#i hope this doesn’t flop ill cry if it does

[lynnbutlertron]

SMILING FRIENDS WAITRESS AU!!! WHERE CHARLIE IS JENNA AND INSTEAD OF MAKING PIES HE MAKES SHITTY CASSEROLES IN HIS LITTLE MAID OUTFIT!!! AND ITS CHARPIM!!!!

[whoacanada]

Zimmerbro AU

Summary: Andrew Phillip Rowe could skate before he could walk, and it wasn’t until he was almost twenty and well on his way to becoming a Las Vegas Ace before he knew why.

a/n: that’s right we’ve got a secret zimmermann brother au based on the fact that Bob was an active pro athlete for almost 15 years before Jack was born and almost definitely had relationships before Alicia. This particular one resulted in a secret love child.

When the call finally went out that year —  a request for players willing to billet the incoming draftees —  Andrew had been the first in line.

His already sparsely decorated guest room had been primed for a new tenant since he’d learned Las Vegas’ abysmal season had earned them the first pick of the 2009 draft. In his mind, Andrew had envisioned a tearful confession. A family reunion nineteen years in the making where he’d finally get a chance to connect with a half-brother he’d grown up learning about through news articles and stats pages.

He wasn’t ready for Jack to pull out of the draft days before the ceremony; wasn’t ready for the claims of an overdose or speculation about suicide attempts. He certainly wasn’t expecting to have to open his home to a young man with limp blonde hair and deep circles under his eyes with the same enthusiasm he’d promised he’d offer to a son of Bob Zimmermann.

Andrew was hoping for a little brother. 

He got Kent Parson instead.

______

“You remind me of my boyfriend.” Kent slurs one night, completely gone on Johnny Walker Blue borrowed from Andrew’s wet bar. “It’s your . . . face.”

“Shouldn’t talk about things like that,” Andrew cautions gently, covering his own surprise. “Never know who might be listening.”

“Who fucking cares? He won’t talk to me,” Kent continues, ignoring him and sniffing like he’s on the verge of sobbing or puking, both options equally unwanted. “They wouldn’t tell me if he was even alive.”

Another unwanted puzzle piece locks into place.

“Jack?” Andrew suggests softly, and Kent begins to cry.

“You won’t tell right?”

Andrew shakes his head no, long enough for Kent’s bleary eyes to focus on the gesture and take it seriously.

Things are different, after that conversation. Not worse, or better, just different.

________

“He’s my brother.”

Andrew admits this one night, for no reason other than that he can.

Kent is across the room, backlit by lights from the Strip, his legs dangling off the arm of his favorite couch as he scrolls through his phone looking for distractions. Parse hasn’t lived with Andrew for almost two seasons, but he still turns up like a bad penny whenever he needs to commiserate with someone who knows his more lascivious secrets. Truthfully, Andrew’s grateful for the company. He’s a pretty genial guy, but he’s always kept his distance, a personality trait he likes to think he shares with an unassuming sibling, but there’s no way to know for sure. The farther Andrew gets from the 2009 Draft, the less faith he has in a reunion that won’t just bring crippling sorrow to everyone involved.

A secret Zimmermann son who actually made it in the NHL. Who has his name on the Stanley Cup, not once, but twice, largely thanks to the spitfire forward lounging in Andrew’s living room.

“Who’s your brother?” Kent asks, not looking up from his phone.

“Jack Zimmermann.”

Kent barks a laugh and rolls his head lazily to smirk at Andrew.

“That’s funny. I guess you kinda have the same chin. Was Marky digging for chirps?”

Andrew has no idea what that means, but he sets down his tablet and says, “No, he’s actually my half-brother. My mom dated Bad Bob in ’84 and got pregnant.”

The lackadaisical smile on Kent’s face falters as his gaze sharpens, like he’s actually looking at Andrew for the first time. Andrew responds by gesturing at himself lamely.

“That’s not funny.”

“No.” Andrew agrees. “It isn’t.”

Kent swings his feet down off the couch and braces himself against the overstuffed leather. He doesn’t look mad, but there’s something too close to disbelief for Andrew to convince himself everything’s okay. It takes a moment, but Kent must find what he’s looking for on Andrew’s face.

“Does Bob know?” Kent asks with that familiar overfamiliarity, as if they both still have some personal relationship with the living legend.

“Yeah. When Mom got pregnant she told him she didn’t want the attention since it was only a fling — ”

“Who the fuck doesn’t lock down Bob Zimmermann?” Kent breathes. “Also, why the fuck did she tell you that?”

“No shit, right? She got him to sign away parental rights, set up a trust, never spoke to him again as far as I know. I didn’t find out until after I signed with the Aces. She didn’t want me to get blindsided if it all came out, but the story never broke.”

“I mean, does Bob know who you are?” Kent questions. “Does Jack?”

Andrew shakes his head no, because he doesn’t think so, and Kent flops back against the cushions, face slack with disbelief; it doesn’t take long for his features to shift to anger.

“You knew this whole time and you didn’t tell me? Even after I told you —“

“Okay, there’s a whole-ass difference between you fucking dudes and and me being ‘Bad Bob’s bastard’,” Andrew bites, curtailing Kent’s imminent hissy fit. Appropriately, Kent closes his mouth, almost pouting.

“Fine. But that’s fucked.” Kent says after a loaded moment of silence. “I’m sorry you’re . . . you.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry you’re you, too.”

“You know Jack’s signing with the Falconers, right?” Kent offers like the worst kind of olive branch, unintentionally telling Andrew exactly what he was up to during that stretch of time between New England games a few months prior. “It’s not public but it’s happening. Ink’s dry.”

“I know. That’s why I told you. It’s gonna be weird,” Andrew swallows, thinking about playing Providence in the coming months.

“Fucking right it’s weird.”

_________

For the most part, the Las Vegas Aces are decent, stand up guys. Even with the accusations of gambling debts and mob connections with the ownership group, Andrew’s never been asked to hit a certain player a little too hard, or to take a dive so the other team gets a shot at a power play. A lot of talk, a lot of conspiracies, ‘Typical Aces hockey’, but there’s no malice. Not really.

Andrew thinks it’s hilarious he plays the game a lot like his estranged father, but he’s not a legend in the making, hell, at this point he’s barely regarded as more than a mid-level, reliable center that can bring home 40 points a season.

Carly whips behind Zimmermann’s back to clip his skate with a stick, dropping a ill advised chirp that sets every player in earshot on edge. Parse is close enough to catch the quiet slur, stiffening like he’s been hit, and Andrew watches Zimmermann recover quickly, steely and resolute. 

Jack has his mother’s eyes — not the warm brown Andrew catches every time he looks in the mirror.

“He’s a fucking goon,” Andrew breathes, gliding up to Jack’s shoulder in lieu of an apology. Zimmermann doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze flicking to Andrew with the quiet rage of ‘who gives a fuck’. Andrew admires his commitment to the game. Coming back after so much, after so long, to willingly subject himself to the same kind of treatment that Andrew knows likely led to his original fall from grace.

“Hey,” Kent ducks his head as he slides up a little while later, mouthguard clenched between his teeth, and asks, “You see his twink?”

At Andrew’s obvious confusion, Kent jerks his head toward the glass behind the Falconers’ bench, to a raucous group of fans all sporting fresh Zimmermann jerseys. Andrew’s gaze drifts along the row of faces, lingering longer on the familiar, handsome couple beside the blonde young man. He may be imagining things — the stadium lights catching a bad angle —  but for the briefest moment, Andrew holds eye contact with his father.

“He’s cute, right?” Kent says bitterly, like he doesn’t have a partner of his own back home.

“Yeah, he is. You gonna do anything about the slurs, Captain?” Andrew counters, earning a stern look from Parson.

“I’ll deal with Carly.”

“Oh, you will? Because I’ve never seen you shut him down before.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Kent’s expression goes stormy, and he gives Andrew a hard shove before skating off to set up for the next shift. To his credit, he does grab Carly by the arm and tell him something that earns a look of displeasure from the larger man, but Andrew knows a verbal warning won’t curtail someone as dead-set in his conservatism as Carly.

The next play, Carly flashes Andrew a toothy smile over the lineman’s shoulder, as if they’re in on the same joke, and his vision goes red.

__________

__________

“Bad Bob’s outside,” Scraps rasps, like whatever brief interaction he’s just had has physically winded him. “He wants to talk to Flip.”

Andrew blinks up from the water bottle in his hands, previously concerned with the pink-stained gauze wrapped around his knuckles. A few of the guys start chirping, but most of them remain silent, still processing the fact that Andrew assaulted one of their own without clear motivation, in defense of an opponent.

“That’s what this was all about? You gunning for a trade?” Sorenson spits from his stall. “Needed to impress Bad Bob by beating the snot out of Carly?”

“Maybe I am,” Andrew sighs, pushing himself to his feet, wincing at the way his jaw aches from the few good hits Carly had managed to squeeze in before he went down. “What the fuck are you gonna do about it.”

_______

Andrew’s grateful he kept his skates on. He needs the boost of confidence that comes with the added height, especially when he finds Bob Zimmermann waiting patiently in the corridor like he’s just another staff member and not the second most recognizable figure in modern hockey.

“Hey kid,” Bob greets, casting an approving, overly-familiar eye over Andrew’s padded bulk and sweat-slick hair. “You can throw a hell of a punch. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy beat the piss out of a teammate before. Off ice, sure, but never during a game.”

His accent is just as thick in private as every interview Andrew’s ever caught live — but his tone is unexpectedly warm, even grateful — when Bob laughs at his own recounting of Andrew’s assault attempt, the sound is light and joyous like nothing in the world comes easier to this titan of a man.

Andrew wonders if Bob can recognize the chin they share beneath a his playoff beard; if there’s any resemblance left in a nose that’s been reset a half-dozen times.

Andrew grew up loved and never wanted for anything. His step-fathers, both of them, had been good men who never left him looking for a father figure. It wasn’t until his twenties that Andrew even realized there was hole where his bio-dad should have been, and not just a regular hole, a yawning sinkhole threatening to devour his entire sense of self, because his biological father turned out to be a man he grew up idolizing as a personal hero.

He’s not mad at his mother, but when Andrew struggles to find his voice — which is bullshit seeing as he’s almost thirty-five and a god-damned professional athlete — he can’t stop himself from feeling like a misplaced child.

“Do you,” Andrew swallows, looking over Bob’s shoulder to see if anyone’s watching them. Finding they’re alone, he rallies quietly, “Do you know who I am?”

Bob’s jovial expression softens into something remorseful, but unfathomably kind. “I do, buddy,” he acknowledges, somehow squeezing three decades of affection into one term of endearment. “I’ve known for some time, now. The whole time, actually.”

That hurts more than expected.

“Does your wife? Does Jack?”

Bob shakes his head, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Alicia knows, and Jack has some idea he’s got a half-brother, but it’s all in the abstract. No specifics. Definitely doesn’t know you play. I wanted to respect your privacy and your mother’s wishes. She let me know she’d told you the truth a few years back and I wanted to give you the space you needed if you decided to reach out. When you didn’t, well, a man makes assumptions.”

Andrew looks down at the concrete beneath his skates and sniffs hard, fighting nasal drip from the smelling salts he’d needed in the third period; or, at least, that’s what he tells himself. “I had a plan, back when — ” he stops himself, looking down at his skates. Bob’s eyebrows lift in curiosity, leaving room for Andrew to gather his thoughts, but he doesn’t take the bait, unable to bring up what could have been just yet. Bob seems to grasp the context after the moment.

“2009,” he acknowledges softly. “Hell of a year.”

“Yeah. It was. Is he okay?”

“What, Jack? He’s leagues ahead of where he was then —”

“No, I mean, tonight. Carly clipped him pretty hard before I got in there.”

“Oh, a little bruised up, but he’ll live. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Okay.”

Andrew looks down at his bandaged fist and realizes he’s completely forgotten how gnarly his face must look.

“Trainer says I’m alright, but I’m gonna get leveled with a wicked fine, I know it.”

“Was it worth it?” There’s a look of guilty pride on Bob’s face, like the man’s enjoying himself a little too much when he leans in and whispers, “You just did something I’ve wanted to do since Jack was in mites. Fucking lay out one of those fuckers that’s got nothing better to do than bitch because they can’t play,” there’s a moment of hesitation, as if he’s worried about pushing a boundary, before he adds, “How’d it feel to look out for your little brother?”

Pride, it turns out, in contagious, and Andrew feels like he could go back on the ice and do it all over again. “Pretty fucking great,” Andrew can’t help a smile, wincing when the gesture pulls at his split lip.

Bob slaps a hand on Andrew’s shoulder pads, then gets a grip on the back of his head, heedless of his sweaty hair.

“Crisse, you’re a fuckin’ beaut, kid. I’ve wanted to tell you that for years.”

Andrew can’t blame the smelling salts anymore.

__________

Jack clearly doesn’t see his father standing there with red-rimmed eyes, or Andrew in an equally unkempt state, and has no reason to think anything untoward has happened when he offers a handshake and pulls Andrew into a hug, bouncing his free fist off the back of Andrew’s pads. “I owe you a drink,” Jack says decisively when he pulls back, shooting a grin between his father and Andrew. “Can’t believe you did that.”

“More than a drink, I think,” the blonde guy Andrew saw behind the bench pipes up. Jack’s ‘twink’. Boyfriend. Whatever. “Dinner at least.”

“A pie,” Bob suggests tightly, keeping his voice even as he turns to quickly scrub his fist over his eyes. Andrew recognizes the statuesque woman who strides up beside Bob, and one quick look tells him she definitely knows who he is.

“Hello, Andrew,” Alicia greets softly, genuinely. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” he says, the tightness in his throat coming out as gruffness rather than emotion. “This is great, but I should go shower and, uh, it was nice meeting you all.”

Bob’s hand whips out and fists the sleeve of Andrew’s sweater, keeping him in place.

“You have plans tonight?”

Andrew debates lying, because he doesn’t know how to move forward from this point, but they’re all looking at him. Waiting. Expectant. There’s too much at stake, and yet somehow — A sharp whistle drags Andrew’s attention back to the locker room. Kent is peeking his head out, and god knows how long he’s been eavesdropping.

“Yo, Zimmermanns. Bittle.”

“Parson.” The blonde says curtly, earning a wry smirk from Kent.

“Flip, we got a presser if you feel like putting a bow on the evening,” Kent’s gaze drifts to Bob’s flushed face, and he adds, “Or, you can shower and slip out the loading bay while I cover for your aggro ass because this is not going to be fun. Your call.”

Andrew looks at the small family surrounding him, his family, and says, “I don’t want to explain.” Kent shrugs and ducks back inside while Bob’s brow furrows in confusion. “I can do dinner, but I don’t want to,” Andrew holds his hands out in front of him, trying to gesture what he means, and Bob snaps his fingers in understanding.

“Ah, ha, I got you, kid.”

“Neat. I’m gonna go shower.”

“We will be here when you’re ready,” Alicia offers. “Take your time.”

“Oh, I will,” Andrew replies before he can stop himself, cringing the second his back is turned because what the fuck could he be any more awkward?

Time will tell.

_____________

.

[cdroloisms]

hey guys !! i am back lmao ,, sorry ive been a bit busy with irl stuff but MANNN that quackity stream huh ????

i’ll be working on asks today, but first have this quick snippet i wrote up following that stream bc holy hell that’s gonna be the only thing on my brain for days now. take care of yourselves, and PLEASE be cautious - this is DARK content, thanks to this frickin arc jfc the streamers did NOT hold back huh.

for anything to do with quackity’s stream and its implications i’ll be tagging with -> q stream aftermath , so feel free to block that if you don’t want to see it!

tws: aftermath of torture, (physical/emotional) abuse, blood, head trauma, trauma, death mention, dissociation, mental illness, unhealthy coping mechanisms, dark content, injury, c!sam critical, c!quackity critical

A hand runs through his hair.

Dream blinks, slow. His eyes are heavy. Sam's hand is in his hair, his head in his lap, and it's nice. It's so nice. He blinks again, feels his eyelids slide over his eyes, lashes brushing against his cheeks, and for a moment he doesn't know if he has the strength to draw them back up.

The hand in his hair stops, pulls. "I said stay awake, prisoner."

Dream's eyes snap open. The Warden stares down at him, eyes red and narrow through the mask. He's angry. Dream whimpers, pulls away, stops; that's not allowed. The hand in his hair tightens and another soft, high-pitched noise leaves his lips; his throat hurts.

The Warden sighs, and Dream stares at the wall. The block he's facing is crying obsidian; a drip runs down its leftmost edge, tracing a crack in the dark block. Dream watches. It's purple. Purple is a pretty color. He didn't have purple before the Warden put in the crying obsidian but now he has purple all around him and it's pretty. He likes purple.

The hand loosens, goes back to running through his hair, and Dream relaxes. It's nice. Nobody's done this in a while; it must be special, for Sam to be here. Usually it's the Warden (or worse, Quackity) but right now it's just Sam brushing gentle fingers through his tangled hair and making tap-tap-tap noises of his fingers against the obsidian and moving to the rhythm of his breathing at the side of Dream's face. Sam is nice.

Not many people are nice anymore.

"Prisoner-" the Warden is back again, pulling his head back harshly with one hand so he has to look up into the creeper mask, "What did I say about staying awake?"

Dream looks up, watches the Warden; he has to stay awake, or the Warden will be mad. He has to stay awake, or the Warden will be mad. He has to stay awake or the Warden will be mad. HehastostayawakeortheWardenwillbemad-

"Prime," the Warden grumbles, grips him by the side of his jaw, moves him to look at him closer. "He got you hard in the head, didn't he?"

Dream blinks.

"That regen potion better do what it's meant to do; we still need the information from the book." The Warden lets go of Dream's head, and it falls back into his lap. It's soft. Not many things are soft anymore either. He hears a heavy sigh above him. "You there, Dream?"

Dream nods. He has to respond when the Warden asks him a question. He'd talk, but his tongue feels heavy and his throat hurts and everything hurts if he thinks about it too much so he floats, instead, focusing on the feeling of Sam's hand in his hair.

"You can just tell Big Q everything, you know," Sam's other hand brushes over one of Dream's bandages, and he flinches away. Quackity went too far today, the Warden said. He nearly died. He's not allowed to die until he tells them about the book. His head is hurting a lot, just like everything is hurting a lot, but the world is going fuzzy in the edges a little like when he'd go floaty, push himself as far away from the cell in his head as possible. "If you just tell Quackity then we won't have to keep going."

It's tempting. Dream won't ever tell Quackity, because Quackity wants to hurt people and isn't going to stop at anything to get it. Dream saw it, during the election, then with the creation of Mexican L'manburg, then the first time he entered the cell - Quackity doesn't care about much at all besides his city, and Dream wishes he could care as little as him. He won't tell Quackity, he can't, but this isn't Quackity.

This is Sam, his green hair flopped over his face, crown shining soft and golden over his forehead, gentle hands smoothing Dream's hair from his forehead. This is Sam, holding him in a way no one has for months, warm and soft and kind, and for a moment Dream's back at the community house roof, sprawled in a mess of blanket and pillows and watching the fishes with his friends on all sides.

It's not a perfect image. Sam's armor is scratched and the air smells of blood and the eyes looking down at him are dark and flinty and cold, the Warden's eyes, and Dream aches all over in a way that makes it hard to breathe but it's - close. When he blinks and his eyes are closed for a moment he's away and out and the world is lovely and kind and it's enough.

It has to be enough.

"Dream," the Warden calls, voice steely, and the image fades. The knowledge he's kept locked rises in his throat, settles there. Sam watches him, prompting. "If you tell us everything, then we'll stop."

Please stop, he nearly begs. It doesn't matter if he does. He's learned that now.

He looks away, instead. He's done everything for this book. Lost everything, for this book. He can't tell, not when telling means Quackity can use it to hurt everyone, not when it's the last thing keeping him useful, not when useful is the last thing keeping him alive. The Warden sighs, heavy, damning.

"You better get ready for the visit tomorrow, then," the Warden says, standing, letting Dream drop to the ground. Something cold and sorrowful rises in his chest - where has Sam gone? Why did the Warden have to come back? "We'll continue this after, prisoner."

Sam, something in him calls, desperate, young. Please.

Out here, he just watches as the man disappears into the lava.

Sam is nice. He hopes that he can see Sam again, soon.

[dear-mrs-otome]

Johann Georg Faust - 2nd Birthday (His POV) - Yet Another Terrible Summary

(Faust: "...The children will wake up.")

Here is my irreverent, only nominally-guaranteed accurate rendition of Faust’s 2nd birthday story in his POV.

(We start with a one-liner, ‘narrator voice’ Faust saying how he had learned from a very young age that the world was an absurd place.)

It’s February 28th, and at his church, MC has arrived with a bag she offers him, claiming they’re delicious treats she wanted to share. He asks if she’s there to celebrate his birthday, pointing out to her there’s no February 29th this year. She deflates, grumbling that she hadn’t expected him to see through things so quickly, and he tells her that if she does something like that out of the blue of course he’s going to wonder why.

He can’t believe she’s trying again, after he’d told her last year he didn’t want to celebrate and that the day was meaningless - it’s merely the day he was found after having been abandoned as a baby. No sentimentality to it. But he can also clearly recall the way she’d told him last year she wanted him to be happy on his birthday...and bemused by that sentiment still, he takes the proffered bag.

He says that if it’s a gift, he’ll take it because he can think of someone it’ll make happy. MC finally notices the small child hovering around when he says this, and she has a spittake moment of ILLEGITIMATE KIDDO?? Faust teases her about having a very wild imagination, causing her to sputter, and he pinches her cheeks lightly at her flailings before he hands the bag of candy off to the little boy.

The child seem incredulous at the gift, but MC assures him she’d be happy if he ate it, and she asks him his name. The boy tells her it is Hugo in a small voice. She asks Hugo if he’s from around here, but Faust answers for him - he says he is, but he’s due to circumstances he’s about to take the child to the orphanage now.

MC surprises him by asking if it’s no bother, can she come along too? He tells her it makes no matter to him - wondering to himself if she’s worried about the kiddo. She thanks him, and urges little Hugo to get ready to go, his little hand fast in hers.

They’re greeted by the orphanage matron when they arrive, who kindly welcomes Hugo to his new home. MC hands the boy off with a soft look, and Faust is all in a hurry to leave now that his duty is done...when one of the orphan children notices the priest and the lady and calls out to them.

Spotted, Faust thinks, and no sooner has the first kid called out than the rest of the kids come running over as well, all crowding around him and clamoring for them to stay and play.

Faust immediately shuts the idea down, but MC cajoles that if they have time, they should stay and play. He warns her that she will only regret the idea - when they’re interrupted by the matron asking if they wouldn’t mind actually? She’s short-handed on help and needs to step out to get some things but can’t leave the kids unattended.

She really is not taking no for an answer, and thus Faust and MC find themselves babysitting the orphanage until she returns.

Some time later, Faust is pulling an ‘I told you so’ on an exhausted MC, who’s been run ragged by the eager children. She flops to a seat, and looks up at him soberly, where he’d just picked up a child and put them to sleep. She observes that he’s good with the children, and he says he has practice - he used to take care of some a long time ago.

He spares a moment to wonder to himself how many of them grew up to lead out their lives, given how life in an orphanage long ago was far from easy. Then as he’s looking out over the children he realizes they’re short one, and says as much aloud.

MC and he go searching, and shortly they find Hugo outside near the gates, huddled and shivering in the cold winter air. Faust realizes this is more than simply being sad about his new surroundings, and it’s MC tries to herd him inside so he doesn’t catch a cold.

But little Hugo balks, and he says no, he wants to stay here - if he caught a cold and died, would he meet his mom and dad in heaven?

Faust realizes from the stunned expression on MC’s face that she’s finally understood the truth of Hugo’s situation. His parents both had died in an accident and he was forced to enter the orphanage when no one came to collect him after the funeral. Faust thinks it’s not unreasonable for Hugo to be saddened, but…

“There’s no guarantee you’ll meet someone who has passed on. It’s pointless to choose death for that,” he tells Hugo. “Unless of course someone were to be dissected after death for posterity...then their death wouldn’t be a total waste.”

MC sputters at him for saying such a thing to a child, but Faust is remorseless, still thinking it’s foolish to have any hopes or expectations for after death. As a priest, he often tells people that ‘those who pass on are ushered into the kingdom of heaven’...but he himself has never seen Heaven, or God provide any sort of salvation.

Hugo wonders aloud why his mom and dad had to die? Why did God decide such a thing?

Faust tells him that the world is an absurd place and urges him that if he has any sort of doubts, to think about how he can live in defiance of his destiny...rather than letting winter’s cold choose life or death for him. He takes his jacket off and slips it over those tiny shoulders, and watches as MC wipes away the tears that fall from Hugo’s eyes, comforting him.

He thinks...that he cannot recall what sadness is, what it feels like anymore. But he can tell how incredibly warm the hand MC slips into Hugo’s is.

After they’ve gotten the children all settled for their nap, MC replaces Faust’s jacket with a blanket on the sleeping Hugo and turns to him, holding it as she stares at him. He finally asks her, what?? And she asks what sort of children it was he’d spent time with in the past.

Faust teases her about asking something out of the blue like that, and for being so keenly interested - startling him when she unapologetically agrees that she does want to know about him, and if he tells her she’ll return his jacket.

Faust grumbles that it’s a lame deal, given that it’s not a fun story to hear...but he doesn’t get the impression that she’s asking out of idle curiosity or a whim alone, so he indulges her. He tells her that when he was a baby, he was found by an older nun and grew up in an orphanage located in an old church. He says that they were terribly poor, but he survived, and when he got older he helped take care of the other children. Many of them would die before winter’s end, or disappear after being taken in by foster parents.

Eventually, he was fostered out himself and the nun who raised him died of an illness, and the orphanage was closed. End of story.

He thinks that the abbreviated version he told her was the parts that didn’t hurt...but she still looks up at him with a sadness in her eyes when she asks what sort of woman was the nun?

Faust says that she was incredibly kind, too kind to ignore an abandoned child, and probably too compassionate for her own good.

He thinks how she was kind up until the very end, giving and giving of herself to anyone….and he recalls a time when she’d come to him.

“Thank you for taking care of everyone, Johann” she had said. “But why don’t you put the books down and go play?”

“It’s fine. Even if I make friends with them, they will all leave someday,” he had told her.

“Johann...The reason why you never cry is because you keep your sadness locked away…”

He can still see the sad smile she had worn and hear the conversation they’d had, rising to the surface of a sea of old memories. He coldly waits for those lingering remnants to pass...when his reverie is interrupted by MC telling him she’s thankful the woman found little Faust. That even if the world is an absurd place, she’s happy to be able to celebrate his birthday with him now.

Her words stun him into silence, leaving him only able to stare at her faint smile. He’d never thought of it that way - the consideration to be thankful for such a thing. Her words shed a new light on his cold memories, and sneak their way into his heart.

He teases her though, saying that she speaks of odd things and he wonders if she’s merely angling to dig through people’s pasts and root out their weaknesses. A sputtering MC vehemently denies she’d do such a thing and accuses him of being a smartass, and righteously stomps towards him to shove the jacket back at him...when she steps on a stray toy block, loses her footing, and crashes into him.

They both tumble to the ground, her atop him, and she’s staring down at him wide-eyed as she beings babbling apologies - only to have them fade into muffled sounds when he quickly reaches up and presses her face onto his chest to stifle her voice.

“You’ll wake the children,” he warns her...though he pauses a moment to linger on the soft feel of her cheek on his bare skin, where his shirt has fallen into disorder. He’s thinking, this woman is unbelievable, as he chides her for such - sighing heavily and asking if she gets a kick out of bothering him.

But he’s getting a kick out of her blushing face and her averted eyes, the sight stirring his mean streak enough that he can’t let the opportunity to give her a hard time pass. He teases her about being the one with the red face when she pushed him down...and is amused by her appalled reaction. He says she’s something else to straddle a man with a face like that, right next to a bunch of sleeping children...and he strokes his hands up the thighs that bracket his hips, enjoying the little sigh she lets out.

The moment is broken by a soft sound from one of the children tossing in their sleep, and MC leaps off him like a scalded cat. The whole situation is so incredibly absurd that Faust can’t help laughing, even if it’s met by a glare from MC as she asks him what is so funny.

He’s still chuckling as he points out her reaction, and how amusing it all was...all the while thinking, it has been a very long time since he has laughed so much. He slips back on the jacket she shoves at him, and tells her that he never gets tired of watching her - he wants to keep her close at hand, so he can observe her always.

His words have her turning her face away, but the look in her eyes before she does makes him happy. He wants to know more about her, he thinks. What manner of things would he discover, if he caught her and kept her all to himself, and figured out what made her tick? Her presence in this world, that he looks at through such cold eyes, stirs his heart.

FIN

(many thanks as always to @mikotomizuki for giving this a second set of eyes!)

[angelyuji]

Obey Me Demons’ Toxic Traits

inspired from the haikyuu boys’ toxic traits by @haikchoo-main

heyyy i know i said i’d write this like a month ago, but i hit some writers block for this lolz. no angels or Solomon sorry :/ anyway enjoy! <3

cw // mentions of cheating, insecurities, break-ups, controlling behavior, angst

Lucifer: he’s not used to not be denied. he’s so used to everyone following his orders that being told “no” is new and annoying. he doesn’t like not being in charge so when he tells you to do something and you say no, he fucking loses it. not like temper tantrum but like he’s about to murder you and rip your limps off your body for defying him. have fun with that.

Asmo: asmo has never been in a committed relationship, his entire personality is based on being a flirt and being with multiple people at once. so, if you guys are dating, you’re going to have get used to the sight of him flirting with every pretty person he sees. he doesn’t understand monogamy like why limit yourself to one hot person when you can have a lot of hot people?

Beel: he puts you on a pedestal. you’re virtually perfect in his eyes. no matter what happens, it’s never your fault. you guys never argue because you’re always right…even when you’re wrong. in his mind, you can do no wrong, so if you ever do something that breaks that pedestal, he’ll start realizing that you’re not the amazing person he thought you were. and instead of learning and realizing that humans make mistakes, he thinks that means you guys aren’t meant to be and will break up with you.

Satan: his love language is being mean. he teases you and pokes at your insecurities. he crosses the line multiple time, but calls you too sensitive when you get upset. he gets angry at you for “not being able to take a joke”. he’s used to being mean to everyone he meets and doesn’t realize that being mean is actually fucking mean. he’ll roll his eyes when you get angry, and call you manipulative when you cry at his insults. you can try to tell him that his “jokes” crosses a line, and he’ll try to not be as mean, but it feels fake to you and him and he’ll get angry at you for trying to change him…good luck lol

Belphie: scheduling anything with him is a mess. he’s forgetful and lazy. he either forgets that you guys have something planned or will get too tired and flake. trying to get him out of bed takes forever, so making plans is frustrating for you and him. he’ll get upset that you’re interrupting his sleep and you’ll get upset that he never even tries to show up to your date. either you’ll have to get used to date nights in his room or you’ll have to drag him out of his room and watch as he falls asleep during your date.

Mammon: with mammon, he expects you to know what he’s thinking constantly. he won’t tell you how he’s feeling, but he expects you to know anyway. is he pushing you away? shouldn’t you know that it’s because he’s feeling insecure? is he pouting at you? shouldn’t you know that means he’s hungry? he wants you to tell him everything you’re feeling, but doesn’t tell you how he feels. he just assumes you’re a mind reader. maybe he doesn’t understand that communication is key, maybe he’s insecure and afraid that you’ll leave him if he talks about what he wants. you probably won’t know without sitting him down and talking about how he needs to be more open.

Levi: levi is very, very, very emotional. like he feels the most intense negative emotions with you (not saying there is no positive emotions, but that the negatives ones take over and cause him to spiral). you could mention that you really like the outfit he wore last week, he’ll start stressing about if you like the outfit he’s wearing now. you probably don’t know that every comment you make on anything is stored in his head and used as information to overthink about. if he makes a joke and you don’t laugh, he’ll get sad and start talking about how he’s not funny and how he’s a worthless boyfriend. if you (somehow) win against him in a video game, he’ll spiral and talk about how he’s bad at everything. (kind of reminds me of a pick-me guy) you’ll be constantly reassuring him that he’s amazing and a good boyfriend. (lowkey exhausting for people with a short fuse)

Diavolo: diavolo doesn’t take anything seriously. everything is fun and exciting and nothing is truly serious. you can never have a serious conversation. the only thing he’s ever serious about his RAD and the kingdom. to him, your relationship is supposed to be carefree and something that isn’t supposed to stress him out. so if you guys ever get into an argument, he will not care. he doesn’t think he’s supposed to care. if the relationship is starting to stress him out, he’ll break up. diavolo didn’t sign up for someone that exhausts him, he signed up for someone he wants to have fun with.

Barbatos: barbatos is used to taking care of someone and coddling them. so, when you’re dating, he doesn’t really let you make choices of your own. he does things for you, he does the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping, and won’t really let you do any work. are you at a restaurant? barbatos will pick and order food for the both of you. are you out shopping? barbatos will choose clothes for you to wear. he’s not very good at handing over control. he’s ordered around by diavolo, but also enjoys doing everything for him. he likes controlling you and doing everything for you. (in my opinion, barbatos is super adaptable, so just telling him “hey, chillax” will get him to stop being so controlling)

-

ok so this turned into “toxic traits and how to stop the demons from being toxic” . i based these off of different stories and devilgram stories in the game, and just things i think would be their worst traits:) if this doesnt flop, ill write some for the angels and solomon :) anyway love u and hope yalls liked <3

[montrealmadison]

t'étais réel parce qu'il t'aimait

or, “you were real because he loved you”

i work at a place that accepts children’s book donations, so when “the velveteen rabbit” came across my desk the other day, the beginnings of this popped into my head. then the lovely lau at @weneedtotalkaboutfic​ posted this and also this about ftm!bitty and my brain just took off! enjoy <3

“Has her fever gone down?”

Bitty blows out a long breath and twists around to look at the clock, on the off chance that it’ll give him a better answer than the truth—but all it tells him is that it’s 8:07, and he’s exhausted.

“No.” He pins the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so he can dry his hands. “Hasn’t budged all day.”

On the other end, his mama hums sympathetically. “It will, baby. Y’all are doin’ everything right.”

“Thanks,” he sighs, folding the dishtowel over the oven handle. “It’s just—I hate that she’s so uncomfortable.”

Bitty used to think that he’d made his peace with chaos. He’s moved schools, changed sports, reinvented himself half a hundred times. He’s come out on national television and transitioned publicly on the Internet. He’s written a book, is in the process of drafting another. He’s married to one of the most prominent NHL players in the league, for crying out loud.

But sick toddlers, Bitty is learning, are a whole other hockey game.

read more below or on ao3

Thankfully, at least the kitchen routine is muscle memory at this point: pots dried, dishwasher started, dog fed and watered for the night. The mess in here isn’t too bad, all things considered. He checks the lock on the back door and then lets himself sag against the counter, just a little. It’s been a day. A week, really. He's barely slept for the stress of it all.

“Dicky, honey, you sound like you need a break.” He can picture the frown on his mama’s face when she says it. Funny how her voice still feels like a hug from seven states away. “How’s Jack? Is he alright?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Upstairs puttin’ Ellie to bed, bless him.”

“Good. Well, listen, y’all call anytime if you need us, alright? Your daddy and I will be up, we’re goin’ to the Callahans’.”

“Ooh. Save the good gossip for me?”

“You know I will,” Mama promises with a laugh. “Now go on and sit down for me. I love you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Love you too,” Bitty says, almost absently, and flops onto the couch as the line clicks into silence.

He tries to relax—promise, he really does—but he only makes it about five minutes before the worry wins out and he has to get up again. He just can’t sit still today, especially when he hasn’t heard anything from upstairs in so long. He climbs the stairs and starts down the hall towards Giselle’s room, but pauses and peeks around the doorframe at the soft sound of Jack’s voice.

In the dim light, he can just make out Jack’s giant form carefully folded to fit into Ellie’s bed, one foot planted firmly on the floor to keep him balanced. Bitty presses a hand over his mouth, trying to resist the sudden urge to laugh at the sight of his husband trying to fit in a bed made for a toddler. Thankfully, it works, because neither Jack nor Giselle notice him—their daughter’s curled up next to her papa, tired and sleep-soft, with her flushed little face on Jack’s chest and her slow-blinking eyes fixed on the book in his hands.

The dog’s on the floor in here, too, tail thumping away against the carpet. He huffs, looks up at Bitty with big, understanding eyes as if to say: We got it in here.

Which is clearly the case—they’re already in the middle of a story. Jack is reading in soft, measured tones: “And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

It's the French translation, but Bitty feels himself melt almost immediately. He’d recognize The Velveteen Rabbit anywhere. It’d been his favorite as a baby, part of the reason his mama had come home one day with Señor Bun, and—well, the rest is Bittle family history. He leans in the doorway, closes his eyes and drifts while Jack reads.

He’s had a lot of time, now, to learn the differences between French Jack and English Jack, and why each language is important to him—especially where teaching his children is concerned. In French, his voice is softer, lilting, expressive in a way that transfixes Giselle and Bitty alike. Bitty himself has fallen asleep to the sound of that voice many times, and is mostly impressed that Ellie can still fight her own exhaustion just to listen a little longer.

Jack turns the page, and Bitty watches as his face and his voice soften with emotion at the next line: “And then, one day, the Boy was ill.”

Oh. Bitty remembers this part well, too—remembers the feeling of his own mama curled around him when he was sick as a kid. Remembers Coach’s shadow in the doorway, his quieter concern, his gentle hand on Bitty’s shoulder. Jack goes on: “But the Rabbit snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to.”

Bitty remembers Señor Bun, equally patient, snuggled up under his chin, and has an idea. He backs quietly out of the room and retreats down the hall to their bedroom, where the bunny himself is propped on the pillows, waiting for them to come to bed. Bittly inhales the familiar scent of the fabric, looks into his bright embroidered eyes. He swears they look understanding somehow.

“You ready to work your magic, buddy?” he asks. “Let’s go.”

Jack does notice him this time, eyes crinkling in acknowledgment when he sees Bitty in the doorway. His voice is getting softer now, the words slowing in time with Giselle’s blinks, and Bitty crosses the room to lay Señor Bun in their daughter’s arms.

Neither of them move until they’re sure that Giselle is asleep at last; even then, Jack extracts himself from the bed as quietly as possible, smoothes the covers over her with a feather-light touch. When they meet in the hallway, Jack presses his face into Bitty’s neck. They stand there in the quiet, breathing together, for a long time.

“How is she?” Bitty finally asks.

“Hot,” Jack says, frowning. “I gave her another Tylenol.”

Bitty sighs deep, presses his forehead into Jack’s chest. “Mm, okay. Let’s hope she kicks this soon.”

“She will,” says Jack. “She’s our kid, that’s gotta count for something, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Despite himself, Bitty finds that a smile comes easily enough. It always does with Jack’s reassurance. “Gotta be tough in this family.”

Jack laughs lightly. “Yeah.”

They retreat to their bedroom, turning off lights as they go. Their nighttime routine, too, is as comfortable as breathing now. When Bitty comes back from brushing his teeth, he finds Jack in bed, reading glasses on, still flipping through The Velveteen Rabbit.

“I’m glad you picked that one for her,” says Bitty slowly. “That was my favorite book as a kid.”

Jack turns it over in his hands, looks up at Bitty with warmth in his eyes. “This one?” he asks, smiling. “That explains Señor Bun, eh?”

“Yeah.” Bitty has to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat, and almost immediately finds himself blinking back hot tears. He bites his lip. “Well, and I, um—no, it’s stupid.”

“Bits?” says Jack, concerned. He closes the book and sits up. “Hey, no it’s not. Why else was it important?”

Bitty looks down. “I used to want to be Real,” he says, all in a rush. “Just like the Rabbit. Used to wish there’d be a fairy that would see how unhappy I was, and come and—oh, Lord—”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain; all of a sudden he’s crying in earnest, days of pent-up stress and fear rushing past the floodgates at once. Jack makes a soft sound and holds Bitty close, letting him cry it out, rocking him just a little. His hands are big and warm on Bitty’s back.

“Shh, bud, hey,” he says. “That’s not stupid at all.”

Bitty sniffles and scrubs at his eyes, lets out a burst of slightly hysterical laughter. “I—God. I don’t know what it is, I was looking at you and Ellie and—I don't know, I just wish the person I was when I first read it could see me now. I wish that little kid hadn’t had to go through all the shit I did to get here.”

Jack doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls back a little. Bitty looks up, confused—but Jack’s just reaching behind him to grab the book off his nightstand, flipping through it until he finds the page he wants. Then he puts an arm back around Bitty’s shoulders and pulls him close, kisses his temple.

“Generally,” he reads, in English this time, “by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”

He fixes Bitty with those bottomless blue eyes. "I hope you'll let me keep telling you," he says slowly, "that it all meant something, bud. You made yourself real. You gave us our daughter."

Bitty laughs, watery. "I did."

"You did." Jack kisses him again, soft and full of meaning. "And I promise I'll never stop trying to understand."

[toosicktoocare]

Jason knows the second he’s pulled from sleep by a low vibration close to his head that today’s going to go down in the books as, to put it simply, a bad day. There’s a dull sense of pressure in his head, pushing lightly against the base of his skull, and his phone buzzing insistently beside his head is only heightning his overall awareness that he’s got one hell of a mirgaine trying to grow against his brain. 

He slaps his hand around blindly for his phone, squeezing his eyes shut against the drum of pressure as he clumsily presses answer on his phone with a groan. 

“Look, Dick Brain, I’ve already told you that I’m not teaming up with you lot of dumb birds tonight. I have my own shit, so you you all need to keep your shit to yourselves.” 

“Master Jason?”

Jason isn’t prepared for the polite accent on the other line, one that’s distinctly laced with an air of disappointment. He shoots up in bed, his free hand flying to push against the alarming wave of pressure that’s blooming across is forehead. “Shit, Alfred. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.” 

“I assumed as much. Did I wake you?”

Jason clears his throat to rid the lingering dryness from sleep that’s coating his throat. He blinks slowly at the digital clock on his bedside table until his mind finally makes sense of the numbers and orders: 10:22 AM. 

He contemplates lying for a breath of a moment only to chase the thought away with a shake of the head. Alfred will know; he always does. 

“Yeah,” he laughs quietly. “Guess I slept in a little.” 

“Are you quite alright, Master Jason? It’s unlike you to sleep past 7 AM.” 

Jason mentally supplies the words that go unsaid: ‘because of your nightmares.’ Sighing, he digs his fingers into his forehead, massaging around the blossoming pressure. “Yeah, just a headache.” 

“Not one of your migraines, I hope.”

“Nah,” Jason tries for an airy attitude, one void of any concern, and to his legitimate surprise, Alfred seems to accept his answer, though hesitantly. 

“If you’re absolutely sure...”

Deflect, Jason supplies to himself. “I assume Dick’s got you calling to do his dirty work?”

“Not quite. Master Bruce asked me to call when Dick informed him that you’ve been dodging his calls all week.”

“That’s new,” Jason mutters, swinging his legs over the bed and sliding to his feet. The sudden change in weight distribution elevates the pressure in his head. He swallows back a gasp, free hand finding the wall for support as he shuffles from his bedroom to his bathroom in search for pain killers. “What’s so important about tonight? Sounds like a standard drug bust that Dick can more than handle on his own.” 

“Master Bruce would feel better if all of his sons were present tonight.” 

Jason doesn’t understand Bruce’s mind, his logic and reasoning for his choices. He never has, and he gathers that he never will. He snags a bottle of pain killers and balances his phone between his ear and shoulder, ignoring to sudden shift of pain in his head. 

“I have my own patrol, Alfred.” 

“We’ll have all patrols covered, Master Jason. Your territory will be well looked after tonight.” 

Damn, Jason thinks. If there’s one thing Alfred is good at, it’s his verbal reassurance, something so frighteningly powerful. He dry swallows a few pills and drops against the edge of his tub with a sigh, fingers raking through his hair. 

“Fine. Will you send me the details?” He drags out each word slowly, making sure that Alfred knows he’s only agreeing because it’s Alfred asking. 

“Of course.”

***

Jason’s head feels far too heavy on his neck, the added pressure weighing it down. The pain killers chased off the edge of the migraine for a few hours, but per usual, the pain came back stronger as the pills wore off, and he’s opted not to take more, not wishing to risk being slightly sluggish. 

He walks up to see Dick, Tim, and Damian occupying a small corner down an alleyway, their odd meetup point. Tim’s seated, his back against a wall, and he’s yawning. Dick’s stood with his back against a wall across from Tim, his arms crossed, as he muffles a few light coughs into his fist. And, Damian’s standing closer to Dick with his right arm cradled close to his chest. 

Tension trickles down to Jason’s limbs, and he grips his helmet a little tighter in his hand as he approaches. “The fuck’s wrong with you all?” His own voice is a drill in his head, piercing through the pressure and re-distributing it unevenly.

It’s Tim who opts to speak around a second yawn. 

“Dick’s still recovering from the flu, and the Demon Brat hurt his wrist on patrol yesterday.” 

“My wrist is fine, Drake,” Damian spits out, drawing out words deliberately.

“I assume you haven’t slept,” Jason mutters, nodding toward Tim, who’s slow to get to his feet. 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Dick cuts in sharply, and Jason arches a single brow to the oldest, faintly curious. “You need sleep, Tim, or you’ll wind up sick.” 

“Funny since you’re the one who’s running a low grade fever.” 

“Grayson is competent, Drake, even while recovering from illness. He’s not so easily taken down by the flu.” 

“And what are you planning on doing tonight, Damian,” Tim drags out lowly, and Jason shifts his faint curiosity from one idiot to the other. 

“You can barely move your wrist.” 

“I’ve been trained to be ambidextrous, Drake-”

“-Okay,” Jason calls out, the curiosity from before replaced with dull, familair annoyance that’s now mixed in with a hot pain swirling in his skull. “Let’s just get this the fuck over with, yeah?” He looks to Dick, a silent question to take charge, and Dick nods and turns on his heel, leading everyone to the hinted base for the drug ring. 

“Father would tell you to watch your language,” Damian mutters at Jason’s side before he quickens his step to match Dick’s steady pace. 

Jason flips him off and shoves his helmet over his head, swallowing back a groan when the added weight pushes the pressure in different directions. Nausea starts to tumble in his stomach, and he tries his best to steady his breathing, pushing his concentration away from himself. 

“So, Timmy, what are the deets? Alfred didn’t say much.”

***

Turns out, Bruce’s hunch was correct, and all four were forced to hold their own against multiple, burly men, all of which got in numerous, painful hits before being taken down. The fight ended at the top of an apartment building across the street from the warehouse that was doubling as the drug storage, and Jason’s not sure he’s ever felt this much pain in his head, knowing that it didn’t help he let a few men get some solid hits to his face and temples. 

The others appear to be, more or less, in similar conditions. Dick’s down on one knee, panting heavily. Damian’s paler than usual, and he’s got his wrist held tightly to his chest, and Tim’s swaying on his feet, looking about ready to drop any second. 

Jason pulls a slow gaze around them, swallowing thickly around the bursting pressure that’s pushing hard against every inch of his skull now, swelling against his brain, leaving his vision fraying at the edges. He’s faintly aware that the others are talking amongst each other, but he can’t keep up with the conversation, not with the sudden roar in his ears that drowns out the voices around him. 

The pain’s... intense. It’s all he’s able to supply, most thoughts breaking against the pressure. He takes a step back, fingers clumsily slipping under his helmet. His vision is graying now, blurring, and he tries to blink around it. He can see Dick get to his feet, see the older boy frowning at him. He’s saying something to him, but Jason can’t work his mind around reading lips. No, all he wants is to get the damn helmet off his head, but his hands are shaking too hard to be of any use. 

He starts to feel hot all over despite the crisp fall air. He takes another, staggering step back, his legs struggling to hold his balance, to support the weight of his abdomen and head, and the back of his foot knocks hard into something. He only realizes that he’s bumped into the edge of the roof when he’s falling backward into open, empty space. 

His stomach plummets in time with his body, bringing back his vision, sounds, his surroundings. 

“Jason!”

He pulls his gaze from the tilting sky to see the others coming into view, and he wonders, briefly, if it’s the last thing he’ll ever see, but the thought gets josteled from his head when something small yet strong latches onto his ankle, followed by a loud, gasping cry. 

His back slams against the side of the apartment building, bringing with it bursting, white hot pain across his head, but he manages to stay present, craning his neck up to see Damian crying and holding onto his ankle with his injured hand. Dick stumbles toward them, wrapping one arm tightly around Damin to keep him up on the roof. 

“Jason! Do you think you can lean upward?”

Nodding, Jason breathes deeply around the pain and nausea, and he swings himself upward, arms flying forward until he’s grasping at the hands reaching out to him. Dick and Tim pull him up, and the second he’s upright, his vision grays until he blacks out entirely. 

***

“Come on, Jay, open your eyes for me.” 

Jason wants to be annoyed that the voice is waking him, but there’s something so soft and desperate in the tone, in the gentle touches at his face, so he decides to try and chase it. 

“Bruce is on his way.” 

That brings Jason back all at once, his mind reeling against pain, and nausea twisting so hard in his stomach. He leans to the side and vomits, mutely thankful that someone removed his helmet. 

“Shit, Jason!” 

He can feel a hand at his back, rubbing small circles, and when his stomach settles, he flops back onto his back with a groan, only faintly aware that his head is pillowed on Dick’s thigh. 

“Jay? You with us?” 

“Bruce says he’s two minutes out. He wants to know if we can make it off the roof.” 

Jason realizes slowly that there’s a voice missing, and then memories flood agaisnt the pressure in his head until he’s jerking forward to see Damian sitting across from his, tear trackes evident against his cheeks. 

“Fuck, Damian, your wrist-”

“It’s okay.” Damain’s voice is shaking, and Jason leans forward to pat Damian’s knee, unsure of what else he could do or say to properly express the heavy weight of appreciation for Damian saving his life. 

“Jason, what happened? Are you sick?” Dick’s voice is laced deep with worry at Jason’s back, two hands planted firmly to Jason’s shoulders.

Before Jason can answer, Bruce is swinging himself over the ledge of the roof, fully suited, dark eyes shifting between each son, falling on Jason. 

“Migraine,” he answers deeply for Jason. “Alfred suspected as much.” Bruce stops before him. “Can you walk?” 

Jason nods and allows Bruce to pull him to his feet. He sways for a moment, swallows back the need to dry heave, and grounds himself, faintly aware that Bruce’s hand is just inches from his elbow. He doesn’t meet Bruce’s studying gaze, doesn’t fully breathe until Bruce breaks away to assess the others. 

He watches, exhausted, as Damian argues with Bruce that he doesn’t need to be carried. He frowns when Tim stumbles into Dick, and Dick crouches down and instructs Tim to climb atop his back. He follows behind the others, listening in briefly to hear Tim grumble how Dick’s fever feels like it’s spiking, or how Bruce’s is tugging Damian tightly to his side and muttering reassurances under his breath. 

When they reach the ground floor, his knees begin to shake, but then Alfred’s at his side, worried, arm tight around his shoulders, and he’s guided into one of Bruce’s many cars, squeezing in the back beside the others. Tim’s directly to his left, and he drops his head to Jason’s shoulder almost immediately. Jason nudges him forward just enough to slip his arm around his back, and Tim curls closer into him. 

Jason decides that just for tonight, he’ll let him. He cranes his neck to see Damian similarly clinging to Dick, and he locks eyes with Dick, the two sharing a mutual, tired nod. 

Dragging his gaze slowly forward, Jason squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the lull of the engine and not on the drum pounding in his head. 

“Shall I drop Master Jason off at his apartment?” 

“No, I want all of my sons at the manor tonight.” 

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Feverish and Teary & How Long Has it Been Since You’ve Eaten- Prompt Fill

@thatonekidellis​ Jon, Tim, and Martin have a rough time after the Unknowing. Especially Jon.  I hope this is kind of what you were asking for?  

@janekfan​ you get a ping because this is your au!

CWs: nausea, vomiting, fainting, fever, food mention, alcohol mention, canon typical mentions of Tim's pre-unknowing mindset, canon typical Jon not taking care of himself.

I am still accepting bingo prompts, so let me know which character, which prompt, and if you want a drawing of a fic!  Bingo card by the wonderful @celosiaa​!  This one is twice my usual length because it is two prompts and I did not want to cheat!

The Unknowing blows up.  

As simple as that.  

All according to plan.  

It really is as simple as that.  

Jon, Tim, Daisy, Basira.  Piled back in Daisy's car.  Ears ringing.  Soot slowly settling.  Trying to drive away before the actually police get there.  

It hasn't been Jon's problem how to avoid arrest.  

He is even more glad it isn't his problem now, as he slides down the beat up seat in the back of Daisy's car.  Ash streaks the window, mixing with the light rains that is starting to fall.  

Jon tries not to vomit the nothing he's eaten in the last couple days.  Nothing in him but frayed nerves and statements.  Hadn't even managed to stomach dramamine before their trip.  

Jon just wants to sleep.  

They still have their hotel reservation for another couple hours, so Daisy drives them back there to clean up before heading back to London.  Yes they have to go back today, it's less suspicious.  Jon isn't sure if that is actually true, but he doesn't have the energy to argue.  

Tim showers.  Jon sends a text to Martin.  'Alive.'  

He doesn't answer Martin's near-immediate call because just then he's dry-heaving into the small bin in the corner.  Stiff and shaking and sweaty and miserable.    

Jon showers.  Too dizzy to stand, he sits on the shower floor.  He hates that.  The tub feels filthy.  He feels filthy.  He scrubs his skin raw.  He stands.  He throws up more nothing.  He scrubs himself again, leaning heavily on the wall.  

He wants to talk to Tim.  He wants to tuck himself into Tim's arms and never move again.  Christ, he's running an impressive fever.  Probably.  It's hard to tell.  And his brain is swimming too much to even think about asking the Eye.  

He's cold.  He shivers in his threadbare joggers and stolen jumper (Martin's).  

He wants to join Tim on the bed by the window, but Tim ...looks too deep in a melancholy thought to even notice.  Somewhere between losing his drive for anything, adrenaline crash, and losing the last hope of a last glimpse of Danny, if Jon were to guess.  

Jon could say something.  He knows he could.  But, hasn't he caused enough of a fuss?  Made Tim and Martin trail after him after the ...the.... with Daisy and... that.  If he'd have just stayed quiet and stayed still... well Tim would still hate him... and might not be alive... but ....but he's caused so much worry with that.  And then with... his other kidnapping No.  He can't think about what that... what... not without puking again which... the point is not to worry Tim.  Which means he should try some medicine again.... if he can keep it in him half an hour he'll survive the drive back.  Probably.  

Christ, when is the last time he bothered to drink anything?  

He lays there in a daze until Daisy bangs on the door telling them it's time to leave.  

Tim sleeps on the drive back.  Finally giving into the last few sleepless nights.  Jon is jealous.  

Last night had been spent tangled together, shaking, awake, and silent.  Anxiety too thick to slice with words.  Not even nothing to turn off the lights, because the fear is a little easier to manage in the light.  Jon couldn't stop thinking about Nikola.  He couldn't stop thinking about plastic hands on him.  Couldn't stop thinking about how many things could go wrong and how he could lose Tim and Martin when he only just got Tim back.  

Jon was pretty sure Tim hadn't been sleeping the last few nights.  Jon knows he hasn't.  Not that he has slept well in a long time.    

In any case, Tim sleeps.  Jon doesn't.  

Daisy glares at him through the review mirror.  Jon isn't sure if she is still waiting for him to prove himself monstrous so she can attack, or if she is making sure he isn't ill in her car... again.  (He really wishes he could forget his first ride in her car.  Really really really wishes.  It was not a pleasant experience for anyone, and Daisy had made him pay the cleaning bill.)  

It doesn't matter, he slides down further in his seat and closes his eyes tightly.  

His head hurts.  

Thankfully the medicine knocks him out soon enough.  

Martin greets them at the institute door.  Melanie by his side.  

Jon hazily wakes up to Martin gently touching his shoulder.  

"You actually made it!  I'm so glad you're safe... I was so worried, Jon why didn't you answer your phone, I've been so worried, I mean I know you would have said something if something had happened, but Christ I've been so worried about you, come here."  

Jon starts mumbling some apologies, but is interrupted by Martin gently gathering him in a hug.  Jon sinks into it, fervently hoping Martin doesn't notice the heat rolling off of him.  

Thankfully Martin is too distracted, gathering Tim in a crushing embrace.  Likely very relieved that Tim didn't die, and knowing Tim is harder to break than Jon with his delicate bones and fragility following many incidents.  

Jon... doesn't really know what he's trying to accomplish.  Just... get out?  Or go in?  Or get to the cot?  Or just curl up on the cold tile of the basement toilets?  Get away from people he will inevitably worry?  

Just go somewhere where he can fall apart without taking anyone else down with him.  

It looks like Martin has been crying.  Jon hopes it isn't over him.  

Tim needs to recover from the emotional toll of the last few days without having to pick up the pieces after Jon Again.  

Jon slowly backs away.  

His head is swimming, but that's okay.  If he can just reach the Archives.  The cot.  Anywhere.  Anywhere away from this moment.  This breath.  

His vision swims violently, and there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to be very well acquainted with the pavement in a matter of seconds.  Either that or he's going to be ill?  No.  Sidewalk.  He's going to eat the sidewalk.  Heh... first thing he'll have eaten in days.  

He isn't sure if he loses consciousness or not.  It's hard to tell in the blur of motion and sounds and his spinning head.  Sound is almost gooey in this state of almost unconsciousness, but he thinks someone might be shouting.  Or several someones.  He should maybe worry about this?  But in actuality, he is praying he properly passes out to save himself any more embarrassment and save himself from his unsteady insides.  

His face hurts.  

Someone is holding him.  

Jon fights to open his eyes.  They don't seem to want to look in the same direction, rolling in their sockets instead of doing what he wants them to.  He blinks hard a few times, failing to bring things into focus.  Glasses?  Does he still have those?  Did they break?  No... still there.  Skewed on his face.  Just... too dizzy to see, then.  

Daisy and Basira are glaring at him.  Melanie is walking away.  Possibly.  Hard to tell when the world is tilting with unsteady regularity.  

Jon closes his eyes again, pressing a groan against the nausea that threatens to overcome him, despite the medicine.  

"Jon?"  

"Burning up."

He's too hazy to put a name to a voice.  The words dripping in the air around him, tightening around his chest, silly string sitting on his skin in fibrous heaps that jiggle uncomfortably, cold and clammy.  

Shit, thinking in gibberish.  That can't be good.  

“Does anyone know how long he’s been ill?”  

Someone grunts.  

Footsteps.  Two sets?  I’m asking away.  Leaving him.   

“I.... I don’t know.  I don’t think he was feverish last night?  But... I haven’t exactly been... It’s.  It’s been hard.”

“Jon?”

He’s being jostled.   He whines.  Stomach flopping dangerously.   

"Jon?  Are you awake?  Can you open your eyes for me?"  

"Oh shit, he's gonna puke."  

He's being lifted, shifted on his side, bin shoved in his hands.  Where he throws up more nothing.  

He's crying now, feeling like utter shit, and unfortunately more awake.  

He isn't sure if eyes swimming with tears is better or worse than the unsteady world tipping around him and making him feel worse.  

"Christ, Jon!"  

He finally pries his eyes open.  Martin and Tim solidify above him.  More or less.  Still fuzzing in and out of focus.  

Now that he's crying, he just... can't stop.  Fistfuls of Martin's sweater.  

"Oh Jon..."  Martin's arms circle him, carefully.  Gentle not to jostle him more.  

"Buddy.  Think we can get you off the sidewalk?"  Tim.  Cupping his face.  Smoothing back sweat and tear soaked hair, long since escaped his bun, still not dried from his earlier shower.  "My flat isn't far, you know?  Didn't bring my car here, though.  Still... wasn't..."

Tim cuts himself off, but even addled as he is, Jon can fill in the rest of the sentence.  

So can Martin apparently, because Martin frowns.  It's never been more apparent that he's been crying quite recently.  "Still weren't sure you were coming home...  Tim..."  And his eyes start looking damp.  

Tim is tearing up now.  "Martin... let's not in the street...  I can carry Jon back to mine, it isn't far.  You can come too.  We'll get some take out.  Drink some whiskey.  Get Mr. Smoking hot cooled off.  We can talk then.  It's.... it's been a rough week."  

"Jon?  Can I carry you?  I think that might be less rough than a cab ride?  Do you need a few minutes?"  

Martin's voice is soft, and Jon thinks he could sleep right there.  In fact, he might.  So he nods.  

Martin lifts him carefully.  His head swims again.  This all is feeling rather familiar.  Jon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.  He tries to relax despite the lingering anxieties about heights.  Martin feels safe.  Tim is also safe now.  He lets himself drift.  

He wakes briefly on the trip.

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?"  Tim.  Tim seems off.  Too many things crossing his face to parse out, probably even for someone with a better sense than Jon of what those subtle face changes mean.  But Jon is too hazy to think.    

Jon's mouth feels gummed up.  His eyes feel gummed up.  

He's thankful his mouth doesn't taste like something died in it, though.  Although he is very aware how unhealthy it was that he's spent a good portion of the day with his body trying to turn itself inside out, and he couldn't so much as produce bile.  

Jon feels sick thinking about it, so stops.  He drifts again.  

He wakes to a damp rag on his forehead, no memory of anything past the explosion. 

How did he get here? 

"Sorry, that looked like a nice sleep, but you'll feel better with some medicine in you, and some water.  We can try some tea later, once the meds work.  And some food hopefully."  

Martin helping him sit up.  Just enough to get a few sips and some pills into Jon.  Which, Jon thought was probably optimistic, but he'd try it for Martin.  

"When was the last time you ate?" Martin again.  

Jon blinks at him in confusion.  "Is it over?"  

"Is what over?"  Still Martin.  

Where's Tim?  Where's Daisy?  Where's Basira?  Where's Melanie?

His breathing picks up, and that makes his head spin again, and makes him wonder just how long he can keep the medicine down.  

"Is it over, what happened?"  He's panting now, halfway to a panic attack.  

"Jon?  Jon!  Calm down.  Can you take a breath for me?"  

How did he get here?  Where is he?  This looks like Tim's flat, but there is Tim?  Did he survive.  

Jon reaches for anything.  But comes up blank.  

"Where's Tim?  What happened?"  He gasps out.  It feels like his ribcage is shrinking, being laced up the front. fighter than the corset he had worn in acting class in uni.  

"Tim's... taking a moment.  As soon as we got you here... he.... it's been rough on him, you know?  He did all this for... and I know he said he wanted to live.  He wants to live... but he's... not been in a good place and it's helped that you two are talking again... and that he's had company more... but he saw an old picture with.... with his brother.... and that polaroid with ... with Sasha.  Well, he keeps going between you know tearful and sorry and cackling about how everything blew up.  It's... probably a lot to have three revenge schemes going at once for the same.... not a person really... but ... Her.  And then... having it sorted.  But...  Listen Jon I don't know.  What don't you remember... or what's the last thing you remember?"  Martin edges on histerical near the middle, but takes a turn for the sad near the end.  

"I remember the... the world was all wrong.  Then... then it blew up.  Is it over?  Martin are you real.  Is everyone alive?  What happened to you?"  He's desperate.  Desperate breaths too shallow.  Words interrupted by jagged pulling of too thin oxygen.  He's going to pass out.  

He does.  

He wakes feeling... clearer.  The last period of wakefulness a distant and flighty thing, dancing just out of his reach.  The rest of the embarrassing day back in vivid detail.  Tim's sitting over him.  Or rather, curled around him.  Jon's hair is being played with.  A stray curl looped around Tim's finger as he laughs softly to himself.  Muttering that he's alive.  That Jon's alive.  That Martin is alive.  he didn't lose anyone else.  That that clown is finally dead.  Finally.  

Gentle and warm hand on his face, refreshing the cloth.  Checking his temperature.  

"I..."  Tim chokes on a sob.  And Jon tries to remember how his arms work so he can let Tim know he's there.  

"Tim?"  

"Hey bud... sorry."  Tim wipes his eyes on his sleeve.  "It's been a hell of a week.  I... don't know how to feel about it.  Fuck I need a drink....  And to check in with Martin.  I... he hasn't told me what happened, but he's upset.  And.  Fuck I should have noticed you were ill, why didn't you say anything?"  Tim's voice starts to rise, and Jon tenses.  All the times Tim yelled at him still too fresh in his mind.  He trusts Tim.  he does... but Christ he is still afraid.  Afraid that it can't last, that it isn't real.  Where it be a trick of his mind, or some manipulation tactic to an end Jon can't see, he doesn't know.  

"Hey.  Hey.  Buddy... Jon.  I'm sorry.  didn't mean to yell.  It's just... been a day.  I'm not mad at you.  I just... I'm worried about you and Martin and I...I don't know how to feel about everything that happened.  I'm sorry you feel like shit."

Jon feels... like shit.  Marginally less nauseous, however.  A little less like he's going to pass out again.  Probably been given plenty of pills by Martin.  

"Sorry."  He croaks.  Voice probably shredded with smoke.  And fever.  

"He, bud, don't apologize.  I'm sorry I didn't notice you weren't well.  I... I thought I knew better than to be that preoccupied.  I mean... I guess I didn't make it worse this time, but..."  Tim sighs.  "I'm disappointed in myself because I don't want to fuck this up again.  And no don't apologize again part of that was on me and yes part of that was on you and we've done apologies to death.  All we can do now is keep going.  I just wanted to protect you and I couldn't see you were fading in front of my eyes.  Again.  I know you haven't been eating or sleeping, but I haven't been either so I didn't want to call you on it, and I didn't want you to call me on it, but I should have noticed.  I know I couldn't have done much, but I didn't do anything but shut you out again.  I could have told someone to stop to get you medicine, or food or even a bit more rest.  I know that would have done fuck-all, but I still could have offered you a little comfort and warmth and had us brought straight back here."  

Tim's crying properly now.  Jon is too.  Not sure if it is the fever, or just... everything.  There is so much to feel and think and worry about and yes they saved the world but that the fuck comes next.  

What comes next is that Martin enters with tea for Jon and a bottle of whiskey.  

Jon scrubs at his eyes.  "Martin what happened?"  Jon can see he's been crying again.  That is starting to scare him.  It's a goddamn miracle he hasn't pulled an answer out of anyone yet today.  

"It's... well it isn't fine.  I... well our plan worked here too.  Just... you know... Elias.  He can.... He can do things.  It's fine.  It's worth it."  Martin swipes at his eyes furiously.  

Jon pushes himself up, ignoring the room tilting around him, and hugs Martin.  Jon's still crying.  Martin sniffling.  Tim also crying.  It's... a very damp hug.  And Jon knows he's too warm to be comfortable to hold, and he's shivering hard enough to rattle Tim and Martin.  

"I'm... I'm so sorry Martin."  Jon chokes out.  

"It's alright.  It was worth it.  And you both.  Christ I am so glad to see you again... I thought... I thought.... I didn't..."  Martin is fully sobbing now.  Tea set down on Tim's bedside table, the whiskey being pried from his hands by TIm.  

Late that night the bottle is empty (and so are a couple more), Tim and Martin have killer headaches, and Jon is still feverish, but less so.  A lot of tears have been shed.  And Jon has been plied with enough liquids that he feels a little less like a crumbling husk.  

By the time that Tim and Martin are ready to think about food, Jon is finally feeling like he can maybe stomach something.  They order takeout.  Jon... has some broth. 

By morning Jon manages a few bites of leftovers.  

By afternoon, Elias Bushard is arrested.  

[draken-rotzi]

Bug Man x Reader Part One*

Read on AO3

SO, wanted to write something of this topic bc we all need some more Musical!BJ in our lives, it’s a nice comfort ngl, I enjoyed writing it and hope you do too c:

(Got carried away so here's the first half while I edit the second one in the meantime, it takes a bit to get to the main part we all want to read forgive mE it's better in th next one believeme)

I'd love some feedback since I haven't written anything since 2019 ;v; some wordings might seem odd since my brain speaks spanish first english second

Summary; Old boring university life and a broken but hopeful heart meet the supernatural and whacky demon/ghost with the most, reader-chan needs to get out from a toxic relationship and what's a better help than a magic dead man? Cutting ties might seem easier when someone else arrives and flips your world upside down with no warning.

Mostly fluff, bits of angst l8r

Female reader, but tried to not give any other specifics to the character themselves, OCs appear

It was a fresh autumn afternoon, birds still chirped before migrating to warmer areas for the winter, the wind was cold but nice, not yet freezing but enough for people to wear light coats. You sit on a school desk, a class about taxes and fees, you drift off a bit looking at the window while half-listening.

You lived in a medium but popular city, it was a great place, with nice, kind people for the most part, huge malls, restaurants and lots of places to go out with friends or alone.

...

"Miss ___? Care to answer this equation here for the class?" The teacher asks, a tall, slender woman that radiated authority, it made some students shiver in times like this with a direct question.

"Oh? Yeah- sure miss Adams" You replied, while trying not to look confused since you just missed the topic, hopefully you remembered from the last lesson by the time you walked up to the blackboard and took the marker to write.

...

After class, you were walking with your friends to the cafeteria next to the main exit to wait for an uber to arrive; your side job as a freelance wasn't good enough yet to afford a car, but it helped pay the bills and to have enough for a bit more more than the basic needs.

Your two best friends at college were Itai and Rob. Itai was a funny dude, with a darker tone on his skin, not so tall and full of charisma. Rob was a bit more collected, but still a lot of fun to be around, being the voice of reason for you three most of the time, emphasis in most, because sometimes he got carried away too.

"Man I hate that class, I don't understand a thing! Why do we even need math?" Itai tells the group, sounding annoyed as usual, he was a simple guy, but simple guys need a degree too, to secure a better job.

"Well if you paid attention instead of eating that cold baguette in class you won't be that confused my man" Rob replies, laughing a bit at the end

"At least you weren't asked to do math in front of the class" You sigh, putting down your backpack and sitting on a table next to the building's exit, looking at your phone to know how much time was left for the driver to arrive, around 10 minutes.

"Yeah everyone felt so bad for you, but hey, if you’ll be daydreaming at least look at the front instead of the window next time, it might help you" Rob said while opening a bottle of apple juice, his favorite, he wouldn't drink any other thing, he was probably 60% apple juice after years of drinking it that often.

A few minutes passed by, the three friends chatting about the day's events, their plans for the weekend, and how to get the next assignment done. A figure appeared behind you putting a hand on your shoulders.

"Well hello ladies!" A man chirped, you turned around laughing softly

"Hey yourself!" you replied "Already off?"

"Yeah I've got the last hour free so I'm gonna head out to Kris' place, we'll play some games and work on that big project I told you the other day"

"Great, have fun! You say hi to Kris from me yeah?"

"Sure thing, see you later!" He says with a squeeze of his hand on your shoulder, then a quick pat on the head, turning around to leave.

"Bye, take care Nick!" you say as the man walks out of the cafeteria's door waving a hand.

Silence lingers for a bit until Itai breaks it

"Hey so, you're still going out with him?" He says with a crooked smile and a nervous look, Rob has a similar expression

"Yeeeah... it's been okay for some time now, you know? Hah" You look down for a second, pondering "Maybe this time is the good run?" Uncertainty fills the question, but you still smile to your friends.

Nikolas wasn't the model boyfriend, at least not for your friends; he was full of sweet words, hugs and kisses, only in private places though. When it came to the campus he treated you just like any other friend.

There was a small reason, according to him, he wanted to wait a bit more to make it public, get to know each other better, just to be certain from both sides.

That was the excuse a year ago.

It wasn't like he was out and flirting with other people, not at all, but one could expect to be treated like a love partner after so much time and moments together, you’ve gone to the movies, to dinner, to each other's houses, hell your families knew you two were dating, it just wasn't more than the bare minimum from him, seemed more like a thing someone does if they have free time, not make time for that thing, the thing being the relationship.

It seemed to be only a problem of neglect and apathy, probably, though you were so dumbly in love with him at first, you have been hoping and asking for a change since the relationship escalated to more than just holding hands and light kisses.

"I don't think anything's gonna change, he's been stalling for a whole year now" Itai mumbled, looking at Rob, he nodded in agreement

"Yeah, just dump him already, you deserve way better, you give him everything you got and he just throws the leftovers at you."

"I guess, but we're going out this weekend! You know he doesn't like going out often"

"With you" Rob adds

You hesitate a reply, it was true, most of the times you asked him to go out for a change, he was either too busy or decided to change the event the same day, turning it into a make out session in his house every time. Even though you saw each other 2 days every week, you have seen him go out with his friends more often, on actual enrichment outside activities.

"I know..." you sigh " I'll think about it, I'll try to talk with him about it next time”

Both of your friends let out a small groan of annoyance, they knew you weren't gonna do it, or that he'll just brush it off as always, between the lines of 'oh you're overreacting'

"Ah my ride's here!" You got up from the table and grabbed your backpack, tossing it over one shoulder.

"See he can't even give you a lift to your place!" Itai teased, they knew how you felt about the whole situation, but joking around sometimes made it a bit less bitter.

"Ha-ha, you know we live in opposite ends of the city! Besides none of you give me a ride either" you said while sticking a tongue out on your way outside the cafeteria

"Yeah because you live at the ends of the earth for some weird reason!" Rob joked back

Everyone said their quick goodbyes, and after a calm ride back home you remembered something just as you were locking the door, tossing your backpack into the living room’s couch you walked over to your room.

You flopped onto the bed, looking at your phone you opened some pending messages on the family group chat, apparently a distant relative of yours had died, and the family was gonna hold a small funeral tomorrow morning on the local cemetery, you didn’t enjoy those kind of events since you’d get really emotional, but since it was something really small, no more than 20 people, it was private and most likely no strangers would see you cry over someone you barely knew.

Tomorrow was saturday so it was okay to spend one free morning humoring your family.

After some mindless browsing on your phone, it was already 12:30am, you haven’t even got off your sneakers since you got home, you did a quick self-cleanup in the bathroom, tossing today’s clothes to the side to change into an oversized shirt with no pants as a makeup pijamas, it got a bit warmer in the afternoon so you wanted to enjoy wearing something light before winter fully arrived, getting under the sheets and you were out fast, maybe from all the overthinking of what’d tomorrow might bring, you’ve forgotten what are funerals like.

But there was certainly no way you’d know what would happen at all the next day

...

The event was simple, thankfully there was not much crying, seemed like everyone accepted already what had happened, some kind of illness you heard, at least they weren’t suffering anymore and they’ve come to terms with everyone close to them, that was nice you thought, it sure felt a bit heavy in there, as usual for funerals. After the ceremony, the family offered a barbeque in the departed’s honor to bright up the mood a bit; right at the cementery, maybe it was cheaper than renting a place for it.

Free tasty food was something only an idiot would decline, so you spent some time doing small talk with the relatives you knew best, but still you mostly just listened and ate in silence.

You saw a glimpse of color and movement out of the corner of your eye, since everyone was wearing dark tones it stood out, turning your head there was just an empty plastic table with some half-full plates and glasses, still, you felt a shiver up your spine, it was probably the weather.

When you looked back at your phone's clock it was already 6 pm, guess dad jokes and food made time fly, you said your goodbyes and condolences to everyone and headed out, you were still at the cemetery, so you had to call a ride back home, the driver dropped you near a convenience store just around the corner of your apartment, since you needed to buy a snack for dinner, on sundays you usually had takeout, so no need to worry much about it right now.

_______________________________________________________

“I know I didn’t imagine anything, that breather saw me at the cemetery! we even locked eyes for a second! It may work this time, just gotta get closer while they're alone”

_______________________________________________________

…

Walking down the street, humming a bit to some music and a bag of snacks in hand, dusk started to set, some stars could be seen and the sky was a beautiful fuchsia tone with oranges and purples mixed in the clouds. On instinct, you took your phone out of your jeans pocket to take a picture of the cute sky.

Just as you took a couple of pictures, to make sure at least one was good to share, something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye again

You felt a shiver like a cold wind out of nowhere, similar as to when a car drives a bit too close to someone on winter, but there was not even one driving car on the street.

"Oof, should get back now, it's getting colder" picking up the peace to get home faster-

A piece of paper slapped you in the face

“EW- wind trash” you muttered while grabbing what seemed to be a flyer, and it flew indeed.

You naturally took a closer look at it when you took it into your hands and out of your face, it was a very faded print, with an image of an… insect? man? holding a hammer over a small house and people, you chuckled, it was a funny irony cartoon, a bug crushing people.

Half of the flyer was unreadable because of some liquid or dirt, already dry but you couldn’t read what was supposed to be, written under the drawing was the end of an ad;

“Ghostly services one name away!

RESIDENTIAL - INDUSTRIAL - COMMERCIAL

Call BETELGEUSE

BETELGEUSE

BETELGEUSE!”

“Betelgeuse? ...Like that one star?” There was that shiver again, Halloween was a week ago, so this kind of paper seemed normal to be hanging around with the wind.

As you walked down the street, some lights started flickering, the cold wind seemed stronger and the sky was a deep dark purple now, strange, it was supposed to be clear dark blue by now, fall nights came quickly this time of the year, still it didn't feel like the usual night. You were just around the corner of your street when the closest light bulb exploded and zapped with a loud 'CRASH', making you stop for a second cowering from the shards

"What the-!? No one told me we'd be getting winter thunderstorms sooner what the eff" muttering swears you made a run to your apartment, scurrying for the door keys in the process, lights kept flashing and the wind made windows sing a high 'oooo' noise, you have seen this kind of weather before but no one would like to be outside when it happened, nervously and quickly you finally fit the key in the lock and opened the door, hurrying inside and closing it behind, a loud bang thundered through the silent room, the unexpected storm slamming against the walls and windows, you left the lights on before going out.

After a minute it seemed to calm down, wind turning into a breeze and the sky now it's usual black, no stars in the sky.

You let out a sigh and walked to the counter to drop your keys, the phone and your purse, you had to make sure all the windows were closed for the night, luckily it was Saturday, so no need to go out tomorrow on that crazy weather.

Windows secured, you changed into your winter pajamas, a gray pair of pants with a pattern of a cat on toast and eggs, with a pastel blue loose shirt. Making your way to the kitchen you decided a light snack would be enough for tonight, after that run and emotion on the way back home you had no energy to cook a proper dinner, not even microwave, it was also too late for it anyways you thought.

You put the snack bowl and a cup of water on the kitchen counter, looking to grab your phone. You noticed you still had the dirty flyer, forgot to drop it between the commotion maybe?

Placing it aside and unlocking your phone screen, you opened the ‘best friend's’ chat group

You. 'Hey guys, did you get any of that weird winter storm action today after school?'

Rob. 'Nah, it was a clear sky for me'

Itai. 'Same, also I was asleep all afternoon'

You. 'Strange, I got caught on this whirlwind on my way back home from the store, just my luck I guess >:('

Both of the boys. 'Lol yea'

Putting the phone down and chomping on some of the snacks, you thought about the events, it was indeed a clear sky earlier, only a couple of common clouds you took pictures of before it. You grabbed the phone again, quickly to see if any of the photos looked good.

"Pleasepleaseplease" you muttered in excitement, it was a very cute view, hopefully one picture captured it nicely.

And they did, a couple looked stunning, you smiled, thinking at least it was worth getting your hair all messed up by the wind, you were about to delete one picture it since it was blurry when you noticed a different kind of blur, it was gray with splashes of green in the corner, similar to what you saw at the funeral.

"There was nothing green on the other pictures, was it?" you looked through the other photos and they were pretty normal, full of pink, purple and blue from the sunset.

You looked back at the flyer

"Betelgeuse, betelgeuse, betelgeuse huh" You said in a playful tone, grabbing the torn paper from the counter, you felt a shiver, a strong one this time, well that was the opposite of a calming experience, but still the word felt strange when you said it, it wasn't like you hadn't said before, Orion was a popular constellation, and the Betelgeuse star was on it; but this time the air inside had a tense feeling.

All the lights went off after a second "Now a blackout? What's with today ugh" picking up your phone to use as a flashlight, after a couple of seconds before you could turn it on, all the lights came back again, but you almost had a heart attack when you saw someone standing in the center of the living room, enveloped in a green mist.

"FUCK wh- WHO THE FUCK-" you stuttered before turning around and grabbing the closest thing to use as a weapon, a wooden spoon used for beating eggs this morning "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE? WHO ARE YOU? GET OUT!"

The figure was a man, taller than you, dressed in a striped black and white suit, dark hair with green tints at the end, a wicked smile plastered on his face, he took a look around, then back to you, endless chills went down your spine when you met his eyes, you could feel the tense aura from before growing stronger, anticipating, colder.

"Well who might I be? You should know, you called my name baby! Glad to make some business with you tonight!" He said as he extended a hand and walked, floated? quickly towards a paralized you, frozen in place, you only managed to put the spoon up in self defense from whomever this man could be, the lights were out for just a few seconds, was he inside the apartment all this time?

"S-stop right there you!" tried to threaten the man with the wooden tool, he didn't seem to notice nor care, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, then placing a sloppy kiss in your face, petrified, you shivered and gripped the spoon harder, he felt oddly cold.

...Did he just kiss you? Who does he think he is??

"No no, no stopping now! We just got started cakes, and now that you said my name three times, I can finally interact with you and everything here in the world of the living! Gotta say thanks it's been real boring being invisible for so long lemme tell ya-"

*WHACK*

You hit the man in the head with the wooden spoon as hard as you could.

...the spoon broke.

The man's smile grew wider

[c-rose2081]

Dragon Colds & Rose Petals

Love Like Dragons AU

Bevie | Huma (implied) | Gildry | Mal & Audrey BROTP

—

Evie Grimhilde was a happily married woman. She had been for nearly three months now, and it was marital bliss. But there was a small part of her that was still a lonely, single, Dragon mom. So when Ben walked in on her that day, struggling to keep the human thermometer in Mal’s mouth to take her temperature, he laughed.

Mal, her best friend and a five year old Isle Dragon, had been sick for the past two days. Evie wasn’t sure what brought it on, as Audrey - Ben’s Aurorian Dragon - didn’t seem to have anything. And of course that small, single, lonely dragon mom part of her reared it’s head. What if Mal was terminally ill? What if she died? What if Evie would wake up tomorrow and her best friend wouldn’t be there? It nearly sent her into hysterics. Coddling the cranky, tired spike menace was the only thing that could calm her.

Naturally, Mal hated it.

Ben, thankfully, was a level headed man, and he rescued poor Mal and quarantined her in another room. He then held Evie to his chest and quietly stroked her hair as she rattled off every possible dragon disease she found on the internet and their outcomes.

“I have a friend who’s a vet,” Ben told Evie when she had finally calmed down, holding her close as to keep her from spending the night with Mal - who was no doubt sleeping, “she comes and looks at Audrey every few months, I’m sure she’d be happy to give Mal a checkup,”

And so Evie agreed that a vet visit would be the best option, rather then trusting DragonMD. Of course, she wasn’t aware that Ben and this ‘vet’ were very close friends. Let alone that this ‘vet’ was a woman who he was apparently quite comfortable with. Uma was a pretty, muscly, dark skinned sort with long turquoise and white braids. She stood at least a head above Evie in height, and when she pictured a ‘vet’, Uma was quite far from what she was imagining.

“Uma!” Ben greeted with an open hug, “thanks for coming,”

“You’re lucky, Ben. I just got back into town,”

“Uma works in freight,” Ben explained to Evie, resting an arm around her waist as Uma pulled a rather large black duffle in behind her, “she travels a lot; it’s why you didn’t meet her at the wedding. Uma, this is my wife, Evie. I wrote to you about her,”

“Yeah; all good things thankfully. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Uma replied, Evie smiling in kind and taking her hand in a firm shake. The grip was incredibly strong, and the skin on her palms was callous, “Ben, I hope you don’t mind. But I brought Gil.”

“Who’s Gil?” Evie asked, brows popping up. She expected Gil to be a person, or perhaps a child. Having a large, horn-backed dragon wander in with a rose in his beak wasn’t what Evie expected at all. Like the day she had met Audrey, the girl yearned for her sketchbook, “oh my goodness,”

“I told you. Uma is great with dragons,” Ben laughed, “this is Gil,”

“My boyfriends dragon, actually,” Uma told Evie.

“I’ve never seen anything like him!” Evie exclaimed, jostling as ‘Gil’ nearly knocked her over when he came to bump the side of her leg with a wing.

“Sorry,” the sailor groaned, rolling her eyes as she grabbed the dragon by the back of the neck, “he’s really good with people, and gentle as they come. But he’s just so big,”

“What kind of dragon is he?” Evie asked, kneeling down to have a better look. Gil, unlike both Mal and Audrey, was built like a narrow turtle, and was armored like a tank. He had short legs with four toes each, and an articulated shell covering his nape, all the way down to his back legs. His tail was stubby, but sprouted four impressively long spikes, and his face was wide eye’d with a beak rather then a toothy maw. Gil’s wings, Evie noticed, folded inelegantly against the outside of his shell, a bit like messy accordion blinds. No doubt they were quite large in order to help such a bulky creature fly.

“Gil is a Coastal Dragon. They usually live out by the sea, in the sand,” Uma explained, heaving the creature to the side where he flopped to his belly unbothered, still holding the bright red flower in his beak, “Harry picked him up when he was traveling, and he’s been with us ever since. He’s a lazy beast,” Uma complained, tapping the creature’s shell with a boot, “doesn’t do jack-shit other then lay around all day,”

Evie couldn’t help but laugh at this, only to jump as Gil made a noise. It sounded almost like a tired, sad foghorn.

“He’s been crying like that all morning,”Uma drawled, “the minute he figured out I was coming here, he wouldn’t let me leave without him,”

“Why would he do that?” Evie asked, frowning slightly in confusion as Ben rubbed the back of his head and Uma glanced at him expectantly.

“Princess! Your boyfriend’s here!” Ben called out, his voice echoing through the tall vaulted ceiling of their house. Puzzled for a moment, Evie turned as Audrey’s birdsong reached her ear. It only took a second before the pink bullet - wings fully outstretched - glided into the room. Gil, who had previously been laying down, leapt up faster then Evie ever could’ve imagined for such a stocky beast. His accordion wings unfurled like a whip, and Uma tugged Evie backwards a step as he gave one powerful flap and was in the air.

“Sweet Merlin, he’s massive,” Evie breathed in wonder, watching as Gil captured Audrey in a mid-flight embrace, enfolding her between his arms and resting his large head on her crest, “are they...?”

“Together,” Ben confirmed with a nod, “it was a surprise to us to, once we figured it out,”

“Gil is romantic, the big lug,” Uma chuckled, placing her hands on her hips as Gil transferred the rose he’d been keeping to Audrey, who somehow managed to tuck it behind her ear flap in a very teenage-girl like manner, “he gets it from Harry, I think. Sorry about your rose bushes, Ben.” Uma admitted, grimacing slightly as Ben merely chuckled.

“It’s alright. The gardeners will take care of it,”

“Right then. So, you told me you had a sick dragon here?” Uma asked Evie, “and it’s clearly not Audrey,”

“My dragon, Mal, has been sick for a few days now,” Evie told the woman, returning to fretting over her best friend, “She’s really dull and tired, and even more cranky then usual,”

“Hm, that could be a number of things,” Uma pondered, heaving her black duffle up over one shoulder, “what breed is she?”

“An Isle Dragon. At least I think she is. I got the egg as a gift. Mom didn’t ever tell me where she got it from,”

“Well, let’s get to it then. I want out of here before Gil starts mimicking Audrey’s love songs,”

And so the trio left the foyer, heading upstairs into the large upper floor. Ben had made Mal her own special quarantine room. Audrey’s claw marks were all over the door’s painted exterior, showing where she’d been trying to get in earlier.

“I’ll have to talk to that girl,” Ben mumbled at reaching the door, ruffling his hair and groaning at the idea of having to fix the damage. Audrey wasn’t normally destructive, and Evie thought maybe she was coming down with something like Mal had. But Uma merely shook her head.

“It’s only natural,” she explained, opening the door and flicking on the light, “Audrey and Mal have probably already formed a family unit. It’s normal for one dragon to comfort another in times of pain or illness,”

“But Mal and Audrey quarrel constantly,” Evie complained, “they never get along,”

“Maybe so, but Dragons aren’t solitary in the wild. They build family units to survive. You did the right thing though, keeping Audrey out of here,” Uma admitted, kicking the door closed with a boot. Mal was laying in her basket, snoozing the day away unbothered by their entrance.

“I’m going to go call mom and dad,” Ben said to Evie quietly, “see if I can’t get someone down here to fix the door, and the bushes. You’ll be ok here with Uma?”

“Yeah. Love you,”

Sharing a quick kiss on the lips , Ben gave a half wave to Uma before skirting back out the door and vanishing.

“You two are good together,” Uma commented a little while later, removing a stethoscope from her bag and slinging it around her neck, “I was surprised when Ben said he was getting married,”

“Oh?”

Sinking down onto a low stool, Evie watched as Uma very carefully checked Mal’s heartbeat, “why do you say that?”

Uma switched the stethoscope for an ear tool as she began checking Mal’s ear holes.

“I dunno; it just never seemed like he could find the right fit. Hell, even we tried it out once,” Uma admitted with a laugh. This caused Evie’s stomach to drop like a rock. She didn’t mean for the green eye’d monster to make an appearance, but she couldn’t help it. After all, it had only been a few months, and she was nothing like Uma.

“Uh...why didn’t it work out? You and Ben?”

“Ah, we aren’t anything alike, really,” Uma said, satisfied with Mal’s ears and digging around in her bag for a moment, “I was always gone, you know? And of course Ben has his parents business to worry about. He needed someone who could keep up with him. Ah,” finding what she was looking for, Uma removed a small ‘T’ shaped device from the bag, “let’s just take the temperature,”

With a beep, Uma looked at the little digital screen and nodded. She put her tools away, removing a stuffed toy from inside her bag and tucking it under one of Mal’s fat arms.

“You, Evie, seem like just the right type for him,” Uma insisted with a sharp nod, rising from her place on the floor and wiping her hands on her jeans, “as for Mal, I suspect a cold is to blame for this. Where does she normally sleep?”

“Uh, up in the rafters above my bed. She used to sleep next to me, but I share a bed with Ben now. Audrey usually sleeps on her perch,”

“Ah. I suggest maybe installing a heat lamp up there, or building a nesting box. I think she’s getting to cold at night. Dragons are sensitive to that sort of thing,”

“I didn’t know,” Evie admitted, “thank you, Uma,”

“Anytime. I love Dragons, and Ben is still a great friend so I’ll help him out when I can. Anyway, Mal should be back to her normal self in a few days. Keep her warm and eating normally, and if anything changes, call me again and I’ll come back,”

“Can Audrey be allowed back in?” Evie asked, holding the door open for Uma to leave as the girl shook her head.

“No. Keep Mal in here and resting until she’s closer to her normal self. No need to risk Audrey catching whatever she has.”

“Ok. I can do that,” Evie nodded, following Uma back downstairs. Ben was standing in the yard out front, looking over the trampled rose bushes. Audrey and Gil were cuddled up within the broken branches, warm and content in a nest of prickly thorns and velvet petals.

“I think Gil might be more romantic then you, Ben,” Evie joked, looping her arm through her husbands as the man made an offended noise in his throat.

“So you want rose petals?” He asked, “I can do that,”

“Mhm, whatever you say,”

“So how’s Mal? Everything ok?”

“She’ll be just fine,” Uma restated, “Evie knows what needs to be done. As for you, Harry wants to get together at some point for a guys night.”

“Will do. I’ll call him and Jay when I have time,”

Bobbing her head in understanding, Uma gently prodded Gil with a toe through the nest, causing him to lift his head groggily.

“Alright, big fella. Kiss your girlfriend goodbye, we need to get going,”

Gil gave a sad little moan and Uma shook her head, “no complaints. I’m the captain here. Now kisses, and let’s go,”

Evie couldn’t help her little ‘awe’ as Gil reluctantly gave Audrey a little cheek nudge before standing and romping out of the bushes unhappily. Ben picked his own dragon up from the thorns, cradling her like a baby as she wailed dramatically.

“Do you cry like that every time I leave the house?” Evie asked as Uma hauled Gil into her Jeep, leaving poor Audrey heartbroken and hanging limply off Ben’s arm.

“No,” Ben insisted, using his free hand to grasp Evie’s as he gave it a squeeze, “I’m even worse.”

—

A/N: So...this is officially an AU! I’m calling it the Love Like Dragons AU. Basically Auradon is just a normal city (no prince and princesses, no pirates, ect.). Ben is the heir to his wealthy parents business rather then being a King. And the only ‘magical’ thing in Auradon is the dragons part of it. If you have any questions or suggestions for the AU, ping me :3

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Two

Ginny slams the door to the sixth years boys dormitories, making Ron jump.

“Have you seen her? Hermione?” He questions, sounding a little broken hearted.

“Don’t do that,” she scathes, “don’t decide now to care.”

A look of hurt washes over him and for a moment the youngest Weasley wishes she could take it back.

“I’ve always cared! Don’t act like I haven’t!” His voice is growing angry.

“Alright then Ronald,” she sounds just like Molly, it makes him shiver, “if you care so much, then where were you when Lav-Lav called Hermione a fat cow last week!”

He didn’t know about that.

“Or that Hermione practically lives in the common room!”

Okay, that one he heard about. He thought it was a lie. Ron even asked Harry, who just shrugged, but in Harry’s defense, he asked while the black haired boy had been looking over the map. So in other words, Harry probably wasn’t even listening.

“Or when Cormac McLaggan groped her after Slughorn’s this weekend! Tore her dress and all!”

That one, he definitely did not know about.

Scrunching a fist, he began making a move for the door, until Ginny blocked his path.

“Move.” He spat.

“Where are you going?” She retorted.

“To kill McLaggen!” He exclaimed seriously.

She rolled her eyes, “don’t bother, Fred and George already helped out with that.”

He shrinks back, “they’re not even at Hogwarts, how’d they know?”

She scoffs, “goes to show how little you care, huh?” Ginny said nastily.

Feeling even more awful then before, if possible, Ron clambered to sit on the edge of his bed.

“I swear Gin, I didn’t know about that. If I did, I would’ve,” he began angrily

Sighing, she stepped over and sat next to him, “I know Ron. I know you care, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s alright, I suppose I deserved it. I didn’t even know about that stuff, so you’re right, says a lot about me.”

Guilt was beginning to seep its way into the back of Ginny’s head. Tears stung her eyes.

“I have to tell you something.” her voice shook.

Ron looked over to her worriedly, Ginny rarely cried.

“I lied to you, that day in the hallway with Dean. I lied.” She confessed.

“What?” He feels like a dementors trying to suck his soul.

“Hermione and Viktor Krum... they never snogged.” She clarified, though Ron could sense she already knew what was coming.

He stood up, clearly ready to yell, before she stopped him, “he kissed her, but Hermione didn’t want him to.” She began.

“Did he...” Ron asked, fists clenching.

“No,” she assured quickly, “nothing like that, he went in and pecked her and she was taken off guard. When he tried again she told him she couldn’t. That there was someone else.”

“Someone else.” He repeats a surge of hope growing inside him, “me?” He dares to question. Feeling a little full of himself for it after.

This was Viktor ruddy Krum they were talking about here. Anyone who picks him, Ron Weasley, over the Bulgarian seeker must be mental.

And just like that, Ginny’s annoyed with him again, “yes Ron, you. Blokes are daft but you give a whole new meaning to the word.”

“Did she tell you that? That it was me?” He knows he sounds pathetic.

“She didn’t have to,” Ginny starts quickly, like it meant nothing, even though to her brother, it was everything, “that’s beside the point. Look, I’m telling you I’m sorry, what I did was wrong, but what you did, what you’re doing, isn’t right either.” She throws his way.

He bows his head, “yeah, your right, I didn’t mean those things about you, you know, getting around and whatnot. It’s just you’re my little sister Gin, it’s kinda hard to see you grow up, makes me feel like I have to do the same.”

Ginny offers a tight lipped smile, “thanks Ron, really, but I wasn’t talking about that.” Her voice is a little softer, “you know what I was talking about.”

He groans. Of course he knew what she really met. Part of him wanted to apologize to his little sister, but another part was avoiding the inevitable.

“I’m not saying you’re not entitled to date anyone, but we both know how wrong it is. You did it just hurt Hermione and you liked hurting her!” Her voice was growing louder.

He stood a little taller, “Oi Ginny! Don’t you ever tell me something like that again! Ever!”

She stepped closer, “it’s true isn’t it? Admit it!” The girl demanded.

“At first it felt good, I felt wanted!” He yelled before he could help himself, a look of disgust coming over his sisters face “I’m not proud of it,” Ron’s tone dropped, “I swear I only felt it for a second. Only after that snog after the match, now, now I feel like the biggest arse on the planet. I swear Ginny, I didn’t know about all that stuff, about the common room, about Lavender, McLaggen.” He barely got out.

“I know you didn’t Ron,” her tone matches his, “but that’s the problem isn’t it? Even if you didn’t feel anything like that for Hermione, she’s still supposed to be your best mate.” Ginny reminds.

He flops back onto the bed. He knows he fucked up. He known it from the moment he saw Hermione’s face that night of the Slytherin match. It was just a lot to take in because someone finally called him out on it rather than dancing around it like Harry and his roommates had been.

“I’ve gotta break up with Lavender.” He states.

Ginny let’s out a humorless laugh.

“I’ve been trying for weeks Ginny, I swear, she makes it bloody hard, can never get a word in with her.” Ron groans.

“You better. If you don’t Fred and George will take the mickey out of you all holiday.” She decides to go easy on him.

At this statement Ron feels a chill run up his spine. He thinks if he’s the center of Lavender taunts for the next few weeks he’ll have to jump off his broom.

They’re silent for a few moment, each reflecting on what just transpired.

Ron speaks first, “I know it’s wrong,” he starts with a gulp, “but I do feel that you know. I do think I lo,”

He’s cut off when the door swings open, causing the pair of siblings to jump to their feet.

“Neville!” Ginny exclaims, she forgot all about Harry’s plan for them.

He keeps over, grasping his knees, “give me a minute.” He gasps.

The red head rolls her eyes, “just tell me where to go. I can’t have you passing out, now can I?”

The brunette smiles gratefully, stepping aside for Ginny to go.

“Where is she?” She asks halfway to the door.

They glance at Ron’s awaiting eyes. The youngest Weasley leans over to Neville, beckoning him to whisper in her ear.

Once he does, she steps back, “I know my way, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” She tells lowly, a little worried whether if Neville will be able to contain her brother.

If either boy says anything, she doesn’t hear. Ginny’s running on the path to the potions stock closet, ducking behind a nearby tapestry she knows leads to that particular corridor.

Just as she approaches her destination, she notes the door cracked a little as voices float from it.

“I’ll just stay here. I can’t go.” She hears Hermione’s voice admit sadly.

“Can’t go where?” She asks before she can help herself, barging into the room.

The sight of Ginny makes Hermione sink further into Harry as the tears come again. It’s silly really, but part of her hoped it was Ron. The fact that he didn’t come solidifies how much has changed.

The curly haired witch doesn’t realize, but silently Harry passes over the piece of parchment as means to fill Ginny in.

She reads the letter with wide eyes. Once she takes in the last line, she can infer what Hermione meant when she first came in.

Ginny slouched to the other side of Hermione, “I’m so sorry about your grandma, you’re pretty close yeah?” She chooses to leave out the fact she knew this information from Ron.

Sadly, Hermione nods as she turns to rest her head on Ginny’s shoulder, welcoming the embrace.

After a few more minutes of crying, the brunette girls breathing slows and Ginny takes it as her opportunity to speak, “you can still come to the Burrow of course.”

“Ginny,” it’s Harry who scolds her.

Hermione lifts her head from the girls shoulder to look her in the eyes, expecting to see mischief behind them. Instead, she seems rather genuine.

“Harry,” she mocks his tone, “I am not letting Hermione stay at Hogwarts for holiday, alright?” The ginger turns back to her friend, “Hermione it seems as if everyone’s forgotten,” her eyes flick to Harry, “but the Burrow is just as much my house as it is Ron’s and you’re just as much my friend as you are his.”

Probably even more so as of late.

She sucks in a jittery breath and shakes her head, “I can’t impose really, they wouldn’t even be expecting me.” Hermione tries, not particularly wanting to bring him into it.

“I never told Mum you weren’t coming. It didn’t feel like my place, Merlin knows Ron doesn’t write home, so as far as they know you’re coming. They’re more excited to see you than Phlegm anyway.”

She manages a small chuckle at this before asking what everyone else is surely thinking, “but what about Ron?” She’s avoided speaking his name for weeks, it feels foreign on her tongue.

“I’ll talk to Ron.” They’re both surprised that it’s Harry who says it.

“I reckon he’ll be happy about it anyway. Maybe you two can finally talk.” Ginny comments what she hopes is casually. After her talk with her brother today, she knows not all hope is lost.

At this Hermione let’s out a small scoff in between hiccups.

“Just trust me Hermione,” The ginger says, “anyway, I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy being caught and accused of stealing something in here.” She says standing.

Holding out her hands, Hermione takes them as she helps her up, Harry doing the same with a hand firmly pressed to her back.

They all begin to leave, ushering Hermione as they go. Ginny still holds one of her hands, Harry’s resting between her shoulders.

Then she stops.

“Is,” she can’t even get it out, “is Lavender going to be there?”

Ginny looks horrified and makes a noise of disgust, “Merlin no! I’d rather spend Christmas with the Malfoy’s!” She exclaims making gagging noises.

This illicits a small laugh from both Harry and Hermione.

They all fall into pace again, “you can use Hedwig to owl your parents Hermione, I’ll talk to Ron and find you after. Common room, yeah?” He asks as they near the portrait hole.

She nods solemnly as they part ways.

...

“Is she alright? Is everything okay?” Ron jumps from where he was sitting on his bed as Harry swings the door open.

He looks startled, the chosen one didn’t even have a moment to breathe before being bombarded with questions.

“I reckon I have the same questions mate.” Neville calls from where he's reading on his bed.

“She’s not hurt I guess, not psychically.” Harry shrugs lamely.

Neville places his book down. Ron looks as if he’s about to explode.

“It’s her grandma she’s ill, Hermione’s parents have sent word they’re going to France to make sure she’s comfortable, you know if...” he starts sadly.

Neville’s chest tightens for Hermione. He can’t imagine if that was his Gran.

Ron’s heart also breaks a little. He knows how close the two of them are.

“They also told her they didn’t want her to come, to see her like that, so some arrangements have been made.” He begins, bracing himself for what’s to come.

“Arrangements?” Ron asks eagerly.

Harry nods, “yeah, she’s uh, well she’s going to spend holiday at the Burrow.” He says it quickly.

Neville let’s his book roll to the ground with a thud, as he scrambles from his bed. “I’m just gonna go check on Hermione.” He squeaks, hurrying from the room.

“Ron.” Harry turns to face him tentatively.

“Brilliant.” Ron says.

Harry’s shocked to find no sarcasm in his tone. Instead, he’s wearing a lopsided grin.

“What?” The Boy-Who-Lived asks confused.

Ron stands happily, “well it’s brilliant! We’re sure to get all sorted if we’re gonna be in the same house for weeks. No library to run to. No lessons to go to. And bonus, the stairs at the Burrow won’t move if I try to get into her room.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry says again, taking in this information

“I don’t really get what’s so confusing mate.”

Harry looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. Ron encourages him with a wave of his hand.

“It’s just that, look, I don’t wanna be the one to say it, but somebodies got to! I don’t think that, well, the thing is,” he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He’s been doing his best to not interfere with whatever Ron does for weeks, “Lavender!” He settles for out of breath.

Surprisingly, Ron let’s out a chuckle at his friends word vomit, “you’re a little late to that one mate. I’m gonna chuck Lavender before we leave.”

“We leave tomorrow.” Harry reminds.

He cringes, he forgot about that, “right, well, I’ve been trying to do it for weeks, honest, but Ginny’s really made me realize what an arse I’ve been.” Ron drops his voice down, tone turning serious, “why didn’t you tell me about McLaggen?” His tones hurt.

Harry sighs, fiddling uncomfortably with the end of his shirt, “she didn’t want anyone to know. Neville was the one who found her and Ginny, Luna, and I had already been looking.” He informed.

“Come on Harry, I had a right, didn’t I?” He needed the reassurance. Part of him was unsure whether he still had the right to know.

Harry shrugs, “McLaggen’s been dealt with, you should be more worried about Lavender. Hermione’s taken to sleeping in the common room, she’s been awful to her.”

Doing his best not get angry, he responds, “I asked you if that were true two weeks ago, you shrugged.”

The chosen one looks apologetic, “I’m sorry Ron, I don’t remember that, honest.”

Weasley nods, he knew Harry wasn’t paying attention when he asked, and Ron never bothered bringing it up again, “what has Lavender been saying?”

This is the second time someone’s brought it to his attention. Not to mention, before he was running away from the blonde, she’d often mercilessly tease Hermione, which he’d always got upset at her for.

“I don’t think it’s my place to say. I’ve heard a few of my own though, in the halls, in class, in the common room.” Potter says.

“Can you at least tell me what you’ve heard?” He hopes he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

“Hermione Stranger, that’s a favorite,” Ron cringes, he knows that’s a taunt she got before she came to Hogwarts, “it’s usually about how she looks, how she’s weird, or about,” he stops.

“About what?” He probes.

“About how you don’t want her. How you never would, Lavender tells her she’s too ugly, too strange.”

“Rubbish!” He exclaims.

“I know,” Harry soothes, “but it doesn’t really look that way, does it?” He points out.

Falling onto his bed in frustration for the umpteenth time that day, Ron groans.

“Ginny lied, did you know?” He started, “about Krum.”

Harry has witnessed the fight. He knew just how ugly the words and accusations were.

“What?” He asked shocked, he knew that row was what started this whole Lavender business. He wasn’t that daft.

“Yeah, turns out that git tried to kiss her at the ball, she told him there was someone else though.”

“Oh, wow.” Harry says, sounding winded. He knew as well as Ron that this changes everything.

“Right tosser aren’t I? Mione had some self control at the ripe age fourteen,” it felt nice to let the nickname slip after so long, “I’m gonna be seventeen soon and I can’t even break up with my,” the word girlfriend felt wrong at the moment, “with Lavender.”

“Ron,” Harry begins, a little unsure of what he’s gonna say, until like before, Neville intrudes on the moment.

“How is she?” Ron asks sitting up.

“She’s upset Ginny took her to Pomfrey. She’ll have a sleeping draught and a bed to sleep in. It’ll be a nice change from the couch,” he catches himself, “uh I mean, her couch bed, yeah, you know how she uh, talks about her bed, like a couch. Just an expression you know.”

“He knows Neville.” Harry interjects.

“Oh.”

Ron still feels horrible about it.

“Alright.” Is all Ron says, getting up to wipe his trousers and heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Neville questions as Seamus and Dean saunter in.

“To break up with Lavender.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Someone finally realized they broke Granger’s heart.” Seamus comments.

Now that Ron’s mentioned it, it’s like the floodgates have opened.

Dean elbows him in the ribs, making the irish wizard yelp.

“No can do Ron, it’ll have to wait till tomorrow. It’s curfew.” Dean points out.

“I’m a prefect.” He retorts.

Dean shakes his head again, as much as he wanted Ron to break it off, he couldn’t right now, it wasn’t possible. “I don’t think the staircase cares that you’re a prefect.” He claps him on the shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

“Bloody effing stairs.” Ron curses. He’s also pissed he couldn’t go to the common room and at least apologize to Hermione about her grandma.

“Wait so he does care about something!” Seamus exclaims with mock excitement.

“Shut up Seamus.” Ron bites.

“Well everyone in here knows I’m right? You’ve been walking around for weeks caring less if dear old Hermione was miserable. And there’s no way you didn’t know! Even the Creevey’s picked up on it.” He bellowed.

Ron was getting annoyed, everyone kept insisting he could care less about Hermione when that was far from the truth.

He walked over to Seamus before Dean stood in between them, “let’s just all go to bed yeah?”

The ginger and the shorter brunette stared each other down for a few moments before both admitted defeat.

“Goodnight.” Neville called out as the lights dimmed, enveloping the room into black.

“Night.” Harry called, shoveling under his blankets to cast a ‘lumos’ and watch the map.

Ron and Dean chorused a goodnight, the latter sounding more cheery than the former.

“Goodnight boys,” he paused, “goodnight Hermione.” He said with a drawl.

Ron threw his sheets back before taking a deep breath and calming himself down. By tomorrow he would be on the right path to fix this.

By tomorrow him and Lavender would be done.

[godess-ofthe-underworld]

Love Finds A Way

(sequel to “See You Again) (A Harry Hook x reader story)

Part 9

"I… I…"

"You what?"

Harry stepped closer, the movement making Hadley look up from the hook.  Their eyes met, Hadley could see the emotions swimming through his ocean blue eyes.  

She let out a deep breath she didn't know she was holding.

"I love you…"

Part 9

Harry's crystal blue eyes widened,enhanced by the thick line of eyeliner around them, his shoulders slumped, his jaw slacked a little. 

Hadley saw the other vks close to the pipe and had to act fast.

"I'm sorry"

Harry snapped out of it just as Hadley dropped the hook over the railing and into the water. 

Harry rushed past her not saying anything as she ran past to join the others. 

A few tears prickled in her eyes as she fought more pirates.

Hadley helped Ruby fight off two pirates as Jay and Lonnie ran through the pipe.

They backed closer to it.

Hadley watched as Harry fought Ben, dripping wet. There was a rage in his eyes that Hadley never saw before. She snapped out of her staring when Evie pulled her back.

"Carlos! Smoke bomb!"

Carlos tossed the smoke bomb to Evie and she held it up.

Purple smoke billowed out from the broken bomb, covering them to escape.

"Ben go!"

Evie, Ruby and Ben went through the pipe.

Hadley and Mal made it over the bridge, stopping at the opening.

Together they kicked the bridge off the docks and into the waters below.

Mal smirked at Uma and turned away going through the tunnel.

Hadley lingered a few moments longer looking at Harry.

He was looking straight back, his blue eyes sad. He almost looked like he wanted to say something.

"i'm sorry"

Hadley turned and ran through the tunnel, throwing her sword in the trunk of the limo and climbing in.

When she settled in her seat a  silent tear slipped down her cheek.

The way back was silent, no one said anything aside from Dude saying things he shouldn't.

When they got back all Hadley wanted to do was sit in her room and cry.

Ruby ran off to the dorms as soon as her feet hit Auradon soil.

Evie pulled her and Mal away walking towards the dorms.

"We need to talk"

Hadley nodded, another tear dripping down her cheek.

"No."  Carlos stepped forward making the girls turn around.

"No?"

“You guys are always going off in a huddle, whispering your girl-talk or whatever.  And Jay and I are tired of it.”

Jay looked at Carlos wide eyes before holding his hands up.

“I'm not.” He shrugged.

“We're your family, too.” Carlos continued “We've been through a lot. Together. I'm not stopping that now. Okay?” Mal and Hadley shook their heads.

Carlos looked at the other four standing around him.

“Everyone, sit.” Carlos sat down cross-legged in the grass with Dude in his lap.

They looked around at each other before sitting down.

The five sat in a circle in silence for a few seconds before Carlos spoke again looking over at Jay.

“I don't know how to start girl-talk.”

Jay shrugged “what up?”

Evie chuckled and Mal spoke up.

“Um… Well…” she paused looking for the right words, “ I'm a mess. I'm such a mess.” Mal laughed nervously and Evie placed a hand on her shoulder and Hadley reached out for her hand squeezing it reassuringly “I mean, six months ago, I was, you know, stealing candy from babies, and know, everyone wants me to be this Lady of the Court and I have no idea how to keep up the act”

“Then don't” Carlos shrugged.

“See? This was dumb.” Jay sighed starting to get up.

Evie held out her hand stopping him from leaving the grass.

“Maybe not,” she readjusted to hold Mals other hand and face the others.

“we are always going to be the kids from the Isle.  I tried to forget it, I really tried. But those are our roots.  And we all did what we had to do to survive, but it made us who we are.  And we are never going to be like anyone else here.  And that's okay.”

“And we can't fake it” Carlos added.

“Yeah, I mean, especially without my spell book.” Mal sighed.

“Well of Ben doesn't love the real you, then he's not the one.  The same goes with Harry, Hadley.  If Harry can't see the way you feel for him and what you gave up, then he doesn't deserve you” Carlos gave a small smile.

Hadley laughed nervously and another year slid down her cheek.

“See that's the thing, Harry does know how I feel, at least he does now now anyway.” Hadley looked down.

“What do you mean?” Jay furrowed his eyebrows.

“I, um.., I told him that I loved him.” Hadley let out a sharp breath.

The others gasped.

“What did he say?” Evie looked wide eyes at her.

“He didn't say anything.” Hadley gave a sheepishly sad smile “ I said it right before I dropped his hook in the water, he dove in right after,” Hadley paused before starting again. 

“He thought I forgot about him, he thought I abandoned him there.  And I know you guys don't necessarily like him because he's on Umas crew and everything, but he does have a heart.  And to see the look on his face when he confronted me outside of the Ursals’, I broke my heart.  Knowing that I was the sole purpose of it.  Hell I wouldn't be surprised if he hated me now, I mean, I did tell him I was coming back for him.  And now I won't even get to know what his answer would be.” Hadley wiped away the tears that had fallen.

“Well, if he's dumb enough to not love you back then, you don't deserve him.” Jay nodded.

Hadley smiled sadly.

There was silence for a few minutes before  Evie spoke.

“ Hadley and I are going to go make some changes to your dress. And if you're up for it, only if you're up for it, it'll be waiting for you, okay?” Mal nodded slightly and Evie pulled her into a hug mounting 'thank you’re to Carlos who nodded.

Jay, Evie, Hadley and Carlos stood up and began walking away.

When Hadley and Evie reached Evie's dorm, Hadley flopped on her bed.

“E, what am I going to do?” Evie leaned against the post at the foot of her bed.

Evie gave her a small smile.

She sat down on the bed as Hadley sat up and pulled the girl into a side hug. 

“What does your heart say?” 

“That right now, I'm hoping for a miracle” Hadley sighed.

(Evie)

They don't always happen when you ask And its easy to give in to your fears But when you're blinded by your pain Can't see the way, get through the rain A small but still, resilient voice Says hope is very near, oh (Oh) There can be miracles (Miracles) When you believe (Boy, when you believe, yeah) (Though hope is frail) Though hope is frail (Its hard) Its hard to kill (Hard to kill, oh, yeah) Who knows what miracles You can achieve (You can achieve, oh) When you believe somehow you will (Somehow, somehow, somehow) Somehow you will (I know, I know, know) You will when you believe (When you)

(A/n: for those of you who read 'see you again' will know where this song came from :))

Hadley turned and hugged Evie tight.

“What would I do without you?” She smiled.

“Not sure. But now, we have a dress to fix.” Evie stood up pulling Hadley with her.  After getting changed from their Isle clothes, Evie gladly let Hadley borrow some clothes, together they pulled out Mal's yellow and blue dress, attaching it to the mannequin.  Evie cut and Hadley sewed.

Just over an hour later, there was a frantic knock on the door.

“Come in” Hadley said through the pins in her teeth.

The door burst open and in walked a tear streaked Ruby.

Hadley stood up and removed the pins from her mouth seeing her friend in such a state.

“Ruby? What's wrong?” Hadey and Evie both rushed over to console the blonde girl.

“I think I'm in love.” Ruby didn't look up from the floor.

“Well that's great!” Evie squealed.

“Ruby?” Hadley already had an idea on who it was.

“With who?” 

Ruby looked up at them.

“I think I'm in love with Gil.” 

Hadley and Evie looked at each other.

Oh boy..

“Okay, you need to talk and we need to work, let's go” Hadley shut the door and pulled Ruby over to the dresses.

Hadey and Evie resumed their work both listening to her

“Spill.”

“I don't know, I just, I felt something when we ran into him the first time on the Isle.”

Hadley urged her for more details

“After I was captured by Umas crew, Gil never left my side. He also didn't let any of the other crew members get close to me.  We got to talking, found out we have a similar interest in adventures and discovering new places.  He's really sweet." Ruby had a far off look in her eyes. 

"Gil always was. Granted he can be a bit thick headed but, nonetheless,  he is a great guy.  Harry's told me that." Hadley hadn't looked away from the lace she was sewing.

"I understand completely" she reached out and placed her hand on Ruby's knee. 

"I just wish there was some way to bring him over, you know?"Ruby sighed.

"Oh believe me, nobody knows about wanting to bring someone over more than Hadley and I" Evie said walking around the front of the dress.

"There are many people on that island that don't deserve to be there."

Hadley finished stitching, stepping back with Evie and looking the dress up and down. 

"Its even more perfect than before." Hadley high fived Evie admiring their handywork.  

Hadley walked over to Ruby and pulled her up holding onto her hands.

"We will find a way to get Gil off the Isle.  Even if I have to go back there and drag him out myself." Hadley smiled. 

Ruby gave a slight chuckle and pulled Hadley and Evie into a hug.

"Now, its almost time for cotillion." Hadley walked over to the rack of dresses and pulled off a large dress bag labeled 'Ruby'.  She held the bag out.

"Go back to your dorm and get some rest, ill be over in a bit to help you get ready i gotta help deliver dresses and help Evie get ready." She leaned in as Ruby took the bag,and whispered "and to be honest, Evie is the only one who can get me into my dress." Ruby laughed as she nodded her head and walked out the door. 

 I gotta say this part tor me up writing... anyways.. If you liked this part and would like part 10 please like and comment.  As always you can read the illustrated version over on my Wattpad (@phelpsphan).  If you would like to be added to the tag list please message me. <3<3<3

Summary: You would think that six months in Auradon would do any villain kid good.  Well, not Hadley.  After the events of the Coronation, Hadley's mood took a downward spiral; and for one reason, guilt.  She'd broken a promise and left her best friend on the Isle of the Lost.  How will she handle seeing him again when certain circumstances bring her back to the Isle? Will she finally tell him what she really feels?  

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in Descendants.  Hadley and the plot between her and Harry are mine. 

Tag list: @unded-bride

[countessmorgasson]

Hibiscus

Asra x MC! An illness forces Asra to spill his deepest secret.

For those of you who don’t know, Hanahaki disease is a fictional illness where the infected coughs flower petals as a result of unrequited love.

Gender Neutral MC

IMPORTANT: This fic comes with two possible endings! 

(Disclaimer: AU, not based on Asra’s route, but still contains story spoilers. Lemon warning depending on your choice.)

TW: Illness, blood, death

“It’s been happening for weeks now. Probably longer, but he’s been so secretive about it. I don’t know what to do.” 

You’re nearly collapsed in exhaustion, resting yourself against Julian’s desk hours after your bedtime. Desperation keeps you awake and restless as the doctor rifles through various scrolls and notes in his office. 

Asra’s sick.

He’s been sick. For ages, it seems- and it’s not exactly the common cold. If you hadn’t shared a space together he’d probably get away with hiding his condition that much longer, but he’s breaking down, and you’re starting to find the pieces. 

It started with hiccups, you remember. Small ones, similar to when he had a drink too many- but with a deadlier rasp to his voice. Those transitioned into something you never wanted to hear; desperate, pained coughing. There were nights where the sound was so unbearable you found yourself away from the shop- after being denied one too many times. He’d never let you take care of him.

And then there were the flower petals. You’ve been finding them in the most peculiar spots; swept under the counters, circling the drains, and even on Asra’s bedding. Pink and white flakes follow your master like moths to a flame, and yet you’ve only now come to connect the dots- when you picked one up to see it streaked with blood.

You’re not sure exactly how long he’s been like this, but it’s gotten bad- and confusing. Something you’ve never seen before, even as a magician’s apprentice. 

So here you are, hours behind on your sleep schedule with poor Julian shuffling through a mixed stack of medical and spell books. You try your hardest to keep up, but your mind drifts back to the shop- is Asra sick right now? Is he in pain?

“Describe it again, m/c. Did you say flower petals? What do they look like?”

“They’re usually pink- if I had to guess I’d say they’re petals from some sort of hibiscus- but smaller.” 

Pink hibiscus... your favorite flowers. 

Julian’s eyes rest on the book cracked open across the desk- on a specific page. The only thing keeping the room lit is a flickering lantern and a candle in the center of the office table, and the darkness obstructs your vision but you just know he’s found something of use. You can see it in the way his face falls. 

“Could it be... Hanahaki disease?”

“What is that?”

Julian’s eyes skim the pages with frantic speed- he must not know either. All you can do is force your eyes open while you wait. Absolute torture. You wait, and you wait...

...

“Julian?” You’re bordering on hysteria in your tone- whether it’s because of fear or exhaustion, you don’t know. Why does he have that look on his face?

“Julian! Did you figure it out? What’s wrong?!”

“M/c...” 

The book closes with a deafening thud.

“There’s no cure.”

- 

Asra’s up before the sun again.  You enter the shop just in time to hear him erupt into another fit of coughs- painful, by the sound of them. It takes all of your willpower not to turn back and wait outside.

You can’t take it anymore. You rush towards the sound and place your hand against Asra’s back, pretending you don’t notice how he hunches over the sink and how much he begins to strain when you get close. 

“Relax, Asra,” you soothe. You feel magic underneath your palms as a desperate attempt to alleviate the pain. “Let it out.”

You shut your eyes when the petals fall into the sink, and your eyes burn.  There’s silence now, aside from Asra’s heavy breathing. You continue to burn yourself out with magic, convinced that it’s helping him. 

“M/c, go. I don’t want you to see this,” is the first thing he says to you. 

You’re trying not to take it personally, but you don’t know how. Why can’t he let you help him? It’s the absolute least you can do. You think back to as far as your memory will allow- and he’s been there from the start. He’s fed you, cared for you, taught you everything you know- and yet he won’t let you return the favor?

Maybe it’s the exhaustion playing on your nerves, but now that he’s stopped coughing you find yourself balling your fists and blinking back hot tears. 

“Why won’t you let me help?” Your voice is weak, but it paints a red flush across Asra’s cheeks. 

“Because you can’t.”

So he knows. 

Once again Asra knows something that you don’t, and there’s practically no chance that he’ll share that knowledge with you. That’s how it always is with him, isn’t it?

You can’t come with me, m/c. Not this time.  I can’t explain it yet. Not this time. It’s better if you don’t know.  Someday, when you’re stronger. Until then...

Words of the past begin to creep into your head, taunting you, twisting your emotions until you’re past exhaustion and completely seething.  It isn’t fair.

For a moment, your eyes meet and you see what you think is guilt cross his face. It lasts only a moment, and he stands his ground. 

“Don’t overwork yourself- you’re so tired your eyes are bloodshot. Just go to bed. I’ll be fine.”

My eyes aren’t bloodshot. I’ve been crying.  You bite your tongue only because you’re moments away from collapsing. You glance back to the sink for traces of blood but you find none. If only you hadn’t been awake all night- surely you’d put up more of a fight.  And yet, your exhaustion was more than just physical sleepiness. You still trudge upstairs to your bedroom. 

If Asra wasn’t going to let you care for him today, you were going to get at least some sort of comfort. You flop onto your shared bed without so much as removing your shoes, but your eyes catch something that deters you from your sleep.

A single petal on the pillow- torn in two. 

-

Now that you’ve gone upstairs, Asra could pace throughout the shop without interruption- or so he thought. 

A harsh knock on the door raises goosebumps. What if you wake up? He can’t avoid you forever- and this illness was clearly taking a toll on you both. He pretended not to notice how you came home clearly in tears. There was soon going to be a day where he wouldn’t be able to bring you peace...

Shaking the morbid thoughts from his head, Asra hurried to open the doors before the visitor could pound against the door again. 

“Julian?” 

Oh, it only gets worse, doesn’t it? Even doctor Devorak’s got the same glossy look on his eyes. He’s like a single storm cloud against the sunny sky.  He pushes past Asra with a dramatic turn of his cape, but when he’s entered the shop he stops the dramatic antics. 

“Is it true? You’re suffering from Hanahaki disease?” He demands.

“Hush, Julian. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Asra has to avert his eyes once again. 

“I’m a doctor, Asra. I know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s m/c, isn’t it?” His voice dips into a shattered whisper, but Asra can only roll his eyes with another frustrated sigh. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised to see you at the foot of the stairs, having heard it all. With that small fear in the back of his mind, Asra maintains the silence despite the doctor’s pleading eyes.

“You’re... in love with your apprentice?” 

“Must you ask?”

Asra never meant to hurt Julian- he had just made too many desperate choices. Even so, those were made years ago, before he had you back. Was Julian holding on to that pain all this time? 

The silence answers that question- and neither of the two can look the other in the eyes. 

“Well... regardless of how I feel,” Julian finally huffs. “You have to come clean. M/c doesn’t deserve to be left in the dark.”

Ugh! Julian wouldn’t understand. He never understood magic- he didn’t understand sacrifice, and surely he wasn’t going to understand why Asra can’t just tell you. If it were that easy, he would’ve told you everything years ago. There’s a reason you can only remember so far back, and it’s taken so many fights and tears for you to stop questioning it. It was for your safety, for goodness sakes!

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”  By now Julian seems to have deflated. Even his hair suddenly seems to have drooped over his eyes. “If you really love m/c... you wouldn’t want them to be alone. But that’s what you’re doing- to both of us. You’re going to let yourself die without a word because you’re afraid of hurting them? How do you think they’ll feel when they have to bury you?”

-

It’s been a few days since your outburst. It seems like things could be better- you haven’t seen any petals around the shop. Could it be that Julian was wrong? Maybe Asra did know better and figured out how to heal himself. 

Sinking back into bed, you kick yourself for getting your hopes up. You know better than to do that. Asra’s probably just gotten better at hiding them again. There was a reason why you’ve only come to notice the sickness now.

You woke up alone today. You and Asra didn’t always share a bed- it was more common the first two years, when he seemed to afraid to let you wander. Part of you starts to yearn for those years, even when it seemed painful just to be alive. 

“M/c?”

His voice reaches you before you see him come into the room. You don’t even register the tears in his eyes at first. 

You just see blood.

Dripping down his chin in small streaks of red- droplets staining the purple fabric of his favorite tunic. It’s even on his hand. He must have coughed into it. 

The world seems to vanish around you. All you see is red. 

“M/c, we’ve got to talk.”

...

-

The blood is cleaned up, but you’re still shaking. Your eyes are fixed on Asra’s lips, just waiting for the disease to manifest itself again. Does he know you’ve barely eaten since that night when you fought? You either sleep too much or not at all- and when you do, all you see are pink petals.

But they don’t come. You stare and stare but he doesn’t cough. He doesn’t bleed. Asra just sits. He cradles his tea with shaky hands and teary eyes. 

“I...” 

Shaking his head, he gazes into your eyes like it may be the last time.

It may...

No! Don’t let yourself think that. Julian was lying to you. There was a cure out there. If Vesuvia could be completely rid of the Red Plague within days, there was something that could do the same for whatever Asra has. What was it called again, Hanahaki disease? You’re still not sure what it is. Julian shut down the moment he read those words in one of his books. You’re still in the dark, but it doesn’t matter. 

“I think it’s time I tell you... everything.” Asra reaches for your hand, but pulls away at the last moment.

Everything? Everything as in all the secrets you’ve been denied over the years? He was going to tell you why he never brought you along on his journeys, why he wouldn’t speak about your family, your missing memories, the painful headaches? 

Why do you suddenly feel so sick? There’s got to be a reason why he’s coming clean after being so adamant earlier... and then you remember the blood.

Oh no.

“How do I start...” Asra sighs. “This is harder than I’d ever imagined, m/c.”

“Just say it.”

Eyes still trained on you, Asra lifts the cup of tea to his lips once again and breathes out deeply...

-

He’s in love with me.

The words ring through your head. 

Out of everything you just learned, that struck the hardest. Harder than the realization that you had died. You always knew that- somehow. That wasn’t the shocking factor. 

You’re waiting for your heart to catch up- but it never seems to. You’re just staring ahead of you, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’s in love with me. We were in love- for years. 

“M/c...? M/c! Can you hear me?” 

He’s so frantic, it’s contagious. His voice finally pulls you out of your own head.

“Yes! Yes, I’m sorry. I...” 

You clutch your teacup, practically waiting for it to shatter in your palm.  And then the tears come. 

“Asra... are you dying?”

When he’s quiet, the tears come harder.  It still feels like there are things he won’t speak up about- things you may never know. It’s not fair! Doesn’t he understand what you’re feeling right now?  He brought you back from the dead and you just have to brush over that tidbit because you’re so overwhelmed by the progressing illness- an illness that he clearly knows something about and still won’t tell you.

The guilt on Asra’s face seems to weigh him down. He’s barely looking at you at this point. 

“Please... don’t cry.” He whispers.

“Don’t cry?” You exclaim. “How am I supposed to be okay right now?”

Despite your bitter response you bite down on your lip and hastily wipe the tears from your face. Your throat feels so raw, painfully constricting during the silence. 

“I can’t lose you, Asra.”

Your eyes meet before you can finish the sentence. There it is again. Those cosmic purple eyes bore into you while you struggle to find the words. 

“...Because I love you.”

“...Because you’re my best friend.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 38)

Being sick is very different in a small village than it is in the palace. Illness is never comfortable but it is even less pleasant when the pillows aren’t as plush and fluffy and when she doesn’t have the security of physicians to monitor and care for her nearly every minute.

In Wujing she has to walk to see Min-Min. She is lucky that Hajime is willing to make that walk for her. But while he is gone, there is no one to tend to her, no one to make sure that she is still breathing. No one but Atsu whose idea of helping is occasionally feeling her forehead and declaring, “mmhmm, you’re still sick. I dieg-nose you with not healthy” before springing off the bed to fetch her soup. Soup that is lukewarm at best and clumsily delivered--she now has several wet spots on her sheets to add to her discomfort. He stands on his tiptoes and pushes the bowl onto the nightstand, spilling even more of the broth onto it. He takes the spoon and holds it out to her, dripping broth on to her collar and nightdress.

Azula bites her tongue, it takes all of her will power and then some to not snap at the boy. The boy who is only trying his best to care for her. She parts her lips before Atsu can splatter soup all over her face. She has to admit that he isn’t such a terrible cook. If only he didn’t make great messes while doing so.

“Did I do good!?” He shouts, putting an even deeper pounding into her head.

“You did fine, Atsu.” She coughs. With each cough comes a throbbing like the strides of a soldier, heavy of armor and step. She massages her temples as Atsu holds out the spoon again. This time he holds it too far and she has to crane her neck to reach it. This is how Azula endures the better part of an hour until Atsu hums to himself and declares, “maybe I should hand you the bowl!”

She wishes that he had handed her the spoon or a pair of chopsticks to go with it. Instead--desperate for the soothing warmth and the favors it does for her sore throat--she drinks straight from the bowl. She can practically see father, Zuzu, Mai, TyLee, and everyone she had ever known balking at the unbecoming sight.

She puts the bowl aside and lays her head back all while the spills on the dresser and on her skin drive her mad. She longs to fetch herself a napkin but, spirits, she is so weak. Her pounding head is spinning faintly and she thinks that just trying to stand will leave her feeling entirely nauseous.

She knows that this is it. That this is where she will meet her end. The mighty and proud Azula will have her demise at the hands of an apparently common Earth Kingdom cold.

She bunches in on herself, her stomach does all sorts of flips and flops and she swears that she is going to throw up. She doesn’t even want to move an inch. This is how Hajime finds her. He sighs, apparently noting the mess on the dresser and her skin. “Atsu, you made a big mess!”

“Sorry dad.” He mumbles from the other room.

“Don’t apologize to me!” He rolls his eyes. “You git in ‘ere and ‘pologize to Rikka.”  He shakes his head with a small laugh. “Sorry about Atsu, he was just trying to help. He used to do that to his ma…” he washes away the splotches of soup.

Sometimes Azula wonders about Hajime’s old wife. He talks about her often enough but has never once mentioned a name. She can never bring herself to ask. She doesn’t want to open old wounds. She can’t imagine what it would be like to have a lover die. She can’t imagine that she will ever have to, not when there is no face to picture. At least there is one perk to being unlovable, she will never know that kind of pain.

And yet, Hajime makes her feel like she isn’t unlovable. The way he dabs at her forehead with that wet cloth. The way he smiles at her and brushes her hair out of her face. The way that he assures her that it wouldn’t bother him if he caught her cold while taking care of her. The way that he takes care of her.

It is very different to have someone other than royal physicians to tend to her. She finds that it is significantly less indifferent and methodical. Hajime holds her hand while checking her temperature. He strokes her hand while she drinks her medicine down. He reads to her as she struggles to find sleep.

He is not there when she wakes though. And neither is Hajime. What she finds instead is a prepared meal, her medication, and a note reading, ‘taking Atsu to school and heading to work.’

She understands but wishes all the same that she wouldn’t have to endure this alone. Her stomach isn’t quite as delicate today but the pounding in her head brings tears to her eyes. Involuntary tears, but tears no less. To think that her own body is betraying her like this…

By mid afternoon she is certain, this time for sure, that she will die. That Hajime will find her corpse, still warm, in the bed when he gets back. She sits up to take her medication and the nausea comes back with a vengeance. She doubles over, just barely making it to the sink before heaving.

Yes, this is definitely what death feels like. She slumps to the floor, mouth dry, stomach still queasy, and head still beating. Her body shakes.

She knows that it has been at least an hour, possibly longer than that even. She can’t just stay on the bathroom floor, but every time she moves she feels sicker still. Even so, she forces herself up onto her hands and knees. She takes a deep breath and tries to fight off the dizziness.

Spirits, just what kind of sickness has she contracted? WuJing isn’t exactly a peasant town--well it is in that it is a village for commoners, but it isn’t the dirty, disease riddled variety.

She feels arms under her shoulders. Arms that help her to her feet and a body to lean on. “Hajime?” She inquires weakly. But the body is too small to be Hajime. It is too large to be Atsu. “Seukhyun?” But no, it is too small to be Seukhyun too.

“Not quite.”  Replies the man.

If her nose weren’t so backed up she could have easily smelled turnip on him. Ojihara helps her into bed and uncorks the medicine bottle for her. “Your food’s all col’. I’ll fix you somethin’ new to eat.”

“Okay.” She says, her voice has been reduced to little more than a hoarse whisper.

“You got it bad, don’cha?” He clicks his tongue. “‘S a good thing I came to check on you.”

She can’t disagree. She nuzzles her face against the pillow and clutches her fingers around the bed sheets.

“I have a special remedy that my own grandfather passed down from me. S a secret one…” Ojihara calls from the kitchen. “But it works e’ry time. Seukhyun would cry like a baby when he got sick, this stuff fixed ‘im up good as new.”

Azula decides that she will have to remember to bring that up next time she sees Seukhyun. Not that she hasn’t been doing a decent share of crying herself. He doesn't have to know that.

“Thank you, Ojihara.” She mumbles as she curls her fingers around the cup. She sure hopes that this remedy tastes better than it smells.

She feels absolutely horrible and, by all means, the medications and treatments aren’t as effective in Wujing. And yet, somehow, she thinks that she would rather fall ill here than at the palace. The warmest blankets at the palace aren’t as warm as the company that cares for her here.

That day she learns that a moment of vulnerability will strengthen her in the long run.

.oOo.

The icy howling of the wind alone is enough to drive her grief out and freeze her guilty conscience. There isn’t much room to think pessimistically when the only thing on her mind is how painfully and aggravatingly cold it is.

“How do you people live like this?” She shives, wrapping her arms around herself.

“We bundle up adequately for one thing.” Sokka chuckles. “Here.” He holds out a heavier parka.

“I’m already wearing one.”

“But you’re not used to this weather. And where are your mittens?”

“In my pockets, I was having trouble picking things up.”

“You’ll have more trouble picking things up if you lose all of your fingers.” He snatches her hand and shoves it into a mitten. “And pull your hood up!” He doesn’t give her the chance, instead he tugs it over her head. So far that the fur obscures most of her vision. She slips the second mitten on and moves the hood to a more optimal resting place.

“For someone so smart you sure are…”

“I’ve never been to the Tribes before. I didn’t realize that it would be this cold.” Until now such biting weather has been entirely unfathomable to her. She had always thought that the sun was radiant enough to cast heat everywhere. The sun in the Tribes seems so much weaker than it is in the Fire Nation where it beams down upon her with the same merciless brutality as the people under its rays. “I don’t think...it shouldn’t be possible for a place to be so cold.”

Sokka laughs again. “It can’t be sunny everywhere.”

And in most places in her life, it isn’t. Most things in her life are somehow colder than even this. Than even the sort of weather that has her locks stiff and tinged with frost. She shivers. She wants her world to be warm and cozy again. She wants such in every conceivable way; physically and emotionally.

Sokka cups her cheeks, at the very least, his hands are warm. It puts a tickle in her tummy. A tickle that grows in intensity at the dull reminder that she can be warm and cozy again if she lets herself be. “Can we go inside now?” She mutters. “This snow is up to my knees and I’m tired of walking in it.”

Sokka nods. “That’s what snow shoes are for.” He gestures to his feet.

“Those look hard to walk in.”

“Harder than trudging through mounds of snow that are taller than you?” He quirks a brow.

She fights to keep a pout off of her face. He laughs and ruffles her hair before scooping her into his arms. She hadn’t imagined that, that would be the first thing that Katara has seen of her in several years. And she isn’t sure if it is a good impression or not.

Her eyes lock upon Azula. They follow her across the room to where Sokka sits her down in front of a fire.

“Where’s dad?”

“He’s out fishing with Bato. What’s she doing here.” Katara nods in her direction.

“Wweeell...I was hoping to reintroduce her to you and dad.”

Katara’s brows furrow. “You’re not serious, Sokka! I don’t want to talk to her again.”

“She’s different now, she…”

“I don’t care how different she is!” She practically spits the word care.

“You didn’t care how different Zuko was either…”

“Zuko didn’t kill Aang.”

“He tried to.” Azula points out, quite unhelpfully in the grander scheme of things. At the very least, the woman will be speaking about her to her instead of to Sokka. At least that was the hope…

“Zuko...he was confused. She knew exactly what she was doing.”

She wishes that the same could be said now. Sokka comes to stand beside her and rests an arm on her shoulder. She wonders if he can sense her unease through touch alone. She already feels like a monster, she doesn’t need more confirmation of that.

“Just give her a chance, Katara.”

“She’s already had one and she spent it trying to kill her own mother.”

Azula cringes.

“Well this time she’s ready for another chance.”

But she doesn’t think that she can ever be truly prepared. Not for something like this. It doesn’t matter how hard she tries nor how she arranges her deck. Briefly she wonders if it would be better to chance freezing to death than speaking to Katara a moment longer.

“I’m not ready to give her one.”

“Katara…”

“Why do you care about her all of the sudden, Sokka. Remember what she did to Suki?”

“It isn’t really sudden.” Sokka rubs the back of his head. “I’ve been talking to her for a while now and she’s…” he trails off. “She’s actually kind of a sweet person.”

“I am not.” She grumbles.

“Believe it or not, she’s pretty good with kids.” Azula is certain that he has sensed her discomfort this time because he shares a half truth. “Ursa, ya know, her mom…”

“I know who Ursa is, Sokka.”

“Ursa has this kid…”

Katara rolls her eyes, “I was there, Sokka.” She folds her arms across her chest.

“Well Azula gets along with Kiyi and Kiyi’s, uh, friend, Caihong.” Sokka nods, seemingly pleased with his white lie. “Azula really like Caihong and Caihong is an earthbender. And that’s good because Azula used to only talk to earthbenders if they were Dai Li agents…”

Spirts, she can’t remember the last time she had felt such an intense secondhand embarrassment. She wonders if Katara would buy that the color on her cheeks is the product of cold alone.

“Why do you care about her?” Katara asks again.

“Talk her and find out.” Sokka musters up a smile. “You’ll understand why, if you do.”

[vannahfanfics]

Teenage Angst

Category: General Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Hitoshi Shinso, Shota Aizawa

The taiga biome is the largest terrestrial biome, occupying large regions of Europe, North America, and Asia, often abutting tundras. These biomes are also known as coniferous forests or boreal forests. They experience short, wet summers and long, cold winters… 

Hitoshi threw his biology textbook across the library table with a snarl. The pages flapped in the air as the textbook somersaulted, and it landed face-down on the smooth wood with an almost depressing flop. Hitoshi’s lavender eyes regarded the educational tome with disdain, while it just sagged pathetically back. He wondered if the Hero Course students had to slog through boring lectures about global biomes and habitats, or if certain aspects of general education were omitted in favor of more practical hero-based education. 

He lightly slammed his forehead down on the table with a groan. He’d thought that making an upset in the school festival would entice the admission committee to reconsider his placement, but it seemed that he’d been overshadowed by the flashy members of Class 1-A. He pounded his forehead against the smooth wood several times, trying to beat the frustration out of himself. It just ate him alive, slaving away in the General Studies Course while what he desired most remained tantalizingly out of reach. 

He rolled his head so his cheek rested against the table and his lidded purple eyes stared at the book. Maybe I’m really not hero material, he thought, his lips twitching down into a frown. He thought that more often than he’d like to admit. He just couldn’t help but think that sometimes, perhaps as a defense mechanism to appease his sadness. If anything, it just made the frustration that much more potent. It roiled in his belly, slowly clawing away at his insides like a poison. 

“I see you’re absolutely riveted by your studies.” 

Hitoshi rolled his head the other way, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, to see Class 1-A’s instructor, Shota Aizawa, standing beside his table. His dark eyes were lidded as he stared at Hitoshi blankly, the lower half of his face hidden by the large coffee cup he was sipping from. His other hand was buried in the pocket of his baggy black jumpsuit, crinkled as he slouched lazily. 

“Well, you know,” Hitoshi grunted as he slowly forced himself to sit up, “I do so enjoy learning about boreal forests.” 

“Oof. Biology. What a bore,” the teacher huffed, the corners of his lips peeking around the cup as he scowled in distaste. 

He then walked to the end of the table to pick up the upended book, carefully smoothing down the creases and closing it before setting it down. He stared at the book for a moment before exhaling deeply, pulling out the chair opposite Hitoshi and sinking into it like he was exhausted. Hitoshi doubted he’d done anything of substance today, except maybe deal with the rowdy bunch in 1-A. Actually, that probably was exhausting. 

“So, let me guess… You are frustrated that your escapades during the school festival didn’t have the desired results, so now you can’t see any worth in your studies and are embroiled in teenage angst?” the teacher said, staring at Hitoshi with a blankly bored expression. Hitoshi grimaced at the strange way he uncannily voiced the source of Hitoshi’s foul mood. 

“A weird way to say it, but yes. How’d you know?” 

“I understand that reading about boreal forests is mind-numbingly boring, but I don’t think it necessarily prompts throwing a book across a table,” Eraserhead shrugged. He set his coffee cup down with a gentle thunk, then leaned forward, clasping his hands as he stared at Hitoshi levelly. “The bottom line is that you want to be a hero because you internalized all those comments about your Quirk and want to show the world that it can be used for good.” 

“Stop psychoanalyzing me. You’re too good at it,” Hitoshi frowned, squirming uncomfortably. Was it that obvious, how much ill content he possessed? Still, “teenage angst” was a strange way to put it. Then again, Eraserhead was a pretty strange dude, dozing in a sleeping bag and wriggling around like a worm while he sucked on baby’s applesauce packets… Seriously, who allowed the employment of this dude? 

“I’m not psychoanalyzing,” Eraserhead said, showing the first hint of emotion through the entire exchange in the form of a smirk. “People used to say the same thing about my Quirk.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. I got a lot of comments about how frightening it could be, rendering heroes powerless and allowing other villains the chance to gang up on them. As much as you try to brush it off, it gets under your skin after a while, and soon you start to even believe it.” 

Hitoshi sunk down in the chair, forehead furrowing into a frown. Maybe I’m really not hero material. He hated how often he thought that, how he believed it more every day. Anxiety began to prickle underneath his skin. Had Eraserhead come to tell him that too? Had he come to tell him that his Quirk was useless and he could never be a hero? A small tremor gripped his body, and he swallowed thickly, unable to look at the hero sitting across from him. He trained his gaze on the library table, tracing the patterns of the grain, round and round in circles. Was he getting dizzy, or simply nauseous with fear? 

“For the record, I don’t believe that your Quirk is only suited for villainy.” 

The cold sweat that had gripped Hitoshi dispelled in an instant. He whipped his head up with a small gasp to see Eraserhead smiling kindly at him, his dark eyes glittering with something like fondness. Hitoshi’s heart thrummed with hope, and he found himself leaning forward, eyes widening as he hoarsely whispered, “You don’t?” 

“No. It’s a unique Quirk, but with the right training and support equipment, I think it could definitely be polished into a very heroic Quirk indeed.” 

Hitoshi smiled shakily, tears beading in his eyes. He’d never really idolized Eraserhead or anything, but… having a bonafide hero telling him that his Quirk wasn’t evil, that he could be a hero, sent joy singing through his body. He shook in the wooden chair, tears dripping from his eyes to roll down his cheeks. They dropped down to a puddle on the library table, and for a second, Hitoshi felt a little embarrassed for crying. Eraserhead’s expression never changed, though. He just continued to smile softly, reassuringly. 

“I appreciate that,” Hitoshi said, gathering himself with a sharp inhale, “but it doesn’t matter. I’m in the General Studies Course. I can’t take the hero licensing exam, at least not now.” 

“That’s true,” Eraserhead said, leaning back in the chair and drumming his fingers on the table. “However, if you were to switch courses, you’d have all the avenues open to you.” 

“Is that possible?” Hitoshi gasped, practically jumping across the table in excitement; his belly dug into the edge of the table and his hands slapped down, scattering the tears that had puddled on its surface. 

“It’s uncommon, but that’s why we allow all the courses to participate in the school festival. Accepting forty students to the Hero Course per year forces us to exclude students with a lot of potential… The school festival gives such students a second chance,” Eraserhead explained. “As much as we like to keep the classes balanced, there have been instances where we invited students into the Hero Course in their second or third years.” 

It was then that Eraserhead smirked, and the look in his eyes made adrenaline surge through Hitoshi’s body. Did this mean…? 

“I was impressed by your performance in the school festival. It’s no small feat to fight your way to the one-on-one battles, and you put up an impressive fight against Izuku Midoriya, who’s no slouch, especially in the combat department. As such, I’ve approached the administration about possibly transferring you to the Hero Course next year,” the teacher revealed. “It’s been approved.”

Hitoshi’s breath left him in a long, shaky exhale, deflating him like a balloon. He flopped back against the chair, body shaking and making the wood rattle against the floor. He clenched and unclenched his fingers in the fabric of his uniform pants, scratching into the skin of his thighs. The dull pain bled through the shock, but he didn’t wake. This wasn’t a dream. Eraserhead really just told him that he would be going to the Hero Course. 

“I…” Hitoshi started, but there really were no words for the sheer elation and triumph he was feeling. His lavender lashes fluttered, causing more tears to drip down onto his cheeks. “I don’t… I’m…” He blushed in embarrassment, hiding his face with his hands and rubbing at his teary eyes with the heels of his palms. “Sorry…” 

“Don’t be,” Eraserhead chuckled in amusement. “I can only imagine how gratifying it is.” 

He allowed Hitoshi to gather his thoughts for a moment; the boy closed his eyes, taking very deep breaths to squash down the overwhelming happiness. He still couldn’t keep the giddy smile from playing over his lips. 

“Now, don’t think that you can just waltz right in,” Eraserhead warned when Hitoshi finally looked back to him. “Your peers will be leagues ahead of you as far as combat ability and tactical sense. For the rest of the semester, you’ll be training directly under me to hone your skills.” 

When Hitoshi raised his eyebrows in shock, the hero’s smirk widened. 

“We thought this would be best given the versatility of your Quirk as well as… personality attributes.” Now that Hitoshi thought about it, he did vibe well with Eraserhead. They even kind of looked alike, with the messy hair, sleepy gaze, and perpetually bored look. Ugh, does that mean in twenty years I’ll be shirking my work to lounge in a sleeping bag and living on coffee and baby’s applesauce packets? I’m not sure I like this. As he internally berated the teacher, Eraserhead picked up on his attention lapse and rapped his knuckles against the table. 

“Following your training, we will hold a joint training activity between Class 1-A and 1-B, in which you’ll participate. This will see which class you build the most rapport with and how easily you can integrate into their rhythm, which will determine which class we place you into next year.” Shinso scowled at that; he didn’t exactly want to make friends, but cooperation was a necessity in hero work, so it supposed it couldn’t be helped. 

“Does all of that make sense to you?” Eraserhead asked, and Hitoshi nodded. 

“Yes. I’m incredibly grateful, Eraserhead… You really stuck your neck out for me,” the purple-haired boy smiled gratefully. The pro hero turned a little pink and shyly rubbed the back of his neck, looking down into his coffee cup with a faint smile. 

“Like I said… I’ve been where you’ve been, and I thought you had potential. It made sense to advocate on your behalf after watching you in the festival. Besides, it didn’t take much convincing. It isn’t often that a General Studies student makes it so far against the Hero Course students,” he said, a hint of pride bleeding into his voice. His expression then hardened. “We’ll start tomorrow afternoon. It’ll be hard, so be ready.” 

“Of course. I’m no slouch either,” Hitoshi smirked, echoing his previous praise of Izuku. Eraserhead smirked, tapping the table twice before standing. He sipped at his coffee, then grimaced. 

“I need more espresso if I’m going to make it through the afternoon,” he grumbled as he sauntered away. Hitoshi chuckled, shaking his head. Eraserhead’s blood was probably coffee at this point. 

Hitoshi sat there for a moment, basking in the gift he’d just been given. He would be joining the Hero Course. He was going to be a hero. That giddy smile stayed on his lips, making his facial muscles burn a little, but he was too euphoric to really make note of it. He was going to be a hero! 

His gaze dropped to the biology textbook still resting at the other end of the table. His smile took a wan turn as he reached out, dragging it across the wood toward him. It’s true he would join the Hero Course eventually, but he supposed he needed to pass the classes he was in now, “teenage angst” and all. It was a drag, but it was a bit more tolerable knowing that better pastures were just around the bend…

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[pixelatedrose]

Soulbound part Four

First | Previous | Part 4 | Next

Ao3 link

Masterpost

Word Count: 3,212

Pairings: Platonic LAMP, Prinxiety, Logicality, background Remile

Warnings: Implied self harm (Skip the part starting with “Virgil drug himself over...” until the break) Uncensored swearing, divorced parents, controlling parents/parents not respecting kids’ privacy (Skip the entire last part), absent siblings,  if there’s anything I missed please please tell me, and if there’s anything you would like me to tag, don’t hesitate to ask!

Summary:

Roman Prince and Logan Rose are soulmates. They’re platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Miles, it just so happens that they’re both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

Chapter 4

  Virgil ran home as fast as his legs would carry him. His mind raced as quickly as shoes hit the ground, faster still.

  Why is he here? Why is he a teacher? Why did he come back? Why did he act like he cared? Why come back now? Why was he never here before? Why? Why why why?!

  Virgil tripped and the gods of luck put on blindfolds as he was flung to the sidewalk. He knelt on the ground and thought it had started raining. He looked around and when he saw clear skies he realized he'd been crying.

  Virgil looked at his shallowly bleeding scrapes on his palms and knees before picking himself up and walking home, storming inside the unusual yellow door, slamming it closed and stomping up to his mother, ignoring her girlfriend sitting nearby.

  "Virgey, you're home! How was school-" his mother started.

  "Did you know about this?!" He spat bitterly.

  "What?! What do you mean, Honey? What happened? Oh my god, your hands!! Virgey, are you okay?!"

  Virgil hid his hands further into his sleeves. "That doesn't matter right now!! I want to know why Thomas is my fucking theater teacher!!" Virgil seethed.

  His mother blanched. "Oh no…" she turned to her girlfriend. "Rachel, maybe you should go?"

  Virgil watched as his mother's girlfriend got up and gathered her things as she slowly left the house.

  "Now, Virgey, I didn't think that you-"

  "You didn't think at all, Mom!!" Virgil snapped. "Did you know?! Did you know and think not to tell me?! Did you think that it would be too hard for me?! Did you think I'd burst into tears like a little kid?! Didn't want to deal with me finding out so you just didn't tell me at all!!"

  "No!! That's- that's not!! No!! I didn't mean for-" Virgil's mother was floundering for words to comfort her son.

  "It doesn't even matter anymore, I don't care!!" Virgil yelled, he ran upstairs and into his room. He slammed the door shut and pulled out a crude hand-made door stop and wedged it under the door. Years ago the lock had broken. Years ago the lock had been removed.

  Virgil couldn't stand anymore. He fell to the ground and held his stomach. He felt sick.

  His mother had lied to him.

  His brother- who had everything, who had the world, the one that had never made a show to ever reach out and contact Virgil, the one who would never want to contact him because he had it all- was his theater teacher in his new highschool.

  He had no friends.

  He had no family.

  He had no one.

  Virgil drug himself over to the edge of his bed and pulled out a small box with an assortment of blades, lighters, and a small square of sandpaper. He fished out the edge of a pencil sharpener and-

  "Virgey please let me talk to you!!"

  Virgil didn't answer.

  "Please I need you to understand!!"

  Virgil didn't need to understand anything else.

  "Please, honey, open the door!!"

  Virgil removed his hoodie. He couldn't stand the heat his room gave off. That's a good excuse.

  "Please at least tell me you're safe this time!!" His mother pleaded with him.

  But nothing could be done.

  Nothing could stop the manic anxiety that took him over. Words played over and over in his head and he felt like he was going insane so he focused on the pain digging into his shoulder instead of his own numbingly intoxicating insanity.

  Nothing would make this okay for Virgil.

~~•~~

  Roman was walking home and mulling over what had happened that day.

  Rose was a good friend of Roman's, but she was a little oblivious at times. She'd pulled him away from the pretty emo boy when Roman had seen him in theater.

  Theater… Roman smiled. He would have never pegged the shorter boy as a theater kid. His head started spinning up daydreams of Roman and Virgil performing scenes together, painting props together, singing duets together for the musical…

  Roman shook his head to clear it. It seemed like Virgil wasn't interested though. He probably has his own soulmate, you idiot! Roman thought bitterly.

  He walked in through his family's door and tossed his currently half empty backpack on the ground before flopping down on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

  Remus always stayed after school to hang out with his weirdo friends, so he wouldn't be home for a while.

  Roman tried thinking of other things.

  So he thought back to lunch.

~~•~~

  "Did you hear that Remy and Emile are a couple?" Patton excitedly told his friends as he sat down at the table.

  "They've been together for almost three years, Patton dear." Logan corrected his boyfriend.

  Patton smiled. "Oh I know! But they're still so cute together!!"

  "Patton, they're Soulbound Soulmates, of course they're cute." Logan continued.

  "You're missing the point!! They're a-dor-a-ble, Logan!! ADORABLE!!"

  "I'm not seeing what it is I missed. Is this some sort of complex joke that I'm not 'Gucci' enough to get?"

  "That is not in any way how you use that word, honey child."

  "Ah well. I'm still learning."

  Patton looked suddenly over to Roman who was thoughtfully chewing on a sandwich. "Hey there, buddy! You're pretty quiet, you feeling alright there, Ro?"

  Roman snapped his attention away from daydreaming. "Huh?? Oh yeah! I'm gucci as always, padre!" He said strikingly.

  "Ah so that's how you use it…" Logan muttered as he seemed to study Roman from behind his glasses.

  "Are you sure? You looked a little lost in la-la land there!" Patton ignored his robotic boyfriend, save for an instinctual hair ruffle that made Logan's face light up.

  Roman looked out the window like the mellow-dramatic princeling he was. "Oh its nothing really…" he sighed. "See, I just met this really cute guy in-"

  "OH MY GOOD GRACIOUS SNAP CRACKLERS YOU MET A CUTE GUY!!!" Patton nearly flung himself across the table and grappled his friend in a hug.

  Roman nearly fell out of his chair on impact and had to pry the overly excited puppy-dog of a man off him. "Gah!! Yeah! But!" Roman started.

  Patton immediately pulled himself off Roman. "Wait there's a but?!"

  "Yes…tragically I believe he is not…" Roman threw the back of his hand to his forehead and dramatically tilted his head. "Attracted to me!!"

  Logan snorted and Patton gasped somberly.

  "Oh no that's just plain awful Roman!!" Patton lamented.

  Roman smiled all the same. "Awh, Pat! He's probably one of those soulmate obsessed…" Roman drifted off as he remembered Virgil's immediate and harsh reply to his question. "...People." He let himself finish the sentence anyway. For some odd reason he wanted to keep his suspicions to himself.

  "Awh, well next time then!! Right Ro!"

  Roman's mind drifted to the purple haired boy he'd met.

  "Ro?"

  There was something about talking to him that felt so very right in Roman's mind. It felt similar to how he felt around Patton and Logan. But yet different still…

  "Roman??"

  Why does he wish soulmarks didn't exist? Roman thought, recalling the striking blue of the purple haired boy's eyes.

  "Roman!"

  Roman drifted, thinking of everything and nothing about the boy he had met in his third period. Virgil Sanders… he thought his name felt good to think… "Virgil Sanders…" he breathed out. He thought it felt good to say…

  "ROMAN-!!"

~~•~~

  Roman shot up on the couch, and grabbed at his shoulder which felt as if he had sliced it open.

  He cursed and gripped it tightly, running to the bathroom to see what could possibly be wrong. Roman threw off his red varsity jacket and pulled up his short sleeves to examine his left shoulder.

  There was nothing there.

  It wasn't even red.

  The pain faded down to a dull ache and Roman sat back down on the couch bewildered.

  What the fuck just happened??

~~•~~

  Patton skipped alongside his boyfriend, their hands clasped tightly together.

  Logan smiled softly to himself, hearing the short, golden haired boy hum to himself.

  "Hey, Lo?" Patton questioned suddenly.

  "Yes, Patton?"

  "Do you think Roman's okay?"

  "Why do you say that? I do not think he would injure himself on his walk home, nor do I believe he would have fallen ill in that time either."

  "No no, silly!! I mean emotionally."

  "Ah. My bad. I am not very good with...emotions."

  "I know you struggle sometimes, but even you saw the way he was acting today, right? He was totally distracted and had his head ten billion trillion gazillion miles away!! I hope he's okay…"

  "I see. Yes, Roman did seem very distracted today. Though I suppose that may be because he was a little wonderstruck with the boy he mentioned."

  "What?! Really? I thought Roman said that kid didn't like him though?"

  "Well perhaps, but you know how easily he can become so infatuated with pretty boys the moment they open their mouth to even breath. And this boy held a conversation with Roman, so that concludes that Roman must be 'Head over heels' for this boy."

  "Psh, nah!! Maybe a little flirty, but Roman doesn't have it that bad!! But do you know who does?"

  "And who would that be, Patton?"

  "Me!"

  "Oh."

  "And you!!"

  "Oh come now!! I care very deeply about you and-"

  "Oh just kiss me already, you dork!"

  Logan sighed and laughed, his face lighting up at his boyfriend. "Only as you wish, my dearest."

~~•~~

  Thomas Sanders had a good life as a kid.

  He got decent grades, he made good friends, he was a little confused why he never liked girls like every other boy in his grade did. And even more confused when he thought his friend Michael looked just so cute when he was singing.

  Thomas Sanders had a good life as a kid.

  Up until his parents split up when he was 13 years old.

  His father won custody and took Thomas across states to go live in Georgia where he lived for the rest of his childhood years until he moved back to Florida with new friends.

  He started playing around with an app called Vine, and whether it was luck or skill, made it big. He made a Youtube channel and made videos online. He wrote songs and sung disney songs and reacted to other people. And he loved his fans. He loved them with all his heart.

  It was when he was 25 that he got a message from someone in his old childhood town telling him he had a brother.

  He had a brother?

  Thomas Sanders had a little brother!

  And he was ten years old and his name was Virgil Sanders!

  Thomas sat down and decided to write a letter to his little brother. He wanted to know him! He wanted to meet him! He wanted to be part of his life!

  Dear, Virgil Sanders.

  This is a letter I'm writing to you because I want you to know that you have a big older brother who loves you and just found out that you exist! My name is Thomas Sanders and I want to know more about you! I want to know you! Did you know that I always wanted a little brother? I guess it's not a wish anymore, huh? Write me back, little bro! Tell me about yourself! Tell me about life! Tell me about mom and how school is going!!

  Sincerely and dearly from, Thomas Sanders, your older brother.

  That was perfect! Thomas couldn't wait to hear back from his little brother!

  He couldn't wait to find out whether he liked sour foods or minty ones!

  He couldn't wait to talk about boys (or girls) with him!

  Thomas never heard back from Virgil.

  So he sent another letter, this time on what he discovered was Virgil's birthday.

  He never heard back.

  Thomas would send a letter to Virgil every year on his birthday, one for christmas, one for Halloween, one for the beginning of the school year and one for the end, and one every valentines day with a purple rose.

  And he never once heard back.

  Now Thomas was 30 years old and had decided to become a teacher.

  A total of 36 letters, soon to be 37, sent to Virgil.

  Even if Virgil didn't want to talk to Thomas, he still wanted to try.

  And then.

  He found out that Virgil Sanders was his own student.

  And he found out that his brother hated him.

  So here Thomas was.

  Standing awkwardly with his hand raised to knock on the yellow door of his old childhood home.

  And he let he fist fall to the wood.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  "I'm coming! I'm coming!" A hurried voice called from inside.

  The door opened.

  "What is it, what do you-"

  The voice cut off.

  Thomas waved awkwardly.

  "Hey, mom. How's it going?"

~~•~~

  Virgil heard the door open and someone come inside. He quietly creaked his door open.

  "-want to talk to him. Please?"

  Virgil's breath hitched. It was Thomas.

  "No...No...No I don't think that he'd be ready to see you right now, Tommy."

  Virgil sat and listened to the conversation.

~~•~~

  Thomas glanced over at the counters and the ashtray on the coffee table. Beer cans and cigarettes littered everything.

  "I see you haven't changed much." He meant it as a question, but it fell flat and turned into an observation.

  "And what's wrong with how I am?" His mother asked accusingly.

  Thomas looked at his mother and shook his head. "Nevermind…" he looked down at a discarded and trashy school backpack. "I take it he didn't take kindly to the letters? Didn't want to see me? You know I told you I was applying for Eastwood. You could have told me not to you know."

  "Well I mean I didn't want to reach out to you and have Virgey find out!" Thomas cringed at the childish nickname. It didn't sound like something Virgil would want to be called. "And I never gave him the letters." His mother finished.

  Thomas froze as thoughts raced through his head. "What." He breathed out.

  "You really think he'd be ready to confront his older brother? You really think he'd want to see you?"

  "That wasn't your decision to make though!"

  "Of course it was, I'm his mother!"

  "That doesn't give you a right to withhold information from him like that!"

  "Yes! It does! He can decide what information he wants when he turns 18! For now, I'm his mother, I decide what's best for him!"

  Thomas ran a hand through his hair, distressed. "You know I wasn't trying to be entirely serious when I said you hadn't changed, but you really have not changed one bit, have you?!"

  "There was nothing wrong with what I was doing before!"

  "Oh yeah? Then how come I didn't even know I had a little brother till he was 10?!"

  "Because he wasn't ready for that! And neither were you! I didn't want you to think I'd moved on from you!"

  "I was 25, mom!! Twenty!! Five!! I was old enough to make my own decisions and Virgil was old enough that he could decide if he wanted an older brother and back then it wasn't too late for me to be a part of his life!!"

  "He was 10 and he didn't know what was best for him!! And he still doesn't!! I'm his mother!"

  "You keep saying that but do you even know what that means?! It means that you're always there for them!! It means that you let them make mistakes!! It means that you give them privacy and a choice!!"

  "He can have Privacy when he's moved out! Till then what he has I know about! I'm his mother and I get to decide!"

  "That's not how that works!!"

  "It most certainly is!! He just doesn't know what's good for him! And you are definitely not good for him!!"

  "Is that why you kept the letters from him?! Cause that's what was best for him?!"

  "What?! No!! He just-"

  "You were afraid then?! Why didn't even give me a chance?!"

  "Because you are not good for him!! Right now or ever!! I know best I'm the adult here and I make the decisions and I decide that you will go and-"

  "MOM JUST SHUT UP!!" Virgil shouted. No one had noticed when he had walked downstairs. His eyes were red and his jacket was wrinkled. "What letters?" He asked calmly.

  No one answered.

  "Mom, what letters are you hiding from me?!" He voice cracked and choked.

  "Virgey, honey, it was for your own good-"

  "TO HELL WITH THAT!!" Virgil shouted, tears spilling over down his face.

  Thomas spoke now. "I wrote you letters." He said. When no one tried to stop him, he continued. "When I found out I had a brother, I immediately sat down and wrote a letter to you. I wanted to know more about you, I wanted to be part of your life." Thomas took a breath. "That was about five years ago. And i never heard back. I assumed you didn't want to know me. But I didn't stop writing letters. I found out when your birthday was and sent you a letter yearly, and I always sent one for christmas, Halloween, and Valentines day. I sent one at the beginning and one at the end of every school year too." He pulled a wrinkled envelope out of his pocket and held it in his hands. "This one was going to be for this year, but I got caught up in moving and beginning my teaching that I didn't get it in on time." Thomas took a step and held out the envelope to Virgil.

  He took it and read the handwriting that looked so real. It wasn't perfect cursive or some fancy calligraphy, it was normal and real handwriting. It read:

  To Virgil Sanders. From Thomas Sanders.

  Virgil wiped at his face, smearing his makeup. He looked up at his mom.

  "You hid this from me…?"

  "Oh, honey it was all for your own good! You know how-"

  "How what?!" Virgil spat venom. "You knew how much I wanted to know my brother!! You knew how I thought he had left with his dad and just didn't care enough about us to come and talk!!" More tears. "You knew and you didn't once tell me that I had a brother who was kind and cared about me!!!"

  Virgil was shaking. He ran upstairs and his mother would hear the door to her room slam shut as Virgil rummaged around until he found the box under her bed full of 36 letters that his brother had sent him.

  No one moved.

  No one breathed.

  No one spoke for a long time.

  "I think I'll see him tomorrow." He turned to the front door. "Goodbye, Deva." He said.

  And the odd yellow door clicked shut.

  And all that was left in the old eerie house was a wronged child looking for five lost years, a mother who had tried to drown the inevitable with broken locks and promises, and a silence that bit like the way a cat silently does with prey already caught.

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