#even now something will go sideways and ill be like 'aw this sucks' and a small dumb moronic voice in my brain will go

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

when i was a kid i read something on the internet saying something like "whatever you're going through, remember that someone out there is going through the same exact thing" so yada yada "you're not alone" and i was at the age where you just believed things you read so for a bunch of time i was convinced that there was someone out there that i somehow didn't know of living the same exact life as me, going through the same exact set of situations with the same exact problems, and feeling the same exact way as me at all times

until i realised that's not exactly what that meant and i was so relieved

[withoneheadlight]

| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

~

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

.

.

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟

[fortisfiliae]

Promised Part 6 - Tom Riddle x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2k

Part 6 - Of Vows and Wrangles

Winter came suddenly this year, and so did Christmas. With all the schoolwork you had been doing for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s in June, the weeks had passed by as quickly as a snitch on the Quidditch field. The holidays were a much-needed break and to see your family again was an even bigger delight.

Elsie did great. She looked like nothing had ever happened to her. No curse, no illness that had almost cost her life. She ran around the house like the years before, excited for the big day to finally come. The house-elves seemed glad to have her and all her shenanigans back as well. Much to your parent’s dismay, but they let most of it slide. They were thankful their daughter was healthy enough to fool around again. And so were you.

Christmas day was as cosy and joyful as ever. You spent the whole day with Elsie and your parents, exchanged gifts and played together. Elsie got her first broom and started her first attempt at flying, which resulted in a knocked over vase, that split into a million pieces, and a crash landing into the fireplace. Some tears were shed and dried again, and a “no flying inside” rule was established, which resulted in another crying fit. Oh, how you had missed it all.

Your mother had waited until the late evening to tell you that the Gaunts would come to visit for lunch the next day. She must have known that you would pepper her with questions again. It was necessary and polite, she said, to invite the future family and show them your interest.

There was certainly no interest to be given to Tom’s grandfather and uncle, but now that you thought of Tom, you had to admit that you missed him. How he had held your hand, how surprisingly cautious and gentle he had been. This memory was embedded in your brain. You would have expected anything but this from him. Anything but that soft and coy demeanour. Those minutes of proximity had told you more about him than seven years of school had. And still, it made you nervous thinking about meeting him along with his family again. They were the ones that must have made him so cold. So you fell asleep, anticipation and tension crawling through your every vein.

The Gaunts arrived in a rush and brought in a whiff of cold air that not even the fire in the chimney could drown out. Tom acknowledged you this time though. Not like months before when they had come to your house. You could have sworn that there was even a hint of a smile on his lips when he laid his eyes upon you. A smile that you reciprocated, rather faintly as well.

Lunch was alright. A lot of forced formalities and small talk, some tired attempts of getting to know the future family. Tom was quiet, as usual, only talked when someone asked him something directly, while Morfin and Marvolo ate so voraciously, the house-elves had trouble filling up their plates in time.

The Christmas spirit was spoiled when presents were brought up. Marvolo asked about Elsie’s new broom and why on Merlin’s green earth your parents would gift such a thing to a girl. He held back his laughter and shook his head when Elsie explained so excitedly that she couldn’t wait to learn how to fly in Hogwarts. Bastard.

Marvolo noticed the look you gave him and seemed to take it as a challenge, so he stared back at you, his filthy grin still in place. His head leant sideways as he waited for you to say something, his eyes squinted as if to tell you to go on and tell him what bothered you. How you would have loved to smash his face against the table or curse him into oblivion. Your teeth hurt from how hard you clenched your jaw. You couldn’t. You wanted to tell him so badly what an awful, disgusting, obsolete excuse for a man he was. But you mustn’t. He still had Elsie’s life in his hands. So you stayed silent when he whispered, “That’s what I thought.”

“Anyway,” your Father said in an attempt to ease the tension. “What are your plans for the remaining holidays?”

“There’s not a lot to do these days, is there?” Marvolo answered. “But now that you bring it up, we had something special planned for today.”

Morfin grinned as he shoved the last spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“And what is that?” Father asked.

“Well now that your little one is doing much better, which I assume you’re very thankful for,” he paused to wait for your parents to agree. “We decided to accept your invitation for today, to bring our mutual pact to the next stage.”

Your Mother quickly told the elves to take Elsie upstairs, while you looked over at Tom questioningly, but he shrugged and shook his head, letting you know he didn’t know what was going on either.

“The next stage?” Father asked. “What do you mean by that?”

“Since we’ve done our part of the agreement already, exceedingly fast and precise might I add, and the wedding is still months away, we want to make sure we will get what we asked for. You see, I respect you and your family of course, but one can never be sure enough. We don’t want to be tricked or exploited. So we’re asking for an unbreakable vow. Between Tom and your daughter.” 

“A vow?” Mother was appalled. “What for?”

“For the marriage of course,” Marvolo said. “A promise that the marriage will be solemnised, that cannot be withdrawn from either side.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat. First the marriage and now this? If you agreed, the Gaunts would have both Elsie and you under their control. Infringing an unbreakable vow resulted in death and they would never stop asking for things if you agreed to this. 

“Marvolo,” Father began and sighed. “Don’t you think it’s enough? That we agreed to do this for the sake of my youngest child? You haven’t broken her curse entirely so you can use her as leverage. And now you expect me to bring my second child in mortal danger as well?”

“There’s no danger if the plan proceeds as we agreed,” Marvolo answered. “The vow can’t harm her if she plays by the rules.”

“She played by the rules,” Mother said. “She still does. Everyone’s been playing by your rules, so why do you want to add the vow?”

“As I said, I don’t want to be tricked. It’s merely a way to protect my family. And with all due respect, your reaction makes it seem like you’re up to no good already. Who knows? Perhaps you’ve changed your minds.”

Protect his family… He would sell both Tom and Morfin for a Galleon and a half if he could. He was paranoid. You were still lost for words and didn’t want to speak, even though a million thoughts rushed through your mind. You knew every word that could possibly leave your mouth right now would be filthy and full of anger, and Marlovo was waiting for you to burst. 

He turned to you. “What do you say, child? Don’t you want to prove your loyalty?”

You sucked in a breath and were about to answer when Tom suddenly stood up. “Enough! I want a word.”

“You want a word?” Marvolo laughed disparagingly.

“Now,” Tom turned to your parents. “Is there a room we can go to?”

“The reading room, right across the corridor,” Mother said and showed them the way.

You followed the three men and your Mother, and watched them enter the reading room. Mother turned towards you.

“Don’t eavesdrop, darling,” she said. “Give them some privacy.”

“Do you really think Marvolo deserves privacy?”

“No. He’s an awful man.”

“He is,” Father said as he joined you.

“We’re not going to let him do this to you,” Mother promised. “You’ve already done enough. Marvolo is out of his mind.”

“He’s greedy,” Father added. “Insatiable.”

You leant your head against the door to the reading room and pressed your ear onto it, trying to hear what they were talking about. Mother motioned for you to stop, but didn’t prevent you from listening.

First, you heard nothing. Silence, then footsteps tipping across the room. Mumbled words that were so washed out you could barely understand what they meant.

Tom’s voice echoed from the walls. “You can’t be serious. Why would you ask for more? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Marvolo answered quietly. You could only guess what he was saying. Something like “Why would I?”

Mother appeared next to you. You grinned but didn’t say anything, knowing you had gotten your curiosity from her. She flicked her wand silently and cast a spell that diminished the sound barrier, so you could hear every word that was spoken inside the room.

“I’m not going to let you go through with this,” Tom said.

Marvolo snickered. “And you think I care what you’re allowing me to do?”

“I know you don’t,” Tom answered. “But I won’t comply. You can’t force anyone to make an unbreakable vow. Not even with the Imperius curse. And you know that.”

“What are you doing this for?” Morfin suddenly participated. “For the girl? You know things will only get worse if you refuse.”

A moment of silence occurred.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Morfin chuckled. “You do like her, don’t you? Well, at least Father’s letter wasn’t in vain then.”

Tom didn’t answer.

“And her? How will you make her fall for you?” Morfin asked. “If you need a little love potion, I can provide that.”

“How dare you bring that up,” Tom spat. “You know I would never.”

“Well, Father,” Morfin went on. “Looks like Tom thinks he can do it all on his own.”

“Now listen to me, son,” Marvolo said. “If you think you can disobey me like that, without any consequences, you must take me for a fool. To say that I’m disappointed is an understatement. Just know that there will be more to it.”

They scurried around. Marvolo and Morfin seemed to leave through the Floo Network. You assumed Tom would follow them but could hear him roaming around the room for another minute until his steps wandered towards the door. Both you and your mother stepped away quickly. Mother fixed her hair and you tried to come off as innocently as possible.

Tom stood in the door frame, chest heaving slightly and the doorknob in his hand.

“Grandfather and uncle left through the fireplace,” he said. “I’ll go too, I just need a minute, if you’ll allow.”

Mother looked at him like she looked at Elsie when she grazed her knee or hit her head. Her eyes weren’t as stern as you expected them to be, but soft and full of pity. 

“Why don’t you stay for a bit, Tom?” she asked. “We still have so much food left from lunch, we could need a bit of help before it goes to waste.”

Tom looked at her and nodded slowly. He must have known that she didn’t invite him to prevent wasting food. But apparently he didn’t care what her reasons were. He just accepted it and you thought that was fair.

“Would you show him around, darling?” Mother asked you. “While I tell the elves to prepare the guest room.”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

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[rainandhotchocolate]

Blackout - Part 8

A/N ha I’m not even going to try and say something about consistent posting. I am tired but I am sorry :( pls forgive, I hope this chapter makes up for the time it took to write xx enjoy

Part 8

Sirius’s head pounded painfully as he turned over on the couch, nearly falling off. The other three boys were lying in different states of disarray across the room. James was lying on his stomach, hair splayed around his head like a halo. Remus was curled into a ball around a couch pillow and Peter had fallen across the armchair, head lolling to one side.

Sirius groaned as he sat upright, a wave of nausea hitting him painfully. He took three steadying breaths and tried again, pushing himself up with his forearms and stumbled into the kitchen, beginning to rummage through his pantry for a bottle of anti-nausea potion he’d been saving for just this moment. His balance swayed and he felt himself sliding sideways as he quickly grabbed the bottle and the edge of the cabinet swung back into the side of his head.

“FUCK,” He swore loudly, leaning against the countertop and closing his eyes as the pounding in his head became worse. Sucking in a breath he took a swig from the potion. It took affect almost immediately, his entire body relaxing.

“What the fuck is going on?” Remus’s sleepy, angry voice came from the living room.

“Nothing.” Sirius brought the potion back into the living room and handed it to Remus who drank deeply and placed it beside James’s head. He snored loudly and nearly hit the bottle over.

“How are you feeling?” Remus sat up, leaning against the fireplace.

“Oh, real peachy,” Sirius snorted, sitting back down on the couch. “It’s all a bit of a blur.”

“Mmm,” Remus hummed, looking down at his dirty fingernails.

“What?” Sirius narrowed his eyes.

“You really don’t remember anything?”

“No… why, what did I do?”

Remus grimaced, running a hand through his hair.

“You made some calls.”

“Oh please, be more vague.”

Remus rolled his eyes and took in a deep breath.

“You made some calls to Lily… and Y/N.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Do I want to know what I said?”

“Something along the lines of professing your undying love for Y/N whilst your face was in her fireplace.”

Sirius closed his eyes and placed a hand over his forehead.

“Fuck.”

There was a loud banging on Lily’s front door and she grumbled loudly as she stumbled down the stairs and opened the door.

‘What?” Lily huffed, raising an eyebrow at the four rugged boys looking staring at her from the front steps.

“Is Y/N here?” James asked, rubbing his eyes as if he couldn’t see her properly. Which was likely due to the lack of glasses.

“No, you realise it’s 11am on a Tuesday, right?”

“Ahh, work.” Remus nodded sagely. He leaned slowly against the doorframe.

“Would you like to come in?”

There was a chorus of “Yes please.”

The boys traipsed inside, heading straight for the kitchen where James began pulling out the eggs and bacon and passing them to Sirius who pulled out the pots and pans. Peter slumped on the table.

“Sleep well?” Remus gave Lily a kiss on the cheek and a very sleepy smile.

“I did, I’ve been sleeping in so much lately you guys actually woke me up.”

“Merlin, I expected to be interrupting your day off, sorry we woke you.”

“I really should be up and about anyway,” Lily waved him off and joined the boys in the kitchen. “So do any of you want to explain last night?”

She smiled around the kitchen as the boys avoided her gaze.

“No? So you all just let Sirius get so destroyed he decided to call me?”

“In all fairness it was Y/N he was trying to reach.”

“Not helping Peter,” Sirius groaned. “I wanted to come over and apologise. I feel awful.”

“I’d say that’s the hangover,” James snorted, narrowly avoiding a slap on the back from Sirius.

“They were welcoming me back into town.” Remus chimed in, “Though I mean, classic Sirius to make it all about him.”

Remus winked and Sirius groaned louder.

“I actually hate all of you.”

“Breakfast is served!”

James placed two plates of eggs, bacon, spinach and tomatoes on the table and began handing out plates for the rest of them to start eating. Once they had finished, Lily squeezed Sirius’s arm and nodded towards the living room where he followed her.

“Are you ok?”

“I really don’t need the first degree right now, Lily.” Sirius rolled his eyes and lay on the couch.

“I’m honestly asking.” Lily gave him a look that always made Sirius uncomfortable. It was the one she gave him when he was burning his parent’s letters in the Gryffindor fireplace.

Sirius huffed and stared up at the ceiling. It was a pale blue colour. Sirius wondered for a moment why they had bothered painting it.

“I know you might not want to talk about it, but you don’t need to apologise to her.”

“I don’t?” Sirius still stared up at the ceiling but felt himself zoning back into Lily’s voice.

“She’s not a complete idiot, it’s not like she didn’t know you were still in love with her.”

“Definitely helping, Lils.”

“I mean that she wasn’t more freaked out by it. But you do need to bloody talk to her.”

“What do you thi-!” Sirius sat up to face her, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re not talking to her, you’re trying to bring back your old version of Y/N. You need to just talk to her, like a friend.”

Sirius looked at her momentarily. Like a friend. As if they were ever friends.

“She just needs people to trust right now, ok?”

“Ok.”

Y/N arrived home around 7, finding James and Sirius lying on the floor of the living room and listening to a new muggle record, and Lily reading in the next room eating a large bowl of cereal.

“Welcome back,” Lily smiled up at her, placing a bookmark into the book and putting it on the table. “How was work?”

“Ok, I think. It’s weird getting my head around things I sort of know but sort of don’t. And I’m not really sure what they expect from me.”

“I’m sure they expect that you don’t know everything right after being in hospital,” Lily laughed, “Cereal?”

“Sure.” Y/N raised an eyebrow but joined her at the dining table all the same. “What are the boys listening to?”

“New joy division album, I picked it up this afternoon. Not too bad.”

Y/N just nodded her head, leaning back into the chair and watching through the doorway. Lily handed her a bowl of cereal and a spoon, returning to her book. The boys were humming along now, clearly having already listened to the record at least once over. Sirius’s face was soft and calm, hair surrounding his head in a halo of black curls. Y/N could see the glint of a gold earring in his right ear and felt up to where she had her own rounded gold earrings on.

“I think I’m going to head up to bed.” Y/N lifted up the bowl of cereal and turned to Lily.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Y/N took her bag and bowl upstairs and closed the door so she couldn’t hear the music anymore, just the soft wind blowing from outside the window in the guest room. She lay back on the bed, digging into the bowl of Rice Krispies Lily had given her and munching down as she stared at the wall in front of her. Lily had decorated their guest room with wallpaper that moved around as she watched it, the stars slowly moving around the room and circling the large full moon on the roof.

Y/N found herself drifting in and out of sleep, consistently waking up with a jolt and sitting up in the now pitch black room. Around what she thought must be 2 or 3am she decided to finally get up and stretch her legs. The house was quiet, calming. Y/N made her way down the stairs and into the living room where the large back doors looked out into the yard and the clear night sky. She pulled open the back door and sucked in a breath of fresh air, stepping out into the garden.

“Hello?” A voice called from around the side of the house and Y/N jumped, creeping forward to look around to the garden chairs James had set out over the summer. Sirius was leaning forward, similarly caught off guard by Y/N’s appearance.

“Oh, sorry I didn’t realise… I can go.” Y/N smiled awkwardly at him but he shook his head.

“No, it’s ok. I mean if you don’t mind me being here.”

“No, of course not.”

A silence fell over them. Sirius moved over to give some room for Y/N to sit and she joined him, leaning back and looking up at the stars. They said nothing to each other for a few moments, just the noise of the cool breeze and Sirius’s breathing breaking the silence.

Y/N could feel Sirius glancing at him every few moments and so she turned to him.

“Yes?”

“Sorry,” Sirius laughed, “I wasn’t sure whether or not I should offer you a cigarette.”

“Oh.” Y/N didn’t expect that. “Do I smoke?”

“No, I mean you smoked other things, but not cigarettes.” Sirius laughed, “But you sometimes liked one when you were stressed.”

“Right.” Y/N tried to remember the taste or smell, but all she could remember was watching Peter try one day at Hogwarts and coughing so much he began to gag.

“I’ll take that as a no, do you mind if I have one?”

“Go for it.” Y/N nodded her head towards him and he pulled out a packet and a lighter. He lit it and sucked in a breath, breathing out a spool of smoke into the air.

“How are you feeling after last night?” Y/N asked after a moment.

“Oh please, not you too.” Sirius placed his head in his hands, but Y/N laughed.

“I was very flattered, I promise.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Ok maybe a little embarrassed.”

“That’s more likely,” Sirius sat up and looked at her. Y/N was smiling at him. He felt his heart jump.

“Do you feel ok though? I am surprised you’re not more ill.”

“Peter has a knack for potions, he was feeding us anti-nausea all day.”

“Ahh, of course.” Y/N remembered Peter was found brewing a Polyjuice potion in his fourth year. A great potioneer, but not so great at hiding.

“So how was your first few days at work?” Sirius took another breath in from his cigarette, looking back towards the garden.

“Eh, ok. I don’t know, it all feels a bit weird, you know?” Y/N wasn’t sure he understood but he nodded sagely all the same.

“I think you just need to get back into the routine of it. You’ll figure out where you stand soon.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Sirius grinned, “I basically have a map to your future.”

“Oh really?” Y/N raised an eyebrow and felt herself relaxing into the chair, lifting a leg up and under herself.

“I can’t tell my secrets.” Sirius shook his head and pretended to lock his lips.

“You’re useless,” Y/N snorted, rolling her eyes at him.

They sat there talking for the next little while until Y/N began leaning more heavily against the chair and Sirius could see her eyes fluttering shut every few seconds.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Sirius put out his second cigarette and hooked an arm under her waist to lift her off the chair.

“Ok,” She mumbled, her head lolling slightly as she stumbled beside him, leaning into his arm, head against his chest. He brought her up to the guest room and into her bed, pulling the covers over her shoulders. She grabbed his arm as he turned to leave.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Ok Y/N,” Sirius chuckled softly, “Good night.”

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[bgn846]

One Giant Warp - FFXV Promtis

         Summary:            

Noct wants to show Prompto how he warps, how hard could it be? Very hard, like the wall he just threw himself into attempting to demonstrate.  However, the one nice side effect of his miscalculation is Prompto fawning over him.  Maybe he should throw himself into walls more often. a.k.a. Noct likes Prompto and doesn't know how to tell him.

--

It turns out the old adage of keeping your eye on the ball wasn’t just meant for sports. The same reasoning applied to warping. This fact made itself known when Noct decided to risk a quick glance over at Prompto. The prince had wanted to ensure his friend could see the feat he was about to perform.  Sure, his best friend was paying attention, and subsequently got to watch as Noct slammed himself into the wall of the training room.  One small note of comfort being, no one else had been there.  

The feeling of pain was first and foremost in his brain as he writhed on the floor.  Thank the six, the walls were covered in mats. Though he was pretty sure they weren’t meant for warping into. Noct was dimly aware of the floor vibrating as Prompto ran over.  His frantic shouts also helped clue Noct into his approach.

“Noct! Buddy! Oh em gee please tell me you’re alright?!” Prompto yelped in a panic.

Only able to manage some sort of guttural sound in acknowledgment, Noct reached out his hand to grab Prompto’s arm. Squeezing firmly he held on in hopes the gesture would calm his friend. Typical to Prompto, it didn’t work.

“Dude, shit, are you dying or something? Why are you holding me like that? Say something I don’t know what t--.”

“M’fine!” Noct blurted. “Hurts, give me a minute.”

“Did you break anything? If you did then you shouldn’t move. How’s your neck feel? What about your back?” Prompto rapidly fired as his blue eyes darted to and fro. “When you said you wanted to show me how you warped, I didn’t think you’d do it so forcefully!” he finished with a wince.

The shock of literally throwing his body at an immovable object was wearing off, and Noct attempted to roll on his side, albeit slowly. Thankfully, nothing twinged and the only part of his body that was starting to throb was his head. A headache he could handle.  Having to explain why a potion was missing later due to a broken bone wasn’t something he’d been looking forward to.

He knew he’d never be able to say the real reason why due to certain people like Ignis being able to see through him in a heartbeat. That was the only issue with practically growing up with someone, they knew all your tells.  Fibbing to Prompto, on the other hand, was easy.  Not that admitting he’d merely been trying to show off for his secret crush would work well either.

Noct simply had to survive this moment and move on, or rather move up. The floor was very comfortable right now, and the idea of even attempting to walk wasn’t sounding promising.  Fighting gravity combined with relearning how to balance was the least of his worries. He already knew he’d need Prompto’s help getting back home. The prospect of having to hang onto the blond was proving to be a worrying thought.

He didn’t mind being close to Prompto, quite the opposite, he wanted nothing more than to stay close. Having a crush on your best friend was fun and torturous all at the same time. Resigned to keeping his fantasies in dreamland Noct focused on trying to sit up.  No need in delaying this process any longer.  He needed to rest and forget this ever happened.  However, when Noct did sit up the room spun.  Guess he’d hit his head harder than he thought. Muttering a curse under his breath Noct clamped his eyes shut and reached out for the nearest thing to steady his movements. Prompto’s warm and slightly clammy hand enveloped his a second later.  Right, he forgot, Prompto was the nearest thing.

Laughing nervously to detract from his now equally sweaty hands, Noct began rambling. “I’m fine, really, it’s all good,” he lied opening his eyes once more.  Big mistake. Prompto’s blue eyes were right there, brilliant and bright, staring straight at him.

“You don’t look so fine, buddy. You sorta look ill.”

“You try throwing yourself at a wall and see how you fair.”

“Not funny, you didn’t see it from my perspective, or hear the noise either.”

“What noise?” Noct asked bewildered. “Did I yell?”

Prompto huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. “No, dude, the noise I’m talking about is when your body hit the wall. It sounded like a sack of potatoes dropping.”

“Oh, yeah it wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

“We should get you to the clinic or something, just in case.”

“Huh? Clinic? Six, no, I’m not going to the doctor.  I’m fine,” Noct defended while attempting to stand and promptly grabbing his friend for support.  Stupid head, spinning around and making the simple act of standing an issue.

“Whoa, I gotcha,” Prompto supplied as he slung Noct’s arm over his shoulder.  “I know I just started crownsguard training but I’ve already learned about first aid,” he beamed proudly.   “Which means we need to go to the clinic.”

“Seriously Prompto, I’m good, I’m not gonna go,” Noct tried again as they hobbled along to the door.

“I’m not going to be responsible for killing the crown prince of Lucis because I let him bully me.”

Noct scoffed, “I’m not dying, my head hurts I need to sleep it off.” This statement got Prompto even more animated.

“Your head hurts? Shit, dude, that’s worse. You shouldn’t go to sleep.”

Noct was about to tell Prompto that he was perfectly capable of reading his own injuries when an idea struck. If he needed to stay awake then this was a perfect excuse for them to spend the rest of the afternoon and night together. Prompto slept over all the time but always used the guest room if he hadn’t already fallen asleep on the couch.  This time Noct had a valid reason for him to share his bed.

Impressed by his own cleverness Noct voiced his brilliant idea without pause. “Why don’t you keep an eye on me then, make sure I don’t pass out or something worse.”

“I’m already doing that dummy, and I’m going the extra mile by taking you to the doctor.”

Thinking fast Noct remembered that Cor might still be around. “What if Cor clears me? Would you accept that instead of the doctor? He’s got a medic certification too, remember?”

Prompto pouted but eventually nodded. “I trust his judgment, but I still think you’re being a baby.”

Noct waved Prompto off with his free hand motioned for them to go in the direction of Cor’s office. Needless to say, Cor was not amused by his appearance five minutes later.  The man took one look at the pair of them and scowled. “Noctis, why do you have a rather painful looking bump developing on your forehead?”

“I hit the wall with my head, but that’s not what’s important right now. Can you make sure I’m not going to die so Prompto won’t make me go to the clinic?”

Taking a deep breath Cor stood from his desk and sauntered over. “I warned you not to take your eye off the ball.”

This time Noct scowled and gave Cor a look that he hoped would stop the older man from pressing further. “You can’t even warp,” he grumbled.

Cor hummed in agreement, “I still saw your father do plenty of stupid shit, so I know the principle behind the magic.”

“Yeah, yeah, am I okay? You’ve seen real dead people before so you’ll know what to look for.”

“Noct, shut up,” Prompto whispered. “He’s the immortal for six sake.”

“Yes, I know,” Noct hissed. “That’s why we are here.”

Cor took all their comments in stride and if Noct was being honest he would swear Cor had a slight smile on his face. After some cursory questions about how he was feeling and Cor examining his head, he was given the clear to go home. A stern warning to call if anything changed was given out as Prompto steered them out of office once more.

The next challenge on the long, terrible journey home was transportation. Noct knew he shouldn’t drive, and he was not going to call Ignis for a lift. If he could keep this little accident a secret it’d be even better. Ignis wasn’t even scheduled to visit later. If Noct played his cards right he’d have Prompto all to himself for the whole night.

Convincing Prompto to drive the car back to his condo was tricky.  Noct laid out how terrible it would be if Ignis showed up, and how degrading it would be if Gladio found out.  They were best friends this was a moment between them, and them alone.  Noct was babbling and he knew it, but it worked.  Prompto finally took the driver’s seat and slowly navigated them to his place. Noting to never ask Prompto to drive again Noct focused on staying upright on the walk to the elevator.  Having someone to lean on was immensely helpful; otherwise, he was sure he’d have fallen over in the parking garage.

Curse living on the ninth floor, the elevator made his head throb painfully and he wasn’t about to take the stairs. Prompto noticed immediately when he sucked in a labored breath once the elevator began moving.

“You’re still feeling awful aren’t you?”

“I’m not in pain if that makes you feel better.  My head still hurts, but not anything unbearable,” he added quickly.  Prompto might take this admission as a sign of weakness and decide to call Ignis or something worse.

“Cor said to make sure you ate and to take it easy, let’s focus on that for now.”

“We can order pizza!” Noct exclaimed making them list sideways. This using his crush as a crutch was great.  Maybe he would stay ‘dizzy’ for a little longer. He was starting to enjoy this moment for all the wrong reasons.  Noct wasn’t even sure if Prompto liked him back that way. Asking that question of his friend though was another matter entirely. Noct didn’t want to risk losing one of the best things that had happened to him.  Prompto’s friendship had been a relief from the mounting daily pressures he faced.

Ignis and Gladio always had his back but this was different, Prompto didn’t come from their world. He wasn’t familiar with all the pomp and circumstance of being a royal. They were friends because they got along and had fun together, nothing more and nothing less. Noct was loath to ruin such a great thing by offering up his true feelings. Something about ‘hey I like, like you’ felt like a good way to seriously rock the boat.  Things were smoothly humming along; there was no need to destroy a perfectly good friendship.    

Lost in his own thoughts about how nice Prompto’s body felt Noct didn’t notice they’d reached his front door. It wasn’t until a hand began patting his pockets did he realize the issue. Prompto wanted his keys to get in.   “Huh, sorry, they are in my other pocket,” he offered sheepishly.

“Well then, we gotta switch sides for me to reach them,” Prompto announced right before ducking out from under his arm and moving. The sound of jingling keys erupted soon after.  

Noct was about to whine at being jostled until Prompto’s body pressed up against him once more. Smiling like an idiot he leaned further into his friend.  Unfortunately, his timing was terrible, and Noct merely made them both fall forward. The newly unlocked door swung open forcefully, and Prompto barely had the strength to keep them both upright.

“Dude, warn me when you’re gonna do that!”

“Sorry, you feel really good,” Noct murmured sleepily.  It wasn’t until a healthy blush developed on Prompto’s cheeks did Noct pick up on what he’d said.  Shit. This was bad. “Ya know like ah, um--,” he trailed off completely at a loss for words.  There wasn’t really a good way to explain away what he’d just said.

“You should sit down, I’ll order food,” Prompto quickly cut in as he looked everywhere but Noct’s face.

The walk to the sofa was deathly quiet as Noct desperately tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind. Prompto eased him down gently a minute later and then disappeared like his butt was on fire. Groaning at his own inability to function like a normal human Noct leaned back and stared at the ceiling, resigned to drown in his own insecurities.    

--

Prompto’s hands were shaking by the time he made it into the bathroom.  Noct’s apartment was open in the main living area so he couldn’t seek refuge in the kitchen.  He also knew he couldn’t stay in here forever. He needed to keep an eye on Noct and hiding in here wasn’t the way to do it.  His mind was still reeling from the simple comment his friend had made.

��You feel really good’ was a benign statement in of itself, but combined with all the soft smiles and other things Prompto had noticed recently, it took on a whole new life. Maybe he hadn’t been imagining all of it before.  Maybe Noct liked him as more than a friend.

Pulling his phone out he called the one person who might be able to give him some advice. Prompto had wanted to let someone else know what had happened, just in case they needed help later, despite Noct’s protests.  He wasn’t about to put his friend in harm’s way.  Suddenly worried he opened the bathroom door and looked down the hallway.  Noct’s fluffy head of hair was still visible over the couch.

He was about to wander closer to really check when Noct’s hand came up and touched his fresh bruise.   Thank the six, he was still okay. Going back to his little haven, Prompto hit the call button and waited.

Gladio picked up on the third ring. “Hey Prompto, what’s up?” he asked jovially. “We didn’t have a training session today, did we? I thought it was on Monday.”

“No, no, you’re good I uh just need to tell you something real quick.”

The shield must have picked up on the stress in his voice due to his next reaction. “What’s wrong? Are you alright? Where’s Noct? Is he hurt? Are you hurt?”

“Whoa big guy, calm down, I’m fine.  Noct’s mostly fine. Cor checked him out if it makes you feel better.”

“What do you mean Cor checked him out?”

Prompto had to cover the speaker on his phone for fear Noct might heard Gladio hysterically laughing. The tale of Noct’s great warp strike to the training room wall was very funny to him. After Gladio had quieted down again he continued. “So yeah, I wanted you and Ignis to know, so you could like be prepared if something else happens. I felt like it was the wise thing to do considering the circumstances, and the fact that he refuses to go to the doctor.”

“Okay blondie, I’ll alert Ignis and make sure he promises to keep his mouth shut.  I appreciate you callin’ You’re a good friend to Noct, he needs more people like you in his life.”

Gladio’s comment made Prompto remember the other reason he’d called.  “Uh, so you were also right about the other thing.”

“Huh, what other thing?”

“The thing you relentlessly tease me about when I miss a move in training. The thing about Noct like, liking me and being to chocobo to admit it.”

“Seriously?! What’d he say?”

“Nothing much but I think hitting his head has made him a little loopy.  He’s super relaxed and saying things and hanging on me.”

“You gonna tell you like him back?” Gladio asked.

“Should I? I don’t want to ruin things.”

“You’re not gonna ruin anything. Noct likes you, just tell him and see how it goes.  I’d suggest you not try to ya know do anything tonight, he’s injured after all but talking about stuff is fine.”

“Oh em gee too much info Gladio, I’m not gonna jump him tonight, he needs to rest.”

Gladio laughed again but there was no malice behind it. “Go back and sit with him. You’re hiding in the bathroom, aren’t you? I can tell by the echo.”

“Yes!” Prompto hissed. “I got nervous, shit, I still need to order pizza.”

“Hey, calm down. Go sit with him and I’ll order for you. I can use his account to pay and then you can focus on making sure he’s alright.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure kiddo, you’re my friend too.  Besides, I know what you two like to eat.  Go check on him; make sure he’s not passed out or somethin’.”

“Okay thanks, Gladio.”

“No problem, call me straight away if anything changes. It sounds like he needs to rest and take it easy for the weekend.  I’ll let Ignis know so don’t worry about that either.”

“Alright, I’ll keep you posted. Thanks big guy.”

Pocketing his phone once more Prompto opened the door to check on Noct. His friend was still in the same spot and moving his arms around like he was having a conversation. Expect no one was there.  Wondering if he’d gone temporarily insane Prompto slipped out into the hallway and listened.   Sure enough, Noct was talking, but after a second Prompto figured out he was simply talking to himself.

The dialog was all over the place. Noct was berating himself for being stupid and messing everything up. What in the hell was his friend going on about? Not wanting to see Noct act so self-deprecating Prompto ran back into the room. “Hey you didn’t mess anything up,” he chided while coming to a stop next to the sofa.

“You’re still here?” Noct exclaimed with a pained look. “I thought maybe I’d messed up so bad you’d snuck out.”

“You’re such a dork, I’m not gonna leave. I told you I’d take care of you and I meant it.”

“Oh, you’re not mad at me?”

“Dude, how hard did you hit your head? No, I’m not mad at you.”

‘Sorry,” Noct mumbled as he looked away and stared at the floor.

“Sorry for what? Pizza is on its way and we get to hang out for the rest of the night and watch movies and like uh, you know be idiots together.” Prompto offered with a smile.

“What kind of pizza did you get?” Noct asked with a pout. “I’m hungry.”

Unable to stop the burst of nervous laughter from escaping his mouth, Prompto blurted the first thing that came to mind, “It’s a surprise buddy. You’ll love it don’t worry.”  

“Okay, I trust you.”

“So ah, how’s your head feel now? Is it still pounding?”

“It’s getting better, but I think I’ll be glued to the sofa for the rest of the night.”

Sitting down next to Noct, Prompto gathered his thoughts. He wanted to talk to Noct about how he felt, but he wasn’t sure right now was the best time. Gladio’s words flashed through his mind at that moment. Prompto should try and talk about stuff. He didn’t think he was reading the signs wrong, Noct sure seemed like he was interested in him.

“Um, what did you think you’d messed up?” he asked finally.

“Huh?” Noct whispered as he settled down into the cushions further.

“You were saying something earlier about messing up, what did you mean?” Prompto was sure Noct’s face was turning pink. That had to be a good sign. No one would blush if they didn’t have feelings to admit. Noct looked stricken; he clearly wanted to speak but couldn’t seem to find the energy.  Time dragged on as Noct stalled.  Gladio has been right, Noct was never going to say anything first. Prompto couldn’t believe he was about to do this but his friend needed him, now more than ever.   Taking a deep breath he voiced his own feelings in hopes it would prompt Noct into revealing his own.

“You--you felt good too,” he managed through the lump in his throat. Noct didn’t immediately react. Prompto watched as various emotions played across his friend's face. Noct was confused at first; it was an odd statement to make when they weren’t actually touching. It was understandable that he’d be wondering about the context. Then, in a flash Noct turned his head and looked at him with wide eyes. He’d figured it out, hopefully.

“Say it again,” he demanded, but not in a condescending way.

Licking his lips Prompto gathered what little bravery he had left and repeated his comment, “you felt good too.”

“You mean it?” Noct checked as he leaned forward and gripped Prompto’s arm. “I didn’t destroy our friendship?”

“Is that what you thought would happen?” Prompto exclaimed. “I’m always gonna be your friend. I don’t know what life would be like without you buddy.”

Noct instantly relaxed and flopped back into the sofa, “I was so worried I messed everything up.”

“What? By telling me how you really feel about me?” Prompto asking hoping this might bait Noct into saying more.

“I’ve had a crush on you for soooo long, I just didn’t know how to tell you,” Noct admitted with a relieved look.

“Were you trying to impress me with your warping abilities?” Prompto queried with a smirk.

“Maybe, but don’t tell anyone else that! I don’t wanna get yelled at for abusing my magic just to impress someone I like.”

“You’d already won me over the moment we met.” Smiling at how that made Noct blush even harder Prompto continued on. “I’m flattered that you were willing to risk life and limb to impress me, but next time, tell me how you feel.”

Noct laughed and winced immediately afterward, “Shit, oh man I gotta take it easy tonight.  That sucks.”

“Sounds kinda nice actually.”

“We could be trying out so many different things tonight, but I can’t even stand up without the room spinning.”

The true meaning behind what Noct had said, sunk in a second later. Oh, damn he was referring to those kinds of other things.  One idea did come to mind that they could do. “So, we can always cuddle until you feel better,” Prompto suggested slyly.  “Ya know, and then later we can do some other uh, stuff.”

Prompto didn’t have much warning before Noct slumped to the side and tackled him in a hug. “Thanks, buddy, falling asleep against you sounds really good.”

“Hey, no sleeping yet, you need to eat.” The sound that came as a response didn’t sound like the English language. Had Noct already zonked out? “Dude, no come on wake up!”

“Sleeeeep nowwwwww, pizza laterrrr.” Noct mumbled as he began to rearrange them on the sofa.

Prompto patiently waited until Noct was fully sprawled across his chest before he pulled out his phone again.  He needed to send a text to Gladio but he was waiting for the inevitable. Noct falling asleep.

However, once Noct had stilled he took a breath to speak. “Why is your heart racing?”

That was an easy one to answer. “We just confessed that we like each other more than friends and now you’re lying on top of me.  Why do you think my heart is racing?” He questioned jokingly. “I’m excited and nervous, and happy all at the same time.”

“Sorry, my macho display delayed our fun.”

“Honestly, I’m okay taking things a little slow. I like what we are doing right now and maybe later after dinner, we can uh, you know, try kissing?”

Noct giggled like a freaking two-year-old once he’d finished talking. “We can kiss now if you want.”

“Nope, gonna make you wait since you laughed at me.”

“Hey, I can’t help it, you sounded really cute.”

“I’m not cute bro, I’m manly just like you.”

Noct laughed again even moved his arm to hit him in the shoulder. “Fine, you sounded really handsome and strong. How chivalrous of you to wait on my account, so as not to spoil my virgin body.”

“If you weren’t injured right now I’d have shoved you off on the floor already. You should thank me for being so nice to you.”

Snorting and groaning in pain Noct stilled again. “Stop making me laugh. I gotta take it easy remember?”

“Sure, buddy,” Prompto drawled out. “You’re taking it easy, and picking on me at the same time. I don’t think that should be allowed.”

“Okay, truce, I’ll stop until I feel better.”

“Deal, but I’m gonna fight back once you get better too, don’t forget.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Noct asked indignantly.

“If you pick on me I’ll retaliate.”

“How? You can’t hurt me I’m the crown prince.” He offered haughtily but Prompto could tell Noct was teasing.

“I have my ways. I know someone who’d be more than willing to tell me where you’re ticklish.”

“Iggy wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Shhh, enough talk about that, lets enjoy this moment before the food gets here.”  Noct went so far as to cover Prompto’s mouth with his hand to silence him. One well-placed lick of his tongue had Noct crying out in disgust. “Not fair, no licking.”

“Ever?” Prompto asked coolly.

“Never!” Noct replied but he seemed to realize what that might imply and quickly changed his tune. “Licking s’okay,” he nearly whispered a second later.

“I thought so, but that’s for later remember.”

“M’sleep nowww.” Noct hummed.

Prompto let Noct rest this time.  Once his friend's breath had evened out, he texted Gladio to get an ETA on the food. For once the Friday night rush meant the hour-long time was actually welcomed, considering his current situation.  Gladio had of course asked how it went and Prompto was happy to reply that they’d confessed their feeling to each other.  He was graced with a thumbs-up emoticon and a smiley face.

Putting his phone down Prompto hugged Noct closer and rubbed his back. He was going to make sure they had the best weekend ever! Happy to simply be with Noct and hold him Prompto drifted off until the door buzzed.  The night was just beginning as was their new relationship.  Prompto couldn’t wait to have more adventures with Noct.  So long as he didn’t throw himself into a wall again!

AO3 Link

[hangingslothcentral]

remus lupin, he was done dirty by dumbledore, too

You know who was always on Dumbledore’s side? Remus John ‘Wolfy McWolfface II’ Lupin. Even when Sirius, the last of his school friends and whomst he may or may not have been in love with was being asked to do questionable things by Dumbledore, Remus staunchly followed good ol’ Prof Dumbledon’t’s advice. Sirius got screwed over by Dumbledore and in the books, sometimes he began to realise it. Even Harry, Dumbledore’s man through and through, expressed his doubts, though he never really understood the extent to which Dumbledore’s presence in his life royally ruined it. Faced with Snape’s apparent betrayal at the end of HBP, Remus is flummoxed; he says he had assumed Dumbledore had more to go on than that. He had trusted this man i m p l i c i t l y, and it is not hard to see why.

Remus was made a werewolf when he was five, in a deliberate attack by Fenrir Greyback, as retaliation for laws Wolfy McWolf Snr. had made. Very little is known about Remus’ childhood, but his parents did not cast him out after he was infected, so they clearly loved him, and they must have been doing something to try and contain what happened to him once a month or else both of them would be dead, or werewolves too. Imagine being six years old and having your parents carry you down to the cellar once a month, locking you in there alone, feeling that intense and horrifying pain, waking up, covered in scratches and bitemarks you had apparently put there yourself, but you have only the vaguest memories of it. Your parents love you, but they also fear you enough to do this to you. There is a monster inside of you and you have to bury it or it will destroy everything you know and love.

You can’t have friends; it’s too much of a risk. They get too close and they may begin to wonder why you become so weak around the full moon, why sometimes you are covered in bandages, why you are covered in scars. You occupy yourself with books. Your best friends are buried in the pages. They cannot fear or judge you and they will never learn your secret. You learn fast and eagerly; you are clever, and talented, but you are warned that you must stay safe, stay secret.

There is a school but you cannot go. You cannot possibly go. How could you? You have a secret monster lurking under your skin and if anyone were to find out, you may never have a warm bed again. You understand this, even though it makes you sad.

Until one day, a man arrives at your house. He comes with kind smiles and a box of jelly beans; he talks to you directly, even when your parents try to take command of the conversation. He has thought of a way that you can go to school; he can help you. You can learn.

It’s not just school, he’s offering. It’s your entire life. It’s a future you didn’t even dare to daydream about. So you pack off to school, afraid but excited, knowing you still have to stay small, stay quiet, stay safe. You have to, or the web of lies that keeps you safe could come crumbling down on you. You have a secret monster lurking just under your skin, afterall. You are a risk to others; that is why you were not going to be allowed to go to school. So you stay small and safe, so you can keep everyone else safe from you, too. You don’t want people to be in danger, and they would be. You know this because your parents were afraid of you. You are afraid of you.

You go once a month, when it happens, to this miserable shack in the middle of nowhere. The school nurse does her best to patch you up the next day, but your injuries are cursed and so they can’t really be hidden. Your classmates stare and wonder what is going on. Some stare more than others. Some stare an awful lot. Too much. They start sticking their noses in your business and have no idea how disasterous it would be for everyone if they found out the truth. Sirius, James and Peter are funny, you would love them to be your friends, but they can’t be, because of the monster inside you, and you have to keep them away, for everyone’s sake. But they just won’t let up. They keep on and on and then, one day, Sirius Black, with his stupid floppy hair and sideways grin, he figures it out.

It’s frightening, it’s thrilling, and before he knows it, Remus has done the impossible, the forbidden; he has made friends. It’s better than he could have imagined; his friends are better than he could have imagined. Not only do they except the monster that is part of him without judgement or reproach, they actually help to tame it, learning to become animagi so the monster can chase and run with them. He doesn’t wake up injured any more. He wakes up exhausted, to listen to tales of night time adventures, of deers stalked and tails nipped and miles of countryside mapped under his own monsterous paws. And after a while, he even begins to remember. As though if he lets the monster out and makes his peace with it, the two of them can co-exist. Maybe the line between them is not so stark, is not so frightening. Perhaps the monster is not so much of a monster as he thought; dangerous, yes, but something that really can be managed.

And then he finishes school and becomes a member of the Order and Dumbledore, the man to whom he owes his freedom, his education, his friends, his whole life, he turns around and asks Remus for a favour. Unblinking, unperturbed, Remus agrees. Of course he does. He owes Dumbledore everything and this task is important; mingle with the other werewolves and report on their political opinions.

Remus does this and learns the life he would have had if Dumbledore hadn’t saved him. He sees these people suffering, cast out, slaves to the monsters they cannot even begin to hide. He is not accepted by them; how could they accept him, when by rights he should be living alongside them the slums but instead stands before them clean and learned and loved? But he does his duty to Dumbledore and reports back that the werewolves are disenfranchised, likely to be easy to radicalise. Of course they are. What has society ever offered them, why should they seek to defend it? Go back, learn more, Remus is bidden. Integrate, blend in.

Remus grows thin, tired. He cannot share what he learns with his friends, and does not see them for weeks, sometimes months at a time. He feels stretched, burned out, lonely, cold, isolated. But this is what Dumbledore has tasked him to do and he owes Dumbledore his life. Dumbledore helped him when everyone else could only see the bleak future he is now witnessing for himself up close. He would be one of these outcasts if it were not for Dumbledore. So he grits his teeth and gets on.

He learns the news last. James and Lily are dead, and Sirius betrayed them and murdered Peter to boot. He had hardly seen any of them in so long, it all seems surreal. The war - for now at least - is over. Remus has no need to stay amongst the other werewolves anymore, and all of his friends are gone, one way or another. He lives alone, in a tumbledown cottage in the middle of nowhere, scraping by. He exists on the fringes of society. There is a monster under his skin he must do everything he can to contain. There are no friends to run through miles of countryside with, no funny stories about pouncing and stalking through forests, no stags to nip at, rats to chase, nor dogs to wrestle in the grass. He is alone. The other werewolves will not have him; he is different from them, too.

What did Dumbledore see in Remus that made him fight to get him a place at Hogwarts? What was it about him that made him different from those beaten, starving people he saw slumming on the edges of wizarding society? What did he do to deserve to be saved? Nothing.

Dumbledore did not start a campaign to defend Remus’ rights. He did not champion him, did not say ‘here is this boy and you should treat him as your own because despite his illness, his curse, that is exactly what he is’. He did not say, it is wrong for werewolves to be outcast. He did not say we should be doing work to help these outcast people reintegrate with society. Remus is not special to Dumbledore. He is just convenient, and Dumbledore does not spare a thought on Remus once that convenience and usefulness is outlived, not for an entire decade, not until he becomes convenient and useful again.

And that, my friends, is yet another reason Dumbledore fucking sucks.

[littleoldrachel]

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) - part two

guys. the response to this has just been. unreal. thank you so much for all of the kindness and support you've shown me and this little fic. i couldn't be more grateful. y'all are wonderful and i don't know why i was so nervous to post in the first place. thank you.

for now, part two! (look, it's gotta get worse before it gets better!!! (it will get better though, i swear))

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) [on ao3]

summary: in which virgil falls apart, learns how to put himself back together, and realises he doesn’t have to do it alone.

word count: 3.6k ish ( part 1/5 | part 2/5 )

warnings: mental health issues

timeline: i suppose this is set in early TAG verse?  jeff is missing and nobody is Coping Well.

happy belated birthday, nutty!! <3

ii. 

He’s not better in the morning. Waking up is an unpleasant experience for Virgil at the best of times, only gratified by a large mug of coffee or the necessity of a rescue, but today - 

Virgil is aware of the heavy weight on his chest before he even opens his eyes. It’s even larger than it was last night, sucking him dry of what little energy sleep has reclaimed. 

Virgil glares down at his chest, half-wishing there was some outwards sign that something is wrong on the skin there. But there are only the same patches of bruises and still healing scars as adorn his whole body. 

He takes a deep breath, and feels the strain of it against this heavy weight. 

Is he getting sick? He can’t be - he’s only just had the flu, dammit! He has a job to do, and Scott will never let him get away with flying Two whilst sick again if their last shouting match about it was anything to go by. 

And even if he were getting sick - which he’s not - that chesty ache is different to this weighty nothingness. Instead of feeling ill, he’s just… tired. 

A Scott-like voice sounds in the back of his head, though it’s far harsher than Scott could ever be: concentrate on your job - on the people who need you.

But it’s right. That’s what he needs to focus on - that’ll be what gets him out of this awful funk. 

(Because that’s all it is. A funk).

(It has to be). 

*

It’s not better the following morning either. Nor the morning after that, no matter how many rescues he pushes himself through.

His go-to coping mechanism has always been music, and so he makes his way to the piano without even bothering to raid the kitchen for breakfast/lunch. He’s not hungry, which should probably trigger alarm bells but he’s too tired to care.

Instead, he plonks himself down on the piano stool, lifts the lid to his precious instrument, and stares at the keys, waiting. 

Only, nothing swells inside of him, desperate to be expressed - no emotion, no thought, nothing. 

Virgil has never been in front of a piano and felt nothing. Even before he could play, the very sight of a piano had him awestruck. He remembers his mother playing L.O.V.E just to make him smile, stressing over his finals with endless Rachmaninoff, and pouring out his grief through his own stormy compositions. The piano is and always has been less of an instrument and more of a mouthpiece, a beating heart, a lonely soul that he has bound to himself. For a child stricken mute by tragedy, a teenager struggling in his siblings’ shadows, an adult who can never save them all, his piano is the best way he’s found to dig those feelings out of himself. 

Scott has always said Virgil feels things too deeply. He’s right - even in this nothing-ness state, the depths of it are chasm-like inside him. 

And so, because he knows Scott would want him to try, Virgil half-heartedly plays the opening melody to one of his most recent compositions - a gentle, comforting little thing - but stops almost at once in frustration. 

He just doesn’t feel like it. 

(The upset this causes him is almost better than the awful emptiness because at least it’s a goddamn feeling).

*

The one place he feels semi-normal is the gym. At least there, he can distract himself with the burn of straining muscles and the clanging of too-heavy weights. 

At first, even the thought of venturing down here and working out is Too Much, and he can’t quite bring himself to do so.

But then - 

The image of a child buried beneath rocks he's too weak to lift propels him forward, a sharp twinge of anxiety in his chest. 

And so he rows until his shoulders are throbbing, pounds the treadmill till he can’t feel his feet anymore, presses weights more suited to the exosuit than a man. 

His whole body is trembling with exertion as he runs through some cool down stretches. As he makes to stand, his vision tips sideways, flecked with dark spots. 

It's a good twenty minutes before he tries again, this time leaning heavily on the weights racks. 

He pushed too hard and he knows it. Thank God his brothers weren't down here to see it or he would be in serious trouble.

But it has helped, at least a little. It quiets the worry in his mind that he's useless and the guilt of lives lost. The endorphins of exercise lessen the load on his chest momentarily and though he hurts all over, he'd rather this physical pain than the ache of feeling nothing at all. 

*

Virgil hasn't drawn anything in weeks now, despite the not-so-subtle hints from John that he would really, really like something new for his room on Five (and honestly sending Virgil breathtaking photos of double-ringed galaxies would usually have him mixing up colours at once). 

He wants to draw John something - heck, he just wants to draw something. Or maybe, he wants to want to draw something, but every time he sits down with a sketchpad or canvas, his mind empties and his heart is tired.

Like now, curled up in the window seat of his room with a pencil and pad in hand. It's been well over an hour and the page is still glaringly blank, both physically and mentally. 

A knock at his door startles him, and Alan's head pokes round it. "Hey, Virg, you busy?"

Virgil throws the pad and pencil aside, almost grateful for the distraction from his utter failings as an artist. "Never too busy for you, Allie, what's up?"

"Oh wait, you were drawing?!" Alan hurries over, reaching for the pad. "That's great, it's been ages - can I see?"

He turns over the pad before Virgil can stop him and deflates. "Oh."

"Sorry, Alan," Virgil says, tugging the pad back so that he doesn't have to see the disappointed worry in Alan's eyes. "Waiting for inspiration to strike."

"Oookaaay," Alan says slowly, "but if you're busy, you should have said... It's fine if you are! I can ask John instead. Or Brains."

"I'm not busy, honestly. What is it you need?"

Alan looks torn. "But your art time is so important to you.. and you haven't had time in weeks."

Virgil sighs, "it's not that I haven't had time. I just don't feel like it at the moment." He means it to be reassuring - confirmation that whatever Alan needs is more important than doing fuck-all - and it's the most honest he's been in weeks. 

But instead, Alan looks even more worried. "You don't feel like it? … why not?" 

Shit. It's easy to forget with King Smother Brother in the building that his younger brothers have learned from the best. Virgil doesn't know what to do. There's no way in hell he's spilling how horrible he feels all over his littlest brother. And so he does something that will only make him feel worse in the long run but that might disperse the concern in Alan's eyes. 

"I mean… I wanted it to be a surprise," Virgil says slowly, hating himself for the way Alan brightens at his lies. "But I've been working on something special for John's birthday."

Alan beams and it's almost worth the guilty squirm in Virgil's chest. "Can I see?!" 

"No, no, it's - it's not ready yet." Or started, planned, conceptualised… he's gonna have to get his shit together to fix this lie. 

"Okay, okay. Aw man, I can't wait to see it, Virg!" 

The guilt only swells, and with it, anxiousness. "What was it you needed, Allie?"

"Oh! Right, yeah, it's Physics."

Virgil blinks. "Isn't John your go-to guy for that?"

Alan bites his lip. "Yeah, but you have an Engineering degree. And also…" Alan sighs and flops down on Virgil's bed. "I don't get it and John's great except he doesn't get why I don't get it and-"

"Say no more." Virgil has himself been on the receiving end of John's frustrated rants; not only did he have to bear the humiliation of asking his younger brother for help, but he came away from it feeling even more stupid and hopeless. Thankfully, he'd had a Jeff to explain it to him in terms he could understand - it's a choking grief when Virgil realises that Alan doesn't have that same luxury. 

"It's this equation," Alan is saying, dragging Virgil back to the present. "I just don't get it."

A glance at the page and Virgil feels much steadier. He knows physics, and for once, this is a situation where he can help without failing anyone. 

*

Both on rescues and at home, Virgil has always been the focused, steady rock upon which his brothers can ground themselves. And he's still that, even worn out and perpetually empty, it's just a little harder to maintain it. He's vaguely aware that he's sort of falling apart and he should probably tell someone, even if it means Gordon will be flying his precious 'bird for a while. But the larger part of him is still working to convince himself that he's fine, because he should be fine.

The facade slips a couple of times and each time there's a cost that leaves Virgil so angry at himself, at his uselessness that he can't bear to face anyone. 

Scott watches his usually perfect aim fail three times in a row, and is forced to launch himself out of Thunderbird One to fire his own grappling hook. It takes on the first go because he's Scott fucking Tracy, but they’re too close to the ground thanks to Virgil's ineptitude and there's blood everywhere - oh God, it's everywhere - and Virgil is left with shaking hands staring at the man whose wounds Scott is desperately trying to plug.

John hears when he blacks out momentarily in the tunnel system beneath Mexico City. It's just a temporary dizziness from the heat of the packed soil (is what he's telling John, even though he doesn't remember the last time he ate, and forces himself to choke down an energy bar in guilt) but it distracts his brother from wherever else he is needed and Virgil hates himself for it.

Gordon is the one who wakes him sweating and yelling from a nightmare. There's such worry in his younger brother's face as he asks about the dream, but Virgil can't bring himself to explain that it was his father going up in flames over and over, as it has been for months now. A week later, when it's Scott's face replacing Jeff Tracy's, Virgil wakes to a panic attack, but Gordon is nowhere to be found. 

Alan seizes his arm at a landslide in south Wales, drags him to a man who is pale, sweating, clutching his broken leg, and Virgil goes into medic mode at once. Bind the leg, treat for shock, arrange transport to the nearest hospital.

Except the man never makes it to the hospital.

Because there’s a hard, swollen bruise up his ribcage that should have indicated internal bleeding. And he didn’t spot it - why didn’t he spot it? He has one job: help people, and he can’t even fucking do that right. The man dies on the way to the hospital, and Virgil can’t breathe. Alan tries - bless his good, generous soul - to reassure him, reminding him that there’s relatively little they can do for internal bleeds, they aren’t equipped for that kind of injury, but Virgil pushes him away with a roughness he’ll later regret.

He’s falling apart and this feeling wasn’t supposed to affect rescues, it wasn’t supposed to be a problem he actually had to face. This wasn’t supposed to happen, why did this happen, why, why, why - 

*

Scott is the one who drags him away from his bedroom, where he’s taken to moping alone. 

He doesn’t even knock, simply sweeping through the door in shorts and a tank top, trainers dangling by the laces. “Right, get changed, we’re going on a run.”

Virgil, who hasn’t moved (can’t move) from his bed since getting back from a rescue a few hours earlier, glares up at him. “Nope.”

“Move it.”

“Make me.”

Scott narrows his eyes. “You know I can.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Virgil regrets the words the second they leave his mouth, because no way in hell does he have the energy to wrestle with Scott right now, but his older brother does something much, much worse. 

He tickles him. 

Virgil goes into survivor mode: kicking, flailing, shoving Scott away all whilst breathlessly begging him to stop. When Scott finally relents, Virgil flops back on his bed, panting. 

“I - hate you.” 

“I know,” Scott says cheerfully. “Now, get dressed.”

They begin on Scott’s usual circuit across the beach, chasing the trail up under canopies of forest, and then break away to run alongside the cliff-edges. Most of the heat of the day has faded with the sun, but it’s still warm enough that they’re both sweating by the end of the ascent. Scott pauses at the crest of the cliff and stands silhouetted against the sunset. Virgil slows to a halt next to him.

"What's wrong?" Scott says suddenly and Virgil almost flinches.

"Nothing," he says. It's enough of a half-truth that he doesn't even feel guilty at the frustration in Scott's eyes. 

Scott stares at him. "Please don’t lie to me, Virg. Are you getting sick? Are you injured?”

“What - no, I’m not - I’m not lying -”

“Because I swear, if you ever pull that ‘pushing through pneumonia for the mission’ bullshit again, I will ground you for life-”

“Scott, I’m not sick!”

“Come on, Virg, you’ve always been a shit liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then what’s going on with you?! This is your favourite route." He sweeps a hand over the view of endless ocean, soaked pink and gold beneath the setting sun. "Normally you're urging us to get back so you can get it all down on a canvas, and today, you haven’t even noticed. Please, Virg?” Scott takes a step towards him, resting a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. Talk to me?”

The unbridled concern in Scott’s tone hurts and Virgil simultaneously wants nothing more than to fix it and to stop being its cause. 

Except that - he's fine, he's okay, he's coping with whatever this is. And he doesn't even know what this is so he would rather set himself on fire than trigger another of his brother's nightmares.

“I’m okay, Scott, really.” Scott shakes his head and Virgil doubles down. “I am, I’m just tired.” (So tired, so fucking tired but no amount of sleep seems to help). “It’s been a crazy couple of months.”

Scott frowns, and Virgil forces himself not to cringe at the intensity of his brother’s stare. This feeling is shaping him up to be a damned good liar, and Virgil hates it.

“You have been looking tired,” Scott says eventually, and Virgil sighs internally. “Do I need to give you leave to rest up - and tell me the truth, Virg, I swear to God -”

“No, no.”

Don’t leave me alone with this feeling and nothing to distract from it. 

“Swear it?” 

Virgil nods and watches the relief bloom in his brother’s eyes. He almost doesn’t hate himself for it, because he’s trying his damnedest to convince himself that he is fine, even though it’s becoming increasingly apparent he’s really, really not. But he doesn’t know how to explain how empty and tired and fragile he feels, and so he can’t.

“No more skipping family dinners though, Virg. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you aren’t around at mealtimes lately, I miss you.”

*

The thing is, he's just not hungry anymore - not for Scott's special blueberry pancakes, nor for authentic Italian pizza from his favourite restaurant courtesy of Gordon on the way home one day. He's especially not hungry for Grandma's (literal) rock cake, no matter how hurt she looks by his rejection. 

Virgil knows he's losing weight - he can feel it in the looseness of his uniform around his limbs and in how he has to cinch his belt a little tighter than before. He also knows that in intensifying his workouts, he should be increasing his intake to match. 

He’s also not sleeping - or at least, not sleeping restfully. His nights are riddled with horrific dreams that he wakes from in a panic, or he spends hours unable to switch his mind off for all the terrible thoughts echoing round it. 

The thing is - he can't quite bring himself to care about it all. He’s finding it so hard to care about anything at all (besides his family and the rescues, of course, though even these are draining him beyond all reason), least of all himself. 

*

After one sleepless night, Virgil wanders aimlessly through the house in the groggy rays of the rising sun. Scott will already be on his morning run and Gordon will be halfway through his pre-breakfast swim. And Virgil -

He should be in bed, dead to the world, only to be woken up under dire circumstances or so help me, Gordon - 

Instead, he finds himself in front of his piano. It’s been long enough that a film of dust has settled atop the lid, and he traces his finger through it absently, then decides to try. For Scott, if not for himself (definitely not for himself).

He rifles through boxes of sheet music waiting for something to grab him. When nothing inevitably does, he snatches up whatever’s sticking out sideways, and begins to play. The notes are familiar enough that he closes his eyes, waiting to lose himself in the melody.

But that tug never comes. 

Virgil finishes the piece just as empty and useless and tired as he started it, and opens his eyes to see Gordon standing there, toast in hand.

“Morning,” Gordon says grinning wickedly. “Long time, no see, Mr Piano Man.”

“Hey,” Virgil says quietly, filing the sheet music away again. He’s not in the mood for Gordon’s joviality right now - then again, when is he ever these days? He feels guilty for thinking it at once. 

“What’s wrong?” Gordon demands, his eyes narrowed. He leans across the piano and Virgil glowers at those buttery fingers.

“If you get grease on my piano, Gordon, you won’t live to regret it.”

“Sheesh. Someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning. But seriously, what’s up?”

“Gordon. I mean it.”

Gordon rolls his eyes so hard it must physically hurt him to do so, but raises his hands in surrender. “Fine. Now will you talk to me?”

Virgil looks down at the keys. “Why would anything be up?”

“Well,” Gordon says slowly, “numero uno, I don’t remember the last time I got to have crunchy peanut butter on toast, which means you’re not eating us out of house and home, which is Highly Suspicious Behaviour. Y dos, you only play that when you’re feeling down.”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Virgil says, caught off guard enough that he doesn’t even attempt to deny it.

“I listen,” Gordon says indignantly. “Chopping is what you play when you feel sad.”

“Chopin.”

“Bless you.”

Virgil half-smiles, in spite of himself. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled. 

And there’s a moment, where he thinks: tell him, tell him there’s this horrible feeling inside of you and you’re afraid it’s going to swallow you whole, and he’s going to - he wants to - he means to, but-

“I’m okay, Gords, honest. Just nostalgic.”

Gordon looks at him with eyes far older than his years. “You know it’s okay if you’re not okay though, right?”

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Virg. You’re always here for us. Let us be here for you too, yeah?”

There’s a lump in his throat and Virgil can’t trust himself to speak, so he nods vigorously instead. His brother looks uncharacteristically sad as Virgil makes his excuses to hurry off to the gym and it hurts, all these lies hurt, he’s hurting so much.

He’s just dropped the weight when the floor lurches beneath him and he staggers. 

Hm. Low blood sugar. 

The medic in him is furious at himself, but that guy is also buried beneath a thick layer of exhausted indifference, impenetrable sadness and an overwhelming nothingness. 

And so, Virgil does what he does best. He keeps going.

Keeps going through the motions of gym, rescue, take care of brothers, rescue, repairs, sleep, gym, rescue, because what else can he do? 

*

Until he can’t.

There’s a day that dawns bright and beautiful like every single goddamn day on their tropical island. The birdsong is melodic, the butterflies are a tapestry of colour, the sea sparkles beneath lazy golden rays. 

And Virgil can’t get out of bed. 

Not won’t, not doesn’t want to - physically cannot. 

The weight on his chest has finally become heavy enough that it pins him beneath his covers and he cannot shake it off. Every single particle of the emptiness inside him has insidiously become a despair so absolute and almighty that Virgil cannot bear it inside of him but is powerless to get it out. It’s the worst feeling he has ever known - worse than watching his mother die before his eyes, worse than his father turning away from him in his own grief, worse than trying to keep a splintered family together with frayed nerves and a broken heart. He’s not okay. He’s falling apart. 

It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to accept these as facts, rather than fears.

But the realisation only makes him feel even more alone. 

[the-weeping-fox]

you save yourself.

I'll save myself this time around.

i had a feeling id hear from you on my birthday.

i thought id get a call or text though. so not winning big on that bet.

it still shakes me pretty bad.

i wonder if you knew how obsessed I was with you.

i know you have an idea, but i don't think you'll ever really know.

nothing scary. just... an overabundance of love and affection. you were my air. i wanted to breathe you in.

thought I smelled you for a second the other day when I was cleaning out my room.

its hard. I miss my best friend. I miss the love of my life.

heard your sister got engaged. bout time.

i wonder... if things never went sideways with us.. would we be married now? im sure we would've come around.

but i think thats a silly thought.. i think we were always sideways. even in the beginning. fighting and begging you to date me. christ.

hard memories and harder feelings.

lots of things have been happening to me and for me. things I wish you could share in. places I see your shadow.

waiting to schedule therapy till after my move. been processing alone. its hard. even with people who care. im trying to let go of the anger.

im really angry you hurt me. no matter how you slice it, you put me through some really awful things.

I would tell you that I had a theory that as someone got older, they would learn how to feel another Feeling simultaneously. Like, if you were 30, you could potentially feel 30 Feelings at once. Maybe some overlapping, maybe some individual.

I say this, because I feel like this is how my feelings towards you are built. I have this structure of Love and Friendship that we originally built, through fun sex and taking care of each other. But then these other really horrible feelings of Betrayal and Angry due to.. everything that happened.

I just... i was your sweet boy and you lied and hurt me. Ill never understand. I feel like a kicked Kitten. I try and put logic to it, but it just hurts me more.. trying to make sense of it. trying to put your shoes on and see it from your eyes... hurts. i don't know if ill ever understand how you could it and live with yourself.

i had some part in all of it too. i don't want to spend my life as a victim. i put so much love and faith into you. and the one thing I needed... you couldn't do.

i remember you telling me.. that sometimes I needed to just sit down and say, "you'll be okay. I love you. we'll figure it out and be okay." and that's what I needed. i was so lost in my own sadness and anger that I couldn't tell you I needed it.. but that was it. i needed to see your heart again.

anyways. i don't really want to harp on old shit. i do it 24/7 in my own head as it is.

you deleted your tumblr. never ceases to make my heart ache. but you reached out on my birthday. its.. a strange and potentially painful move. you know your number isn't blocked. so there's still a distance you want to keep. I've come to my own conclusion that it was a Bait. I responded on my old Tumblr... but after spending days pouring over the hint of a response.. i realized how gross that was and is.

I hard-loved you. I loved you with a ferocity I have never shared for anyone else. you were my one and only. I wanted to drink you in. I've had a painful time quitting you. I watched our videos... a lot. I wish i had made 1,000 more. I think i gave up trusting you somewhere along the road.

but... dangling that message.. that "but..." was... awful. I dont know if it was an open invitation to contact you or.. what. but it was.. it sucked. I would have rather had a phonecall or text or something. i don't know. I guess tumblr was the only place we could actually communicate, so maybe this was the best avenue.

I miss you. A lot. All this time and silence gives a lot of perspective. I miss your voice. i miss your smell. I miss your body. I miss your snores.

But another point of perspective is that you gave up our life. You sold that house. You got a new place that you wouldn't reveal the address to. You got new friends. You were walking away from me and us for a long time.

I get why. You spent a lot of time as the quiet girlfriend, waiting for me to tell you what I needed. but read that last sentence aloud. I was hurt. I was damaged. I wasn't going to ever be able to tell you what I needed. I needed your heart to call out to me, and it was the one thing you wouldn't do.

I hope Mittens is doing well. I cry when I think about her not being in my life. I hope I get to see her again before.. well. before anything happens to anyone.

Anyways. after I left my response to your Tumblr message... i... stopped checking it. You might have even responded. I won't know though. I probably won't know until our anniversary. I'll be there, by the way. Ill be in the spot where we figured it all out the first time. Probably get lunch and spend the day in that parking lot. I know you're not the emotional type like that, haha. Id be shocked. floored probably. might even hear me actually gasp.

...

I wouldve been a really good quarantine boyfriend. I really wonder what you think of me. what you honestly think. I mean.. it has to mean something that you left a message for me. Maybe you can't get our memories out of your head either. Im sorry if you thought I might have been trying to use you for sex or something near the end there. I wonder if that's how I came off. It wasn't how I meant to. Sex was just.. a really straight forward expression of our love and.. always felt safe and good with you. Ive had a lot of trouble trying to make that connection with anyone else. They aren't you and... i need to figure that out.

Things with Kat never came to fruition. she didnt really liked that i was too fucked up over you, haha. that would probably make your evil little heart jump. You beat Katherine in my mind. Maybe that can put how I feel about you in perspective.

I also wonder about letting you know about this blog? Maybe. Maybe as an anniversary present. But I cant imagine you want anything to do with me anymore. I really tried to salt the Earth when you left. I could feel how addicted I was to you. I had to for my own good. I wasn't strong enough to quit you.

shit. i still don't think I am. I dont even know if ill be able to move on. I dont want to. I miss you. I want to try and use my angry to curve that feeling, but love is stronger than hate. it always wins out.

so I guess I'll just keep pretending that you had my kid in some alternate universe and cry to my new friends about how some blonde girl shattered my heart.

I hope... youre okay. I think i mean that. its hard in here.

[lumosinlove]

Solntse

part ii

Remus sits in Lily and James’ tiny living room and tries to ignore the subtly laid out pillow and blankets set on the corner of the couch. Lily doesn’t let him.

“Your apartment has flees.”

Remus sets his glass down, “That was one bug and it was a beetle.”

Lily twists her hair over one shoulder, unrelenting, “Remus. Please.” She nods towards the pillow, “Just—I’m worried. We’re worried.”

Remus looks away so he doesn’t have to see the way James nods, they way they’re both looking at him like he’s already a lost cause. He wishes for a moment he’d never told them what he does other than serve pizza and take the early shifts at the gas station around the block, but then he’d be all alone in it. And they were his best friends, that was why he had told them. Just in case one day all of James’ fears came true and some guy murdered Remus in a hotel room. Or something.

James sighs, “Mate, we’re not ganging up on you.”

“No, I know.” Remus nods down at his mug of tea, “I know. I just…I don’t want to be that friend you can’t get rid of. Like. That would be awful.”

“Re, you’re never going to become that.” Lily puts a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing, “That’s not how we think about it at all. We just want to know your safe.”

James raises his mug to his mouth, “As safe as you can be…”

“James.” Lily snips, then her face turns soft again for Remus, “Will you stay here?”

“Lils, really, my apartment is fine.” He curls his feet further beneath him, “I’ll finish my tea and go. Don’t worry.”

He thinks back to his two night hotel escapade and shakes his head more firmly at Lily. He already feels enough like a charity case as it is. Even if he did get good money for it. Sirius had pushed an extra eighty dollars into his hand at the door and closed it before Remus could protest. He had pressed a chapped kiss to his cheek too. Remus was still mulling that over.

When he finally does make it out of the apartment he pulls his ratty coat tightly over his shoulders and ducks his head against the wind. He could probably buy a new one if Sirius called again. He did ask for two nights in a row, and it went great so, maybe. But he didn’t want to be flashy about any new money. His landlord had already raised his eyebrows when Remus had handed over two months rent in advanced.

His apartment wasn’t flea infested although it did give off that sort of look. He had a cheep futon bed frame, just to keep his mattress off the floor so it didn’t mold, and a dresser from IKEA. His kitchen consisted of a stove and a sink. The gas was usually pretty iffy and his sink ran mostly cold, like his shower, but…he had a roof and food. It’s fine. He has James and Lily if he was really, really in trouble but he doesn’t want it to come to that. He’ll never want it to come to that.

He throws his keys down on the dresser and goes to check the leak under the sink. It hasn’t gotten worse but he empties out what water is in the bucket just while he’s there. He re-tapes the crack in the window and makes a note to ask his landlord about that. Again. He’s just sitting down on his bed when his phone rings. He groans and closes his eyes when he pulls it out, hoping it isn’t one of his less polite customers. He sighs in relief when he sees the name.

“Frank, hi.” Frank almost never wants sex. He likes to talk. He’s lonely. Remus can relate. He’s the son of two wealth-soaked parents who don’t pay him a lick of attention. Remus can half relate. “How are you, mate?”

“Oh. Hi, Remus. Wasn’t sure I’d get you, um. I’m fine. I—um. Was wondering…” He trails off.

“Sure, when were you thinking? I’ve got something Tuesday and Sunday and you know when I work, so…”

“Actually, I was thinking now?” His voice is up an entire octave with nerves, “I just…Family problems right now. Was hoping to just talk a bit.”

Remus runs a hand over his face but tries not to pause too long. He doesn’t want Frank to think he doesn’t want to, “Sounds great! Should I meet you at the—“

“I couldn’t get the usual room. It’s 207 tonight. Same hotel though, the Pierre.”

Remus nods, tries to keep a smile in his voice, “Great. See you soon.”

He’s barely hung up when another name flashes up at him. He’s almost embarrassed by how fast he answers, “Sirius. Hi.” That didn’t come out anywhere close to how he wanted it to.

“Remus! Life is good?”

Remus laughs lightly, still caught off guard but warmed by Sirius’ simple honesty, “Uh, yeah, life is good. How are you?”

“Good. Busy. Always busy, you know? I’m at airport now, going to be in town on Wednesday. You want see together? Or, ah, not together.”

“Each other.” Remus supplies.

“Yes, perfect. You always know. What you think, Remus?”

Remus half wishes Sirius would stop saying his name like that and half wishes he’ll never stop saying his name like that, “Yeah, that works for me. What time were you thinking?”

“Seven? I get us dinner in room, so don’t eat. I’m, ah…” Sirius lets out a soft laugh and Remus presses the speaker closer to his ear, “I’m think about you a lot.”

Remus swallows over a suddenly dry throat, “Yeah?”

“Hm.” There’s a loud speaker in the background and Sirius says something low in Russian, “Flight calling me. Wednesday okay, yes?”

“Yes. Have a good flight.”

“You too. Or—“ They both laugh, “Okay, I’m go now. Bye, Remus.”

The line goes dead and Remus lets the phone fall to the bed. He breathes in deeply and looks down. He’s half hard in his pants now and he really doesn’t know why. He’s suppose to be on his way to Frank’s, he tips well, he honestly needs Remus a little bit and…fuck. He splashes some freezing water on his face from the sink and yanks his door shut as he leaves.

Frank’s is fine. The hotel room is nice and Remus ends up sucking him off—twice. He doesn’t get hard either time but Frank seems either completely fine with that or he doesn’t notice. What does get him going is the ping he gets on his phone while he’s walking home from the tube. It’s a picture. Of Sirius. A selfie. He’s grinning in front of a beautiful sunset outside a plane window. There’s no message except a few sideways parentheses that Remus takes as smiles. Looking at the grin triggers thinking about Sirius’ large, warm hands on his hips and back. That leads to thinking about the way Sirius had carefully pushed his fingers inside of Remus, then the hot slide of his cock to replace them, his weight covering Remus’ back—

By the time Remus is walking up the stairs to his apartment again he’s more or less waddling around his tented trousers. By the time he’s throwing his keys on his dresser all he can do is lean back against his door and shove his hand into his boxers. They’re already damp with pre-come so what’s the point anyway? He smears his thumb over his head and squeezes the base, letting out a breath. It’s not as good as Sirius and his fucking huge palms. Now that he’s got a hand wrapped around himself he can really feel the difference. He pushes his pants down around his knees so he can get two hands around himself instead, twisting around the head and keeping a tight grip around the shaft. It barely takes a dozen pulls before he’s shooting into his fist with a harsh sound, Sirius’ name almost on his lips. Almost. He makes the mistake of thinking about the way Sirius had trailed his fingertips over his sensitive cock after he’d made Remus come in his mouth, keeping the pleasurable nerves alight, and takes a cold shower so he doesn’t have to go again. The shower only makes him think about how, next time, maybe Sirius won’t come untouched. Maybe Remus will get to return the favor. He doesn’t even know how much of Sirius he could fit in his mouth but fuck if he doesn’t want to try. He groans and wraps a hand around himself again. He’s too sensitive but he doesn’t care. He works himself fast and hard until his cock is a flushed red and he comes weakly against the shower wall, panting into the cool spray.

He looks at his phone as he towels off his hair. It’s Saturday, and it’s going to be a long couple days.

~

There’s a different woman at the front desk this time and Remus is glad. Not that he thinks the other one would remember him but, still. He stares at the twelve on the door for a moment, trying to calm his heart rate, before he knocks.

The door doesn’t open immediately so he knocks again, feeling more awkward by the second.

This time there’s a muffled shout and a few seconds later the door is yanked open by Sirius—dripping wet and a towel hastily wrapped around his waist.

“Sorry!” He gasps, “Sorry, flight late, felt kind of like plane—plane all over me? Thought I be fast, sorry.”

“Okay.” Remus meant to say it’s okay but, well, Sirius’ towel is slipping sort of low.

“Come in, come in, I’m be ready in minute.”

Ready for what? Remus wants to ask.

He goes to sit on one of the couches and strokes his hands over a soft pillows while Sirius pads back to the shower, dropping his towel without closing the door. For a second, Remus debates on whether he can consider that as an invitation or not. He stands up twice and sits back down before the water shuts off and he sits again. Sirius emerges a second later, grabbing the towel from the floor to wrap around his waist and another for his hair.  He rubs at his hair until the waves fluff around his ears and into his eyes. He smiles over at Remus somewhat guiltily.

“Sorry again. You want look at menu?” Sirius flips open a sleek looking suitcase and starts rifling through it, “Starving. Airplane food most bad, you know?”

Remus doesn’t but he’s not about to start that conversation. Instead he reaches for the leather-bound hotel book, “Where did you come from?”

“Sydney, ah…Hard for me to say.”

“Australia.”

Sirius laughs and pulls a loose fitting pair of sweatpants on—bare, “Yes, right.” A white long sleeve shirt follows and—to Remus’ surprised delight—a black snapback. It sits snugly on his damp hair, pushing the front part back out of his eyes while the rest wings out above his ears. Remus can see the shape of his ring necklace through his shirt. He swallows. Sirius looks good.

He pulls some warm looking socks on and Remus glances briefly at the hole in the heel on his own left foot. The couch bounces a little as Sirius settles next to him, leaning in close to look at the menu, “Good food? What you like?”

Remus tries to read the menu, he really does, but Sirius’ arm is thrown over the back of the couch  and his fingertips are brushing over where he sweater gives way to skin. He holds the menu out to Sirius, “You decide. I’ll eat anything.”

Sirius gives him a teasingly disapproving look but takes the menu and reaches towards the side table for the phone. He orders too much. A steak, fries, a plate of brisket ravioli, a cheese board, a salad, calamari, and two slices of chocolate cake. Remus doesn’t know where they’re going to put it all, but he hopes maybe he can take some of it home.

“We do tea later,” Sirius reaches out and fans one of Remus’ curls between his fingers. “After.” He amends, “They say thirty minutes.” Then his fingers are lightly brushing Remus’ hip, just beneath his sweater, “We stay busy while wait. Is okay?”

“Yeah.” Remus breathes, because what Sirius doesn’t know is that he got off to the mere memories of what they did last time every night leading up to now. Sometimes twice. Of course it’s okay. He’s never had a job this fucking okay, and he’ll damn sure make the most of it until Sirius moves on. They always do. Remus usually feels more grateful when they do, but he has a feeling Sirius will be different.

Sirius flashes him a grin and tugs him right into his lap. His lips are warm and chapped against Remus’, but the rough texture is nice. Remus feels like it keeps him there, in Sirius’ arms. He runs his tongue across Sirius’ bottom lip just to feel it and is rewarded with a soft sound and a palm to the small of his back. Sirius, who seems to be able to take Remus aback in almost everything he does, is holding Remus close, chest to chest. Not by the hips, not by the shoulders. Remus has never had any problems with abuse and he’s lucky in that way but Sirius, Sirius isn’t holding him like he’s there for sex at all. He’s cradling Remus in his lap, hands running lazily up and down his back. He’s licking into his mouth like they have all the time in the world, like they’ve been kissing forever and they’ll do it tomorrow, and tomorrow.

Remus’ palms cup his jaw and he runs his fingers along the edge of the snapback.

“You want off?” Sirius’ voice sounds like he’s just woken up.

Remus shakes his head and his eyes slip closed as Sirius’ mouth moves to his jaw, “No.”

Sirius’ warm breath against his neck as he laughs softly almost feels better than the wet kisses he’s leaving there. Almost.

They stay like that until the knock on the door makes Remus blink his eyes open blearily, suddenly aware of how warm he is.

Sirius shifts him to the side gently, kneeling on the couch for one last peck, “I’m get food, relax here.”

Remus blinks at him, licks his kiss-swollen lips, and honestly just wants to ask Sirius why he is like this. He rests his head back on the couch and listens to Sirius’ bright voice chatting away to the bell boy who brought their food. He’s thanking him, telling him how good it all looks, and Remus thinks maybe he’s just this nice to everyone he meets. He isn’t sure what to do with that.

“Hey,” Sirius head pokes back through the door, cart trailing him, “Food.”

Remus isn’t going to say no to that.

The spread of food looks even bigger when laid out and Remus can’t help but laugh as Sirus sits down next to him again, “Sirius, this is…a lot.”

Sirius shrugs one shoulder, “We don’t finish, you take home.”

Remus isn’t going to say no to that, either. He has a brief moment of wondering whether ordering this much was purposeful on Sirius’ part, but pushes it aside. That’s ridiculous. Sirius doesn’t even know him, much less anything about his financial situation. Well. He might know a little given who they are to each other.

Remus spends most of the meal listening to Sirius try to explain some funny story that happened on his trip, and anticipating the occasional moments of being fed bits of steak and such by Sirius, who barely breaks in talking despite how it takes Remus’ breath for a moment.

“I spend lot of time in hotel, you know?” Sirius’ voice breaks into Remus’ thoughts, mid story. He wished he’d been listening fully to know how to respond.

“I, ah, lonely?”

Sirius shrugs, but shoves a large scoop of pasta in his mouth. Remus takes that as a yes.

“How did you…” Remus searches for the right word before trying, “find me?”

Sirius actually pinks a little at that, “Ah. Friend. You know him. Recommend. Say you very sweet.”

Remus nods and respects the anonymity even if he’s dying to know who, “Sweet, huh?”

Sirius smiles a little, “I’m think so, too.”

They move onto the cake and the hotel had sent up an two extra desserts, seemingly just because Sirius is Sirius.

“I’m stay here lot, they know me.”

“Probably because you order the entire menu anyway.” Remus jokes.

It makes Sirius’ entire face light up, spreading his hands, “Hey, why not? Hungry after long day of flying.” He knocks his ankle against Remus’, “Good food, best company.”

Remus rolls his eyes a little and Sirius snorts. That shouldn’t be attractive, but it is.

“You live here always?” Sirius asks through a bite of cheesecake, “London?”

“Yeah, always.”

“Born here?”

Remus nods, “Yeah. I live a few streets over from my parent’s flat.”

“Must be so nice.” Sirius is smiling, but his eyes are down at his plate and he looks a little mournful. His fingertips not holding his fork are twisting the ring around his neck,  “Be near family always.”

Remus takes a bite instead of answering. It had been nice. For a while.

“Not…Not nice?” Sirius says softly, “Sorry, not want to bring up bad things, Remus—“

“No. No, it’s okay. It’s fine, I just…yeah, I don’t really talk to my parents much these days.”

Sirius places a warm hand on his thigh, thumb rubbing on the inside slowly. But it isn’t sexual. It isn’t even verging on sexual. It’s soothing and warm, and it makes Remus want to keep talking.

“Not since I came out.” He finally manages, “To them. They weren’t…” But it turns out that’s all he can say on the matter.

“Make you feel better…” Sirius wets his lips, “Parents not know. Mine, I’m saying. Scared to tell, not good thing in Russia.” He gives Remus’ thigh a little squeeze, “I understand. Remus, it’s—it’s most brave.”

Remus blinks hard, “Yeah.” He doesn’t know why he’s sitting here having this semi-melt down with Sirius. Sirius definitely isn’t paying for this. He’s probably annoyed with him under all his kind words and so Remus snuffles and digs his palms into his eyes, trying to wipe the tears away and the redness that’s probably there both. There’s nothing really to do to make this not an awkward transition. How do you go from tears to sex? And with a stranger? “I’m sorry.” He begins, “Fuck, this—was not what I had planned.”

“Remus, it’s not apology—no, okay?” He’s suddenly pushing the food table away and tucking his legs beneath himself, sitting on his socked-heels and taking both of Remus’ hands, thumbs rubbing gently against the vulnerable insides of Remus’ wrists, “I’m not mind, really. Really.”

“I’ll take this out of your pay. Honestly, Sirius, this isn’t what you brought me here for, I just want you to know that I know that.” Remus can’t help it though, and despite his words curls his fingers around Sirius’, “Sorry."

“Please stop saying, Remus.” Sirius tone is firm, “Please, you—not an apology.” Even the word ‘apology’ sounds nice in Sirius’ mouth.

“I…make okay? A bit?” Sirius tugs very lightly on Remus’ hands but when Remus shakes his head he—he lets go. Which Remus can’t decide how he feels about that.

“Sorry.” He says again, then at Sirius’ face, he pushes a hand through his hair, “Fuck, sorry—Sor—“

And then Sirius is kissing him. His thumbs are stroking slowly along his cheeks and he’s sucking Remus’ bottom lip slowly into his mouth, brushing his tongue along it with the same amount of leisure. Remus sighs into it, fingers digging into his own thighs for a moment before he’s leaning forward and pressing his palms flat on Sirius’.

“Only if want.” Sirius says against his mouth, “Remus.” He pulls away just enough to look at Remus’ glassy eyes, “You not want a second ago, I’m just want no more sorry. No, ah, not need to do anything, okay?” He curls his fingers back around Remus’ ears, around the curls there, “карамель, can just put movie on. Have more cake.”

Remus sniffles a little, blinking hard at Sirius, “Did—Did you just call me caramel?” He remembers the soft word from last time.

Sirius smiles, a bit, and lifts one shoulder, “It’s good, no? It’s…not sure how to say…small names important in Russia. Mean two people are close.”

Is that really what we are? Remus wants to ask. He sort of wants to yell it because, as great as this is, he sees nothing but a darker end. For himself, anyway.

“Oh.” Is all he says out loud and falls sideways a little on the couch into the cushions. He’s suddenly so tired. Sirius doesn’t seem to mind, though, and mirrors his position, their knees knocking together. His soft smile is still aimed right at Remus. “What’s yours then?”

Sirius’ smile grows, “Mama give to me when little.” He raises his eyebrows, “Little bit funny, not laugh.”

Remus feels a smile of his own start up and he uses his sleeve to wipe his nose, sitting up a little more, “I won’t laugh.”

“Sivushka.” It rolls nicely off of Sirius’ tongue, and his cheeks pink a little but he looks pleased, “Sort of…for family? Friends. Not so much lover, too…small?”

“Casual?” Remus offers, “Like, it means a different feeling.”

Sirius’ smile is soft, “So good with english. So helpful.”

“Sivushka.” Remus tries it out, but it doesn’t sound half as good. Then, he can’t help it, heart in his throat when he asks, “What’s…what’s more than friends? Like, not—just, I’m curious what that would be.”

“Lover? Sirusya, maybe.” Then he smiles, eyes crinkling warmly, “You like? You call me?”

“Surely someone already calls you that.” Remus tries to keep his voice light. I mean, look at you. He wants to add.

Sirius sits up at that a little, eyes going hard, hand—that had been rubbing idly against Remus’ knee—going still, “No. No one call me.”

Remus swallows, “I—I didn’t mean—“

“I’m not—изменя́ть.” He huffs in frustration, “изменя́ть—I’m not know, not know, okay?”

Remus’s chest goes cold, “Okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

“Not be here if with—someone else.” Sirius shakes his head, “Not like that, Remus. I’m not.” The phrase is followed by a disgruntled spell of Russian that Remus does his best to follow through tone alone.

“I know.” Remus finally says, “I know you aren’t.” Because he’s only met Sirius twice but he can honestly say he does know this about him, “I’m sorry.”

“Not apology, карамель.” Sirius rubs his hands over his face, “Too much action, sorry.”

Remus looks on in confusion, “What?”

“Me, me,” Sirius gestures aggressively towards himself, “Me. Too much action. Not right.”

Overreaction, Remus thinks and nods, “No, I understand.”

“I’m know…what guys you probably see doing…this.” Sirius doesn’t look at him as he acknowledges exactly why Remus is there for what feels like the first time other than money exchanges, “Not wrong for you to think. But no.”

“Sirius, it’s okay.” But that feels wrong somehow and so he says instead, “I mean, we’ve done this three times.”

Sirius is quiet for a long moment this time. “It’s true.” Then, after running his fingers over his necklace a few times, “You have other small name?”

The topic change pings a little, “Um. Not anything big. Re, mostly, if anything.”

“Re.” It sounds like a lovely mess of vowel in Sirius’ mouth, “That’s all?”

Remus nods, “Nothing like Russia, huh?”

Sirius runs a hand over his face one more time but when he moves it there’s a trace of his usual smile, “I’m find you one, not worry.” Then, eyes down and voice quiet but questioning, “You have…small name…for lover?”

Remus swallows. His throat is so dry all of a sudden so he just shakes his head, then realizes Sirius isn’t looking at him so he croaks out, “No.”

Sirius nods back, “Oh.” Then he grabs the remote and pushes it into Remus’ hand, “Find something. I’m call for tea and get money before forget. Be back.”

It seems like the end of the conversation, but the conversation doesn’t feel over. Remus choses a movie, but he couldn’t say what it was about. When its over Sirius has to tuck the money into Remus’ back pocket himself. He presses another kiss to Remus’ cheek. Then Remus doesn’t hear from him for two weeks.

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S2 Ep 42 : Hello, Darkness, my Old and Also Relatively New Teenage Shadow Magic Friend

Recently, on Yugioh, we asked ourselves, (well, I asked myself since I assume most of you have seen this show before) how does it matter at all if you lose your memories of someone for like, ten minutes, when you will obviously have to run into them again once the duel is over? And if you have lost the memories that they ever existed then what would it matter since you would not know that you had known them?

This is how - They become shadow people and you literally can’t see them anymore for what I assume is the rest of your life. I don’t know how that works since they can still like write things down on pieces of paper or I dunno, communicate entirely through texting like most kids do who haven’t been cursed with eternal invisibility.

But don’t think too much about the logic, because people can now be erased from your life via cards, AKA Yugioh is gonna throw us another heavy handed take on depression, get ready. And honestly, it’s not a bad take. Good on Yugioh for this fairly accurate metaphor of what sadness can feel like. Like, sometimes people feel like their friends don't like them anymore, although they may be surrounded by people the entire time who are rooting for them and want to help them, but they just can’t see them. I think every person in the world has been through that at some point. You don’t often see it addressed in a kid’s show, although it really should be, because it happens so often.

Probably shouldn’t have started out with Tea for this example though. Like for reals, when have Mai and Tea ever hung out? That one time Mai told Tea to take a shower because she smelled like a boy? Or...

...That’s it. That’s the last conversation I remember these two having one-on-one. Most of the time Mai has been on screen is with Yugi and Joey instead. Mai and Tea shared a tent once. That’s it.

Lolmao I can’t believe Mime came back.

So now, canonically, BDSM Mime got stranded somewhere in Japan and now Marik doesn’t have any memories to even go and pick him up. He’s just forever trapped in this country now like Shenmue.

(read more)

Mai seems to remember that she used to know someone, so it’s more of like you get the feeling of losing a friend. Like basically every time you lose a monster you feel like you broke up with someone, but you can’t remember who. I can’t really relate to that feeling, but I’m sure this has happened to Mai at least once or twice for reals before this tournament. This is the girl who forgot she set herself up to get engaged.

Again, if you just thought it through for like 3 seconds, you’d have enough evidence to say “Yeah but this is all in my mind, I am standing in weird ass purple fog” but that’s the Shadow Realm.

After Tea’s memory is dissolved, next comes the threat of losing the memories of Joey Wheeler, AKA the vague love interest that she was very mad at up until about 5 seconds ago.

Also please admire how far the storyboarder went out of their way to avoid looking up Mai’s skirt. Straight up, they did not even bother to try and cover up those panty upskirts in Sailor Moon, but the storyboarder for Yugioh was so extra that they said “Hell with it, I’m gonna try” and so Mai’s legs are like double jointed and sprawled in the weirdest ways sometimes to cover that crack.

I mean, it’s still a pinup--there’s no way around this character design--but I really think they were trying to not go too far, but then ended up making it kind of worse sometimes. It’s just what happens when you have a love affair a lot of extreme low angle shots but none of your girls wear pants because it’s 2001 and everyone’s wearing tube tops and minis.

Which was a thing. I’ll admit it, I lived through it, 2001 was kind of a slutty time, it was the era of the glittery backless diamond shaped halter top. Which, while time has tried to forget, I will never forget the 20 minutes I spent in a dressing room trying to figure out how to put on a backless diamond shaped halter top only to realize that I was putting it on sideways.

Now, stepping away from confusing 00′s fashion and back to the show. Mai losing these pile of kids might mean more to me if Mai had been hanging out with them this whole time, but it really does feel like they’re closer to Duke Devlin than they are to Mai Valentine, because Duke at least shared a school with them so I can assume that in the past they’ve passed each other in the hallway or talked on occasion. But, Mai is an adult who never comes in contact outside of cards, and when she does, she only ever pushes them away.

It’s especially that-Yugioh-brand-of-tragic because in the mind of all of the characters on this show, we’ve just kind of assumed Mai has had a life and friendships outside of these couple of kids. But this episode we realize there’s just...no one else but the people she sees at these rare tourneys. As we see here in this flashback to her childhood, in the most anime PJ’s ever drawn.

Why does every flashback look like everyone's straight out the American Girl Doll collection? Like Pegasus and Cecilia were in turn of the century clothes. the Kaibas were dressed like little newsies when they were orphans, little Mai looks like she owns a horse in matching ribbons.

And as it turns out, do you know the reason why Mai hates friendship? You’ll never guess--her Parents. Ah, Neglectful Parents, strikes again, that old Yugioh chestnut. It’s like I’m watching Once Upon a Time again. At least these neglectful parents didn’t lock her up underground and tattoo her eyes. Instead, these ones just worked a lot and she got kinda lonely.

Are there any good parents on this show? I assume if anyone’s parents are good we just never see them, right? Is that why we never see Mr Muto?

Anyway, Mai moved around a lot, her parents were always busy, and it rained like constantly--so Mai decided to get a job on a cruise line, where she became a card shark. And also where she randomly got engaged and then forgot.

I don't remember her tent looking like that but I’ll allow it.

You could have chosen any friends out there Mai, traveling the world on a cruise line, doing cards all over the planet, and you chose these guys? The ones with multiple curses? Like you nabbed both Yugi and Bakura in one go? Congrats!

Anyway she very quickly forgets Joey so Rip MaixJoey that was a good one and half episodes, surely the longest relationship on Yugioh!

So, Yugi decides to activate the millennium item chatroom, where apparently he could just butt into whoever is getting cursed at the moment. And mind you, he could just solve the duel but like, there is a card game going on, and although it’s super duper cursed, we gotta make it fair. Yugi’s just here to give some good advice and then bounce.

No laser fights today. He still isn’t aware he can do that.

freakin love this blue yellow color combo PS.

So something that I do like about this, is that the real threat here in these Shadow Duels is not the duel really--it’s to Mai’s relationships more than injury Mai herself. Yes, she does die if she loses, but the more she loses, the more she loses people in her life, even if she wins. The loss of the people is more scary to her more than the fear of dying.

And this hearkens back to the first time we dealt with the Shadow Realm with Yugi and his Grandfather. Yugi was over that duel in about 15 minutes or whatever the time limit was, and after the initial shock he brushed himself off and may have appeared fully recovered, but it took him almost an entire season to get his Grandpa back in his life.

So if you look at these curses as akin to getting an illness, when you lose a relationship because of illness, that can be a pretty terrible symptom that you don’t really see coming. Happens a whole lot though. In Mai’s case, if she does lose, she also loses the opportunity to repair what she’s lost, which is probably the greatest fear of someone who may be going through A Time.

Like honestly, the Mai duel is *kind of a downer* and I was just talking to my Bro about how of all the shadow duels so far, this is the one that is most clearly “I’m just going to fight you with straight up depression” and how apparently Marik is just so far into his own downward spiral that he no longer cares about who he drags down with him. He’s just given up trying to be better at this point. Like his only ‘friend’ left is BDSM Mime clown. That’s a pretty intense rock bottom, honestly.

But on a positive note, what Yugi points out to Mai is “You’re in this now, but we will get you out of it, no matter what he curses you to believe.” and of anyone here, Yugi’s the only one that can actually reach out and speak to her because he’s the only one who has been through it before and thus knows how it works.

Being cursed with heavy handed illness imagery AKA Shadow Magic does have that perk. You can help out the similarly cursed. Even though he could have probably launched at least a couple fireballs at the problem to help her out also.

Holy hell they actually edited out all the little details on this duel disk here. Good on you, animators. Good on you. I’m glad someone did it. Hope that saved at least one of you from carpal tunnel, you poor overworked animators that had to draw every line on these crazy complicated character designs.

So Mai, spurned onward by the ghostly voices of her forgotten friends figures out how to steal Marik’s God Card.

Again, everyone on this show is obsessed with these awful cards and they feel like they must play them to win when honestly--look how much this card sucks.

If this God Card ends up killing her it’ll only prove my point that all these cards are just fundamentally hella bad.

Same with Odion, he could’ve won just fine without playing a God Card but leave it to these dummies to just go crazy with the one of three cards that has been prophecies to kill them. Like, when Odysseus gives you a bag of wind, just don’t open the bag. That easy.

Anyway, tune in next week to see if Mai ends up blown overboard like the servants of Odysseus, or if she ends up devoured by a giant creature also like the servants of Odysseus. Or if she ends up dating Joey Wheeler. That part didn’t happen in the Odyssey, but I’ve read enough people comparing fanfic to Homer that I guess you could make it happen if you really wanted to.

Link to read these recaps from S1 Ep1

[tumblunni]

I FED THE BIRDS TODAYYYYY

I got over my social anxiety enough to FEED BIRB FRIENDS

I always wanted to just grab as much bird food as i could carry and go to where the pigeons are in the street and then give it to all of them because i love them and im so sad for them. Pigeons are such pure lil dudes!! And theyre left to starve on the streets!! Ever since i learned pigeons are just a domesticated breed of the dove genus i felt super guilty for ever seeing them as pests. Like i know that wild rats can be dangerous but we shouldnt let that impact out judgment of pet rats who are very clean and fluffy and much more friendly and active than other rodents and also very smart and good. But pigeons are that AND ALSO the ones you see on the street are literally the same as the domestic ones, just feral. They were a "fad pet" a few centuries ago that got abandoned en masse when the novelty wore off, and thats SO FUCKIN SAD! feral pets are ultra depressing because the domestication means they lack the skills necessary to know wtf to do in the wild, and thats why street pigeons ended up relying entirely on scavenging human food and sleeping in human places and they cant go migrate away from humans or theyll die. And they also have SO MANY health problems from being originally bred into 'pedigree' breeds with exaggerated traits, and seriously the 'street pigeon' now is a mutt breed from ALL of those damn awful pedigrees mass interbreeding while starving on the street. So theyre a giant mess of health problems in a species thats super dependant on having access to human vetinary care and just AAAAGH ITS SO SAD! And i hate that the flow of time has buried this sin we did to them and now everyone acts like its just some wild species that indepedantly decided to exist and decided to be dependant on humans to not die GAAAH WHY IS EVERYTHIBG ABOUT BRITISH HISTORY A TOTAL NIGHTMARE

Anyway so thats why i wanted to start getting over my social anxiety and be able to feed the pigeons more often! And today i managed that once!!

I bought like alllll the sale bread in the shop and two bags of different seeds and even a bag of dried bugs! And also this thing called suet balls but apparantly neither pigeons or seagulls are interested in those and its more of a crows and robins thing? But meh, wasting a few quid was worth brightening up the lives of some hungry birbs!

Do pigeons coo when theyre happy? I sat there for a long time feeding them and more and more kept coming and then they started like a group cooing session and would come up so close to me that theyd eat seeds that fell on my shoe. I felt so blessed cos they were very skittish when i first got there! And there were definately more of them coming, i kept seeing new patterns in the ones that appeared. Sometimes it seemed like one would fly off and come back with another one? I wouldnt be surprised if theyre smart enough to call their friends to join the buffet! I was glad becaude i was worried there wouldnt be enough pigeons to eat all this food and i didnt want them to get sick eating too much. Like they say be careful feedibg stray cats and stuff cos they will literally not stop eating when theyre full, theyre so used to starvation that theyre like 'i dont know when ill get my next meal id rather feel sick than starve'. God seriously why do humans so callously abandon creatures that depend on them?

The pigeons seemed to like the sunflower seeds the best! And oddly i seemed to notice they had a 'gotta eat them in the right order' kind of thing? Initially when i put down the dried worms they didnt go for them and they just seemed to go for bread and seeds. But when they finished the seeds they switched to only the bugs even though there was lots of bread left and they'd seemed interested in that before. And then after the bugs they finished off the bread. I guess animals have a more finely honed instinct for telling what nutrients are in something? It seemed like they were going 'okay lets have a small nibble of this starchy luxury, then nom all the most nutritious things, then the protein. And if there's any luxury left then maybe we'll chow down for dessert!' Itwas just so cute they really seemed to have a three course meal structure to it?? It wasnt just cos the worms were out of their vision or anything, the whole flock just followed each other between the piles of things and nommed in order.

Also there were some jerkass seagulls! Seagulls, no! I know you guys arent dependant on scavenged food, you can take care of yourselves perfectly well so be nice to the smaller birds! I ended up throwing chunks of baguette in wide baseball arcs to lure them away from the crowd, cos they wouldnt even just eat together but kept flapping to scare the pigeons away too. I mean thats very smart and tricky but its also mean, yo. Be more responsible as the king of british pest birbs!

And OH MAN it made me so sad to look at the pigeons and see so many interesting patterns that must have once been bred as pets. There was one that was almost perfectly white with some chocolate coloured spots and pink beak and eyes! And i kept seeing ones that were hurt or sick or disabled and it sucked to know i couldnt do anything to help them. There was one that flew a little sideways, one that seemed to have a broken leg, lots of uneven amounts of toes, one with one wing bigger than the other, one with bloody stains on its feathers, one with a tumourously overgrown nose wattle...god, you poor things...

I just really hope i gave them a happy few hours of today. I hope maybe they'll have a slightly higher chance of surviving now. And i hope i can feed them again next time i walk past!

Maybe not buy the dried bugs again tho cos that didnt help with the social anxiety. It feels extra embarassing to be feeding something weird to birds even if its more healthy. And i felt like i had to stay there until they finished it all cos itd be embarassing to leave a bunch of bugs on the floor. But i hope the pigeons liked those bugs!!

[veliseraptor]

Okay so ik I haven't even nearly gotten halfway through the actual rtc but would you write a wanda's pov for her reuniting with undead Loki who's now /missing/ something in the everything hurts au? (I love it so much even though at the beginning I was like wtf is going on lol)

WELL APPARENTLY lately I’m in mode “ignore responsibilities, write other fic constantly” so I’ve got a few prompts for this verse lurking around and well who am I to deny the people that vicious angst you apparently want

is it wrong to love a family of ghosts, wanda pov, the everything sucks au, previous installments are under the #everything is awful au tag

She didn’t know what it was at the time, but Loki’s resurrection hit Wanda like a concussive blast, leaving her with a vicious headache and a stomach that was a pit of dread, the more so because she had no idea what had happened. Only that there’d been some kind of disturbance in the energy of things, so intense that she’d sensed it even though it’d been nowhere nearby.

But nothing happened for a month, and then two. Their little ersatz family had dwindled: it was just her, Pietro, Sam, and Clint now. The rest of them - gone. Scattered to the winds. Or - or.

Then Sam showed up one day while the other three of them were making paprikash, a strange look on his face.

“Steve’s coming back,” he said. Clint sat up sharp, and Wanda felt her eyes widen.

“He is?” Clint said. “Did something - happen? Is this related to-” He gestured at Wanda. Sam shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “He just said he was coming back, and that he was sorry for being away so long.”

“Nothing else?” Clint asked. Sam shook his head.

“Nothing else.”

Clint made a face. “That give anyone else a bad feeling, or just me?” He asked. Wanda looked down at her hands twisting together.

“Not just you,” she said quietly. She wanted to believe it could be good news. But she wasn’t expecting that anymore.

**

Steve was back.

Steve was back, with Thor. And they’d brought Loki.

Wanda hadn’t seen him yet. Nobody had. How, was the question on everyone’s lips, but Wanda wanted to ask when, thinking of that blast of energy that had knocked her flat.

“He’s still recovering,” Steve said, like death was just another illness, or a wound. “He gets...overwhelmed, easily. So just...keep that in mind.”

He’s not well, Wanda heard. He’s still suffering, even alive. She looked down at her hands, tangled together. Pietro put his hand on her back, drawing closer; glancing sideways at Clint, he looked pale.

She wondered what he was thinking.

As soon as she could, she went to Steve. “Can I see Loki?” She asked, bluntly. Steve hesitated, and she added, “maybe I can help.”

Steve looked exhausted, she noticed. Like one weight had lifted from his shoulders only for another to fall. “Do you think so?” He asked, after a long pause.

“I don’t know for sure,” Wanda said. “But maybe I could. And...he’s a friend, Steve. I want to see him.”

Steve rubbed his forehead. “Okay,” he said, finally. “You should know that he’s...sensitive. To sound, and sometimes to touch, too.”

Wanda bit her lip, and held open her arms to offer a hug. Steve stepped forward and accepted it, his shoulders drooping.

“He’s back,” Wanda said. “We’ll...we can put him back together.”

“Yeah,” Steve said after a pause. “We will.”

**

Wanda hesitated for a long time outside of Loki’s door, her heart in her throat. A part of her was scared that when she opened the door, Loki would be gone. A part of her was scared of what he might be like, if she was there. So far, other than Thor and Steve, he didn’t seem to have spoken to anyone.

Bucky was still gone. Wanda wondered if he knew. How would he have found out?

She knocked lightly on the door, mindful of what Steve had said about sound.

“Yes?” Said Loki’s voice, and Wanda’s eyes burned just for hearing it, just as she remembered. She opened the door and entered.

He stood there, pale, weary-looking, dark circles around his eyes. Alive. Wanda took a lurching step toward him and stopped herself. “Loki,” she said, trying to smile though she felt about to burst into tears. “You’re - welcome back.”

His smile was small, and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Witchling,” he said. “Thank you. It’s...good to see you too.”

“Can I…” She hesitated, gulping down the lump in her throat. “Can I hug you?” She waited for his slight nod and then stepped lightly forward and embraced him, though not as hard as she wanted to. He felt so thin. Almost insubstantial.

She’d make some hearty cholent, some hot soup like her mother used to make. Good, solid, food. It’d help. It would.

“I’m so glad,” she said. “I’m - you were gone, and I…” She started crying. “Oh, dammit,” she said, wetly, and ducked her head, trying to hide it. Loki reached out and touched her arm.

“Witchling,” he said softly. “I’m...sorry.”

“No,” she said immediately. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry. I should have - if I’d dealt with Vision-”

“Don’t,” Loki said. “It isn’t your fault either. That I...died.”

Wanda reached out to take his hands; they twitched in hers and she quickly let go. His skin felt cold. “Don’t ever,” she whispered, “don’t ever do that again.”

“I’ll do my best,” Loki said, soft but wry. He looked like he was fighting for the smile. She looked up at him.

“How are you?” She asked.

“Not dead,” Loki said. Wanda frowned at him, though some part of her leaped hopefully at what was almost a joke. He held out his hands with another weak smile. “Do you want to inspect me? I honestly don’t know what you’ll find.”

Wanda bit her lip, but that was why she was here, wasn’t it? She reached out and took his hands. “Tell me,” she said softly, “if you need me to stop.”

She reached out for him with her magic, slowly and gently. His power, she could sense immediately, was burning low. Weakened, almost to embers, and she tried to feed her own strength into it but it separated like oil from water.

That wasn’t the only thing that was - wrong, though. There was something else, something strange. She probed carefully deeper, and inhaled shakily, realising what it was.

Where there should have been smooth flow of energy, it was like - a snarled tangle of yarn. Loose ends fluttering, bleeding out, dissipating off his skin. This, she knew at once, was why his magic was so weak. This was the wrongness that she realized she could feel, now that she was aware of it, just standing in the room. Something vital, not missing, but broken. His soul, maybe, cut loose and then throw back into flesh, the two struggling to join.

She pulled back and realized she was crying.

“That bad?” Loki asked, though his small, unhappy smile made her suspect he’d already known.

“Loki,” she said, and squeezed her eyes closed. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, because she needed to believe that. With time…

She hugged him again, knowing it was too tightly, unable to help herself. In her arms, she could feel Loki trembling, the quiet and shaky sound of his breathing.