#except i have no idea how i did that entire first chapter in past tense

[silver-missiles-and-nightingales]

The Beginning of a Long Adventure (Rush. Part 1 of 7)

Geddy Lee

AN: Hi!! So I finally decided to write for my prog fantasy AU, so I’m gonna tell you all how this works. There will be 7 parts, and each part except for the last two will be separated by band member (consider it as chapters). It will always be the POV of whatever band member’s name is at the top. I’m really excited about continuing the story through different people’s eyes and povs. Also, there will be no smut or shipping between any of the band members that I’m writing for in this series. Anyways, enjoy the story!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fighting probably started around the fifth month of touring. I was so ready for this tour to end, because as much as I loved Alex and Neil, they were getting on my nerves. Alex and I had been fighting nonstop for the last few days, and I knew it was stressing Neil out.

We had been touring for almost nine months, and sure it was a long tour, and people can get a bit crazy when around each other that long, but we weren’t usually like that. Honestly we had all been on edge since this tour started back in October last year, I don’t really know why, and I had been in too much of a funk myself to ask Alex and Neil. But we only had 3 shows after this next one, so maybe I could go home and chill out as soon as the tour was over.

We got off the bus at Geleen, ready to explore before our concert the next day. My first goal was to find a public phone so I could call my wife, Nancy, and I knew the others had similar ideas in mind. As we were all walking together and chatting, Lerxst and I got into another argument. It was a dumb argument I knew, but I called Alex a “dumb blond who knew nothing about the music trends now”. I may have said worse things in the past, cussed him out, used worse insults, but what was so bad about this, it wasn’t lighthearted, it wasn’t something stupid we could all laugh over after I said it, it was something I had actually meant. As soon as I realized what I said, I knew I had actually fucked up pretty bad. Alex looked close to ditching us, then and there, getting a ticket back to Toronto before we could finish the tour properly. I felt terrible, but my pride wouldn’t let me say sorry. The silence between the three of us got so tense and standoffish, Neil had to intervene. “How about we split up?” He asked, trying to de-escalate the situation. “We could all use this time to blow off some steam by ourselves.”

Alex and I glared at each other, but agreed that it was probably the best course of action, and so we all went our separate ways.

Things started going downhill as soon as I finished talking to Nancy. I immediately made my way to the nearest bar, and starting indulging myself in wine, thinking woefully of how I treated my bandmates, and how I should make it up to both of them. I thought about how Lerxst was probably doing the same thing as me, and for all I knew, he had already got a ticket for the next flight back to Canada. He was my lifelong best friend, but I had treated him like absolute shit for months.

After my fourth glass of wine, I paid and left the bar. Once I got outside, I looked around at the dark street, realizing I was lost, so I did probably the second most stupid thing I’d ever done in my life, I started walking in one direction, hoping to find my way back to the bus. Suddenly a voice called out.

“Hey you there!”

I stopped and turned, looking for the man who had said that, and I saw a man who looked only as I can describe as a disco magician. Although he did look vaguely familiar, I didn’t think too much of it since I’d seen many faces on tour. I also noticed he was standing under a dim streetlight, I must’ve passed right by it without noticing, then I realized the entire street was lit, I thought I remembered it being completely dark. Odd.

“You look like you could use some magic, sir.” The man said, flashing me a charming grin. I also noticed he had an American accent. Odd.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any money-“ I began to reply, but he cut me off.

“Free of charge. I’m Dennis, by the way.” He shook my hand firmly, and before I got a chance to respond, he spoke again.

”Now hold still Geddy.” Dennis said, and he pulled a pouch out of his pocket.

“What- how-?” Before I could ask him how he knew my name, I saw a bright golden light, then I passed out.

When I woke up, my head was pounding. I was also very disoriented. I sat up, my head spinning, I felt like I was rocking back and forth, and I felt sick. I looked around, and saw I seemed to be in a jail cell, except the floor, walls, and ceiling were wood. There were loud noises of stomping from the ceiling, and the sound of splashing and gulls from around me. There was a lantern illuminating the cell, and then I saw my bandmates: Neil, sitting up, looking just as disoriented as I felt, and Alex, asleep, looking deathly pale.

[musicallygt]

Borrower Skyes Au: Ema and Klavier Sizeswap - A Small Visit

Well, it's been well over 3 months since the last chapter......... like a year and a half LMAO. My writing style is very different now (like how i write in present tense instead of past tense) but i don't feel like going thru the old chapters and changing them to match lol.

Some things to note:

1) i looked up the process of visiting someone in prison and decided it doesnt work for what i want in my fic lmao. if ace attorney can have a fucked up inaccurate legal system then this doesn't have to be accurate either and i can do what i want forever lol

2) I reference this fic that @spirit-small wrote for my au a lot in this!! the experience is definitely enhanced if you read it first

FIRST | PREV | NEXT | MASTERPOST

—————

“Kleine Fräulein, we are not doing that!”

“You can’t tell me what to do, fop!”

“I’m serious, there is no way this will end well!”

Ema is giddy, just barely holding back giggles as she practically skips out of the Prosecutor’s Office. The more she thinks about this idea, the more excited she finds herself becoming– not even the fop could stop her from doing this (and it’s not like he can, not when he’s now the size of a borrower while she’s the size of a bean).

“It’s not like your brother can do anything to me now!” Ema whispers back. “What’s he gonna do? Put me in another jar?”

“Watch before you cross!” the fop hisses in her ear just before she can step onto a busy road, cars speeding by. She’s bouncing in place as she waits to cross, the fop on her shoulder gripping her hair tightly as he’s jostled in place. 

“Listen, hör zu!” There’s a desperation in his soft voice, even as he speaks quieter. “We already got plenty of chemicals from the Office, let’s just forget about your idea and head back–”

And Ema promptly tunes him out, ignoring his pleas as she finally crosses the street. She is going to visit his brother, that foptop, whether he wants her to or not.

She looks up at the street signs, mentally going over the directions to the detention center that she managed to get.

The fop just doesn’t understand why she has to do this, why she needs to see his brother.

Ema can’t stop grinning. 

Oh, she can just imagine the foptop's face when he sees her again, now the size of a full-grown bean. He'd probably freak out at the sight of her, especially after what happened last time they met. Maybe he'd even beg for her not to hurt him for what he did to her, and maybe she'd pretend to consider showing him mercy.

She giggles. This is going to be so good.

“One visitor to the fopto— er, K-Kristoph Gavin!” she announces once they reach the jail, the tiny fop on her shoulder finally shutting up as he hides in her hair.

The bean at the front office just pauses in the donut he’s biting into, just before shoving the rest of it into his mouth and turning to the computer, messy fingers on the keyboard. “Name?”

“Ema. S-Skyence. Ema Skyence.”

He looks back at her, eyebrow raised.

“Like ‘science’ but with the ‘k’ sound.”

An awkward pause. 

“Okay…”

She really should’ve chosen a better fake name.

The bean asks more questions, most of which Ema doesn’t really understand or has no idea how to answer. But she answers them anyway, with the most bean-like answers she can come up with. And the bean types them down, meaning her answers must be good. (Or he doesn’t actually care. He seems more concerned about stuffing his face with donuts than questioning most of her replies. Which still works for her.)

Ema can’t help but stare at his hands as he types, watching how just a single finger can be used to press down the keys instead of having to use his entire body weight. Now that she’s bean-sized, she should try it out with the fop’s computer back home. It definitely seems a lot faster that way.

“I’m surprised, honestly,” the bean speaks up after swallowing another donut, filling out more information on the computer. “Mr. Gavin doesn’t really get any visitors here. Well, except for his brother sometimes. And that defense attorney, Phoenix Wright.”

Ema blinks. “Mr. Wright?” There aren’t that many defense attorney beans named “Phoenix Wright,” are there?

“Oh, were you one of his clients before?”

“Er, something like that…”

What is Mr. Wright doing with a bean like… like the foptop? There’s no way they’re friends… are they?

Before she can ask more about him, the bean at the computer speaks up again as he finishes typing. “All right, there we go! You’re good to go! Just follow Meekins over there to Mr. Gavin’s cell.”

“YEEESSSSSIR!”

After going through a strange doorway (a “metal detect-tour”) the tall bean, one much taller than Ema and almost comical and cartoonish in nature, leads Ema through the prison, down to some farther section away from all the other prisoners. To somewhere called “solely-tarry confine-mint.”

“Well, this is it, sir!” the tall bean announces loudly as he leads her into a cell that looks a little too nice than what the foptop deserves. “Mr. Kristoph Gavin’s cell, ma’am sir!”

“Quiet down, Meekins,” the foptop speaks up from where he sits, not looking up from his book. “Your voice is as pleasant as nails scraping across a chalkboard.”

Ema shudders, the foptop’s smooth voice bringing back memories from her one and only encounter with him, memories she doesn’t like to dwell on.

(No, this is your chance to finally get revenge! He won’t know what hit him now that I’m bean-sized!)

“SORRY, SIRRRRRR!!!” 

The tall bean’s already loud voice is amplified by the device hanging around his neck, Ema wincing at the volume. She can feel the tiny fop’s  entire body cringing on her shoulder— with his current size, she can only imagine how much worse the sound is for him.

“IT’S JUST!!! YOU HAVE A VISITOR, SIRRRR!!!”

“Yes, why else would you be here.” The foptop turns a page, still not looking up. 

The way he’s just so… so calm, it’s so frustrating. Ema can’t wait to get her hands around his neck. (Maybe. She’s not sure yet what she’s going to do. She’s still figuring that out.)

“Now, if you would be so kind as to leave us be…”

“B-BUT SIR—”

“Meekins.” Though he still doesn’t look up, the foptop’s voice us low and dangerous, Ema tensing up as goosebumps run along her arms. Hadn’t he used that same tone when he first found her…?

“I asked you to leave us alone. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Y-Yes, sir! Sorry, sirrrrrr!” Despite definitely being taller than the foptop, the tall bean is clearly intimidated by him, quickly shuffling away after that threat.

“Well, Wright,” the foptop begins, still not looking up from his book, “if you’re here to ask me again why I killed Mr. Shadi Smith, don’t bother. My answer is still the same: I killed him because I’m an evil human being, end of discussion.”

(Damn right, you are.)

“Actually,” Ema speaks up, her voice cracking.

Damn nerves...

She clears her throat, making her voice louder, steadier. “Actually, I’m not Mr. Wright.”

The foptop freezes midway through flipping a page, finally turning his head towards her. His brows raise, eyes widening ever so slightly in what Ema hopes to be shock.

On her shoulder, the tiny fop grips her hair tighter, tense.

Ema just stands taller, puffing out her chest. “Bet you regret putting me in a jar and trying to suffocate me now that I’m the size of a bean!”

“Bean?”

Why isn’t he feeling threatened?! Ema glares harder, waiting for him to finally crack under her intimidation.

“Ah. You’re my brother’s… roommate.”

Ema’s fists tighten on her bag strap. She can’t explain it, but she hates the way he says that word, “roommate.” It feels… condescending.

Like he refuses to see her in that way.

“Y-Yeah. I am.”

A pause. Neither of them move, just locked in a silent staring contest.

Ema refuses to back down.

“Well? Aren’t you scared, foptop?”

Why is her voice wavering? She shouldn’t be scared now, not when she’s the size of a bean.

“Scared?” the foptop asks with a stupid smirk, pushing up his glasses. “Why should I be scared?”

Ema takes a deep breath, forcing herself to stop shaking. “Because I’m bean-sized,” she states again. “I can get my revenge on you now.”

And the foptop just laughs. His laugh is loud, menacing, echoing in the cell around them. 

She hates his laugh.

“Fine, then.” With that, he closes his book, setting it aside, and he stands up.

He’s… taller than Ema. Much taller…

It never occurred to her that he’d still be taller than her even when she’s bean-sized.

“Go on, then,” he taunts, arms outstretched at his sides. “Get your revenge on me now that you’ve inexplicably grown to human size.”

Ema can’t move. She can’t speak. Her throat is tight, her chest heavy.

She’s the size of a human bean, but with the foptop towering over her, it’s like she’s normal size again. The giant foptop looming, able to grab her in his massive hand at any time, dropping her in another jar…

Her grip tightening even more on her bag strap, she hunches into herself, taking a step back.

“What’s the matter?” He takes a step closer, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. She backs away more.

She hates how he mocks her.

“I thought you were going to get your revenge on me, were you not?”

She says nothing. Maybe this really was a bad idea…

“Or I suppose your revenge is shrinking down my brother and keeping him prisoner on your shoulder.”

Ema’s eyes widen. She had forgotten about him. One hand immediately goes to her shoulder to shield him, the tiny fop shifting tensely as he tries to stay even more hidden in her hair.

“Oh, did you think I wouldn’t notice him sitting there on your shoulder? I almost thought you brought him along to taunt me.”

“He’s not my prisoner,” Ema finds herself saying, her fingers now curling up protectively. She doesn’t know why she feels the need to defend him. “I’m finding a way to get him back to normal.”

“And am I wrong to assume you’re at fault for his minuscule size?”

She doesn’t answer.

The foptop extends his hand to her, palm up with a grin. “Now, I’d like my brother if you don’t mind. I’m not comfortable leaving him in the hands of someone like you.”

Ema doesn’t move. No, she can’t let the foptop have his brother.

The foptop frowns, a certain danger in his eyes that makes Ema’s blood run cold. “Don’t make me ask again,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “Hand over my brother. Now.”

Ema’s fingers wrap around the fop, refusing to obey.

“I’m staying with her,” the fop suddenly speaks up before Ema can say anything, moving her hair out of his way to show himself to his brother. His voice is loud and steady; if it weren’t for the way he’s trembling in her hand, she would’ve believed he’s not even a little bit afraid of this situation.

The foptop arches a brow, his frown almost a scowl now. “You’re staying with her?” he repeats incredulously, shaking his head. “Really now, entrusting your safety to this..." 

The foptop pauses, his eyes narrowing as he glares down at her. 

“…creature, at a time like this… Rather reckless of you, don't you think?"

Ema’s blood boils.

Creature. That’s what he called her: creature.

She’s not even a person to him.

All Ema can do is glare.

"My choice to trust Kleine Fräulein is none of your business," the fop replies, his voice not wavering despite how much he shakes. He grabs onto her fingers, wrapping his tiny arms tight around them. “I’m not a child anymore, Kris, I can take care of myself.”

Ema can’t explain the warmth she feels in her chest at his contact.

The foptop, meanwhile, hardly shows any reaction, though the look in his eyes tells Ema everything. “Listen to yourself, Klavier,” he says quite forcefully. “You’re four inches tall and you think the reasonable course of action is to willingly endanger yourself by staying in the possession of the lunatic—” He practically hisses the word. “—who did this to you. Your diminished size seems to have affected your ability to even think logically.

The shrunken fop hesitates, having no reply.

“Hmph. Sounds like you’re finally listening to reason.”

The foptop steps towards her again, hand outstretched once more. She takes another step back.

Ema doesn’t know why— hell, she doesn’t even understand what exactly is going through her mind right now— but she knows she can’t let the foptop have his brother. She can’t let that happen. Not here, and not during a time like this.

She has to keep the fop away.

She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until her fist makes contact with the foptop's jaw.

———

"Man, that was a terrible idea. We really shouldn't have done something so incredibly reckless.”

“Ja,” Klavier deadpans, his grip tight on a lock of her hair as she walks, “that was an awful idea. I wonder why we decided to do it.”

Kleine Fräulein doesn’t respond.

Not that he expects her to.

The walk away from the prison is silent between them, neither of them uttering a word.

With each step, Klavier finds himself very conscious of every breath he takes, his chest tight.

Dealing with Kris is something he can usually handle; the man had practically raised him since the two of them were boys, Klavier growing up knowing what he’s like. Sure, he’s sometimes… difficult to put it lightly, and he was found guilty of murder, but… Kris is still his brother…

He stares down at his fists— despite how tightly he holds onto Kleine Fräulein’s hair, they still shake violently. It’s… He’s… 

He gulps, breathing suddenly difficult.

He’s never felt as small as he did compared to his brother today, and it wasn't just literally. The way Kristoph spoke, so condescending and demeaning, as if Klavier isn’t his own person, an adult who can make his own decisions...

As if he’s still the helpless little boy who relied so much on his older brother... Who trusted his older brother without fail or question…

“At least that felt good,” Kleine Fräulein suddenly speaks up, interrupting his thoughts as she continues to walk who knows where. “I mean, my hand still hurts, but I didn't realize how satisfying that would be. Probably the closest I'll ever get to punching you, fop.”

Despite it all, Klavier can’t help but chuckle at her remark. There’s some comfort in how even in this crazy situation they’ve found themselves in, Kleine Fräulein is still the same as ever.

It’s calming, in a strange way.

“We should do this again more often. Or at least while I’m still so huge. I have more I’d like to do to that jerk of a fop.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “I doubt Kris would agree to be your punching bag again. Besides, they’re definitely not letting you back in there after you got kicked out for that.”

“A minor inconvenience.”

He laughs, and in that moment, everything almost feels okay. Almost.

When his laughter dies down, Klavier purses his lips. He stares up at her— from his vantage point on her shoulder, hidden in her hair, it’s rather difficult to see her face clearly.

His throat tightens.

He stares down at his wrist, his crystal bracelet from Kleine Fräulein still adorning it, having shrunken with him.

After a moment, he scoots closer to Kleine Fräulein's neck, the lock of hair still tight in his grip. "Danke, Kleine Fräulein..." he somehow manages to choke out, leaning into her warmth.

She just hums in reply, almost nonchalantly, Klavier feeling the vibration from her neck as she does so. 

He closes his eyes, just trying to forget today, just trying to forget his fears, and just trying to forget how miniscule he is.

Being with Kleine Fräulein doesn’t exactly help him feel better about it all— she seems to enjoy being the bigger person for once, based on how she treats him now— but at least... she makes him feel safe.

"You know," she speaks up after several minutes of silence, Klavier's eyes snapping open, "it's been a long day. I think we should get some Snackoos. As a treat. Where do you beans borrow stuff from?"

[thehomelybadger]

26 Questions about Run at the Cup.

Hi!

Since I just finished off my 33 chapter Arcane/CaitVi Hockey AU fanfiction, I asked folks for any questions that they might have about the universe (or just for me) around the fanfiction. So I thought that I'd pull them all together, answer them in one big post, and then direct folks here.

These questions are mostly pulled from twitter or discord, and are asked anonymously. If you're new to it/have never heard of it, you can check out the fanfiction here:

My asks are always open if you want to pepper me with more questions - I literally love talking about my process and creating stuff. But yeah, let's get the ball rolling!

These questions have spoilers up to the epilogue (chapter 33) of Run at the Cup.

One of your original goals for RATC was to include a sex scene in every chapter, and you later decided that didn't suit the story that it ended up being. How far, exactly, did you stray from that goal?

I think the first disc stuck to the format of smut-a-chapter pretty well, but as soon as I got to chapter 7 and 8 in my planning, I really had to take a step back from the idea of smut-a-chapter. Part of doing that was a friend of mine pointing out that another fic - breakneck - already was a smut-a-chapter offering, and the other part was around chapter 7 and 8 was when we really got a look at the Landsman abuse and I wanted to focus more on telling a story of healing instead of a sexual relationship. It felt the best narratively for Vi to take a step back and appreciate boundaries, and at that point we were 100% of the rails of the original vision. I also had my friend Felix - he drew the art for the fic - point out that the story was way more important than the smut when I complained that sometimes I just wasn’t feeling up to writing smut.

Caitlyn obviously makes a point to never sleep with another hockey player except for Landsman and Vi. Vi rather vocally does not have that rule. Are there any players we see in RatC that she has a history of that nature with?

Ahh, crucially, Caitlyn and Vi both adhere to the rule of no teammates. I actually think both have had flings  with hockey players, but probably not anyone that we spend much time hanging out with. I hint at Sarah Fortune and Vi having a past-tense fling that I never really expanded upon, and at one point I wanted to write some Caitlyn and Evelynn one night stand stuff that never really felt right after I abandoned the whole smut-a-chapter premise.

There are so many characters in ratc, and so many povs, how did you get into each of their heads and give them all their own voice that stayed consistent throughout the story?

So one of my other hobbies - other than hyperfixating on a fictional hockey team - is dungeons and dragons as a forever DM. My rule for creating NPCs is to give them a ‘pillar’ - essentially one solid character trait that I can lean back on when viewing things through their lens. Claggor, for instance, was always trying to teach and never raised his voice. Poppy was always going to be cheerful and loyal. Leona was always serious, except when dealing with Diana. Mylo was never serious, until there was a weak moment. All of those ‘pillars’ helped shepherd me in the right direction - the only characters I didn’t really have a pillar for were the hockey announcers, who’s entire personality can be summed up as ‘hockey announcers’.

When did you realize this was going to become Big™ , or was this all the plan from the beginning?

If I ever knew when anything was going to be big in terms of wordcount, I’d be much more successful at writing. The real time I knew was somewhere in Disc 2 when I had written like 3 10k+ word count chapters in a row. I remember thinking ‘oh, shit, I’m fucked’. What’s crazy about this is that I still feel like I left some story threads on the table - I could write 80k more of just Sumprats shenanigans, easily. In terms of Big as in popularity - dude I have no idea when I knew. I still don't really believe it.

Which was your favorite smut scene to write?

Oh man - hands down the hotel smut scene in the Summer Isles  - though that’s technically cheating, because the smut doesn’t actually happen. But I can see it like a shot in a movie - the slow tracking shot over the discarded clothes with some energetic, strumming guitar over top while we see the bed come into frame, the pan over and continued tracking towards the bathroom - all this evidence of wild sex. If the question is ‘which smut scene that’s actually smut’, I’m going with the phone sex scene - it was good to finally get these characters admitting how much they liked one another.

How did you pick and choose which LoL champions (not from Arcane) you brought into your world? As there are so many available and ones you picked seemed to work so well. Was it 'character is hot/cool and I just want to write them', 'I need a champion that would play hockey/act in x way' or any other way

A variety of reasons! Illaoi was included solely because my wife thinks she’s super hot, but for me it became characters I really liked, characters I could see the personality of, and characters I could ape the kit of in some way. Ahri being charming and evasive, Illaoi’s tentacle-like poke checking, Diana being good in close, and Leona being a hard hitting defender were all nods to the league kits, among others. Basically, when I was filling out the roster and was out of Arcane character slots, I started grabbing characters based on what role I envisioned for them on the team and backfilled from there. I’m glad I did their personalities justice!

I'd love to know, if it isn't a bother for you to explain it, the process behind you deciding each character's position on the ice and skillset. I'm basically in awe of how you took each character from the show/game and made them each a particular type of hockey player. But you might have talked about this already so no worries if it's too repetitive!

It all depended on what I wanted to write for the most part, and I approached it from two angles - what was most interesting for me to write dynamically, as in action wise, and what was most interesting for me to write emotionally, as in what they brought to the Sumprats as a whole. I leaned on a lot of sports knowledge that I’ve accrued over my 31 years around the sun, and figured out what archetypes would be most fun and narratively satisfying to convey. So, as an example - Claggor’s soft and assured ‘we’re gonna get you out’ from the show was a big big reason why I made him an enforcer - the quiet confidence and clear smarts. Poppy being undersized but a major bruiser in the game led to her entire personality and playstyle. Ahri being a winking and confident figure in LoL lore led to her being a flashy and charming person with a lot of scoring - etc etc etc. It came together fairly organically!

If you had to pick another sport as the medium to tell the story, which sport would it be? Ik you were intending on making it a hockey story with lesbians vs a lesbian story with hockey, but do you think the sport and play of hockey specifically were integral to how to told the story/the journey of the characters?

This is such a tough question to answer, because I’m not sure I could’ve told it with any other sport. Hockey is inherently chaotic, and the beautiful thing about it is that it comes down to players - you can have a grand strategy, but sometimes it’s just ‘our player is the best on the ice’ and that’s enough. I think there’s probably a pretty awesome Rugby story in here, maybe - or football/soccer - I can see their roles with Caitlyn as an attacking midfielder and Vi as a sweeper or something, but both of those are far more team focused. Also, hockey is lesser known of the major sports, and I felt like talking about how goofy it sometimes is to folks who might not know about it.

What did you learn during/after writing this that you didn't expect?

Such a good question. I learned that I love writing big casts of characters and I learned that I have a knack for conveying what I see on the page. I also learned that I can tell a story that goes every way possible in terms of POV and style, and that having a bunch of threads to tie up is an awesome problem to have. I also learned that I’m somewhat fragile as a creator, and that taking steps to protect myself from having my feelings hurt doesn’t make me selfish - just makes me human.

If you had to support a team yourself (not including the Sumprats), who would you support and why?

Can you imagine Bilgewater Schooners twitter? Can you imagine how batshit insane it must be? I’d be 100% on board with that franchise.

Why wasn’t there more Grapes content?

You all weren’t ready for it. The world still isn’t ready.

Is there something you wished you could've explored more but didn't get the chance?

So many things. So so many things. This is why RATC is crazy to me in hindsight because I felt like I left a lot of meat on the bone when the fic is like 300k long and is one of the longest CaitVi fics around. SarcastCity and I joked about a whole sequence where Mylo strikes out with a bunch of women, I didn't get into the Evelynn sub-sub-subplot, I barely scratched the surface on MOST of the K/Da stuff that I wanted to do, CaitVi adopted a dog at one point, there was an entire anti-police side of the fic that I just cut because it didn’t really fit into the vibe of the fic (you can still see foreshadowing of it in early chapters), there was originally going to be an entire other side to the water reparations where we’d see grainy footage of Silco and Cassandra arguing about it and that’s how a lot of it was revealed - before I decided to make Powder more of a central figure in the documentary. The entire fic changed in a bunch of little moments. Art is cool that way - it kinda leads ya where you need to go sometimes.

Who was someone that you enjoyed writing a lot that you didn't expect to?

When I put Graves into the fic, I never would’ve expected to fucking love writing him as much as I did. As soon as I wrote his first book snippet, I knew that I needed to stop immediately because if I wasn’t careful he’d take over the entire fucking fic. Second place was every scrap of podcast content - it’s so addictive to write this meta-narrative bullshit about your own world building. It’s just giving you a reason to talk about your own fic in universe and I had to stop myself from writing 13 more Taylor Swiffer sequences. Lastly, twitter was always a blast to get going. Shout out to everyone who loaned me their likeness for that!

You’re a pretty big basketball fan Badger, and knowledgeable at that, is there any reason you chose Hockey besides you also liking it? Like, did you feel the “action” would be better?

There are no sanctioned fistfights in basketball, which was a huge L. In all seriousness, I considered a basketball fic before going with hockey because, while I love basketball with my whole badgussy, hockey has so much more meat on the bone with regard to playstyle and expression. You have hitters, shooters, goalies being weird, you’ve got gum chewing angry people and hockey stadium chants. Hockey is a vibe that I really was excited to convey, and basketball - to me, anyways - has less of a physical aspect to it and it’s a little less entertaining to write about. Baskets happen all the time in ball, but in hockey, a goal is celebrated by everyone on the ice, everyone gets a fistbump, and the action stops while the crowd gets to rewatch it over and over. You don’t get any better than that for narrative drama.

You've talked some about the sumprats superstitions, but who is the most superstitious and what are some sumprats superstitions

Ashe is probably the most superstitious, but all sports players are superstitious to some degree or another - especially hockey people. I think every time Leona tapes her stick up, she has to unwind the first piece once - because that’s the way she did it when she scored her first goal. Claggor probably wears the same style of socks that he had when he was 18. Riven’s skates are a size too small, because she believes it makes her faster. Graves needs Caitlyn to tap his post before every game he’s in net otherwise he won’t play.

What was the hardest part for you, as a writer, to get through?

The entire fic came together relatively quickly, honestly. I wrote it in less than a year and most of the time in big 2-6 hour chunks of my day. I think the most challenging thing from a craft standpoint was the Landsman Scandal - because it had so many moving parts and I was using a character invented solely for that sequence in wewon1, and you needed to like her and buy into her right off the bat. I also needed to balance out how heavy the chapter was with moments that the reader could breathe around - I didn’t want to evoke a desperate, awful thing, but I wanted to inform. It took a few days of serious brainstorming before I got it the way I wanted it, and even then I was making edits in the posting window of Ao3. But in terms of actual hardness to write - the run up to the finals was really tough to get through because I felt like not much was happening narratively and I really needed to work at it to get it where I wanted it. The actual physical typing of the story wasn’t hard, but the games were annoying me a lot - they always felt too slow or sluggish or poorly conveyed. The thing I’m most proud of looking back is definitely the Powder chapter - I wish I had done more of that.

Why is Landsman so hot? Why did you have to make Landsman so hot? Should I speak with my therapist about this?

Oh yes. Immediately.

The story focused on Cait and Vi but as a whole was a story about team dynamics - little pieces like Hot Girl Shit, characters we would consider unremarkable as irl players like Poppy or Mylo, the gradual push of Graves to Ekko as main tendie - that grew into their own stories. Was this a case of supporting cast offering spontaneous great idea opportunities that you went along with, or was it always planned that X character would get X storyline?

I didn’t really set out with these storylines in mind, but one of the things I wanted from the get was this line to be true: “Usually, it’s the people who sit five, six seats from the starting lineup that give you the edge. Our job as leaders is to make sure that when those folks’ numbers get called, they’re ready.” - Vi, chapter 4. I wanted to basically reinforce that idea by having the players grow into something that was stalwart and could be relied upon, and just let the characters kinda swirl around with that idea. I didn’t realise that Ashe would wind up being so important but I kind of fell in love with her as I wrote her game - same goes for Riven’s speed and Darius’ faceoff potential. 

Which supporting character that isn’t Mylo ended up being your fave?

If it’s cheating to say Sevika, then I loved Poppy. Every scene Poppy is in I just had a blast writing, but gum-chewing, constantly glaring, scowling while insisting she’s smiling Sevika really leapt off of my keyboard. If I allow myself to take credit for any one thing, it’s casting Sevika as a coach.

if Vander hadn't died and had become the Sumprats coach instead of Sevika, would Vi still have been drafted by them and how would she have felt about it? 

Woof. It’s hard to see Mel hiring Vander, but say that she did and Vander coached Vi - adult Vi, 32 year old Vi with all she feels towards him - I can only really see it as Vi demanding out. She wouldn’t have the ego to get him fired, but I don’t think she’d be willing to play for him after everything. I also think the Sumprats are nowhere near as good with Vander as a coach - in my head Vander was good enough to drill Vi’s lessons into her head but had no idea how to keep a team intact, and that was Sevika’s specialty - the ‘us vs them’ mentality is all her.

I'd love to hear anything about your writing process. When you do it, how you think and feel about it, etc.

My writing process begins with having a very patient wife who puts up with me being glued to a screen for 6 hours at a time while talking to myself - usually in funny voices or imitating crowd yelling. I also do a lot of my dialogue in the shower where nobody can judge the faces I make - most of Caitlyn’s speech and the podcast dialogue came from me showering and yelling to myself, getting hyped up, and trying to remember lines. I basically do my functional adult tasks with the sequences I want to convey running on my head in a loop, until it’s time to sit down and crank it out. One part of my process that I don’t recommend is that when I sit down to write, I don’t get up until the chapter’s done. For me it’s a straight shot or it doesn’t get done at all - I need the entire flow to work on that one sitting. It has the side effect of my wife watering me and feeding me while I’m glued to banging words out onto a screen, and occasionally I’ll come up for air to refill my water battle and talk to her about her Animal Crossing island or something - anything - that isn’t hockey lesbians, before I go back to my cave.

obligatory question about which scene you were most looking forward to writing

So, chapter 32 was basically in my head the entire time I was writing the fic - everything between chapter 2 and 32 was me impatiently jiggling my leg waiting until I could write the Won’t Back Down song from the crowd. But the more surprising bit was how much I was looking forward to the karaoke scene - I wound up putting it off a few times in the fic until I was finally able to lock it down right after the Landsman Scandal, which felt like a great time to put it - just the idea that we all could use a break - as readers and characters in the story - and then we get one. Also, Pray is a fucking HILARIOUS song and I love that I got to use it.

if caitlyn and vi were to have a dog in this universe, what kind, what would they name it, and what would jinx choose to call it instead

This was actually a cut plot point at one time - the dog adoption sequence. They have a boxer named Bowser who has three legs, and Powder calls him Leonardo because it’s not his name but he squints sometimes like DiCaprio, and one time he ate an entire cheese pizza.

actually, kind of bouncing off my other question, are there any scenes that weren't originally planned that you really like?

Originally, there was no Melvika - it was a Melora subplot. But then I wrote that initial conversation between Mel and Sevika where they meet and Sevika passes her test and I thought to myself ‘oh.’ Every single Melvika moment was unplanned but I loved crafting it, showing this little love story in the margins of the page that was slowly and steadily unfolding.

Did you decide to change any major plot points after you'd started writing?

Two major ones: First and most impactful, there was going to be a riot in the original story that led to the team rallying behind the city - it was going to be this sequence of each of the Sumprats walking into the practice facility saying ‘have you heard, yet?’ that tied in what actually happened. But it felt tonally out of place and I was already really invested in exploring the abuse aspect of the fic, so I scrapped it - it’s a story worth telling at some point but the feel-good underdog sports fic wasn’t the place to explore that space. Another more impactful thing that certainly won’t be surprising to some: Vi’s injury was initially going to be a career ender. When SarcastCity and I started talking around the end of Disc 2, I actually told her that version of the story - that Vi’s knee is busted irrevocably and Caitlyn has to win without her, and the two have to find their way towards one another in a bittersweet finale without hockey to unite them. SC talked me around on that one - made the case that Vi and Caitlyn deserved to play hockey together for years and years, and after thinking about it for a while it really truly felt like I was being sad and dramatic for sad drama’s sake - angst for angst’s sake isn’t something I wanted to play into. So I changed it and it’s a lot, LOT better as a result.

How did you keep everything in order? Did you have an outline?

Calling it an outline is kind of insulting to other outlines, I think - I had an unhinged and fucked up google sheets document that listed the players, positions, and general vibe of their character arc, but I didn’t totally stick to it. I also had a chapter title list that I also changed a lot - I mostly knew my end point was ‘Caitlyn skates for 20 minutes and they come back to win in Game 5 with an injured Vi’ and worked my way to that point.

Thank you to all who submitted questions! If you have more, feel free to drop me a line.

-Badger

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (24/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 1,137

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence, funeral

masterlist

a/n: Damn. So this is it, the end of FAF. So many of you have stuck with me through when this fic started (literally almost exactly two years ago) and have been waiting for me to get the motivation to finish it. This is the fic that first got people to notice me, to give my writing a chance. I love you guys so, so much. Thanks for being on this journey with me. I hope I lived up to your expectations.

“Jamie!” You called out as you hung up another shirt, looking around the room. The coat of paint you’d slathered on the walls the day before looked good. Really good.

You two had decided to do most of the decorating yourselves, instead of hiring a company. You wanted your home to be entirely you and your family. Bucky and you had ‘bought’ the Stark family cabin off of Pepper, wanting to make it your permanent home. But Pepper never stayed there, finding it too difficult with all the memories she had of Tony there. She didn’t want to drown in the sorrow of losing her husband.

“Yes, malen’kaya?” He called out as he carried in another few boxes. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his concern, even though you had been completely safe and sound in the cabin.

Especially considering the new state of the art security system.

“I’m okay,” you insisted as he appeared in the doorway, setting the boxes off to the side. “It’s just been at least thirty minutes since you last kissed me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, even though the pink that dusted his cheeks said he was anything but put out by your neediness for his affections. “Oh, yeah? What do I get if I give you kisses?”

You’d be lying if you said you hated how mushy gushy of a couple you two were.

But in all honesty, it was addicting. Being so affectionate and loving with each other even after two years felt like a feat. People kept telling you that you’d come out of the honeymoon phase eventually (everyone except your little makeshift family, of course) and you just kept proving them wrong.

The honeymoon phase never ended if you didn’t let it.

Sure, you two had little disagreements every once in a while. You were both human. But you weren’t having big blowout fights like people made it sound would happen.

“Well… I’ll do that thing you’ve been wanting to try,” you said, letting your voice drop to be deep and sultry as you took a few steps closer to him. You let your fingers trail up your chest as you bit your lip, slowly looking him up and down.

You knew just how to play your boyfriend, how to get him hot and needy for him.

Not that it took much.

Sometimes you just looked at him or asked him if he wanted chocolate chips in his pancakes or not, and he was ready to jump you.

Not that you minded at all.

Bucky’s brows slowly moved closer to his hairline. “You mean… the thing… Number seventy-two?” He asked quietly, his hands moving to your hips.

“Number seventy-two,” you said with a definitive nod.

He brought you in for a deep, earth-shattering kiss. “Don’t mind if I do,” he growled against your lips. “That damn list was the best idea we’ve ever fucking had.”

Ah, yes. The list. The list of things you two wanted to try in bed that you’d compiled and kept adding to.

There’d been some definite winners, including semi-public sex and roleplaying (turns out Bucky really enjoyed playing dress up with you.) But there’d also been some definite losers, such as cockwarming (though that had only failed because James Buchanan Barnes did not have the willpower to have his cock inside of you and not move.)

“But… There was something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he said softly as he kissed down your neck. “Something important…”

A moan fell from your lips as you let your head fall back. “Mmm… Are you wanting to talk about the fact that you’re very happy to see me?” You asked teasingly as you felt something hard—most likely an erection—pressed against your thigh. You were already reaching to yank off his shirt.

“Not quite… though maybe after,” he said softly, pulling back. He looked… tense.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly as you cupped his face. “Baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me…”

“There’s nothing wrong. I’m just nervous,” he said quietly, letting out a weak laugh.

Your head tilted to the side. “Nervous? Jamie, you know you never have to be nervous with me…”

Your heart stopped inside your chest as you watched him sink to the floor on one knee, reaching into his pocket. “Malen’kaya,” he whispered as he looked up at you with sparkling blue eyes. “You know how much I love you. Or at least, I hope you do considering how often I tell you… how often I try my best to show you. And I’ve known that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you since we were on the run.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, under different circumstances, us hopping from country to country could’ve been really romantic.”

“Maybe we’ll have to try it again,” you said with a snort, tears welling up in your eyes. “This time without me dating another man.”

“That does sound like a good plan,” he said, eyes bright. He slowly opened up the black velvet ring box, revealing a glistening diamond ring. “Will you—”

“YES!” You shouted, throwing yourself into his arms and kissing him over and over again. You knocked him over with the strength of your kisses, moaning as you straddled him. “Yes, yes, I will marry you.” Grinning against his lips, you blindly reached for the ring. “You wanna go right now? Find a little chapel? Or maybe straight to the courthouse. Just wanna be yours.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss as he somehow managed to slip the ring onto your left ring finger, before intertwining your fingers and squeezing. “You know if we elope, Pepper and everyone else will throw a fit.”

“We don’t gotta tell them we’re already married. We can have a wedding and just pretend that we were patient enough to wait,” you insisted with a smirk, kissing down his neck as you worked at tugging his shirt off. “I just don’t wanna waste anymore time not being Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes.”

Your fiancé let out a deep moan at the thought, his head falling back as his vibranium hand squeezed your ass. “I didn’t know that a marriage kink was a thing, but I think we might need to add it to the list,” he said.

“I love you,” you murmured as you finally sunk onto his length, the diamond reflecting beautifully in the early winter sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“I love you, too, malen’kaya,” he said, lips trying to catch one of your nipples. He finally succeeded, giving it a teasing bite before he grinned up at you, laughter in his eyes. “Though… I do gotta ask. What the fuck is up with us fucking on the floor of this cabin?”

[novelmonger]

Thoughts on Jedi Apprentice 7: The Captive Temple

Okay, I'm really excited to read this book, because it contains one of my absolute favorite scenes in the entire series. Good thing, too, since the previous two books are so emotionally devastating. Having just made myself read those two books that I disliked so much, I can grudgingly admit that the impact of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan working together in this book would probably not be quite so powerful without their time apart.

But enough about that! Let's see what's going on in the Temple!

Jedi Apprentice #7: The Captive Temple by Jude Watson

Chapter 1

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan return to the Temple and meet with the Jedi Council, who brief them on the situation. Someone set an explosive under a footbridge in the Room with a Thousand Fountains, which the Force warned Yoda about just in time for him to avoid getting blown up. There are also malfunctions with a lot of the Temple's systems, and no one can figure out how all of this is happening with security so tight.

"'You are thirteen years old, Obi-Wan. You are not a child,' Mace Windu said with a frown." - FFFFFFFFFFFF ;ldfskja;lgkjd;lgkjasd;glhjs;dfljdsfhjsd;flkj (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

They ask Obi-Wan if he has any insight on the situation, since he knew Bruck, but Obi-Wan has no idea. After all, they weren't friends, so they didn't know each other that well. Obi-Wan stumbles through a plea for them to take him back as a Jedi, but they sternly remind him of just how egregious his betrayal in leaving the Jedi was. Not exactly an encouraging interview.

Chapter 2

Obi-Wan meets up with Bant, and they go to the indoor lake. Bant is honest, but encouraging, reminding Obi-Wan to be patient with himself and the Council, as they carefully repair the broken trust. She asks him about Melida/Daan, but he can't find the words to talk about Cerasi with her yet. The pain is still too fresh.

"Suddenly, Obi-Wan was struck by a thought. What if the Council took him back, but Qui-Gon did not? If the Council allowed him to remain a Jedi student, he was already thirteen and past the limit to be chosen by a Jedi Knight as a Padawan. Who would ask him, if not Qui-Gon? He didn't want another Master, Obi-Wan thought in despair. He wanted Qui-Gon." - ☯﹏☯

Chapter 3

A tense little episode where a turbolift breaks, almost falling from its shaft to the lake far below where Obi-Wan and Bant are talking. Ten small children and their caretaker are inside. Bant runs to get help, while Obi-Wan climbs up to the turbolift and cuts a hole into the shaft, carefully carrying the children out to safety. Qui-Gon and the Jedi Council show up before too long, the Masters holding the turbolift up with the Force and Qui-Gon helping carry the children out. I have to say, Obi-Wan is super cute with little kids, even at thirteen years old. When the danger is past, everyone is commended for their quick thinking and bravery...except that Obi-Wan is also reprimanded for being impulsive and acting without waiting for help or guidance first. Like...I kinda get what they're saying, but...it was an emergency! What was Obi-Wan supposed to do, just stand there like an idiot while children were in danger? I don't think a single thirteen-year-old would have been able to hold up the turbolift all by himself! He's not Yoda! Super unfair.

"Obi-Wan stood, watching them go. He did not think this day could get any worse. Now it had. In the eyes of the Council, he could do nothing right. And in Qui-Gon's eyes, he was worth nothing at all." - *cries forever* ;A;

Chapter 4

Internally, Qui-Gon is much more sympathetic towards Obi-Wan's situation than Obi-Wan thinks he is. He thinks the Council is being too harsh on him, he wants to stay with him and give him moral support...but he submits to their wisdom, and he has more pressing matters to take care of anyway. It turns out that the Temple is currently holding a shipment of the precious mineral vertex while two star systems negotiate; without the Jedi's assurance of keeping the shipment safe, a great war could break out between them. So the situation is even more dire than it normally would be, that the Temple is effectively under siege right now.

"What if the shaft had broken free before the Masters had arrived? What if Obi-Wan had perished? Qui-Gon's heart stopped at the thought. His hurried pace resumed. He had learned much over the past weeks about how the heart could surprise you. He was beginning to realize just how deep and intricate the bonds were between him and his former Padawan." - Ooof, my heart!

Chapter 6

We get an introduction to Siri, a girl a couple years younger than Obi-Wan, who will be appearing in the series again. They weren't exactly friends before, but they were classmates who got along well enough. Now, however...well, they're both rather blunt and tactless, but Siri makes it clear that Obi-Wan leaving the Jedi has cast a shadow on all other prospective Padawans, because now potential masters might be thinking twice about taking anyone on, in case they go the same way Obi-Wan did. It's a hard lesson, but an essential one for a boy his age, I think. Our actions and choices always affect more people than we realize.

Qui-Gon discusses the intruder with the Temple's tech expert, trying to figure out how he's been sabotaging all the Temple systems. It's clearly above Bruck Chun's pay grade, so who could it be? Qui-Gon realizes that Xanatos is a likely candidate. He's smart and skilled enough, and familiar enough with the Temple--not to mention that he has a personal vendetta against the Jedi, especially Qui-Gon. Right as they're figuring this out, Obi-Wan happens to come into the room and overhears their conversation. And so Qui-Gon asks for his help!

Chapter 7

Siri comes to find them as they're discussing the investigation with Tahl. She tells them about a conversation she had with Bruck a while ago about his father that struck her as odd. Apparently, Bruck's father recently acquired power on their home planet--Telos, which is also where Xanatos is from! Tahl was skeptical about Qui-Gon's hunch, but this confirms it. Xanatos must have gotten to Bruck through his father, playing on his pride and anger and turning him to the Dark Side, paralleling his own descent to evil. And to Obi-Wan's great satisfaction, he will be included in the investigation, since he's faced Xanatos before. He and Qui-Gon will look for Xanatos and Bruck's hiding spot, while Tahl investigates Xanatos' connection to Offworld. It's clear that Tahl is frustrated that her recent blindness will prevent her from joining them in their search for physical clues, but Qui-Gon reminds her that her task could bring up some vital clues as well.

"Obi-Wan noted her new determination. Qui-Gon had done this. He had not dwelt on her dissatisfaction. He had acknowledged it compassionately, then flung out a challenge to engage her. I have so much to learn from him, Obi-Wan thought. And it is not only about battles and strategies and the Force. It is about the heart." - Yes! We're back to these two thinking admiringly of each other! This is what I'm here for! 8D

Chapter 8

Bant shows up with a sudden epiphany: Bruck must be using the water tunnels that run through the entire Temple, supplying water to all the locations things have been stolen from. As a Mon Calamarian, Bant knows the tunnels well. Both Tahl and Qui-Gon praise her for her sharp thinking, which makes poor Obi-Wan a li'l jelly~ :O

"Jealousy trickled through Obi-Wan. He fought against it. Jealousy was not an appropriate emotion for a Jedi. Yet he couldn't dampen it, or make it go away. ... Obi-Wan felt a shock as he realized that if Qui-Gon didn't take him back, he most likely would want another Padawan. Was he thinking of Bant?" - :C Of course, Obi-Wan's not privy to Qui-Gon's thoughts that he's never going to take another Padawan. This is so sad....

Sure enough, they find an out-of-the-way maintenance platform with signs that someone's been there. And then, just as they're examining things, someone comes up out of the water. EEEEEK, IT'S XANATOS!!!!! ＼(º □ º l|l)/

Chapter 9

Epic lightsaber battle! ୧☉□☉୨ Anytime these two fight side by side, especially against a Dark Jedi like Xanatos, I can't help imagining them fighting like they do against Darth Maul. Which, as we all know, is the coolest lightsaber battle in the entire series ;) Seeing as how we're not even halfway through the book yet, obviously they don't defeat Xanatos. Right when they begin to get the upper hand, water is flushed through the tunnels, and Xanatos uses the flood of water to get away while Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan jump to safety.

"As he fought side by side with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan felt the familiar rhythm pulse between them. The Force was strong, bonding them together as one unit." - <3

Chapter 10

They find a speeder in the water tunnels that Xanatos must be using to come and go from the Temple, and have security take it away so he'll be trapped inside. Obi-Wan does some thinking, and remembers that Xanatos taunted Qui-Gon for relying on children, that without Bant's help he would never have figured out where Xanatos was. But how did he know about Bant? Is there a spy informing him of their movements? Partly because of the jealousy simmering inside him about how nicely Qui-Gon has been treating Bant, he suggests that Tahl might be the spy.

"'No, Obi-Wan,' Qui-Gon said curtly. 'You are wrong. I am used to betrayal. I know exactly what it looks like.' He gave Obi-Wan a hard look and turned away. Obi-Wan felt a stab of pain. He knew Qui-Gon was talking about him." - >﹏<

Chapter 11

"The moment the words left Qui-Gon's mouth, he regretted them. His harshness had arisen more out of his frustration at Xanatos' escape than anything Obi-Wan had said. Yes, the boy had lost his trust. There was no need to torture him by constantly reminding him of it. It was behavior unworthy of a Jedi. It was his own flaw, Qui-Gon realized heavily. He was the one who could not take the leap to trust again. It was not Obi-Wan's fault. It was a combination of Qui-Gon's history and his nature. Although he felt a connection to other beings, he was slow to trust them. Once his trust was given, it was solid. When it shattered, he was at a loss as to how to refashion it again. His problem. Not Obi-Wan's." - SLYTHERINSLYTHERINSLYTHERIN such a Petrified Slytherin AAAHHHHH TT^TT I can't decide if this makes up for the pain of the last chapter or only makes it worse....

They return to Tahl to discuss what happened. Tahl has also discovered that Offworld Corporation has fallen on hard times due to Xanatos' mismanagement. That's probably part of the motive behind him infiltrating the Temple--he's planning to steal the vertex to deal with his financial troubles. They also figure out who the spy is: TooJay! There's a transmitter hidden on her that's been sending recordings to Xanatos all this time. As soon as I started reading the way Tahl pretended to be annoyed at her and shut her down, I suddenly remembered this part of the plot. This is how they're going to lay a trap for Xanatos.

Chapter 12

As part of the plan to fool Xanatos, Obi-Wan is tasked with finding someone of his height and build who can pretend to be him, while Qui-Gon does the same. Obi-Wan goes to find his friend Garen Muln, who would be able to pull it off. On the way, he runs into Bant, and all the jealousy he's been pushing aside for the whole book spills out into an accusation that she's just trying to ingratiate herself with Qui-Gon so he'll pick her as his Padawan. It gets to the point where she starts crying and runs off, poor thing. She was just trying to help :'(

"Qui-Gon's hand on his shoulder, his steady words, sent a shiver through Obi-Wan. He had been unfair to Bant. If Qui-Gon was encouraging her, it was only because of his goodness. It didn't mean Qui-Gon wanted Bant as a Padawan any more than it meant he still wanted Obi-Wan. It only meant that he was encouraging strength where he saw it. Obi-Wan realized it wasn't Bant who stood between him and Qui-Gon. It was Qui-Gon's own feelings. He had known that. He just didn't want to accept it." - This is so sad.... ;A;

But then, just as Obi-Wan's assuring himself that he'll apologize to Bant later, and they're finalizing their plans, Xanatos calls Qui-Gon up on his comlink. Apparently, Bant went to the water tunnels, and Xanatos has taken her hostage. He's demanding a transport to get away in exchange for Bant.

Chapter 13

Okay, this is quite possibly my favorite chapter in the entire series. Even more than the delicious angst and irony of The Hidden Past's climax, I love this short chapter. Basically the only thing that happens in it is that Obi-Wan has a panic attack, and Qui-Gon talks him down. But that's enough. That's everything.

When I read this as a kid, I didn't have the vocabulary to determine that Obi-Wan is suffering a panic attack, but I can see now that that's what's going on here: "It was as though his body had taken over, refusing to listen to his mind. No matter how forcefully he told his legs to move, they would not. ... My fault. My fault. Bant will die. She will die. Xanatos is merciless. She will die. And again it will be my fault. ... He gulped down his panic, but he could not make it go away. Instead it rose in his throat again and again, choking him. ... The fear squeezed his throat, cramped his muscles. He could not move."

"He loved Bant as he had loved Cerasi." - Okay, I feel completely justified in interpreting his love for Cerasi as platonic.

Qui-Gon is so gentle here, so calm and understanding. He takes the time to help Obi-Wan find his center of calm again, acting as the rock that Obi-Wan can cling to. There's no bitterness or impatience, none of the tension that's hung between them. He sees that Obi-Wan needs him, and he delivers. When Obi-Wan says he can't control himself, Qui-Gon assures him that he can. When Obi-Wan says it's his fault that Xanatos captured Bant, Qui-Gon gently and logically lays out the truth: Maybe he was unkind to Bant and needs to apologize, but he didn't force Xanatos to capture her.

"'You want to return to the Jedi,' Qui-Gon continued. 'Now be a Jedi. This is the moment. This is exactly the moment when you must. The very worst time is the time you must follow the Code. Cast away your doubt. Let the Force flow through you.'" - <3 ಥ^ಥ

Chapter 16

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan implement their plan to trick Xanatos by recording a message their decoys will act out, lying about where they'll be and that they're arranging for the transport Xanatos demanded. Instead, the two of them go to wait just in front of the vault door, to ambush Xanatos and Bruck when they come to get the vertex.

Sure enough, the plan works, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are able to surprise them. The element of surprise gives Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan the advantage until Qui-Gon knocks Bruck's lightsaber out of his hand and then Xanatos holds his lightsaber to Bruck's neck. He knows Jedi won't want to risk him killing one of their own, and Bruck has never been anything but a pawn to him. Bruck is surprised though - poor kid, he's only thirteen! Even Obi-Wan was taken in by Xanatos' lies at first. But ultimately, Xanatos just pushes Bruck away and keeps fighting. Bruck runs away, and Obi-Wan gives chase.

The duel between Qui-Gon and Xanatos is super epic. They fight in the Jedi Council chamber, Xanatos throwing chairs and stuff around and then cutting a hole in the window and leaping out. It feels rather reminiscent of the Mace Windu/Palpatine fight, actually - which is funny, because this book was published five years before Episode III came out. But still, a very cool fight scene, and I wish we could have seen it on the big screen.

Chapter 17

Oh, wow.... This chapter is so much more tragic than it seemed when I was younger than the characters. Obi-Wan catches up to Bruck in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, at the top of the artificial waterfall, which has been turned off. They fight, another epic battle full of ups and downs. It's really cool how the focus of this fight is just as much on what's happening internally in Obi-Wan as it is on what's happening physically. Bruck keeps taunting him (the return of the Oafy-Wan jab from the first book!), and Obi-Wan is struggling with his anger and fear for Bant.

"Bant is dying. I won't have to do a thing. I'll just make you watch it. We would have freed her if we got the treasure. But another person will die because of you. Right in front of your eyes. Just like your friend Cerasi." - Ohhhh snap... Bruck's in trouble now! D:

"In that split second, Obi-Wan saw the seeds of his own defeat. This is the moment. The very worst time is the time you must follow the Code. Cast away your doubt, Padawan. Let the Force enter you." - Whooooo! Qui-Gon's words break through the hatred and desire for vengeance, and Obi-Wan finds his calm center again! You can practically hear the music swelling at this point ヽ(＾▽＾)ﾉ

Obi-Wan maneuvers Bruck into the dry riverbed, knowing that the water is supposed to start flowing again any minute. Sure enough, it takes Bruck by surprise, and he's struggling to keep his footing. There's another moment that might feel derivative, had this book not come out before Episode II, let alone III. Bruck's lightsaber shorts out in the water, and Obi-Wan calls to him, "That's it, Bruck. Give up." But, just like Anakin will later, Bruck refuses to listen to him, and tries to keep fighting - only to lose his footing and tumble over the waterfall. He hits a rock on the way down and falls to his death. He's thirteen.

Obi-Wan doesn't have time to process what just happened or how he feels about it. He only has time to pull Bant from the bottom of the pool in the nick of time, and then race off to help Qui-Gon with Xanatos.

Chapter 19

Qui-Gon and Xanatos fight on a narrow ledge just outside the Jedi Council chamber. I don't care what anyone says, this is every bit as epic as Obi-Wan and Anakin's duel on Mustafar - though shorter and much less fiery ^^' The wind is buffeting them, and Xanatos throws out taunts aplenty: "Will you allow your precious Padawan to die just to kill me? He tried to get away from you once. Why don't you get rid of him for good?"

Xanatos leaps off the ledge and onto an air taxi below, but Qui-Gon dares not follow because Xanatos announces that he's rigged the whole Temple to blow as soon as all the systems come back online. I never thought about this before, but...the driver of that taxi gets tossed into the air. Could Qui-Gon have caught him with the Force? Did he just go splat on the planet's surface miles below? >_<

But there's no time to worry about that! Qui-Gon gets back inside, meets up with Obi-Wan in the hallway, and they travel through the service areas to the maintenance hub, where they stop the system reboot just in time to discover that the missing healing crystals had been placed in the fusion furnace. The healing crystals would have caused a huge chain reaction as soon as the furnace started up, blowing up the entire Temple. Made it just in time!

Chapter 21

Everything gets wrapped up in the last couple chapters. Obi-Wan talks with Bant, apologizing for his harsh words and reflecting on what happened. Bant shows wisdom beyond her years, understanding that Obi-Wan was afraid of losing Qui-Gon, as well as how you can be glad to have stopped someone from doing evil, while still being sad that they're dead. And Obi-Wan finally tells her about Cerasi.

"'You loved her,' Bant said. Obi-Wan swallowed. 'Yes. She inspired me. We fought together side by side. We trusted each other. And when she died, I blamed myself. When I thought that you might die, I knew I could not go on if it happened. ' 'But you would have, Obi-Wan,' Bant said softly. 'We all go on.' She leaned against him, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. 'You saved my life. We will go on together.'" - TT____TT

Qui-Gon's conversation with Tahl has stuck with me all through the years. Not because of anything said in their discussion of everything that's happened, but because of a metaphor Tahl uses to encourage Qui-Gon to consider that maybe his relationship with Obi-Wan isn't broken beyond repair. She talks about the art of putting a shattered glass back together (similar to the real-world art of kintsugi, which is used to repair broken pottery with lacquer and gold). "He could not make again what he'd had. But what if the new thing he made was stronger than before, because it had once been broken?"

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan meet with the Council, to debrief them on what happened with Xanatos and to decide what their next steps will be. Obi-Wan asks to be given a probation, where he'll take classes with Council members and prove to them his rededication to the Jedi Order. Qui-Gon asks to go in search of Xanatos, but the Council refuses. They think Qui-Gon is still too angry about this, so he should wait until Xanatos comes to him again. But after the meeting, Qui-Gon decides to go after Xanatos anyway. And Obi-Wan joins him. What will happen next???

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 2 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Present day

Miruko’s agency was large, much larger than you had expected.

From the street, it had looked unobtrusive enough, a moderately-sized office building with a modern-looking glass front. You could see into a large reception area on the ground floor, and open workspaces on the next few floors, conjoined desks piled high with paperwork and slightly wilted-looking office plants. If not for Miruko’s name emblazoned over the entry in bold, metallic letters, you could have taken it for just another office building.

Once inside, however, the building became much more than that. After checking in at reception, you were led deep into the building, and gestured into an elevator that took you tens of floors down. When the doors opened, they let out into a cavernous space, stretching under what must have been the entire block. The floor was equipped with a gym, several reinforced training spaces the size of office buildings themselves, and what appeared to be a surveillance room where footage from the training spaces could be replayed.

Your mouth dropped open. Did all hero agencies hide deep underground like this? How many other underground floors were there? How big was Miruko Agency, really?

Your guide had enough tact to ignore your inelegant expression, instead leading you towards a training room. A huge, clear window tens of meters across looked into the space, but you would bet anything that it was made of some material much stronger than glass, which was especially evidenced by what you could see going on beyond the window.

Rubble littered the room, scattered in towering piles that gave the appearance of a post-doomsday cityscape. You didn’t know if the room had been set up this way, or if the rubble was the result of the battle going on within; there were two heroes that you could see darting around the space, both appearing to be causing maximum chaos.

Closest to you, a woman with wild pink curls was emitting a powerful stream of some cement-colored substance that ate away at anything it touched, causing it to smoke and hiss and crumble. She melted a huge hole in a pile of rubble, and a man with a shock of golden-yellow hair leapt away from what had probably been his hiding place, backpedaling wildly.

You perked up when you realized who they were--Ashido Mina, the number twenty-nine hero Pinky, and Kaminari Denki, the number thirty-three hero Chargebolt.

Kaminari threw out a hand, and a crackling wave of lightning struck out at Ashido. The lights flickered out briefly, and even behind the window, you could feel your hair stand on end. You blinked past the powerful flash that had temporarily blinded you, casting about for Ashido who had surely been struck down, only to choke on a laugh when you caught sight of her flashing Kaminari the middle finger, sliding away from a huge chunk of rubble she’d dislodged with her acid to use as a shield.

“They’re idiots,” a voice intoned from your side.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, turning to find Miruko herself standing next to you, powerful arms crossed over her chest. Despite her words, a little fond-looking smile flickered at the edges of her mouth.

You schooled your slack jawed expression into a smile. “I don’t know--their personalities are mostly why they’re so popular, so they must be doing something right. I did a little digging into everyone’s results before I got here, and they stood out among a lot of the rest.”

Miruko’s gaze flicked over you. She was short, maybe even shorter than you, but her keen red eyes and very lethal-looking biceps more than made up for her stature. She was intimidating in person, an air about her that told you she could snap and turn on you at any second. Despite the fact that she had asked you here herself, you felt like she might seize you and bodily throw you out of her agency.

“And that’s why they’re idiots. Their results are buoyed by their personalities,” Miruko sniffed. “They need work.”

You prickled a little, feeling like you should say something in their defense, but the truth of it was, you were here to help them work on things.

Some weeks ago, Miruko had contacted the Public Safety Hero Commission with interest in the ranking model. Your version had been in production for close to a year, and you had recently been making scholarly noises about feedback loops, asking for permission to provide pro heroes with individual results breakdowns. Miruko had caught wind of this and demanded on site assessments for her “team of frigging clowns” as she had so eloquently put it. And so you had been loaned out, with the idea of helping to direct the training for the heroes at Miruko Agency, providing them a real time comparison of their training footage to the generic hero ranking model results.

If this trial run was successful, if you could help any of the heroes measurably jump ranks, then the Commission had committed to providing individualized results for the thousands of heroes employed today. The Commission had also expressed interest in your idea of creating and packaging smaller models that took less technical skill to operate, for heroes to use to direct their own training. They had even seemed receptive to giving you a small team of research scientists and software engineers to build such a product, so you would be looking at a pretty sick promotion, not to mention.

Miruko made her way over to the surveillance room, beckoning you after her, and you watched as she leaned over a desk, pressing down a button with one gloved finger.

A crackling sound echoed overhead and her voice followed. “Alright, brats, recess is over. Anyone not heading out on patrol, meet in the surveillance room now.”

The flickering light from Kaminari’s lightning fizzled out, and the door to the training room opened not long after, Kaminari and Ashido spilling out in a chaotic whirlwind of limbs and petty squabbling. They were the first to arrive at the surveillance room, and Kaminari visibility perked up when he saw you.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself on a gasp when Ashido’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “What the fuck, Mina--! Why are your elbows so sharp? Can you just not--?” He grabbed her elbow. “Stop, look, it’s stats girl! From the Awards!”

You startled a little, shocked that he had remembered you. That had been almost a year ago, and you’d only exchanged a couple quick comments in the stairwell.

Ashido looked up from where she appeared to be attempting to crack one of his ribs, her expression shifting into something altogether too interested. You flushed when a sharp grin broke out over her pretty features.

“Oh my god, you’re stats girl? I have been waiting forever. It’s an absolute honor to meet you.” She held out a palm, waggling her rosy fingers expectantly.

A rising sense of horror grew within you. Did...did Kaminari remember you so clearly because he’d told people about the incident? What exactly had he mentioned to her? Who else had he spread the tale to?

“Um, yeah that’s me,” you managed, trying to tamp down your embarrassment.

Ashido grinned wider, leaning forward. “I was totally convinced Denki and Eijirou made you up, except that Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. You’re, like, a legend. Do you do autographs?”

You gaped at her, your mind sticking on the phrase Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. A nervous, hunted energy crept over you. Revenge...for months.

Miruko’s rabbit ears twitched and she turned to you, frowning. “I wasn’t aware you’d already met some of my circus monkeys. Is this going to be a problem?”

You dithered nervously, not actually sure if it would be. You’d known Bakugou worked at her agency, considering you had done a fair amount of pre-work collecting everyone's results. But you’d honestly put off thinking about this. Bakugou had been in quite the rage at the Hero Awards, but that had been almost a year ago. And Ashido had phrased his revenge plans in the past tense… Surely he didn’t still hold as much of a grudge now?

Miruko eyed you suspiciously for a moment, but she was distracted when the scuffle of boots indicated the approach of other heroes, and a pair of burly men with curling satyr horns rounded the corner, one of them leaning forward to speak to her. Ashido sent you a wink when Miruko turned her back, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like later.

In the next few minutes, a small group of heroes assembled, ranging from relatively well-known heroes like Ashido and Kaminari, to a couple of heroes who ranked deep in the hundreds--you only knew some of their faces because Miruko had provided you with a list of her employees for preparatory research purposes. They formed a small crescent around the surveillance area, chattering lowly to themselves and eyeing you with speculative curiosity.

To your eternal relief, her most famously explosive employee was conspicuously absent, and you felt yourself relax when it seemed like everyone had turned up who was going to.

When it seemed like the crowd size was finally large enough to please her, Miruko barked a loud “SHUT UP” at them. The din of low voices instantly died down.

“Alright brats. Over the next few months, Y/N will be working here at the agency with us. She has been invited on behalf of the commission, and will be analyzing your quirks, your methods, and your recent work,” Miruko said. “She has individualized results pulled from the current hero rankings that can inform you how to improve. I expect you to take full advantage of this opportunity.”

She gestured to you, giving you a meaningful look as if she expected you to introduce yourself. You gave a little wave, glancing at the heroes around you.

“Um, hi,” you said. “As Miruko-san said, I can give you a little advice based on your current results breakdown. I also plan to analyze video of your training in the coming weeks, and build parallel models to simulate future results given your performance. We can compare those to the current rankings for an idea of how much work you will have to put into particular skills for you to move up in the ranks.”

A small murmur went through the crowd at the prospect of moving up in the ranks. Some gazes sharpened in interest.

You continued, “This is also a good chance to work on specific growth areas -- I can train smaller models on subsets of videos so you can compare your skills more directly with each other or with other heroes from other agencies. Please let me know if there is anything special any of you would like to focus on.”

Miruko stepped back in front of you. “Y/N is going to set up in the surveillance room for the next few weeks. I’ve already established checkpoints for all of you to meet with her, but I encourage you to meet with her more often if you can.”

There were a couple of nods, and a few interested whispers from somewhere at the back of the crowd. Miruko took a breath like she was going to say more, but then--

“Hard pass,” a voice growled from your left. Your hackles instantly raised, and it took your brain a couple seconds to catch up with your instincts. You whipped around wildly when you realized you knew that voice, and you almost jumped a full foot in the air when you caught sight of those familiar blonde spikes over another hero’s shoulder.

You hadn’t noticed his approach, but Bakugou had clearly returned from a fight only minutes ago. His hair drooped a little with sweat, there was dirt streaking the points of his high cheekbones, and his costume was shredded by a thousand tiny tears, like he’d been thrown through a glass window. And...was that blood on his gauntlets? Was it his?

You were torn between immediate annoyance and something like concern at the sight of him so obviously roughed up.

“The meetings are not optional,” Miruko’s voice took on a hard edge.

“I already know what this fucking nerd has to say,” Bakugou drawled dismissively. “And I don’t give a shit. I don’t need assists if I’m the one busy saving the fucking day.”

Your mood edged cleanly into annoyance. It seemed he hadn’t changed any, then.

Miruko’s face darkened. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Bakugou bared his teeth. They gleamed almost blindingly white against the dark dirt on his face. “No.”

A wild look entered Miruko’s eye at the challenge. “Everyone is dismissed. Except Katsuki,” she uttered in a low, dangerous tone.

There was a small pause. The heroes around you looked at her askance, and her features darkened even further. “I said scram. NOW!”

The effect was immediate. It felt like no sooner had you blinked than the hall was suddenly clear. The sight of Kaminari and Ashido wheeling around the corner was all the proof you had that the team hadn’t suddenly vanished from existence.

Bakugou snorted and propped himself lazily against a column, affecting a slouch, one pale eyebrow raised over his insouciant expression. It looked almost too perfectly arrogant, and you wondered if he practiced it in the mirror sometimes.

“I said the meetings are not optional, Katsuki,” Miruko hissed, taking a step closer to him. “You can ignore her suggestions all you want, but you will attend them.”

Close as they were, you could see she was almost a full head shorter than him, but the force of her anger seemed to make her larger somehow--she wasn’t towering over him, but she was certainly terrifying. Towering under, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

Bakugou, for his part, held his ground. His mouth curled disdainfully. “What’s the fucking point? The nerd’s just gonna tell me stupid shit. And I’m not going to listen.”

Your fingers twitched in irritation. Data wasn’t stupid shit -- it was mathmatical fact, almost as divorced from human bias as it was possible to be. How was it humanly possible that he hadn’t learned anything or grown even the littlest bit? How was it possible that he was just as infuriating as he was a year ago?

But fine. He could have things his way if that’s what he wanted.

Miruko’s face twisted in a scowl, and she took a deep breath like she was ready to start yelling. But you got there first.

“He has a point,” you said, giving him a hard look over the top of Miruko’s head. “I would hate to waste my time on someone who’s been stalled in the rankings for a year now. He wouldn’t know how to implement my advice even if I were to give it.”

You paused, letting an uncharacteristic smirk curl your mouth, trying your best to channel his disdainful energy. “Isn’t that right, Number Eight?”

Bakugou’s gaze sharpened over Miruko’s silver hair, twin pinpricks of red narrowing in on you. He abandoned his slouch, his body tensing like a hound that smelled blood. “What did you just say?”

You pushed down the petty satisfaction that rose within you at his reaction. He was so fucking prideful, so easy to bait.

“Hmm, cognitive delays,” you said, pretending to tap your chin thoughtfully. “Very worrying. Further evidence he wouldn’t be able to process the information, though. No, I think it’s best if we don’t meet.”

Bakugou pushed himself off the column, edging around Miruko as his mouth drew into a snarl. You were immediately reminded of the Hero Awards, that same overwhelming prickle of power edging over you as he stalked closer, the same scent like caramel and gunpowder.

Miruko’s eyes flicked between the two of you curiously, an eyebrow raised in interest. You hoped it meant she was interested enough in your data analysis to intervene if Bakugou tried to sauté you like an onion.

“If you melt through this blazer I really will sabotage the hero rankings and dip you all the way to number five hundred,” you threatened, edging away from Bakugou as he drew closer. “And also you owe me money for that dress.”

“I’m not gonna fucking give you shit,” he announced, looming over you when he’d decided he was close enough to intimidate. He was near enough that you could feel the heat of him, but he hadn’t put his hands to you yet. It seemed Miruko was enough of a deterrent to curb his bad behavior. “And I’m not gonna meet with you.”

“Good, then we agree,” you said, tipping your head back to look him in the eye. “You’re not good enough to do better anyways.”

Bakugou growled, the phrase clearly still enough to tick him off a year later. “Fuck you, I’m the best.”

“That’s not what your ranking tells me,” you clicked your tongue, feigning disinterest. With the dirt and scratches all over him he looked wilder than ever and you would be a fool to ignore it, but Miruko’s presence made you bold. And something else, some latent streak of frustration and pettiness told you to keep going, to keep pressing the buttons that were getting this reaction from him.

“Your ranking tells me you haven’t even improved the tiniest bit in an entire year. At this rate, you’ll never even hit the top three, never mind be the best. I don’t think you could improve even if you wanted to,” you said.

Bakugou looked like he wanted nothing more than to tear your head off with his teeth. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

You opened your mouth to reply but there was a sudden motion at the edge of your vision, something pink and blurry and wild. You glanced past Bakugou’s shoulder to find Ashido leaning around the wall, waving a hand frantically and mouthing something at you. You squinted, watching her lips shape themselves carefully: make a bet.

What? Make a bet?

She wanted you to make a bet?

You looked back up at Bakugou, taking in the oppositional expression, the angry curl of his mouth, the straight slope of his nose, and those keen, blood red eyes glaring down at you. This was certainly the face of a man who wouldn’t be told what to do, who couldn’t be told what to do.

But despite your words and your inherent distaste, there was no denying he was actually your best shot, the cleanest pathway to your promotion. Bakugou was smart, driven, and absolutely lethal. If anyone could turn around a rank at top speed it was him.

But he couldn’t be made to do it. He had to want to do it.

Ashido waved in the corner of your vision again, enunciating with exaggerated facial expressions. Make a bet.

Things clicked into place.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure,” you looked away from Ashido, inspecting your nails casually, like your focus would rather be anywhere than on this conversation. “In fact, I would bet almost anything that you wouldn’t know how to implement my suggestions, even if you tried.”

Bakugou froze, red eyes passing over you curiously. For one heart stopping moment, you thought he was on to you, but he just leaned down instead, putting his face close to yours.

“I’ll fucking take that bet.”

You tried to push down your sudden swell of excitement, fighting to keep your expression neutral. You knew he wouldn’t cooperate if he thought you were happy about this.

“Fine. You have two months to jump a rank,” you said. “Or I win. And you’ll pay me what you owe me for the dress.”

Bakugou smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. This had the effect of emphasizing both the tears in his shirt and the swell of his biceps.You quickly attached your eyes firmly to his face--that was so not what you needed to be focused on right now.

“I’ll do it in one,” he said. “And then I win, you smug fucking nerd.”

You gazed at him steadily. “Agreed. Miruko’s number seven--you think you can beat your own boss with just a month of work? You’ll never.”

“You haven’t heard what I win yet,” he said.

You stared at him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “You go up in rank. That’s what you win.”

Bakugou’s handsome face shifted into an uneven smirk. “Oh no. This is twice now you’ve opened your little know-it-all mouth and acted like you know what the fuck you’re talking about. When I win, you’ll tell me I’m the best and I was right all along.”

You suppressed an eye roll. If he moved up a rank, the point would very obviously be that you were right all along. Was he really so unreasonably competitive and spiteful that he needed to be told he was right?

Then you remembered he’d quite literally dragged you into a stairwell and implied he'd fry you to a crisp when he found out he was number eight. Of course he was.

Well, a few throwaway words were worth nothing compared to the promotion you’d be getting. He could have his sense of self satisfaction when you were knee deep in software engineers and fat stacks of money.

You took a deep breath, holding out a hand. “Okay. If you win, which is a very big if, then I’ll admit it. Deal?”

Bakugou considered you for a long moment, red eyes watching you closely, before a calloused hand engulfed yours. “Deal," he growled, a crooked grin flickering at the edge of his mouth. "Get ready to eat shit, nerd.”

You suppressed another eye roll, hoping to god this was going to be worth it.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

[tobiosmilktea]

umpah umpah! smau

↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi

[015] — the half of it!

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: keep in the mind that y/n doesn’t have a faceclaim so that instagram photo is not a visual representation

also this wasn’t proofread and lowkey i’m not sure if this entire chapter even makes sense. read with caution lmao

the night went by in a flash with the second hour passing just as quickly as the first one. you were grateful that there wasn’t a single ounce of awkwardness drenching the lighthearted atmosphere of the restaurant when bokuto arrived fashionably late—rather that’s what he told you and the rest of the ddd team when he slid into the booth right across from you.

however, if bokuto was truly being honest, he actually made it right on time, yet something in him had held him back longer. he probably took a good fifteen minutes sitting in his car as if he was waiting for a sign to fucking walk in already. bokuto would have been lying to himself if he didn’t believe (even for a second) that he was absolutely terrified to see your face. no matter how much he wanted to see you again, the mere thought of your past relationship with iwaizumi had his knuckles turning alabaster as he gripped his steering wheel.

the athlete scoffed at his state that was so unbelievably wrapped around this idea that happened such a long time ago. admittedly, why in the hell would thee bokuto koutarou of the msby black jackals be hung up over a girl from high school anyway? he wanted to laugh at himself because akaashi was right.

it simply didn’t matter anymore.

or at least that’s what bokuto kept affirming in his head over and over and over again as he marched himself into that restaurant. there was confidence in the way he approached the nearly filled booth, yet the moment you shifted your eyes towards him, it all melted into oblivion.

goddammit, why did akaashi force him to sit across from you? it’s almost like he knew exactly how to torment both you and bokuto just by asking sugawara to scoot closer to the other side of the bench.

surprisingly, bokuto can handle his alcohol and knows how to moderate his drinking habits, yet tonight was his only exception. with you constantly throwing him knowing glances that reminded him of your shared relationship, it was his only driving force that kept him throwing his head back with shot after shot of soju.

by the time the entire group was all set and done, everyone was considerably drunk. it was kaori, yuko, and bokuto who were so severely wasted that it honestly forced you and the rest of the group to hold back in order to get everyone home safe and sound.

semi, who was sitting next to you, stands up first as the bill is handed back. “kaori and i will head out first. you guys get home safe, okay?”

you nod, waving ddd’s musician goodbye as he helps a tipsy kaori from stumbling over herself.

“i guess i should get going too,” sugawara adds in a beat later, motioning to yuko with her eyes closed and rested against the wall right behind her. “i know damn well she’s going to make me carry her ass up to her apartment.”

“bye, stay safe.” akaashi mutters as the four exit the restaurant, leaving you, him, and a drunken bokuto.

you held back an amused chuckle as akaashi gave you a look satiated in aversion. you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit guilty knowing that he’s going to be the one struggling trying to take bokuto back home safe despite knowing damn well it was going to happen sooner or later as the night of drinking continued.

akaashi let out a sigh, “well... guess i should take this one home too, shouldn’t i. you can go home first since you live close.” he offers, but you quickly decline.

“no, it’s fine.” you shook your head as you stood from your seat, “since i live so close, we could try and get him sobered up a bit so it’s easier for you to take him home.”

“are you sure?” asked akaashi as you gathered your things.

nodding, you make your way around the table to help bokuto stand. “yeah, i kind of feel bad. i don’t know if you noticed, but something was up with him today.”

perhaps akaashi was glad you didn’t notice the way his expression suddenly changed. he didn’t want to pry too much into your personal life or your past, but he knew damn well that the secrets need to be told. you two have been good friends since high school, yet it wasn’t until you and akaashi started working together with love cemetery did you two become so close. it’s never his business to be so caught up in whatever web you somehow got caught in literally years after everything happened, yet here you guys were.

he couldn’t stand and watch his best friend potentially hurt because of your in ability of communicate. granted, akaashi knew how personal those feelings were to you with no way to express it.

that’s the entire reason why you started love cemetery anyway—your both your relationships with iwaizumi and bokuto ended so abruptly, if you thought about it hard enough, there was no distinct closure despite ending on good terms with both of them. this, this sense of blurred lines of your webtoon and your past relationships were honestly just a coping mechanism for you.

how badly did akaashi just wanted to sit you down and talk your head on straight, but once again:

it wasn’t his business.

“alright, then.” akaashi sighs, helping you lead bokuto into his car. “let’s go.”

there was a special sense of silence in the air that tensed the moment akaashi started the car, engine humming in the background of the radio on low volume. the bright downtown tokyo lights simmered down as they reached the suburban areas of the city, filling you with a sense of serene peace as fatigue was slowly catching up to you as well.

a weight fell on your shoulder then as the car pulled into a stop. bokuto’s white hair brushed against your cheek as you looked down on him, pushing the man up and towards akaashi who had opened the door opposite from you.

the volleyball player muttered something incohesive beneath his breath as his weighted eyes attempted to open. bokuto had no idea where he was, but at this point, he couldn’t care less. he wanted to just crash into bed and sleep until the afternoon.

akaashi let out a grunt as he slung his best friend’s arm over his shoulders, following just behind you as the three of you walk up to your apartment. you threw a glance over your shoulder, watching your poor friend struggling to get the beefy athlete up the last flight of stairs.

an amused laugh left your lips, “are you sure you don’t need any help?” you offered as granted, you did offer to help get bokuto up to your apartment only for akaashi to say no. at this point, his struggle was on him.

“just hurry and unlock the door,” akaashi grumbles.

“right...” you mutter, reaching into your bag for your house keys only to feel a buzzing in your pocket.

“shit.” you say under your breath, forcing your seeping thoughts and increasing heart rate back as you opened the door.

your exes seeing each other at work was a different story. considering that neither of them knew of you past relationship with the ladder, it surely wouldn’t be a problem, but this was literally one of the last things you wanted to happen tonight. like seriously, doesn’t finding a drunk athlete that happens to be from the volleyball team you work for bad enough? surely having bokuto be in your apartment wouldn’t help your case either.

you stepped back into your living room, swallowing the bundle of nerves down your throat as bokuto seemed to regain enough conscious to form coherent words.

“kaashi~” he whined, voice muffled by the pillow he wrapped his muscular arms around. “i’m hungry.”

“we literally just had korean barbeque dude,” his best friend scoffs. 

“we literally just had korean barbeque dude,” his best friend scoffs. 

“we literally just had korean barbeque dude,” his best friend scoffs. 

“we literally just had korean barbeque dude,” his best friend scoffs. 

“okay, and?” bokuto pressed on, causing akaashi to roll his eyes.

“fine,” he deadpans before asking, “what do you want?”

the volleyball player smirked slightly, “ramen.”

akaashi stands up then, giving you an unenthused look as you approached him. you feigned a look of shock from appearing on your expression as you brushed past, frustration coating your very figure. this was not good.

a sigh left your lips as your brain scavenged desperately for a plan. at some point, the truth had to be revealed sooner or later whether you liked it or not. you just didn’t like how they both had to find out this way. 

you set the water upon the table in front of your sofa, setting the medicine gently upon bokuto’s palm. 

bokuto always thought you had the softest hands. he would often find excuses just to hold your hand back when you two used to date. it would always make him feel safe and warm, yet nowadays he still yearned to feel that sense of familiarity again—even if it meant it was the last time he would ever get to.

“thank you,” he says.

“yeah, no problem.” the words left your mouth softer than you had anticipated when bokuto made eye contact with you—familiar and warm as if you were home.

you didn’t know what to think then as you placed yourself next to him, yet still leaving space for comfort. bokuto looked so cute and vulnerable in such a state, how in the hell were you supposed to kick this guy out of your apartment?

the thought spiraled in your head. surely there had an excuse conjured somewhere up in your head. you cleared your throat, “never thought you’d be a lightweight.”

your words left your mouth in a hurry. it seemed a bit unnatural but at this point with bokuto wasted, you barely tipsy yet panicked that iwaizumi is on his way, and akaashi not knowing a single thing besides deliriously making ramen for his best friend—nothing about tonight was natural.

bokuto let out a playfully offended scoff, “i’m not! the alcohol was just strong tonight...”

“whatever you say, kou.” you mused with a smile that left bokuto’s heart racing.

your lips looked nice at the moment. with the dim florescent lights casting shadows upon your face, he wondered whether or not it was a good idea being this dangerously close to you. hell, now that you two were alone and akaashi was preoccupied this would be the perfect place to ask you the questions that had be plaguing his mind all day. that would have been the correct option, yet something within him wanted different with the way bokuto’s gaze flicked down to your lips.

you couldn’t help but notice the way he would look at you, deep brown eyes that would send red heat to your cheeks until it reached your ears. you weren’t exactly sure if he was going to do anything, but it wasn’t like you entirely opposed anyway.

bokuto cleared his throat suddenly as he pulled you both out of your trances. 

“can i ask you a question?”

your eyebrows furrow slightly with a tilt of your head, “hm?”

curiously filled you as hesitance drenched bokuto’s thoughts, drying out his mouth as he gulped his drunken nerves. “i know this is from a long time ago,” he starts, not even having enough courage to look at you. “but how come you never told me about your past relationships when we first started dating?”

bokuto’s words sobered him up—he needed to be i order to even comprehend an answer from you whether or not it would suffice. to no surprise did it catch you off guard either. as your eyes has widened into saucers, heart thumping against your ribcage, palm perspiring, all while you searched for a plausible answer in your head. you weren’t entirely sure if you should panic at the chance that bokuto did in fact find out about you and iwaizumi, or if he was just entirely curious.

it certainly didn’t matter if she lied, either, they were bound to find out now that both of them were in your life regularly and they’ve both read love cemetery, they are bound to find out sooner or later. bokuto and iwaizumi had all the clues placed out in front of them, it was just a matter of time when they would piece them all together and connect the dots.

you let out a shaky sigh. the best way to answer this was to be as calm as possible knowing bokuto was drunk and you weren’t entirely sure how he would react. “i just didn’t think think it was an important detail,” you mutter. it was neither a lie or the entire truth.

“i feel like it would’ve made sense to mention it at least.” says bokuto, “i mean... what happened to telling each other everything back then?”

god, you really didn’t want to have this conversation right now, especially when akaashi could easily walk back in. “i’m sorry that i didn’t tell you, but it’s not like it’s relevant now, is it? it’s been years.”

“it’s still very much relevant, you know.”

“how so?”

but before bokuto could part his lips to answer, the doorbell rings, sending a sharp echo throughout the apartment. your body immediately stood up, flinching and completely grimacing at the idea that both your pieces are only a few meters apart.

you couldn’t here anything then as you made your way to the door. your the beat of your beat was so loud that you swear bokuto could hear it quicken as you turned the door knob.

capturing your bottom lip between your teeth, you cracked the door open slightly with only your head peaking out through small opening.

“hey, (y/n),” the sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine, yet it still ended up comforting you more than expected. you just hoped bokuto couldn’t hear who it was.

“hi, iwaizumi.” you say almost in a harsh whisper.

you cursed yourself internally—of course out of all people, this would happen to you. you couldn’t help but grumble at the fact that surely this was some sort of karma life was giving you a universal punishment. whatever it was, you prayed it would end soon. maybe it should just put you out of your misery...

iwaizumi gave you a charming smile, the moonlight absolutely doing wonders as it casted shadows upon his chiseled face. seriously, can this guy get even more handsome?

you licked your lips absentmindedly at the thought of this as iwaizumi held up your belongings. “i brought your things! sorry for coming by so late, i just wanted to see you tonight.”

crimson red heat decorated your cheeks at his words. your thoughts were going hundreds of miles an hour just by your hands slightly brushing against each other as he handed you your jacket.

“thanks,” was all you could say.

it was calm and light as relief was almost near knowing you two were about to say your goodbyes. yet as fate always liked to give you the short end of the stick, footsteps clambered from behind you.

“(y/n), who’s there?” bokuto’s voice calls out to you rather loudly, causing your eyes to practically jump out of it’s sockets the moment the athlete pulled the door wide open. at the sudden jerky movement, bokuto revealed himself to a surprised athletic trainer.

his eyes blinked together multiple times as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. you see, iwaizumi has always been a rational person when it came to misunderstanding and he would never ever jump to conclusions but at this rate, what else could he really assume seeing his ex-girlfriend and his coworker together late at night?

there was a boiling limbic inkling within iwaizumi that he wasn’t know what it was composed up. it was like a mix of annoyance and unsolicited anger that he couldn’t help but feel his muscles tense and his hands tighten into fists.

the silence that ensued you three was so violently loud that you didn’t know what to do. never in a million years would you have ever imagined that this is how it would all end.

this is how everything would come crumbling down.

fun facts! —

while bokuto was in the parking lot hesitating to go in, satomi was hyping him up the entire time

meanwhile satomi and iwaizumi were actually still at work during all this

satomi thought it was a good chance of alone time with him, but the entire night iwaizumi was hurrying to get his work done so he could see (y/n)

taglist: (closed!)

@moonlightaangel @elianetsantana @k4tiepie @memorableminds @wheeshllumi @suhkusa @kitsunetea @airybby @noeminemi @truly-a-snitch @keichan @cosmicmermaid25 @bap-kingdom @saturnfarie @kwdflash @ennos-baby @dinablossom @chrisrue15 @seikamuzu @nestlevanilla @chasekudo @yammmers @pixcldust @iwaizluv @h0ngh0ngh0ng @emogril @tiredandkindaoverworked @tsumue @underratedmage @bokutosuwus @kellesvt @unstableye @oh-tapeworm @scrappyfka @alittlebitofrain @mxngy @tpwkatsumu @atsumuwoah @macchiatoast @dicerawr @kageyamasbabygorl @some-random-stranger-007 @vhskenma @wntrmn @little-plants @stargirlara @kissungjae @je11yfishwriter @sbaepsae @apollochjld

[heliads]

Curiosities

You feel that life can be divided up into a select set of curiosities- rules by which you live and breathe, that explain away everything in your life as a mutant. You’re doing fine until a certain boy named Peter Maximoff throws everything into disarray.

masterlist

If you try hard enough, everything that happens to you can be sorted out into a list of curiosities. You’re not sure how long you’d been thinking about it this way, but it made enough sense if you really thought about it. Your life was different, ever-changing, and if you kept it locked away within the list of curiosities, you could get a handle on it long enough to peek through the chest of memories that would otherwise fly open and swallow you whole.

Curiosity #1: You were a mutant.

This in itself was relatively easy to explain. When you were about ten, maybe twelve, you started to show the first signs of your power. A faint stirring in the shade in the corner of the room, the fact that you were never afraid of the dark. You waved to your shadow with your left hand, it responded by moving the ankle on its right. By the time you were about fourteen, your powers had fully come into being: you were able to control the shadows. You could bring them into existence, spooling black fog around your fingers and forcing it to your will. 

Curiosity #2: Even among mutants, you were an outcast.

You had come to Professor Xavier’s school when the building itself was fairly uninhabited. Xavier understood you; but then again, he was able to look past the dark furrow of your brow and into the sunny spaces of your head; he could tell that you didn’t wish to hurt anybody. None of the other students shared that same gift, except perhaps Jean, but she didn’t particularly wish to go probing into your skull.

When the school was still new and lacking in students, you were able to grow and flourish as a mutant. The Professor taught you how to use your powers himself, and you had full reign over the grounds. Then, more students started to appear, and they took up more and more of Xavier’s time. Before long, he barely saw you at all.

The other students didn’t know what to make of you. They could understand mutants with cool, interesting powers, like Storm with her weather manipulation or Mystique with her ability to change forms. Furry, blue teachers were acceptable; you were not. They were afraid of how you could control the shadows, how you seemed part darkness yourself. They drew away from you, huddling in the hallways and not making eye contact when you walked by. Slowly, a hated nickname surfaced: Suffocator. They were terrified that you would reach out a hand, call the darkness to you, make it cover their mouth and nose and choke out all air from their desperate lungs. You hated it, but it didn’t matter. Suffocator you were, and suffocator you would always be.

One night, a few of the mutants your age were bored and wanted to throw a party. Someone, maybe Jubilee, had heard of this thing called a masquerade party on one of her trips to the mall or somewhere outside of the school. She was desperate to try it out, and so Xavier’s School had posters everywhere across campus advertising the party.

When you first heard of it, you weren’t planning on going. Nobody wanted you there, not the girl who lurked in the shadows and didn’t speak to anyone. Then you realized that everyone would be wearing a mask and intentionally disguising their identity- nobody would know who you were. It almost seemed too good to be true.

A few days later, the day of the masquerade party arrived. You had donned a sapphire blue mask, one that shimmered like the lake just outside the school when the sun crossed its waves. The glittering, twinkling sea would hide your face from those who would otherwise distrust you. You had glanced at yourself in the mirror before you went; you did not look like yourself. You smiled in satisfaction, and headed out.

The party was being held in one of the empty halls of the school, and you blended in seamlessly with the other mutants. You talked and laughed with them, and they had no idea that they were speaking with the girl they’d avoided just a few hours earlier. You found yourself smiling and having more fun than you’d had in months.

Then, you became aware of one student heading towards you. Tall, overbearing Natalie: she had always hated you for some unknown reason. She glanced once at the group of friends you were speaking with, then folded her arms across her chest. “Do you know who you’re talking to?” She said, and the group looked from her to you and shook their heads. Natalie donned a gleeful smirk. “That’s Y/N. I’m not sure you really want to be spending that much time with her.”

The group of mutants cast you fearful looks once they realize it’s you, and start to walk away. Natalie is the only one who remains, and she crosses the final few feet to stand in front of you. Her voice comes in a loud hiss that seems to echo around the room. “Suffocator.”

A blur of silver flashes around you, and then a boy suddenly appears in front of you. “Those are strong words for someone who can’t even figure out empathy. I mean, come on- yesterday someone was crying in front of you and it took you half an hour to figure out they were sad.” Natalie draws back, angry. “Rude, Maximoff! Hasn’t Xavier told you not to make fun of people’s powers? Empathy is hard.” The silver-haired boy laughs. “Not making fun of people’s powers? I think you’re the one who needs to work on that, not me.”

Natalie rolls her eyes, trying to hide her annoyance at the fact that she’s losing this argument. “Whatever. I’m bored of this already.” She stomps away to hang out with her other friends, leaving you to stare at the boy who’d suddenly come to your defense. Of all the mutants, why would it be Peter?

Curiosity #3: Peter Maximoff.

Nobody at Xavier’s school trusted you. Nobody, it seemed, except for Peter. Ever since that day, he’d been relentless in his task to befriend you. You’re not sure why- everyone else had given up on you long ago. It’s not like you didn’t want friends, or that you were that strange a person. You were like everyone else: happy, laughing, friendly. It’s just the threat of your powers, so strange and unnatural, that forced everyone else away.

But not him. No, Peter refused to let your powers daunt him in the slightest. He’d be there after class, walking nonchalantly beside you. It didn’t seem like a friendship borne of pity- no, he teased you and made the same jokes as he would with everyone else. He even called you Suffocator once, that dreaded nickname, although it didn’t have that same barb as it did before. Maybe that’s because the other students used it as a knife to stab at you before running away. Instead, Peter tossed it like a paper plane, letting it float through the air as the two of you laughed from a joke. He didn’t want anything more than friendship, and so the two of you hung out after class, fighting mock battles with your powers and enjoying the time to be two simple teenagers in the otherwise strange world of mutants.

Curiosity #4: The quiet.

You’re not sure when you notice the silence at first. It’s just another day, ordinary in its dullness. You’re in the back of the grounds, away from the large groups of people in an attempt to study for a test you have later. You look up, once, fishing for a sticky note to mark the end of the chapter, but your eyes stay searching even after your hands close around the pad of paper.

You can’t hear anything. Well, that’s not entirely true. The birds still chirp, although with odd hesitation, as if afraid to sing too loudly. The wind still rustles the trees, but slowly, as if trying not to be noticed. The everlasting din of the students, though, that is gone. You push your books into your bag, standing up quietly. Even the zip of your backpack seems to echo in the silence.

This is strange. What happened to make the air so tense, the students shut their mouths for once to stand together in quiet? You sling your backpack over your shoulder, heading quickly to the front of the school to see what the fuss (or lack of, rather) is about.

There’s nothing at the front of the school, either. In fact, there aren’t that many people there. The only mutants out are Jean, Peter, Storm, Scott, and Nightcrawler. You watch as Jean presses her fingers to her temples, sending out a message that you only now pick up in your head. Go inside now. Don’t look out. Get the Professor. It echoes on a loop inside your brain, appearing only now that you’re close enough to the sender.

You glance around you, searching for some trouble that would cause Jean to send out such a message. Then, you see it- three large armored trucks headed your way, military logos emblazoned on the sides. This sort of thing happens every few years or so- some military higher-up decides that the mutants are too dangerous to be kept alive, and they attempt to round up everyone at the school. Xavier is usually there to put a stop to it, but today he’s out in some big city doing official business, so he’s not here to protect you. In fact, the only ones here to protect you are yourselves.

You watch as the trucks roll closer. Once they reach the gate, they stop, and soldiers start to stream out of it. Storm shouts over to Jean. “Are we doing anything about this?” Jean nods, her hair flicking out behind her like tongues of flame. “We’re stopping them. They want a fight, I can hear it. That’s just what they’ll get.” She says, and the mutants around her prepare themselves for a battle.

Curiosity #5: You stay to fight.

Why are you still here? Jean told everyone who wasn’t one of Xavier’s hand picked team to go inside, and yet you’re still cracking your knuckles out in front of the school just like everyone else. Maybe it’s because you want a taste for just how much damage your powers can deal out, or maybe it’s because you finally have a chance to prove yourself to be a hero, to fight like the others and make a name for yourself as someone who’s in it to protect the other students, even if they wouldn’t protect her. Regardless of the reason, the outcome stays the same. You’re here to fight.

When the men start running forward, you realize with sickening dread that they’ve brought guns, and dangerous ones at that. You’re not sure why they thought they’d need military grade rifles at a school, but they’re out and loaded nonetheless. They raise them towards you, launching a volley of bullets, but you throw up your arms and a wall of shadow appears in between the mutants and the guns, blocking the bullets and forcing them to the ground.

Jean turns to you, amazed. “Actually, I think it would be better if you stayed with us.” You grin slightly at that, turning your attention back to the soldiers. You and the other mutants fight in unison, powers working together as fluidly as a well oiled machine. You seem to compliment them, understanding their hurried motions as if you’d been working with them your entire life. 

Before you know it, the soldiers are hurrying back to the armored trucks, gesturing frantically at the drivers to get them out of here before they are killed by a bunch of kids with magic powers. The mutants look happily amongst yourselves, proud that you’d managed to defend the school against the soldiers. Together, you’d protected everyone here.

The night is starting to grow late, and everyone is out on the grounds in celebration. It’s not everyday that a bunch of teenagers fight back against the military and win, you know. You idle near a group of mutants, red plastic cup in hand just like them. Something feels odd, and it takes you a moment to notice what it is. Nobody’s scared of you. There aren’t any students huddled together, looking at you through nervous eyes that flick away when you catch sight of them. No pointed fingers, no hushed whispers. Maybe you’ve finally been accepted as one of them.

Jean approaches from across the field, stopping at a group of mutants only a few feet away from you. She leans towards Storm, tapping her on the shoulder. “Scott, Peter, Kurt, and I are hanging out in another corner of the woods. You know, victory party and all that? Come with us.” Her voice is a low whisper, but you can’t help smiling at it. You wait for her to nod at you, to ask you the same question, but strangely enough, she just slings an arm around Storm’s shoulder and the two of them walk away into the woods, leaving you behind.

She saw you. You know she saw you- her eyes glanced over you before they left. Her eyes weren’t glinting with hatred, some ill-concealed malice or anything. This wasn’t a plot to intentionally leave you out, she just didn’t see you as someone to invite, even though you’d been a key part of that victory group she seems so keen to celebrate. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks- no matter how hard you try, how many times you fight to protect them, they will never see you as a friend. All because they don’t understand your powers.

Dazedly, you leave the grounds where the rest of the mutants are celebrating. You find some quiet corner of the woods, a place that’s tucked away where nobody will notice you. The ‘victory party’ is on the opposite side of the grounds, so you know that you don’t have to fear anyone accidentally stumbling across you.

You slide to the ground, leaning back against the sturdy trunk of one of the many trees that stand tall and proud around the school’s forest. You cover your face in your hands, feeling all of your emotions finally catch up with you. You wish you could prove yourself in some way, that your powers may physically be dark but that you weren’t a monster, but it doesn’t matter how hard you try. You’ll never be anything more than a villain to them.

Silent tears course down your cheeks. You don’t think you’ve ever felt more alone than this night, even when things seemed impossible. No matter how bad things were before, this night manages to take the cake. There’s a cracking sound behind you, and you wipe your tears away hurriedly as you realize someone’s walking up to you.

“What are you doing all alone? Don’t you know we’re celebrating?” It’s Peter. Of course it is. You turn to face him, hoping the darkness will obscure the puffiness in your eyes. “Guess I was just tired.” You plaster on a smile, praying that he’ll get bored and go rejoin the others, but no such luck. He plops down in the grass next to you, arms stretched back behind him.

“Why aren’t you with Jean and the rest?” He says, and you frown at him. “What do you mean?” You ask. Peter furrows his brow. “You know, the victory party. You were there when the soldiers attacked, and you saved our skins like a dozen times over. Why aren’t you with them?” You look at him, willing him to be observant for just this once. “I just didn’t feel like going.” Peter rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. Stop being your dramatic little self and just come on. The rest will be happy to see you.” 

He extends an arm as if to drag you there himself. You sigh frustratedly. “Fine, Peter. I’m not being dramatic. I know there’s a party, and I also know that they very much do not want me there. I was there when Jean asked Storm to hang out with Scott, Kurt, and the rest. She knew I was there, she saw me, and she didn’t ask the same of me.” Your voice breaks off. “It’s pretty obvious that no one here wants me to be there. Hell, no one here wants me to be at this school at all, and the only one who can’t see that is you.”

Peter’s silent for a second, and you curse inwardly. Now you’ve gone and made Peter, the one person who’s been here for you, feel bad about himself. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just gets up and leaves now. But he doesn’t. In fact, a smile flashes across his face. “That’s because they’re idiots.” You look at him, confused. “What?” He laughs. “They’re idiots, and you’re an idiot for listening to them.” 

He gestures absentmindedly at you. “Y/N, you’ve got one of the coolest powers I’ve ever seen, and for what, so you can be sad about it? Are you really telling me you’d rather be an empath than control the shadows? That’s like, the neatest thing ever.” His words, spoken with such conviction, bring a laugh to your face as well. Peter’s eyes light up when he sees it. “See, there you go. Come on, let’s have some fun. We don’t need them if they’re being weird.”

Your laugh dies off quietly as you look back at him. “Why are you doing this? Why are you taking the time to make me feel better? You make fun of your own friends and rob convenience stores when you’re bored. Since when has Quicksilver gone this far out of his way to make somebody laugh?” Peter smiles at you, then leans forward. His lips are on yours, suddenly, his hand gently cupped against your cheek. Just as you’ve realized what’s happening, he’s back in his spot a few feet away again. He smirks at you. “That’s why.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “That’s why. Well, I guess that’s an acceptable reason.” Peter smiles. “Only acceptable? That’s not the best thing I’ve heard, but I suppose it’ll be okay for now.” He stands up, offering a hand to you. You take it. “So, are you coming with me or not? I intend to cause all sorts of chaos.” You look over at him, laughter dancing in your eyes. “Of course I am.”

Curiosity #6: Peter Maximoff loves you. And you love him.

peter maximoff tag list @amourtentiaa​

[eliemo]

Behind Closed Doors

Summary: The light sides are still learning how to help Virgil recover, and Virgil is still learning how to ask for what he needs. 

TWs: past abuse, blood and violence mention, past manipulation, yelling, arguments, misunderstandings 

Notes: This chapter literally would not exist without @self-taught-mess​ they’re amazing I love them - sympathetic light and dark sides, taglist at the end

Masterpost

It wasn’t like he’d never had any privacy before. 

Virgil had spent most of his life alone, and as much as he’d hated it, the isolation had been preferable to the beatings. 

Everybody had wanted as little to do with him as possible, and he’d understood perfectly. The only time any of the Others would enter his room was when they were furious, throwing open his door without warning, slamming it against the wall so loud it sent Virgil’s anxiety skyrocketing before a hand was even put on him. 

Now...just like with so many other things, the rules around his privacy were proving to be different. 

The light sides actually came to see him. He spent less time cooped up in his room now that he was gradually starting to feel welcome, slowly learning not to be so terrified to just walk into a room. 

If he tripped or stumbled, if the floor creaked under his weight or if he talked just a little too long...they wouldn’t hurt him. They’d promised they wouldn’t, swore to him no one ever would again, and Virgil was beginning to trust them. Slowly. It was still...hard to believe that things could actually be this nice for him. 

And when he was in his room, safe and closed off, he quickly realized how much...calmer it was when people came to see him. Virgil was always hyper aware of movement outside his door, of footsteps in the hallway coming closer, of someone angry storming towards his room. He was still working on memorizing each of the light side’s footsteps, but it soon proved unnecessary. 

They seemed to understand he liked his space, but when they did come to find him in his room, Patton and Logan always knocked. Other than the few times Deceit had needed to speak to him, no one had bothered to do that before. 

Then again, before the light sides no one had come into his room with any intention other than to punish him. There was no need for knocking when he was in trouble anyway. 

Patton’s knocking was slow and gentle, and the moral side would always call out to make sure Virgil was alright with company before opening the door. 

Logan’s knocks were quick and curt, but there was no aggression or impatience to the sound, and he always waited until Virgil said it was ok to come in. 

Roman had been careful to give Virgil his space when he was up in his room, but the two of them had gotten closer in the recent weeks, and there had been a few times Roman would come to him for help with an idea or an invitation to movie night. 

It didn’t take Virgil long to realize that Roman...didn’t knock. 

Which shouldn’t be a big deal. At all. Of course Roman didn’t knock- he was Roman. He was grand and dramatic and he liked to make an entrance, barging into rooms with dazzling smiles and powerful words. 

And of course it didn’t matter to anyone else, because no one was pathetic enough to dwell on meaningless things like that. God- this was why people wanted to hurt Virgil. He was annoying and panicked over stupid little things like the way someone entered a room. 

Nobody had ever knocked on his door before. So Roman not knocking shouldn’t be fazing him in the slightest. 

Except...except before, whenever someone would enter his room without warning, it meant they were angry enough that the beating couldn’t wait until Virgil came downstairs. 

He knew Roman wouldn’t hurt him- he knew that. Roman had been the first one to promise him safety, to hold him and tell him he didn’t deserve that, to swear to protect him as vigilantly as Virgil protected everyone else. 

But every time Roman would barge into his room, footsteps thundering in the hallway just seconds before the door flew open, Virgil had a hard time remembering that. 

The sickening panic would return each time, defenses raising automatically, Virgil hunching his shoulders and tensing, waiting for screams and punches that of course didn't come. 

He always missed the first few things Roman said, busy fighting to calm himself down before the Prince could notice his distress. 

Because how pathetic would that be, if they found out a door opening was enough to make him want to throw up? Each time he had to fight to keep himself from scrambling under his bed in a desperate attempt to hide from a punishment that wasn’t going to come. 

So he stayed silent. They already had to be ridiculously careful around him, he didn’t want to risk pushing his luck by asking for something else. 

He should have known that plan was bound to go wrong. Most things in his life always seemed to. 

Virgil was already tense and on edge from a particularly bad nightmare, hiding out in his room all morning, still too anxious to go to anyone for help despite them assuring him it was alright if he needed it. 

So when Roman burst into his room, calling his name with his usual extravagance, it was of little surprise to Virgil that he snapped before he could stop himself. 

“Jesus Christ, will you just knock?” 

Roman froze, smile dropping slightly as he furrowed his brow at Virgil. “Well excuse me, Doom and Gloom. You wouldn’t hear it anyway if you have your headphones in.” 

“Yes I would,” Virgil argued. Unless he needed the noise to drown out rising panic, he always kept his music quiet enough to hear movement outside his door. “But still, it doesn’t mean you can just barge in like you own the place. What if- what if I’m changing or something?” 

Roman scoffed, and Virgil suddenly felt small and cornered. “Oh, please. You mean the two seconds it takes to snap our fingers to switch clothes? Wanna try another excuse, Stormcloud?” 

Even the familiar nickname, usually gentle and endearing, felt cold and patronizing now. Roman smirked and crossed his arms, and Virgil knew the Prince was just teasing him. He’d been a dick, and Roman was responding with their usual banter. 

Virgil swallowed, frantically trying to come up with an excuse. ‘I blindly panic every time my door opens because I think you’re going to beat me’ would just make things awkward, and Roman would probably laugh and call him ridiculous. Or get angry. “Well...what if…”

He trailed off as Roman raised a cocky eyebrow. “Yes?” 

“Well maybe I just don’t want you in my room, Princey!” 

He shouldn’t be getting defensive, he shouldn’t be lashing out to combat the sudden panic in his chest. He should just tell Roman he wasn’t in the mood- tired from another round of nightmares- and if the Prince didn’t leave right now, things would only escalate. 

“Oh, please,” Roman scoffed. “Of course you do. You need something to lighten the mood in here. Were you planning on sitting in the dark all day?” 

He had- at least until the tension in his muscles had seeped away, the nightmare becoming nothing more than a faded memory, and he could function like a human being again. He really, really was not up for company, and he would have said as much if Roman had just knocked. 

“Maybe,” Virgil snapped. “I didn’t realize that was a problem.” 

He tried not to think about how if he’d ever dared to speak this way to one of the Others, he’d have already been a bloody mess on the floor. 

“It’s not a problem,” Roman replied instantly, his voice a bit too sharp for Virgil’s liking. He won’t hurt him, he would never hurt him. He had to keep repeating the mantra in his head. 

Roman continued with a quick flip of his wrist, moving his hair from his face in usual dramatic fashion. It really shouldn’t have put Virgil so on edge. “I just can’t understand why you always hermit away in here. I’m just coming in here to say hello, and personally I think you should be honored that I actually want to step foot in here at all.”

Did Roman sound angry? No. No, he...he was just annoyed. Irritated and judgy, maybe, but not angry.

 So there was no reason Virgil should be curling up just a bit tighter to try and hide how bad he was shaking. He really needed Roman to leave before he noticed. 

“Yeah, okay, well maybe not everyone thinks the way you do, Princey,” he snapped back, voice just as sharp as Roman’s had been, if not more so. “Maybe if people wanted you in their rooms they’d invite you.” 

Roman scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Knight in Shaking Armor. If we waited for an invitation we’d never see you.”  

Ok, ouch. It wasn’t Virgil’s fault he’d spent his entire life thinking that everyone would try to hurt him if he stepped out of his room. (Yes it was. It was his fault, he was the one stupid enough to believe it.) 

“What’s your deal?” Virgil demanded, ignoring the dark, terrified thoughts telling him to just shut up before he got hit. “Jesus, I just asked you to knock! I didn’t realize you had such a problem with privacy, Princey.” 

“Well maybe I’d respect your privacy if you weren’t being such a jerk about it!” 

Virgil reared back like he’d been struck, stomach dropping as his heart began to pound. He knew he was pushing Roman unfairly but he hadn’t thought...he’d just kind of hoped the light sides would be more gracious about this sort of thing. 

A naive part of him had hoped they hadn’t had rules like that at all.

Virgil was still the embodiment of anxiety, still wired to respond solely with fight or flight. He was already in his room, practically cornered, which meant there was nowhere else to flee for safety. 

Fight took over Virgil’s instincts. He could feel adrenaline start up through his veins as he moved to the edge of the bed and sat up straighter, glaring at the Prince still in his doorway.

“Roman, I swear to god it’s not that difficult to knock on a freaking door. I do it before bursting into your room, but you can’t return the favor?” Virgil gripped his bed sheets to hide how bad his hands were shaking. He suddenly couldn’t convince himself he wasn’t in danger. 

“Seriously, I thought  you were supposed to be a Prince.” Virgil’s own voice was reminding him of the growl of a frightened animal, guarded and too aggressive for this to still be considered friendly banter. 

“Oh, forgive me for not obeying your every command, Virgil. I came in here to be nice. I didn’t expect to be shouted at the moment I stepped inside! You’re being utterly uncouth!” 

“Uncouth?” he echoed. “Roman will you stop being a child and just get out of my room?” 

Roman rolled his eyes but at least took a step back out into the hall, not bothering to close the door as he went. “Fine. I’ll just go tell Logan and Patton how ridiculous you’re being.” 

And then he was gone, storming down the hallway with an undeniable air of anger and frustration, and Virgil was left completely frozen on his bed with the dawning realization of what he’d just done. 

Maybe...maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he didn’t have to panic yet. They’d stopped themselves from hurting him, even weeks after their promise, so maybe they didn’t have any plans to use nonviolent punishment either. 

He...he knew better than to really believe that. But maybe if he hurried, if he explained himself, they would understand and give him another chance. Because for the first time, he had people who actually accounted for his feelings before making a decision.

Looking back on the way he’d just treated Roman, he didn’t understand why they didn’t just grab him by the hood and slam him against the wall until he couldn’t see straight. 

He scrambled off his bed, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a moment to breathe, to will himself to stop trembling. Nobody was screaming for him, nobody was marching up the stairs to tell him of his punishment yet. He still had time to fix things. 

Roman’s remark about earning privacy was still ringing in his ears, an unfortunately familiar warning, and Virgil knew all too well what that would entail. But maybe he’d take it back if Virgil just swallowed his pride and apologized. 

He made his way down the hall, silently hoping he could make it downstairs before everyone decided it was best to go back to treating him like the villain. 

Those hopes quickly vanished when he made it to the bottom of the stairs and was immediately met with three pairs of eyes, all with varying levels of confusion and annoyance. 

“Oh, look who it is,” Roman announced and Virgil flinched, gripping the railing like a lifeline. “Patton, will you tell our local hermit to please control himself?” 

“Kiddo,” Patton warned, but quickly turned his gaze back on Virgil, frowning slightly. “Logan and I could hear you two yelling from down here. What’s going on?”

Virgil shrugged, suddenly intensely focused on his feet. “Nothing.” 

“He wanted me to knock,” Roman explained with a huff. “Which of course I would have done, if he had asked politely.” 

Logan raised a curious eyebrow, briefly glancing between the two. “Virgil, if there are boundaries you would like us to be aware of, you only need to say. There is no reason for a request like that to turn into an argument.” 

“Yeah,” Virgil muttered, fighting against the urge to flee. “I know.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Roman cross his arms, and he had to remind himself over and over again that no one was going to strike him. Even if they should. “Then why are you so worked up about it?” 

And Virgil had fully intended on explaining, on getting across to Roman that he knew it was stupid and selfish but when his door opened without warning it was impossible to see through his panic, to convince himself he wasn’t about to be left bleeding on his floor for the next few hours. 

But now, with everyone staring at him expectantly, cheeks burning red under the attention, he...he couldn’t. “I’m...I’m just tired.”

Roman laughed, short and void entirely of any humor. “He was tired. Well that excuses everything, doesn’t it?” 

Patton was watching Virgil with something much too close to pity. “Kiddos--” 

“You used to lock yourself up in your room all the time,” Roman complained, and Virgil felt that same spike of defensive anger. Because that hadn’t been his fault. Wasn’t that what they’d been trying to teach him to accept? “We just don’t want that to happen anymore!” 

Virgil tensed, holding the railing so tight his knuckles turned white. He...he hadn’t been trying to isolate himself again. Being welcomed and openly tolerated for the first time was one of the best feelings in the world. He wouldn’t trade his newfound family for anything. 

“Just...why are we even still talking about this? Why are you two involved?” 

He risked a glance up, wincing at the cold glare Roman was giving him, and the obvious confusion from Patton and Logan. 

“Because anger is not an effective way to communicate,” Logan said. “I understand that it is what you are used to, but it needs to be--” 

“Don’t say that to me,” Virgil snapped because- because no. No. He wasn’t doing that. He was not acting like the Others. He wasn’t like them. “Don’t ever say that to me, Logan.” 

Logan tilted his head, clearly a bit irked at the interruption. “Apologies, Virgil. But am I...incorrect?” 

“Yes! N-no...I- I don’t--” 

“Alright,” Patton mercifully interrupted, but his patience sounded forced. Virgil briefly wondered which one of them would lose their temper and advance on him first. “I think we all need to settle down.” 

Roman waved a hand at the stairs, and Virgil was glad no one was looking to see him flinch. 

“But it’s his fault,” the Prince argued. “He got mad first! For no reason!” 

“I just-” Virgil groaned, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Look, just knock. It’s not hard.” 

Roman whirled back around to face him, eyes brimming with exasperation and anger. “But it doesn’t matter!” 

“Yes it does!” 

“Why?” 

Virgil opened his mouth to answer, but the words got caught in his throat. God, he was shaking so bad. Why couldn’t he just shut up and let them do whatever they wanted? They already put up with so much. 

The amount of pain he should have received as punishment for this conversation alone-

He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t let himself panic. It wasn’t like that anymore. 

 “Look, it’s...it- it’s not…” He found himself glancing at Logan, who always seemed to somehow know what Virgil needed, but the logical side just raised an expectant eyebrow. Virgil groaned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You- why are you being such an ass about this?” 

“Me?” Roman demanded, and if he noticed Virgil flinch back at the sudden rise in volume he didn’t say anything. “You’re the one getting worked up over something useless! I’m not going to adhere to your every wish, Virgil! Why does it matter?” 

“Because maybe I’m convinced everyone who comes into my room wants to kill me, Roman!” 

The outburst was met with silence, unreadable expressions on the other side’s faces. Roman opened his mouth to respond but Virgil wasn’t done. Anger had reared its head like an ugly beast, taking control in one last desperate defense. 

“Maybe if you all bothered to tell me otherwise sooner, I wouldn’t be such a- a hermit or whatever. I didn’t know it was such a problem- you never bothered to talk to me until I was useful, anyway!” 

That wasn’t fair, he knew that wasn’t fair. That hadn’t been their fault. He’d been horrible, a villain they all hated. It was his fault. It always was. 

The living room was silent now, all eyes on him, and Virgil fought the urge to pull up his hood and risked a cautious glance at Roman, who no longer looked quite so angry. Shocked, definitely, but not necessarily mad. 

Which was weird. Virgil was almost positive that if he’d taken that kind of tone with any of the Others, he probably wouldn’t be able to walk ever again. 

Logan cleared his throat and took a step forward, and Virgil instinctively flinched back with his arms raised to shield his face. 

“Virgil--” 

“Whatever,” he practically growled, and dammit his voice was shaking too much for them not to notice. “Just- forget it, guys.” 

And before anyone could call him back he stormed up the stairs, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his hoodie. He was still fuming, shaky and unfocused, and he channeled the rest of his anger into grabbing the handle and slamming the door to his bedroom as hard as he possibly could. 

It was hard enough to make the walls quiver, the sound like a gunshot ringing through the halls of the mindscape, and it made him feel better for about two seconds before he realized what he’d just done. 

Oh god. Oh god they were going to kill him. 

He’d started a pointless argument because he was too pathetic to get over something simple, and then he’d stood there and yelled at everyone like they had done something wrong. 

They weren’t going to hit him. They’d promised, and they’d proven over and over again that they didn’t intend on breaking that promise, no matter how horrible he was. 

And he’d certainly shown them just how horrible he could be today, hadn’t he? Maybe now they would finally understand why he’d been put through all those punishments for so long. It was so much easier to deal with him when he was in pain. 

The argument could be worked through. Maybe. But then he’d slammed his door and...and he knew what the punishment was for that. Roman had confirmed it himself. 

Virgil understood that. His room was a safe space, somewhere to stay when things got too overwhelming to manage, and for the most part the other sides understood that. 

So taking privacy away entirely was the most effective punishment they had access to since violence had already been taken off the table. 

It was preferable to the beatings, obviously, but it still made sickening panic coil in his gut at the thought of it. At least they seemed to be giving him some time to cool down before his punishment, the hallway outside completely silent. 

God, he was an idiot. He was so stupid. Why couldn’t he do one thing right? Why couldn’t he just be grateful for what he had and not ruin everything for once in his stupid life? 

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to cry over his own mistake. That had always just gotten him in more trouble. 

Virgil pulled up his hood, breaths still short and shaking as he crawled back into bed where he’d already spent a majority of the day. Maybe the longer he stayed cooped up in here, the longer he could avoid the repercussions. 

It was unlikely. Punishments were never on his terms. 

He kept his eyes firmly shut, wrapping his blanket around him and burying his face in the pillow in a desperate attempt at letting everything fade for the time being. He was exhausted, both from the nightmares and the fight, and all he wanted to do was fall asleep and never wake back up. 

- 

He didn’t get his wish, unfortunately, but it was clear he’d at least managed to doze off for a couple hours, his room much darker than it had been before he’d shut his eyes, faint sunlight no longer shining through his curtains. 

At first he wasn’t sure what had woken him, everything still and silent, but then he heard the quiet knocking at his door again followed by a gentle voice. 

“Kiddo?” Patton called from the other side. “Can I come in?” 

Virgil groaned, still groggy and disoriented, wondering why Patton was still bothering to knock. He knew better than to push his luck by turning him away, taking a steadying breath before calling back. “Yeah. Come in, Pat.” 

Virgil pushed himself up into a sitting position, pulling his knees up to his chest as Patton slowly pushed open the door, hesitating in the entrance. 

“Hey,” he said softly, and Virgil wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer or not. “Did I wake you?” 

Virgil shrugged, eyes on his rumpled blankets. “It’s ok.” 

Patton continued to hesitate in the doorway, and Virgil scrambled to figure out why the moral side was still being so courteous. Was it some kind of trick? Was he trying to figure out how to best explain what the punishment would entail? 

“You up for talking, kiddo?” Patton asked, and Virgil knew better than to think he actually had a choice. “It can wait if you need some more alone time.” 

Virgil shook his head, heart beating frantically in his chest as he willed himself to stop trembling. The weaker he looked, the worse it always was. He cautiously raised his head to glance at Patton, a silent invitation. 

The moral side took a step forward before pausing again, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Do you want the door open or closed?” 

Virgil blinked, glancing between Patton and the hallway behind him. He didn’t...look angry, but the idea of having an accessible escape route set him at ease just a little. 

He couldn’t meet his gaze, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. “Can you leave it open?” 

“Of course.” 

Virgil watched with tense shoulders as Patton, true to his word, left the bedroom door open and carefully made his way over to the bed where the anxious side was miserably hunched over and waiting. 

“Kiddo--” 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, cringing when he realized he’d interrupted. “I- I’m sorry for- for fighting with Roman and- and for yelling and...and for saying those things about you guys. That wasn’t- that wasn’t your fault. I- I should have tried harder but I was stupid, and I just didn’t--”  

“Slow down, Virgil,” Patton said softly, and Virgil instantly fell silent. “You’re not stupid. And we know you didn’t mean what you said.” 

Patton had slowly lowered himself down on the bed, keeping a few inches between them. He reached forward, slowly, and Virgil flinched back before he could stop himself, eyes going wide. 

Patton quickly pulled his hand back. “I’m not gonna hurt you, baby. It’s ok.” 

Virgil looked down at his lap, squeezing trembling hands into fists. He was hard enough to deal with normally, but he’d been awful today. He couldn’t imagine how much Patton was regretting his decision right now. 

“You...you can if you want,” Virgil said quietly. “I won’t- I won’t say anything.” 

Patton made a choked sound, eyes wide in disbelief. Virgil wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong this time, but he’d made him upset and all his defenses were suddenly up. 

“Sorry!” he said quickly. “S-sorry, I was just trying to--” 

“No, it’s alright,” Patton said, and Virgil jumped at the feeling of warm hands suddenly covering his own. “But I don’t want to hit you, sweetheart. I will never want that.” 

Virgil’s head was starting to hurt, spinning in the way it usually did whenever they had discussions like this. “But...but everyone’s mad.” 

“We had a fight,” Patton agreed, looking unbearably sad. “It got a little out of hand, and everyone needed some time to cool off. Do you think Roman should be hit?” 

“What?” The panic hit full force again, but for an entirely different reason, protective rage and disbelief clouding his vision just at the thought of the Prince being treated like that. “Jesus- no! Of course not!” 

Patton tilted his head slightly. “Then, why should you?” 

“Because…” Virgil trailed off, almost certain Patton wouldn’t like any answer he came up with. His voice was small and unsure when he spoke again. “I...I deserve it?” 

Patton shook his head, and Virgil wondered if he was even more annoyed at him for not understanding. 

“You don’t,” he said. “You don’t deserve to be hurt any more than me, Roman, and Logan do. You’re always gonna be safe here with us, honey. Even when we fight.” 

Patton looked genuinely hopeful, his hands still gently holding Virgil’s own, and even though it didn’t really make sense, Virgil found himself relaxing. Patton wasn’t going to hurt him. No one was going to hit him for this. 

“Ok,” he relented. “I’m...I’m still really sorry. For- for yelling and...and slamming my door and stuff.” 

“I appreciate that, kiddo,” Patton said. “And you and Roman need to talk this out when you’re ready. But first...can you tell me what happened?” 

Virgil shrugged, figuring it was fairly obvious. “I was being an ass.” 

Patton didn’t even correct his language, just squeezed his hand slightly and leaned forward to try and meet Virgil’s gaze. He suddenly felt like he was being read like an open book. 

“You lashed out,” Patton said, and Virgil winced. “And...while it’s not an excuse, you don’t do that unless you’re already on edge. So what’s going on?” 

Virgil swallowed, suddenly feeling trapped despite Patton’s gentle encouragement. “I’m just...I’m just tired and anxious. I get short tempered sometimes, you know that.” 

Patton was silent, clearly waiting for him to elaborate, and Virgil had a second of blind panic when he realized he wasn’t sure what the other side wanted him to say. 

Did it sound like Virgil was making excuses? Did he think he was lying? Was he expecting a different answer? 

Patton sighed, but he didn’t sound annoyed or impatient, giving Virgil’s hands another gentle squeeze. “Can you tell me why the knocking matters so much to you?” 

Virgil tensed, resisting the urge to pull his hands away. “It...it doesn’t.” 

“It does,” Patton said. “It obviously matters a lot.” 

“It doesn’t,” Virgil snapped, and- great, he was doing it again. “It- it’s dumb and selfish and I shouldn’t have yelled at Roman over it. I can- I can get over it.” 

He was absolutely not going to start crying over this. He didn’t think Patton would snap and hit him over it, but he knew how obnoxious it was to listen to. 

“Honey,” Patton said, in that gentle, understanding voice that could always coax Virgil out of his spiraling panic. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” 

Dammit. Patton really sounded like he cared, like nothing could convince him that it wasn’t just another one of Virgil’s useless problems that he needed to get over by himself. 

Virgil groaned, pulling his hands free despite the way his chest ached at the loss of comfort, instead moving to run them through his hair. 

“It...it’s just…” He closed his eyes again, deflating, suddenly too tired to keep fighting. “This- this is the first time anybody has come into my room because they wanted to. You guys- you guys want to see me when you come in here.” 

Patton was watching him carefully when Virgil opened his eyes, looking a little lost but beginning to understand. He nodded, gently urging him to continue. 

“Nobody...the Others never came to see me unless they...unless they were mad. And they- they didn’t bother to knock, obviously, if they were just- just going to h-hurt me. And then you and Logan knocked and- and I know it’s dumb but it just...made me feel like I had some control, you know?” 

He took a shaky breath, once again refusing to meet Patton’s eyes. “When Roman kept...walking in without warning I just...forgot. I kept forgetting I was safe. The only time someone had done that was when they were...you know. It’s stupid, I know it’s stupid and I can’t expect to--”

“Kiddo no.” Patton’s hands were suddenly slipping into Virgil’s again, and where he’d expected resentment or annoyance, Virgil found only quiet concern. “It’s not stupid! Not at all. Kiddo...Virgil, why didn’t you tell us?” 

Virgil shrugged again, hating how obvious his trembling had become. “Because it’s just...it’s just knocking. I shouldn’t...I can get over it, it’s--”

“It’s not just knocking to you,” Patton said. “It might be small to us, but that means it’s something we can easily do to make you feel safer, Virgil.” 

“But it’s stupid!” 

“It’s something you need,” Patton corrected, continuing over any halfhearted protests. “Remember what Logan said about your recovery? We’re all doing our best, but we’re gonna end up stepping all over your triggers sometimes. You don’t need to feel bad for helping us learn. You never should be afraid to ask us for something that makes you feel better.” 

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Patton this time, just miserably curled in on himself and frantically tried to think of an acceptable response. “I...I’m sorry. For turning it into a fight.” 

“It’s alright,” Patton promised. “But you need to tell Roman and Logan why this is important to you, ok?” 

Virgil pushed down his panic, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get out of this. “Is Roman mad?” 

“Not anymore,” Patton said. “He knows he pushed you a bit, and he’s a little worked up about it. But he’ll be ok after you come down.” 

“It’s not his fault. I’m the one who--” 

“Placing blame isn’t important.” Patton slid off the bed, still holding Virgil’s hands, and carefully helped the anxious side to his feet. “Are you good to go downstairs? We can always wait.” 

“I’m...I’m good. I need to apologize.” 

Patton didn’t argue, just gave him a small smile and led them both out into the hall, hands still interlocked as they made their way down the stairs. 

Logan and Roman were in the living room when they arrived, sitting in silence on the couch and clearly waiting for whatever awkward scolding was inevitably going to occur after Virgil worked up the courage to properly explain himself. Great. 

“Hi,” he muttered, not sure how else to start, hesitating at the bottom of the stairs. He felt like a child, small and defenseless. “I’m...really sorry, you guys. All of you. I shouldn’t have snapped at you and- and I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean it.” 

Virgil heard Roman sigh, tensing on instinct until he glanced up to any anger or annoyance completely drained from his expression, his posture almost relaxed. 

“It’s alright, my Starry Night,” he said softly, and Virgil wanted to sob in relief. “I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive over something so silly.” 

And then the relief was gone, replaced with something cold and painful, and he suddenly remembered what had made him lash out in the first place. Because it...it wasn’t silly. It mattered to him. 

Luckily, he didn’t have the energy for anger anymore and Logan was speaking up before he could let himself say something stupid. 

“I also feel as though I should apologize,” he said, which was not what Virgil had been expecting. “While I was only attempting to decrease the tension, it appears I may have misspoken and succeeded in doing the opposite.” 

Virgil wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to dwell on the way he’d blindly snarled at Logan. “It’s fine, Lo. You didn’t do anything.”

“Still,” Logan said. “I want to make sure you are aware that it was not my intention to make any sort of comparison between you and...the people from your past. You are nothing like them, Virgil. And you never will be.” 

Virgil swallowed against the lump in his throat and quickly looked away, eyes suddenly embarrassingly wet. 

Roman made a sound that Virgil would have killed him for if he wasn’t suddenly so grateful for every person in this room. Even if he’d still lost the right to his privacy for however long they deemed appropriate, at least no one hated him. 

“Kiddo.” Patton was suddenly putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Virgil remembered they weren’t nearly done here. “Can you please tell them what you told me? About why it’s important to you?” 

Virgil thought he might actually prefer to fling himself into the sun than to admit it again, but Patton had said please and Roman was looking at him curiously, no judgment or tension to be seen. 

Besides, Roman deserved to know why he’d practically been screamed at out of nowhere, as shitty of an excuse as it was. 

“I still shouldn’t have yelled,” he said. “It’s just...before- before you guys, people only barged into my room if...if they were mad and didn’t want to wait until I came out to...do whatever they were gonna do to me. And I know it shouldn't be a big deal but- but when you open th-the door without knocking I just...panic. I- I forget that I don’t have to be afraid of you.” 

His words were met with heavy silence, and Virgil’s legs suddenly felt weak, knees wobbling under his weight. He dug his nails into his hoodie sleeves, refusing to meet Roman’s eyes, not ready to face any scorn or disbelief. 

“Virgil,” Roman said, barely a whisper. “Oh, Virgil I’m so sorry.” 

What?

Roman stood from the couch, but he didn’t approach or yell or call Virgil ridiculous. His eyes were wide and he looked...distressed? 

“I-I had no idea...Virgil I’m so sorry! I should never have gotten so angry with you, I...I should have just listened.”

“What?” Virgil hadn’t actually meant to speak aloud, but Roman was slowly walking forward, brimming with regret and hope as he reached for Virgil’s hands, which he numbly offered. “No, Roman don’t be- you literally couldn’t have known.”

“No, but I should have listened to you! I...I just thought...God, we always tell you to let us know how we can help you feel safe and- and I just got mad at you for it. I’m...Virgil I’m so very sorry.” 

“I should have just told you.” He’d messed up. He’d messed up, he’d lost privacy privileges and he’d made Roman upset. “I- I should have known you wouldn’t be mad. I don’t know why--” 

And then Roman had his arms around him, pulling him close in his familiar embrace of warmth and safety, and Virgil practically melted against his chest, returning the hug almost desperately. 

“Group hug!” Patton cheered, hurrying over to join as Virgil laughed. “You too Logan!” 

There was a sigh from the couch, though Virgil knew there was no real resentment from the logical side. “If I must.” 

The hug only lasted a minute or two, but Virgil let himself close his eyes and relax under the knowledge that he was still safe. Even if he’d messed up, even if he still needed to be punished, they weren’t going to hurt him. 

When they all pulled back, Roman lingered a moment with his hands ghosting over Virgil’s arms, smiling hopefully down at him. “Are we...good?” 

Virgil matched the smile, fighting to push down any thoughts of future punishment. “We’re good, Princey.” 

Patton actually clapped, grinning as he reached over to ruffle Virgil’s hair while Logan squeezed his shoulder, and Virgil was suddenly reminded that he was surrounded by the biggest dorks in the universe.  

“Thank you for informing us of the trigger, Virgil,” Logan said, blunt as ever but somehow...Virgil didn’t really mind. “You deserve to have control over who enters your room, and we will all be careful to respect your privacy in the future.” 

Virgil stepped back, a panicked ache returning to his chest at the reminder of what was coming. They were going to be careful in the future, which meant the world to him, but…

But he knew how this type of punishment went. He knew that he’d be suffering sleepless nights of staring into an empty hallway, always on edge and constantly looking over his shoulder, feeling miserably exposed and vulnerable. 

“Virgil?” Patton asked softly, and Virgil abruptly realized how tense he’d gotten, jaw clenched tight because he refused to cry over a punishment he deserved. “You ok?”

They were all so...nice. They were so, so kind to him. Maybe...maybe they’d be a little more lenient with this too? Maybe they’d at least tell him how long it would last in advance. 

“I- I know it’s kinda selfish to ask,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, but...how- how long until I can have it back?” 

His question was met with silence and blank stares, and he saw Patton frown and glance curiously at Logan, who furrowed his brow in response. 

Virgil flinched, even when no one moved, because he’d just managed to repair the damage he’d done, just gotten them to stop being angry with him, and now he’d messed everything up again-

“Virgil,” Logan said slowly, and Virgil warily met his eyes. “Until you can have...what back?” 

Virgil blinked and glanced briefly at the others, wondering if this was some kind of trick. But all he was met with were confused, worried stares, and he was painfully reminded of the first time he’d asked when they planned on hitting him. 

“My...my door?” 

He immediately regretted saying anything when Logan’s eyes went wide. “Your door?” 

“Wait, you think we’re going to take your door?” Patton asked, sounding oddly alarmed. “Why on earth would we do that?” 

“Because...because I have to earn privacy,” he said, like it was obvious. He sort of thought it was. “I was loud and I- I yelled. And I slammed my door, so obviously--” 

“Did they do that to you?” Patton asked. “Did they...did they say you had to earn your privacy?” 

“I- I mean, yeah. If I was too loud and they didn’t think I learned my lesson with...you know...the usual stuff, they’d take it down for a while.”

“Kiddo--” 

“Only sometimes, though,” he added, like he needed to defend them. “They- they knew I got really on edge when I couldn’t...uh, close myself off. I- I can’t really sleep without my door, so could it...maybe only be a couple days? I promise I won’t ever--” 

“We are not going to take your door,” Logan cut him off, watching Virgil with something unreadable behind his glasses. “That was yet another form of abuse, Virgil. You do not have to earn your privacy.” 

“You don’t have to earn anything,” Patton jumped in. “Your door isn’t a privilege!” 

Virgil shook his head, that same lost, hopelessly confused feeling returning with a vengeance. He wondered why it was always so hard for him to understand kindness. “But I thought...Roman said I had to earn my privacy, I thought--” 

“What?” The Prince looked affronted, taking a startled step back. “No I didn’t! I would never imply something like that!” 

“You...y-you did.” He wasn’t trying to argue, he just...didn’t understand. “You said...you said you wouldn’t respect my privacy if...if I was a jerk. After...after I yelled. I thought that meant--” 

“Oh, Virgil no.” 

And then Roman was pulling him into another hug, and as confusing as it was Virgil couldn’t find it in him to complain. 

It only lasted a few seconds, the Prince pulling back to cup Virgil’s face in both his hands, forcing him to look Roman in the eyes. 

The Prince gave an almost lopsided smile, his hold gentle. “I really need to start thinking before I speak, huh?” 

“What?” Virgil couldn’t shake his head without risking dislodging Roman’s hands, only able to stare with wide eyes. “N-no, it was my fault. I’m the one who--” 

“I’m the one who ignored your discomfort, Virgil. I wasn’t thinking. If anyone’s at fault here, it’s me.” 

“But I--” 

“I do not believe blame is important,” Logan spoke up, and Roman and Virgil quickly turned to him, the Prince’s hands dropping to his sides. “And we definitely do not need another argument over who is at fault.” 

Virgil winced, hunching his shoulders even if Logan sounded more amused than annoyed. “Sorry.” 

“No more apologies necessary,” Logan said. “We are all still learning to respect and understand each other. It will take some time and a lot of work, but today was a good learning opportunity. For all of us.” 

Virgil didn’t quite relax yet, still reeling from the revelation that he didn’t have to worry about losing his door now or ever, and entirely unable to comprehend how today could be anything other than exhausting for everyone. “How?” 

“You did really well explaining to me what was wrong,” Patton said, quickly continuing before Virgil could argue. “It took a bit of coaxing, but you’ve been taught to be scared of opening up, kiddo. That’s not gonna go away overnight.” 

“But you did it,” Roman added. “You were brave, Stormcloud, and I’m proud of you. And...and now I know what you need, and why I hurt you. I...I should have realized sooner, but--” 

“It’s ok,” Virgil said quickly. “It’s...it’s ok. You...you know now, right? And I- I know you won’t get mad if I tell you the truth.” 

“Of course,” Roman promised. “Of course I won't be mad at you. I- I know I messed up today, but I swear to you I’ll do better next time.” 

“We all will,” Logan agreed. “There will be misunderstandings and mistakes, from all of us, but they can always be worked through. You’re safe here, Virgil. That will never change.” 

They...they meant it. All of them, watching him with unabashed hope and adoration, wanting him to believe them. And he did. Even when a part of him, the parts that had been hurt over and over again, screamed at him not to. 

“Ok,” he said, still quiet and unsure, but steady all the same. “And I...I get to keep my door?”

He was almost afraid to ask, like maybe he’d crossed some sort of line by bringing it up again and all of their kindness would be abruptly ripped away. But Patton just smiled sadly and took his hand. 

“Nobody’s gonna take your door away,” he said. “Privacy isn’t something you earn, you don’t ever need to worry about that. We won’t hit you, kiddo. But we’re not gonna take away the things you need to feel comfortable, either.” 

Virgil’s throat felt tight, vision blurring as tears gathered against his will, but something loosened in his chest. “Oh.” 

He felt lightheaded, far away and a bit dizzy, and he was suddenly reminded of how little sleep he’d gotten, how endless the miserable night had been. 

“How about we move over to the couch?” Patton suggested, running his hand through a teary eyed Virgil’s hair. “I’ll get us some food, and you can doze off when you’d like, Virge.” 

Virgil nodded, not able to do much else in the moment, smiling when Roman began to lead him over to the couch, gently rubbing his back. “Sounds good to me, Padre.” 

Patton had sandwiches and chips on the coffee table in a matter of minutes- or maybe time was starting to move in a distant blur now that Virgil’s exhaustion was starting to catch up with him. 

They ended up curled up together with a vaguely familiar movie in the background, Virgil rested against Roman’s side with his head on Logan's shoulder. 

“Thank you.” It was nothing more than a quiet murmur, and he didn’t bother to wait for the response before shutting his eyes, letting himself drift away. 

He didn’t have any more nightmares that night, waking up the next morning tucked into his bed with his bedroom door closed.

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[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 3.2

Author’s Note:  We gotta add some Bennett to this chapter because he deserves all the love! Totally have a soft spot for him when I rolled him around two months ago.

"Why are we at a winery?" You eyed the standalone building sitting near a body of water.  It had been no more than a week since Xiao told you to keep quiet about your 'secrets' even though you weren't sure what they were.  

"We'll be getting Diluc's help until Xiao comes back," answered Aether.  

Right.  Xiao's leaving.  You scrunched your nose up in protest but didn't say anything.  The yaksha had left the group for a couple days after your 'contract' was made, and the entire time Childe was practically chained to your side.  How long would he be gone for, if Aether thought it was necessary to get another person on the team?  You didn't want to know the answer.

And Xiao wasn't the only one temporarily leaving, either.  Zhongli, the only other person you could supposedly trust, left once Xiao returned a few days ago.  Something about trouble at the funeral parlor? Something told you that was a lie.

"Paimon thinks Diluc and Childe on a team would be a disaster," the mascot let out a nervous laugh.  "Are you sure it's okay for them to meet each other?"

"Yeah, about that--Childe, can you keep your Fatui side in check?"

"Whatever do you mean, Traveler?  I'm sure this Diluc fellow wouldn't be that upset with me.  Besides, I don't mind wearing my status on my sleeve."

"Yeah, we know! That's the problem."  Paimon crossed her arms and shook her head.

"You'll need to hide it from Diluc."  Aether stopped walking and faced the Harbinger.  "Can you do that?"

Childe was about to object the idea when you half-muttered under your breath.  "I thought hiding things was your specialty?"

His mouth remained open for an extra second, and his eyes narrowed significantly at your comment.  He took it as a challenge...or perhaps a type of threat?

Even Xiao was surprised at your sudden confrontation.

"Well?" Aether prompted without having heard you.

"Of course.  Anything for a comrade," Childe cleared his throat and flashed his signature smile.

.............................................

"How long will you be gone?"

You somehow managed to catch Xiao alone while everyone was inside the winery.  You had thought the two of you had gotten closer since you remembered your past, but it was like he was purposely pushing you away.  His replies had only gotten shorter since then.  

"I don't know.  A few days if I'm lucky."

"Do you have to leave?" Your shoulders dropped in clear disappointment.  "What's all the rush even about, anyway? Are you ever going to explain why I have to keep qui--"

"Lower your voice," the yaksha warned.  He folded his arms across his chest and glanced around the deserted patio.  "I told you, we cannot discuss this.  Someone could be listening--"

"But WHO?  The least you could do is tell me who!"  You stood taller and squared off with the yaksha.  He just sighed and turned his back to you.

"I'm leaving."

"Zhongli isn't here either," you continued, spewing the words out more desperately this time in an effort to keep him from leaving.  "You said I couldn't trust anyone except you and him.  What do you expect me to do if both of you are gone? And how do you expect me do deal with Childe and his stupid jokes?  You're scaring me by keeping me in the dark like this."

Xiao hesitated, but walked towards you anyway.  He stopped once he was close enough to whisper.  "There is a possibility we are both in danger.  That is all I can tell you; revealing more would risk losing our advantage to the enemy."

"But...who is the enemy?"

Xiao's gaze didn't reveal an answer, much to your dismay.  "Do you remember what I told you back then?"

"Huh?"

"If you're in danger."

"Oh."  'Say my name.  Adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call.' "Yes."

"Good.  I'll return soon."  He disappeared before your eyes, leaving behind a gentle breeze that caressed your hair much like he did not too long ago.

.............................................

You returned to the group in a somber mood inside the winery.  There, you were greeted by a man that couldn't have been more than six years older than you.  He didn't appear to be in great spirits either.

"Good.  While we're at it, why don't we see about getting the Knights of Favonius to join us?"

"We'll just need Bennett--" Aether defended.

"Relax, I was only joking.  I need to check in on Angel's Share anyways.  Shall we get going?"  The man's eyes landed on you.  "So you're the only one without a vision?"

"U-uh, unfortunately," you laughed nervously.

"I've been training her since she joined the team.  Her sword skills aren't half bad."  Child sauntered over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder.  Now that you were without Xiao's protection, you tensed under his grip, feeling that it was somehow more threatening. But this was just his usual display of respect for his teammate.

"As long as we don't run into Fatui, you should be just fine," Diluc assured you once he noticed your uneasiness.

"I don't think we'll have that problem," Childe laughed, much to the annoyance of Paimon.  She rolled her eyes and disappeared with a poof.

..............................................

You've never seen someone have so much bad luck in your entire life.  From the time of recruiting Bennett on the team to the time the group left Mondstat, he had already found a way to get injured over five times.  Your mouth hung agape at this last time, in which you all had walked past some pigeons that suddenly decided to peck at Bennett's head.

"Are you okay?" You swatted the pigeons away before they could peck an eye out.

"Ha, yeah," Bennett shyly rubbed the back of his head.  "It's like I said earlier, all I have is bad luck!"  Despite this, it didn't stop the boy from smiling ear to ear.  "This is nothing, really."

"O-okay.  If you say so."  You walked along side him, while the rest of the team took the front.  

"So you're from Liyue?" Bennett kicked a stone and nearly stumbled.  He played it off so that it appeared he meant to walk backwards next to you.

"Yup.  I live in Quince Village."

"Nice! I've been there a couple times for commissions.  The rice fields are really pretty when the sun sets.  The squirrels aren't that friendly, though."

"Does every animal attack you?"

"Not all of them, but I would say a decent chunk of the population has it out for me," he chuckled.  "When I'm at the guild, my dads usually scare them off."

"Your dads?"

"Oh! Well, I was found as a baby and brought back to Mondstat.  The older men in the guild raised me, so I call them my dads."

"I see."  You thought back to your Granny, who was no doubt worrying over the fact that she hadn't heard from you the past couple months.  "An old lady, my Granny, took me in when I was a toddler."

"Were you abandoned too?"  Bennett asked almost too eagerly, with a hope to finally connect with someone.

"No.  I was--well, I can't really talk about it.  I shouldn't have said anything."

"O-oh, sorry about prying.  I tend to drive people away once they know me, so I was afraid--"

"Don't worry, I'll tell you at some point.  I just can't talk about it right now," you gave him a small smile for reassurance.  He was practically beaming as he smiled back at you.

That's right, Childe recalled the day he first met you.  That old lady was her caretaker.  She may know something...

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 4- Four Marks

Summary: Your travels have taken you to a tavern where you meet the most unlikely of individuals. Then as per usual, trouble ensues.

Warnings: getting manhandled by some elves

Masterlist

Laughing into your mug, you catch the annoyed gaze of your silver haired lover who sits quietly to the right of you on this wooden bench, your backs resting against the stone wall. Its been a couple long weeks since either of you have had moment like this to just sit around and drink with each others company. Geralt may not particularly enjoy the surrounding company of the other tavern goers who fill the hall with their loud speaking voices and obnoxious laughter. But he knows just how much you love the easy entertainment of the civilians living their lives as they have a merry go of it.

"Did I not tell you my seductive powers would work wonders with that idiot from Bruna?"

"You did." Mutters Geralt humorously as he side eyes you.

"Ha, exactly. He had not a chance, try and steal Roach again and you will sorely regret it." You boast happily before taking a swig of your drink, "Hmm, this tastes not half bad either. I've had better of course, but this, not a terribly shit drink in all honesty."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it then."

You smile brightly at your stoic Witcher, he appears rather unenthusiastic but you know what emotions lay behind those two golden eyes of his. He's greatly content having you sit next to him and ramble on about your cleverness in the face of mortal men. He'd have no one else in the entire Continent do such a thing but you, and that's why you love him.

"Right? Great mead, anyways I am a force to be reckoned with, and you know he might have even pissed himself once I gave him a fright. It's what I like to do, lure them in with coy beauty and.." You scrunch your nose while making a fist, "...I got them in my clutches. They never even saw it coming."

"Not once." Agrees Geralt as you lean an elbow against the table to lazily look up at his handsome face.

"You know what?" You ask slyly, scarlet irises trailing all around his face.

"Hmm?"

"You actually look very nice in this lighting, the way you just look around at everyone like you hate the world. It's very sexy." He raises a brow as you smile, "Aside from the stench of horse, sweat, and blood that seems to ever linger on your skin..there's just something about your particular scent that I cannot quite put my finger on."

"You tell me this monthly."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Maybe it has to do with my blood?"

"No. Witcher blood tastes like old mule piss." You add before caching yourself, "Which I wouldn't have the slightest idea personally why. However I know a vampire or two who have divulged in that luxury and have lived to tell me....Not that it's a luxury as in a positive sort of mind, more so, an experience of indulgent sumptuousness for my kin." You're really trying to make this sound less horrendous.

"Drinking Witcher blood?"

You shrug half defensively through a sheepish grin, "What? I never said they killed these Witchers. Okay, okay, that also sounds bad. I promise you though, if they would have killed one of your brethren they would have boasted about the bloodshed. It's what vampires do. So no worries, your friends at Kaer Morhen are most certainly still breathing." Geralt simply holds back a grin as he shakes his head at you and your rambling.

He doesn't care if you know what Witcher blood tastes like, he wouldn't even care if you personally have tasted Witcher blood against your own tongue. He just doesn't want you to stop speaking, it distracts him from the sounds of the tavern goers and that bard. Geralt hums, "Y/N that could have happened three hundred years ago for all I know."

You pause a moment to think, eyes glancing from the window to him as you give a casual shrug, "It might have."

Soon the not terribly horrendous sounds of a bards singing fills your ears with the sweet tunes of an old lute giving what it can to the world as other tavern goers throw bread at the singing man. Oh right there's a bard here. You keep your witty comments to yourself as Geralt keeps his tense stare down with the wooden table while he tries not to grab anyone's unwanted attention, when you glance over to the bard again he's notably walking your way, drink in hand. What now?

Bringing your drink to your lips, you eye up the brightly colored bard as he saunters over, a peculiar smile playing at his features while he leans against a wooden pillar, "I love the way you two just...sit in the corner and brood, minus you my dear lady, what an odd place for such an exquisite creature to..."

"We're here to drink alone." Interrupts Geralt gruffly, you set your drink on the table, a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

The bard nods, looking down for a second before his blue eyes scan over you and Geralt once again, "Good. Yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except.." The curious bard walks around the oaken pillar before sitting down across from you and Geralt, "for you two. Come on. You don't want to keep a man with...bread..in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less." Inquires the cheerful bard, a smile upon his bright visage as he waits patiently for an answer. You pull your legs up onto the bench, leaning your right side into Geralt's strong body as you relax a bit more, amused by this bards bold questioning.

"They don't exist." You finally answer, tucking your hands under your arms as you attempt to get a little bit more comfortable. The bards give you a quizzical look, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"What...doesn't exist?" Ponders the bard as he raises a dark eyebrow at you.

"The creatures in your song." Retorts Geralt bluntly.

"And how would you two know?" Vouches the bard with a smile, excitement upon his face at this little guessing game he's just thrust upon himself, "Oh, fun. White hair...two very scary looking swords.." He quietly proclaims turning his attention now to you, "Hmm marvelous, irises the color of roses...dagger at your hip..." Geralt suddenly begins to get up, done with the bards never ending questions. You stand up yourself, the bard just continues to look at you two like you're the most interesting beings in the whole world, "I know who you two are." He confidently rules out while happily watching you both from his chair.

Geralt walks past him as you follow at his side, the two of you heading for the door as the bard jumps up to trail along, "You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia....and you're the dhampir princess, Y/N of Alkatraz. Called it!" Concludes the bard enthusiastically, much too loudly for your liking. You ignore the turning faces of the other tavern goers before a curly haired young man rises to his feet before you can reach the door to freedom.

"A job I've got for ya's. I beg you." He pleads almost nervously, you halt your movement as Geralt does the same, the two of you abruptly turning to face the man, "A devil...he's been stealing all our grain. In advance, I'll pay you. A hundred ducat." His eyes nervously shifting from you to Geralt.

"One fifty." Chides Geralt, the man immediately pulls out a small sack of coin previously hidden within his coat, a hopeful smile upon his pimply face.

He flashes you a warm grin as his gaze shifts from you to Geralt once again, "I've no doubt either of you'll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear." He gives Geralt the sack of coins, the bard watching intently in the foreground, time to kill a devil then.

——

You were able to walk bard free all the way to the gates of the small mountainous tavern and twelve feet into the gravely dirt road before the bard had tracked you two down. Now here you are, a good distance onto the road as you head for the hills where this devil hides, Geralt leading Roach as you walk in front of them, the bard trying to converse with Geralt to his immediate left.

"Ah. You guys need a hand? I've got two. One for each of the, uh, devil's horns." Confirms the bard breathlessly, trying to keep up with yours and Geralt's quick pace up the hill.

"Go away." Grumbles your annoyed Witcher.

You snicker, just imagining what Geralt's face looks like right now as the bard continues to pester him, "I won't be but silent back-up." The bard cheerfully exclaims, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis, you turn to look at him with an amused grin upon your face.

"Yeah I bet you really know how to muzzle that continuous yapper of yours." He smiles back at you, turning his attention back to Geralt.

"I heard your note, and, yes, you're right, maybe real adventures would make better stories..."

"That's if you survive them." You interrupt with a smirk, glancing back around, catching the animated face of the bard.

He smiles to himself as he holds onto the strap of his old lute, "Yes well, you two, smell chock full of them...amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion?" You turn your head to give him a questioning look, he gives you a quick nervous smile before continuing, "It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak, not for you two of course it's just a meaning..."

"It's onion." Mutters Geralt.

"Blood." You add.

"Right, Yeah. Yeah. Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia and his dangerous lady Y/N of Alkatraz...the-the Butchers of Blaviken!" Bellows the dreaming bard, throwing his hands into the air, Geralt suddenly stops moving, turning to face the smiling idiot.

In one quick motion he punches the bard in his stomach, sending him staggering back onto the dusty road in a coughing and sputtering mess. Geralt turns back to you with a nod before he and Roach continue on past you, you give the bard a diverted look as he slowly picks himself up.

"You've been punched by a Witcher, how's that for your first taste of adventure?" You muse, raising an eyebrow at him.

Clearing his throat of dust he grins at you, "Better then I had hoped." He replies while letting out a small chuckle as he follows you up the road.

——

"Geralt of Rivia, the-the White Wolf or-or something. Mind if I hop up? I'm not really wearing the right footwear." Suggests the bard as he attempts to reach out for Roach's rider-less backside. You sit upon the mare in front of your man, Geralt kindly letting you lean into his leather armor clad torso as he holds her reigns.

"Don't touch Roach." Warns Geralt, the bard immediately pulling away.

"Yeah, right, yeah." He disappointingly replies as you lightly chuckle at the two of them. Soon you and Geralt reach a small tree, where Geralt jumps down to tie off Roach, you sliding off to take a sharp look at your rocky surroundings. The bard watches intently at what your plans are next, deciding to deliver some historical information about the landscape as he tells you how elves called this place Dol Blathanna before they gave it up to the humans. You let him ramble on, unaware you already are educated on the history of this part of the continent, you are almost five hundred years old after all.

You raise your head to find an opening in the large rock formation where the trail appears to lead. Geralt walks past you, sharing an annoyed look as you both listen to the bard rambling on about something you're not listening to. Geralt lets out a huff before turning around and walking down the dusty trail, you trailing after him as the bard lingers in the background.

Your crimson eyes trail over the nearby clusters of tall grasses as the bards loud voice fills your ears, "Geralt? Y/N? Wh-where are you two going? Guys, don't leave me. Helloooo? What are we lookin for again?" Inquires the bard noisily from behind the two of you while you walk past straggly protruding rocks and tall green grasses on either side.

"Blessed silence." Mutters Geralt.

"Yeah, I don't really go in for that. Have you two ever hunted a devil before?" He wonders as both you and Geralt stalk silently towards wherever this devil lays hiding in the brush.

"They don't exist." You add, pulling out your large silver dagger as you listen intently for any unusual sounds.

The bard continues to ramble on while you catch the sight of something tall hidden in the grass, you can hear the rapid heartbeat of this nervous creature. A second later a tiny stone shoots from out of nowhere, slicing Geralt on the forehead as the bard cheers excitedly about how "act two" of his adventure has begun. You watch as his eyes go wide once they spot the devil rising from out of the greenery, you turn to squint at the creature, unsure of what it truly is from here.

"Oh fuck." You whisper before it launches another stone right at you, with supernatural speed you shift to the side where the stone flies past your head, this time knocking out the chatty bard in the process. You and Geralt share a confused glance as you turn to search for this horned fucker before he ends up bloodying you next time. With the beast lost from your vision, you zero in on his thudding heartbeat, not even fifteen seconds later does the devil burst forth from the tall grass. Launching Geralt a good couple yards back as you watch in bewilderment, to taken aback to help him with his unexpected assault.

Within seconds your Witcher is on the hooved half-man, pinning him to the ground as they exchange clever insults with one another. You catching the creatures name to be Torque the Sylvan as it yells at Geralt before he punches the Sylvan in the face to daze him.

Suddenly you can hear the irritated thumping heartbeat of an unfamiliar being when something cracks you across the side of your head from seemingly out of nowhere, sending you staggering to your knees as a small trail of blood trickles down the side of your temple. Your hands catch yourself on the rough gravely dirt as your knees jab into some rocks while you land. When you look up again a large shadowed person is standing above you before they violently bash you in the face with their boot, then darkness.

——

When you wake up again your hands are chained to the wall and a steel collar has been tightly locked around your neck. Your eyes slowly look up to find an unconscious Geralt tied to an equally unconscious bard. The small stony cave prison smells of recent activity in the tell tale scent only an elf could have, shaking your head in agitation you listen to the quiet clinking of your chains. This is not how you intended for today to go.

When you try to pull at your restraints for the first time, you're welcomed with an intense burning sensation flaming the flesh of your left wrist. It appears whoever has taken you prisoner has coated this specific constraint with silver, so whenever you move it just right the metal makes contact with your exposed wrist, fantastic.

After waiting another ten minutes and listening to the bard complain once he finally awoken, Geralt at long last stirs, his eyes going wide as he desperately tries to look around the small stone room. Clearly in a panic and unsure how he got here in the first place.

Letting out an irked sigh you kick his foot to gather his distracted attention, "Oh good you're finally conscious, I thought I was gonna have to kick you awake." You quip at Geralt as the bard chuckles from behind him.

"Now, this is the part where we escape."

"This is the part where they kill us." Grumbles Geralt.

"Who's they?" Asks the bard before an elven woman races into the room, she smells almost sickly and looks even more furious as she kicks them in the head, quickly shutting them up as they grunt in pain.

"Beast." She fumes in Eldar, kicking Geralt once again as you hiss at her, gaining a satisfied smirk upon her elven features, you'd rather enjoy smacking that off her face. A dark curly haired one walks into the room, immediately his eyes catch the bards old lute laying on the floor next to your dagger and Geralt's sword.

You can't see as the bards eyes go wide in fear, "Oi, that's my lute, give it back!" Whines the bard as Geralt gives the she-elf a furious glare, "Quick Y/N, do your scary vampirey thing!" He quickly urges, you'd love nothing more then to shift into a half bat creature and scare the flesh right off this she-elf's bones, but a little problem called silver is preventing you from doing so.

"Shut up." Grumbles Geralt as the she-elf first kicks you in the legs and then Geralt, you're more pissed off then in actual pain from her brief assault.

"You shut up!" She barks in Eldar.

"My Eldar speech is rough. I only got part of that." Replies the bard as you roll your eyes.

"She said shut up." You implore before getting kicked again, the burn of the single silver handcuff sending fire into your wrist as you bite back the pain. The bard then replying to you in broken Eldar as you tell him to "fuck off" back in the same language, Geralt flashing you a confused grimace, unaware that you're fluent in Eldar.

"Do you wanna die right now?" She sasses, staring them down.

"As opposed to later?" Growls back Geralt as she kicks him harshly in the stomach, doing the same to the bard as he cries out for his now broken lute.

"Leave off!" Barks Geralt as she walks around to fiercely punch him in the face.

Your eyes shimmering blood red as anger flashes through them, "I'll slit your fucking throat you elven cunt!" You hiss as she whips around to thrust a boot into your side, the silver chain sizzling your broken flesh at the jarring impact sending you into a flurry of muffled curses, Geralt's eyes softening as he watches you grimace in pain, wishing he could do something about it.

Weakened with this one silver coated cuff, you're not even strong enough to break out of here. Damn silver.

The she-elf scoffs as she glares at the three of you tied up, "You don't deserve the air you breath!" Smack, directly into your Witcher's cheek, "Everything you touch, you destroy!" Another blow straight onto his face in the same moment that the curly haired elf breaks the bards lute in two. Well there goes that.

"You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!" Screams the bard angrily as you lift your head up higher so your steel collar can't completely suffocate your windpipe, the sting in your wrist keeping you alert and ready to fight.

She sneers at him, "Do you like my palace? Hmm?" She grins maliciously, crouching down to take Geralt's fuming bloody face in her hand, "Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?" She challenges quietly before you pull on your chains, striking her roughly in the nose with your boot, the burning of the silver worth her pained gasps as she stumbles backwards. Falling onto the sandy floor of the stone cave as she sputters and coughs, spiting out a glob of blood while the bard laughs.

"Yeah, take that, pointy!" He cheers as she coughs and wheezes some more from her pathetic spot on the ground, the bard suddenly looking concerned, "Wait, what's-what's wrong with her?" He wonders, trying to twist his head around to find you and Geralt. Suddenly a blonde haired elf and the Sylvan enter into your small stony prison.

"She's sick." He simply states, reaching down to kindly tend to his fallen companion from the ground.

Giving him a bewildered look you lean against the stony wall, "And who the fuck is this?" You snap, lightly pulling on your chains in frustration.

"He's Filavandrel, King of the Elves." Quickly answers the Sylvan as he rushes to the fallen elleths other side.

"Not a king by choice." Affirms the elven king Filavandrel as he glances over the three of you.

Geralt's brows furrow in thought, "You were stealing for them." He concludes with a sneer, blood still present on his lips, the Sylvan turning to answer him.

"I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blathanna."

"Forced out? No, they chose..." Starts Geralt.

The elven king snaps his attention over to Geralt, "Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? To starve? To have a Sylvan steal for them?" Angrily interrupts Filavandrel before turning his attention back to the she-elf, "Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt."

"What's three humans in the ground when countless elves have died?" She sneers, a messy trail of blood dripping down from her nostrils.

"One human. And you can let him go." Protests Geralt with a nod in the bards direction.

"Then Posada will learn that we've been stealing. The humans will attack. Many will die...on both sides." Insists Filavandrel as he stands, walking over to look down at Geralt and you.

"The lesser evil." Replies Geralt as he raises his head to look at the elf king in the eyes, "No matter what you choose, you'll come out bloody and hating yourself. Trust me." The elven king crouches down, almost at eye level with your fuming Witcher, he's in a perfect position to crack across the back of his scull, but smartly you think otherwise.

"That's the problem. I can't. This is necessary." Implores the elven king.

"I understand. As long as you understand...that it won't be long before you follow me in death." Replies Geralt dramatically.

The elven king scoffs, "Yes, because they pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic."

"Chaos is the same as it's always been." You finally add, he turns to look down at you, "Humans just adapted better."

"You say adapt, I say destroy." Corrects Filavandrel, anger lacing his every word.

"You are choosing to starve. You're cutting off your ear to spite your face." You vouch back, his face morphing into one of great resentment and irritation.

"You think this is about pride?" He yells, "My elders worked with humans and got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered. "The Great Cleansing," humans called it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved. And now the humans proudly watch these very fields grow...our babies fertilizer for their grain. I don't wish to bury anyone else....I was once Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Now I'm Filavendrel of the Edge of the World. If I bring my people down from these mountains, it would mean bowing down to human sovereignty....They'll make slaves of us. Pariahs of half-blood children." Explains the elven king, sadness and hatred coating his very words, you truly do feel for him and all his kind have endured at the greedy hands of humans.

"Then go somewhere else. Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more then what they fear you to be." Argues Geralt, trying to help these elves see the light.

"Like you, Witcher?" Whispers Filavandrel.

"I have learned to live with them." His golden eyes suddenly finding yours before he looks back up at the elven king, "We both have, so that we may live." The she-elf, Toruviel jumps to her feet.

"Please my king. There are others. A new generation. Evellien who wish to fight! Let's take back what's ours. Starting now." She insists confidently, Filavandrel pulls his dagger from its sheath and your breath catches in your throat at what he may do next.

"Don't fucking touch him!" You growl, pulling at your tightly restrictive chains, the clink and slink of the metal sounding throughout the stony room, right as the Sylvan races to the kings side. "Wait!"

"Torque, stand aside!" Shouts Filavandrel sharply.

"The Witcher could've killed me. But he didn't. He's different. Like us." Swears Torque the Sylvan, Filavandrel simply pushes him aside as you pull on your steel chains, it almost feels like you can't breath with how tight the collar is around your throat, the fiery burning of your wrist oozing red hot blood from beneath the silver cuff and onto the dusty floor.

Your Witcher simply watches Filavendrel's every move, a defiant look his his golden eyes, "If you must kill me...I am ready." Pledges Geralt softly, staring down the elven king the whole time, no this cannot be the end, not now.

Pulling even harder on your iron chains, you growl at the king, "If you end his life I will coat the walls of your golden palace in the blood of every living creature that crosses my path!" You scream furiously, tears welling up in the corners of your scarlet eyes as you violently yank on your chains, more blood seeping out from your silver cuffed wrist.

Geralt sadly glances to you before looking back up at the elven king holding his dagger, "But the Sylvan's right. Don't call me human." Continues Geralt as Filavandrel moves to his side for a better angle to slit his throat. To your absolute horror Geralt locks eyes with you before tilting his head up, opening up his neck for a clean shot of his jugular.

Your face falls before turning into a wolf-like snarl, "I cannot promise you a clean death. But by god, I will let you watch your people suffer!" You cry desperately as the elven king raises his silver dagger, wet salty tears unknowingly begin streaming down the sides of your cheeks as your eyes go wide in hopeless dread. Filavandrel gives you one last look before thrusting his dagger upon your lover.

——

You sit silently upon the back of Roach as she's guided by Geralt who keeps one hand on the leather reins and the other hand across your waist. Your fingers hold onto his muscular arm tightly as a white bloodied cloth covers your left wrist where the silver cuff burned and tore at your flesh. It still stings and most definitely wont heal for awhile, but your pain doesn't matter, all that's of your concern is the fact that Geralt's alive and so are you.

"Credit where credit is due." Starts the bard as he walks beside Roach and the two of you, "That whole reverse-psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way." Says the bard before comically imitating Geralt's gruff voice, "Kill me. I'm ready." Geralt glares down at him before the bard continues, "Oh and you Y/N, with those incredibly convincing bloody threats, genius, they looked terrified.." He boasts for you, "That's the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly's coin to the elves."

"Filavendrel's lute not a charming enough gift for you?" You wonder, the bard swaggers with each step, a bright smile upon his dirty face.

"Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn't she? I do have respect for Filavandrel. He survived the Great Cleansing once. Who knows? Maybe he can do it again? Be reborn." Suddenly the bard begins to sing, "Will the elf king heed, What the Witcher entreaty? Is history a wheel. Doomed to repeat? No that's...that's shit." Surmises the bard, squinting his eyes as the sun beams down brightly upon the three of you on the dusty dirt path.

"This is where we part ways, bard, for good." Remarks Geralt as you lean into his body, turning your head towards the bard.

"I promised to change the public's tune about you two. At least allow me to try." He politely insists as he whips his lute around to gently strum her cords, "When a humble bard. Graced a ride along. With Geralt of Rivia..." Sings the bard, happily strumming away at his new lute as he makes it up on the go, "And so cried the Witcher. He can't be bleat..."

"That's now how it happened." Grumbles Geralt as he quickly halts Roach, "Where's your newfound respect?" Wonders Geralt as the bard turns to look at him, an unbothered smile creeping onto his face.

Shaking his head he looks up at Geralt, "Respect doesn't make history." He corrects before turning around once again, "Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plenty. O Valley of Plenty, oh-oh-oh. Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plentyyyyy." He sings loudly, continuing to delightfully strum at his prized lute while taking the lead down the dirt path, out of earshot from your whispering.

Hugging Geralt's strong arm that's lazily casted over your abdomen, do you lightly laugh at the bards antics and Geralt's moodiness, "It's a bit catchy isn't it?" You muse while craning your neck to catch his annoyed golden irises, "Why not keep him around...until he gets sick of us or...maybe eaten by a werewolf, who knows."

Geralt raises a single eyebrow to you, "Our nights under the stars are about to get uncomfortable." He simply replies, hugging you pleasantly closer as he clicks his tongue for Roach to walk again. You chuckle at his adorably concerned remark, glad that today didn't end in sorrow and death for once.

-

Tagged:  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

[melanielocke]

Conceal don't Feel - Two

Love is an Open Door

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @alastair-appreciation-month @writeordie-4 @amchara

AO3

Previous chapter: One: Do You Wanna Build a Snowman

Next chapter: For the First Time in Forever (to be posted)

Cordelia had never been so disappointed in her entire life. She’d been promised a guest, someone closer to her and Alastair’s age, someone who could end her days of loneliness and be her friend. Father had told her about it himself on one of his better days, he’d invited someone of her generation to come help Alastair. She knew the guest would be there mainly for her brother, of course, but Alastair hated being around people and she was sure whoever the guest was would have plenty of time to spend with her instead. She’d longed for someone to end her loneliness for such a long time she had started fantasizing about the person who would be staying until she’d gotten some admittedly unrealistic expectations. Instead, Charles Fairchild had arrived.

He wasn’t as close to her age as had been promised. Instead, he was eight years older than her, which she guessed was technically her generation, but he found himself far too mature to spend time with silly little girls like her. Not to mention, of course, that he was here for Alastair, and Alastair alone. With Father sick so often and Mother filling in, Alastair needed someone to teach him how to be a king. Somehow, her brother tolerated Charles’ presence whereas he still told Cordelia to go away and leave him alone whenever she approached him. After a few weeks she learned Charles had a younger brother around Cordelia’s age, but of course he hadn’t been invited.

With a groan, she returned to her practice with cortana. It was all she had these days, all she cared about. Even if she was all alone and her brother had barely spoken to her in years, she had been gifted the family sword, both a great honor and responsibility. She wondered sometimes why Alastair had chosen to gift her cortana, as it was tradition the sword went to the heir to the throne.

‘I knew it was important to you,’ was all he’d said when she’d asked, but for Cordelia that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. Giving her a powerful sword that was rightfully his because he knew it was important to her implied he loved her, yet nothing else Alastair did or said showed he even cared about her a little bit. If he loved her, he would spend time with her, not hide in his room and yell at her to go away.

Nowadays, he would only ever spend times with Charles, because of course while Cordelia wasn’t good enough for him, Charles was everything. They deserved each other, Cordelia had decided. They were both boring and stupid and could only ever talk about politics. The only time Charles paid Cordelia any mind was when he told her a princess shouldn’t be eating so much chocolate and maybe she should try losing some weight. He had a point, princesses were supposed to be slim and small and Cordelia wasn’t, but he didn’t have to be so rude about it. She didn’t understand why Alastair followed Charles around like some lost puppy. He used to shut the world out, and it seemed like he’d opened the door, but right after Charles had entered it had shut down with full force once more.

She wished she could let it go, and forget about her brother, but she couldn’t. She still remembered the fun they used to have when they were little, how he’d looked out for her and helped her build the most amazing snowmen. It had all happened so sudden, one day they were playing in the snow together, the next he wouldn’t leave his room and refused to even speak to her. Perhaps there was an explanation, something that would make it all make sense. But then why was Charles the exception, and what did Alastair see in him?

***

When Charles arrived in Arendelle, Alastair redoubled his resolve to get this power under control, to never let it show. Letting Thomas see had been a mistake. He’d trusted Thomas, had cared for him, and now they would never see each other again and how could he be sure Thomas hadn’t shared his secret? He had no reason to assume Charles would even accept the way he was. He could never know.

‘The palace of Arendelle is beautiful,’ Charles said. ‘A different style from the palace of the southern isles. Not that that is still in use, it has been turned into a museum. A real shame.’

Charles made no effort to hide the disdain in his voice as he said the word museum.

‘Why?’ Alastair asked.

‘Because there’s no monarchy anymore,’ Charles said. ‘My mother was the Queen of the Southern Isles until two years ago. She ended the monarchy and was elected as president instead. She thought it unfitting for an elected leader to live in a grand palace, so she decided it should be a museum instead to preserve our country’s history.’

Alastair stared at Charles with wide eyes. ‘That’s a possibility? I could just end the monarchy and have elections for a leader? And whoever has good ideas on how to improve the country could just sign up?’

He imagined all sorts of people would be willing to give it a try, and Alastair had never wanted the throne anyway. He had no idea how he’d be king and meet with cabinet members and foreign officials and never show the ice that rested inside of him.

Charles chuckled, as if he’d just said something ridiculous.

‘Perhaps not,’ he said quietly, already feeling stupid.

‘Being a Crown Prince is an honor, Alastair, a great privilege. Who in their right mind would give that up? Why would you not want to be king?’

Alastair sighed. ‘I guess you’re right. It’s just a lot of responsibility, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.’

‘That’s alright. That’s why I’m here. I might not be a prince anymore, but I have a lot of experience being one and later I helped with my mother’s presidential campaign and presidency. I know how to run a country.’

His friendship with Charles might have been a bit rocky at first, but Alastair soon learnt to trust him more. It was a bit like with Thomas, when Charles was near Alastair felt calmer and could control the ice.

Charles was knowledgeable and took his time to educate Alastair on everything he thought was important for a future king. He was often willing to make time for Alastair, even when it was not convenient for him, and Alastair thought as long as Charles was here, everything was going to be alright.

‘What will you do, when you return to the southern isles?’ Alastair asked him one day.

‘Run for president myself,’ Charles said. ‘It’s not the same as being king, but there’s still much good I can do for the southern isles. My mother has done a good job, but I fear she is too sentimental. I can make my country strong again, that is all I ever wanted.

Don’t worry, I won’t be leaving anytime soon. You still need plenty of my help, and I think together we can set up some better trade routes, build an alliance and find new ways in which we can help each other. I think both Arendelle and the Southern Isles could benefit from a closer relationship.’

Alastair was intrigued. Alliances with foreign kingdoms were what he feared the most of being king. He wasn’t charming, too blunt and straight forward to flatter, but perhaps with Charles he could get started on a good alliance without those skills. ‘Of course. Whatever you need.’

***

Cordelia was beyond excited. Alastair had asked her to join him for a picnic on the palace grounds this afternoon. This would be her chance to get her brother back and a picnic was a decent start. Perhaps someday coming winter they could build a snowman again. Cordelia firmly believed you were never too old to build a snowman.

She picked out her nicest dress, eternally grateful it still fit as she was always growing out of her clothes, and went out to meet Alastair in the gardens. For once he wasn’t with Charles, which was nice because Cordelia did not want to talk about politics all afternoon. She had more important things to discuss.

‘I’m glad you came,’ Alastair said.

He was tense, Cordelia could tell. It was hard to read his moods with Alastair, he rarely showed any emotion, but she had learnt to recognize the slight tension in his shoulders, his stiff demeanor, as if he was forcing himself to speak. She wondered why he would be tense.

‘Of course I came,’ Cordelia said. ‘As far as I know you’re still my only brother.’

‘I’m sorry, for the past years,’ Alastair said. ‘I know you must have been very alone.’

Cordelia nodded. ‘Yes. I know you have to study and prepare for being king and all, but why can’t we at least open the gates every once in a while? Maybe invite some girls my age, or even Charles’ younger brother?’

She knew spending a lot of time with a boy her age would be considered inappropriate, but that was still preferable to keeping the company of the portraits on the wall. She had so little experience with social interaction she didn’t even know how to speak to someone her age, and Father expected her to get married when she was older. How was she supposed to do that when she never met anyone? There was no way she was marrying Charles.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alastair said quietly. ‘We can’t do that.’

‘Father could invite Charles,’ Cordelia protested. ‘Surely we can invite someone else. I still don’t have a lady in waiting.’

‘That’ll have to wait, Layla. I’m sorry. I wish it were different.’

Alastair had called her Layla since she was a little girl, after a girl in a story their mother used to tell them, and it was a bit of a weak spot of hers. Still, she was determined not to let it go, because nothing Alastair said made any sense.

‘But why?’ Cordelia asked. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

‘I’m not afraid of anything,’ Alastair bit at her.

There was that temper she remembered from his childhood. It was good to see he still felt anything at all, but Cordelia did not want to make him angry the first time she’d spoken to him in years. Perhaps she should be a little more tactful about this instead of forcing answers out of him. One thing she knew for sure though, there was something Alastair knew and she didn’t. Perhaps more than one thing, Alastair always seemed to know much more than he let on. It was infuriating.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said and she hoped he would believe her apology was sincere. ‘I just wish I could have friends too.’

‘Maybe when you’re older,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ll do what I can, alright? But no promises.’

Cordelia decided to accept that for now. ‘Your life must have been very boring too. I mean, you have company, but it’s Charles. That might actually be worse than being alone.’

Alastair rolled his eyes. ‘He’s not boring. He’s a politician, and a very good one. He knows everything there is about being king, even if he won’t be one himself anymore. It is very generous of him to come here and help me.’

Cordelia made a face. ‘I don’t like him. Most of the time he ignores me, which honestly is fine, but he also tells me I eat way too much chocolate and need to lose weight.’

Her weight had become a bit of an insecurity lately. She was at the end of her growth spurt and quite tall, which she liked, she was even taller than Alastair, but while she’d stopped growing in length, she kept getting wider and had to throw out dresses all the time. Her mother had told her this was normal for girls her age, but Cordelia was pretty sure most girls her age were much thinner than she was, and princesses were expected to be small and skinny.

If Charles was to be believed, it was because of all the sweets she ate, and reminding her of it was hurtful, not to mention he was always rude and condescending about it, as if she couldn’t possibly know what was good for her.

‘I’m sorry, I’ll ask him not to bother you,’ Alastair promised. ‘But I really need him here, alright? I will be king one day, and I desperately need his help.’

Cordelia snorted. ‘Maybe if you wanted to learn how to be a better king, you could actually go outside and spend time with the people of Arendelle instead of hiding here in the castle.’

‘That’s not possible,’ Alastair said stiffly.

He was worried. Cordelia couldn’t tell what it was, but she was determined to find out.

‘Are you scared to leave the palace?’ Cordelia asked. ‘I read a book some time back about someone who was scared to leave their house. It was very intriguing.’

‘I’m not scared, Cordelia,’ Alastair hissed, but something about his stiff mannerism revealed otherwise.

She nodded. ‘Alright, so you have a fear of going outside like that character in the book. Maybe there’s a doctor somewhere who can help you overcome your fear since I have no idea how it’s done and I imagine dragging you outside might make it worse. But that’s alright, I could go out and into the city for you and report back what I learn. We could be a great team, like we used to be.’

‘No, Cordelia, that’s not… I’m not afraid.’ He stopped abruptly, twisting his fingers together.

Alastair was wearing a pair of fancy black gloves. Now that she noticed, he always wore gloves. Perhaps if he was scared of going outside, he was also scared of dirt? The palace was cleaned, of course, but some rooms weren’t cleaned as often because of the limited staff and would collect dust. She did remember her brother had always been rather neat, that had to be it.

‘We’re done here,’ Alastair said. ‘Goodbye.’

He stood up and walked away. They hadn’t even eaten anything yet. Cordelia ran after him.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Back inside. I changed my mind, I don’t want to have a picnic with you.’

Cordelia didn’t understand. He’d invited her, he’d wanted to spend time with her. Had she done something wrong to change his mind? It didn’t make any sense, she might have been a little pushy, but he had to understand it was for his own good, right?

‘Why? Am I suddenly not good enough for you anymore?’ Cordelia yelled, grabbing his shoulder.

‘Leave me alone, Cordelia,’ Alastair hissed. ‘I mean it.’

Cordelia was taken back by the sudden vehemence in his voice.

‘Fine, go back inside to stupid Charles and his stupid lessons!’ she yelled after him as he walked inside.

He didn’t look back, not even once. As if she was nothing. Great, that was her one chance to win back her brother, to improve her situation here somewhat. Now she had no idea what to do.

She returned to the picnic site and collapsed onto the blanket she’d laid out for the two of them. She stuffed some chocolate into her mouth. Chocolate she’d specifically requested for Alastair, because she knew he liked anything sweet, and loved chocolate most of all. Cordelia did too, curse stupid Charles and his stupid comments about her eating habits. She was the princess, she could eat as much chocolate as she wanted. She needed some way to cope with being alone all the time and if Charles thought it was bad for her maybe he should go find her a friend. As it was, she returned to days of loneliness and practicing with cortana. What else was she supposed to do?

***

‘Your father didn’t show up to our meeting again,’ Charles said. ‘We were supposed to discuss your progress weekly, but most of the time he isn’t there. Do you know if he’s alright?’

‘He’s just sick,’ Alastair said, terrified Charles would find out about his father’s drinking. ‘No one knows what’s wrong with him, but it’s been getting worse. Mother has taken over most of his tasks so he can rest. Thanks to you, I can start helping out too. I’ve been working on my correspondence, and I was wondering if you could double check my letter to the Duke of Weselton?’

Charles nodded. ‘I’ll look at your letter. I am sorry to hear about your father’s illness, Alastair, I know it’s been hard on you. How’s your sister under all this?’

Alastair sighed. A couple of months ago, he’d thought he was making progress. Around Charles he felt so much better, he felt as if the ice wasn’t even there unless he called for it. He had thought maybe he could give his sister another chance and he’d invited her to a picnic. If everything had gone well and he’d felt in control around her, he could have told her the truth there, and show her what he was capable of. But when he’d met with Cordelia, everything came back in full force and he’d have to fight with every bit of his willpower to repress his fear and keep the ice inside of him. Cordelia was still mad about his sudden departure, but he’d had no other choice if he wanted to keep her safe. When he’d gotten back to his bedroom, he’d lost control and caused a snowstorm. While he thought his control had improved since Charles had come, the size of any outburst that slipped through had grown.

He was lucky Cordelia hadn’t seen it and at least now that Father was drunk all the time, he wouldn’t notice and put Alastair in chains. He knew it was all his fault though, his father wouldn’t have started drinking if it weren’t for him.

‘I think it’s difficult for her,’ Alastair said. ‘She mentioned you made some comments about her eating habits the other day. I know you mean well, but she doesn’t like it.’

‘I’m just concerned for her. It’s unhealthy to eat so much chocolate,’ Charles insisted. ‘She’ll thank me when she doesn’t have to throw out another of her custom made gowns.’

Alastair didn’t think it was fair to shame her for growing out of clothes when he did the same. He’d started his growth spurt lately and most of his suits had become too short. They weren’t thrown away either, they were sold second hand, as were Cordelia’s old gowns.

‘I think she’s insecure about how she looks,’ Alastair said. ‘And she has plenty to worry about, I don’t think she should be worrying about her weight on top of that. Your comments aren’t helping her.’

He didn’t understand why his control was so much worse around Cordelia. A long time ago, he’d hurt her, and he was terrified it would happen again. Perhaps that was different with Charles. With Charles he could not feel, like he was supposed to.

The problem, of course, was that with Charles he did feel. Just like he had with Thomas. It had not appeared as fast as it had with Thomas, but it was so much stronger now that he’d gotten to know Charles, had spent nearly a year with him.

He wanted Charles. Loved him, even. Alastair didn’t understand why he felt this way. Years ago, he’d met his cousin Jem who’d told him how he loved both Will and Tessa romantically. Alastair couldn’t imagine loving more than one person at the same time, nor could he imagine loving a woman, but perhaps some men longed for the love of other men instead of women.

Perhaps being in love was what calmed his moods, as long as he wasn’t scared. Right now, he wasn’t, not yet. He knew it was unlikely Charles felt the same way. That was alright, because he still wanted to be near him and then everything would be fine.

‘You know, I always found it unusual how empty this castle is,’ Charles said one day. ‘No one else ever stays, your parents always travel to meet foreign leaders and never invite anyone over. There aren’t half as many cleaners and servants as there were in my old palace.’

‘We minimized the staff,’ Alastair said. ‘It seems wasteful to spend money on staff when that could be spent on improving the kingdom.’

‘You don’t even have friends,’ Charles said. ‘No other noblemen visit, ever. You don’t have any companions, nor a page. You sleep alone. It’s odd.’

Alastair frowned. ‘How is it odd that I sleep alone?’

‘When I was still a prince, I had a page. A boy around my age, who shared my bed at night. It was normal at home, for noblemen and women to have a page or lady in waiting share their bed. A good way to make sure your virtue remains intact and you do not share your bed with a woman you are not married to.’

Alastair wasn’t sure that would be effective. Who was to say nothing improper happened between the nobleman and the person who shared their bed?

‘There’s no one here I could lose my virtue to,’ Alastair said. ‘But I know what you mean, my mother does share her bed with Risa, her lady in waiting. My father doesn’t though, he sleeps alone.’

No one could find out he was a drunk. No one would believe in him as a king anymore, and therefore it was up to Alastair to keep anyone from finding out, just like he had to keep everyone from finding out about the ice inside of him.

‘I imagine you don’t have a page anymore at home?’ Alastair asked.

‘We had a fall out shortly before my mother gave up the crown,’ Charles said in a tone that indicated he did not want to talk about it.

Charles did not bring the topic up again for some time, not until he was complaining about his younger brother one day.

‘He’s been campaigning for the right for men to love other men,’ Charles said with a sigh. ‘And for women to love women. Here I was thinking he’d never give up on being silly and going out partying, but this is worse.’

Alastair tilted his head. ‘Why? Is he not fighting for a good cause?’

‘He will make everything much harder for me, for our family,’ Charles said. ‘People are shunning him, of course. They’re wondering, why is he campaigning for this, what does it mean about him? And my brother does not have the good sense to hide he likes both men and women.’

So Charles’ brother was like his cousin Jem, then? Alastair had not met Matthew Fairchild, but it was difficult to hear Charles talk like this. He felt a familiar tingling in his fingers, a warning he might lose control. Something he had not yet felt around Charles.

‘That is very brave of him,’ Alastair said.

‘I prefer to think of it as foolish,’ Charles said. ‘The people won’t accept him, he won’t change a thing. He’ll just make everything harder for himself, and for me. People will watch us more closely. No one batted an eye when Daniel, my former page, shared my bed for years.’

Alastair gasped. ‘You mean to say you love men?’

‘Unfortunately I do. It’s not easy for someone like me. I have to keep it a secret, or I risk losing everything. No one would vote for a man like me to be president. But with the proper precautions, I’ve been quite successful at hiding my affections and desires while still indulging in them. I wish my brother understood that.’

Alastair put his hand on Charles’ and felt the tingling fade. It wasn’t gone, not entirely, but he wouldn’t lose control. ‘Does your brother know about you?’

‘No. I never wanted him to. You’re the first person I’ve told after Daniel, I know I can trust you to keep my secret.’

Alastair felt special to be entrusted with such a secret, and could it mean Charles returned his feelings? Had Charles told him because he hoped Alastair might want to be with him?

‘When I’m king, I will do what your brother has been campaigning for, I will change the laws and allow two men or two women to be together,’ Alastair promised. ‘Get married, even.’

Charles waved his hand dismissively. ‘Don’t be silly, Alastair.’

His heart sank, the tingling increased. He had to tell Charles about his affections, or else everything would become snow and ice.

‘But I’m like you,’ Alastair said. ‘I like men. And I don’t want to hide forever. What’s even the point in being king if I can’t change such things?’

‘They’ll cast you out, Alastair,’ Charles said. ‘Don’t waste your birthright on something the people will never accept. Best to keep your affections a secret. You’re a prince, you can pick any boy you like to be your page or companion and share your bed. No one would suspect a thing.’

Charles put his hand on Alastair’s shoulder, a bit too long for it to be called friendly, right?

‘What about you?’ Alastair asked. ‘I feel choosing a page to be my love would be unfair. Like, would he even get a say in that? It wouldn’t be like that with you.’

Charles smiled and cupped his cheek with his hand. It was smooth, the hand of someone who had not done manual labor. ‘You’re in love with me, aren’t you?’ he said, his voice gentle.

Alastair rubbed his hands together, forcing the tingling to stop. He felt frost underneath his gloves, but it was still hidden. Conceal, don’t feel.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘I suspected as much,’ Charles said. ‘I like you too, Alastair. You’re smart and beautiful, and you will be a great king someday. But this has to be a secret. You understand that, don’t you? I will be with you, but only as long as you can keep your affections concealed.’

Alastair nodded. ‘Of course.’

Then Charles kissed him, and it was like fire, a sudden heat that melted his frozen heart, that stopped the tingling in his fingers, that calmed the storm inside of him. Perhaps love was the answer after all.

Alastair and Charles explored much more than just kissing together. Charles came to share his bed, claiming it was improper how Alastair slept alone all night. No one suspected a thing, but then of course, there was no one who could suspect. It was the first time in years where Alastair felt he might be happy. Even if he was still too dangerous to be around his sister. He tried once more. No promises this time, he just sought her out in her room to see if they could talk. The storm returned almost immediately and Alastair realized his sister would never be safe if he went near her. The only one he could be around was Charles.

It was amazing at first. Long nights together, Charles touching him, making love to him. He’d never known being touched by someone could feel so good, nor that it would melt the ice inside his heart. Charles knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted, and Alastair was happy to oblige.

It was wonderful outside of the bedroom too. He loved how Charles would gently touch his shoulder, his wrist as he guided him through their lessons. But it didn’t take long for the secrecy of it all to start to weigh on him. Charles’ younger brother had fled farther south for his own safety, confirming Charles’ beliefs it was better to keep their love a secret. Alastair was scared the same might happen to him, but what could possibly be worse than people finding out he was a monster with ice in his heart?

Perhaps it would be better to leave, to flee into the woods and snow touched mountains and make his home there. The cold didn’t bother him, he would survive. But Charles could not come with him there, and so he stayed. Even while Charles mocked his ideas, told him he was still too young to understand what it was to rule a kingdom and treated him like was a child despite being old enough to be Charles’ lover.

Once he’d been in control around Charles, but not anymore. He wasn’t sure why it had gotten worse, why he was so scared Charles would leave him, that he wasn’t good enough anymore. He redoubled his resolve, made sure to read everything Charles asked him to, be everything his lover needed him to be. Charles was all he had, he didn’t think he could survive being abandoned. They stayed like this for several years. Alastair never took his gloves, not even when they had sex, and never explained why. Charles thought it was odd, but had come to accept it.

Even when he lost control, the gloves kept it in for a little longer, offered a bit of protection, and the time to get away before the storm began. Whenever he didn’t trust himself anymore, he went to his own private bathroom, a place even Charles wasn’t allowed to enter. Now that Charles shared his bed, his bedroom wasn’t a safe place to lose control anymore and he couldn’t exactly ask Charles to leave. So instead, this bathroom had frozen several times over, and whenever he was going to lose control he just told Charles he needed to use the bathroom. At this point, all the pipes had broken, so nothing could be used, but everything had been cut off from the water network long ago and his outbursts didn’t affect the other bathrooms. Charles had not uncovered his secret, and although it was difficult to keep it from him, it was for the best.

***

Cordelia took her father’s hand. ‘Where are you going? Are you sure you’re well enough to travel?’

‘I’m feeling much better, Cordelia dear,’ he said with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before you know it.’

Cordelia wasn’t sure where exactly her parents would be traveling. It wasn’t the first time he left, of course, to meet with foreign nobles, but this time he would be going on a much longer journey, and it had been a while since he’d traveled anywhere. He’d been too sick and Mother had written letters to keep up relations instead.

‘Can’t I come with you?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Not this time,’ her father said. ‘But I promise on my next journey you can come with me. It’s almost time for you to be presented to the world. But this is something I have to do myself, I’m afraid.’

The idea of being presented to the world sounded good, but perhaps that would be a bit much all at once. Perhaps it would be nicer to start with a smaller group of people who could be her friends.

‘What if the people won’t like me?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Of course they will. You are beautiful, compassionate and nurturing, what’s not to like?’

Cordelia could always count on her father to tell her she was beautiful, even if not long ago she’d had to throw out nearly all of her gowns because she’d gained too much weight to fit into them.

‘I’ll still be here, azizam,’ her mother said, which surprised her.

‘Oh, I thought you were going too,’ Cordelia said.

‘I was, but Alastair insisted he was not ready to take over while I was gone and needed me to stay,’ her mother explained. ‘I know that’s not true and Alastair is more than ready, but I thought staying would put his mind at ease.’

Cordelia supposed that should make her less lonely, but her mother spent all her time on filling in for her father and she wasn’t sure where that left her. She knew everyone was keeping something from her, but she couldn’t figure out what and it was frustrating. She’d tried asking her father, who had told her not to worry, that everything would be alright in the end. Then she’d asked her mother, who’d told her that her brother was going through a difficult time, without offering any explanation. Apparently, boys his age often went through times like this, except in Alastair’s case that had been years now. Not that Cordelia knew any other boys Alastair’s age to compare his behavior to, but that was hardly her fault.

It turned out her father wasn’t back before she knew it. It took months to even get word from him. Of course, it was a long journey by ship and it made sense they did not hear anything at first, but after a couple of months Cordelia began to worry. They should have heard something by now, what could have become of him?

‘He’ll be alright, Cordelia,’ her mother had said. ‘We’ll hear from him soon enough. He must have decided to stay longer than intended and it would take time for a letter to reach us.’

But Cordelia could tell her mother was worried too, more so with every passing day during which they did not hear from Elias. Several months after he’d first left, a messenger came.

‘I am terribly sorry to bring you this news, Your Majesty,’ the messenger said, addressing her mother. ‘The King’s ship went down in the southern seas. There were no survivors.’

Cordelia had been in shock at first. Then she’d burst into tears. Mother had cried too, although a bit more concealed. Alastair though, had not shown a thing. He’d taken the news quietly, asked a few questions, and then retreated to his room. As if he didn’t feel a thing, as if he didn’t care.

The funeral was a quiet ceremony, and Alastair didn’t attend. She had been forced to ask Charles where he was and why he hadn’t come to his own father’s funeral. Charles didn’t know the answer either, said something about Alastair being upset and indisposed, but she could tell it didn’t make sense to him either.

Determined not to let him slip away from her like he always did, she went to his room after the funeral, knocking on the door. No response. When she was younger, Alastair would yell at her to go away, he would get angry that she had the nerve to bother him. As awful as that was, his silence was worse.

‘Please, Alastair,’ she said. ‘I know you’re in there. I don’t know why you didn’t come to the funeral, and maybe it was just too hard… But people asked about you, where you’ve been. And I want to be there for you. Just let me in, and we can talk about.’

‘Leave me alone, Cordelia!’ she heard from the other side of the door. He didn’t open it. ‘I don’t care Father is dead, that’s why I didn’t go the funeral. You shouldn’t either.’

It was not the answer she’d expected, although it wasn’t the first time it had seemed like Alastair did not love Father. Sometimes she wondered if Alastair could feel anything at all. She guessed not. There was ice inside his heart, and Cordelia did not know how to reach him anymore. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

With Father gone, her mother was Queen-Regent for now, taking on all of Father’s duties with some help from Alastair here and there until his coronation. Her mother was pregnant, and Cordelia didn’t think it would be good for her to spend so much time working while expecting a child. At least the pregnancy meant that once the baby was here, she would have someone to play with.

In four months, Alastair would turn twenty one and would be crowned king. He only ever spent time preparing for his coronation and his reign, Charles always hovering around him. It was impossible to catch him alone.

Of course, a coronation brought opportunities. Alastair couldn’t be crowned in a small, private ceremony, people from all over the country and even beyond would be invited. Cordelia would finally have a chance to meet actual real life people.

***

Alastair did not attend his father’s funeral. He’d expected knowing his father was gone would bring relief. No more hiding the empty bottles, no more covering up his sickness. No risk Cordelia would find out. Most of all, no risk Father would decide he was too dangerous and would chain him in the dungeons. He had never forgotten that day and even now he still had nightmares. Father had always been cruel to him, and he thought his death would set Alastair free. Instead, he felt empty, he felt a horrible guilt for hating a man who was now dead. He felt the snow and ice tingling against his fingers, seeking release. He pushed it back down with all he had. Conceal, don’t feel, that was what his father had taught him. No emotion, push it all down. Alright then, he would not feel. He would not mourn Father, would not care that he was gone. He would not attend the funeral and pay his respects, it was too dangerous anyway, and Father did not deserve that.

He knew people would ask why, where he’d been, and he made something up about being too sick and overcome with grief to attend. It was a lie. Even without the risk of exposing his ice, he would not have wanted to attend. He hated his father, and he couldn’t bear to listen to people speak on what a great king he’d been. Worse, what a great father he’d been. And there was no one he could talk to. Charles didn’t know what Father was really like, he believed in the lie of his illness. Cordelia was the same, worse even, for she adored Father, she always had. He’d considered telling her the truth, but that would be selfish. It would break her heart, and for what? And Mother had loved Father. Now that he was gone, she wanted to remember the good parts. She was having another baby, and was devastated the baby would never meet his father. Lucky child, he thought. That almost sounded like he resented the baby for getting the safe and carefree childhood he had never had, but that wasn’t true. He was almost glad Father was gone for their sake, and he hoped the baby would grow up happy and loved and protected, even if Alastair could provide none of that himself. It was too dangerous and he would never forgive himself if anything happened to the baby because of him.

***

‘Alastair, are you in there?’

No response. Sona had gotten used to that at this point. She had grown more worried every day. Alastair was to be king in a couple of months, but he had barely left his private quarters since Elias’ death. The only person he spoke to was Charles, and even then Charles had confided in her that he felt Alastair pull away from him. That he wasn’t sure Alastair was ready to be king.

She’d thought, perhaps, as his mother she could reach him. Charles didn’t know about the ice despite them being very close. But with her and Cordelia, all Alastair did was push them away.

He had seemed happy, at least, when she’d told him of her pregnancy, excited to meet the new baby. Mostly, he’d been terrified though and Sona thought perhaps Alastair was scared he’d hurt the baby. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She had to protect her baby, of course, but Alastair was her child too and she didn’t know how to reach him.

Sona knocked on the bedroom door once more. He couldn’t hide in there forever. It was Charles who opened, wearing a dressing robe. Sona knew Charles had been sleeping in Alastair’s bedroom for the past years. It was a way, apparently, to make sure Alastair’s virtue was intact for marriage. Not that Alastair had shown any interest in getting married and with his ice, Sona feared it was too dangerous. She wasn’t sure how Alastair had managed to keep his ice from Charles while sharing a bed, but that was impressive, right?

It pained her, she wanted nothing more than for Alastair to be happy, but she didn’t know how. She’d considered going back to Tessa, had asked Elias to reconsider, but he’d refused. ‘Alastair belongs here,’ Elias used to say. ‘That witch will only take him away from us.’

And now he was to be crowned king and it was too late. At least Charles had been good for him, right? Sona had noticed the way Alastair lit up around Charles, the way he seemed so eager to please him.

‘Your Majesty,’ Charles addressed her. ‘If I knew you were coming, I would have dressed for the occasion.’

‘I am sorry,’ Sona said. ‘Did I wake you? I didn’t realize you tucked in early, I’ve always been a late sleeper myself. I was just looking for Alastair, is he here?’

‘No, he must have left when I was asleep. Usually he goes to the bathroom, his own private one. Even I am not allowed in there. He’s very attached to his privacy.’

Sona knew about the bathroom, the place he went to when he lost control. It was good for him to have such a place right? Somewhere it didn’t matter if the ice became too much for him, because no one would get hurt.

Sona forced a smile. ‘Thank you Charles. I think I’ll look for him there.’

‘I don’t think he’d like that.’

‘He’s my son, and I am worried about him.’

‘He’s been showing progress in his lessons lately,’ Charles said. ‘I do not think you have to worry.’

Sona just nodded, and closed the door. Charles was smart, responsible, and he knew politics, but sometimes she felt he didn’t know Alastair, didn’t understand him. Risa hated Charles, acted as if he’d stolen Alastair away from them, but Sona felt that was a bit too simplistic. It was a difficult situation for everyone, and they were all doing the best they could. Alastair had chosen to spend his time around Charles, and if that was what made him feel better, who was she to judge?

Sona knocked on the bathroom door. No response.

‘Alastair, I’m coming in!’ she called.

She didn’t like invading his privacy, but at least he’d be forced to acknowledge he was in there if he wanted to stop her. He didn’t say anything. Perhaps he wasn’t in the bathroom after all, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

She pulled on the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Had Alastair locked himself in there? When she pulled a little harder, it broke open and Sona realized why she’d been unable to open the door. It was frozen. Everything in the bathroom was frozen, about half a meter of snow lying on the floor. It was a good thing the door opened to the outside, or she would not have gotten it open at all.

Alastair was lying on the snow, covered in a thin summer blanket. The cold had never bothered him, but he had always liked to hold a blanket when he slept. When he was little, he would sleep with a thin summer blanket in the coldest days of winter, perfectly content.

Should she wake him? He seemed peaceful, at least, now that he was asleep. But he had lost control in here before falling asleep, and she wanted to know what had happened. He hadn’t responded well to his father’s death, and she knew Elias and Alastair had never had the best relationship, but instead of grieving with her and Cordelia, he’d shut them out even more. Sona didn’t think he was alright.

Before she could make a decision, Alastair opened his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position. Sona wrapped her arms around herself, it was freezing cold in here. That couldn’t be good for the baby, but she was determined to talk to her son.

‘What happened, azizam?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry, maman,’ he said. ‘I lost control.’

‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘What happened?’

‘I was with Charles,’ he said. ‘He told me he’d been writing with the Duke of Weselton.’

Sona frowned. ‘What’s wrong with that? He’s one of our closest trading partners. Charles has not sabotaged our relationship with Weselton, has he?’

‘No, not like that. You see, the Duke has a daughter around my age and no other heir, and Charles wants to marry her. She will be here for the coronation, and Charles intends to propose there. He thinks the Duke is a powerful ally for him as well as for us. And the laws in Weselton are pretty backward, so if the Duke dies his daughter’s husband will inherit the title, the lands, everything.’

Sona knew Charles liked power, of course. Risa hated him for it, thought he couldn’t be trusted, but Sona couldn’t help but see that even if Charles was a little too power hungry for his own good, Alastair adored him. But if he took the title and became Duke of Weselton, why would that upset Alastair so much? Wouldn’t he be happy for his friend?

‘What does any of that have to do with you?’

Alastair sighed. ‘I know, it’s stupid. But he’ll leave me alone if he marries her. He’d go live in Weselton in the Duke’s palace. He cannot stay here anymore. He’s all I have, I couldn’t bear it if he left.’

Sona took his hand. It was ice cold. ‘You always knew he would return home someday, right? Charles was here to teach you and prepare you, and he has done that. You are ready to be king, joon-am. I know controlling the ice is hard, but you’re smart and compassionate and you will do fine if he’s not there.’

Secretly Sona thought perhaps Alastair would do even better without Charles there. She knew Alastair was kinder, and she feared perhaps it came from a place of self loathing but Alastair was not the kind of king who’d put his own needs before anyone else’s.

Alastair nodded weakly. ‘But I’d be all alone. When Charles and I first became friends, it was the first time I could control myself. As long as it was going well, I mean. I did sometimes lose control when he was upset with me, but he never saw. I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone.’

Alastair was crying. The tears froze into snowflakes before they even reached his cheeks. Watching her son cry had always been one of the strangest thing, as if he started snowing. It was heartbreaking to watch, and Sona wished she could hug him, but she knew Alastair wouldn’t let her. He was far too scared he’d hurt the baby.

‘You’re going to be alright,’ Sona said. ‘You’re lonely, I know that. Cordelia is too. But the coronation offers opportunities. Perhaps you’ll meet someone else who helps calm your moods and your ice. You could invite someone to stay, if you want, open the gates.’

Alastair shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous. Charles is the only one I can trust. I tried, maman. I tried with Cordelia, but every time I go near her I am so scared I’ll hurt her and then the ice takes over.’

‘Perhaps we should return to Tessa,’ Sona suggested.

‘No. The coronation is too close. This curse, it can’t be controlled. Best to be alone, and do what’s right for Arendelle.’

Sona guessed if Alastair wouldn’t return to the village, she’d try to send an invitation for the coronation. Perhaps Tessa could come here and help figure out why Alastair couldn’t control the ice. It was the least she could do for her son.

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence (11)

new chapter at the behest of one of my patrons! hope you enjoy! >:)

warnings: terrible coping mechanisms, antagonistic but not "evil" deceit, semi-vivid panic attack, suicidal implications/thoughts, arguing, an antagonistic and also genuinely evil cliffhanger, take care for realsies

-

After a few days of solitude, Logan emerged from his room with a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

He dropped a comically large stack of paper onto the lounge table, interrupting their bi-monthly binge of Parks and Rec. Patton obligingly paused the television, smiling at the sight of the other Side.

Roman probably would have complained, except Virgil-- as Puff-- had been dozing on top of his head for the past twenty minutes, and one of his wings was draped over Roman’s face like a makeshift blindfold. So, he hadn’t really been watching anyways.  

“I’ve figured it out,” Logan said, gesturing to the meticulous lines of not-so-meticulous handwriting. “The shrinking.”

Everyone seemed to perk up in interest, and Virgil dropped onto Roman’s shoulder, kneading his claws lightly into the sash.

“You know why?” Patton prompted after another moment of Logan preening.

“Yeah, Specs, don’t leave us in suspense!” Roman demanded, valiantly restraining his gesturing for the sake of not accidentally unbalancing Virgil. The two of them had only had to learn that lesson once.

Logan nodded, adjusting his glasses briefly. “My current hypothesis is that our reduced states are the result of a sort of… mental lock. We shrink when the locking mechanism is triggered, and it takes a figurative key to restore our previous, normal stature.”

“A key?” Patton asked. “You figured out how to undo it?”

“Not for everyone. Think of it as customized locks. There’s a different key for each of us, and I’ve only discovered my own.”

Virgil tilted his head curiously at Logan’s words. The first bit was about what he’d figured, but a ‘key’ to change back? He used to think he only changed back in his room, but there had been a couple of occasions where he’d shifted forms unexpectedly. None of the others had had to be in their rooms to change back, either.

Roman was frowning in thought. “Wait, how in the name of Disney did you figure out your key?”

Logan looked delighted at the question. He moved to sit in his usual armchair, and then closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly and his mouth dropping into a frown.

In the next moment, he was doll-sized. “Extensive and rigorous experimentation,” he said, carefully getting to his feet on the plush chair fabric.

Roman and Patton immediately burst into excited chattering, each theorizing or commenting on Logan’s tiny stature, and Virgil quickly abandoned ship before Roman really did gesture him right into the air. He trotted along the back of the couch and kicked off of it, landing on the arm of Logan’s chair.

Logan looked up at him for a moment, before referring to a pile of tinier-than-normal flashcards pulled from his pocket. “Puff. I hope there’s no ‘hard feelings’ about my former hypothesis. It was nothing personal, I can assure you.”

It wasn’t like the theory had been too far fetched. Virgil hopped down to the seat of the chair and brushed against Logan’s side like a large, scaly cat. It seemed to do the job of convincing Logan that they were cool.

Logan looked back over at the other two. “Time to continue the lecture, I believe.”

With that, he clapped his hands together in a familiar pattern, one that had been used in countless classrooms in Thomas’s life. Two normal claps, and then three rapid ones.

Almost immediately, Patton and Roman clapped the returning pattern, paused as though registering what they’d done, and then turned to face Logan.

“Was… Did you just teacher-clap at us?” Roman asked, astounded.

Logan looked incredibly smug at his gambit working so perfectly, and Virgil barely had time to claw his way back up onto the armrest before the logical Side was back to normal.

“My key,” he said, “is being listened to.”

Then, as though he couldn’t resist, he added, “Who’s falling behind now, Roman?”  

Roman spluttered with exaggerated indignance, and Virgil was absolutely certain that Princey was going to spend the next several days rising to the challenge. He shook his wings out, the dragon equivalent of rolling his eyes.

Patton, on the other hand, clapped enthusiastically as though Logan had performed a magic trick. “Wow, way to grow!”

Logan sighed deeply. Patton grinned, and then paused.

“See, the only thing I’m wondering now is, why is this happening to us all of the sudden? It’s certainly not something we’ve had to deal with before.”

There was a terse silence.  

“I’m still working on theories in that regard,” Logan finally responded, mouth pinched slightly. “There have been many periods in the past where certain upheavals in Thomas’s life have led to our surroundings or our very selves changing. It’s entirely possible that this… ‘shrinking’ effect is a similar case. That brings me to my next point: we need to speak with Thomas.”

Virgil noticed Roman grimace for a moment. “Does he really need to know about all… this?”

“We certainly can’t keep it from him!” Patton replied as he walked closer to the rest of them and held out his arm. Virgil scaled it with ease, clambering up to perch on Pat’s shoulder like a parrot. For once, he agreed with Roman. He wasn’t sure this would end well, but... it wasn’t his job to bring up doubts right now. “He’s going to have to learn about it eventually, whether now or whenever he calls us up to talk about whatever is bothering him.”

“Precisely,” Logan agreed. “The more information we gather on this matter, the better.”

“I guess…,” Roman crossed his arms, but conceded. Patton gave him an encouraging hug.

“Plus,” he added as he pulled away, “if we go now, we can have Thomathy meet Puff!”

A beat late, Virgil realized just what that meant, and a flood of panic washed out the peaceful haze in his mind. They couldn’t take him to see Thomas! What if his host recognized him?

… What if he didn’t?

“It’s fine with me,” Logan added. “He does seem to be a rather permanent fixture in the Mindscape, though I’m not sure what that says about Thomas.”

“It says that he’s simply the coolest,” Roman shot back, his spirits seemingly lifted by the idea. He reached over and lifted Virgil off Patton’s shoulders, holding him in the air and spinning in a dizzying circle. “You’ll love Thomas, Puff, just you wait.”  

“Why wait?” Patton chimed in with an excited smile. “I’ll go let the kiddo know we’re coming!”

He sank out, and Logan spent a short moment making sure his tie was properly aligned before following. Roman tilted his head slightly as though listening to an invisible sound before smiling widely. “There’s our cue!”

Before Virgil could do more than feel a sense of impending doom, the world was blurring and shifting around them, and he was dragged up along with Roman.

The dizziness as he entered the real world was so heady that he nearly blacked out, his head spinning. When his vision cleared, he realized he was being held up like an infant Simba.

Right in front of his host’s face. He froze like a deer in the headlights, mind screaming wordlessly.

“Ta-da!” Roman announced. “The newest, cutest denizen of your mind! Aside from me, of course.”  

Thomas leaned in slightly, no trace of disgust or fear on his face. It made him look younger. “Woah. Hey there, little guy. Puff, right?”

He held his hand out carefully, and almost magnetically, Virgil placed a tiny, clawed hand on it. An encouraging smile was all it took, and then he was abandoning all caution and climbing right into the arms of the one who was supposed to fear him the most.

Thomas just shifted obligingly to create a better platform, and ran a thumb over his spine scales. Virgil craned his head up to look, and saw only quiet astonishment and awe on his host’s face.

There was no question. He didn’t recognize him.

Virgil had no idea what the emotion in the pit of his stomach was-- an amalgam of relief, disappointment, terror, sadness, so dense it was physically painful-- but after a moment, he let himself go lax. He could deal with it later. He could deal with everything later.

For now, his host was holding him close like he was something treasured, something precious. It was more than he’d ever hoped for and all he could ever need.

Whenever Thomas spoke, he could feel the words vibrating in his host’s chest. It was almost like a hug. He stayed there, content to listen only vaguely as the others explained what was going on and tried to work out the reason why.

After a while of circular discussion, Thomas went a little tense, catching Virgil’s attention. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“We’re trying to figure out what’s going wrong to cause this… inner turmoil, right? Why don’t we get Anxiety in on this? If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s coming up with worst-case scenarios.”

Virgil went still and frozen, and Roman’s gaze darted down to him for a moment before his expression firmed into a frown. “Absolutely not. That villain won’t have anything helpful to contribute.”

“On the contrary, I believe Thomas has a point. Anxiety could have a side to this story that we haven’t heard yet, but if we were just to ask him,” Logan countered, “he may share.”

“Kind of strange that he hasn’t popped up already,” Patton added with a concerned frown. “The kiddo doesn’t generally like it when people talk about him without him there.”

“Let’s at least give it a shot,” Thomas decided, lifting a hand. “Anxiety!”

No, no no no. This wasn’t how he wanted it to go. Virgil braced for the irresistible tug on his core, the breaking apart of his fragile peace--

It didn’t come.

There was no pull. Why wasn’t he feeling the pull? He couldn’t detect even the slightest call, which was impossible, unless--

Perfectly on cue, a dark figure appeared from thin air on the staircase, jumpscaring Thomas and offering a mocking smirk.

“You called?”

It… was him. It was Anxiety, dark hoodie and darker eyeliner, sneer and all. Virgil felt the strangest disconnect from his own identity for a moment before things snapped back into place. No summons, his own desire for secrecy, a perfect doppelganger.

Deceit.

A low, rumbling growl started up in his chest, and his hackles rose instantly at the sight of that liar daring to wear his face.

Thomas’s hands jerked away in surprise, and Patton reached over to soothe him. “Easy, Puff. He won’t do anything to you, promise.”

“That’s right,” Roman agreed in a completely different tone, stepping forwards to put himself between the fake Anxiety and the others, as though Virgil was pathetic enough to be worried about himself and not whatever bullshit Deceit-As-Anxiety was about to feed the others. His growl lowered in volume, but refused to taper off.

“Like I care about your newest pet project,” Fake-Anxiety said, rolling his eyes in disdain. “I’m just here to do what I do best: tell you how you messed up.”

Logan frowned at him. “You believe our current situation is the result of Thomas erring in some way?”

“Not just some way. All the ways. It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Fake-Anxiety said, gesturing widely to Thomas with one hand. “Something’s wrong with you. You’re broken.”

“That’s not true,” Patton said firmly, frowning in disapproval. “Anxiety, I expected better from you.”

Virgil felt his throat close up, even though he wasn’t really the one Patton was speaking to. It wasn’t like Patton knew that. How was he ever going to look anyone in the eye after this?

“Wait, what? How am I broken?” Thomas asked, not as indignantly as Virgil would have preferred. He gently butted his head against Thomas’s arm for morale-boosting purposes.

“I mean, think about it,” Fake-Anxiety said, spreading his palms open in a faux innocent gesture. “How many times have you screwed up in the past couple of weeks? Speaking with family, hanging out with friends, even just basic customer service interactions. Those were all your fault, and you know it.”

Thomas’s hands shook slightly. “I…”

“Falsehood,” Logan cut in sharply, his expression severe. “A person cannot be ‘broken’, particularly not for simple mistakes. In any case, there is no meaningful connection to be drawn between your baseless accusation and our current conundrum.”

Before Fake-Anxiety could respond, Patton’s hands flew to his mouth. “Wait. Kiddo, you don’t really think that about yourself, do you?”

All eyes turned to Thomas, who hesitated just a beat too long. “No… I mean, not entirely. Not all the time.”

“Thomas…” Roman looked stricken. “There’s no reason to feel bad about yourself!”

“Emotions… are often without reason,” Logan said, sharing a look with Patton. “This is important information, though. It’s entirely possible that a negative sense of self could affect us, as aspects of yourself. This could be the cause.”

“Then… How do I fix it?” Thomas asked, voice strained.

“You can’t,” Fake-Anxiety said, inspecting his nail polish as though bored. “You’re going to be stuck like this forever.”

“The first step,” Logan said, with a complicated glance towards the figure on the stairs, “is not letting negative thoughts control you. I was hoping Anxiety would be able to shed a light on our discussion, but it’s become clear that he’s… not in a helping mood.”

Fake-Anxiety clicked his tongue. “I’m helping. Helping you not make an even bigger embarrassment out of yourself.”

“Don’t listen to that villain,” Roman told Thomas, glancing down at ‘Puff’. “You have the power to send him away, Thomas.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve said my piece, and you know I’m right.” Fake-Anxiety gave a mocking salute before sinking out, making brief eye contact with Virgil as he did.

“He’s not right… right?” Thomas asked, his face a little pale. “I mean, it’s Anxiety.”

In his arms, Virgil tucked his limbs in tighter against himself.

“You are not broken,” Logan reiterated calmly. “Take a few deep breaths.”

“You do feel bad, though,” Patton said, a hand pressed over his heart in sympathy. “Kiddo... why don’t you take today for yourself?”

“That’s right!” Roman gripped Thomas’s shoulder comfortingly. “Do something that you’ll enjoy, and you can worry about everything else tomorrow, okay? We’ll sort things out on our end.”  

They spoke for a little longer, making new plans and cancelling old ones, and Virgil felt as though his mind was full of static. Eventually, finally, he was back on Roman’s shoulder, ready to sink out.

“Nice meeting you, Puff,” Thomas waved, and something in Virgil’s chest twisted painfully at it all. He chirp-crooned back, and it felt like a goodbye.

-

Luckily for him, the others were all preoccupied with their own thoughts and plans. It took almost no effort to slip away, and before he knew it he was back in his own room, in the form that everyone hated.

His summon was nonverbal and insistent, and before long, Deceit appeared before him, this time in his own skin. Virgil wanted to yell, to rage and vent the emotions inside of him.

“How could you?” Instead, his voice came out quiet. Cold. Betrayed.

Deceit shifted, a flash of discomfort crossing his face before he composed himself. “They needed a villain. Last I checked, it was you who cast yourself in that role.”

A villain. He felt himself shaking, distantly. “You used me. Like an object.”

“To help Thomas--”

“To frighten him into doing what you wanted!” Virgil said, voice finally rising. “To guide the others like puppets on strings and to make me take the fall for your plan!”

“This is for you, too!” Deceit finally snapped back, before taking a deep breath. “This isn’t a framing, Virgil. It’s an opportunity. They won’t look for you, and that gives me enough time to fix things. Come home.”

Virgil laughed, once, harsh like broken glass. “No.”

Deceit held up a hand, sweeping it downwards and shifting himself into Fake-Anxiety again. It was like looking in a mirror, but the reflection was… different, this time. It wasn’t the one that had sat on the stairs before.

“Look at yourself, Virgil. Look at what you’ve been doing to yourself.”

The bags under his eyes were dark and sallow. He was shaking and sweating, his breath coming in stuttering gasps. His body looked like it’d been having consecutive panic attacks for days on end, and there were plenty more coming.

“You don’t have to do this anymore. We both know that you’d have an easier time if Thomas wasn’t always fighting against you.”

He tore his eyes away from the reflection. If he thought about it for too long, he’d spiral, and then all of it-- every comment, every look, everything he’d been tucking away for the past weeks-- would come rushing up to meet him. Like hitting water from a hundred feet up and finding it felt like concrete. Like drowning.

“Virgil?”

He was tired of this. “Get out.”

Deceit said something else, but it was his room, and it followed his will. The other Side was evicted, shoved out, gone. He took a breath, but it felt too shallow and caught in his lungs.

He wasn’t going to get anything done in this form. He wasn’t of any damn use in this form. Nobody wanted him like this. Why not ease his grip, let go?

He wouldn’t have to be Anxiety and everything that came with it. It would be selfish, but-- but Puff was better for everyone, not just him. It made sense.

He sighed in relief as the transformation washed away the vice grip around his lungs and the dizzying pounding of his head. The feelings were muffled, as though he’d put on thick, good quality headphones. It was nice.

It was also harder to focus in this form, unfortunately, but the idea-- the solution remained helpfully stuck in his head. He easily found his way into Roman’s room to collect what he needed, but Roman himself was absent.

He padded down to the commons, and found all three of them were there. Their discussion came to a halt as he carefully jumped up on the couch, dropping his prize into Roman’s lap.

“Oh, Puff…” Roman seemed sad, so he kneaded the creative Side’s leg with the dull edge of his claws.

“What is that?” Patton asked curiously.

Roman shifted, as though anticipating a scolding. “It’s a charmed bracelet. I designed it to keep Anxiety away from Puff. And you know what? I was right to make it! You saw how he acted today!”

Patton bit his lip but remained quiet. Something about the silence hurt, but that was okay. It wouldn’t hurt for long. He nudged the bracelet slightly, impatient.

“Why hasn’t he been wearing it, then?” Logan asked, a curious bend to his eyebrows.

“He… Well, he didn’t want it at first. Put it on yours truly instead,” Roman replied, carefully brushing a hand over Virgil’s head. “I suppose he changed his mind.”

“Did Anxiety really scare him that badly?” Patton asked, voice heartbroken.

Roman frowned determinedly and finally started undoing the clasp. “Whatever that scoundrel did, he won’t be able to bother Puff anymore. This will make sure of it.”

He carefully wound the bracelet around Virgil’s neck, gently adjusted it until it fit right, and reconnected the ends. The last thing Virgil saw before the world went hazy was the three of them, the best parts of Thomas, looking back at him without any fear or hatred.

Then, there was only Puff.

[omgrachwrites]

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Eighteen

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: fluff, angst, The Potters being adorable

Words: 2370

A/N: Sorry this is late guys, I’m back full time in work so updates may be a little funky! There’s only gonna be two parts and maybe an epilogue, after this one?? Thank you guys for all your support, it means the world to me! Hope you guys enjoy this one and please let me know what you think, let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Part Eighteen - Fighting Fire With Fire

Today was a strange day, it was like a blast from your past but you vaguely wondered how things had gotten this bad in a mere three years, everyone was now fighting for their lives. You and Sirius were about to leave for the council chamber so you could try and work out just who the traitor among you was.

One of your favourite memories was when Sirius had suggested that you should be at the private council meeting when you first arrived at English court. But now, your entire body felt cold with dread. You looked at your children who were still sleeping and you were glad that they were both blissfully unaware of the dangers.

Warm strong arms wrapped around your waist and you smiled as you leaned back into your husband’s firm chest. You giggled lightly as he pressed his lips to the back of your neck, “are you alright, nearly ready to go?” he asked, whispering against your skin.

You sighed as you tilted your head so you could press a kiss to his stubbled cheek, “I know this council meeting is a necessity but the traitor could be one of our friends,” you couldn’t believe that someone that you had trusted with your children could really be the traitor, “I just wish that Voldemort was actually dead but he’s a sorcerer, it’s not really a surprise that he had a trick up his sleeve.”

Sirius nodded, “I know, it’s awful,” he hesitated, “you know that I’m not the traitor, don’t you? I would never do anything to hurt us or our friends,” his voice broke slightly and your heart melted at his tone.

You turned around so you were facing him and took his cheeks in your hands, “oh, darling, I know, I know that you’re not the traitor. You would give your life for any one of us, I love you.”

Sirius smiled and kissed you gently, twirling his fingers through your locks, “I love you too, so much. We should probably go,” he sighed and tugged at your hand gently.

With one last look at Andromeda and your children, you followed Sirius out of your chambers. The birds were chirping and the cheerfully but it didn’t warm you or soften your heart like it usually did. In fact, it left you filled with coldness and longing. How could the birds be singing so beautifully? How could the sun be shining so brightly on a day when you had to figure out which of your friends was unfaithful?

The atmosphere was tense and heavy as you and Sirius walked into the council chamber and sat down. Lily smiled warmly at you as she rocked Harry in her arms. James turned away from the window that he was sadly gazing out of and he wandered over to sit at the head of the table. He sighed heavily as he folded his fingers on the table, leaning back in his chair, looking at those that he called friends.

You felt so sorry for him; to carry this great responsibility must be a huge burden. You felt eternally grateful that you hadn’t had to marry James after all and become Queen. In these troubled times, you would have made a poor Queen. Lily was the perfect Queen for an unsettled England with her grace and composure.

“You all know why you’re here, there’s a traitor among us and they’re in this room, now I can’t believe that any of you would betray me and my family. But, there is no other explanation if Voldemort knows about the contents of the prophecy. If you speak up now, I will grant you mercy which will be more than you deserve,” he cleared his throat and sat back again, looking at those who were supposed to be his best friends.

Remus and Sirius looked down at the table, trying to blink back tears; Peter on the other hand, was staring straight ahead at the opposite wall with a blank look on his face. You thought it was odd and out of character. No one said anything and you bit your lip, feeling nervous. You had already told James about the man who was lurking outside the door but he had dismissed it.

Swallowing back your nerves, you glanced up at James who was on the verge of tears as a mixture of anger and hurt flickered across his young face, “Your Majesty,” you started, your voice sounded too loud in the deathly quiet room.

“Y/N,” Sirius mumbled in a warning tone but you ignored him.

James gave you such a sharp look that made you shrink back in your seat, he was no longer the carefree benevolent ruler, he had been forced into growing up and it was so sad, “yes, do you have something to say?”

His tone of voice made your anger flare up, yes you did have something to say, and he couldn’t dismiss it again. You clenched your teeth to stop yourself from saying something that you would regret, “yes, Your Majesty. I made you both aware that I spied a man outside of the room when we all heard the prophecy, but my worries were dismissed,” you smiled weakly at him to soften the blow of your harsh words.

James shook his head as Sirius tensed, out of the corner of your eye you saw Sirius shoot you a worried look but you kept quiet as you stared at the King, “we’ve discussed this already, there was no way that your mystery man could have heard us!” his voice was hard as he narrowed his eyes at you. Lily placed her hand on her husband’s forearm and he sighed as he seemed to remember where he was, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You shook your head, “you don’t have to apologise to me, Your Majesty,” if the King suddenly started apologising to everyone that he offended then he wouldn’t be King for very long. He would soon be overthrown if he was to be seen as weak.

“Who did you see outside of the room, Y/N?” Lily asked kindly, “we didn’t give you much of a chance to make your case before,” she shot you an apologetic look.

Sirius took your hand and squeezed it comfortingly as he smiled lovingly at you, and you could have sworn that you saw a flicker of pride in his light grey eyes. You cast your mind back to the day when you’d heard the prophecy for the first time.

“Uh, I didn’t see him very well but he had long dark greasy hair that hung over his face like a curtain and sallow skin, just like a vampire…” you trailed off as you looked up at your friends and they were all looking at you with their mouths wide open, “what?” you asked, feeling rather confused.

James sighed as he rubbed his temples, “did he have a hooked nose and black eyes?”

“Yes,” you gasped, “how did you know that?”

Sirius clenched his jaw and banged his hand on the table, “Snivellus! The rat!” before you could ask, your husband looked at you, “he was our nemesis growing up.”

Everyone looked angry apart from Lily who just looked sad, “I can’t believe that it was Severus, I just can’t believe it.”

James’ angry look vanished at once as he looked at his wife, he gently took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the top of it, “Y/N has never seen Snape before and yet she was able to describe him perfectly, there’s no other alternative here, my love. He needs to be arrested,” Lily nodded with a sad sigh and James looked back over to you, “Y/N, I’ve already discussed it with the men but do you believe that Voldemort is a sorcerer?”

You nodded, grateful that he was willing to listen to you this time, “yes, Your Majesty, I don’t think there’s any other explanation for his survival.”

James sat back, looking pensive and he nodded, “we’re all in agreement then, we need to fight fire with fire.”

“What if the news of Voldemort’s survival turns out to be false?” Peter squeaked.

“We can’t afford to take that risk,” James sighed, “you’re all dismissed, I’ll have Snape thrown in the Tower. But I’ll be keeping an eye on all of you, this isn’t over yet.”

Once you were out in the hallway, Sirius turned to you with a grin and wrapped his arms around your waist, “I’m so proud of you for speaking up like that,” he leaned in to press a sweet kiss against your mouth.

You scoffed as you ran your hands up Sirius’ chest and wrapped your arms around his neck, gazing at his handsome face, “I don’t think that James agreed with you,” you giggled but it was nice to hear him say so. Though, you couldn’t get rid of the feeling of dread, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this Sirius.”

“About what?” Sirius cupped your cheeks and looked at you with concern.

“I’m not sure,” you shook your head, thinking of Peter and how he reacted, “I can’t put my finger on it,” but you felt that something was horribly wrong.

----------------------------------------------------

11 Months Later

On Prince Harry’s first birthday it was a gloriously sunny day, James and Lily were going to make a spectacle of Harry’s birthday and Sirius thought that it was a good idea. The court needed a reason to celebrate; news on Voldemort had been quiet for a while. Magic was still outlawed with the exception of the sorcerer, Dumbledore. It turned out that Dumbledore was an extremely skilled sorcerer; his power was the only thing keeping Voldemort at bay.

Y/N sighed as she adjusted her silk dress as the twins ran outside to where James and Lily were throwing the party. Sirius smiled and looked over at his wife as he kissed her warm cheek, “are you feeling alright sweetheart?”

Y/N offered him a small smile and Sirius could tell that she was uncomfortable in the great heat, “yes, it’s just this little one,” she giggled as she rested her hands on her stomach, “he or she is feeling very restless, I hope it’s not another set of twins.”

Sirius reached out as they walked out onto the grounds and he placed his hand on Y/N’s stomach, grinning when he felt his child kick beneath his hand, “I’m just so happy, Y/N.”

Y/N beamed as she placed her hand over his, linking their fingers together, “I’m happy too, more happy than I ever thought I could be.”

A boyish giggle filled Sirius’ ears and he grinned as he saw Harry toddling towards them on unsteady legs. Lily trailed behind him with her arms outstretched in case he toppled over, “Happy Birthday, little Prince!” Y/N giggled.

Sirius lifted Harry into his arms, spinning him round, Harry’s little laugh was so infectious and Sirius chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s messy black hair. Sirius placed Harry back on the ground and Y/N presented Harry’s wrapped gift that she was hiding behind her back with a flourish, “this is for you, angel.”

When she gave him the gift, Harry gasped happily, his little face lighting up as he ran back to his father, “what do you say Harry?” Lily shouted after the Prince.

“Famk you!”

Lily laughed as she shook her head and took Y/N by the hand, “I’m stealing your pregnant wife, Sirius.”

Y/N laughed and kissed Sirius sweetly, “goodbye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, my darling,” Sirius chuckled as he watched Lily pull Y/N over to the stream where she could dip her feet and Lily offered her a silver goblet.

Sirius walked over to where James, Remus and Peter were basking in the shade of the trees as the children played together. James beamed at him as he offered Sirius a tankard of spiced honeyed mead, “you really didn’t have to,” he nodded over at Harry who had ripped the colourful paper off his new toy and held it up with glee.

Sirius laughed as he took a sip of his mead, wincing at the strong taste, “he’s my godson, of course Y/N and I had to, and it was our pleasure to spoil him.”

Remus grinned as he looked over at his wife, Mary, “how are you feeling about being a father again?”

Sirius smiled as excitement bubbled up in his chest, “I’m excited, I wasn’t sure about having another child too soon but I think now is the right time, we all need some joy in our lives. Are you and Lily planning on having anymore little ones James?”

James shrugged as he sat down on the grass with his back against the willow tree, “Lily wants a huge family, and so do I but we’re not trying to have another as of yet. Harry is all we need for now,” he grinned over at his son who was now playing in the water with Elena and Johnathan.

When the day grew cooler, the women joined the men under the shade of the trees, Y/N smiled lazily up at Sirius as she kissed him and Sirius wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting on her stomach. All afternoon Harry couldn’t stop staring at Y/N’s stomach with wide, almost scared eyes. In the end, Lily had to explain.

“Y/N has got a baby boy or girl in her tummy, just like she did before she had Elena and Johnathan, you were in Mama’s tummy,” she tickled Harry’s tummy making him giggle loudly.

Harry waddled over to Sirius and Y/N and climbed into Y/N’s arms; Y/N smiled as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. Harry put his tiny hands on her stomach almost protectively and Sirius smiled as he felt sadness grow in his chest, he wished that it could always be like this. He wished that they could have long summer days in fields of flowers without a care in the world. He wished that Harry didn’t have to live up to his destiny; he was the only one who could save England. England’s future rested on a little boy.

----------------------------------------------------

@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @siriuslyjanhvi @pregnant-piggy @lindatreb @mabelle-cherie @hxrgreeves @britishspidey @mads-bri @classicrocketqueen​ @sxtansqueen​ @hufflepuffzutara​ @potters-heart​ @bruxa0007​ @ourstarsailor​ @fific7​ @galwithbluethoughts​ @2410slb​ @sunles​ @krismeunicornbaobei​ @theincredibledeadlyviper​ @deathkat657​ @lonegryffindor2005​ @writing-your-heart-out​ @fandomxreaders

[allisondraste]

Announcing: Ambivalence

It has been exactly one year to the day since I published the final chapter of my Nathaniel Howe/F!Cousland long-fic, Temperance, and I could not think of a better time to unveil it’s first sequel, which I have had on the back-burner while I took a much-needed hiatus from writing. 

This will be a far briefer story than it’s predecessor, but tells an important part of Nate and Liss’ story.  

I hope you all enjoy!

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe x Female Cousland 

Story Summary: It has been just over a year since Nathaniel Howe and Elissa Cousland were reunited, childhood friendship forged into a love that endured a decade apart.  However, every love is tested at some point. Presented with circumstances that could either make or break their relationship, Nate and Liss are no different.

[AO3 Link]

Chapter 1: Pity and Pride

Chapter Summary:  It is no secret that there is trouble in paradise, and Nathaniel is quickly becoming tired of his friends’ concern.

Vigil’s Keep, Solace 9:33 Dragon

Sunlight poured into the room, undeterred by curtains carelessly drawn open the night before, forming a halo around the woman who lay next to him with bare limbs draped comfortably across his body.  It was rare that he awoke before her, rarer still to catch a glimpse of her sleeping peacefully, features unmarred by the nightmares that so often plagued her rest.  It was difficult to fret over their privacy when the uncovered window painted such a beautiful portrait.  How many years had he longed  for moments such as this, fleeting and perfect, always just out of his reach?  

And now Liss was there, snoring softly and tangled in bedsheets.  Unable to quell the urge to touch her, to make sure she was real, he reached forward and brushed a lock of hair from her face before allowing his fingertips to settle on her cheek.  She stirred, thick brows pressing together as her eyes flickered open, rich, brown, and sparkling with a groggy smile.

“Good morning, Nate,” she said quietly, voice hoarse as she shifted beneath the sheets and brought her hand up to cover his, an intricate ring glittering on her finger.  

“My love,” he whispered, allowing his eyes to blink closed just briefly.

Then, he awoke.

Nathaniel sighed as his eyes opened, not to a lovely sun-soaked room in Antiva, but rather to his own tomb-like quarters in Vigil’s Keep, with nothing but low-burning sconces illuminating the depressing stone walls and floors.  It was too cold, and he rolled over to be closer to the warmth of his bed partner, stretching out an arm to drape across her.

However, his arm fell only against a mound of blankets, his dreams having played a cruel trick on him once again.  This was not the first time in recent days that he’d woken up to find his bed empty, the woman who had lain with him the night before gone without a trace other than the turned back sheets and coverlet on her side of the bed.  In fact, it seemed that he woke up alone more often than not.

“Liss,” he asked the empty room, as if it could summon her for him, as if he did not know she was already up and running about the Keep pretending that everything was fine.

When the room did not answer him, he sighed and sat up begrudgingly, shivering as the chilly air met his bare skin, and slid out of bed.  Without any windows, discerning the hour proved difficult, yet he figured it was past time that he got ready and behaved as an acting Warden-Constable anyway.  

In peace, vigilance , and all of that.

A rustling from his closet drew him from his thoughts and his head darted toward the direction of the noise out of instinct.  Cautiously, he made his way over to the door and placed an ear up against it, hoping to get a better idea of what lay inside.

Meow .

Nathaniel sighed and shook his head as he opened the door, glancing down to a pair of bright green eyes examining him.  Ser Pounce-A-Lot was a ridiculous name for a creature who only ever snuck about and examined the world with cold calculation, pouncing very little, if at all.

“This,” he grumbled, stepping out of the animal’s way, “Is how curiosity kills your kind . ”

The cat tilted his head in an almost unnatural way before mewing again and sauntering forward, snaking himself around Nathaniel’s leg and purring gratuitously for several long moments.

“You are keeping me from my duties, Your Lordship ,” Nathaniel said, glaring down at Ser Pounce, who appeared wholly undeterred, before stopping, blinking up at him, and then chomping down on the back of his heel.  He hissed in pain and pulled away reflexively.

Reaching down to give the cat a scratch behind the ears, Nathaniel said,“Perhaps you were meant to be a war beast after all.”

Ser Pounce nuzzled into his hand, gave a final meow, and pranced out of the room as if nothing had transpired. He wondered how he had ended up caring for the damnable creature in the first place.  Then again, it was not as if Anders had been in any sort of condition to care for a pet when he fled the Keep, nor was Nathaniel certain Justice would have allowed him to.  He shook his head free of the disappointing, bitter memories of his friends. He had more pressing matters to attend.

It took him little time to dress himself in his Warden attire. The days had been short and peaceful since The Mother and her spawn were destroyed, yet he preferred to dress the part of a Grey Warden, armed and prepared for an attack at any moment.  In the aftermath of Loghain’s slanderous campaign against them, and with the decision to allow Amaranthine to fall looming over their heads, the Wardens had ample other enemies now, enemies that the Darkspawn threat had once held at bay.  Anything could happen.

Appropriately equipped, Nathaniel straightened his posture and stepped out into the hallway.

It was an odd experience to reside in his childhood home, yet on an entirely different floor and wing. When Delilah assumed control of the arling, she had kindly offered that he keep his old room, as part of the Howe family.  He promptly declined, having no fond feelings for the room to which he’d been unfairly banished more times than he could count.  Besides, he preferred to stay with the other Wardens, his new family.

Nathaniel made his way through several dark corridors and down multiple flights of stairs, feet guided more by muscle memory than sight, until he’d reached the ground floor.  He couldn’t say for certain he would find Liss in the great hall, but it was as good of a place as any to start.

The largest room in Vigil’s Keep, was the only room with any semblance of warmth.  One of the longest-standing, impregnable fortresses in Ferelden had no use for stained glass windows, open courtyards, or natural lighting of any kind.  His father had always declared that it was called a keep and not a castle for a reason, an underhanded criticism of the things Nathaniel pretended not to love about Castle Cousland when he was a child.

He scanned the space before him, nearly vacant with the exception of pages and scouts milling about waiting to be assigned tasks.  He thought to approach one of them to ask if they’d seen Liss, but thought better of it.  They likely had no idea who she was or what she looked like, and they no doubt had better things to do than participate in this unnecessary game of hide-and-seek.

“Morning, Nathaniel,” called a voice off to his side, a voice he did not particularly wish to hear at present.  He turned to see Alistair standing several feet away, wearing that lopsided, cheerful grin that usually occupied his face.  The younger man had thickened up slightly since they’d first met over a year prior, an effect of safety, security, and not carrying the weight of a Blight on his back.  He looked healthy and happy, and Nathaniel envied his ability to bounce back.

“Morning, Alistair” Nathaniel replied dryly.  He paused, eyes darting around the room in another cursory sweep before returning to the other man. “Have you seen Liss, by any chance?”

Alistair flinched at the question. “You mean, you  haven’t seen her this morning?”

“No.”

“Damn...” he shifted his weight, laughing nervously and bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his head, “I, um.. I haven’t seen her either.”

“Wonderful,” Nathaniel muttered, shaking his head.

“Listen, you know how she is,” Alistair said, placing a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder in what was undoubtedly an attempt at reassurance, a gesture of pity. “She probably just got one of those wild hairs of hers, ran off to the library in the middle of the night, and is now passed out under a pile of books.  I’m sure everything’s fine.”

Nathaniel blinked at him several times, then looked down to glare at the hand that was resting on his shoulder. “Uh…huh.”

The other man withdrew his hand awkwardly, frowning. “Sorry,” he remarked pointedly, holding his hands up in defeat, “Remind me to wait until you’ve woken up properly next time I decide to show you basic human decency.”

Nathaniel deflated at Alistair’s words. “No, I apologize.  I am just a bit tense as of late.”

“Yeah.” Alistair looked down at the floor and kicked at the stone with the toe of his boot before looking back up. “I know.  For what it’s worth, if I was in your shoes I’d… I don’t know what I’d do.  Probably fling myself into the nearest body of water.”

Nathaniel snorted derisively. “Thanks.”

“That sounded bad didn’t it? What I meant is--”

“I know what you meant.”

“Right.” Alistair let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “I’m going to stop talking now, before I put my other foot in my mouth.”

Nathaniel offered him a hint of a smirk to indicate that there had been no real harm done, then teased, “I believe that is a wise decision.”

Alistair smiled in return and nodded. “Anyway, I was actually meant to inform you that the commander would like to speak with you. She’s in her study right now.”  

“I shall see her at once.”

“And if I run into our Dear Lady Cousland, I will tell her you were looking for her.”

“Please, do.”

Concluding his conversation with Alistair, Nathaniel headed immediately toward the corridor that led back to the commander’s study, the room that had previously belonged to his father’s portraits and trophies.  As a child, he’d spent many hours hiding away in that damned room, dreaming himself up a better father than Rendon would ever be.  He was grateful Lucia now occupied the space, her solemn kindness and humility painting over the history that had once lived there, and he hoped that with time, she would eliminate his father’s stain completely.

The large wooden door  was left slightly ajar, a small band of lamplight leaking out into the hallway.  He still stopped and decided to knock, rather than just entering as others would have.  Despite her open-door policy, he refused to startle her without need. Three quick raps, and he waited for her response.

“You can come in, Nathaniel,” she called just loud enough for him to hear her.

He pushed the door open and entered, laughing. “How did you know it was me?”

Lucia looked up at him with a hint of a smile. “You’re the only person I know who knocks when the door is open.”

“Right,” he replied, pressing the door closed behind him.

The young woman he called his friend and commanding officer stood bent over her desk, despite a perfectly adequate chair sitting just behind her.  She propped herself up with one hand flat on the surface of the desk, as she thumbed through pages of some antiquated tome with the other.  Though her long, dark hair was styled in a low ponytail, it still fell down and cast a shadow over her face.  Surrounding her were stacks of other old texts and scrolls.

Lucia had been rather consumed by research as of late. An unassuming journal had found its way into her hands, one with writings that had been identified as Warden-Commander Duncan’s.  In it, he had documented an encounter with their very own Architect.  She hoped the record would provide them with some valuable information about the unsettling creature, and it had.  But it had also made mentions of an unnamed Grey Warden, a mage, who was freed from her calling, tainted blood healed and unable to be re-joined.

Ever since, Lucia had been pouring over Grey Warden lore and history and manuscripts about obscure magics, no doubt searching for something they all wanted deep down: A cure.  As honorable as membership in the order sounded, the same power that granted them their Blight-stopping capabilities became an unbearable curse in peaceful times, each moment that passed one breath closer to The Calling.  The commander was so young, and he understood her newfound compulsion to find a solution.  She was not the only one struggling to cope with the reality of a Grey Warden’s fate.

“You asked to speak to me,” he stated tentatively, almost as a question.

Lucia’s gaze darted up to him, and she straightened her posture. “Yes, I did.”

“And?”

She walked around her desk to stand in front of him, piercing eyes searching his face for an answer to a question she had yet to ask.  “How are you holding up?”

A twinge of irritation sparked through him. “Holding up?”

“Perhaps it is presumptuous of me to say as your commanding officer, but we are also friends, and as your friend I feel obligated to point out that things with Elissa have been a bit… tense since you two returned from Highever.”

“That is presumptuous,” Nathaniel replied through his teeth, “Even as my friend.”

Lucia stood, unfazed and blinking. “You can be annoyed with my concern if you wish, but that won’t make it go away.”

“Your concern is wasted.”  His words were clipped, and he crossed his arms.  “I am fine.”

“Nate,” she urged him, dropping her typical formality and reaching forward to place a hand on his arm, a gesture of which he was quickly tiring.  Still, they were friends, and he wondered if it might give him some clarity to discuss the matter with the woman.

He opened his mouth, prepared to provide a more honest answer, but clamped it shut as a knock rang out on the door behind him.  He released the breath he’d been holding, never more grateful for an interruption.  

“Who’s there,” Lucia asked.

“It’s Liss.  I just spoke with Alistair, and he said you wanted to see me.”

Nathaniel glared at Lucia waiting for an explanation that she did not provide.  Instead, she released his arm and moved to sit down in the chair at her desk. “You can come in.”

The door creaked open slowly, and Nathaniel turned to see Liss.  She froze in the doorway when their eyes met, wincing as if his presence had inflicted physical pain. Then she blinked suspiciously between him and the commander before flashing a smile and bouncing into the room. ”

“Good morning, Lucia,” she announced cheerfully, as she moved to stand beside Nathaniel, giving him a confusing, playful nudge with her elbow. ”Hey Nate.”

“Now that you’re both here,” Lucia began formally, “I have an assignment for you two.”

“Oh?”  Liss perked up, and fidgeted excitedly.

“Some sort of Warden business, I presume,” Nathaniel asked, making every effort to hide both his discomfort and his relief.

“Yes. ” Lucia nodded.  “As you know, a new Junior Warden was transferred to us from the Warden Fortress at Montsimmard last week.”

“The woman from Kirkwall?”

“Her name’s Bethany,” Liss corrected with a quick laugh, “I met her in passing near the baths.  She didn’t seem too keen on having a conversation with me at the time.”

“Warden Bethany has been through quite an ordeal in the past six months,” Lucia explained, “She is an apostate who was living as a refugee in Kirkwall with her family after they fled Lothering during the Blight.  She was Joined by a contingent of Orlesian Wardens after an encounter with darkspawn in the Deep Roads.”

Nathaniel frowned and brought his hand to his chin. “The Deep Roads? What was she doing in the Deep Roads?”

“It seems pretty fortunate that she would have stumbled into a group of Grey Wardens, too,” Liss chimed in.

“It had nothing to do with fortune,” Lucia continued, words stern and direct.  She stood up, clenching her fists at her sides. “Bethany and her older sister were part of an expedition into the Deep Roads to search for artifacts and treasure, accompanied by one of our own, who provided them with confidential Warden maps to help them navigate.”

The palpable vitriol from Lucia meant one thing, and one thing only.

“Anders,” Nathaniel asked.

“Yes,” she responded defeatedly, “According to Bethany he’s been living in Kirkwall ever since he deserted, running some sort of healing clinic.  He is the reason they were able to find the other Wardens.”

“Wow,” Liss remarked, “That all seems uncharacteristically noble of him.”

“Uncharacteristic of Anders, perhaps,” Nathaniel stated, “But not of Justice.”

“Right.”  Lucia’s gaze was fixed on the ground, deep in thought.   She looked up at them before sighing and speaking again, “As unorthodox as it may seem to assign a mission based upon personal feelings, I believe my reasoning is sound.  Anders is still a Grey Warden, one who I conscripted, which makes him my responsibility. I would like for you two, along with Bethany, to travel to Kirkwall and pay him a visit. ”

“And do what exactly,” he asked, annoyed by what felt like a waste of time, “Drag him back to the Keep by his collar?”

“That would be a sight.” Liss chuckled at his side and he rolled his eyes. “Ten silvers he sets your little chin hairs on fire.”

“He would have to catch me first. Twelve silvers.”

She smiled and winked at him. “It’s a bet.”

“If I am being completely honest about my intentions, I just want you to check in on him, “Lucia continued more softly, paying no heed to their irreverence to the task, “Make sure that he is safe and warn him against sharing too many delicate Warden secrets.”

“So this is not “official” Warden business then,” Nathaniel asked.

“I’m not sure the Wardens ever do anything ‘officially,’” Liss stated flatly.

“This is just for my peace of mind,” Lucia answered with a sad smile, “Besides, I thought you two might enjoy some time away together.”

Her investment in their relationship shamed him, causing his face to flush.  Lucia had so many other things that she could and should have been fretting over instead.   He flicked his eyes over to Liss, wondering if she felt as he did.

She only frowned and shrugged out a reply.   “I could use a vacation.”

“Kirkwall is a shithole,” Nathaniel told her frankly, words more pointed than he’d intended,”It won’t exactly be a vacation.”

“Not with that attitude, it won’t be,” she chirped, not missing a beat.

“Will you go,” Lucia asked.

“Of course,” he replied, with a reassuring smile.  Liss nodded along with him.

“Thank you both.”  Lucia seemed to relax, and sat back slowly into her chair. “You all should prepare to head out to Amaranthine first thing in the morning.  I’ve arranged passage for you there.”

Nathaniel nodded in acknowledgement, noticing Liss do the same as she spoke, “Is there anything else you needed, Commander?”

“No,” she shook her head, “You are free to go.  Safe travels.”

When he turned to face Liss , she was biting her lip and appeared to be lost in thought, a small wrinkle between her brows.  It was ridiculous to ache for someone who slept beside him each night, to miss her.  And yet he did.  Maker did he miss her.  That their companions sensed some sort of tension between them was not inaccurate, and had he been honest with Alistair and Lucia, he would have admitted that things were not “fine.”  He just was not ready to broach the topic of what happened in Highever with anyone other than Liss, and she had been all but avoiding any opportunity they had to discuss it for the better part of two weeks.  

Shaking himself free of his own thoughts, he nudged Liss with his elbow and held his arm out to her.  There was no guarantee that she would accept it, but he would be damned if he did not offer it to her.  When she glanced over to him, then down at his arm, and back up to meet his gaze,  her face lit up, bright and warm, and relief washed over him.  Thank The Maker he could still make her smile.

Without hesitation, she looped her arm through his and blinked up at him expectantly. “Shall we?”

A quiet chuckle escaped him.  “Of course, my lady.”

Liss had always been adept at filling silences, or at the very least making them comfortable; however, as they left Lucia’s study together, arm-in-arm, an oppressive and awkward quiet fell over them.  Nathaniel was no stranger to uncomfortable silences, but to share one with Liss was an entirely new experience.  He racked his mind for anything to talk about that would not cause her to withdraw from him, but came up short.  Hopefully he would be able to suffer his own discomfort until they made it back to their shared quarters.

“So,” she spoke up suddenly, much to Nathaniel’s relief, “Kirkwall. Just the two of us… and that Bethany person, of course.  This’ll be fun.”  She held his arm more tightly and let her head fall to rest against his shoulder.

“You really think so,” he asked, amused at her optimism.

She pulled away suddenly to look up at him, a pain he did not intend to inflict buried in her expression. “You don’t?”

“That’s not what I—” he paused, immediately frustrated and attempting to keep his composure— “It wasn’t meant to be serious.”

Liss continued to glare up at him, tears welling in her eyes, and he did not have a shred of an idea how to respond.  She had never been a rational person, but this was a bit extreme.  He squeezed and released his hands at his side as he fought the urge to reach out to her.  

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, looking down at the ground, “You’ve done nothing wrong.  I’m just—”

“Liss,” he urged, hoping that she would finally open up to him, give him some clue as to why she kept pushing him away and erecting walls between them that had never been there before.

“Nate,” she whispered, a single tear falling from her lashes and rolling down her cheek.

Without thinking he reached forward to wipe it away with his thumb, allowing his hand to linger on her cheek.  Her gaze softened at the touch, and for a moment he thought her defenses might falter, that she might let him in.  She brought her hand up to cover his, briefly allowing her eyes to flutter closed.  When she opened them again, there was steel in her expression and she grabbed his hand, gently pulling it away from her face.  With that, he withdrew his hand completely and stared back at her in disbelief, jaw clenched.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded, voice hushed, “Please.”

“I can’t… do this right now.” She shook her head frantically, emotions barely held beneath the surface. “I’m sorry.”

“This is not something you can run from and hope it disappears, Liss,” he replied tersely, his frustration getting the better of him, “You can’t keep avoiding me.”

“I’m going to get some air,” she snapped, indignant and completely ignoring his remarks, “We can prepare for our journey after I come back.

“Liss, wait—”

“I’ll talk to you later, Nate,” she interrupted as she turned to walk away toward the front door.

They had done this dance too many times for him to be taken aback or even confused.  No, the only thing he felt at the moment was exhausted.  Countless times since they’d returned, he’d tried to get her to discuss how she was feeling, or to at least listen to how he felt, but she’d consistently found excuses or other ways to escape an actual conversation.  It was ridiculous and immature, and he was at a complete and utter loss.  

Ego bruised and chest aching, he made his way over to the bench along a nearby wall and sank down, resting his elbows on his knees as his face dropped into the palms of his hands.   What was he to do next except give her space and hope that things would be sorted out with time?

His ruminations were cut short as his ears caught the distinct shuffle of footsteps that slowed to a stop as they neared him and a hushed murmur of women’s voices.  He could not make out what they were saying, but the voices were familiar, and it was obvious they were attempting discretion and failing miserably.

“You two are not subtle,” he said with a sigh as he looked up to see the elf and dwarf blinking at him sympathetically, a look that had become all too common since he’d returned from Highever.  Did people sincerely believe him to be so pitiable?  His friends, especially, should have known better.

Velanna glanced between Nathaniel and the empty space beside him on the bench, brow furrowing slightly as she asked, “May I?”

“Be my guest,” he replied motioning to the seat, then letting his head fall to his hands again briefly before sitting up straight and watching as she sat down beside him.  Sigrun remained standing, but moved to lean against the wall.

Nathaniel glanced from one to the other several times, noting their heavy silence and persevering looks of pity.  He settled on Velanna, whose pinched expression he presently found the most irritating and asked, “Is there something you wished of me? Or do you intend to continue staring at me as if I were a lost puppy?”

“We are not—” Velanna began to retort, words echoing off the walls.  She sighed and continued more quietly, “We are simply concerned for you.”

“There is no reason to be concerned for me,” Nathaniel protested, “I am fine.”

“Hah,” Sigrun interjected, laughing, “You don’t think we’re going to buy that, do you?”

“You don’t have to,” he retorted sarcastically, turning to face his other friend, “I am offering it to you for free.”

“Come on, Nate.  We’re your friends, and we know better,” she pressed, “Besides, with the way you’ve been moping about the Keep these past two weeks, there are lost puppies I feel less sorry for.”

He bristled at her words, muscles tensing as he clenched his fists.  Just as he was about to snap, Velanna’s hand fell on his shoulder and his gaze darted back to her instead.  

“ Lethallin ,” she said firmly, a word from her own language.  She’d once told him it was a term of endearment for her People, one used to signify the closeness between friends.  He relaxed slightly, and she withdrew her hand to rest on her lap. “Was it not you who once told me I needed to stop viewing every expression of sympathy as a personal attack.?”

“That does sound like something I would say.” Nathaniel shook his head, snorted out a laugh, and slouched forward.  “I can’t say I expected that to come back and bite me in the arse.”  

It was silent for several beats, then he continued, apologizing for what seemed like the thousandth time in just an hour or so.  “I am sorry, truly. Everyone is so concerned about me, and I know that I should be appreciative, but... if I am being completely honest, it’s humiliating.”

“That is…” Velanna said, “Understandable.”

Sigrun nodded her agreement. “Definitely.”

“I—” he began to speak again, but was interrupted by the loud bang of a door slamming back against the wall.  Several scouts and pages gasped in surprise at the form that entered the hall, battle axe slung effortlessly over his shoulder.  “Nevermind,” Nathaniel muttered quickly.

“Never fear, Ol’ Oghren’s back and better than ever,” Oghren shouted at the far end of the hall as the door slammed closed behind him.  He appeared to scan the room, perking up when his gaze met Nathaniel’s, and immediately sauntering over to the bench.

Velanna sighed and rolled her eyes as Sigrun straightened up to wave and greet him.“Hey Oghren!  How’s the family?”

The dwarf had been away for just over a month visiting with Felsi, and their brood.  Ever since the turmoil in Amaranthine had ended, and most of the resulting mess cleared up, he’d been taking intermittent leave to be a more present husband and father.  He was certainly rough around every edge, but he was trying to be better, and that was admirable.

“Oh you know, same ol’, same ol’,” he answered jovially, stopping as he stood just a few feet away from the rest of them.  He brought one hand up and stroked his elaborately-plaited auburn beard proudly. “Felsi’s expectin’ again.”

“Maker’s Blood, man! Are you intending to father a legion?” Nathaniel exclaimed with a laugh that was cut short by a sudden realization.  He squinted at Oghren and continued, “Wait. Congratulations and all, but... how is that even possible?”

Oghren shrugged. “Beats the shit out of me. The Commander told me Grey Wardens weren’t s’posed to be able to… y’know...”

His words trailed off into a low chuckle and he waggled his eyebrows, eliciting a groan of disgust from Velanna.  At the same time, a mischievous smirk crossed Sigrun’s face and she tilted her head, crossed her arms and said with faux innocence, “No, Oghren, I actually don’t think we know.”

“Do not encourage him, lethallan ,” Velanna scolded, standing up as if preparing to escape.

To Nathaniel’s surprise, Oghren ignored the opportunity to pop off with an inappropriate joke, and instead looked at him, a hint of a genuine smile sparkling in his eyes, but hidden beneath his beard. “So, Howe, I figure congratulations are in order for you too, eh?”

Nathaniel stiffened, heart sinking like lead into his abdomen.  He shook his head and let out a laugh that was more bitter than he had hoped.  “No.  No that won’t be necessary.”

“Wait… what?” Oghren scowled and examined Nathaniel for a moment before protesting. “Don’t tell me you changed your mind?  Didn’t take you to be a chickenshit.”

“I didn’t.” Nathaniel stood up abruptly at the words, startling the others. “And I’m not.”

“Shit, I—”

“I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Nate,” Sigrun said gently, grabbing his arm.

He shrugged her off and stepped away. “I should go prepare for my trip to Kirkwall.”

“Nathaniel,” Velanna urged him, “Wait.”

“Thank you for talking with me,” he said flatly, glancing between Velanna and Sigrun, then over to Oghren, “It is good to have you back, my friend.”

“Yeah… sure.”

With that, Nathaniel gave his friends a nod, and turned to make his way to the nearest stairwell, heart racing as he struggled to remain calm.  

“What crawled up his breeches,” he heard Oghren ask behind him.

Nathaniel did not linger to hear Velanna and Sigrun brief Oghren on the events that had transpired while he was away.  He did not need to be reminded.

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [99]

xv. the dying of the light 

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 6.0k

Warnings: language, mentions of blood, angst, Cadogan is a piece of shit, anxiety, fighting, death, just some very sad, very heavy stuff.

Summary: bellamy is gone, gabriel is gone, and now madi has disappeared. desperation rises as you all race to save madi before she too is taken from you.

a/n: sorry, but my brain is struggling to process that this is number 99!!!!! i swear i just posted episode 1 like last week? how is this possible? the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

The first thing you realize is that Miller saved all of your lives with his quick thinking. You turn and meet his gaze, grateful that he was fast enough to get the bomb behind one of the solid doors. “Thank you.”

He nods in acknowledgment, before another soft rumble settles through the room, and the door the bomb is behind starts to groan softly. Which brings you to the second realization, that in saving all of your lives, Miller possibly doomed the others. Because the door he threw the bomb behind is the door that leads to the rest of the bunker. It’s the door that leads to the stone, in the rec room with Jackson, Murphy, Emori, and Raven. 

Miller immediately pries the door in question off the hinges with one of the spears from the arena, revealing a doorway of stacked concrete, confirming what you already knew. The others are trapped down below, and the rest of you are trapped up here. You have access to the outside, but no way to reach the stone or the rest of your friends. You turn to look at Clarke, seeking out her counsel, despite still being angry with her. She gives you a desperate look, before a look of realization passes over her face. “We can still get to Madi.”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small vial, three blue pills inside. You recognize them immediately as nano trackers, likely brought over by Sheidheda, the same ones Cadogan used to leave the bunker. Clarke unscrews the bottle and immediately dumps one out, preparing to swallow it, but Gaia closes the space between them and stops her hand from dropping the pill into her mouth. “Clarke, we have to think this through.”

“Gaia's right. Only the second pill’s for me.” Clarke looks over at you in surprise, not expecting you to take her side after what she did. But she killed Bellamy to protect Madi, and if something happens to Madi, then Bellamy and Gabriel died for nothing. All of it was for nothing. You refuse to let their deaths be in vain, which is why you hold your hand out for one of the pills, and Clarke quickly passes one to you. Behind you, Octavia speaks up, moving closer to you and Clarke. “We're gonna need an inside man.”

You both understand her statement for what it is: an offer to go with the two of you, so Clarke hands Octavia the third and final pill. All of you swallow them, one after the next, Octavia the last to do so, and you stand staring at each other, waiting to instantly disappear the way that Cadogan did. 

Except, you don’t.

The three of you stay firmly in place, looking at each other in absolute confusion. “Cadogan disappeared right away.”

“Why isn't this working?”

Hope answers you and Clarke both, shrugging a little as she does. “Maybe somebody has to be waiting in Bardo to pull you through.”

A strange look passes over Clarke’s face, half anger, half amusement, before settling into one of determination. She crosses the room in three strides, stopping at the door to the rest of the bunker, clamping her hands down on the first piece of stone she sees. She pulls, letting out a cry of effort as she does, the concrete moving nowhere. She tries again, her hands slipping off the stone, likely scratching her the way they did when the two of you tried to dig to this very same bunker, and you shake your head before moving towards her. “Clarke.”

She doesn’t turn around, determinedly yanking at the stones and sliding off them, making no progress, going nowhere, but still trying nonetheless. “We have to get to Madi! Cadogan could be digging into her brain right now.”

You reach out for her, grabbing her arm and spinning her towards you. “Clarke! We spent days trying to dig our way to the bunker before we nearly died in that collapse, and this is no different. You’re gonna dislodge a stone and get yourself killed if you keep this up, and you’re no use to Madi if you’re dead.”

She sets her jaw, and you think she’s about to start a fight with you before her eyes drop and her gaze softens. “Your shoulder.”

You peer down at your shoulder and the blood staining your shirt, the wound from Sheidheda still bleeding, the pain forgotten to you in the chaos of everything that’s happened since then. “It’s nothing.”

You try to shrug her off, stepping away from her, not wanting her comfort or her help, but she reaches out to grab your arm, her hand closing around one of the cuts on your forearm. She can feel the wetness on her hand as soon as she grabs you, and she immediately lets go of you and looks at you in alarm. “La lune!”

She grabs your hand and turns your arm over, eyes scanning the cuts on both of your forearms. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I honestly can't feel it. Adrenaline and all that.”

“Come here.” She tries to pull you to the side, and you don’t budge at first, but she gives you one of those looks that lets you know this is not negotiable, because your own words apply to you in this moment. You’re no good to Madi dead, and bleeding to death because you’re mad at Clarke is not the way to go. So when she tugs you to the side a second time, you let her, and she motions for you to sit across from her as she tears strips of cloth from the bottom of her shirt. The tension between the two of you temporarily melts away as she ties makeshift bandages around your forearms and shoulder, your access to real bandages nonexistent. You sit quietly as she fixes you up the best she can, before she finally breaks the silence to whisper, “I’m sorry about Bellamy, I swear I am. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to, to protect Madi. You can hate me forever, la lune, I’ll understand.”

You sit in silence for a second, weighing her words, and you can tell from the anguish in her voice that she means it. But that doesn't erase all of your feelings instantly, as much as you wish it did. You wish you could erase the hurt and the grief and the anger, but you can’t. It’s still raw and open, weighing on you at every moment. “Clarke, you’re my shining star. You’re a part of me. I understand why you did what you did, and I understand why you feel like it was the only choice. But that doesn't change the fact that Bellamy is dead and you pulled the trigger. I don't hate you, I don't think I ever could, but I don't forgive you either, at least not yet. Hopefully one day I’ll forgive you and we can move past this, but right now, I'm too damn hurt and angry.”

She nods her head, looking up at you with tears in her eyes. “I understand. If it helps, I regret it. I don't think I’d do it again, especially if I knew that Madi was just gonna turn herself in despite everything.”

You say nothing for a long second, your voice a soft whisper, cracking with emotion when you say, “I just wish I could have said goodbye. I gave him back the ring, you know, and he died thinking I didn't love him, but I do. I love him with my whole heart, my entire being. He’s my soulmate, and he died thinking that I hate him.”

You feel your bottom lip quiver before tears start to spill down your face, and you see tears in Clarke’s eyes before she pulls you in for a hug, holding you as you cry for Bellamy. And in this moment, you allow yourself to forget what happened to him, focusing only on the fact that he’s gone. You allow your twin to comfort you, hold you close, softly humming Clair de lune in your ear until you start to calm down again. And even after the two of you break apart, you stay side by side, unable to leave each other’s side, even now, when everything between you is tense and weird.

Indra is the first to break the silence and tension hanging over the room. “We should discuss the plan. Clarke, la lune, and Octavia bring us over. We get Madi and kill their leader.”

Gaia jumps down from the perch she was on, walking towards her mother. “Killing Cadogan won't change anything.”

“He can't chase us if he's dead.”

She shakes her head at Indra trying to get her to understand. “You've seen faith, Mother. You kill the Commander, another takes her place. You kill the Fleimkepa, another takes his place. Faith doesn't just die, it gets carried forward. Cadogan's people are no different.”

Miller asks the question that you’re all beginning to wonder. “Then how does this end?”

“Bellamy asked that question, too.” You all look towards Octavia, the mood sobering even further at the mention of Bellamy. “One Last War, and then we transcend and we become the light.”

Across the room, Jordan breaks his silence. “It's a beautiful idea, but fighting is not how we get there. War is a failure of everything. Which is why it's a test, not a war.”

“Test, war, test, war. The disciples have been studying the Bardo texts for over 1,000 years. You really think you know better?”

Jordan turns to Hope, answering her question with complete confidence. “Yes. And it's not just that I read some old books, I felt it. That red sun toxin showed me something. I couldn't figure it out, but I knew it was important, and then I read the Bardo texts, and it hit me... the next step in human evolution.”

You can feel Clarke going more restless with each passing second, until she abruptly stands and snaps, “Nonsense.”

Everyone turns to face her after the outburst, but she avoids everyone’s eyes as she stalks up the ramp towards the exit. “All that matters now is saving Madi and killing Cadogan. There's no Last War or test. Bellamy's dead because he believed that crap, and I've heard enough!”

You look after her retreating figure, wondering if you should go after her. Everything between the two of you is weird, and your anger is telling you to stay, bristling at the casual way she mentioned Bellamy’s death. But your softer side, the part of you that’s connected to her, it’s telling you to go after her, comfort her, despite what she did. Gaia seems to sense your conflict, because she steps towards you with a smile and whispers, “I got it.”

You nod in thanks, relieved that you don’t have to decide, before sitting back down and beginning the excruciating process of waiting once more. You’re quickly realizing that there’s nothing you hate more than waiting: waiting to fight, waiting to escape, waiting to die. Because waiting is usually silent, and that silence easily morphs into your regrets, and fears, and worries. It’s when you think about everything you've done wrong and everything you haven't yet gotten the chance to do. There’s time to think of who you’ve killed and who you’ve lost, which opens up the door to the painful memories that usually stay locked deep in your brain, in that place you try to keep hidden from everyone, including yourself. 

Waiting is suffocating, and in the time you’ve spent on Earth, Sanctum, Skyring, and Bardo, you’ve already done too much of it. 

You stand, starting to pace around the rotunda, the way Bellamy used to pace when he first got back from space. The same habit he turned to when he had to wait. And as your feet move you around the room in continuous circles, you start to understand. It’s rhythmic, the way your feet carry you across the floor, boots thudding softly against the metal, and each time you walk past Hope, the thuds stutter, your footsteps softened by an uneven spot on the floor. 

As you pace around the room, you force your mind to stay on the safe topics. The ones that don't involve painful memories or the ghosts that seem to stalk you. Instead, you keep things light, reciting constellations and medicinal plants, anything to keep your mind occupied. A few times you slip up, your thoughts drifting to what Bellamy was thinking in his final moments, as he bled out on Sanctum alone. You start to worry about Madi and what she’s going through without you, cursing yourself for not getting to her sooner and stopping her from leaving. You think about Gabriel and his final words to you, what they meant... You shake your head, clearing the spiral of memories and grief, shifting back to your safe topics, ignoring the thoughts that are begging to pull you down.

You only pause your pacing once, when Clarke and Gaia come out of the decontamination room and take up a spot on the ramp, sitting across from each other cross legged, Gaia talking to your twin softly. You resume your pacing, glancing at them every few minutes, realizing that Gaia must be teaching Clarke to calm her mind the way she taught Madi to. 

But Clarke’s peace is short lived, and within minutes she’s standing, her voice rising as she glares down at Gaia. “How do you expect me to focus right now when my daughter is out there, probably being tortured right now?”

“You think I don't know that?” Gaia stands abruptly, and you pause your pacing to watch them. She gives Clarke an anguished look, her voice dropping slightly when she adds, “I love her too, Clarke.”

A look of sympathy passes over Clarke’s face before she reaches out and pulls the former Flamekeeper into a hug. “I know, I know, I'm sorry.”

You’re about to start pacing again, the conflict seemingly resolved, when you catch a glimpse of green around Clarke. She pulls away from Gaia, her hands starting to disappear, and she turns to look at you with a smile. “It's working.”

Clarke disappears in a haze of emerald, leaving you to turn and look at Octavia, “I’m next.”

Miller yells out to you, “La lune, catch!”

You turn towards him, catching the pistol he tosses your way, seconds before you too fade away from the bunker. All around you, the world is green, bright and hazy, until it fades into a darker hue. It takes a second for you to realize that you’re not in the Stone Room, but in the oxygen farm, surrounded by an army of disciples, all of them pointing weapons right at you and Clarke. You raise the pistol that Miller tossed to you, you and Clarke aiming back at the disciples, and Octavia appears a second later, instantly lifting her rifle.

A disciple near the font of the armed group looks towards you and loudly yells, “Drop your weapons! Hands in the air!”

Octavia drops her weapon first, lifting her hands in surrender, and you and Clarke exchange a look before you both follow suit. Despite not wanting to surrender to the disciples, you both know you have no choice, and if you choose to take a stand here, it will only result in the three of you ending up dead. So you both drop your weapons and lift your hands in the air, following the commands of the disciples as they close in on you. The three of you are restrained and led past the waiting army, through the oxygen farm and the halls of Bardo until you’re delivered to a cell.

They release all three of you in one room, and you stand there for a minute, stunned by what just happened. “Why did we show up in the oxygen farm?”

Clarke shakes her head, “I don't know. But they’re preparing for a war, which means they have Madi and she’s in trouble.”

She plops down onto the nearest bed in frustration, dropping her head into her hands before she starts to softly cry. Octavia sits down beside her, offering her comfort, the moment soon overshadowed by someone singing. And not just someone, Sheidheda. He sings the Grounder Anthem, “Take a Life With Me”, over and over on a loop, until there is no sadness left in your prison cell, only frustration. 

You take up pacing again as nothing you do drowns out the awful, annoying sound, which continues repeatedly, until you’re sure you’re about to lose your mind. You can sense Clarke growing tense too, her body starting to fidget more and more until she finally yells out, “Shut up!”

But Sheidheda doesn't shut up, he just keeps singing without a care in the world. Clarke looks at you with worry and frustration, her eyes wide, her nerves frazzled. “We did all that just to end up back here, locked up in a cell next to Sheidheda.”

“We'll get Madi back.” You don’t say anything beyond that, your anger at her now back in full force now that you’re back in Bardo, but you do let out a sigh, frustrated that your emotions are so all over the place. You wonder what Anders would say about you now, watching you pace the room like a caged animal, angry and frustrated and ready to destroy Bardo if you have to.

You’re pulled back to the present by Clarke sighing loudly, looking doubtful about your assurance of finding Madi, which Octavia notices. She puts a hand on Clarke’s knee, whose gaze shifts over to the younger Blake. “Think about it: someone brought us here. That means we have help on the inside, it's just a matter of time.”

Clarke nods, contemplating her words, realizing the truth to them, and she’s quiet for a moment before whispering, “Thank you.”

Something about her tone makes you pause, and you stop in front of her as Clarke’s gaze shifts between you and Octavia. “Both of you. Thank you for offering to come.”

Octavia answers first, “I told you I get it now, what she means to you. It's what Hope means to me.”

“It's what we meant to Bellamy.” Clarke and Octavia look towards you, the mood dampening the way it does when you all remember that Bellamy is gone, for real this time. You’re surprised you even said it, and you have to fight against the tears that are threatening to rise, glancing between the two women you call sister. “We were everything to him.”

Octavia whispers, “That's how I'll remember him.”

Clarke reaches out to grab your hand and you let her, before she reaches for Octavia’s hand too, the three of you sitting together as a small human chain, mourning the loss of Bellamy. And as the three of you mourn, tears streaming down your faces, the door to your cell opens. Clarke and Octavia stand beside you and turn to see Levitt hovering near the entrance, smiling at Octavia. She moves towards him, and as the pair hugs, you get a flash of disappointment. Part of you hoped that it would be Bellamy here to save you, despite seeing his body bleeding out on the palace floor in Sanctum. Something you remind yourself of as Clarke mutters, “Hate to interrupt, but we need to get to Madi. What’s the plan?”

Levitt and Octavia pull apart, and he looks between the three of you, growing anxious. “I don't know. Isn't this your guys' specialty? How would you do it?”

Octavia thinks for a second and then says, “Use the suits, go invisible.”

“No, that won't work. Too many disciples with helmets around.”

Clarke shrugs, “Then we come in hot, and we take them all out.”

You shake your head, instantly disagreeing. If the disciples are preparing for a war, then Clarke’s right. Madi is in danger now. You have no doubt that you, Clarke, and Octavia could come in and take the disciples out with ease, but how long will that give you? Five minutes? Ten? It’s loud and it’s messy, and it’ll put a target on your backs. You need a distraction, something to pull the disciples away from M-Cap, giving the four of you time to find Madi and get her to safety. You search your brain for a different plan, struggling to come up with anything, thanks to Sheidheda’s obnoxious singing. 

And that’s when it comes to you. 

You look between the three of them, smiling, pointing to the room next door. “Or we create a distraction.”

Realization passes over each of their faces, and you know you’re all on the same page. “Good idea.” 

Levitt heads to the door of your cell and reaches for a bag that he left behind, tossing each of you a gun before leading you from your room and to the next cell over. He quickly pulls the door scanner from the wall, attaching a few wires to a tablet from his bag and typing in a code. He removes the tablet and tucks it away before reattaching the scanner and pushing the button. The door to Sheidheda’s cell slides open, and you, Clarke, and Octavia go in weapons hot, aiming directly at the man in the room. He stops singing when he hears your entrance, turning slowly to look at the three of you glaring in anger, Levitt waiting just behind you. “Well, since no one's shooting, I suppose that means you need me.”

He laughs a little and stands to his feet, musing, “What would Madi think?”

Clarke lowers her gun and lunges at him, intending to hit him, but you reach out and grab her arm to stop her. “Clarke!”

Sheidheda laughs, looking you over, taking in your bandages and the blood that’s still on your face, a mix of Gabriel’s and your own. “I got the doctor good, didn't I? Tell me, did he make it?”

And this time, it’s your turn to lunge, dropping Clarke’s arm and reaching for the man, seeing only red, your anger raw with grief. But Octavia grabs you, pulling you back, yelling out, “That’s enough, all of you! We need to stop Cadogan.”

You take a breath, calming yourself, aware that you need the man in front of you to save your niece and stop Cadogan from winning. Which means, for now, you’ll play alongside him. But if he makes it out of here and you get the chance, you’ll kill him for what he did to Gabriel and Madi. 

Sheidheda shrugs at Octavia’s words, growling a little, “I tried, and for my troubles, they locked me up here.”

Clarke doesn't care, blowing past his complaint to snap, “Here's the deal. I'd love to kill you, but you're right, we need you. We set you loose, and you draw the disciples away from M-Cap.”

“I'm not some petty distraction. I'm the high king of Sanctum.”

You roll your eyes, “Okay, Your Highness. Then we walk out of here and lock the door behind us.”

He sneers at you, giving you an annoyed smile. “Hmm, distraction it is.”

You motion towards the door with your gun. “Then let’s go.”

Levitt leads the way to M-Cap, the rest of you keeping your guns trained on Sheidheda, but you stop when you reach the last few hallways to your destination. You can hear people nearby, likely standing guard or prepping for the war, and you motion towards Sheidheda as you all duck out of sight. He smiles before he steps away, and you can hear the moment he catches sight of the disciples. “Attention, sheep. I'm here to kill your Shepherd.”

You can hear one of the guards yelling commands, followed immediately by the sounds of fighting. Gunshots ring out in the air, accented by screams of pain, but you all stay hidden in a nearby corridor until the sounds grow fainter and fainter, Sheidheda clearing the halls ahead of you. Once you hear no more fighting, you tentatively slip from your hiding spot and walk down the hall, rounding the corner to find blood splashed along the walls and dead bodies scattered everywhere. You shake your head at the violent scene in front of you, thinking that surely Sheidheda didn’t need to be so brutal. Still, he got the job done, because there’s no one in sight to stop your approach.

Unfortunately, there is also no sign of Sheidheda. “He's not here?”

Clarke turns to look back at Octavia. “We knew that was a possibility, we'll deal with Sheidheda later.”

Levitt looks around at the bodies littering the floor, carefully stepping around dark red puddles of blood, his voice horrified when he whispers, “I grew up with these people.”

“That's war, Levitt.” Octavia turns to glance at him, offering him no sympathy for the horror he’s experiencing. “It looks exciting in hologram mode, but this is the reality.”

Clarke shakes her head, grabbing a few grenades as she walks past the bodies, barely glancing back at the couple as she continues on her way. “Come on. Right now, all that matters is getting to Madi.”

You all follow her down the halls towards M-Cap, your guns raised, ready for a fight with each new hallway you turn down. But you find no one, this section of Bardo completely empty, everyone gone in pursuit of Sheidheda. “Looks like our diversion worked.”

As you reach the door to M-Cap, Clarke nods towards it. “Levitt, you go in first. They won't see you as a threat.”

He nods, and Octavia quickly pushes the button to the room, and as the door slides open, you all get into position and step inside behind Levitt. The first thing you notice is that someone is humming, the tune comforting and familiar. The second thing you notice is Madi, sprawled out in the M-Cap chair, someone’s arms around her. And when that someone looks up, you swear you’re dreaming. 

Because it looks like Bellamy.

“Bellamy?” You freeze in place, the gun in your hand clattering to the floor as you stare at him in shock. He looks up at all of you, his expression surprised, clearly not expecting to see you here. He’s out of the white robes and into a white top and bottom combo, the same thing that Gabriel used to wear, and you’re relieved to see no blood on his clothes. He looks a little tired, and his curly hair is unruly, flopped all over the place, but he looks fine. Healthy even, no sign that he was recently dead. 

Clarke seemingly breezes past the fact that Bellamy is alive and well, her gaze solely focused on Madi, and he releases his hold on her to allow Clarke the room to take over. He stands, looking at you closely, his expression blank for a moment, and you worry that he’s even more brainwashed than the last time you saw him. But then his expression morphs into one of relief, and he steps around the M-Cap chair to walk towards you. “La lune.”

His voice is warm and thick with affection and emotion, and you start to run towards him, tears welling up in your eyes as he jogs towards you. He meets you halfway across the room, scooping you up in his arms and spinning you once, before putting your feet firmly back on the ground, his arms holding you tight. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, and you can hear him crying as he whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I should have never betrayed you. I should’ve listened to you.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You pull away to look at him, tears running down his face and your own, and you whisper, “I love you. Oh my god, I love you, and I'm sorry I left you. I didn't want to, but-”

He cuts you off, “No, you were right to leave me. And you were right about Cadogan.”

It’s like the words remind him of something, and he turns to look at the others. “Levitt, something is wrong with Madi. Cadogan did something to her.”

You all turn to look at him in shock. “What?”

Levitt immediately crosses the room to grab the glasses that the disciples use for M-Cap, and for the first time since grabbing her, Clarke pulls away from Madi, realizing that Bellamy’s right, something is wrong with her. You miss the reunion between the Blake siblings as you rush over to your niece, though you can hear them quietly talking behind you. You look down at Madi in horror, catching onto what Bellamy meant. Madi’s eyes are open, but her expression and her eyes are blank, no sign of recognition in either of them. Her heartbeat is strong, but her body is limp, moving only when one of you moves her. 

Clarke looks at you with tears in her eyes, and you feel tears in your own, both of you starting to cry as Clarke turns her teary expression back to Madi. “Madi, look at me. Say something. Please say something.”

Madi remains frozen, and Clarke lets out a panicked yell, “Say something!”

But still, Madi doesn't move, and Clarke pulls her into her arms, holding her tight as she sobs, rocking her back and forth, “Oh, my baby. My baby. My baby.”

You start to cry harder, not wanting to hear or see Clarke’s heartbreak, not wanting to see Madi’s blank expression, but you can't look away. You don't look away when you feel Bellamy slide up beside you, slipping his hand into your own, you don't look away when you hear Octavia and Levitt talking quietly behind you. You keep your eyes on your little sun and your shining star, unable to do anything other than cry at the scene before you. 

Clarke lays Madi back down, before turning her teary face back to you, her eyes landing on Bellamy in the process.  You see surprise pass over her face, meaning she really didn't register his presence when you all stepped into the room. But her surprise turns to anger as she glares at him, “What happened? What did he do to her?”

Bellamy shakes his head, looking just as upset as the rest of you, tears streaming down his face too. “I don’t know. When I heard she was here, I came looking for her immediately. She was like this when I found her. Cadogan was already gone.”

“You said you’d keep her safe!”

Bellamy stutters a little, his voice thick with emotion. “I tried, Clarke, but I woke up in a hospital bed. I left as soon as I heard she was here, but it must have been hours after her arrival by that point.”

Clarke’s expression turns horrified as she takes in the weight of his words. He got to her as soon as he could to try to help her. But the reason it took him so long to reach her is because he was in a hospital bed. Put there by Clarke. You reach out for her, squeezing her shoulder to stop her train of thought. “Hey, hey, hey, this is not your fault. This is Cadogan’s fault.”

Bellamy whispers, “You couldn't have known.”

And though he doesn't outright say it, you know that his words are forgiveness. Bellamy offers his forgiveness to Clarke for shooting him, her anguish over Madi punishment enough. He offers her the olive branch, and it’s up to her to take it. Thankfully, she does, looking at Bellamy with genuine regret. “I shouldn't have shot you, Bellamy. I panicked, and didn't know what to do.”

“No, you were right to. I don't blame you for shooting me, it was part of a wake up call for me. La lune giving me back her ring, you shooting me, finding Madi like this, they all woke me up to the truth about Cadogan: he’s a monster. A psychopath obsessed with being worshipped, just like he was on Earth.”

And everything is simultaneously okay and not okay, because the confession is big, but none of you get the time to respond to it, because Octavia steps up beside Clarke, looking between all of you. “She can hear you. She knows you're here.”

Clarke nods and turns back towards Madi, trying to hide her tears as she smiles. “Hey, baby, I'm here. I'm right here.”

You lean down into Madi’s line of sight, doing the same to mask your hurt as you whisper, “Hey there, little sun. Ani’s here too.”

Clarke turns to face Levitt, who’s still standing off to the side. “Is it recoverable?”

“What? I-” The question catches him off guard, not sure if he should answer, but after a second, he solemnly shakes his head. “No. The areas of her brain responsible for voluntary movement have been destroyed. I'm sorry.”

The words make all of you start to cry harder, now faced with the reality that Cadogan has paralyzed Madi permanently in the pursuit of transcendence. It's enough to make you sick to your stomach. But that feeling only intensifies as Clarke glances off to the side, where her discarded pistol now lays, and after a moment of thought, she leans down to get it. You know exactly what she’s thinking because you know her better than she knows herself, and you shake your head, your voice soft and firm. “Clarke, no.”

She starts to cry harder, her hands shakily lifting the gun, determined to do what she thinks is right for Madi. But the sight breaks your heart, as Clarke can barely hold the gun steady, too overcome with emotion. Your twin that has bore it so the rest of you don't have to is breaking, and you know you need to be there for her. Which is why you drop Bellamy’s hand and reach out for the gun. “I’ll do it.”

She looks at you, expression heartbroken but hopeful, and you whisper, “I'm not letting you live with this.”

She nods a little, passing you the gun, which you take with now shaky hands. Clarke reaches out for Madi, putting a hand on either side of her face as she whispers, “I love you so much. Don't be scared, just listen to my voice, okay?”

And just like Bellamy was doing before all of you arrived, she starts to hum Clair de lune, ducking her head beside Madi’s so she can't see her tears. You lift the gun with a shaky hand, your own tears blurring your vision, aiming the pistol at her chest. But as you stare down at the blank expression of your little sun, you don't think you can do it, the burden too great for any of you to bear. You start to cry harder, a sob escaping from your chest, and Clarke looks over at you, nodding a little, letting you know that it’s okay, it’s time. 

But you can’t. You stare down at Madi’s face, reminded of the girl that couldn't speak English when you met her, who caught Clarke with a bear trap. The little girl you taught how to drive, how to fight. The girl who inspired an army to fight for Shallow Valley. You shake your head a little, unable to do it, your hand starting to lower again. But then Bellamy reaches out and closes his hand over your own. You look back at him, and he looks at you, tears falling down his face as he whispers, “Together.”

You nod, and the two of you turn to face Madi, lifting the gun to aim right over her heart. And as your finger lifts to the trigger, Bellamy’s finger poised over your own, ready to help you, you whisper, “I love you, little sun.”

But before the two of you can pull the trigger, Levitt suddenly calls out, “No, he got the code!”

You pause and you all turn towards him in shock, and he catches sight of the gun in your hand, suddenly apologetic. “Oh, God. Oh, I'm sorry.”

Octavia asks, “The test code? Are you sure?”

“Hologram mode.”

He enlarges the memory so you can all see, watching as Becca’s fingers press the symbols on the Anomaly Stone, the room glowing in white before the memory ends. Clarke shifts her gaze from the memory down to Madi, her heartbreak giving way to hard anger. “He got what he needed and left her here?”

The words hit all of you right in the chest. This man that is so determined to transcend, to prove that humans are worthy, paralyzed a child to do it, and then left her alone. Bellamy was right when he called Cadogan a monster, and you can feel Wanlida smiling as she steps into view. “We have to stop him.”

Octavia starts, “If one man represents the entire human race-”

Bellamy finishes, “It can't be him.”

Levitt nods, looking between all of you. “We can still stop him, but we have to go now.”

Everyone seems to silently agree, and you and Clarke turn back to Madi. Clarke puts her hand on Madi’s cheek, and you reach out to squeeze Madi’s hand. Clarke whispers, “I'll come back. I'll be back after we stop the test, and I promise I will not let him win.”

She presses a kiss to Madi’s forehead, and leans back so you can add, “We’re going to stop him, Madi, and we’re going to fix this. I promise. Bill Cadogan thinks he’s unstoppable, but he’s never met Wanheda and Wanlida.”

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