in ‘the bad timeline’, this was a good film. 

#spider-man #spider-man far from home #ffh spoilers #far from home spoilers #peter parker #this got long af and i probably left some shit out lol #now i gotta answer all those asks.

[just-another-wasteland-merc]

It’s a Kiss! #12 (In Grief)

This is longer than most. Also, this is post one of three for today, since I missed Friday and Saturday. The other two are coming! :D I guess the only spoilers here are for end-game and which faction Em chose to go with her. 

RJ had left Em by herself for a while since getting back home to Sanctuary. The column of smoke where the Institute was sitting was still barely visible since getting the vertibird ride back from Boston. She had cried on the roof of the Mass Fusion building for so long, she fell asleep. She slept through the whole ride in the chopper, even while RJ carried her from the vehicle to their bed in Sanctuary, where she still lies sleeping. 

He was on the stoop, staring out in no particular direction, trying to process the day’s events. The whole day was replaying over and over in his head when he finally caught up to her.

The drainage pipe opened, and there she was. He waited until the rest of the Railroad agents climbed out into the old section of the Institute. He hung back with her as they walked, threading his fingers through hers. She didn’t say anything at first. 

“You know I’m here for you,” he murmured.

“I know,” she replied, her voice cracking a little.

“No, Em. I’m here for you. Whatever you decide here, I’m with you.”

He heard a small sniffle, and saw her nod a little out of the corner of his eye. The group came to a stop outside the door to the Bio lab. Em weaved her way to the front, then turned on her heel to address the group. She cleared her throat.

“There are scientists here as well,” she announced. “Just please focus on the synth guards. Try to save the scientists. We can save them, too.”

“What about Z1-14?” an agent asked. 

“He and his friends will join us once they realize what’s going on. The synths that wish to be saved will fight with us.”

She waited for a few nods. A couple agents slapped a new clip into their guns, then RJ nodded from the back.

“Let’s go,” she said, hitting the button on the terminal, opening the door.

He absentmindedly pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, his hand fumbling for a match. He stood after finally lighting up, then took a few steps to check on her through the window. 

Still asleep, he thought. He sighed, returning to the stoop. 

Tinker Tom came over the PA system as RJ and Em fought basically back to back against the onslaught of synths.

“I can’t get the override from here! It looks like the command has to come from the director’s terminal!” he said, almost stumbling over his words.

An agent stepped in front of Em as she froze. Her heart was racing, and her head whipped behind her to meet RJ’s eyes in fear. 

“I can’t,” she whispered. He nodded. 

“I know,” he replied. “It’s… It’s going to be okay.”

“Please, RJ. I can’t do this alone. I need you to come with me.”

He could only nod once again, stepping into the elevator with her. He watched her, opening his mouth to try and come up with something to say to her, but closed it again. He knew there was nothing he could say to make any of this better. He knew what was going to happen. He could feel his heart breaking for her- he hoped her son could see reason. 

She suddenly hugged him, hiding her face from him. His arms were around her immediately, one hand resting on her back, the other on her head, softly stroking her hair. His head dipped down, kissing the top of her head. 

“I can’t, RJ,” she whimpered. 

“I’m right here with you,” he replied softly. “You tell me what to do, Em. It’s okay.”

He sighed, his cigarette half gone. He heard a whine, and a nudge at his free hand from a wet nose. Dogmeat laid his head on RJ’s thigh as he petted him, the dog’s eyes staring up at RJ. 

“I’m not the one you should be by, buddy,” he said. “Em’s gonna need you too, a lot more than me.” He patted Dogmeat’s head a couple of times, then jerked his head towards the door of the house. Dogmeat stood, stretched his front legs, then padded into the house. 

RJ took another pull from his cigarette.

“What can I say to convince you to come with me, Shaun?!” Em yelled, tears streaming down her face. “Just let me take you with me!”

“I won’t go anywhere with you, no matter our blood relation,” Shaun replied, his tone almost as cold as his ice blue eyes. “It’s bad enough that I lay here, dying, but this is too far.”

Anger flashed in RJ. “You know she just wants to save you, right?” he asked, his mouth moving before he could stop it. 

Shaun’s eyes flicked to him as he gave the mercenary a once-over. The disgust on his face was enough to make RJ even angrier. He felt a hand on his arm and Em shaking her head. He stayed quiet. 

“Just let me free the rest of the scientists,” Em pleaded. “At least let me save them.”

“And why would I let you do that?” Shaun asked, his eyes narrowing at her.

“Shaun, I don’t want innocent lives to be taken. The scientists are innocent. Let them go. They can still do good out on the surface. The Commonwealth needs more doctors, robotic experts, and scientists. They can help the Commonwealth so much more than what they’re doing now.”

RJ watched him weigh the options. Shaun closed his eyes, finally nodding. 

“The code is nine-zero-zero-three,” Shaun said. 

Em went over to the terminal, entering the code and the commands for the evacuation notice. She turned after a couple of minutes, heading back towards RJ and the exit, only stopping for a moment.

“I can still take you with me, Shaun,” she said, staring at the door.

“I would rather die than go to the surface,” was his cold reply.

Her eyes closed, hurt. RJ’s expression twisted to anger again. “Listen you-”

“RJ, stop.”

  He heard a soft voice from inside the house. He stamped out his cigarette, quickly heading in, down the hall, and towards their shared bedroom. He waited at the doorway, watching her. 

Dogmeat was on the bed with her, his head on her torso as she laid there on her back petting his head. Dogmeat’s eyes found RJ, and his tail wagged a few times. Em looked up, and gave a small, sad smile before looking away again. 

“Hey,” he said softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

She was quiet at first. “I just…” she trailed off, then sighed. “I think I just need you here.”

“Whatever you need, Em.” He shrugged off his duster as he stepped around the bed, then kicked off his boots. His hat came off as he set it on his dresser, then climbed into the bed with her. Dogmeat stood, then laid on Em’s other side as she moved closer to RJ.

“You don’t have to say anything, Em,” he said, his hand quickly moving to her hair. “I only left you alone so you could get some rest.”

“It’s okay,” she replied. 

His thumb swept across her cheek, and he softly kissed her forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she nuzzled closer to him. He heard her sigh. 

“I’m not okay,” she said sleepily. 

“I know,” he replied, resting his head against hers. “It won’t get better, not at first, but it might get easier. You just need time.”

“Will you be here?”

“Always.”

They relayed to the top of the Mass Fusion building. The view would have been beautiful as it overlooked the city. Desdemona stood there with Em and RJ. 

“If only we were here to admire the land,” she said somberly. 

Em didn’t hear her. Her eyes were transfixed on the detonator in front of her. RJ reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Any one of us can.”

She took a deep breath, her head dipping low for a second. Then she pressed the button before she could stop herself. 

The sky was bright for a moment, before returning to darkness, an enormous fireball where the Institute stood below the earth ballooned into the air. The building shook, but not as much as Em did. RJ’s arms snapped out and caught her before she sunk to the ground, her quiet sobs quickly turning into wails. He didn’t say anything as he held her, letting her cry. He planted himself on the floor, then pulled her into his lap, rocking her slightly as she held onto him. 

They didn’t notice the Railroad agents slowly leave, filing down the stairs one by one, until only Deacon and Desdemona were left on the balcony with them. Deacon crouched down next to them, a hand reaching out to touch Em’s back. 

“Charmer,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine the loss. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.” 

Deacon didn’t stay long after, insisting that Desdemona leave with him. He waited by the vertibird, determined to get Em and the mercenary home. He figured if he was going to help, this was how.

RJ looked down at her, letting his thumb do a second brush against her cheek as she slept. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

His eyes closed briefly, sighing. He was determined to be strong for her, but he could tell that it was going to be a long road ahead for them. It didn’t matter to him. He’d be there for her until the day he dies, he was sure. He lightly kissed her forehead again, nestling into the bed with her in his arms. 

“I love you so much,” he said, drifting off to sleep.

#It's a prompt! #em and mac take the commonwealth #Robert Joseph MacCready #MacCready #fallout 4 #fallout4 #thanks for reading #i love everyone who reads this

[anxiouslynumbme]

Last Hope

Summary: It was hard for Ginny Weasley to find hope in the aftermath of the Battle Of Hogwarts. (Ginny and Harry never got together in HBP)

 Available on AO3 and FFN.

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                                                   Chapter 2

Two Months Later.

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The sun was shining brightly through the window of Ginny's bedroom at the Burrow and it was so. . .horrible.

She grumbled loudly, rolling on her back in annoyance. It was all just so irritating, because, sometimes she couldn't bring herself to sleep a wink, and other times, when she did manage to sleep, she'd be dead to the world for hours on end, reliving her worst memories in nightmare land until her lovely mother would barge in and tell her to get off her bum.

But she managed to wake up all by herself, because, the bloody sun decided to exist. She glared at her window childishly, sitting up slowly. It's been a little over two month and her body still ached from time to time. After Voldemort has been defeated, everyone that fought at Hogwarts spent about a week or two at St. Mungo's, some longer than others. She was lucky, her physical wounds were treated quickly, as for the emotional ones. . .well, she didn't really want to think about that.

After taking a shower and brushing her teeth, she threw on blue jeans and a simple white t-shirt, before stumping down the stairs to get something to eat. It was late in the afternoon and she knew her mother was going to give her grief about it. She's been missing breakfast with the family for a while now, she actually missed most meals, and her parents were not happy about it. She couldn't help it if she didn't feel like company, she just wanted to eat alone, there was nothing wrong with that, considering everything they've been through. She was coping.

I don't see anybody telling George off for being, Merlin knows where half the time, and then coming home completely plastered, she thought bitterly.

Why did he get a free pass just because Fred was his twin? She knew she was being irrational, and she instantly felt disgust at herself for her thoughts, George should get a free pass, she thought. Because as sad and lost as she felt, she knew, she couldn't even begin to understand the impact that losing Fred had on George. They were inseparable.

Her head was beginning to spin again, she put a hand on the wall to steady herself, she suddenly felt as if her lungs were collapsing. Her throat was about to close up. She had to stop thinking about Fred. And George. She just had to stop thinking all the time, she couldn't have another panic attack. She rested a hand on her chest and breathed slowly through her nose, trying to calm her racing heart. It was getting less frequent, but not less enough. She had managed to get through the first two alone, the first one was exactly a week after the War, she'd thought she was dying, she hasn't had a panic attack that vicious since the Chamber. She had managed to keep them at bay over the years and had thought she was getting pretty good at it, even if she couldn't really help the anxiety attacks that kept her up all night. But lately, it was all a little too much for her, they came on sudden and fast; she felt hopeless, frantic, and then numb.

She knew, that was why she didn't want to go back to Hogwarts. That was also why, she didn't want to help with repairing and rebuilding it, because, she couldn't be there without breaking down. She was there the first week or so, but then, she slowly started to go less and less. While a part of her had felt guilty, the other didn't really care and thought that, she had already done her job. How could she walk through all that rubble and not fall apart.

Ginny's relationship with Hogwarts has always been a little back and forth. At first, she had been beyond excited to go and finally start her first year and be there with her brothers. . .then the Chamber of Secrets happened. And she had never felt less safe anywhere. Once she had finally returned to the Burrow after her first year's horrifying events, she'd never wanted to go back, she was in the safety of her own bedroom and she had wanted things to stay that way. But then of course, she had realized, that it would have been weak to hide from the world, and that she had to be strong and push through it.

Her parents hadn't believed her, and she couldn't blame them. She had woken up crying out for them every night. She could still remember the conversation, when she had told them that she didn't need time away, that she was fine, even if she had been crying as she’d said it.

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There was a knock on twelve year old Ginny Weasley's bedroom.

"Hey, darling," her mother, Molly Weasley, whispered, cautiously walking in, in case Ginny was actually asleep. "Still can't sleep?"

Ginny sat up on the bed with a huff. "Yes, obviously, Mum."

Her mother only smiled softly at her, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "No need to be grumpy about it, it will only keep you up longer, you know? Have you tried reading the new book I got for you?"

"Yes, and as boring as it was, it still couldn't get me to fall asleep,"

Her mother laughed lightly."It's always nice to see that sense of humor of yours is still intact,"

"I wasn't joking, it really was quite awful,"

"See, I told you she wouldn't like it," Ginny's father, Arthur Weasley, was standing in the doorway; smiling fondly at them.

"Oh, shut it, Arthur. At least, I didn't get her one of those useless Muggle toys 'how to build', manual things,"

Her father scoffed, as he grabbed her desk's chair and pulled it closer to her bed, before sitting on it. "It was about how to build a toy train! How could that not be exciting?!"

"Sorry, Dad, but it was just as boring," Ginny sighed. "I'm fine, I'll just take another sleeping potion, I guess."

Ginny was hugely disappointed, she really wanted to get herself to sleep without any help, but it seemed she wasn't there yet. It was enough that she needed a potion for her anxiety and panic attacks.

"I know you hate doing it," her mother started softly. "But you can always come sleep with us."

Ginny did hate having to go to her parent's bedroom when things got too hard. She didn't want to need them, she wanted to get through all of it on her own. The whole reason Tom Riddle managed to possess her, was because, she had been lonely and weak; and all she had wanted was a friend to talk to. She had thought her first year at Hogwarts, was going to be nothing but fun and learning magic. Then, she got there and it wasn't all she had dreamed it to be. It was too big and overwhelming.

And while she understood that, Ron had already found great friends in Harry and Hermione, she didn't really think he could forget about her so quickly. So, when she had seen how happy he was, she didn't really want to intrude in on his new life, he was her best friend and she had been happy for him. Plus, she had figured it was time for her to start new friendships, too.

Ginny had always thought, she was friendly and fun to spend time with, if what she had with her brothers was any indication. She was funny, smart, and could prank better than the best of them. But, when she had tried to make friends, it wasn't so easy, it wasn't as simple as joking around with her brothers. So, when she had found the Diary, she thought, she had found a place to vent about her growing anxieties, and then Tom had answered and she stupidly thought, it was even better than before, she had found a friend who already knew her better than anyone.

Ginny shuddered, thinking about everything that happened after, how he had slowly manipulated her emotions to his advantage, how disoriented and panicked she had felt when he had completely taken over; and she wasn't aware of what she was doing or where she was for most days, waking up somewhere suddenly, with no memory of how she got there, covered in blood.

So, no, Ginny wasn't going to be sad and pathetic anymore, she wasn't going to run to her parents every time she felt scared. She was okay and she could get through this.

"Mum, I'm not doing that," she replied, looking down, eyes brimming with tears. "I'll just take the potion, and one day, I won't need it anymore."

She felt her parents looking at each other. And she knew they were about to say something she wasn't going to like.

"Right, and until then," her mother paused. "Your father and I have been talking, and we think you should stay back with us this year, only for a while, your Healer agrees too. We talked to Albus and he's okay with you st-"

"No! You can't do that!" Ginny cried immediately.

"Ginny, it will be fun," her father tried gently. "We can travel somewhere, get away for a bit,"

"No no no," Ginny shook her head adamantly, they couldn't just take that choice away from her, she wanted to go back to Hogwarts. "I have to go back, it's the only way I'll get better, I can't just hide and be weak -"

"Ginny!" her mother interrupted, emotions shining in her voice. "you are not weak! Don't ever say that. Dear, you are the strongest, bravest girl, I. ."

Her mother broke off, not being able to control the sob that came out, she could see her dad putting a comforting arm around her.

"Ginny, taking time for yourself, especially after what happened, is not weak. If anything, it's necessary, sweetheart," her father said with a teary-eyed smile.

"It doesn't matter! I need to go back, please. . .please,"

"Ginny, it's not forever, maybe just a term, or maybe more, just until you get better," her mother said.

"I am better! I haven't had an attack in a while, I just...still have trouble with sleeping," little Ginny said, wiping at her face with her sleeve."I still have one month before I have to get back to Hogwarts, I can still get better. I promise,"

"Ginny,"

"I'm okay, I swear! We can go away now, right? We have a month to travel."

"Yes, Ginny. But that is not the only reason. I mean, are you really ready to go back, dear?" her mother took a deep breath before continuing. "it's okay to admit that you don't feel safe there anymore, it will pass,"

"But I do feel safe. . .well, maybe not as safe as before, but I know it wasn't Hogwarts, it was. . .Tom. I promise, going back to school is not going to make me worse. I don't want to take time away, please,"

Her parents stayed quiet for what felt like forever.

"Please." she repeated.

Finally, after contemplating and looking at each other in silent communication, they looked at her. "Fine,"

"Yes!" Ginny exclaimed in glee.

"BUT," her mother continued sternly. "we'll be visiting you frequently and you'll send us a letter everyday to tell - "

"Everyday?!"

"Yes."

"That's a bit much, Mum,"

"Ginny,"

"All right," she sighed in defeat.

"And you have to promise, that if you ever feel unsafe, or that you need to just leave at any time, you have to tell us,"

"Okay,"

"I'm serious, Ginny. If you feel like you're not completely fine, all you have to do is talk to us,"

"I know. I'll be fine, I promise."

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And she had been fine. She had been right, she'd needed to go back to Hogwarts; she'd needed to make new memories, and make friends. . .actual non-evil Dark Lord friends.

Ginny didn't know why she felt different about going back. She loved Hogwarts with all her heart. Maybe, it was because she was older, or because she knew in her heart, that last year was just too much, and going back wouldn't change anything.

All Ginny knew was that she needed to get out, go somewhere else. She wanted to move away and find a flat, maybe with Luna and Neville, like they've talked about. It could even be in some Muggle city, she could find a job - any job, she could wait on tables in some shop, for money. The only thing was, that something in Ginny has shifted, most of the time, she didn't really care which way her life went, but what she cared about in that moment, was that, she was seriously considering not going back to Hogwarts; and she didn't know how to go about the idea with her parents.

"Ginny!" her mother's voice bellowed.

She took one final long deep breath, finally managing to gather a little control, before leaving the wall she was leaning on, and walking into the kitchen.

"Afternoon, Mum,"

"Ginevra Weasley! Do you know what time it is?!"

"No, I still can't tell time,"

Her mother shot her a glare.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Mum! It's not that late!"

She only sighed in response. "Ginny, this has to stop, darling. You haven't been. . .yourself,"

Yeah, no shit.

"And I know, believe me, I know, it's difficult right now, and that we're all doing the best we can to just. . .move past this," her mother continued, eyes full of tears. "but the only way to get through this, is together. Pushing us away is unlike you, I just want to talk to you, you know, like before,"

Ginny knew she had to say something to get out of the conversation, she couldn't stand there and watch her mother cry. That was precisely why she avoided her, avoided everyone. She couldn't deal with her own shit, how could she help others?

She had been there for her family in the beginning, she realized they needed her to be strong for them. And she was; for the first month, maybe, but then it all got to be unbearable. The crying, the pretending, that everything was going to be the same, and of course, the constant reminiscing; 'remember when Fred did that', 'remember when he said this'. Ginny had to pull back, or she would have lost her damn mind. She understood that was their way of handling the trauma, but it wasn't hers. The only way Ginny could move on was, to actually move on.

"Mum, I'm not pushing you or anyone away, I promise. Just because I like to be alone sometimes, doesn't mean you're losing me," trying to lighten the mood just a bit, she looked at her mother seriously. "I mean, you have to understand, I'm a woman now, Molly."

"Oh, please!" her mother said, a smile cracking lips.

"I'm serious! I need my space!"

All of a sudden, Ginny could feel tension back in the air. "Well, I suppose you'll have a lot of it soon enough. I mean, you want to move house as soon as possible, right?"

Fucking Ron, she thought angrily. She couldn't believe he told her about that, she had told him that in passing, she wasn't even sure he'd heard her.

"I'm going to murder him!"

"Now, Ginny, calm down. I practically made him tell me and well, he was worried about you, It's -"

"Worried about me?! That tosser! He's leaving soon too, you know?"

"Oh, I know! Obviously. I'm not angry, love," she paused, looking down at the table, and Ginny knew she was trying to keep from crying. She looked back up, raising her hand To Ginny's cheek and stroking it gently."it's normal, I don't expect you to stay here forever. You're right, you have become, quite the lovely young woman,"

"Mum,"

"It's all right, sweetheart. We still have one year until you graduate, and I assume, the summer after?" She finished hopefully.

Oh, shit. She wasn't ready to talk about not returning to Hogwarts. She would tell her later, she hasn't even really, totally decided yet, she still had time. It was fine.

"Right, yeah, of course. Let's not think about it, though, like you said, we have time,"

"All right, then," her mother smiled, moving around the kitchen, preparing the food. "everyone's coming back here for Lunch from Hogwarts, by the way. You should've been there this morning, Ginny. It's almost all the way done,"

"Mum, stop trying to get me to help, I told you, I'm just not up for it. Besides, I'm sure you've got more than enough hands helping you. You don't need me,"

Also, I'm all good on the panic attacks, thanks. She thought to herself.

"I have stopped trying to get you to do anything a long time ago, Ginevra. Will Neville and Luna be joining us? They weren't at Hogwarts this morning,"

Another thing she didn't want to chat about with her mother. She hasn't been in touch with her best friends as much as she would have liked to, not that they weren't persistently trying. Non-stop letters and surprise visits to the Burrow, but for the past two weeks, they've quieted down a bit. She missed them terribly, she missed being around them all the time. But sadly, that didn't change the fact that things were just easier when she were by herself.

"I haven't heard from them lately. Maybe, they just took the day off or something,"

"Perhaps,"

There were loud noises by the front door of the Burrow and Ginny knew that everyone's arrived. Even though, they were all talking over each other, she could single out his voice. Harry was here, and it was going to be another day of her avoiding being alone with him, which wasn't as easy as she thought it would be, since he's been staying with them. She's been avoiding having any kind of real conversation with him, just the casual obligatory, 'Hi, how are you today?' Or 'Hey, Mum says she needs you in the kitchen'. It was getting to Harry and she could feel his frustration, rising more and more every day. There hasn't been a day that's passed that he hadn't asked if they could go for a walk or go somewhere 'private' where they could talk. And she'd found an excuse to get out of it every time.

She'd thought he was dead. She had believed he was dead. And even though, she could see him alive and well, that feeling hasn't left her. She didn't think it would ever go away.

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Harry was alive. Voldemort was gone.

It's been three days since the Battle has ended, and Ginny was still repeating the mantra in her head. Harry is alive. Voldemort is gone.

She hasn't talked to him yet, whenever he walked into a room, she walked out. It felt like, she didn't know how to communicate with him anymore. As though, he was nothing but a figment, that she needed to create, to keep her head above water.

They were all still at Hogwarts, students were still being accounted for. They were still counting the dead. People being transported to the Hospital Wing or St. Mungo's, depending on the severity of their injury, she has just come back from her second check up, and she immediately went back to her dorm to take a shower.

Not long after, she decided to visit the Quidditch pitch, but instead of flying, she found herself standing there in the middle of the pitch, broomstick in hand, staring at the sky. It's been so long, she wanted to fly so badly, but something was holding her back. She knew from the knots in her stomach, it was anxiety, she was scared and worried. What if she got up there and they pronounced another one of her friends, dead. They've already lost Colin, Paravti, Alice, Cormac, Lavender, Carla, Hannah. . .the list just didn't seem to stop.

She couldn't fly, it wasn't the time for such luxury.

Exhaling, she quickly banished her broom back to the shed and turned around, speeding up, eager to get back inside. As she was exiting the pitch, she took a sharp left and collided with a hard body.

"Shit!"

"Ow!"

Taking a step back to steady herself, she looked up to meet Harry potter's wide green eyes.

Ginny inhaled sharply at the sensation rushing through her. His eyes. His face. His proximity. It was too much all at once. Her eyes finally ran over him, he was wearing dark jeans and his old grey jumper. His entire body looked as if it were preparing to run before she got there, his face looked flushed, eyes still wide, as if he got caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. He was embarrassed. Confused, Ginny squinted her eyes at him, and that was when her eyes found the map that had fallen on the ground during their collision. The Marauder's Map. He already knew where she was.

She didn't know what to say. What could she say to someone who just saved the Wizarding world? What could she say to a dear friend she hasn't seen in over a year?

"Were you following me, Harry?"

That was good a start as any, she supposed.

Harry's eyes closed suddenly, she could see his chest moving up and down visibly. When he still hasn't answered, she started to get a little worried.

"Uh...Harry?"

His eyes opened quickly."Oh, sorry, it's just your voice, y'know? I haven't really h- " he stopped, taking a deep breath. "no..I wasn't following you - I mean, I was looking for you. . . Yeah."

Ginny simply looked at him, she understood what he meant, she had missed his voice too. She wasn't ready to talk, and she honestly didn't think he was either. Ginny suddenly realized that, they've been staring at each other for quite some time, with all the anxiety that was rising up in her, telling her to get the fuck out of there. She couldn't stop looking at him, she didn't want to stop.

They were alone. It was quiet. And he was taking her in, his eyes were intensely running over every inch of her body. His eyes held so much longing, it was almost painful staring into them, they were showing so much emotion, and Ginny felt trapped in their storm.

He abruptly stepped towards her with a loud exhale. And then she found herself wrapped up in his arms.

Her whole body went rigid, her heart constricting painfully at his familiar touch. Although, she wasn't hugging him back, he didn't let go, he only hugged her closer, afraid that she might pull away, it was as if he was silently begging her, to please hug him back, she could hear his harsh breathing against her neck, puffing though her hair.

With one deep breath, Ginny felt all her worries, fears, and exhaustion leave her body as she breathed out. She let go of it all and sagged against him in relief. Her eyes were stinging with tears, as she raised her arms with urgency and wrapped it around him tightly, pulling him even closer.

"Ginny. . .Ginny," he breathed, his face burrowed in her neck. "I - I can't believe. . . " his voice was muffled against her, she couldn't hear much, but she felt him saying her name over and over again.

"Shhh. . .it's okay, Harry, it's okay."

Ginny didn't care about how long they stayed in their embrace, and neither did Harry. They stood there, hugging each other so tightly as if it were their last day on earth, which was kind of sad, since technically, their lives has just begun.

Lost in their hug, Ginny felt as though, they were sharing burdens, it usually felt like that with Harry, their friendship was based on understanding, honesty, and the ability to lean on each other. And as they were embracing, she could feel both of them letting go of the pain, even if just momentarily, because, they trust that they can hold each other up.

After a long while, Ginny started to slowly move away. When she pulled back enough to see Harry's face up close, she noticed the dark bags under his teary eyes, as he softly smiled at her. His arms were still around her, refusing to let go. So, Ginny had no choice but to rest her hands on his chest, falling into a state of tranquility, as they both just stood in each other's arms comfortably.

"Ginny. . . I'm so sorry about Fred,"

And tranquility broken. Ginny gently pushed at his chest, so she could move back a step. He reluctantly let his arms fall back to his side.

"Sorry, I didn't mean- "

"It's okay, it's not your fault," Ginny quickly cut in. "but I don't really want to talk about it. . .not right now,"

"Yeah, of course, I get it. We'll talk later,"

She could hear the determination and promise in his voice and she didn't know how to feel about it.

"Right."

It was starting to get awkward and silent again and she hated it. It was sad, because it wasn't supposed to be difficult. They were too good of friends to let it get to that. She reckoned that was the result of having too much to say and not really knowing where to start, or if you even want to start at all, really. She looked up at the sky, wondering, if she could just leave and go back to the Great Hall. She could feel Harry's eyes firmly on her, she didn't think they've left her since they caught sigh of her. Just as she was about to tell him that she was heading back, he spoke up.

"You didn't fly," it wasn't a question.

"Yeah, I was going to . . . But I changed my mind," she answered, directing her gaze to him, before moving it back up again.

"Why?"

It was blunt. That was what always made their friendship so special. They were honest, they called each other out. They didn't bullshit or beat around the bush. That was how they were. Harry asking her a simple question of 'why' was different then. Because in that moment, she had a strange urge to tell him it was none of his business, or just any cliched, standoffish response. She pushed that urge down, though. It was Harry. And they had promised to always be truthful with one another, no matter how big or small the issue was. Besides, she was pretty sure he already knew her answer anyway.

"It didn't feel right,"

"You felt guilty," again, he wasn't asking.

"Yeah, I mean, people are dead, people are fighting to stay alive, there's just too much going on,"

He was quiet for bit. "I understand, but, we both know why you want to fly right now,"

"Harry,"

"It's the same reason I want to fly right now, it's obviously not out of disrespect or because we don't care. We fly, so we can breathe."

She smiled sadly at him in recognition, as she remembered all of the conversations they have had about flying and what it meant to them. They used to fly whenever the mood struck, but they always used to fly when something bad happened. From death and the looming danger of Voldemort, to anxiety about exams, or simply just having a bad day. She recalled, that one time when he had asked her why they loved flying so much, and she had answered; because it was like breathing. We fly to breathe, she'd said.

"Come on, Ginny," he started with a smile. "Let's Just fly, I promise nothing's gonna happen in the next hour,"

He could clearly see, she was still hesitant. He quietly took a step forward and extended his hand.

"Breathe with me."

And if it were any other day, she would have mercilessly made fun of him for that cheesy line.

"Idiot." she couldn't help telling him.

His smile widened brightly, eyes lighting up at her familiar comment. "Guilty."

Maybe it was because of his smile, or because that feeling of safety, she has always felt around him. All of a sudden, she wanted to fly again, having Harry there, made her feel less anxious, even if she didn't believe that everything was going to be okay, for a moment, she wanted to forget and be able to relax, just for a second.

She took harry's hand, before summoning broomsticks from the broomshed, once they straddled them, ready to take off, they looked at each other, grinning widely. Ginny thought it was crazy, how in that moment it felt like, they were never separated, like a year hasn't gone by. As though, none of those tragedies happened, and nothing has changed. It was just Ginny and Harry, and the world has stopped for them. So they could breathe.

When they were in the air, there were silent moments, they just flew alongside one another, and then stopping, hovering in comfortable silence. But then, they were racing each other, flying as high as they could and diving right back down, laughing and smiling, just like old times.

It was only when they landed on their feet, and quietly started making their way back inside, that Ginny was lost again.

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"There is no way that's true!"

Ron's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"I'm telling you, it's been there for years, Ronald!" said Hermione. Ginny didn't know what they were talking about and she didn't care. Honestly, it was kind of annoying that the bickering hasn't lessened, since they've finally got together.

The moment he walked in, Harry's eyes zeroed in on her. And while she didn't meet them, she could still feel them on her skin, her body tingling with his attention. Everybody was chatting and gathering around the table, Ginny was putting sandwiches on a plate, planning to go back up to her room, so she can eat in peace. But then, both her parents glared at her, knowing what she was about to do. She rolled her eyes, raising her arms in surrender, before slumping down a chair, that was purposely the farthest from Harry. Ron was taking a seat next to her, which was fine, but what wasn't fine, was how close he was to her. He kept moving his chair closer and closer.

"Ron. . .what are you doing?"

"You know, Ginny? For someone who lives in the same house as me, you're pretty hard to find,"

"I'll take that as compliment, Ronnie,"

"It wasn't," he replied, then added the usual retort. "Don't call me that, Ginevra,"

"Sure thing, Ronnie,"

"I need to talk to you about something," he was suddenly whispering, his tone serious.

Ginny could still sense those green eyes on her, and she slightly panicked, what if Ron wanted to talk to her about Harry. She didn't think Harry would tell Ron to talk to her, but still.

"Relax, it's not about why you're avoiding Harry," he said. She looked at him in surprise.

"You're not subtle, Gin," he smirked.

"There's nothing to be subtle about,"

"Right, sure."

"Ugh, what do you want to talk about, then?"

"Well, it is about Harry, actually. . . and me,"

"Oh, Ron," she sighed. "you're leaving Hermione to be with him, aren't you?"

"You should be a comedian," he deadpanned.

"Well, that would make me a lot of money,"

He rolled his eyes, but she could see a small grin on his lips. "Listen, I need your opinion on something, let's talk after dinner tonight or whatever, so. . . just be around."

She got a bit worried. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said quickly. "Everything is good, just need to go over something with you,"

"Okay."

After she finished her meal, she waited a few minutes, listening to the chatter around the table, before naturally making her escape upstairs to her room, knowing Harry's eyes were following her, until she was out of his sight.

Not five minutes later, there was a knock on her door, and she instantly knew who it was. She tried to do her usual routine, and pretended not to hear the door. He usually gave up after about ten minutes, they all did. But there was more persistence this time, he stopped for a while, and then came right back, knocking again.

"I'm not leaving this time, Ginny. Open the door."

She sighed to herself, before finally deciding to open the door, what was the worse that could happen? it wasn't like he could force her to talk. Ginny waved her wand to unlock the door, and a second later, Harry was inside her room. He gently closed the door behind him, and then proceeded to lean on it, crossing his arms behind his back. She till couldn't believe how much of a change the past year had on him, especially physically. Harry was always attractive, but he was a lot more grown up, in every way. She's never really minded or found it weird, when she thought about how handsome he was. It was natural, and she's never really given it much thought, she found lot of blokes attractive.

"Hi," he said quietly.

"Hey,"

"Hogwarts is almost ready,"

"I heard," she replied.

He turned his head up to the ceiling."You shouldn't just hear about it, though, I mean, you should see it for yourself,"

"I know what Hogwarts look like, Harry,"

His eyes snapped to hers. "You know what I mean, Ginny,"

"Yeah. . .I know,"

Ginny realized that a part of her, really wanted to tell him about her struggles with going there, her attacks and everything, she knew he would understand, he had known about them before, he'd even experienced it himself. She finally felt this familiar wave of comfort from him being there, and she wanted to confide in her friend. But that part, that was telling her to open up, was really small. She didn't want to unfold everything else.

"Why are you avoiding me?" his voice was soft and vulnerable.

Fucking hell. That was why. She was, in many ways trying to stay away from everyone, but Harry, in particular, was the person she tried to dodge the most. Because there was way too much to unpack with Harry. They were apart for a year. That year had majorly changed both of them, in ways, that were going to take a long time to grasp. She just wanted things to remain static, and not face them for a while, and that might've been unhealthy, but that was where she was at. And for some reason, in a truly unHarry-like manner, he wanted to talk. He should have known that she wasn't ready, they have always given one another enough time and space to process things first, before confronting and calling each other out.

"Harry, I'm not av - "

"Don't," he gritted, voice hard. "Don't make a fool out of both of us, just talk to me,"

"That's the whole fucking point, I don't want to talk!"

"Tough shit," he left his position on the door and walked over to the middle of the room, and stopped for a second, seemingly making a decision to either join her on the bed, or go for the desk chair. He looked at her with unreadable eyes, and she frowned slightly, why was he even taking the time to think about it? He opted for the chair, moving it closer to where she sat on the bed before sitting down.

"Ginny," he said softly. "are you angry with me?"

Even though, it was posed as a question, it really wasn't one. Because he knew she was. They both knew, she was a little more than angry with him, and they both knew why. But, she didn't want to open that can of flobberworms just yet, because her emotions were always bubbling up around him, and that was without any kind of talking. If they started down that path of topics, it would be a never-ending cycle of gut-wrenching, heartbreaking conversations, and fighting. And Ginny was exhausted. All the time.

"I can't, Harry," for a second she wasn't sure she had said that. Her voice sounded broken; and she couldn't meet his eyes.

"Can't what?" he whispered.

"All of it. . . I just can't."

He seemed to understand as he reached out, taking her hand in his and squeezing tightly. Warmth spread through her at the gesture, and she found the strength to continue.

"I am angry. With you, the world . . .myself," she took a long breath. "And it feels like if I open that gate, it will just be this. . .perpetual flood, you know? I'm overwhelmed and I just wanna leave it behind,"

"Gin, I don't - "

"And I know, holding it in is not the answer. . .sharing feelings and all that," she caught his eyes then. "But. . .I can't."

He was silent for a moment as his eyes broke away from hers. "You know that I'm not eager to talk about it either, Gin. It's too difficult to explain, and all too painful. Honestly, I would be happy if I never mention any of it again," he said.

"Not when it comes to you, however," he continued, green eyes back on hers steadily. "the only person I want to talk to, is you."

While Harry had said similar things to her in the past, Ginny still felt his words seep into her, all the way to her heart, where they wrapped themselves around it firmly.

"Well, whenever I'm ready to talk, you're the only person I want to annoy, too," she smiled.

Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head for a second at her reply, before letting out a quiet laugh.

"I can't wait," he said through his light chuckles. Ginny wanted to soak up the soft sound. The moment they were having, was much better than keeping away from him, she didn't want to do it anymore. They didn't speak for some time, more than comfortable to just be in each other's presence. And as Ginny marveled one more time, over how easy it felt to be in touch with him again after so long, she noted, that they were still holding hands.

"So. . . how do you want to do this?"

She knew what he was asking, he wanted to know how she wanted to proceed. She let go of his hand to give herself a minute, chewing on her lips in thought.

"I - there's no one way, really. Let's just ignore it, I guess,"

"Ignore it how?"

"You know," she tried to hand gesture her point.

"Not really, no,"

"For fuck's sake, Harry, you're intentionally making this harder!"

"I am not," he defended in frustration, "I'm just trying to do this exactly on your terms, so you don't run out of every room I walk into,"

She gaped at him, before conceding. "Harsh. . . but fair,"

"Okay, we'll just be as we were before. . .just going through life, not paying attention to the multiple erumpents in the room," she shrugged. Harry smiled at her response, but she could plainly see the sadness that flashed in his eyes at her words. He let out a breath, staring down.

"We'll talk eventually, right? About. . . everything, because, there's so much I need to tell you, Gin," his voice almost sounded scared, as though, he feared she was going to back out. But Ginny wasn't stupid, she knew, all of it had to come crashing down in the end.

"Of course, Harry, let's just give ourselves some time first,"

He still looked unsure and disappointed, but nodded nonetheless. "Okay,"

"Okay."

It was a moment before Harry spoke again, "Hermione wants Ron and I to go help her, buy a few things for her parents, wanna come?"

While he couldn't help the hopeful note in his voice, Ginny could see that his face was a little guarded, ready for her to say no. And sadly, she was going to prove him right.

"Erm. . .I'm not really in the mood to go out,"

He sighed, looking at her with defeat and longing. "Promise me, that we'll hang out tonight, then, or soon, at least,"

Ginny's heart broke a little at his words, she tried to smile."Absolutely, I mean, there's obviously no question about it, Potter,"

"Promise me, Ginny." he remained serious, staring at her intensely.

"I promise, Harry."

There was a quick knock on her door, and they both jumped at the sound.

"Come in," Ginny called out. The door was gently pushed open to reveal Neville, as he took a step inside her room.

"Oh! Hey, Harry," he smiled in greeting, a flash of surprise in his eyes.

"Hey, Neville," Harry smiled back.

Neville looked at them for a minute, before settling his eyes on Ginny. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No." Harry and Ginny answered at the same time, and Ginny couldn't help but give Neville a weird look. Why the hell would he think he is interrupting something? she thought to herself.

"Actually," Harry started, standing up. "I was about to leave, have to help Hermione with something," he walked to the door, passing Neville and slapping him on the shoulder. "I'll see you later, mate,"

"See ya, Harry," replied Neville.

Once he stepped outside, Harry wheeled around to look at Ginny with a wide grin, his eyes reminding her of her promise. "I'll see you, Weasley."

"I'll see you, Potter." she grinned back.

After Harry closed the door behind him, she turned around to face a beaming Neville.

"Finally! I'm so happy you're talking to him again, it was getting ridiculous," he said, taking the empty chair and moving it back to her desk, before sitting down. He was very obviously going through the stuff on her desk, not even trying to be discreet.

"What are you doing, Nev?"

Holding up a bunch of letters in his palm, he glared at her. "Oh, I'm just making sure your letters are actually being delivered to you. . . Well, look at that, they're all here!"

"I'm sorry, Neville, but in my defense, we do see each other often,"

"That is such a feeble excuse, and not even true," he complained, still looking through her stuff. "there are a few letters here from Eli,"

"Yeah,"

"Have you responded?"

"No," she didn't really want to talk about Eli, especially knowing how big of a fan Neville was of him.

"Come on, Gin! You should write him back,"

"No, I don't want to,"

"Why not? You guys were great together,"

"For the last time, Neville, we were never together, it was merely physical," he was just trying to get a rise out of her at that point.

"Trust me, I know how physical it was," he shuddered.

"And now you know, you always have to knock," she smirked.

"It was a Broom-cupboard! And you should have used proper locking spells - " he shook his head. "I'm not getting into this again!"

"Well, I mean, we weren't thinking clearly that day, we were practically tearin - "

"Ugh, Ginny!"

"You brought it up, mate," Ginny laughed.

"My apologies," he replied sarcastically, still snooping around her letters. "ooh, there's one from McGonagall,"

"I'm like a minute away from hexing you, Nev, stop going through my stuff!"

"Bloody hell, Gin! She says she wants to make you Head Girl and Captain of the Quidditch team, once the school reopens! Why didn't you say anything?!"

Ginny had entirely forgotten about that letter, because in all honesty, the news didn't excite her. Ginny didn't know if she should tell him, that she had little desire to go back. On the one hand, he would be more than understanding, on the other, he was going to freak out. But if she were honest with herself, she wanted someone's opinion on it.

"Because, I'm kind of, sort of, considering. . .not going back," she said nervously.

Silence. And then he was laughing for a good minute, before he noticed that her face hasn't changed.

"What? No! Why?!"

"I think you know why, Nev,"

He paused at this, taking a moment to ponder, before catching her eyes. "Ginny, I know it's hard, but you can't do this alone, You, Luna, and I are a team. The school needs you, Hogwarts is not the same without you,"

"Neville,"

"Ginny, you love Hogwarts!"

"I know I do! I consider it a second home, but that's not the point!"

"No, no, wait, you said you were considering it, so, you haven't made a decision yet!" he grabbed a quill from her desk and started writing.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm writing Luna, of course, telling her to get here, as soon as possible, so we can talk you out of this insanity!"

"Hey! I'm not insane!"

"Before I write her," he put the quill down and met her eyes." I want to tell you something. . .I was scared to die all of last year, we all were. . .but all I've kept thinking was 'I can't believe my last memory of Hogwarts, would be this'. Merlin, I was so happy when we somehow managed to find a few, rare moments of peace. . .and normality,"

"And then, the War was over, and I was still scared," he said, eyes shining with tears."Because my last memory of it, was still the same, but then, McGonagall said, that I could come back to repeat my seventh year . . . any seventh year student is welcome to try again, if they want to. . .Ginny, we all have a second chance. . .to actually go to class and not be afraid, to study. . .to have fun, to do anything that doesn't involve fighting for our lives every day. And because I have that chance. . .I'm not scared anymore."

It was such a nice way of looking at things. Ginny wished, she had the same positive take on it. She didn't want the past year to be her last memory of Hogwarts, either. But she knew, things were not so simple for her.

#hinny #harryandginny #Harry Potter #Ginny Weasley #harry x ginny #Neville Longbottom #luna lovegood #hinny fic #hinny fanfic

[missmal1005-blog]

One of my creative writing assignment stories

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing that we can do. What we can tell you, is that this is not your fault. Nothing that you did made this happen, and there’s no way to prevent it.  There are grief counselors available to speak with….”

 The doctor’s voices faded out.  Amy kept nodding, showing a small smile, but she wanted them to leave the room. To just get out and let her have a moment to process. After what seemed like an uncomfortable silence that lasted forever, the doctors hastily left.

 The nurse took her clothes and placed them on the edge of the bed.  “Do you need to call anyone?” Amy took a long pause before responding. “No, my mother is in the waiting room”.  The nurse, who name tag said “Jessica” with little butterfly stickers attached, stared at her, trying to gage her emotional process. “Amy, take as long as you need to get ready, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

All Amy could muster up is a half-hearted “Thanks.” She didn’t need the apologizes or the lengthy “It’s not your fault” speeches. She knew it wasn’t anything she could’ve done. Sometimes, pregnancies end. It’s just a simple fact of life. But it doesn’t take away from all the pain. This was going to be her first child. The first child for her and Charles. She didn’t even have the chance to tell him she was in the hospital. He never answers his phone while at work. He claims that he is always too busy to talk. But it’s hard to talk while his mouth was covered with his assistant’s body parts.  

Charles has been sleeping with Desiree since the 20 something year old walked in for a job, and her breasts made an entrance before she did. Most people would have left, but there wasn’t really much to leave with. Charles made sure make sure Amy was taken care of. Weekly manis/pedis, the best personal trainers, a personal chef, maid, and private car to take her anywhere she wanted.  She was newly twenty-one and met Charles at the club where she was celebrating her birthday. He was handsome, older, and more sophisticated then the frat boys that her roommates were sleeping with.  She was a junior in a college and was barely passing classes due to having to work to pay for school. It seemed like an easy fix to marry and not have scrub toilets to pay a tuition bill for a school she hated. At first, she loved living the life she used to watch the famous reality TVs stars have. She herself could have starred in the one of the Real Housewives shows.  

She didn’t notice that since the wedding, Charles was never home. Sure, he would wine and dine her at fancy galas, and take fancy vacations to tropical islands with water so clear she could see her feet when she walked. But his phone was always to his ear, or he had a laptop to glued to his hands. She usually went to bed alone and woke up to him already gone, possibly on a plane or just to his upscale NY office. She only been once in the ten years they were married. It was around their eighth anniversary. He said the office tied him up and he couldn’t make dinner, but would be able to fly her out to any destination that weekend. Amy, being the romantic that she was, wanted to bring the romance back. She made a beautiful lunch, and called his office, and confirmed that he had no appointments for at least an hour block. She would have surprise him with lunch, and a trench coat where she was wearing nothing underneath. She was so excited coming up the elevator. His wooden office door was unlocked, but you could hear the moans before the door was even opened. He begged her to stay that night and promised to fire Desiree the very next day. Yet, two years later, it was odd that his new assistant, “David”, was sending him pictures of his breasts to Charles’s private “work” Blackberry.

When she found out she was pregnant, she was so excited. It was stupid but Charles was so supportive. He got the best doctors in the country. Came to almost every appointment. They even did the early testing to check for genetic abnormalities and to find out the gender. And now, he didn’t even know that his little “baseball buddy” (as he was sure they were having a boy) is no longer existent.

 Amy walked out to the waiting room, where her mom was waiting. Alice smiled at her, until she noticed the tears streaking down her daughter’s face. She quickly ushered her out and helped her into the car.

            “Amy, dear, you’re barely thirty-one. You can try again, you know. If there are issues, Charles can afford the best fertility specialists in the country. Maybe you’ll get twins that way. Your cousin Charlotte, had IVF, and she got triplets. Triplets! Well, it’s not like you can’t afford them, I’m sure Charles will get the fanciest sitters available. Don’t you give up hope yet. Did the doctor say when you could try again? I am assuming that you can as soon as possible…”

 Amy mostly tuned out Alice at this point. Her mother, one of six children, was elated when her daughter “married up”, as she called it. Alice made a point to only have one child to save money, and even then, she wasn’t satisfied with life of living. Amy’s father tried to please her, but Alice only saw dollar signs. Amy believes he worked himself to death trying to compete with Alice’s standards. The only time Alice seemed truly happy with her marriage was when she received the funds from her husband’s life insurance and savings, after his sudden death from a heart attack last year.

 They finally pulled up to the house. The maids had already left for the day, and the chef wasn’t due until later that evening. Alice offered to stay, but Amy wanted to be left alone. She tried calling Charles again, but after it rang for the fifth time she hung up.

 The house, which hosted 7 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, a pool, guesthouse, and tennis court, seemed too big for just two people. It was filled with high end furniture and the latest tech, but it was empty of people.  Amy couldn’t remember the last party or event that was hosted her. Yet it was cleaned top to bottom each day, as if it was just waiting for people to come and admire it.

Amy tried calling Charles again. This time it picked up on the second ring.

 “Hello, my dear, how’s the little one? I know you are expecting me to be home, but Marvin is trying to have dinner with the staff, and you know I’m up for a promotion…”

           It’s super interesting that Marvin’s wife just invited them out for dinner last week and mentioned that they were in Greece for the next two weeks, but Amy didn’t even bother to tell him that. She could hear Desiree’s laughter from the phone.

 “It’s okay Charles. Have a good time. Tell Desiree I said hello.” She hung up before he could respond. She turned the phone off and took the battery out. The last thing she wanted to do was argue, especially after today.

            She went to the bathroom, crying. She looked in the mirror. Her hair, a perfect light blonde, rested all the way down her backside. Most of the wives her age already had Botox and new breasts, but she had the blessing of her mother genetics. She was still mistaken to be in college and was constant carded. At many events she was asked if she was a model, and most were shocked that with her blue eyes that looked like marbles and her perfectly tanned skin, that she wasn’t.

           After staring long in the mirror, Amy knew she had to do something. The change in her body warranted a change in her appearance. She was tired of looking like the perfect trophy wife. She was tired of being the perfect trophy wife. She wanted a change.  

Amy ran into the kitchen and grabbed some shears. She went to the bathroom and started cutting. Her smile grew wider with each chunk of hair that fell to the floor.  Once her hair reached the length of her ears, she went into the bedroom, and her own private bathroom. She rummaged in the closet until she found it-a box of leftover red/orange hair dye, from a few Halloweens ago. She wanted to go for Black Widow but brought a wig to dye instead of her own hair. Charles was supposed to be Hulk, but he supposedly had to work late.  Once he saw her in that red wig, he was so devasted that she changed her blonde tresses that he slept in the other room. He brought her plane tickets to Paris once he saw her without the wig that next morning as an apology.

 It only took 40 minutes to dye her hair and dry it. She took out her contacts, and picked out her glasses, and put them on. Charles hated her glasses. He said it gave her the appearance of being smart to the point where it was condescending. She kept her glasses in her purse since then, only using them when he wasn’t around, as the contacts irritated more than they helped.

 She smiled in the mirror at her new look. She didn’t look like a trophy wife. She looked like Amy, a person, of her own accord. It brought her back to who she was before she married. The girl who like comics and music, and not balls and tea parties and the country club. She went into her closet, and took out some jeans, and a bright band shirt that was hidden within. A CD dropped, from the band Guns N’ Roses. She hadn’t listened to them in forever. Charles didn’t like that type of music. He told her, “Next thing you’ll do is go get a tattoo or something crazy.” He asked her to put away the band shirts, and the jeans too. The fact that she could fit into the clothes of her youth surprised Amy and made her happy.

 She laughed bitterly at the memory, then smiled mischievously.  She knew what she had to do.

She walked out the front door, where Tom, her driver was sitting in front of the car, having a smoke break. When he saw her, he quickly put it out. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Kelly”.  

 She smiled. “Please Tom, call me Amy.”

 “Yes, of course Mrs.-um, Amy.” He didn’t hide his worried and concerned glances as he opened the door, and let Amy in. He walked around and got into the driver’s seat. “Where to, ma’am?”

 “133 West Market Street in Manchester. And it’s Amy, remember?”

Tom hesitated. “Ma’am, I mean Amy, you do know that area is…. that part of town…. well, you know that’s a tattoo shop, right?”

 “I do Tom. And please hurry, I need to get in before they close today.”

 “Right away”.

 And they drove off, Amy smiling all the way.

#creative writing #school #short story #writer #pregnancy loss #pregnancy

[littlerose13writes]

Sweeter Than Fiction Chapter 8: A Strong Cup of Tea

Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter have decided fifth year is going to be their year; the year everything works out for them, and if that means Scorpius keeping his huge crush on his best friend a secret, then that’s just what he’s going to have to do.

It’s just a crush. He can get over it well before fifth year is over, can’t he?

Chapter 8/27

Warnings: contains description of a panic attack

Updates every Monday and Friday

Read on AO3 or FF

The following morning was hellish when Scorpius was woken up by his dorm mates leaving the room and feeling completely unsatisfied with the amount of sleep he’d had, and still a bit shaken up from his nightmare, not least because his brain was choosing to focus on the beginning part where Albus admitted to having feelings for him.

Their morning lessons were a blur of exhaustion and Scorpius didn’t feel he’d fully woken up until halfway through Care of Magical Creatures, which thankfully was over quickly.

Scorpius and Albus walked side by side back to the castle, Albus’ school bag swinging between them while he laughed about their Care of Magical Creatures lesson where a niffler had made its way into Pucey’s wallet and stolen all his gold. Scorpius stifled a huge yawn.

“Am I boring you, Scor?” Albus teased.

Scorpius shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night.” He hadn’t planned to tell Albus about his nightmare, he didn’t need to know.

Albus looked at him very seriously and Scorpius knew he had figured it out. He tried to arrange his face into a casual expression but another yawn took over and slightly spoiled the effect.

“Did you have another nightmare?” he asked in a low voice, even though there was a good distance between them and the rest of the class who were hurrying through the high winds inside for break.

“Sort of,” Scorpius admitted. “It wasn’t too bad. It’s just impossible to fall asleep afterwards.”

Albus looked a bit put out. “You should’ve woken me up.”

“Why? So we could both be sleep deprived today?”

“No! So I could… I don’t know, help you somehow?” He looked apologetic with this lame response. “I’ve been using that portable, two-way silencing charm from Uncle Ron since Higgs started snoring so badly. I didn’t hear you wake up. Do you want to talk about it?”

Scorpius could hardly explain why his nightmare had been so horrible without revealing his feelings for Albus, and he wasn’t about to do that in the break before double Potions on a windy Tuesday morning.

“It was just the usual, you know. Delphi was there, she was trying to torture me, Voldemort was in power, I was the Scorpion King, you never existed.” He tried to say this casually, almost with amusement, to trick himself into thinking it was all a funny story that couldn’t hurt him in his sleep.

The truth was that, even with all of that horrificness, the one thing that tore Scorpius from sleep for the rest of the night was the crushingly real feeling that Albus was gone, the idea of losing him. It made him feel sick.

“Scorpius?” Albus had stopped which made Scorpius realise he had stopped too. He was standing stock still, rooted to the spot and feeling like all his blood had just been drained from him in one quick motion.

He couldn’t breathe, his lungs were working furiously but nothing was happening. Oxygen refused to enter them, he was going to pass out and die because he couldn’t breathe. His vision was blurring, darkness creeping in from all sides as he felt his legs crumple beneath him. He was falling, falling, further and further down and he wasn’t breathing anymore. He was going to die.

“Scorpius look at me, right at me, that’s it, just look at me.” Scorpius vaguely heard a calm voice as he breathed in and in over and over, trying to get his breath to catch right at the back of his throat where he needed it. It wasn’t quite reaching, but it was going into his lungs, his vision was clearing.

Albus’ familiar, kind face swam into view. Albus, I’m going to die. He tried to speak, tell Albus, ask him for help. But nothing happened. All he could do was continually breathe in, he was hyperventilating.

“Press your palms together. The Battle of Hogwarts took place between the first and second of May, 1998 and culminated in the demise of Tom Riddle. Take your hands apart. Many consider this battle as the start of the new wizarding world, due to the major reformations to the key structures of our world since.”

He’d joined his hands together as if praying then taken them apart as instructed. Why? He knew these words, these words were familiar and they came from his History of Magic textbook. He could breathe when he heard Albus’ voice read these words, he knew these words and these words wouldn’t hurt him. Albus wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t let him die. His heart was staying put inside him, its thumping had decreased. His breath had finally caught, he wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t going to die.

“Hands together. Harry Potter was a key figure throughout this process. Hands apart.”

“M’okay.” Somebody with Scorpius’ voice spoke and it took him a few seconds to realise it was him. He was breathing heavily, as if he’d forgotten how.

“Breathe in through your nose.” Scorpius obeyed. “Out through your mouth. And again.”

Albus talked him through this breathing process a few more times before he became fully aware of his surroundings again. He was in the grounds, not far from Hagrid’s hut but nobody was around apart from Albus, who was focused intently on Scorpius. He was sat on the ground, leaning weakly against Albus’ school bag and Albus was sat in front of him, looking concerned.

“Tell me what you need now.”

Scorpius was starting to realise what had just happened. He’d been fine for months, no nightmares, no panic attacks, and he’d just been walking to class with Albus. Everything had been completely normal, he’d been trying not to think about his nightmare, and it had hit him like a strong reducto. Now he was here outside with Albus and he just wanted to bury his face away from view.

“I need you.”

Albus said nothing and just got up onto his knees and opened his arms out tentatively. Scorpius didn’t think and simply fell into them. Albus cradled his head against his chest and they stayed like that for a few minutes before Scorpius could speak.

“What’s wrong with me, Al?”

Albus pulled away from him and held him at arms’ length, his hands atop Scorpius’ shoulders. “Nothing is wrong with you. You went through something most people can’t even imagine. It’s normal to have a reaction, you can’t just snap back as if it never happened.”

“Why can’t I just get better?” Scorpius heard the childish desperation in his question.

“My cousin Victoire is studying stuff like this at St Mungo’s. You know, mental health rather than physical. She says it’s often harder to heal a brain than a body. It’s going to be her specialism when she becomes a Healer.”

“She’ll be good at that.” He was remembering Victoire from James’ birthday and imagined her presence would be quite calming.

“She will. Wizards don’t put enough value on some muggle therapies, like just talking about how they feel, and instead want to use spells and potions to fix everything. But that doesn’t always work.”

“Can’t really use episkey on my mind can we?” He tried to smile light-heartedly but he felt like he’d been in a fight with a troll and the troll had got a good few whacks of his club in.

“We can write to her if you want. Vic, I mean. She might be able to help you. Only if you want to though,” Albus said tentatively.

“Maybe.” Scorpius wasn’t sure how he felt about this prospect when a thought occurred to him. “Were you reading A History of Magic to me earlier?”

Albus flushed. “I memorised a few pages, just in case this happened. I thought you’d like it.”

Scorpius managed a small smile. “I can’t believe I’ve got you memorising textbooks.”

Albus beamed when he heard Scorpius speaking in a more light hearted tone. “C’mon, I’m taking you to Madam Pomfrey.”

“No,” Scorpius protested, trying to stand up. Albus was still holding onto him.

“What do you mean no? You have to, she’ll remember what to do.” Albus was pulling him to his feet. “Come on, before the corridors fill up for classes.”

“No,” Scorpius repeated. “I don’t want to go to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will write to my dad, and he was so pleased when I told him I wasn’t having panic attacks anymore. I don’t want him to know.”

Albus looked at him with sad eyes. “Scor, you have to tell him.”

Scorpius pictured his father, still encumbered with grief and the way he had failed to hide how distraught he had been when Scorpius had panicked over the summer. He’d tried, of course he had tried, but Scorpius knew it was too painful for his dad to see him suffer. Here at Hogwarts, he had the ability to keep this from him, and maybe that way his dad could start to heal himself.

He thought of Albus’ own father, when he’d been staying at the Potters’ in the summer. How warm and easy the relationship between Harry and Albus had become, the way Harry made it so clear he was there to listen to anything Albus had to say, even when Albus was in one of his moods. It made Scorpius’ heart ache with envy. He knew his dad loved him, but he also knew his dad was nowhere near ready to talk about what happened. He didn’t want to cause him even more pain.

“Not yet, please.” It was all he could answer. “Don’t make me go to the hospital wing, she’ll only want to give me a calming draught and you know I hate the side effects of that stuff. It’s not as if she can stop me having another one ever.”

Albus looked at him sympathetically then gazed around them, his eyes landing on Hagrid’s hut. “Can we at least go to Hagrid’s? You look like you could do with a strong cup of tea, no side effects to that.”

“We’ll be late for class. It’s double Potions, Al, your favourite.”

“I don’t care,” he shrugged, beckoning for Scorpius to follow him. “You’re more important.”

You’re more important.

Scorpius wondered if Albus had any idea the effect his throwaway comments could have.

They knocked on the door and Hagrid emerged, a large and unwieldy knife in his hand. Scorpius eyed it warily, not that Hagrid was at all threatening, but he didn’t always have the best aim.

“Hi Hagrid,” Albus said as soon as the door opened. “Can we come in please? I’m, er, not feeling well.”

Hagrid looked concerned and stepped back to let them inside. The table was mostly taken up with what looked like rotten vegetables, which Hagrid was preparing with the knife for an unknown creature.

Scorpius was grateful that Albus had lied for him and he stayed silent as Hagrid quizzed his best friend about why he felt unwell and tried to force him to the hospital wing and said he was going to write to Al’s parents. Albus let him fuss, but he slid the cup of strong tea Hagrid made for him in Scorpius’ direction, swapping it for his own. Hagrid didn’t notice.

“Bin meaning ter have a word with yer about yer sister,” he said, appraising Albus over the rim of his mug. “She ‘asn’t bin turning up ter feed her Hippogriff like the other third years.”

Scorpius found this information surprising; he knew Lily Potter was very fond of animals. Albus however, didn’t look very surprised and instead rolled his eyes.

“What were you asking her to feed it?” he asked knowingly.

“Usual stuff, Hippogriffs eat insects and small mammals. I’ve had ‘em on ferrets and worms.” Hagrid looked confused by Albus’ question.

He nodded in understanding. “She has a thing at the moment about eating animals. She won’t do it anymore, apparently that extends to feeding Hippogriffs too.”

“But they’re wild creatures? That’s wha’ they eat.” Hagrid was perplexed.

“Try telling that to Lily,” Albus muttered and took a sip of tea.

Hagrid watched him for a second. “I found ‘er in the forbidden forest yesterday.”

Albus nearly spat his tea out. “Lily was in the forbidden forest? Oh, don’t tell Dad. He might have a heart attack.”

“Nearly gave me an ‘eart attack and all! Tiny thing like ‘er, wandering around with all those creatures. She told me she got lost.”

Albus scoffed and rolled his eyes. “If Lily was in the forbidden forest, she wanted to be there. Trust me.”

“I didn’t think ‘er story added up, going on about a homework assignment ter draw a map o’ the grounds or something?”

Scorpius laughed, and instantly felt his mood lift and his heart lighten. He still felt as if he’d been pummelled with a beater’s bat, but that was normal after a panic attack. For now, he was safe with his best friend, laughing together about his little sister and her eccentric ways.

“The thing about Lily is detentions don’t seem to worry her,” Albus chatted away. “She thinks of them more as social occasions, or a chance to practise her singing if she’s left alone.”

“The Potters like their singing, Hagrid,” Scorpius said, throwing Albus a mischievous look, letting his best friend know he was feeling better and he was very grateful for him.

Albus grinned back, picking up on Scorpius’ change in mood. “We’re thinking of starting a band,” he laughed. “Shower Serenades.”

Hagrid watched Albus. “Yer seem quite bright. Are yer feeling well enough to go to class? I’ll write yer teacher a note, who do yer have next?”

“Slughorn, double Potions,” Albus muttered, glancing at Scorpius who nodded. “And yes, I feel well enough.”

“Right then, best be on yer way then,” he said, scribbling a note. He looked up at Scorpius when he’d finished writing. “Yer a very good friend, Scorpius, making sure ‘e’s alright.” His eyes were twinkling as if he knew what was going on.

“Are you sure you feel better?” Albus said worriedly as they climbed the castle steps. “You don’t need to lie down?”

Scorpius imagined going back to the dorm and laying in the dark by himself, then he imagined attending Potions and being in the same room as Albus. He knew which was more appealing.

“I’d prefer to keep busy,” Scorpius said honestly and Albus nodded.

They shuffled into the dungeon classroom and every head turned to stare at them. Scorpius looked at his feet and Albus awkwardly handed Slughorn the note from Hagrid. He read it and nodded sympathetically. “Take a seat, boys.”

Potions was Scorpius’ favourite subject (other than History of Magic which would always be his ultimate favourite) because he loved seeing Albus excel. Ever since fourth year, when he had really come into his own, Albus shone in Potions class, working in an adorably unsystematic order but somehow still managing to produce the best brew in the class. Slughorn doted on him and said he was a natural, which made Albus squirm in discomfort but didn’t stop him continuing to be top of the class. It was another lesson they shared with the Gryffindors.

“You’ve joined us just in time to hear which brew you will be making today.” Slughorn smiled at him and Albus. “This potion is tricky, one of the trickiest you will learn this year, and my intention is for you to brew it today, and then again at the end of the school year when you will have all, no doubt, improved.”

There was an excited buzz as they waited to find out which potion they would be brewing.

“You will be attempting to brew the cure for Dragon Pox. As some of you may know, this potion originates from the 14th century but was revised more recently. Unfortunately, nobody has found a revision of the cure which completely eradicates the greenish tinge to the sufferer.”

“Like poor Jeremy Boot,” whispered Imogen Carlisle.

Jeremy Boot was a Ravenclaw in the year above who had suffered a bad case of Dragon Pox as a child. He’d survived but his skin was a faint shade of green at all times and nobody ever liked to mention it.

“You will be using the revised recipe, which you will find on page seventy-nine of your books. As this potion is particularly tricky,” he flicked his wand at the blackboard and everyone’s names wrote themselves in a long list, “you will be working in pairs.” Another flick of his wand rearranged the names so they were lined up in pairs.

There was a moment of silence while everyone browsed the list for their partner’s name and movement started as people partnered up and started to collect ingredients. Scorpius ran his eyes down the list and found his name.

Scorpius Malfoy - Cole Flint

Just below, he read:

Albus Potter - Thea Jordan

Scorpius shared a look with Albus and he shrugged and gathered his potions kit up to go and sit with Thea. His place was taken instantly by Cole, who looked pleased.

“If I have to work with an Arrows supporter…” He grinned and placed his own potions kit on the desk. Scorpius smiled back and started to set a cauldron up between them. “Are you any good at potions, Blondie?”

Scorpius looked up from the bracket he was setting the cauldron up on. “I’m alright, I can follow the instructions well enough that nothing usually  goes horribly wrong.”

Cole looked relieved. “I’ve been called a hazard near a cauldron on more than one occasion. Mind if I stick more to prepping the ingredients?”

“Not at all.” They shared a friendly smile and Scorpius flipped the textbook to the correct page, glancing over the rather complicated instructions.

“We have to soak the dragon scales in essence of murtlap for thirty minutes before we can add them, so we should do that first.” Cole read over his shoulder and rummaged in his Potions kit for what he needed.

“Isn’t it weird that you need dragon scales to cure Dragon Pox?” Scorpius mused as he lit a fire under the cauldron with his wand and set it off gently warming.

“Hmm? A bit. Dragons can’t catch Dragon Pox.” Cole held up one of the greenish-blue dragon scales and it caught the light attractively. “Look at these things. My aunt has a dragon-hide handbag like this. This is the ingredient that turns people green; shame it’s useless without them.”

“You know a lot about this potion,” Scorpius observed as Cole tipped the shiny scales into the murtlap.

“My grandma had it this summer, a really bad case too. Even if she’d been younger she probably wouldn’t have survived.” Cole was rummaging in his potions kit again and not looking at Scorpius as he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Were you close?”

Cole looked up with the next ingredient in his hand and sighed. “We were as it happens. She was almost like a mum to me, seeing as mine wasn’t that interested in being a mum.”

Scorpius had never spoken to his dorm mate about anything other than trivial, day-to-day topics like if he could borrow some toothpaste or who a cloak belonged to. It was like they were meeting for the first time as completely new people.

Cole seemed to notice Scorpius wasn’t sure how to respond to that and he grinned. “Don’t feel sorry for me or anything, I had Dad and Oliver growing up and they were more than enough. And then I had my grandma, until this summer.”

“I know how that feels. I… I lost my mum, more than two years ago now.” The cauldron fire roared between them but neither of them were touching the ingredients.

“I know. I’m really sorry for your loss, Scorpius. I wanted to say something at the time, but we didn’t really speak and I didn’t want to intrude.” He paused for a second. “Does it… does it get better? Missing them?”

Scorpius could hear the desperate plea in his voice. “Better isn’t the word. You’ll always miss her, but it becomes easier to accept after time. The missing doesn’t go away, but it’s fonder and less painful.”

He realised he was smiling away to himself and Cole gave him a grateful look. “Thanks, Scorpius. That's… thanks. You’re a mate.”

“And how are things going over here, boys? Good to see you’ve got your dragon scales soaking, many have overlooked that instruction. Hop to it, get slicing your daisy roots, chop chop.” Slughorn leaned over their cauldron and peered inside as he spoke, not that there was much in there to see.

“Chopping, sir,” Cole said briskly, doing exactly that.

“Now, when you add the sea water, Scorpius, you’ll want to pour from the left side of the cauldron, like Albus over there is doing.” He pointed across the classroom at where Albus and Thea were working.

Albus was clearly in what Scorpius called ‘Potions Mode’ and what Albus called ‘shh, Scor, I’m trying to concentrate’. He’d loosened his tie and pulled it to one side and he’d rolled both of his jumper sleeves up to his elbows. His hair was its usual mess but he’d swept it back from his face, where the steam from his cauldron made it stay in place. It made him look completely different, having his hair pushed back like that, older and more mature but at the same time incredibly attractive to Scorpius. He was smiling broadly and passing ingredients back and forth with Thea, who looked highly impressed.

“Scorpius, mate,” Cole interrupted his staring and Scorpius turned to him with a guilty start. “I know you said it was nothing at the party, but you can tell me. I don’t mind if you fancy her.”

Oh. Cole thought he’d been staring at Thea.

“No, no, I don’t, honestly. Just… thinking about the potion.” Cole shrugged and smiled again as Slughorn bobbed back into view.

“Come on, boys. You’re hardly any further on than the last time I was here.”

He stood watching over them as Scorpius hastily tipped the sliced daisy roots into the cauldron and it turned a bright white. Cole kept glancing suspiciously at him, as if he didn’t believe a word, but Scorpius could hardly say anything to defend himself in front of Slughorn. It was true though, he didn’t fancy Thea and he hadn’t been staring at her.

“Counter-clockwise, that’s it.” Slughorn waited expectantly for Scorpius to stir the potion, but he couldn’t help his eyes flicking frequently to what Cole was doing. Clearly, he was enough of a hazard near a cauldron for Slughorn to monitor them constantly. “Now, Scorpius, can I expect your attendance at my November soirée?”

Scorpius lost count of his stirs and hurriedly tried to work out if he’d done enough. “Yes, sir, I’ll be there. Thankyou for the invitation.”

“That’s quite alright. It was quite the adventure you got up to last year, everyone’s still talking about it of course. The stories! Of course, I don’t like to listen to gossip, but…” he tailed off with a wicked glint in his eye.

“Not yet! It’s too hot to test.” Scorpius hurriedly grabbed the spoon from Cole’s grasp before he could taste a drop like the instruction recommended at this stage.

“Just like your mother, she was always careful with her potioneering. I always said she’d make a wonderful Healer if circumstances had been… well, you’re very alike in a lot of ways.”

“That’s what I want to do, sir,” Scorpius said eagerly, hoping Slughorn would tell him more about his mum in class. “I want to be a Healer when I leave school.”

“A Healer, hey? Well now, let me think.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Ah, Hetty Fairchild. Taught her everything she knows about healing potions I did, and now she’s in charge of a team of forty at St Mungo’s. What do you say I drop her an owl, see if she can’t join us for our next get together? I’m sure she’d love to talk to you about Healer school.”

“Thanks, sir.”

This seemed like an interesting prospect. He’d really enjoyed talking to Albus’ cousin, Victoire, about her experience as a student at St Mungo’s School of Healing Excellence. It would be fascinating to also talk to someone who’d been in the field for a long time.

Their potion was complete with the final ingredient of the soaked dragon scales, which turned it a lurid green, not far from the shade described in the recipe.

“Blimey, I feel like I’m turning green just looking at this thing.” Cole pretended to shield his eyes from the potion’s bright glare while Slughorn came round to inspect.

To nobody’s surprise, Albus and Thea’s potion was the best by far, but Slughorn did take vials of several pairs’ work, including Scorpius and Cole’s attempt.

“It’s a shame you can’t cosy up together with Jordan during the game on Saturday, Potter. Then maybe you’d stand half a chance of catching the quaffle,” Polly hissed snidely, loud enough for most people to hear.

Thea simply rolled her eyes and muttered but Albus, only slightly red, turned around to glare at her. Albus, who had always coped by ignoring and looking the other way, and never bit back.

“It’s a shame you didn’t make the team this year, Polly. Or last year. And remind me, did you make it the year before that either? Have you ever made the team?”

There was a shocked silence at Albus’ words. Not because of what he’d said, but the rest of their classmates, like Scorpius, were expecting Albus to ignore her like he usually did.

“Yeah, well…” Polly visibly cast around for something to hit back with as Albus glared at her and turned to clear his Potions kit away. “At least I don’t have stupid hair.”

Even Karl Jenkins was looking at her with secondhand embarrassment.

read from the beginning

<<< read chapter 7

read chapter 9 (coming >>>

chapter index

#scorbus #Scorpius malfoy #Albus potter #Scorpius x Albus #Albus Severus potter #Albus x Scorpius #sweeter than fiction #hpcc #ccsquad #Cursed Child #Harry Potter and the Cursed Child #fanfiction #tw: panic attack #swflr8

[antihero-writings]

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch1)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom's memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom's past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Notes: 

I've actually had this idea ever since the first or second time I read Chamber of Secrets. Though Tom has never been my favorite character, I found young Tom interesting, and I always thought things would have gone differently if he had come back when he was Harry's age. I was always curious if he could have been redeemed if things had gone this way. Now, I know JK Rowling purposely wanted to create an irredeemable villain, so she wouldn't have redeemed him even then, but I wanted to write a fic playing with that idea.

Despite having had this idea for a long time, I didn't write it because I was afraid I'd bite off more than I could chew, and wouldn't finish. But this last time I read Chamber of Secrets, I decided I'd just go for it. I'm still afraid I won't finish, as this is the longest premise of any of my fics posted, (and I haven't finished any of my other, shorter, long fics...) but I didn't want that to stop me from at least trying out the idea. Even if I don't finish it, at least I'll have something to show for it!

All that being said, if you like this fic and do want me to continue...please please please consider commenting, and/or reblogging. Writing fics like this is a lot of effort, and while I do write them for my own enjoyment...it is still very difficult for me to find the motivation to continue them. Sometimes one comment can mean the difference between me gaining the motivation to continue, and leaving the fic behind.

Also, if there are any artists who are interested in drawing cover art for this fic don't hesitate to say so!! You can comment so below, or message me!!

Chapter 1:

He didn’t know how fitting it was.

Tom Riddle didn’t know just how fitting it was that the first two things he sensed after waking up were the sound of crying, and the stench of blood.

He didn’t remember how much of his past—or perhaps one could call it his future—was comprised of tears, blood, muffled screaming, and the words avada kadavra! hissed in a cold, high voice that was surely not his own.

Right now, he didn’t remember much of anything at all.

Sixteen years or sixty, he remembered none of pain, the loss, or the victory.

All he knew in this moment was that world was damp and cold, it smelled like death, and someone was weeping.

That was the world to him; an ink spill on living canvas. A hole made in screaming pages.

The sound of weeping was the first thing he knew in this new life—(or this old life, made new)—it echoed and filled the place—whatever the place was—like the slow drip of water in an empty cave; tiny on its own, mistakable in a crowd, but sharp, vast, and overpowering when the world was hollow.

And the world did feel hollow.

He did not wake to a warm, dry hospital bed, a fire, and a heap of get-well cards. His family did not surround him, showering him with love and gratitude, asking what he did and did not remember, and what had happened to their sweet boy. No one held up pictures, pointing to the scenes and people within them fervently demanding remember?!, praying amnesia would leave him sooner rather than later.

Instead he woke to a place in which every sensation burned: cold searched for weaknesses in his damp cloak and slithered across his skin; the smell of blood bored into his nostrils, enough he could almost taste it; and the longer he heard the wailing it burned in his ears too.

Burned because it hurt his heart not just his ears? Because it was sad? Because it mattered, and he needed to know what was wrong?

Surely not.

Burned because it was annoying, and he wanted to shut it up. Burned because it wasn’t a nice sound to wake up to, and whoever they were ought to have more courtesy for orphan boys who just wanted to wake up in peace.

Everything burned because something about feeling, sensing anything at all, was…oddly unfamiliar. Not strange as in a new way; it was like something he once knew well that had been forgotten, left behind for a while, like nostalgia.

And if simply living was this foreign…how long had it been since he was last alive? How long had he been a ghost? And what brought him back to his body?

He opened his eyes.

Sight didn’t change the impression he had received from his other senses; mostly it just added ‘dark’ to the list of not-very-nice things the world was made of. And due to this fact, sight didn’t burn nearly as much as his other senses. Still, the world was crisper, more colorful, somehow, despite its drab nature…

He was in a chamber, a dungeon of sorts—probably underground. Stones and statues, turned brownish-green in the humid atmosphere, lined the walls. Snakes poked their heads out at him from the walls, their eyes glittering as if they’d come alive at any moment. And before him was a particularly large statue of a bearded man.

But, as he sat up, his clothing—long, black robes, with a green patch on the chest—clinging to him uncomfortably, there were a few things sight showed him worth noting:

The first, most obvious, was the gigantic snake lying beneath the statue some ways down the chamber, its scaly green tail glistening in the low light. It was clearly dead; lying still, its belly up. There was blood where its lifeless eyes had been scratched blind, and a hole in the roof of in its gaping mouth, one of its front fangs missing. This was most likely the source of the foul smell. How long had it been dead? Couldn’t have been long, considering the other things around the room…

The second, what may have once been a book. This one was very close to himself. Its pages were ripped out of their bindings, in shreds, surrounding him like fresh snowfall. The leather cover had many holes and gashes in it, apparently made by the missing fang, which also lay beside the book, blackened ink on its tip—(but can words bleed?)—the book mutilated beyond repair. This was one of the strangest sights. It was almost as if someone—probably the person crying—blamed it for their problems and took their anger out on it, before that anger became the sorrow that resonated through the chamber now.

The third was a gleaming orange and red bird, long tail feathers unfurled on the floor, like a flame, its head held high, sitting quietly beside the mourner. It didn’t look like it didn’t belonged in such a grim place—like a rich person walking in a slum.

There was another glittering thing beside him: a silver sword with jewels encrusted in the hilt. This was likely the cause of the snake’s death, especially considering it had blood coating it.

A little way from it was a pile of raggedy brown fabric. …He couldn’t quite tell what it was supposed to be.

The sixth: the source of the crying, a boy. He had unruly black hair, and his black robes—(the same robes, he noted, that he himself was wearing, or very similar)—were christened with the blood and slime of beasts—(and maybe men, he couldn’t know)—and ink. He was possessed by the demon that was tragedy; his entire form shaking, heaving, whether from sadness or rage, or both, only time, and a healthy dose of good questioning would tell.

The last thing of note, and what was most likely the source of the tears: a corpse. A girl specifically, with red hair—almost as fiery as the bird’s feathers—ashen skin, and, once again, the black robes—(must be a uniform of some sort). Perhaps they were at a school? Quite a dreary school it was, if so. She was small, apparently young.

The scene was both a lot, and not much, to go on.

Three living things—one without memory, another without peace—two dead, and four inanimate, one of the inanimate things more mauled more than any of the living or dead.

His mind started to provide theories about the scene,

Theory one:

The snake had killed the girl, the boy had taken up the sword and killed it in outrage.

Made sense, but that still left the diary, the bird, and himself. As well as the pile of fabric…

He didn’t see the bird having a big role in this; his best guess was that it belonged to the boy, as it seemed loyal to him, sharing his grief, and that its role was the scratch marks on the snake’s eyes, helping the boy defeat it.

Theory two: The girl had written something in her diary the boy didn’t like, perhaps something about he himself. He had torn the diary apart, and in a jealous rage sent his pet snake after her, but regretted it after the snake went too far and killed her, and decided to kill it after all.

Theory three: Reverse of roles; the diary was the boy’s, and she had found it, and he was either mad she found it and tore it, or she had after finding something she didn’t like in it, potentially about him, and the offended party let loose the snake.

Theory four: The snake belonged to neither of them, it was by accident they happened to wake it, or stumble into its home while fighting about this diary.

But why did they find an underground chamber the best place for an argument? Did they live here? Was this a normal place for them to spend time? Like some sort of secret hideaway? Were they in hiding from something?

Four(a): Or else were they on some quest to find it—was the snake guarding treasure? Did the diary hold the map to it, and they tore it simply to keep anyone else from finding it, or else falling into the same trap?

Theory five: The diary was Tom’s. He had some relationship to one or both of them that went awry.

Five(a): The snake was Tom’s, and he had set it loose on the girl for some reason, perhaps he was the jealous and angry party here.

Theory six: The snake didn’t kill the girl.

Six(a): She was already dead or dying before the snake even arrived. Maybe the snakes venom, or something else about this chamber, was meant to cure her and failed.

Six(b): The boy killed her. Perhaps in his aforementioned jealous rage he had took the sword to her himself, and now he regretted it.

Six(c): Tom killed her.

He sat up, blinking at the dreary universe. The boy didn’t hear him, just kept on crying. It was a very tiresome noise to hear so constantly.

He reached over and, quietly as possible, drew the diary closer. What made its disfigurement all the stranger was that every page he could see appeared blank. People didn’t usually have qualms with blank diaries—it was the words that people were so touchy about.

When he lifted up the cover, he could see beneath the gashes a name: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The sight of the name sent a curious sensation through his stomach; he didn’t remember who it belonged to, but the name set a fire boiling in his gut, a bubbling, swirling, writhing fire within him. A fire that threatened to destroy everything around it too.

He looked up at the mourner. Was that his name? Or was the girl, in fact, a very petite, long-haired boy? Did the diary belong to no one present, and it was the secrets within, not the owner, that mattered? But there were no words at all, let alone any secrets…

Or…was it perhaps his own? His own name that he didn’t even remember.

Sitting here theorizing wasn’t going to get him any closer to the truth.

It didn’t seem like a good idea to disturb the boy in his grief, but he didn’t have much choice—losing your memory is an ordeal of its own, you know.

He got to his feet—this sensation too didn’t feel completely mundane to him. Everything felt nostalgic— like in some fond childhood he walked, and smelled, and saw, and heard, but as he grew up, sense left him, and he forgot what it meant to be alive. His damp clothes clung to his body, making him shiver.

His footstep broke the atmosphere; the first new sound in the stagnant place, the pieces of peace cutting through the tears. The boy gasped—the kind of raw gasp, full of dread and despair, one takes when they realize the dragon is awake.

But the dragon in this particular chamber was slain…

His slow steps filled the chamber, an ominous repetition, the ticking of a clock.

When he got close, the boy’s hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword, the metal twinkling in the dim light, scraping and clattering on the stone as it moved.

“I’d stay back if I were you,” his voice was soft but solid, dangerous, wet with tears, shaking with rage, hoarse from screaming.

Tom stopped. He didn’t know what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

Hmm…What to ask? ‘Why’s that?’ ‘What happened here?’ ‘Who are you, who was she, and, while you’re at it, who am I?’

The scene was still fresh; if he touched the embers it might reignite.

“And…If you were me, what would you do?” he decided to ask. Speech, words forming on his tongue, felt odd too… but it was the sound of his voice that caught him most off guard…why? Had he been expecting to hear something different?

It was an odd question; he could tell the boy wasn’t expecting it. He paused. Then he scoffed,

“I’ll never be like you.” Then his voice grew quiet and dangerous, “But if I were in your place…I would run. As far away as I could, and as fast as I could, before I found out what the famous Harry Potter is capable of when you take something important from him.”

An even odder response.

The boy turned. One of his most defining features was the circular-rimmed, cracked glasses he wore. That, and the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which was red and irritated. Seeing this scar, for some reason, made ire rise in Tom’s throat too. His glasses shielded eyes of a bright green which also heralded from a distant memory.

Bright, but dark. A green that pierced the veil of shadows, yet reflected the rest of the world. He wondered if he had ever seen such hatred in someone’s eyes before, in that past he didn’t remember. They burned as bright as the bird by his side, bright as the girl’s hair. They were bright enough to set the chamber ablaze, dark enough to enact the threats in all the room’s corners. Yet his name didn’t immediately come to mind.

Harry Potter. That was what he said his name was. Once said aloud, the name was more familiar than sensation itself; a burning scar upon his mind, never quite healed. The name was rage, and humiliation itself to him…though he couldn’t place the source of these emotions; no memories came to mind.

They were enemies.

Only two names he knew so far, and both sent the same sort of mad fury through him. Curious.

He couldn’t be more than twelve years old. Twelve years old was quite the young age to be defeating monsters, watching girls die, and to hold such hatred in one’s eyes. Very young to be so hated by he himself. He was just a kid, did he/this harry potter really deserve all this?

Why did they hate each other so much? Was it normal for him to hate twelve-year-old boys? Come to think of it, how old was he himself? He sounded young, not much older than him. But he didn’t feel young. Why did he hate him so much? It was starting to look like Theory six(c) might be the most likely.

He didn’t take his advice. He didn’t know much about himself, but he didn’t think he was one to take people’s advice, especially not that of his enemies. In ignorant defiance he took a step forward.

“Stay back!” Harry Potter barked, as vicious as a loyal guard dog.

That same hatred he felt buzzed behind his words.

Another step.

He held up the sword.

“I’m warning you.” Tom knew the threat in his voice was very real.

Yet he came closer. Close enough to see the face of the girl.

He didn’t recognize her. Predictable, but aggravating. He had hoped that perhaps seeing her would bring him to his senses. Alas, she was just a dead girl.

He leaned in closer.

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!!” the boy’s words, along with the sword, were at his throat without a second to spare.

He simply flicked his gaze to him; no sign of shock or emotion at his outburst on his features.

The world must burn for this boy too. Burn, not because of sensation itself was strange, but because what he felt was currently was too much to bear.

Hatred, horror, heartbreak…hell. It all blazed and overflowed in his eyes.

Tom backed up one step, then another, and kept backing away until the sword was no longer close to his skin. Harry could have easily followed him, keeping the threat alive, but it seemed staying by the girl, protecting her lifeless body was his highest priority—Why? What could he possibly do now that she was dead? Was he prone to mutilate dead girls? Was his touch gross enough on its own to warrant such violence?

The anger was still white-hot, but confusion was in the boys’ eyes too now.

Yup, six(c) seemed pretty likely.

So, how had he lost his memory? He himself didn’t seem hurt in the slightest physically, he didn’t even have so much as a spitting headache to tell him he’d knocked his head hard enough to lose his memory. It didn’t appear as though he and the boy had dueled, despite the indication they were opponents, and the sword in his hand. Nothing indicated how he could lose his memory, or why…or, come to think of it, why he was still alive.

If it was true he had killed her, that they were enemies, why hadn’t Harry killed him in his sleep? He surely had the chance, in the midst of all the wailing. Why didn’t he walk up to him, send that sword through him and be done with it? Why didn’t he fight him, run him through, now? Tom was clearly unarmed, and Harry was likely the one who killed the snake, clearly he had the upper hand, the power to do so. It all made too much sense.

He could tell he wanted to.

…The diary. It must be connected to everything. Would it reveal the truth of the situation, and his lost memories? Everything seemed to trace back to it. From the looks of things, it was the source of the scene…and it was the most confusing part of the scenario. If he started with it, perhaps he could get somewhere.

He sauntered back to it, crouched down and picked up the mangled cover, staring at the name, the holes where someone—presumably Harry—had stabbed it, a few blank pages hanging limply out of the binding. But why would he hurt an inanimate diary?

“Who’s Tom Riddle?” he asked.

#harry potter #tom riddle #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fandom #harry potter and the chamber of secrets #hp #hpatcos #chamber of secrets #hp2 #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #hp fandom #potterheads #young tom riddle #young voldemort #voldy #hp au #harry potter au #hogwarts #ginny weasley #chamber of secrets au

[doritopaw101]

Arc1, book 3: Chapter 5

Over the next dew days, the streams in Thunderclan territory dwindled until the only freshwater to be found was near the Riverclan border, on the far side of Sunningrocks. They've had disputes over it and a fight broken out earning Raveneye, Tulip-paw, and Shrikepaw a time in the medicine den.

"There's never been a greenleaf like this" White-eye grumbled "The forest is as dry as a kit's bedding"

Icefire was in hiding in the shade, he made the mistake of running out and got burned as a result. His fluffy fur didn't help, he felt heat overwhelm him and kept panting like a dog. Sunnypaw also didn't feel like going out and spent her time curled up with him. They talked about Cloudpaw and reached a resolve.

He groomed his daughter softly, pleased when she nudged closer to him.

The drought was forcing the Thunderclan cats to fetch water closer and closer to the place where Thymeroot had sheltered the Shadow cats. He and Cinderfreeze had been leading patrols away from the area as best as possible but they knew it couldn't go one forever. They somehow managed to drag Swiftpaw in their schemes. He bonded really well with Flyswat so there was no stopping him now.

The sunhigh patrol had just returned, and Frostbite was organizing a party to collect more water. He padded over, wanting to feel the water on his fur. Sunnypaw close behind him.

"Why should Starclan send such a drought now?" Smallear complained. Icefire could feel Smallear's glare on his pelt, it only seemed to add to the heat.

"Leave him alone" White-eye rasped "The Twolegs probably did this"

Icefire did his best to ignore them. He also did his best to ignore the dark thoughts that ran in his mind constantly.

"Icefire" Nettlemist called, he smelled like daisies and lavender "You joining us?"

"Yes, my pelt are on fire"

"Should we bring the elders?" Sunnypaw asked

"They'll need water just as much as us" Brindleface replied "Embereyes, can you and Nettlemist bring them along?"

"Sure, come on Nettle"

The journey to the river was quicker than Icefire thought it would be. As soon as he saw the water, he jumped it. He felt relived. He dived under, moving his legs like Silverstream taught him. Sunnypaw stayed at the shore, rolling in it and shaking her fur. She seemed more calm than ever which made his heart soar. He had asked Chestnutclaw if she told him anything about the accident but he just said she wouldn't talk about it, at least he seemed to care for her enough so he wasn't completely useless.

The water made it easier for his leg to move. He saw a fish, no a carp was what Whiteclaw had said. He lunged forward and bit into it which was a mistake because he swallowed water. He immediately went to the surface, not dropping the fish.

"Did...did you just fish?" Embereyes mewed

Icefire swam back to shore, he tossed the fish on the ground "Yep" he said it like it was the most normal thing in Thunderclan

"Great catch dad" Sunnypaw purred "You have to teach me sometime"

He felt being watched, he was right when he caught Stonefur's scent but he also caught the scent of Suneyes.

/

"Brindleface, you have to eat something" Icefire mewed, nudging a thrush to the white molly. Shrikepaw, Bearpaw, and Rosepaw were sitting close by, watching their surrogate parent with worry. The party had brought good water for the rest of the clan to enjoy but Brindleface barely took anything. Goldenflower brought his fish to Bluestar to which she told him Bluestar says her thanks and good catch.

"How can I eat when my son was taken Icefire!" They snapped. When she heard the horrid news, they had to be held down from running across Windclan and Shadowclan territory. They struck Seedspots over the eye in their rage.

"You have to keep your strength up, the water has been going down, we need as many warriors as possible in case of anything"

"Or what I'll turn to humans and be taken" they retorted

"Do you want to?" he countered "We don't need cats who'll flip back and forth"

"What's going on?" Nettlemist asked padding forward, his leg still patched up.

"I've been raised a clan cat, I'd never leave" Brindleface replied ignoring his question

"Maybe Cloudpaw should've had a choice before so this didn't happen" Rosepaw mewed

"Don't speak ill of your brother"

"Maybe he should've Brindleface, Cloudpaw rejected clan life the moment he took kittypet food" Icefire admitted

Brindleface narrowed their eyes "How can you say that? He's your son?"

Icefire felt his claws unsheathe "I warned him and he ignored it thinking he couldn't get hit"

"That's kind of cruel, Icefire" Nettlemist commented

"It's the true, Nettlemist" he said

"You sound like Dewflare did" Brindleface deadpanned

That hurt, it really did. To be compared to the shitbag that was his mother, it hurt alot.

He thrusted his muzzle in her face "Don't you dare compare me to that bitch"

"Don't act like her then" Brindleface stood and walked away, shoving past him. Shrikepaw went after her, while Rosepaw and Bearpaw tried to ignore what just happened.

Icefire took some deep breathes and tried to relax, Nettlemist laid his tail on his back. He'd just been cold and hot-tempered as his name sake and he'd been loving it. 'Maybe I'm getting too harsh' he thought, he then shook it off 'No Cloudpaw rejected the life he had when he decided to break the code' It made a good example for the other apprentices.

'We all break the code at some point, don't you on a regular basis' Icefire needed a distraction, something or someone to take his mind off Cloudpaw. He was taking Maplepaw for the moonstone later, along with a few others, so she was sleeping.

He looked around camp, most of his friends and lovers were out of camp. 'Substitutes work just as well' he smirked as his gaze landed on Birchstep and Fogtail.

"Hey Birchstep Fogtail, want to go hunting? Nettlemist you can join us"

/

"You're developing some bad habits Icefire" Thymeroot drawled, placing some marigold on the highest shelf.

"Why Thymeroot, what ever do you mean?" Icefire mewed, trying to look innocent. He let Snowkit and Mistlekit look over some comfrey and watermint, Milk-kit sound asleep against his chest. Waspkit and Hornetkit were being taken care of by Swiftpaw, Lynxpaw, and Sunnypaw.

He honestly tried not to let Mistlekit scare him but she just had to look like Brokenstar. It turned out Wallie had been one of Broken's kits, he just didn't really know.

"You mate with cats to avoid problems" Thymeroot whispered, so they kits wouldn't hear "What you did at the gathering traveled fast and I saw you returning to camp with Birchstep then you dragged Fogtail and Nettlemist in your mess"

Icefire rolled his eyes "Am I not allowed to have fun? Don't give me the `It's time to settle down talk`" He was having fun, he wasn't stopping anytime soon.

"You shouldn't do that if you'll avoid issues like they'll go away over night" she replied "You're not helping Brindleface's grief and I'm surprised you'd mess around with Sandstorm's father and a Riverclan warrior so openly"

"Never said I was here to help, that's for more kind-hearted cats and Sandstorm had a good laugh" he snorted "Have the Shadowclan cats left? I haven't scented them on you or Cinderfreeze since two days ago"

"They've left, I wanted to make sure they were well before they left"

"Did you tell them the herbs to use? We don't need them coming back, cats will notice soon"

"Of course I did" Thymeroot scoffed "I don't want their clan destroyed, no matter what"

Icefire hummed, licking Mistlekit's head softly earning a mew in response. Helped ease his nerves with the kit.

"Whitethroat wanted to speak to you tonight, he wants to talk"

Icefire lashed his tail "Of course, now he does"

"Don't be like that"

He huffed "I'll hear him out, can't promise I'll stay too long"

Silence wrapped the den for a few moments until the seer broke it.

"You're more their parent than Bluestar" Thymeroot commented "She doesn't even visit, you and Nettlemist do all the work"

"I just help when I can"

"Mistlekit has call you dad and Snowkit calls Nettlemist pa and you dad"

"She was shocked but I'm sure she and the others were more shocked when all the kits started calling me Papa Ice"

"You made Snowkit call Darkstripe Dirtstripe, scratch that you did that with all the kits" Thymeroot purred

"It was hilarious" The look on Darkstripe's face was priceless.

Thymeroot chuckled and Icefire joined in.

Of course good moments have to always be ruined.

The scent of blood hit both cats like a blow to the head.

Thymeroot quickly rush out with Icefire not too far behind after resting the kits down.

Mousefur and Smokyclaw thundered into the clearing their fur matted with blood, and Smokyclaw was limping badly.

Icefire felt a sense of dread "What happened? Where's Birchstep, Miststrike, and Tulip-paw?"

"We don't know" Mousefur panted "We were attacked"

"What? Where? Who-"

Mousefur collapsed to the ground. Yellowfang began treating her wounds.

"Smoky?" at this point the two had been close enough for him to call the molly by her suffix

"We couldn't see" she whimpered, her amber eyes filled with panic "It was too close to the Thunderpath to tell"

Icefire nodded "Leopardstorm" the pointed tom was already hurrying from Bluestar's den "I need you to come, Sandstorm, Dustpelt, Cherrycloud come too, Smokyclaw you can come if you're able" he gazed at Seedspots, Lynxpaw, and Littlebreeze "Stay here and guard the camp, Seedspots keep Bluestar responsive just in case" he charged out of camp with Leopardstorm at his side and Cherrycloud behind them. They all traveled up the ravine and raced into the forest.

"No this way" Smokyclaw called, she brushed past him, quickening her pace, veered toward Fourtrees. They all sped after her. Icefire recognized this trail, the trail the Shadowclan cats used after Bluestar sent them away. Smokyclaw skidded to a halt between two towering ash trees. The thunderpath droned in the distance, its foul stench drifting through the undergrowth. Ahead, Icefire saw Birchstep's lean brown tabby body laying on the ground, ominously still. He spotted Whitethroat bending over the unmoving warrior.

Whitethroat locked eyes with the patrol, he began backing away "He's dead!" he wailed

Icefire felt rage bubble in him but Sandstorm beat him to it. She let out a furious screech and flung herself at the black tom. Icefire followed her, out for blood. Whitethroat didn't fight back at all.

"First Redtail, then Pouncepaw, and now Birchstep!" Sandstorm hissed "I will shred you like I did Nutwhisker"

Whitethroat shoved Sandstorm away and ran for it. Icefire and Sandstorm were nipping at his tail. They were close to pouncing when they realized they were at the Thunderpath. Icefire pulled Sandstorm from crossing in rage.

He saved Sandstorm, but not Whitethroat.

A deafening roar sounded in his ears and a sickening crack was heard. He spotted Whitethroat laying limp on the road, he was barely moving. He rushed over, ignoring Sandstorm's snarl.

He gazed at the black tom, he was covered in claw marks but his leg was the worse. It was broken beyond repair, it looked worse than his and Cinderfreeze's injury combined. The leg seemed to be barley hanging on.

"Why did you kill him?" he spat, he slammed his paws on the black tom's chest "Why did you kill Birchstep?"

"T..ig..er" Whitethroat coughed, blood spurting from his mouth. His breathing was ragged and his black fur was covered in blood and dirt.

Icefire's blood went cold. Tiger-roar did this, not Whitethroat. He looked over his shoulder, Sandstorm was pinned by Jaggedtooth. He saw the black pelt of Nightshade slinking in the shadows.

"Hello, Splinter" Mudspots snarled swiping at his eyes "Jagged's too busy, I've been meaning to rip into your pelt once again"

"Fuck off" he blocked the blow then lunged forward

Mudspots was never the best fighter, he hid behind Jagged and Clay. It wasn't that hard to beat him, he tossed him like fresh-kill.

He wished it was over but of course it wasn't because when he looked up, he was face to face with Tiger-roar. The world was still for a moment. He thought it would be scary to see the tom again but he didn't feel that, anger was one but other than that it was nothing.

He lunged at him, digging his claw in his fur and biting into the back of his neck. That had taken Tiger-roar by surprise but he quickly recovered. "I trained you, you think you can take me"

"I did it before" Icefire sneered "I'll do it again"

Tiger-roar bit into his injured leg, he ignored the pain and kept his grip on the tabby's back. He could feel Tiger-roar's ribs, his exile wasn't kind to him but it didn't take his strength. He felt claws dig into his flank and drag him down. Icefire struck Tiger-roar's cheek as he was slammed on the hard ground. Tiger-roar placed on paw on hi throat and the other on his belly.

"You are certainly something Icefire"

Icefire didn't respond, he couldn't defeat Tiger-roar like this and he didn't put it past Nightshade or another one of the rouges to be around just in case.

"I always saw some potential in you, it hasn't changed"

"I'm not Darkstripe" he growled

"No but Thunderclan doesn't trust you abilities do they, how could they when they let a cat who can't control his eyesight and now has a limp be deputy to Thunderclan"

"How do you-"

"I have my ways, my dear apprentice"

"Of course you do" Icefire was already preparing for a strike but none came "You always have your ways, Tiger-roar"

Tiger-roar got off him "You are the white fire"

Icefire stared at him, he remembered that Tiger-roar knew of the prophecy.

"I know you want respect, I can help you with that my apprentice"

"I don't want it like you did" he growled "Ready to kill to get it"

"Says the cat who beat up his own son and lifts his tail every chance he gets" Tiger-roar sneered "Not exactly the best look"

Now he knew Darkstripe was sneaking out of camp. He had to make sure Willowpelt would be worried sick over her oldest kit.

Tiger-roar got off him "I'll be seeing you Icefire, my offer still stands and all your errors will be forgotten and forgiven"

Icefire laid there unmoving. He didn't know what to make of this.

Tiger-roar looked like he wanted to say more but Dustpelt lunged at him "Get out of here, or better yet stay still so I can kill you" he snarled

Everything moved so fast, the rouges started running into the shadows. He only moved when he felt Cherrycloud nudge his side "Are you hurt?"

"M..My flank hurts" he replied "Tiger-roar kept his claws extra sharp"

"My father's killer lives" Sandstorm snarled. Whitethroat was whimpering, both in pain and fear of Sandstorm's wrath.

Icefire quickly stood and Cherrycloud helped him stand "He didn't kill Birchstep, Tiger-roar did"

Sandstorm snapped her head "What?"

"He told me before Tiger-roar found me" He looked around "Where are the others?"

Duststorm sighed "Miststrike was unharmed for the most part, Tulip-paw is in critical condition they rushed her back to camp. Littlebreeze was killed by Nightshade in the rush and Me and Sandstorm stayed to find you."

"I saw Jaggedtooth holding you down"

Sandstorm smirked "Made him regret it" she looked down at Whitethroat "What about him?"

"We'll take him back then dump him back in his territory"

"Are you insane?" Dustpelt hissed

"Maybe, but I am deputy and I won't let an innocent cat die because of Tiger-roar"

/

"I'm surprised you kept your teeth, Yellowfang" Whitethroat croaked "I thought you were Thunder now"

"I am make no mistake but you can take a cat from the forest but you can't take the forest out of the cat"

Icefire felt his fur rise at those words. Did it mean he would be bound to the city?

"Will he live?"

Yellowfang didn't left her head "I'll have to cut the entire leg, I'm sorry Whitethroat"

"Just make it stop, I don't want to die" the black tom whimpered

"We should do it now before the infection spreads" Yellowfang finally left her head "Thymeroot, Raveneye come"

"Icefire?" Whitethroat mewed "I won't die right?"

"You trust Yellowfang and Thymeroot?"

"I trust them with my life"

Icefire stood "You'll pull through, I have to go, Littlebreeze and Birchstep's funeral is happening"

"Wait, Icefire"

Icefire stopped

"I'm sorry, really for everything" the black tom whimpered

"Just get well Whitethroat" he then padded out and made his way to the vigil.

The clan was circled around the clearing. Heads low and whispering. He saw Sandstorm, Mousefur, and Lightcloud buried in Birchstep's body. The tabby was laid on a nest filled with mint. He was freshly groomed and the wound that killed him was covered in cobwebs. Littlebreeze was in a similar condition, Patchpelt, Sleetpelt, Cherrycloud, and Hawkpaw close by.

"You coming closer?" Fogtail whispered

"Should I?"

"I think Sandstorm needs comfort right now"

He padded forward cautiously, not wanting to get clawed. "Sandstorm?"

The pale ginger molly looked up, tears in her eyes. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing softly "Why?"

Icefire could come up with an answer: Tiger-roar wanted to take them out one by one.

#warriors #warrior cats #trail of flames au #warriors au #warrior cats rewrite #warrior cats au #warriors rewrite #arc1 #book 3 #icefire #fireheart #albino firestar #thymeroot #runningwind #fogtail #longtail #sandstorm #whitethroat #tiger-roar #tigerclaw #chapter 5 #birchstep #tw: death

[zrtranscripts]

Season 7, Mission 7: Good Morning Judge Light a fire below

[courtroom chatters]

JUDGE: Order! [bangs gavel] Order in the court! Ladies and gentlemen, we have heard both sides of the case. Horace Bailey stands accused of committing war crimes against the town of Little Rook under the regime of Sigrid Hakkinen. 

As a member of the Exmoor Militia, I'd like to thank the citizens of Little Rook for inviting me to serve on this trial's judicial panel. We are always happy to provide counsel to our allies. The judges will now retire to consider our verdict. Thank you. 

[courtroom chatters]

TOM DE LUCA: Watch your elbows, Kefilwe! This courtroom is more crowded than a London commute! Still, it's a nice change from fighting Riders and V-types, eh? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: This trial is just as important. The country must heal the wounds of Sigrid's rule, Tom. We must not descend to mob mentality and rough justice. If anything, this is more vital than any single victory. That is why Janine gave us leave to testify. Even with all we've done, even after you rescued all those patients from the recuperation center, Five, Abel must still prove we are not the enemy. 

TOM DE LUCA: Yes. The fact this trial hasn't descended into chaos is a victory. Bailey really doesn't look like much, does he? Disguising his face behind those wire frame glasses. And that unconvincing comb-over. 

[glass shatters] 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Five, look out! That woman threw a jar of - it looks like acid - at Bailey. She barely missed. 

HORACE BAILEY: Clerks of the court, do something! That woman nearly killed me!

KEFILWE LOBATSE: This crowd isn't going to wait peacefully for a verdict. A group of men over there are carrying rope. If we don't get Bailey out of here, there will be a lynching. 

TOM DE LUCA: Five, grab Bailey. I'm under orders from Jane. He must be tried, not murdered. 

HORACE BAILEY: What? Get off me! Clerks, these people are assailing me! 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Mr. Bailey, we were appointed by the court to keep you safe. The lynchers are coming right for us. Five, bolt for the fire exit, and keep hold of Bailey. Run!

HORACE BAILEY: Unhand me! This is madness. I keep telling everyone I'm an innocent man! 

TOM DE LUCA: Good job leading us into these redwoods, Five. They're excellent cover. Lucky for us, they built Little Rook in the middle of a nature park. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: That mob is spilling out of the courthouse. We must find somewhere to hide until things die down. 

HORACE BAILEY: Hide? You have to get me out of here! Even if the locals don't kill me, that court is going to give me the death penalty! Hold on, I recognize you. You're that doctor from Abel. You gave a statement for the prosecution about how awful the Ministry was. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Yes. I saw enough men like you behind Sigrid's wall, but Abel will always defend the rule of law. If you are to be put to death, it will be by a court, not a mob. 

HORACE BAILEY: I was just a clerk in Sigrid's office. I don't deserve to be treated like this. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: You signed orders to Ministry troops to tear down the protective fence around Little Rook just because Sigrid caught the town trading with the Exmoor Militia. Over a hundred people died here when the zombies came in. 

HORACE BAILEY: Countersigned. I countersigned those orders. They were from Sigrid! It was just my job to clear the paperwork! I'm a pacifist, for heaven's sake. I was trying not to make a fuss. 

MOB: There! 

TOM DE LUCA: Uh-oh, that mob just spotted us. Five, look up. See those wooden canopy walkways between the treetops? It's a good tactical position, if we can get up there. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: There are wooden stairs between those two oaks. Come on. 

TOM DE LUCA: Not ideal, these wooden bridges. Class 4 rickety, as we used to say in the service. At least nobody's following us.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Yes. We're safe here now. It was a good plan, Tom. 

HORACE BAILEY: Tom? I recognize you, too, Mr. De Luca. I don't know why you're with her after you defended me - [zombie growls] Good God! What's that? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: That is a zombie. No doubt some climbed up here after you had the town's fencing destroyed. No wonder we were not followed. 

TOM DE LUCA: You've never seen a zombie?

HORACE BAILEY: No. I mean, not up close. I worked in an office. The soldiers kept them away. I never realized... the skin on its hands... ugh, it's horrible! 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: It is also not alone, but I didn't bring any cure with me into this tree. If we're bitten, that mob won't allow us to find treatment. We must lose those zombies now. Rope bridge to our left, now! 

TOM DE LUCA: I think we've lost those zombies. Better slow down. Bailey's lagging behind. Man's wheezing like hell! I almost feel sorry for him.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Yes, we all heard your statement in his defense.

TOM DE LUCA: Look, like it or not, both sides in that court knew words from Abel would carry weight with an Exmoor judge. The defense asked for my honest opinion as a government operative, and I gave it.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: That man is no better than Ian.

TOM DE LUCA: His advocate made a fair point, though. When you're in a chain of command, you follow orders, and Sigrid was the highest legal authority in the country. And if he disobeyed, she would have just shot and replaced him.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Still, there are certain things one should not do even on pain of death. Do you know I have been caring for the babies Sigrid used to make her filthy serum?

TOM DE LUCA: I... thought they'd mostly been rehoused. Didn't Amelia at Fort Canton take seven? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Nine, and yes, mostly they have been rehoused. Except for a few, who have had an adverse reaction to the treatments. Immunity did not mean the same thing in all those children. A few have experienced permanent brain damage. 

TOM DE LUCA: That's terrible. I had no idea. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: What is the point of broadcasting this grief? There were only a very few affected. I held a little boy in my arms three weeks ago. Stroked his head with the palm of my hand until he passed in peace. 

But of course, the people who injected them with zombie bite were just following orders. Tell me, Tom, how many deaths were you responsible for when you worked for the government? 

TOM DE LUCA: I-I mean, it's hard to say. Covert ops is a muddy business. One has to complete mission objectives. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: No, one doesn't. I have seen you haunted by your own pain, Tom, but never that which you inflicted on others. And you were in perfect mental health in those days. Never pretend such action can be excused as following orders. 

[explosion]

TOM DE LUCA: What! What was that? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: The mob! Someone has brought a catapult. They're launching burning tar at us. 

[footsteps]

HORACE BAILEY: What's going on?

TOM DE LUCA: Serious trouble. Operational decay. 

KEFILWE LOBASTE: We must get down from here before this bridge burns. There's a wooden platform over there. I see a ladder leading to it from the ground. Five, help Bailey, please. Now run! 

[fire crackles]

TOM DE LUCA: Slow down, Five. No chance of getting to the ladder, not with that wall of flame in the way. 

HORACE BAILEY: What do we do? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: The trees. 

TOM DE LUCA: Good thinking. If we jump into a tree, the branches will break our fall. We can shimmy down to the ground. 

HORACE BAILEY: What? No! We'll never make it! That wall of flame isn't so high. I'm going for the ladder.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: You will not go anywhere without us. You're still on trial. 

HORACE BAILEY: Why? Why am I the one on trial? The world ended a long time ago, and we've all done awful things to survive. You people think it was like a movie, as if I could just stand up and do the right thing. 

Sigrid tortured people who disobeyed her. I saw her pluck a man's eye out because he brought her the wrong kind of coffee! She made doctors do torture for her! 

TOM DE LUCA: Doctors? 

HORACE BAILEY: I was afraid and alone, and I just wanted to keep my head down. How is killing me for that justice? How does it make anything better? 

TOM DE LUCA: We have to move.

HORACE BAILEY: I don't want to die.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Then you'll need a run-up to make the jump. Five first, and then you. Go. 

[branches snap, HORACE BAILEY screams]

TOM DE LUCA: Phew, that was a rough landing. Everyone all right? 

HORACE BAILEY: Look, the bridges above us. They're going to collapse. 

TOM DE LUCA: Over there! We can use those boulders for cover. Run!

[bridge collapses] 

TOM DE LUCA: That was a close shave. Half those wooden bridges came down. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: No sign of the lynch mob. The flames were a stupid idea. The townspeople are all busy fighting the fire, now. 

HORACE BAILEY: You saved my life. What happens next? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: We need to take you back. These people are not wrong to hold you accountable for your actions. You will pay the price, as do we all. I... tortured a man I cared for because there was no other way. 

HORACE BAILEY: For what it's worth, I'm sorry. For everything that happened because people like me didn't speak out against her. I wish I could do it again. I would do better. I'd be braver. I think.

TOM DE LUCA: It looks like they’ve put out the fires around the courthouse. We'd better get back there before anyone else decides to stage a lynching. Come on!

[courtroom chatters]

JUDGE: [bangs gavel] Now that the defendant has been returned, we can begin. A verdict has been reached. Please sit down. 

No matter how strong the temptation for vengeance, a society on the edge of apocalypse cannot simply throw lives away. If we do so, we are no better than the death cults who threaten all of us. It is, therefore, the verdict of this court that the defendant, though guilty, be spared the death penalty. 

Order! Order! Instead, Horace Bailey will be kept in protective custody at Little Rook, where he will spend the rest of his days maintaining the new fence around the town. In this way, he will redress some of the damage caused by his actions. [bangs gavel] This court is adjourned. 

TOM DE LUCA: Bailey looks shell-shocked. I think he would have had an easier time with the death penalty. People here hate him. It's going to be a long, hard road for him to prove he's worth a damn. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: We all have to prove that again and again. I was too harsh, Tom. I know you have suffered for your past. 

TOM DE LUCA: No, you were right. I've done plenty of things I'm not proud of. For Janine, or Queen, or country. I've always been good at following orders. Maybe I should think more about the kind of person that makes me. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: You helped save a life today. That is a good sign. 

TOM DE LUCA: Not exactly an innocent life. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: No, but those ones are easy to care for. Come on, Five. Let's head back to Abel.

#zombies run #zrs7 #s7m7 #good morning judge #zr transcript #zrs7 spoilers

[skippysartq]

From My Universe to Yours

Chapter 1 - Grief

Watching him from a distance under the dark shaded Green umbrella with purple dots all over it to protect them from the rain. They watched him, just sitting there not caring about the weather around him, the mud on his green hoodie and darker brown pants, the brunette hadn't changed his wear since it happened.

He was just sitting on the wet ground. Not saying a word, not peeping a sound, it was hard to tell if he was still crying, as his arms wrapped themselves around his shaking body, rain was pouring and yet he hadn't care that it was. The only thing on his mind was his best friend. That he wasn't there to cheer him up, when he needed it most. Like right now, Edd needed Matt, but it had been a year and a half since the man left them all behind in this plane of existence. Edd hadn't been the same smiling, cheerful and childish self he was. Matt's death really changed him.

"Tom? Is he out there again?" They heard a quiet familiar voice call from their left. Turning their attention to the Dark brunette, with a moustache on his higher lip, sporting his usual attire of a dark green dress shirt, light brown chino jeans. Except he also wore a light purple rain jacket and blue scarf.

"Eduardo? Oh yeah... He is." Tom response friendly with a sad smile to their old neighbour, as Tord next to him slightly moves close to the middle of the umbrella holding on to Tom's arm nervously. The other two staring down at him looking back up from his horn haired friend.

"How are you?" Tom spoke harbouring a sad smile his way as Eduardo took his time to reach the two close friends, under his red umbrella, Tord was being quiet and hiding from Eduardo, like the usual since the giant robot thing. quiet whenever Eduardo took it in his mind and not wanting to drown in his sorrow about his two friends whom over that both sadly passed away due to two different events.

"Me, I was just visiting Mark and Jon and giving them late birthday gifts. Surprisingly their birthdays are kinda close." He chuckles, looking back to the two gravestones not so far from where they all stood. Engraved in the stones where dates and names of the two previously mentioned.

"Its a good thing you remembered at least. Edd... Uh he forgets about the world and comes to sit here, whatever the weather may be like." Tom sighs tired of remembering when their friend left, Tom and Tord would work all the strength have to get Edd in the car to go home, it was too unhealthy for him to be here all the time, only to find him missing in the mornings and once having to report him as a missing person.

"Well, I got to get home Reagan and Parker are waiting for me back at our apartment." Eduardo gave a small wave as he began to turn away from the other two males. Taking one last look towards the soaking green hooded 40 year old, still staring at the dark grey Gravestone.

He leaves, walking off into the slight fog there was far in the distance.

"You have to forgive yourself some time, Tord." Tom sighs as Tord had let go of Tom watching Eduardo leave.

"Even if he says he dose forgive me, Tom I know it still affects him."

"And seeing me doesn't help with the fact I am the reason all three of them are gone."

"They were on the edge, seconds from falling Tord. You were 20 meters away, you couldn't have gotten to them in time." Tom sadly explains as he turns to his friend placing a free hand on his shoulder.

"Now come we have to get Edd home." Tord didn't voice reply, only nodding in agreement, it was getting late and Edd would be catching a cold if he stayed out any longer. Tom began to walk over to their friend in green, placing the umbrella down by the wilted now brown flowers that used to be vibrant white Water Lilies with yellow centres.

Edd sat mumbling words of desperation to the gravestone hoping his friend could hear him.

"Please Matt. You can't be gone not after everything we did to help each other." The man in green whispered with his head down with his hood up, stuck to his head due to the amount of rain that it had soaked up. "Remember high school, we help each other figure out what we wanted to be, we planned to be roommates forever, going on adventures and having fun with our friends. You said forever. Matt you said you would be here forever. That you would never leave me behind like my primary school friends did." Just as Edd had finished the sentence he could hear the approaching footsteps of his two still living friends. The two stopped when they got either side of him, staring down with guilt at Edd the two prepared themselves to drag him by the arms.

"Come on now Edd, we gotta get you home." Tord spoke quietly as his voice broke a bit. Breathing in Edd, prepared to struggle, to try getting away from them and yelled deeply, "My home is with Matt, and if Matt is here then this is my home, so piss off." Edd suddenly rushed passed Tom, pushing him to the side as to give himself a bit of an advantage to escape the blonde and caramel haired males.

It was a challenge like always, but the two men had final gotten their friend away from the gravestone marking the depressing event. But eventually they were able to keep a hold on him, dragging his tired body to the car like always Edd planned in the back of his head to come back at the end of the week. The car trip back to the house way quiet as it always was, because Tord and Tom couldn't find anything to say or were to scared break the silence.

Edd in the starred out the window, cold and shaking as the rain started to slow down to a little drizzle outside. "I'm so sorry." Tord spoke up for once in an hour, the quiet that stimmed in the car, disturbed by his sorrow filled voice. Tom glanced over to Tord in the passenger's side for a moment to give a look of question.

There continued to be no sound but the buzzing of the car's engine and it all gave off a sense of uneasiness and fear of what was to happen next between the three friends.

An audible sigh played from Edd's lips as he opened his mouth to say "Tord, I-"When a loud bang erupted somewhat close to the front of the car, causing Tom to turn the wheel hard in the opposite direction to avoid the bright green light that appeared in the middle of the road seemingly right after the defining sound, crashing into a pole on the side of the road and the sound of screeching tires and smash as the their car come to a halt.

Moments as the car crash, all in the car getting pulled forwards lucky to have a seatbelt to stop them all from smashing their heads on the dashboard. Shaking his head Tom opened his eyes, looking around, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning his head to his two friends. Edd seemingly unconscious his body laying slouched over still mostly held up by the seat belt. Tord just next to him opening his eyes.

'I need to get this car off of the road.' Tom thinks to himself

Checking the cars state just okay enough to get it off on to the emergency lane ahead. Once he was safe off the road he, put his blinkers on to indicate there was an accident with the car, before checking on Edd and Tord who was awake but hadn't said a thing. Tom reached over shaking Tord's arm as he blinks and looks up to Tom.

"Hey Tord. Can you hear me? Can you see me?" Tord nods to questions, letting out a sigh with his eyes closed holding a hand to his head looking drained of energy, as Tom reached to the back of the car to see if he could wake Edd. "Oh, hey you're okay right, call the emergency please could you." Tom sat back closer to him and handing Tord his Mobile and unlocking the phone for him. Taking the only response from Tord's being a hum of agreement dialling 911.

"Geez, Edd hey are you awake?" Tom got out his side and went to open the back door to unbuckle Edd from the back seat. He wasn't responding, Tom huffed grabbing his wrist and used his fingers to check Edd's pulse. There was a heartbeat.

Next Tom tried his best to pull Edd out of the car and lay him on the grass that was on the side of the road. Putting Edd's head on his lap Tom put an ear to Edd's mouth, facing his chest. A slight warm breeze blows into Tom's ear and Edd's chest was raising and falling steadily.

"Alright." Tom says to himself, when Tord comes back up to him. Hanging up the phone, slipping it back into his back pocket.

Sighing he glances down. "He is fine Tord. Just unconscious." Tom didn't need him to ask, to know what he had to say to avoid stress any further. "Alright then." He looks away, before continuing to say, "The Ambulance are on their way."

"Thanks." Tom responded placing his hand on Edd's forehead. Just sitting in the silence was nice for a moment. "Hello?" When a voice from somewhere was heard. Confused the two looked towards each other, Tom shrugged, Tord pointed to where he thought he had heard the voice. With caution he slowly started walking towards the front of the car poking his head around the side of the car. Leaving Tom to watch from behind him with Edd groaning. "Huh. I was sure I had heard someone around here just a moment ago." The stranger says to themselves.

Tord just able to see the stranger standing, facing from him and looking around with hand on their hips. What was strange about the stranger was what they were wearing. From what Tord could see, they sported, a pair of Grey runners, faded blue jeans and a black dirty and pretty worn out cloak with a hood up to cover their head. Curious to find out who this stranger is he stood tall, frowning. "Hey, who are you?" He decides to call over the stranger.

They gasp whipping their head around to face Tord who didn't stand down until he saw the strangers face. "Y-you." He stutters from the sudden shock, legs wobbling as he stumbled back. "Tord?" Shocked themselves, they stared at each other in awe.

1841 Words

#eddsworld #eddsworld fanfiction #eddsworld au #eddsworld from my universe to yours #from my universe to yours