#I’ve had blunt force trauma and the teeth pulling was in fact was worse

[dinochickrox]

I will say before reading the tags, I’ll give a trigger warning to a trauma.

Especially if it has to do anything with dentistry.

[aurorawest]

Hi! I really admire your writing, so glad you’ve reached a follower milestone! For the prompt request, I would love some Thor & Loki feels, prompt No. 7 or 9 from Whumptober, with Thor whump. I can’t get enough of Loki’s scheming being derailed when his bro gets hurt. Thanks! :)

Thank you so much!! And I have to sincerely apologize for taking forever to get this written. I’m not sure what it is about me that I can churn through 1000+ words in my longfics every day, but give me a oneshot prompt, and it takes me 2 months. Anyway, here it is. This is probably not exactly what you had in mind (not nearly enough Loki scheming, I’m sorry!), but I still hope you enjoy it! Thanks again for the prompt!

Title: Big Damn Hero Rating: T (some injury description and mentions of blood) Relationships: Loki & Thor Word Count: 3.5k Summary: Thor always has to be the big damn hero. Loki gets stuck cleaning up after.

Thank you to my beta @mareebird! Also, this is technically for Whumptober prompt #7, I’ve Got You, but I’m not sure I can claim that it’s a Whumptober fill here on November 23.

Read it on AO3 or here on tumblr below.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Loki snapped. “Why can’t you ever listen to me?”

“I listen to you all the time,” Thor grunted, his voice tight. “I’ve listened to you and ended up in plenty of bad situations.”

“Yes well, at least those weren’t normally avoidable situations, which this was completely,” Loki said. He glanced at his brother, trying to keep the anger sharper than the worry in his eyes. It wasn’t the battle they’d just fought that had him concerned, nor the possibility their attackers might return. It wasn’t his own wounds that worried him, either. No, it was the fact that as they had fought, the cavern that they were inside had collapsed around them, trapping them in an unstable death trap several hundred feet inside the earth.

Loki had avoided injury.

Thor had not.

Thor’s legs, to be exact, were trapped under several tons of rock. If they were lucky, he was merely incapacitated. If they were unlucky…well.

Thor tilted his head back, letting it hit the ground. His hair was matted with blood from some head wound. It probably wasn’t serious. At least, Loki hoped it wasn’t serious. There was something dripping down the side of his own face too, though whether it was sweat or blood, he didn’t really care to examine. It could easily have been either. When the cavern had collapsed around them, chunks of rock and debris had gone flying, turning blunt force trauma into impalation risks.

And the temperature in the cavern was rising. It already had felt hotter than Helheim in there when they’d been doing battle. Now it was…especially hotter than Helheim.

Something slid down Loki’s eyebrow and dripped into his eye, and he gave in and swiped at it, unable to stop himself from glancing at the side of his hand to see what color it was. There was nothing there except the mealy colored dust of this planet. No blood. Not on his forehead, at least.

“We had to fight back,” Thor said. Was he grimacing? “They were going to destroy that village.”

“So there would be one less village in the universe,” Loki muttered. When Thor glared at him, Loki blasted air out through his nose. “I’m just not sure it’s worth dying over.” The village being wiped out would be regrettable, of course. Thor dying was more on the order of intolerable.

Waving a hand and wincing as he did it, Thor said, “Who said anything about dying? Anyway, risking one’s life is just what heroes do.” There were lines in his forehead, furrows made craggier by the dust caked there. Loki tried to pretend they weren’t because of the several tons of rock sitting on Thor’s legs, though he wasn’t particularly successful at convincing himself.

“Well, no one has ever accused me of being a hero,” Loki said. He was studying the massive column of rock that was on top of Thor. There were spells he could perform to get Thor out, but he was worried it would destabilize the whole cavern and crush them before he was able to call up a shielding spell. Then again, even if he was able to call up said spell, all it would mean was that they would have an even smaller bubble of air to exhaust before asphyxiation. He could rearrange the molecules of all the rock sitting over them, but he would also have to pull Thor behind him while maintaining the spell to make sure they weren’t encased in earth.

“Are you in pain?” Loki asked. Thor looked at him like he was an imbecile. Right. Point taken. Pressing his lips together, Loki cast his eyes over the cavern again. It had been lit by some sort of orange bioluminescence covering the walls before, but the cave-in had destroyed whatever delicate ecosystem had been producing it. There were still a few spots glowing weakly here and there, but the cavern would be shrouded in blackness if not for Loki’s magic. He’d summoned several glowing balls of light which were floating at points around the cavern.

“Will you be alright for a few minutes?” Loki asked. He got the same look in return and rolled his eyes. “Pardon me for attempting to look out for you, brother.”

Thor grimaced, though Loki wasn’t sure if it was because of what Loki had just said or because he was in pain. It could, he supposed, be both. With a grunt, Loki got to his feet, summoning a glowing orb of light to his fingertips as he made a slow circuit of the cavern. The orb inched back along his fingers to his palm, and he held it up, increasing the brightness until as much of the cavern was illuminated as possible.

As he’d suspected. There was no way out.

Swearing under his breath, Loki made his way back to Thor’s side and knelt again. “I have a very bad plan,” he said.

“So,” Thor said, “as usual.”

Normally, Loki would have scowled at him. But Thor was beginning to look pale, wan, almost, and there was sweat standing out on his forehead that Loki didn’t think was solely from the rising heat in the cave. “I have to get you out from under all this rock,” Loki said. “And the only way to do that is with magic.”

There was a silence. Thor blinked at him. “I don’t know if I’d call that a very bad plan,” Thor said.

“Well, good, then we’ll do that bit first, and I’ll tell you the rest of it once we’ve successfully freed you.” Loki could hear how false the cheerfulness in his voice was. He hated this—he was no good at being the chipper one, the optimistic one. Loki had one job in these sorts of situations, and it was to be the bearer of bad news, the one saying I told you so, because he invariably had.

But they were past I told you so now and well into forced optimism. Loki sincerely hoped they didn’t get to the next stage, which was tell me how bad it really is.

“Can you move?” Loki asked, knowing as soon as the words left his mouth what a stupid question it was. “I mean, after I do the spell.”

“Of course,” Thor replied with a confidence that Loki felt was entirely unwarranted.

Gathering his magic, Loki put his palm flat against the column of rock bearing down on Thor. With a slow inhale, he sent the spell into the rock, pushing magic between the molecules of stone and loosening their bonds on each other. He felt the magic flow through the rock, and when it was sufficiently fluid, he said to Thor, “Move. Now.”

Thor did. It was a good thing, because the longer Loki held the spell, the more unstable the column became.

On the other hand, with Thor’s legs no longer crushed under the rock, Loki could see just how badly they were both broken.

Anyone else wouldn’t even have legs. If Thor weren’t Asgardian, all he would currently have was crushed bone and red stains around him that had at one point been his muscle and skin. But Thor was Asgardian, so he merely—merely—had several compound fractures. Not that it wasn’t unsettling to see his brother’s splintered shin bone poking through his skin. But it could have been worse.

Even so, Thor couldn’t walk. It would be entirely up to Loki to get them out of this.

Thor looked paler. Loki knew his brother would never show pain if he could help it, so the fact that there were tight lines around his eyes and mouth made the worried knot in Loki’s stomach tighten. “I’m afraid the only way out of here is doing what I just did,” Loki said. “Only we’ll have to…well, climb out.” When Thor just stared at him, Loki added, “I did say it was a very bad plan.”

“It’s a terrible plan,” Thor said. It was impossible not to miss the strained note in it. “Climb? Climb what?”

“The sides of the passage I create for us,” Loki said with more confidence than he felt. “It’s not like you to balk at something that’s almost certain to get both of us killed, brother. You must have hit your head.”

There was little reaction from Thor, which was worrisome.

Drawing a breath, Loki said, “I know I’m hardly trustworthy, but we don’t have much of a choice. If you were in any state to punch your way through Norns-know-how-many feet of solid rock, I’d certainly let you do it.”

Thor grit his teeth. “What do you mean, you’re hardly trustwor—do you really think I don’t trust you? You think that’s the problem?”

“Well, it’s a problem,” Loki said. “I wouldn’t say it’s the only one, no.”

Breathing in and out deeply, the lines tightening on his face, Thor asked, “What happens if you can’t hold your spell?”

“A quick death, I would think.” Loki glanced up at the rock over their heads. It seemed to be closing in, making the space smaller, though he knew it wasn’t. At least, he thought he knew it wasn’t. He wiped sweat off his forehead again. His eyebrows were saturated with it. “The weight of the stone should crush us instantly.”

Actually, he wasn’t sure of this at all. They were Asgardian, after all. Or, well, one of them was, and Loki was—whatever he was. Jotun and some sort of magical mixture of Asgardian, thanks to his father’s magic. It was possible that their bodies would stand up to the crush of rock long enough for them to suffocate due to the lack of air and the fact that their lungs were being compressed. That would be a far more unpleasant death than every bone in their bodies, including their spinal columns, being broken at once. The latter would end things quickly. If Loki was going to die, he really would prefer it to be quick, though he’d never had much cause to believe that this would be the case—not for him.

Thor propped himself up on his elbows and looked at his legs. His face remained expressionless as he took in the way his splintered bones poked through his skin. Unable to help himself, Loki looked, too. Much of the material of Thor’s pants and boots had been shredded, which put his wounds on full display. Around the punctures, Thor’s skin was purple and swollen, blood oozing out and mixing with the pale dust that covered both of them.

It wasn’t a great look. Loki reminded himself that Thor could survive such an injury. Both of them could. Probably. Loki didn’t particularly want to find out if this was the case for him, as well.

Thor looked up and met Loki’s eyes. “You’ll have to carry me, climb out of here, and do magic.”

“Glad you’re still following along,” Loki said. He was being an arse. It might have been on purpose. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

No reaction to the gibe from Thor. “Is it a difficult spell?”

Loki cast his eyes upward again. Was it a difficult spell? No. Molecular rearrangement of stone was no more difficult than molecular rearrangement of anything else—doors that no one wanted him to walk through, prison walls, metal cages. As long as there was nothing hampering his magic, it wasn’t a challenging spell. The difference between this situation and those others was that typically, he only needed to rearrange a section of material that was a little over six feet high, two feet wide, and a few inches thick at most.

He didn’t know how much rock was sitting over them. He had a vague idea, because he knew roughly how far they’d descended into the cavern as they’d been fighting off their attackers. It was, needless to say, more than a few inches.

“Not terribly,” Loki finally said, deciding to split the difference.

“Don’t lie.”

Loki set his mouth in a line and stared at his brother. “The spell itself isn’t difficult, no. It’s the rest of it, and the length of time I’d be performing the magic. As I said, I know you don’t trust me—”

“It has nothing to do with me not trusting you!” Thor said. His voice was strained. “I don’t want you to get yourself killed trying to save me.”

Loki sucked in a deep breath to argue. “I’m perfectly capable of—er—what?”

Thor rolled his eyes, though the way his hands clenched into tight, bloodless fists rather took the sting out of it. “You can get yourself out of here easily. Right?”

“I…” Loki’s gaping was beginning to make him look like an idiot. Taking a breath, he said, “Yes.”

Jerking his head in a nod, Thor said, “Then you should go.”

Oh. Of course. Right. Big damn hero Thor; he’d sacrifice himself for anyone, even his ne’er-do-well, God of Chaos, Mischief, and Lies brother. “I should go,” Loki repeated flatly. “And what will you do?”

“Loki, I’m not going to let you risk your life for me—”

With an irritated scoff, Loki leaned forward, grabbed Thor under the arms, and said, “Oh, shut up, would you?” He flicked his fingers and a strand of glowing green magic flowed from them, one end looping once around his wrist and the other end looping around Thor’s. “Don’t try to break that connection,” Loki said crossly. “It will make sure my spell encompasses your mass as well as mine, and if you do something stupid in the name of being noble, I will come back for you, so it will be your fault if I die.”

For a moment, Thor stared at the thin twist of green magic around his wrist. Then, he looked at Loki and said, “You’re being stubborn.”

“I am,” Loki agreed. “It’s one of my most annoying qualities, and that’s really saying something.” There was no chance Thor could stand, so Loki wrapped an arm tightly around his shoulder. “Ready?”

There was a long pause. A pointless pause. The longer they dallied, the weaker Thor became, and the more difficult this would be. Perhaps Thor knew that—and perhaps he was more stupid than even Loki thought he was, and actually fancied that Loki would leave him behind if he thought Thor would be a drag on his own escape.

Finally, Thor nodded. “Alright. But if you feel yourself weakening—”

“Thor, shut up.” Loki put a hand out, resting his palm against the column of rock that had so recently been on top of Thor’s legs. A green glow spread from beneath his palm and the surface of rock rippled. Loki could feel the solidness of the rock loosening, the spaces between each atom opening up. He extended the spell as far as he dared, then looked at Thor. “Let’s go,” he said.

Because Thor couldn’t use his legs, this first part was all Loki. One-armed, he heaved Thor into the rock, sparing a second’s thought for the fact that this would probably be a deeply unsettling experience for his brother.

But then there wasn’t time to think. Or—perhaps there was time, but he didn’t have the mental space for it. Climbing the tunnel that he created for them, a foot at a time, was arduous and tense. They made their way up through the column of rock and into the mass of earth sitting over them, and when Loki thought they’d reached the top of it, he sent out a sounding spell to check.

He was right. All he felt to either side was the press of dirt and rock. The tomb imagery was all a bit too apt, so he stayed away from it. He wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but considering the circumstances, he thought he could be forgiven the flutter of panic in his chest.

He tried to angle their passage, both to make it easier to gain handholds and to give his screaming muscles a bit of a break from bearing most of Thor’s weight. But angling their magical bore-hole increased their time in the earth, and Loki’s magical energy wasn’t infinite. Combined with the physical exertion of carrying Thor, he could feel himself tiring.

And he would not, he would not fail. So he clenched his teeth, pushed his magic out, and tightened his hold on Thor.

When they emerged onto the surface, it took Loki a moment to realize it had even happened. His magic suddenly wasn’t moving rock, and panic clutched at his chest, and he frantically looked at the darkness around them, left, right, upward, where they needed to go—and his eyes fell on three lumpy, shining objects, surrounded by a scattering of pinprick points of light.

Moons. Stars.

The bright, lumpy things were this planet’s three small moons. The rest were the stars of the night sky.

They’d made it.

Loki’s chest heaved as he drew several breaths of clean, fresh air. His arms and legs were trembling with fatigue. His heart was thundering and he realized his entire body under his clothes was slicked in sweat. His clothes were soaked through with it, too, and here on the surface, where the air was cooler, he could feel the clamminess of his damp clothes against his skin.

The line of green magic still connected his wrist to Thor’s. But Thor was prostrate on the ground, unmoving. “Brother?” Loki asked, worry threading through his tone.

Thor groaned and pushed himself onto an elbow, looking up at Loki. “I was thinking,” Thor said.

The worry in Loki’s chest fluttered, then settled back. He allowed the magic to dissolve away into the night air. “Yes?”

A light breeze ruffled Loki’s hair. Thor flopped back to the ground. “Maybe next time we have to fight a group of marauding space pirates, we should do it above ground.”

Loki laughed, which turned into a cough, because he was still gasping for air, his lungs full of dust. “I couldn’t agree more,” he finally said, once he’d stopped choking.

They were hardly in the clear. Thor’s legs were still mangled and they needed to get back to their ship, and there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t face another attack on their way. But with the sky above them and that cool breeze fluttering at Loki’s hair, escape and survival seemed eminently possible. Easy, even. He’d give it a few more moments for them to catch their breath and gather a bit more strength, and then they’d set off.

It occurred to Loki he was going to have to carry Thor. His brother was really going to owe him for this.

The two of them were quiet, their breathing slowing. Loki’s fingers twitched involuntarily in the powdery dust, his exhausted muscles already protesting the further labor he was going to ask of them. The ache in his arms made it tempting to sit there for another hour. Or maybe three. But they needed to go. So finally, Loki groaned and pushed himself to his feet.

“This is going to be very undignified for both of us,” he said warningly. “I’ll never speak of it if you don’t.”

Thor straightened up as best he could. There was an expression on his face that Loki didn’t like—the kind of softness and sincerity that meant something sentimental was about to come out of his brother’s mouth. So Loki held up a hand. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Thor protested.

“You were going to.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.” Huffing, Loki said, “You were going to say something…embarrassing. Something about my better nature.”

In the dark, it was hard to tell if Thor was smirking or just smiling. “Actually, I was going to say—I’m glad you’re here, Loki.”

Loki crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, squinting into the darkness. He would have to light their way with magic. Hopefully he was still up to it. “Only because you’d still be trapped down there without me.”

“No.” Thor managed to get to his knees, and when he held out a hand, Loki thinned his lips, clasped his brother’s arm, and hauled him to his feet. Idiotic. They wouldn’t make it more than three steps this way, not with Thor’s legs in the shape they were. Loki slung Thor’s arm over his shoulders and wrapped one of his own arms around Thor’s midsection, supporting most of his weight. “I was going to say,” Thor said, “that I’m glad we’re together, because there’s no one I’d rather fight side-by-side with.”

Letting out a slow breath, Loki rolled his eyes. He tightened his grip. Then he said, “Shut up, Thor.”

Thor grinned. Loki ignored the fondness in his own voice.

The two of them set off into the night.

[mrs-mikko-rantanen]

Speech and Debate

Ok so I’ve been thinking about this all day long and I just had to write it....so here you go: 1558 words of Lost Boys content. A baby Adair, age 16 in 2015, cold, shivering, and heavily concussed! 

    Concussion, two broken ribs, broken thumb, split lip, pretty sure my nose is broken, and I really hope my wrist isn’t broken. Adair’s head throbbed as he went through the list of injuries he’d sustained. He’d lost a few matches before, but never quiet this badly. He’d been so desperate after loosing the first match that he’d begged for a second match. Some way to salvage the night. He’d broken his ribs in the first fight, and had spent the second match panting heavily through his teeth, trying not to let the pain distract him. Trying, and failing.

    In short, he’d gotten his ass kicked.

    He groaned and dug his phone out of his back pocket, checking the time. His heart sank as he saw the missed call and three missed texts from his brothers. He looked up as a bus pulled up to the stop on the corner, and he frowned. He wasn’t exactly sure a bus was a great idea tonight. A cab wasn’t either. His concussion was making it difficult to focus on smaller details, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d be able to give the right address. And if he got off the bus at the wrong stop, he didn’t want to wander the city alone in this state.  He sighed, and the action sent a wave of pain through his chest as his ribs screamed in protest. Glancing back down at his phone, he hit the button on the missed call notification, and then hit the option to return the call. He winced as the phone rang in his ear, and he turned the volume down a bit. The phone only rang twice before his older brother answered.

    “Addie, hey. I was starting to worry about you. Everything ok? How was Speech and Debate?” Adair could hear the concern in Castor’s voice as he spoke, only thinly veiled by relief.

    “Hey. Yeah, I’m fine, I guess. We just got a little carried away.” Adair stuffed his free hand into his pocket as he looked around for somewhere he could sit. “Look, I know it’s late, but could you maybe come get me?”

    “Of course. I’ll be at the school in five-”

    “I’m uh, I’m not at the school.” Adair admitted.

    “What? Where are you?”

    “Umm…” Adair glanced around, stumbling a bit closer to the corner to read the street signs. “I’m at that diner on the corner of 7th and Baker. Kassidy’s?”

    “You’re on Baker Street? What the hell are you doing all the way down there?”

    Adair’s head flopped back as he looked up at the sky. The motion had been inspired by a wave of frustration and guilt, but he was met by a sudden spike of pain as his neck protested and his head throbbed. “Look, can you just come get me, Cas? Please?” 

    “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be right there. Go sit in the diner, I don’t want you on the street, ok?”

    “Right. Thanks, Cas.”

    “I’m on my way.” 

    Adair hung up and walked over to the diner. Despite what Castor had said, he didn’t go inside. He would have felt bad not buying anything, and he knew for a fact he didn’t have any cash wadded up in his pockets. Instead, he leaned up against the wall, his backpack slung over one shoulder while he waited. He pulled the hood of his jacket up and put his headphones in. Usually he would have put on some music, but anything more than the white noise he was playing to drown out the sound of the traffic made him nauseous. Every breath hurt worse than the last one had. He’d originally thought that he’d only broken two ribs, but as he stood there waiting, he was starting to think that maybe there were a few more broken too. His eyes slid shut and he leaned his head back against the brick wall, whimpering slightly as he gently probed his chest. He pried his eyes open and blinked furiously, trying to tell if his vision was blurry because of the blunt force trauma, the tears, or some combination of the two.  He sniffed and wiped at his nose, then immediately regretted the action. A car pulled up to the curb, and he staggered over to it as the window rolled down.

    “I thought I told you to wait inside.” Castor said as Adair pulled out an earbud.

    “Thanks for coming to get me.” Adair said, wedging his backpack into the space by his feet as he ignored his brother.

    “Wow. When you said your debate team got a little carried away, you weren’t kidding.”

    Adair leaned his head against the window and caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror and groaned. He looked almost as bad as he felt. His right eye was swollen almost completely shut, his left cheekbone was covered in an ugly purple bruise, and there was blood dried under his nose, and all down the side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow that he didn’t even know he had.

    “Wait here.” Adair’s head came up and he frowned as he looked over at Castor, who was undoing his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. 

    “What? Where are you going?” 

    Castor shrugged a little. “You tell me, Addie. Where’s the asshole that’s been doing this to you every week for the last three months?”

    Adair rolled his eyes and leaned his head on the window again. “It’s not like that, Cas.”

    “I don’t care. I’m done with this. I’m tired of you coming home beat to hell every week.”

    “Cas just drop it, ok? It’s fine, really.”

    Castor clenched his jaw, his hand clenched tight around the steering wheel as he thought things over. “Fine. You’re right. You’re sixteen, you’re old enough to stand up for yourself, and God knows you’re more than capable enough. I won’t get involved.” He shifted back around, pulling on the seatbelt and putting the car back into drive. “Let’s get you home.”

    “Thank you.” Adair said, looking back out the window. His stomach churned a little as the lights of the city began to flick by, stinging his eyes and setting his head spinning. He groaned a little and closed his eyes as they drove on, back towards the base. As his head swam, he decided that maybe it was better if his brother knew what was really going on. Besides, it was going to be a while before he and Ewan could get their permits, and who knew how long until they were able to get another car or a way to drive around. Chances were, there were going to be plenty of days that he was going to need Castor to come get him and drive him home.

    “I’m not really on the Speech and Debate team.” He admitted, his eyes flicking open as he stared out the windshield.

    Castor said nothing, but Adair could feel him thinking obviously.

    “I, uh. I’ve been fighting. Competitively.” Adair said, shifting a bit in the seat. 

    “Like for a team with the school? Or some gym?” 

    “Neither. It’s...not exactly legal. It’s--” He fought the sigh, not wanting his ribs to burn anymore than they already were. “It’s a gambling ring. I’ve been fighting to earn some extra money.” Adair glanced at Castor, not sure how his brother would react. Castor’s face was a mask, unreadable as he took in the new information.

    “Are you being safe?” He finally asked as he pulled into the parking garage of the base.

    Adair shrugged a little, taken aback by the lack of lecture from Castor. “I mean, as safe as I can be. It’s a bit shady, but yeah, I’m….taking care of myself, I guess?”

    Castor nodded and got out of the car. Adair hesitated a little and got out slowly, shrugging on his backpack before he followed. Castor was leaning on the back of the car, arms crossed as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

    “You’re not mad?”

    Castor shrugged again. “Why would I be? You’re finally branching out a bit in your interests. And it gives you something to do outside of the Revolution, gets you some space.”

    Adair fought not to smile too much, but the right side of his mouth twitched up in a bit of a crooked grin that pulled on the split in his lip.

    “You’re not gonna make me stop?”

    Castor snorted. “Yeah right. If I tell you to stop, would you really?”

    The grin finally won out on Adair’s face, “Probably not, no.”

    Castor shrugged as he stood up from the car. “As long as you’re being at least sort of safe about it, I don’t see a problem with it.”

    They stood in silence for a while, before Castor reached out and pulled Adair into a hug. Adair’s body ached in protest, but he wrapped his arms around Castor anyway, grinning as he shook his head a little.

    “Let’s go get you patched up a bit, yeah? Hungry?”

    “Not really.” Adair wasn’t even lying. His stomach was still churning and his spinning head wasn’t helping any.

    “Well you’ll drink some water, anyway.” Castor took the backpack from the younger boy, shrugging it onto one arm, the other draped over Adair’s shoulders to keep him steady and moving in one direction.

[roraruu]

wip: pity and fear

Faye doesn’t like to cry. She’s not a pretty cryer like Celica was, or Gray’s sisters are. They come hard and fast, rolling down her cheeks like thunder and lightning and not stopping until she’s got a headache. And the worst of it is that Faye’s an angry cryer. When she’s pissed off she’ll feel the heat of anger wash down her neck and to her cheeks and meet in her eyes. Her breath becomes heavy and her voice becomes high and wham! Tear city baby. 

She feels them come on when Alm says something stupid. Really, really stupid. 

“I guess we all should’ve stayed back.” He mumbles more to himself than anything. 

Faye feels the rush of angry tears come along. All means her, and should have means go away. She’s heard it everyday since they were kids, both silent and spoken. She knows he still resents her a little bit for making Celica go away. But Faye can’t help that she was taken and held at lance-point. She can’t stop the fact that Mycen saved her and ordered Celica away. If anyone, he should blame Tobin. 

But he won’t. 

So Faye turns on her heel and bites down on her lip hard, walking to the edge of camp where her steed is. She begins to tack her bridle on and prepare her as if she is going for a ride, the wind whipping her tears away across her face in long streaks—

“You shouldn’t leave this late.” 

She stops, biting harder on her lip to stop the tears, threatening to break the skin and bloody her face. She can feel the gasps coming, the angry bellows of a gasp that threaten to fly from her mouth. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” She forces as calmly as she can. At best, it sounds like she’s run too fast and is struggling to catch her breath; at worst, it gives away that she wants to be alone to cry. Lukas’s footsteps are deafened against the forest floor, but she can still hear him walk, his gentle, measured breathing. Faye glances away, wiping at her face with the edge of her right sleeve, the other clutching her steed’s rein like it is a rope out of a well. She hasn’t changed out of her uniform. The fabric is rough and harsh against her nose. “What do you want Lukas,”

“The other villagers said you ran off in a hurry. They thought you had been hurt.”

She laughs, bitter and harsh. She muffles the sound against her sleeve. “Only my pride.”

“Hm.” 

Her knuckles go white against the reins of her steed. The horse eyes her both tiredly and nervously. “Faye, may I ask what happened?”

“You may not.” She says. The last thing she wants to do is to spill the beans on why her friends loathe her. Why their conversations always exclude silly little Faye; why she was forced to play healer even though staring at broken bones protruding out of the body makes her nauseous; why she has to hurry after them on horseback and make sure Silque is safe while they fight and gleam like--

“Then might we walk together?” He offers. “Perhaps it will clear your mind.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“I said nothing of talking. I would not mind the silence.” He says calmly, gently as the lapping edge of the water on the shore.

She can feel the quakes, the trembles and sobs coming on. They are desperate to come out, bubbling over like a boiling pot. “F-Fine.” She says shakily and turns on her heel again. 

Faye walks faster than Lukas, keeping a good distance ahead of him. There’s a mark, a crease has formed on her lip from biting down so hard and long, the skin thankfully unbroken. No surprise there, it is the last damn that holds her tears in. It is like the Sluice gate, and she, Zofia which threatens to flood. 

She listens to his footsteps behind her, giving her distance that she craves, needs for the sake of her pride. And being blunt—Lukas does not seem the most nurturing or tender type. But gentleness It is not exactly in the recipe for a good nobleman, especially one who lends his lance to the rebel army. 

But Faye isn’t exactly a good village girl. She’s an only child who has her family behind to fight a war for some crush. Her friends keep her at arm’s length and the sweet cleric speaks to her only because she wishes to talk of womanly things. And her knightly mentor looks upon her with intent to make her a warrior, but knows she will never be one of such calibre.

Why am I here? She thinks. The words shatter the dam. Her teeth lift from her lip as her footsteps begin to drag and slow. The tears begin to flow, running down her face in hot rivers, glossing her moonlit cheeks. Her hand comes up to swipe at the tracks, first the tips of her fingers, and then the heel and finally whole hand rubbing at her eyes like she’s a child. She struggles for a breath, becoming a shaky hiccup and a loud “fuck” following. 

She resists falling to her knees but still crumples into herself. Her elbows lock inwards to her chest and her neck curves so that it’s inline with her chin. She gasps again, another hiccup, another cuss until the sobbing subsides and the telltale headache comes along. When she looks up, Lukas is holding a little square of cloth in his hand. Gently, with his voice as smooth as velvet, he speaks: 

“This was my Mother’s handkerchief.” He remarks, unfolding it. The edge is a soft pink and there are tiny little flowers embroidered in opposite corners. “She gave it to me many years ago. Here.”

His calloused hand reaches out with the pretty handkerchief in the middle. The hands of a soldier hold something so delicate, so... regal. It is jarring to the eyes, her tears parting to take in the sight. Gingerly, he tilts her face up to his, wiping away the rest of her tears with such tenderness that makes her wonder if there is kindness in a soldier. She focuses on his half-lidded brown eyes, the thin line of his lips, the soft curve of his brows. Lukas does not judge, nor does he ask again to speak of it. Instead he wipes away her tears with a gentle touch and holds her gaze as he holds the handkerchief to her.

“Where is your mother now?” She asks in a small voice, still shaky.

He doesn’t answer. A pang of sorrow strikes Faye like a lyre’s chord. Of course. Noble or common, death is not choosy. She wonders too many things now: how old he was when she died, if he was allowed to mourn, what had happened otherwise and if it only helped his joining of the Deliverance. 

But she realizes one thing--with the handkerchief knit between her hot fingers--is that her tears have stopped. 

______

The Deliverance finds no reprieve on Rigelian soil. Instead, hardships and shortcomings surface and Lukas wonders if Valentia is the land of sorrow. 

He finds no calm in sleep, no relief. In the dark of the night, almost the aurora of dawn, Lukas lays awake. Nuibaba’s abode is a place of near death for him, a place of terror. The witch had almost killed him with one fell blow and would have had not Faye sped her horse fast enough to take the blow for him. She’d thrown her javelin in a perfect arc and distracted the witch with time for Python or Tobin to take aim and shoot an arrow to kill. Lukas finds cannot remember which one of them did it, only the memories of that creature before his eyes. Medusa, terror of the dead.

He can still feel the ache of white magic against his skin, running along every inch of his body. Silque had healed him hours ago. Perhaps it is that which keeps him awake. 

He stares at the velvet ceilings of the mansion, age-old chandeliers are marked with gossamer and dust. They all sleep in the same area, the front room, all silently afraid to venture too deep into the abode. No one wanted particularly wanted to stay the night, but travelling down Fear Mountain in the dead of night and after a long, harsh battle seems beyond unwise. Hell, if Lukas did not have the self-control, he would be clutching his lance tightly and sleeping as he had done many nights in the woods before reaching Ram Village. 

He sits up, eyes roving around at the sleeping bodies of the Deliverance and their new sainted recruit. While the thought of venturing deep into the abode scares him, the thought of laying in wait for possible death scares him more. As quietly as he can, he gets to his feet and creeps out to one of the side rooms, a table and chairs set up in the middle with wide bay windows that overlook the side of Fear Mountain. And when he does, his mind begins to conjure cruel thoughts, perhaps a leftover trauma of his brother. Silently, in his own voice, he hears it. 

Why are you crying noble boy? What reason do you have to? So many people have it worse than you and you’re having a little pity party for one. What do you think the world’s going to stop and give you a break you backwater, no good, second rate progeny? You were lucky to have been bo—

“Lukas.”

He jumps a little, hands clenching into fists out of habit. Faye stands in the doorway, eyes widening only in shock. Her brow crumples in a way of pity and fear. Like a deer, she cautiously takes a step forwards; the floorboards whine.

“Faye,” he musters his most calm voice. “Are you alright?”

“I should ask you that.” She says, coming closer. Her braids are tangled and fray out in flyaways. 

“I could not sleep.”

“You look horrible.”

He laughs a little bitterly as she crosses the floor and stands in front of him. He’s suddenly very aware of how tiny she is in comparison. He must have grown used to seeing her astride her steed, ready to fight Gingerly, she reaches up, her warm hands grazing the side of his face, the pad of her thumb running under the bags of his eyes. “Lukas,”

“Yes Faye?”

“You know you’re crying right?” 

His hand instinctively reaches up to touch his cheek, her hand flying away. “No, I suppose I did not. I was lost in thought.”

“It’s alright.” She says softly. Her hand moves to her hip, pulling out his mother’s handkerchief from the pocket of her uniform. “It’s good timing I guess. I’ve been meaning to give this back.” 

It’s folded and neatly pressed. In her hands it resembles the day his mother gave it to him, gently pressing it into his palm. “Here.” She says and he holds the handkerchief, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Faye sits down at the table with him. “Was it a bad dream?”

“More a waking nightmare.”

Faye glances to the dark depths of the abode. Short hours ago they had fought for their lives but now they rest as peacefully as they can. For a moment they sit in relative silence, watching life outside the abode carry on. Such peace does not belong in a chaotic place. But can it truly be interpreted as peace? Zofia had been liberated and the invaders have been deterred from their homeland, but corruption and depravity still haunts their lands. And moreover, they are far from calm and peaceful, they are in Rigel, land of the strong and proud. When Lukas looks up from his lap and the handkerchief in his palm, Faye’s eyes are on him.

“Did I ever tell you about when I was a child?” She asks quietly.

His brow creases. “You did not.”

Faye glances between the dark door and him before leaning close. “I don’t like to talk about it but--” She says quietly, as if they are sharing gossip. “I was in a situation like you were today.”

She’s a soldier, of course she has danced with death before. But so easily Lukas as forgotten how he came to her village and saw her hands itching for an axe at the sight of him. “Really?” He asks.

She moves one of her plaits over her shoulder, showing a shiny mark on the side of her neck. A scar. She keeps her eyes from him and talks lowly. “When I was little, I was almost killed.” She whispers. “Luckily I was saved but I could have died easily. I used to have dreams I was back in the same situation and just…” She winces, her hands gathering the sleeve of her uniform. “Sometimes the scar will hurt and I just remember--”

She stops. “What I’m trying to say is that this is a nightmare.” Her eyes flicker with sadness and determination. “But we are trying to end it right? One day we’ll wake up and things will be better.”

Her words are not comforting in the least. She realizes that, with the way her lips crinkle as if hard in thought. But Faye reaches out, her fingertips graze the edges of his fingers and run along the tendons of his thumb before curling around his cold hand. She looks beyond him, out the windows and into the uncertain night, and Lukas realizes that his tears have stopped.

[ask-law-unfiltered]

My Black Heart

DofLaw fanfic… Disclaimer: I do NOT own one piece nor do I own any of its characters. If I did Ace wouldn’t have died, Zoro and Sanji would be lovers, and DofLaw would be canon. Pairings include but are not limited to DofLaw, KidLaw, ZoSan, and potential other yaoi goodness with the implication of FRobin. Although the main pairing is and will remain DofLaw. Warning! This fic contains spoilers, non-con sex (aka. rape), drug and alcohol abuse, violence, yaoi (aka. male on male relationship), severe mental abuse, and emotional abuse. Consider yourselves warned and also, any criticisms will result in more of the objected material so no like no read. No one is forcing you, if horrible rape sex, brutality, and abuse isn’t your style, go read a cute fluff piece. Hope you enjoy. Chapter Two: Seeing the Bars *****Law’s Side***** ‘Damn it!’ The situation just kept getting worse. The pain of losing Corazon three years ago was all coming back just by looking at his murderer. Now he was facing the unimaginable horror of possibly losing his entire crew. For a moment he was the scared little boy of ten, watching everything and everyone he had ever known die around him. ‘No I can’t afford to fall apart now… I need to find another way…’ His mind began to race faster than ever trying to come up with anyway out of this mess. Meanwhile Doflamingo continued to laugh at his own threat, clearly enjoying the way he had unnerved him. ‘Calm down,’ he told himself, ‘I can’t let him get to me or it’s just going to get worse…’ Doflamingo had stopped laughing long enough to realize Law had regained some of his composure. He suppressed a shudder as the homicidal blond leaned in close to his face. He was still unable to move away thanks to the strings and the death grip currently holding his chin. “Did I catch your interest Law?” That silky voice stirred up too many memories, but he forced them back, his crew needed him to focus now. He lifted his gaze back to Doflamingo’s, meeting those red lenses with determination. “What will it take?” The words tasted like bile on his tongue yet he spoke them clearly and without hesitation. Doflamingo paused slightly seemingly confused by the offer. “What do you mean Law?” Not wanting to waste time he quickly elaborated, “What will it take for you to leave my crew and me alone?” Law held back a grimace as the feathery bastard started to laugh once more. ‘Damn it, just get on with it!’ he was usually a very patient man but he was getting easily annoyed by this psychopath. Said annoyance leaned in again with a chuckle. “Fufufu, you haven’t changed much in some ways have you? Still quick to get to the heart of the matter. However I have told you twice now that I am here to see you. Do you really think that I will allow you to slip away from me again?” He was dangerously close to his ear now, “I want you back Law, after all you have and always will be mine.” He couldn’t suppress the shudder those words sent down his spine. This caused another laughing fit from his captor, as he remained powerless in the grip of the man and his vile strings. Still his mind raced looking for a way out, he couldn’t just up and abandon his crew, and like hell he wanted to go anywhere with this bastard. “I don’t belong to anyone, I’ve been freed.” Corazon had given his life to give him his freedom like hell he was going to give it up so easily. Doflamingo seemed to find amusement by his words however, as he continued to chuckle near his ear. “Fufufu, guess I have to remind you who your master is Law…” There was no time to brace as his head was slammed into the floor, resulting in a loud crack and severe pain. The agony brought on by the skull fracture, coupled with the inevitable concussion and blunt force trauma, was almost enough to make him pass out. Only the thoughts of his crew kept him from embracing the mercy of unconsciousness. He felt more strings slipping around his body, successfully binding his hands behind his back and pinning him to the hard cold floor. A hand entangled itself in his hair and pulled him up to stare into that grinning face. He glared at his captor, rebellion sparking up inside his chest, not wanting to give into reason or fear. “Fufufu, still acting tough huh?” the pink clad jackass, licked his lips again. Law hated that, watching that long creepy tongue slither across that wide mad grin. “I’ll have to change that now won’t I?” He felt the hand in his hair pull him in close until his eyes widened in shock as he felt lips against his own. Soon a powerful tongue was pushing its way into his mouth as he struggled as best he could to get free. The hungry appendage continued to ravage his mouth, retreating only at the treat of being bitten. He snarled in rage and disgust, “What the hell was that about you pervert?!” Doflamingo met his accusation with more laughter. “You really have grown Law.” He felt the tongue lick some of the blood off his check from the open head wound. “I’m eager to see how much…” Realization hit Law like the blow from before. Doflamingo was planning on forcing himself upon him, and in his current state there was nothing he could do to prevent it from happening. *****Doffy’s Side***** Law looked so alluring bound by his strings and bleeding slightly. Well perhaps the head wound was a bit worse than Doffy had meant to inflict. Yet when dealing with a personality like Law’s, excessive force was often necessary. He tore his eyes away from those enticing silver hues, to observe the rest of the teen’s lean form. Taking in the long slender legs, and imagining the toned chest hidden behind the hoodie. His gaze settled for a moment on the curve of the teen’s rather nice ass. A prize he would soon claim for himself, and in doing so he would prove that Law was his forever. After all he was not known to share his things, and whether the brat liked it or not he belonged to him. Meaning he would be taught to please him in every way possible, lessons Doffy was only too happy to teach. He reached out slipping his hand into Law’s pants, cupping a cheek in his firm grip. This caused the teen to thrash about in protest before hissing, “Get the hell away from me you fucking bastard!!!” He chuckled again amused by the fact that the younger pirate thought he still had a say in the events to come. Eyes, hidden behind his beloved shades, lingered on that smartass mouth. His grin growing wider with an entertaining idea. He felt himself harden at the sight before him, Law’s chest heaving slightly behind the hoodie, due to the taxing struggle, hands bound behind his back. Blood ran down the side of his face which had lost the soft round features of childhood, and become more defined and alluring during the past three years. Doffy’s gaze fixed itself upon the lips that were parted in pain, and his member twitched. It was time to teach Law another use for that sassy mouth, Doffy straightened and returned to his spot on the bed. He then used his strings to force the boy to resume his previous position of kneeling at his feet. He grinned at the sight of the brat, now beaten and bound, in his rightful place. “Fufufu, shall we give this another try Law?” His reply was a glare of contempt, which only served to make the Shichibukai smile wider. A long fingered hand reached towards his clothed member, stroking gently as he slowly pulled it from its fabric prison. Hateful eyes turned to orbs of shock at the massive organ pulsing before them. Doffy continued his lazy massage as he drank in the teen’s growing fear. “I want you to suck me off Law, and if you even think about using your teeth, I’ll carve up every last one of your little friends. Their lives depend on how well you please me in the next few hours.” He leaned in closer to the slowly despairing young captain. “You know what lengths I have gone to punish those who displease me, don’t force me to destroy everything you hold dear. I know you don’t want to endure that pain a second time.” He watched the realization of his words and threats take hold of the youth, draining all the fight and rebellion out of him. Shoulders slumped in defeat, Law’s mouth drew closer to his throbbing head. Doffy closed his eyes behind his glasses as the warmth of the brat’s breath caressed his arousal. This was going to be fun, afterwards there would be no doubt that the boy belonged to him. ‘Definitely a much better use for that smartass mouth.’ Was the thought that formed as Law began his administrations, first he had licked it from base to head stopping to kiss the swollen tip before continuing back to the base. Once there he drew circles around the sack of sensitive flesh nestled below the mammoth shaft. Doffy opened his eyes to watch the curiously experienced technic before him, had Law done this before? He sincerely hoped not, otherwise someone was in for a rather painful death for the crime of defiling his property. His eyes narrowed as the mouth opened to cradle his balls on a warm velvety tongue. He held back a hiss of pleasure as that same tongue began to coat his flesh in moist heat as it sucked gently in a leisurely rhythm. After a few minutes his jewels were released with a pop, and the little slut, made his way back up the thick shaft. As Law reached the tip a second time, the War Lord decided that it was time to take control again. Slowly he intertwined his fingers through soft black hair, tugging hard causing the teen to gasp in pain. In one swift motion Doffy forced his member halfway down the tight warm throat, laughing as he felt the hot cavern shudder at the violent intrusion. “Fufufu, since you seem to know what you’re doing there’s no need to hold back!” Without waiting for him to adjust the hand holding his head began to move, using the boy’s mouth to pump his length mercilessly. All the while laughing and grinning, at the choking, slobbering, whore being ruthlessly skull fucked before him. *****Law’s Side***** Law barely had time to register what was happening until the asshole above him finally found a suitable pace. Even then he could hardly believe that he was kneeling before his hated enemy, while that enemy forced his unnaturally large member down his throat. It took everything Law had to try and choke down the massive length. Thankfully anatomy was something he knew rather well, within a few hours Law had adjusted his breathing and relaxed his jaw. This allowed him to bare the brutal treatment easier plus it gave him an opportunity to try and turn the tables again. With the use of his powers he focused on making his throat tighten, all the while keeping the organ slick with added saliva. He felt the veins pulsing on his tongue signaling an impending release. With a few more violent thrusts the monster came hard spewing his seed deep into Law’s throat. He was tempted to spit the vile gift onto the ground in spite until he heard the jackass purr. “Swallow it all, or I’ll make you clean it off the floor later…" Law’s face burned in rage and humiliation as he forced the salty liquid down. He refused to meet the War Lord’s gaze knowing the probability of this ordeal was far from over. However he was given little choice as he felt his hair being yanked causing his wound to ach as he was forced to look upon that evil smiling face. “Well done, I can hardly believe that was your first time with a man. Tell me Law, who was your first?” Law wanted to tell Doflamingo to fuck off, but he knew that tone, Doffy was mad. He was in trouble now, and since the fate of his crew hinged on the maniac’s mood Law needed to think fast. Truth be told Law hadn’t been with anyone, well anyone he wanted to be with, he just knew a lot about anatomy. What the body likes and dislikes, he was a doctor after all. Pain and pleasure are hidden all over the body, he just knew where to look. He met the shaded eyes without flinching, “I haven’t been with anyone, I swear. You were the first person to do anything like that with me…” Law could feel his face burning in humiliation at that admission. Doffy however didn’t seem convinced. “You are awfully skilled for your first time. Was it one of your crew mates Law? Are you trying to protect your little friend?” Law tried to answer but the Shichibukai slammed his head down a second time. Pain swam behind his eyes and his head throbbed from the further abuse. His eyes had started to water from the pain of his wounds, and the added agitation of having his hair yanked around, as it was used too once again lift his head. “I will find out who it was Law, make it easier on yourself and tell me. Who has defiled your body?” His head was swimming from the dizziness brought on by severe cranial trauma, and he could feel the nauseating sickness starting to creep up. Doing his best to keep his breathing even, Law set his gaze on the pink clad psychopath. “I am not lying, I haven’t been with anyone. I’m a doctor, I am going by things I have read about, honest.” Law felt the hand release his hair, at the same time he noticed the strings where forcing him to rise, moving him onto Doflamingo’s lap. Strong arms held him in place as the re-hardened appendage poked against the cleft of his ass. As Law’s heart began to feel heavy Doffy started to laugh. “Is that so? Well there is only so much you can learn from books and charts. Why don’t we have some more fun than hmm? You can show me what else you have learned, Fufufu…” Law’s heart was a lump of ice in his chest, he realized that all those years he thought he was free were nothing but a cruel joke. The truth was clear, he had never left the birdcage on Minion Island. He just hadn’t been able to see the bars until now, yet there they were, constricting around him. He would never be free from this man, he had been trapped the moment he set foot in that warehouse three years ago.

[strangeharpy]

Here, Tumblr, have the first unedited, rough ~1100 words of what I wrote tonight. It’s mostly just set-up and Graves being sad. I’m wanting to see if I can pull off Graves as someone who at one point may have sympathized with Grindelwald. WHO KNOWS IF IT WORKS?? (and yes it looks like I’ll get to 2k before Credence even shows up, ugh)

ANYWAY, no real content warnings other than for possible autocorrect typos and for some reason Graves’s POV reads vaguely like Hemingway? *shrug emoji*

*

The first face Percival Graves sees belongs to one Porpentina Goldstein. She looks rumpled, with hat askew, her hair flying every which way, smudges of dirt on her face and hands, and her coat hanging off one shoulder. As soon as she spots him, her face lights up like Christmas, and she shouts to some unknown person behind her, "He's here! He's here! Get a medi-wizard! He's in here!"

As Tina makes her way toward him, backlit by the light from outside and holding her glowing wand in front of her, Graves lets himself indulge in a cautious bit of hope. He knows how awful he must look, strung up as he's been for Morrigan-knows-how-long, but he tries to put on a wan smile for her. Tina winces, aims a few charms at his bindings until she finds a combination that undoes Grindelwald's handiwork, catches him with an arm slung across his chest when he tips forward. Every inch of him sings in agony, somehow worse than the Cruciatus because at least the Cruciatus can be dispelled.

He hisses through clenched teeth. Tina makes a pained noise in sympathy.

"It's okay, Mister Graves," she says. "We've got you." One way or another, she heralds the end to… whatever this is, and Graves gladly welcomes it.

*

The second face Percival Graves sees is also a familiar one, but it inspires no misguided sense of hope. Somehow, between Tina's reassurance and now, he's been shuffled into a narrow bunk in the familiar infirmary of the MACUSA headquarters. The lights are dim; visiting hours must surely be over, and yet Seraphina Picquery sits, as regal as a portrait, on the lone chair by his bed. Her eyes are narrowed as she appraises him. He knows what she's searching for. Knows what she finds. His hands clench, fingers tangling in the thin sheet draped over him. He feels a hot stab of shame in his ribcage.

"I considered you my friend, once," she says, her voice unwavering. "I invited you into my home. I took holidays with you on three separate occasions, Percival. Three! I trusted you."

"Seraphina, I—" The words die in his throat. He does not have anything resembling a suitable response. They both know it.

"Don't be coy, Percival, it doesn't suit you." Her tone remains even, but he knows her well enough to pick up on how waspish she's being. "Do you know what our Mister Grindelwald had to say when we held our first round of interrogation?"

"Yes, I imagine I do," Graves says after a few moments of tense silence. His words taste like ash on his tongue, but he continues, "I imagine he spoke highly of my cooperation, told you that my help was invaluable. Maybe he even mocked my optimism. Am I close?"

Seraphina shifts in her chair. Her gaze remains steely and unimpressed. "Merlin's tattered robes, Percival, we had a deal. There are policies and procedures and legal channels we can use to affect change! You think spitting in the face of the rule of law is the way to get things done?"

"Who does this law help?" Graves demands, hands still uselessly clutching the white, white sheet. He surprised himself with the vehemence of the question. "I know the damn statutes, Seraphina. But the old ways aren't working. I couldn't just stand by any longer."

"He said the same thing, you know. Before we apprehended him." She shifts. Her jewelry glitters in the muted magelights. "I tolerated your radical attitudes because I respected you and I had sympathy for your situation. But you deliberately chose to throw yourself behind the cause of a madman, and that's where my sympathy ends. I thought you were too old for this boyish foolishness. I'm sorry for what you must have endured at his hands, but…" She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I expect your resignation on my desk as soon as you've been cleared to hold a quill."

He blinks owlishly. Forces his fingers to uncurl. Nods. It's a gift, likely the last one he will ever receive from Seraphina Picquery. It's more than he has any right to ask for. "Of course, Madame President," he manages to say, voice hoarse.

Seraphina shakes her head and rises. "Get some rest, Percival."

He recognizes the dismissal for what it is. "As you wish, Madame President." But she is already gone.

*

He pieces things together during visits from the medi-wizards and medi-witches. His body had sustained some damage from Grindelwald's ill treatment, but mostly he was just malnourished and dehydrated. He'd been held for nearly five months (a fact he hadn't known) and the medi-witch in charge of his care was concerned about his mental well-being more than his physical state. It seemed, she informed him, that he'd suffered much psychic trauma from Grindelwald's attempts to sift through his memories.

(He doesn't tell her that he provided them willingly, in the beginning. But he does agree that it explains the way he feels so hollow, like a husk.)

Tina visits him, seems either blissfully unaware of his impending dismissal or willfully in denial. But she is blunt and she is kind and she keeps him up to date on the slew of inquiries resulting from this mess, and for that he is grateful. He'd always found her to be a bright and promising auror, and he tells her so one afternoon as she thumbs through a box of case files Grindelwald had put his name on. It startles a laugh from her.

"He demoted me, you know," she confides, keeping her gaze fixed on the file in her hands.

"I'm not surprised," he says. "I can't say I wouldn't have reprimanded you after that, from what I hear."

Color rises to her cheeks. "Sir, you have always encouraged me to do what's just, and that's what I did. What I've always tried to do."

"Yes, Auror Goldstein. You've always been good at that. I suspect that's why he had you demoted. And even then, you still somehow found a way to foil him from underneath the mountain of bureaucracy he buried you under." He finds himself smiling at her fondly. He will miss working with her, he thinks. Would have enjoyed training her to maybe be his successor one day. Morrigan preserve him, he will miss this.

Tina's face goes scarlet and she ducks her head. "Well. You know. It wasn't all me."

He recalled the report she'd shared with him: her sister, the no-maj, Theseus Scamander's brother. "A good auror knows how to work with a team to get the job done, Ms. Goldstein. I think you'll find that some doors might open up to you based on your performance." At least he hopes desperately that it will be so. That Seraphina won't quash Tina's enthusiasm just because he favored her once upon a time.