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deepperplexity · 4 years ago

Text

Black Clouds

Title: Black Clouds

Request: Hi! I just wanna start off by saying i love you’re writing ❤️ I was wondering if you could write a snape x fem reader where the reader is thinking about committing suicide because she feels like she's not worthy of living and she believes that he could have someone better and Sev notice that something is wrong and uses legilimency to find out the issue because she doesn't want to open up with anyone and he's shocked by what he sees and tries to help her. I'm sorry if that's too specific and if you don't feel like writing it, don't worry ❤️

A/N: First of all, before I say anything about this request, I want to tell EVERYONE who feels suicidal to find and ask for help. YOU ARE NOT UNWORTHY OF LIFE. This request hits home for me and I was deliberating if I should write this or not as it’s such a sensitive subject for me personally. But, that’s actually all the more reason to write it. Suicide is a hush-hush subject in society when it really should not be - this is something we ALL need to talk about and we ALL need to make sure that everyone feels safe enough to ask for help. And, as you all know by now, I am all for writing about sensitive/taboo subjects that need to be addressed more.

Secondly, if you are suicidal or harm yourself in any way - THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU ARE LESS WORTHY. You are worth all happiness, help, support and care in the world - you have a place in this world and it is ever-changing. What is today may be different tomorrow, what happened yesterday may impact what happens the day after tomorrow. There is always a new dawn to meet and a new sunset to cherish. If you are reading this, you are alive and fighting - go you! Like, seriously, it is fucking hard to be alive in this world but you are doing it! You are fighting, even on bad days, you are fighting and winning! Thank you for being here, thank you for staying with us, thank you for gracing the world with your presence and life! ❤️

As I mentioned this hits home and I will do my best to do this request justice as it is so damn important. I do want to mention this is fiction and I do not personally stand behind all the things that characters do even if I write it. Characters have their own will and sometimes that overrules my will as a writer (also, sometimes it’s just needed to get a good story). To intrude in one’s mind is not something I find to be a good thing - but as my loyal readers already know its a thing I use often because its fun to write and Severus just wants to bloody do it all the time; that man as no sense of privacy boundaries when it comes to others, let me tell you… So just keep this in mind whenever you read fiction - just because someone wrote it does not mean it is something they stand behind or condone. If that were the case the world would be way more bonkers - just think of all the murders and rape and war and devilry stuff authors write about O.O

+A/N: I was writing with a female reader in mind but as I edited this I noticed nothing actually states that it is a female so the reader is GN - I hope Nonny doesn’t mind.

Pairing: Snape x Reader

Setting: Post Second War, Spring 2003, Your home at Rosewood Hill

Word count: 3540

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Angst, (Age Difference), Fluff, Mental Health, PTSD, Anxiety, Emotional Rollercoaster, Kissing...

Prologue:

You, like many others who had survived the horrible battle at Hogwarts in 1998, suffered from a series of illnesses. Survivors guilt, depression, anxiety, panic attacks and lately the thoughts had begun to overwhelm you. Collectively one could call it severe PTSD but to simply group all the different emotions and disorders like that simplified it a bit too much. Some parts were PTSD, of course, but some things had haunted you long before the battle. Like your struggle with self-worth, your anxiety and the intrusive thoughts that popped up more often than not. The fact that you had been mere 19 years old when you fought for life, justice and all things good probably made the experience even harder to handle.

Fortunately for you, something good had come from the war. Love. Your previous professor, Severus Snape, had been severely injured - actually, he had been at death's doorstep - but pulled through after several months of care where you as a nurse partook in his recovery daily. He made a full recovery under yours and others care and once he was free to leave the hospital he had asked you out on a date. You had accepted happily and then everything just sort of happened. You fell in love, got married, moved to Rosewood Hill and renovated a rundown house together as money was tight - but it all turned out quite good in the end. Well, except the fact that things weren’t good. Not at all…

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You had been unable to sleep in the early hours of the morning. Flashes of memories and the sound of screaming paired with falling bodies kept you company. It had gotten worse since Christmas four months ago. That was when it had snowballed out of control completely. You blinked and sighed before you carefully left the bed, and Severus, behind to get some coffee as you tried to keep the intruding thoughts at bay.

Lately, despite all the love and happiness in your life, you had been feeling less and less worthy. Of life, of Severus, of everything. You did your best to hide how you felt. You smiled, you laughed, you baked and cleaned, did all of your hobbies and made sure Severus wouldn’t see how you were hurting inside. Made sure he wouldn’t notice how tormented you were by the mere fact you were alive.

He had enough to deal with, he was so strong that it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He had been through pure hell. Had struggled and fought with all his might year after year while he was hurting, so deeply. You couldn’t fathom how he did it, how he survived and lived on. How he could stand it all. All the thoughts and emotions. Everything. What you felt simply couldn’t be anything to measure with against what he must have felt for so long. It pained you that your thoughts were so selfish, that you had such pain and hurt inside of you when he had a stronger right to claim such emotions. Weakling, worthless, unuseful piece of garbage...

The coffee burned its way down your throat and you winched slightly. “Careful, love,” the gruff voice of your husband echoed out. It startled you as he always slept late and the sun wasn’t even up yet. You smiled at him as you tried to arrange your face into a happy one. He arched a brow at you and you chirped out a ‘good morning, honey’ to him. He grumbled at you, “no morning is good before nine.” You simply laughed at him as he grabbed a giant mug and poured it full with black coffee.

“Why are you up so early?” He grumbled after a few sips, you shrugged and cradled your own cup of coffee in your hands. “I just couldn’t sleep, figured I’d get a headstart on the day,” you smiled out and he huffed. “You’re mad,” he grumbled and you shrugged again. “Why are you up?” “You left, the bed felt empty.” You smiled at him but couldn’t help the piercing thought that he would sleep better if you weren’t by his side at all.

You snuggled up on the couch with a thick book, something to escape into. Something to cradle and lose yourself in for a few hours as Saturday passed by ever so slowly. You didn’t notice that Severus took up a place right beside you before he placed your legs over his own with gentle movements. He made sure the blanket covered your feet and then held a steady grip around your calves. You glanced up at him from the book with a smile etched to your lips. He arched a brow at you.

“What?” you asked quizzically, his hands squeezed your leg for a moment before you felt his tender fingers stroke back and forth. “That is the question I would like to ask you, love.” You raised your brows ever so slightly before you closed the book. “What do you mean?” “What’s wrong, love?” he asked in a hushed tone and you smiled reassuringly at him. “Nothing’s wrong,” you said, “why would anything be wrong, darling?”

Severus looked at you for a moment before he let out a small breath through his nose. His eyes left yours as he looked down at his hands placed on your legs. They were rough and pale, they were hands that you loved. “Do not lie to me, (y/n). Something is wrong. You are, not yourself anymore. Tell me,” he said gently yet firmly. You smiled wider before you placed your hand on his forearm. “Darling, nothing is wrong, I promise. I’m fine and happy, I have you.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence and you felt as if your plastered smile might have failed you at any moment when he finally looked at you. “Love, do not lie, it does not suit you. Just, tell me.” You patted his arm as thoughts raced through your mind, wondering how you could reassure him he did not have to deal with your shit when he probably had so much to deal with from his own thoughts already.

“Darling, come here,” you said and he leaned towards you. You stroked away one side of his black hair and hooked it behind his cute ear before you gently caressed his cheek and kissed his lips tenderly. I will not fail you, was the one thought that spun through your mind over and over as you tasted him. “Everything is great,” you whispered as you broke the kiss, “I’ll go make some tea for us. You seem a bit tense.” He nodded at you but there was sadness in his eyes that you could not ignore even if you stood and walked out to the kitchen.

Your hands were shaking as you poured water into the kettle. The cups rattled as you placed them on saucers. Your breathing faltered over and over as you tried to calm your heart. Too close, too close, too close, you thought as you placed tea bags in the cups. I need to do better, he can’t see, I can’t worry him. He’s got too much of his own stuff to deal with, I can’t be a burden to him. I don’t want to burden him anymore…

A small, glinting tear rolled down your cheek as you bit your lip to keep a sob at bay just as the kettle screamed. The water swirled as you poured it, stained by the tea in a gentle pattern before it all gained the same deep colour and you felt as if you yourself had been stained a deeper, darker colour throughout the depths of your heart.

You had avoided him a tad after the tea. You busied yourself with laundry, cleaning, changing sheets on the bed and dusting. Not until evening came and Severus had set the table with a divinely smelling dinner were you forced to be still and in close proximity to him. Now, some might have thought this was just because you didn’t want him to notice it all, see it all, know it all. But no, no that was not the reason you had avoided him. At least not completely.

You wanted to tell him, talk to him, get help. Or something along those lines. At the same time, you felt shame, pain and an array of doubt as to how he would react but also regarding your infliction of pain through verbally admitting what you felt to the one you loved so deeply. The storm inside you that was black clouds of endless dust that howled about your insignificant worth made you feel horrible in every way. Yet, the one thing you did not want was to hurt him. Drag him into the storm. Pain him with your selfish thoughts when you knew, knew what he had been through - for years .

I have no right. No right to feel like this. I should be happy. Should be grateful. I’m alive, I have a home, a man who loves me and the world is safe again. I know I should feel all these things. Should be filled with love and joy. He survived, we found each other. Yet, he is just so damn much and I’m just, not worthy of any of it...

“(Y/n), talk to me,” he said all of a sudden as he put down his cutlery. You lifted your head, allowed your eyes to meet his and tugged your lips up into a smile. “Darling, I don’t understand what you’re going on about. I’m fine, everything is good. I’m good.” “You are not good!” The sudden change of his tone startled you for a second. His gaze was intense and penetrating. As if he looked through you. You gasped as you felt his intrusion in your mind and you had no chance of blocking him out.

He saw everything. Every little thing that you had desperately tried to hide from him. The hurt, the doubt, the horrors of your mind that filled your days with anxiety and sorrow. He slithered through your mind with such power and speed you barely had a chance at breathing as your mind raced with thoughts you had wanted to hide. But, it is as they say. If someone says ‘do not think of an elephant’, what do you think of? An elephant. And that elephant was all of your fears combined with all of the pain.

His eyes watered and you stood with such speed that the chair toppled. “Severus-” you breathed out with a mixture of emotions that were nothing but bad. Your lip quivered as tears rolled down your cheeks before you dashed out of the kitchen and ran towards the bathroom. You closed and locked the door a mere second before he pulled at the handle. “(Y/n). Open the door,” he said with a slight shake to his voice. But you simply curled up in the tub and hugged your legs, your knees against your forehead as tears wet your clothes and skin.

He banged at the door, twice, and you shivered. He saw it, he saw it, he’ll hate me, he’ll be furious with me. I have no right to feel this, I’m not worthy of, anything… The fear of him feeling such things towards you made you nauseous and afraid. “Please, love, open the door. Let me in,” he said through the wood that separated you. But you didn’t move. Then a click was heard and he had used the unlocking spell to let himself in. You hugged your knees tighter. Buried your head with more force as you tried to stop the sobbing that wanted to crawl its way out of your mouth from the depths of your chest.

You felt his hand on your back as you heard the ruffling of fabric as he lowered himself beside the tub. “Love, please,” he whispered and pain was evident in his voice. You curled up further, as much as you could. I hurt him. I hurt him just like everyone else has done. You’d be better off without me, I know you would. I’m such a fucking coward, why haven’t I just- just- just ended it?! I’m not worthy of breathing the same air as you. I should have died. I should have died with the others. Someone else should have lived, I should have died in that war. “Love, don’t.”

It was too late when you felt his presence in your mind as your dark thoughts buried you in such cold depths you barely registered that he lifted you out of the tub. His arms wrapped beneath and around you. His thin lips pressed themselves against your head and you let go of the clawing sob. It escaped through your quivering lips and Severus tensed.

“Love, you are my everything. My whole world. You, are the very reason that I am living. You are-” “Unworthy of your love,” you breathed out in a hushed whisper. To say the words out loud felt as if someone drove a piping hot branding iron down your throat. “It is I who is unworthy of you ,” he whispered against the top of your head as he sunk to the floor and cradled you, “I should have seen, noticed, I should have been there for you like you have always been for me. I am so sorry, love.”

Had this been one of those stupid romance novels I would have been all smiles and happy by now. To hear you say that. I would have been cured of these feelings. But apparently, life is not like that… The thoughts and feelings you had had for so long had not lessened in any way. Had not disappeared just because of his adoring words. They were as strong as ever. But now, now there was also the pain of having hurt him and made him feel unworthy or lesser. It was agony and you had no way to deal with it other than to cry.

Darkness had fallen long before you finally stopped crying. Everything in your body ached and you knew Severus was stiff and sore from the odd position on the hard floor, with you in his lap. “I am so sorry, love,” he whispered for the umpteenth time. “I’m tired,” you whispered back as your mind kept spinning with all the things you had tried to bury. To hide. Things from before the war and after the war. Life, death, loss and gain. “Let’s get you to bed,” he simply said and the thunder in his voice felt subdued. A mere distant rumble and it made you feel strange.

He rose with you in his arms, carefully cradled as if you would break with any hasty motion. You felt the stiffness in his movements, yet he didn’t say a word about it. He simply carried you through the hallway and placed you on the bed with gentleness. You turned and laid on your side as your mind echoed the words ‘insignificant, worthless, unbearable’ over and over and over as Severus pulled the cover up over you. “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered before he kissed your head, “I will help you, in any way I can. Please don’t, don’t leave me...”

The room was silent after those words and a moment later you heard him take a shuddering breath before he left. You were alone. In that moment, something desperate clawed in you. A fearful thought crossed your mind and pain travelled through your veins as if they were freezing with an ice-cold breath. He’ll leave me now, he’ll see that I’m not worth anything. That, that he is better off without me. Strangely enough, that scared you. Even if it had been the very epicentre of your dark thoughts and agonizing pain lately it was different now. He knew now. Perhaps it was the end and all you had feared was actually true? That you meant nothing, was worth nothing. Nothing at all.

You shivered, turned to lay on your back and grabbed the cover to take it off but at that moment the door opened. You turned your head only to see a broken man in the doorway. His eyes glinted with unshed tears and his shoulders slumped. He looked nothing like your Severus. Nothing at all like the powerful and strong man you had fallen for.

“I will never leave you. I love you, (y/n).” You looked at him as the words vibrated through you in a low tone. “I would have been dead if it were not for you,” he continued and the words elicited a gasp from you. You could not even fathom the idea of a world without Severus. Such a place couldn’t even exist in your wildest fantasies. He was everything. “A world without you, would be worthless and empty. You are everything to me and I want to keep you forever, here, with me. No matter how selfish that may be, I need you with me. Or I shall perish.”

Your heart fluttered with a need for his love as his words landed somewhere in the darkest parts of your mind. The parts where screams and falling bodies lingered. The part where dark clouds of dust swirled with sorrow and pain. The part where no dawning light had shined for years. There his words landed, settled. A small crack in the clouds allowed a single ray of sunshine to come through as gentle words of thankfulness for all who had survived could be heard, even if they were muffled by distant memory and buried beneath all the bad things.

You removed the cover and sat up slowly. As your feet touched the carpet something jolted in you. You ran towards him, slammed your body into his so harshly that he took a staggering step back as his arms wrapped themselves around you with such haste you were nearly surprised. “Please, love, please. Stay and go through this with me. Together,” he breathed out and you nodded as new tears leaked from your eyes. “I will-, will try…” It was the only kind of thing you could say as you clung to that tiny sliver of light in the depths of the darkness. That tiny little ray of warmth that was your beloved and his love for you.

Epilogue:

It had been nearly six months. For six months he had guarded you, tended to you, helped you through the pain and anxiety attacks too many times to count. He had cred, you had cried and several times it felt hopeless. As if nothing would ever change the darkness that clung to you on the inside, in the depths of your mind.

But he had encouraged you, supported you, helped you in all ways possible. Even on days when you wanted to run away from it all and give up, he made sure you could see light and feel warmth. He had confided in you as well. His fear of losing you, his pain in seeing you turn into someone he did not know, the anguish of not knowing and not being able to help. The horror that had raked through him each time you had shut him out with lies of how great and good everything was. His fear that he was not enough for you, that he was not what you wanted.

But now, after months of hard work, tears, open communication and desperate attempts at surviving through it all you felt lighter. The dark clouds of dust were nearly gone as light bathed most of your inner self; a warmth spread like the gentle breeze of a summer night. It was thanks to him, to your beloved, and your own hard work. Your own strength and determination to not yield and succumb to the darkness. Even on days when it was most tempting to escape it all swiftly.

You had fought. Struggled. Won battle after battle. Some battles were lost but the war was being won, one fight at a time. You did that. You fought on and conquered the pain, the sorrow and despair. The abysmal voice that echoed horrendous words of unworthiness and shame had nearly been silenced and replaced with a growling noise of power and love. His voice, his sound, it saved you time and time again as you allowed love to actually unfold and be a part of your life. As you allowed yourself to be alive even if you were not always sure you should be.

You did not give those thoughts more than a swift glance as they passed by in your mind. They were not worthy of your emotional investment. They were false and wrong. You would not succumb to them no matter what as you had finally found your will to live accompanied by a need to do so happily - despite everything your mind had whispered, you were worthy. You just needed help to break free of the darkness and see yourself for the worthy person that you would always be. No matter what, you would always be worthy of life.

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A/N: I want to say thank you to the Nonny who sent this request and I want to yet again remind everyone that you are worthy of all good things and being suicidal or harming yourself does not take that away! If you are harming yourself or have suicidal thoughts, find and ask for help! You are worth it, worthy of help and of life! Thank you for being here with us. ❤️

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[Feb:2021]

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capt-spooki3 · 4 years ago

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You and Me against the world

Warnings: Mentions of blood/wounds, Swearing, and fluff❤

Pairing: c!Technoblade x reader

Technoblade finds himself in a sticky situation after being caught by former L'manburg members, but a certain someone comes to his rescue...

2.1k words

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One breath after another. Come on damnit, just breathe. You won’t die like this.

No one lives forever, death is inevitable at all costs. Technoblade knew that. So did all the people he’s upset in his lifetime. Were his supposed sins finally catching up to him? Was karma was finally giving him the big ‘fuck you’.

Laying on the ground, bloodied and bruised. His lungs hardly working and feeling like if he coughed, only blood would come up. Was this really his destiny? Being surrounded and beaten by Tubbo, Quackity, Fundy, and Skeppy. All armed to the teeth and drugged up with who knows how many potions. He could see Sapnap and Karl watching from afar too. Probably standing by in case he hurt Quackity.

Who knew a quick trip to the hole that was L’manburg would go so wrong. He knew he shouldn’t have gone unarmed, but in his defense who would have guessed anyone would still be there. The former country was just rubble. It didn’t seem logical for anyone to just be sticking around. Suppose that’s just the price you pay for letting your guard down one time while traveling. Guess he’ll just know for next time. If he is even given a next time.

“You’re probably so close to dying right now aren’t you Technoblade. Oh, you must be so scared huh?” Quackity stood over him as he mocked, cutting at Techno’s leg with his sword as he severed the delicate fabric of his pants and cut a deep gash in his leg. Techno was doing his best not to convey the pain he was feeling. He didn’t need to give them that satisfaction.

“Come on. You’ve been awfully quiet there Mr. pigman.” Quackity leaned down a bit as he stared Techno down, the other three gathering to his other sides. The contentment on their faces was sickening. They were enjoying this.

Skeppy kicked at his side before spitting at him.

“I say we just end this bastard right now, I want to see him die already.” Skeppy said as he glared at Techno and brought his gaze up as the three seemed to contemplate with each other.

Techno gathered up the blood from in his mouth, he had bitten down on his cheek when he fell so it was bleeding quite a bit, and spit it aside before he gave a raspy laugh.

“Well get it over with then-” He cut himself short to cough. No blood yet. It’s okay, just breathe. Breathe.

Fundy tsked and Tubbo looked away, suddenly he didn’t seem to be as happy seeing Techno like this.

Quackity opened his mouth to say something, shifting his sword as well, but before he was able to get a word out they were interrupted.

“GET AWAY RIGHT NOW OR I WILL SPAWN THIS WITHER!”

Their heads shot up to look to the side, Techno included. He couldn’t even begin to process his full surprise

“Y/n…” Any words died in his throat not being able to summon up any more than a whisper.

“Y-Y/n, why are you here- no. NO! No, you’re not interrupting this! He is dying RIGHT HERE!” Quackity yelled, fear consuming his features as he tried covering it up with anger as he pointed his sword toward Techno.

You stood nearby, a full set up to summon up a wither. The only missing piece being the third skull in the middle that you held in your hand. As Quackity moved the sword toward Techno, you hovered your hand above the empty space as a threat.

“Quackity I will NOT repeat myself again. ALL OF YOU. GET AWAY!” You yelled, keeping your eyes on Quackity.

He retracted his sword. The group looked at each other. Tubbo already took a few steps back

“This isn’t worth destroying more. All of you, just get back. It’s not time.” Sapnap butted in as he called from his place beside Karl who was visibly on edge and scared.

Upon seeing him, Quackity softened a bit but he still looked at Techno on the ground.

“No..no we….we were so close we can’t just-”

“I know, I know but we need to go. Don’t risk it, we don’t know how many withers they might have.” Fundy put his hand on Quackity’s shoulder and shoved him a bit to get him to leave with the rest of the group. It took a few moments, but finally, with a shout of swears toward you, he ran off toward the rest of his group with Fundy close behind.

You collected your two wither heads and found a path to run over to Techno, you dropped all the items you had in hand on the ground before dropping to his side and giving him a quick look over.

“Oh god- you’re hardly hangin’ on aren’t you. Thank goodness you’re alive though I- god I don’t know what I would do if I was too late.” You looked at him to find tears in his eyes and slipping down his face. “T-..Techno?”

“You just... You just saved-... Y/n why? Where did you even... Where did you even come from?”

“Phil told me to follow you, he wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m so sorry I was so late. I nearly died myself.” You laughed a little but shook your head, focusing on him. You slowly brought up your hands and cupped his face to wipe away the tears and blood, using one hand to move hair from his face.

“You’re okay now though, I promise. I have health potions and a little bit of food.”

Techno hiccupped as more tears fell and he slowly lifted up his arm, his other being busy keeping the pressure on a wound, as he wrapped it around your shoulders and over your armor to pull you down to him to hug you.

“I would have been dead… I didn’t want to die, I-... thank you. Thank you. Thank..” He let out a sob. You held him lightly so as to not hurt him anymore. A minute or so passed and he calmed but didn’t let up at all.

“Hey, we need to get you back home. I don’t want them coming back okay?” You took advantage of him being weaker and as gentle as you could, shoved off his arm to move over to your discarded bag and sword to retrieve a potion. Once it was in hand you reached over and handed it to him which he took and downed, throwing the empty bottle aside and you handed him a piece of bread right after to which he gladly accepted.

You stood up, your things in hand and sword in its sheath before you extended your hand to Techno who had himself propped up a bit on the ground. For a moment he just stared at you before reaching out to take your hand.

"Hey,” He stood up with your help and held your gaze, not yet letting go of your hand. “If it comes down to it," He held your hand with both of his now and smiled a little bit. Never did he seem so genuine and sincere about something.

"You and me against the world? How's that sound?"

The two of you just looked at each other, him eagerly waiting for your answer for this one little thing whilst you were dumbfounded. To ask such a thing of you was a lot, you didn’t expect him to actually have that much trust in you. Surely you had proven yourself to him as you have been on his side for quite some time, but this just felt sort of surreal.

“You and me against the world.” You echoed quietly, a promise to him. He let out a breath in relief and hung his head.

“Thank you. Again.” He tightened his grip on your hand just a little and looked back up at you. There was a bit of indecisiveness behind his eyes, a nervous glance away and back to you confirmed it as well.

“Y/n I know now is surely far from the time, but… stop me. Tell me no, push me away, hit me, I don’t know, something if you aren’t okay with this but there isn’t anything else I want to do right now and I’m sorry.” He stepped a bit closer to you. It was now or never, right?

“Techno... what?”

“Can I kiss you right now?” He blurted out, a blush quickly dusting his cheeks and you stood there speechless, eyes wide. After a moment of silence, Techno let go of your hands and took a few steps back, and waved his hands in a dismissing manner.

“I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have- no, no forget I said that.”

“Techno.”

“It’s cool, don’t say anything, please. I have embarrassed myself enough here.” He laughed a bit, looking to the side, his blush had grown quite a bit and he turned to start walking away but you stepped toward him quickly to grab his arm. He looked back at you, unsure.

You held onto his arm with both hands to give yourself a bit of a boost. Warmness bloomed in his chest, eyes closing and putting his hand on your cheek as he leaned into you. He held his breath, feeling the world still as you had kissed him. It was far from perfect, he was sure you could taste the iron from his mouth as his wound was far from closing though, in return, he couldn’t taste anything other than that. The shared moment seemed to be enough to do it for him though, able to fully enjoy you or not.

He broke the kiss first to take a breath, though you did too in return. He opened his eyes to look at you, but the moment your eyes locked he couldn’t help himself. Shifting to face you fully and move his arm for you to no longer use, he held your face gently, kissing you again with a soft inhale and pulling away. If he had to admit, the way you looked at him simply made him melt. He had to chuckle though and swiped his thumb across your lip, wiping away his own blood.

“Sorry.” He barely whispered, still looking at your lips, and rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip a couple of times, shaking his head before leaning in to kiss you again. You laughed into the kiss a little bit as you held onto his upper arms, he seemed to just not be able to get over this but you couldn’t exactly blame him.

“I love you… a lot.” The spoken confession came against your lips as he hovered there for a moment. Clearing his throat, he let go of you suddenly and stepped away to turn and walk away.

“Alright uh- we’ve got to get back home! Come on, or I’m leaving you behind!” He called to you, pushing any sort of embarrassing tones out of his voice best he could. You stood still, frozen from the foreign moment you just shared with him though were able to snap yourself out of it to hurry after, walking behind him.

After a glance behind to check that you were there and a small smile, he started rambling about nonsense, mostly to fill the air with something as to not think too hard about what just happened. Most of your focus was on the drowning taste of his blood still in your mouth, something about it feeling more intimate in an odd sense but it was only hitting you, it seemed. It really wasn’t all bad, certainly not something you would come to forget.

Oh just till you get home and gossip to Phil about this, he would flip if you told him. He has always hinted at it with a maybe or he could like you, but you ignored him. Being on the verge of death of all times to realize you liked each other was one hell of a way to confess.

Kind of romantic though.

“Technoblade?”

He paused mid-sentence, honestly, you had no clue what he was talking about, but he looked back at you and you just smiled at him.

“I love you.”

You picked up your pace as you saw him halt in his tracks and you passed him, giggling a little and he watched you for a second before running to catch up.

“Wha- hey you- okay that is not fair you can’t just-” He stuttered and interrupted himself, seeming not to find the right words till he eventually gave up with a huff and a soft insult though it was clearly meant affectionately. You both hoped silently that maybe, just maybe this was something good. Something that will last.

#techno fanfic #technoblade #dsmp techno #techno x reader #techno x you #techno #dsmp fanfic #fanfic fluff #fanfic #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader

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fiveviktorklaus · 4 years ago

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am I picturing the umbrella academy as a soulsborne-esque video game where all of the hargreeves have been “corrupted” and you have to defeat them to get them to return to their normal selves? yes. yes, I am. anyway, here’s how I’d see the fights going:

(putting this under a cut because - phew - I kind of got into detail with some of these! why can’t I design video games????)

luther: tanky as hell. you have to fight him at range or he’ll just mow you down and toss you around like a ragdoll. his boss stage is inside of the academy and is tough because you’re fighting him in narrow corridors where it’s hard to create the space you need to fight him at range. he has a lot of health, so the key defeating him is patience, timing, and dodging so he hits the environment around you. it’s safe to say that the academy takes a lot of damage from it’s number one in this fight.

diego: fight takes place out in the city on a rooftop at night. unlike with luther, you don’t want to put too much distance between yourself and diego. he WILL win if you give him any opportunity to start sniping his knives at you. close ranged combat can also be tricky because he knows how to hold his own in hand to hand as well. you can try your hand at beating him fair and square, but ultimately this will be a gimmick fight that you can easily win by doing a side quest earlier in the game (back at the academy where you fight luther) where you are given the option to destroy grace. if you do, you can remove her head and throw it at diego during his boss stage. he will stop fighting and collapse in despair, giving you the opportunity to defeat him.

allison: fighting her is unique because - unlike with diego and luther - you will not be facing her directly. running straight up to allison is a TERRIBLE idea. she will rumor you. you will lose. every time. you don’t run right up to medusa and look her in the eye, do you? no! this stage will be more of a stealth mission than anything else. you will navigate your way through her arena (a movie set) and try to get the drop on her so that you can take her out. this can be particularly challenging as allison will have rumored several people to patrol and guard the area. don’t get caught!

klaus/ben: you’ll be fighting them, naturally, in a cemetery. and by ‘fighting them’, I mean that you’ll actually have to get through a full level of zombies and ghosts just to get anywhere near the two. once you finally reach klaus, the real fight begins! he will summon ben to defend him, which will make the fight incredibly, incredibly difficult. the trick to this fight will be wearing klaus out so that he has to take breaks in between summoning ben. it’s during those breaks that you jump in and attack, retreating to cover whenever ben appears again and tries to dismantle you with his tentacles. eventually you’ll win the fight and - when you do - klaus, now returned to his true self, will stumble off to find his other siblings.

five: want to fight an annoying boss? LOOK NO FURTHER. after finding a briefcase that teleports you to the commission (in which you will have to get through a level filled with agents and assassins), you’ll finally run into mr. five. this fight will be hard and you will probably die multiple times trying to beat him. the key to defeating five will be learning his patterns and timing because (a) he is quick (b) he hits hard and (c) he fights dirty. once you beat him (after, you know, crying your way through several deaths and respawns), you’re given the option to offer him a cup of coffee that you find earlier in the game while exploring. if you give him the coffee, he will gladly accept and will actually (hooray!) join you as an ally for the final boss.

vanya: welcome to the icarus theatre! are you ready to get your ass kicked? good! because this is where we find vanya all dressed up in her fancy suit! she (and the suit) look perfectly normal at the start. if you brought five along with you, he will engage as a distraction so you can attack whenever her back is turned. vanya will strike with sound waves and occasionally launch various objects at you. ouch. if you try to get too close, she will attempt to perform a grab attack that drains the life out of you if you get caught. this is almost always a one shot kill, so let’s avoid that! with some coordinated teamwork, you can and will take vanya down. while fighting vanya before, the music was sort of soft and eerie. as you approach her to check in after taking her down, you’ll notice that the boss health bar (which was just depleted) has suddenly refilled itself and vanya’s name on top of it has shifted to THE WHITE VIOLIN. a boss fight? with two stages? well, fuck. remember that eerie music before? it just shifted in volume and is exploding with sinister instrumentals (I like to imagine it being to something like ludwig, the holy blade). vanya, who is now transforming into glowstick mode and has upgraded her already edgy suit to Super Edgy White Suit, will wield her violin and will launch even larger sound waves at you that take up nearly the entire arena. sometimes she’ll fly up into the air and charge up particularly devastating sound wave attacks, only to slam into the ground towards you and unleash them in a circle around her. another attack? her bow. she can literally slice you in half with that thing, so it’s a good idea to avoid when she swipes it at you. the white violin is a very, very aggressive boss who rarely gives you space to breathe, so you’ll really have to take advantage of having five around for this part of the fight. this is the only fight in the game where playing it safe is punished, so be ready to strike hard and fast if you wanna take down the white violin!

the umbrella academy as a video game in general would be great. get on it, gerard!

#I....am a big soulsborne fan basically #also I just beat demons souls whoo!#vanyas fight is definitely majorly inspired by lady maria #and I kind of wanna gif this somehow hmm

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willadisastercry · 4 years ago

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More than ‘just a little tired’: aftermath turned aftershocks part 3

tw: discussion of sever burns and re-burning, lots of pain, also lots of heavy emotions, ptsd symptoms towards the end

Keith is in a lot of pain from just having his wounds cleaned but complications arise that make the relief of the pod that much further away. Tensions are still high and everyone’s emotions are running rampant as they are forced to watch their friend be in so much distress, their friend who never let on when he was anything other than angry, who is now crying and begging for it all to stop. Keith is desperate, his stoic facade has shattered but his body refuses to pass out and they still have to separate him from the bits of the suit that remain...

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

(( haven’t edited yet so ignore for now if it’s riddled with errors or some parts make zero sense lol, enjoy!!! ))

The infirmary was both eerily silent and brimming with commotion, nearly devoid of any conversation or background noise at all aside from muted whispers and the gentle clink of tools as the sound of Keith’s pain filled every dreadful square inch and left little space for much else.

Shrio was still perched on a stool with both hands clasped securely around the one of Keith’s that was accessible, the other hanging over the edge of the table limp and unmoving.

The older boy spoke calm reassurances to him in a low voice, the sentiments themselves not so much soothing as the steady cadence of them were.

It was clear he was still suppressing every wince and grimace though his resolve to remain unbothered seemed to be weakening as he fatigued further. And so Shiro’s gentle tenor worked to ground him as his wherewithal plummeted, the neutral pressure on his hand giving him something else to focus on and keep him from panicking while he lay somewhat paralyzed.

He hadn’t moved much as they cleaned his back up after they gave him the muscle relaxant, not that he could if we wanted to, not when his whole body felt about as solid as jello. The only movements possible were occasional reflexive twitches or sudden bursts of shuddering breaths that had whoever was poking his back pause to give him a minute to steady himself.

That was until the team had separated him from as much of the under-suit as they could with just tweezers and saline... because about 30% of what they’d sectioned off around each wound was still attached and not coming free no matter how hard they pulled or however much saline they poured.

It was then with everything cleaned away that they saw how severe it was, how little of the blur of soot around each blast could actually be cleaned away because it wasn’t his skin that was charred, it was the suit itself.

They couldn’t fix that with tweezers but they had to remove the melted material so the pod didn’t heal around it somehow.

Keith’s attention was admittedly elsewhere when the disorienting haze of pain granted him a few moments of clarity once he realized the only hands still touching him were Shiro’s.

It took him a while, but he was able to cut through the fog enough to vaguely tune in to what was going on around him. He has missed the beginning of the conversation that Shiro was having but it wasn’t hard to piece together what was happening.

“The process should be relatively seemless if I use this—“ Coran noted grimly as he presented Shiro with a scalpel that had a cord attached to the end of it “—the scarring will already be minimal given the pod’s capabilities and the fact that these are mostly second degree, but in order to remove the bits that remain I must burn number four again to sever what joins his flesh to the undersuit...”

Shiro had figured as much and so had Keith.

Well no, his addled brain hadn’t figured much of anything coherent in a while, he just wasn’t surprised to hear that it was the only solution.

Keith wouldn’t consider himself as handy as Hunk or Pidge but he knew his way around tools from having a bike and living on his own for so long. And he couldn’t come up with anything else on hand other than a hot knife that would do that kind of job either.

He also didn’t really care how they did anything anymore. He didn’t have the energy to when all he wanted was for this to be over.

Exhaustion seeped into his bones like radiation, clogging the channels in his marrow where his blood should flow and making his entire body feel so very heavy. It was the kind of weight that lulled you into a deep sleep, yet Keith remained awake, his nerves fried and his mind wired.

Shiro sighed, bowing his head to catch Keith’s pleading eyes one last time before nodding, giving Coran the go ahead.

It’s not that Coran was hiding the tool from the other paladins or what it did, that much was sort of obvious. It’s just that the question didn’t concern them, the decision wasn’t theirs to make. Shiro was their unofficial health proxy now that they were in space and called these kind of shots for all of them, but that was especially true for Keith since he’d already sort of been doing so back at the garrison before Kerberos.

The paladins were of course privy to deciding what happened to their own bodies regarding altean remedies or lesser pod stays since some of the options are pretty out there and if they aren’t absolutely necessary, then they aren’t mandated. But all decisions were passed by Shiro who ensured that their younger counterparts were entirely clear on what they were or were not agreeing to before Coran or Allura did anything, given the situation allotted time to take such measures.

This is one of the rare instances where Shiro had little choice in how to handle the matter. There was only one option and Keith would continue to suffer if he wasted time worrying about what none of them could control.

And it wasn’t even that he was too out of it to know what this meant and be able to deliver the green light himself, the fear on his face when Coran said ‘burn’ was more than apparent. But the kid was so goddamned rational about things no one his age should be able to rationalize that it was clear he had already evaluated and come to terms with the predicament in those brief moments of hesitation before Shiro agreed.

His eyes fall closed again and Shiro thinks he can hear the screams already.

The gravity of the decision seemed to dawn on everyone else a beat later, an anticipatory silence replacing the anguished weight that hung on all of them seconds before.

Everything moved slowly for a moment, the rise of chests halted, the chitter of mice quieting while they searched the princess’s face for answers until reality crashed back down on the castleships’ inhabitants like the tidal surge of a hurricane. The green tinge on Hunk’s face deepened several shades and Allura absently slid a waste bin closer to him, her movements robotic, like she wasn’t all there anymore. Pidge’s sobs from her helpless position on the adjacent cot were almost as painful to hear as Keith’s.

The only one to contest the idea was Lance, the sheer horror of what was about to happen registering on the blue paladin’s face like it was a death sentence for his friend.

“No, that’s torture! You can’t possibly think that’s a good idea, it’s barbaric, it’s—“

“Lance, calm down.”

“I will not calm down! Don’t you see how insane this is?!”

“There’s nothing else we can do. Don’t you see where the hell we are? We’re in space. We are light years away from human healthcare, we kind of have to work with the resources that we have!”

“But there has to be another way! I don’t understand why you’re not trying to figure something else out first... haven’t you hurt him enough today, Shiro? For fuck’s sake, aren’t you supposed to be his br—“

“Do it—” Keith punches out in a harsh whisper, effectively silencing the argument “—j-just do it already.”

His voice was gravelly and weak from all the shouting, his waning energy evident in the exasperated punctuation of his words. He’s fairly sure he won’t remain conscious long enough to be truly traumatized by the a procedure and was growing more irritated the longer they delayed it.

Keith appreciated that Lance had a conscience but also knew full well that he was stuck on the agony he was emoting since he usually never emoted at all, and probably not imagining just how awful it must actually be if he was advocating that more pain be inflicted so the sweet relief of the pod came sooner.

Lucky for him, Coran seemed to grasp the concept well enough on his own.

“Alright my boy, as you wish... Allura you might want to grab something for him to bite down on.”

What remained of the upper half of his under suit lay on him in tatters, his back bare except for the front section beneath him with strips of black littered over the table and floor. There’s a square of material missing on his thigh but the rest of the bottom portion is pretty much in tact.

The wounds looked worse free of all the blood and shredded bits. Like so much worse. But Keith didn’t have to see or be told how horrible it looked, he already knew that however bad it appeared, it hurt a thousand times worse.

“I have a topical anesthetic here that should numb the surface tissue but I’m afraid I can’t make any promises about nerve pain that might go deeper... it will still hurt a great deal.”

Talking was hard. He didn’t have the energy to stay awake let alone speak, but since his body was denying him that mercy, he figured forcing himself to communicate might speed the process along.

“Kay... s’fine,” was all he managed in response, his head swimming slightly as he forced the words out.

Allura’s face came into view then, smiling with so much sadness behind it as she lowered a hand to Keith’s flushed and tear stained cheek, gently coaxing him into opening his mouth.

He was sort of confused as to why until she brought a small hand towel folded in a tight roll up to his chin. His eyes widened a bit but he hummed in understanding and parted his blood encrusted lips so she could place it between his teeth.

They hadn’t had a chance to fuss over the gash on his face with everything else they were focused on but he was also very much laying on top of it. The cut itself also didn’t appear to be giving him much of an issue, but the fact that he was resting his cheek in an ever dampening rag as it caught his blood was woefully uncomfortable, the swelling laceration under his eye endlessly agitated with every reflexive jerk.

The sight might’ve been more alarming if his back wasn’t so horrific.

Shiro searched Keith’s lidded eyes when Coran pressed a button that had the tool whirring to life with a warm orange glow before he set it aside to warm up. They were sluggish and bloodshot and slow enough in meeting his gaze that would’ve had him majorly concerned should he not already have dozens other reasons to be.

“The spray might sting a bit at first... just bear with me lad.”

Coran’s voice was pinched and level, his statements clinical and his hands deft.

He’d already gathered that Keith didn’t need things explained before they were done like Shiro who needed to feel like he was in control of his own body when being tended to, or Pidge and her unwavering need to know absolutely everything ever, or Hunk and his already debilitating anxiety regarding the unknown.

No, he was like Lance who didn’t want the details, didn’t need to know what was happening or when. In fact, he reacted worse when he knew.

Keith needed things done without preamble. It didn’t matter how much it would hurt, he just needed it to hurt before the anticipation that it was about to could consume him. And Coran would do whatever he could to ease the red paladin then, so if that meant working fast than he would work fast.

“Nngh...” Keith choked out against the towel, nearly gagging on it when his entire body jerked as soon as Coran started spraying despite the medicine running through his body to specifically lessen reactions like that. But the man didn’t slow once he started, not even for Keith’s muffled pleas.

The spray did in fact sting. It stung a lot.

His head flew back and his eyes screwed shut as he struggled to breathe through the application, jerking despite himself each time the liquid landed on his raw and burning wounds.

The cloth trapped between his clenched teeth had him sputtering on the spit in his mouth and he almost welcomed the fear that flooded his body when his throat closed to keep from inhaling it.

“I know, bud... looks like just a bit more and then hopefully some relief.”

Shiro looked so young when he was like this, the knitted worry lines on his forehead almost out of place for the age he looked then. Keith didn’t like seeing him like that, it’s what he looks like when he’s having a rough day with his ptsd, so he closed his eyes against the tears that were brimming in the corners of them and took in long, purposeful inhales while Coran finished up.

He felt it as soon as the anesthetic started working, a discernible cold partially quenching each tiny inferno that was at the center of his injuries. It didn’t do much more than place a lid on the fires, not putting anything out completely but it was something and had him sagging into the table at the small bit of respite.

“I’ll be right here the entire time, okay? Coran will try to be as quick as he can but you can do this Keith, you’re strong, I know you can do this...” Shiro rambled, his timbre still subdued and settling.

It was nonsense. It was absolute nonsense he was babbling but the older boy’s voice never wavered and the constant presence of it hung on Keith’s battered body like a warm blanket, soothing the biting chill of anticipation that spread over it before the endless waves of agony started all over again.

“It’s going to be okay, bud.”

Keith clung to his words like they were a broken board from a sinking ship, the only buoyant thing in sight that could keep him from sinking right down with it.

“It’ll be over soon...”

He felt himself physically calming the longer he spoke until suddenly his chest didn’t feel as tight.

“...and then you can rest.”

Because he believed him. He believed that Shiro wouldn’t tell him he would be okay if it wasn’t true.

“We’ll get you set up in the pod...”

And for just a second, he actually believed it would end, that it wouldn’t last forever.

“...and then you’ll start to heal...”

The breaths he took were urgent, almost greedy as he relished in the temporary peace from everything. From the pain, from his anxiety, from feeling so fucking helpless.

“...just a little longer. I promise.”

Shiro made a point not to make many promises to Keith, even if he never planned on being anything other than good on them. He knew that too many had been broken for him to trust a vow like that. The words were empty, just another tool for people he trusted to bait him with before they left.

In Keith’s experience, everyone always left.

“I am going to begin now, remember to breathe lad...”

Before Keith had been holding back most of his exclamations of pain, biting his lip or cheek and setting his jaw to swallow them back before they escaped.

He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that made that impossible now, maybe since he knew the pain would be insurmountably worse or maybe because his body was too tired to expend that kind of energy anymore, either way the only thing muffling the sounds then was the towel keeping him from biting clean through his tongue.

The way his back arched when Coran brought the scalpel down looked like it shouldn’t have been possible in his condition. Keith didn’t know it was possible either but wasn’t too focused on the logistics with how intensely his lungs were screaming as he realized he could no longer move air in or out with how shocking the pain was.

It was like he’d been electrocuted, his muscles spasming and his nerves glitching in override.

“Shit, someone help me hold him down... come on damnit, hold him still!” Shiro ordered when it was apparent that Keith was incapable of controlling his reactions as Coran kept at it with the tool.

The movements were violent and quick, more convulsions than Keith’s own will, but they happened with each slice which made it difficult for Coran to work, so Hunk and Lance repositioned themselves on either side of the table and pinned his chest down wherever was most absent of injury while Shiro kept his head still and attempted to talk him through it.

Allura wasn’t having much luck in soothing Pidge either who was hysterical with her hands clamped over her ears. The guilt she felt over being the reason Keith was now in such intense pain was overwhelming and the princess was deeply concerned that she was going to make herself sick or reopen her only somewhat mended wound.

“Huh, huhh, huh... AHGh!”

Coran ignored how his fingers were blistering from working around the red paladin’s struggles.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry...”

Apologies were pouring out of Shiro like his own blood would.

But Lance didn’t buy them. He couldn’t grasp how their infallible leader missed someone being injured this severely.

And for it to be Keith of all people.

He’d spent half of his young adult life on his own, looking out for himself, no other support. He wasn’t used to having a team to look out for him especially since the last time anyone had was when Shiro had taken him under his wing. Shiro who had pretty much promised not to give up on him only to leave for Kerberos and never come back.

And what’s worse, as if anything could get worse at this point, was that Keith genuinely hadn’t wanted their help. He would’ve insisted he was okay whether or not his injuries were known regardless, but Shiro overlooking him in the heat of the moment had only fueled his warped view on taking care of things himself. It made him think he didn’t deserve any help, like he was being selfish for even suggesting he might not be okay when Pidge was also hurt.

It wasn’t true. But Lance knew that Keith couldn’t always decipher those kinds of things, the subtle messages in tonality that other people would’ve instantly picked up as, ‘no, I don’t actually hate you’ but completely eluded him.

Because Keith was extremely literal. He was also a self sacrificial idiot. Kinda like Lance. Not the literal thing, Lance almost never spoke literally.

But Shiro knew that, he knew that Shiro knew all of that about Keith and yet here they were.

His eyes were glossy and he was livid. It didn’t make any sense. They were supposed to look out for each other. It was Shiro’s whole philosophy and here he was, a complete hypocrite.

Pidge let out a strangled hitch then that broke Lance’s focus on analyzing whatever the hell had gone down on that mission.

The guilt was raging an almost identical fire in her chest, licking at her lungs like there was lighter fluid on them and threatening the sinews that had just barely latched across the chasm in her abdomen.

Hunk wished he could cry, wished he didn’t have to be so close to the terrible mess that was his friends’ back or the sounds he was making.

He didn’t know how many more he could stand to hear. How many more times he could handle the pang of terror in his chest when one escaped the lips of either of his friends.

Anytime anyone was hurting he felt like he was too. Like he had an access pass to their pain or some wicked ability to envision exactly how it must feel. And between Keith bucking beneath his hands and the guttural groans smothered by the towel, Hunk’s stomach was flipping dangerously.

Keith’s strained huffs had turned into hysterical shouts.

“Coran,” Allura deadpanned, her voice low and deadly.

They’d started off with a sort of restraint but it hadn’t taken long for them to raise in volume. He hated it, he was too tired to be so vocal and his throat was aching, but he couldn’t help it.

If it was up to him he would’ve just relaxed and taken it. He was used to simply enduring in the moment and compartmentalizing as he went. He had no experience in allowing such real reactions, in being so vulnerable against his every will.

Taking it silently would’ve been just as painful, there was no changing that, but maybe then he wouldn’t have had to see everyone so upset.

But he couldn’t relax. And he couldn’t use his twisted reason to logic himself out of it.

“This is cruel-I can-I can ease his suffering with my powers, move aside and let me—“

“Princess.”

Coran sounded distressed, almost pained. It was the first hint of emotion he’d shown since they’d dragged Keith into medbay.

“You couldn’t heal him without going into a pod first or it would start depleting the quintessence of your life force... we don’t have time for that, you know what my answer is—“

“But it’s worth it! Just a second, even just a touch would make the world of a difference, please—“

“Allura... come on, let him work.”

Lance looked angry still, and Shiro wasn’t sure he blamed him anymore, but the princess’s voice was shaking and his hand on her arm was pulling her away from Coran gently.

And she let him, the sob that erupted from her throat startling everyone. But Lance was there, the usual smirk he wore when speaking to the princess noticeably absent as he braced his her shoulders because they were shaking too.

Shiro is pressing Keith’s chest down flat where Lance had been after he Coran hissed at the heat of the tool while he continued to thrash.

The energy in the room was so dark and heavy it was almost sinister.

But the worst part was seeing it on his face. The desperation in his expressions was gutting. It felt like a sort of betrayal, which in a way it was, but so was the alternative.

Shiro tried to keep up his rambles of assurance but found the sentiments catching in his throat.

It had become wildly apparent that they were more comforting to him than they were to Keith, but he repeated them still, the same nonsense over and over again like a prayer. The swipe of his metal thumb clearing the endless stream of tears out of his eyes was the only constant other than the sound of his own screaming sobs.

And the pain.

His sobs and the pain.

It was blinding and it was everywhere. He couldn’t get away from it. Couldn’t get away from himself or the terrible sounds he was making.

All of it was suffocating. The fire poker dragging against his already charred skin, the hands holding him still, Shiro’s words, his own cries, all of it.

The air was filled with a bitter and nauseating heat, the smell of his own flesh burning permeated it and made him cry harder.

He wanted to throw up, wanted to pass out, hell if he died right there he wouldn’t have even minded.

He just wanted everything to stop.

He didn’t think he could stand much more of it but his body wouldn’t give in. His screams had morphed into one piercing and continuous wail as every limit he had was tested and shattered.

Keith thought he could handle pain fairly well, but this was absurd. This pain was otherworldly.

It’s only when he spits the rag out for the millionth time and begins chanting his own prayer that Shiro really wavered, his hand halting abruptly as he went to put it back between his teeth before they tore through his tongue the next time Coran moved his tool.

But Coran had taken the glowing metal away for a moment and was fiddling with something, so when Shiro leaned in to replace the cloth he could finally make out what he was saying.

“...D-d-d-da-dad... pl-please, dad... dad m-make it st-stop... dad...”

The words were slurred and barely audible with how wrecked his throat was, but there was no denying it.

“Oh, Keith...” Shiro breathed before his jaw was working to muffle his own pitiful sounds.

He was in such a delirium that he was calling out for his father, the man who Keith hadn’t called out to in years because he was dead. He’d left him in the most final way someone could leave.

Shiro didn’t know how many promises his death might’ve broken, just that the words Keith was uttering were what finally broke him.

Allura’s cheeks were still wet with tears but stepped forward anyway and moved the towel back into place, her hands running through and smoothing down Keith’s wild locks all tossed out of place from writhing.

She bent down to speak softly into his ear, Shiro didn’t catch much over the ringing in his own while his eyes locked into place on the towel in his mouth and the blood staining his chin and neck, though he thought he heard something about him being strong, him doing so well...

“Shiro.”

The hand on his arm didn’t make him jump because he couldn’t feel it. The room was expanding and he was shrinking because Keith’s whimpering was beginning to sound like the despairing cries before someone or something died in the arena.

The arena...

His eyes open wide and flit around wildly, the room abruptly fitting back to size.

“Huh?”

Shiro was good at snapping himself back to reality when he needed to, good at functioning at half capacity just to see through whatever he was in the middle of until it was safe to let the lights of the arena bleed into his present.

Not that acknowledging his memories was ever safe. And not that reliving them in his cabin was any safer.

Just easier.

“What is it?”

“I’m starting again...”

He hadn’t noticed that he’d backed up into Pidge’s bed or that her tiny hand had wound its way into his.

“...and he’s asking for you.”

“Right.”

His voice was sturdy again, hands no longer trembling. He could do this.

The whirring of the tool sounds too much like his metal arm, it glows orange instead of purple but that doesn’t seem to matter because it’s cutting into Keith’s skin all the same and the screams that escape his mouth cut into Shiro just as bad.

But he pushes it all away. He can unpack the emotions that rise up with it later but Keith needed him now.

The initial twitches that wracked his brutalized frame when Coran brought the tool back down had Allura turning away and the smoke that rose up with the first slice had Hunk clamping a hand over his mouth and nose. But the princess’s hand never stopped brushing through his hair and Hunk kept the grip on his shoulder firm.

They could feel his muscles loosening, could feel the power of each jerk dwindling.

And then they watched with heavy consciences as even his steady cries quieted, his body finally waving the white flag.

“I’m sorry...”

Shiro chanted it so many times that the syllables blended together and turned into something else altogether.

Keith’s breathing was more erratic than it ever had been and it didn’t seem like he could see straight anymore so Shiro lowered his forehead to Keith’s and draped his metal arm over his neck.

Both were damp with sweat that created condensation on his hand, his hair wet with it and plastered all over, but Shiro couldn’t find it in him to care. He needed him to know that he was there, that he hadn’t left.

“I’m here, Keith. And I’m sorry...”

But his cheeks were flushing with something other than straight up exertion. And Shiro felt it, felt his hand go cold while all the blood raced to his head. He knew what was happening but he wasn’t worried.

He was relieved.

“I’m so sorry...”

The rag falls out again because his jaw had gone slack and his eyes were rolling to the back of his head. Shiro didn’t move to fix it.

His breathing still irregular but falling into a more even rhythm.

Lance looks stricken and Hunk is rather green when they let go and step back.

Pidge had finally found the ability to relax abs was slumping into the bed, eyes glued to Coran’s hand who was still not done.

Still not okay. Still not in a pod, but no longer in pain.

Hunk took exactly one deep breath before devolving into tears. He was done being strong, but Lance never seems to get the luxury and was pulling him into a hug that didn’t have him standing any straighter or have his chest working any less, but it was something.

Coran’s hands move slow and he doesn’t seem to feel the red welts on his fingertips from wrestling with his tools. But he looked more at ease with Keith blissfully unconscious, like he was breathing again.

Shiro was still holding Keith’s hand. It was ice cold and looking sort of blue with the white blotches dotting it. He leaves his other hand on his neck where his skin is hotter, figuring if the cool metal could be useful for anything other than killing, it might just be that.

Lance eyes the distance in Shiro’s gaze, the rigidity in his movements, and he thinks he understands. He thinks he can overlook his anger to remember that the guy is still human.

He’s almost scared that he was speaking out loud when Shiro rakes his grey pinpoints around the room, not appearing to actually see any of it before passing over Lance’s briefly. Hunk has his head burrowed in his chest as he fights to regain his composure but he musters up a small smile for him despite being otherwise occupied.

It’s a peace offering. A sad one at that, the corners of his mouth barely perking up, but it’s something.

Shiro wasn’t sure if he returned it but his heart felt lighter once Lance did that.

The energy in the room was still buzzing but it was less stifling, not as heavy as it had been moments ago.

The artificial sunlight starts to turn purple again and he can hear desperation mix into the buzz and for a second Shiro is worried that Keith has woken up. In a bit of a panic he drags his gaze back down to find his eyes still closed and his face still scrunched up like he hadn’t escaped the pain entirely with sleep.

But that was infinitely better than him sounding like them, the dying things he was hearing.

He vaguely wondered if the medbay was a safe enough place to let the purple flood in and ultimately decided that it didn’t matter.

He’d staved it off long enough, was strong for Keith when he needed him to be.

And so he lets himself drift.

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astrognossienne · 3 years ago

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tragic star: keith moon

“If you don't like it, you can fuck off!” - last words of Keith Moon

This one was a long time coming, but frankly, it took me a while to get interested enough in the subject to actually do this analysis, let alone finish it. At any rate, Keith Moon, like most of the drummers from the rock ‘n’ roll period that we still read about today, led a self-destructive lifestyle. A close friend of his once said the drummer was “like a train ride you couldn’t stop.” Not only was his drumming chaotic – so was his life. According to some, he was at his core a kind and generous soul, but to others, he was lost, lonely soul, and terribly immature throughout his adult life. Perhaps it was the sudden success, upon joining the rock band The Who, when he was only 18 (although plenty of others of the same era were as young, or younger, and survived just fine), but Keith was so eager to please and make everyone laugh that he eventually became the “Moon the Loon” character that he was portrayed as in the media. It got to the point where he wasn't sure who he really was. A true Leo, he made a circus out of everything and he wouldn't walk into any room and just listen. He was an attention seeker and he had to have it. He used amphetamines, tranquilizers, drank way too much alcohol, destroyed hotel rooms and friends’ homes, threw TVs into swimming pools, set fires, and the list goes on. He was ultimately unable to outrun or outlast his demons; whether it was the wife and child he drove away, the friend and chauffeur he accidentally killed in early 1970...whatever else haunted him, it ultimately caught up with him just as he was finally trying to improve his life. Friends were well-acquainted with the many sides to Moon’s strange personality; one minute he was insulting, exaggerating, joking – the next minute he’s a wide-eyed, innocent-looking drummer boy. The public Keith Moon was The Who’s manic drummer and hellraising, daredevil comedian; a man who only ever lived in the moment. However, the real Keith Moon was a son, a brother, a father and a deeply insecure man. A man of extremes, his was a complete shitshow of a life.

Keith Moon, according to astrotheme, was a Leo sun and Cancer moon (the moon is speculative). Moon was born to working class parents in Wembley, London, England. He was a hyperactive child by nature and a mediocre student at school. His art teacher said in a report: "Retarded artistically. Idiotic in other respects". His music teacher wrote that Moon "has great ability, but must guard against a tendency to show off." At the age of 12, he had joined the Sea Cadet Corp and was given his first musical instrument, the bugle. He left school by 15 and was in his first band, The Beachcombers. While performing with the Beachcombers, he used to attend concerts of a band called The Detours. At that time The Detours were planning to sign a deal with Fontana Records and for this deal, this band required a new drummer. The Detours changed their name to The Who in 1964. When Moon learned about the band’s need for a new drummer, he approached them for an audition. After the audition, he became their new drummer, and performed with The Who for the first time in 1962.

From the moment he joined, musically the band was complete, although adding his already volatile personality to those of the other three equally headstrong members meant that the early years of the Who's career were fraught with drama and violence, despite their almost immediate success. Much of the tension came from the fact that Keith readily joined in on popping pills with guitarist Pete Townshend and bassist John Entwistle, while lead singer Roger Daltrey (with whom Keith was never particularly close) didn't. After sacking Roger for two weeks in mid-1965, he was reinstated, band relations improved, and the Who continued to release a string of successful singles and albums before a downturn in their fortunes in 1968. However, the release of the album Tommy in 1969 turned them into international megastars overnight and from that moment until the day Keith died, they would remain one of the top rock bands in the world. Running concurrently with the Who's rise to stardom in the 1960s was Keith's relationship with his wife Kim. She first met Keith in 1965 when he was 19 and she 15, and while they fell in love rather quickly, he exhibited twin streaks of jealousy and insecurity and Moon was occasionally violent towards Kim. While his mental issues, which would now be readily (and correctly) diagnosed as a combination of ADHD and BPD, reared their ugly heads on innumerable occasions, Keith's true personality shone through enough that Kim stayed with him; she decided to marry him when she became pregnant within a year of dating, and they got married in 1966. Their daughter Amanda was born on 12 July. In those days, there was a belief that married rockstars with kids weren’t as appealing to their mostly female fans, and the marriage (and child) were kept secret from the press until May 1968. He loved his daughter, but his absences due to touring and fondness for practical jokes made their relationship uneasy when she was very young. "He had no idea how to be a father", Kim said. "He was too much of a child himself."

The chaotic sixties would not hold a candle to what the new decade had in store for him, however. Shortly after New Year’s in 1970, Moon accidentally killed his friend, driver and bodyguard, Neil Boland, outside the Red Lion pub in Hatfield, Hertfordshire. Pub patrons had begun to attack his Bentley; Moon, drunk, began driving to escape them. During the fracas, he hit Boland. After an investigation, the coroner ruled Boland's death an accident; Moon, having been charged with a number of offences, received an absolute discharge. Those close to Moon said that he was haunted by Boland's death for the rest of his life. Moon had nightmares about the incident and said he had no right to be alive. Also, compounding this tragedy, was the fragile state of Moon’s marriage. Even after marriage and his daughter being born, he was still jealous, self-centered, and abusive to his wife Kim, both verbally and physically. His mental state also deteriorated as his appetite for all manner of pills escalated and he exploded into a full-blown alcoholic. Even after separating for a year, Kim returned to him, hoping that he had finally changed, but the insane lifestyle Keith kept up at their house became too much. Kim and Amanda (nicknamed “Mandy”) finally left for good in 1973. Since his marriage was a central part of Keith's life, their divorce would come to affect him perhaps more than any other event in his adult life and it was a devastation Keith would never recover from. While most people would use an event like this as the impetus to clean up their act, Keith used it instead as an excuse to drive himself further into oblivion.

Moon's lifestyle began to undermine not only his health but his career. During the 1973 Quadrophenia tour, at the Who's debut US date, Moon ingested a mixture of tranquilizers and brandy. During the concert, Moon passed out on his drum kit during the song "Won't Get Fooled Again." The band stopped playing, and a group of roadies carried Moon offstage. After he was given a shower and an injection of cortisone, he was sent back onstage. Moon passed out again during "Magic Bus," and was again removed from the stage. The band continued without him for several songs before Pete Townshend asked, "Can anyone play the drums? – I mean somebody good?" A fan in the audience, who happened to be a drummer, came up and played the rest of the show. During the opening date of the band's March 1976 US tour at the Boston Garden, Moon passed out again over his drum kit after two numbers and the show was rescheduled. By the mid-1970s Keith was living in Los Angeles and getting up to even more insanity with John Lennon, Ringo Starr, Harry Nilsson, and other stars. Even a new love in his life, Swedish model Annette Walter-Lax, couldn't get him to slow down and take control. There were even stints in psychiatric wards after some mental breakdowns brought on by his despair at losing Kim and his daughter and his drinking. His alcohol and drug abuse was now not only affecting his health (he put on a significant amount of weight at this time due to infrequent gigging) but sadly, his drumming. In 1978 soon after he recorded Who Are You, his final album with The Who, depressed by the deterioration of his drumming and threats from the rest of the Who to clean up his act or else, that he finally decided to get some help. By the summer of 1978, he seemed to be trying to get his life in order, staying sober and solidifying his relationship with Annette. He was terrified to go into rehab or under psychiatric evaluation, however, and instead self-medicated with Heminevrin, a drug used for treating acute withdrawal from alcohol. However, he took too many on his final night and sadly died on September 7, 1978 at the age of 32.

Over forty years after his death, it's still difficult to think of Keith Moon as anything more than just a hard-drinking insane rock star who would smash his drum set on stage or destroy a hotel room. But regardless of the human being behind the drumkit, the legendary drummer should be remembered as the man who forever changed the sound of rock 'n' roll.

Next, I’ll go back to my beloved star analyses by covering a personal favourite of mine; a force of nature and an unsung pioneer of cinema whose death was ridiculously sensationalized and whose colourful life was almost as wild as Moon’s: Cancer Lupe Vélez

Stats

birthdate: August 23, 1946*

*note*: due to the absence of a birth time, this analysis will be even more speculative.

major planets:

Sun: Leo

Moon: Cancer

Rising: unknown

Mercury: Leo

Venus: Libra

Mars: Libra

Midheaven: unknown

Jupiter: Libra

Saturn: Leo

Uranus: Gemini

Neptune: Libra

Pluto: Leo

Overall personality snapshot: He may sometimes have wanted a safe, simple life where he felt emotionally contained and able to pursue his own creative interests. Then, however, the compulsion to strive for a more central, leading role reared its challenging head, and he knew he had it in him – so out into the spotlight he went. So immense was his creative energy as well as his warm feeling for others that he could become both the artistic home-maker and the home-loving artist/writer/entrepreneur. His personality was large and welcoming, colourful and theatrical because he had such an uncanny knack of dramatizing his vivid impressions and selling himself in the most genuine, heartfelt way. Both the paternal and the maternal urge was strong in him. He needed to use his will to project and establish your identity in the world, and to use his instincts to nurture and protect his emotional and material security. The Sun and the Moon are in their ‘home’ signs here, so that potentially he had the creative vision of Apollo and the lunar wisdom of Diana all rolled into one. This could make him pretty overpowering at times, and indeed he needed a partner and a family on whom he could lavish his emotions. His bearing was often aristocratic, sometimes haughty, oversensitive and self-absorbed, but he always seemed to have enough affection to go around so that no one felt left out. He also managed to remain approachable and compassionate because he was so aware of his own vulnerability and need to be loved. Thus he made a warm and understanding friend, and he enjoyed expressing his feelings with original flair and thoughtfulness.

He was protective, possessive and clannish, a stalwart member of his family, group and nation, and utterly devoted to his ideals. Deeply honourable and dependable, he brought an attitude of devotion and romantic style to all he did. He may have actually had a good head for business because he possessed an instinctive knowledge of security needs as well as a shrewd understanding of people, their desires, fears and foibles. His refined taste for comfort and beauty was part of the impetus for success – he knew his own mind and did not easily budge from his preferences and high standards. Aesthetic sensitivity was strong, and combined with his innate tenacity and quiet ambition means that he was quite successful in the arts. Even though he readily turned a bright face to the world, he did not always feel confident and strong. He had a lively sense of individuality, but his potency was sometimes too dependent on emotional familiarity, and the range of his self-expression too circumscribed within repetitive emotional patterns. Inwardly he shied away from encounters with the big, bad world, and early in life he may have needed to find ways of handling challenges that normally push the panic button. This wouldn’t have been hard for him because his creative drive was tremendous and his individuality needed recognition.

He was ambitious, sound at giving orders, carried responsibility well and was a good teacher, especially able to bring out the best in children. He believed in herself and generally knew the right thing to say at the right time, although he could show a stubborn and dogmatic side. He had a high opinion of his mental powers, and it was certainly true to say that he had plenty of mental energy. He was quite sociable and expected other people to behave well at all times. He was eager for close personal relationships, so he tended to have a wide circle of friends. Self-indulgence was a problem for him, as was laziness and conceit in relationships. He tended to be impatient with superficial details, preferring large-scale situations, and he disliked being tied down by obligations over which he had little control. Conservatism may have affected his creativity, artistic values and love affairs. This expressed itself as self-imposed restrictions or as selfishness. He often felt inadequate, which created an insidious form of oppression over all his forms of expression. He could also take herself so seriously, that people think that he was older than his years.

He was part of a generation that was strongly interested in humanitarian ideals, new avenues of communication and progress in mechanical skills. As a member of this generation, he was able to bring original ideas to both his career and spare-time interests. Crises in thought and ideology arose because he looked beyond tradition and old attitudes towards new original and inventive ways of looking at things. His active mind tended to need constant stimulation and his tastes could be quite fickle and difficult to satisfy. He belonged to a time of peace-loving idealism when the family unit and the way relationships were managed underwent great changes. He could be too idealistic and a little unrealistic when it came to matters of love, sex and romance. As a member of this generation, he tended to need to be motivated to make the most of his potential, because the line of least resistance appeared very attractive, especially when it involved pleasure-seeking. He embodied the Libra Neptune generation in the sense that he was a huge part of a time when beauty reappeared in fashion. He was part of a generation which was highlighted by the clash between authoritarianism and individualism. As a member of the Leo Plutonian generation, he wanted freedom in his relationships and demanded the loyalty of his friends as a right. As a member of this generation, he wanted power over his own life and was prepared to challenge established structures. He didn’t feel comfortable being dictated to, unless he in some way agreed to it beforehand. He was a part of excesses of the sixties. He was part of a generation that brought about a revolution in forms of entertainment, recreational activities and leisure time, as well as attitudes towards children.

Love/sex life: He was a lover so in love with the idea of love that nothing else matters. At times his whole-hearted idealism made him too optimistic and too easily deceived by people who promised to fulfill his ideals and then renege but, as delicate and unworldly as his romantic fantasy may seem, it was remarkably durable. Though he may have been misused and hurt, he never lost his faith in the power of true love. Issues of the flesh were always secondary to him and he was apt not to give them much thought. If such urges must be satisfied, then so be it. If sex proved useful in reaching other goals, that was fine too. As long as sex did not intrude on his ideal of perfect love such physical inconveniences hardly mattered. Unfortunately, most of the rest of the world did not agree with him on this point and, measured by their standards, his sexual behaviour may have seemed immoral or at least strangely naïve. He needed to learn to allow for such harsh realities even as he strove to create that grand idyll of perfect love.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Gemini

Lilith: Capricorn

Juno: Libra

Chiron: Libra

Vesta: Aries

Ceres: Aquarius

Pallas: Sagittarius

His North Node in Gemini dictated that he needed to prevent his idealism from influencing his thoughts to such a high degree. He needed to consciously develop a more clear-minded and analytical approach involving his thought processes. His Lilith in Capricorn dictated that he was dangerously attracted to women who had a scrappy plucky attitude hot-wired into their psyche. Against his better judgment, he liked to be around a woman who needed to be in control and to be mistress of her own destiny, because her life was in the control of not-so-well-meaning others as a child. Juno in Libra, he sought a mate who was harmonious, artistic, musical and intelligent. He liked beauty and balance at home. He believed in equal partnerships where all lived up to the letter of the law. Chiron in Libra, he often felt wounded in relationships and could wound others in retaliation. He may have felt he was constantly hurt or rejected in relationships. Through learning that he was whole on his own, he could have freed himself from this destructive pattern. He would have benefited from a partner that could have helped him heal in some way. Vesta in Aries, he was incline to initiate work for religious and humanitarian projects. Action came from a desire to improve every situation. There was a great deal of insecurity in self-evaluation. Ceres in Aquarius, at his best, he had tact and the ability to compromise, making him well liked by all. Pallas in Sagittarius, he had the ability to evaluate true personal worth enabling him to use his resources in the most advantageous ways. Other people may think he was lucky. Ideally speaking, he could have been generally positive instead of being wasteful, and he could have been confident and reliable. Nonetheless, he still used his ideas in a practical way, especially in his career.

elemental dominance:

air

fire

He was communicative, quick and mentally agile, and he liked to stir things up. He was likely a havoc-seeker on some level. He was oriented more toward thinking than feeling. He carried information and the seeds of ideas. Out of balance, he lived in his head and could be insensitive to the feelings of others. But at his best, he helped others form connections in all spheres of their daily lives. He was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. He generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. He was exciting to be around, because he was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, he could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Confident and opinionated, he was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because he was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—he was bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at his best, his confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

cardinal

He was happiest when he was doing anything new, and he loved to begin new ventures. He enjoyed the challenge of claiming territory. He tended to be an initiator—and a bit territorial as well. Also, he had a tendency to start more things than she could possibly finish.

planet dominants:

Moon

Sun

Venus

He was defined by his inner world; by his emotional reactions to situations, how emotions flowed through him, motivating and compelling him—or limiting him and holding him back. He held great capacity to become a part of the whole rather than attempting to master the parts. He wanted to become whatever it was that he sought. He had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. He likely had strong leadership qualities, he definitely knew who he was, and he had tremendous will. He met challenges and believed in expanding his life. He was romantic, attractive and valued beauty, had an artistic instinct, and was sociable. He had an easy ability to create close personal relationships, for better or worse, and to form business partnerships.

sign dominants:

Leo

Libra

Cancer

He loved being the center of attention and often surrounded himself with admirers. He had an innate dramatic sense, and life was definitely his stage. His flamboyance and personal magnetism extended to every facet of his life. He wanted to succeed and make an impact in every situation. At his best, he was optimistic, honorable, loyal, and ambitious. He loved beauty in all its guises—art, literature, classical music, opera, mathematics, and the human body. He usually was a team player who enjoyed debate but not argument. He was, at his best, an excellent strategist and a master at the power of suggestion. Even though he was likely a courteous, amiable person, he was definitely not a pushover. He tried to use diplomacy and intelligence to get what he wanted. At first meeting, he seemed enigmatic, elusive. He needed roots, a place or even a state of mind that he could call his own. He needed a safe harbor, a refuge in which to retreat for solitude. He was generally gentle and kind, unless he was hurt. Then he could become vindictive and sharp-spoken. He was affectionate, passionate, and even possessive at times. He was intuitive and was perhaps even psychic. Experience flowed through him emotionally. He was often moody and always changeable; his interests and social circles shifted constantly. He was emotion distilled into its purest form.

Read more about him under the cut.

Keith John Moon was an English drummer who played with the English rock band the Who. He was noted for his unique style and his eccentric, often self-destructive behaviour. His drumming continues to be praised by critics and musicians. He was posthumously inducted into the Modern Drummer Hall of Fame in 1982, becoming only the second rock drummer to be chosen, and in 2011, Moon was voted the second-greatest drummer in history by a Rolling Stone readers' poll. Moon grew up in Alperton, a suburb of Wembley, in Middlesex, and took up the drums during the early 1960s. After playing with a local band, the Beachcombers, he joined the Who in 1964 before they recorded their first single. Moon remained with the band during their rise to fame, and was quickly recognised for his drumming style, which emphasised tom-toms, cymbal crashes, and drum fills. He occasionally collaborated with other musicians and later appeared in films, but considered playing in the Who his primary occupation and remained a member of the band until his death. In addition to his talent as a drummer, however, Moon developed a reputation for smashing his kit on stage and destroying hotel rooms on tour. He was fascinated by blowing up toilets with cherry bombs or dynamite, and by destroying television sets. Moon enjoyed touring and socialising, and was bored and restless when the Who were inactive. His 21st birthday party in Flint, Michigan, has been cited as a notorious example of decadent behaviour by rock groups. Moon suffered a number of setbacks during the 1970s, most notably the accidental death of chauffeur Neil Boland and the breakdown of his marriage. He became addicted to alcohol, particularly brandy and champagne, and acquired a reputation for decadence and dark humour; his nickname was "Moon the Loon." After moving to Los Angeles with personal assistant Peter "Dougal" Butler during the mid-1970s, Moon recorded his only solo album, the poorly received Two Sides of the Moon. While touring with the Who, on several occasions he passed out on stage and was hospitalised. By their final tour with him in 1976, and particularly during production of The Kids Are Alright and Who Are You, the drummer's deterioration was evident. Moon moved back to London in 1978, dying in September of that year from an overdose of Heminevrin, a drug intended to treat or prevent symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. (x)

#keith moon #leo #tragic stars #long ass post #star analyses #astrology #mine

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echo-bleu · 4 years ago

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To Fall, There Is Death

This work was created for the @rnmbb Roswell New Mexico Big Bang 2020 event.

The amazing @slynella/Slynella was my partner for this event and created three absolutely wonderful illustrations for this story! The artworks are incredible and I love them to pieces, thank you so much Sly 💙

Huge thanks also to @eveningspirit for helping me build the plot of this and handholding through the writing. This fic was hard to write, both because I got lost more than once in the narrative and because I basically left the fandom when I was less than halfway done. But, here it is.

This fic is loosely based on both Dumas' The Three Musketeers and BBC Musketeers, and borrows some plot elements (and a few lines) from the latter, but there is no historical accuracy whatsoever and it is set in the fictional kingdom of Antar. The title comes from “Quo ruit et lethum” which is the actual motto of the Musketeers: To Fall, There Is Death. The header of each part is a chess move or a chess opening, usually with some relation to what happens in the part (and a few where I just liked the name :D).

[apparent deaths by shooting and hanging, mentions of war and injuries, canonical levels of violence, past abuse]

Read on AO3 (13k).

The day Alex died was the beginning of the end.

Liz would be hard pressed to tell when it had all started, when the pieces had first been put in motion. So much had happened to lead them there, one step away from checkmate, one step away from the end of the game.

Maybe it had started six months ago, when the King died. She remembered the funeral ceremony that gathered all of the court and so much of the city, Max and Isobel’s regal and solemn faces. Max had worn white, and knelt to receive the crown on his head. “The King is dead,” they’d chanted. “Long live the King!”

But things had been moving even before that. Maybe it had started a year ago, when Lord Michael first came to the court and challenged Alex to a duel. Alex had been injured already, barely able to stand on his feet. Liz remembered the absolute shock on his face, when Michael had pushed back his hood and revealed himself, after the King introduced him as his natural son.

Alex had lost the duel. He’d stood there afterwards, dazed and devastated, unable to take his eyes off Michael for one second, like he’d expected him to disappear again. He’d spent most of the next three weeks drinking himself to the ground every evening, just to dull the pain that never left his eyes.

So maybe the pieces had already found their place ten years ago, in that time Alex only ever hinted at, when he and Michael were engaged to be married. He’d never told Liz and Maria the story. “There was a man, once,” he’d said. “He died.” Kyle had probably known more, after all he was Alex’s friend when they were children, but he never said. In all the years they’d known Alex, though, there were always these shadows in his eyes, that spoke of a dreadful weight, a longing and a guilt that never left him.

Bishop Takes Knight

Now

The Musketeers on duty stood in line for muster, as Alex limped down the ranks and inspected their gear. Musketeers had to be dressed perfectly in every circumstance, boots shiny and blue cape draped over their shoulders, because they could be called to attend the King and the royal family at any moment. Liz was with Maria at the very end of the line, Alex’s seconds-in-command, his most trusted people. Kyle wasn’t there, because a patrol had come back injured from a skirmish with the Red Guard the night before and the surgeon hadn’t slept all night, getting a bullet out of a Musketeer’s shoulder.

Alex handed out orders for the day and dismissed his Musketeers. Liz and Maria joined him in the armory, since they were to be on duty at the Palace that day, and together they selected loaded muskets and their trusted swords.

There was nothing to indicate how horrendous things were about to get, except maybe for the slight trembling in Alex’s hands as he fit his scabbard on his belt, or the way Liz and Maria squeezed his shoulder a little tighter than usual before going to ready their horses.

They barely had time to step out of the garrison, leading their horses out of the large wooden gate, before everything went to hell.

“Musketeers!” a voice rung out, harsh and unforgiving.

Alex froze in his steps, recognizing the figure in red before any of them. There were half a dozen Red Guards scattered around the square, unmoving, watching them, and in the middle, Lord Michael, in full leather armor under his red cape. He had several pistols on his belt, and one held loosely in his hand.

“Manes,” he added with venom in his voice. “Still standing, I see. Still the Captain.”

“Michael,” Alex answered, his voice smaller and shakier than Liz had ever heard it in public. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to finally do what I’ve been waiting for for ten years,” Michael spit out. “I’m here to kill you.”

Liz fully expected Alex to take a fighting stance, bring out his pistol and defend himself, but he sagged instead, looking defeated. What had become of her friend, the war hero who went up the ranks so fast he became the youngest Captain ever? Where had Alex Manes, the fearless soldier, best swordsman in the Kingdom, gone?

She’d seen the change, of course. The last year hadn’t been easy on Alex. Ever since Michael first came to the court, he’d been different. There was a spring in his steps, at first, just knowing that Michael was alive, but with the months passing, with Michael showing his loyalty to Jesse Manes at every turn and his hatred of Alex, it had grown into a weight, a ball and chain he dragged everywhere with him.

Liz hadn’t realized that it had gotten that bad. Alex wasn’t defensive, he was resigned. It was almost like he wanted Michael to kill him. Like he felt that he deserved it.

He gave Maria the reins of his horse, and turned back to Michael, facing him.

“We can still work this out,” he said, his voice low and sad. “There are other ways, Michael. You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I believe I do,” Michael snarled, still speaking loudly so that everyone in the square could hear him. “You had me hanged, Alex. On the day we should have been wedded.”

Alex looked stricken. “I didn’t–”

“I was in your bed, for months. I know who you are, deep inside. Definitely not a morally uptight Musketeer. You disgust me.”

“We can settle this like gentlemen,” Alex said, hand going for his sword. “Last time I was injured, but we can duel again. The King isn’t there to stop us from dueling to the death this time. You can have your reparation.”

Michael waved his pistol around. “Damn the rules!”

“Michael!” Liz cried out. This was too much. If Alex wasn’t going to defend himself, then she would. “The King will never forgive you if you do this.”

“The King is my brother,” Michael spit. “He’ll choose me over one Musketeer. Especially one who’s been a thorn in everyone’s side for so long.”

Liz closed her eyes. She wanted to believe that it wasn’t true, that Max truly respected Alex and wouldn’t stand for this, but how well did she really know the King? Just because he liked her, because he always asked her to be his guard and they’d had a few moments together, didn’t mean she knew what he was thinking. This was a matter of politics, the King and the Prime Minister, the Musketeers and the Red Guard. It would never be a simple question of friendships and personal preference.

When she opened her eyes again, Michael had his pistol trained on Alex.

“Michael,” Alex murmured. “Please. I never wanted this. I loved you.” He had tears running down his cheeks.

Michael’s jaw was set, but he twitched at the words.

“You never loved me,” he snarled. “I was just a toy to you, that you discarded at the first occasion. How was it like, Alex, to see me hang at the end of a rope? How did it feel?”

Alex let out a sob. Michael locked eyes with him.

It all happened fast. Michael aimed his pistol just as Alex looked away, devastated. The shot rang out like a death sentence, echoing across the square.

“Alex!” Liz screamed, as her friend collapsed. She ran to Alex’s side, all thoughts of safety be damned. He was lying on his side, unmoving.

“Lord Michael!” someone cried. The Red Guards around the square started moving, rallying around Michael as the Musketeers took out their guns. But there wasn’t going to be an all-out battle, not today, not like this. Michael looked at them disdainfully and turned away, taking his men with him.

“Kyle! Kyle, come here right now!” Maria yelled toward the open gate of the garrison, joining Liz at Alex’s side.

But Jenna Cameron was already moving Alex, checking his pulse. “It's too late,” she said. “He's gone.”

Liz stayed frozen for a second, incapable of believing it. She looked between Alex’s still form and Michael, now retreating from the square without even a look behind him.

“Come back, you coward!” Liz screamed at the top of her lungs. She launched toward him, but Maria caught her across the waist and held her back, sobbing.

Michael’s steps halted for a brief moment, but he didn’t turn. He kept walking away until he disappeared down a side street.

Liz collapsed against Maria, and they both fell to their knees crying, cradling Alex’s lifeless body.

King’s Gambit

A year ago

Liz winced as Alex hit the floor hard, head first, grunting in pain. The whole court cheered, but watching it brought her no joy, no excitement. Alex was the best swordsman in the whole Kingdom, he should have easily won against a fresh-faced arrogant Lord, bastard of the King or not. But the asshole was good, and he’s provoked Alex when he was already injured, just a week out of being stabbed grievously enough that his left arm was of no use. Liz seethed in anger as he sneered at Alex from above.

“Come on, you’ve got to surrender,” she murmured under her breath. She hoped her friend would have the common sense to understand that his health was worth more than winning this ridiculous duel, even if he felt the heavy gaze of his father, the Prime Minister, on him.

Maria, beside her, was holding her breath just as much. She knew how much Alex’s abused body could handle, and this was already too much. They sighed in unison as Alex rose to his feet once again, stumbling on his boot-covered wooden leg before dropping into a fighting stance. Lord Michael goaded him openly, exchanging a few parried blow before he plunged under Alex’s guard and elbowed him hard in the temple. Alex crumpled to the floor.

Liz was almost relieved that Alex didn’t rise again, until she realized that he’d passed out. Maria rushed to his side, taking his pulse, and Liz only started breathing again when she looked up and nodded.

“Goddammit, Alex,” she whispered. Cameron squeezed her shoulder from behind.

They both sighed in relief when Alex made it back to his feet with Maria’s help, and knelt in front of the King.

“You fought well, Captain,” the King said. “But my son is an excellent swordsman, and you are obviously injured. Do you accept your defeat?”

“I do,” Alex answered through gritted teeth.

“Very well. Then I declare Michael, count of Dimaras, the winner of this duel. Michael, will that satisfy your call for justice?”

“It will for now, my King,” Michael answered, kneeling beside Alex. “The rest of my claims will be settled another day.”

Liz stared at him, wondering exactly what he had against Alex. She’d never seen him before, so it was obviously something from Alex’s past, from the time he never spoke about. Alex had that look on his face that she’d only seen on his worst days, the ones where he drowned himself in wine, or trained until he collapsed in exhaustion.

There was a story there, and it wasn’t a happy one.

It took several days for it to come out. Alex spent them in the worst mood, spending his days in the armory despite his injuries, hacking at straw mannequins until he couldn’t feel his arm anymore. His friends didn’t push him. Liz and Maria recounted the duel to Kyle in detail, of course, but they didn’t try to force the story out.

They knew their friend. Words didn’t come easily to Alex even on the best of days, but now between his concussion and his exhaustion, he could barely string together a sentence. He seemed to be in shock.

When he was finally ready, one night at the tavern, after almost a full bottle of wine, the words came out stumbling over themselves. It was disjointed, slurred, barely intelligible, but Liz understood enough. There was a boy, once. Lord Michael, before he was the King’s bastard, when he was just a street orphan. He and Alex had fallen in love and gotten engaged. Alex’s father had disapproved, and made it clear, but they were going to elope.

And one day, Jesse Manes had found them in the gardener’s shed, and he’d glimpsed the fleur de lys branded on Michael’s shoulder, marking him a thief and a convict. Alex hadn’t cared, he’d trusted Michael, but it gave Jesse the opportunity he’d been waiting for to destroy them.

He’d attacked Michael with a hammer, and then, by the authority granted to him as the lord of his lands, he had sentenced him to death. Alex had been powerless. The last thing Michael had seen before the rope suffocated him was Alex’s tears.

Except that somehow, Michael was alive. And he held Alex responsible for what had happened to him. His knight in shining armor, the one Alex had thought would steal him away from his monster of a father, had become the black bishop of Jesse Manes’ game, intent on taking his revenge against Alex.

“Ten years learning how to live in a world without him,” Alex sobbed into his bottle when he finished. “What do I do now?”

Liz didn’t have an answer. She hugged him tight until he fell asleep.

Endgame

Now

On the day of Alex’s funeral, the sun shone high and hot in the sky and it felt like it was the universe’s way of laughing at them. Liz got up early to clean her leathers and polish her boots until they shone brighter than they should have been able to, given how worn they were. She checked her uniform meticulously, taking particular care of the fleur de lys engraved pauldron that marked her commission and the expensive rapier Alex had gifted her years ago. Squaring her shoulders for the hard day ahead, she walked down the ranks of solemn Musketeers, adjusting blue capes and leather doublets as she gave out orders. Alex deserved them at their best, and she was going to make sure that they were.

The service was beautiful and heartbreaking. Commander Valenti gave the eulogy and all the Musketeers stood at attention under the heat as the casket was lowered into the ground. Alex had been a well-respected and beloved Captain, who’d always taken care of his men.

Liz felt a pang when she saw Gregory Manes, freshly returned from the war on their border, shed a tear as he threw a rose on the casket. He was the only one of Alex’s brothers that she liked, the only one who supported him. Jesse Manes stood, impassible, as people came to offer their condolences. He never even twitched a muscle, and Liz hated him for it.

She kept observing him throughout. This was the man who had had his own son killed. They all knew whose orders Michael had acted on, even if he’d pretended to do it out of revenge. Liz, whose own father was an immigrant tavern owner who’d done everything for his daughters, couldn’t understand how a man like Jesse Manes could even exist. He hadn’t hesitated to have Alex murdered because Alex threatened his position as the Prime Minister.

And now he stood there and didn’t even have the decency to show some grief. He was dressed in the black of mourning, but he looked at people with the same disdain, the same arrogance as he always did.

This was a man who thought himself untouchable.

Liz was going to prove that he wasn’t. They were moving toward the last stretch of the game, and even with Alex gone, she would make sure Jesse Manes didn’t win. She patted the stack of letters tucked into her leather doublet. One way or another, Alex would be avenged.

Zwischenzug

Three months ago

“Alex!” Maria exclaimed as Alex joined them at the long mess table in the garrison’s courtyard. Kyle moved to give Alex space to sit down on the bench, while Liz grabbed a bowl of soup for him. “Where were you? We looked for you everywhere!”

“Did Commander Valenti ask after me?” Alex asked, dropping onto the bench.

It wasn’t the first time, in the last few months, that he’d disappeared on them like this. He had done that before, but usually they found him passed out somewhere in a tavern, or occasionally curled up in bed in his room, in too much pain to move. But recently, it had changed. He rarely drank too much anymore, and wherever he went every few days, he came back looking rested and content. It wasn’t common when it came to Alex, so his friends hadn’t pushed him to reveal his whereabouts. That day, though, he seemed on edge.

“No, we just thought we might hit the tavern,” Liz answered. “Dad is making rice pudding tonight.”

“I have something to tell you first,” Alex said, lowering his voice. They all leaned in to listen. “I just came from the Palace. You’ve all heard that Princess Isobel is pregnant?”

They nodded. It was the talk of the month everywhere in the city. Princess Isobel was King Max’s twin sister, and since the death of the old King four months ago, the next in line for the throne. King Max had yet to marry, even though he was already twenty-eight, so Princess Isobel and Prince Noah’s child would be the first Prince or Princess of the new generation.

“You remember how I told you that my father will try to regain more power?”

Liz nodded. “He had the old King’s ear, but Max hates him. He’s been talking about appointing a new Prime Minister.”

“My father won’t stand for it,” Alex said. “He will move against Max soon. He knows Max won’t let him keep his position for long.”

“But what can he do?” Maria asked.

Alex’s eyes turned stormy. “He’s ruthless. He plays the long game, and he’ll stop at nothing to get even a scrap of power. My source says that Prince Noah is his henchman, he’s the one who convinced the old King to arrange this marriage. He wants to get Isobel on the throne.”

Liz widened her eyes in shock. “By killing Max?”

Alex just nodded.

“But Isobel hates him just as much as Max does,” Maria said. “It wouldn’t change anything, would it?”

Alex bit his lip. “It looks like he has some kind of leverage on her. With that and Noah’s influence, he could get her to do what he wants. And–” he hesitated.

“What?” Kyle pressed him.

“Now that Isobel’s pregnant, he could also eliminate her as soon as she gives birth,” Alex sighed. “If he played his cards right, he’d be named Regent.”

Liz swore under her breath. This was bad, worse than she could have imagined. “How do you know all that?” she asked.

“I’m getting...inside information,” Alex answered. “That’s all I can tell you, I can’t put my source’s life at risk. But we have to stop my father.”

“But how?”

Alex ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. “I don’t know yet. But I will figure it out. In the meantime, we’ll double up all our guard duties for both Max and Isobel. We won’t let them get hurt.”

Castling

A month ago

The convent was easy to defend, its thick outer walls ready to weather a siege, but the inside was cold and sparsely furnished. The weather was just starting to warm up, spring giving way to summer, but Liz shivered as she stared at the lime-washed walls, her linen shirt too thin to keep out the chill.

“I can't believe you slept with the King!” Alex exclaimed, throwing his hands up. He was pacing back and forth in the corridor outside the Mother Superior’s private chambers, which had been ceded to the King for the night. They’d arrived at the remote convent the night before, under fire from a host of unidentified mercenaries, intent on killing the King.

“Alex, not so loud,” Liz whispered back. She wrung her hands together, nervous. “It was special circumstances, okay? He was scared and someone was trying to kill him. He just needed some reassurance.”

“And you had to sleep with him?” Alex lowered his voice. “After what happened to Rosa? Liz, did he force you?”

“No, of course not!” Liz clasped a hand over Alex's mouth, worriedly looking at the door behind which King Max was asleep. “He didn't force me. He didn't even ask me, I offered.”

“I don't understand,” Alex said. “We're here to protect him. We spent the whole day yesterday under heavy fire because someone is after him. And he's the King, Liz!”

“I know.” Liz looked away. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. Max had looked so down, so alone, she’d just wanted to offer comfort. The sex had been a spur of the moment thing, and although she was convinced neither of them had really forgotten why it was wrong, they hadn’t cared. Max might be the King, but he was a human being just like any of them, with his own fears and desires, and Liz had felt close to him ever since he started requesting her as his personal guard more often.

“Oh my God, you're in love with him,” Alex realized. “Fuck. That's a development I didn't expect.”

“I'm not in love with him!” Liz protested, but her voice wavered. She could see in Alex’s eyes that he was far from convinced.

She was about to argue more when she saw a nun approach from the corner of her eyes.

“News?” Alex asked.

The nun, a young, fresh-faced woman who seemed nervous and shy under her black veil, pointed toward the convent’s courtyard. “Your friends are back.”

“Good. We'll be with them in a minute,” Alex said. “We'll talk again later,” he added to Liz.

“Alex?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“Yes?”

“Can we keep this quiet for now?”

Alex sighed. “Of course. The King sleeping with a commoner, be it a Musketeer, is not something we want to shout from the rooftops, anyway. Is this about Kyle?”

Liz shrugged. She and Kyle had found comfort in each other, back when they first became Musketeers. Liz had never been in love, and she liked Kyle more as her friend than whatever they had been back then, but she knew he still felt something for her that wasn’t just friendship. She didn’t want to hurt him, and knowing that she’d slept with the King, of all people, surely would.

“Fine,” Alex grumbled. “Let's go.”

He had sent Maria and Kyle with most of the Musketeer team that had traveled with them to pursue their assailants yesterday, after they had managed to make them flee. Liz was relieved that there hadn’t been a single casualty on their side, whether Musketeer or civilian. They had done their best to protect both the nuns and the King, but if it had come to it, the King would have had to be Alex’s priority, and Liz knew he would forgive himself for putting nuns in the line of fire, however willing they had been.

Their friends looked tired and dirty, but not injured. “Did you catch them?” Alex asked.

“No,” Kyle shook his head. “We almost got one, but they disappeared. Only thing we found is one of their horses.” He gestured behind him to one of the Musketeers, who lead a horse over.

“Any identifying marks?” Alex asked.

“Only this,” Maria said. She pointed to the embroidery on one of the saddlebags. Five dots, joined by a thread, making a lopsided W, in yellow thread on the dark leather.

Alex took in a shocked breath.

“What is it? Do you recognize it?”

“That's Cassiopeia,” Alex said. “That's Michael's symbol. His men are the ones who attacked us.”

He brought a hand to his throat, cupping the ever-present gold medallion and ring he wore on a chain. Liz had never asked what they were, but since Alex had told them his story, she’d assumed it was his engagement ring, and maybe a portrait of Michael. She’d seen him do this very gesture many times over the past few months, nearly any time Michael’s presence at court came up, but rarely with such anguish on his face.

“This was in the saddlebag,” Maria said, handing over a stack of what looked like letters, tied with a brown cord. Alex took them with a frown. “Nothing else?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

He nodded tightly, and ran a hand over the embroidered constellation. “I should have known my father would send you,” he muttered. “He knows where to place his pieces. What have you done, Michael? What are we going to do?”

Giuco Piano

Ten years ago

They were seventeen, and in love. The sky was full of stars above them, on a warm summer night. Alex and Michael were lying in the grass at the very edge of the Manes estate, behind the gardener’s shed. The gardener, for whom Michael worked during the day, had long retired in his house further up on the hill, and Michael had brought out the blankets he used to sleep on a straw bed in the shed.

Alex spun the thin golden ring on his finger. Michael had given it to him earlier that day, going down on one knee, a plan already formed for them to get married and escape the Manes estate and its bigotry by the end of the summer. He had made the ring himself, during the shifts he picked up at the village smithy. He’d even plated it with gold he’d saved up from the jewelry people asked him to repair.

Michael was good with his hands. He was good with everything, really. He was smart and quick-witted, and he knew the name of every plant in the estate’s garden. He’d taught himself to read and write, and he spent his night poring over thick tomes Alex snuck out of his father’s library for him.

It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t allowed to make use of all of this knowledge, just because he’d been born a commoner. An orphan. He’d told Alex about all he’d had to do just to survive, unable to even get an apprenticeship because he had no parents to sign a contract. The years of labor, from an age too young to remember. The abusive employers, the orphanages, the streets.

The jail he’d ended up in, and escaped from. Alex knew what the mark branded on his shoulder meant. It meant that Michael had been convicted and thrown in prison, at fourteen, for stealing food from the market. It meant that even if Alex’s father had been willing to let him marry a man, and a commoner to boot, it would never, ever be a criminal like Michael.

That was okay, because Alex had no intention of asking him. In a few days, he’d turn eighteen, and they would run away together.

Right now, they could enjoy a summer evening together under the stars, far away from prying eyes.

“This is Ursa Major,” Michael pointed at the sky. “It looks a bit like a frying pan. Then Ursa Minor. The brightest star is called Polaris, it's the brightest of all stars. Then Draco, the dragon, goes around it, see? A curve here, and then back. My favorite, though, is Cassiopeia.”

“Where is it?” Alex asked.

“There,” Michael pointed a little to the left. “It has five major stars. Like a W, see?”

“I think so,” Alex murmured. “Yes, got it.”

He turned to press a kiss on Michael's cheek. “I like listening to you. Keep going.”

“Cassiopeia is the prettiest,” Michael said. “It was named after a queen who thought she was the most beautiful person in the world, more even than the nymphs. She angered a god, Poseidon, and he set a sea monster on her kingdom. She had to sacrifice her daughter to appease him.”

“Ugh,” Alex made a face. “That's not a nice story.”

Michael shrugged. “I like it, I think. The daughter was saved by a hero and married him. Sometimes I wonder what my mom sacrificed me for. Maybe she's safe and happy somewhere out there.”

Alex squeezed his hand. “Yeah. I wonder that too,” he murmured. “My father would happily sacrifice any of his sons for the kingdom. Me especially. He wouldn't even blink.”

Michael sighed. “I wish that weren't true. We'll get out of here as soon as we're married, right? Then he can't touch us anymore.”

“We'll never truly be out of his reach,” Alex said. “He's the highest ranking officer in the kingdom already. He'll be Prime Minister soon.”

“Then we'll just have to go really far away,” Michael whispered.

Alex closed his eyes and let Michael kiss him, wishing that were possible.

Fork

Now

“It’s done,” Michael stated, throwing his pistol on Jesse Manes’ desk. It made a dull thud. Manes looked up and deigned giving Michael his attention. “He’s dead. I’m sure the word will reach your office soon.”

“Any clean-up needed?”

“No. Full daylight, as you specified. Dozens of witnesses can testify that I did it alone. You have nothing to worry about.”

Manes stares at him for a few seconds, then pushed the pistol away from his paperwork and put it aside. “Good,” he said, in clear dismissal.

Michael ignored the implicit order and dropped into a chair, pulling his feet up on the desk. Manes scowled.

“I thought I would feel something more than this...emptiness,” Michael muttered. “I loved him, once.”

“Are you sorry you killed him?” Manes asked him, annoyed.

“Regrets are pointless. Right now, I need help. His Musketeer friends won't let this go unpunished, and even my status will not be enough, not if they can reveal that I'm branded.”

“You're just as weak as Alex after all,” Manes sneered. “I thought you were different.”

“Weak? No. Just practical. I haven't forgotten that you're the one who gave the order to hang me, Minister. I have very few reasons to trust you.”

“You're right, you're not like Alex. Maybe I can still make something of you.”

“You can use me,” Michael offered. “Ortecho and DeLuca want revenge. They want me. Exchange me against the letters.”

“They have leverage. Why would they give it over?”

“It's become personal. Alex was the one who wanted you gone. The other Musketeers care about very little beside their wine and their petty quarrels with the Red Guards. You hand me over, they'll let the letters go.”

“What about you? Why would you even offer that?”

Michael shrugged. “I'll take my chances against them. I came to the city to kill Alex, and I have accomplished my mission. With the old King dead, I doubt Max will keep me in court much longer, and if he learns about my past, he won't take it well. My best bet is to disappear again.”

“So you think you can slip their watch and escape the city?”

“With Alex dead, I'm the best swordsman in the city. I can take two Musketeers.”

Manes shifted in his seat. “Very well. We'll offer the exchange.”

Bad Bishop

A year ago

“Careful,” Alex murmured, wincing in pain. He shifted his position until he was more comfortable on the bed, waiting until the ache in his shoulder subsided a little.

“Sorry,” Michael said sheepishly, untangling himself from Alex’s limbs. Propping himself up on his elbow, he trailed his fingers down Alex’s chest to his navel, tracing every scar.

It had been three days since the duel, since Michael had declared his feud with Alex in front of the court and then tended to his wounds and forgave him in the privacy of his chambers. Alex’s arm was still too sore to use, though he’d discarded the sling, and his concussion was just starting to clear up, so he was off duty for the time being, by Kyle’s order. Michael had found them a room in a small inn outside the city, known to be discreet, where they’d spent the night learning each other’s body all over again.

They’d changed, in ten years. Both of them had become different men, forged by hardships and age, but their love hadn’t altered. It was scarred by the wounds Jesse Manes had inflicted on it, just like their bodies, but it was just as strong.

Alex reached out with his good arm to touch Michael’s throat, which he was seeing bare for the first time. The deep rope burn there had become white with age, but it was impossible to miss without the high-collared uniform to hide it, a stark reminder of what their love had cost Michael.

Michael’s face fell, sadness replacing his prior playful smile. “It wasn’t you, Alex,” he said.

“I know,” Alex murmured. It didn’t make it hurt less. He’d blamed himself for ten years, for letting his father catch them and giving him an excuse to go after Michael, and he wasn’t going to stop now. He’d failed Michael in every way. He’d watched him hang, unable to save him from that fate.

He’d walked away, unable to stand the sight of his lover at the end of a rope, and that had somehow allowed Michael to escape.

“I love you,” Michael said. “What your father did isn’t your fault.”

Alex just sighed and let his hand fall back to the bed. Michael leaned in to kiss him, softly, and continued his exploration of Alex’s body with his left hand, the scarred, gnarled fingers brushing against his skin.

He reached past Alex’s waist and down his naked hip, to where his right leg ended just below the knee. Alex froze. His wooden leg was resting somewhere beside the bed, the stump naked and ugly, swollen from overuse. He hadn’t let Michael touch it yet, or even really look at it.

But Michael didn’t pause, didn’t recoil back in disgust. He kept touching Alex’s skin, his fingers light like a feather despite their obvious stiffness. Alex shivered as he slowly went over the scars, then back up the inside of his thigh.

“That alright?” Michael asked in a whisper, looking back up at him.

Alex nodded mutely.

“What’s this?” Michael asked, cupping the medallion that hung from Alex’s neck..

Alex blushed and hung his head. “Open it,” he murmured.

Michael’s breath hitched when he saw the tiny gold plaque inside the medallion, delicately engraved with the lopsided W of Cassiopeia.

“I had it made after you—” Alex cut himself off and swallowed, the words stuck in his throat. “I could never forget you, but I needed to remember what I was fighting for. It kept me going.”

Michael ran his thumb over the engraving, then around the clumsily made golden ring he’d once given Alex.

“When all this is over, I’ll make you a much better ring,” he said.

Alex smiled tightly. “I like this one. But we can get matching rings for our wedding, after all this is over.”

It felt weird to even dare think about such a future, after the one they’d dreamed of had been ripped away from them. It felt like tempting fate. But Alex wanted to daydream again, to stop living like he’d die tomorrow.

To stop wishing that he’d died ten years ago.

“How’s the plan going?” he asked, shaking those thoughts out of his head.

“I think he’s starting to believe me, after the duel. He knows I’m the one who stabbed you in the shoulder too. I’m still sorry about that, by the way.”

“You don’t need to say it every time we meet,” Alex snorted. “I know. I understand why it was necessary.”

Michael nodded. “We’ll need him to really trust me, though. He needs to think that I hate you enough to be willing to ally with him, and that’s not going to be easy.”

“My father isn’t an easy man to fool,” Alex contemplated. “Do you know how to play chess?”

“I’ve learned,” Michael said.

He hadn’t known, back when they were engaged. Alex remembered trying to teach him the basics, but they hadn’t had time for more. He hoped Michael’s game was solid, because they were going to need it. “My father is a master player. Beating him at his own game will be hard, but he taught me well.” Alex bit his lip. “He’d use his belt every time I lost. Which was every game, until I finally learned.”

Michael made a complicated face, full of anger and sadness but also impatience. “Then you’ll have to guide me,” he said with a playful smile. “I can be your pawn.”

“Nah,” Alex shook his head, smiling along. “You’re no pawn. You’re...a bishop, maybe. White bishop pretending to be black.”

“I like that,” Michael smirked.

“I’ll like it more when we’ve won the game,” Alex replied.

Queen’s Pawn Game

Four months ago

“Where are we going?”

“I think I’ve figured out the next part of our plan,” Michael said, dragging Alex by the hand. Alex checked that no one was likely to see them, but the place was empty for now. Princess Isobel’s private quarters were off-limits to everyone but her personal servants and, apparently, Michael.

“Michael,” he called, before Michael could take him any further. Alex stumbled a little on his wooden leg when Michael stopped brutally. “Tell me.”

“Okay,” Michael relented. “I’ve been looking for something to use against your father for months. I’ve finally found it. Something that can bring him down.”

“What is it?”

“I asked Isobel—”

“What?” Alex interrupted him in shock. “Do you know how dangerous that is? What makes you sure she won’t just throw us in jail for plotting against the Prime Minister?”

“Calm down, Alex,” Michael sighed. “I know what I’m doing. Isobel wants him gone as much as we do.”

Alex just shook his head, still in shock.

“She says she knows how to get proof that he abused my father’s confidence,” Michael said. “Look, at least heart her out. She’s my sister, she’ll never rat me out.”

“What about me?” Alex asked.

“She admires you. And she hates your father. She will help, I promise.”

“Fine,” Alex relented, though his misgivings weren’t alleviated much. He’d avoided telling even Liz, Maria and Kyle about his plan, by fear that it would somehow get back to his father’s ears. And Michael went straight to the Princess? There was no way this was going to end well.

Isobel was waiting for them in her sitting room, regally sitting on a richly-decorated armchair. She was wearing a blue satin dress with a complex embroidery along her corset and a mounting collar, with matching sapphire necklace and earrings. Her hair was pulled up with pins and braided at the top of her head.

“Captain. Michael,” she welcomed them. “Please sit.”

Alex bowed and obeyed. “Your Highness.”

Isobel didn’t beat around the bush. “Michael told me you’re looking for proof of your father’s misdeeds.”

“I’m—” Alex fumbled, looking for a way to answer that wouldn’t risk implicating him or Michael.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you for details,” Isobel brushed it away with a sweep of her hand. “I believe I know where to find what you need. There are letters. He will not have destroyed them, because they serve as his insurance policy.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked. “Your Highness,” he added as an afterthought.

“You can drop the address when we are in private,” Isobel said dismissively. “The letters are between him and respected members of the court. They detail a plot fomented to overthrow the old King, years ago. It failed, because some of the plotters opted out at the last moment, but your father keeps the letters as proof to blackmail them into doing his bidding. And if he ever goes down, they will go down with him.”

“If you know all this, why don’t you expose him?” Alex dared to ask. This was not how he was supposed to speak to a member of the Royal Family, and he knew he was overstepping, but he had to know. “What does he have over you?”

Isobel leveled him a glare, but didn’t call him out on his impropriety. She started huffing, but her gaze grew sad instead. “He has Rosa,” she said quietly. “And that means he has me.”

Rosa. Free-spirited, beautiful Rosa. The best of them all, cast out of the court like a criminal and sent back to her father’s country, forbidden from any contact with them.

“You had her exiled!” Alex lost his temper before he could check himself. Rosa had been his best friend, the fourth of the invincible group he formed with Liz and Maria. She should have become Captain, not Alex. But she’d gotten too close to the Princess, and she’d paid the price for it.

That was why he watched Liz’s infatuation with the new King Max, Isobel’s twin brother, with wariness. He wouldn’t let the same thing happen to another of his Musketeers, to Rosa’s little sister.

“I did not,” Isobel sighed. “Your father did. She found those letters, she was going to expose him. Manes had her cast out and convinced my father the King to marry me off to Noah, who is loyal to him. He’s been dangling our relationship over my head for years.”

Alex couldn’t stop his anger now that it was out. He could only think of the tears on Liz’s face when her sister went missing, the months of thinking she was dead in a ditch somewhere. “And you think you got the short end of that stick? Rosa’s all alone in a country she’s never lived in, stripped of everything she accomplished for herself! For all I know she’s still a prisoner, too!” They’d gotten one letter, after months of silence, hand-delivered by one of Isobel’s maids. It had been upbeat and hopeful, like only Rosa could be when things were desperate, and Alex knew she hadn’t told them the whole truth.

Isobel looked away. “I know that, Captain. That’s exactly why I can’t expose your father. I can’t risk Rosa’s life, and he’s capable of having her killed if I take a single step wrong. That’s why I need you.”

“Why now?” Alex asked. “He’s been Prime Minister for eight years. What’s changed?”

Isobel sighed. “You can’t repeat this to anyone. Not even your friends, not until the official announcement is made.”

Alex silently put his hand over his heart as a promise.

“I’m with child,” Isobel said. “My marriage is...what it is, and I was willing to sacrifice many things for the peace of the kingdom, as long as my father was the King. But Max hates your father, and they’re already battling each other by way of new taxes and border strategies. I fear that it will turn into war soon. I won’t let my child get caught in the middle.”

Alex inclined his head. An expectant mother would do a lot for her child, he knew that. And Michael trusted Isobel. He could work with that. “Where are the letters?” he asked.

“Manes keeps them in his office, in a locked drawer.”

Alex exchanged a look with Michael. His father’s office was deep inside the palace, constantly guarded. Getting there without getting caught would be almost impossible.

He stood up and bowed deeply. “I will do my best, your Highness,” he said. He still had misgivings, but if Isobel was telling the truth – and why would she lie? – this was their chance to win the game. The Queen could do a lot of damage on a chess board.

“Captain,” Isobel called him, prompting him to straighten up. “Michael told me some of what happened to the both of you. Manes will not go unpunished for that.”

“He was within his rights,” Alex said bitterly. He didn’t know what to think about the fact that Michael had told Isobel about them, but he had told his friends, too. He couldn’t blame Michael.

“Maybe, but he hurt my brother. He will get what he deserves.”

Alex nodded, still doubtful. “Thank you, your Highness.”

Hedgehog System

Two years ago

Alex propped himself up with one crutch carefully as he tended to his horse. He groaned in pain when the young mare shifted her head brusquely and he had to side step, his stump brushing on his other calf. It had been just over two months since he’d been amputated, and the wound was slow to heal, his body still reeling from the infection that had almost killed him.

He wasn’t really supposed to be up and about, but most of the Musketeers were out on palace duty and he was bored. He couldn’t focus on paperwork anymore and he was too wound up to sleep, so he’d come to the stables to have something to do.

His mare moved again, and Alex barely avoided tumbling to the floor, his balance shot. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea after all.

“Alex!” a voice called. “Where are you?”

It was Rosa. Alex dropped his brush and grabbed his second crutch, leaning against the wall of the stall. “I’m here!” he called back, making his slow way back to the courtyard.

“Alex,” Rosa sighed, seeing him. She didn’t scold him for leaving his room, which was Alex’s first clue that something was very wrong. The second was the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“What happened?” he asked, worried. He dragged himself to a bench and sat down, gesturing her closer.

“I have to leave,” Rosa said.

Alex frowned. “Leave? The garrison?”

“The country,” Rosa sighed, drying her face. “I have to run.”

“What do you mean?”

“Isobel and I...we got caught,” she sobbed. “I have no choice.”

Alex closed his eyes briefly, then put a hand on her shoulder. “Rosa, who caught you?” He knew that Rosa has been seeing the Princess in secret for months, since before he and Liz had gone to war. They’d been discreet, but Alex had found a note Isobel had given Rosa by accident once, and she’d confessed everything.

Rosa bit her lip and met his eyes, hesitating. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Isobel is engaged, and I’m just a commoner. If I don’t leave, they’ll have me executed.”

Alex hugged her as she cried, until Liz and Maria returned from the palace. The goodbyes were painful. Rosa was forced to pack light, leaving with only her horse – most of what she had belonged to the garrison, anyway. She could barely stand to tell her father, but he accepted the truth sadly, preparing her as much food as she could carry for the journey.

Liz collapsed as soon as Rosa’s horse passed the garrison gates, weeping in Alex’s arms. Rosa could never come back, now. She’d have to make a whole new life somewhere, in a country at war with their own, and it was hard to tell if they’d ever see her again.

Center Game

Four months ago

Getting their hands on the letters turned out to be easier than they’d hoped. It was once they found them that things started to go awry.

Michael had orchestrated a commotion in the palace, enough to attract the Red Guards that stood outside of Jesse Manes’ office away. Alex knew that his father was attending the King, so he picked the lock and took Michael inside. They’d both been in the office many times, and they knew where Jesse kept his confidential papers and prized possessions. The drawer was locked, but it was the work of minutes to get it opened.

There were multiple stacks of paper inside. One was an entire bundle of blank lettres de cachet signed by the old King that made Alex wince internally. His father having that kind of power didn’t sit well with him. These letters could condemn someone to death without a trial or any kind of proof of a crime – only the whim of whoever held it. It was undoubtedly how Jesse had managed to have Rosa exiled.

The second bundle proved to be the one they were looking for. Alex untied it and started looking over the letters to check that it was all of it while Michael stood guard outside.

“Michael, look at those names,” Alex pointed at the headers of some of the letters.

Michael approached and read over his shoulder. “Valenti, DeLuca… They were involved?”

“It looks like it.” Alex sighed, his excitement dropping. “If these letters implicate them, we can’t use them. I can’t do this to Mimi, or to the Commander and Kyle.”

“It looks like it’s only the old Commander, Kyle’s father, not his mother,” Michael said, leafing through the sheets of paper. “But Mimi DeLuca was definitely involved.”

“So this is all useless?”

Michael didn’t have time to answer, because there was a commotion outside. “Guards! Why did you leave your post?” It was Jesse Manes’ voice.

“Shit,” Alex murmured.

His father was too close to the door, there was no way they would be able to get out in time.

“Hide,” Michael whispered hurriedly.

Alex didn’t have time to grab the letters from where he’d dropped them back into the drawer. He stumbled to the balcony and flattened himself against the window frame, hoping against hope that his father wouldn’t notice. It was a terrible hiding place, but there was nowhere else in the office that would fit him.

“Lord Michael, what is the meaning of this?” he heard his father ask.

“I happened to pass by your office on my way to see what was going on in the north wing,” Michael answered, his voice loud and formal. “I saw that it was unguarded and opened, and when I checked that everything was alright, I was almost ran into by someone fleeing the place. I think they searched your desk. I tried to stop them, but I was too late.”

Alex heard someone ruffling through papers.

“Minister, it was a Musketeer,” Michael added. “I saw the uniform.”

Alex held his breath.

“Alex,” Jesse muttered. “Of course. Him or one of his friends. No point in trying to close down the palace, those damned Musketeers have free reign here.”

“I don’t think he had time to take anything,” Michael said.

Jesse ruffled through papers some more, then sighed. “I have to go attend the King,” he said. “I’ll leave you in charge of tightening the palace security.”

“Yes, Minister,” Michael answered. “I will see to it immediately.”

Alex heard their steps retreat, and then the door closed. He didn’t dare move, in case Jesse had remained in the office for any reason, but he couldn’t hear any noise.

Several minutes later, the door opened again. “Alex?” Michael called quietly.

Alex stepped out back inside, grumbling as his leg protested his standing on it for too long. “He’s gone?”

“Yeah, he’s with the King. I sent the guards away for now and made sure no one would notice. We can’t take the letters now, though, or he’ll know.”

Alex cursed through his teeth. “Why did you have to tell him it was a Musketeer?”

“I needed his attention off of me,” Michael said. “If he thinks it’s you, he won’t search for the person responsible any further. The plan doesn’t work if he doesn’t trust me.”

“What plan? Even if we can steal the letters at a later date, we can’t use them. I can’t do this to Mimi and Maria.”

They discreetly walked out of the office and into another corridor, entering the Princess’s wing. This was the only place in the palace where they could be reasonably certain that they wouldn’t be overheard by someone with ill-intent.

“I think I have an idea,” Michael said. “It won’t be easy, and it might be dangerous. But that’s the way you play chess, right? Take risks?”

Alex shook his head. “My father wouldn’t agree with you. He makes hard decisions, but he doesn’t take risks.”

“And you?”

Alex shrugged. “I’ve learned that playing by his rules doesn’t give me the advantage.”

“Good,” Michael smiled. “So, maybe we can’t use the letters to incriminate him, but there are other ways they could be helpful. Getting my hands on them will take some time, but it should be easy enough. He’s starting to trust me.”

“How is that useful to us?”

“He’s going to make his move against Max soon. We need him to trust me enough to ask me to do his dirty work.”

Alex blinked. “You want him to ask you to kill Max?”

“I’ll start dropping hints,” Michael said. “That I’m frustrated that Max won’t give me more power, unlike the old King, that I’ve done this kind of thing before… With my past, he won’t have trouble believing me, and if he thinks he has leverage over me, he won’t think twice.”

“So you want to what, stage a murder?”

Michael laughed. “No, just convincingly fail at my task. And once he’s asked me that, we’ll have proof that he’s conspiring against the King.”

“He won’t give you the orders in writing,” Alex said. “He’s more cunning than that. It will be your word against his.”

“That’s where the letters come in,” Michael smirked.

Drunken Knight Opening

Two weeks ago

It happened in a matter of seconds. One moment, Alex was stumbling around the town square outside the garrison, drunk and depressed, ready to collapse into bed. The next moment, he had Michael in a choke-hold, and he was holding a dagger to his throat. Michael had shown up out of nowhere, running from a back alley, and Alex honestly couldn't have explained it if he tried, except to say that his body reacted long before his mind caught up.

“Alex,” Michael let out a strangled whisper. He tried to free himself, but Alex was restraining him too strongly.

“I knew you weren't telling the truth,” Alex hissed. “You had ulterior motives. You just can't let things go, can you?”

“Alex, I don't know what you're talking about,” Michael tried.

“Alex!” Maria called from the garrison door. Alex turned to her sharply, almost driving the knife straight into Michael's neck in the process. “What are you doing? He's the King's brother!”

“He's a liar and a thief,” Alex spit out. “And my father's spy.”

“Alex,” Maria tried, her hands up to show she was harmless. “You're drunk. Free him and we can talk.”

Alex’s rage spiked, hard and unforgiving in his chest. Maria was looking at him with something like pity in her eyes, like he was good for nothing more than her contempt, a shadow of her once great capacity for compassion. Maria, who had let herself be seduced by Michael, who still defended him after Alex had told her everything. She’d probably given him information about Alex, ways to reach his weaknesses.

“You!” Alex rounded in on her, not letting go of Michael. “You slept with him! Are you in love with him?”

“You don't understand,” Maria sighed. Liz came up behind her, her face resigned and sad.

“No, I don't,” Alex said.

“I didn't know, Alex. I swear I didn't.”

They circled each other a few times, in slow steps. Alex could see Liz out of the corner of his eye, ready to intervene, Kyle and his medical kit, waiting.

“Will that do?” he murmured in Michael’s ear.

“Lots of people watching us,” Michael whispered back. “I see Red Guards coming. It should convince your father.”

He chose that moment to free himself of the choke-hold. The main gauche nicked his neck, but the amount of blood wasn’t enough for it to be a serious injury.

Alex immediately drew his sword, but he stumbled, too drunk to fight properly. Michael threw him stumbling backward into Liz's arms, a slash of his blade sending fire down his arm. And just like that, the fight was over.

Michael disappeared into the crowd, swallowed into the sea of red uniforms arriving at the scene.

Promotion

Now

“How was my funeral?” Alex asked from his seat by the window, in the shadows, where he’d been watching the garrison’s courtyard slowly fill up.

“Very emotional,” Liz said, carelessly throwing her rapier onto the bed. “Commander Valenti had a lot to say about you. Your father looked very uncomfortable.”

“I'm sorry to have missed it, I wish I'd seen that. Any news from Michael?”

Maria shook her head. “Not since he killed you.”

“You’re never going to let us live this one down, are you?” Alex asked.

Faking his shooting in the middle of the street had been a rehearsed affair, with the help of a blank pistol and creative use of cow blood. Alex’s best friends and Commander Valenti were the only ones who knew. They’d had to bring the Commander in on the whole plan, but though she’d scolded them about taking unnecessary risks, she was overjoyed to get the opportunity to get back at her long-time rival. Jesse Manes had been a thorn in her shoe for too long.

“You and your lover just faked your murder to take down your father,” Maria said. “Things don’t get much more romantic than that.”

“You read too much,” Kyle grumbled.

Liz plopped down on Alex’s bed. “What now?”

“Michael should be talking to my father as we speak,” Alex explains. “He’ll propose to exchange himself for the letters. And since my father will think that getting revenge against Michael is more important to you than blackmailing him, we’ll have the leverage we need.”

“I still think this is a needlessly complicated plan,” Maria crossed her arms on her chest.

Alex shrugged. “But it will work,” he said. “We have a few days to prepare, and I have a mission.” He pointed at Maria. “You’re going to wait for Michael to contact you, and set up the exchange. I’ll give you the details.” He turned to Liz. “Since I need to make myself scarce until then, you and I are going on a trip. We’re going to get Rosa back.”

Liz and Maria looked at each other. “You think it’s safe?” Maria asked.

“I’ll make sure it is,” Alec nodded. “Our job is to get her here. Michael will handle the rest.”

Liz’s face lit up and she got up from the bed to hug Alex. “Thank you,” she murmured in his ear. “Thank you. Dad’s going to be so happy.”

Magnet Sacrifice

Two weeks ago

“So we finally meet properly,” Michael said with a smile, shaking Liz’s hand, then Maria’s. “I feel like it’s long overdue.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding us,” Liz joked.

Alex felt a little like his parallel worlds were colliding, his day life as a Musketeer and his night escapades with Michael. Having Michael here, at the garrison – even if they’d taken precautions and let him in through a back door, and he wouldn’t go past Alex’s office – was both exciting and terrifying. They were playing a dangerous game.

“How did it go?” he asked, cutting the pleasantries short.

“The altercation got back to his ears, as planned,” Michael said. “And he knows you have the letters. He sees you as his main threat, and me as his ally.”

“So you've convinced him that you hate me and that you're on his side?”

“Almost. Just one tiny detail left.” Michael shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

Alex frowned. “And what is that?”

“I need to kill you.”

Alex’s friends erupted in questions and protests, while Alex stared at Michael, considering.

“Eliminate a threat and collar you in the same move,” he said slowly. “That sounds like him.”

Michael nodded. “I think he wants to both be certain that I really hate you, and make sure that he has me under his thumb. If I kill you in broad daylight, in front of witnesses, then he’s the only thing standing between me and jail.”

“He probably likes the dramatic irony of it all, too,” Alex rolled his eyes. It sounded just like his father. He wasn’t a dramatic man for the most part, doing everything with military precision and very little imagination, but when it came to torturing his family, he’d always been inventive. He’d forced Alex to watch Michael be hanged, ten years ago. Alex hated remembering what he’d done to his mother until she left, but it had been ugly.

“So, can we do it? We’d have to make it convincing.”

“Wait, you’re actually going to do it?” Liz protested.

“It’s the only way to get at him,” Michael said. “If I don’t do it, he’ll stop trusting me.”

“Won’t it put a wrench in your plan? You still haven’t told us the whole plan,” Maria accused Alex.

“That’s true,” Alex admitted, raising his hands in the air. “I didn’t want to until we were sure it was going to work. I’ve told you about the letters.” He waved at his desk, where the stack of letters Michael had stolen from Jesse Manes’ office were kept under lock. “My father is very careful not to leave a paper trail. We have the letters, but we can’t use them. Michael can testify that my father had him try to kill Max, but it’s not enough unless we have some kind of confession. So Michael came up with a plan.”

“We both did,” Michael corrected. “You gave me the idea.”

“Let’s say it was a collective effort,” Alex conceded. “My father doesn’t know that we can’t use the letters. Maria’s parentage isn’t public knowledge, and Jim Valenti is dead. He’s desperate to get them back. So we came up with an exchange: the letters, against Michael’s head on a platter. We convinced him that Michael and I hate each other, first with the duel, and more recently when I attacked him.”

“Oh, so that was why,” Maria raised her eyebrows.

Alex nodded. “He’s the King’s brother, so I can’t touch him. My father thinks that I want his hide for how he ‘humiliated’ me. We’ll stage the exchange carefully, in a place where he thinks he has the superior position, and I’ll trick him into a confession. He won’t be able to resist showing me he’s won.”

“That sounds like a really complicated plan,” Maria frowned.

“He’s a master chess player. He’d see through something simpler right away.”

“But then how does it work if Michael ‘kills’ you?” Liz asked.

“It will be even better,” Michael said. “Because he won’t feel threatened anymore. I’ll kill Alex, secure my position. You’ll make the exchange, pretending that you don’t care about the letters and just want revenge. With Alex gone, he’ll think he’s untouchable.”

Zugzwang

Now

“You murderer!” Liz hissed as soon as Michael walked into the church, on Jesse Manes’ heels. Maria put a hand on her wrist to keep her from lunging at Michael.

They had chosen the church for the exchange because it would be empty at this time of the day, and it was neutral ground. Holy ground. Even Jesse Manes wouldn’t dare try something there. He’d come without guards, unwilling to trust any of them with this mission. A few coins had gone to the priest to make sure that they wouldn’t be interrupted.

“You shot him in cold blood!” Liz cried out again. She was a good actress, Michael has to give her that.

“He would have done the same to me,” Michael shrugged, lowering his collar to expose his neck, and the scar there. “He did, once.”

“Entertaining as this is, perhaps we should get down to business,” Manes said coldly. “Give me the letters, and you can do what you want with Michael.”

Liz took a step forward, and Maria let her go. She bowed her head.

“Minister, I’m sorry for you loss. I’m sure that discovering that your son was killed by one of your own men was devastating. I was surprised to hear that Lord Michael was still free.”

“He was...useful,” Manes said. “Are you aware of the contents of the letters?”

“Oh, she knows,” Michael said through his teeth.

Liz put her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Shut up, you traitor,” she spit out.

“She knows you tried to depose the old King,” Michael said anyway, putting as much contempt in his tone as he could. It wasn’t hard. He had plenty of contempt in store for Jesse Manes. “She knows you tried to kill the new one, too. But she doesn’t care, as long as her precious Alex is avenged.”

Manes hissed in shock and grabbed Michael by the collar. “You told them?”

Michael shrugged cockily, no trace of fear on his face. “I told them everything.”

“You’d murder the King, just to get your little favorite on the throne?” Liz asked, moving so that she was on Jesse Manes’ other side. “Why? Haven’t you got enough power already?”

“It wasn’t about power,” Jesse sneered.

“Of course it was,” Michael said, pushing him away. “You just wanted your own puppet. Max is too opinionated for you.”

Jesse let him go, his face reddening in anger. “You understand nothing.”

“Then tell us,” Liz said, taking the letters out of her pocket. “Tell us, and you’ll get your precious letters. Nothing will be able to hurt you anymore.”

Jesse glared at her. “The King is destroying our country. He’s emptying our coffers, ending taxes, bleeding us dry. We’re at war, you of all people should know that. We can’t win a war without money. I ordered his death because I alone will face the truths that no one else can stomach.”

Liz paused. “And the old King?”

“A youthful mistake,” Jesse shrugged. “Once we got past our differences, he was amenable to work with me. Just like Noah will be.”

“Well, wasn’t that an enlightening conversation,” a voice boomed out behind their backs.

Jesse turned around in shock as Alex walked in from behind the organ. “Hello, Father.”

“You’re dead,” Jesse hissed, eyes widening almost comically.

“Am I really? It seems that I’m a better player than you give me credit for,” Alex said, putting an arm around Michael’s waist. “You should choose your pieces better.”

En passant

Ten years ago

Alex stopped humming and jumped to his feet as he heard a horse neigh in the distance. His own horse was placid beside the stream, munching on a clump of herbs, but he perked up as well. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then Alex heard a gallop and a frightened horse passed him at high speed, jumping over the little stream without slowing down.

“Come back!” a voice called.

Alex took a few steps away from the cover of the trees and spotted a young man running toward where the horse had gone, limping slightly. His breeches were covered in mud, like he’d fallen off the horse. His outfit was made of cheap linen and rough wool, the only leather a satchel across his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked when the boy reached him. He seemed to be about Alex’s age, with light curly hair framing his face. He was beautiful, in the unrefined way that commoner could be, all muscles from hard work and sun-tanned skin. Below your station, Jesse Manes’ voice echoed in Alex’s ears.

The boy stared at Alex for a moment, giving up on chasing his horse. “He’ll come back eventually,” he sighed. “I’m trying to train him, but he’s stubborn.”

“He’s yours?” Alex asked.

“No, he belongs to the Valenti estate. I’m just helping train him.”

The Valentis were the owners of the land bordering the Manes’ estate. Alex mostly knew their son Kyle, who was his age, though they’d had a falling out and no longer spent time together. Kyle’s parents spent most of the year in the capital, since his father was the Commander of the King’s Musketeers. Alex and Kyle had dreamed of becoming Musketeers themselves as children, though now that Alex was preparing to enlist in the Army next year, that dream seemed far away.

“I’m Alex,” he said, because it seemed only polite to introduce himself. He’d never been allowed to interact much with the inhabitants of the town besides the ones that served his family.

“Lord Manes’ youngest son, I know,” the other boy said, irreverently, his face almost daring Alex to react. “I’m Michael.”

Alex hitched to put him back in his place, but he stopped himself. It was clearly what Michael wanted, so he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I’ve never seen you around before.”

“Only got here two months ago,” Michael drawled, with a hint of a northern accent. “I’m an orphan. I’ve lived in lots of places. You satisfied?”

Alex shrugged, still not rising to the provocation. “Where do you live now?”

“Here and there,” Michael ducked his head, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “In barns, mostly. I try to pick up work wherever I can.”

Alex bit his lip. Michael’s bravado seemed to stem from not wanting to be put down by rough conditions, and he could admire that. “Can you tend a garden?” he asked.

Michael nodded.

“Our gardener’s old and almost blind, he could use some help. I can’t promise you money, but there’s a shed. It’s sturdy and it keeps warmth pretty well.” Alex knew that mostly because it was where he ran to, when his father was angry enough that staying in the house was dangerous.

“Why?” Michael asked. “What do you want from me?”

Alex shrugged. “Properly pruned rose bushes? People don’t always have an agenda.”

Michael stared at him doubtfully, but he nodded. “I have to go,” he muttered. “Need to find that damn horse before nightfall.”

Alex watched him jump over the stream and take off running and stared after him for a while. He wasn’t sure what to make of this encounter. Mr Sanders would be glad to have some help, especially if it was help he didn’t have to share his paycheck with, but Alex didn’t know what had possessed him to offer the job to a boy he’d just met.

There was something about Michael. Alex couldn’t quite figure out what, but he couldn’t get his face out of his mind, as he hopped onto his horse’s back and led him back to the stables.

He tended to his horse quickly and went to change, knowing that his father was waiting for him in his study for their daily game of chess. It was the only time in the day that they still interacted, as Alex avoided coming down for meals unless they had guests. Since Flint had left the previous year, life at home had been worse than ever, and Alex spent as much time as he could outside or locked in his quarters.

His father scowled at him in displeasure when Alex slid onto the chair waiting for him, and made his first move without a word. He always played the whites. He always won.

Alex dreamed of inverting the board, sometimes. The whites played first, and that gave them an advantage. Maybe with that, he could finally beat his father – finally make him proud.

“You’re hesitating again,” Jesse said, as Alex took a minute second to choose between taking a pawn and protecting his bishop. “You’re still not rigorous enough. There are no easy moves in chess. Whatever you do, there will be difficult consequences, sacrifices that you have to make. You can’t win without making hard decisions.”

Alex didn’t reply, and went with the risky move, that could give him checkmate in five if his father didn’t see it.

Jesse saw it. Of course he did. He played with little creativity, but a ruthlessness that was unmatched, and he had an eye for the combinations. He was always ten moves ahead. Alex couldn’t beat him.

He would beat him one day, he promised himself as Jesse waited for him to topple his king before he stood up and removed his belt. He would beat him, and he wouldn’t do it to make his father proud.

He would win, and his prize would be freedom.

Checkmate

Now

“How very cunning,” Jesse sneered at Alex. “You tricked me into making a full confession. And what use is your confession, uh? The word of a lowly Musketeer against the Prime Minister of Antar?”

“The King may not believe their words, Minister, but he will most certainly believe mine.”

Jesse Manes turned sharply at the new voice. Princess Isobel was as beautiful as ever, illuminated in the mysterious light of the church's stained glass windows. Her light green dress, an intricate work of lace and satin, almost appeared white, and so did her long blond hair, gathered above her head with jeweled pins. She didn’t smile as Jesse bowed to her, deeper than his status warranted. “Your Highness,” he said, backing away.

“General,” Isobel replied coldly, as Liz, Maria and Michael retreated out of the church discreetly, giving her the floor. “The King will hear about this. I am certain he will not have any choice but to dismiss you, and even if your status may spare you from standing trial, you’ll be exiled.”

Jesse backed away a few more steps. “Isobel,” he said, his tone condescending, switching out of formal address. Isobel’s face scrunched up in disgust. “You can’t do that. You know what will happen if you do.”

“I highly doubt that,” Isobel answered. She stepped aside, and Rosa came out of the shadows behind her.

Isobel was incredibly good at this, Alex reflected. She waited until Rosa was at her shoulder and bowed her head to her, in a clear sign of her affection.

“Yes, Father,” Alex said. “I took the liberty to have Rosa escorted back to Antar. It turns out that the King was more than happy to pardon his favorite Musketeer’s sister, once the Princess made her case. And now, I have multiple witnesses who heard you confess to your plot to kill the King himself.”

He was still tense, watching his father's every move with his hand on his sword, but jubilation at this tableau is catching up to him. They had him. Their impossible plan had worked, and his father would never hurt anyone again.

Jesse looked scared now, looking around him for support that wouldn’t come as Alex advanced on him. Alex didn’t bother to hide his limp.

“Your blinders are what defeated you, father. You think I'm weak, because I love men. You thought Isobel was easier to manipulate than Max because she's a woman. You were wrong.”

Instead of stopping in front of his father to face him, he kept walking, until Jesse had to step aside to let him pass. “I believe this is checkmate, father,” he said in a low voice, meant to be heard by him only.

His friends were waiting for him behind the church. Alex led Rosa out, signaling his men to escort his father and the Princess back to the palace. Jesse Manes was done. He might not go to jail, but as soon as Isobel told the King, he would lose his job and his standing, and probably his title and estate.

Alex knees felt weak with relief, as he walked back to the garrison. Commander Valenti was standing with Kyle by the door to her office, and Alex simply nodded at them. It’s done. Kyle whooped in joy while his mother simply smiled.

Alex turned back to his best friends.

“So we’re four again?” Liz asked, watching Rosa with hesitation in her eyes, a fear impossible to put into words.

“I don’t know if I can get my commission back, but I’ll never stop being a Musketeer,” Rosa said with tears in her eyes. She held out a hand to her sister. “One for all,” she murmured.

Liz grabbed her hand, and Alex and Maria joined in, adding their hands on top. “All for one,” they said together. They fell into a group hug, relieved tears mixing with smiles.

Alex saw Michael standing at the gates out of the corner of his eye, leaning against one of the posts and watching them.

“Go to him,” Liz told him quietly. “You’ve waited for this for so long.”

Alex straightened his clothes. “I have something to do first,” he murmured. He unclasped the chain from his neck and took off the golden ring. Taking a deep breath, he slid it onto his finger.

He swallowed back a sob, looking at his hand.

“Does that mean we have a wedding to plan?” Rosa asked with a smirk.

“Soon,” Alex promised.

He didn’t look back as he joined Michael at the gates, and linked their hands together.

“It’s done.” He smiled softly at Michael, who didn’t speak. “We’re free.”

You can read the first two parts of the series for a more detailed account of Alex and Michael's duel and its aftermath (though keep in mind that they were written over a year ago, before season 2, and I've changed a few things to the plot of this AU since, most notably my plans for Maribel). I hope you liked this! And remember to go look at Slynella's amazing illustrations for this fic and give her all the love!

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #rnm bb #roswell nm big bang #mine #echo's fanfiction #musketeers au

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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years ago

Text

Talk Now Complete

Over the last three months, I have dedicated a huge chunk of my limited free time to writing this piece. What started out as a possible kinktober one-shot was side-tabled as I realized it had potential to be an actual story. Now, twenty chapters and 103,723 words later I am thrilled to say that this installment is complete.

I’ve already begun a second installment of this series which will pick up at the start of John’s retirement. I’m hoping to have the first chapter out within the week.

Thank you so much to everybody who liked, commented, and supported me during this story and a huge thank you to @meetmeinthematinee for helping me edit and review this beast.

AO3 Talk Link

Chapter 20 Link

A new start.

That was what she had deemed it. For both of them.

John went around the city. Closing accounts. Transferring mountains of coins into actual money. Saying silent goodbyes to the places that had defined him for a lifetime. And stashing markers, money, and weapons. Just in case.

He hopes he will never have to use them.

And, while he does that, Helen packs up her house.

The decision to move in together came approximately two days after returning from Vermont. They’d wasted enough time, they both decided. “And, ” Helen had teased, “God forbid we decide to spend a night apart, I already know you’ll sneak in to watch me sleep. ”

Minx.

“I’m more than happy to sell my place.” He had told her.

“You’ve given up your entire life for me. ” She had argued, gently running her hand through his hair. “I’ll give up the house. Besides, if you think I’m giving up your hot tub, you’re fucking dreaming.”

And that had been that.

They’d driven to her house, stopping to pick up boxes and tape and bubble wrap, and started packing up.

She made some calls around the city, looking for charities to donate some of her furniture to. John’s bed, she had discovered, was far more comfortable than hers. And they didn’t need multiple dining room tables or sets of cookware or dishes.

John borrowed a truck from Aurelio and, with his and Marcus’ help, started dropping things off across the city.

In the remaining days of her “recovery”/vacation, they manage to empty most of her little house. And while their house (he will never get used to the sheer joy that fills him at that descriptor) is now a mess of boxes and suitcases, it has never felt more like home.

He laughs at the three boxes of shoes Helen has to unpack, only to have to dodge a high heel used as a projectile.

He revels in the way she unpacks her sweaters and dresses to hang across from his clothes.

He also takes a great deal of pleasure when he finds the small box, once hidden away in the back of her closet, containing a number of delightful little toys. He gets another shoe thrown at him as he practically begs for details.

Helen laughs and offers a private demonstration… once her books are shelved in the library. John scrambles to fulfill her every wish.

One of the benefits of Helen having her own practice was that she could really do whatever the hell she wanted. She had reached out to all her clients first thing on Monday to apologize for her absence, reporting that she had been the victim in a hit-and-run, leaving her in a coma for the better part of the week. While she was doing much better, she told them, she still needed another week for recovery.

Of course, the Underworld had bought out half the cops in the city. A quick call from John Wick and shit was being filed exactly how he demanded it to be. Doctor’s notes were forged, along with hospital ‘records.’ That part was easy.

What had been much more complicated, John discovered, was dealing with the missing person’s out on Helen and it throws his world off kilter, yet again.

Her family had been terrified. While Helen wasn’t exactly in constant contact with them, the police had reached out after a concerned associate of Helen’s reported her missing. Unable to contact her, her parents and sister had been in a frenzy.

Using the phone that John had paid for, insisting that he buy her a new one since it was his enemy who had destroyed hers, she reluctantly calls her mother.

“Mom, I am begging you, stay home. I’m fine.”

“We’ve been so worried!” John hears her mother sobbing on the other side of the line, “A hit-and-run, oh, sweetheart!”

And if that’s her mother’s reaction from a hit-and-run, John doesn’t want to know what her mother would do if she ever found out the truth.

Kidnapped, held hostage, marked for death…

The poor woman might have a heart attack.

“You’re still recovering! You need someone to take care of you!”

“I have someone taking care of me.” Helen had said, and at that moment, John had indeed been massaging her shoulders. His lips had twitched in response.

He was the one taking care of her.

He would be the one taking care of her forever.

It made him giddy to think about.

“Who?”

They hadn’t discussed labels. It all seemed sort of unnecessary after all they had been through. But when Helen makes the executive decision and says, “my boyfriend” John wonders if he’s the one having a heart attack with the way his own is beating so hard it feels like it might burst at any moment.

Boyfriend.

He’d never been a boyfriend before. He’d never had any interest in being a boyfriend before. A term he’d never imagined being applied to him but now that it was…

He was a boyfriend.

He was Helen’s boyfriend.

He’s filled with pride and affection and so much love he doesn’t know what to do. She leans into him, reaching up to where his hands have stopped massaging as he attempts to process her words. And because she’s Helen and she knows him better than he knows himself, she squeezes his hand.

Grounding him.

But, of course, her confession to her mother opens another avenue of questions. What boyfriend? How long have you been seeing each other? Why haven’t you mentioned him before?

To which Helen answers respectively his name is John. We met seven months ago. And because who I date and when I decide to share that information is my choice .

It’s another half an hour of questioning before Helen manages to talk her way off of the phone after wrangling a promise that her mother would not fly to New York. In return, Helen was to send her daily text updates on her health.

Her sister was another matter. Living only an hour away in Trenton, her sister insisted on driving up. It ended up working well, however. While he had testified without a single problem, John hadn’t had the time to meet with Tarasov.

So Wednesday, Helen agreed to meet her sister for lunch while John had gone to meet with a mob boss.

John arrives at Tarasov’s compound and, once again, finds himself subject to stares.

They had always been there. The Baba Yaga was the focal of fascination for a great many, but most had always tried to hide the attention they paid to the man, the monster. But since Helen’s existence had been made known, he’s found himself front and center everywhere he goes.

And it had only become worse after being questioned by the High Table on the DeLuca’s and their involvement. While John had repeatedly stated he would not answer questions regarding his relationship with Helen, it didn’t stop the questions from coming.

During the trial and afterwards, members of the High Table had tried to push. John had given them nothing.

John is silent as he walks up to Viggo’s office.

The last tie to sever.

While Abram was scared enough of John Wick to let him go without a fight, John was certain that Viggo’s ambition would rise to the occasion.

After all, hadn’t John Wick done the impossible? He had brought down Syndicate and saved the girl with every odd stacked against him.

And now Viggo wanted a piece of that.

The impossible.

And John will do it. Of course, he will do anything if it means being released.

Retirement is so close he can taste it as he steps into the familiar office, closing the door behind him.

Viggo Tarasov sits at his desk, setting his paper aside as John takes a seat in front of him.

“John.” Viggo greets, “I was surprised to hear from you.”

John inclines his head. Viggo was full of shit.

Lorenzo had shared with his children that he had released John Wick of his contract following the trial. The rest of the Underworld knew by sundown. John was certain that Viggo was well aware of John’s intentions in this meeting.

“I’m retiring.” John says, truly not in the mood for games.

Viggo nods in response to the news, clearly expecting John’s announcement. “Very few people retire from our world.”

“Because most are dead long before they reach my age.”

“I’m older than you.”

“You have a desk job.” John points out, aware that his status is the only reason he can get away with saying such things to Viggo Tarasov.

Viggo waves a hand vaguely, “You’ve never had interest in a desk job.”

“Nor do I now. However, I still intend to live a while longer. In peace.”

“Peace.” Viggo says, testing the word on his tongue, “That must be a foreign concept to a man like you.”

A year ago, John would have agreed with him.

Hell, eight months ago, John would have agreed with him.

And while his experiences were still limited, he already had a glimpse of peace. In the weekly visits he had paid to Helen’s office. In the quiet of the night as he meditated to each and every intake and exhale of breath.

Now, John knew peace in the moments before his alarm went off and he held Helen close to him. He knew peace in the way she wrapped herself around him as he made her coffee. He knew peace in the way her head rested on his shoulder or in the soft flips of pages as Helen read by his side. He knew peace in the moments where she held him.

“I’m aware you hold my contract,” John says, ignoring Viggo’s comment. “I am more than willing to buy it out.”

A longshot, John knew.

Viggo tilts his head to the side, like he’s considering it. Yet John knows, from that single action, that Viggo already has something in mind. Something he wants done that only John Wick can manage. John just fucking wishes he’d get to the point instead of treating this like a game.

“At this time, your contract is not for sale.” Viggo says, “However, there is a task I have in mind. A bit… difficult, to say the least. But, should you complete this for me, I would be more than willing to release you from your contract.”

There it is.

“What do you have in mind?”

“It’s a bit of an impossible task…”

…

When John arrives home and he’s relieved to find Helen’s car parked out front. He makes a mental note to install a garage opener in her car as soon as possible.

John quickly goes inside, not wasting any time. The desire to set eyes on her is overwhelming and he wonders how he managed to only see her at night for months on end.

He’s not certain he can ever again go longer than hours without seeing her, touching her.

Helen has become an addiction.

When he doesn’t find her in the living room or the kitchen, he goes upstairs. Sure enough, she is in the library, kneeling in front of a bookcase as her fingers trace over the spines.

“How was lunch?” He asks and Helen’s lips twitch.

With anyone else, he might have scared them. Even in his own home, he tends to walk lightly so as not to be noticed. But she’s always had that sixth sense about him. It brings him an absurd amount of happiness to know that she understands and sees him.

“It was fine.” She reaches a hand up. John takes it and helps tug her back to her feet. “Got a bit of the third degree but I suppose I can’t blame her for being curious, all things considered.”

On tiptoes, she gives him a quick kiss. “How was Tarasov?”

“As expected,” John says.

Helen hums as she looks him over, “Indirect answer.”

“It could be worse.” John tries again.

“Now you’re being evasive.”

She had warned him life would be like this. She’s spent the better part of her life learning to read people and despite being an enigma to most of the world, John Wick is an open book to Helen.

He can’t bring himself to be upset when they both knew this was exactly how it was going to be.

“He wants me to complete a rather difficult task.”

“How dangerous is this going to be?” She asks, folding her arms over her stomach.

She did that when she was worried, John had noticed. He hates that it’s him causing her such stress but comforts himself with the fact that this will be the last time.

“Fairly.” Helen’s face is that unique mix of impassive and empathetic that he was used to seeing in her office. He steps forward, catching her chin in his hand and drawing up her face. “I’ll be fine.” He promises.

She gives him a small smile and nods. She’s scared, he knows. And he is too. He’s never had so much to lose.

“What does he want?”

He wants to shake his head and tell her not to worry about it. But he knows exactly how that conversation will go if he tries.

“There are a few rival Russian gangs that Viggo wants control of.”

“A few?” Her brows shoot up.

Maybe he should have phrased that better.

While he’s unsurprised by Viggo’s demands given the opportunity to manipulate the Baba Yaga, Helen worries. She used to joke that it was her job to worry—that he paid her good money for such. And he would smile and promise to see her next week.

But things had changed so much since DeLuca.

She understood a little bit more just what John was capable of. In the moments when she had been in DeLuca’s grasp, John had learned a bit more of what he was capable of.

But in understanding that, she grew more worried. When it came to her, they both knew that he was capable of anything .

And that made him reckless, to a degree.

“It goes both ways, John.” She told him when he had first explained what it would take to actually retire, what he might need to do to be released by the Tarasov’s. “You worry about me constantly, but I worry about you too. Do you really think I would be okay if something happened to you?”

“You could move on.” He had replied, “I know you would hurt, but you could go on living your life.”

“For one of the smartest people I know, you’re an idiot, John. I would be devastated if something happened to you, if I lost you.”

“It’s different.”

“Like hell it is. Do you know how many nights I used to lie awake until you would get to my house because I was so paranoid, so scared that something would happen to you?” Helen had shaken her head, “Or that I used to spend my Friday’s in an anxious blur, terrified that one day you just weren’t going to show up. That you’d just… be gone.”

“It’s different. ” John had maintained, “ Hels, you’re—you’re all I have.”

And that was just a fact. Without him, Helen would have her family, her friends, her work.

But without her… what would he be?

“It will be fine.” He promises, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair back from where it had fallen in her face. It assures him that she is real and safe when his thoughts start to overwhelm him, “This is more of a point-and-shoot kind of gig. Just with a lot of moving targets.”

An impossible number of moving targets. He forgoes saying as much, still trying to formulate a plan in his mind on how he’s going to pull this off.

“Is there a timeline?”

Technically, no. Viggo hadn’t given him any sort of indication of when he wanted it completed, but John was strongly in favor of doing it as quickly as possible. The sooner the task was completed, the sooner he was free.

And, oh, what a thought that was.

“Friday.” He answers aloud. Two days away. It would give him the time to prepare, because once he started, he could not stop until he was done.

She nods, leaning her head against his hand.

He hates that he is responsible for making her worry. John pulls her into a hug, wrapping her in his arms securely.

“Come on,” he kisses the top of her head, “Let’s go pack some more of your books to bring over.”

She brightens visibly at that and they make another trip to her house.

While Helen desperately needs the distraction, John realizes it’s just as beneficial for him. It reassures him, just as her touch does, that she’s real. That this is actually happening and not just some coma dream, which he felt might be more realistic.

They spend Thursday much the same way. While he’s tried to tempt Helen to take another week of vacation, she only shakes her head and says, “It wouldn’t be fair to my clients .”

Marcus comes over to help.

“Helen, if he’s blackmailing you into moving in with him, I can get you help. Blink once.”

The older assassin dodges multiple projectiles from multiple directions, laughing all the while.

“I’m serious! You can do better!”

It’s a joke, and John knows that, but he still appreciates the extra affection she shows him. Like she knows that John still lays awake at night, wondering if he was good enough for her. But she slips under his arm, resting against his chest while she shoots back, “Forgive me for not taking advice from a man who’s still in a committed relationship with his daddy issues.”

He makes a sound of pain even as he grins, “Low blow, Kingston.”

“Come at my man, I’ll come for your life.”

My man echoes around in John’s head for hours after that and Marcus’ teasing was soon forgotten.

After that declaration, his hands, which were impossibly steady when aiming a gun or striking a blow, were shaky. He had to talk himself through wrapping up her décor so as not to break it.

They loaded up the borrowed truck, driven by Marcus, as well as stuffing her SUV full.

“Hope you don’t change your mind about him, because I am not doing this again.” Marcus complains after he and John manage to get her loveseat into the back of the pickup.

“I’m not concerned.” She says and the conviction in her words and her tone leaves John all the more in love with her.

Good , he thinks. He is no longer strong enough to let her go.

John watches with fascination and awe as he hears a dog bark and watches as her eyes light up. An older man approaches with a golden retriever pulling on its leash trying to reach Helen. He recognizes the dog from the neighborhood, having seen it be taken outside late at night from a few houses over.

The dog breaks free of the owner, tearing the leash from his hand, bolting towards Helen.

Grinning, Helen drops down low and braces for the contact. “Hey, Buddy.” She says, scratching the pup behind the ears as the dog pants excitedly.

“Sorry, Helen!”

“No worries,” She calls back to the owner, “You know I’m always down for a Buddy-snuggle.”

Marcus snorts and mutters to John, “How easily you can be replaced.”

John rolls his eyes, smiling all the while as she coos to the dog lovingly. He thinks back to the first time she met, showing him pictures of her favorite dogs. He had been almost surprised that she didn’t have one of her own.

With a final pet to the stop of Buddy’s head, she sends him back over to the owner with a wave, before climbing back to her feet.

A part of him was reluctant to share her but he could imagine, maybe somewhere down the line, getting a dog with Helen. He thinks she would like that, the potential images flipping through his head and filling him with an unexpected warmth.

“Should have guessed you were a dog person,” Marcus says.

“Always have been.” She replies, slipping back under John’s arms. Even with moving furniture and boxes, it’s still cold outside. He tucks his chin to her head and wraps his arms around her.

“Makes sense given your choice in partner.”

She throws Marcus a look, but he holds up his hands defensively.

“Not like that! No need to bring my daddy issues into this. Just meant he’s got some of those qualities. Unwavering loyalty, literally the definition of a dog with a bone when it comes to you. Protective, but a little bit stupid.”

“Thanks, Marcus.” John says, rolling his eyes yet again.

“I prefer dogs to people, anyway.” Helen says, patting his arm. “Far less complicated. They don’t make muddles out of things the way we do. And they’re far less self-interested.”

“All this, coming from the only one of us who works with humans for a living.”

She grins at that, “It’s why I can say, without a doubt, that dogs are better than people.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be hyper-empathic to the human experience?”

“I can be. And there is a lot about said human experience that I admire,” Helen says, “We’re an incredibly resilient species. The mind can handle just about anything, which is remarkable when you think about it. And we’ve worked to build societies based on mutual respect and social currency. There’s drama and endless uphill battles, struggles and triumphs, and a capacity for healing unseen in any other creatures,” She shrugs, “But there’s something to be said for just living . Simply, at that.”

He feels his arms tightening around her as he presses a kiss to her head.

He loves her more than he’ll ever be able to express. Helen leans to the side so her face is just below his and kisses him once more.

“I’m going to finish with my room.” She tells him and slips out of his arms. He watches as she walks back into the house.

She’s giving it up for him. Her home, her space.

It’s still so surreal.

“She’s incredible.” Marcus says softly.

“I don’t deserve her.”

“No, you don’t.” His friend smiles, “Luckily, she loves you anyway.”

It was strange to think that they had only declared their love for each other a week ago. A single week of verbally and physically expressing their love for one another.

It simultaneously felt like an eternity and no time at all.

John heads back into the house, following her path to her bedroom. Her clothes and jewelry had already been packed but her furniture, along with a handful of other things, was left behind. She had washed her sheets earlier and was packing them in a box marked donations .

He takes one end of the sheet and helps her start to fold the next.

The question pours from him before he can even think about it.

“Would you like a dog?” John asks, “You know, someday?”

She steps forward, collecting the sheet, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Would you want a dog?”

John shrugs, truly uncaring. “I like dogs.”

“But there’s a difference between liking dogs and wanting a dog. Would you actually want to have a pet? In your perfectly kept, immaculate house?”

He feels like he shouldn’t say I want whatever you want because he doesn’t want to burden her with all the decisions, but truthfully, the only thing in life he wants is to make her happy. The little details don’t matter to him so much as giving her the opportunity to smile.

“I wouldn’t mind either way,” he says as she folds it one last time and places it in the box with the others, “And the house is immaculate because I barely spend time there.”

She considers it for a moment, and he feels his heart flutter with the twitch of her lips. “Yeah. Someday. Maybe we adopt an older dog. I’ve always had a soft spot for the rejects.”

“Makes sense.” John teases and she rolls her eyes.

“I swear, John Wick, if you make another orphan joke…”

He grins, stepping into her space. He catches her face in his hands and draws her in for a kiss.

Her soft lips yield to him and he will never understand what he has done to deserve such grace. But he swears to himself that he will never take for granted her presence or her touch or her love.

This is happiness. It’s also only the beginning.

…

Friday comes, as it must.

John had wondered if he would feel nervous or anxious for his final mission, his last task. Instead, he wakes up feeling eerily calm.

He’s never been so grateful for something to end. But then, he’s never had a beginning to look forward to.

Helen, he finds, is far more nervous than he is.

“Should you be resting?” She asks as he takes down some of his own books so he can move the shelves around. He wouldn’t be leaving until sunset, much preferring to use the cover of darkness to hide his presence.

“I’ll be fine.” He assures her. He’s gone on countless missions without sleeping or after only getting a few hours here and there to keep him going. Truthfully, having slept a full eight hours the night before is more than he usually gets.

But he knows it’s not enough to stop her from worrying so John distracts her. First with planning out their new library. When that didn’t hold her attention enough, he switched to distracting her with his body.

A sacrifice he was more than willing to make.

He fucked her in the library before carrying her to the bedroom to take her again. And Helen was insatiable, much to his delight. But fucking her to the point of exhaustion took far more out of him than he anticipated.

By the time she’s finally too tired to carry on, John finds himself closing his eyes and resting his head in the crook of her neck.

Her fingers trace the back of his neck as she whispers, “Gotcha.”

She really is brilliant, he thinks, as John finds himself manipulated into napping.

He wakes up feeling far more rested and newly motivated to go out and come back home. To never be forced to leave her side again, so long as they both lived.

It’s all so close.

Helen runs her hand over his hair.

“Thank you for making me sleep.” He teases softly.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Liar.”

Helen grins at that, leaning forward to kiss him.

This , he thinks, this is what waits for him on the other side of the night.

It motivates him anew.

John showers and dresses. His traditional three-piece, he hopes to never wear again. For her sake, he leaves the tie on the bureau.

John slips a small gun into his ankle holster, a knife into his sock. He chooses his weapons carefully as he prepares for the night ahead of him.

One last time.

Leaving is so very different than it had always been. Rather than heading straight from his room to his car, he detours to find his partner. To see her, to kiss her before he goes.

He can hear conversation flowing from the kitchen as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and blinks in surprise.

Marcus.

He slips into the kitchen and watches as Helen rummages around in the fridge before pulling out and handing Marcus a beer.

Marcus, he thinks, is probably the person he would miss the most. One of his oldest friends. One of the first people he ever learned to trust.

Someone he would soon have to say goodbye to, along with everyone else.

A large brown paper bag sits in front of him on the kitchen counter.

“Marcus.” John greets as he steps into the kitchen.

“John.” Marcus uses the edge of the counter to pry the bottle cap off. “Everything in place?”

John nods. He had weapons stored around the city and Santino would be assisting. John had been reluctant to make a deal with the mafioso when he was so close to retirement but there were too many moving parts for what Tarasov had asked for John to accomplish it alone.

Santino swore, so long as John stayed out of the Underworld, he would not use the marker John had promised him. But, should he ever step foot back, he was fair game.

He almost felt bad for Santino. He would never go back to that life. Not while he had Helen.

“Didn’t know you were coming over.” John comments, watching as Helen opens a bottle of wine for herself.

“Somebody’s got to keep your girl from losing her mind.”

“It’s an important job.” Helen jokes, smiling up at John. “I was afraid I was going to go stir-crazy waiting here at home.”

He can understand that. He had nearly gone insane in hours after she had been kidnapped.

John holds open an arm for her, and she wraps around him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What are you two going to do?” He asks.

“Marcus brought Thai food,” she gestures to the paper bag, “And we’re going to get drunk then watch and score kung-fu movies bloodlust, technique, and general sexiness.”

John smiles down at Helen, wondering how he ever managed to make it day to day without her. “Sounds like fun.”

“We’re starting with Enter the Dragon. Which I’m going to go get set up.” Helen stands on tiptoes and gives John a quick kiss, before grabbing her wine glass and heading to the living room.

“Last mission.” Marcus says.

John nods again, “It is.”

“How do you feel?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Helen.” John jokes, thinking of all the times his girlfriend had asked him that very same question, “But I feel ready.”

“Nervous?”

“Not even a little.”

“Good.” Marcus glances to where she had exited, “I worried in the beginning. That you weren’t thinking clearly; that she didn’t have what it takes to be involved with an assassin. I’m glad I was wrong on both counts.”

John looks down because he really doesn’t know how to have this conversation. He’d said his goodbyes to Sofia, to Winston, to Charon. To the few members of the Underworld that mattered to him. But this is one he just doesn’t know how to say.

Marcus has had his back for two decades. He’d been his friend and confidant. The only person on the planet John had felt he could trust Helen to when his life fell apart. The man who, even now, was devoting his time to helping Helen.

“We know the rules,” Marcus says quietly, “That after tonight… we go our separate ways…”

“I wish it didn’t have to be like that.” John says just as softly.

He’s told Helen, explained it to her.

She had been angry, at first. That John was being forced to give up his friends along with everything else. That the Underworld was so unwavering and rigid with their rules and expectations. Then, she had been sad. Then guilty.

She promised she would love him whether he left the Underworld or not and he believed her. But the life he wanted… it was for both of them. And it didn’t involve looking over their shoulders every moment of every day. He wanted to take her to dinner and not worry that the man two tables over was packing. To go to the farmer’s market without wondering if someone was going to attack.

He told her again and again that this was his decision. That he was the one deciding to part ways in order to have the life that he wanted.

And he has no regrets.

There was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for that life.

“Me too. But… you’re making the right choice, John.” Marcus assures him. “And I know that we won’t be able to go get a beer or hang out but write to me now and then. Send me the announcement if you ever convince that beautiful woman to marry you.”

John nods, “I will.”

“Good.”

And maybe it’s because it’s goodbye, or maybe Helen has made him completely soft, but John walks across the room and hugs his friend.

“Thank you. For everything.”

Marcus nods, “Just… live well. Take care of each other.”

“We will.”

They part and John leaves Marcus to sort through the takeout he had brought with him. John follows Helen into the living room. She is using the remote to type in a password, standing barefoot in the middle of the sunken section.

John takes the two steps down. Helen glances up as he does. He watches her swallow.

“Time to go?” She asks softly and he nods.

She tosses the remote to the side and throws her arms around him. Her grip is impossibly tight, but he doesn’t mind. He’s never felt more loved than when her arms are around him.

“You’ll be careful out there?” her voice breaks a bit as she asks the same question, she asked every single week before he left the safety of her office. Right before John went out to venture into the Underworld.

“I promise.” He kisses the top of her head.

She breathes a soft sigh of relief. Helen leans back, looking up at him even if she doesn’t release her arms. “Because if you’re not back by morning, I’m coming after you.”

“I’ll be back.”

Partially because there was no way in Hell he was ever letting her become involved with the Underworld again but mostly because she was his home. The only one he had ever known.

John catches her jaw in his hand and angles her face upward and teases, “It will be over soon. This time next week, you’ll be so annoyed with me, you’ll be wishing you could send me back.”

“Never.” She says even as she smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He kisses her lips, giving himself a moment to be completely consumed by her. To memorize, once more, her smell and touch and taste. He’ll take her with him everywhere he goes and hold on to the memory to guide him back home.

With a final, soft kiss on lips he releases her. To leave her side one last time. He walks back up the steps to the leveled floor. He reaches out for the handle to the garage door.

“John?” She says and he glances back, “Come home to me.”

His lips twitch as he opens the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With the morning comes their promise of forever.

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backseatsiren · 3 years ago

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A Dramatic Day

It’s been awhile since I’ve written here! There are a couple of reasons: first, my life has reached brave new heights of busy - I was promoted to Editor in Chief at work a bit over a year ago, and my responsibilities there obviously take a lot of time. I’m also teaching more courses than usual at Berklee (right now, one section of Film and TV and two of Game Design Principles), and, as usual, I’m training grappling on top of it all. Plus, naturally, the ambulance. I’m hitting my tour hours, and proud to do it, and as pumped as ever to be an EMT in this neighborhood.

I’m also... very, very, VERY slowly *actually writing a book* about all of this. I’ve begun interviewing a few fellow EMTs, mainly volunteers, about what it is we do. Because of how insane my schedule is, it’ll be a very long term project, and I can’t put any pressure to finish soon. But, especially through the pandemic, I’ve felt a desire to document and interview and report on the idea of volunteer emergency medical services in New York City, here in Brooklyn and Queens, and I think other folks might be interested in reading a bit about it.

But I’d like to get back into the practice of writing about calls and concepts and experiences. As always, I’ll respect patients and patient privacy, and will never reveal identifying information or anything inappropriate.

Today was a fairly busy day, but it started with a bit of a dramatic call. We were called to an unknown, and flagged down by a bystander. A man called us over and told us that he saw a man lying on the train tracks (a less-used track, not the subway or commuter rail or anything). He said he regularly feeds a colony of feral cats there, and noticed the gentleman lying down the way.

We thanked him and high tailed it over, yelling out to him (the usual “sir are you ok?”). My more experienced (many, many years in EMS, including at a much higher level of certification) partner took a look at him and said “he might be dead” and began looking forward a pulse. He went for more help (another ambulance was arriving and they needed to be directed over, the physical layout of the space was weird), and he instructed me to look for a pulse. I did, and found nothing. My other partner (a newer EMT, just cleared for CC status, who I also love working with), said “he’s cold to the touch.”

It was raining lightly. The tracks were a little slick, and there was some litter. It’s early may, and the grass had that beautiful sheen on it, that it gets in the rain. Weird things, visual and sense memory things, are coming back as I write about it.

He was lying down on his face on the tracks. I checked for a carotid pulse again and felt nothing. I checked his hands - they were closed and held tight. Rigor Mortis. I checked his arms, his coat, his clothing, careful not to mess with anything, but looking for lividity. He was bleeding from his face, and, on inspection, his face was very clearly badly injured, bruised, and bloated. I was wearing an N95, but even so, you could smell that he was deceased.

I told my more experienced partner that when he arrived with the other crew. We inspected the scene - noting a shovel and some other tools. There was a little encampment nearby - possibly where this man lived. Beer and food in a little shelter.

It certainly looked like foul play was possible. I learned a few minutes later (on my next call) that the cops did start an investigation there.

As one of the other EMTs from the other crew noted, it was “like a movie scene.” Something about the rain and the light, the way the blood pooled, the way the ants crawled around in it... was surreal. It may have been my less experienced partner’s first DOA when they were first on the scene (it wasn’t mine, but it was certainly the first *outdoor* DOA where I’ve been first and had to help establish that). It was my first suspected murder scene.

And yes, it was deeply sad. There’s some initial adrenaline, for me, in every call. There would be more on my other calls today. There is a voice in my head that repeats a lot of the basic instructions and goes through scenarios: “ABCs” (a note to always prioritize airway, breathing, and circulation). I think about what happened in any given situation and what I should do for my patient. I look for threats to everyone’s safety. And when I can breathe and get a clearer picture of what’s going on, that’s when I can start to process things a bit.

We covered him with a clean sheet from the ambulance and did all the things we needed to do. We talked about it a little, after the call. But I always need to think about things for a few hours after, which is what I’m doing here, by writing about it a bit.

I’m a deeply, empathetic person. I feel for my patients. The call I’m about to talk about - the very next call - required that of me in a different way. But in this scenario, I want to first do everything right for the person and situation, and next, be as respectful as humanly possible. This poor man died - was very probably killed - and was left outside in the rain. I don’t know much about his life, and very little about his death. The whole scenario is very sad, and very surreal.

Every time I’ve had a dead patient, it’s stuck with me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget my first, a woman who very probably died of a heart attack or in her sleep, and her son found her. He was mourning. He was on top of the body, hugging her, crying “I’m sorry, mommy,” and there’s... I guess there’s nothing on earth like that. Nothing like that kind of pain. People, as a rule, do not expect to see their loved ones deceased, and when we do, we usually have a ceremony for it.

I’m just a bystander to that. I can do nothing to help the deceased person, and very little for a mourning loved one, besides being a respectful, empathetic human presence. For my deceased patient today, all we could do was establish that he was dead and do the proper things to ensure his remains would be taken care of (and his death investigated).

My next call was very different, but it was heavy in a different way. We got a call for, basically, a suicidal young woman. We arrived, with PD, to her door. The officers assessed things to an extent, but she revealed that she had been traumatized by police in the recent past, and didn’t want any police in her home. I talked with her calmly, and was able to relieve the cops and take this one, with my partner.

We listened to her. She had obviously been through some extreme trauma and needed mental health resources. I won’t reveal any details here, but I had to keep assuring her that I had no handcuffs and wasn’t interested in taking her against her will. She was terrified of being taken somewhere she didn’t want to go, and I basically sat calmly with her and talked to her about her options. Just talking. Just listening.

This is a case, like a patient a couple of years ago, where I’m very happy to take my time. I’m a volunteer, man. I’m not grinding through a shift for miserable pay, as most EMTs are - I’m here because I frankly want to be useful in this manner.

And I’m happy to sit with a person going through emotional hell, because this is what I can help with. I’m five years into being an EMT with RVAC. I do this 2-3 shifts per month, so I’ll never be the fastest, best, EMT in NYC. But I can be the most patient EMT, and I can give plenty of extra time to a person.

I’m not a therapist, and I don’t pretend to be. That’s what I told her - first, that I’m not a cop, I don’t have cuffs, I have no interest in taking her if she’s of sound mind and doesn’t want to go. Then, second, that I’m no doctor, and no therapist, and that I want her to have resources if she needs them.

We talked more, and did more vitals, and she decided she wanted to come to a mental health facility. We explained every step of the process to her, and what she could expect, and what to bring.

Do I wish I was an actual therapist who could help this girl right away? Yeah. Do I wish I had the ability to make mental health policy that provides good, effective, supportive therapy to all human beings who need it? Yeah. Do I wish I could do better for her than an ER with psych specialists? Where she could easily get lost in the cracks or simply never connect with what she truly needs? Yeah.

I can only take her to a place where people are at least trained to assess her and offer her further resources. I can only hope they actually can help, and do so.

I had another call where we did a bit of *psychological first aid* not long after that. A dramatic scene! A young woman fainted at work at a store, and several people were surrounding her and holding her at the scene! Folks were holding her hands and crying.

It looked wild at first glance, but our patient was completely ok - we got her out, had medics assess her completely, and brought her to the ER while assuring her parents that things looked ok. Her mother was extremely upset, and we had a bit of a language barrier, but we were able to assure her and let her know things looked ok, that her child had very promising vitals and EKG readings, and we just needed the ER visit to make sure.

The medics helping us out were INCREDIBLE. They offered a full walkthrough for us of what was going on physiologically with her and gave a very helpful tip on scenes like that - give bystanders little jobs (just simple stuff, like holding the door, or looking for something like a towel) to do! It helps (caring, kind, just want to help) folks feel helpful when they get scared, especially in dramatic-looking situations.

A lot of drama today. A lot of learning. I felt really good about taking charge with my psych patient and helping her to feel safe and able to make her own decision. Im glad we were able to help our young fainting patient. And as much as it’s heavy, I’m glad I was at least on scene today for our first call. I know I can do nothing but confirm obvious death, but, I take some heart in the kind bystander who called for him (the gentleman who feeds cats nearby).

At least someone cared enough to try.

I’m forever grateful for my partners, for the folks who have taken the time to teach me (back when I was VERY green and still, to this day, as I am learning every single shift), and for the patients who trust me to do my best for them.

I noticed today, this month marks five years of doing this, with my volunteer corps. I can only hope I learn more and become a more effective EMT as I go.

#volunteer ems #ems #nyc

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joaquinwhorres · 4 years ago

Text

The Fool (Ch. 5) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,327

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› This ended up shorter than expected but posted sooner than expected. Since I’m needy, please let me know what you think via reblog, message, ask, etc.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net | Read on AO3

"That's it. You officially need a break," Alicia decided, pulling Wren's copy from Advanced Potion Making out from under her forearm. Wren made a noise of protest, reaching up to try to grab the book back from her dormmate, only for Alicia to hold it up out of reach.

"Alicia, I need that."

"Nope," Alicia answered back, popping the p. "You need to relax. You've spent the past two weeks with your nose in this book. Lee says you've already figured out the potion. At this point, you're just obsessing over answers you won't get until you make it."

Wren huffed, sitting up on her bed and glaring at Alicia. "I'm trying to keep the boys out of the hospital wing."

Angelina snorted from her bed, pulling Wren's attention to her. "That's going to involve several sticking charms and maybe a good Body-Bind Curse."

"The only adult they spend more time with than Filch is Madame Pomfrey," Alicia nodded with some finality. "Your potion's fine. You said you even had Cedric check it."

She had, and even he hadn't been able to spot any potential problem spots. Her face must have softened some because Alicia let out a triumphant Aha! which made Wren think she was spending a bit too much time with Nora. This was perhaps more dangerous than anything that could happen with the potion.

"See? You deserve a break."

"Get your mind off it," Angelina added.

"Easier said then done," Wren said, throwing herself back into her pillows. "Between this and classes, it's not like I'm brimming with opportunities to relax."

Alicia turned to Angelina giving her a very significant look. Angelina, for her part, returned the look with a very clear, stern, no. The two girls held each other's stares for a long moment as Wren looked between the two of them, her brow crinkling in confusion.

"For Wren?" Alicia's voice took on a slight pleading tone, and Angelina let out a long-suffering sigh, hanging her head.

"Fine."

The absolute glee on Alicia's face at Angelina's apparent defeat was almost laughable. In fact, it took just about all of Wren's self-control for Wren to keep herself from laughing.

"I'm missing something," Wren said, fighting to keep the corner of her mouth down.

Angelina looked up at Wren with an exhausted sort of resignation. "Apparently I'm having a birthday party on Friday." Alicia turned to Wren, widening her eyes with excitement. Wren smiled reaching out for her copy of Advanced Potion Making, and Alicia passed it over. "But nothing big!" she pointed an accusing finger at Alicia.

"How big can she make it in two days?" Wren asked, raising an eyebrow.

Angelina scowled. "You'd be surprised."

"I promise we'll keep it small and quiet."

"Small and quiet," Angelina repeated with a nod. "And if it's not--just remember I know a lot about you Alicia Spinnet. And I know there are certain things you might not want certain people to know about."

Interest piqued, Wren turned to face Alicia who had narrowed her eyes at Angelina. "You wouldn't."

"And you wouldn't throw me a huge birthday party, would you?" Angelina asked lightly, a bit of a smile turning up her lips as she began stacking her books on the bed.

"Well played, Johnson."

Angelina didn't respond, but there was a certain lightness to her movies as she slid from her bed, picking her books up before making her way to the door.

"Have fun with Katie. Don't forget to invite her!" Alicia called after her, and Angelina waived before exiting the dorm.

There was a beat of silence as both Alicia and Wren stared at the door. The moment stretched one breath, two, three…

"Fred and George are right, you are more devious than you look," Alicia said, spinning back around to face Wren. "You had me convinced you were going to have a breakdown."

Wren laughed. "I still can't believe Angelina needs to be tricked into having a birthday party."

Alicia rolled her eyes shaking her head. "You remember her birthday second year, don't you? We threw her that birthday party and Lee brought those enchanted balloons?" Wren couldn't believe she'd forgotten those balloons. They had filled the common room. When popped they cheered for Angelina, and when the air was let out of them slowly, they literally sang her praises. Not only had Angelina never been one to be the center of attention, but some of the compliments they sang about her were rather...romantic in nature. Wren remembered attempting to corral as much of the balloons as possible and pop them all at once to get it over with. The whole thing had been a complete spectacle leading to a common room had been full of laughter and an extremely mortified Angelina.

Alicia must have seen the memory dawn on Wren because she let out a sigh. "Ever since she hasn't trusted us enough to throw her a party."

"Tell me you haven't enlisted Lee's help for this one," Wren said with a smile.

Alicia paused, her mouth dropping open slightly before a sheepish look overtook her features. Wren laughed out.

"He's the only one able to get us some fire whiskey!"

Wren raised both of her eyebrows at Alicia who sighed, running a hand over her face. "I've made a huge mistake haven't I?"

Wren shook her head. "I'm sure we'll find out Friday."

Wren's eyes followed each jerk of the second hand.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Two more minutes left.

Alicia had left a good twenty minutes ago with Lee and Katie, on their way to the Top Secret Location with the drinks and decorations. Wren and George were slated to come next with the food.

The boys had insisted on a phased departure so as not to draw too much attention to the fact that seven students had left the portrait hole all at once after hours. "A couple here and there the paintings turn a blind eye to," Fred had explained. "A large group at once? Someone's running off to a professor's study."

"Learned that the hard way," Lee chimed in.

So, they'd broken themselves up into groups each with a boy to guide them through the castle to the undisclosed location. Why the location had remained undisclosed was a small mystery that Wren hadn't been able to get a straight explanation for. But, seeing as it didn't really matter, and as George had guessed, she did rather enjoy the thrill of doing something she wasn't supposed to, Wren let it slide.

The second hand landed on 12, and Wren felt her stomach drop as if she were diving on a broomstick. She swallowed hard, standing up from her bed and wiping her palms onto her jeans.

It wasn't the first time she'd snuck out after hours.

But sneaking out to meet a prefect was a bit different than sneaking out to hold a clandestine birthday party. It felt more like a bend than a break of the rules.

She took a breath in and headed towards the door, careful not to wake up Genevieve or Fiona. She closed it behind her with a soft click before padding down the stairs and into the common room. She was halfway down before she noticed George, standing in the shadows close to the portrait hole, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Where's the food?" Wren whispered halfway across the common room. George raised an eyebrow and then gestured to two bags. The closer she got, the better Wren could see that they were bulging with carefully wrapped foods. In the back of her mind, she wondered if they would be too heavy for her to carry inconspicuously through the castle. Rather than voicing the question, she reached for one and slung it over her shoulder.

It was bulky and fell oddly against her side, but she felt confident enough that she'd be able to navigate it through any tight spaces.

"Ready then?" George whispered back, and she nodded, following him out of the portrait hole.

The pair walked silently through the castle halls. There was far less pressing themselves flat against walls, peeking around corners, and freezing to listen for any sounds of movement. Instead, it was simply a silent stroll through a still and dark castle. As if they had every right to be going where they were going.

George stopped suddenly, and Wren almost ran into his back, instead taking hold of his shoulder to steady herself and keep some distance as she pulled up short. George looked over his shoulder at her. "Can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?"

It was a miracle the castle was dark because Wren was sure her face was scarlet. Instead, she settled on a scowl as she yanked her hands back. "A little warning would be nice," she hissed, and George's smile grew as he turned back around, brushing aside a tapestry. He drew a large arc with his wand against the stone, and as if he'd just drawn a doorway, the stones in the center vanished, allowing them passage through the wall. George started in and Wren went to follow when he pulled up short again.

"As a warning, the passage is like 50 meters and then there's a staircase. I'll be stopping to go down the staircase."

Wren glared at him. "That's actually helpful to know, thank you." she snapped lightly, and George grinned, disappearing through the dark doorway and Wren followed.

The tapestry swung closed behind the pair, leaving the passageway completely dark until both students illuminated their wands. It was a fairly straightforward passageway, no choices for turn offs and pleasantly wide enough and tall enough for them to easily walk through. As she always did, Wren wondered how the twins had managed to find this passage and go to class and have friends and do homework and work on their secret projects and manage Quidditch practice along with all of the other routine survival tasks wizards and witches did every day. If she had to guess, the two sacrificed a lot of sleep. And good marks in their classes.

"You might be happy to know that the hard part is sneaking out. Coming back in should be a breeze," George said from ahead of her. His voice was still soft, but it was above a whisper, and the fact that he felt comfortable raising his voice put Wren a bit at ease.

"I'm worried you're lying to me."

"When have I ever lied to you, Wren? Or anyone for that matter?" Despite her certainty that there had been a time, she could not, at the present, name one. George took her silence for what it was: an acquiescence.

"The beauty of it is that tonight's Astronomy for sixth years. They'll be gone past one, and we can just come back in with them."

It was rather ingenious.

The two grew quiet once more as they drew nearer to the staircase, the sounds of their footsteps lightly echoing against the stones. It was on the fourth wraparound that Wren spoke.

"So, where are we going?" Wren asked, gathering her bag up into her arms to keep it from bouncing against her leg any more.

George looked up at her from his lower stair. "The forest."

"The forest?" Wren repeated.

"I know. I had half a thought to leave without you. You've been known to do some impulsive things in forests," George quipped turning back around to watch where he was going. "Last time I brought you into one--"

"I thought we agreed we didn't need to talk about that," Wren said, her voice high and tight.

"I don't remember making any such agreement," George shrugged with a cheeky grin.

"Well let's agree to it now," she huffed.

"Alright, I promise to only bring it up around those who already know."

"Who already knows?" Wren asked, her voice taking on a panicked quality. George shushed her.

"Just you, me, Nora, Fred, and Ginny. Lucky for you it's a tight circle."

"Don't bring it up around Nora and Fred. Fred will just tease me mercilessly about it and Nora will use it to get on my case about Simon."

"Not a fan of his?" George asked, his voice taking on a careful quality.

Wren went quiet. It was hard to explain the depth of Nora's detest. Even Wren wasn't exactly sure what had happened between her boyfriend and her cousin. It had happened slowly over time going from polite greetings to faces pulled behind the other's back and now snide little remarks.

Wren had asked Nora once why she didn't like Simon and she'd given her a litany of reasons (his friends, how he always had to have the answer, his strong opinions), but none of them seemed to make sense as THE reason.

When she'd asked Simon the same question he'd shrugged it off as Nora's problem.

"They don't get along. They're quite different."

George snorted and Wren glared. "What?"

"Bit of an understatement is all," he shrugged. Still suspicious, Wren decided to let it slide as the end of the stairs came within sight.

"So, you agree? Not to bring it up anymore? To anyone?"

"Thought I still had Ginny."

"George!"

"Fine. I agree," his lips curled up into a teasing smile. "Which you should know is a huge sacrifice. You're wonderfully fun to tease about this."

Wren ignored him, hopping down the last step and George led the rest of the way out of the castle in quiet.

When the pair emerged from the castle, it was from under a bush. George reached up and pushed at the bush's trunk, swinging it over to the side so he could scramble out. He reached out a hand to Wren and pulled her out. Wren dusted herself off as George put the bush back before nodding with his head to the left.

Wren felt fairly grateful that when George said "the forest" he didn't mean "in the depths of the Forbidden Forest. They tramped along just at the edge of the forest, the castle remaining visible the entire time. It seemed there were some places even Weasley Twins recognized were forbidden for a reason.

A blue glow up ahead gave away the celebration's spot. As they grew closer, Wren could hear Alicia giving orders to Lee and Katie, and the soft hum of music playing.

"Who's that?" Katie asked above the noise, and all sounds silenced.

"Just us," George called out as he and Wren entered into the small clearing.

It was gorgeous. Small lanterns hung from the trees, luminescent purple, blue, white, and yellow flowers filling each.

Bottles of Butterbeer, Prosecco, and Firewhiskey were gathered on a large stump draped with a purple table cloth.

The music was coming from a small radio placed at the foot of the stump.

At the moment, Lee was looking up at them from where he was bent over a small pile of firewood. Alicia stood over him, rubbing at her arms while Katie finished tying a purple HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner with shimmering gold letters between two trees.

"Hey," Lee grinned before turning back to lighting the fire. His features contorted in concentration and then a small smark appeared

"Got it!"

"You would have gotten in three minutes ago if you'd just said the bloody spell," Alicia muttered, stepping around him and the fire to come up to Wren and George. "Well, what do you think? Think she'll like it?" she asked, rubbing her hands together. It was difficult to tell if it was her nerves or the cold that inspired the action.

"I can't believe you did this all in fifteen minutes," Wren said, looking around to admire the set up once more.

Alicia shrugged sheepishly. "I may have forced Katie and Lee to leave a little earlier."

Wren felt the bag lift from her shoulder and turned as George took both of the snacks and followed Lee to the fallen tree draped with a tablecloth.

"I don't know if anyone can undo what Lee did and make her love birthday parties again, but this has to come pretty close."

"I hope so," Alicia said, turning to watch Fred and Lee lay out the snacks. Lee took his wand from his pocket and pointed it towards the bag. "Oi! No wands, Jordan!"

He looked back at her with a cheeky grin and slipped it back into his pocket before bending over to take the snacks out.

There wasn't much to set up after that. Alicia, Katie, and Lee had done much of the work so that by the time the telltale rustle and snapping of branches could be heard, all of them were sitting on logs, eagerly waiting for Angelina to appear.

Fred came through first, grinning ear to ear, before revealing Angelina looking rather exasperated behind him. The look vanished from her face with one look around the fire at her beaming friends and the whimsical little clearing.

"Oh," she said softly. She seemed to lose her grasp on words as she looked around, blinking rapidly. Alicia let out an excited squeal and launched herself towards Angelina, throwing her arms around her. Katie was not far behind.

"You like it, then?" Alicia asked, pulling back to look at Angelina who was still being rocked side to side by Katie.

"Yes," Angelina nodded, smiling, and the joy was evident in every ounce of Alicia's being. She swiveled to face the rest of the group and twirled a finger in the air.

"Butterbeer all around!"

The last time Wren had been to a birthday party that was this much fun, she had been eight. Her parents had gotten a host of magical creatures and miniaturized them so she had her own petting zoo for the afternoon. She and Nora had gone through and named each one and created a backstory, personality, and relationships between the creatures. In the end, Wren's mother brought out a cake that Aunt Kathleen had made and the family sat around eating cake and sharing stories.

It had been intimate and grand.

Which was exactly how Wren would describe Angelina's birthday party. Although the sweet naivete of a child's petting zoo was definitely lacking as they had each taken to keeping Angelina continuously supplied with firewhiskey. After all, there was no class tomorrow.

This was the same excuse Wren used when stealing her own shots of the burning liquor, throwing them back as she watched George spin Katie around to the music as Lee attempted to dance with a more than slightly tipsy Angelina.

Next to Wren, a body sank down and she looked up to find Fred, holding a bottle of firewhiskey by its neck. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Very much," Wren said, twisting her shot glass into the soft earth so that it didn't tip over. "It's a good break from all that," she said, flailing a hand towards the castle.

Fred let out a low laugh. "The professors have been particularly dragon-like recently."

Wren let out an amused exhale. "And there's the tournament and just all of life at Hogwarts," she shrugged. "It's nice to get away from it for a few hours."

"Not to ruin that," Fred said, and Wren had the distinct feeling that he was, in fact, about to ruin it. "But I did mean to tell you that Charlie sent back a letter, and he will not be giving us any of his hair. For some reason, he doesn't trust us."

Wren laughed and hung her head, shaking it before turning her attention back to meet Fred's gaze. She could see the fire flicker in his eyes making them shine a bit more. "I can't imagine why."

"Beats me," he shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "You'd think we'd done something terrible to him before, like put itching powder in his clothes right before he went out for a date in Hogsmeade."

Wren clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as Fred's grin grew. Once she felt moderately under control, she dropped her hand. "Well, I think we'll be close enough even without the hair."

"Careful Collings, that sounds dangerously close to confidence."

"Guess your plan is working then," Wren smiled, absentmindedly twisting the shot glass once more.

Fred looked back to the fire and their dancing friends, and Wren followed suit. Alicia had stolen Angelina away from Lee to dance with her and Katie, and Lee and George were amusing themselves, pulling out embers from the fire and making them dance or explode into little tiny fireworks. "They usually do."

If Wren had known what the week leading up to Halloween would look like, she might have tried convincing Alicia to push back Angelina's birthday party to this week. Although, if she had succeeded, she probably wouldn't have been the best of company. And George probably would have had to pry her work from her hands and carry her out of the common room.

So maybe it was best that they'd had the party on Friday.

Still, the tension within the walls of Hogwarts was bordering near unbearable. Not just from the short-tempered professors and the mountains of homework, but the impending test to see if Wren could really create a potion that outsmarted Dumbledore.

She, Fred, George, and Lee had finally settled on a variant that they felt confident would work. (A variant which included no human hair despite the fact that Lee had been able to get some of his father's hair, no questions asked.) Still, Wren continued to double check and triple check her equations and ingredients. No trips to the Hospital Wing. The small mantra rang throughout her head as she made her way to class, checking off her list of measurements.

A hand gripped Wren by the inside of the elbow, tugging her to the side of the hallway. Instinctively she yanked her arm away, whirling on the person who grabbed her. Simon stood with a look of amused confusion.

"Did I scare you?"

"Yes," Wren breathed out, clutching her books tighter, pressing her notes into her chest.

"Sorry," he grinned, looking anything but.

There was a beat of silence between the two of them, and Wren checked over her shoulders at the rapidly clearing hallways. "I don't have long, I'm running late to Herbology."

The grin slid off of his face as he studied hers. "I haven't seen you in over a week."

Wren shook her head and turned to start heading to Herbology. "I know. I'm sorry. I've just been busy."

"Too busy for your boyfriend?" The words came out light, but Wren could hear the line of tension underneath them. She could feel it radiating from his presence next to her as he walked her out to the lawn.

"Too busy to breathe, really," Wren said offering a quick, frazzled smile.

Simon was frowning at her. Not quite anger, not quite concern. More of a disappointment than anything else. "What's got you too busy to breathe?"

Wren shook her head, shrugging. "Sixth year."

"Sixth year?" he repeated, and Wren nodded. "That's it."

"Yes. You were right; it's crushing."

Simon let out an angry sigh and stopped suddenly in his tracks. Despite the fact that the greenhouse was in sight and Professor Sprout had been docking points for tardy students for the first time ever, Wren slowed. "What's wrong?"

"I'm trying to have a conversation with my girlfriend and getting one word answers," Simon said, gesturing at her. "You're not still mad at me about the potion are you?"

"No," Wren shook her head. "I just need to go."

He raised a hand to his brow and rubbed it, letting out an angry exhale. "I don't understand why you're punishing me for trying to help you."

"What? No. I'm just busy--"

"Busy for a week and a half?" He interrupted, raising both his eyebrows.

Wren shrugged. "Yes. You know what it's like. You have weeks like this."

"Don't turn this back on me," he argued.

"Simon--" A bell tolled, alerting students they were officially late to class. Wren winced. "I have to go."

"Fine. Go. You've made it clear I'm not a priority, so carry on." Simon gestured to the greenhouse, and Wren shook her head, reaching out for his hand.

"It's not like that--"

"Maybe I'll see you later, if I'm worth your time," Simon said, snatching his hand away from Wren's and turning back up the hill.

Wren breathed in sharply, taking a moment to compose herself and blink back the tears before turning around and heading to the greenhouse. Quietly, she opened the backdoor and shuffled to her place next to Fred.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Ms. Collings," Professor Sprout admonished from the front. Wren nodded, keeping her head down and fixated on the glowing blue plant in front of her.

Fred bumped her shoulder with his own. "You ok?" he whispered.

Wren nodded, giving him a quick glance. His warm brown eyes were fixated on her face, his mouth tugged down with concern. It made it harder not to cry.

So, she looked back down at the plant and gave a halfhearted smile. "Fine."

She couldn't believe the day was here.

The past week seemed to have passed by in a blur. One moment she was agreeing to make the potion with Fred, George, and Lee. Then it was Angelina's birthday party, the final day of classes the other week, and the arrival of the other schools.

When they found out that Impartial Judge was the Goblet of Fire and that all Dumbledore was doing to assure participants were of age was drawing an age line, she was certain she would burst.

It was the best possible scenario, especially since Charlie turned down the twins' requests for some hair. There were only so many failsafes someone could put into an age-line versus layered complex enchantments on the cup itself.

This could work.

This could really work.

When the four of them had brewed the potion last night, none of them could keep from grinning. Compared to the mess of figuring that part out, getting selected seemed a breeze.

Yet, in spite of obstacle after obstacle being overcome, Wren couldn't shake the feeling of anxiousness that buzzed through her. And that was why she sat alone in the common room while the rest had all gone down to the entrance hall to watch prospective champions enter. She decided that she'd simply wait up here to hear how it went. If it worked, the boys would be leading a triumphant parade back. And if it didn't...she didn't want to see it.

"Angelina told me I might find you here," Fred said, dropping into the seat across from her. "Said you were too nervous to come down."

Wren's cheeks grew warm. She wished she wasn't such an obvious read. Especially when it came to her nerves. She was in Gryffindor and nervous about someone else taking a risk. It didn't make any sense.

"Unfortunately, your presence has specifically been requested by myself, George, and Lee, so you're going to have to come."

She snorted. "Is that how it works?"

"That's precisely how it works," Fred said, leaning back in his chair and looking at her with an amused smile. "But I am glad to have caught you here because I also wish to collect."

Wren tilted her head. "Collect?"

"You owe me, Wren Collings," Fred said, meaningfully as if that were enough to clear it up.

"I believe you owe me," Wren said, crossing her arms.

"Ah, fair point," Fred said, taking a piece of candy from his pocket and handing it over. Wren took it. "Now I've paid up, and you owe me."

Wren's eyes furrowed a bit and she offered the candy back. Fred held out a hand to stop her. "Nope, I want equal payment for services rendered."

"What are you on about?"

He turned to look at her with eyebrows raised and an expression that made her stomach twist. “You owe me a kiss.”

“I—” Wren started and he cut her off.

“I also helped to pull Nora to the trees. I just wasn’t first because I had to make sure Ginny didn’t run after the other lot. And George's been holding it over my head for while so…” Fred puckered his lips and Wren laughed in spite of herself.

“Absolutely not.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just a quick one; no one's around for a show.“

“No,” Wren shook her head, the smile slowly fading. “Because that other one--it was just an act of irrepressible gratitude.”

“Interesting because it looked rather like a kiss."

She shook her head again as if he'd missed it the first time. "No, I just wasn't thinking. I mean my head was completely gone. One moment I thought we were going to die, and then we didn't and--"

"You don't have to explain," Fred said, holding out a hand for her to take. Wren slipped her hands on his, and he squeezed it reassuringly. "You just have to bestow an act of irrepressible gratitude on me," he grinned. Wren snatched her hand back as he laughed out loud.

"Shove off," Wren snapped lightly, standing up from the table. Fred stopped laughing as he joined her, walking towards the portrait hole. They had just exited when Wren spun on him again. "None of the jokes in front of anyone else, ok? I don't want--I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea and then...it didn't mean anything and I--"

"Don't hurt yourself, Wren," Fred said with a shake of his head as he led the way down to the Great Hall. "It'll stay between us."

There was a small cheer from their friends when Wren appeared behind Fred. Everyone else had their eyes fixated on the cup which stood in the center of a glowing golden circle. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione hovered near their little group, each looking rather skeptically at George and Lee.

"Ready then?" Fred asked, clapping Lee on the shoulder.

"Who's going first?" Lee asked, looking between the two twins.

"I'll go," Fred said, pulling a slip of parchment from his parchment with his name and Hogwarts scribbled on it. He walked slowly up to the line and paused just before it. Wren's eyes were glued on him as he took a deep breath and then stepped over the line. Her mouth dropped open and George let out a triumphant yell and jumped in after Fred.

And then it went wrong.

A loud sizzling sound echoed around the Entrance Hall and then both of the twins were flying out of the circle, crashing into the stone floor. Wren lurched towards them, stopped only by Angelina's arm looped through hers. Then, there was a loud pop and Fred and George had each grown identical white beards, long enough to rival Dumbledore's.

Everyone laughed. Lee was bent over clutching at his middle, Katie was wheezing like she couldn't breathe, and even Hermione was giggling loudly. The twins stood up, brushing themselves off and upon one look at each other broke out into laughter as well.

Wren didn't laugh though.

"I did warn you," said a deep voice laced with amusement. The whole hall turned to see Professor Dumbledore emerge from the Great Hall, his eyes on Fred and George. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours."

Fred turned to Wren and wiggled his eyebrows at her, but she still couldn't bring herself to smile.

Because she had sent them to the Hospital Wing.

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stxrrywildflower · 5 years ago

Text

lost

pairing - emily prentiss x reader

summary - emily returns after doyle, you and spencer don’t take it well

warnings - cursing, mentions of suicide, talks about mental health, drug use

word count - ?

note - sections of this regarding the language may be extreme so please take that into consideration before reading

you and spencer walked into the bau together, each sporting a coffee cup in hand.

after emily’s death, the two of you found comfort in each other. you knew about reid’s abandonment issues and he was well aware of your’s and emily’s relationship. everyone on the team did. morgan did a fairly good job at hiding his emotions. but you and spencer, you two broke.

hotch had noticed the signs of you first. you had a history of depression and anxiety dating back into your teen years. after her death, you began to slip back into a depressive state. you lasted two weeks before, without argument, he placed you under temporary leave and sent you to a mental facility for you to ‘get better’.

spencer was next. after confiding in morgan about his dilaudid cravings, it was then alerted to hotch also. just like you, spencer was placed on temporary leave and set to the same facility as you.

inside, your communication with other patients was limited. you and spencer, however, got to see each other all the time, resulting in your now closeness. two months in, both of you returned to the bau. slowly, you returned back to doing field work. but, you relied on spencer and he did the same to pull you through. you felt like you were finally getting better, like you were back with a sense of normality.

that was, until the current day at the bau managed to reverse all of that.

the first thing you noticed was hotch and j.j. in the conference room. that already wasn’t a good sign. “new case?” you asked spencer who then shrugged, “probably.” rossi stepped into the conference room next, before motioning for the rest of the team to join.

you quickly dropped your bag and coffee off at your desk before following spencer up the stairs into the conference room.

“alright everyone have a seat,” hotch spoke as he crossed your arms.

“why? what’s going on?” morgan responded.

you didn’t follow hotch’s orders. a lot of trust had crumbled and fallen away after he had put you on leave with little remorse. instead, you leaned against one of the file cabinets, spencer finding a spot next to you.

“seven months ago i made a decision that affected this team,” hotch started. you instantly tensed up at his words. seven months ago, you had all lost emily. alas, he continued, “as you all know, emily had lost a lot of blood as a result of her fight with doyle. but the doctors were able to stabilize and airlift her from boston to bethesda under covert exportation. her identity was strictly need-to-know and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. she was reassigned to paris where she had access to several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

those words hit you like a brick. your throat felt dry and your hands started to shake. you turned to spencer who looked like he was experiencing a similar reaction.

“she’s alive?” garcia asked. morgan’s eyes darted frantically between garcia and hotch. “but we burried her,” spencer surprisingly spoke up from beside you. his voice was extremely shaky and you weren’t sure if he could even finish his sentence.

“as i said i take full responsibility for the decision. if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” hotch tesponded.

you wanted to say something, you really did. but no words came out of your mouth. instead, morgan decided to talk. “any issues? yeah i got issues!” he shouted. just as he went to continue, you heard footsteps from down the catwalk.

just then, emily appeared, bag in hand, a sorrowful look on her face. you felt like you were going to pass out.

you turned towards j.j. who seemed to be smiling, no shocked emotions displayed. that only meant one thing. “you knew?” you spoke, moved from your position against the filing cabinet. j.j. started to speak, most likely an apology, but you cut her off.

“don’t,” you said as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

emily was now standing beside hotch and j.j. “y/n,” she spoke, taking a slight step towards you. you, instead, took one step back, itching closer to spencer, who was having a hard time taking this all in.

“you let me, you let us mourn her for seven months and you knew the entire time? you sent us away hotch!” you yelled, motioning towards spencer.

“sent them away? what do you mean?” emily asked.

instead of hotch responding, most likely giving a shitty answer, you stepped in. “he sent me and spencer away to some stupid fucking mental facility to ‘get better’. barely any contact to the outside for two months. how do you really think that helped hotch? how do you think being locked in a room for two months really did for our mental health,” you asked. hot tears slowly welling up in your eyes.

“i’m sor-” emily started to apologize.

“you’re sorry? i was so close to shooting myself up again and instead of actually getting the support from others, i get sent away. do you realize how much it sucks to be abandoned your whole life and then the one group of people that keeps you sane leaves you too? i got to talk to maybe four people at the hospital. and besides y/n, none of them were any of you. i can forgive garcia, morgan, and rossi, but j.j.? you really name me as your sons godfather and you can’t even tell me the truth half of the fucking time,” reid revealed. the room went quiet, obviously shocked at the young genius’s outburst.

“before you say another word that your sorry or that you didn’t know how much this affected us, just know that for weeks, i sat in my apartment, not sure what to do. do you know how many times i wanted to take my razor and slit my wrists, just to end it. or the advil, i always kept. everytime i took two for a headache, i always considered just taking the entire bottle. because, what did i even have to live for at that point. and then with barely any sympathy, hotch forces us to leave, not wanting to deal with our issues. we were finally getting better. we were finally able to be back on the job and continue living our lives. but now, you just saunter in here expecting forgiveness,” you seethed.

anger began to rise in you. you made fists out of your hands, no doubt causing slight bleeding from your fingernails as your knuckles turned white. upon seeing emily’s saddened facial expression, that made you even more mad. you needed to let out your anger or else you knew you probably wouldn’t be able to recover. after a few more moments of complete silence, you rolled your eyes, pressing your lips together as you walked out of the conference room, spencer right behind you.

you quickly grabbed your bag, leaving your paperwork on your desk before glancing over to the conference room. morgan and garcia were just exiting, tears falling freely down their faces. the remaining team members remained in the room, each with defeated expression.

you turned to spencer. “let’s go,” you whispered. anything above that and your voice was sure to crack. both of you decided that you needed to be alone for awhile. so, you dropped spencer off at his apartment with a small smile that you could barely muster and you drove to yours.

once entering, you tossed your bag carelessly on the table, your badge alongside it. your gun remained carefully placed on the side table.

you placed your back against the door. you held back the first sob, but after that, you couldn’t contain it. tears flowed down your face as you sobbed loudly. you felt betrayed, the trust between you and hotch was already fragile and now with j.j., you weren’t even sure who you could trust. you mainly felt angry.

the only thing you could think to do was punch your wall. your hand went though the drywall, leaving a large hole in its place. surprisingly, your hand was barely injured from the punch, just a cut across the top of it.

just as you moved towards the kitchen to grab wrap to bandage your hand, your mind was only filled with one though; emily. you loved her. you knew you were going to love her for the rest of your life. and then that had been ripped away from you.

you cried harder, tears falling onto your now bandaged hand.

you shuffled into your room, quickly changing into sweatpants and a t-shirt. you collapsed onto your bed, pulling the blankets over you and a pillow closer to your chest. it wasn’t the first time that you cried yourself to sleep.

emily knocked on your apartment door only a half an hour later. hotch had allowed everyone to go home, as the day had been a bit shocking. emily, however, grabbed her bag and drove to your apartment.

after no response, emily took out a set of keys, praying that you hadn’t change the lock. after rotating the key, a satisfying click echoed. she let out a sigh of relief before turning the handle.

your apartment was drastically different than the last time she was in it. the once darker colored walls were now painted soft tans and pastels. there were a lot more plants than there had been. more artwork and pictures scattered the walls. ‘very few are of the team,’ she noted. your voice brought her out of her thoughts.

“spencer helped me redecorate,” you spoke, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed.

emily spun around and remained frozen in place. “it looks great, i really like the hole in the wall,” she first joked. “you two closer than before?” she asked, mentally smacking herself for asking such a dumb question.

“you’d be surprised how close people come when you lose a person you both love, whether it’s romantically or family,” was all you said. “would you like something to drink?” you offered.

emily slightly nodded, “maybe a cup of tea? thank you.” you grabbed a mug, filling it up with hot water before handing her the cup with a tea packet. emily watched as you moved though the kitchen, grabbing the different stuff to make a pot of coffee.

the tension in the room was almost unbearable.

finally, you finished making your coffee and placed it on the counter, milk and sugar already added. you then opened the cabinet and reached to grab the bottle of advil. you had a killer headache and needed to take something. out of the corner of your eye, you noticed emily tense up.

“relax, i’m not going to overdose,” you spoke calmly.

your words made made emily visible flinch. the fact that you were so casual about talking about killing yourself scared her immensely.

you moved out of the kitchen and sat on the couch, motioning for her to do the same. the two of you sat at opposite ends, each sipping your drink as silence fell over you.

“you don’t deserve this,” emily spoke, breaking the tense silence.

you sat up slightly, looking over at the woman but kept your mouth shut.

“you really don’t deserve what i did to you. none of the team does. but i need you to know, that i really has no choice. if i didn’t do what i did, doyle would have gone after all of you,” emily revealed. “wouldn’t have mattered, i honestly probably would have been dead already. probably spencer too, i mean you heard him. he almost took dilaudid again.”

“but you stopped him.”

you chuckled slightly. “not really. just got sent to a mental hospital against my will with reid to recover. so, wasn’t really my choice. it’s really fucked up that he almost relapsed over something that wasn’t even true.”

“i’m really sorry for that. if you want i will go talk to hotch about his actions,” emily offered but you shook your head. “it’s over now. only bringing it up because i have to.”

“i know i have a lot of trust to earn back from everyone. and i fully intend on heading over to everyone’s apartments to apologize to them after you. but it’s been almost eight months since i’ve been with you. all i want is a hug, as stupid as that sounds. you don’t have to but-” emily was cut off when you wrapped your arms around her.

the two do you fell back into the couch. your buried your head in the crook of her neck as her arms moved so they were around your waist. you shut your eyes to prevent the inevitable tears from leaking out. her perfume filled you senses. it was the same one she always wore. you had never realized until now how much you loved the smell of it.

she looked and acted slightly different, but she was your emily.

“i should probably get going. i really need to talk to reid,” emily spoke as she let go of you and stood up. you crossed your arms again and nodded at her. “i’m really sorry again. i know it’s going to take some time to regain your and the teams trust again but i promise, i will make it up to you.”

with that, emily grabbed her bag and made her way over to the door. you shot her one final weak smile before disappeared from your apartment and made her way down the hallway.

#criminal #criminal minds #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #david rossi

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stereksecretsanta · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, sivan325!

For @sivan325 <3

Read On AO3

*****

Kiss It Better

“Dammit.” Stiles caught himself just in time. Or at least he thought it was just in time.

“You’re bleeding.” Derek growled between gritted teeth.

Stiles stumbled upward. Honestly who thought it was necessary to have all these loose wires in a warehouse? More important question, why were all the very important werewolf meetings between packs taking place in said warehouse? Wouldn't it be more picturesque to do that in the forest, in the desert or anywhere more natural than a freaking warehouse on the outskirts of town? It was like they were setting a trap for the lowly humans forced to accompany them. Being the emissary of these dudes, that was risky in more ways than just one.

“Warehouse… were-house? That’s what it is. It all makes sense.” Stiles mumbled to himself trying to steady himself holding on to Derek’s shoulder. He was the closest upright object nearby that Stiles didn’t identify as an electric hazard. A guy had to have some self-protection instincts after all, especially in this line of work.

“What are you saying? You’re hurt. It’s blood loss. You’re rarely that nonsensical these days.” Derek grabbed him by the waist and pushed him to the car in one smooth motion.

“The blood loss? Wha-“ Stiles looked down at himself. “Right. I’m bleeding.”

He was confident in his statement because of all the red he could see on his shirt right about now. He was pretty sure he had been wearing a white shirt before, not a tie dye t shirt of red and brown. Derek was being overly dramatic, it took a lot more blood for someone to become nonsensical due to blood loss. If Stiles had any brains at the moment he would probably crack a joke or two about that.

It was only that he was tired, the whole day had been endless and exhausting. They had to prepare for the meeting, prepare for it going right, and for it going wrong and all that stress and all these nerves being on high alert for so long, that took a toll on someone.

“Is it deep?” Derek asked sharply, stirring the car onto the main road at a speed that would most definitely get them arrested if any cop was in the vicinity.

“I’ll survive.”

Stiles winced because of the car motion. Derek really wasn’t that great of a driver all things considered. Stiles should have taken the wheel because right now he felt closer to nausea than any pain caused by a stupid scratch.

Derek parked the car in one of these fast and furious reverse u turn kind of insane driving skills. Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek might have some telepathic ability that Stiles didn’t know about because this maneuver seemed only necessary to prove to Stiles that yes Derek was a good driver, or maybe to make him puke all over the floor and himself. One or the other, Derek could be cruel like that depending on the moon cycle.

They weren’t close to the full moon or anything astronomical so maybe it was just for the heck of it. Stiles couldn’t be sure, but now he was being carried (carried! As in his feet weren’t touching the ground kind of carried!) to the elevator and toward Derek’s loft.

Maybe it was actually the blood loss, or maybe it was the crash of all the adrenaline of an alpha meeting and the spell Stiles had to do in order to protect both of them when the other pack, now clearly on the list of enemy packs, made the slightest move in the wrong direction.

Stiles was good at this business, more than good, he was great, a big talent and all that. He had been told by several trusted sources that his magic was stronger than what they had ever seen. So yes, Stiles was good and he was confident and he could do this job well, he could be the one to protect Derek and make sure all the people he loved would be safe, that the town would be safe. He could do all these things. But he was also very much new at this, and he was also very much human. Still a twenty-something dude just barely out of college and barely out of magic school, if some training and spell-work with Deaton could be called that. It was very minimal, Stiles was mostly going on instinct and pure magic.

The fact that Derek had accepted, had even offered that Stiles take the place of emissary of the Hale pack had been wild in itself but not as wild as what seemed to be going on right now.

Derek had always been a little stressed. He was a stressed alpha, it was the least anyone could say about it. It was the least Stiles himself had said out loud about it. Stiles had very little filter when it came to what he wanted to say to Derek on any given subject.

“Dude, everything is fine, the bad guys left and all that. No need to get your panties in a knot.” Stiles said for the form. He couldn’t not say anything.

Derek huffed. “My panties are fine, thank you for your concern.”

“Are they?” Stiles chuckled, a little breathless. He thought he was hilarious. Going by the death glare Derek sent his way, he didn’t share the sentiment.

The thing was Stiles was too busy keeping one very important piece of information secret and that made all the other secrets non-keepable. One mind could only have that many things hidden and Stiles had chosen to keep the fact that he was very very head over heels in love with his alpha the best kept secret in all the lands. It had been years. Nobody suspected anything. Except maybe Erica but she was way too perspective of her own good.

It made sense to keep it secret. It made as much sense as it did because now Stiles’ place in the pack was more than just friendship or fear or whatever feelings were there at the beginning. Stiles was able to perform all the needed spells and not make a fool out of himself in front of guys wanting them dead. Stiles had a place in the pack and that place was being the best emissary he could be. That meant being invested but not too much, being a key part of this pack. And it meant knowing when the pack’s health was more important than the alpha’s life.

Would Derek trust him ever again if he knew that Stiles was in love with him? Maybe not. That was the whole problem. Stiles could take rejection, he could hear Derek tell him no and that would be so much simpler. But if Derek told him no, it wouldn’t be the end of this crush. Derek wouldn’t forget it. Stiles hadn’t mastered any amnesia spell so he wouldn’t be able to erase anything. The moment the cat was out of the bag, it would be too late to turn back around.

That was fucking scary. Stiles was a little bit of a coward deep down when it came to his heart.

They had built their trust and it had taken some time, because hell, Derek had been closed off at the beginning. With reasons. Stiles couldn’t really fault him for any of it, he hadn’t been great either, being a teenager and all that, he had made mistakes too. But now they were in the best place. The betas had warmed up to Stiles, even Boyd. That was saying something.

Stiles was part of this found-family of sorts and he didn’t want to mess it up.

He couldn’t throw all that progress just because he had all these butterflies when Derek smiled at him. It was a vicious circle because the more Stiles felt included, the more time he spent with Derek, the more he felt all these scary feelings spin out of control, he was just so hopeless and everything started to swell in his heart to the breaking point. Everything was bound to come crashing out of him at some point and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

What were the chances Derek reciprocated these feelings? Zero, close to zero, the void and the deepest black hole in the galaxy.

Derek was a very serious alpha. He was trying to rebuild the Hale pack reputation in the community. He was doing good, Stiles was very proud deep down. That took time. Years. Derek was committed to it and he hadn’t exactly let himself date anyone for… Stiles couldn’t even tell how long it had been.

“What are you mumbling about?” Derek rolled his eyes. “Hop on here.” He tapped his hand on the kitchen counter.

Stiles hadn’t even realized they were now in the loft, all the lights were on and the door was closed. Derek had brought him home.

“Huh?”

‘Hop on.” Derek gestured to the counter again. “Are you going to make me carry you again?”

“What?” Stiles grimaced.

Derek rolled his eyes with a long suffering sigh. He was in a mood apparently. “Hop. On.”

“Oh my God, alright. What do you need me on the counter for? Are you planning on eating a slice of Stiles for dinner? It’s the smell of fresh blood, isn’t it? All your animalistic predator instincts have woken up because I smell deliciously like a Stilinski snack. I have to admit, you’re not wrong because I did put on some muscles with all the training and look at me, I'm pretty delicious looking. Do you think I taste like chicken? Do I smell like chicken?”

Derek didn’t comment anything except for his eyebrows twitching.

“See, you totally agree with me! I smell like delicious chicken.” Stiles decided to take that as approval. Eyebrow language was always subjective and Stiles could turn it to his advantage if he wanted.

“Take off your shirt.” Derek ordered out of the blue.

“Wowow, what?” Stiles’ brain really had a hard time catching up with everything. It was all because of the blood loss. Surely.

Derek crouched down to rummage through the cabinet at Stiles’ feet before standing up with an old beaten metal box.

“You’re bleeding.” Derek’s eyes looked over Stiles’ chest and arm, almost begging Stiles to actually get on with the plan. But what plan, Stiles had no idea.

“I’m? Yeah.” Stiles looked down at himself again. Was he actually still bleeding?

By the time Stiles stopped frowning down at his shirt as if he could will his blood to stop coming out of him with the strength of his mind, Derek took a step closer and just… ripped the shirt off with his claws. He had flicked his claws out just for this.

Why exactly? Stiles’ slightly ripped and somewhat bloody shirt had been so offensive or something. Derek wasn’t new to the whole bloody shirt ordeal. He had had a great deal of bloody shirts since they met. What was wrong with bloody shirts now?

“O - okayyy…” Stiles was just so confused.

It was delirium. It was the only actual explanation he could find for whatever was going on right now.

“You’re bleeding.” Derek had a one track mind.

“It’s not that bad actually.” Stiles made a face, looking down at himself. He had a handful of punctures through his skin from having landed on some barbed wire. He was still oozing out blood on the side of his rib cage but none of the cuts looked that deep, and none of them were that large either.

Painful, yes. Life threatening, not really. It was all good. Stiles wasn’t fainting at the sight of blood anymore. He had grown out of that.

Stiles startled when he was hit by some icy cold spray coming out of nowhere.

He looked up to see Derek’s gaze laser focused on the wounds.

“What the fuck?” Stiles squawked.

Derek was holding an antiseptic spray like he would a gun and he was ready to shoot. He had actually shot, Stiles realized, the cold liquid hitting his skin made a lot more sense now.

“We don’t want any infection.” Derek deadpanned, as if that explained everything.

“Duuuude...” Stiles shook his head in disbelief.

So that was what Derek had been doing all this time? Trying to clean Stiles’ wounds? That was strangely sweet but also very weird and awkward. So so awkward.

“Clean it first?” Stiles tried to say. “No. I mean. I can clean it myself. I can absolutely clean it myself.”

He was not inviting Derek to gently caress his chest with a damp cloth because no, Stiles wasn’t doing that. Oh but he would absolutely love that because he was a masochist and any amount of Derek he could get he would very much like to get and if Derek was set on a quest to take care of Stiles then Stiles would be an idiot to refuse. It might be a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Though Stiles was a little bit of a klutz, it was not the first and most probably won’t be the last time Stiles found himself bleeding or bruising. Derek taking care of him was the new addition to this.

Of course there had been the occasional draining of his pain when things got bad or the rushing him to the hospital even when things were definitely not as bad as they looked. Obviously there had been times, numerous times, when Derek took care of him.

This was different. They were just the two of them and they were in Derek’s loft and… yeah.

Now Derek was coming back from the sink with a clean cloth and started to gently wipe the blood off the side of Stiles’ chest.

“That way?” Derek asked in a whisper. He looked uncertain, like this was all uncharted territory to him.

Stiles swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Derek looked up at him from under his eyelashes. Stiles’ heart was doing some loop-the-loop inside his chest. What was going on?

Stiles wasn’t meant to handle Derek looking at him like that. He wasn’t equipped for all these feelings. He was suffering from blood loss and a great deal of pining for this man who was the love of his life. More than that if such a thing even existed. Stiles couldn’t go through something like that and come back on the other side without being scarred for life. And all these scars would be metaphorical and all of them would be on his tiny human heart. Nothing wouldn’t be because of the bleeding and punctured skin.

“I - I can do it, you know.” Stiles made a move to reach for the cloth in Derek’s hand.

“Don’t.” Derek took his hand away. “Let me.”

Stiles raised his hands in surrender. “Okay okay. Our beloved alpha is going through something and I’m not going to get in the middle of it. I mean I literally am in the middle of it. Or the subject of it if we want to be specific. But I’m not going to come in between you and whatever it is you feel you need to do. I’m suffering enough as it is.”

Derek reached for a clean towel to pat the cuts dry. Stiles could only stare at him. The wounds really weren’t that bad, he could have just gone home. He wasn’t bleeding to death or anything.

Derek carefully brought the metal box closer. It was, as expected, some kind of first aid kit. It looked old, obviously very rarely used in a pack of werewolves with super healing abilities. It was a wonder why Derek even had that in his loft to begin with.

Derek frowned after a while. “Suffering? Does it hurt a lot?”

He stepped closer to Stiles with a big handful of gauze and sterile dressing. A lot of dressing. Enough to wrap Stiles’ whole chest with it. So much… Too much. Jesus.

Derek checked the wounds one by one and inelegantly plopped the gauze on Stiles’ chest. He grimaced before revising himself and reaching his hand again to put some pressure there. It wasn’t graceful at all, it was absolutely ridiculous.

“Noooo.” Stiles pushed him away and crossed his arms over his chest before he could come any closer again. “Drop the gauze, dude. Drop. the. gauze. I’m not letting you change me into a mummy. It’s not Halloween and gauze just isn’t a trendy fashion accessory. I don’t need all of this. At all.” Stiles gestured to Derek holding a ball of gauze as big as a football. “Look, it stopped bleeding. Okay, almost stopped. But I swear, I only need a few band-aids and it’s going to be enough.”

Derek frowned but let the gauze fall to the ground. He went to the metal box again and came back with a pack of what looked to be simple band-aids.

“That’s more like it.” Stiles encouraged him. “Give it all you’ve got, buddy… That’s just a saying. Don’t go overboard, please.”

Derek only groaned in response. Stiles figured he had gotten the point.

He stretched a little to give Derek more access. The laser focused gaze was back on Derek’s face as he stuck one, two, three band-aids on Stiles’ skin. Fingertips brushing his cold skin, sending shivers all over.

“Please stop looking so constipated. What is it? It’s not that I don’t enjoy all the attention but come on, tell me, what the hell is going on?” Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. The whole thing was so bizarre.

“My human is hurt and I need to make sure-” Derek started before stopping mid sentence frowning and shaking his head as if he didn’t make any sense even to himself.

“Dude, what.” Stiles was so confused. “ My human?”

Since when was Stiles anyone’s human? Human, yes very much so, the human token, yes but when had anyone other than his dad and maybe Scott have any sort of possessive feelings toward him? He heard it before ‘my son’ ‘my best friend’ but ‘my human’? Well that was a first and it could mean so many things.

“What do you mean ‘my’ human?”

“Nothing.” Derek shut off almost immediately.

“Something!” Stiles hopped off the counter trying to make himself look tall.

It failed. He winced at the stabbing pain in his side. He had almost forgotten he was actually pretty banged up. That was how infuriating Derek could be when he didn’t want to use words.

“Stiles.” Derek’ warm hands were here to steady him, so soft and gentle on his skin. Stiles wanted to be mad about it but he liked it all too much.

“Ugh. Don’t think I’m forgetting about all of this just because of some tiny scratches, okay? I’m not letting this go.”

“You never let anything go.” Derek’s face was annoyed, but his eyes were still staring at Stiles.

“I’m fine.” Stiles affirmed because apparently Derek needed to hear it. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.” Derek said for the hundredth time this evening.

“It’s not the first time.”

A deep pained look ghosted over Derek’s face.

Stiles sighed. That hurt expression wasn’t going to cut it. They weren’t these people anymore. Derek was a good alpha, he was the best alpha. He cared so much about his pack, about the town. He wasn’t the guy who carried all the guilt in the world on his shoulders anymore. Derek knew better than that.

“Your human?” Stiles brought them back to the most important topic of all.

He smirked at Derek’s even more pained expression. It wasn’t the same pain. It was the ‘Stiles is insufferable’ pained look. This was a look Stiles could deal with. He quite liked that look if he was completely honest. He would gladly annoy Derek for the rest of their days, that was in his lifelong contract.

“Since when am I your human? Tell me more. I’d like to know!”

“It came out wrong,” Derek deflated, looking anywhere but at Stiles. “I meant-“

Stiles snorted. Derek was saying words that meant one thing but his hands were still holding Stiles close, closer than strictly necessary. Still holding Stiles who was shirtless, the shreds of his bloody shirt in a pile on the floor, and still holding Stiles who wasn’t exactly bleeding anymore and just a tiny bit sore after tripping and losing his fight with scraps of metal in an old dusty warehouse. Stiles was definitely losing his fight against these hands too.

He was slowly but surely letting these warm hands affect him, he was letting himself want more of these hands and more of everything. And if Derek wanted Stiles to be his, Stiles was ready to be his on so many more levels than just a different species. He was ready to be more than what they had been for years. Friends, pack and maybe something else.

Stiles moved a small step closer. “Well, if we’re standing here in this kitchen tonight, claiming each other, I’d like to formally tell this assembly of silverware that you… You’re my… alpha.”

Derek’s eyes flashed red at the word.

Stiles smirked again. “That’s right. Thanks for the confirmation.”

“I just want you safe.” Derek glanced at Stiles’ band-aid covered chest again.

“Just give me a couple of days I’ll be as good as new and you’ll stop looking like someone kicked your puppy. Oh my god. Am I your puppy? Do you want to lick my wound better because your saliva has magical properties? Because mine doesn’t, I already asked. You said human but that can mean a lot of things. Please tell me I’m not a puppy. Do you see me as a useless human kid?”

“No.” Derek’s face lost every ounce of concern all at once. Stiles’ stupid rambling had managed to convince him he wasn’t dying.

“Well, good.” Stiles said. “That would be the opposite of sexy.”

Okay so Stiles was not a puppy and not a kid. He had lost his investigation edge. He had let himself become soft or something.

“So you care about me.” Stiles ventured.

It wasn’t a question. Stiles knew Derek cared. Derek cared about everyone. The statement seemed innocent enough. Derek didn’t have to take it as an euphemism for anything other than caring for his pack members, his brand new emissary. He didn’t have to read into Stiles’ jerky heartbeat. Or smell the distinct scent of hope mixed with nerves.

He didn’t have to. Oh but Stiles wished he would.

“... Yes.” Derek breathed out. “I care.”

“Okay.” Stiles’ mind blanked.

Okay. Cool. Play it cool. This is okay. Cool. His heart was now skyrocketing as if it was trying to break his ribs and make its way out. But everything was cool.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Stiles nodded. What, did Derek honestly think Stiles wasn’t going to be okay with this? “I’m gonna kiss you now. If I got all of this wrong, I’m going to blame it on the delirium of blood loss. You even told me I was nonsensical earlier, don’t think I didn’t hear, I heard. I hear everything. I always hear everything. And right now I’m hearing something and you know how actions have reactions well my reaction is that i’m going to kiss you. You can totally stop me or push me away if you don’t want that. I mean, this is just a heads-up because it’s good to give people a warning sometimes and not just spray them with antiseptic or, you know, love and affection without any warning.”

Derek’s face twitched in what seemed like surprise for a second.

“Yeah.” Stiles repeated. “Because if you care about me that way, I do too. Care about you. And you have to know you are wonderful and kind and extremely extremely beautiful. Handsome yes and attractive and hot but that doesn’t cover it. You’re beautiful and amazing and I…” stiles licked his lips. “I’m gonna shut up now and I’m gonna kiss you. Kiss the hell out of you until my legs give out. I’m gonna-“

It was Derek who kissed him in the end, crowding into Stiles’ space and capturing his mouth mid sentence.

Stiles was still trying to speak until Derek slipped his tongue inside his mouth to effectively shut him up. That was when Stiles’ brain caught up with the action.

He grabbed a fistful of Derek’s shirt to tug him even closer if that was possible.

Derek’s hand made its way down to stop just where Stiles’ band aids were, ghosting over them, not touching but still there. Protecting.

That kiss. That kiss was enough to heal some hole inside of Stiles that band-aids had never been able to fix.

A moan escaped Stiles before Derek caught his lips in another kiss because no one kiss wasn’t enough. Kisses were simply fantastic. Derek’s mouth was made to be kissed indefinitely, forever, over and over again. And Stiles’ soft skin was made to brush against Derek’s stubble so much that it would become red with it.

They finally let go of each other. A tragedy. Stiles had to breathe a little. He needed to think, restart his brain after the sweetest court-circuit of sensations.

He looked down in a sigh. And frowned at the bright colored spots on his ribs. What…

“Are these superheroes band-aids?” Stiles snorted.

“Uh. Yeah.” Derek confessed.

Stiles stared at him for a moment, that man was absolutely ridiculous. How long had these band aids been there waiting in that old box? How long had Derek been feeling this way about Stiles that he had bought and kept these stupid superheroes band-aids in his stupid kitchen?

Stiles shook his head, examining Derek’s expression carefully.

“You’re insane.” He whispered, praying that his cheeks weren't starting to flush red.

It was so far from an accusation. He was in awe. Stiles bit his lip to keep from doing something but then remembered that he could, he was allowed to kiss Derek now. He already had in fact kissed Derek. What in the world.

He just went for it, leaning in and pressing a light kiss to his lips.

Derek didn’t even correct him on his insanity. Maybe he agreed, they were both a little bit insane.

They kissed, and kissed. Stiles' jaw started aching but he wouldn’t stop kissing Derek, not when Derek’s fingers were now in his hair, not when a hand was on his hip steadying him upright.

His lips stung, swollen and almost raw from stubble and a few very deliberate teasing teeth.

“Fuck.” Derek breathed out. “They’re not going to let me live this down. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Who?”

“The betas…” Derek ran a hand over his eyes.

Oh no. So they all knew. It hasn’t been just Erica. They had all seen Stiles pining his ass off for Derek for years. This was awful, so terrible. Stiles was going to die from all the teasing. No, wait.

Derek let out a long suffering sight. “I kept telling them no, that I wasn’t… but they were relentless. I kept telling them to shut up.”

Stiles felt his lips curl up in the biggest idiotic grin ever. The betas were going to tease Derek. Not him. Let’s face it, they were going to tease Stiles most definitely too but also Derek! Derek had been pining over him for God knew how long.

“Dude,” Stiles was still grinning. Barbed wire excluded, this might be the best fucking day ever. “Telling these idiots to shut up... that never works you should know by now.”

Derek shrugged. He looked just a little too proud for someone complaining about his family not listening to a word he said.

“So we’re doing this?” Stiles dared ask.

“Yeah, we are.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll give you my heart but on the condition you do study the basics of the human healing process. Maybe even CPR because all of this,” he gestured to all of Derek. “that might cause me one or two heart-attacks.”

Derek rolled his eyes. That idiot couldn't even keep the fond off his face.

Stiles had to kiss him again. He just had to.

#sivan325 #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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thenexusofsouls · 3 years ago

Note

Flock- what is your muse's family like? How do they get along with them? (Tony)

Eagle- is your muse courageous or cowardly? What might cause them to act in the opposite manner, if anything? (Ethan)

Sparrow- what artistic or creative hobbies does your muse have? What is their favorite or most treasured creation? (Natasha)

Cardinal- how does your muse recover from strong emotions? How do they recouperate? (Michael)

{i am the caretaker of souls} This got long, haha, so I’ll put it under a cut.

Flock- what is your muse's family like? How do they get along with them? (Tony)

So... Tony’s relationships with various members of his family are complicated and not always positive, but the following five people mean the most to him, and with each of them, he’s tried to do the right thing at least at some point in his life. With some it worked better than others, for varying reasons, but I’ll focus on these and describe his relationship with them a little:

Father, Howard Stark: Oh boy. Where do I begin. There was so much wrong with Tony’s relationship with his dad. Both of them were incredibly intelligent and very arrogant, and that caused a huge ego clash between them, but for different reasons. Howard never felt that Tony lived up to his expectations as a son, although half the time he didn’t really give him half a chance or bother to notice when Tony did do something productive, constructive, good, noteworthy, etc. Tony wanted his father’s love, attention, and approval, but often went about it the wrong away, trying to stand out with bad behavior rather than positive achievements. Whenever they met in the middle and could have had a chance at bonding, the two of them were so defensive or closed off that they just couldn’t open up to each other. This never really got resolved, and then Howard was killed, so Tony was left with not only a huge hole in his heart from the love he felt he never really got from Howard, but also an emotional wound that would never have any closure.

Mother, Maria Stark: Tony loved his mother to bits, although when he was younger he often pretended like she worried to much and sometimes smothered him. From Maria, Tony got the love he felt he never got from his dad, but it was almost too easy. She just gave it unconditionally, and in some ways that offset what he wasn’t getting from his dad so much more because of the dramatic contrast in how his parents treated him. She was the softer, forgiving, understanding, encouraging parents in contrast to Howard’s aloof, distant, businesslike fathering. She was the one person in his life that he felt safe going to in any kind of vulnerable way, and losing her left Tony feeling very alone and isolated in a way he couldn’t express to other people... so he bottled it all up.

Girlfriend/Wife, Pepper Potts: Ugh. This relationship, in my opinion, was terrible and toxic. He was distant, defensive, and he abused alcohol to an extreme. Also he put her in danger either by accident or inadvertently with things he said or did. His communication was never the greatest and his coping mechanisms were unhealthy at best. She shamed Tony for his trauma responses as if they were personality flaws he should be ashamed of (scattered memory, nightmares, panic attacks, etc.), used walking out on him as a threat and emotional weapon against him whenever she just didn’t feel like dealing with him, and often was not there for him when he needed her. But... Tony genuinely loved her and something must have been good enough for both of them for them to want to make it work, and somehow, eventually, it did. I think once Tony knew he wasn’t going to lose her (the threat of her always just wanting to leave really kept him on edge in a way that was damaging to his mental health), he calmed down and some of his behaviors and coping mechanisms actually got better, which then in turn made Pepper want to stay with him and work it out, so those two things fed off each other in a positive way. Her actually marrying him brought about an emotional stability Tony never had before, both within himself and in a relationship. He settled down considerably after that and was much more stable mentally once he had her full support. He loves her with all his heart and there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for her.

Older Daughter, Carter Stark: This is going to sound terrible, haha, so I’ll preface it by saying that Tony loves Carter immensely. She’s his daughter and all he wants to do is keep her safe and make sure she has the best life she can. But... in many ways, she’s also a symbol of some of the worst times in his life, some of the worst things about himself, and some of the worst things he’s ever done. He slept around, he let people down, he got people killed, he wasn’t there for the ones he loved, etc. She reminds him of a lot of things about himself that he wishes weren’t true or didn’t happen. Her existence has also made him wonder on many occasions whether he might have other children whose mothers never knew he was the father or chose not to even inform him. He loves her, as I said, but there’s also just this aching pain and guilt he feels with her that he didn’t do enough for her, didn’t protect her well, or even that her life might have been better had she not known him. Some of that is his own anxiety telling him things that aren’t true, but some of it is due to events that happened that he knows have affected Carter’s mental health that Tony feels responsible for, either through his own actions or by the company he kept at the time. So Carter reminds Tony of the worst, lowest, and most broken aspects of himself, and I think that will always cause him to believe that he was a terrible father to her. He’s spent many hours wishing that he had done more for her in some way and had been able to be a better father than Howard was to him.

Younger Daughter, Morgan Stark: If Carter is a symbol of how bad a father he could be and some of Tony’s worst qualities, the Morgan is a symbol of the best he could be. Morgan in many ways is Tony’s redemption. Other people outside looking in might say his actions during Endgame were redeeming, or that he had moments before that throughout the franchise that helped redeem parts of him along the way, but in Tony’s mind, Morgan is his redemption. She’s what happens when he does things right. Carter helped contribute to this because he didn’t want to make the same mistakes he made with her, and he sought to correct as many as he could. His own father also contributed because Tony had a big example of the kind of father he never wanted to be, and he tried to avoid that at all costs. Stepping back from the Avengers and focusing on his marriage and being a father to his daughters was far better for his mental health, even with the guilt and sadness of everyone’s failure in Infinity War. So the years during which he raised Morgan were Tony’s most stable and healthy as far as his own mental state. If he was ever concerned about the legacy he would leave - and he was - he knew he was leaving something pure and positive behind after his death, whenever it might be, with Morgan.

Eagle- is your muse courageous or cowardly? What might cause them to act in the opposite manner, if anything? (Ethan)

Ethan is actually pretty damn brave, considering he’s lived a number of years in fear. Before he entered into this nomadic lifestyle in an attempt to keep other people at a distance, he was protective of his friends and girlfriends. As he and his more recent girlfriend Kelly dealt with the creature infesting their house, there were many times when he was woken up in the middle of the night by her or suddenly startled by her screaming and had to get up and see what the problem was. He would always go on the offensive, investigating with something held as a weapon, letting Kelly hide behind him. He was scared, but he wasn’t about to let her get hurt. The problem was, there wasn’t really anything he could do about it in the end.

When Ethan is by himself, it’s a different story. He’s willing to be that shield or put himself in danger to protect someone he cares about, but if it’s just him alone, he’s not stupid. He’s not looking to throw his life away for nothing. So when he’s alone, he’s a lot more attention to his self-preservation instincts.

Sparrow- what artistic or creative hobbies does your muse have? What is their favorite or most treasured creation? (Natasha)

Dancing. Specifically ballet dancing. Allow me to explain. You might think that she’d never want to touch pointe shoes again with how ballet was used against her in the Red Room. It was used as a conditioning tool, both for its strenuous and physical demands and difficult skillset necessary to master it, but also for other typical brainwashing techniques it provides, such as the use of repetition, association through music, and creating a sense of isolation through competition with others around you. However, something weird happened after Natasha defected to SHIELD. She started to dance for herself. She only did it when alone, sometimes with music but often times without any. Somehow, she took this thing that had been used against her and made it her own. It became a source of comfort, almost like the dancing itself had been a wounded friend, and somehow by only doing it privately and emotionally, she was helping it to be something more positive every bit as much as it was helping her heal.

While dancing, Natasha lets her mind wander. She allows herself to feel things she doesn’t express to others. At several points in her life when things hurt her emotionally, she took time out to dance. Such as when Wanda dredged up memories of the Red Room in her mind, when Bruce left her, and often during the years between Infinity War and Endgame. As far as hat her most treasured creation is... I suppose it isn’t something solid she can hold in her hands, but every time she dances, she feels like she’s created something good. And I would definitely say it’s treasured because it’s cathartic for her and helps her to feel whole and less anxious, and there's incredible value in that for her.

Cardinal- how does your muse recover from strong emotions? How do they recouperate? (Michael)

Since the word “recover” is being used, I’m assuming the strong emotions in question are negative ones? Anger, sadness, frustration, fear, those sorts of things? Typically, he needs to take a step back and be quiet and/or alone for a time to reset himself. Michael does have a temper, and he does feel emotions like sadness and grief very strongly, so sometimes he needs to step back and make sure that he doesn’t make any rash decisions based off of emotion. Quiet prayer usually helps, but if not that then just sitting quietly alone for a time, preferably out in nature somewhere, usually serves to reset his internal composure and steady his mind. Michael doesn’t like to act impulsively or in anger, so if he feels himself about to do that, he usually steps away. The one exception is when someone he cares about is in danger, then he might act on his protective instincts. Regret follows, but again, he finds prayer to be comforting to him in those types of moments.

#{ i am the caretaker of souls } ᵒᵒᶜ #headcanons #muse: michael #muse: ethan cavender #muse: tony stark #muse: natasha romanoff

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exhaustedfander · 4 years ago

Text

Hideaway: Chapter Seven

a03 link

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / ?

word count: 2,249

It’s here! I’m sorry this chapter took so long, I’ve had a lot of school work and mental health shit. But gosh, the election results were such a releif, and I’m happy I was finally able to finish this chapter. I’d love to hear what you think of it!

Panic still thrums wildly in Logan even hours – or what he suspects to be hours; the sun has risen and set several times over now – after the initial conclusion. Not usually someone to give in to something so illogical, he prays that Roman can’t see the trembling of his limbs, or hear the nervous, fluttering thoughts his mind continues to produce. He’s freaking out and he doesn’t know what to do.

It’s not as though Logan wasn’t aware that it was a possibility, he could someday feel strongly about one of his fellow sides. He’s seen how Janus and Patton behave around each other, even when they think they're hiding their relationship well (they aren’t). He’s seen the passing looks that Virgil and Remus give each other from time-to-time, expressions that bear a strange mix of resentment, anger, and longing. Logan has long since given up trying to understand what those glances really mean. These are things that Logan’s always been semi-aware of, but he never expected them to apply to himself, especially not something as drastic as love.

It doesn’t make any sense. Sure, he was aware of a certain fondness he felt for the creative side. He was even bold enough to label it an attraction, but love? Something so achingly raw, so disastrous and strong? He doesn’t understand how he can be capable of such an intense feeling and it’s quite possibly going to be the death of him (figuratively, of course, although he can’t be too sure. This certainly feels like it could be a cause of death).

The point is, Logan’s trying to ignore it. After breakfast, Roman insists that they should venture outside of the castle and that he has something he’d like to show him. Logan doesn’t like this idea. While The Imagination is undoubtedly beautiful and fantastical, it’s also something he has so little understanding of. It’s far beyond Logan’s realm of comprehension, so odd and he barely knows what to make of it.

He would’ve never agreed to come here, was it for Roman coming too. Even if he didn’t fully understand the reasoning then, he does now. It’s frightening, how far he’d go if Roman only asked. The lengths he would go to make that man smile are an issue he does not wish to dwell on, but he can’t help but do so. He remembers when it was easy to be stern to him, to say no. But now, in the state they’re in? Logan is helpless, and Roman doesn’t seem to be much better off.

“Come on, it’s just up ahead,” Roman says, taking Logan by the hand. They’re going uphill, towards whatever destination Roman’s decided on. Logan tries to ignore the way his body tingles from their joining hands all the way to his shoulder.

“Where are you leading me?” Logan asks teeth gritted. He can’t help it; he’s so goddamn jittery.

“It’s a surprise,” Roman sing-songs, “Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s a good surprise, I promise.”

“I don’t particularly like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one,” Roman says so surely, as though he knows it without a shadow of a doubt. That’s odd, considering how unsure of almost everything he’s seemed recently. Roman has been so unhappy with his creations as of late, so dissatisfied, that the fact that he’s actually excited to show Logan something is… interesting. It’s good, probably. Logan thinks it’s good.

Upon internally battling this love he’s apparently been harboring and trying to quell the anticipation of whatever Roman’s surprise must be, Logan hardly notices that they’ve stopped walking until Roman gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“We’re here.”

Logan looks out at the clearing that Roman has brought them to, his eyes scanning over the picturesque scenery. And then he spots them, and his heart flutters.

Two unicorns stand in the grass, looking at him and Roman. They’re fur and manes are a pristine white, while their horns are a light bluish color. They don’t look startled by the sudden company, not in the least bit. In fact, they look curious, curious about Logan.

“Roman they’re – they’re beautiful,” Logan gasps, surprised by how taken aback he’s suddenly become. He doesn’t remember the last time he was so captivated – excluding, of course, every time he looks at Roman.

“Do you like them?” Roman asks, a smile gracing his lips that says he already knows the answer to the question.

“They’re magnificent,” Logan says softly, eyes fixed on the creatures. He tries to find it in himself to think this is ridiculous; Roman’s created these animals, there’s no such thing as unicorns. He’s logic, he shouldn’t be enamored by something so childish. And yet, he can’t help but be transfixed.

“You can pet them if you’d like.” The offer shouldn’t make him as happy as it does.

Logan turns to look at Roman, anticipation coursing through him.

“Are- are you certain? I don’t want to startle them…” Roman nods, smiling.

“Go on,” he encourages, gesturing to them. Slowly, Logan approaches one of them, a trembling hand reaching out.

“H-hello there,” Logan greets the creature, feeling a little silly. But then, the unicorn tilts its head and nuzzles against his hand. Logan melts.

“Oh. I think- I think they like me.”

“They love you,” Roman says, voice brimming with fondness. The other unicorn approaches and Logan’s smile widens even more so, his other arm outstretching to pet the animal’s mane.

Logan thinks not of the intensity of his feelings for Roman. He doesn’t dwell on the anxiety that has gripped his heart or wonder how long they’ve really been here – because he has been beginning to wonder.

No, for now, Logan simply takes the beautiful moment in.

“Thank you for this, Roman,” Logan says, the unicorns still very interested in him, nuzzling him and standing close.

“Anything for you, darling,” Roman says softly, and for once, Logan isn’t overwhelmed by the term of endearment. His mind is far too occupied.

=+=

Leaves crunch underfoot as they walk in uneasy silence – silence Virgil is sure will be broken any minute now. It’s only a matter of time.

"So, you think they’re fucking?” And, there it is.

“Can you not, for like, five seconds?” Virgil asks, exasperated.

They’ve been walking for a while now in Remus’s side of The Imagination, heading towards Roman. The castle that Remus is fairly sure they’re residing in isn’t in view yet, but Remus claims it should be soon.

“Can I not, what? Be insanely charming?” Remus asks, nudging Virgil who groans in response.

“Charming, right.”

“Oh c’mon, Virgey, admit it. You’ve missed me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Even as he says it, Virgil isn’t entirely confident with his statement. Of course, for a great deal of their time together, he was afraid of Remus. When they were younger the intrusive side was even more unpredictable, and Virgil had been going through so much at the time as it was. But it’s been a long time now since Virgil’s genuinely been afraid of Remus and his feelings are… well, they’re complicated. More complicated than he wants to admit.

“So, how much further is Roman’s side?” Virgil asks, hoping to change the subject. By the look in Remus’s eyes, though, he’s not getting out of it that easy.

“Not far now,” Remus says, a tinge of disgust in his voice, “I hate his frou-frou side. It’s so full of flowers, and rainbows, and unicorns. Bleh!” Virgil looks around at the fire-singed trees and strange creatures that surround them in Remus’s side.

“And yours is that much better?” He asks, gesturing to the decay. Remus smiles.

“Oh come on, Emo. I know you prefer this to Roman’s non-stop goody-two-shoes-ness. Admit it: he can be a bit much, can’t he?” Virgil bites his lip.

“Yeah, he can. But so can you,” Virgil says, “And, he’s never tried to set me on fire.” Remus smacks him on the arm.

“That was an accident and you know it!”

“Mm, do I, though?”

The tense silence that had previously enveloped them returns for a few minutes, Virgil’s mind drifting to Patton and Janus.

“Do you think Patton’s doing okay?” It feels stupid, asking Remus. The Duke and Patton have by no means been on the best of terms, and regardless, Remus knows as much as he does. But he can’t help from worrying, and he’s the only person around to ask.

“Oh no, I’m sure Janus is torturing him horribly as we speak,” Remus says, his tone teasing but Virgil really isn’t in the mood, “What do you think his preferred means of torture are? I’d go for waterboarding, or bone-breaking, myself. But Double-D’s a more clean-cut guy, so maybe he’ll go for blinding. Not something messy, I’m sure. But I –.”

“Knock it off!” Virgil interrupts, anger rising with each word out of his mouth. Remus stops in the middle of the path they’re walking on, forcing Virgil to do the same.

“You’re not worried about Thomas’s safety, are you? That’s not why you’re asking if Patton’s okay?” Remus doesn’t give him time to butt-in, “No, you’re worried about Janus. You’re worried about him and Patton being in charge together.”

“And what if I am?” Remus glares at him, exasperated.

“You’d think after all those years you spent with us, you’d have a little more trust.”

“What reason has Janus given me to trust him in – god, ages?” Virgil spits venomously, “Think of how often he lied to me, to both of us!”

“Yeah, he’s deceit. It’s kind of in the job description.” Virgil shakes his head.

“Not the way he acted.”

“So, what, you don’t trust him with Patton? Gee, Virgil, I thought that you were upset about him being overprotective of you. Looks like you’re turning the table on Pat.”

“I am not being overprotective!” Virgil says, but the waver in his voice indicates otherwise, “It’s just – he didn’t know Janus like we did back then. When we were the outcasts.”

“Oh, open your fucking eyes!” – Multiple sets of eyes suddenly appear around them, littering the sky and trees, before quickly disappearing – “We’re still the outcast. You and Jan have just gotten an upgrade. We’re still the ‘dark sides’, the ones that Thomas is most wary of. That’s never going to completely change, and you know it.”

“Remus, stop it.”

“Stop, what? Telling the truth? I thought you were sick of all the lying?”

“I said, stop it!” Virgil shouts, voice rising in volume.

“He loves Patton. He’s not going to do anything to hurt him, or Thomas, or anyone. The fact that you’re more concerned about Janus’s behavior than mine is ridiculous. I’m supposed to be the one who isn’t to be trusted.”

The prospect of Janus loving Patton, really loving him, and Patton feeling the same is one that Virgil does not know how to compute. Even still, despite his better judgment, he can’t help but dwell on the hurt in Remus’s voice. Why does he sound so wounded, as though he fully expects Virgil to still be terrified of him? And why does Virgil care in the first place?

“I – I never said I trusted you,” Virgil sputters, knowing it’s going to make things worse, but finding himself too overwhelmed not to dig himself in a deeper hole, “It’s just…”

“It’s just, what?” Remus asks, exasperation replacing his usual jovial tone, “Admit it: You don’t even know what you’re afraid of anymore. You don’t know what to expect of Janus because, newsflash, it’s been years since you’ve had a real conversation with him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t about me.”

“Oh, it isn’t, is it?” Remus asks with a laugh, though the sound lacks humor, “You know… Double-D’s never stopped missing you.”

Virgil stifles a cough as the breath is knocked from his lungs. Tightness settles in his chest, constricting and terrible, and he begins walking again, picking up his previous pace.

“Where are you going? I’m not done talking to you!”

“We need to find your brother,” he says without looking back at Remus, walking even faster, “We don’t have time for this.”

“I don’t care!” Remus says, and Virgil isn’t sure which sentence he’s replying to, “We need to talk about this, Virgil. It’s gone on too fucking long.”

“We don’t need to talk about anything!”

“Yes, we do! Do you know how hurt that Janus was when you left us? Do you know how long he mourned you like you’d died?”

“Shut up! Just – just fucking shut up!” Virgil cries, nearly running now, from what, he can’t say. The pressure in his chest increases, the sound of Remus’s footfalls not far behind him sending ripples of panic through him.

“You left us, Virgil! You left us without so much as an explanation! He missed you for years; still misses you! And so do I!”

That sets a pit in Virgil’s stomach like so few things. He can feel the tension crackling in the air, can taste the regret forming on his tongue. Still, he continues forward, desperate not to look back and see the expression on Remus’s face, whatever it might be.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do!” Remus insists, his hand clamping down on Virgil’s shoulder as they breach the gap to Roman’s side of The Imagination.

And then, Remus and Virgil are plunged into darkness, as though the sun itself has been extinguished.

=+=

Uh oh, looks like someone shut out the lights. That can't be good!

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fullsunalicia · 4 years ago

Note

loved rags and riches!! if you have time, could you also write a chenle version, like a crazy rich asians au or like a chaebol au? thank you!

broken hearts club — ZCL

it’s been a long time since someone has touched zhong chenle’s frozen heart. he’s closed it off to the entire world and dedicated it to his music and the empire that he’s going to inherit. somehow though, there’s a girl with a weakness for puppies who manages to light a match for the ice clump that sits in chenle’s chest.

zhong chenle as astrid leong - kind of. :-) i hope you enjoy love. thank you for requesting. <3

Over the years, the map to Chenle’s heart has been destroyed and burnt. Many have tried to recover it, retrace the steps as they try to remember. Not one person comes close, as the only thing Chenle loves is the music and the puppy he was gifted by his favorite cousin, Renjun.

The people call him a narcissist. His family calls him lost.

He calls himself Zhong Chenle. Nothing more, nothing less. He likes sitting together with his band mates and share several bottles of soju. Whenever soneone speaks chinese with him, it sounds like music to his ears. In Korea, far from home, the only chance he gets to use his mother tongue is with Renjun, and Chenle likes it like that. He couldn’t be further away from home, and all the pain that household has brought him.

Some would kill to be in his place. The only heir to a billion dollar sum, and even richer on his own. A famous musician who’s climbing the charts and breaking records everyday. Yet money has always been a curse to Chenle. It gave him heartbreak, distrust and emotional distance to everyone who’s ever been close to him. Chenle’s heart has frozen over, as cold as the arctic, the ice prince of the Zhong family. That’s what his parents have always wanted, anyways - his ex girlfriend out of their eyes, so that they could marry Chenle off to God knows who. When she had cheated on him, they have waited for Chenle with open arms to come back home, just to stab him in the back themselves.

A beggar. That’s what his mother had called Suyin, the only woman he’s ever loved.

Choi Suyin had carved out his heart and locked it in a chest, far away for anyone ever to reach. Like Davy Jones, only that Chenle has never betrayed. He was Calypso, heartbroken and full of fury, bound to his bones. Doomed to roam the world forever, without feeling anything. Detached from reality. It felt like Chenle was standing inside of a glass house, with no way to escape, only ever being able to look out. He recognizes the sorrow and the pain that’s coming to come crashing in someday and wreck him. But there is no way to ever set him free again and honestly, he isn’t even sure if he ever wants to. Love has ruined him; it has ruined his perception of people and of himself. Suyin had wanted him to make her a princess.

He can’t make her something she is not.

The whispers follow Chenle down the hall whenever he is home, though that’s a rare occasion. Fool, they murmur. A blind man. Almost robbed. If he could, he’d smash the glass of his cage and use it to wildly stab around, willing to hurt anyone who gets in the way. He wants them to feel, to suffer what he endures all day and night, a never ending nightmare. The torture of the shining jewelry, sent to him by his mother, serving as a silent reminder of what is waiting for him when the family forces Chenle’s hand and makes him return.

The ghoulish wedding that awaits him. Chenle counts the days, prays that he finds the key to the locker he never wants to see again. Dread fills him at the mere prospect of romance, but he’d rather be in pain for another thousand years instead of being married off like some worthless thing. Like his career never meant something, only some ploy of entertainment, never serious to his parents. It’s all about business, never pleasure, never happiness. To think about the company is more important than to think about your mental health. If that turns you into a psychopath, you’ll just have to make a business idea out of it and see where it gets you.

Therapy to the Zhongs is alcohol, and income. That was the very first lesson to be learnt. It’s deeply ingrained into his soul, and no matter how much time Chenle wastes at his attempts, he cannot wipe it away. Even for music, his first and true love, his mind goes to the sales first instead of the talent the song can pull out of him. Will his voice attract buyers? How should he dress to seduce the crowd? It’s all just a show, and all the roles are casted by him. What a show it is, though.

From the distance, it looks perfect. No stage fright, only elegance. The closer you get, the more you realize it’s a circus. Chenle is the biggest clown you’ll ever set eyes on.

The road to his heart is harsh and frozen. Maybe the damage is too great that anyone will ever be able to walk upon it again. But you’re willing to take the chance.

Chenle looks down as you pet the little Samoyed behind his ear, big smile on your lips. Honest; unusually so. He’s too used to choking on the sugar that keeps dripping from peoples’ lies. And here you are, jumping from stone to stone on the way to his heart, like you’re crossing some river. And you haven’t even looked at him yet.

“This dog is absolutely beautiful,” you hum, the happiness in your voice thrumming inside his head. Pleasing to listen to. “So beautiful, aren’t you? Of course you are. Pretty baby...”

You’ve taken the words out of Chenle’s mouth, but they weren’t exactly for Chan. If he was another man, he’d tell them to you. Because he isn’t, he’d rather choke on them than speak them aloud.

“He really is.” Finally, you look up. Your eyes are as pure as your mouth, see-through, easy to trust. It makes alarms ring in the ice prince’s head, and he’s pulling up the bridges to the castle in panic. He doesn’t know how you managed to do that with one look, and he honestly doesn’t want to know.

He can’t afford to find out. He can’t. Chenle is still reeling from the wound Suyin has inflicted him, running as deep as the ocean, straight through his heart. A cruel metaphor for cupid’s arrow. Still, you make Chenle want to pull it out and offer it to you. Curious whether you’d drive it back in, or break it and set him free.

The hope blooming inside his chest makes him wish for the latter.

Your beauty is already alluring just the way it is, but when your lips curve into a soft smile, you break all the viewers’ hearts in the loveliest way. It’s brighter than any jewel Chenle’s ever set eyes on, and he has already seen enough to last him a lifetime. Sick of them, actually. For you, he’d be willing to try and search for one that matches your radiance. “Love dogs too much to resist,” you admit. “I apologize for caressing the pretty boy out of the blue, but I’ve never been able to turn away from puppy dog eyes.”

“Me, too.” Chenle sinks into a squatting position so you’re both on eye level. It physically hurts to watch you blush. It hurts because he can imagine being the old Chenle who’d ask you on a date right here and there. Careless, without any worry in the world, he would take your hand and offer you the world like he had with Suyin. Because money is a burden, but it only became a curse the moment Suyin had conquered him just to enrichen herself. Become a Zhong, a legend. Have it all and spend it all. She never understood that love is more powerful than any money’s worth in the entire world. “Though that makes me a bad dog owner, doesn’t it? It gets kinda hard to be strict with him when he looks at me in such an adorable way. My baby..”

Chan presses his fuzzy head to Chenle’s palm. The only one in this world who’d ever love him just for being him. Chenle smiles and scratches the back of his baby’s ear, pleased with the rumble Chan lets out at that. Both dog and owner know the other like the back of their hand. You watch the wholesome interaction, the kindness in your eyes makes Chenle soft.

Right now, you’re knocking at the doors to his heart, begging to be let in like in The Princess and the Pea. He forces himself to turn away.

He’s a masochist, but this is too much for even Zhong Chenle.

“Never had a dog again after mine passed away when I was sixteen.” Your voice is a little bit distant now, hollow. Detached. Your heart has been broken in a different way than his has, but the pain is very similar. Chenle recognizes himself in the way you wrap your arms around your own frame, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together. To force the broken pieces to stay in place. He wants to tell you that you’re never going to be able to do that alone, but he’s too much of a coward who doesn’t trust anyone in the world. Not anymore. “Hurt too much. Felt like a betrayal. I still love dogs more than anyone else, but I think I’m just not ready to adopt another one. At least not in the near future.”

Chenle agrees, though you’re talking about two seperate things. He needs to quit love, like an addict checking himself into rehab. It’s a must, not a neccesity. Though it makes him sick to the stomach, he forces himself to stick to the company procedure. Business before pleasure. Business before anything.

❀ ❀ ❀

Love has never hurt you before. Never have you brushed hands with death and decay the way Chenle has, but you see it in his eyes. The passing ghost of a lover who once was. Where should be warmth is steel, the protective shell of a man who wants nothing to do with the world.

But how stunning that man is. Of course, your entire attention had been on the dog first, but when you locked eyes with Chenle - what an experience! The taste of heaven in one look. Sharp features, as dangerous as knives. Unruly dark hair, the color of the sky at midnight, colder than any breeze that’s ever shaken you up. You don’t believe in love at first sight, not in destiny.

Still, you came so close to it. You saw where the universe breathed life into Chenle. The shaping of dying stars and the brightest burning suns. He’s both Pandora’s box and the golden fleece in one. All you had managed to coax out of him was his name, and of course the one of the dog who you spent ten minutes playing with. You’ve not known about Zhong Chenle before, but you certainly do now.

The only son of his prestigious family. World renowned musician, the critics call his voice that of an angel. Of course he is an angel. Have they seen him? Instagram spits out more information than you’d expected to receive, but here you are, reading an article about his ex girlfriend.

Definitely not creepy or anything.

It’s certainly a explanation. The illness-ridden soul of a man so young, he is still clinging to adolescence. Grief is a terrible disease. You weirdly feel like you’ve stepped into a room where people had been arguing, and now the awkward silence is weighing heavy on you. You’d desperately like to walk out, but something keeps you there like an invisible anchor. The lure of someone as gorgeous as Zhong Chenle, with the promise of secrets as sacred as religious scrolls.

You wonder if you would be going too far if you followed the guy on Instagram. That face is too pretty to miss out on. But there’s also your curiousity that keeps drawing you in, makes your mind wonder and wander off to the countless possibilities of who Chenle is who he is. You need satisfaction to bring you back, or you’ll just stay a dead, curious cat.

One that definitely drops her phone on her own face when she sees that the mentioned more-angel-than-man has followed her back. The man has two point three million followers, for Christ’s sake! There would be no way for him to randomly pick you out from the countless names that fill up his notifications, right? Wrong.

There’s a private message waiting for you as you accept his following request.

[07:27pm] @zhcl: i see you found the pictures of chan already.

The tabloids speak of zero interest towards any other person that’s not family or bandmate. So why, pray tell, does Chenle indulge you?

You grasp the opportunity, anyways. You want to find out what lies behind the ice, waiting to be discovered.

[07:33pm] @yn: i was quite distracted by the handsome fellow that photographed him, though.

[07:34pm] @zhcl: very smooth, miss (y/n). were you blushing when you typed that?

[07:34pm] @zhcl: you look too cute to be taken serious when you do.

[07:35pm] @yn: flirting, are we?

You felt the chill when Chenle had spoken to you. The hidden danger behind a calm voice. Still waters which hide deadly sirens. You know now that he was hurt, terribly so, and it made you feel guilty about your interest in him. The world had treated him badly and here you were, acting like it was nothing. You clutch your phone, ready to be heavily told off and the follow to be retracted.

Your heart almost stops when your phone vibrates, the ring tone suddenly much too loud.

[07:39pm] @zhcl: is it working?

❀ ❀ ❀

Chenle’s mother never changes.

When he enters the house, several servants swarm him to help with shoes and jacket, but he passes them all. The hall is cold, freezingly so, unusual for his mother who seems to fuel the open fire with wads of cash. This is the house he’s grown up in, too big for the warmth of love and affection to be felt inside it. The family members too far away from each other to even interact, like stars in the nightsky. Related, but never touching, never in contact. When they do, it detonates a violent supernova, and that never ends good.

Chenle still remembers the smashed glasses at the end of the family event, thrown against the wall by a Huang cousin who’s name Chenle would rather choke on than ever speak again. A Huang, but not of Renjun’s siblings. A bastard, that’s what he is. He, who usurped his father’s power and wastes all his money on sex, alcohol and entertainment. It’s a blessing this guy will never inherit the family business, though he pities Renjun for having to do it. Just as much as he pities himself.

When Suyin had left, the people had started gossiping. Spreading rumors, spreading hope. The ice prince is on the market again, ready to be courted, to fall victim to a woman’s temptation. His parents had spent eternity dragging Suyin’s name through the mud, because she was just an ordinary girl. Not rich, not poor. She works the graveyard shift at a diner and sometimes helps out in her dad’s restaurant for some extra cash. Fashion enthusiast. Homewrecker. The poor girl that was left at the altar because of Suyin - he’s seen the engagement ring on her finger, and he knows what it means to that particular Huang.

Absolutely nothing. The means to an end. A way to keep some more money because of taxes that are shared as an married couple.

To Chenle’s parents, Suyin could have very well been living under a bridge. His mother wishes to wed him with a princess, royal born, not made. Merge companies with people she trusts and strip ressources of. Birds of a feather. Truly, the marriage of the century. Too bad that Chenle only marries out of love. Too bad that’s the thing he’s sworn off for the rest of his life.

His mind punishes him instantly for that lie, your face flashing infront of his inner eye.

Sweet (y/n). It’s a little embarrassing how quick he jumps at his phone at any sign that you could’ve responded, and it scares him to no end. You scare him, with your good intentions and charming smile. When you had agreed to meet each other again, Chenle had let himself be dragged to a café of your choosing. There’s still the lingering taste of coffee cake on it.

Your kiss still burns on his cheek. Never forgotten for a second. A constant reminder.

As clear as day, the memory plays out in his mind. You had looked up to him while he tasted your pastry of recommendation, head lost in the clouds. You’re always thinking about something. You have the same look in your eyes as the one in Renjun’s when he searches for words that can’t be put in the same context as Suyin.

“You know who I am.”

You had stealen his fork and scooped up your own share of the cake. That was rather cheeky of you, paying for the dessert even though Chenle was already getting his wallet out. You’re stubborn. “I’ve heard of you,” you had told him. After listening to so many untruths all of his life, even your honesty starts to hurt in his ears. It makes him uneasy. “But that doesn’t mean I know you. I would like to. Will you let me?”

Not once had you looked scared when Chenle’s hands had turned into fists, the veins on them becoming prominent. The sight of a tortured man who’s trying to keep it together. A face that’s mapped out with sorrow and anger and betrayal. “I could hurt you. I’m afraid there isn’t much left to get to know. I’ve thrown it all away. Did you hear of that?”

You had started cutting the cake in pieces, long lashes caressing your skin as you look down. The wish to touch you had hit him so strongly, it almost shocked him. Chenle leant forward and accepted the fork in his mouth while watching you intently, finding pure satisfaction in the way roses bloom in your cheeks because of it. Eye contact makes you shy. To you, it’s sensual. You lowered your gaze. “I did.” The fork scraped against his teeth. You took another bite on your own and this time, your eyes never left his. “But I enjoy a good treasure hunt here and there. You look precious, Zhong Chenle. I’d like to look for the pieces with your permission.”

Chenle was so certain his heart was dead, its’ last beat defeaned by the wood it was kept in. Despite that, he had felt the jolt as it spurred back to life, making Chenle believe it returned to him, and the fear that comes along with it.

You’re dangerous, like playing with fire. You instilled the desire to be burned inside an ice prince, and that is too much power for one person to possess. So why does he make no effort to stop you?

“Chenle.” The voice sounds too polite for a mother. She descends the stairs, expression neutral, the walk of a queen. In another life, she’d certainly be one. “Qin ai de. You finally came. I was getting rather tired of calling your phone the past few months. Where have you been?”

Avoiding you, he wants to say. Running away from this castle that’s too vacant and lacks the love to be called a proper home. This is a prison, and you’re the warden dragging me in with chains.

But he doesn’t. Chenle slips into the good son role and lets himself be hugged, even though the embrace is void of any warmth. “Busy,” he responds. “I’m a working man, mom. Singing is a career, you know, despite how much you’d like to ignore it. There must be a reason you supported it so much in my childhood days.”

“That’s exactly the reason, son.” His mother begins climbing the stairs again, an unspoken order for him to follow. Chenle suppresses a sigh and begins climbing, too. It’s only noon, but he already feels drop-dead-tired. “Because it was your childhood. I didn’t expect you to turn your back on an empire to play the singing fool for some teenage girls. I suppose that has its’ benefits, but it’s also rather sad to only see my son in the news and not in person. This is your home, Chenle. We’re not going to crown you emperor the second you step back into this threshold. You’ll take over the company when you want to, even though we’d welcome an early decision.”

Bile rises in his throat before Chenle can stop it. Venom, it’s all venom, and you’re the cure. He only has to get through this. Just a day, and then he gets to see you again. “Sure, mom,” he manages to answer. “I’ll think about it.”

“I didn’t expect you to visit. We have company, you know. They’re both quite lovely, though you’ll like the daughter more.”

This is the reason Chenle refuses to be inside this house for even a second. The looming threat of an arranged marriage. No one’s going to force him to take over the company, but his mother would rather take a bullet than ever allow a Suyin ever again. Even if she looks and talks like an angel that goes by the name (y/n).

The entire time, Chenle is silent. He doesn’t even try to acknowledge the fact that his mother is a terrible wingwoman, and a good way to pass the time is to imagine your face, retrace it in his memories. You, insisting to pay, because it’s “your treat”. You, who never steers the conversation somewhere he doesn’t want it to go. The strawberry blush that makes him want to kiss you until you’re breathless.

You’re a threat, (l/n) (y/n). The closer you get to Davy Jones’ keys, the more he wants to push you away and never see you again. At the same time, Chenle wants to go on his knees and beg you to set him free of this locker.

Nothing could have stopped him from taking the next plane home. His bandmates pick him up, but he’ would have liked it to be you. What he doesn’t like is the look in Renjun’s eyes, the man who is Chenle’s kindred spirit. Renjun knows too much. He saw too much. A shared childhood is both blessing and bother.

“Tell me about (y/n).”

“Absolutely not,” Chenle shoots back without hesitation. “See you, Renjun.” With a quick swing, he tries to force the door closed, but his childhood friend wedges a foot between wood and wall and lets himself in.

“Very reactive to that name, aren’t we, Chenle?” Renjun hums and drops on the couch. He accepts the whiskey Chenle hands him, but cusses the second the younger’s hand meets the back of his head. “You do that again and I’ll strangle you, Zhong, friends or not. Now tell me about the damn woman already.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Because you’re a coward.”

“Yes, I fucking am.” Chenle doesn’t usually curse, but talking about you is a weakness. He doesn’t love Suyin anymore, absolutely not. The years have passed and changed him, whether that’s good or bad. But not his wounds, not the injury done to his precious, ice-cold heart. He’s so afraid of being used, tossed aside like an old toy you don’t want to play with anymore. With just a few actions, you’ll be able to tear Chenle down and ruin him forever. He’s barely stitching himself up from Suyin’s attack and now here you are, pleading to be let in. The desire to allow that is immense, so enourmous it makes him lightheaded.

He won’t survive another girl. Not with this kind of life, with his circumstances, with his upbringing. Love him most or not at all. That is all Chenle can offer you, and maybe that’s unfair. But being just has never helped him with anything, and it certainly hasn’t stopped Choi Suyin from ramming her high heels into the shattered pieces of his broken heart as she walked away.

Renjun watches him over the rim of his glass. Silent, but not in the way where he has to think about not wounding Chenle with his words. Just ... confused. Right now, Renjun is offering advice, not shelter. “Chenle, give yourself a break. You’re human. You’re bound to fall in love someday.”

“Not if I can stop it.”

“You’re not a robot,” Renjun hisses, suddenly volatile, and the loud slam of his glass hitting the mahogany table makes Chenle flinch. Not what he had expected. “I’ve watched you rot for years now, and it has done nothing good for you. I am trying to help you, Chenle, trying to save you from drowning, but you’re thrashing around like a mad man. If you continue like this, you’ll sink yourself to the bottom of the river. Do you want to end up like that? Do you?”

The younger man rubs his eyes, tired. It’s been so long, so unbelievably long since hollowness hasn’t ruled over Zhong Chenle. His parents would never approve of you. It’s going to spike another family war.

Quite frankly, he doesn’t give a fuck.

After a few minutes of some peace and quiet, Chenle finally stands up. He rounds the table separating him and Renjun and bows down to hug him, the suprise evident in Renjun’s eyes when he leans back. “You’re a good friend, Jun,” Chenle tells him. His chest feels light. Maybe it knows that the familiar weight of his heart is returning to it. “A true friend. Thank you.”

He leaves his childhood friend on the couch, his mind already far away, in a place where he can put the keys into your hands without fear. Without hesitation.

They belong to you.

❀ ❀ ❀

“See something you like, Zhong?”

Caught in the act, Chenle looks up and meets your eyes. It would be rather disrespectful to comment on your thighs right now, but if the circumstances were different, if you were already his, he’d tell you all about how good they’d look around his waist. Nonetheless, he only shrugs. “That’s a pretty skirt. Shame I’m going to ruin it by throwing you into the sea.”

“Dont you dare!” Your threat is far from being taken seriously, but Chenle is only teasing you, anyways. You’re light on his arms, more doll than human, and he likes the feeling of you clinging to him for safety. It’s weird - warmth and feeling returning to him. It has been winter inside Zhong Chenle for eternity, and now that he’s pushed open the gates, he feels like he stepped into another realm.

Your skin is warm below his touch. If you dislike his arms wrapped around the back of your thighs, you’re certainly not complaining. The walk to the beach is quiet, except for the squeaks and laughs you let out when he intentionally stops and pretends to fall. “You’re impossible,” you mumble when he sets you down on the picnic blankets.

Excuse you? You’re the one who looks like they just fell down from heaven.

“Is there any reason you decided to kidnap me? Because I didn’t get to see Chan one last time, and that is utmost treason. I demand to see my lawyer.”

“You can see him later.” Chenle tugs you closer. Can you feel his heartbeat below your hands on his chest? The sound is so foreign. Since he accepted the fact that you’re a weakness he can’t ignore, he’s been experiencing arrhythmia non-stop. His heart is just not supposed to be there. An ice prince shouldn’t be able to be melted.

He’d really like to see someone who would withstand you, though. You are heaven and hell, in the shape of a mere human, light as a feather in his arms. There are not many in this world who can claim to have Zhong Chenle wrapped around their little finger. Truth be told, only one person has been able to say that. Now, you’ve snatched away the reigning title, and you’ve deemed Chenle’s lap to be an appropiate throne.

Never would he have assumed that you’d do it on your own accords, but Chenle isn’t complaining. He almost purrs when you straddle his lap, soft skirt pooling around your legs. He screws his eyes shut and tries not to think about the lack of clothes between you two.

Scratch that, you’re a devil. And you are fully aware. The giggle you let fall from your lips doesn’t really sound innocent. He wishes to shut you shut you up with a kiss. What he would give to be in a private room right now.. A dark corner... “What’s so funny, (y/n)?” Chenle mumbles before his thoughts can drift further.

“Just how easy you are to fluster.” You laugh again, not even hiding it this time. The wind breezes through your hair, messing up the curls in his place. Are they as soft as they look like? Chenle wants to find out.

“You mean like you are?” He kisses your cheek as you turn red below his lips. This is what love should have felt like. Freedom and carelessness, not the constant need to look over your shoulder. As easy as breathing. As calm as the sea. The keys to his heart are falling from Chenle’s grip, and he’s not sure he even wants to pick them up.

It’s so easy to let go when he looks into your eyes and sees his future.

“Chenle,” you whisper. His shirt crumples in your grip, but he doesn’t care. Chenle lets himself be tugged closer, his own heartbeat jumping erratically, still unused to being out of the box. The ice floes are melting. You’re breaking him free. When his lips finally meet yours, he forgets all about the years he wasted on irrational sorrow. There should be regret about how he’s denied himself of emotions and the world, but you wash it away with all the hope you’re giving him while your lips move against his. You taste like an antidote.

His parents will never accept you. They’ll have Chenle’s head on a plate and deliver it to a family of their own choosing, one they deem perfect as their in-laws, but he counts on you to fight them back, just like how you’re fighting your way into his heart. You didn’t need the map, you wrote your own. You didn’t need a fire, you used your soul.

The key turns in its’ lock. It’s a perfect fit, just like you.

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