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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 2 years ago

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Hold You Till Forever

For @sjmromanceweek day 5 💕. Cassian made Nesta a promise on the battlefield. In the immediate aftermath of the war, Nesta goes searching for him to make him a promise of her own, having realised a few things in their brush with death. (Title taken from, and partly inspired by, the song Die Together by Amanda Tenfjord) (ao3)

...

I will find you. In the next world—

We’ll have that time—

I promise—

***

Nesta didn’t know what she had expected the aftermath of a battle to be like.

In all of the stories, all of the legends… there was silence in the moments after the fighting faded. Something sombre and weighty, heavy and sorrowful. A stunned kind of quiet as the world slowly knitted itself back together.

This was not that kind of healing. Not that kind of peace.

The world had, instead, descended into chaos. Had been sinking further and further into desolation as the sun made a slow path across the sky, golden light glancing off of broken shields, discarded swords. Even with the battle over, bloodshed reigned still as healers called for water, called for linen, called for bandages, and with the sun gilding the bloodiest parts of the battlefield, limning the pain…

Nesta searched.

Searched for the tent she needed— the warrior she needed.

She had walked away from the spot where she had driven a knife through the neck of a king. Where she had twisted and twisted, pushing until she could push no more, until she felt bone and sinew both yield beneath the edge of the blade. She had walked away from the place her father had died, the grass beneath her feet stained with so much blood it was difficult to tell if she stepped over the lifeblood, spilled, of friend or of foe— of the king she had murdered or the father who had given his life.

She felt an aching kind of sorrow. A heavy, breathless kind of grief as she walked slowly through the camp, through the debris— the scattered pieces of lives given, lost, saved. Past overturned water buckets, cast off shields. Nesta picked her way past the tents that housed the desperate, the dying, searching for just one in particular.

One close to the centre of the camp, one made of rope and black canvas.

One that the men passed with whispers of the general, that’s the general’s tent.

Nesta made her way there, her every step so agonisingly slow, as if she couldn’t force her limbs to move anymore, as if even breathing were becoming an exertion. Her hands were thick with blood, her soul heavy with loss, and yet…

She thought of his chest, of his breaths that had been ragged, rasping. She thought of his wings, thrown wide to protect her— then snapped, broken. She thought of how he had barely been able to stand, his leg broken too, how he had barely been able to walk as the healers took him away from that clearing where his blood still lingered, still seeped into the earth.

Nesta needed him.

Needed to find him.

Needed to make a promise of her own.

***

Even the healers had departed by the time Nesta slipped into that tent, the sun falling beneath the horizon as the day of battle came to an end. As dusky twilight descended, Nesta took a breath and let the tent flaps close behind her, all but sealing her in.

A small brazier burned in one corner, a single candle still lit. The air tasted of salt and soap, of healing ointment and starched bandages, and yet, beneath it all… there was him too, the comforting scent of him beneath it all.

Cassian.

She had realised something, on that battlefield today. Realised that even as fae, life remained fragile and there were so many things she hadn’t said, hadn’t told him…

The healers had left him sleeping, and he didn’t wake, not as Nesta took another step forwards into his tent. His eyes were closed, his golden skin like burnished bronze in the dim light, eyelashes fluttering as his sleep grew uneasy. He lay on a camp bed, on his back with his wings pinned beneath him, wrapped and mending, his hands resting gently on his stomach.

But the rest of him—

The rest of him was a mass of bandages, his chest wrapped so tightly from the bottom of his ribs to his sternum. The king had snapped his wings, had broken his leg, had inflicted so, so many wounds that they had cut through even the toughest parts of his armour. He had been broken and bloody, dying, and Nesta had thrown herself over him, guarded his life with her own, and she remembered the feel of his hand on her back, the briefness of his kiss as he used what little energy he had left to tell her - to show her - how much, in the few months they had known one another, his life had somehow become defined, encompassed, by her.

A sob threatened to break from her lips as she looked upon him now, as she remembered his voice, broken, telling her to go, to leave, to let him die.

I can’t, she’d said. The closest she had gotten to telling him that she regretted it too, hated that their time had suddenly ran short.

Someone had cleaned the blood, had washed it from his skin, and as Nesta spied a clean pail of water in the corner, she moved to do the same. She sloughed the blood from her hands, the water cold and piercing, removing all trace, all evidence, of battle. And when she was done, Nesta dried her hands on a towel before coming to kneel at his bedside, finding no stool to sit upon.

It didn’t matter.

She had knelt with him in the mud and the dirt only hours ago, had cradled his head in her lap as his life slipped between her fingers, and even then… Even then she hadn’t told him. Hadn’t said all the things she needed to, all of the promises that had lingered on her tongue.

I’ll find you, he'd said. I promise.

She hadn’t realised until that moment how much she had needed to hear those words fall from his lips. How much she had longed for it, for the kiss he had so briefly given her. She watched the rising of his chest now, focused on it, counting his every breath. Alive— he was alive, and she could tell him now, could voice all of those things she hadn’t been able to as he lay dying—

“Why are you on the floor.”

His voice was thick with sleep, heavy with pain. Nesta looked up, finding his face lined with worry as his eyes opened, as consciousness returned. Stupid bat, she thought. I’m not the one who lost all that blood. I’m not the one lying wrapped in a mile of bandages.

“Nes.”

Cassian frowned, a crease forming between his brows as he glanced down at her by his bedside. He pushed up onto his elbows, hissing as the movement stretched the wounds over his chest, and even though, briefly, his eyes shuttered against the pain… He tilted his head and offered her a small smile.

“Why are you on the floor?” he asked again, softer this time, a question that had a gentle kind of bemusement rounding out its edges.

“There’s no chair,” Nesta pointed out flatly, waving a hand at the tent around them, gesturing at the decided lack of any real furniture. Just a camp bed, a wash basin, and a chest with the lid propped open, flying leathers and weapons inside.

Cassian patted the space beside him on the bed. “So?”

“So there was no room on the bed, what with your great hulking wings—”

His grin stopped her short, blooming even in the wake of agony. A hand went to his ribs, eyes darkening as pain flared, but then he was grinning again, a rakish curve to his lips.

“Tell me more about how big you think my wings are,” he said, his voice dropping, kicking low and sultry as he raised an eyebrow.

Nesta scowled. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Mhm,” he said dryly. “And you’re still on the floor.”

Nesta rose to her feet, brushed herself off. Slowly, as if second-guessing, she settled herself on the edge of his mattress.

He’d almost died for her.

Almost died, all but told her he loved her as she held on to him, as she all but begged him to stay, to live. In that clearing, when his life was a moment from winking out, when hers wasn’t far behind, Nesta had found herself suddenly so certain of… everything. Clarity had settled over her as she heard his breathing grow shallow and his heartbeat start to slow.

She didn’t want to lose him.

She didn’t want to live without him. Even if she was only a handful of moments behind him, even if she took her last breath only a minute after his heart stopped… It would be a minute too long, she realised in that clearing. A minute of agony she didn’t want to endure.

And she needed to say it, needed to tell him, but she couldn’t quite find the words, didn’t know how to start.

I have no regrets but this, he’d said. That we did not have time.

And she should have said, I love you.

She should have said, I’ll wait for you. In whatever world we find ourselves in, whatever lies beyond… I’ll wait for you.

She should have told him all of it, as he lay dying in her arms, but the weight of her grief, her sorrow, her pain, had been too much to bear, too much to breathe around much less speak, and he had been dying as her father’s blood stained the ground and—

“You’re hurting,” he whispered, bringing her back to the present, where he was breathing and the war was over. Lifting a hand, Cassian let his fingers graze her cheek, the back of his knuckles soft against her skin.

“So are you,” Nesta answered, glancing pointedly at the bandages that covered him, that masked the wounds he’d gained throwing his life before hers.

“Different kind of hurt,” he pressed, his voice as soft as the candlelight that bathed them.

Once, Nesta would have pulled away.

A matter of days ago - hours ago, even - Nesta would have turned away from that softness, ran from the look in his eyes. She would have scorned the touch at her cheek, would have spit some insult and left that tent with her heart racing.

She didn’t want to run, now. She hadn’t ran as he’d lay dying, as the king had advanced and prepared to send them both into the darkness. Hadn’t turned from him as he kissed her with blood on his lips. She hadn’t ran, not even when Cassian had begged her to leave. So— she wouldn’t now, either.

“Take it away then,” she said, her lips barely moving as the words slipped out— so quiet, so soft. Her eyelids fluttered closed for the barest of seconds as his thumb grazed her cheekbone. “The pain. Take it away for me, Cassian.”

His eyes closed at the sound of his name on her tongue, a shaking breath leaving him as his chest continued to rise, his heart continued to beat. His hand moved, fingers straying into her hair, gripping and twisting in her tangled braids. He pressed their foreheads together and Nesta kept her eyes closed, shut tight, guarding against the horror still saturating the world beyond this tent.

“I would,” he answered, hoarse. “You know that I would.”

His eyes opened, his gaze lined with the same kind of grief and anguish that was tearing apart her own chest. Nesta only swallowed, letting her fingers rest against one powerful shoulder.

Her eyes dropped once more to the bandages, white and fresh, but her breath caught as her mind conjured all the images of him on the battlefield— as she heard the snap as the king’s booted foot came down hard on Cassian’s wing. She almost trembled, almost mourned, as she remembered how he had cradled her face as he almost died beneath her hands.

“I can’t lose you too,” she said, her voice cracking. “I can’t.”

“You won’t,” he answered quickly, his voice firm but not harsh, still soft at the edges. “Never, sweetheart.”

“I need you,” she admitted— the truth she’d been hiding from all along. She’d realised it as he’d kissed her, as she’d felt his blood run over her fingers. She hadn’t said it, hadn’t been able to speak in that clearing as he vowed to find her in the afterlife, in whatever world was next. And oh, how she would have regretted it. If he’d died before she had to chance to tell him— if he’d died without knowing. If she had died, before finding the courage to voice it aloud.

Her fingertips were tight on his shoulder now, grasping at his bare skin as if searching for something to hold on to. One of his hands found hers, caught her fingers and wound them together, giving her the hold she needed. He was silent, but as Nesta closed her eyes again, she felt soft lips against her cheek, across the bridge of her nose, on her forehead. Soft, fluttering kisses, little more than a brush of bruised lips against her skin, but her heartbeat began to calm, the waves of anguish in her chest receding.

Cassian cradled the back of her head, fingers brushing the nape of her neck, and when Nesta twisted her head, his lips fell to her jaw. His other hand came to her waist, a soft gasp leaving him as the movement shifted his wings, a hiss of pain as the broken membrane, shattered bones, stretched. He didn’t stop— his nose grazed her jaw, his hands pulling her closer as Nesta felt herself plummeting towards him, falling down, heading right to the safe haven he offered.

“I love you,” she breathed. “Don’t die without knowing that.”

“I’m not going to die, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low against her skin. He pressed another kiss to her neck before his lips climbed higher, skating over her jaw before reaching the corner of her mouth. He paused, waiting for her eyes to open as he held her face between his palms. “But I love you, too.”

“I thought you were gone, I thought—”

“I know,” he whispered. His face turned sorrowful, a bittersweet smile pulling at his lips as his brow rested, once more, against hers. “I told you. There is only one thing in my life that I regret. That I didn’t tell you sooner, that I wasted so much time.”

“We’ll have that time,” Nesta breathed, an echo from earlier. Her own promise, one that was infinitely less grief-stricken, filled with hope and light and love, not death and grief and regret. “Now. We’ll have that time now.”

He hummed, the sound low and warm and echoing in his chest. His hand brushed her spine, came to rest at the small of her back, pulling him closer to her, as though his chest weren’t covered with wounds and bandages. As though his pain was suddenly rendered meaningless, suddenly healed, when he held her in his arms.

“Now,” Cassian agreed— vowed.

He claimed her lips at last, his kiss sweet and lingering and filled with promise. Slowly, at first. Slowly, he kissed her, as though taking the time to learn every inch of her, to savour it while he had the chance. His palm cupped her cheek, holding her there, and then his fingers were wandering to the nape of her neck, the kiss growing fervent and fevered and desperate— as though making up for lost time. Nesta leaned into it, weightless, as she let his kiss engulf her. There would be no more waiting, no more hiding or running or pretending. She had almost lost him, and now every touch, every kiss, was one she might have lost, might have missed.

And oh, what a crime that would have been.

To have left this world without knowing the taste of him, the feel of him, the warmth of him.

His hands mapped out the skin of her collarbone, over her shoulders, falling to her waist. Her own hands were slow, barely moving for fear of brushing his wounds, for disturbing the bandages that wrapped his middle. She kept her fingers buried in his hair, holding him against her, deepening the kiss until she was drowning in it.

I love you, she whispered in the silence, in the candlelight. Breathed it against his lips, murmured it whenever his kiss moved to another part of her— her throat, her ear, the curve of her jaw.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Spoken at last— and with every kiss he pressed against her, every pass of his hands, he whispered it, too.

I love you.

#nessian #sjmromanceweek2023

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snootlestheangel · 1 year ago

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COD AU Ideas

Yup, just a big list of AU ideas I've had rattlin' around in the ole brain. I may not ever get around to doing something with most of these. Some might be very thought out and others a simple sentence of a concept. These are all my concepts, so have the expectation that these will eventually become my fics.

I'm unsure right now if any of these will turn into actual works, cause goodness knows I already have too much on my plate right now, BUT for the most part, what I put here is/will be what to expect if I actually do something with them. In other words, these will serve as "fic descriptions" but just for fics that may never come to be.

The first one I didn't include a "fic" description just cause it's such a niche AU and I really want to inspire others to write their own stuff for it. So please let me know if you want my idea for the work!

Anyways, here's some brain rot!

Prison Break AU

SoapGhost AU where they're both in prison and plan an escape together. Based simply on the idea of "We escaped prison together, and oops we fell in love along the way". SO MUCH angst potential, so much comedy potential, so much potential!!!!

I'll definitely do something with it one day, but we don't have any of these bad boys (that I'm aware of) so please ask me/tag me if you want to write a Prison Break/Prison AU of our boys!!! Like, a Prison AU is a phenomenal idea why have I not heard of anything like this existing already???

Cryptid Hunters AU

AU in which Task Force 141 is actually an entire section of the modern military dedicated to controlling/monitoring the cryptid/monster populations of the world. Sometimes this means killing really rare/dangerous ones. Would contain PriceNik (subject to change into including Graves), SoapGhost, GazAlex.

It's the 141 boys just hunting cryptids with the help of Shadow Company (the North American version), Kate Laswell, and a few others. *honestly not my favorite AU, most likely to be forgotten about*

Cryptid Hunters AU but a bit to the left

Same concept as before but Ghost is a cryptid himself. Ghost still acts like a normal dude, and is a part of the 141 because they're actually super helpful for him, as a powerful cryptid-most-likely-ancient-deity. Helpful because they remove competition/keep most cryptids under check. But not helpful cause they stress him out, they want to find The Ghost and put "it" down cause it's apparently super dangerous.

He's a modern cryptid, meaning stories about his cryptid-self are recent (last like 20 years), which makes him that much more terrifying. He's actually one of the most notorious English cryptids; known for his abilities to phase in and out of shadows, creating pillars of solidified black sand, changing his size from massive to incredibly small, and causing incredibly vivid hallucinations of deceased loved ones. He earned the name Ghost cause of those hallucinations and how he often appears like the ghost of a person long deceased. Cue SoapGhost happening and lots of angst potential with that. Also so much comedy cause they're all like "Damn Ghost was spotted again" and he has to act surprised by what they find when they investigate the area. Soap openly defending the entity of Ghost by saying that he's "never killed anyone! 'Sides we should study him and learn about him! He's probably the only one of his kind, ya know!" Ghost falling in love with the strange little human that looks in awe at the massive structures Ghost makes with his crystalized black sand. Ghost intentionally making them more intricate as time goes on, letting himself get spotted in his full "demonic" form cause the excitement and borderline insane curiosity on Soap's face is always worth it. Now this?? This is good shit that I really want to write now

Soap is a Healer AU

Can't think of a good concise thing to call this AU so lemme explain! Soap who is part of a small percentage of people that possess unique abilities. Their designed to "heal souls" so to speak. People with lots of baggage in their lives often seek out the comfort of these "healers" because they can genuinely help them "heal" from all of this. Part of this means helping them move on from the loss of loved ones, like friends and family, or even pets. This means they can see ghosts of people that someone is still attached to. It's not the ghosts being attached to the people, it's the living not wanting to/struggling to move on. Healers can interact with a person's ghost(s) and vice versa, which is often how they help people move on.

Make it SoapGhost though where "Healers" shouldn't be in the military. There's been too many that have gone insane themselves from all the pain and misery they see/feel/experience on a daily basis. Even if they never see a battlefield, they're constantly surrounded by those who have and it's a miserable experience. Healers in these positions often take their own lives because "they couldn't save everyone" and it eventually became incredibly difficult for a Healer to get to where Soap is. But Soap's identity as a Healer is known by like maybe 3 people, Price not included. And he's not got the true "Healer" personality: he's not quite as empathetic and self-sacrificing as people like his mum, so he's doing just fine where he is.

Then he meets Ghost and suddenly all that changes. He suddenly meets someone he knows he needs to "heal" because damn. He sees the Riley family: Ghost's mum, Tommy and Beth, Joseph, and even Roach. Soap slowly winning Ghost over with the help of the Riley family. Soap slowly helping Ghost move on, helping to convince Ghost that Roach is gone, it's okay to love someone else, Ghost realizing Soap is "Healer" and getting upset that he's just "using" Ghost or whatever the fuck, Soap having to convince him that he fell in love with him, not that he's trying to heal him because it's what Soap is, but because he loves him. Soap saying he fell in love when he realized how many years had passed since the Riley family's passing, how unusual it is for people to have such strong "ghosts" after more than 5 years, saying he fell in love because it means Ghost is such a deeply caring, loving person. He fell in love because often times the "ghosts" in a person's life just continue on like nothing happened, and seeing the way they love Simon, seeing the way little Joseph just adores his uncle, everything about Simon Riley made Soap fall in love.

Undercover AU

This one's a GazAlex AU actually!

Literally what it sounds like. The two have to work together as an undercover duo, often times pretending to be a couple, as they help track down a big bad. Lot of flustered Alex caused by Gaz simply ~existing~. So many cliche tropes in this bad boy. The "there was only one bed", the "make out in an alley to avoid getting caught", the "pretending to be married".

Just a lot of Gaz being the coolest, most badass mf-er to exist and Alex trying desperately to keep things "professional" between them and failing miserably. Gaz being confident and using it to make Alex even more flustered cause "heh, he's kinda cute when he's all red and embarrassed". Gaz knowing full well the crisis he's giving Alex like 90% of the time, but not pushing Alex out of his comfort zone cause it's clear Alex likes him but doesn't want to compromise anything about their mission.

So much silly goofy potential with this, but also like some genuine good shit. Also Laswell and Price being older, "wiser" gays just laughing at the two dancing around each other.

Definitely going to be a fic once I finish one of my current WIPs. This either means posting all the YouTuber AU drabbles I have in my drafts or the last 4 chapters of my Left4Dead AU. Probably the latter...

Anyways, feel free to ask questions about these AUs! I'd love to get an excuse to share more of my brain rot!

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #soapghost #ghostsoap #gazalex #alexgaz #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod au #soapghost au #gazalex au #snootles's au dump

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just-horrible-things · 1 year ago

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'Verse: Resistance AU: Healer and Handler, co-author @whump-sprite

Whipped, pt2 [ First | Prev | Next ]

They make it to the showers without incident.

"Can you stand?" Ariadne checks before setting Alex on his feet. He sways in place and she holds his arms until he's steady.

She turns on the water, then picks up the plastic stool from the edge of the room and positions it so that Alex can sit under the edge of the water without it falling directly onto his back. She checks the temperature with a hand, and waits until it’s hot to motion Alex forwards.

Undressing in front of her is easier than it was. She’s never shown any interest in his body. (Sometimes he wonders – if she was, if he could please her that way, would that be enough to convince her not to leave him? Not to go back to her other job?)

He sits, and tips his face up into the hot water. The heat soaks into him. He tries not to think of anything else. If he forgets about the whip, and what might happen tonight, and how much he’ll have to heal, and everything else – if he can forget, he can just enjoy the chance to be warm for a few minutes.

Ariadne catches water in her cupped hands and pours it gently over Alex’s back. He twitches at first, and again when she touches the skin, but her fingers slide between the cuts, just dislodging the blood from the skin, and it doesn’t hurt much. “Don’t worry,” she assures him, “no funny business. Just this.”

But she tsks her tongue as the blood disappears down the drain in streaks of red and brown. “This is deep,” she says. “No wonder you’ve bled so much… He should never have gone this hard. That fucker…”

He cringes again from the anger in her voice, even though it’s not directed at him. She’s not angry at him. She’s angry that he got hurt. She cares… even if it’s only because it makes him less efficient.

No one’s cared – except to take sick pleasure in his suffering – since Taryn. Since he lost the other half of his soul.

As Ariadne reaches past Alex to catch another handful of water, he tilts his head against her arm. (Neil liked it when he initiated.)

She pauses, hesitant in a way Neil never would be. In a sudden rush of sick affection, Alex lets the contact linger, resting the side of his head against her forearm.

After a second, she pulls her arm back, but she tousles his hair. It’s nothing like Neil’s touch. Alex is too tired to stop himself wanting it to mean something real. It’s nice, on a basic, animal level.

When she’s done rinsing the blood from his back, Alex expects her to shut the water off. Instead, she washes his hair. It’s starting to grow out enough to curl again. She uses no soap – he’s glad – just her hands and the hot water and patience.

If he closes his eyes, he can imagine that those are Taryn's hands. It’s okay, she won’t see his tears, they’re hidden by the water streaming over his face. Her fingers rub gentle, methodical circles across his scalp, and he lets himself melt into the touch.

Too soon, Ariadne's voice snaps him back to reality.

"Feeling any warmer yet?" "Yes sir." His voice sounds hollow to his own ears. "Still cold? Be honest, it's okay." "Always. But… it's fine." It doesn't get better than this. "You've lost blood,” she says. “I want to get you warm if I can. Do you need longer in the water?" "N-no, thank you. I'm done." "Okay then."

He knows he’ll have to heal, if he’s done. He just hopes he gets a little longer before the start of the shift. And maybe that he gets to lie down, even if only briefly. He’s so dizzy.

Ariadne shuts off the water, but somehow Alex fails to realize that it’s a cue to get up. He just sits uselessly, and she has to take his arm and tug gently before he understands. He kicks himself for letting himself seem lazy, but she doesn’t seem bothered.

She’s patient, and generous.

When she holds out a towel for him, he doesn’t take it from her hands like he knows she expects. Instead he steps into it, into her arms, so that the towel folds around him.

He doesn’t look at her face. He doesn’t want to know if she’s disgusted by him, and he doesn’t want to know if she’s pleased. She lets him get close, and that’s enough.

After a few seconds, she finds his hands and presses the towel into his grip, encouraging him to hold it against himself, to keep himself covered. She makes sure he has it before she steps back.

“Don’t worry about drying your back,” she instructs, “I’ll help you in a minute. But… get some pants on, okay? I’ll be right here.”

She has to help him even with pants, in the end, holding his arm to steady him while he steps into the clean clothes, then lifting them up his legs until he can take the waistband without having to bend.

She dabs the worst of the water from his back, and towels his hair briefly when he makes no move to do it himself. She gets him another cup of hot water to drink.

Then she picks him up and carries him into the hospital proper, and Alex holds on around her neck and hides his face from everyone who isn't her. Misery churns in his gut. Or maybe that’s hunger – but he still doesn’t think he could keep anything down.

Ariadne reads the day's list without putting Alex down, then she carries him into an empty exam room and sets him on the table. Relief is hollow. He gets a little longer before he has to heal. Only a little.

"Lie down. I'm gonna get you cleaned up before we start. I don't want you bleeding everywhere. It's unsanitary." "Sorry, sir," Alex mumbles, ashamed. "Hey," her voice softens, "that's hardly your fault. The guy who whipped you ought to be the one apologizing."

The smell of the antiseptic brings back a flood of recollection Alex had almost forgotten, from the hazy time when he was almost dead and she took charge of him with all his broken fingers. His grip tightens on the edge of the table.

He remembers the burn of the strong-smelling liquid. A unique torture no other handler has ever cared to inflict.

He resolves to take it bravely, and instantly breaks that resolution by crying out as soon as the first drops touch his back. The liquid seems to eat into the exposed flesh, searing it to new heights of pain.

"I know," his handler murmurs, "I know it sucks." Alex tries to cling to the regret in her tone, to hold onto the knowledge that this isn’t punishment. "This will help it heal quicker and cleaner. It won't sting for long." He believes her, he does, he's seen the same antiseptic used on real patients but –

It burns, and as the burn spreads down his back it gets harder and harder to hold onto his thoughts.

"I know," she says, working the chemical into cut after cut. "Won't take long."

"You're doing great," she says as he yelps and whines and starts to cry.

"I-I – I-m s-sorry –" he gasps, because it is the only thing to say, the only thing that might help it end sooner. And, "It's okay," she says in answer, "you're okay, you've done nothing wrong."

“I’m sorry,” she says, too, as he sobs into the table. "I'm sorry, healer. Nearly done."

Neil would apologize sometimes. He'd say he was sorry for going too far – and then he'd do the same thing again, and again, and again.

He sobs, and sobs, and can do nothing but bear it.

Then her hand is on his cheek, and he opens his eyes. She’s crouched beside the table now, face at the same height as his instead of leaning over him. Her expression is serious and worried and he clings to that worry like a lifeline. She isn’t enjoying this. She isn’t Neil, or Roger.

"It's done," she promises, "I'm done. I know it hurts, but it'll get better soon, it’ll fade." "I'm s-s-sorry," Alex sobs, and she cups his face with both hands, and wipes his tears with her thumbs "You're okay," she promises, "don’t be sorry. You did nothing. I'm not mad. It's done, okay? I'm done."

It's not done. He has to heal now, and he won't do as well as he has been, and she'll be mad. He tries to stop crying, and cries harder instead.

"Just ride it out," she tells him softly. The steady cadence of her voice does more to reassure than the words. "It’ll stop burning soon. Then I'll get you all wrapped up and it'll feel a lot better than it did before we started."

He sniffles into her hands, and she doesn’t stop him, and when eventually the need to hide his face in her hands subsides, she doesn’t stop him pulling back either. She wipes her hands on her uniform and strokes his hair instead, and it’s not how you treat a human being but it’s something, isn’t it? It’s something. She doesn’t want him to suffer.

Slowly he's able to get the tears back under control.

"Don't go too fast today," she advises. "Take it slow so I can keep an eye on you, okay? Lean on me if you think you're going to fall." "Yes sir," Alex agrees miserably. "Thank you, sir."

[Next]

#my writing #verse: resistance #au: healer and handler #handler!ariadne #kept!alex #deeply fucky comf anyone?

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cadrenebula · 1 year ago

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Prompt #7: Noisome

Destiney was writing notes as she looked up a couple plants she wanted to look for the next time she took a trip out. Could even make a day out of it with Evelyn. Their child was definitely old enough now to be seeing more than just the woods around Gridania. Evelyn would be four already in about a month.

Pausing in her note taking to reach for her cup of tea. A loud noise stopping her cup midway to her mouth as she looked towards he clinic door. With a bit of clatter, a heavy armored woman shouldered the door open. Supported by the armored elezen was a drooping Viera. Then the smell reached her, making her wrinkle her nose.

"By the gods." Destiney grimaced. She knew the smell of morbol breath. Putting her cup to the side as she stood up and moved to help the woman with their companion. She was definitely going to have to burn some bed sheets later.

Already in healer mode, Destiney eyed the woman in armor quickly. Seeing no obvious injuries and not looking as ill as their companion, Destiney turned to the other. A groan from the prone breath victim on the bed as she gently checked for serious wounds.

"Morbol got the better of them while I was busy dealing with another foe in front of us." The woman frowned in concern as she watched Destiney doing her thing. "Took the brunt of the bad breath before I could respond and cut it down."

"What is their name?" Destiney asked as she started to remove the poor Viera's robes above the waist. There were no serious injuries so it was likely the paralysis that kept the poor soul from moving. The soiled robes were not going to help anything.

"The witchling is Nebula. I'm Gwyneira. What can I do to help?"

"I hope you're not body shy. Once I have them out of these robes, you could help me get them into the bath. If you know if they have any spare clothes in their bag that would help for once they're better. I can at least put them in a plain robe I keep for patients for the time being once the poison and other toxins are cleared from their body." Destiney started rattling off what she needed to do as she removed the rest of Nebula's smelly clothes, dumping them into a pile for the pair to deal with later. "They'll need to rest for a time even after I clear the toxins of the bad breath."

Gwyn lifted Nebula with little trouble while Destiney moved to the bath to start filling it with water. Waving Gwyn off while she set to work. Drawing on aether to begin cleansing the toxins with Esuna. Changing the dirty water when the mage in the tub seemed to relax and breath easier. Gently working to clean the rest of the gross from her patient now that the water was clean again. Having Gwyn fetch her a bottle from her desk area that would help rid the poor witchling of the morbol stench.

She got Gwyn to help her move Nebula to a clean bed to rest. "They should recover soon enough. Fast asleep right now from the strain on their body from all those toxins. Shouldn't be any long term effects to worry about. You're free to use the bathing area if you need to remove any morbol stench from yourself as well. I left the bottle of the soap in there."

"Thank you, Lady..."

"Destiney is fine. You don't have to call me Lady Destiney." Destiney laughed softly as she smiled warmly. "I'm a healer living in the Shroud. Poor Nebula isn't my first morbol victim and won't be my last. Feel free to clean up and rest while your companion is resting. I'll be at my desk if you need anything."

#FFxivWrite2023 #FFxivWrite #Prompt 7 #Prompt Noisome #About Destiney #The Shroud Maiden #About Nebula #Witch of the Deep Shroud #Nebula and Gwyneira

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imagoddamnonionmason · 5 months ago

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@all-purpose-dish-soap said:

been rolling this one around in my head: if you challenged each OC to fight ingame, what would their boss fight look like, so to speak? or if you want it to be more about pairings, maybe the question is which one acts as the miniboss and which one is the main boss. lol

First of all, HELLO!! Thanks for this one, it’s a really cool question! I think I’ll do it as each oc, cause that would be cool to imagine what each of them is like in a boss fight! Now, I’ll probably imagine them as like… a dark souls boss or something fantasy related cause why not lmao

Jodie Hall

Now a motif I have for Jodie is fire - I always just seem to navigate her character to fire, flame, burning. That kind of thing. So I reckon as an in-game boss fight, she would be some sort of flame creature, maybe a cursed being. Though her boss fight would have a bittersweet ending. It would need to reflect her turmoil, the anger and feeling of being trapped, both by Perseus and then by Adler and his brainwashing.

Imagine you’re the hero and as you've traversed the land, getting to know the people and their stories, one in particular keeps cropping up. The folk speak of an unforgivable being, coated in flame, skin made of coal and ash, eyes bright with reddened fire. They fear that the flames of this cursed being with one day consumed the entirely of their lands and have been begging for someone to go and take out the monster once and for all.

You're slowly going through the area where this being is said to be, lands that start out lush and brimming with beautiful green nature. The further along you go, there’s more and more black hardened lava that’s taking over the undergrowth, the trunks of trees. The heat slowly grows and grows, the sky darkening with scorched clouds. Ash falls from the sky like rain. You continue until the land has been completely consumed by ash and fire.

Soon, everything is barren, save for the dwindling remnants of a forest, now blackened and scorched. In the centre of this area, there stands a creature. Its figure is reminiscent of a woman, but the skin is black and cracked, a pulsating glow of golden flame between those cracks. There are no features on the creatures face, except for the narrow slits of red, flames and sparks flickering from them. What used to be hair are now tendrils of coiling orange flame, lulled and soft, and she doesn't notice you.

Not yet.

Not until you're close enough to hear the soft wail coming from her.

When she does notice you, she cries, an ungodly mournful howl as the hands are up and flailing. Flames rise from the cracks over her body, consuming her frame and hissing into a deep blue.

While you fight, you feel like the creature isn't fighting because it wants to, but because it doesn't know any better. You feel like it's thrashing and flailing, eerily echoing the likes of prey trapped in a corner and gnashing at its predators.

When you finally fell the being, the flames slow until there is nothing. The coal-like skin cracks and falls away. Beneath is human skin, cool and life slowly draining from it. The death-mask crack, too, and where there was once a rageful red glow, honeyed brown stares up at you.

You think you can hear a voice, but you can't be sure. But as you stare down at this creature, the realisation dawns on you that it was only a woman.

On her lips, she utters, "thank you", as she is finally released from whatever curse had been placed on her.

Well Done, you have won the boss fight.

Franca “Major” Lorenzetti

Now, sticking with this fantasy rpg boss fight thing I got going on, I already have an idea of what kind of powers Franca would have because I do have a fantasy au where there's magic involved. But, magic is deemed dangerous (think Dragon Age).

Because Franca is 141's Medic, her powers are to do with healing.

But, let's say she becomes a villain - I know for a fact she would dabble in some necromancy, maybe she was a healer who due to some reason turned to darker magic to resurrect someone she couldn't heal.

So, imagine, you've been sent to deal with this necromancer, someone who was once trusted and has now become something so other than people fear she'll bring death to their front doors.

The battle would start out against the undead, bodies of long-since-gone formidable foes brought back by her hand to serve as her guards. Each you slay, another takes its place, but soon the waves of undead slow.

You're close enough to her, now, that you can land blows on her. But each would is healed with exceptional regenerative power. But you continue, on and on, chipping away at her stamina, both physical and magical.

Soon, her wounds are no longer healing, her army of undead is not rising, and you strike her down where she stands.

Nanette MacTavish

So, I actually think Nanette would be more like a mini boss in a side question kind of deal. I always view Nanette being very forest-related. So she'd be something like a forest spirit, or the spirit of the forest.

Imagine that some group of builders want to cut down quite a way into a long-standing forest, it's been there, untouched, for hundreds of years. There are legends that is lives, it breathes, and a spirit comes to protect it whenever it is threatened.

Now, you are called upon, to hunt down this spirit and make sure it won't interfere with the plans to cut down part of the forest.

When you're on your travels through the forest, you happen across an ethereal woman.

"Why are you here?" She asks, eyes levelled on you softly. They regard you warily, but with some curiosity. You notice that her feet are bare, the green dress she wears is moth-eaten at the hems, and her hair is woven with flowers and leaves. Around her shoulder is a shawl of white deer fur.

"I am searching for someone," you will answer, unwilling to reveal your true intentions, though there is the feeling in your gut that you have found exactly who you're looking for.

She nods, once, the most sincerest of smiles upturning her reddened lips. With a slight tilt of her head, she says, "there is no one to find this far in, you should turn back, return home."

You feel she could be reasoned with, so you explain why you have been sent, explain what the others wish to do, to expand the village and create more homes.

But this only enrages the spirit. Soon, the forest around became writhing and alive as vines and roots snatch at your body. You fight them off, protecting yourself from the onslaught.

If you have come with others, soon you know the only way to harm the spirit is with flame. There is an archer in your group and you order them to fire a burning arrow straight into the heart of the spirit.

When it lands, the screams of the spirit echo throughout the forest.

As she coils and writhes on the floor, screeching and crying, her body slowly comes to a stop. Then, beneath her, the vibrant colour of the lush forest grows muted, grey even. The colour continues to fade until it entirely consumes your surrounds and beyond and soon all life in the forest has stilled.

You stare in horror.

What have you done?

Keith Wells

LMAO we know my boy would be the absolute, most frustrating boss battle you come across in the game. He'd be the one where you've got a save right before the battle starts, so you can just reset it rather than go through all the bullshit text again.

He's got a really sly, obnoxious monologue that makes you want to rip your ears off.

I have a feeling he'd be like... a huge shadow knight, on horseback, lance and shield.

You'd have to take down his horse first, get him on his feet, but he'll phase in and out of shadow. You'd have to time the hits right, to catch him either before he phases, or right after he phases from shadows as he'd have a vulnerability there.

Once you've whittled down his health enough, he wouldn't be able to safely phase so then he'd have to rely entirely on his battle smarts.

If you keep hitting him harder and faster, he'll eventually run out of stamina/strength. You'll be able to land that finishing blow and you'll actually not feel satisfied because you've played the level enough times now to realise that every time you've died before, it was literally seconds away from winning.

That's how annoying and frustrating his boss battle would be XD

You know his battle music would slap, though. It would be one of your favourites tracks 'cause it just goes hard.

Hope this suffices as an answer to your question!!!

Might do the other aspect of it another time!!

#im not going to add Ashley or Steph to this but may think about them at a later date #jodie hall #franca lorenzetti #nanette mactavish #Keith wells #oc asks #call of duty #mw oc #bocw oc #cod bell oc

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sad-sad-detective · 1 year ago

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What are ghouls adore\obsessed with and what are they most afraid of?

(Unless it's a spoiler ofс!)

Hey!

I've written a post about the ghouls' hobbies some time ago, it can answer your question to some degree) Aside from that, they all adore different things.

For instance, Aether adores murder mysteries. He's an avid reader, and murder mysteries are his favorite genre. The bookshelves in his room are overloaded with books. Somebody, please, buy this guy a Kindle! Besides, he's your local cat dad.

Swiss enjoys soap operas and binge-watches them when he has time. Sometimes Rain and Cumulus join, though they don't share this passion as much.

Sunshine, true to her name, is obsessed with shiny things! She decorated her room with several suncatchers and can spend hours watching the effects of light as it goes through stained glass.

Talking about their fears, I'll answer about Aether and Dew, if you don't mind?

Aether hides it very well, but there is always some intrusive thought in the back of his mind that he is not enough. That he is a bad healer, a bad musician, a bad pack leader. Most time he can deal with it, and he knows that it's just his treacherous anxious mind, but sometimes these thoughts are too much to handle. He is afraid of being useless.

Dew's greatest fear is losing his loved ones. He already lost his parents when he was a teenager and almost lost his little brother, and it left a scar on his soul. He's scared that he can lose his mate and his pack...

...but Dew is not a helpless kit that he used to be, now he is a grown-up powerful ghoul. If someone or something tries to take his loved ones from him, he'll fight tooth and nail to get them back.

#from the ask box #nameless ghouls #ghoul headcanons

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pr1ncesspopstar · 2 months ago

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To Live, To Learn - FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 17: Sally

Ao3

Halditar plucked one of the branches of foliage off the garland on her apartment wall. Finally, after weeks of waiting the air had pulled out all the moisture from the leaves, leaving them so brittle they crumbled between her fingers as she pinched them. Between her fingers, she could feel the smallest bits of residue, smooth and fragrant. She grinned, chuffed that her patience was rewarded.

The mediocre healer took her bundles of twigs and carried them to the other side of her apartment, trailing leaves through the house she’d forget to clean later, to her retainer's annoyance. She’d make it up to him later, she promised.

She laid her bounty out on one of the many desks she strung together into a workstation, next to a series of beakers and vials with other liquid and solids, attached together through various tubes and machine parts.

She had harvested the black sally branches herself to ensure their quality, something that paid dividends as she stripped leaves from branch in single, smooth motions she may not have been afforded with a cut of lower quality. Before long her extraction pot was full, and she had to press down on the leaves to crumple them to fit more, before repeating the process. From there she only had to turn the boiler, and watch the vapors and pressure work their magic.

As the oil distilled from the leaves, Haldotar reached into her pack and retrieved a massive leather tome. One of a set she paid top dollar for, detailing the latest and everything to do with current medical knowledge and practice. Thumbing at first to the red bookmark… then the green when she remembered the red bookmark wasn’t about medical plant use but the treatment of muscle issues. Going over once more the many benefits of eucalyptus oils, from helping the respiratory system with its vapors to skin care benefits by easing dry skin. One of several new things she learned about the plant she one thought herself so familiar with, and that went with many more hanging on her walls to make oils to make medicine from.

The blonde-returned-redhead struggled to think in so short a time she had embraced the role of a healer. She knew she hadn’t needed to learn the intricacies of medicine, how it worked and how they made it. She didn’t intend on getting any kind of certification or calling herself a doctor by any means.

But with the pale white stone that now adorned her necklace most days, it only felt right to be able to help more than what aetheric manipulation allowed. The soul of the sage was knowledge, after all. Curiosity and the drive to improve one’s skills, so the stone whispered to her. After so long of denying that talent of healing and wanting to in the way that felt most natural, she couldn't resist diving into the practice head first. Plus, it gave her quite a boon, learning new weak spots of the human body. Her fighting with the nouliths would certainly be more effective once she finished her study of the mortal form…

But those thoughts had to wait, as the beaker of eucalyptus oil finally filled with its last drop. With careful hands, she took the beaker to another bench and set to work making a mixture with it, and wax, and other things to turn it into a rub for the chest and lips. Then she would make cough drops. And then some soap.

All while never losing a content, happy look in her eyes. Unaware of how bright pride shone in her eyes.

#ffxiv #ffxiv wol #ffxivwrite #my writing #ff14 #ffxivwrite2024 #ffxiv writing #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fic

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gemsbuild · 8 months ago

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February Birthstones: Unpacking The History And Benefits Of Amethyst

By Gems Build

Welcome to the world of February birthstones! If you're a February-born individual or simply interested in birthstone lore, you're in for a treat. In this blog we'll delve into the captivating history, characteristics, and benefits of February birthstones.

History and Symbolism of February Birthstones : Amethyst and Bloodstone

February has not one, but two birthstones - amethyst and bloodstone. Each of these gemstones carries a rich history and symbolism that has fascinated people for centuries. Let's explore the stories behind these captivating birthstones.

Amethyst - Characteristics and Benefits

Amethyst, a beautiful purple gemstone, has a rich history dating back to ancient times. Its unique color and distinct properties have made it a symbol of royalty, spirituality, and healing. Let's take a closer look at the characteristics and benefits of amethyst.

Amethyst is a variety of quartz known for its purple hues, ranging from pale lavender to deep violet. It is renowned for its transparency, brilliance, and durability, making it a popular choice for jewelry. Amethyst also possesses a unique property called dichroism, which means it can exhibit different colors when viewed from different angles.

In terms of metaphysical properties, amethyst is believed to have a calming and protective energy. It is often used to enhance spiritual growth, promote inner peace, and aid in meditation. Additionally, amethyst is thought to have healing properties that can help alleviate stress, anxiety, and insomnia.

Amethyst - Spiritual and Healing Properties

Amethyst holds a special place in various mythologies and spiritual traditions around the world. Ancient Greeks believed that amethyst could protect against drunkenness and help maintain a clear mind. In fact, the name "amethyst" is derived from the Greek word "amethystos," which means "not drunk."

In Christianity, amethyst has been associated with the twelve apostles, with each stone representing one apostle. It is also believed to symbolize the humility and purity of the Virgin Mary. In both Eastern and Western cultures, amethyst is considered a stone of spiritual enlightenment and is often used in meditation practices.

From a healing perspective, amethyst is believed to have a positive effect on the mind, body, and soul. It is said to promote emotional balance, relieve physical pain, and boost the immune system. Many crystal healers use amethyst to treat a variety of ailments, including headaches, insomnia, and addiction.

Amethyst - Famous Amethysts and Their Significance

There have been several well-known amethysts that have drawn attention from around the globe throughout history. These exquisite gemstones have not only showcased the beauty of amethyst but also carried significant historical and cultural value.

One notable amethyst is the "Delhi Purple Sapphire," which is not actually a sapphire but a large amethyst. This gemstone gained fame when it was presented to Queen Victoria in 1851 and is now part of the British Crown Jewels. Another famous amethyst is the "Crown of Saint Wenceslas," a ceremonial crown of the Bohemian kings, adorned with numerous amethysts.

Amethyst - How to Care for Your Amethyst Jewelry

To ensure that your amethyst jewelry stays in pristine condition, it's important to follow proper care and maintenance practices. Here are some tips to keep your amethyst pieces looking their best:

Avoid exposing your amethyst jewelry to harsh chemicals, such as cleaning agents or perfumes, as they can damage the gemstone.

Clean your amethyst jewelry regularly using mild soap and warm water. Gently scrub the gemstone with a soft brush to remove any dirt or oils.

Avoid exposing your amethyst to extreme temperatures, as sudden temperature changes can cause the gemstone to crack or fracture.

Store your amethyst jewelry in a soft cloth or jewelry box to prevent scratches or damage from other pieces.

Other February Birthstones - Bloodstone and Onyx

In addition to amethyst, February also has two alternative birthstones - bloodstone and onyx. These gemstones offer unique characteristics and benefits, making them excellent choices for those born in February.

Bloodstone - Characteristics and Benefits

Bloodstone, also known as heliotrope, is a dark green gemstone with distinctive red specks. It derives its name from the ancient belief that the stone had the power to stop bleeding. Let's explore the characteristics and benefits of bloodstones.

Bloodstone is a variety of chalcedony with a deep green color, often with red or brown spots. It is known for its opaque appearance and high durability, making it suitable for various jewelry applications. The red specks, known as "blood," are caused by iron oxide in the stone.

Metaphysically, bloodstones are believed to have grounding and protective properties. It is said to enhance courage, strength, and vitality, making it an ideal stone for those seeking empowerment and motivation. Bloodstone is also associated with purification and balancing the energy centers of the body.

Bloodstone - Historical Uses and Myths

Bloodstone has a long-standing history and has been valued for its protective and healing properties. In ancient times, it was often used as an amulet or talisman to ward off evil spirits and protect against physical harm. Warriors would carry bloodstone into battle, believing it could stop bleeding and provide strength and courage.

In addition to their protective qualities, bloodstones have been associated with fertility and abundance. It was believed to increase vitality and promote healthy blood circulation, hence its name. Bloodstone was also used in ancient Egypt for its supposed ability to bring rain during droughts.

Onyx - Characteristics and Benefits

Onyx is another alternative birthstone for February. It is a beautiful black gemstone with a smooth and glossy surface. Let's explore the characteristics and benefits of onyx.

Onyx is a type of chalcedony that comes in various colors, but black onyx is the most well-known. It is known for its sleek and polished appearance, making it a popular choice for jewelry. Onyx is often used as a symbol of protection, strength, and endurance.

Metaphysically, onyx is believed to absorb negative energy and promote emotional stability. It is said to provide strength during challenging times and foster self-control and determination. Onyx is also associated with grounding and balancing the energy of the body.

Onyx - Popular Onyx Jewelry Designs

Onyx's elegant and timeless appeal has made it a favorite choice for jewelry designers. From statement rings to classic necklaces, there are numerous onyx jewelry designs to suit every style and occasion.

One popular design is the onyx cocktail ring, which features a large onyx gemstone surrounded by smaller diamonds or gemstones. This bold and eye-catching piece adds a touch of glamour to any outfit. Onyx pendants and earrings are also popular choices, often paired with sterling silver or gold for a sophisticated look.

Conclusion: Choosing the Perfect February Birthstone

In conclusion, the world of February birthstones is filled with fascinating history, symbolism, and benefits. Whether you choose amethyst, bloodstone, or onyx, each gemstone offers its own unique allure and qualities. Whether you're considering these birthstones for yourself or looking for a meaningful gift, understanding the history and significance of these gems will enhance your appreciation. Explore the enchanting world of February birthstones and discover the wonders they hold.

Remember, when selecting a birthstone, consider your personal style, preferences, and intentions. Let the beauty and meaning of your chosen birthstone inspire and uplift you on your journey.

Birthstone magic blooms! Beyond your own gem, discover garnet's fire, amethyst's calm, and aquamarine's hope. Find strength in diamond, love in emerald, and magic in alexandrite. Ignite passion with ruby, seek peace in peridot, and wisdom in sapphire. Embrace tourmaline's vibrancy, topaz's warmth, and let tanzanite or turquoise guide you

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brewed-pangolin · 7 months ago

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Drabbles Masterlist

MDNI 18+

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x f!Reader

Synopsis: A collection of just about everything. My mind turns into a full Cornucopia with Soap. Because when nothing is set in stone, anything is possible.

tons of fluff, a sprinkling of angst, explicit smut, p in v, established relationship, tenderness galore, btis of banter, two stupid lovers, everything under the sun

Soft Soap **

Fireside Whiskey **

Stitched Up ***

Trigger Finger ***

Drunk Text **

Bubble Butt ***

Scottish Siren ***

Raccoon Requisition **

Noisy Quiet *

Pleasured Promotion ***

Thank You, Sir. Yes, Ma'am ***

Tea Master Soap *

Soap De La Creme ***

Cyclone Soap *

Soul Healer Soap ***

Tattoo Artist Soap ***

Blue Eyed Casanova **

Challenged Territory ***

Lorne Sausage *

Popcorn Fueled Menace ***

Special Brownies **

Healing of a Scot *

Deafening Stillness *

Scottish Pickle *

Persuasion *

First Meetings *

Strong Heart *

Highland Rodeo Queen ***

Tea Master Soap II **

Movie Night ***

Tongue Ring ***

Neighborhood Johnny *

#soap squad™️#drabbles masterlist #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish x f!reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny mactavish x f!reader #soft!Soap #soap smut #soap drabbles #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod

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mi-i-zori · 10 months ago

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Among the Ice of Her Thoughts

CoD Viking!AU (Not Mine) - Viking!Soap x Healer!Reader

DISCLAIMER : Just a little something I wrote a while ago for @ghouljams ‘ Viking!AU. I just recently tweaked it a little. Healer!Reader is Ghoul’s character, not mine. I will write something for my own Viking!AU, but it will of course be very different from theirs. Please go check their work, it’s absolutely amazing !

WARNINGS : None.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

CoD AUs - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

When she finally comes back from the realm of dreams, Dag’s chariot is already high in the sky, and the sun is peaking through the fabrics of her tent.

She finds tearing her limbs from their lethargic state to be no easy task. Her muscles are begging for a few more minutes of rest ; hours, even. They pull and wail along with her every move, the creaking of her joints echoing within their walls. She could indulge them - the Gods know how many times she decided to follow her needs, going back to sleep when she was supposed to start her day. But she is not tired enough to succumb to sleep anymore ; especially not when a choir of unfamiliar voices echo from the outside of the so-called « sanctuary » she was given a few hours earlier. To her, this assortment of fabrics and furs is no safe haven, especially not when she jumps so violently every time they start dancing with the wind. Still, she is in no position to complain : not only was she given permission to use this tent as hers even though it originally belongs to the one who brought her here, but the warriors roaming the campsite also respect the boundaries this shelter was made to provide, allowing her to hide from their curious eyes.

A part of her wishes she could stay under the covers and ignore her surroundings, act as if this is was nothing more than a dream. Yet she forces herself out of their warmth, the morning breeze leaving a trail of shivering kisses along her skin.

She barely has the time to put her heavy coat on that the sun suddenly sculpts a broad silhouette on the outside of the furs. It moves silently, with the confidence of a warrior, and her whole body tenses as the man stops before the entrance of her tent. He hovers for a second as she stands frozen in place, her breathing so low even she can barely feel it in her chest.

- Vænn ? You awake ?

It’s MacTavish, she realises, his deep timbre sending a wave of warmth down her spine ; a stark contrast to the violent shivers the sound of the nickname he gave her send crawling down her spine. Despite knowing that he is unable to see her, she can’t bring herself to move. Swallowing the knot tightening in her throat, she graces him with a hum, although it comes out much weaker than she originally intended.

- ‘Am about to go gather some wood. Wanna come with me ?

His tone is low, careful ; not unlike the kind one would use to coax a terrified little creature out of its shell. She can’t really decide if she likes the idea or not. In her eyes, this behaviour of his is way too human for a man like him, cursing the flame that sways in her chest at the prospect of accepting his offer. Her satchel lies against the wooden post standing in the middle of the tent, it’s empty stomach catching her gaze. It could be a good opportunity to gather some herbs for her decoctions, she thinks, and the rational part of her soul lights up at the idea of potentially being useful to her captors. MacTavish’s words from the day before echo in her mind.

Say yes next time someone asks if you’re a healer. You’ll live longer.

- Give me a minute, she finally says, the words grating against her tongue. Please.

- Gotcha. I’ll be waiting for you near the campfire.

It’s only when his shadow disappears that the tension finally lets go of her chest. One of her hands glides along her face, a sigh escaping through her fingers. The bed is neatly made before she covers herself in warm furs and sturdy leathers. She then takes a deep breath as she opens the entrance of the tent, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness in her muscles. The tremors seizing her body are not from the midgardian frost waiting for her outside ; but she decides to play pretend, holding her head high as she steps in the fresh morning snow. Sól greets her with a wintery kiss on her cheek, highlighting MacTavish’s figure in the distance. She marches towards him, forcing herself to ignore the curious stares of his companions.

Vænn. A catch. A prey. That is what she is in the eyes of those who see themselves as a pack of wolves, their fur covered in blood as they take whatever they want, destroying those who refuse to yield : nothing but a frail creature meant to follow their every word in order to stay alive. Soap has made his intentions of courting her clear, promising that no harm shall befall her while she lives among his peers ; but as he greets her with a smile, guiding her towards the forest with a hand on her back, she knows she cannot allow herself to be afraid. One wrong move, and she shall become nothing more than a meal to be shared in their den.

A frozen blade pierces her core as these thoughts dance in the back of her mind. The forest is peaceful, and they slowly carve their own path through its shimmering white coat. Her gaze roams her surroundings as MacTavish starts gathering a thick bundle of branches under his arm, looking for a patch of herbs to collect. Their eyes meet, causing him to send a smile in her direction before resuming his own search. The snow crunches heavily under his boots. Her attention flickers to the blade hanging from his hips, the iron of its handle glinting in the sun. She frowns as her mother’s voice echoes through her memories.

You are not safe, she says, and she can almost see her spectre glare at the warrior’s silhouette walking ahead of her.

You are not safe.

#cod x reader #x reader #call of duty x reader #fem!reader #cod au #cod mw2 #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #viking au #viking!soap #soap x f!reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mw3 #Ghoul I love this AU so much #thank you for sharing your brain with us

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distantpagesandpapercuts · 3 months ago

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'Too gentle'? Yes, that seemed appropriate. Archer was a kind soul, Kira had seen him to be nothing but gentle. The only hand he ever seemed to raise was in their defense. Or the defense of others. He'd be a wonderful healer in time. Would he want that?

He'd been learning by watching her really, but she always assumed it was out of boredom. Not so much that she was officially training him for anything.

Kira begins leading the way to the settlement they were heading towards as they talk. Soft? She's been told so before by her patients many times. But she just assumed it was because they were ghouls.

"Well. Sure it does. Perhaps it's not exactly what you're used to, but salves and lotions and soaps are common. Made from animal fats and plants. I use them in the winter when the skin dries out. But mostly I assume it is because I was born in a place where I was not exposed to the surface for many many years. Not to mention the existence of gloves I suppose. But thank you for the... compliment. Aloe sure does work wonders."

He breathed a laugh and nodded in agreement. "I have been accused of being too gentle." He hummed now unsure why he said such a thing. The moment it left his mouth he wanted to add -but I could bite harder if you wanted.

His breath hitched a moment and he held the thought back. Meeting her eyes and how she shrugged it off. They were friends and he wasn't going to destroy her generosity by being.... he wasn't sure what.

"I am." He agreed with a bow of his head. "Your hands are... soft." His cheeks turned just a shade brighter and his eyes fell back to the road. "I suppose lotion doesn't really exist here does it?"

#archerwhiterp #FO4 Kira #IC #Awkward dumb dumbs #lmao

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academicdisasterfic · 2 years ago

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Threshing

drarry | 1.5k | e

A slightly late gift for the lovely @anaxandria-writes for @drarrymicrofic Wheel of Drarry mini-exchange. Thank you to my love @wolfpants for the fantastic beta.

CW for chronic/terminal illness (but with a happy ending).

Years later, Draco would think it all began when the bartender asked him, ‘Would you like the shiraz, sir, or the tempranillo?’

‘Tempranillo,’ Draco said, but as it transpired, they had run out of the tempranillo, and the bartender had to dash out to the back for more, despite Draco’s protests that the shiraz would be fine.

Draco was left to tap his fingers on the wooden counter, and as he gazed aimlessly around the crowded room, he wondered whether thirty was going to feel any different to twenty-nine.

And that’s when he saw him; lingering by the door, flannel rolled up to his elbows, dark stubble covering his jaw. He looked tired, and Draco knew, knew before he even saw the string appear between them. He didn’t hesitate; it was like drawing breath, walking over to him, and Harry looked so relieved, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment, even though neither of them could have known, as these things were never able to be predicted, not even by the most gifted Seers or centaurs.

The string shortened and drew them together, and Draco reached out his hand to cup Harry’s face.

‘You look tired,’ Draco said, and Harry leant into his neck, inhaling, grabbing Draco’s waist, drawing their bodies together, fitting Draco’s hip bones against his. Draco gasped.

‘Of course it’d be you,’ Harry muttered, and then, ‘we’re going back to mine.’

They fucked in the kitchen, over dirty dishes and piles of unread mail on the sticky counter, Harry eating Draco from behind until Draco couldn’t take it and wrestled them to the ground, sinking down on Harry’s cock and riding him against the hard wooden floor.

They fucked on the sofa, Draco opening Harry quickly and efficiently so he could take him from behind, Harry whimpering harder, harder into the cushions.

They fucked in Harry’s bed, this time slow and reverent, Harry sucking Draco’s nipples until Draco was thrashing and sobbing, arching up and begging to be touched, and then Harry pushed into him and held his face between his huge, calloused hands. That's when Draco fell in love with him; fell in love as Harry covered him and held him like a precious, beloved thing, like he couldn't believe he was allowed to love, and be loved, by him.

After, spent and exhausted, Draco looked at where the string joined them, and asked, ‘Why now?’

Harry smiled, crooked and sweet, and kissed the back of Draco’s palm.

‘Probably because I’m dying.’

…

People weren’t supposed to be Horcruxes.

When Voldemort destroyed the part of his soul that lived inside Harry, Harry’s magical core didn’t know what to do. It had spent seventeen years growing and shaping itself around something that was no longer there, and it rebelled.

Harry hadn’t noticed for the first five years or so, too lost in the aftershocks of peace. But then he noticed the exhaustion, then the heart palpitations, the weird visions, the way he couldn’t quite cast like he used to. And by the time the Healers had figured out what had happened, it was far too late.

Back then, he still had good days, and Draco took advantage of them; dragged them out to the mountains, to the seaside, to gay clubs and bars and parades. He moved into Harry’s flat and quit his job so they could spend the bad days in bed together, doing the Prophet crossword and drinking tea and watching daytime soaps. He couldn’t feel Harry’s pain exactly, not like in the soulmate stories he was told as a child, but sometimes he did think he knew Harry better than he knew himself; knew the meaning of an eyebrow twitch, or a downturned lip, or a slight hand tremor. Loving Harry had been easy, effortless; like falling through clouds, and then when Harry was writhing in spasms, or sleeping through whole days, or waking in sweats and shouts, it was more painful than Draco had ever imagined pain could be.

Sometimes, Harry would get distant and withdraw, wracked with guilt that the bond hadn’t given Draco a choice but to care for him. Draco would get angry that Harry could even conceive of such a thing; even contemplate the thought of them not being together. Harry still wanted to put everyone else before himself, and Draco was still the same spoiled boy who wanted more than he should. He never made any apologies for that.

Sex became more gentle, with more laughter. Draco snorted into Harry’s mouth once when Harry tried to wrap his legs around him and his entire back cracked; Draco placed pillows under his head and knees instead, and sank down on him slowly, just like the first time, only now appreciating every detail; the greys in Harry’s hair that Draco actually thought were really fucking sexy, the soft dark hair beneath his navel, the dark circles beneath his eyes that refused to budge.

Sometimes Harry couldn’t finish, and Draco would try not to be upset about it. If he was, it was never in front of Harry.

…

The summer they both turned thirty five, Harry stopped being able to cast.

He was still magical; Draco could feel it, even when Harry couldn’t, could feel the golden warmth surrounding him, and could also feel its frustration, the way Harry’s magic so desperately wanted to escape and couldn’t.

Things got worse after that.

Harry’s fits were worse, and he was addled and confused after, taking hours to come back to himself. Draco could only sit by the bed and stroke his hair, read to him, watch as Longbottom and Lovegood came in with increasingly bizarre herbal concoctions which never did anything, but Draco appreciated them both anyway, the way they teased Harry, reminded him who he was.

Granger and Weasley were more distressed and less able to be funny, but they tried as hard as they could. Rose liked to snuggle next to Harry after his fits, tell him about her friends and teachers, knowing he wouldn’t remember the details but was always soothed by her voice.

Teddy didn’t visit very much, which Draco couldn’t blame him for; he’d lost enough parents.

One morning, Draco was woken up by Harry’s lips on his neck, and his hand over his stomach.

‘I want you to give the Invisibility Cloak to Hugo,’ he whispered. Draco’s blood ran cold. ‘James and Sirius’ mirror to Ron. The Potter fortune to Teddy. Everything else is yours.’

Draco wanted to scream at him. To point to the string, still a vibrant red connecting them, and ask him how he could even fathom leaving Draco; why his body didn’t love Draco enough to keep fighting, to stay alive.

But Harry had already fallen asleep again.

…

Not even Voldemort had dared approach the fae. They took more than they gave, always, but as long as the thing they gave Draco was Harry, he didn’t care what he’d sacrifice.

The Forbidden Forest was very dark, and very quiet.

‘You called,’ came a voice. The fae never showed themselves.

‘I require your help,’ Draco said, voice firm.

‘For your mate?’

‘Yes.’ Draco tried to imagine Harry, seventeen and terrified, walking to his death out here. He just had to be half as brave, and he could do this. And then he thought about Harry in their bed, skin blotchy and grey, his body shaking in pain, and everything else faded into insignificance. ‘He’s dying. And he saved you too, that day.’

‘That’s debatable.’ The voice sounded vaguely affronted, and Draco stared stonily ahead. ‘It would have taken more than a mere human to eradicate us.’

‘I know. But it would have been harder without Harry.’ Draco squeezed his eyes closed. ‘You would have had to leave the Forest.’

Something squawked overhead, startling Draco's eyes open. The stars were very bright.

‘You do have the power to save your mate,’ the voice echoed, seeming closer, and Draco’s heart soared. ‘But something must be given; energy cannot be destroyed or created. A life cannot be created from anything other than a life. Do you understand?’

Harry was never going to forgive him. Draco was okay with that.

…

Years later, Draco would think it all actually began when the bartender asked him, ‘What do you want tonight, sir?’

Draco flicked his gaze over him, and the bartender flushed. ‘Usual spot, Sebastian. Five minutes.’

Pulses thrummed in the dark, smoky room. The night smelled like sex; arousal and sweat and blood.

Harry had started by the time he got out there. Sebastian was always too keen. It was one of the things they liked about him.

‘Hello,’ Draco said, amused, and Harry unlatched himself from the young man’s neck. He was so beautiful like this; selfish and greedy and so very alive.

Or a version of it.

‘Does he taste good, Harry?’ Draco asked. Harry and Sebastian groaned at the same time. ‘My turn.’

He did taste good, Draco thought with satisfaction. Sebastian moaned as Draco pressed his hardness against him, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Behind them, Harry was panting, and when Draco finally sent Sebastian back inside with a Blood-Replenishment Potion and a quick cleaning charm, Harry was on him in seconds.

‘Here?’ Draco asked, amused, and Harry growled softly.

‘I can’t wait.’ His voice was gruff and low and his eyes were trained on Draco’s lips. Draco smiled and lifted his hand to cup Harry’s face, string dangling between them, blood-red and taut.

‘Sweetheart. We have time.’

#drarry #wheel of drarry #drarry fic #draco x harry #cw chronic illness #soulmates #red string of fate #rooney writes

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theoldandnewfirm · 3 years ago

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Finished the series and red wine and fury are boiling in my veins so LET'S GO

The main complaint I have now that I've made it through the entire series is that the pacing was too fast. The emotional beats had NO room to breath, nor did the relationships that developed throughout the show. Ex: Maya's parents lost ALL their children, but it's okay because they squeezed out two more to replace them???? Or Chimi was *barely* tolerant of Rico, then very into Picchu, then 10000000% into Rico *immediately* after Picchu dies? Hey hey hey, what the fuck?

This show clearly runs on soap opera time because it apparently took Maya & Co weeks/months to get to the divine gate from the barbarian kingdom, but waaaay back at the start Maya ran out to "meet them halfway" in less than what? A day? Also, Chiapa made it back at lightning speed. Maybe there's a one-way train from the divine gate to the Teca kingdom. At least I assume that's true because the alternative is they sent a WOUNDED ANIMAL to limp across hostile terrain for MONTHS to get back to ~the healers~.

The last episode felt like Deathly Hallows where it's just death after death after death with, again, NO room for the audience or the characters to process or care.

HOW DOES THE GODDESS OF DEATH DIE?!

I...don't even know how to process the ending. Like, okay-- Maya's into this dude she's interacted with maaaaaybe 6-7 times, briefly, and half of those were him heralding death or trying to kill her directly. Again, something that REALLY would have worked better if we'd had an episode or two to show them having some kind of meaningful conversation outside of Zatz's Tragic Backstory Episode, but fine, WHATEVER. She loved him enough that the ~celestials~-- who are apparently in a tier above the gods? What the fuck were they doing while all this shit was popping off?-- decided to yeet their souls into the sun and moon, respectively, so that they could...eternally avoid each other? Yeah, okay, they get to ~see each other at dusk~. That's bullshit and you know it. "Hey Maya, we know you loved this guy so we made sure you guys would only get to see each other for like an hour before we cruelly separate you for the rest of the day. Aren't we generous?"

YOU DIDN'T EVEN NEED TO BE THE SUN AND MOON!!!! EVERYONE IS ALIVE AND HAPPY IN THE AFTERLIFE ANYWAY!!!! If anything the celestials ripped Maya and Zatz away from their families FOREVER so they could have the ~great honor~ of being celestial bodies THAT VIRTUALLY NEVER INTERACT

MICTA DYING MADE NO SENSE AND I HATE IT

Headcanon that Micta's death is what allows La Muerte to rise to power since we see her for .02 seconds in the wedding scene

Oh, right, ZATZ AND MAYA COULD LIVE IN LA MUERTE'S BALLER AFTERLIFE IF NOT FOR THE FUCKING CELESTIALS!!!!

I hate Rico. So much. Whhhhhhhhhhhy did they kill Picchu just so she'd fall Rico's arms. Whhhhhhhhhy.

To be clear, I actually like Picchu's death. I think it was a good close to his story arc. What I DID NOT LIKE is YET ANOTHER CASE of Beauty and the Dumbass aka Chimi/Rico. I hate that trope so, so much. It reduces the female characters to "rewards" the male character gets for doing absolutely nothing. IT SUCKS. I HATE IT.

Imagine how the battle would have gone if Maya & Co had focused EXCLUSIVELY on killing Mictlan instead of running off every five seconds to go save so-and-so. WELCOME TO WAR, MAYA. People die. WAY LESS PEOPLE DIE if you kill the entity who's ACTUALLY CONTROLLING the other villains and trust the FOUR OTHER ARMIES you recruited to deal with the mini bosses.

Also, WTF did the Rooster Wizards think was going to happen rolling up with like, six guys? Did we learn nothing from the Teca getting wiped?

Speaking of, are you shitting me with Gran Brujo's "I'm so proud of you" to his daughter? After Gran Brujo died she IMMEDIATELY shunned Rico and made him feel like shit at every given opportunity. Your EXPLICIT instructions where that she and Rico were supposed to protect *each other,* but Gran Bruja was clear that she'd have been perfectly happy to see Rico die on the quest. You're proud of that Gran Brujo? Really? *Really?* You suck. I hate you.

Hey Micte, where was that sweet Teca ghost army during, I don't know, LITERALLY ANY OTHER POINT IN THE BATTLE? Huh? HUH?!

I hated lots of things in the last two episodes, but those were the main ones that stuck out to me. I think I'm extra irritated because I was actually liking the show in spite of its flaws up to that point, but then shit started going off the rails and I just couldn't anymore.

Ah well. It was good looking; at least I can say that much!

#maya and the three #review #spoilers

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green-and-grey-kenaz · 3 years ago

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I Sleep with the Dirt by Fire Glow

Language: English

Chapter 1: Please pull me from the dark

Characters in Chapter: Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin (Briefly), Albus Dumbledore (Briefly)

Chapter Summary:

Regulus is returned to life after his body has been kept in stasis as an inferius. It takes some getting used to, being alive again. Sirius meanwhile is dealing with having to look after a somewhat wild brother and not being able to adopt Harry, like he promised.

Word Count: c. 5 900

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34049455/chapters/84695911

It was strange. Bright. Pain. Noise. Smells. Thoughts. Feels. Sights.

Food.

He lunged, grabbing the prey which shrieked, only getting shriller as teeth tore into it. He pulled his head back and tasted sweet iron. Something grabbed him, forced his jaw open. He snarled. He was hungry and this was his food. He had rightfully caught it.

There was more noise and he turned, glowering. He hated the noises that they made at him. He had a sense that once it might have meant something but now they were empty sounds. It was infuriating.

The one he did not want to eat was there. That one was skinny. Bones. Bones weren’t food. He could crunch them to get food, but the skinny one was still not food. He did not know when the concept of food had come. But the desire to kill the warm moving ones had become a painful urge to fix an emptiness within. Hunger. Skinny was not that though. There was more to the bony one. That was why it was not food.

The other one was tempting but it could stop him. He had tried.

It always knew. It was always prepared.

They made noises to each other as food was placed into his hand. It wasn’t fresh but he tore at it, snarling at anyone who got too close. Too soon, food was gone and he licked his fingers. They were tasty.

Bony was there, hand on his arm. He snarled and Bony flinched but made noises at him. Soft sounds that soothed and promised safety. Bony took something damp and pressed it against his face, rubbed it over his fingers. He liked the damp and wet. It was like a home in that dark, wet cave. The bony one continued to make the noises and gently shifted his limbs. It was a more comfortable position. The old one came and muttered words. He tried to shift and get at it but Bony was being gentle with him and captured his attention once more.

He did not know what he was doing here. He had known, back at the cave. Or perhaps it had not been a knowing – it was more like a state of being. There had been no knowing, just guarding. Devour any that touched the water. Wait. Constant waiting. Protect.

A part of him had something different. A part had been sleeping, almost too deep for dreams but that part had been more alive. There had been the vaguest sense of a series of sounds that had defined it. Memories that had created it.

He could not remember the memories now. They were like the fish that sometimes made their way to his deep waters and were devoured by their many hungry mouths. Flashing, briefly there and so powerfully sating. Then gone. The Bony one perhaps came from there. It came from somewhere deep within. That was why he didn’t eat it.

Bony looked at him, it gave an expression. The lips curled slightly at the ends and it helped him to lie down and pulled the soft warmth over him. It took his head and held it until boredom closed his eyes.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“No, Regulus.” Sirius said firmly as his brother held the raw, half eaten chicken breast in his hand, teeth bared and showing the remnants of his midnight snack.

This was not what Sirius needed. He didn’t need Regulus back. He ran his hand through his hair, guilt sparking in his stomach at that thought. No, he did need Regulus back. Just not with the caveat that he would have to fight off the magic that had kept his body frozen as a minion for Voldemort. Because that was a lot to deal with when you were fresh out of Azkaban. As was knowing that if it hadn’t been for Regulus’ soul somehow taking root deep inside him, if Dumbledore hadn't realised that… well his brother's body would still be in that cave. Dead and violated, twisted by Dark Magic. The thought was sickening.

Yet it was because of Regulus that he had been told he couldn’t take Harry into his home. Harry Potter, James’ son. Sirius' very own Godson, who he had sworn an oath to protect. A boy who was criminally neglected by his supposed guardians. Sirius had waited all this time to get Harry back in his life. He had told the boy he could move in with him. It wasn't fair that he had to look after a kid who should be grown and able to take care of himself.

Sirius resented Regulus for that. He resented that a lot when Regulus had never shown him any love or care back when they had lived together. It had always been ‘why can’t you just behave?’, ‘why must you hurt mother so?’, ‘can’t you just get it into your thick skull that we are better than everyone else and that it is our duty to rule?’. Well, Regulus didn’t look much better than anyone else with his half-eaten chicken breast clutched in one hand.

“Put it down. You’re going to be sick enough as it is.” Probably. Apparently inferii had pretty tough guts because Regulus had taken to eating a whole host of raw things (the healer had not been impressed to find that out). Unfortunately for his brother, the closer he got back to being counted amongst the living, the more raw meat did not agree with him.

Regulus shifted the chicken breast closer to his mouth, staring a challenge down at Sirius.

“No.” Sirius growled and Regulus froze. In that second, Sirius took the time to consider the situation. The pantry had been charmed closed. If Regulus had opened it, that had to mean he was getting his magic back which would not be ideal because Sirius didn’t need a magic wielding, zombie brother. He groaned, running a hand down his face and Regulus quickly took a bite of the chicken.

“Regulus!” Sirius roared and his brother jumped, dropping the chicken breast and quick as a flash, made for the door. Sirius swore and lunged after him, wrapping the smaller body and pinning his arms while his hands went to wrap around Regulus’ wrists. He might be skinny after his time in Azkaban but Regulus was still only seventeen (he’d be eighteen if counting the days – he died days before his birthday a voice whispered in his head) and apparently hadn’t been taking care of himself in the lead up to his death. He’d been all skin and bones when they dragged him out and the inferius voracious appetite was not doing much to put weight back on his frame.

The tiny body squirmed in his grasp, twisting his head and sinking his teeth into Sirius’ dressing gown.

“Stop that, Regulus.” Sirius was softer this time, trying to be more reassuring now the chicken was gone. While most people seemed fair game for eating, Sirius had yet to be bitten. Oh, Regulus threatened to and Sirius did not trust himself to sleep without a heavily warded door, but he’d had no more than panicked bites that stopped short of bruising his skin. He pulled Regulus over to a sink and with some effort managed to get warm water running. Forcing Regulus’ hands under, he glanced around for the soap as his brother started to relax.

“See, nothing wrong, Reggie.” He said soothingly, rubbing the lavender scented soap against his brother’s pale skin. He got a cloth to clean Regulus’ face likewise. His brother squirmed but did not resist.

“Just cleaning you up. You know, if you get hungry, you can come to me. Just knock on the door. I’ll make you something.” He told Regulus this every time but he had little way to tell if it went in. His brother made a noise though and leaned into him.

“Right, all cleaned up now. Not much point eating until you’ve got this out your system.” He said, turning Regulus and giving him a once over. He didn’t let Regulus wear anything with long sleeves, unless attended which just made his arms look like skinny sticks but it made moments like this easier. It didn’t look like Regulus had gotten anything on him.

“Kreacher!” Sirius called.

The House Elf appeared. Sirius knew he lived in a cupboard in the kitchen and he found it ever so infuriating that he didn’t help keep Regulus from eating raw meats. Unfortunately, Kreacher was rather dedicated to ‘the young master’, even if that meant letting him eat things he shouldn’t.

“Clean up the mess and then bring the sick basin into the Parlour. I’m staying up with Regulus until we know if this is going to pass through or not. And next time stop letting him eat raw meat.”

Regulus growled at Sirius for his tone, dark eyes narrowing and Sirius groaned.

“Please.” He added, trying to make his tone sweet because he could do with Regulus not waking up mother’s portrait, which was what he would do if in a strop. She only got agitated seeing Regulus in such a state and it didn’t help that Sirius was there either.

“Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black.” The House Elf grovelled, bowing low and Sirius bit back his retort and instead said through gritted teeth.

“Thank you. Kreacher.”

Regulus seemed to accept that as genuine because he smiled and let himself be guided out with minimum fuss. In fact, he looked rather over the moon to be taken into the Parlour where he took his customary seat as Sirius set the fire up and carefully made sure to place the fire protector so Regulus wouldn’t accidentally get too close.

Warmth was something that Regulus seemed drawn to. He loved the fire, he loved the sun, he loved being wrapped in warm hugs when before he’d always been hesitant about touch. It felt like someone else walking about in his brother’s skin. It was not a comfortable thought but Dumbledore insisted that Regulus would come back to his senses. They had to treat this like a flu that his body was fighting off.

His brother was curled up, small limbs all folded in close, and Sirius pulled a blanket over him. Regulus jumped and snarled before realising it was him and calming back down.

“Fire.” He said, giving a nod towards the flames.

“Yes, Reg, fire.” Sirius confirmed, sighing and settling down next to his brother, carding his hand through his hair. Regulus made a small humming noise which Sirius knew to mean he was pleased with himself. Speaking was… a challenge and at times, it could be especially frustrating. Some days, Regulus could manage to string together a sentence and others would be solely animalistic snarls.

Kreacher came in and placed the sick basin down. Regulus smiled at him and Sirius let his brother do whatever it was he did with Kreacher. There was no denying that there was something protective within Regulus when it came to Kreacher and Sirius wondered whether something had happened to Kreacher before Regulus had died. The old House Elf would let Regulus check him over with agitated hands before pulling him in tight for quite a while.

No one knew quiet what had happened and Kreacher was not elaborating. The only information that legimency had been able to glean from Regulus’ soul attached onto Sirius was where he had died. Snape, and Sirius still shivered to think on that, had impressed on them that whatever had happened, it was more important to Regulus than merely the place he had died. It was the one thing that bound him to this earthly plane and even in death, he kept shielded with occlumency.

Dumbledore had uncovered some things. They’d seen that unearthly green glow across the water of the cave and after he’d brought Regulus’ bound and writhing corpse… After Snape had helped coax Regulus’ soul back into it… Dumbledore had returned.

Sirius still remembered that note that Dumbledore had placed into his hand. Regulus’ curved and delicate hand writing. That would have been his last words on this earth. It had been chilling.

Voldemort had created a Horcrux and Regulus had intended to die destroying it. It was clear that he had found it but no one knew where the original was. Snape had confessed that although he and Regulus had shared a friendship, he had had no word about this from Regulus. Kreacher feigned ignorance and Sirius knew that was the case because he had caught Kreacher hurting himself after saying he knew nothing.

He had ordered Kreacher to tell him because he knew that Kreacher knew but that was the closest Regulus had come to hurting him. His brother had flown in, snarling rage, with clawing hands and hadn’t calmed for a week.

Sirius sighed and stared at Regulus, who was lying, eyes half closed as Kreacher now comforted him, singing him songs in Kreacher’s own language. Regulus didn’t sleep. Not since they’d brought him back. At most he dozed. Sometimes by the fire, more often when someone cradled him in warm sunlight. Sirius figured that Regulus felt he had been sleeping enough with fifteen years of being dead. That he might fear that his sleep would bring that again. Certainly rest seemed to bring out the inferius in him. Always a step back from whatever improvement he had built up.

Harry would be easier.

Harry deserved the love that Regulus was given. Dumbledore visited once a week to chat with Regulus – a kid who could barely speak at the moment. Even Snape visited, although he kept these visits to once a month due to the fact that strife seemed to upset Regulus, otherwise he would no doubt be a more frequent visitor. Remus, Merlin knew how, tolerated Regulus. The first few times, Regulus had gone for Remus’ throat and had to be stunned. Remus brought bribes of chocolate frogs and still, Regulus would sit between them once he had finished chasing his meal.

One day he had told Sirius ‘ ‘trayed you. Left you.’. Sirius had tried to explain that he had betrayed Remus, that it was him that hadn’t trusted. But Regulus had touched his chest and said one word. Hurt.

Regulus could tell that no matter what had happened, Sirius had felt betrayed by Remus. That one of his childhood friends had not fought for his freedom… it stung and it didn’t matter how irrational that was because to Regulus, it was real and if he didn’t sit there, protecting Sirius, Remus might hurt him.

Merlin, this was messed up.

“Bad.” Regulus said, stiffening, and Sirius grabbed the basin, handing it over to Regulus who retched into the bowl as Sirius rubbed his back in what he hoped were soothing circles. Kreacher vanished the sick between breaks in his brother’s throwing up.

“There you go. Better out. It’s OK.” He said, using his other hand to pull Regulus’ hair out of his face.

Harry wouldn’t eat raw meat and then need a guardian to look out for him. Sirius winced as Regulus threw up again, sounding rather painful as he shuddered, fingers clawing at the ceramic. At the very least Regulus might exhaust himself and doze. That would be nice. Some peace and not having to rely on paintings waking him up whenever Regulus decided to go on his walks.

Sirius yawned and Regulus paused from his heaving, looking up with dark, pain filled eyes.

They were his brother’s eyes. His little brother, who had died alone in a cave to try and bring down Voldemort. Regulus. The soft little idiot who thought he’d take on the world alone because he had no one else to turn to. Sirius hadn’t been there for him.

Regulus doubled over again and moaned in pain and Sirius returned to rubbing his head. Yes, he resented his brother for a lot of things. It had been a long time since Regulus had brought him joy but every time he looked into those eyes, he saw a kid he’d failed. Someone he should have been there for. Perhaps, the guilt would give way to love at some point.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Regulus snarled at the man who came in through the door. Sirius grabbed him and pulled him away, placing an arm out to stop him getting at the man.

“No, it’s alright Sirius. You said he had a turn last night. It’s fine.” The man… the wolf… said, reaching into his pockets with slow movements. He pulled something out, fiddling with it and suddenly Regulus found his focus forced to something moving fast. He dashed after it and it jumped away. Another pounce and he had it wrapped in his hands, feeling his prey wiggling, trying to get out. A quick crush and he broke it. Opening his hands, Regulus started to pick at its brown, sweet flesh, crushing it between his teeth. It was good. Tasty. Bits fell to the floor and he cleaned up those traces as well.

Good. He’d killed it.

Feeling more content with this, Regulus wandered through the house, trying to recall what had happened before. He had chased his prey but something important had happened before that. What was it?

Voices.

Ah, the wolf.

Regulus dashed to the warm room where the fire was merrily burning and Sirius sat with the wolf, his brother lounging across the sofa and the wolf, the betrayer of his brother, sat on a chair.

“Sirius said you’ve started to collect the cards.” The wolf said, looking up as he entered and stalked to sit in front of his brother. Sirius may have forgotten but Regulus remembered the pain his brother had felt when the wolf hadn’t saved him from whatever had happened. It would only be a matter of time before it happened again.

Regulus looked at the offered card but did not take it. Sirius shifted forward, plucked the card from the wolf’s hand and placed it in Regulus’ own, wrapping his fingers around it.

“You’ve been wanting this one, remember?” He said and Regulus stared at the picture.

“S… Slyth… Slytherin. Salazar.” He managed to get the words out, forcing his mouth and tongue to roll around the foreign sounds. There was a vague sense that this had once been easy, like breathing. He had a concept of breathing now. He remembered realising that he breathed.

“Yep! Rarer than the other Founders because no one wants him.” Sirius said, in a jolly tone. Regulus stared at it. He knew this one mattered to him. He knew that some days he could remember why he mattered. Grey eyes shifted to look up at the wolf.

“Trick.” He said.

“I watched him take the card out, it’s not a trick Reg.” Sirius said, rubbing his head. Regulus growled and glared at the two. He had no idea how the wolf could just waltz in and make Sirius forget the pain that he had caused.

“Regulus.” That was the stern voice. He barred his teeth at the tone then flinched as Sirius went to grab him.

“Sirius, it’s okay.” The wolf said hastily, producing another box.

“No, if he can’t play nice he shouldn’t get nice things.” Sirius said. The wolf hesitated with his bribes. Regulus hated that they talked about him as if he wasn’t here. He could understand them, their noises made his mind know. It was just hard to remember how to make the noises back.

“Sirius, you said other than the relapse, he’s doing better.” The wolf said before looking at him.

“Would you like another chocolate frog, Regulus?” He asked and his tone was nice. It was always nice and Regulus did not trust that. He did, however, like the frogs. He eyed the box up and licked his lips, thinking on how good its flesh would be.

“Please.”

The wolf hands over the frog, his prize, and Regulus clutched the box tight in his hands. It is his now and it feels good to own things. The desire to consume now falls away and he leaned against the sofa, staring. Sirius went back to talking but the words wash over him. There’s something unsettled in him, a poking feeling that makes his limbs feel restless. Something he should be doing.

Regulus gets up and follows the feeling.

It takes him to his room. There is a draw there with lines. He traces them. Line with three with three lines. Two hills. A curve and circle. Emergency. It is scrawled in a very slow and deliberate attempt to be neat.

He pulls the draw open and inside are boxes, unopened. A collection of frogs. Because sometimes he could plan for the future. That maybe one day he’d want a frog when he wasn’t being given one. That they were useful. Regulus placed the box inside with the rest, then on second thought he shifts it down to the bottom. Older ones on top. Cycle through.

He closes the draw and looks at the top of his desk.

On there sits a hairbrush, with a symbol engraved into its handle. Regulus traced the symbol.

It was a gift, from mother. His initials made into one image. He’d been ten when gifted it. The handle had been big in his hands and he knew its worth. Grabbing it, Regulus brought the brush through his hair, wincing as it tugged at knots. Sometimes Sirius held him down and ran a comb through his black hair. Sirius would try to be gentle. Regulus did not.

His scalp stung but his hair was fixed.

Investigating his desk, Regulus next found a vial. It smelt of woods on hot summer days. The smell pulled memories of walks with friends like Barty or Severus. It was comforting. A pot held a cream, near dried out but which moistened as his fingers touched it. Regulus sniffed his fingers. It was a gentle hint of night blooming jasmine. He’d chosen it because of that. One summer, they had stayed in Southern France and each evening meal had been punctuated by that smell. It reminded him of family and love. He rubbed the cream against his face, a familiar gesture. His fingers found their own and rubbed it into his skin which softened.

The smells of the wood went on the neck and wrists. He remembered that now.

A tub full of powdered silver used the brush to add flakes to his skin so he looked otherworldly and more than the peasants around him.

There was a ribbon. He used it to tie his hair back into a ponytail, leaving just enough loose to frame his face. That took too many goes until it was satisfactory but what stared out at him was a face that he might remember.

Regulus glanced down at his clothes. Attire.

Sirius dressed him in robes that cut off above his elbows, short at the legs and with a split. He knew his movement could be erratic. It was the outfit of a child.

His wardrobe was empty of suitable garb.

Regulus went into the room next to his. Sirius’. The one his brother did not sleep in but was so painfully his. Sometimes Regulus understood why it hurt. Mostly, though, he couldn’t remember. There, in the draws were proper robes. Long, rich and flowing. They smelt of mothballs and dust but it was still a better alternative. He pulled the robes on and they came up short. It made no sense because Sirius was taller than him. Older than him.

But it was more presentable.

Regulus made his way downstairs and back to the parlour. He breezed in and took a seat near the fire. It hurt to sit up straight. His body did not seem to like it but Regulus knew it was proper and expected of him. He didn’t know who expected it.

“Hey Reggie.” Sirius smiled.

“Siri.” He said with a nod. Even that took too much effort. How had this once been so easy?

“You look good.” Wolf smiled.

“Are… are those my old robes?”

Regulus glanced away.

“I hadn’t realised that old hag had kept them.”

“M.” Regulus glared at Sirius. “Mother.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“Love.” Regulus said firmly.

“She never felt an ounce of love for us, Reg.” Sirius said, laughing callously. Regulus felt his muscles twitch.

“Sirius.” Wolf cautioned, leaning forwards and placing a hand on the arm of Sirius’ chair.

“What? It’s the truth.”

“You said they kept the room the same as you’ve left it.” Wolf said softly.

“Probably never noticed I left.” Sirius scoffed.

“Or they were waiting for you to come home.” Wolf pointed out gently.

“Fat chance.”

“Did.” Regulus said.

Sirius turned his attention back to him.

“Did they come by the Potters to collect me? Turn up at the Express to pick me up? Ever write me a letter? No, Reg, they didn’t. No one did.”

Regulus pulled his legs in closer, feeling eyes water but he couldn’t be weak. Not in front of the wolf.

“Time. Needed time. Then back.” He whispered. That’s what he’d been told. His brother would come back, he just needed space to realise that he still loved them, that nothing was as important as family. Days became weeks, weeks became months. He just needed more time. He’d come back, see his room kept just as it had been when he had left and would realise that they loved him.

“Sirius-” The wolf said, reaching for Regulus’ brother but he pushed the man’s hands away.

“No! They didn’t care!” Sirius said, his voice shaking and Regulus realised he had zoned out for some of the conversation between the two. He also remembered that the wolf was called Remus.

“I’m not saying that the way they treated you was okay, Sirius. It was wrong and it was good that you got out of it when you did because it was destroying you. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t care. That’s what makes it harder.”

“No one could love their child and put them through that. They didn’t love me. They couldn’t have.”

“I did.” Regulus said softly. Sirius glanced up and ran a hand down his face.

“You didn’t put me through anything, Reg. You were the only thing that made home bearable.” It was a comforting lie and Regulus shook his head.

“I was with mother and father.” He said, his words slow as each rolled around his mouth. “I did not help you.”

“That’s because you were soft enough to believe our parents. You were soft.” Sirius said. Regulus shook his head and stared at his arm.

“I joined.” He pointed out.

“Because they forced you.” Sirius insisted.

“I thought ‘twas right.” Regulus said quietly.

“They brainwashed you.”

Regulus shrugged. Sirius wasn’t convinced but at least he wasn’t fighting.

“I didn’t help you.” He repeated.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Sirius stared at the cold, blank eyes staring up at him.

“James… Lily.” He whispered, hands trembling as they reached forwards, hesitant to cradle the corpses of his friends. As he reached out, he realised his hands were uncomfortably warm. Glancing down, he saw them dripping red. His friends’ skin tore open, pouring blood. He had done this. He was drowning in their blood and the world around him got dark. His heart quickened as a cold touch grabbed his heart and tightened. Slimy hands wrapped around his throat, his legs, his arms. A rattling death gasp and he was falling deeper and deeper.

Sirius screamed, starting awake, thrashing underneath duvet covers as his door banged as if it were about to be smashed in.

He swore and grabbed his wand, unlocking the door and Regulus flew in, snarling at the darkness in the corners of his room and hovering protectively over him.

Sirius’ heart was pounding and his body trembling and he did not have time for Regulus not being OK. He did not want a snarling brother trying to bite his nightmares.

“Reggie, it’s okay. Just a nightmare. Nothing’s attacking me.” Sirius gasped out, trying to place a hand on his brother’s arm to try and comfort him. He did not need a jumpy inferius. Regulus jumped, then glanced around.

“Dream?” He asked. His voice sounded young, uncertain of how to pronounce different words.

“Bad dream.” Sirius confirmed, rubbing Regulus’ arm. His brother calmed down a lot faster than he did and then dashed off to do Merlin knew what. Probably whatever inferii did when everyone else was supposed to be sleeping.

Sirius fell back against the bed. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes but Blacks did not cry. Not the women, not the children, not the men. But if a Black cried and no one was there to see, did they really cry?

Sirius covered his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. He was fine. The dementors weren’t here. It was Peter who had killed James and Lily. Dumbledore had gotten him a pardon for that. The world now knew he was innocent. He would never get sent back th-

Something dropped on his stomach and Sirius let out a blood curdling scream, flinging his arm away from his face to stare up into the shocked face of Regulus.

“Wha?” He asked, glancing down, terrified to find out what Regulus might consider an appropriate midnight gift.

It was a chocolate frog.

Still in its wrapping.

Regulus nudged it towards Sirius with a hesitant smile.

“Thanks.” Sirius said softly. Regulus openly grinned back and dashed over to a chair, watching him. Sirius sighed and took the offered gift, opening it up and carefully grabbing the frog before it could jump. He saw Regulus start, ready to hunt, but control the urge. Remus always said chocolate was the best cure for dementors. It was sweet and creamy and thawed out some part of his chest.

“You saved this?” Sirius asked in sudden realisation. Regulus frowned then gave a nod.

“I can’t kill the nightmares.” He said in his slow and carefully thought out way. “Chocolate might. I think I read it once.”

“Yeah. It does.” Sirius gave a small smile. This was progress. Maybe soon they could have Harry here safely.

“What dream?” Regulus asked, words slipping in perhaps an excitement at being able to keep a conversation going.

Sirius shook his head. He was not going back there. Not at all.

“I can’t… Were you asleep?” He decided, trying to turn the conversation to something he might manage. Regulus frowned and Sirius noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. He hadn’t realised before. They must have slowly built up as Regulus’ body became more and more alive. The frown had made his eyes look sunken in and not too unlike the face Sirius still saw in the mirror.

“Can’t.” Regulus agreed and he went to sit on Sirius’ bed, head hanging down.

“Hey, it’s OK. No one expects you to get back to normal immediately.” Sirius said softly, shifting to pull his brother into a hug. Regulus fell against him. Warm. Alive. Sirius could feel his heartbeat against his side. It was strong.

“Do you need food?” Sirius asked. Regulus shook his head. Well, at least that was something.

“Want you safe.”

Sirius sighed.

“Well, since neither of us are sleeping, why don’t we go into the parlour?” He suggested, throwing off the bed covers and grabbing his dressing gown and wand. On second thought, he also picked up his bottle of firewhisky that rested on his bed side table. It was depressingly low and Sirius hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to do his own shopping. There was only so often he could ask Moony to pick up booze, even when spaced out between what remained of father’s cabinet.

Maybe mother’s cabinet. She’d outlived him and Reg by years.

He hated thinking that he might be using anything she owned.

Regulus followed him on deadly silent feet. It was unnerving. Sirius always felt that Regulus was just about to pounce. They managed to get through to the parlour with no murders and Regulus took his customary place by the fire, waiting expectantly. Sirius muttered the incantation and the fire flickered to life. He took a swig of whisky and offered it to Regulus, who did likewise, coughing.

“Missed whisky.” Regulus commented as he handed the bottle back to Sirius. Sirius gave a bark of laughter.

“When did you have time to miss whisky?”

Regulus frowned and cocked his head.

“Don’t know. Last week?”

“Well, that’s a good sign that you’re becoming yourself again, Reggie. What’s a Black without a love of alcohol?”

His brother hummed and Sirius handed the bottle back to his brother who took another gulp.

“Can… Can I ask?” His voice shook and Sirius took the bottle back. He was going to need it.

“About what?”

“Mother?”

“Died five years after I was sent to prison. Guards let me know. They thought there was something hilarious about me being left this house.”

Regulus sniffed.

“Bellatrix?”

“Captured and put into Azkaban not long after they got me.”

“Narcissa?”

“Uh… you remember she married Malfoy, right? Were you around for her pregnancy? Ok, well, she’s got a baby boy. Same year as Harry.”

Regulus nodded, thoughtful.

“Evan?”

“Rosier? Dead.”

“Barty?”

“Did you know about him? That he was a Death Eater?”

Regulus went silent. Sirius sighed.

“Look, I know he was a good friend of yours at school.”

“New brother.” Regulus said softly. “I… I wanted a brother that mother would approve of. You had James.”

“Did you know?” Sirius asked again, his blood running cold. He hadn’t thought about it but the two had been close. Barty had been a years younger than Reg and practically worshipped the ground beneath his feet. Slytherin cronyism, not that the Crouch family needed it, but they were Slytherins all the way. Bartemius Senior just sucked it up to the crowds and the ministry.

“I brought… Yes. I brought him into the fold.” Regulus’ voice was wobbling now.

“Merlin. Oh Reg!”

“Please tell me he’s okay.”

Regulus had been seventeen when he died and he sounded it. He’d been just a kid. Just like Barty when they dragged him into a cell. Sirius remembered the boy screaming for his mother until he went silent. He remembered thinking if Regulus had been caught before his mysterious death, that’s what he’d have been like. And when Barty had died, Sirius had wondered if Regulus would have lasted that long.

“I’m so sorry.” Sirius said, moving to wrap Regulus in a hug as his brother collapsed in on himself. A sudden ringing filled the air and Sirius just had time to cast a quick shielding charm as glass smashed around them. Regulus was crying openly and Sirius shifted his brother to rest against his shoulder.

“’S my fault.” Regulus whispered as Sirius wrapped his arm around his brother and used the other to wave his wand and restore the room.

“No, you aren’t responsible for others, Reg.” He whispered softly as he held his brother as he fell apart and they tried to put each other back together.

#fanfic #Harry Potter #regulus black #Sirius Black #Inferius Regulus

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bi-the-way-i-love-bunnies · 4 years ago

Text

(In which Draco is Harry’s healer and now he has to look through his pensieves in order to save him au. Also, Harry travels)

Drarry drabble:

“I don’t understand,” Hermione whispered as she gazed down at the seemingly lifeless form of her best friend. “I know we haven’t spent as much time together as we should, but he’s dying?”

Behind her stood Ron Weasley, a comforting presence, though he wasn’t fairing much better. It was disheartening to watch, even for Draco’s standards.

“Yes, well,” he went back to his notes, using it as an excuse to look away and keep busy, “Even a person like him can’t be so lucky all the time can he?”

His team was one of the best at St. Mungo’s and upon their discovery, he estimated that Potter was cursed within the last month.

“He was in Jakarta at the time,” Hermione said, “Only came back last week. If we had known…” The look on her face said enough.

Everyone knew that Harry Potter decided to leave England in order to travel and see the world. What exactly he was doing remained a mystery but the general public believed that he was spending his days relaxing and sightseeing the world, fitting for the boy who couldn’t seem to catch a break.

Meanwhile in England the remaining golden trio has been trying to keep the Ministry together and help capture the remaining death eaters with the aurors. It has been 7 years since Voldemort has been gone. During the beginning of all the rebuilding, Draco heard enough of the small whispers that the golden trio had some sort of falling out, though he never quite believed it. Judging from the tension in the room, it was obvious that they still cared for one another deeply. Just because one moved on with their lives doesn’t mean that he left everything of his past behind.

“Right,” Draco got back to what he was planning to say before Granger got all emotional on him. “There’s little chance of recovery,” he warned, “but if we move fast enough we might be able to make a breakthrough if we find out what cursed he was hit with, seeing as he’s a high priority patient.” Merlin knows what would happen if the public found out they let their savior die.

“Luna’s his mind healer. She has pensieves of Harry’s memory stored in her clinic. He always bottles his latest memories of his trips and shows them to her.” She bit her lip before adding, “although it’s highly confidential, if you’re able to help him in just any way, you’ll be allowed clearance to view.”

Ron interrupted before Draco could reply, “Remember Malfoy if you use these memories in any way to hurt him you will be sorry.” He gave the blonde a pointed look, “Harry has had a tough time after the war and if you end up leaking anything, and I mean anything at all, you will be on the receiving end of my wand, and I know some pretty mean hexes.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it Weasley,” it was the next head auror he was talking to after all. “Just left Lovegood know that she’ll be expecting me.”

And that was how he ended up in this current situation having tea with the Ravenclaw in her clinic. He sipped his earl grey tentatively as she came back to the room with a box full of Harry’s pensieves.

She smiled sweetly before setting them down on the long table.

“These are all the memories he pensieved while he was in Indonesia. He visited quite a handful of times you know. Something about it kept pulling him back in.”

She levitated their cups as she made her way out of the room, giving him some privacy to focus. Before she closed the door she turned back to him to give him a warning.

“Draco, as one healer to another I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt a patient. But know that we would never betray Harry’s confidence and given your history I’ll have you know that a lot of people care for him. Don’t betray his trust, Draco.”

He nodded in agreement and when she left, he slowly poured the bottles into the pensieve, the newest model allowing multiple memories to be viewed at once. If he was being honest with himself he was a bit anxious to know what his old rival’s been up to. Sadly, he acknowledged that his old obsession with Potter back at school was making a comeback. As he was pouring out the last bottle he couldn’t help but notice a note attached to the label.

‘Loving can hurt, yet loving can heal and mend your soul. Remember to keep your love in these photographs, Harry, and they’ll help lead you home.”

Obviously one of Lovegood’s encouragements he mused as he poured the last one in. He stared at the pensieve for a beat longer before plunging in.

He expected a warm sunny beach, or yet a luxurious hotel for Potter to be relaxing in. What he wasn’t expecting was to see children in poverty in a small room. They were huddled over small books and there was an adult at the front speaking. With a small jolt he realized that this was a classroom. He searched around for Potter before finding him next to a little girl around the age of 5 or 6. He had a small piece of parchment out and it looked like he was trying to draw.

He spoke to the girl quietly before presenting her with what he drew, earning him a delighted smile. He watched the memory continue as the group of students eventually moved on from their school day and watched Potter instead. Salazar, since when could Potter draw? As Potter finished yet another art piece a small memory made him remember that Potter was friends with Thomas, who was now a famous artist in England. He wondered if Thomas ever gave his friend lessons. This might’ve been a year or two after the war since Potter didn’t look like the scrawny teen he once knew. Actually, judging from the state from when he was admitted to St. Mungo’s, all the traveling clearly benefited him deeply.

Another memory and they were in a more public area, but this time Potter looked closer to when he just finished the war. Here, Potter was speaking with an old man, deep in conversation. A turn of his head showed a different group of kids, yet their situation didn’t seem any different from the group in the previous pensieve. After a while, he saw Potter hesitantly approach and open a bag, giving the children and their parents some basic necessities like soaps he got from his hotel to small snacks from a local vendor. He proceeded to sit down when he was done and engaged in small talk with the locals, the man he was speaking to earlier leading the conversation. He watched Potter slowly grow more relaxed and laugh more freely. At some point he moved on to entertaining the children. Draco watched on until the sunset before shaking his head reminding himself that he was on a mission.

More memories afterwards showed more of the same thing. Occasionally Potter would spend some time for himself but he would always move on to the streets to engage with the locals. A lot of the pensieves had the old man from the second memory.

Potter drawing, Potter handing out whatever he could spare, smiling, laughing, and surprisingly even dancing to the song some local street band was playing. Apparently his dance skills have improved quite a lot since their fourth year.

Eventually he came across a memory that stood out in more details. You could tell with the more vivid colors in the pensieve that this was quite an important memory to Potter.

“Have you found her yet?” he asked after a small woman entered back into the room with the old man Draco nicknamed Rani.

“We think she wandered too far under the bridge. It’s getting late and she still hasn’t returned,” the woman replied shakingly. “If something happened to my daughter…” she trailed off but the silence filled in what she was trying to say.

He watched Potter get up from where he was sitting. “I’ll find her.”

“Are you sure?” Rani asked as the Gryffindor walked towards the door. “Jakarta is a very friendly city but Naya is young and easy to prey upon.”

“I’ll be back by tomorrow at best,” he hitched his backpack over his shoulder. “Give Indah my love and tell her I’ll try visiting soon.”

He followed Potter through the pensieve once he left, watching as they passed barracks, railroad tracks and bridges. Eventually he watched Potter pass under a bridge before a small ambush took place, Potter’s attackers shielding a small child behind them.

He watched at the last second as Potter got hit square on the chest, which barely fazed him, before he threw an Expelliarmus and stunned him. Once it was over and he got Naya back to his mother, Draco replayed the fight scene over again and watched as the attacker fired the spell, noting the color and making out the incantation.

He watched Potter one last time, all relief and smiles showing in his face as he watched Naya reunite with her mother. Ever the heroic Gryffindor still. He briefly wondered if these people would miss him if Potter- he shook himself from these thoughts and he resurfaced from the pensieves.

He found Luna Lovegood watching him softly before nodding to herself and helping pack back the memories. A look behind her at the window told Draco that it was already night.

“Thank you for letting me borrow the pensive Lovegood,” Draco said while slowly moving the contents to their original bottle, “I think I got what I needed for Potter’s case.”

“He was quite happy wasn’t he,” she spoke out of the blue, “I think he truly needed that after the war and all.”

“He did look...rather well, yes,” he agreed, unsure of where the conversation was leading. He may have wondered about Potter in the past but it never got him anywhere. He didn’t realize how much he missed the git until he saw him basking in the joy of just spending time with others and engaging in their culture. He wondered what else he had missed with Potter’s life and suddenly he was a bit too keen to find out.

“I think Harry needed to see that the world wasn’t all that bad after Voldemort was gone. But even though he didn’t find exactly that, I think it makes him happy. Being part of their lives and doing what he can. Humans lead such intricate lives,” she paused appearing to be in deep thought. “I secretly think that if it was all sunshine and rainbows like Harry wanted to find, he would’ve gotten bored after a while you know? Life can only be good when you see the bad too. And in all his pensieves he saw a mix of both. Poverty with a sense of community. They had the simple pleasantries he couldn't have afforded here.”

Draco thought back at the Potter he knew from Hogwarts. He thought back to all the bitterness and jealousy that he felt when Potter was always the one in the spotlight. Even with everything going on at school, the git just wasn’t able to have a normal year. He reflected back to what Lovegood said about simple pleasantries. He knew all too well what that felt like after the war. Those were some dark days before he was finally able to apprentice as a healer when Penelope Clearwater decided to give him a chance.

They finished in silence as Draco bottled up the last of it.

However before he left, Luna sent him off with a message, “When Harry finally wakes up, give him my love will you?”

He was already on his way before he could tell her about the low chances of Harry’s survival, yet he didn’t doubt Luna’s words. And for Merlin’s sake when did he start referring to her as Luna?

Entering St. Mungo’s was a blur or pressure and distress. Him and his team worked hard to form some sort of antidote potion (a counter spell wasn’t made yet), and the whole time he couldn’t stop worrying about the git. He knew as a healer it was his job to remain calm and collective for the efficiency of the case, but he really needed Potter to wake up afterwards. Although they still didn’t see each other much, Draco was determined to fit himself into Potter’s life. There was just no way he couldn’t when he recalled what Potter was like in Jakarta. He wanted to know how he changed and all the ways he could smile and bring joy to people’s faces just by engaging in small talk or dancing without a care in the world.

He thought of all the things this would change for them as they fed Potter the potion, and he thought of all the things he needed to say as Potter slowly awakened after a few hours.

“Malfoy?” Potter stated groggily as he sat up, “God, I remember the last time I was here. Do you need me to do those annoying question checks to see if I’m fine?”

Draco felt the corner of his lips quirk up as he scribbled Potter’s new status on his notes. “Yes, Potter. Not even the boy who lived can escape standard check ins, no matter how annoying they are.”

He looked up just in time for Potter to let out a fond sheepish grin. “Yeah I reckon so, though I have no idea what you could possibly ask me.”

A beat of silence was shared and Draco felt a swell of anticipation for what he knew was going to come. He could tell Potter knew too just by reading his face. He was always an open book.

“I guess we’ll have to start off with the basics,” Draco smiled, approaching closer until he was standing to Harry’s side, “Tell me about your trips to Jakarta, Potter.”

#drarry #drarry fics #drarry fic #the beginning may sound interesting but honestly it's not what you think #mainly me being self indulgent about harry potter traveling the world and being his Gryffindor self #healer!draco #kinda based on ed sheeran's photograph #also i just watched an interesting document about Jakarta #there's just something so heartwarming about experiencing other culture's you know?#pensieves #pensieve #luna's a mind healer here #and she's one of harry's closer friends #don't worry the golden trio are still close #harry potter #hp #hp drarry #my fic #harry potter fic

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