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bidnezz · 3 years ago

Text

Revenant [1/5]

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, background Clary/Izzy, mentions of past Magnus/Camille

Rating: Mature

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Blood and Violence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Clave Politics (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Downworlder Politics, Betrayal, Revenge, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Angry Magnus Bane, Light Romance, Mystery, Prophecy, Minor Character Death, lots of death

Summary:

Alec has heard the legends of Magnus Bane. He knows all the tales and he’s read all the records of his downfall. The High Warlock of Brooklyn who became so hungry for power that he began to mistreat the very warlocks who sought his help. It’s been a hundred years since then, and when a sudden rift opening between realms brings an onslaught of lesser demons, so too does it bring Magnus Bane, insatiable and vengeful for the power and people that locked him away in Edom. As newly appointed Head of the New York Institute, it’s Alec’s job to protect the residents of New York from one of the greatest Demons he’s ever faced. Only, he has no idea how, and maybe things aren't what they seem.

Art by the talented: @abby0007

Beta’d by the wonderful: @squiggly-lines-on-a-page

Read on ao3

Something to note: This fic is extremely AU. I've fitted a lot of events that we know to be canon (such as dates of events happening) to fit my story, and the past events happened around the early 1900's, until present canon time. There are also many mentions of blood and wounds and lots of death in the fic, so please be wary if that's a no for you!

Chapter One

Rushing residents and evening traffic fills the bustling streets of New York as the surrounding sky begins to darken with the dusk of the setting sun. Nightlife begins as shadows emerge from the alleyways, and doors that lead to no good open with the creak of bad decisions. The Downworld rises to the occasion, drinks in-hand and smiles plastered. So, too, do the Nephilim of the New York Institute who patrol the streets to keep tabs on those unknowing of the dangers that lurk in the dark.

Alexander Lightwood stands alone, weighted with shoulders heavy and nervous energy surrounding him in his new office.

Head of the Institute.

The words roll around his tongue, foreign in his mouth but synonymous with him now. It feels… odd. But welcome.

A knock brings him back, a light rapping of knuckles on the thick wooden door, followed by ebony hair and dark red lips encasing a grin that could only belong to his sister. “Alec,” she calls, her grin turning wry. “Or should I say Head of the Institute?”

“I’ve seen the position lost to better people than I, let’s not jinx this.”

“People? Yes. Leaders?” Isabelle pauses for effect as she strides towards Alec, a dramatic flair he knows to always expect. “I haven’t seen a leader yet, more deserving than you, dear brother. You can be happy for yourself, Alec. Smile, gloat, live a little. Even in the confines of this tiny room.”

Hard as he tries, Alec can’t reign in the small smile that curves his lips. He won’t gloat, he won’t yell and cheer and celebrate. That’s not him. But he will allow himself to feel pride and happiness in this small moment in time with his sister, and he’ll lock it away as a cherished memory to strengthen their bond. This is a turning point for him, a chance to uphold the Lightwood name and make his parents proud. Finally, a chance for them to see exactly the type of leader they raised, a chance to prove that it was all worth it - will be worth it. A chance for him to look upon his mother’s face and for once see something other than barely concealed disappointment and contempt.

“Hey buddy,” A low rasp calls from the opened door to the office. Jace rests against the curved door frame, arms crossed and wide smile dimpling his cheeks. “Oh,” he starts, adjusting his posture to stand perfectly upright as he offers a small salute to Alec. “I guess I should be more proper in front of our new leader, eh?”

The twinkle in his eyes and the way his smile devolves into a shit-eating grin only pulls a small chuckle from Alec, and he reaches his arm out to grip Jace’s as he’s pulled into a rough, brotherly hug. It’s warm, comforting, and when Isabelle joins in - complete.

Right here, right now… this is the turning point for Alec. No more failing, no more letting anyone down. This is where his new life as a leader begins, where everything he’s worked towards shifts into what it was always meant to be. This is what he was born for.

So then why does it feel so empty?

There's a gnawing inside of his chest, a cavern of muddled introspection and half understanding. The goal was always this, the finish line has been crossed and his direction never clearer. But under the anxiety of being freshly anointed, if Alec were to peel away the layers of doubt and worry until he’s viewing his own satisfied ego, what else would he see? Happiness, of course, to some extent. Nothing more, and nothing less. Unfulfilled pockets inside of him that yearn in wonder, and desire for something more.

A mother’s love, perhaps. To be accepted and finally seen as enough.

Yes. An affirmation from Maryse Lightwood herself, and Alec’s sure he’ll feel that last puzzle piece locked into place. ‘But for now,’ Alec thinks to himself as he watches Isabelle and Jace enraptured in a hilarious conversation no doubt at his expense, ‘I’ve got all I need right in front of me.’

With his day just beginning in the blossoming night, Alec prepares himself for the duties and responsibilities that lie ahead of him.

On the other side of New York as the darkness creeps heavier, something more sinister begins to tear at the fabric that separates their realm from the rest.

---

A chime echoes through the halls of the Institute odd hours later, only a precursor to the dull bang as the wooden doors slam open to reveal a crowd of people in disarray. Alec, bent over a table in the main hall with the city’s layout and a small group of Shadowhunters, turns at the commotion brow raised and senses on alert.

“There’s a demon!” someone in the jumbled mess of bodies hurtling towards Alec proclaims.

“He’s strong - too strong,” another one says with a gasp.

Jace steps forward, hand on the hilt of his seraph blade, the other on his stele. Prepared for battle, ready for a fight. “Where?”

Three voices begin to clamor all at once in a disastrous explanation that prompts Alec to step forward and raise a calming hand in the air. The voices stop, and Jace turns to him with a question at the ready. “One at a time or we won’t get anywhere. You,” Alec points towards the least frantic Shadowhunter of the trio, “what happened?”

The man winces as he takes a step forward, favoring the right side of his body. Red stains his clothes; it paints his pale face and each of his limbs. It’s blood, Alec notes easily, dried and congealing in some spots no doubt from the cold autumn wind on the way back to the Institute, but some of the wounds still bleed fresh. His blond hair is matted to his face with sweat and ichor and his lips are caked with a mixture of all three, none of it enough to hide the burgeoning purple bruises that are blooming on his face. If the man’s body trembles, Alec says nothing of it.

“We were patrolling near Williamsburg,” the man begins, a slow nervous lilt to his voice. “There was an unusual spike in demon activity at dusk. We overheard residents saying it was a minor earthquake, but we didn’t believe that. We suspected it was related to the demons. And it was,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to Alec and the room now filled with curious Shadowhunters. “There was a horde of them, Ravener demons. We thought it was just a basic attack, we didn’t know why they were there, but we prepared to get rid of them anyway. It was in the middle of our fight with the demons that someone else showed up-“

“Magnus Bane!” sputters the man in the middle, specks of red flying from his mouth and smattering the floor. “He’s back. He’s back and he’s here for revenge! That's what he told us!”

A gasp echoes in the silent halls of The Institute, followed by the low thrum of chatter as Shadowhunters begin to talk. To the side, Alec catches Isabelle’s gaze, stony and reserved in thought, but sparking with worry for the day’s sudden turn of events.

“Let’s get you guys cleaned up and healed,” Alec steps forward, stele in hand and iratze on his tongue.

“I-It doesn’t work,” the blond man whispers, shaking his head and peering up at Alec with furrowed brows. “We hid in the alleyways and tried to heal. Perhaps it’s the poison from the ichor, but I suspect it’s tied to the magic that Magnus Bane hit us with that makes our healing runes null.”

More chatter from the crowd of people, louder this time, and Alec nods once before turning to the person on his left. “Clary, see to it that they’re taken care of and bandaged properly. Triple check healing runes and make sure we get a full analysis report on all your findings.” It’s an order given with a tone Alec hopes conveys exactly what he’s thinking. He needs to know what’s causing the iratze’s to not work, he needs to know if it’s just a reaction to the ichor or something altogether more threatening. More than that, however, he needs discretion. Kept under wraps, with only Alec and trusted company to know the answers. With the way Clary keeps his firm gaze and offers a single, silent nod, Alec’s sure she understands.

“Everyone else,” Alec speaks, loud and commanding. “Back to your duties.”

The room pauses, wary and hesitant with the new information discovered and seeping into every conspiracy forming in the back of their minds. They want answers, they want clarity, they want knowledge that Alec doesn’t yet have. Resigned to knowing they won’t get any more than this, they file out slowly with soft whispers and bowed heads towards one another.

It’s only several seconds later when he notices the hesitation spread across the injured Shadowhunter’s faces, a look shared between the three of them. They’re brimming with the words they want to speak, information they’ve withheld, just barely. Only, they’re scared and Alec’s not sure if it’s a result of the situation they’ve just encountered, or the consequences they think they’ll have to face. Quietly, Alec steps towards them and grants a reassuring nod.

“Sir, Magnus Bane-” the Shadowhunter’s words catch in his throat. Alec hasn’t heard this name in years, not since training, and it already feels exhausted. “He didn’t let us leave with our lives for nothing. He gave us a warning.” There’s another pause, ominous in nature and the patience Alec composes himself with is waning thinner and thinner by the second.

“Go on,” Alec presses, voice carefully neutral.

“He wanted us to relay to you that this is a Downworlder affair, and for the Shadowhunters not to meddle unless they’re prepared to begin a war with Edom.”

The words come out in a single breath, rushed and trembling. He suspects it was infinitely more intimidating and terrifying than it sounds coming from three battered and bloodied Shadowhunters, but the message is clear: Don’t get involved.

“Thank you,” Alec finds himself saying, thoughts already trailing into a plan of action, mind already gearing for only two options. The first, to take an observer's role in this newfound issue of Downworld battles. The second, to raise alert to the Clave and begin to fortify the Institute for the foreseeable attack once involvement is inevitable. Or perhaps a third option is available, Alec speculates to himself.

Diplomacy.

There’s very little he knows of Magnus Bane, what scraps of information left of him are withheld in Clave documents. He’ll gather up what he can find, form a case to present to an angry, vengeful Greater Demon, and see if some sort of reasoning can be made.

With a sigh, Alec thumbs away the blooming headache from his temples and heads towards his office, doubt already sprouting up in the corners of his tenuous plans. Nothing is for certain, of course. Who’s to say Magnus Bane will be a reasonable man with the quivering display he left for Alec at the doors of the Institute. The only thing he knows for sure is that he’s going to get to the bottom of what’s going on and take care of it personally, Greater Demon or not, New York is Alec’s city now.

---

Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn for decades until his banishment to Edom at the beginning of the 1900’s, was frequently described as a hedonist. Reports on him vary from year to year. Some decades he remained under the radar, shielded from the eyes of the Clave. Others, he became notorious for begetting impish troubles between the classes. The only consistency found in any and all reports of the former High Warlock is the tendency towards extravagance and self-indulgence, with a craving for social gatherings.

Leaning back in his seat, Alec traces a finger along the case of his device and focuses on two words.

High Warlock.

He was obviously well-liked at some point in time, formidable enough to be deemed a worthy leader, and charismatic enough to be seen as an ambassador for other Warlocks. There must have been great strength at his hands, and greater support backing him to attain the level of priority that he gained.

So… what happened?

Power, clearly, and too much of it. The same Warlocks who hoisted him up petitioned to get him banished, cried his name in the streets of Brooklyn and swore his downfall.

And they made it happen.

Warlocks from all parts of New York flocked and rallied towards Brooklyn in hopes of seeing the demise of one Magnus Bane. Clave reports account for groups gathering outside of his apartment, banding together to peel away any protection shields cast up in defense. Among them, a leader: Lorenzo Rey.

The Clave watched from the shadows, vowed to not get involved in affairs they deemed less than worthy, but insisted on documenting it all. And Downworlders are the definition of unworthy in the Clave’s eyes.

There’s a nagging in the back of Alec’s mind, a wonder if anyone tried to help, tried to stop it. If there was another way.

But no, Downworlder affairs need not be meddled in, especially when Shadowhunters were never involved in the first place.

With a sigh, he sets down the reports and rubs at the bridge of his nose. What makes this situation any different? Magnus Bane threatened for Shadowhunters not to get involved. He sent a message back in the form of barely living soldiers who were just doing their duty, a message sent loud, but not so clear.

“Are you going to report this to the Clave?” Isabelle’s voice pierces through his thoughts, and Alec prides himself on only showing a fraction of surprise when he turns to face her.

“Of course I am, Izzy. It’s my duty.”

His sister peers down at him from her spot on the corner of his desk, eyes scrutinizing every emotion that flickers across his face. She doesn’t seem appeased with whatever she finds. “You can wait if you want, Alec. You can see what happens next. Try your plans first and go to the Clave later with your findings.”

Alec scoffs. “And have my position rescinded for failure to uphold the most basic understanding of status? The Clave will know everything I know, because that is what is right. They’ll know the best course of action, because they know Magnus Bane and what he’s capable of.”

Isabelle watches him for several long moments, trying to read for any hint of something to give away any of the thoughts running through Alec’s head. When she receives nothing, she nods and reaches for the handheld with the last report Alec was reading, and holds it in front of herself. She skims the words on the page, traces a slow finger from picture to picture, before settling on one that she sets down in front of Alec with a smile.

“You know, for a Greater Demon who’s here to enact his revenge on the Downworlders, he’s actually quite handsome.” Her lips pull into a smirk, and her eyes await a reaction, but Alec gives her none. He simply shrugs and locks the screen of the handheld. “He was, at least. Who knows what he looks like now after a hundred years in Edom.”

And honestly, the last thing Alec wants to focus on is the physical features of a Demon here to cause chaos. He doesn’t want to think about the picture of Magnus Bane in Clave documents, drink in hand and that perfectly tailored suit fitting his body, smiling at the photographer with his dark-rimmed eyes. It doesn’t matter what Magnus Bane looked like then, or even now. The only thing that matters now is the information he’s managed to scrounge up from every instance of this Demon’s name in Clave history, and how he can use that knowledge to his advantage.

Magnus Bane was cunning, sneaky, and smart in the early 1900’s. He was dangerous then, and Alec’s not going to believe that Edom did anything but magnify that danger after a century of letting his anger fester.

---

Moonlight spills through the windows, casts soft light along the path Alex takes as he makes his way, resigned, towards the infirmary.

The halls of the Institute are sparse with Shadowhunters now gathered in the training hall and library in hopes of strengthening themselves for whatever battle they foresee coming. It’s all for naught, Alec thinks to himself as he recounts the lackluster conversation that transpired between him and his parents just an hour ago, accompanied by Inquisitor Herondale.

“You’re to remain on the outside and cease any and all involvement in these Downworlder... squabbles.” Herondale’s voice had cut sharp and left no room for questions. Squabbles. That’s the extent that the Clave had watered this threat down to. A Greater Demon, capable of stripping away their ability to heal without the use of mundane technology. A Downworld squabble.

“Alec,” his mother’s stern voice had cut in, low and severe, “you need to make it absolutely clear to everyone that they are not to expose themselves to any fight that Magnus Bane chooses to partake in. Any patrolling Shadowhunters are there for one reason, and one reason only. To observe and record.”

Yes, to observe and record. To keep an account of what happened for Clave history. More ammunition for Shadowhunters to keep themselves separated from Downworlders, and information to add to the files of warlocks the Clave already suspects are dangerous. Fuel to the fire, all wrapped up in the innocent guise of history.

It doesn’t sit well with Alec, being a bystander to the havoc a furious Greater Demon might cause. The Clave won’t step in, they won’t be a helping hand in all of this, and Alec hates to sit on the sidelines of what could possibly be the worst decision in the history of the Accords.

But the Clave has the final say on any Shadowhunter involvement in Downworld affairs. The Clave is every bit as responsible as Alec for whatever presides in Brooklyn in the coming days. The Clave doesn’t want to stop Magnus Bane, so why should Alec?

Alec’s fingers wrap around the cool metal of the door handle when he remembers his mother’s face, the expression she wore so unabashedly in front of him. Disappointment so thinly veiled underneath all of that carefully crafted apathy. Disappointment for the way Alec offered his solutions to Inquisitor Herondale? Disappointment in the way Alec questioned the motives of the Clave for hiding in the background when they could find an alternative to be part of the solution? Disappointment in Alec, for becoming Head of the Institute, clearly unprepared and unwelcome by even his own mother?

The smile that graced his mother’s features when he first saw her had been enough for the newly awakened pride inside of him, seeking the tiniest shred of affirmation from his harshest critic. How short-lived it was. How quickly had that pride deflated into embarrassment when he began to speak of the attack from Magnus Bane and his mother’s eye shrouded themselves in disapproval.

Perhaps he could have done something differently today. He could have proceeded with a different plan of action that would have appeased Herondale’s thirst for non-consequential knowledge, if he had only known. But now he does, and though redemption is not far off, it’s going to be an uphill battle.

He’ll do better.

With a steadying breath, Alec pushes open the wooden doors to the infirmary and steps in.

There’s the distinct sterile scent of Iodine, and far more lines of IV that are hooked up than Alec is used to seeing. They’re a back up, mostly, for when an iratze isn’t enough, or the wounds are too infected with ichor to properly heal, but even then…

The click-clack of heels on tile brings his focus to the lithe redhead who steps towards him with pursed lips and a furrowed brow.

“It’s not the ichor,” Clary begins, wasting no time. She’s worked with Alec long enough to know he doesn’t think highly of beating around the bush or dawdling. “I was able to analyze the blood samples enough that I could detect a magical signature on all of them. Bane, of course, but it seems that the magic is keeping the wounds from healing. They’re not re-opening, so to speak, but they aren’t clotting and the stitches I’ve made don’t seem to be helping the process either. They just,” Clary inhales a deep sigh, and expels a shaky breath. “They just bleed. Not enough to drain them completely, but enough to cause substantial blood loss. With how much they’ve already lost and how much more they’re going to lose, they’re going to need several transfusions just to stay alive.”

Alec turns to face one of the Shadowhunters laying on the cold, white bed. There are bandages around his arms, patches of gauze scattered across his body and face and butterfly bandages to keep small wounds closed. But for every bandage, for every strip of white, there’s red that blots it. Small beads of blood that pool at each line of cuts until they brim over and cascade in a slow and steady spill of red that stains the sheets beneath.

Three Shadowhunters in critical care, while not a huge blow, only paves the way for bigger hits in the future if Alec chooses to stand in the way of Magnus Bane. It’s not a risk he’s willing to take, to bet it all on the unknown, to subject the very same people who put him in this position to the torturous death sentence of blood loss.

“What are we going to do, Alec?”

Clary’s voice is soft when she speaks, uncertainty replacing the confidence and assertion he’s so used to hearing. Yes, three Shadowhunters isn’t a big loss, but it’s an omen chilling enough that he doesn’t want to cause panic and worry within the Institute.

“We stay quiet about this. If anyone asks, the ichor and magic is causing a unique reaction that you’re working on a remedy for. They’ll be fine.”

They’ll be fine.

Even to himself, Alec sounds scared.

“Maybe we need to find Magnus Bane, we could talk to him and ask - “

“Ask what?” Alec snaps his attention towards Clary, who frowns up at him.

With a calculated pause, she surveys the room’s occupants. “We can ask him what he’s here for, what he’s trying to gain from this.”

“He wants whoever sealed him away in Edom to pay.”

Clary’s brows crinkle together, and her eyes focus as she undoubtedly tries to recollect any information on Magnus Bane she’s heard of over the years. There’s not much to remember, not much spoken through word of mouth besides cautionary tales and warnings on why Downworlders must always be watched. The real meat of the situation is hidden in the files of cases over the years. Cases that litter Alec’s desk, pages of text that have been ingrained into his mind.

“Maybe we could help him,” She offers, timidly.

“Help him?”

“I know it sounds crazy, us helping a Greater Demon,” Clary begins. “We work on keeping the Downworld in order so to speak, right? We make sure that danger doesn't seep through into mundane territory, and so far it is. We can seek out Magnus Bane, see why he’s after these people, who they are, and what he’s trying to achieve. Maybe… Maybe helping him will bring more peace than leaving him to his own devices.”

Clary’s not wrong, at least to Alec she isn’t. It’s the better option, to help Magnus Bane with whatever mission he’s steering towards so he can be done with it. Get him out of the way before it becomes a bigger issue with the Clave.

But the Clave.

“The Inquisitor doesn’t want that,” Alec explains tersely.

Clary rolls her eyes and wears a common expression of distaste so many around him always do when the Clave is involved. “They aren’t here, Alec. The Clave only cares about the Law, with no regard to how it actually applies to all of our lives in the Institute. You’re our leader now. I understand you report back to the Clave, but they don’t have to know. At least not yet.”

It’s a temptation Alec won’t entertain for longer than a brief second. Going against the Clave is not an option. They’ve been given orders, and he’ll make sure they follow them.

“We will not go-“

Alec’s words are interrupted by the high-pitched ringing of his phone that he answers immediately.

“Isabelle?”

“Alec,” There’s a loud crash that crackles through the receiver of the phone that instantly sets him on high alert. “Alec, he’s here. Magnus Bane, he’s come to Hotel DuMort with an army of demons. You need to come!”

“Hotel DuMort? What are you even doing there, Isabelle? You were told to stay out of this, you shouldn’t be anywhere near other Downworlders with Magnus Bane around!”

“Jace and I came to -“

There’s silence as the phone loses connection, and Alec can’t help the involuntary reaction of slamming his empty fist into one of the unoccupied beds of the infirmary. “Fuck,” he spits out, before shoving the phone into his pocket and making his way towards the door.

“I’m coming with you,” Clary shouts as she rushes to his side.

“You will stay here and stick to the plan, Morgenstern,” Alec grits through his teeth.

“There is no plan, Alec! I’m not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs, giving people false hope when I can go with you and help.”

A moment of silence. A moment where Alec feels the heavy thud of his heartbeat in the palms of his hand where his fists are balled so tightly, before he exits the infirmary in quiet anger with Clary trailing behind him.

---

There are screeches and screams that surround the Hotel DuMort as Alec and Clary gather closer. To mundanes, only quiet calm and the sounds of cars honking with idle engines fill the late night streets, but behind the screen of blissful oblivion lies something much darker, something far more inauspicious.

Sparks of red shoot from one of the top floor windows, and Alec and Clary dodge the shards of glass that sprinkle down on them as they search for an entrance. Magic enchants the walls and tingles against Alec’s hand as he pushes through one of the side entrances not blocked off with deadbolts and hanging locks. It would be almost too easy for any mundane to just waltz in, and he’s sure under different circumstances this would be a red-flag for Hotel DuMort’s compliance with the Accords to be taken into question.

The room inside is dark and empty at first glance, but a gasp from Clary and the tip of his boots hitting something raised against the floor shows him that they’re not alone.

A handful of lifeless bodies litter the floor in front of them, surrounded by darkness and sparks of electricity from the light sources that have been shot out and electrical wires exposed. Vampires. Demons. Nothing left alive.

It makes the fear of Jace and his sister being one of these figures all the more real, and he finds the weight of his feet carrying him faster towards the staircase door. Logically, he knows that’s not the case. He’d feel it through their bond if something happened to his parabatai, and he knows that Jace would throw himself into the line of fire first before he let anything happen to Isabelle. With Clary hot on his trail they race up the stairs, stamina and speed rune lighting up and fading quickly with the wave of their steles. It’s only a few quick minutes before they’re paused at the door to the 7th floor, only stopped by the body of a dead vampire blocking the entrance from the other side. With a grunt and a shove, Alec pushes the door open and they step through into a fight that’s already begun.

The sight of vampires greet them; teeth bared, claws sharp and blades in hand fighting off the demons that surround them, ash covering the floor they fight ont. Clary whispers his name, but he doesn’t turn to her, focused critically on the threats in front of them. Alec takes one step forward, close enough to the nearest vampire that he can almost get a word in, before he’s swiped at suddenly by a Ravener demon.

He dodges the first attack with several hurried paces back and reaches for an arrow from his quiver, before the demon fizzles out before his eyes. The final blow in question is dealt by Clary, who heaves a breath and grins at Alec as she pulls her seraph blade back from the fading particles of the dying demon. It’s one miniscule victory short-lived, however, because in its place pour in three more from the broken windows that line the walls. Alec nocks an arrow into his bow quickly and chances a glance towards Clary out of the corner of his eye, who curls her lips back in a grimace and readies for a fight.

Together, they take them out. One after another, an onslaught of demons rush and growl and shriek in attack. None of them get close enough to injure, though all of them try, and it’s not until the remaining few pull back and crawl through the windows that Alec realizes they’re not retreating for the sake of defeat.

“Upstairs,” Alec breathes, ragged. “Isabelle and Jace must be upstairs.”

“The demons are no-doubt being called back by Magnus Bane. We need to get up there.”

A hiss from the side catches their attention, a wounded vampire covered in blood and ichor. “Going up there is a death sentence. Your other Shadowhunters were already doomed before they’d even reach the top floor..”

There’s only a brief look of worry shared between them, before Clary and Alec are racing up the next staircase in search of Isabelle and Jace. Jace isn’t dead, he knows for a fact, but the possibility of Isabelle being injured fuels him up the next flights of stairs that tug at his parabatai bond. They’re close, he can feel Jace and the feelings being pushed through the bond right now. Confusion, anger, worry… Fear.

Fear of Magnus Bane?

They’re close, so close now, and Alec knows he’ll finally get answers to all of the questions and worries pouring through their minds as he and Clary push through that final door that leads them to the top floor of Hotel DuMort.

Relief overcomes him, spreads warmth through his body as he sees the golden blond of Jace’s hair, and his sister right beside him across the room. But it’s replaced, almost immediately, when he spots the scene that surrounds them.

In the middle of the room are two figures, Camille Belcourt who Alec knows to be the leader of the Brooklyn Vampire Clan, and someone he can only presume to be Magnus Bane.The pair of them ensconced in a circle of high red flames that prevent anyone from leaving or entering. There’s a conversation happening inside of it, screaming and yelling from Camille that Alec can’t hear through the roar and heat of fire, and wild gestures from Magnus Bane, whose back is turned to he and Clary.

Scattered around the room are clusters of vampires fighting off the unending horde of demons, unsuccessful in their endeavors. Jace and Isabelle are with them, the crack of his sister’s whip snapping louder than the crackling of fire that licks at Alec as he steps nearer. There’s no way around the fire, no way for them to get any closer even as he and Clary fight their way through the demons rushing towards them.

So they fight, continuously with only precious seconds in between each attack for them to catch their breath and gather their strength, but Alec doesn’t tire as the ichor mingles with the sweat soaking his clothes and coating his skin. He won’t give up until he finds a way to Isabelle and Jace, and he’ll die trying if he has to.

Another demon jumps at him, and this one catches Alec at an angle that his arrow can’t quite reach in time. The knowledge of being cut hits first, followed shortly after by the pain in his shoulder. It stings and burns, not from the fire, but from the magic laced and infused deeply within the demons themselves.

It’s a minor inconvenience, he tells himself as he reaches for the seraph blade holstered to his thigh and jabs it into the back of the demon as he dodges a second attack. It hurts, but it’s nothing he can’t stand, nothing an iratze won’t heal.

It’s a lie he knows to be true. He can feel the magic tingling against his skin where the blood begins to seep from the shallow wound. He’ll be fine for now, at least long enough to get them out of the building and back into the safety of the Institute.

A grunt beside him brings him back into the fight and he turns to see Clary swing her weapon into the skull of the demon closest to her, while kicking another into the fire beside her that consumes the demon with a sizzling crack. It’s almost more effective to use the fire to their advantage, Alec realizes as he and Clary share a knowing look. They change tactics quickly, rushing towards the demons from the outskirts of the room, boots thudding heavily against the hardened exoskeleton of the demons as they rush towards them. The vampires nearby take note, exhausted and battered far more than the two of them, and begin to follow suit.

It’s not long before the flocks of demons that pour into the room fade into a more sparse area of coverage and everyone involved in the small battle can take longer than a moment's breath.

Whispers and speculation fill the silence when only a few demons are left remaining, being fought off by courageous vampires with a sudden need to direct their adrenaline. In the middle of the room the fire howls fiercer, brighter and hotter as Camille and Magnus continue to occupy the center, closer than ever to each other.

There’s discourse, still an argument being had if the curl of the Magnus’ fist and Camille’s bared teeth are anything to go off of. It’s still too loud to hear the topic at hand, something unsettling and stormy brewing between the two, but then suddenly something shifts in Camille’s incensed demeanor.

It’s as if a switch has flipped, as if the anger has evaporated with the heat of the flames, and left in its place a barrage of tears that trickle down her face. She’s frustrated, Alec can see it in the square of her shoulders, but she’s given up the fight to Magnus. Part of him knows it’s not his place to care about the outcome of the events that are unfolding before them, that he has other more pressing matters at hand, such as getting to Jace and Isabelle. But the flames don’t give an inch of slack, and the path to them is blocked almost entirely by dead bodies and debris.

A pale hand reaches up, contrasting shockingly to the deep tan of Magnus’ cheek where it rests, color that Alec can see isn’t just the result of the shadows from the fire. From Alec’s spot behind Magnus, he can’t see the expression he wears or the effect this gesture has on him. What he can see, though, is the tense of his back through the black blazer that fits his body, and the way he straightens out the length of himself when presented with the vulnerability of Camille.

And Camille, for all her false innocence and shrewd manner over the years, seems genuine for once.

With rapt attention, Alec watches every step closer she takes.He can feel rather than hear the staccato click of her heels along the marble floor for every inch of distance she closes. He should look away, he thinks in a moment of polite weakness.

But, no.

This is a deliberate display, a show the two of them are putting on for any Downworlder, Shadowhunter, or Mundane who will watch. And so he does.

He watches, enraptured, as Camille raises herself onto the balls of her feet, black stilettos lifting and pale arms encircling the strong shoulders of the Greater Demon before her. He watches still, as the bright red lipstick that stains her lips also colors Magnus’ cheek and smears against their skin when she ducks her head into the junction of his neck. It’s almost too intimate for him to continue watching, the moment surely too much for them to all be allowed to partake in. It feels sinful, in a way. Alec almost averts his eyes, guiltily casting his gaze downward, when he catches Magnus’ hand reflecting back to him the brightest flames through the rings that adorn the fingers curling into the dark long locks of Camille’s hair.

Most importantly, in his bashfully thorough scrutiny of the scene before him, he watches Magnus’ other hand, unnoticed and dim in the shadows of their two bodies. A hand that ignites a soft blue nearly unseen through the fire, magic that produces a wooden stake to spear straight into the unsuspecting heart laid out before him.

A gasp, a lungful of staggered breathing fills Camille as she cries out in the same silent shock Alec feels vibrating through him. Her body, lithe and slender and her deep burgundy dress darken with color as she twitches and fades before them into slow settling ash on the floor, graceful and beautiful in ways that only the leader of the New York vampire clan could manage. But Alec pays her no mind as her memory slips lower beneath the line of his vision, all the while his eyes remain steadfast on the Demon before him. On Magnus Bane.

The fire lets up minutes later, and the surviving vampires rush towards Camille with their inhuman speed, crying and bemoaning the loss of their leader with wails that echo in the silence now befalling the room. There’s a tug in the pit of his stomach, a pull that he recognizes clearly as his parabatai bond. He should follow it to Jace, to Isabelle and undoubtedly Clary who is likely already with them. He knows, logically, what he should do now. He knows what’s expected of him, and he knows what’s right. And yet…

Now that he knows for certain his siblings are safe, there are more important matters at hand. Like the fact that Magnus Bane now stands in front of him, piercing Alec with golden eyes and the hardened exterior of a Greater Demon who shows no remorse for having just killed someone.

Time seems to move slowly as Magnus lifts a hand and summons a portal, an endless swirl of darkness that will release him from the destruction he’s leaving behind, that will take him further from the answers Alec seeks. Magnus turns then, takes one step into the void and the flow of time accelerates so quickly that in that instant Alec doesn’t realize he’s stepping through the portal with him until the roar of magic deafens him to the sounds of his sister’s call.

#shmb2021 #shadowhunters #malec #malec fanfiction #Magnus x Alec #magnus bane #alec lightwood

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rainythefox · 4 years ago

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Nightfall (Ch.14)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight Chris/Jill (There’s Wesker & William Bromance too lol). Rated M for eventual smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 14: On the Trail

The journey through NEST seemed to take ages this time. Claire was super lost now. How did these people know where they were going? The directions painted on the walls seemed alien to her.

She stayed close to Wesker, although the two barely spoke as he led her through the underground facility once more. That was fine by her. The redhead was still overwhelmed and distracted with what just happened. She tried not to think about it right now. It was something she'd need to process once she was back home, away from his scrutiny. As long as no one ever found out, especially Chris, she would be able to handle it.

The younger Redfield thought that was reasonable…until Dr. William Birkin stepped around the next corner, looking at some papers and whistling a tune.

Claire panicked inside. Wesker better not boast about what happened or she would kill them both…somehow. She remained calm on the outside, glancing up at Wesker. His expression was unreadable, except maybe it had eased up on his usual seriousness when spotting Will.

William looked up from his documents, noticing them. He took just one glance between the two of them before a wicked, all-knowing grin broke out on his face and Claire inwardly cringed. Could these two read each other's minds or what?!

She prepared herself for whatever cracks were about to come out of William's mouth.

"Dear God, it finally happened! Anne owes me fifty bu-" Wesker's hand smacked Will's face and knocked it back into the wall. "Ow!"

"Not a word," Wesker stated as his best friend rubbed the back of his head with a shit-eating grin.

This close, Claire realized the documents he had been reading were the same ones she had stolen from Raccoon University. She wondered what dark secrets they contained.

The eccentric researcher put up his free hand in mock surrender. "Okay, okay! I would never disrespect Claire that way...and expect to survive." His eyes found her and she instinctively balled a fist, ready to punch him where it counted. "Are you alright, Claire? I can castrate him if you wish. Unless you enjoyed it, of course."

Claire punched him in the gut. Will curled over, holding his stomach, wheezing. "So that's a no then...right?"

The redhead glared daggers at him as he slowly recovered from her punch.

"Never mind Claire, I deserved that, and Anne will kiss my boo-boo better tonight, so no harm done. I should thank you...", Birkin squeezed out, rubbing his abused belly.

"Dr. William Birkin, your presence is urgently needed in the incubation center," came the mechanical female voice on the intercom.

He hobbled away, mumbling to his partner. "She hits fucking hard. You're two are meant to be, Al."

Claire glared at his back as he went down another hallway, but Wesker got her attention by clearing his throat. "Shall we?" He looked amused by what had just happened, but Claire felt it was best to leave it alone. Once they made it up to the surface, Wesker surprised her.

"William is a complex man. It may not have seemed like it, but he was genuinely concerned when he asked your well-being." He opened the passenger door to his Jaguar for her, but she hesitated getting in.

"Your point?" Claire asked, looking him directly in the eyes, still disturbed and confused over all that happened tonight.

The STARS Captain half-shrugged, hand still propped on the open door. "Perhaps to spare him another of your retaliations, deserved or not, as much fun as they surely are. Besides, punishing him is my job."

She rolled her eyes and got inside the luxury sports car. Wesker shut her in and got in the driver seat. Claire stared out the window, flurries of snow falling in sheets now. It was just after 11p.m. according to the car's radio. She was ready to get home, bury herself in a mass of blankets and forget this whole nightmare. Boy, had she dug herself a hole so deep she could no longer see the light! She looked over at Wesker. The redhead cursed his good looks and silver tongue. But ultimately, she had done this to herself. She could've walked out that door. Could've said no, refused him. But no, she just had to prove to herself just how attracted to trouble she was...

As long as Chris doesn't find out…and he stays safe. That's all that matters.

For added measure, she wanted to take a whole week's worth of birth control, even if she had been diligently taking it for over a year. She couldn't imagine trying to come up with a story for that scenario if Wesker managed to knock her up.

It would probably come out looking just like him, blond hair, wearing sunglasses and all. No paternity test needed to explain that! She joked crudely, but soon dismissed it. Don't jinx yourself. He obviously didn't care about protection tonight. He got what he wanted.

"Something wrong?" Wesker asked, stirring her from her thoughts.

Claire blushed, realizing she had been staring at him, and hid her embarrassment with the first jeer to fly from her tongue. "For someone who doesn't like or want kids, you sure as hell didn't care about protection back there." Facepalm. Way to go, Claire, you fucking idiot.

A soft snort came from her brother's boss, and the sly smile that quirked made her heart do a funny flip. "You're on contraception, yes? Safyrallin?"

A strange, icy feeling bit its way into her spine. He knew what medications she was taking? Should she be surprised anymore? His satisfied half-glance her way confirmed he had revealed that knowledge with the sole intent to unnerve her even more. And it had worked.

"Don't act surprised, dear heart. I know nearly everything of all my quarries, including medical histories and prescriptions. Comes in handy where it counts."

I'm sure it does…

"Nothing surprises me with you and your lows anymore."

"Good. You're learning."

She shot him a glare just before they came to a stop at a red light. He looked at her, serious, piercing steel blue eyes freezing her in place. "I told you before I control most of this city and you thought I was bluffing. Do you still believe I am?"

Claire quietly shook her head. He smirked. His hand made contact with her thigh, caressing down and squeezing her knee. "I thought so."

The light turned green. His hand left her thigh, its burning, tingling touch slowly fading away within Claire's flesh beneath her jeans and she shivered.

Claire was relieved to finally see home come into view. Chris's truck was gone, but Wesker just pulled over to the curb. She was ready to get the hell out of that car, but her door was locked. She knew he would have one last thing to say to her, and so she turned to him, ready to get it over with.

"I'll be in touch soon, dear heart. The same conditions apply. Keep your stories straight and Chris nescient."

"I will," she snarked. "Now let me out."

Her door clicked, unlocking. Claire grabbed the door handle, but Wesker asked a question she wasn't at all expecting.

"Why did you use your mother's name tonight at the university?"

She wasn't shocked he knew her mother's name or that he asked her reasoning for using it tonight as her cover. But she was surprised by how he asked it. It was pure curiosity; no scorn, no teasing, no patronizing. Claire shrugged, not really knowing herself as she dug for an answer.

"I don't know. It was the first name I thought of. She went there when she was my age. Raced dirt bikes and motorcycles back when they had that." She stopped herself from rambling. "Why?"

"I would refrain from using family names in the future, especially one as unique as hers. It could get you into trouble. Always use fabricated aliases."

She nodded. "Okay." In a weird way, she knew he was advising her for her protection. She got out of the Jaguar and closed the door. The car sped away, the sleek black body disappearing into darkness, fading in flurries of snow.

It was nice to finally pull into his own driveway after most of the evening spent at the bar. Chris made sure Jill got home okay in her car. She had more to drink than him and the snowfall had picked up since they left. His partner told him to let her know if she was needed, in case Claire didn't come home. She also made sure to point out not to jump right in demanding answers for her supposedly being spotted with Wesker across town the other day. Well, no promises there. It had eaten at him more than he thought it would.

It was the moment of truth as he hit the front porch, stomping his boots to knock the snow off. He hoped his little sister had returned. It was nearly midnight! If she wasn't home, Chris swore he would hunt down this William Birkin fellow at his house. Just as he reached for his keys, hands frozen because he forgot his gloves (again), the front door opened. His heart skyrocketed. Claire! She was home! She was safe!

"Chris, get in here, ya goof! It's cold out there!" She grinned.

"Hell yeah, it is!"

He entered the warm house, stripping off his coat and boots and placing them near the door. He tossed his keys and wallet onto the nearby counter as he waltzed into the kitchen. Sizzling ham and cheese permeated the air. Claire flipped the grilling sandwich on the stove.

"You're hungry this late? Did you not eat at that guy's house?"

"I cooked a small meal for me and his daughter, but it was early. I didn't want to be rude and raid their kitchen waiting for them to get home while Sherry slept."

"Oh." That sounded honest enough. "So, how's the whole babysitting thing going?"

Claire's eyes dipped down, and she quickly made her plate. "It's been fine. Sherry's a real doll, and her parents are…nice." Okay, not as honest sounding, but maybe she was just tired.

Claire didn't bother sitting down to eat, just leaned against the kitchen counter as she took a big bite of her hot sandwich.

"Well that's…nice," Chris awkwardly replied. "Who told you about this job again?"

His sister chewed slowly, giving him a look. Chris' bullshit sensor went online immediately to filter her reaction for any dishonesty or half-truths, but she instantly was onto him. "Eh fren of eh fren."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

She swallowed. "Don't ask me dumb questions while I'm trying to eat."

"I'm not! I'm just…making sure everything is okay with you. You've been gone a lot recently. And…honestly, I'm starting to think you're hiding something from me, Sis."

"Bro, come on. I'm fine. Look at me! Just babysitting! I'm not getting into trouble, Jesus! You should know me better than that!"

She was getting a little defensive. Which meant she was telling the truth and getting mad he didn't believe her, or she was lying and was trying to cover it up. It was hard to say with his headstrong sister at times.

The older Redfield sighed. He was just going to have to come out and say it. "Look, Kendo told me he saw you and Captain Wesker together the other day across town. You got into his car. I'm just…wondering why? And you never mentioned it to me."

Claire nearly dropped her plate taking it to the sink. She had scarfed down her small meal as quickly as she could, probably to sooner get away from him and avoid his questions. It took her a moment to face him, trembling slightly as she rinsed off her dishes. When she turned around, she looked as though that sandwich did not agree with her stomach.

"Yeah? I was with him the other day, so what?"

He was stunned. "Why?"

"Does it matter?"

Chris kept his temper in check. "It does. He's my boss."

"You think we're bumping uglies or something? That'll be the day..."

"What?! N-No! I, I…" Chris stammered, completely thrown off by her accusation…even if Forest and Joseph's teasing of that particular subject had gotten under his skin. "I know Wesker wouldn't do that, I just…"

Claire snorted a laugh, and he didn't particularly know why. "Are we really doing this, Bro? We really gonna fight over something this stupid? If you don't think anything bad is going on between us, then why so goddamn nosy about it?"

"Why so defensive, if it's so innocent?"

"Because you're pissing me off with your constant police interrogations! I'm your sister, not a suspect! And I'm an adult! You really want to know why I was with Wesker? I bumped into him while picking up some things before going to William's. He offered me a fucking ride because he was being nice and looking out for me. He knows the fucking guy! They're friends. Are you happy now?!"

Silence. Thick, unbearable silence.

"Sorry, Sis…I just…" He was relieved, but he was far from happy. Maybe he had gone too far. He had done it before…a few times. Still, even with all this new information at the cost of a fight with Claire, something still didn't feel right.

"I'm taking a shower."

His little sister was mad now. But she also had tears in her eyes. Claire didn't typically cry when she was mad. Maybe she was just really frustrated with this whole mess. She stormed out of the kitchen and through the living room, taking to the hallway to her room. The door slammed shut, echoing across the house and rattling some pictures.

Chris rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah…he done fucked up.

This night had taken its toll on her. Claire screamed into her pillow, frustration, dread, anger, all suffocating her. Chris was making this so much harder. It didn't matter if he was just protecting her. She could protect herself, he knew that! But more so, he was pushing them both closer and closer to the edge where she would no longer be able to protect him. She had to figure out a way to get Chris off her back before he found out too much. But she had no idea how!

The younger Redfield needed a shower, badly. Not just to wash away all this tension and stress, but to wash away all where Wesker had touched and kissed and claimed. She could still feel his seed oozing within her, leaking between her tightly pressed thighs. And his hands roaming her body, igniting every single nerve.

Claire jumped to her feet, stripping. Disgusted, she tossed her dirty clothes into the hamper and entered her bathroom. She looked herself over in the full-size mirror. Wesker had kept his promise to not leave any marks where anyone could see, but she did notice the light bruises from his grip around her hips. One of her breasts had a small bruise too…from his mouth? Maybe? When she turned, she saw the faint marbling on her lower back from hanging over the back of the couch. Yeah, she's gonna be feeling that tomorrow! She was already feeling a lot of it. Her pussy was sore from all the friction with Wesker's large member. Her legs were still questionable with walking and balancing.

She was soon distracted by cold seepage between her legs, courtesy of Wesker. Gross! Claire wrinkled her nose in displeasure and quickly grabbed up a sponge as she turned on the shower, getting it as hot as she could stand. Steam filled the bathroom soon after. She would clean every single inch of herself from him, if only to make her feel that Wesker hadn't somehow laid complete claim to her tonight. No, she would wash it all away, she would refuse him next time. And, by God, she would find some way to keep Chris from finding out the truth…

The following morning went as expected. Claire didn't get up to greet him good morning or join him for breakfast. Chris didn't let it bother him. After all, Claire could hold a grudge longer than he could. It was his fault anyway. He left her the key to his truck just in case and caught a ride with Jill.

"I told you! Didn't I tell you?!"

Jill berated him (and slugged him hard in the chest) as they got coffee and made their way to the STARS Office. The Raccoon Police Department was already a hustle and bustle.

"I know, I know! I'm stupid, okay?"

"I know you're just trying to be a good big brother," Jill reassured. "I know all the hardships you two have been through and you worry for her. But she is an adult, and you taught her how to take care of herself really well! You don't want to spend Christmas fighting, do you?"

He couldn't believe Christmas was less than a week away. "No…"

"Then make up with Claire and let go of whatever's making you obsess over something being wrong with her. She's fine!"

The partners dodged heavy foot traffic of police officers, civilians, detectives and desk workers, taking the stairs. On the second floor of the main hall near the Lion Statue, they spotted Chief Irons bitching at the Captain and Vice-Captain of STARS. Enrico looked tired, after all, he'd been here all night, and looked as though he toned out the Police Chief, dreaming about his bed instead. Wesker rolled his neck, apathetic of Irons's rant. He noticed them but didn't say anything as they walked by.

"Poor Wesker and Enrico. I don't know how they deal with that asshole constantly," Jill sighed.

"Enrico says he just hears the sounds that Charlie Brown's parents made," Chris joked. "And I'm pretty sure Wesker just thinks of all the ways he could murder him."

"Who hasn't?"

They both laughed.

Jill stopped to pet her favorite K9, Vance, in the hallway just down from their office. The RPD used Dobermans for their K9 officers over the more popular German Shepherd. The old red Doberman was close to retirement, having served six years so far. Chris high-fived the dog and they went on.

When they entered the STARS Office, they were greeted with the usual faces, but also a familiar one they didn't see as often. Barry, Joseph, and Brad were chatting with Kevin Ryman, an outgoing fellow police officer. Barry leaned on one desk, arms folded, grinning as Kevin exuberantly told a story about a disturbance call for a party.

"The guy was handcuffed to the bed with a horse mask and socks on only! He even had the gall to neigh when we were arresting him! Weirdest shit ever, I couldn't keep a straight face, man."

"Sounds like one hell of a party, damn!" Joseph laughed.

"Oh, so you weren't in the horse mask this time, Kev?" Chris ribbed.

Kevin noticed them and laughed, bumping firsts with Chris. "Redfield! You wish. You know I always use a unicorn mask, bro! Rainbow mane!" He flipped his dark hair dramatically.

"Oh lord," Jill shook her head, smiling.

"Badass Jill, looking lovely as always. How do you get through the day surrounded by these dweebs all the time?"

"Funny," Chris interrupted, knowing Kevin was just joshing, but he was a little defensive because he knew he was also flirting. "What're you doing up here anyway?"

"Oh, dropped off my paperwork again. Another STARS exam test coming up! I got a good feeling about this one!"

"Again?" Joseph asked, skeptical, but was smacked by Barry. He rubbed his arm in pain.

Kevin had tried the exam for STARS twice now, and failed both. It wasn't as though Kevin didn't have the necessary qualities. He was a great cop and a nice guy. But he was still inexperienced, and well, a little too carefree at times.

"Best of luck when the time comes, Kevin!" Brad encouraged. "You can do it."

"Yeah, just keep training," Chris said.

"And studying," Jill added.

Kevin nodded with a grin. "Will do!"

The door to the STARS Office creaked open and finally their Captain had escaped Irons' tirade. Chris just hoped it didn't put him in an awful mood. That always made for long days. Wesker glared at Kevin behind dark shades. The young police officer shrank a little under the scrutiny.

"Ryman! What are you doing in my office?"

"Uhh, sorry, sir! Just turned in my paperwork for the next exam. It's on your desk."

"You're trying...again?"

"Yessir! Third time's a charm, ain't that what they say?"

Wesker walked over to their huddle, coffee cup in hand. "Perhaps you should give yourself more time for training? Save face, yes? There's no shame in that."

Kevin chuckled. "Of course I'll save my face for the new STARS poster! Besides, I have no shame!"

Barry facepalmed for everyone.

With one eyebrow raised, it was obvious Wesker couldn't decide if Kevin was joking or just dumb. "Clearly..."

"Just you wait, Captain Wesker! In a few months I'll be the newest Alpha member!"

"Bravo. It's for Bravo...if you even bothered reading the memo."

"Oh...yeah." Kevin snorted. "I knew that!"

Wesker smirked. "Good. Then that means you also read the qualifications needed. Chemical science, pathology and toxicology. You know, chromatography, spectrophotometry, ballistics, post mortems, the simple things. Oh, and let's certainly not forget that they need to be a healthcare specialist as well."

Kevin gulped. "Uh, is that all?"

"The basics. I'm sure you'll do fine. You're a smart lad, after all."

"Yeah...okay." The young cop gathered himself up and cleared his throat. "Well, I better get back to my desk and get some paperwork filed. See ya guys later!"

"See ya, Kev."

Once the door shut, they all looked to their Captain. Barry scratched the back of his head. "Jesus, Wesker, you really go for the kill, don't ya? Did you have to humiliate the kid so much?"

"He'll be fine. Builds character. Besides, some people are impervious to humiliation. Look at Frost."

"Hey!"

"It was a compliment, you idiot."

"Oh…"

"So, it's true then? Kenneth's gonna retire in a couple of years?" Jill asked.

"That's the plan," Wesker answered after a sip of coffee. "It'll take me months to find someone promising, I'm sure, even with scouting outside the state."

Barry sighed. "If 'ol Ken does an early retirement, I might have to as well."

"Don't you dare, Barry," Chris threatened light-heartedly. "Although getting weapons supervisor would be pretty awesome."

Barry snorted a chuckle. "You sound mighty sure of yourself there, 'ol buddy."

"I already promised Chris he would get it," Wesker informed.

"Hey, no fair. Don't I get a say in who would get my spot?"

"Would you rather me give it to Frost?"

Just as Joseph grinned, Barry ruined the moment. "Hell no!"

Barry slapped his large hand into Joseph's back playfully.

"Okay then," Wesker said, glancing at his watch when the phone on his desk started ringing. "Besides Barry, if you retire early, I'd have to blackmail you to stay, and I currently have too many blackmailing affairs to manage another."

They laughed as he left them to answer his phone. Chris nudged Jill and they went to their desks to get to work.

"Sometimes he sounds a little too serious when he says stuff like that," Brad said, his chair squeaking as he sat down.

"I'm telling you guys, secretly a supervillain," Joseph joked as he signed into his computer.

Chris rolled his eyes. "It's called dry humor, Brad. You should know him by now."

"I know that! It's just...I don't know, sometimes I think he really means what he says."

They focused on their work for a while. Chris tried hard not to let his sister and their fight distract him, but he did find himself zoning off for minutes at a time. He stared at the picture he had of them together on his desk, CDs, pens, and change scattered around the small frame. A hand touched his as it hovered just over his keyboard, and he pulled out of his thoughts to look at Jill.

Her reassuring smile centered him quickly and he returned it. No soon after did their Captain emerge from his room, taking his shades off long enough to rub his eyes. He looked a little tired, but Chris knew that wasn't all that abnormal.

"I do hope you all remembered that today is marksmanship training? I have to turn in all the paperwork by the end of the day."

Brad groaned softly and made himself smaller, but that only caused Wesker to single him out faster. "Vickers, front and center."

"Yes sir," he mumbled, getting up and plodding over to the door.

The two left the STARS Office, presumably heading down to the B1 floor of the police department where the firing range was. Chris, Jill, Barry, and Joseph remained, typing reports for previous and ongoing investigations. As an elite force, the STARS was subject to ongoing training and development. It wasn't anything new. Usually, marksmanship training was an extra forty hours every year, give or take. There was also training in defense tactics, legal education, and rescue procedures, to name a few.

Over the course of the morning and early afternoon, Brad, Jill, Joseph, and Barry got their training and returned to the office, informing the next member to go to the firing range. Chris was last, nodding as Barry jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

He made his way down to the B1 floor, mind flooded with thoughts of Claire and how he would fix their situation, torn on burying his instincts and letting it go to make up with his sister, or continue following his gut to figure out exactly what he was missing here.

"Chris, am I happy to see you. Means I'm about done wasting my time for the day."

Chris chuckled at Wesker. "How'd the others do?"

"Fine, as to be expected. But they still don't shoot anything like you. So, why don't you be a showoff and ace the training so we can get out of here?"

Wesker was never one to beat around the bush. Chris respected the man more for his direct nature, even if he was an asshole at times. Though he was well mannered and professional around most, and even a little friendly to those he liked, the STARS Captain wasn't known for sugar coating or being amenable.

Perhaps that was why he and Chris bumped heads at times, as Chris couldn't help his own rebellious, straightforward nature that got him canned many a times for insubordination, including his career in the Air Force. The other STARS members may have joked that he was a favorite to their pragmatic Captain, but he wasn't a stranger to any of his rebukes or discipline. Still, Chris was grateful that Wesker allowed him on the team despite his history, and was willing to work with and advise Chris as he, well, grew up a little.

Chris nodded, faintly smiling. "Sure."

As he walked over to the selection of weapons on the table, he hoped he could suppress his worries of Claire and all that was going on long enough to concentrate on the marksmanship training. Then again, sharpshooting came as natural to him as breathing. So, he had nothing to worry about...right?

First up on the list was the W870. Chris fitted his earmuffs and walked over to his booth in the firing range. He used the 12-gauge shotgun to clear the targets in a quick amount of time, and also reloaded and took apart the gun. Wesker didn't say anything, and didn't even mark anything on the sheet, arms folded, bored. It was typical of Chris to ace the whole training, and so it wasn't anything new that Wesker took this time to be absorbed into his own thoughts. Although, Chris distinctly detected that the Captain seemed distracted today.

Chris dismissed it and grabbed the next gun. MQ11. Not his favorite, but it was a handy little machine gun. He taught Claire how to shoot one of these. She liked it a lot, he recalled. She also liked the GM79 he "accidentally took home but actually took out to the country to shoot on more than one occasion". She was a good shot with that thing!

Jill was right...He did teach Claire how to take care of herself, quite well. She was a good shot with all kinds of weapons, even ones not supposed to be in the hands of civvies. He taught her self-defense, and she was so smart. Smarter than he was at that age. So why was he so worried that something was wrong?

As he reloaded and took apart the small machine gun, he really picked at it. He at first thought maybe she was in trouble somehow, but now he didn't really feel that way. His gut kept telling him she was hiding something from him, but what? If she wasn't in trouble or danger, what could she be hiding?

He picked up the Samurai Edge next, the Kendo-modified M92F handgun all STARS were issued with. As he checked the gun over and lined up his sights, it finally hit him.

"A friend of a friend."

"He offered me a fucking ride because he was being nice and looking out for me. He knows the fucking guy! They're friends. Are you happy now?!"

He pulled the trigger, appalled by that connection - and completely missed his mark...

He despised days like these. Unfortunately, it was protocol, and Wesker needed to keep up appearances. The Captain supposed it could be worse. The stoic leader of Alpha team actually liked most of his subordinates. The marksmanship training was simple, but time consuming. It often made his mind wander, which he usually didn't care for. That is, if his co-workers didn't feel the need to be chatty with him as they trained.

While enduring today's lackluster training sessions, most of his thoughts consisted of something he wasn't expecting: Claire. He tried to focus on more important matters, like his and William's next step against Roth, or even the next set of experiments for G. But they would soon all go back to her. The way she sounded and moved underneath him, the way she tasted, the way she felt. That little taste was an addiction for sure, and he found himself craving to take her again.

Yet, he hated distractions. So why was he letting her consume his thoughts so much?

Seeing Chris was a relief. He was the last one for training, and he always finished in impeccable timing. Soon he could get out of this noisy dungeon and put his mind to something more productive.

Everything was going smoothly until Chris missed a target. Wesker did a double take to make sure he not only heard correctly, but saw correctly. Chris faltered, but the next few trigger squeezes came swiftly. He hit the remaining targets, but his aim was off. It didn't look like much, but to sharpshooters like Chris, it was concerning.

"Redfield, what's your problem?"

His point man flinched, staring across the way at the targets. He lowered the handgun, his eyes slowly turning his way. His usual, and occasionally annoying, aura of confidence was shaky now. Wesker didn't appreciate how Chris was looking at him.

Great, a heart-to-heart I have to pretend to care about. This day just keeps getting better by the minute.

"So-Sorry, Captain. I, uh, don't know what happened," he said when Wesker approached him.

"Do you wish me to write these marks down on your sheet?"

"No! I can redo it! I...I just had bad ammunition, is all."

Wesker grabbed the gun from the table and quickly fired one-handed down the range, emptying the remaining magazine. Five shots perforated the bulls-eye of one target. "Seems fine to me."

Chris looked away, rubbing the back of his head. It was unlike him at all. Wesker would've preferred that Redfield temper that usually tested him on the worst of days.

Wesker sighed. "So, let's hear it."

"What? I'm fine. I'm just having an off day…"

"You're distracted. I cannot have one of my best men in such a state. I need you focused. This team relies on you, and so do I."

Chris didn't say anything. Wesker contained his irritation. He hated his time wasted. Apparently, he needed to give him a little push, since Wesker had a suspicion he knew exactly what was bothering him.

"Let me guess, trouble at home?"

That wide-eyed, nostril-flaring stare told him he was correct. No surprise.

"How did you-"

"I have ears," Wesker cut him off. "You've mentioned it once or twice, not to mention Jill and Barry talk as well."

"Oh...right."

"You obviously need to vent. I'm here to listen and give advice, if you choose so. It is my responsibility to look after you and make sure you are fit to do your job - physically, mentally, and emotionally."

"Thanks, that's alright, Wesker. I appreciate it. You probably wouldn't understand...not having a sister and all."

"I do have a sister, actually."

At least, that is what they proclaim her to be…

He pushed those vexing thoughts aside. For now, there was a more pertinent problem at hand.

"You have a sister?" Chris didn't hide the disbelief in his voice.

"I'll give you the whole family tree one day, if you will just focus on you," he dismissed.

"Alright, alright." Chris sighed heavily, scowling. He gathered his thoughts, still perturbed. "Well, Claire and I had a big fight last night. I kind of...accused her of hiding something from me."

I detest insignificant euphemisms...

"You either did or you didn't, so which is it?"

"Okay, sheesh, I accused her! She blew up...she's got a temper like me."

As I've seen…

"What do you think she is hiding?"

Chris thought hard. "I...don't know. I feel it. I know her. It's been going on for a week now, ever since she went to that damn hiking trail. I-I thought maybe she got herself into some trouble, but now…"

"Time for some hard reality, Chris: your sister is an adult. She can live her life however she chooses. Do you really believe you should be able to have a say in every aspect of her life?"

"Well, I..."

It was a rhetorical question, you fool.

"Forgive my candor, but you are only pushing her away. If she is hiding something from you, perhaps it is because she fears your judgment or overprotective propensities. You should put more trust into her."

"I know that…"

Despite his agreement, the STARS Captain still sensed conflict within him. He wasn't particularly worried about Chris's instinct about Claire, but did find it impressive.

"If you know that, then why still so insecure?"

"Look...there's something else bothering me, and I hope you don't take this the wrong way...but Kendo said he saw you and Claire together the other day. She got into your car…"

Interesting. Wesker kept a straight face, knowing Chris would gauge his reaction. Little did his subordinate know, he was a master at this game.

"And?"

Chris's eyebrows furrowed, and he frowned. "I guess I'm just surprised you didn't say anything about it to me."

"Why would I?"

He didn't say anything, eyes shifty, fidgeting instead, like William often did when he was uncomfortable. Wesker sighed, deciding to push him even further.

"You asked Claire about it. It's what started the feud." It was a random guess, but the way Chris squirmed told him he was right on the money. This was almost too easy! "And what did she say to that?"

"N-Nothing really."

"Humor me."

"I guess she thought I was implying that something...indecent happened between you two. But I wasn't! I swear! I know you wouldn't do that!"

Don't lie, Chris! This had to be the highlight of his day, so far. It took a lot of willpower to keep himself composed.

"That's exactly what happened between us," Wesker said in the driest tone he could manage.

Chris grimaced and quickly shook his head. "No! Come on, Wesker, I didn't mean it like that, she just took it that way! She said you gave her a ride to William's to babysit after running into her across town. I didn't know you were the one who told her about the job!"

Oh, I certainly did give her a ride...

"I did. I overheard Barry say she watched his daughters and William needed somebody short notice. I'm sorry, am I missing something here? Was I supposed to leave your sister in a questionable part of town with only a cab?"

"No, no, of course not! I appreciate it, Captain, really."

"Then what is your problem, exactly? I can understand why Claire lost her temper. You seem awfully worked up over nothing, Chris."

Chris smacked a hand to his face, groaning. "I'm sorry, okay? It's this...gut feeling. I can't shake it."

"Instinct is useless when inhibited by emotions." Chris looked away, considering his words, still unsure. As frustrating as he was, Wesker had to commend his point man for his intuition. "You said this all started after Claire went hiking?"

"Yeah. She was fine until she came home that day. Hasn't been right since. I think something happened out there."

"Did you go out there and look for yourself?"

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

Chris shrugged. "I guess because I know I won't find anything, or that it's a foolish endeavor."

Wesker sighed. "Indeed, quite foolish. But I suppose we better get it over with."

"Huh? What do ya mean?"

"The sooner we go out to this hiking trail and put your worries to rest, the sooner we can put this behind us and you can focus on your job. Now come along, that's an order."

Chris trudged forward with a groan. "Yes sir…"

Chris was thankful for the sunshine when they pulled up to the Arklay Hiking Trails. The trails were open, but they were the only ones around. Most people didn't want to run or hike in freezing weather, although with the sun out it wasn't as bad as it's been. They got out of the STARS marked Ford Expedition and looked around.

"Please tell me you know which trail she took?" Wesker asked.

"Yeah." Chris motioned to the two-mile trail nearby. "This one. We walk it a lot."

"Lead the way."

The two men took to the pathway, straight into the woods. Chris checked his watch. It was lunch time. Hopefully, Jill wasn't too worried. He and Wesker had left straight from the gun range to the parking lot and out in the squad car, not bothering to tell anyone. Jill probably assumed he went home for lunch to see Claire. Although, if they found out he was with Wesker, it wouldn't be too out of the ordinary. Their Captain preferred to do his own thing on his lunch hour mostly, but he did eat lunch with them on occasion.

Chris was certain Wesker would've preferred utilizing his lunch break in a more practical way.

"You really didn't have to do this, Wesker. It's a stupid thing, I know. I shouldn't let home affect my work."

"Don't mention it, Chris. Really. Don't. Let's just focus on finding whatever you're looking for."

Yep, that was his no-nonsense boss. Most people would've taken his remark all wrong, but Chris knew better and took no offense.

They followed the forest trail. The sun reflected off melting snow and there were a lot of deer, birds, and rabbits. Chris told Wesker how Claire had made the comment about being freaked out by a dead deer out here.

"And you don't believe that?" Wesker inquired. "Seems plausible."

"Nah, Claire doesn't scare easily...and isn't squeamish."

They were probably a little over halfway through the trail, Chris about ready to give up, when he spotted something not far off the trail. It was easily missed, but he somehow caught it contrasting on a knotted root, soaked from melted snow, and glinting in the sun.

He broke away from Wesker and the road to get a closer look.

Chris's blind trust in him was almost too much. While they travelled the path, Chris doing most of the talking while looking out for any clues, Wesker weighed his options here.

Thanks to his brotherly instincts and innate perception as a cop, Chris was close enough on the proverbial trail that he could become a threat. Sniffing away like a hound hot on the scent. And he was close to baying. It was Wesker's job to shoot the hounds before they found the foxhole.

Wesker would actually hate to have to put this dog down. Such a waste. And so when Chris left the path to kneel next to a muddy mound of leaves and roots, he pulled his gun out from its holster and aimed it at the back of his head.

Too easy. Only a few people saw them leave together, and that was easily manipulated. The surveillance footage in the underground parking lot could be deleted with one order to Irons.

Perhaps he could throw him off the scent? He was an important asset, and yet Wesker actually liked him. Then again, this was business, and assets could change on a whim.

He itched to pull the trigger, to blow his unsuspecting subordinate's head to pieces just like the last fool he killed out here.

Why?

Claire, he finally admitted. He wanted her with no obstacles to stop him.

He ultimately lowered the gun, holstering it. Killing Chris now gave him no advantage, and wasn't beneficial in any way, especially with Claire. So, he would do this favor for her, and she would owe him for his mercy.

"Find something?" Wesker asked.

"A watch," Chris answered, standing up, looking it over, none the wiser of what could have been his end. "From who though?"

Wesker looked at it. He recognized the broken wristwatch. Ned Finley's, probably lost when he and William caught him out here alone. He had only killed the man a week ago, but this small item was missed by the cleanup crew. Luckily, it wasn't anything incriminating. People lost watches all the time.

"From your dead deer perhaps?"

Chris sighed, downhearted, and cast the watch away. "I don't know anymore. I must be losing it."

"Honestly, I just think you're conflicted, Chris. You know she's an adult, but old habits die hard, and you worry that you cannot be there at all times for her anymore. You think something is wrong, but there isn't. Just stress and emotions."

"Well, yeah, I know that. She's been living off on her own and doing her own thing for two years, so I'm used to it. I thought this was something different…"

Wesker crossed his arms, welcoming the chill on the wind. "It takes time to fully realize it. As she explores her life more, relationships, goals, and the like. Again, you just need to trust her more."

"I do trust her. I just...She's all I have...after what happened to our parents. I don't want anything to happen to her."

"That's the idea, isn't it?" Wesker asked. "If you don't let anything happen to her, nothing will happen to her. You take the good with the bad. Unfortunately, that is life."

Chris slowly nodded, taking in his words, finally pacifying. "You know what, you're right...Thanks, Wesker."

Wesker was relieved. Seemed like he was able to finally get through to him, and throw him off the scent. He was ready to put this behind them and move on. He clapped Chris on the shoulder. "Come on, we should get back. You have training to finish."

"C'mon Al, I neeeeeeeed details!"

"I've already told you all I'm willing to share. Is it still not enough?"

"No!"

"Quit chewing my ears off Will, I swear you're worse than Mike Tyson. And that's saying something..."

"You both are despicable." Annette typed away on a small laptop behind Wesker and William, logging recent findings.

Wesker tried to ignore them both and do his work. This whole day had been a complete headache to him, and he wanted to finish out the night with some worthwhile results. Although working beside his partner as he drooled for more details on his coupling with Claire, he doubted he would succeed. William's sly grin in his peripheral vision was highly aggravating and distracting.

"I will break your nose again," Wesker warned.

"Oh, come on! Was she just a fling…or, ya know…is it something more? I can tell you like her a lot. Is she the one? Because, I'm thinking…she needs to be."

Wesker pinched his nose, his headache inflating by the second. "I'm sure I'm about to regret asking, but what is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying! Hear me out…I may - or may not - have gotten a sample of Claire's DNA and ran some tests. And according to my results that I, ahem, may have received, her genetics compliments yours greatly!"

Annette turned around with a glare. "William! Really? Didn't you do this with Anezka?"

Wesker clenched his jaw, hand closing tight on the pen he was trying not to stab into his best friend's jugular vein.

"SHHH, don't say her name!" William hissed. "You'll put Al in a sour mood! Besides, I did not! She…beat me up when I tried. So violent...Al sure likes 'em feisty!"

William's wife rolled her eyes, flipping the notes on her clipboard. "Get over yourselves. Both of you. We have much more important matters at stake here."

William waved her off. "Claire's good breeding for you, Al. Just saying. Besides, it's obvious to me that you like her. You just refuse to admit it, even to yourself."

"I'm concerned on multiple levels on why you are so obsessed with me procreating."

The Golgotha creator fidgeted under Wesker's glare, pulling at his shirt collar. "Hey! I beg to differ, buddy. I'm just trying to help you find love since you're absolutely hopeless at it without me!"

Wesker shook his head and turned back to his work. "Drop it. I made a point with Claire yesterday. That's all it was."

"Whatever you say, pal."

William sure was testing him tonight. Gratefully, he fell quiet after that and the three of them were able to start a fresh round of tests on William's new phase of the G-Virus. While Annette typed away behind them, the two partners worked in perfect sync, programming the computer to handle most of the work and watching the analysis onscreen.

"So, what else did Nikolai want in payment for his service besides money? You never told me."

Wesker flipped through some of William's notes to make sure all the sequences were matching up. "He wanted the Colonel's confidential list of Monitors in the UBCS."

"Why? That's not suspicious at all. Ain't Sergei his bestest bud?"

Wesker sighed. "Don't know. Don't care. I assume Nikolai wishes to have it in case he can use it to his advantage in the future. He likes to think ahead, like us."

William tapped his pen impatiently. "Yeah, well, as long as he stays out of our way."

The next hour played out smoothly, without errors or hiccups. They got a lot of work done, and Wesker was impressed with William's ingenious theses. His old friend was always a bit better at the scientific research side of things.

Wesker's headache was just about gone now that they were close to finishing up for the night, when the Birkins started up another conversation.

"Anne, did you hear Sherry say she wants to become a professional artist?"

"Really? When did she say that?"

"This morning getting ready for school. I mean, she is quite the artist, but she's definitely becoming a researcher."

Anne frowned, fiddling with her glasses hanging around her neck. "Ya know…I often wonder what Sherry will become when she's an adult. What kind of life she will lead. Who she will marry and have kids with. Don't you ever wonder that, Will?"

"Why? When I know she's gonna become a researcher like me?" Will snorted. "My beautiful girl is gonna follow in her daddy's footsteps!"

Anne sighed and turned to Wesker. "What do you think, Albert?"

"She'll probably end up with a cocky, foul-mouthed delinquent who gets her into nothing but trouble," Wesker made up. Anne's glare was worth it.

"...and have his pretty babies," he added with a smirk, just because he knew it would drive the Birkins nuts.

"Over my dead body!" William huffed. "In fact, no dating until she's like…thirty…maybe! She won't be having no miscreant's offspring either!"

Wesker snickered as his partner went off on an incoherent rant about Sherry's future love life. Annette tried to smite him with her eyes and then had to bring her husband to his senses.

"-and if he has a motorcycle, that's it, hell no. I'm getting the shotgun! No, scratch that, he'll become my next guinea pig!"

"Will, Christ, shut up. Albert's just busting your balls as usual. Can we please get back to work? I swear your two are even more pains in my ass when you're together."

"He started it!"

"Real mature, William."

"Just stating the facts, partner."

"If we're stating facts, you actually started it, old friend, with your incessant whining for more details of my personal engagements."

"I explicitly offered you to draw me diagrams instead if you're too embarrassed, but noooo…you still don't wanna share, ya prude old party pooper."

Annette groaned "I'm gonna kill you both."

A video screen popped up on William's computer, covering his work and showing the hallway just outside the laboratory. The word "Caution" flashed. It showed the guard standing by the door with a familiar face waiting impatiently. The guard's voice filtered through the computer's speakers. "Dr. Birkin? Sorry to interrupt but you have a visitor that's not on the schedule. A Miss Ada Wong?"

Wesker nodded at William, but not without hearing Anne's mutter of disapproval.

"Yep, send her in, Johnny!"

"Yessir."

Annette crossed her arms. "Is there a reason why you two are still allowing her in here to do business? Can it not be handled somewhere else?"

"Be nice, honey! Ada's on our side."

"I have a feeling one day she won't be."

"You worry too much, Anne," Wesker added. "As long as I'm around, you have nothing to worry about with Ada."

"Coming from you, that does not relieve me in the slightest."

The double agent entered the laboratory and instantly made herself at home when she found them in the back. She greeted them with her usual charm and grace. Birkin responded like a hormone-stricken adolescent, making his nearby wife roll her eyes and gather up her things.

"Excuse me."

"Dinner time already, Annie?" Ada teased.

"Definitely not. I've suddenly lost my appetite."

"Again?" Ada slyly smiled. "You keep that up, you'll shrivel up even more than you are now."

Annette didn't take the bait, and sauntered out of the laboratory. Ada shrugged, unimpressed from not getting any witty banter back, and turned to the two infamous partners in crime. Wesker could tell something was bothering Ada, but she kept it well hidden as she noticed William wriggling in his seat with a stupid grin on his face.

"What's your problem, Will?"

"Guess what - Al banged Claire last night!"

Wesker glared at his partner. William winced, expecting retaliation that he was about to deliver, but the way Ada subtly flinched intrigued him more. He temporarily let his old friend off the hook, if only to study the agent more closely.

"Would you like to announce it to Sergei and Spencer as well? Or how about her brother? Do I need to cut your tongue out and feed it to one of your less successful 'experiments'? Because you sure are tempting me tonight."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself! Ada's good at keeping secrets, that's the only reason I told her."

Ada casually shrugged it off, but Wesker knew her half-smile to be not only forced, but bothered. It would have fooled anyone else. She was a great actress, after all. "And this is something I should know or care about because…?"

William expertly leaned just out of his best friend's reach. "No reason really, maybe just to see how you'd react."

"How would you expect me to react? I don't know the girl. I wasn't able to pick her up last night because of the change in plans. Nikolai picked her up, remember? I just know what you two have told me. It's none of my business what Albert does in his personal time. And same with you, William, because I don't think it's anything I want to know about."

Hmm, so his speculations were correct. Ada had met Claire personally, and the two of them were keeping it in secret. But why was Claire such an interest to Ada? So much that she exposed herself like so? At first, he considered maybe he should be concerned with her behavior, wondering if she was siphoning information to the Colonel behind his back instead of keeping him at bay.

Wesker soon dismissed it. Ada was clever. Such a situation with Sergei could expose them all, and Ada had too much at stake to risk dealing such a hand. Not while he had her under his thumb. And certainly not while Umbrella's rival had big expectations from them both.

More than likely, Ada met with Claire to get as much information as she could about her and why Wesker was keeping her alive. Not just because of the assignment Sergei had given her, but because of her own curiosity; to give herself the best odds at dissuading the Colonel's interest in the matter. Perhaps she had sympathy for Claire, or sought something to use against Wesker. The latter was unlikely, as the two of them were in the same boat, no matter what. Too useful to each other to kill and too detrimental to expose the other.

"If you want more details, you're gonna have to use your charm," William joked. "He's staying tight-lipped with me. And I'm his best friend! We're supposed to tell each other this stuff! Bros before hoes, Al!"

"No thanks," Ada declined. "Look, we have a serious problem on our hands. I trailed Roth last night and he met in secret with two men...one of them was Irons. Mueller joined them later and was complaining about something big, something about mass producing Tyrants."

William snorted a laugh. "What? You gotta be shitting me. The T-002 is gonna be a failure, even if they perfect the Epsilon strain. Those idiots won't listen to me...no offense. I know you like John and all. I wouldn't mass produce that thing. If they don't stabilize the mutagens within that strain's genome, it'll be Beta two all over again. The Tyrant's brain will deteriorate. They'll be lucky if it's smarter than those damn zombies. I mean, I could fix it for them in a matter of weeks...if it was my project. Then they would have a Tyrant that'll take orders and utilize secondary exposures for more Crimson Heads...win-win. Although, with a little modification, Crimson Heads can become something far more deadly." He paused, noticing their glares. "What? I'm just saying!"

Wesker looked to Ada, used to William's ramblings. "Who was with Irons?"

"Beats me. Didn't recognize him. Roth seemed to know him really well though. Also, I should mention, Mueller wanted out. He accused them of what happened at the university. He apparently doesn't want his secret project used in this mass production." Ada frowned. "What of Irons, you think? I have a bad feeling about this, Albert. He knows about Crawford, Finley, and Claire. He's been trying to set you up, just like Sergei. You're going to get cornered."

"You leave Irons to us. Find out what you can from Mueller, threaten him if you must, but we need him alive." He hated that speaking that last name still bothered him, even if it was spelled differently, even if it was a completely different person.

"And what of Sergei? I can't keep him at bay forever. Especially if Irons or Nikolai reported to him."

"Nikolai got what he wanted. He won't volunteer anything to the Colonel because I gave him knowledge that could cost him his life. Irons, on the other hand, doesn't have the temerity to say anything...yet. But William and I will remind him how that will be detrimental to his health."

"Yeah, an intervention you might say." William smirked, tapping his steepled fingers. "And he's long overdue for one of ours."

#resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil fanfic #claire x wesker #clairexwesker #Albert Wesker #Claire Redfield #chris x jill #Chris Redfield #Jill Valentine #William Birkin #sherry birkin #My writing #AO3 fanfic

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arcturusblackiii · 5 years ago

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Title: If you take on weight of the world you will inevitably end on your knees (but if you share it you can still stand)

Fandom: Harry Potter Wordcount: 4012 Category: Gen Warnings: Suicide, implied/referenced self-harm, referenced child abuse Rating: Teen Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black Characters: Regulus Black, Sirius Black Summary:

Regulus's insomnia's been acting up. Between the pressure of the house and being heir and the crushing feeling of abandonment from Sirius leaving him he's starting to crack under the weight. After a particularly bad day, he learns of some 7th years sneaking some firewhiskey from hogsmead in and he buys some off them for far more than its worth, and gets drunk.

He decides to approach Sirius. He isn't exactly sure why he does it. To start a fight, to see Sirius's face, to yell at Sirius, to yell at James, he doesn't know. But he does. Everything is loud any everyone is so so angry and something already cracking at the edges shatters and he has his wand to his head and he's sobbing and he knows without a doubt that he wants to die.

But his wand is torn from his hand by a frantic Expellimarius, and Sirius crushes him into a hug.

Tags:

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Suicide Attempt, Discussion of suicide, alot of that in general, Child Abuse, Underage Drinking, Cuddling & Snuggling

For @youurelovely

Regulus hadn't slept more than 15 hours combined in a week. He was lightheaded and he could taste sound and colors were loud.

Everything was very fast and very slow simultaneously.

He doubted he had ever been this sleep deprived in his life.

Close, but not this bad.

…

He missed Sirius.

He missed being able to make eye contact with him across the hall and he missed his smile and he missed their stupid rituals and jokes and he even missed Sirius's annoying habit of messing up his hair and he missed his brother.

He hated Remus and Peter.

He loathed James.

He loathed James for taking his brother away. For stealing the one stable thing in his life and leaving him behind to suffer.

(Not that Sirius was very stable, and not that everything else was predictable, but Sirius had always been there)

He loathed James for ruining his life and taking his brother.

For changing Sirius then stealing him.

He hated James for becoming Sirius's new brother.

He hated Sirius for leaving.

He hated Sirius for abandoning him to their parents.

He hated Sirius for yelling at him when he begged him to stay.

He hated Sirius.

He loved Sirius because Sirius was the only person who ever loved him enough to care about him over appearance to the public.

(The only person he's allowed to think about ever loving him that much. Andromeda made her choice and abandoned them all.)

He loved Sirius because of the halfhearted smiles in the morning when they knew Walburga was angry. The mutual understanding of ‘yeah, we’re probably not going to get through today unscathed.’

He loved Sirius for when he hugged him and promised everything would be okay. Just a few more years and they would be free.

Just a few more years and they could leave.

He loved Sirius for the stability he provided, for the smiles in their dysfunctional home, because no matter how terrible things got, no matter how bleak everything seems, he was always there.

Because he was permanent.

Because they knew that they were in this together.

Because they knew that no matter what happened, they were still brothers.

He loved Sirius for caring.

He loved Sirius.

He loved his Sirius.

Not James’ Sirius.

Who glared at him across the hall and abandoned him.

He hated that Sirius for proving to him he didn't care.

That even after everything they had been through, all the promises of staying together, all the smiles and hugs, that even after all of that, he was still as easy to discard as an old robe.

He hated him for leaving his old family, his old brother, his old best friend, for them.

For James, Remus, and Peter.

Leaving him behind in a life discarded alone.

Leaving him alone with the weight of the world and the House on his shoulders and shattering the only semblance of stability he had left.

Sending him careening off the edge into an endless sea of Walburga's anger and Orion’s indifference and the expectations of a thousand generations.

Abandoning him.

(Just like Andromeda. Just like everyone else who ever cared about him.)

Regulus had gotten drunk.

It had been a bad day.

It had been a really really bad day.

He had had an anxiety attack over an assignment the night before and hadn't been able to sleep (as usual. When could he ever sleep? What nights didn't he lay there overthinking assignments and his duties to his family, what nights could he fall asleep without fearing the morning, what nights could he ever sleep easy?)

He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

He was being pulled in a million directions by a million waves and he had lost his anchor in the storm.

When some 7th years smuggled in some firewhiskey, he didn't even really hesitate when he bought some off them.

He didn't care as he paid far more money than it was worth.

He just craved the possibility of relief from the endless thoughts swirling through his brain.

(Sirius would sneak off to muggle bars when everything was too much, he tried not to think about it.)

He drank too much.

By the time a little less than a third of the bottle was empty he just wanted everything to end.

He didn't care.

He just wanted this to end.

He just wanted to feel something other than existential terror and angry loneliness and the loathing of everything he had become.

He just wanted things to go back to how they were and he just wanted a brother again.

He sought out Sirius.

He doesn't know how he found him or even what part of the castle he was in, he just remembered finding him.

Maybe he asked someone, maybe he didn't.

Maybe he somehow found him through magic. Regulus doesn't know and he doesn't really care.

He doesn't remember much of what he said.

Bits and pieces of him screaming at James and Remus and Peter for taking Sirius and Sirius screaming right back about how he left of his own free will and how he tried to stop him.

He doesn't remember what he was saying or what was said. Everything blurred into screaming anger.

Just anger.

Because everything in his life can be traced back to anger.

He was born into a raging fire, and he was so, so tired of the burn.

Regulus remembers the moment he realized this was a bad idea.

Remembers hearing Sirius's voice mixed with the others voices and the screaming mixing into a cacophonous blur of sound and despair.

He remembers the feeling of hopeless sadness and he remembers feeling the tears burning behind his eyes long before he stopped screaming and he remembers when the mental scale tipped and he remembers sobbing.

He vaguely remembers Remus (or was it James or Peter?) trying to deescalate the situation and he remembers feeling tears burn into his eyes as he remembers that Sirius hates him and no matter what he does nothing will change that.

This certainly won't.

And everything goes fuzzy for awhile and he knows he was crying and that Remus was talking to him trying to calm him down and Sirius sounding so angry so bitter.

He remembers feeling like there were shards of shattered glass in his chest because he always spoke about mother in that tone.

He felt like shattered glass. Like broken bottles. Like spilt blood.

He doesn't remember what he said but he does recall Sirius's expression of fear as he said it.

("Who would care if I died anyway- I'm just the worthless spare. The worthless bloody spare—")

Sirius talking, urgent, worried.

(("God damn Regulus— bloody hell what did you do? What did they do to you?"

"Why do you care asshole? You fucking left me! You left me and so who gives a fuck what I did who gives a fuck what they did. It doesn't matter nothing bloody matters—"))

((("Did he do that to himself??" James's eyes were glued to the rows of scabby cuts up Regulus's arm that Sirius had uncovered like he somehow knew they were there. "What the fuck why would he do that? What the fuck!")))

And everything goes blank and he knows later he's blackout drunk and he doesn't care.

He's sobbing and Sirius is standing there talking and trying to calm him down and Regulus can't remember what he's saying but he knows he was angry and that he without a doubt wants to die.

So he's pointing his wand at his head and he knows he's sobbing and Sirius looked terrified and Regulus wanted that.

He wanted that fear.

He wanted Sirius to feel the mindless terror he's felt for months.

And he wanted to die.

He would have cast an exploding jinx but his wand flew out of his hand and across the hall.

And Sirius was hugging him and Regulus wanted to scream because why can't he just die but he was sobbing into Sirius's arms and he was so tired and his head was spinning and Sirius was just mumbling that it was okay he was okay and Regulus clung to him.

He was sobbing and eventually he was just sitting there, trembling and Sirius was still talking an endless stream of words and Regulus could hear his heartbeat and Sirius started to say something and he woke up in the medical wing.

Sirius was in the chair next to him.

Sirius stared at him with an unreadable expression.

Regulus closed his eyes and rolled to face the other direction.

"You’re awake."

"No shit." Regulus mumbled into the pillow. "How observant of you. Why are you here?"

"What do you remember of last night?" Sirius asked with an infuriatingly gentle voice.

"I don't know." Regulus snapped. "Go away. Call mother and father they can scream at me for being an idiot and kill me themselves. They probably already know right? The moment they get here your going to LEAVE ME AGAIN."

If Regulus had been facing Sirius he would have seen him flinch. "Reggie.."

"You left me. You left me with them. Alone."

"I know."

Regulus choked back a bought of hysterical laughter. "You don't have to be here. Just leave. Go be with your new brother and family and leave me behind."

"Regulus.."

"I know you don't want to be here. You're only here because you feel fucking guilt or pity or whatever. I don't need it. Go back to- to James and the others. I don't need you."

"Your arms are covered in cuts and you threatened to blow off your head last night, so clearly you do."

"So what? So fucking what."

"So I care about you, you git."

Regulus couldn't help but flinch. To curl into his arms a bit. "Yeah? You didn't seem like it when you yelled at me before you left."

"I was angry!" Sirius snapped. "And that was months ago-"

"AND YOU LEFT ME WITH THEM." Regulus screamed and he just. Started sobbing. Uncontrollably.

"Fuck. Fuck. God damn it!" Sirius sounded genuinely scared. "Reggie I didn't mean.. God fuck I'm sorry I'm so bloody sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I- fuck fuck." Sirius reached out a hand and Regulus flinched hard when Sirius touched him. Sirius retracted his hand hastily.

He didn't know what to do.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked desperately. "Or- do you want a hug?" Sirius sounded panicked. "I- god I'm so sorry Regulus."

Madam Pomfrey made him leave about a minute later - he wasn't supposed to be there in the first place.

Sirius and James and Remus and Peter sat in their dorm and Sirius pretended he wasn't crying.

Until he couldn't pretend, and he broke down sobbing into James's arms.

Sirius cried about how bad Orion and Walburga really are and he cried about Regulus being suicidal and how it's his fault (James assured his that it is not.) and then he was just laying on his bed with James laying next to him.

Uneasy conversation struck up about a new topic, and Sirius tried to stay distracted.

Eventually Sirius was fetched by a very worried looking McGonagall.

Regulus had apparently been asking for him.

Sirius very slowly walked into the curtained booth - Madam Pomfrey had lectured him on boundaries and just generally "You can't act like you usually do right now, don't yell at him, don't be a prick, he doesn't need the added stress, etc"

Regulus laid on the bed with a glassy expression.

The moment he saw Sirius he sat up. "..hey." he started. Voice little more than a whisper.

"Hey."

Sirius pulled a chair over and sat down. "So - Poppy talked to me about boundaries and shit or something- what can I and can't I do right now?"

Regulus stared at him with an almost perplexed expression. "..Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"The- what you're doing. It's fake."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Regulus groaned. "Okay fine continue the bullshit."

"What do you need Reggie? I-" the forced calm on his face cracked for a moment. "I don't want-"

"You don't want to upset me like this morning." Regulus finished with a dull expression on his face. "You won't. I'm rather okay at the moment."

"..yeah."

Regulus closed his eyes a moment. "I hate you but I love you and- and everything is really confusing right now. Especially regarding you."

Sirius just looked at him, he looked confused.

"We're supposed to talk. About- our relationship and such." Regulus sounded so formal. The voice he was supposed to use.

"Oh."

"Yeah- and- I don't know. I missed you. You probably didn't miss me-" and then he wasn't formal and the terrified 14 year old shone through.

"I did."

"..oh."

"Fuck Regulus just ask James. The first night I freaked out because the last words I might ever say to you were I hate you."

Regulus hunched over himself a bit. "Oh."

"So yeah I missed you."

"Okay." Regulus murmered. "Can- can you hold my hand? I- touch isn't really great right now but I- want to hold your hand."

Sirius locked their fingers.

Regulus almost leaned into his hand.

His arms had bandages running up them, hidden under his long sleeves.

"I- I really don't want to face mother?” It was almost a question with how he said it. Like he didn't know if he was sure or not. “Thank you by the way. For making them wait on contacting mother and father."

"It's nothing. And you're never going to have to see them again."

"...I have to."

"Nope. They are terrible people - don't argue you know it family loyalty be damned - and if anything McGonagall won't let you near them again. You won't have to face them."

"I'm Heir, Sirius. Grandfather won't allow both of us to escape."

"Then we'll fuck off to America until you turn 17 and then they can't touch you."

"Oh."

Sirius smiled in a way he hadn't smiled at him in so long. Before the fighting over the summer and him running away and the tensions rising in the house exponentially.

Reminiscent of those dreadful mornings when Walburga was ticking down to explosion and they both knew they would be caught in the blast. When he knew things weren't good. When they were in fact rather bad.

But they were in it together after all.

"I love you okay? Just going to make that clear. I love you unconditionally."

"Okay." Regulus's voice was a bit strangled. "I- I do love you back. I just- it hurts a lot that you left."

Sirius squeezed his hand.

"I hate you for leaving." Regulus said quietly. "I don't really want to hate you but I do."

Sirius nodded solemnly. "It's okay."

"It's like- it's like a war in my head I can't just- I can't just forgive you okay? So don't expect me too. I don’t - just don’t want to be angry anymore."

"Then don't be."

"The only other option is sad and that's worse."

Sirius squeezed his hand.

"I'm.. I don't remember almost anything from last night-"

"You were blackout drunk, Reggie."

"I know. Madam Pomfrey told me. She would have yelled if.. If well. If she figured it wasn't a danger to yell at the kid who might slit his wrists."

"Regulus.."

"I mean- it's true. But it's not like I didn't already get yelled at a lot."

"Sorry- I. Sorry."

Regulus laughed shakily. "I deserved it. Storming over and screaming. You should have hexed me. I deserve it."

"Regulus."

"I- I don't remember much other than the screaming really. You should have hexed me."

"Are you saying that out of remorse or because you want to get hurt or some bullshit?"

Regulus exhaled a tad harshly but otherwise didn't respond.

The silence was telling.

"I thought so." Sirius said quietly. "You don't deserve to be hurt Reggie."

"I don't— Just.. Just tell me what happened last night?"

"Okay. What do you remember?"

"I.. I went to find you. I don't remember how but when I did I was yelling at you I think. There was a lot of screaming - what I said and what you said is rather blurry but the point stands. I was very angry. Then.. I just. I remembered that you hate me-"

"I don't"

"-and nothing I can do can fix that. Then I had my wand to my head. I was gonna cast an explosion hex but someone used Expellimarius."

"Remus did."

"And my wand was gone and then- this is really dumb."

"And then?"

"You were hugging me and- mm. You were hugging me."

"Mm?"

"Don't make me say it please."

"Regulus Arcturus Black."

"Look okay this is really juvenile."

"Ooh fancy words."

"I remember I heard your heartbeat and it was calming and I just focused on that and your voice and mmm."

"Reggie,,,"

"I said it was dumb."

"That's adorable."

"Shut up."

"How did I forget how adorable you are?"

"Shut up. I just- shut up."

"Okay Okay fine. Also, I think angry is an understatement Reg. You were threatening to murder James for- For what was it? Stealing me? For stealing me and ruining your life. Something like that. I started shouting back and James too."

"...I remember that kinda."

"You wern't making much sense after the initial accusations. You were shouting and accusing us of things and you send some sort of jinx at Peter? At least I think you were aiming at him. You missed by like, 6 feet. I jeered and Remus pointed out you were drunk.

You flipped out when he said that.

And more spells flew and you switched from anger to sadness real quick. It was like a switch went off in your head and you just started rambling about how worthless everything is and how you should just kill yourself.

Remus started trying to calm you down. I think I was in shock at this point.

At one point you started scratching your arm and well.. I stopped you and then realized that well. I'm sure you remember what your arms look like right now."

"..yeah."

"I started asking you why you did this - I was scared you see. Then you mentioned Walbitcha and Assion and shit and you just sorta spiraled"

"Ah."

"Then you.. Had your want at your head and Remus cast Expellimarius and you just kind of fell apart sobbing and I just pulled you into a hug and you just cried yourself out. I walked you to the medical wing and explained the whole thing."

“Did anyone see?” Regulus’s question had an urgency too it.

“See what?”

“You walking with me.”

“I don't know? Maybe? Why- oh. Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“We can deal with that later, it's- if word got back to them there isn't much we can do anyway. For now, let's just ignore it.”

“But-”

“Any letters from here sent wouldn't have arrived yet regardless, it's a problem for later. And the tabloids can suck it.”

“..Okay.”

“It isn't that important anyway.”

"..okay."

"What's important is that you’re alive."

“I guess.”

"Can we just - talk about your arms a moment? What the fuck Regulus? I haven't seen your arms that fucking bad since, I don't know, maybe when Andromeda left?"

"Don't mention the traitor."

"Yeah well you cried about her last night so call it even.

"I what?"

"Cried about Andromeda. You were a fucking mess."

"...I cut because of just.. I was overwhelmed. That's...that sums up everything the best. I felt like I needed to."

"You don't need to"

"I know."

"I just- fuck Reggie come talk to me next time okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you. Okay?

Regulus kinda teared up a bit.

"Sirius? Um. mm. Can you? Um. Mmph. Nevermind it doesn't matter."

"There we go with the mm again." Sirius smiled weakly. "What's it this time?"

"It's embarrassing."

"Regulus, I can guarantee that I can name at the very least 20 things more embarrassing than what you are about to tell me."

“But-”

“Remember that time at Uncle Pollux and Aunt Druella’s on, who’s birthday was it? Andromeda’s? and you had got your wand, and you-”

“Stop. shut up. No. I made you promise to never bring that up.”

“Mmhm. What is it that you are refusing to say?”

"....can.. Can you just hug me? Like when were kids?"

"Thats not even slightly mortifying, doofus. Of course." Sirius clambered into the bed next to him.

Regulus tried and failed not to flinch.

Sirius immediately went to pull away but Regulus grabbed his wrist. "Please stay."

"Okay." Sirius carefully wrapped an arm around him. "Is this alright?"

"...this is so embarrassing." Regulus laughed a bit hysterically. "I- can? Um. Can you actually hug me? Don't uh. I want you too."

Sirius looked terrified. Like he might break Regulus.

But he moved closer and pulled him into a hug.

Regulus would be lying if he denied the fact he almost snuggled into Sirius's arms.

So he was leaning with his head in the crook of Sirius's neck.

It was nice.

It felt almost surreal.

He hadn't been hugged like this in years. (Since the time he had a breakdown at almost 3am and spent the night in Sirius’s room.)

"I assume you," Sirius laughed to himself. "Want to listen to my heartbeat?"

"Shut up.”

Sirius smiled into Regulus’s hair.

“...can I?”

“Pfft. Yeah.”

“Shut up.”

"Love you too." Sirius mumbled.

The statement sent far more emotions than he was prepared for spiraling through his heart.

Regulus tried to ignore them as he shifted so his head was above Sirus's heart.

Regulus listened to his brothers heartbeat and felt real for the first time in months.

Sirius stroked his hair and Regulus just laid there, eyes closed and breathing.

There were warm arms around him.

A promise of love.

He was safe, right now.

He was safe.

Sirius broke the silence after a long while. "You really scared me." He said slowly. "I.. Seeing you with your wand to your head it- it terrified me. I love you so much okay? I never stopped loving you. Not once."

Regulus's face tightened but he didn't speak. "I did leave you. I'm going to regret that the rest of my life."

"I just.. I miss you." Regulus murmured. "I miss you and I hate you. I hate you for abandoning me and it hurts because I don't want to hate you."

Sirius said nothing.

"I.. I tried a few times. At home. Kreacher stopped me. Tried to uh. Kill myself that is."

"Well shit me not the elf is useful."

Regulus laughed hysterically. He pressed his face into Sirius's shoulder and tried not to show the fact he had tears in his eyes. "He's always useful. He's a good elf."

"This morning," Sirius started. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you-"

"It's not your fault. I- I was angry at myself. For getting drunk and doing this."

"You shouldn't be."

"Okay."

They fell into silence again.

"They haven't contacted mother and father."

"I know."

"You have options, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“On places to stay. You could obviously stay at the Potters with me if you want. Or if you don't want to I'm sure Uncle Alphard will take you, if you, you know want to stay in legitimate inside the house family. Andromeda would take you I'm sure. She has a kid now, a girl named Nymphadora. You’d love her. If not her, maybe Aunt Cedrella.”

"..Yeah"

"You’re never going to have to deal with the parents again."

Regulus squeezed Sirius. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure. How about I tell you about all the drama that happened in potions last week?"

"Okay." Regulus's voice was quiet. "Thank you."

Regulus listened to Sirius drone on about whatever and listened to his heartbeat.

If he tried hard enough he could pretend that none of this happened.

Regulus eventually started crying.

It wasn't sudden. He has been fighting back tears for some while and Sirius eventually sighed. "Reg, I've seen you cry before. A prime example being last night. It's okay."

And Regulus just started crying.

Weeping into Sirius's chest.

"It's gonna be okay Reggie. I promise."

#Sirius Black #Regulus Black #hp fanfic #fanfic #Brothers Black #my fic #my writing #suicide tw #self harm tw #text

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panickypeachboy · 5 years ago

Text

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; MUN & MUSE - MEME.

FILL OUT & REPOST ♥ this meme definitely favors canons more, but i hope oc’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. multi-muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

TAGGED BY: @sternenteile, #1 Geno fan. TAGGING: Do it.

MY MUSE IS: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated

is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. [ Nope. Most people just call ZPiW the game with anime girls wielding guns. Outside of me, not much fanart is produced of the peach boy, as it’s well, mostly the girls. Miiverse revealed that the ratio is a bit more even but still, peeps really like them girl designs (designed by a female artist) ]

is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [ i mean ?? i’ve met and seen many people who have/had crushes on geno so ??????? but i don’t think it’s like. that. ghfskjhgsg??? ]

is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [ Personally, I have to say yes. Momotaro is strong as frick because in game, you’re supposed to level towns to “clean them up”. And this is in addition to the traditional Momotaro folktale that, a Momotaro is a strong child who can lift. However, most just look to Snow White as the strongest cuz she dented metal bare handed...and well is the “face” of the game.]

are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK. [ This game is better known for having girls...with guns. But I wouldn’t say he’s really *that* underrated, considering the basic character is just that...basic. ]

were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO. [ Well, my theory is that he just stumbled upon the fight between survivors and zombies so...kind of yes? Momotaro was one to actually gather folks to storm the castle as they say, because it seems before hand the other heroes were just minding their own business. So, being the one who talks the most (ironically) and the one that the game follows...yeah he’s relevant.]

were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [ Sadly so, in the sense that I wished the devs would’ve allowed for branching plots depending on which character you choose. This is including the fact that the game is purposely trying to emulate how old-school games were bare bones in characterizations and plot.]

are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. [ Just another folklore hero in the world of Wonderland...a place chock FULL of fairy tales and folktales. Though he might’ve garnered a reputation of being destructive after ZPiW... ]

how’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / neutral. [ ]

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON? — Ehhhh...I think I make do with what I got from the teeny breadcrumbs of canon I got...however, many folks commented that Momotaro looks WAAAAAAY tougher than what I make him out to be so...I guess that’s a fail for following canon strictly on my part. .w.;; If I truly went 1:1, things may be bland...or not...I mean there’s as many subversions to the traditional heroes as there are well, the typical shounen stuff.

SELL YOUR MUSE! AKA TRY TO LIST EVERYTHING, WHICH MAKES YOUR MUSE INTERESTING IN YOUR OPINION TO MAKE THEM SPICY FOR YOUR MUTUALS. — Is Momotaro an OC at this point? Probably. But hey, if you guys want a lad who’s adorable but tough...you could look elsewhere...or you can find that in Momo! I wanted to try to represent some stuff of special needs, but I’m still working out the kinks...but the kid’s loyal, and a very good cook at that! He definitely needs a confidence booster, but could that be part of his charm? Maybe. But hey, I think y’all might really like the idea I got for him, and mainly Smash! Like, have you ever wondered what goes on in that mansion? ...well yes, but what about those who aren’t fighters? Or even assist trophies! That’s where the smash verse comes in! Take a peek into the (tough) lives of Waddle Dees and the peach boy, along with other creatures not suitable for Smash! They’re just as handy for making sure the place is well run and fed! If someone isn’t cleaning and cooking to maintain 70+ fighters, and 20+ assist trophies...who is?

NOW THE OPPOSITE, LIST EVERYTHING WHY YOUR MUSE COULD NOT BE SO INTERESTING (EVEN IF YOU MAY NOT AGREE, WHAT DOES THE FANDOM PERHAPS THINK?). — This is a character from a game whose designers may appreciate the female figure a bit too much. I always have a tough time recommending this game to others, and hell, I’m terrible at playing it myself. Hell, the fact that most of the characters are minors is just a...”why do you design them like this Bo.mi” thing. Most do seem to think highly of those designs though, as that’s the main aspect of the game I keep hearing in my searches. Now, I’ve received a good amount of concerns over the years that Momotaro not speaking proper English is either racist or babyish...or both. Is my take too depressing? There are often times I think yes, and feel unbelievable shame over it despite others going hard on the angst train.

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE? — Well uh, I believe I was charmed by his rugged but baby appearance in the game..and it just so happen at the time that I was part of a budding rp group. Despite the theme being mostly “OUENDAN”, that was the start of me shoving Momotaro into every fuckin’ thing because he’s cute as shit and obscure muses can be fun too! It was also probably relaxing for me because gosh dang back then I was scared of getting something wrong about someone canon with more lore...and I am still scared about that to this day.

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING? — Studying about Japanese culture, learning the language...the fact that I’ve been rping him for almost 10 years (read like 8-9 at this point)...I do wonder if I should stop rping him...and then I keep hearing that people only want characters only in as fighters, fighters are the only important thing about smash and that grows my weird spite and just continue this “backstage” plot of Smash. Yes, getting a franchise in as a fighter is a VERY high commemoration but, I think it’s just as equally amazing when a franchise gets in as an assist trophy or even a spirit/trophy! So yeah it’s petty and I better find some other motivation soon because it’s exhausting.

SOME MORE PERSONAL QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN.

give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

do you think you give your character justice? yes / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? [ Ahaha....I’m starting to give up on that idea at this point, as several noted that Momotaro isn’t as timid in canon as I write him. But I do try to keep those boneheaded traits of the peach boy in my portrayal. ]

do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO / SORT OF? [ It’s a must for Momotaro, whose game is a tribute to how the old timey arcade games didn’t have much to their plots. Otherwise, I would think that playing him would end up pretty dry..whether I play him closer to canon or not. ]

do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO [ ...I should write more. ]

do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES / NO [ Stupidly yes. Been playing him for 8 years so it’s a hard habit to break. ]

are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / SORT OF? [ I mean, if I wasn’t confident enough I would’ve dropped him...though I have thought about that several times. There be times where I run into some sort of writer’s block due to his meek (and traumatized) nature, and because of how he speaks, it’s scary. Am I pushing his issues too much...? Or just HIM in general...? ]

are you confident in your writing? YES / NO. [ Again, writer block happens when some muses don’t click, or personally I don’t want to interact with someone. And then when I do want to write with someone, I fear that my simpler (children’s book) ways of writing would be a turn off. I don’t want to end up babbling too long that there’s too much detail but I shudder at seeing single lines in response to long prose. ]

are you a sensitive person? YES / NO. / sorta. [ Yeaaaah i get stressed and cry at lot at confrontation and just...anxiety in general. Been trying to keep that off the dash though, as I’m sure peeps got their own troubles already. DMs are good to have y’all. ]

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL? — I do my best to take crits when I get them but sometimes it just haunts me because I have mixed feelings on being told that the way he speaks is racist or childish. But hey, if you got more advice on how to write trauma and special needs, I’m all ears! Particularly because I’m writing from my own experience in my life and research. ...Dad isn’t that superb at speaking English and that's where I got the Momo speak.

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER? — Yes please...but at this point I kinda have sadly accepted that’s just gonna be rare because he’s obscure.

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY? — as my take on Momotaro is very meek, I’d like to see how one would take on a more confident/more canon true take on him. But that’s a pipe dream. Coruse the only headcanon I will never take (that I fear the fandom will have due to perverted nature) is that he’s just a fuckin harem protag wanting to get into pants. To that I say: NO. In canon he doesn’t give a fuck about the fact his teammates are girls...or even acknowledges that they're girls. It’s the time to survive, not boogie on beds...or at a tree.

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT? — I anticipate that wholly because again, I have gotten comments that my take on Momotaro has not properly prepared them to witness the sheer destruction and toughness that is canontaro. Honestly I’d be hyped to see more takes...except for the harem route ones. Am I gonna jinx myself for saying it that much?

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT? — I probably would be sad but understanding...I mean it’s not the first time that someone has taken deep offense at Momo and me, mainly in the rp sense. I would hope they would at least go find something that makes them happy.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS? — Yep yep. Or well stealth editing too, that helps.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN? — Ehhhh....maybe...? I mean most think I’m chill but, I’m a ball of anxiety at times. But, I am also one who reaches out because, gosh dang...a lot of peeps are nervous beans and that’s okay. So...it’s a sort of, yeah.

#meme time #long post #sternenteile

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raywritesthings · 5 years ago

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A Little More Love

My Writing Fandom: Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger Pairing: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, R/Hr (implied) Summary: When Harry, Ron and Hermione happen upon someone unexpected during their camping out, their fortunes in the Horcrux hunt turn out for the better. Notes: This is yet another canon AU for HP, this time set in Deathly Hallows. It diverges with the chapter "The Goblin's Revenge" when Harry, Ron and Hermione overhear a conversation between Griphook, Gornuk, Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, and Dean Thomas. In my version, I've added another character as well as changed some key events. Simply put, I always felt JKR cheated us of a truly awesome Ginny moment in DH, so I decided to try my hand at writing my own take. I hope you enjoy it! Title is borrowed from a line McGonagall has in Half-Blood Prince, and several lines from "The Goblin's Revenge" in Deathly Hallows have been either used or paraphrased. None of that is my own. Additionally, for anyone who might have a discord, I made a Hinny server for sharing fic/art recs, talking about the characters and pairing, and just chatting in general. Feel free to join! Here's the link: https://discord.gg/SSpsYcP *Can also be read on AO3*

Harry sat with Ron and Hermione in the tent, listening with the Extendable Ears Hermione had packed as the unknown men and goblins settled into their impromptu dinner twenty feet away or so. They each exchanged some of their stories of why and how they’d ended up on the run. Harry recognized Ted Tonks, the goblin Griphook, and all three of them were pleased to hear their old classmate Dean Thomas’ voice.

Judging by the shadows being cast over the tent from the travelers’ fire, there was perhaps one other witch or wizard present who’d yet to be named.

“And what about you, little lady?” The man named Dirk asked. “Arthur’s aren’t you?”

“Guilty,” said a voice that went straight to Harry’s heart, seizing it in a vice grip. Ginny. He and Ron both started up at once, and Hermione had to reach out and pull them both down.

She was right there, not a stone’s throw away. Sitting out in the cold with strangers. With Dean, Harry couldn’t help noticing with a twinge of pain.

“I’d wondered what had happened after — well, is it true what you did?”

“It is, yeah.”

“Sorry, what’s this?” Ted asked. “You never did get round to explaining why you’re out here, you being pureblood and all.”

“Yeah, you just told me Snape chased you off the grounds,” Dean added.

“That he did.”

There was a snort, which turned out to be Dirk’s. “After she tried stealing the sword of Gryffindor from his office.”

There were a few exclamations of astonishment that Harry couldn’t bother to parse out, too surprised himself. He could see Ron and Hermione exchanging wide-eyed looks, and it was taking everything for all of them to remain quiet in order to hear. He stood and went to the mouth of the tent, not stepping out but hovering just on the edge.

“Wasn’t successful, was it? I never heard anything in the Prophet, ” said Ted.

“Well you wouldn’t even if we had been, would you?” Ginny countered in her easy way. She sounded just like she always had, and yet it was music to Harry’s ears. Like her voice carried the power of phoenix song.

“True,” Ted remarked.

“Well go on, Ginny, what happened?” Asked Dean.

“I heard you got the case smashed open but Snape caught the other two on the stairs,” said Dirk.

“He was coming up just as we got it out, yeah. So I figured that about did me in what with my family being blood traitors and all. I smashed a window and took off on my broom.”

“Your broom?” Ted asked with a laugh. “What did you have it on you for?”

“Everyone on the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s taken to carrying theirs around. There were rumors the Slytherins were planning to jinx them.”

“And you were able to get off the grounds that way?” Asked Dirk.

“I was flying high enough that most of the Death Eater’s spells went wide,” Ginny answered. “That was after they even realized someone was making a break for it. Had a time of it getting past some Dementors down by the gates. They flew up to meet me. If Harry hadn’t taught us Patronuses in the D.A., I don’t think I’d be here.”

“I’ll say,” Dean agreed. “You haven’t...heard from him, have you?”

“Not a thing,” said Ginny on an unhappy sigh. Harry felt it like a physical weight on him. He longed to just step out of the tent and run to her, but even he knew how foolish it would be to show up in front of that many people, most of whom he didn’t know very well.

“You should not have troubled yourself,” Griphook spoke up. Then he laughed. “The sword was a fake.”

“Was it?” Ginny asked sharply.

“The sword of Gryffindor!” Ted shouted.

“Oh yes. It is a copy — an excellent copy, it is true — but it was Wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armor possesses.”

“Snape put the copy in Gringotts a few days after your attempt,” Dirk continued. “Suppose he’d gotten the say-so from You-Know-Who by then.”

“And you didn’t tell them it was a fake?” Ted asked.

“I saw no reason to trouble them with the information,” Griphook stated with a smug undertone. All the other men laughed. Harry couldn’t hear Ginny’s among it.

“What about my friends? Neville and Luna, did you hear anything about them? They say they’re alright, but…” she trailed off.

“They suffered no serious injury, so far as I am aware,” the goblin answered.

Harry looked back to Ron and Hermione and could tell they were both glad to hear that. Hermione still had a hand on Ron’s arm, ostensibly to keep him from rising and doing anything rash while wearing the locket; Harry didn’t miss how her thumb was rubbing circles over his wrist.

Ginny and the others were talking about Snape now, about whether or not he really had killed Dumbledore. Dirk seemed to be doubtful.

“You know, a lot of people haven’t believed Harry over the years,” Ginny remarked coolly. “And they’ve all pretty much been proven idiots. Were you interested in joining them?”

“Alright. I only mean to ask, if he is this Chosen One, or whatever you call it, where is he? Gone off to hiding. You’d think he’d be gathering a resistance or something.”

“There wouldn’t be many people resisting if he got killed while trying to organize it.”

They talked some more, and Dirk even floated the idea that Harry was in fact already dead and the Prophet was simply withholding that information, too. Eventually they all left the spontaneous campsite to sleep under the cover of the trees, and they footsteps and voices started to fade away.

The three of them pulled the Extendable Ears, Harry’s mind racing. “Ginny— the sword—”

“She’s there. She’s right there,” Ron practically moaned.

Harry reached into the mokeskin pouch Hagrid had given him for his birthday and dug around.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione asked, her voice pitched high in worry.

His fingers finally closed around the slippery fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, and Harry hurriedly threw it around his shoulders. “I’m going to get her.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ron said immediately.

“We’d barely fit the two of us, and not at all with Ginny,” Harry argued. “Besides, you’re still wearing the locket.”

Ron looked down at the thing with a scowl.

“Look, you can help bring us back to the tent,” Harry said. “Once I leave the protections, I won’t be able to find the specific spot again. Just the general location. We’ll need you to bring us back in.”

“Oh, alright,” Ron agreed with a grumble.

“Harry, are you sure?” Hermione asked, and the two of them turned towards her in surprise. “I’d be happy to see Ginny, too, but how much can we really tell her? You did break up with her because we were going on this mission.”

“To keep her safe, and she’s not any safer out there,” Harry replied tersely. He did not want to think what would happen to Ginny if she was caught out there with rogue goblins and Muggleborn Dean Thomas and Dirk who’d been on his way to Azkaban before he’d escaped. Determined, he pushed back the flap of the tent and strode out into the dark, following the noises he could hear up ahead through the trees.

It didn’t look as though any of the wizards or goblins had a tent like the one they’d borrowed from Perkins. Harry slowed his pace as he came upon the first bedroll, and made his way around the perimeter of the spot they’d scoped out.

Ginny stood silhouetted by the tiny amount of moon visible through the foliage above. Her slight figure was only an arms’ length from him now. Whether she was not tired or merely waiting for the men to finish preparing their own sleeping arrangements before seeing to her own, he couldn’t tell.

“Mufflilatio," Harry whispered as he let the tip of his wand poke out of the cloak towards the others in the forest. Then, only slightly louder, he said, “Ginny.”

She whirled around, her hair fanning out as she did so, and her wand pointed just inches to the left of him. Harry carefully took the hood down part of the way, and he could tell the moment Ginny recognized him by the widening of her eyes.

He beckoned her to come with him through some more trees to better hide themselves. Even if the others couldn’t overhear them, they could still catch sight of him if he remained here.

“What’s your tattoo?” She asked him scarcely before he’d turned back around to face her again. Her wand was still raised.

“Er, I haven’t got one,” he answered. Then it hit him. “Oh, but Romilda Vane thinks I’ve got a Hungarian Horntail on my chest.” Harry held up a hand to stop her approach. “What did you give me when I fell off my broom in my third year?”

“A singing card.”

He hadn’t really been in doubt that it was her, but it was relieving to hear all the same. Ginny smiled, and it was radiant. Her hair was a barely combed mess and he doubted she’d had a wash in the last few days, but she was the most beautiful thing in the world. When she threw her arms around him in a hug, Harry was quick to return it. There was no flowery scent to her hair now, but it did not diminish in the least how fiercely Harry had missed her.

She was still wearing her broom strapped to her back with a bit of cord tied to each end, so it made it a bit awkward.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“You thought I wasn’t?”

“No. But I couldn’t be sure. None of us could.” She pushed out of his hold. “Why didn’t you take your Galleon?”

“My what?”

“The D.A. Galleon, you prat. That’s how I was able to meet up with Dean once I got to the outside. Seamus wanted me to see if he was alright.”

A second wave of relief hit him upon hearing that Ginny was with Dean on behalf of someone else and not as her first choice. He thought she could tell what he was thinking judging by the shrewd look she was giving him.

Harry opened up the Invisibility Cloak for her to get under. “C’mon. Ron and Hermione are waiting.”

It was the most natural thing in the world to take her hand and lead her back the way he’d come. Harry told himself it wasn’t inappropriate; it was dark and the ground was uneven. They might trip or lose the other otherwise.

“We’re nearly there. Hermione’s got enchantments up, but Ron’s waiting,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“How’s he going to find us if we’re invisible?” Ginny muttered back.

Harry froze. “Er, right.”

A soft giggle left her as he took the cloak off both of them. Harry hoped he had stayed true in their course. He didn’t like standing out here without any sort of protection or disguise.

But an arm reached out and pulled both him and Ginny through an invisible barrier of sorts. Harry saw the tent and Ron embracing his sister hard enough to lift her off her feet.

“Careful!” Ginny yelped.

“Merlin, you wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed you!” It was amazing to see the transformation that Ron had undergone. Even with the locket around his neck still, he was beaming from ear to ear, and some color had risen back into his cheeks if only for the moment. “Come on, we’ve got Perkins’ old tent. There’s not much in the way of food, mind.”

Harry followed the two Weasley’s in through the tent entrance.

“Oh, Ginny!” Hermione was standing just inside and quickly embraced the other girl as well. “I’m so glad you’re alright. What were you thinking?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t be Hermione if you didn’t start right in on the lecture,” Ginny remarked with a grin over her shoulder at Harry. “What are you three even doing here? How’d you know to be?”

“We didn’t,” Harry answered truthfully. “We’ve been moving locations every few days. Thought we’d been found when we heard you lot approaching.” He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes off her, real and standing in the tent with the three of them. They’d been so long without anyone else’s company that she seemed to brighten up the place just by being there. He wanted to hug her again, kiss her the way they had on his birthday. There was an ache in his jaw just standing there and holding himself back.

“Well, that’s luck for you.”

“You certainly did get lucky after trying to steal from Snape,” Hermione pointed out once again. “And all for a fake!”

“That’s the funny thing. I don’t know why Snape would’ve sent a fake sword to a vault in Gringotts,” said Ginny. “Because he’s got to know it’s a copy.”

“What d’you mean?” Asked Ron.

A sly grin played around the corners of Ginny’s lips as she reached around her back and under her robe. It turned out a broom wasn’t the only thing she was carrying on her back.

Hermione gasped. “You got it?”

For the first time in nearly five years, Harry was once again in awe as he stared at the ruby-encrusted sword of Gryffindor. It seemed to shimmer extra bright in the light cast by their lamps as Ginny held it out for their inspection. The sword, the real sword of Gryffindor, in their possession just as Dumbledore had wanted. Finally, something had gone right.

“Took it with me when I jumped. I wasn’t letting Snape have it. That was the whole point of the stunt. It’s Harry’s.” Her smile faded a little. “I heard from Fred and George that they’ve all gone on the run now. Mum and Dad are hiding out at Great Auntie Muriel’s.”

“But they’re okay?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, better than you. How come you’re so pale?”

“Ron got splinched a few weeks back,” Hermione explained to her own shoes. “It was my fault.”

“Alright, well have you been eating? Resting?” She sounded a little like her mother fussing that way, Harry privately noted.

“Not much eating around here,” Ron grumbled, closer to the moods he’d been exhibiting of late.

“Oh, really,” Hermione huffed, turning to busy herself with clearing away the tins of fish she had tried to cook.

Harry checked his watch. It wasn’t quite time to switch off yet, but he didn’t want to hear another row just as soon as Ginny had joined them. He didn’t want her thinking he was lost with no idea of what to do and little control over their group. “Alright, Ron, give me the locket.”

Ron pulled the chain from around his neck and rolled his shoulders, relaxing as he held it out to Harry.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that one of the things we threw out in Grimmauld Place that summer?”

Harry laughed humorlessly as he put it on. “Yeah.” He glanced at Ron and Hermione. There wasn’t much room for privacy in the tent to discuss, but how much were they going to tell Ginny? Dumbledore had only ever given him permission to speak to his two friends about it.

And that had gone well, hadn’t it? Asked a voice in Harry’s head. Ron and Hermione were close to their breaking points, they were no further to defeating Voldemort than they had been after their breakin at the Ministry, and even now that they had the sword, Harry still had no idea what he was supposed to do with it. Because Dumbledore had never told him.

“Look, it’s sort of complicated. But basically, this used to belong to Vol—”

“DON’T!” Ginny dropped the sword with a clang and lunged forward, pressing her palm flat over Harry’s mouth to stop the rest.

He ripped away from her. “What?” Sure, Ginny had never quite said the name herself, but she’d never objected to Harry saying it.

“There’s a taboo on his name,” she explained, still breathing harshly from the sudden movement. “Anyone who says it trips an alarm that sends Snatchers to their location. Kingsley almost got caught that way.”

“Snatchers?” Ron echoed.

“Death Eater wannabes. They get money from the Ministry for rounding up Muggleborns and blood traitors. Anyone against You-Know-Who.”

“Oh, of course,” said Hermione. “Because only the really brave witches and wizards use his name, and they’re the ones they want to catch. Did Kingsley get away?”

“Just barely, was what I heard. I don’t know what protections you’ve got, but best not to chance it out here.”

Harry swallowed down his irritation and nodded. He was suddenly quite glad that Ron often insisted he not say Voldemort’s name, as that had probably unknowingly kept them safe the last several weeks.

Ginny pushed some of her hair that had fallen in her face back from her forehead. “Anyway, go on. You were saying about the locket?”

“Right. Well it was- er, his, and if we destroy it we’re closer to stopping him.”

“How so? It’s not enchanted is it?”

“It is. Sort of like — well, the diary,” Harry realized. All at once he felt rather stupid for not wanting to tell Ginny; she had just as much experience with Horcruxes as any of them, even if she didn’t know it. “See, this thing and the diary, they’ve got bits of- of his soul in them—”

“What?” Ginny took a step back, clearly horrified.

Hermione gave him a reproachful look, and Ron didn’t seem very happy either.

“She had a right to know! Look, the point is until these are all taken care of he can’t be killed. Not fully. He’ll just be a shade, like last time.”

“So how many of these has he got? How many of them have you gotten?” She asked.

“Just this one,” he admitted. “There’s only three more, we think.”

“You think or you know?”

“Well it’s not as if he told us himself!” Harry snapped. It figured that as soon as someone else got here they would start interrogating his leadership and find it lacking. Ginny would probably take off on her broom with Ron and Hermione to have brilliant adventures where they pranked Snape and everything was fun, while he was left behind in the tent. “The whole point of this thing is he has secret safeguards in place to keep himself from dying!”

“Oi, lay off her,” Ron growled.

Ginny held out an arm as her brother stepped up next to her, keeping him from moving forward. “It’s fine, Ron. Harry, take that locket off.”

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly. He’d only been wearing it a few minutes.

“You’ve been wearing a bit of his soul, and you really think that wouldn’t affect you?” She asked with one eyebrow arched. “Why would any of you wear it?”

“We don’t have a way to destroy it,” Hermione tried to explain. “We had to keep it safe.”

“And you couldn’t keep it in your bag? Wearing it’s probably what this thing wants you to do, just like writing in it’s what the diary wanted me to do.”

“It hasn’t talked or anything,” Harry protested.

She gave him a pitying look that made him feel rather thick. “Because you haven’t opened it, probably. It’s a locket.”

“But it doesn’t open,” said Ron. “We all tried that summer, remember?”

But Harry picked the locket up and stared at the snake on the lid. “Maybe because it only opens for some people,” he murmured. He stared at the snake, entranced by it.

“Harry.” Ginny’s hands were on either side of his face, wrenching his gaze up to meet her eyes. “Take it off. Please.”

Shakily, he did, holding it out to Ginny. She dropped it onto an empty chair, and suddenly it felt easier to breathe. He thought even Ron and Hermione both looked less tense

“Okay, so, destroying it. How do these things get destroyed?”

“There’s a few ways,” Hermione said, taking over and reverting to lecture mode. “Using the Killing Curse or Fiendfyre can work, but we’re not sure any of us could cast the first and the second is far too dangerous.”

“Tell that to Crabbe,” Ginny remarked with a shake of her head. “He’s been practicing it down in the dungeons supposedly.”

“So we’re dropping the locket off in the dungeons? Brilliant,” said Ron. Only when Harry looked and saw the twinkle in his friend’s eyes did he realize he was joking. It was a good thing he’d checked, because Harry had been about to snap again.

“Right, well the third way is with Basilisk venom,” Hermione continued. “But obviously, that’s very hard to get.”

Ginny blinked and straightened up slightly as she picked up the sword again. “Well then, here you go, then.”

Harry stared at it. “Er, not following.”

“Yeah, Ginny, that’s a sword, not a Basilisk fang,” Ron pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you never had to listen to Great Auntie Muriel go on about her goblin-made tiara.” She cleared her throat and said, in rather good imitation of her great-aunt’s nasal voice, “Goblin silver never needs cleaned, dear. It repels all dust and dirt, only imbibing that which strengthens it. Not once in fifty years have I had need to polish it.”

“So?” Asked Ron.

But Harry got it. As did Hermione, with a shout of, “Harry!”

“I know!”

“Know what?” Ron asked with annoyance.

“Harry stabbed the Basilisk with the sword, which means it’s impregnated with Basilisk venom since that would make it stronger,” Hermione explained in a rush. “It can destroy Horcruxes!”

“That must have been how Dumbledore took care of the ring,” Harry realized. Finally the pieces were coming together, and his frustration with Dumbledore banked just as his gratitude and love for Ginny swelled. He took the sword by the hilt from her, then turned to face the locket.

“What are you waiting for, mate?” Ron was now just as invigorated as the rest of them, and Harry wondered if perhaps the worst of this quest was about to be behind them all.

Still, looking at the locket and thinking of Ginny’s words, he realized Voldemort probably had one last protection in place. “I have to open it.”

He looked up at Ginny, who was staring at the snake as well. She met his eyes after a moment, and Harry wondered if she had felt his gaze. “Parseltongue?”

He nodded.

Ginny blew out a breath. “Right.”

“I think the rest of us should all keep back,” Hermione suggested, moving over to both Weasleys and guiding them to the edge of the tent. “The less distractions the better.”

Harry turned back to the locket and placed it on the ground as he watched the snake on the front, willing it to seem real and alive. He thought of how cold and hungry and miserable he’d been the last several weeks, of his friends’ fraying tempers and all their anger at not knowing what Dumbledore had wanted them to do, at this first glimpse of hope they’d had since having to abandon Grimmauld Place.

The hope that Ginny had provided.

What was it that Dumbledore had once said? Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat.

“Hang on,” he said, facing them all again. “I think it has to be Ginny.”

“Sorry?”

She looked perhaps even more stunned than Ron or Hermione. Harry walked over and held the sword out. “You’re the one who risked going into Snape’s office to get it. Fleeing Hogwarts, making your way here. It will work best for you. At least this first go.” If Dumbledore were here right now, Harry was confident he would say the same, if in more eloquent terms than Harry had.

“Harry, I- I’m not good with these things.”

“No, but you learned from them. Better than any of us did. Ginny, you held Vol- Riddle off for a whole year, and you’re stronger now. I know you can do this. You’ve already beaten him.”

Ginny held his gaze for a long moment before stepping up to meet him, her hand closing around the hilt of the sword again. He let go and walked with her back over to the locket.

“I’m going to tell it to open, and then you stab it. Okay?”

Ginny nodded, expression grim as she raised the sword. “Do it.”

He looked back at the snake and tried to visualize it moving again. Then he hissed, “Open.”

The golden doors of the locket opened wide, revealing an eye — Tom Riddle’s eye, before it had turned red and slitted like a snake’s — behind the glass windows inside.

That was all Harry saw, for the sword crashed down into it a moment later. The hiss of Riddle’s voice that had only just started to emanate turned into a scream only matched by the clang of metal. The locket shattered and a bit of smoke rose from the inside. The Horcrux was no more.

He looked up at Ginny, who was breathing harshly, her eyes fixed on the shattered pieces. Then, slowly, her blazing eyes rose to his.

The sword fell with a thump, and Harry met her halfway, their lips melding together. Ginny’s hands were everywhere at once, while Harry found his buried in her hair. How could he have ever believed he could give this up? Wanted man or no, what was the point of living without this to live for?

“Oi,” Ron protested, far more weakly than he had on Harry’s birthday. They broke apart anyway. “You can’t keep doing that if you’re not dating her. It’s not right.”

Harry looked down at Ginny, still in the circle of his arms. Her gaze was softer now, but still held some of that fire from before. How could she be this utterly brilliant and still want to be here?

“I’m sorry,” he told her without a second thought. It was easy, effortless. “You were right, it was stupid.”

Her lips quirked upwards in a small smile. “Well, it is noble of you to say so.”

He felt his own smile return. “I guess we do still have some time.”

She nodded and lifted up onto her tip-toes to kiss him sweetly once more.

“And that’s it, then?” Hermione had her hands on her hips, and Harry thought she couldn’t decide between being cross or amused at the pair of them. “You’re just back together now? That’s all it takes?”

Harry and Ginny shared a look before saying at once, “Yeah.”

Hermione shook her head while Ron shrugged. “Who cares? We’ve gotten rid of one Horcrux, and now that Ginny’s here she can help with the food. Mum’s taught her loads.”

“Except I can’t use magic, prat. Still sixteen. The other reason traveling with someone else made sense.” She gave a start and reached into her pocket. “Speaking of, I’ll have to send Dean a message to let him know I haven’t been carted off in the night. I’ll leave your names out of it, shall I?”

“Yes, that would be best,” Hermione agreed. “And honestly, Ron, Ginny doesn’t automatically have to help with the cooking just because she’s the only other girl.”

“I only meant she knows more than all of us.”

As Ron and Hermione started up, Harry couldn’t find it in himself to get annoyed; their bickering was now far more reminiscent of their school days than the fraught arguments they’d been having only half an hour ago. The pall of Voldemort’s presence had momentarily been lifted from their tent.

Harry knew that could really only last so long. They still had three Horcruxes to go and no idea where two of them were, not to mention Voldemort himself. Dumbledore’s hints still only made a vague amount of sense. But as Ginny ducked under his arm to fit into his side while she worked on the message on her D.A. Galleon, he thought he could maybe start to see his own way through this.

#hinny #harry potter #ginny weasley #hp #ron weasley #hermione granger #my writing

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nympha-doras · 6 years ago

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I’ll Show You the Way: Chapter 5

Summary: Wyatt’s phone demanding his attention is the last thing he wants right now. Lucy has his attention - she always has his attention. She’s saying something about them having nowhere to go but down. And all Wyatt wants to do is groan, and tell her not to jinx them before they’ve even begun. But if the words he’s currently reading on his phone are any indication, jinx them is exactly what Lucy has just done… / Canon divergent from 2x03, Hollywoodland.

FFnet / AO3

I apologise for the delay. I have no excuse.

I have a plan for the rest of this fic. I've laid out 7 chapters, with an epilogue that will possibly be split into 2 chapters - making 8, maybe 9 chapters in total. I can't promise they'll be written and posted any time soon. I write when I feel like it, when I'm inspired, and when I have the time too. Unfortunately, those things rarely happen all at once.

In the mean time, enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to go and retweet the Timeless writer's tweet to release the final deleted scene!

It’s been a few hours since the boys got back from 1934. A few hours since she’d told Wyatt she was pregnant. He’d left the room without a word, and she hasn’t seen or heard from him since. She isn’t worried about him - not physically at least, but emotionally… that’s another story. The shift in the timeline means this isn’t the Wyatt she knows. This isn’t the Wyatt that picked her up, and spun her around until they were both feeling rather sea sick, when she’d told him about her suspicions. She has no idea where this Wyatt is with his Lucy, but if his reaction is anything to go by she isn’t too hopeful for their future.

Rufus barges into the room, snapping her out of her thoughts. “He’s awake.”

Right, Kennedy. She’d almost forgotten about him. She stands and follows Rufus down the corridor to the only room in the bunker with a door that locks. She can hear the future - past? - president shouting at the rest of her team. He’s accusing them of kidnapping him, and demanding to speak to his parents. “If money is what you want, call my parents and they’ll give you every penny they have. Just let me go!”

“John, you need to calm down.” She says as she enters the room.

He turns to her, his eyes wide and wild. “Calm down!? You people kidnapped me, and you want me to calm down?”

“They didn’t kidna-” She pauses. “Okay, yeah. They kidnapped you, but only to save your life. The red-head that was after you? She would have killed you otherwise.”

“And how do I know you people won’t kill me?” He has a point.

Wyatt steps forward and shrugs at him - Lucy hadn’t registered that he was even in the room, but of course he’d be here. “You don’t, but just give us a few hours and let our… friend… deal with the guys trying to kill you, and I promise you, we’ll take you home.”

She see’s Wyatt struggle over the word ‘friend’ when he talks about Flynn. Okay, so they hadn’t gone to the Titanic. Flynn hadn’t saved Wyatt’s life. They didn’t air out their differences. They weren’t friends. That’s a change in the timeline she can handle. She just wishes it was the only one.

Lucy doesn’t say a word to anyone as she leaves the room and heads to the kitchen. She’s not sure anyone even noticed her leave, but she needs to keep herself busy to keep her mind from wandering, and making Kennedy some food seems like the best way to do that right now. She may not be the best cook in the bunker, but she can handle making a sandwich.

She grabs some bread from the cupboard; and the mustard, some salad, and the sliced meat from the fridge. It’s not to everyone’s tastes.

Making a sandwich doesn’t keep her busy for as long as she would have liked. She’s done in a matter of minutes, before she’s sliding it onto a plate and carrying it down the corridor to deliver to the young president.

When she reaches his room, she finds it empty. “Guys? Guys!”

Turns out if you kidnap a guy and lock him in a room, but promise to return him in a few hours, he’s going to try and escape anyway. Everyone comes running when Lucy calls out to them, skidding into the room to find her holding a sandwich and starring at an open vent in the wall. A quick glance around the room tells them why. John F. Kennedy has escaped from their secret underground bunker and is currently running around 2018 on his own.

“Remember when I said this was a disaster and you all told me to calm down?” Lucy turns to them accusingly. This is why they shouldn’t travel without her.

“So he’s running around a different time period - you guys do it all the time - whats the worst that could happen?” Jess shrugs.

Lucy shakes her head and storms off. If she has to go out there and find him herself, she will. No one else seems to be too concerned about the missing president.

Rufus and Jiya send each other awkward looks, as Wyatt sighs and runs after her. “Luce, where are you going?”

When he catches up to Lucy, she’s struggling with the huge metal door that leads to their freedom. “Lucy, come on. You can’t go out there alone.”

Lucy ignores him as she continues to struggle with the door. She’s getting no where. Does she even know Agent Christopher keeps it locked?

“Lucy, stop!”

She turns around, her eyes wide and frantic. “What, Wyatt!?”

“We need to be smart about this.” He steps forward and brings his hands to her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. “Go get dressed. I’ll talk to Agent Christopher about getting us a car and getting out there to look for him, okay?”

She takes a moment and to take him in. He’s not sure what she’s looking for, but moments later she must have found it, because she’s nodding her head and leaning into him. Wyatt drops a kiss to her forehead and wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace.

They’re stood there for a minute or two before he feels her begin to shake in his arms. She’s crying. He pulls back and brings his hands back up to her face, wiping her tears away. “What’s wrong?”

Lucy pulls away from him, and shakes her head. “No, nothing.”

He goes to protest - it’s clearly not nothing - but she’s broken away from him and is running back down the corridor towards her bunk, before he can even open his mouth to begin to talk. He sighs deeply, running a hand down his face. Maybe giving her some space would be a good idea - not that he’s had too many of those recently.

No one had quite known what to say when Jess had offered to accompany them to find the young president. But with a historian, two engineers, and a former billionaire on their team, it’s not like they could say no. He’d certainly tried to, but of course he should have known that she wouldn’t take no for an answer. When she’d fired back, “Well, she’s just a teacher, right?”, they really had no choice.

So here he was, his wife sat beside him in the passenger seat, and the woman he loves sat behind him in the back, while they drive around the Oakland area looking for a young Kennedy. Not exactly how he imagined he’d ever spend a day.

They’ve always had a cover when they’ve done this. More often than not, they’ve either been engaged or married. But that’s always been in the past, where being a married woman would get Lucy into more places. He forgets for a moment that they’re still in the present, and she doesn’t need to be married to do anything. She can do anything she wants, without having to have him there with her. So when she tells him “You’re my friend. We can be friends, can’t we?” He’s more offended than he thought he would be - probably more than he has any right to be.

He’s not quite sure what Jess is trying to do when they reach the hospital - she starts reminiscing about their time in Hawaii, and the last time they were in a hospital together. A glance at Lucy tells him this trip down memory lane hurts her more than she’d ever admit to. He tries to put a stop to it, hurting Lucy is the last thing he ever wants to do, but Jess doesn’t seem to be having any of it. So he sends Lucy a look that he hopes conveys how sorry he is that this is happening. She returns his small smile and nods slightly. It’s okay. You guys have a past. We can’t avoid that.

His world stops spinning when they find Emma in the hospital. The red-head grabs Lucy and brings a knife up to press against her throat. Wyatt draws his gun, but he doesn’t click the safety off. He doesn’t have a clean shot and there is no way he’s risking the shot. Not with Lucy and his baby between him and his target.

“Ah, ah.” Emma nods her head to the weapon clutched tightly in his hands. “Gun down, or your girlfriend here gets more than a little paper cut.”

Emma presses the knife tighter to Lucy’s throat, as Wyatt hesitates in lowering his gun. The blade nicks her skin, drawing blood. His eyes follow the drops down the smooth skin of her throat, and he watches as they soak into the neck of her t-shirt.

“Though maybe her life doesn’t matter to you, now that you have your wife back.”

Right, Jessica. He’d almost forgotten she was here. He can only imagine what she’s thinking right now. She knows him as a soldier. One who does what he needs to do, no matter who gets hurt. A reckless hot-head, as Lucy once put it. A bull in a china shop, Jess had called him on more than one occasion. Yet here he was, with a shot he’d made a million times before, and he can’t do it. He can’t take that risk.

Once upon a time he wouldn’t have hesitated in taking this shot - once upon a time he didn’t hesitate in taking this shot. He’s just that good. But that was before he really knew Lucy, before they fell into bed, and before she fell pregnant with his child. Before he fell in love with her.

“Please.” He begs. Wyatt takes his finger off the trigger, and holds his hands up to Emma in surrender. “Please, don’t hurt them.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He should not have said that. The things Emma - Rittenhouse could do to him, and Lucy, and their child... He stops breathing - though he’s not sure he actually begun again after Emma first took Lucy hostage - as he watches the realisation build in Emma’s eyes.

“Them?” Her eyebrows all but disappear into her hairline. “Oh, Princess. What is your mother going to say?”

Wyatt catches Lucy’s eye and does everything he can to convey how sorry he is that he let their secret slip. He’s not sure she understands or not, as she nods her head at him once. Before any of them know what’s happening, Lucy is bringing her foot up, and slamming the heel of her boot back down on Emma’s foot as hard as she can.

Emma shows no reaction to any kind of pain, as she shoves Lucy at Wyatt and makes her escape. He should go after Emma. This could be their chance to end Rittenhouse - or at least cut off one of their heads - but he can’t bring himself to do it. Not when Lucy is at his feet, her head bowed, and a hand clutching at the cut on her neck.

Wyatt drops to his knees in front of her, running his hands up her arms, around her shoulders, and pulling her into his embrace. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “It’s okay. She’s gone. I've got you.”

Lucy pulls back and searches his eyes. He’s just as torn up as she expected him to be. More so, even. She drops forward and rests her forehead against his, closing her eyes and revelling in his presence. “You should go after her.”

“No.” He tightens his hold on her. “I’m not leaving you here like this.”

“I’m okay.” She smiles softly. She didn’t think she’d get this level of care and affection from him again, not after Jessica’s return. There’s no guarantee it’ll last though, he’s not officially told her what he plans to do. For all she knows, he’s chosen to honour the vows he made to Jess when they married, and this is just a moment of weakness. She tucks that thought to the back of her mind, the pain in her neck from Emma’s little gift is all she can handle right now. “Jess is here, she’ll loo-”

When Lucy lifts her head to look at the other woman - who they both assume is stood at the other side of the room, where Lucy had pushed her when they’d found Wyatt and Emma - she finds her gone. “Wyatt, Jess is gone.”

His head snaps up at her words. “She’s what!?”

Ignoring the pain throbbing in her throat and the blood still trickling down her neck, Lucy stands and begins to make her way out of the room. “Where is she? Did she run off after Emma? Did Emma take her?”

Wyatt catches up to her before she can get too far. He grips her shoulders and pulls her to him, slipping one arm down to her waist in an attempt to keep her still. “Calm down. Let’s get you checked in and your neck looked at first. You’re beginning to loose too much blood.” She’s always had a pale complexion, but her current colouring is enough to start concerning him.

“But what if Emma has her? You already lost her once.”

He never thought he’d see the day where someone else was more worried about Jess going missing than he is. Though he also never thought he’d love someone other than her. “She’ll be okay, she can look after herself.”

Jess finds them just as the doctor is finishing bandaging Lucy’s neck. She’s breathing heavy, and her cheeks are flushed. Emma clearly didn’t go easy on her.

“I’ve been looking for you guys everywhere.” Jess pants. “She got away. I’m sorry.”

Wyatt shakes his head, denying her apology. “Don’t be. You shouldn’t have gone after her alone in the first place.”

Jess shakes her head and huffs out a short laugh. “You’re forgetting that I’ve kicked your ass on more than one occasion. I can handle myself.”

“Wyatt’s right. Rittenhouse are dangerous, unpredictable, you could have been hurt.” Lucy knows more than anyone just what they’re capable of, though Jess doesn’t seem to be listening to a word they’re saying.

“Look, I’m fine. Not a scratch on me.” She holds out her bare arms for them to inspect, like that will convince them to drop it. It won’t. “Can we just get out of here?”

Wyatt grabs the meds the doctor had left for Lucy, before he helps her up off the bed. “Yeah, Rufus called, said they’d done a scan across social media and found pictures of him at a high school party.”

“My first high school party.” Lucy mutters, as she follows Wyatt out of the hospital. “Better late than never, I suppose.”

Wyatt stops in his tracks at her words and turns to her in disbelief. “Your first? Ever?”

“How does that surprise you?” Lucy shrugs, unashamed. “I told you what I was like back in school.”

“You were the nerd that lived in the library, and didn’t go to prom because you had a spelling-bee the same night, weren’t you?” Jess asks.

Lucy had almost forgotten she was there - again - she really has to stop doing that. “Speech and debate tournament, but yeah.”

The party is a blur for Wyatt, much like the ones he’d attended when he was in high school himself; though for very different reasons. Back then he’d simply had too much whiskey. Now he just wishes that was the case. He could have lost Lucy back in that hospital. Emma came too close to ending his world, and to say that thought has shaken him and consumed him would be an understatement. He’s sure Lucy and Jess have been talking to him since, and he’s sure he’s responded to them, but he couldn’t tell you what was said or who said it. Well, the debrief is going to be fun…

“I see not much has changed since we were in high school.” Jess remarks as a student empties the contents of her stomach.

Wyatt only nods, absently, not quite sure what she just said. Neither Jess nor Lucy said anything, so he must have had the right reaction to whatever she said.

They’re getting some funny looks as they walk through the yard, they clearly don’t belong here. It’s only when they’re nearing the house, that one of the students shouts out “Hey! Somebody’s mom is here!”

Jess bites out a “Bite me!” in response, while Lucy brings one of her hands out from her pocket to point her thumb at the other woman. She stops suddenly when she realises that Jess isn’t the mother here. She is.

One thing Wyatt does remember is Lucy’s excitement over her cell phone. He doesn’t really know why it excites her, but the look on her face is enough to wipe away any lingering fear. If only for a moment. It all returns once he walks away and enters the house in search of Kennedy. Why’d I leave her out there with Jess? Idiot.

It’s easier than he thought it would be to get the future president to return with them - ignoring the part where he runs off, and Wyatt gets into a shoot out with Emma in a room full of drunk high school students, of course.

Once they’re back in the bunker, Lucy makes a break for the bathroom first. She claims to need a shower, telling them she “feels icky after spending 3 days in bed sweating out a 17th century infection, and then running around in search of Kennedy all day.” They all buy it, never questioning her when she spends over an hour locked away in the bathroom.

Lucy tightens the belt on her robe, as she makes her way down the corridor towards her bunk. The door creaks loudly when she pushes it open, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of Wyatt telling Jess he loves her. They must be in his and Rufus’s room across the hall - it’s as private as they’re going to get, when the only truly private room in this hell hole is occupied. His words cut right through her. The way he’d been with her at the hospital today gave her hope for them and their future. She’d had a moment of weakness, when she thought he’d just been caught up in the moment, and would go back to Jess as soon as everything went back to normal. But she’d pushed that thought to the back of her mind, and locked it away in her ‘thoughts I shouldn’t have but I worry too much’ box. It seems her brief worries were more valid than she first thought.

She enters the room, but doesn’t bother locking herself away like she planned. She can’t sit here and listen to Wyatt profess his love for another woman. Hopefully Jiya will be up for bingeing some truly awful for them, yet delicious reality show.

Kennedy has been back in 1934 - where he belongs - for a few hours now. Wyatt’s been looking for Lucy for just as long. It’s not a huge bunker, so he doesn’t know how he hasn’t found her yet. He’s making his way down the corridor with their bunk rooms once again, when he hears voices drifting out of the girl’s room. He’d know one of those voices anywhere. He has every intention of going in there and asking to speak to Lucy in private, when her next words give him pause.

“He loves her, Jiya, more than anything. He’s chosen her. Or he’s going to.”

The sorrow in her voice and the thought of her tearing up with this thought running through her mind breaks his heart. Wyatt doesn’t know what put that idea in her head, nothing he’s done since returning to the present and finding himself in this situation should have given her that impression. Certainly not the events at the hospital earlier.

“What am I going to do? I can’t do this alone.”

He doesn’t need to be in the room with her to know, that she’s rubbing a hand over her swelling stomach as she gives a voice to those words. That by ‘doing this alone’, she means raising their child alone.

He doesn’t intend to hear any more of their conversation - he doesn’t really want to - but the longer he stands here, the more he’s going to hear. She thinks he loves Jessica, more than he loves her. She thinks he’s chosen Jessica over her. She thinks he’s going to make her raise their child alone. He doesn’t know what he did to give her that impression, but the thought sickens him. Unable to hear another word, he makes a break for the bathroom at the end of the hall, throwing himself at the toilet and emptying the meagre contents of his stomach. I have to fix this. I have to.

#timeless #lucy preston #wyatt logan #lyatt #the logans #tl ff #*writing #isytw

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nico-nightingale · 4 years ago

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Summary: Following an accident that involved her beloved younger sister, the crown princess of Arendelle grew to believe she was born cursed. At the summer after her eleventh birthday, however, she receives the visit of a man in strange robes, who invites her to study at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This story follows Elsa's life in Hogwarts as she discovers that magic is no curse and starts learning how to love herself.

Rating: T (ages 13 and up)

Also found on: FF.net, AO3, Wattpad

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Frozen belongs to Disney. The cover photo belongs to Nico Benedickt and the font belongs to Naharstd.

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Chapter VI: Toil and Trouble

The coming Hallowe'en brought a new set of complications to Elsa's life. First, Professor Scamander finally decided that it was time for the first-years to learn some offensive spells and announced he would be teaching them the Knockback Jinx in the following class, happening the day before the holiday.

Elsa immediately sent Tyr back home to ask her parents to sign her off of such classes, stating that they were unnecessary since the guards and officers of the castle were more than prepared to defend her in case of an attack. In addition to that, a duelling practice was somewhat dangerous considering that her classmates would be aiming her.

Of course, practising such spells in a classroom was far less dangerous than other activities she had at Hogwarts; flying, for example, was much more life-threatening. However, considering that Anna had been kept by her parents from learning sword-fighting exactly because it was dangerous, the Crown Princess was hopeful they would forbid her from the equivalent in the wizarding world.

As Elsa had predicted, her mother contacted the Headmaster promptly. According to Professor Sprout, who asked the princess to stay after class a few days after she had sent the letter, the Queen—and her husband, although he hadn't been present for the discussion—understood the need for defensive lessons, but she wasn't willing to allow the teacher to put their beloved daughter and heir in front of an inexperienced student's aim.

To Elsa's dismay, however, Professor Dumbledore and the Queen of Arendelle came to an agreement: the princess would be allowed to attend the classes as long as she was always paired with the teacher and stayed out of the area of danger. Reluctant about the solution found by Elsa's mother and the Headmaster, Professor Sprout told her that this sort of special treatment would call the attention of the other students and that she should be prepared to answer their questions.

Indeed, once they left their very first practical class on the Knockback Jinx, Elsa's friends had many of those. Since Adie had decided Adam was an easier opponent to beat and dragged him to a corner of the classroom to practice, Tonks was forced to pair with a Gryffindor named Charles Weasley when the teacher asked the princess to wait by his desk while he watched the students' first attempts.

In her annoyance about being unable to practise with a friend, the metamorph forgot her usual gentle approach towards Elsa and tried pressuring her for answers. Tonks refused to believe in the princess when she explained that there was an odd number of students in the class since, according to her, Elsa hadn't been the last one to find a pair and Professor Scamander had seemed to have the intention to pull her apart from the others from the start.

Before Elsa could reply, however, Adam rescued her by commenting that the decision was probably caused by Elsa's issues with casting spells. While they hadn't had any practical exercises in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class before, Professor Scamander could have talked with Flitwick or McGonagall, who would have told him about Elsa's issues on performing magic. He had, most likely, tried to teach her in private to make sure she would learn the spell.

Of course, that raised the other questions Elsa had been having trouble answering: the ones regarding the absurd disparity between the levels of her practical and theoretical works. Luckily, however, as baffled as they were, her friends didn't expect Elsa to have an answer for that particular puzzle since they had no reason to believe she would fail on purpose. All she had to do was to stay in silence while they speculated.

The second complication Hallowe'en had bought was the feast itself. Since Tonks had told her how to get into the kitchens, Elsa had managed to stay clear from the Great Hall during the busiest hours by taking most of her meals with only the elves as a company. Even though it hadn't been explicitly spoken, however, it was obvious that she was expected to attend the dinner celebration and enjoy the food with the rest of the school. The perspective was dreadful.

Despite the growing excitement in the castle, however, the day of Hallowe'en started quite normal. As it happened on every Wednesday, the Hufflepuff first-years had History of Magic on their first period, Charms on their second, and double Potions in the afternoon. As usual, Elsa had enjoyed comparing Professor Binns' views with the content of her textbooks even though the teacher sounded a bit boring. They had been studying the wizarding rebellion during the reign of the Egyptian Pharaoh Akhenaton, who had banished every practice of magic that wasn't related to the worship of the god Aten.

Although the knowledge wasn't useful at all to Elsa, she couldn't help but find the subject quite interesting. It reminded her of the discussion she had had with Professor Flitwick about magic, intent, and its relation to druidic magical practices, as well as the brief pieces she had had the opportunity to read in the past few weeks. If the wizarding world in Ancient Egypt worked so close to religion and intent was as important to magic as the Charms professor and Miranda Goshawk had stated, it was no wonder that there had been many rebellions from the wizarding community.

Busy taking notes of what Professor Binns was saying and the comparisons that were drawn from her own mind, Elsa could forget for a moment that she would be forced to step into the crowded Great Hall in a few hours. Indeed, she was almost looking forward to getting to her next period, Charms, so she could take her new ideas to Professor Flitwick. Almost, because the lecture itself was promising to be a nightmare as it would involve the practice of the wand-lighting incantation, Lumos, the second charm they were learning.

Elsa had managed to avoid wand-practising in the previous class, when, exhausted after spending the previous evening trying to compose a Potion's essay, Elsa had decided to “forget” her wand in her trunk so she wouldn't have to endure one entire class holding it. Although Professor Flitwick hadn't been as amused as the Hufflepuff first-years, he only required her to watch the others while they practised the movement for the wand-lighting spell so she could do it as homework and didn't take any points from her house.

On the day of Hallowe'en, however, Elsa was left with no option but to draw her wand alongside her classmates. The knowing gaze Flitwick had sent her in the previous class left it clear that forgetting the object a second time in a row would be unacceptable. Therefore, with a deep sigh and taking care to hold it softly, Elsa took it from the backpack and placed it on her desk right in front of her.

Contrary to her classmates, who had bought their wands from a man called Ollivanders, Elsa's was a gift from the trolls after they had found out she would be attending a magic school. According to the messenger—a blonde orphan boy named Kristoff, who had been adopted by the trolls—, it was crafted with Gabon ebony wood and had a core made of a Fossegrimmen hair, crystals covering both the tip and handle.

As had happened before, the people around her took a glance at the wand at the moment Elsa let it rest on her desk. The unusual crafting was a source of great interest and curiosity between the other students and members of the staff, more so because its owner left it out of people's sight unless she was forced to use it in class.

To her relief, excited about trying a new spell, their curiosity was brief and they soon diverged their attention into performing the wand-lighting incantation. Tonks, particularly, was so fixated on her goal that she was failing to notice her purple locks becoming lighter and lighter at each passing second. The only person who had realized what was happening was Flitwick, who shared an amused gaze with Elsa when their eyes met.

The hilarious moment passed when the teacher gave Elsa a nod as if asking without words for her to start the exercise. Gulping, the princess looked at her wand and, with some reservation, took it into her shaking hands. As soon as she felt the crystal holder pressed against the white gloves covering her hand, the magic within her awoke at full strength and, in a rush that she could barely stop, covered the object with a thin layer of ice.

Elsa breathed a few times, trying to keep the magic at bay. She could remember Kristoff telling her parents and her about the healing properties of her wand as well as its ability to absorb and transform the magic into its purest state, which didn't explain why it caused such a strong reaction from her magic. That was a mystery only the trolls might be able to solve.

Forcing herself to remain calm despite being on the verge of releasing her magic, Elsa performed the movement she had learned and practised. Then, confident she had done it correctly, the girl left out a long sigh in an attempt to control the raging storm inside her and repeated the move, saying the incantation. As expected, although she had been careful and paid attention to the particularities Professor Flitwick had pointed out when he was correcting her classmates in the previous class, the girl wasn't able to produce even a flick of light.

She had realised before that focusing on locking her magic inside away was conflicting to what she was supposed to be doing, but there was something else getting in the way. After reading Miranda Goshawk's work about the importance of intent for spell-casting, the princess realised that it could have been her intention of not casting magic that was making every one of her attempts useless.

She didn't want to perform well, she didn't want her wand to lighten. Her intention was to keep her magic locked inside. Unless it came from a different source from the magic she was trying to cast, casting magic would be impossible if she didn't let go of her fear.

Despite her reservations about studying magic and her desire to go back to the safety of her own bedroom in Arendelle, a failure was hurtful as it would reflect badly on her country. Being its crown princess and the sole heir of her parents' throne, no less than perfection was expected from her. Even though her parents had been nothing but encouraging, the girl knew she was disappointing them and embarrassing her kingdom.

Nipping her lip and clenching her hand around the wand, Elsa tried to focus on her duty and how much she wanted to make her parents proud. I want my magic to work, the girl tried to convince herself as she released her magic with caution, moving her wand and saying the proper incantation once more. It, again, didn't work.

The girl repeated the action a few more times with no success and dropped the wand on her desk in defeat, gazing at the layer of ice involving it with apprehension. It was a futile effort to even try; all she could do was to hope the grades on the theoretical work would make up for it. Luckily, Elsa wasn't the only one who was having trouble with the spell, which meant Professor Flitwick's attention wasn't on her alone.

The teacher rounded the class, demonstrating the spell and giving new instructions whenever they were needed. It took a while for him to pause on Elsa, giving her time to recover her composure before showing him what she managed to do so far. The girl offered him a pleading gaze that she hoped to convince the man to exempt her from the activity. Either Flitwick didn't notice the meaning behind it or ignored it altogether, because all he did was to nod his head toward the wand.

Nervous, Elsa once again took the wand into her hand. Her magic's response was immediate as the layer of ice grew thicker around her fingers, but she kept a firm grip while gesturing her wrist and lower arm as if drawing a reverse “v” into the air. Lys opp! “L—” Even before the girl was able to finish the word, a blinding light emerged from the tip of her wand for a second.

Already expecting her own failure, however, Elsa was so surprised that she dropped the object, making the light vanish right away. Almost at the same time, the princess' bewilderment died, giving place to horror once she realized her magic spreading from the tip of her fingers up through her lower arm as she felt her lips hardening as they were covered in ice and saw her own hard breath coming out as vapour. I need to get away from here. “T— toilet! May I go to the toilet?”

Professor Flitwick looked at her with concern before conceding it with a nod, “go ahead, Miss Kyrre.” There was a silent promise on the teacher's warm gaze that Elsa didn't understand until half an hour later, when she returned, flushed and breathing hard, after destroying half a classroom in the strongest magical outburst she had ever experienced and noticed that none of her classmates was expressing any sort of curiosity toward the unusual way she had performed the spell. Did he lie to them about what happened?

The professor also didn't ask her to keep practising or repeat what she had done before, although he kept rounding the class to help the other students. Wearing her hair as white as Elsa's, Tonks offered her an amused gaze and quipped over how magic could make someone's digestion work nicely, which caused the princess' cheeks to grow several shades darker.

“At least she lightened her wand and not her hair, didn't she?” Adie joked, turning back to look at the two other girls. Astonished, Tonks took her hand to her hair, causing the blonde to chuckle, Adam to turn at them and grin, and Elsa to cover her mouth as she giggled. The metamorph soon burst into laughter when she recovered from the revelation's surprise, but didn't change her hair back to purple.

“You're such a bloody ass for not telling me!” Tonks spoke after her laughter lessened enough. “You know that, right?” The metamorph winked at Elsa as if to guarantee that it was just a joke. Ever since the accident on their first day of class, the two other girls had been careful to make sure the princess understood when they were just joking around.

The rest of the lecture went by without further incidents. By the end of it, Elsa's three friends had been able to perform the spell, although Tonks had been the only one to keep her wand lightened for more than a few seconds. The princess had expected Professor Flitwick to question her after the other students left for lunch, but he ended up surprising her. Once a ring announced the end of the class and the four friends started heading out to the kitchens, the teacher did nothing to stop her.

One other practical class filled their afternoon when Professor Snape finally allowed the students to start working on their Forgetfulness Potion, something they had been studying for the past week and were eager to begin their attempts to produce. Their homework had been a research on the ethical usage of the potion, which both the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first-years agreed to be quite contradictory to the teacher's character.

Although Elsa agreed with her friends that an ethical discussion didn't match well with a professor who had no issues on threatening to poison his students on a regular basis, it became a welcoming intellectual exercise that she could only compare to some of her classes at home—logical yet subjective. Eager to do a good job, the princess spent one evening in the library trying to find information about the laws regarding memory spells and potions.

Much to her surprise and disgust, she found out the wizarding law in Great Britain that wasn't related to the muggle-wizard relationship was unorganized and overall outdated. One particular book she had found criticized the way the Ministry of Magic dismissed many cases of minor memory altering, even when the victim was unwilling.

None of Elsa's friends could understand most of her readings on the subject since, unlike her, they had never come across legal texts before. However, although the three other Hufflepuff had failed to see why the girl was interested in them at first, they were as disgusted as she was by the disregard of the Ministry toward the safety of the wizarding community. With Elsa's help and after debates that lasted several nights, the other three ended up handing to Professor Snape was at least three times longer than their classmates'.

Despite their interest, however, the three Hufflepuff first-years were so exhausted of such a heavy topic that they were glad when the Potion Master deemed the class well-prepared to deal with a practical lesson. Even Elsa, who had enjoyed the exercise despite its revolting conclusion, was excited for her first attempt to produce such a difficult draught.

They weren't discouraged by Professor Snape when he told the class he would be surprised if anyone managed to finish the potion that day. Between preparing ingredients they had never used, mixing them in the right order and way, and letting it on the fire for exactly 58 minutes, it would be a close call.

In the end, the professor had been correct. But, while no one had been able to finish the class with a perfect draught, most of the students had no trouble following the instructions. Because it was such a simple and straight-forward concept, Elsa found herself lost in the activity and could once again even let go of the stress caused by the approaching feast.

“Snape must be in a festive mood,” laughing, Tonks proclaimed as soon as they were out of the teacher's earshot. “He didn't even give me detention!” After the pink-haired girl grew bored of waiting for the right moment to add the Lethe river water and started morphing her hair to look like the Professor's, he had taken five points from Hufflepuff. It was, however, an improvement from the punishment she had received in his previous lesson: detention for the weekend.

“I hadn't taken him for the type of person who would be cheered by candies.” Although sceptical of the Professor's reasons, Adam was also laughing. Since Elsa and he had managed to finish their potion in time with no trouble, Snape had found no reason to look at them at all, which they agreed to be a good thing.

Elsa wasn't so cheerful about the end of the classes since it meant it was time for the students to head back to their Common Room and get ready for the coming feast, which was deemed to start in a couple of hours. Unlike Adie and Tonks, who cared very little about how they presented themselves, the princess took her time making sure her clothes were spotless, her shirt buttoned all the way up her neck and her tie tight enough; her platinum hair was fixed on the perfect bun her mother had taught her to do on her own right before she left for Hogwarts. Presentable as a princess should always be on formal occasions.

At the point when they were about to leave for the feast, all the princess wanted to do was to stay behind and use the opportunity of having an empty Common Room to think about what had happened during the Charms class. Elsa hadn't had time to absorb the way her spell had worked before. She had been in too much of a hurry to go get a grip over her powers in order to be back to class before it was over; then, lunch with her friends and the Potion class kept her mind from focusing on that problem.

She knew, however, that being reclusive and shy wasn't a fit behaviour for the crown princess. Her tutors had always stressed that her presence in a feast held at a foreign country was compulsory since, unless she had an acceptable justification for it—and there weren't many of those—, an absence could be interpreted as an unwelcoming non-diplomatic attitude from her kingdom.

Sensing Elsa's anxiety, Tonks—still wearing the platinum blonde hair colour—wrapped her arm around the girl's shoulder as they exited the dorms to meet Adam. Although the princess felt uncomfortable about being touched, the gesture was welcomed as it was a statement of support. I'm here, it had declared. Thank you, it was the response Elsa had tried to communicate by leaning against the metamorph.

Adam was waiting for them at the Common Room in the company of his roommates, Brian Fawley, Christian Merrick, and Sullivan Rowan. “Took you long enough,” the red-haired boy told them with a playful smile and the other three boys chuckled, much to Adie's annoyance.

Although Adam preferred hanging out with Elsa, Adie, and Tonks, he was on better terms with his roommates than the girls were with the other three female Hufflepuff first-years. Brian was a slim brown-haired boy who had come from one of the oldest families in the British wizarding world. He had such a grim, serious attitude that Tonks and Adie had taken as a challenge to make him laugh.

Chris was a tall and clumsy boy obsessed with both muggle and wizard sports; Tonks and he often got themselves involved in enthusiastic discussions about the chances of quidditch teams in the British league. He wasn't as much of a sports player as he was an analyst, although he enjoyed being on a broom and had stated more than a handful of times that his favourite class was flying.

Finally, Sully was an intelligent boy who had a great interest in magical creatures since his mother was a magizoologist. He had an obvious infatuation for Tonks that rendered him mute every time she was nearby. Having noticed it, the metamorph was kind enough not to joke about it, although it hadn't stopped her from pranking on him as much as she did on her other classmates.

The seven first-years moved to the Great Hall together. Tonks, her arm around Elsa's, was debating animatedly but friendly the latest football game between Manchester United and Arsenal with Chris while the others were discussing the feast. The only ones who hadn't spoken at all were the princess, who was trying to keep herself from freaking out by focusing on the metamorph's touch, and the red-faced Sully, muted by his crush's presence.

They joined the other Hufflepuff first-years on the far end of their table, close enough to the teachers' to notice Professor Snape's annoyance at Professor Scamander's enthusiastic speech regarding how much he had missed the Hallowe'en feast at Hogwarts. He is definitely not excited for the candies. The three remaining girls from their year smiled at them when they sat down, Tonks and Adie making sure to use the boys and Elsa as a barrier.

It wasn't that the two groups of girls hated each other—it was difficult for one to dislike Tonks and Adie—, but the two pranksters had little patience for the type of discussion that the others brought to the table. While Lilith Haynes and Hannah Seward were obsessed with make-up and boys, the only other Hufflepuff muggle-born in their year besides Elsa, Yvonne Young, was a gossiper with a superior attitude.

Since they were common features in girls of noble background, the princess had had to deal with both of the types in the past and, therefore, was able to keep a polite albeit distant attitude when interacting with them. On the other hand, Tonks and Adie couldn't feign interest and had made their boredom clear during the few times one of them had tried to strike a conversation. That had created a distance between them.

Elsa was, however, too nervous about the number of people in the room to pay attention to the space Tonks and Adie had put between themselves and their classmates. The metamorph had released the princess' arm when they sat, sending towards her a careful gaze that she was too anxious to interpret. Elsa's eyes remained on her lap and her lips pressed together while her mind, unable to focus on something else, considered all the worst possible outcomes to the evening.

The cacophony caused by the voices of the countless students reunited in the Great Hall resonated in the princess' ears, but her brain couldn't make sense of anything her friends had been talking about. The girl could barely keep her magic under control at that point, but, luckily, she had decided to wear a second layer of gloves as an extra barrier between her skin and the outside world. It numbed her sense of touch to an extreme that she knew would cause a problem if she tried to hold the silverware, but that wouldn't be an issue as Elsa had no intention of eating during the feast.

While the princess didn't look up when Professor Dumbledore raised to his feet to announce the start of the feast, she averted her eyes to her left when she saw and felt Adam hand on hers. Although, unlike Tonks, he hadn't noticed that Elsa was more uncomfortable about people touching her there in particular, he wasn't surprised when she removed her hand in surprise. By then, all of her friends already knew that she didn't like being touched at all. “You should eat something,” the ginger boy offered, his eyes filled with concern.

“I am not hungry,” Elsa replied with a frown, diverging her gaze from his. Still, she searched for something that would be easy enough to be swallowed and, hopefully, digested. The last thing the princess wanted at that point was to have the eyes of her classmates on her. As usual, the dishes were much heavier than what she was used to eating, but the girl was able to spot some chocolate pudding on a corner after a while and helped herself with it.

From what she gathered about the holiday, Hallowe'en was an occasion when replacing supper with dessert was allowed. Elsa failed to understand the relationship between that tradition and witchcraft, but her theory was that it came from its muggle American counterpart that the princess had heard about right before a visit from the President of the United States and his family, a few years before.

“I should have expected that Els would pick the nearest chocolate dish!” Tonks joked, placing her hand in front of her mouth to avoid spitting the food in it while she giggled. Busy trying not to drop her spoon and familiar with her friend's lack of manners at that point, the princess just shrugged in response. Elsa had also grown used to the nickname both her two female friends had crafted for her, although she failed to understand the point about abbreviating a name as short as hers.

“You can't blame Elsa. Chocolate is like— the traditional dessert,” Adam replied the metamorph's comment, seeing that the princess wouldn't. Like Elsa, he didn't quite understand their friends' need to create nicknames for everyone and refused to use them unless it was requested by the person it referred to.

“Tradition is kind of lame, though,” Tonks replied, making a face. Everyone who knew the metamorph was aware that her disregard was caused by her mother's terrible experience with them, but the knowledge didn't make Elsa feel any less cringy and scared when she heard her friend speaking that way.

As the Crown Princess of Arendelle, she was the embodiment of the continuation of the tradition in her country. Would her friendship with Tonks survive if the metamorph found out who she was and what it represented?

“Can't say I agree with you on this matter, mate,” Adie giggled as she took Elsa's lead and filled her plate with some pudding, although it was more a statement for the former than personal preference at that moment. “Chocolate is the absolute best!”

Far from arguing with her friends, Tonks burst into laughter and wrapped her arms around Adie and Elsa, making the spoon slip from the princess' gloved hand. “Tonks! For Guds skyld!” She shouted in exasperation and annoyance, amplified by the stress she had gathered throughout the day. The outburst of feelings making the English language scarce from her mind.

Although she had spoken in Norwegian, Adie and Tonks seemed to understand that she had cursed since their laughter grew louder and more rampant. Elsa watched them dumbfounded, her face reddening in embarrassment at her outburst. At Arendelle, that behaviour would have been unacceptable and, while nobody had paid much attention to it at Hogwarts, the princess couldn't help but think she had disappointed her kingdom.

Tonks didn't allow her to dwell on that line of thought, however, as she used her other arm to bring the princess into a tighter hug. “It seems we're finally killing all that stiffness, right Els?” The metamorph chuckled before releasing the other girl altogether to high-five Adie, who was sitting on her other side.

“One more conquest for the best pranksters Hogwarts has ever seen!” Adie replied with a full grim, causing Adam to roll his eyes and Elsa to hide her face on her hands in embarrassment.

“What did you say, by the way?” The red-haired boy wondered, his voice gentler than the girls'. “It can't be this bad, can it? Something about God?”

Elsa looked up at him, encouraged by his soft voice. “I— something about Him, yes. I suppose it is just a minor blasfemi—,” the princess replied, gazing back at her lap, where her hands rested pressed against each other. “I prefer not to say it again, if it is fine.”

She couldn't tell him that blasphemy was a major offence for the Arendellian royals since, despite their personal beliefs, they were supposed to look like the perfect Christian family to set an example to their people. The crown princess herself was sceptical and non-religious while her mother followed an unnamed shamanistic religion, but that didn't matter; as their kingdom's official religion was Christian, the monarchs and their children should as well look it.

Both Adie and Tonks, who had stopped laughing to hear her answer, turned to look at her in astonished confusion. “Blas-what?” Adie reacted before Tonks or Adam could ask. Elsa had caught the interest of all of her friends since she rarely revealed something about herself or gave her personal opinion on subjects that weren't related to a class.

“Blasfemi— I do not know if it is spoken this way in English, but it means— when someone improperly uses or speaks of a hellig— religious image,” the princess' speech was slow, as it always was when talking about a topic she had never been instructed to discuss in English, trying to replace words she didn't know with the ones she knew or on her mother tongue.

“I have never taken you for a religious person, Els,” Adie was, once again, the one to voice what all of them were thinking. Although they had never discussed religion, Elsa knew there were always signs that indicated when someone was devoted to a particular faith; ones the girl had never shown since she wasn't, in reality.

That was, once again, something that would be rather difficult to be explained without mentioning her royal status. Elsa supposed she could tell them that a proper religious stance was something her parents required from her despite her lack of belief, but the reply was more elaborated and would raise questions the princess was too nervous to answer at that moment.

So, she once again shrugged in response. “In a foreign land, one must respect the local traditions and I have learned that the majority of the British were Christians,” it wasn't as much of a lie as it was an avoidance to answer. From her experience with them, Elsa knew Tonks and Adie would be too opinionated to make further questions.

Indeed, it took no longer than ten seconds before Tonks broke the silence that had followed Elsa's comment. “Now that you are saying it— most of my muggle relatives are church-goers. My grandparents even convinced my mum and dad to take me once. I thought it was brilliant that they drink their god's blood, but dad explained to me it was just wine, which killed the fun. It was boring with all that singing and all.”

“Mum has always donated to the church near our house, though. They do some projects to help the poor, it's kind of nice.” Adam was thoughtful for a moment before a wide smile started spreading through his face, “hey! I bet Jesus would have been a Hufflepuff! He was definitely a wizard if he could change water into wine and walk on the water.”

“Don't be dumb. That's because he is a god. Or was he a demigod?” Adie looked at Adam and Elsa as she asked since Tonks had already said she was as clueless as she was. The princess, however, was too scared of blaspheming to open her mouth again. This was a subject she had been taught not to ever discuss since it could cause some major diplomatic conflicts.

“He's God's son. Or perhaps he was a demigod since his mum was human,” he slapped his own forehead as if trying to wake a memory of his past church experience. After a few seconds, he gave up, “anyway, I don't see why God can't be a wizard. I bet He was the most powerful wizard of all time.”

The three friends turned to Elsa in a request for her to contribute to the conversation since they had come to a deadlock. Feeling trapped, the princess took such a long time thinking about what to answer that Adie got impatient, “is Jesus a wizard, Els? If you are hesitating, I bet you know the answer!”

“I— do not have the answer. I am afraid my knowledge on theology is rather limited,” still embarrassed by her previous outburst, Elsa refused to look at Adie as she replied. “However, the practice of burning witches had a Christian background and many priests would still find this questioning quite— improper for a good Christian.”

“What do you think, though?” Adie pressed, ignoring Tonks and Adam's warning glare. The duo had no trouble understanding the moments when pressuring Elsa into talking was reckless, although the metamorph was the most skilled of them. Adie, on the other hand, was too impatient to pick on the signs.

“I am not a priest or even educated enough to have a say, Adie.” For once, all the noise in the room had ceased to exist as the princess' focus was turned to avoiding her friends' questions without betraying her royal background.

“Well, you are allowed to have an opinion, aren't you?”

“Actually, that's not how it works, is it? Leo and I had to do all those courses at church to even be a part of some of their rites. And I know you have to study a lot more to be a full Christian,” Adam came to Elsa's rescue since Adie was refusing to acknowledge Tonks' attempts to call her attention. “It's like asking one of us to have an opinion about Advanced Transfiguration.”

“You were still saying that Jesus could have been a wizard,” Adie countered, stubbornly.

“Yes, but Elsa is entitled to not saying something random when she can't even begin understanding the matter.”

After sending a grateful gaze toward Adam, Elsa tuned off the conversation. She knew that Adam wouldn't let go of the bickering until Tonks took his place or Adie gave it up. It hadn't been the first time she had been cornered by Adie and it wouldn't be the last.

From her previous experience, however, she knew as a fact that Adie would apologize to her later. The princess understood that she wasn't being mean to her, the other blonde was just too impulsive to read between the subtle lines Elsa drew. Although much alike, Tonks and she were quite distinct in that sense, which was a good thing since the metamorph was able to reach Adie and pull her away from the conversation with gentleness.

After a while, Elsa lost track of the time as exhaustion consumed her. Between the spur of magic during class and the feast, it had been a long day. It was a technic she had practised for many years that kept her in perfect composure in spite of how she was feeling kept her from breaking right there and then; from time to time, she took her glass with pumpkin juice to her lips and sip it, using the taste to keep her thoughts clear.

Eventually, Elsa felt a touch on her arm and, looking up, found Tonks worried eyes. The princess found the way she had started relying on her friends so fast interesting. Although there was much they didn't know about her, they started feeling like an important part of her family: her brother and sisters in the heart.

They shielded her from the rest of the school by protecting her from bullies and pranksters, translating both words and customs to her, and helping her with the subjects and exercises from the classes that she found difficult. Tonks, the oldest of them and by far the most empathetic, was also their conciliator, keeping the group together and in accordance.

“You okay?” The metamorph asked, removing her hands as soon as Elsa turned toward her. “I'm sure it won't take much longer until the feast is over.”

“I am tired,” the confession surprised both Elsa and Tonks since the princess wasn't one of admitting such things. Still, it didn't feel much different from saying it to her parents, her nanny, or Anna, “it's been a long day.”

Tonks nodded in response before picking a box of a chocolate frog on the table and handing it to Elsa, who looked at her, puzzled. “It's been a while since you last sent a card for your sister. Between you and I, I bet we can get something interesting for her.”

The princess took the frog into her hands with a shy smile. In her first month at Hogwarts, Anna had sent her quite a few letters asking about magic and the castle; eager to be in touch with the sister she loved more than the world itself, Elsa complied with long replies of descriptions as well as small gifts. That was the first time they had talked in three years.

When the younger princess expressed her desire to collect chocolate frog cards, the older began sending her weekly boxes and the cards she had gotten from her own frogs. Soon, Tonks and the others joined in by giving her the ones they already had and Anna's collection started growing fast. Although she never told her friends about it, they seemed to understand how important it was to keep the correspondence between her sister and her frequent.

In the previous weeks, however, Elsa had been too busy and worried to send her sister the usual package. Suddenly distracted by the guilty for having forgotten her sister, the princess opened the box and removed the card to find a face she had never seen. “Alberic Grunnion,” she looked with curiosity at the bald wizard on the card before turning it to read the description, “this nineteenth-century wizard invented the Dungbomb—?”

“That's a funny one! I'm sure Anna will love it,” Tonks giggled and opened her own box, “oh! I got Donaghan Tremlett! He's the Weird Sisters' bass player.”

Tonks kept Elsa busy selecting cards to send to Anna while eating the chocolate, being joined by Adie and Adam at some point. By the end of the feast, the princess was surprised to realize she had forgotten where she was and, albeit still tired, had had some fun. The combination of her friends' efforts and her desire to make Anna happy had been exactly what she had needed to endure what would have been, otherwise, a terrible experience.

---

Lys opp - the imperative form of “lyse opp”, meaning “light up”.

Blasfemi means “blasphemy” and hellig means “sacred”.

#frozen fic #harry potter fic #harry potter au #frozen au #elsa of arendelle #nymphadora tonks #arcardia green #adam howard #filius flitwick #my fanfics #the others

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guileheroine · 3 years ago

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arcane thoughts

as usual, putting things down for posterity so i dont forget my fresh impressions! [spoilers]

i’ve watched the show twice in the last ~week and i love it!

didn’t rly know anything going in (apart from hearing it was good) but what i didn’t expect is that it would fulfil one of my deepest narrative kinks: the intense, fucked up, tragic (found)family stuff here is my bread, butter, juice & jam!! vi & jinx, vi & vander (😖😖 i found them the immediate emotional core pre-timeskip), jinx & silco (😖😖😖!!!!!), vander & silco, it’s a LOT. the angst, the difficult loyalties, the being each other’s achilles heels of it all. front-and-center family dynamics in spec-fic are always a lance to my heart and few things have scratched this itch so good. out of a strong ensemble cast where i like everyone i’d prob pick those characters as my fav for this reason

jinx shouldn’t work as well as she does bc girl!joker isn’t usually my vibe wrt character types but the groundwork is solid, there’s much more going on than those aesthetics & her being ~teehee crazy! vi was my early fave (kids who act like adults are just ugh… the responsibility she felt not just for the siblings but also vander like. i cant think about it tbh), and maybe i’m still dean winchester-pilled but the eldest child x bruiser combo is simply elite, stacking that temperament over that backstory. kinda love how woobifiable they both are yes i will put them in a jar. the contrast between their trauma is compelling—jinx is erratic & indulgent, and frayed by silco’s influence, while vi clearly represses out of a sense of guilt/responsibility and prison survival mode. and then with all these divergences theyre just talking over each other, even tho they sort of want the same thing they dont know how to get there! irreparable (?) sibling drama! abandonment drama! knife and fork please!! (sidenote after wading into fandom a bit, im truly ecstatic they made complicated & mutually raw family dynamics the show’s centre, even tho it’s predictably not that legible to Fandom and its ‘ship/stan or bust’ orientation)

i think part 1 was the strongest — the whole show is tight but the later parts, as more of a setup for the future, don’t have a bow around them in the same way

ep 3 specifically was where i became thoroughly engaged, it’s like this masterful Greek Tragedy conga, definitely sth i’ll return to when i want to be emotionally hollowed out. just writing this makes me wanna go back

mel is STUNNING, maybe the most aesthetically pleasing character design i’ve ever seen. saw a pic of her before i knew the show and i was like 😩😩😩. the gold accents, arm/thigh braces, goooorgeous. i didn’t find her as interesting until the stuff with her mum came in, but rewatching in that light rly endeared me. looking forward to how she squares what happens at the end of s1 with her anti-war convictions (if she survives). also would like to know more about what her brother was like?

deeply intrigued by what viktor’s Final Form will look like, he feels like a little gnaw on my heart when i think about the show. a quietly magnetic understated character. viktor and mel doing a lot of legwork in dragging jayce into relevance for me. solid ot3 potential there, but i also dig the two jayce pairings (the fact that i think he and mel have basically no chemistry but it’s still cute lol) jayce is cute tbh! and there’s that dash of overreach to all three that i adore, good foils

he talks shit but heimerdinger getting kicked off the council and scurrying off destroyed me, whyyy did they make him look like the devastating combo of old man + babie

plotwise, much to consider & my thoughts congealed better on rewatch- the class warfare plotline could go well, fingers are crossed. it’d be cool to see the piltover charas that are being positioned as heroes like jayce and caitlyn have their moral frameworks blown open and excavated more (bc there’s a point where the good cop naivete becomes odd/grating in smart grownup characters no matter how well intentioned). ensure the inequality, corruption etc is a character motive rather than an overly accentuated but ultimately incidental detail (im looking darkly at lok s1). basically ig i hope the show knows it hasnt set up a both-sides situation in its deep, sustained worldbuilding even if a few enforcers got blown up. likewise really hope they don’t file off the chip on vi’s shoulder just bc she’s working with piltover and jinx made a mess

one thing i had a little trouble with was silco’s motivations—if he wanted justice for the undercity then why the drug kingpin stuff that laid it low? i guess he’s pretty fucked up and the profit + power motive can definitely coexist with high ideals esp in a brutal survival context but now he’s gone i’m excited to see how the undercity charas negotiate their future, amongst themselves even more so than with piltover. also when he went to vander’s statue after the parley w jayce and drew that dad/daughter parallel hurgleee

sevika. she could be such a good anti-hero! im not usually a villain person but tbh no one really read as a villain. i wonder what underlied her striking loyalty and how she’ll configure her place w/o silco, and yeah better articulation of the zaunites’ motivations🙏🏽

caitlyn/vi: good!! a normally paced gay ship comfortably nestled between ship tease and canon. the class dynamic they keep gesturing to is very tasty (the scene in the rain?? bollywood!) hope there’s more angst before it goes Canon canon— the ship has a lovely crackle to it and would be well served by a fuller contention w their differences (which are big + interesting even if theyve become close in a war-bond/chemistry way. otherwise yeah might feel like a disservice to the charas if swept under for ship preservation)

i neeeeed more ekko (and the firelights) loved their whole setup! no punk like solarpunk. wish we saw him with jinx more—would have made their charged reunion mega effective if we saw him with her as a kid the way we saw him with vi

the quality and density of the writing for such a short show bodes well. they’re juggling a lot very deftly so happy to give the benefit of the doubt wrt any nitpicks/worries. the characters all feel like dimensional and nuanced manifestations of their archetypes, in a way that makes me wanna keep a permanent distance from fanon bc i know how it goes there

the two vi/sevika fights 🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽. the first time in my life that ive felt like an action fan. (also is there #content of them?? asking for a whore)

the pov shot of mel leaning in to kiss jayce is theee funniest thing ever, idk why i find them so funny (affectionate). that pov shot of vi when caitlyn strokes her cheek makes me want to kiss the animators’ feeeeet

whole show makes me wanna kiss the artists’ feet tbh. you can tell they got to express themselves, and all the stylistic stuff is super cool—rly works and the visual intensity didn’t put me off even tho it’s something i can find very overstimulating in the wrong show. it recalls spiderverse very strongly. i want to watch it on like a home cinema screen (rich people hmu). the gestures are so expressive and subtle in a way i often miss when watching animation (coming to cartoons from live action, i admit that ive never rly been convinced that cartoon charas can have a physical- not just textual- chemistry). this feels like the best of both worlds but it’s actually only animation. masterful

soundtrack slaps. the songs are used to great tonal effect. that sequence to ‘our love’ when the enforcers are coming in and vi’s going to give herself up was excellent and caused stirrings even when i had barely any attachment to the charas. the show is so cinematic. also i highly dont recommend carefully listening to the sting song in ep9 and thinking about the abandonment drama.

grateful that it has really lit my fire as a fan!! it’s been a few years since i felt so engaged with sth that actually feels like a world, and not just for one or two aspects of it. i was honestly almost certain that i had just aged out of that kind of hyperfixation-excitement. very happy :D

in conclusion:

#arcane #*

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beautifulramblingbrains · 8 years ago

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Crush - Chapter 1. Daydreaming.

Pairing: Eric/OC *Abbey* Fandom: Divergent Rating: M

A memory from Eric's past plays tricks on him. And it's all about the girl, Abbey Ainsworth.

A/N: So, as I’m in a state of limbo, I’ve taken it upon myself to slowly edit my way through my old work. This is my first fanfiction I ever did and I think it’s about time I began uploading it on here.

Abbey Ainsworth.

Fuck. He hadn't thought of that name in over three years. If it wasn't for the number boy he probably wouldn't have thought of it for another ten.

But today is different. Today he has the time to sit in remembrance. He has time to reminisce about what was - even if the memories give him a heated inner core and a bad case of the Monday's.

Stretching his legs leisurely under the table and sitting further back in his recliner chair, he has no further duties that require his personal attention for a good hour. He was enclosed and cocooned by the safety of his dimly-lit office with the blinds half-mast. He was safe here to empty the trashy thoughts that seemed to have crept up on him out of the hazy mist of his youthful brain.

Abbey Ainsworth.

Eric lazily flops his arm down to the drawer on the side of the desk, pulling the secret cigarettes that he always kept there. In fact, they weren't really a secret, he would smoke if he wanted and wouldn't care for who's say so. But he liked to think for his health that it was his dirty little secret, and right now, there didn't seem any better time than to pull one, bite the filter and light the damn thing. It was a need, a must, and he's already blazing it habitually as the name seems to simper back into his brain again.

Abbey Ainsworth.

He couldn't really remember when they became friends back at Erudite. It just, sort of, happened…

She used to be in his class. Brown bob, skinny, and her teeth too big for her head. They hadn't even spoken in between the years, he didn't even really know she existed and treated her to that same effect.

Eric regarded her as any other little annoying girl and that boys didn't hang around with girls, they were disgusting, vile, whiners.

That's until they got put together randomly in biology.

He'd just turned thirteen and honestly, couldn't think of anything worse than having to discuss with her the ecology and evolution of life through frog dissection. Having a girl as his lab partner… he all but groaned as he imagined her freaking out or possibly hurling like Sandy Morrison. But she didn't.

In fact, she'd taken the knife out of his gloved hands, smiled up at him through her vented safety goggles and sliced the stomach open before the teacher even gave them the go-ahead.

It was in that moment, the little annoying girl with the brown bob and teeth too big for her head, professionally and enthrallingly slicing and pulling apart the frog's skin like she was a complete psychopath - It was in that moment he knew they would be the best of friends.

It only seemed to get better as the year passed.

She helped him cheat in his Math's test at fourteen. They had devised a unique tap of the foot in the silenced room, to which she swirled numbers on her back with a finger once he'd alerted her to his entrapment, sometimes throwing a coy smile over her shoulder when authority wasn't looking. Afterward, they ditched all further lessons and took to the biggest oak tree they could find.

It was her idea.

She climbed first, swinging her bright blue bag over her shoulder and tying her woolen knitted jumper to her waist, calling him "Chicken shit," when he didn't attempt to climb in the first instance. But to be fair, he was just trying not to look up her dress as she uncaringly climbed from branch to branch.

There, they sat for hours until their asses felt raw, talking nothing but utter nonsense and mocking over the nerdy freaks in their class. Soon, it seemed to become a regular thing, so much so, that one day they both carved their names at the top - No hearts or any other drivel, just their names. But she drew a smiley face…

At one point when they were fifteen Abbey never turned up for school one day. It wasn't like her, she always turned up and he couldn't understand why.

It wasn't like he could message her - he got his phone confiscated by his parents when it got reported they had prank-called Desmond Drip too many times in one night.

But in the one day, he'd never felt so lost. Not even his other friends shared the same sense of indulgent humor as they did, and it was a plain fact he'd clock watched the entire day until he could go looking for her.

He'd found her, eventually. She was at home, and she'd answered the door barely able to look at him.

"What happened to your face?" he asked, and she diverted her eyes to the floor. There was one specific eye blackened and shining as a massive indicator of injustice, and the mere thought and sight made his blood boil to an inhuman temperature.

He knew by the way she was looking indirectly to the floor, that nothing was alright in the life of Abbey Ainsworth. He knew this look, it was a look he did himself, one of loss of pride, but also something she'd been trying to hide.

"Sarah Mackey." The words fall from her quivered but rosy lips.

"Why?" He watches as her eyes well up, but she won't cry, won't allow herself to, not in front of him.

"Because she says I'm a whore for hanging around with boys."

He'd left her that evening having found the new knowledge of deep personal interest. He'd found Sarah Mackey's older brother by the bench of the south entrance the next morning and, quite frankly, beat the living shit out of him.

"That's for Abbey!" he let bellow from the pit of his stomach once he'd dropped him. But it also earned him a matching black eye amid the chaos - that he wasn't too pleased with. It didn't matter though, as when he went to see Abbey later on that day, they matched…

Her smile beamed from ear to ear and strangely she threw her arms around his neck for thanks. It was their first ever hug… but it wasn't their last.

At sixteen, Abbey's hair was long. She'd filled out perfectly and she sported breasts, whereas he sported half-decent facial hair for once. But they still acted as if they were thirteen, name-calling, jinxing, free-hits.

They had their aptitude tests at the beginning of the year, and Eric was unsurprised to find that he wasn't Erudite after swiping the knife in the fear simulation and easily obliterating the dog. They weren't allowed to say what they got, but it didn't mean he hadn't the insatiable urge to ask Abbey. They settled for: "Not Erudite" instead, and that's the way it stayed.

Eric's father passed halfway through that year from a sudden heart attack.

The news was delivered to him after being escorted from their English class by their main professor and he was sent home accordingly. She turned up later that night, she didn't say anything, didn't have to. He saw she was already aware of the news. Instead of offering her condolences, Abbey pulled him into her arms, his face in her peppermint hair, her nose against his neck. He couldn't figure out how long they stood like that, but it was a long time. But it was enough, being with her at that moment was enough…

Then one day everything changed.

Abbey found him after class and jingled a cigarette in his face, well, what he thought was a cigarette. It was not until they were back at their tree within the ruined cities wilderness that he actually found out it was a joint.

They smoked that shit till their lungs burned and eyes bled.

They practiced blowbacks and he'd burnt his lip. She tried to teach him to blow rings but he Just. Simply. Couldn't. However, that didn't matter, they laughed highly for what seemed like hours at practically nothing. And it was the best time of his life.

Laying softly on the small pit of earth beneath the tree, watching the branches sway in the light breeze as the moon decided to make an appearance. He remembers it being a full moon, the dewy blue haze settling upon them softly and deliciously cool - that eventually he felt cold fingers slide over the back of his hand, placing themselves entwined with his.

The breath practically hitched in his throat and he'd froze, but it didn't stop him from turning his head and noticing the way she was looking at him. When their eyes met she'd smiled softly and chastely said:

"You're my moon."

Before slowly turning her gaze back up towards the tree and the sky and whatever else she was looking at. However, he didn't, he allowed him a few extra minutes to take in her never-noticed-before features. The gradual slope of her nose, the puckered lips, her long lazily blinking eyelashes as she was pooled by a pillow of her own chestnut hair framed around her head. It was in that moment, he realized how beautiful she was and wondered why he'd never seen it before.

They held hands in silence until midnight.

Eric's life came to a blazing, sharp, gut-wrenching, panicky ball of nerves when Abbey's parents invited him to dinner. He'd spent the whole day of the Friday panicking. He'd gone home and changed between four shades of blue before finalizing on something parent-worthy but utterly, boringly, blue... But what got to him the most was how he couldn't really figure out why this bothered him so much…

Of course, he'd met her parents, but briefly. And usually, it was because they were in trouble or he was coming to see if she was home. It was never formal, however.

All night he put on his best behavior and told them stories about himself, how he was doing in his classes, things he liked and didn't like. But in his side-view, Abbey just smiled at him from across the table as he spoke. He would almost say it was as if they were the only people in the room and his gray eyes would hold hers for moments far too long.

Till she slid her foot up his leg…

And continued to do so through dessert, earning him a temporary cough and marks in between his fingers from his own nails.

At seventeen, they had one year left to the choosing ceremony. And this seemed to pain Eric more than he would like.

He hadn't told her about which faction he was planning on joining after Erudite. He was far too broad and significantly provoked in the Erudite navy uniform with his great height and strong jawline. He wasn't in the slightest muscular, just athletic, but better built than the average men he'd seen milling around. But it wasn't just that…

Eric wanted more. He wanted freedom. He wanted power. He wanted to be Dauntless… But all those things he wanted with Abbey. However, the unknown faction of her choice was simpering on the fine edge of earth shattering heartache.

However, he could never find the right words to tell Abbey appropriately, even when every inch of him screamed him to out it. And when he felt that perhaps he had stumbled upon them and was about to let them slip, she turns and smiles at him, holds his hand, plays with his hair. It's like she knew what he was thinking.

At break, with his head in her lap and under the familiar oak tree. She lazily picks the petals from a flower. Nipping the petals softly, letting them flutter past his head, while he stares between her face and the puny white monstrosities of flower spawn. Then unexpectedly, she meets his eye.

"I want to show you something…" Abbey's cheeks ignite, and a million things run through his head. Had he missed something? Nothing usually gets by him.

She pushes him to sit and he drawls "Okkkay," unsurely.

Abbey blushes as she looks to the floor again and Eric hides his embarrassment for her.

She shrugs off her cardigan and slowly, her dainty fingers work at the buttons of her white shirt, painstakingly leisurely. All he can seem to do is stare with his Adam's apple bobbing repeatedly as he tries to swallow the saliva that's decided to form quicker.

She throws off her shirt and sits in a white lacy bra in front of him with her milky skin exposed. He tries his hardest to keep her gaze but he can't help the momentary acts of defiance his eyes seem to make.

"Wh-" Eric tries to talk with his jaw slack, but she hushes him quickly.

"Shh." She shuffles closer on her knees. "Don't ruin it." Slowly, she moves forwards, her eyes searching each of his and he stares back with the same passionate glint that he sees beginning to form in hers.

She kisses him.

His first kiss.

Her lips were hot and lusciously soft against his own, and he let his eyes close along with hers.

She bites at his bottom lip while pulling away slowly. He was surprised at first, but smiles when she tilts her head back to roam over his face briefly, maybe checking if he was possibly still breathing.

"Chicken shit," she says. "You're supposed to kiss me first."

"You're not exactly conventional." And she kisses his smile. This time he opens his mouth a little and she responds instantly, sliding her sweet tongue to search out his, hands sliding round to the back of his head and through his hair. He grips at her waist and pulls her forward, sliding a hand up her back and finding the lacy material of her bra, mentally trying to figure out just exactly how he's found himself in this scenario and whether he's the most luckiest son of a bitch on this planet.

"Take it off," she practically purrs, moving back a little to catch his reaction.

"What if someone sees us?"

"What if…" She shrugs. And like a classical school-boy, he fumbles for about five minutes trying to figure out the stupid clasp and can't fathom why it won't naturally move the way he wants it to. She merely giggles, and with a special superhuman ability – unclasps it with one hand.

Eric doesn't want to look out of courtesy but just can't help it. Perfectly pert, untouched skin sits before him, the nipple hardened and tempestuously pink.

"I want you to touch me, Eric." And he didn't need telling twice. The soft skin sits pleasantly against his palm as he lightly squeezes. Abbey leans in and kisses him again, pushing him further and further backward until he's almost lying flat and she hovers over him.

That day she tells him.

"I think – I think I love you…"

But he doesn't say it back, and she doesn't appear to be disheartened. She knows him too well to be put off by his uniquely restrictive mind. To be honest, he didn't even really know what love was, so how could he say it? Was this love?

Abbey had always been more openly emotional in front of him to some extent, she was a blunt girl when it came to him. Apart from physically showing emotional attachment, they'd never really talked about it…

But not only that, she didn't know that he was planning on choosing Dauntless next year. That's where his mind took him and it would be unfair to whisper the sweet nothings to her if he had no plan on staying.

Being with Abbey here was ultimately pleasing too, but he was so sure she would pick Dauntless. She had all the strengths and cunning, and if he was going, she would be going too. He could feel it, he knew it, no doubts.

Things became serious the day before the choosing ceremony.

Abbey shows up at his parent's place and is shown to his room by his mom throwing the door open unexpectedly. "Thank you, Mrs Coulter," Abbey says sweetly and smiles while stepping into his room.

Eric throws the book he was reading to one side and takes a minute to take in her appearance. She's sodden, walked there in the rain.

"I wanted to see you… before tomorrow, in case…" She shivers.

He signals for her to sit on the bed and throws her his towel. Her damp, flattened locks lay limp by her face. She looks pale, almost frightened.

"Don't, we shouldn't say…"

"That's not the only reason why I'm here. Lock the door," she talks very seriously and he complies - with a little sense of hesitation. She holds her hand out as the lock clicks and sighing lightly under the unknown, he walks over and holds it. "Lie down with me." Her eyes appear watery, hazy and he wonders what exactly is going through her mind right now. He moves, but she stops him. "Without your clothes."

"Are you sure?" He wasn't going to detest.

"I've never been so sure."

He would like to say that it was the most perfect sex anyone could have for their first time, but he would be lying. They were a giggling set of fools, clumsily roaming parts of their bodies that he'd never thought he would have the delight of seeing… or feeling. He'd made her squirm uncomfortably on their first try and he pulled out apologizing only to be dragged back with Abbey's natural stubbornness.

What was more thrilling was the fact that they could've been caught. However, they were lucky on this night, his mother had left them to their own devices. He did think that perhaps she maybe knew why Abbey was here and that was the reason she had let them be. Eric guessed he would never know and for in that moment – didn't care either…

Abbey gets called to choose before him, throwing him a long look before fixing a sturdy gaze towards the bowls of factions.

Eric can't help the nervous shifts and racing heart as he waits somewhat patiently, his mother's hand lightly laying on his knee for small comfort.

"She's a smart girl," his mother tells him. "And I know how close you two are but you have to do what's right for you, not for others…" At the time he didn't think too much of it, but his mother had openly predicted their fate.

…Abbey chooses Amity.

Every inch of skin on him is ablaze as he watches her make her way to sickening pink and yellow. looney nut-jobs. She looks utterly lost and tries to look back for him but is pulled into one of the open seats with the Amity faction. Abbey smiles to other members, but it's not her usual, he should know, he knew her better than anyone else. However, he didn't expect this, never knew which way her heart was taking her.

If he'd thought about it hard enough, the signs were there: Their oak tree, the outdoors and love of flowers, hate of violence with Sarah Mackey, the relaxing smoke they took together under the moonlight and hugging him obsessively for the last three years.

He'd always classed it is a warped sense of Dauntless, never Amity.

His blood burned with a sense of betrayal. It felt like she had lied all this time, but he knew she hadn't and that he couldn't truly be mad of her choice in all respect. The anger was more at himself for feeling how he did towards her, and for the main element – he'd have to let her go.

The last time they saw each other, he shared an expressionless look towards her watery eyes as they parted ways on their journey to their new factions.

Dauntless was his new home.

Sighing as he pulls himself from his lost thoughts, he once again curses Four for his untimely reminder of Abbey Ainsworth and wiggles the mouse of the computer to check the time.

11.50AM

Eric clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth in annoyed anticipation that he would have to deal with this onslaught of deliverance. Amity would be arriving soon. Their trucks dirtied and thick tiered tires crunching the broken concrete of Dauntless instead of their plush fields, laden with the hippies of Amity and batches of produce for the glutinous warrior faction.

Just fucking dandy.

Every vertebra clicks as he stands, his room washed with the smell of a chain-smoker and an awful temper for inconveniences. He doesn't bother to pick up his phone, but he attaches his gun to his right thigh and an A4 page of the checklist he will no doubt develop a headache over.

The walk from his office to the warehouses isn't long, and he's never bothered by anyone. No one now would dare talk to him when he was in this mood, nor even make eye contact, and that was the way he liked it these days, a far cry to how he was in Erudite.

He supposed the behavior was always there in a way. He spat at the youngsters and she would laugh. He would fetch the ball from the moat and she would stay by the shore and dry. He would physically beat anyone that touched his Abbey and was always rewarded by her smile.

Eric shakes his head vigorously; he's not going back down that road again. That was a hell of enough for one day.

"So glad you could join us, Eric." Max stares out to the trucks rolling up in front of them. "I had a feeling you might not even turn up."

"Is that a sense of sarcasm I'm hearing?" Eric places his hands behind his back and imitates the strong look towards the truck, unbothered by the small questioning glance to his rather unusual passive state. "Let's just get this done."

The few subordinate Dauntless soldiers run a-mock as they divert the trucks to their certain bays. The heavy beeping and shouting drowning out even the deepest of thoughts as the gassy smoke from the exhausts back-fire and smolder the burning oil towards his nostrils.

Eric has stood here and overlooked this arrangement fifty times over, and as far as he was aware everything was working out the way it should before him and he didn't feel the need to intervene.

…Until one of the trucks stall and the backdoor unhinges, sending bags of produce tumbling out the back and smashing onto the floor, spilling ungracefully across the lot.

"Fuck," Eric mutters and Max sends him an incredulous look, unmoving from his position. "Fine. I'll go then."

Eric closes the gap brutally with his swift stride and arms himself for the onslaught of abuse that he's going to send the clumsy Amity packing-with. The Amity and Dauntless alike in the nearest vicinity move hastily in retreat and he doesn't bless them with even a small act of acknowledgment.

Instead, he grips the door handle of the red rust-bucket truck and yanks on it with limited grace. "You want to tell me what the fuck-"

He stops mid-sentence.

Eric must've have smoked too much tobacco and daydreamed far too much to be imagining her blushing down at him from the wrecked material seats of the truck.

Abbey.

It was her, he was sure of it, albeit a little more mature and magnificently filled out to the svelte of her curves. It was her.

Abbey's hair was still chestnut, her eyes still green and flecked with hazel, her adorable pout, and perfect nose. But she had bangs, side-swept bangs that were the only difference.

"I'm really sorry…" She begins and he wished he could have said anything other than:

"Abbey?" The word was so out of character and soft that he didn't believe he'd even said it. He naturally pulls his features into his usual frown, but the eyes are less intense, it was all about the eyes.

He physically hadn't said her name in years, it was all mainly in his thoughts from earlier. Fuck, he hadn't even thought of her since - until today…

Abbey's face is a maze of assumptions as she mulls over exactly who's standing in front of her. Slowly, but surely, disbelief arises. "…No way…" She whispers under her breath and his skin prickles at the sound. "Eric?"

He takes a small look around him to make sure no one's really paying attention before shifting closer. "What are you- why are you here?"

And as casually as ever, she laughs, smiling that familiar smile he remembered so well. "What does it look like?" He could bite his own tongue off for his stupid questions and stupid face so pitifully brimming on a long-lost hope.

Abbey slides down the seats and roams over his attire, curling her nose up a little and probably taking in the thick tattoos swamping his neck along with the piercings above his brow and multiple ear pieces. "Wow, Eric, you look…huge…like…really big…" Her eyes light up as she talks and expresses each word specifically. "Buff."

She looks pretty, too fucking pretty at this moment in time and every inch of him is trying to suppress the urge to grab her by the arm and take her all the way back to his apartment and bite at her skin and relish all the ways that he missed that knotted feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You know me, full of surprises…"

"I heard you got ranked really highly… a Leader… Wow, look at you…" She rubs his arm and he thinks perhaps she doesn't know how offensive that would be if it were anyone else, but he lets her anyway.

Eric breaks the intense study he's performing over her appearance and directs a sharp look to the Amity standing around. "Well, don't just stand there, clean it up!" he snaps and Abbey shifts beside him, turning fractionally to do as he says. "Not you." He should say something else, something casual. However, he's somewhat out of practice. "You haven't changed a bit…" Good one.

"You certainly have. I mean, I barely recognized you. It's been-" She peers off in thought, her lips pouting slightly.

"Three years."

"Somebody has been counting…" She devours him with her eyes and he's actually nervous… nervous… he is never nervous. But he supposes every monster has their weaknesses.

"I, er, have been thinking about you…" Eric practically whispers, breaking any personal contact with her. "-because of the deliveries and Amity, and I knew you were-"

"I've been thinking about you, too." She stops his murmuring and lightly touches his arm again. "I hoped I'd get the chance to see you again."

His expression must ask the question 'why' as she answers anyway.

"I want you…" She hesitates for a split second. "I want you to come to my wedding…"

What. The. Fuck.

"No!" Eric spits the word venomously, a heat running from the base of his spine and blanching onto his neck. "Don't be stupid, you're not getting married."

"Erm, yes I am… In two weeks."

Eric knew she couldn't possibly love her fiancé; he wouldn't be enough for her, no one ever would be. Only Eric was meant for the girl. - This girl of all his firsts. This girl that spent far too much time clogging his mind today and sculpting his childhood.

The possessiveness was beginning to peak under the new assault of jealousy and lust. He would rip any person that would touch his Abbey, from limb to limb and enjoy himself while doing it.

"No," he says gruffly. "No I will not come to your wedding and you're an idiot for thinking so…" He leaves the words to linger in the air and it physically hurts when her face unravels in absolute surprise at his outburst and brutal honesty.

"Have I… done something to offend you?" She shrugs with her palms towards him in great apology, but it's not enough.

Eric beats down the eloping misery and turns away from her, feeling her eyes burn into the back of his head and the ripping sensation in his chest.

Loudly he snarls, "I hope you have a very happy life together."

This was not what he planned, not what he wanted to say, but the monster that was him couldn't bare her anywhere near him anymore. Not with those hideously exposed revelations.

Abbey will not marry another man… not while he still breathed.

He just needed time to figure out how. Marking his own words, he'll fucking stop her from devoting herself to someone else. He had the power swaying heavily in his favor and contacts heavily primed in Amity to help him do so.

Mark my words, Abbey Ainsworth will be mine.

#crush #chapter 1 #edited #about time #eric coulter #eric #divergent #eric divergent fanfiction #insurgent #oc #jai courtney

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