#i look at him. i look at myself. i look at his barely contained animosity towards all men- immediate competition- rivals

[kisaraslover]

if anyone has any problem making sense of the way i interpret Kaiba just remember this: Tea Gardner looks at him one day and has the dawning realization "hes like a lesbian of some kind" this should make all the pieces fall into place

[mrsmaybank]

My Little Sun - Spencer Reid x Reader

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.”                  

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.”                       

PART ONE HERE

A/N: It came out fast!!! I had lowk already started it, so that’s why this update came so quickly. Please don’t expect them all to come this fast LMAO. I usually write slow as fuck. Anyway, I really hope you guys like this part so I can maybe just maybe turn this into a mini series. Please lmk if you guys like :) 

CONTENT WARNINGS: KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, LANGUAGE, MENTIONS OF SEX (lmk if i missed any please) 

I paced the bullpen as the team spoke to Penelope. The shock of her pregnancy was starting to wear off, and now I could think more clearly. How could she? What was she thinking? 

Recently, I’d found myself thinking about it more, a baby her and a mini-me. A family of my own, with the love of my life. It was exciting and like a lovesick fool it made my stomach fuzzy. But she wasn’t ready and I couldn’t do that to her. So how could she do it to herself? She hadn’t finished school, hadn’t started her career. She could barely take care of herself! I wasn’t mad, absolutely not. Just disappointed at her self-sabotage and the fact she’d made the decision completely without me. I couldn’t think about it for long though, because I was swiftly reminded by my surroundings that right now, there was a chance I’d lose her, our child and any children we wanted to have in the future. That was the priority. 

“Garcia, check her credit card records, we need to see where she last was.” Hotch said. 

“Uhm, okay,” Penelope took a deep breath while clicking away, “Let’s see. Her last purchase was last night, 6:49 at a CVS Pharmacy, oh--” 

“What Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“She was um, picking up her monthly case of birth control.” 

JJ broke the silence, “Spence…” she started towards me. 

I breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank god.” 

“Thank god?” Morgan questioned. 

“She’s 23.” I wiped my face, “Whole life ahead of her.” The team understood what I was trying to say. Rossi’s hand fell on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. 

“So why would she tell Brook she was?” Garcia asked. 

“I uh, I..I don’t know.” I spat out. I really had no idea.  

“Think Reid.” Rossi told me. “You guys ever talk about kids or pregnancy?”

“She might be trying to send us a message,” Emily added. 

I thought back to the last time we discussed starting a family. 

--FLASHBACK-- 

We were surrounded by timeless pieces of art and history, and yet the true masterpiece was still her. She was always beautiful to me, a perfect being, truly. But today, something about the way she looked today specifically, made her look like the kind of beauty you see in a painting. Had she been a painting, her creator must have been skilled. Each stroke of his brush creating every divine curve of her face and body to produce a work of magnificent art, one that I so proudly hung on the walls of my heart. 

I remember exactly what she wore, and how it felt to take it all off. The painter had an eye for color. Her denim skirt, the length or lack thereof making me embarrassingly wary, was blue like the Mediterranean Sea, complementing the pigment of the skin of her legs. A white button down made of silk, not worn properly, of course. Too many buttons were left open at the top, as to draw attention to the gold adorned on her chest, but in the spell of temptation she procured to cast upon me, my eyes wandered to admire territories of her body they shouldn’t have. Not in public, at least. The buttons at the bottom were left untouched as well, revealing the soft skin of her stomach. She looked like an angel, but of course, went out of her way to instead be my temptress.

My affinity for her beauty aside, the wide eyes in delight at the museum artifacts and careful attention to my commentary were what made our excursion wonderful. The feeling of her smaller hand in mine, and the giggles and the teasing “You’re way too nerdy to be so stupid hot Dr. Reid.” made it absolutely perfect. 

In exchange for her listening so attentively to my historical facts and stories, I took her for ice cream. She insisted we ate it on the greens of Lincoln Park. Who was I to deny her that? What came next--I expected. She’d devoured it. Made a mess of strawberry ice cream on her white shirt. 

“It was the wind!” She insisted as the first of many drips of ice cream fell down her chin. 

“No it was not!” I argued back while wiping it, “You just never learned how to eat ice cream properly.” I gently removed the cone from her hands and into mine, taking an overzealous bite. “This, lovey, is how you eat ice cream.” 

“Give it back, you...you dickass!” She snorted. We laughed like two lovesick teenagers. 

“Dickass?” I asked, eyes watery from laughter. 

“Yeah dickass, give me back my damn ice cream.” I took another bite, “Stop! You’re eating it all!” She pouted. Pouts were unfortunately my weakness and I handed it back to her. However, in her rush, the pink scoop had fallen directly on her blouse. 

“Way to prove my point,” I started to take off my cardigan, “You want dickass’s sweater?” 

She wanted to be mad but couldn’t contain the wince of a smile. “Please.” 

We carefully removed her shirt from under while simultaneously putting the cardigan in its place. 

“Spence don’t let me flash! There’s kids and judgmental old ladies here!” 

I laughed and shushed her, “I know, I know.” I moved all the fabrics quickly and it was done. Her sticky pink shirt was replaced with my soft sweater. “There.” 

“My hero,” She kissed me, “Truly.”

She leaned back on our picnic blanket on her shoulders as we observed our fellow park goers. “So many kids.”  

I nodded my head in agreement. “Yeah…” 

“We should bring our kids here one day.” she said, instantly breaking my haze from the crowd so I could only see her. 

I smiled again at the thought, “Yeah, and tell them how their mom is the world's clumsiest ice cream eater.”

She looked at me with disdain before shoving her shoulder into mine. “Shut up.” 

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.” 

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.” 

I toppled her so we were laying down, facing each other. She kissed me hard, and my hands went to the sides of her face, only pulling back to say “I can’t wait for it, you know. My two little girls.” 

She smiled, “But I’ll always be your favorite right?” she asked sarcastically. 

I laughed, “Oh of course. Always.” 

“I’ll have a big ol’ belly, you know.” I nodded, “You’d still be perfect.” 

“We’d have to go to the mall, buy me a shitload of new clothes. Do ya know how dirty malls are Spence?” I winced at the thought of thousands of strangers bacteria on every surface and she laughed, “Got ya.” I shook my head, “Nope! I uh, I’ll just bring hand sanitizers and uh, to the Maternity section we’ll go.” 

“Non-stop Panda express eating.” I nodded again, “I’ll be non-stop Panda Express buying, then.” She smiled so hard her nose scrunched. 

“I love you Spencer.” 

“I love you too. I am so in love with you.” 

--FLASHBACK ENDS--

“Yeah but it was trivial.” I said. 

“Maybe not,” Hotch argued, “Was anything mentioned specifically?” 

“A name she liked?” Prentiss added, “Maybe a craving she thought she might have? Anything at all?” 

I nodded, “Not a food, but a fast food place. Panda Express.” I doubted that would be helpful. 

“It’s a stretch but, Garcia, check for any dilapidated buildings within 10 miles of a Panda Express.” 

“Yes sir,” She typed away and then said, “No, guys. I’m sorry. All of our Panda Express’s are in pristine malls or new developments.” 

“Mall!” I shouted, “She said we’d have to go to the mall! She knows I hate the mall.” 

Morgan pointed at us, “The tiles in that room look like they could be from some 80’s Bloomingdales.” 

“Garcia-” I said. 

“Already on it.” 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pregnancy ruse was either going to get me killed, or save my life. It was a moment of panic and I just wanted to throw her off. I know it did, but in what direction? 

She was still crying, her demeanor with me was still laced with bitter animosity, but she was calmer now. 

“How long have you known?” Brook asked, the contents of her flask now empty and her words slurred. 

“I found out yesterday.” I lied through my teeth. 

She shrugged her shoulders, “Had you guys talked about it?” 

“Vaguely.” I admitted. 

“What’d Spencer want? Boy or girl?” I debated on whether or not to say, and she caught on. “Don’t fucking lie.” She stated harshly. 

“Girl.” I breathed out. “He wants a girl.” 

“What do you want?” she asked. 

“I don’t care.” I said. That was true. 

“How come?” 

“I just want to start a family with him. Don’t really care about the gender…” That was true as well. 

“Oh.” she nodded her head, “Why’d he want a girl?” It was strange, her  genuine curiosity. It freaked me out, but my alternative was being stabbed. I chose to just answer her questions, regardless of how much I really did not want to.  

“He liked the idea of a little girl who looked like me.” 

She winced, eyes tearing up further. “Right.” I was beginning to realize her feelings were very real. 

“You really like him, don’t you?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it. My head was still looking for an answer as to how she could be driven to do something like this. 

She clasped her hands together, her anger returning.  “Don’t fucking start. You know nothing of what I feel for Spencer.” She came up closer and tugged at my hair, “Fucking nothing.” 

“Okay,” I grimaced at the pain from the force at which she pulled my hair, “I-I’m sorry.” 

She let go, “You should be. You really, really fucking should be.” She sat back down, pensive for a while. I wish I knew what she was thinking about. 

My heart had not stopped it’s fast pace ridden with anxiety since I gained full awareness of my situation, but now, it felt like it was going to burst through my chest. Was she planning on just killing me now? 

My anticipation ceased when she got up and brought back the camera with her again. “Hello BAU. There has been a change in plans. Your beloved,” The words reeked of sarcasm, “Y/N here, will be returned eventually. . She’s gonna be fine. However, it is now in everybody best interest if this video feed was cut out. Sorry.” She said before mouthing, “No I’m not.” She shut the camera off. 

She turned to me, “I hate you. Fucking despise you.” Figures. 

“But I would never hurt Spencer. Or his child. Even if it is being carried by a whore like you.” 

She began to pace once more, “You’re obviously a mistake on his part. You clearly tricked him with sex and...no just sex I think. You're not really smart enough to be capable of anything else. Regardless, he’s probably already thinking about abortions or adoption. There’s no way in hell a man like him could ever want to start a family with a girl like you.” She shook her head, “Absolutely not.” 

I could only nod my head at her delusions. This woman was so far up her ass. 

She pinched my cheeks together with her cold hands, “You tried to trap him. How’d that go for you?” 

I was silent.

“I asked you a fucking question!” She held my face impossibly tighter. 

“Poorly.” I got out, “Poorly.” 

“In 9 months, I’ll help you deliver your baby. And then, you can go.” Brook backed away and let go of her tight grip on my face. “I’m keeping the kid. Raising it.” She smiled, “I’ll be the mother Spencer’s child will deserve. And then-” A giggle creepily reminiscent of a schoolgirl’s left her throat, “He’ll love me!” 

Brooks intention had twisted from wanting to murder and torture me as revenge for “taking” Spencer, to a now twisted maternal desire for his (hypothetical) child. But if Spencer and his team couldn’t find me before the time I was supposed to be showing, I was fucked. Utterly fucked. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Taglist: @britishspidey

(Let me know to be added)

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

of all i am made of (perhaps you are too)

ao3

Hugo does not believe in soulmates.

To be fair, he doesn’t much believe in anything but the feeling of coin in his pocket and the clever bite of his dagger. What use has he for god and destiny when he carves his own path of lies through time, with a sharp tongue and a cocky smile.

Why should Hugo believe the universe would gift him a soulmate when it already has made it perfectly clear that nothing is free?

Besides soulmates are rarities of the past--legends and folktales on the lips of elders and religious fanatics; the former clinging to superstition from the od era, the latter feeding false promises and hope to the instupid masses.

Soulmates are for hopeless romantics and tiny children. Not for Hugo.

“That does not surprise me,” Nuru says, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face.

She’s lying down in the golden field where they’ve set camp for the night. The contrast of the bright yellow against her dark skin is stunning-particularly in the moonlight, with her dark hair fanning out about her head.

Hugo, who is sitting upright a few paces away and playing with his daggers, frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, unsure if he should be feeling defensive or not.

Nuru folds her arms beneath her head, propping herself up enough to make eye contact with him. “Even if you had a soulmate, you wouldn’t know what to do with them,” she scoffs.

He snorts. “ You believe in soulmates?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes, actually. I thought you were the rational one in this party.”

Nuru gives him an expression that indicates how stupid she thinks he is. “I might be the only person who can keep their head in a crisis, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in a higher power, Hugo.”

She rolls over, so that she’s laying on her stomach, facing him. “Burning stars fall in my homeland every year. There are stories of a sun princess who’s tears heal the dead. Varian somehow hasn’t strangled you yet. I think you’d better start believing in a god.”

“Or soulmates apparently,” Hugo mutters.

“Or soulmates,” Nuru says. “Would it really be that far-fetched?”

“Do I believe there’s someone out there who shares my dreams? Or has my name written above their heart? Hard pass, Princess.”

“Alright then, how about sharing the same soul?” Nuru asks, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them. “You’re telling me that doesn’t sound at least a little romantic?”

“I don’t have a soul.”

“Now that,” she says, a grin stretching across her face, “that I can believe.”

___

“I think Anya’s my soulmate,” Yong says dreamily, staring at Varian’s redheaded cousin like she hung the fucking moon.

Hugo, despite secretly adoring the round child, rolls his eyes. Hard. “Do you even know what that means?”

“It means we share the same time threads,” Yong replies distractedly.

Varian and Anya are nerding out over something-something Hugo would find interesting or fun to mock them over, but right now, for some reason, he’s more interested in Yong’s adorable-if not misguided-crush on Varian’s little cousin.

“Time threads,” Hugo laughs, cracking his knuckles. Yong winces at the noise, momentarily taking his eyes off the two babbling alchemists. “Alright, color me curious. What are time threads?”

Yong frowns. “You’ve never heard of time threads? Every child in Koto learns about them.”

Ah, must be some religious poppycock only spread in the fire kingdom.

“Well, I’m not a child living in Koto, am I?” Hugo replies lightly. “Spill, little pyro.” He pokes the kid in the shoulder repeatedly until he gets swatted.

“Her lady, Odiyesi, spins a thread for each person,” Yong recites in a sing-song voice. “This thread contains the beginning, the middle, and the end of our lives. If she so chooses, two threads will be intertwined-maybe even beyond the Snip, if she wills it.”

“The Snip?”

“Oh yeah, that’s when you die,” Yong says, side eyeing Hugo.

Hugo ruffles Yong’s hair. “And you think Anya is your thread partner. That’s so cute .”

Yong ducks out from under his hand, scowling. “Why did you ask if you don’t even believe it?” he mumbles, face pink.

“You know what I think?” Hugo asks, pretending like he doesn’t hear Yong. “I think you should go right up to here and tell her all that. Give her a heads up about your eternally bound souls.”

“Your soul is eternally bound to the underworld,” Yong shoots back, with a surprising amount of fire.

Hugo bursts into laughter. “That,” he says, “is the first thing you’ve said all day that makes sense.”

___

“What do you think about soulmates?” Hugo asks mildly. He has a glass of wine in one hand, but he’s barely tasted it. Instead, he stands, staring out the stained glass window and into the courtyard.

Donella, sitting behind her desk, looks up from Varian’s Ulla’s journal-recently procured by Hugo.

The amount of deception and sneaking around he’d gone through to actually get it out of Varian’s line of sight had been painstakingly difficult. And it had been even harder coming up with an excuse to Nuru why he needed to spend the night somewhere other than their current lodgings.

He doesn’t really remember the lie. Just the trust in the Princess’s face when she’d briefly patted him on the shoulder, telling him to be back by sunrise.

Donella closes the journal with a snap, leaning back in her chair. “What a curious question. And from you, no less.”

When Hugo turns around, she’s smiling that sharp smile-the one that makes his stomach plummet with discomfort. Something in him churns at that dangerous expression now, unsure of what he’s suddenly gotten himself into.

He gives a casual shrug, raising his glass to his lips. “Just making idle conversation, I suppose.” The wine tastes terrible. Still, he takes another sip before setting it down on an end table.

“Hmm.” His mentor eyes him skeptically. “What do I think about soulmates?” she muses, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the proper answer would be that I hate them.”

He frowns. “So you don’t believe in them?”

“You can’t hate something you don’t believe in, Hugo. Of course I believe in soulmates.” Donella must see the surprise in his expression because she laughs after a brief pause. “I would be hard pressed not to believe in them after seeing it with my own two eyes.”

Hugo blinks, startled. “You met someone with a soulmate?” he asks, disbelieving.

“You could say that.”

“How do-how did you know they were-”

She opens the stolen journal again, long scared fingers deftly flipping back to her reading place. “Because I could feel when she was in pain. Now shut up, Waif, I still have three quarters of this tedious reading to get through and only five more hours to do it.”

___

Even though Eugene has decided to make the conscious effort not to kill Hugo, the guy still shows mild animosity. And by mild, Hugo-of course-means that he drags him around, making him do tedious tasks and scowls whenever he gets close to Varian.

Whatever. It’s not as if Hugo’s going to complain, considering that it’s mostly his fault there was a demon monster briefly unleashed onto Corona that destroyed most of her capital city. As long as Varian isn’t blaming himself, Hugo calls it a win.

So he lets the Prince Consort drag him around the city and put his alchemy to work.

“You don’t have to stay,” Hugo says, at one point, when it becomes apparent that even though Eugene has no idea how alchemy works , he was still going to hover. “I’m not going to cut and run.”

The man had snorted. “Yeah, I already figured that one out for myself,” he’d muttered and then proceeded to not explain what that meant.

So here Hugo is, with an ever present shadow, hovering like he’s a fucking five year old. Hugo honestly doesn’t see what Varian sees in the guy-or Queen Rapunzel for that matter. She looks at the ex-thief like he hung the moon and all the damn stars in the sky.

“It’s because they’re soulmates,” Eugene’s buddy-Lance, Hugo thinks-had said when he caught him staring.

Hugo had scoffed.

Now, bored and overheated after a long day’s work, Hugo watches Eugene frown over some blueprints in the Queen’s study. Hugo’s not exactly sure why he has to be present for this particular part of the renovation project, but he’s too tired to protest.

“Are you and the queen soulmates?” he hears himself asking.

Eugene lifts his head, eyes alight with surprise. He glances back down at the blueprints once, before leaving the table to join Hugo by the open doors leading to the balcony.

“Weird question, coming from you,” he snorts, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But yes. We are.”

Hugo doesn’t know what to make of that. “How do you know?”

The older man hesitates, something like understanding dawning on the man’s face. A small smile crosses lips. “Have you ever met someone that no matter how many times you tried to walk away, you couldn’t?”

Hugo swallows.

“That’s how I know. Now,” he claps Hugo on the shoulder. “If you’ll stop messing around, I need your opinion on whether Yong’s demolition idea or Varian’s solvent solution is going to work best for the lower district’s avalanche problem.”

___

At the end of all things-or perhaps the beginning-Hugo finds Varian on a rooftop.

It’s not hard to find him, as when Varian is brooding, he likes to perch. It’s a habit that the alchemist has either picked up from spending most of his time in a castle with high roofs or perhaps it’s born of chasing his dumb racoon into precarious positions.

Either way, Hugo learns early into his friendship with the darkhaired boy, that when he’s being introspective, he likes to pick a high roof and perch like a fucking woodland creature.

So when Varian goes missing in the middle of Corona’s lantern festival, it takes precious few minutes to find him.

“You are so predictable,” Hugo says, dropping down next to him. Heights don’t usually bother him, but the castle is impressively tall.

The other alchemist doesn’t really seem to mind, however. He lets his legs dangle over the edge, occasionally swinging in the air.

“Or maybe I wanted you to find me,” Varian replies easily. His head--tilted up, toward the stars that are mirrored in the constellations of freckles on his face-is wearing a peaceful expression.

Something in Hugo’s chest clenches tightly at the sight of it. There was a time, not too long ago, where he was convinced he’d never see Varian happy again.

But now, Varian turns his face toward Hugo and offers him a smile. “Or maybe I’m just predictable to you.”

The tightness in Hugo’s chest dissipates. What is left aches for something he can’t have.

“Or that,” Hugo says, instead of doing something stupid like trying to hold Varian’s hand or kiss the stupid expression off his face.

Varian turns back to the stars.

“You know, they say shooting stars fall in the direction of your soulmate.”

Hugo rolls his eyes. “Not you too,” he groans, eliciting laughter from his friend. “I thought out of everyone, you would be on my side here.”

“Aw, don’t believe in soulmates?” Varian teases, grinning boyishly. “Sun and moon, I should have expected that.”

“Yeah?” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How so?”

“You’re so cynical. And not in the way Cass is-she’s like realistically -cynical. You’re just oh poor me I could never have a soulmate because my soul is made of garbage -”

Hugo clamps a hand over Varian’s mouth, shrieking when he tries to lick him. “I- stop -I don’t have to listen to this slander -”

“-and if you ever did find your soulmate you would be insufferable about it,” Varian goes on, catching Hugo’s wrist when he tries to silence him again. “You would spend the entire time trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that there was no possible way they could be your soulmate and when you couldn’t you would-”

He stops. Blinks at Hugo with realization dawning across his face.

Hugo’s wonders if Varian can feel his pulse racing where the smaller boy’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yeah? What would I do?”

Varian’s lips purse. “I don’t know what you would do. I’d hope you would be smart about it.”

He lets go of Hugo.

Hugo immediately misses his warmth.

“And what would be the smart thing.”

“Well,” Varian draws out the word thoughtfully. He scoots close enough to Hugo that if the taller boy wanted he could wrap and arm around his shoulder. “Well, an excellent start would be telling them.”

“And how would you tell them? If it were you,” Hugo adds quickly, when Varian shoots him a questioning look.

Varian leans back on his hands, head tipped back, exposing his throat to the sky. “I would tell them my heart started beating at the same time as theirs when we touched. That there’s a silver dagger inked on my shoulder that burns when they’re angry and sings when they’re sad-”

“Varian.” Hugo’s heart clenches so hard he briefly wonders if he’s having a heart attack.

“-I would tell them that I dreamed in color the first night we lay side by side in the forest,” Varian goes on, ignoring him. “I would tell them that when we touch I see every color-even the ones that don’t belong here.”

“Varian.”

Hugo’s hand finds his soulmate's.

Varian turns his head to the side slightly, finally meeting Hugo’s eye. With his free hand, he cups the side of Hugo’s neck, tentatively.

“I would tell him that our souls are made of the same thing.” He smiles gently. “It’s just science, Hugo.”

Hugo laughs, pressing his forehead into Varian’s. “How is that the most romantic thing you’ve said yet?”

“Because you’re a closet nerd,” Varian says, right before he leans in.

Underneath a starlit sky, Hugo kisses the boy made of the same stuff as him.

___

[americasmarauders]

Hey Luiza!! Ok so I don’t know if this is too big of an ask BUT would you maybe consider, if you’re comfortable with it, writing up (from prompt list 1) #24 that leads into #11 with Tim Drake?

author's note: has this been sitting in my ask box for, what, 4 months? yes it has. I'm deeply sorry for that, love, but suddenly life got in that way, and I found myself unmotivated and uninspired. But now, hopefully, I'll have a couple of weeks of peace and I managed to complete this request. I hope you don't mind, but I put my own spin on the prompts, slightly altering them. Hopefuly it's up to par with what you expected. I re-worked an old draft of mine, one that was supposed to be a royal!au based on Love Story by Taylor Swift, to fit the prompts. It's still a royal!au and it still has some colors of Taylor Swift, nevertheless I hope you like it.

prompts: #24: banter in which one of them’s like… “i love you” and the other person’s like “ok” and the first one’s like “say it back” and the other one’s just like “no 😝” and the first one gets frustrated because “why wouldn’t you say it back we always say i love you before we leave”

#11: when one of them is hurt by the antagonist… and their lover goes… absolutely ballistic and does everything in their power to get to the person they love, to the point in which the antagonist and it’s crew have to physically restrain them… and it still doesn’t stop them… they just keep kicking… doesn’t matter what happens to them… doesn’t matter if they get beaten in the process… as long as their lover is safe… words: 3,982

masterlist

request masterlist

#

#

She leaned to the railing of the balcony, summer air gently brushing on her skirt and her skin, a small smile playing at her lips. Her hands fidgeted nervously as she waited for her love to encounter her in that abandoned corner of her family’s palace.

A sigh escaped her lips as she attentively listened to the noises around her. The rumble of the party could still be heard, even if faintly. There were barely any rounds in that part of the castle, especially with the big ball her father had decided to throw. She had millimetrically chosen that balcony: something far enough from the ballroom, so they wouldn’t be bothered, but not too far in case they got caught. She could see the moon clearly from where she stood, its light illuminating the fountain down below beautifully. She thought about how his eyes would be beautiful under the Moon’s light and her heart fluttered.

She had been warned about the Waynes, mostly by her adoptive Father, who wasn’t exactly a fan of Bruce Wayne, King of Gotham. Their relationship was civil, but it wasn’t safe from animosities, many that had happened in their past, when both were still young princes trying to get their bearings of their upcoming roles. A war was brewing back then, a war that had not ended as of yet, and she remembered her Father telling her how palpable the tension in the air was, how exasperated his mentor was that he was as prepared to be a king both militarily and educationally. She only imagined King Bruce’s mentor felt the same.

Unfortunately, the antipathy extended to the plethora of adopted children King Bruce had. Her father always spoke of them with a corner of disdain, his lips twisting into a frown. He had to have contact with them, the trades of their kingdom depended on Gotham a whole lot, but he had shielded his children from the Wayne kids. When she was smaller, when she had just arrived in the castle fresh from the streets, she had believed every word from her Father. She had stayed away from them, actively avoiding them when she saw a pair of raven hair and bright eyes looking in her direction. When she grew up, she stopped thinking about dodging their attention so attentively, but still stayed out of their way, not wanting to get on her Father’s bad side.

The way she saw it, she didn’t exactly mess with the Waynes, in fact it was the other way around. Tim had stumbled onto her life, and he had been quite persistent, in spite of her trying to be cold towards him. He knew she really couldn’t resist him somehow, he always knew more than he ever let on, he saw the way she smiled when he’d pass through her on a stupid ball his Father threw for whatever reason. She pretended to not see him, to not feel his smile etched into her brain forever.

Tim managed to crawl his way to her heart and now she couldn’t imagine a life without his clever remarks and easy going smile. She remembered vividly when they danced for the first time. He had asked her, the first time he’d even whispered anything to her. It was like every eye was on her while she was hesitating to grab his hand. Her eyes flickered to his face, his smile faltered for a second. She remembered feeling her heart tightening at his deflation, and grabbed his hand immediately after.

His grip tightened on her hand, his smile firm and reassuring. She felt herself tense when they finally arrived on the dance floor, his other hand respectfully laying on her back. He whispered to her gently, begging to not let her eyes drift away from his. She listened to him, her heart beating fast, a mix of anxiety and something else, something better and new. He made snide comments about the people present at the Wayne ball, making laughter bubble underneath her skin. He had vanquished her nerves with a smile and bright eyes.

Hands slipped on her middle, hugging from behind. Tim’s scent flooded her, a smile blooming on her face. She moved to turn in his arms to face him, his hands allowing her movement. He was classically handsome, his blue eyes accentuated by the moonlight, sending butterflies to her entire being. His smile floored her, her hands finding his face, caressing lightly his cheeks.

“No one saw you?” she whispered, her forehead leaning on his, her breath mingling with his.

“No,” he shook his head, his forehead grazing on hers. His hands cradled her face, his eyes closed. “You look breathtaking tonight,” his voice was steady and precise.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she smirked, her hands falling to his shoulders delicately. Her eyes were filled with an inexplicable love, something that consumed her wholly. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” his lips ghosted over hers, tempting her to close the tiny gap between them. She chased the smile growing on her lips, closing the space between them and interlocking their lips. Tim had promptly responded to her kiss with a gentleness only he was capable of, kindness that made something inside her explode.

She rested her forehead on his, looking deep into his moonlit eyes with an adoration that couldn’t be contained by the vessel of her body anymore. Her heart felt calm again, next to him it was like every cell of her body was finally settling into some level of tranquility. The sinking hole she felt when he was miles away back in his kingdom was rapidly filled when he smiled at her and rested his hand on her cheek. The world was filled with screaming colors once again.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave you,” he confessed, his voice barely over a whisper, his hands cradling her face carefully.

“I know, Tim,” the whisper fled from her lips, “I feel the same, but we have to, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” a sigh escaped his lips, defeated and resigned. He took a step back, putting space between them. She immediately felt his absence, a coldness settling inside her. His elbows rested brutally on the railing of the balcony, his knuckles as tense as his jaw. She felt it in her bones that something was deeply wrong with him, something inside him had shifted. “We could run, you know?” he suggested, his eyes finding hers once again, full of hope. “I have a safe house far away, Kon helps me keep it. We could settle down there, live a calm life.”

“Where’s this coming from, Timmy?” she whispered, her eyes closed imagining the life Tim had laid out for her.

“I’m so tired, love,” his head shook from side to side, “I'm so tired of fighting, of briefing meetings and seeing innocents die. I don’t know if I can’t take it anymore.”

“I know,” her hands rested on top of his, “but, Tim, we can’t. We can’t leave everyone behind, this is bigger than us.”

“Why not?” his voice grew with a strong tone of anger. “I just want one thing, Y/N, one thing. I want to be able to love you, without all this weight on my back that I’ve been carrying ever since my parents handed me to Bruce when I was 12. I’m exhausted all the time, I miss you like I’m missing my own heart all the time. I can’t take this anymore.”

“Tim...” she started, her voice soft and understanding, but he quickly interrupted her.

“Marry me,” he turned to her abruptly, grabbing her hands tightly. Her mouth was agape, her heart beating out of her chest. “We can get married quietly at dawn, and then we’ll live at my safe house, we’ll make it a home.”

Her eyes flew crazily over his face, looking for any hint that he was playing a prank on her, pulling purposefully on the strings of her heart. His face didn’t betray any signs of any lies, her mouth got dry and her hands started to sweat. Her brain ran a thousand different scenarios, trying to grasp onto some hope that maybe what Tim had suggested to her might work. She found none.

She shook her head, her throat tightening up. “We can’t,” she whispered, her hands slipping from his. “It wouldn’t work, Timmy. We would be hunted down, we wouldn’t have peace at all. We’d have to live a life constantly running from our past.”

“So we’d do it,” he went to grab her hands again, but she didn’t let him, his hands grasping into summer air. “I can find other houses across the continent, I can make sure we are not found.”

Tears escaped her eyes, betraying her feelings to Tim. She shook her head, her arms crossing over her stomach. “No,” she whispered, “I can’t.”

“Hey,” his fingers lifted her chin, making her look at him, “penny for your thoughts?”

She couldn’t handle being touched by Tim, his touch poisoned her thoughts. If he touched her, she’d make a decision she’d regret, and she wouldn’t have that. “I can’t do it, Tim, I can’t leave everything behind.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” he started, “but we’ll make it.”

“You’re not understanding,” her voice showed the bubbling anger and fear inside her, “I can’t abandon everything like you’re suggesting, Tim. I can’t leave all those people who depend on me, all those families that expect me to show up and give them some comfort,” she sniffed, brushing off a couple of tears running on her cheeks. “If I leave, Tim, I’d be miserable.”

He took a step back at the brutality of her words. “You’d have me,” he whispered, “I’ll love you until the end of my days, I’d never let you be miserable.”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” she replied, her knuckles tight. “I love you, Tim, with everything in me, more than the number of stars in the Universe, but it wouldn’t be enough to cover the guilt I’d feel.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, his hands gripping the railings angrily. “I’m leaving to battle tomorrow,” he stated, his voice steady and impassive.

“I know,” a mutter left her lips.

“This is your last chance before I go,” he turned to her briskly, “please, run away with me.”

“No,” she shook her head, her voice barely a whisper.

Tim huffed and left, his footsteps heavy and angry. But it wasn’t that that had broken her heart. They always said ‘I love you’ when they had to say goodbye.

Tim hadn’t said ‘I love you’.

#

#

Out of everything Tim was expecting from his day -- to dying on the battlefield, to ending a war, the list was practically endless -- he hadn’t expected receiving the letter that was in his hands.

He didn’t even know Roy knew about them. He must have guessed, though, she told everything to Roy, she loved him deeply, a love he sometimes wished resembled the love he shared with his own brothers. But things in the Wayne household were different, more secretive and cold. Sometimes, Tim thought back on how different his life would have turned out if his parents hadn’t dropped him off at Wayne Manor to run. Maybe, he would have followed in his father’s footsteps and became a fine swordsmith, maybe worthy enough to work for the Wayne family like his father before him. Maybe, it would have happened what his parents feared the most: they would have run out of business, losing every penny they owned and living in poverty for the rest of their existence.

Tim was ultimately glad his parents had made that tough decision, he wouldn’t be a Prince if they hadn’t, he wouldn’t have met his soulmate if they hadn’t.

Her. He had royally screwed up with her, he shouldn’t have pushed her too far, he knew where she stood on the subject. But he felt his impatience grow inside of him, his frustrations got the better of him and soon he was blinded only by his undying love for her and the anger he felt at the world for failing him once again.

Tim hadn’t said ‘I love you’ to her when he left. It was that realisation that pained in his chest even now, as Jason handed him a foreign letter from Roy, her brother. It was that regret that flooded him when he read the rushed words scratched on paper, his heart picking up a beat as his eyes processed the fatalistic words presented to him.

He stood up briskly from his seat, ignoring Dick rambling about the strategy they were supposed to adopt to overturn their enemy. He heard some complaints, Bruce calling after him asking where he was going. Tim ignored, only capable of focusing on the letter and his last conversation with her, the things he did not say to her and the regret he felt on the things that had been said.

Tim didn’t have anything on him other than his sword and that cursed piece of paper, but he still made his way to the stables, overlooking the weird stares he received on the way. His horse was softly munching on some hay, unaware of the ride she was about to be put on. The letter found its way to Tim’s pocket hastily, as he put on his saddle on his mare, his jaw tight with emotion.

“So that’s it?” Tim heard, closing his eyes at the voice. “You’re just gonna march to Star City, because Roy sent you a letter?”

“It’s not that, Jason,” Tim muttered, hyper-focused on securing the saddle on his horse.

“I wish I could make you do shit that easily, I would’ve made you do my field notes ages ago,” Jason liked teasing his brother, Tim guessed it was because it was easy to get a reaction out of him.

“It’s not that,” he gritted through his clenched teeth, aggressively releasing the lock of the saddle. His mare complained at the gesture. Even her found a way to scold Tim.

“Then what is it? What’s more important in Star City than here, with your army, fighting for our people?” Jason cleared, watching the anger rise in Tim’s expression quickly and overwhelmingly.

Tim shook his head, not allowing his brother to have the satisfaction of gaining a reaction out of him. He promptly got up on his horse, gently guiding her towards the exit. Jason got in front of his horse, stopping the motion completely. “Get out of the way, Jason,” Tim’s voice was low and menacingly, “I won’t warn you a second time.”

“You don’t scare me, Timothy,” Jason scoffed at his brother’s attempt of intimidation. “Get over yourself, baby bird, you can’t scare me. Now, tell me, why such a rush?”

Tim’s eyes hovered on his brother’s face, looking down at him. The letter was fished out of his pocket and tossed to Jason. His brother caught it, and hastily read its contents. “So? If they needed help containing these rebels they wouldn’t have sent you a letter,” Jason argued, his hands motioning to his brother.

“Jason,” Tim softly said, “read it again.”

His brother looked at him weirdly and did as he said. His eyes moved more slowly now, taking in the words that had ripped Tim’s heart out of his chest. “Oh,” Jason muttered, looking up at his brother once again, “oh.”

“Get out of the way, please,” Tim begged, his voice breaking.

“What are you gonna do when you get there?” Jason asked, confused at his brother’s reaction. “It’s not like you have any medical expertise, Tim, you’re not going to be able to help her.”

“I don’t know, Jason, I just have to be there,” he responded, briskly. His voice was full of contained emotion, like if Tim mad one false step everything would overflow and he would inevitably break. “I can’t lose her, I just can’t.”

Jason sighed, one of his hands resting on the holster of his sword the other on his waist. It was like he was thinking everything through, analysing thousands of scenarios Tim couldn’t even fathom. Jason was the brother everyone underestimated. He was exceptionally strong and big, he had a knack for violence no other Wayne boy had, but he was an incredible strategist, maybe the best out of all of them.

He stepped out of the way not before saying “I’ll cover for you, but I can’t promise they won’t find out.”

With that Tim ran off, the wind whipping angrily at his hair, reflective of the storm inside himself.

#

#

Tim dismounted from his horse just outside the gates of her family’s castle. The guards looked at him suspiciously, as he strode proudly toward the gate that separated him and her. He eyed the guards with an austerity he reserved for a few occasions, he never liked making people feel inferior, but his morals were askew in light of the news weighing down his chest.

“I demand to be let in,” he ordered, his voice stern and tight.

The guard in front of him raised an eyebrow, appalled by Tim’s audacity. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Prince Tim, of Gotham, and I will get in the castle, so please move,” he gathered all the authority he could muster inside him, and spoke as if he was the monarch of that kingdom.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but you do not have authority here,” the guard shook his head, his hand sliding to his sword slowly. Tim took that as a sign of hostility, trying in a peacock kind of way to show he was the one with the upper hand in the situation.

Tim scoffed at the pathetic demonstration, jumping at the throat of the guard and slamming him to the wall behind him. “Listen here, I have been riding for the past 5 hours, I have not stopped once and, at this point, I’m fuelled by spite and anger,” his voice was low and threatening, and he could see fear rise in the guard’s eyes. He couldn’t scare Jason, but he could scare other people. “I’m not going to be stopped by some mid-level pathetic guard,” it was weird saying insulting things to other people. Tim rarely bad-mouthed, but at that moment it felt liberating.

“Tim,” he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, “release the guard.”

Tim looked over his shoulder, Roy standing there with a calm expression, something that contradicted the feeling in his eyes. Tim shoved the guard out of his hands, dropping them violently to his sides. Roy ordered a guard to take care of Tim’s mare, gently leading Tim inside the castle’s grounds.

“She’s been asking for you,” Roy stated, his voice elusive and calm. “No one understands why, but I do.”

“How is she?” the words that Tim was afraid of saying slipped past his lips. Asking how she was made everything that had happened to her, something he had just found out, incredibly real.

“Considering that she spent the past few days being held hostage, considerably well,” Roy conceded, rubbing his hands behind his back. “A bit bruised and shaken up. But, as far as I know, well.”

“Good,” Tim swallowed the lump inside his throat, relieved to hear what Roy had said. They walked down a straight hallway, something he guessed took them from the main gates to near where she was staying.

“She told me what happened between you,” Roy manifested, filling the awkward silence growing. “She’s been beating herself up for it.”

“It’s my fault,” Tim shook his head, “I shouldn’t have said anything, I already knew her answer, it was stupid.”

“It wasn’t, trust me, if I was in the same position as you, I would’ve probably done the same,” he shrugged, turning a sharp left, “probably worse.”

Tim laughed, humourlessly, at Roy’s comment. “Listen, kid, I get it, truly. But with this,” Roy waved his hands around, “sometimes, you gotta play the long game.”

“I hate the long game,” Tim muttered, like a little kid.

“No one said it was going to be easy,” Roy scolded him, like his brother would have done. “But if you truly love her, like you say you do, then play your cards right.”

They stopped, in front of a dirty pink door, Roy’s hands gripped the handle, a small smirk on his face. Tim straightened his posture, shedding the young brother façade he unwillingly slipped on and reverting to the young Prince ways. He took a deep breath, shuffling to organize his emotions inside his brain. Roy opened the door and pushed Tim inside the room, rapidly closing the door back up.

He had never been to her room, even of all those years of courting secretly, sneaking into dark hallways, and kissing under the moonlight. Her room had always felt off bounds to him, even if it had never been expressed as such. He slowly walked into the room further, watching how every corner had her imprint in it.

She was sitting by the window, the curtains opened, a soft summer breeze gently moving her hair out of her eyes. She only wore a simple gown, almost a nightgown, making Tim feel incredibly overdressed. There were bruises littered over her arms and neck, and he felt a mixture of anger and guilt bubble underneath his skin. He struggled to contain it, hoping the people that had done that to her were already six feet underneath the ground.

Her gaze flipped to him, and his stomach somersaulted inside him. She opened a shy smile, waving timidly for him to approach her. He walked calmly towards her, his hands behind his back fidgeting nervously. She got up from her seat, and stood waiting patiently for him.

“Hi,” he whispered, in front of her. His hands itched to touch her, bring her closer and cradle her as if she was the most precious and delicate thing in the world. To him, she was.

“Hi,” she looked down at the ground, her feet bare. “I’m so--”

“No,” he interrupted her, “don’t. I’m the one who should be sorry, I’m the one to blame.”

“Tim, you didn’t do anything.”

“I did everything,” he admitted, “I didn’t say ‘I love you’,” tears sprung to his eyes, ones that he had been trying to keep at bay for a long time. “I left and suddenly you were in danger and I wasn’t there to help you. All because I was stupidly proud and bitter and I--”

“Stop,” her hands found his face, her thumbs brushing carefully on his cheekbones. “It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known. I certainly didn’t.”

“I should have…”

“No, Timmy, you’re just a man,” she took a step closer, her body hovering next to him warmly. It was like the ice that had settled on him instantly melted when she stepped next to him, “one that I love very much. But I made mistakes that night, and so did you. And it’s okay.”

He breathed right for the first time in days. The guilt he had been carrying like a cross on his back felt lighter, almost nonexistent. A smile made way to his face, albeit a timid one, and he grabbed her hands, the warmth she irradiated seeping into him. “I missed you.”

She smiled at him, a smile no longer free of hurt, but full of more meaning than before. “There was a question you asked that night,” she whispered, her breath mingling with his, “one I didn’t answer.”

“There was?”

“Yes,” she nodded, her nose brushing on his delicately. “Ask it again.”

“Are you sure?” Tim looked into her eyes, looking for a sign of uncertainty or regret.

“Just ask it.”

“Will you marry me?” he whispered, his lips brushing hers.

“Yes.”

#

#

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Idiot (J.JK)

Warnings : swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions of fighting

Synopsis : they were childhood friends, but now they hate each other. so why did he fight her ex for breaking her heart? 

Word Count : 1969

I met his eyes after the words left his lips, and I could tell a part of him regretted it, but he stood his ground. All of our friends fell silent as they waited for either one of us to say something. So many things bounced around in my head; so much dirt I could spill about him. But I took the high ground and decided to be the bigger person. “That was low, even for you.” He opened his mouth to say more, but I stormed out of the apartment, deciding it was a Netflix alone kind of night.

           “Hi!” A young boy, about my age, greeted me. His smile was bright as he held out his hand for me. I took his hand and introduced myself. “I’m Jeon Jungkook. You just started today, right?” I nodded. “Come play with me then!” He ran away from the school wall I was standing by and towards the playground. I wasted almost no time as I followed behind, excited to make a new friend on my first day at a new school.

           I curled up into my bed, looking through the scrapbook Jungkook made me as a graduation present, 1 year before he decided I was the worst thing that ever happened to him. It happened so suddenly, one day we were the best of friends, and the next he avoided everything to do with me. I just wanted to go back to the days where he was the one who protected me.

           “Just leave her alone.” As always, Jungkook showed up as a group of guys surrounded my desk. He had stepped in between me and the leader of the group.

           “Or what?” He smirked, cocking his head to the side. “You going to make me?” He was instigating and I knew if I didn’t step in, Jungkook was going to do something he’d regret.

           “Jungkook, it’s fine. Just sit down.” I reached up and grabbed his wrist. When he turned and met my eyes, the anger quickly disappeared and he did as told, taking the empty seat beside me.

           “Ooh little Jungkook takes orders from a girl.” The bully instigated again, causing Jungkook to stand abruptly from the seat he had just taken and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

           “You shut your mouth before I knock all your teeth out.” He threatened before throwing him back against the lockers behind our seats. Jungkook turned to sit back down, but the bully jumped him from the lockers, the two of them landing on the floor and going at it, throwing as many punches as they could. The rest of the class stood from the seats and gathered as close as they could without interfering in the fight.

           As the two stood and continued to throw punches, I stood from my desk and got in between them, grabbing Jungkook by the shoulders. “Stop fighting, you idiot!” I yelled at him and turned to give the bully a piece of my mind, just as he went to punch Jungkook again, missing and punching me instead. It knocked me off my feet and all I remember is Jungkook screaming my name, picking me up and rushing me to the nurse despite his own injuries.

           I smiled at the memory the picture of our matching black eyes brought me. All three of us got expelled that day, and I wasn’t surprised. Mine and Jungkook’s parents on the other hand, were furious. Friends who get expelled together, stay together. Jungkook wrote under the picture, and my heart ached at the thought that we were no longer friends.

           “Just leave me alone. You’re nothing but a nuisance.” His words rang through my head, bringing tears to my eyes just as it did the day he said them.

 Jungkook’s Point of View

         Before I could say anything else, she was out of the apartment. The guys just looked at me with disapproving stares and shook their heads. “What? She’s just being sensitive. She’ll get over it.” I shrugged my shoulders and went to the balcony for fresh air.

           “You fucked up, and I know you know that.” Namjoon said, stepping beside me and leaned on the banister, looking between the night sky and me. “What even happened between you two? You said she used to be your best friend.” I scoffed and looked down to my hands and laughed at the memories of our friendship.

           “We just grew apart.” I shrugged, sparing him a quick glance.

           “That doesn’t cause this kind of animosity. You know the real reason; you’re just scared to admit it.” With that, he clapped me on the shoulder and went back inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

           We sat across each other at the library, our books spread out in front of us. Despite taking different majors, we decided to study together as a way to keep up our daily hang outs. I looked up at her as she let out a quiet but very frustrated sigh and threw her pencil onto the table. She brought her feet up and curled up on the chair, wrapping her arms around her legs and placing her head on her knees, pouting at me. She looked so cute, so beautiful, and I couldn’t stop these growing feelings. “Can we stop for today and go get something to eat?” She asked, still pouting at me.

           “Let’s go, my treat.” Her face brightened at my answer and she quickly packed all of her study materials into her bag. How is it possible for one person to possess so much cuteness? I took her bag from her before she could sling it over her shoulder and the two of us made our way to our new favourite diner just off campus.

           I snapped a picture of her as her face lit up at the food placed in front of her. I smiled at the picture, basking in just how absolutely adorable she is. As we sat across from each other in comfortable silence as we ate, I came to terms with the fact that I was falling in love with my best friend.

           I fell in love with her. And I was okay with that fact until Mark came along and stole, then later broke, her heart. I thought I could watch her be happy, but knowing it wasn’t me she loved tore me to pieces and I pushed her away.

           I walked into Jin’s place just wanting to raid his fridge for something to eat besides ramen. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Y/N crying into Jin’s chest. The smile on my face quickly faded at the sight and I went to sit on the other side of her, but I had to remind myself I pushed her away. I had to keep her at arms length. “Ah, if it isn’t our least favourite drama queen.” I sneered and made my way to the kitchen.

           “Not today, Jeon.” Her words were barely coherent, but I knew her, I knew exactly what she said. Jin shut me up as I opened my mouth to say something else.

           “Seriously, Jungkook. Today is not the day.” Hearing his aggressive tone, which was very rare coming from Jin, I apologized and made my way out, deciding to go to Namjoon and Yoongi’s place.

           “Anyone know what’s going on with Y/N?” I asked as I entered and went right to the fridge.

           “Went to Jin’s?” Namjoon asked from the couch. I nodded as I closed the fridge, some leftovers in my hand. “Y/N found Mark with her roommate, in her bed.” The container of food fell from my hands as shock and anger took over my body. “Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jimin went to her dorm to pack up her things. Hoseok is setting up his spare room for her. I was at Jin’s with her, but I too got kicked out.” He updated me on the happenings of our friend group, but I couldn’t calm the anger flooding through my veins.

           I stormed out of the place before Namjoon could stop me and went on the hunt for Mark. No way was this piece of shit getting away with what he did.

           I looked down to my hands again, my right hand bandaged from the fight I got into with Mark two weeks ago. He had the most beautiful, kind-hearted, caring, smart and funny girl I had ever met, and he threw her away. She’s the kind of girl that always puts her friends first. She even cares about me, even after all I’ve done to her. She’s the girl you bring home to your family, and they end up loving her more than you. But that’s okay because you love her too. She’s the girl you picture your future with. A wedding and a family. Coming home after a long day at work and all your troubles disappear as soon as you see her.

           And I looked at her and said Mark cheated on her because she’s annoying. All she asked was why I fought him. I couldn’t tell her, so I ignored her, as impossible as that is. She kept pestering and the words fell from my lips before I could stop them. I regretted them as soon as they were in the air, but I had to stand my ground. “Fuck.” I said to myself.

           I stormed back into the apartment and then left out the front door before anyone could say anything. And then I started running. I ran as fast as I could all the way to the apartment she shared with Hoseok. I banged on the door as I caught my breath, yelling her name, not caring about the neighbours hearing me.

           “What the fuck, Jeon Jungkook!” She exclaimed as she threw open the door. As soon as I saw her, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I cupped her face and kissed her. I put in all the feelings I’ve been holding in into the kiss, expecting her to push me off any second, but she didn’t. Slowly, I pulled away from the kiss and brought her into my arms.

           “I am so fucking sorry.” I whispered.

           “Again I ask, what the fuck, Jeon Jungkook.” She said, a lot calmer than before, as she pulled away from me and looked up at me in confusion.

           “He had the girl of my fucking dreams and then had the nerve to toss her away like she was nothing, when she’s my fucking everything. That’s why I fought Mark. He wasn’t getting away with breaking your heart, not on my watch.” I spit out the first thing that came to mind. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me.

            “You are probably one of the dumbest people I know, Jeon Jungkook.” Her words were harsh, but her tone was soft. “Did you really revert to a child who shows he likes someone by teasing them?” I gave her a shy smile as I casually shrugged my shoulders.

           “I didn’t want to see you with Mark.” I admitted and she started hitting me in the chest lightly. I chuckled as I grabbed her hands to stop her and make her look at me. “I’m sorry I’m an idiot. An idiot in love with his best friend.”

           “I missed you. You hurt me over and over again. Yet any time anything happened, I wanted to turn to you.” She told me and I apologized again before bringing her in for another hug. “I guess I’m also an idiot who’s in love with her best friend.” She whispered into my chest. I kissed the top of her head and held her tighter, whispering to her that I wasn’t letting her go.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x17)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 17: Homecoming

SEASON FINALE

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: something mild that you guys have been waiting for

Word Count: my therapist diagnosed me for ADHD and she said that I am on the borderline of the spectrum. In the sense that I have a chance of getting better if I go through proper therapy and bring a change in my thinking. That is good to hear and hopefully I will do better by myself in the near future.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

A whirr followed by a piercing hum of a machine filled the blackness of the recording device. "Oh shit," a whisper was heard from within the dark. "What," another whispered back. "I forgot to pee." "Scott," multiple voices whispered at once, making Scott apologise to everyone in the dark. "All right, everyone," Natasha's composed voice addressed everyone, "we are jumping in five, four-" "Bucky, is that you?" Steve's voice was quite low. "Three-" "Yeah...well, I've never travelled to space so..." the White Wolf was quick to answer his boyfriend. "Two-" "Maybe I should've worn a diaper?" Scott's whisper was an amplitude higher now,  the fear quite evident in his voice. "One."

The darkness was replaced by a flash of light flooding the lens before gradually giving way to a desert. The camera moved around to take in the Avengers team all suited up in black and purple scrutinising the area around them. Slowly everyone was opening their suit helmets once the oxygen concentration on this alien planet was confirmed. Scott was taking little jumps with his legs crossed. "Excuse me," he exclaimed quite urgently before running haphazardly behind a blue bush. Steve and Bucky stood there holding hands while their gaze went everywhere to look for any sign of trouble. Natasha tested the comms, the incoming signals from the Compound and the number of people who had arrived with her. "I have taken the attendance and we have arrived intact," she narrated robotically into her comms, "though Scott seems to be suffering from travelling sickness." "I'm okay," he shouted from behind the bush with heavy inhales in between his words, "just my bladder. Everything is a-okay. Nothing weird in the pee-pee." Wanda was already making use of her power to scan the entire planet while standing in one spot, her hands glowing in red plasmic waves while the rest of her body floating in a trance. "Have to say, this place almost looks like earth except for those little weird looking rabbits who were watching me behind the bush," Scott commented, coming back to the group. Natasha made eye contact with the one GoPro fitted on Scott's shoulder.

Natasha: *pushing her pigtails off her shoulder* So Shuri and Tony worked out the Pandora Box's algorithm of teleportation in *smiles* forty-eight hours. Bruce helped with the foundation, of course, I just sent him on vacation when Shuri arrived because the big guy was exhausted. *inhales and looks in the direction of her Space Team* As you can see we volunteered to rescue Y/N and Loki- *Tony's voice cracked through the comms* just Y/N. *camera panned in on Natasha's face going back to a stone-cold b*tch* Natasha: *sighs* Pepper deserves a reward for keeping him on earth Tony's voice: I heard that Natasha: *completely ignores Tony* Wanda is looking for them, Steve is here in case we need more brainpower for rescue. Bucks is our muscle and I am here in case any of them have second thoughts about killing anything that tries to hurt my family. And we are all worried that Scott might die on this trip. *camera zooms in on her* We don't even know what he contributes to this group. *camera slowly turns to record Scott, standing there tongue-tied, right from his shoulder* Scott: *in a low, disappointed tone* I am standing right here. 

The camera- or cameras that were embedded in the dangerously fitting space suits- panned in on Wanda's eyes opening with a red glow. "I found them," she announced on a wavelength of confusion. "What's wrong?" Steve asked the question rising in everyone's mind. "Remember the woman who tried to kill Loki and Y/N?" "Aellae," Scott replied in the most derogatory way while making a face. Wanda blinked and tilted her head a bit. "She's alive."

On the Other Side of the alien Planet Coming into focus, a rusty looking fabric came into view, the loose cross stitch giving way to the light of the nearest star to pour in while the fabric flapped in the cool breeze. Panning out from the fabric, the view was shifted to you sitting up from what looking like one really good nap- thanks to that glow on your face and no gravity known by your hair that was everywhere. You wore a brown cotton dress without sleeves- exposing the black thread tied on your right bicep. A bit of air was knocked out from your lungs when Lulu bounced on you to hug and lick you to his satisfaction. The little tent was filled with your giggled and weak persuasion to get him off you. A gust of the cold breeze entered with the figure that came in with the tent. "Grandmamma!" you exclaimed, getting up to go hug Se'tiri, who patted your back. The camera settled down in front of the two of you as you sat down where you had been sleeping. "What are you doing here?" you asked Se'tiri, all smiles till you were hit with a sudden realisation. "Wait-" "You had fallen sick in Jotunheim," Se'tiri explained that sudden rush of questions inside your mind, "so Loki brought you back to me." "Is Loki okay?" was the first question that popped out of you. "You think anything can happen to that mannerless boy?!" she almost cursed him, tapping her cane on the floor. "He left Jotunh-" "Aye," Se'tiri waved your worries away with her hand, "do not worry about useless things. He is mannerless but he thinks ten steps ahead. You worry about yourself. Look at you, huh? You've lost so much weight. Does that boy not feed you? All that beautiful fat has vanished from your body." You were nearly on the edge of tears, hugging Se'tiri with all your might. "I love you, Se'tiri. And I can feed myself. What's that got to do with that 'boy'. It's not like he is going to cry if I lose a couple of pounds. Speaking of which, he isn't even here. Where is he?"

In the Middle of the Desert "I warned you not to follow me." Javier's camera was already panning on Loki's black-clad figure from his right side. The drone flying over them recorded Javier's resolute facial expressions. "I can't let you go to war alone." Loki snickered, barely able to contain his laughter. The drone moved away from them to record an eerie-looking shadow standing on the top of the opposite dune; a shadow with tentacles breaking out in every direction around the figure. Upon focusing, it turned out the figure was Aellae, looking at the figure of Loki laughing on his knees now. Her pale skin was cracked and her lips were dry and chapped. Those eyes were dark and clearly full of unsatisfied rage for the God slithering in the sand on some joke she did not understand. One moment she was standing here, her gaze suddenly locked with the drone; the other moment, she was seen at the foot of the dune before presenting herself right in front of Loki. Loki- all done with the laughter that Javier was clearly not pleased with- cleared his throat, wiped away the tears from the edge of his eyes and stood up to face a very horrid looking Aellae. "'Sup," the God greeting, barely trying to hold his laughter inside him. "You sold me out to those punishers!!!" she stressed the 'P' to nearly spit in his face.  "You need to have some value for me to buy you before selling you out, Aellae," he soothingly stressed to the witch. Aellae was already baring her teeth at Loki, her shadow tentacles growing bigger with every passing second. "I guess riling your own kind against you paid me. I don't see your frail human anywhere." Her giggles of content were stopped by a voice from behind her. "Oi!!!" Loki, Aellae and Javier turned in the direction of this extremely familiar yet surprisingly thunderous 'oi'. The cameras panned in on the figure appearing on the other dune, riding a beast- hairy, husky, well built, no eyes, just a mouth with evident fangs and a roar that could be heard for miles- that almost looked like... "Lulu!" Loki shouted, "I told you not to bring her here you slow-witted pile of husk!!" "Oi oi Loki!!" you shouted back with a tsk. "Do not talk to my baby like that!" Lulu roared in agreement. "And you-" you turned towards Aellae- "no one gets to hurt my boys... except for my family! Families are weird." Aellae snarled at you. "Oh, but I will hurt them. But first I will hurt you." Both you and Aellae wore stern faces, neither of you backing down. Loki on the other hand was rolling his eyes and pressing his forehead with his fingers. "Why can this woman not give me a single day of peace?" Javier looked at Loki with a raised brow, about to say something when Loki raised his index at him. "No. Do not." Giving Lulu a pat, you were already mounting off the dune on his back. Aellae too was rushed towards you in horrific teleportation jumps till she came to a halt in the middle. Once, twice, thrice- the witch tried to move but she seemed to have been trapped right there. You came to a halt a few feet away from her, confused as to what just happened. Aellae was really not able to move. "What's wrong?" you seemed confused. Aellae turned to look up at Loki with all the world's animosity in her eyes. Loki, with his hands behind his back- that the drone recorded glowing- looked down at her with a smirk. "Not so fast," he whispered. Looking down at her feet, she noticed the familiar green and golden glow. With a scoff coming out of her lungs, Aellae gathered her shadows in her palms and directed it in your direction with great force. The shadows swirled around her fingers, found a target in you and rushed in your direction at a speed you were not able to comprehend soon enough. But the drone recording this fight could see them stop right before they came within two feet of you, freezing mid-air like icicles made of dazzling black liquid. "Not on my watch," a whisper stronger than the hot breeze in the desert came from behind you. All eyes watched as Wanda emerged from behind the sand dunes, floating over to come by your side. Her palms glowed with her ethereal magic but her poise made it seem like this took no effort at all. Your eyes widened on seeing Wanda right next to you. Inhaling all the alien air in your lungs, you opened your arms, right in time for Wanda to twist her fingers and raise her brow and smirk. "WANDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" you shrieked. And your shrieks were being directed by the Scarlet witch towards Aellae with no delay, making her lose her footing in no time. Lulu was helping you slide down his back right into Wanda's arms. No one could figure out when your shrieks had turned into wails muffled in Wanda's arms. "It's so good to see you," you bawled in her chest, making your witch laugh. "Aw! I missed you too! Though I have been watching you every day." Both of you were embracing each other in the highest hug possible while moving side to side in a slow down. And all this while, Aellae was throwing her attacks at you, which barely made through Wanda's shield. From where Loki watched this unfold, the futile efforts of the bad witch were just clad in some dark humour. "Everything about this makes me cringe," he groaned. "Stop it Aellae," he shouted in her direction, "you are just embarrassing yourself." Aellae wanted to go all dark, her eyes, her features, all covered in the shadows she carried, evidently preparing for a big bang. And just before she could release it, Green and golden chain made of pure magic were wringing her waist, pulling her away from the two women. They yanked her towards Loki, on the top of the dune where the God stood stoic as ever, his one hand behind his back while the other casually carried out what needed to be done. She was roaring in his face, wanting to burst open from those chains, but Loki was already fetching shackles from his pocket dimension to bind her in their magic. "The boys will take care of you," he announced without putting much effort in his words, seeming quite bored. "Man, I love the boys," another familiar voice came from his side. Javier turned his camera to record Scott sitting on the sand playing with the rocks while looking up and smiling at Loki. "They remind me of someone. Like a boy band, I think." Behind him stood Steve and Bucky, both shielding their eyes from the starlight with shades. Natasha was sitting next to Scott, surprisingly entertaining herself with Scott's pebbles game. "Why did we tag along, again?" Bucky asked his boyfriend. Steve puckered his lips, opening his mouth to say something. "Well, the cameras need the sexy while Wanda and Loki take care of things," Scott mentioned as he swimmingly put on his own shades for Javier's camera. Bucky and Steve seemed satisfied with that explanation before a good amount of blushing.

.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Javier and his drones pointed themselves in your direction. "They better work." Javier seemed pretty serious. "Shuri will be firing the mechanism in exactly-" Natasha looked at the countdown on her watch- "two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. So, everyone, take positions." "Wait," you begged loudly out of the blue, turning towards someone outside the frame. "I'm sorry I have to leave you, my precious baby," you croaked. Your giant floof came forward to smell you before licking your face. He chirped out loud, rubbing his head with yours. "I love you too," you announced at the edge of breaking into tears, hugging him as gently as possible. Loki blinked a few times before looking away from you. Clearing his throat, he came to stand next to you, taking his sweet time to raise his hand and pet him right where he loved it. "Don't let that witch out," he commanded softly to his pile of husk, to which Lulu replied with a loud burp that carried the cries of Aellae from the oblivion inside him. That earned him more soft pats from the God. "Will you be okay alone?" you had to ask, even though you knew that would just bring up more emotions in your throat. "Of course, he will," Loki acknowledged, pointing you in the direction of the nearest dune. There on the top stood six floofs, both big and small just like Lulu. One of them, the biggest of them all, roared with a pulsating sound. Lulu replied with a roar of his own, giving you one last tug before walking towards his pack.

"So, your powers are back," Steve commented, his thumbs resting in his belt loops as he waited for the clock to take them back home. At the same time, Scott was asking you the most awaited question. "Hey, Y/N, what happened at Jotunheim? After you were taken hostage?" Just as your inhaled a lungful and furrowed your brows at the question, Loki was smirking at the captain, moving a step closer to you to wrap his arm around your waist. Call it a reflex or a reaction built on experience but as soon as his arm was wrapping itself around your waist, your arms were grabbing onto his shoulders with your life force within one-tenth of a second "Let's test it out," the God pondered with no drop of doubt on his face, before disappearing with you. An awkward silence loomed after the golden swoop, leaving the Cap a little bit tongue-tied. "You just had to ask," Bucky rolled his eyes but the camera was zooming in on this one mischievous smirk on Natasha's lips as she took her position in the centre and pointed to the block Javier was supposed to stand on. "I am still curious-" Scott raised his hand in the air as he took his position- "in case anyone is curious."

The Lounge The continuous smacking of the LED screen was heard out of the frame while a very flushed MJ sat on the sofa, never blinking for a minute straight. The camera turned to find Peter still smacking the LED and its router while his little bulging bicep was peeking out from his half-sleeved white t-shirt. "Anything yet?" The soda that had barely reached the eighteen-year old's lips spilt a little as she found herself back in reality. "Huh? Wha-oh! No. Nothing." The flushing embarrassment must have increased tenfold on seeing the camera focused on her for she tried to shift in her seat, trying to face away from the camera. Peter stopped the smacking abruptly to let out a groan. "Come on you dumb machine! Work! We need to find out where my friends are!!!!" The 'machine' started to vibrate; the intensity increasing by the second. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to offend you," Peter was blurting out in one breath. "Peter! What did you do?!" MJ was pulling the boy away from the screen before an intense pressure of air blew them over to the sofa- Peter landing over MJ. In the very next second, you and Loki stood in the middle of the lounge, his arms still wrapped around you. Your eyes closed, your head pressed to his chest, hands clutching the fabric of his long coat as hard as possible, your existence just wanting to stay in this shell even when the people around you started to move. Peter was breathless at the sight. Pointing at you and Loki, no words coming out of his mouth, just that his eyes were getting moist by the second. "Y/N-" Loki's voice was smooth as his hand tried to move your undone hair from your face- "we're home." You made the effort to open your eyes and take a small step away from his chest, but the vertigo of space travel was still playing with your brain, making you lose your balance. Not fast enough for Loki to not catch you in his arms and bring you back to his chest. "Breathe," he ordered in his scruff yet gentle voice. And you obeyed. The camera was frozen on those pale hands holding you tightly to his chest, and that one tick of tension in the brows of the God that seemed to dissolve into a resting cold face as soon as it appeared on the surface. Once your breathing was steady, you tested your balance. "Good now?" You nodded and Loki let you go. The frame captured you slowly parting from him, your gaze stuck on his, relief on both faces, and Peter appearing in the middle with tears streaming down his face, his arms ready to take you both. "I'b soooo habby you're okayyyy," he bawled through his tears and hiccups. MJ pulled him away by his shirt. "Yes, yes, you're really happy now let them breathe first," the sweet girl ordered him in a monotonous tone. You broke into a smile at Peter's overflow of concern and Loki mirrored you all the same. A ruckus could be heard from the lab, specifically Tony asking for you. After two seconds of silence, he was bursting into the lounge breathless to find you standing there, in flesh and blood. Within the breath that you used to wave at him and say, "Hey Mr Sta-ow!" he was already hugging you with the intensity of a thousand suns. "Tony, you need to let her go before she chokes due to lack of air," Pepper pointed out as she stood next in line to hug you. "Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere? The last feed we got was-" "Yes, Loki saved me," you assured your father, cutting him mid-sentence. "You shouldn't be expecting anything less from him by now. Right, dad?" That's it. That word did it for Tony. All the waterworks that he had been saving suddenly started to pour out while he took Loki's support as a shoulder to hide his outburst. The God softly patted the man on his back with gentle but quite awkward 'there, there's.

Two Hours Later "I'm sorry, I swear this is the last test." Bruce was adjusting his glasses on his sweaty nose, trying his best to stay composed under the stress those two dads standing behind him were giving him. Clint was even holding his resting bitch face in place. "It's okay, Mr Banner. Please take your time, as I told you the last five times." You were surprisingly calm. "Are you sure you don't feel anything weird?" Tony had to make sure.

Bruce: *sighs* Seven

"Yes," you were resisting the urge to scold him by biting your lips and closing your eyes as you lay on the table with all the scanners surrounding you, "I am fine. How about you go take a look at Javier and Loki?" "They got over with the tests half an hour ago," Clint mentioned, taking a sip of coffee from his takeaway cup. "So, there are no foreign sensations in your body?" Tony furrowed his brows as if they would have helped you answer his question. You shared a tired look with the camera.

Bruce: *groans* Eight.

"It wouldn't hurt you to trust me, Tony," Bruce finally blurted it out, picking up the syringe to draw a blood sample from you. "Oh, I trust you-" Tony nodded with assurance in Bruce's direction while Clint mimicked that nod- "it's the...other alien I don't trust." Clint shook his head. Your palms legit slapped the slab you were lying on, taking the men by a little surprise, as you got up to face them. "That alien is the reason I am here." The camera panned in on that nasty glare you were giving those two while Bruce stepped back with his needle, trying to look at anything but you. "He is also the reason you froze to death in Jotunheim." Tony was quite assertive with his voice. "Well, I am not dead, am I?" Your voice rose a tempo higher. Clint raised a brow and took small steps to join Bruce on the side. "And if you saw me in Jotunheim, I am pretty sure you damn well know that I am the one solely responsible for me dying in that frost prison because I know you know I did that on purpose!!" Tony was already matching the rage wavelength with you. "And that makes it all the more reason for you to stay away from that man." "I WAS DYING BECAUSE I WANTED TO COME HOME!!" Your outburst came with the waterworks. Your voice shook but that did not stop you from taking the floor and standing in front of your father. "AND I KNEW LOKI WAS THE ONLY CHOICE!!" "You had Carol," Tony was gritting his teeth. "She has a family to look after too, Mr Stark. And last I remember she was the one who trusted me to stay with Loki till she came back because she knew who was trustworthy. And why are we even having this discussion? That GOD literally fought his own kind for getting me and Javier home safe. What more do you want to take from him to finally see that he can be trusted? What are you afraid of? That he will trick you and take over the world? That he is planning some universal scale annihilation? Well, good for him. At least when he is not thinking of world domination he is busy saving your dumbass destructive DAUGHTER EVEN WHEN HE DOES NOT HAVE TO!!!!" The loud sobs did not stop. But Tony definitely did, watching his anger crumble as he embraced you in his arms and lightly patted your head to make you feel better. "I'm sorry," he finally confessed, "I almost felt like dying when I saw you freezing on the screen. I was angry at myself for not being able to save you." "Then why are you blaming him?" you asked in between your sobs, pointing in a general direction away from here.  "Because he was close to you and I wasn't. I am so sorry, my baby. I just wanted to give you a normal life. I just wanted you to have normal friends, normal college life, normal stuff like boyfriends who I could threaten when they came to take you out for a date. I never wanted you to just disappear into space out of nowhere." The camera turned towards a very wide-eyed Clint just staring into oblivion.

Clint: Well, I thought the older one with daddy issues would handle it well. But *chuckles* she really is his daughter. *takes a sip of his coffee* *feels the taste on his tongue* *makes a bitter face with his tongue out* Ugh! Why is this thing been tasting so bad for these past few weeks?!

A Few Minutes Later Scott, Peter and Pepper being the most avid listeners of the night, showered Loki with questions about all they witnessed on the recordings. Both boys were wearing rabbit beanies and pink pyjamas to compliment Pepper's fuzzy blue ones.  Loki- to the shock and awe of everyone who witnessed this- was unexpectedly patient, answering all their queries. "And they bought it, just like that," Pepper stated with a null expression with curious eyes. Loki shrugged, shifting his arm pillow to Pepper's side. "Their kind takes the female superiority pretty seriously. They practically pray to them. So, it wasn't that hard once Y/N told them she was my wife." Peter and Scott- with their head resting in their palms- let out a stretched 'wow' with dreamy eyes. "They surely are one of a kind." Pepper tilted her head, "Is there some sort of encyclopedia where I can learn about all these creatures? I have been craving new knowledge recently. And Tony keeps all the Discovery channel on child lock so that is not helping. At all." Scott waved a hand at Loki. "And what about the time at the bar? Those beings with long antlers. What are they called?" The camera swivelled to you standing at the entrance of the lounge smiling a glowing smile at the scene unfolding in front of you. You too were on your brown pyjamas, finally looking like a kid amongst all these super adult. Once the camera caught your attention, you nodded at it and walked towards the recording room. "Come on, let's get to it before I fall asleep for seventy-two hours."

You enter the room with a yawn and a stretch, sitting down on the chair and scratching your exposed legs in those fuzzy shorts. Once the signal is given, you look at the camera. You: *sigh* *smile lightly* Well, that was a wild ride. And even saying that is an understatement. All that stuff that we- The door opens and the camera shifts to record Tony apologising before turning to you. "Don't stay up late, okay. You need your sleep," he reminds you in a hush. You nodded and replied with a smile. A pause of three seconds and Tony walks towards you to pat your head and plant a soft kiss in your hair. "Goodnight." "Goodnight," you blow a kiss back at him. Tony walks out with the most precious smile on his face.

You: *inhales* so where were we? Yeah. *laughs* You have seen everything, right? *snickers* and this guy still said he wanted a normal life for me. *laughs some more* This is the normal, father dear. This is how it is! Normal college life? To be honest I am not that disappointed that I missed a couple of assignments. I mean you don't get to say 'I'm sorry I didn't turn in my homework because I was busy being stuck on an alien planet'. *pauses* *presses her lips together to put a stop on the smile* You: Oh! Peter has already used that line. Well, then that makes two of us. And get a boyfriend so he can threaten him? Pfft! What is this some ninety's rom-com high school drama? Someone needs to tell him his daughter hasn't dated in this lifetime. *shakes her head* *stares into oblivion* and with the kind of things, a hundred things, she looks for in one single man guy, she might date in this lifetime... or the next one. *makes a face at her own thoughts* You: *groans* I mean come on! I can't just start dating a guy. You saw how I was when everyone around me was a complete stranger. I barely talked! *looks at the person behind the camera* You: What do I look for in a ma-that's a long list sweety. *shakes head vigorously before giving up* *long sigh* *licks lips* *shrugs* Well, the first thing I want in someone I would consider to be eligible as someone dateable would a person who is my friend.

Recording flips to the small clips of you meeting Loki for the first time, bickering, fighting, laughing together, pranking each other, watching movies together, sharing secrets about the other avengers and reading books together in the library.

A person who *thinks for a moment* gets how important family is to me. And when I say family...well, you know what I mean.

Another clip edit shows the God helping Bucky train in the training room, teaching Natasha about new poisons, blocking all the foreign sounds from the lounge when Pepper was soothing her belly and watching Boys Over Flowers. One time he lifted all the heavy furniture while Tony stress-cleaned the entire place all the while the God read a book. Another time he kept replacing Clint's coffee with a substitute that was good for his heart and tasted better.

I would want to date someone who gives me attention? *tsks* In the sense that they know I am there. I don't know if that makes sense.

Flip to the clips showing Loki moving the side table out of your way- with his magic- when you were busy dancing with your headphones on; him cooling down your tea to bring to a drinkable temperature; him threatening Sam so he doesn't eat your period chocolates; his concerned eyes stuck on you when you were stressed out about your exams at two in the morning in the library before he got you something to drink and offered to go in your place instead; he and Peter playing darts with David's face pasted on the dartboard; him taking the fairy lights from you to place them near the roof where you could not reach, in your room.

Someone who is funny.

The flip is to all the clips where you are either snickering, giggling or cackling with laughter, choking on your drink after Loki said something sarcastic with a straight face.

Someone who respects my space and my decisions

The recording shows Loki smiling while looking at you lecturing the men in the house about mansplaining and how it was an inherent thing for some; the God helping you make sandwiches for the Avenger's donation drive to Stark orphanage; Loki being the first to ask 'want me to help you pack' when you announced to the family you were going to visit a haunted house with your college friends; Loki putting a repel spell on your door when you wanted to be alone; him just sitting in his room by the window reading while you took his entire bed to make zentangles, neither of you talking throughout the time together.

Someone who is not afraid of physical touch. I would really want that.

All the falls that Loki saved you from with his arms, chest and entire body, be it in the Avengers facility or out in space; all the hugs he gave you at your low points; all the pats on your back flash one by one on the screen.

Someone who is *shrugs* *smiles a weak smile* happy for my existence? *brows furrow though the smile is stuck on your face* Someone...who I can get comfortable with. I don't have to put up a facade for them.

Edit flashes of all the moments where Loki gravitates to come and sit next to you, be it in the lounge, the library, the lab, the training room, the spaceship, alien planets. Another edit is of all the moments when you gravitate towards Loki, sometimes a mess in your nightclothes, hair unkempt, burping out loud, sometimes farting without any restrictions, other times groaning and letting your head rest on his shoulder. Other times just plane crying ugly in front of him.

*blinks* *furrows brows further* Someone...who I feel safe with?

This time the shift is to the clips where you are drunk and coming home from the club and Loki is supporting your frame to walk you to your room; another clip shows you watching a horror movie in the lounge late at night and you are burrowing your face behind his shoulder while he sits there with discomfort on his face for whatever movie both of you are watching; there is one where you are not feeling evidently anxious in the crowd of aliens and the camera is zooming in on you fingers lightly holding on to the edge of Loki's coat while you both walk through the market; another one is of you smiling as you look at Loki gush over the simulators in the modified spaceship; then there is one where you are smiling once again despite being surround by lethal frost giants and the reason of you smile being the God who is standing beside you and at the same time standing a step ahead of you to act as a shield for anyone who dares do anything in your direction. 

You are evidently surrounded by clouds of confusion and doubt hiding an impending realisation somewhere inside them. Your lips are parted but no sound comes out. Just when you feel like you have it, confusion grows darker on your features. The door clicks open and Loki's face pops in to find you in the room. The surprise on your face does not go unnoticed by either him or the camera. "You do realise you teleported here in terms of light-years," Loki comments. "Huh?" is all you can manage. "Go get some sleep before Clint comes to kill me in my sleep," he orders before turning towards the camera and finally walking out. A good few seconds pass in deafening silence. Your eyes are still stuck on the door. A few blinks later your eyes go wider. Even the camera knows what has happened for it is panning on the unadulterated shock on your face as your lips finally move to express this newfound theory. "...oh fuck."

[whenisitenoughtrees]

you've got that young blood (set it free)

“I saw them, Roman,” Virgil says simply.

It takes a long moment for Roman to understand what he means. All he can think about is the sensation of his hand, warm and soft, against his face.

But then, it clicks, and his heart begins to pound for an entirely different reason.

Of Roman, Virgil, scars, and self-worth.

(Virgil would prefer to have this conversation when Roman isn't bleeding all over the place, but beggars can't be choosers. Roman would prefer not to have this conversation at all.)

Content Warnings: blood, injury, scars, brief and non-graphic panic attack, briefly implied past self-harm

Word Count: 6,509

Pairing: Prinxiety

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

He doesn’t expect Virgil to be waiting for him.

Later, he tells himself that he would have done it differently if he knew, that he would have made an effort to stand upright, would have tried not to waver, would have downplayed his injuries as best he could. And he tells himself that he would have succeeded, too, that with his acting prowess, he would have easily been able to assure him that nothing was amiss, would have been able to allay suspicion and send him on his way if only he’d had time to prepare.

None of that matters, though, in the end. Because he doesn’t know that Virgil is there, doesn’t know that he is perched on the edge of his bed (and has been for hours, though he will only learn that later), and so when he finally stumbles through the wardrobe that connects his room to the Imagination, he allows his knees to give out, allows himself to collapse to the floor, arm pressed against the deep gash in his side. He lets a moan escape his lips, half pain and half relief, because he has made it back, has returned, if not safely, then at least in possession of all of his limbs and most of his faculties. And he is practiced in stitching his own wounds and emerging into the commons a few hours later, any pain hidden carefully behind a dazzling grin, a few more scars added to the collection he never lets anyone see.

There is no reason for this time to be any different. So at first, when he hears the choked gasp, he thinks that his mind is playing tricks on him, that the blood loss is more severe than he thought.

But then, his bedsprings creak, and there is a rush of movement, and there is someone kneeling in front of him, hands trembling, hovering over his body, afraid to touch. He blinks, forcing his vision into focus, and the black-purple blur resolves into a pale face, wide eyes, and a patched hoodie.

Virgil.

He is speaking, words flowing from his mouth like a heavy rainfall, and he tunes in with an effort.

“--ell me where it’s coming from,” he’s saying, voice rushed, frantic, scared. “Oh my fucking god that’s a lot of blood, you gotta tell me where you’re hurt so I can fix it. Can you even hear me right now? Roman? Roman, please, you gotta--”

“I hear you,” he whispers. Pushing the words past his lips at all is difficult; he doesn’t have the strength to be louder. Most of his brain has devoted itself to figuring this out, trying to solve the puzzle of why, exactly, Virgil is here, appearing in front of him like a vision from the gods. And why, exactly, his heart is beating so fast.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Virgil says, quite vehemently. “Can you-- god, can you move? Like, your arm? I need to see how bad it is. Holy shit, Roman, where did--” He cuts off, leaving Roman unsure of what he was about to ask. And he doesn’t know what to do with the rest of it, numbness creeping into his brain, so he just tries to do what Virgil has asked of him, tries to sit up straighter and remove his arm from his throbbing side. The motion sends pain bursting up through his torso, like tiny fireworks going off in his flesh, and he bites back a groan. His sleeve is slick with blood.

“Oh, god,” Virgil says. He sounds so distressed, so frightened, and Roman wants nothing more than to tell him that it’s alright, that it will be alright, that he’s taken far more damage than this and come out the other side. He just needs his first aid kit, and though he could get it himself if he concentrated, it would be easier to ask Virgil to fetch it for him before he leaves.

But the words won’t come. He stares as Virgil pulls lightly at the fabric sticking to his skin, inhaling sharply as the pain flares again. And then, Virgil looks up at him, staring into his eyes, and he wonders, were they that color before? He’s always thought that Virgil’s eyes were brown, like Thomas’ are, but this close he can tell that they’re not, that they’re a dark purple instead, and how he mistook that color for brown, he has no idea. But they’re beautiful, like fractals of thousands of the darkest amethysts, glimmering with reflected light.

Virgil reaches up, brushes some hair back from his face, his fingertips barely grazing his skin. It would be a strangely intimate gesture if not for the sharp sting it causes, and Roman remembers, ah, yes, he took a rather nasty knock on the head as well. And head wounds always seem worse than they are, he knows that, knows that the drying blood smeared across his face is not indicative of a truly serious problem. But from the way Virgil’s staring, he’s not sure that Virgil is aware of it.

“I’m okay,” he tries to say, though the words come out sounding more like, “‘M ‘kay,” and the slurring likely doesn’t inspire any confidence. But he wants Virgil to realize that he’s fine, that he can take care of himself, that he doesn’t need to stick around and take care of him out of some misplaced worry or misguided obligation. He has treated injuries far worse than this and lived to tell the tale. Or rather, to keep the tale a secret.

Virgil laughs, short and humorless. Roman doesn’t like it; it’s too dry, too bitter. “Where’s your first aid kit?” he asks, and though the fear is not gone from his voice, it is contained in a trembling undertone. He sounds determined, resolute, and Roman’s not quite sure why. But he was going to ask Virgil to get the first aid kit anyway.

“Bathroom,” he manages. “Cabinet under the sink.”

Virgil nods, and for a few moments, disappears from his line of sight. He feels oddly bereft without him there, like he’s been left in the cold, which is truly ridiculous. Virgil’s about to leave anyway. Once he retrieves the first aid kit, there’s no reason for him to stay. Roman can handle this on his own, should handle this on his own, frankly, because he’s the one who got himself injured in the first place.

But then Virgil returns, crouching in front of him, and rather than dropping the kit off and making his exit, he opens it, laying out gauze and bandages and thread for stitches.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Virgil asks. “Or do you need me to do it?” He doesn’t look up as he says it, continuing to rummage around in the kit, which leaves Roman to gape at him, because what? His mind feels slow and muddled, but he thinks that even if it didn’t, something about that request doesn’t make any sense. He spends so long trying to work through it that Virgil pauses, glancing up at him, brow furrowed.

“Roman?” he asks, more urgently.

The thing that Roman doesn’t understand is that he hasn’t left yet. That he seems to be staying. That he looks for all the world like he’s about to take care of Roman’s wounds himself.

Why is he doing that? There’s no need. Perhaps he hasn’t made that clear enough.

“I can do it,” he says, and proceeds to struggle out of his shirt, and then his undershirt. Every movement sets his body alight, but he grits his teeth and pushes through it, dropping each piece of fabric on the ground in a heap. The bloodstains are never going to come out of those, and not for the first time, he regrets designing the Imagination so that its effects linger. It would feel like cheating to do it any other way, but it’s in times like these that he wouldn’t mind a bit of cheating.

What a noble sentiment. Some prince he is.

He wrests his mind away from that line of thinking, reaching for the antiseptic that Virgil has set out. His hand closes around the bottle, but then, Virgil’s fingers land on his, and he stops short. Virgil is glaring at him, and he forgets how to breathe.

“What are you doing?” Virgil asks.

He frowns. “I told you,” he says, putting extra effort into enunciating clearly. “I can do it myself.”

There is silence for a long moment. Virgil stares at him, not saying anything at all.

Then, he does.

“What,” he grits out, “the fuck. No you can’t.”

That irritates him a bit. Dimly, it occurs to him that this might not be the time or place to have an argument, but he ignores that thought. “Yes, I can,” he says. “I do it all the time.”

For some reason, Virgil goes very, very still. His eyes flicker from Roman’s face to his chest, tracing across his abdomen with startling intensity. Under any other circumstance, this might fluster him, but he has the sneaking suspicion that there is something he’s forgetting, that Virgil is examining something he doesn’t mean to reveal. And Virgil is angry about it, Roman can tell; his eyes flare and his breaths become slow and deliberate, the same pattern he uses to avoid a panic attack, or to stop himself from lashing out.

Roman doesn’t want him to be angry with him. But he doesn’t know how to make him not be. He and Virgil have come so far from the unwavering animosity that used to lie between them, but he is well aware that his own inclinations and desires tend to exacerbate Virgil’s worries, and he has never been able to work out how to avoid that.

And yet, when Virgil speaks again, his voice is low and gentle, like he’s addressing a startled animal, and Roman might be insulted by that if it weren’t so pleasant a voice to hear. Sometimes, when the world is calm and there is nothing pressing to accomplish, he thinks he could listen to Virgil speak for hours, listen to his low rasp and unique cadence, the teasing, sarcastic tone that does things to his heart.

“Well,” Virgil says, “you’re not going to this time, okay? Lie back for me.”

He pushes Roman’s shoulder, gently lowering him to lie flat against the floor, and Roman is so startled that he lets him. He doesn’t understand this sudden softness, doesn’t understand why Virgil is insistent on doing this when he could easily do it himself, doesn’t understand why Virgil was even here to begin with. And along with the pain, exhaustion is crashing over him in waves, the last dregs of his adrenaline finally fading away. So he watches with half-lidded eyes as Virgil moves to his side, carefully rubbing a dripping washcloth-- did he conjure that? When did that happen?--  across his chest, wiping away the crusted blood. His motions are deft and sure, even as he begins to clean the wound itself, exchanging water for alcohol. Roman arches his back against the pain, gasping as lightning bolts lance through his side, but otherwise keeps as still as he can.

“Sorry,” Virgil murmurs, but doesn’t hesitate. “I’m gonna stitch it up now.”

“‘Kay,” Roman says, and despite the haze that has overtaken him, a thought occurs to him, and he lacks just enough filter to ask. “How’re you so good at this?”

Because Virgil is good at this, is clearly practiced, has done this before. He wouldn’t have expected it from someone so anxious, would have expected shaking hands and crippling indecisiveness instead. But Virgil displays only a steady, uncharacteristic confidence, and Roman doesn’t know why.

For along minute, Virgil doesn’t answer. The bite of the needle as he begins to stitch the wound shut is almost unbearable, almost sends him squirming and panting for breath. He holds himself still, but something in his face must reveal the effort it takes him, because Virgil stops, staring at him.

“Shit,” he says suddenly, loudly, and Roman jolts as he dives for the first aid kit. “Shit, shit, shit! Painkillers, I didn’t even think to--! Fuck, I am so sorry, can you--?” He holds up the bottle of Tylenol, shaking a few out into his hands, and he looks so angry with himself, so worried, that Roman can’t help but try for a reassuring smile.

“I c’n take ‘em dry,” he confirms, and does so once Virgil hands them over. “‘S okay.”

But Virgil shakes his head. “It’s not,” he says, looking at him miserably. “God, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m just…” He trails off, taking a breath. “I used to do this for Remus, sometimes,” he confesses quietly. “When he’d come back from the Imagination beat to shit. Usually it was Janus, but sometimes it was me, when Jan couldn’t be there, and painkillers do fuck-all for him, so I completely fucking forgot.” He pauses, eyes trailing over his torso once again, something like sadness in the set of his mouth. “Remus does this a lot,” he says, so softly that Roman barely hears it. “I should’ve figured that you might, too. I should’ve--”

He cuts off, and Roman is glad of it, because he has no idea what to say.

He used to avoid thinking about Remus as much as he could. These days, he thinks about him too much. There is no middle ground, and this just feels like another nail in the coffin that marks their countless similarities, another entry in the ever-growing list of reminders that he is not nearly as different from his brother as he has always pretended to be, not nearly as heroic, as noble, as good as he wants everyone else to believe.

He’s spending so much time in the Imagination, lately, and in his heart of hearts, he knows he’s trying to escape himself. What are a few more scars, easily concealed, if it means he finds a little bit of balance, a little bit of peace?

Virgil waits a few minutes before starting his ministrations again, giving the painkillers time to kick in. The needle still stings, still makes him clench his fists and bite his lip as he longs for a distraction, but the pain is dulled, now, and Virgil moves quickly and efficiently.

“Okay,” he murmurs at length. “That’s as good as that’s gonna get. I’m gonna look at your head now.”

He shifts positions, and is suddenly very, very close, filling up Roman’s field of vision. He doesn’t seem to care much about where Roman’s gaze falls, which gives him free rein to stare at him, at the determination that sets his face and the way his eyeshadow brings out the color of his eyes.

They really are lovely eyes. How has he never noticed that before?

Virgil swipes the washcloth across his face, motions gentle and firm and soothing, and Roman feels his eyelids drooping. There is something in the way Virgil is looking at him, something that Roman would almost call tenderness if he wasn’t well aware of the fact that Virgil doesn’t do tenderness, tries not to do vulnerability at all. Roman can’t throw stones; he dislikes showing vulnerability too, dislikes presenting himself as anything less than strong and brave and put together. The fact that he is in this position, showing weakness, allowing himself to be cared for, is almost more than he can stand, and he’s sure that he would be far more upset about it if he were less tired, less in pain. If it were someone else here, if it weren’t Virgil.

He’s too exhausted to examine that right now.

He doesn’t realize his eyes have slipped closed until he hears Virgil chuckle, soft and far more genuine than before, and he pries them open again. Virgil’s face is blurry, hovering just above his.

“The head wound looks a lot worse than it is,” Virgil tells him, voice distant, and if he had the energy to do so, he would respond with something along the lines of, I could’ve told you that. Because he could have, if his words would cooperate with him. “You’re gonna be okay, Princey. You can go to sleep.”

Sleep. It sounds appealing. Isn’t there something else he should do, though, something else to say? Something to say to Virgil, specifically, Virgil, who is here, taking care of him, even when there was no need, when he would have been fine doing it himself just like always.

“‘Kay,” he whispers, his eyes sliding shut again. The world seems distant now, the pain barely a blip on his radar. “‘M sorry… you had to spend so much time…”

There is a conclusion to that sentence. But he can’t find it.

Dimly, he is aware of the washcloth’s motions pausing, resting warmly on his cheek. Virgil says something, then, something that travels down a long tunnel to reach him and that sounds something like, “You have nothing to apologize for,” but that can’t be right, because he knows that’s not true. And he thinks, too, that he feels a finger graze his face, tracing a line that Virgil cannot know, because Roman has always taken such great care to hide the markings that mar his skin.

But consciousness is slipping away, and he lets it go.

-----

Roman wakes, and immediately tries to move. This ends up being a mistake; pain shoots through him, originating from his side, and it rips a whimper from his lips. His head throbs, too, and reaching up with a shaky hand reveals that there is a bandage wrapped firmly around his forehead. Further investigation shows him that there are bandages around his abdomen, too, secure and restricting, and that his chest is otherwise bare.

“Oh my god, you dumbass,” someone says, and suddenly, Virgil is there, leaning over him, hair disheveled and eyeshadow deeper than usual, and Roman cannot help but stare. “What are you doing, you’re gonna tear something open. I’m not stitching you up again, genius.”

Oh. Right. He settles back against the pillows and does his best not to react externally as the memories come rushing back. Practically falling out of his own wardrobe, letting Virgil take care of him, making a fool of himself in general. Fantastic.

“Right,” he says, and winces at the hoarseness of his voice. “Sorry about that. How long have I been asleep?”

Virgil sighs, perching next to him on the edge of the bed. “Not too long,” he says. “A few hours. You could probably do with some more.”

Oh, absolutely not. A few hours is more than enough time to be well on the way to recovery, or at least, enough time to seem as if he is. Though, he supposes it doesn’t matter. Surely, the whole mindscape knows about this by now. Surely, Virgil’s told Patton and Logan, or at least answered their questions if they asked what he’s been doing. He’s surprised they’re not in here, Logan ready with a lecture and Patton full of guilt, guilt that is entirely undeserved, since all of this is Roman’s own fault.

Some of his thoughts must show on his face, because Virgil shifts his weight, glancing away.

“I told the others that I was helping you with a project,” he says, casually, as if he’s not upending Roman’s entire worldview, as if Roman doesn’t know full well that Virgil absolutely hates lying. “I think they bought it, so, uh. Janus might know something’s up, but he probably knows anyway, since you’ve been lying to us about it for so long.”

Roman’s stomach drops into his shoes. There is no bite to Virgil’s words, but  it must be there, because Virgil must be angry at the deception. He didn’t plan to ever reveal the truth; he didn’t want to worry them, and more than that, he didn’t want them to know how weak he truly is, how imperfect. Though that’s another thing that they’re surely well-versed in by now, so he’s not sure why he bothers.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and Virgil frowns.

“I didn’t mean it like--” He stops, shaking his head, and takes a few steadying breaths. Four-seven-eight. “Okay. I’m kinda scared shitless of having this conversation, but it clearly needs to happen, so. How long has this been going on?”

He’d hoped that Virgil would let it go. That Virgil’s tendency toward conflict avoidance would guide him away from asking any of the difficult questions. He should have remembered that only half of Virgil is flight, that he is just as capable of fight, of raising his voice and demanding his answers, that Virgil’s brand of courage is odd but no less present for that.

“What do you mean?” he asks weakly, and even as he says the words, he knows that the avoidance tactic won’t work. Not here, not now, and wouldn’t have even if he didn’t sound like he’s on death’s door.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Virgil says. He gestures, and then crosses his arms. “You. This. Getting hurt, and not telling us about it. Not letting us help.”

He chews on that for a moment, on the idea that helping would be a thing that they would want to do. Surely, there are better uses for their time? This is another reason why he made sure to hide it; if they knew, they would feel obligated to come to his aid, just as Virgil has. Perhaps it’s selfish, but he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want them to help him because they’ve fooled themselves into thinking they have to.

He clears his throat. “Not terribly often,” he says, and hopes that the lie isn’t powerful enough, isn’t loud enough to draw Deceit’s attention. “And even when it does, it’s nothing I can’t handle, really. I’m quite capable of patching myself up, you know.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I roped you into doing it.”

Virgil exhales sharply. “Roped me-- okay. Alright, that’s bullshit. You didn’t rope me into taking care of you, I did it because I was fucking worried about you.”

“I didn’t want to upset--”

“If you’re about to tell me you didn’t want to upset me, I swear to god, I will scream.” Roman dutifully shuts his mouth. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but you didn’t force me into helping you. I did that because I... I fucking care about you, alright? And I don’t want you to be hurt.” Throughout the speech, Virgil’s face grows steadily redder under his foundation, his knees beginning to bounce up and down like pogo sticks. He looks very much like he would like to run from the room, and perhaps it is a sign of how important he considers this to be that he doesn’t.

Roman stares, trying to process that. He has no idea how to respond.

Virgil takes another breath, visibly calming himself. “Look, I… this isn’t even what I wanted to talk about.” He meets Roman’s eyes, regarding him steadily. “I know you’re lying. About it not happening often. It happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

“How do you--” He breaks off, his mind racing in an effort to figure out how Virgil could possibly know that. This is the first time he’s been caught, after all, not just by Virgil but by anyone, and one time does not a pattern make. He shouldn’t be able to guess, shouldn’t be able to say it with such stark certainty, not unless he already had a low opinion of his fighting prowess, and that burns in a way he would like to not scrutinize too closely--

“Roman.”

Virgil’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, and he glances over. Virgil is staring at him, an odd expression on his face, somewhere between resignation and sorrow, and for a split second, Roman is almost overwhelmed by the urge to try to smooth that expression away, to do anything to put a smile on his face. Virgil’s smiles are rare, but that makes them all the more precious.

“You don’t even know that you’re doing it, do you,” Virgil says. “It comes naturally. You don’t even think about it.”

He blinks, because what? What is he talking about?

And then, Virgil reaches out to caress his face, and his brain bluescreens.

It’s a caress. There’s no other way to describe it, no other way to label the way his fingers lightly stroke his skin and hold his cheek. His face feels as though it has been set aflame, sparks going off wherever contact is made. He wants Virgil to stop. He wants to bury his face in his pillow for the rest of time and scream. He wants Virgil to keep holding him forever.

“I saw them, Roman,” Virgil says simply.

It takes a long moment for Roman to understand what he means. All he can think about is the sensation of his hand, warm and soft, against his face.

But then, it clicks, and his heart begins to pound for an entirely different reason. He remembers it, then, remembers the way Virgil looked at his chest, at his face while he was treating him. He didn’t have the awareness to realize it then, but he does now, realizes exactly what Virgil saw, what he put together, and his breaths come short and quick as the implications catch up to him.

Virgil is right. He doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t think about the multitude of scars that cover his body, a patchwork of lines and grooves and valleys marring his skin, years and years of injuries piling up and tearing him apart, memories of blood and pain traced into him forever. He doesn’t think about it, because usually, they are out of sight, out of mind; from the moment he received his first, he began the habit of shapeshifting them away, showing off skin that is flawless, unblemished by his failures. He does it all the time, unceasing, because presentation is everything and he has never wanted the others to know, never wanted them to see him as he truly is. It is a constant expenditure of energy, but one well worth it, one that he barely notices after all these years.

Injured and weak as he was, the disguise must have slipped away. He must have fallen to his knees, scars on full display, in all their messy, ugly glory. And of course, Virgil saw.

And now, Virgil knows.

“Hey, hey,” Virgil says, and he can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears. “C’mon, Roman, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay. Try to match my breathing, alright?”

And Virgil breathes, in and out, loud and intentional, and counts. Four-seven-eight. It takes a while for Roman to copy him, for his breathing to steady and his heart to slow, and once it does, he feels exhausted, wrung out, like bubblegum stretched too thin.

“Sorry,” he mutters. He can’t find it in himself to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“I told you, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” Virgil says seriously. He pauses. “Except for scaring the shit out of me, but um. We can do that later, so just. Look, when you first got back, you were covered in them, and I wanted to ask then, but it wasn’t the time. And then you shifted them away literally while you were sleeping, which I didn’t even know was possible, but I guess you’re used to doing it? So I guess what I actually wanted to ask is, why’ve you been hiding them?”

He stiffens, and can’t stop the incredulous laugh from bursting from his lips, even as his mind reels with this new information. “Are you serious?” he asks, and forces himself to meet Virgil’s gaze, even though he would like nothing more than to hide his face, hide away under his covers until all of this goes away and he can pretend that things are normal again. “You can’t figure that out?”

But Virgil doesn’t react. “Pretend I’m stupid,” he offers, voice flat. “Walk me through it.”

“I--” He wishes he could gesture, redirect attention with waving arms and comical expressions. But every movement sends bolts of pain down his side, sets his head to throbbing again. “Really? You-- you saw them.” His voice cracks, and he tries not to let it get to him. What’s a little more humiliation at this point, right?

“So?” Virgil asks.

He can’t believe he’s going to have to explain this.

“So?” he repeats. “So? So they’re ugly! So they’re… they’re just reminders of every time I’ve failed, every time I’ve been dumb enough to let myself get hurt! So I don’t like them, and I don’t… I didn’t want--”

“You didn’t want us to see,” Virgil finishes, and really, he has no right being this astute, no right to see through him like this. His gaze is level, piercing, pinning him to the spot with its sheer intensity, and Roman feels entirely too exposed. “Well, I want to see.”

He becomes very aware that Virgil is still holding his face.

“You what?” he rasps.

“I want to see them,” Virgil repeats. “Will you let me see them?”

His first instinct is to deny him, to push him away and proceed to act like this conversation never occurred in the first place. He knows exactly how they look, knows exactly how unappealing they are; how long has he stood in front of the mirror, glaring at a reflection that is never up to his standards? And for some reason, the thought of Virgil of all people looking at them, judging them, judging him and finding him wanting, is absolutely unbearable. He thinks he would die if that happened, thinks he would shatter into a million pieces on the floor, break apart into so much dust.

But Virgil is asking. Asking, not demanding, and there is no disgust in his voice.

And he’s seen them. So really, what harm could be done that has not been done already?

Virgil is likely to keep pushing if he refuses. And Roman is so tired.

“Okay,” he says, and he shuts his eyes, and drops his shifted form. It feels like a layer of water sliding from his skin, or like an eggshell cracking open and revealing the messy yolk beneath. For a long moment, there is silence, heavy and oppressive, and he doesn’t dare open his eyes to look, doesn’t dare see the expression on Virgil’s face, the horror, the disdain, or worse, the pity.

And then, Virgil’s hand moves, lightly tracing across his face in patterns that are all too familiar. He can’t move, can’t breathe. He knows all too well the scars that he is counting: the slashes across his cheeks from too many careless swords, the line cutting through his lips from a harpy that tried to claw his face off, and the biggest of all, the slash from a dragon’s talons, a deep gash that begins on his forehead and trails across his nose, reaching all the way to his jawline, narrowly avoiding his eyes. Virgil’s fingers linger there longest of all.

And then, he pulls away. Roman braces himself.

“You think you’re the only one with scars?”

His eyes shoot open.

“What?”

Virgil is watching him, an odd light in his eyes. He’s rubbing his arm with one hand, up and down, a repetitive, subconscious motion.

“Look,” he says, and his voice is shaking now, just ever so slightly. “I get it. More than you might think. You have these scars, and you think they mean that you fucked up, or that you failed at something, and... Maybe. Fuck, I don’t know. But you know what else they are?”

Roman can’t speak. Virgil continues, not waiting for an answer.

“They mean that you’re still alive,” he says. “It means that you’re still here, that you survived, and that you kept going. That doesn’t make you a failure, it makes you strong. And I’m not gonna tell you that you have to think that they’re beautiful, or some shit like that, but they’re not ugly, they’re not gross, and they don’t make you worthless.”

His breath hitches. Tears pool in his eyes, and he is powerless to dispel them.

“It took me a really long time to learn that,” Virgil says. “They’re a part of you, and you don’t have to feel lesser for that. And you don’t have to hide them, not if you don’t want to. No one’s going to judge you for them.” He pauses, a strange look passing across his face. “And that’s coming from me, so, uh. You know. If the literal personification of anxiety is telling you that you don’t need to worry about it. Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Roman laughs a little, despite himself, more out of disbelief than anything else.

“You really think it’s that simple?” he asks, and hopes that Virgil doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“I know it’s not that simple,” Virgil returns. “I know how hard it is to change how you think about yourself. I mean, god, Roman, you know who you’re talking to, right? I’m kind of the king of negativity. But you’re not on your own on this.” He shifts, scooting a bit closer. “If you ask us for help, we’d do anything for you, but that’s not because we think we have to. It’s because we love you. And you deserve that love. Never think that you don’t. Scars or no scars.”

Roman shudders, emotions rolling through him with the force of a thousand rushing rivers.

“And I think, I mean--” Virgil stops. “Your-- fuck. Just, for the record, I--” He sucks in a breath, turning away sharply. “Fuck,” he says again, as if to himself, and then, in one smooth motion, he turns back to Roman, places both hands on the side of his face, and plants a kiss on his cheek, right over one of his scars. It’s like a thousand volts of energy, like a fire burning just beneath his skin, like a symphony crescendoing to its climax. Roman gasps, and Virgil pulls back, and Roman is absolutely certain that his face is melting off right now, that the warmth flooding his face and body is searing the flesh from his bones.

Virgil stares at him, face red. And then, to Roman’s shock, he does it again, on his nose, right where the biggest scar crosses his face. Slower, this time, his lips lingering for a heartbeat too long, giving Roman the chance to think about how soft they are, how much he would like them to be on his lips instead.

Well, that’s… huh. Part of him knew that already, has known for a very long time that he wants this, but the confirmation has his brain buzzing.

“I think they’re hot,” Virgil says, just above a mumble.

“You what?” Roman says, even though he’s fairly sure he didn’t mishear, even though hope, bright and warm and traitorous, is rising in his chest like a bird taking wing. He has never loved his scars, has never thought of them as attractive at all, and never so much as considered the possibility that someone else might disagree.

But Virgil doesn’t lie. Wouldn’t lie, not about this. It is a miracle that Virgil is acting this way at all, is behaving in a manner that clearly puts him far outside his comfort zone.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Virgil snaps, and there is the Virgil that Roman is most familiar with, hackles raised and spitting insults. Despite everything that’s happened, despite the fact that his mind is spinning and he still feels entirely too hot, he smiles. “Fuck, I’m just gonna go die in a hole now. See if I do anything for you ever again.”

He moves as if to stand from the bed, as if to leave, and though hours ago he wanted him to do that very thing, Roman feels a flash of panic at the prospect. Before he can think better of it, his hand snakes out and latches on to the sleeve of Virgil’s hoodie, stopping him in his tracks. For a moment, they stare at each other, both silent, almost expectant as Roman casts about for something to say, something to keep Virgil here.

“I have a scar on my lips,” he blurts out. “You, uh, wanna… do… something?”

He congratulates himself on his smoothness. He should give up being Thomas’ creativity and open up a smoothie place, that’s how smooth he is.

Virgil glares. “If you’re just gonna make fun of me, you can fuck right off and--”

“What? No,” he says. “I’m not-- what made you think I was making fun of you? I’m asking you to kiss me!”

Virgil stares, silent. He feels himself begin to waver.

“If… uh, just if you want to, I guess,” he says, voice weakening. “I just thought that maybe…”

“You’re an idiot,” Virgil declares, and captures his lips with his own.

A far as declarations of love go, it’s not the best Roman has ever heard. But as far as kisses, well.

“Don’t think this gets you out of talking about this,” Virgil murmurs, pulling back a centimeter or two. “I’m gonna sic Patton on you. You’re gonna get so much love and emotional support, and so many cookies, and you’re not gonna escape until we get it into your dumbass head that you’re worth so much more than you think you are.”

Even moments ago, the thought would have filled him with horror, horror at the prospect of anyone else knowing, anyone else seeing, anyone else wanting to talk to him about it. And maybe this is only a respite, a brief moment of insanity before that horror returns. And it’s not just the scars. Perhaps it’s never been about the scars, not really.

But right now, his head is buzzing with Virgil’s words, his lips still alight with the imprint of his kiss, and his scars are bared and Virgil likes them, thinks they make him strong, thinks that he’s not a failure at all. And most of him rejects that, suspects that in time, Virgil will come to see the ugly truth, and if that is the case, he should pull back now, save both of them the trouble.

Virgil won’t allow that, though; if he knows anything about Virgil, it is that he is stubborn, incredibly so, enough to be a match for him. And there is a voice, buried deep in his brain, telling him that he should listen, that Virgil is right, and that he deserves this. He doesn’t make a habit of listening to that voice.

But perhaps he should. And Virgil smiles at him, just slightly, and he thinks that perhaps he can.

“Cookies,” he repeats. “Sounds good.” And to his surprise, finds that he means it.

Writing Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Let him go, pt.2

Summary: When Nick decided to keep Y/N out of the loop regarding Lucifer Morningstar, he never imagined one of his worst fears would come to life - to lose her.

Warnings: ANGST

Word count: 2.2k

Part 1

“I can go in there.” I spoke up, annoyed sitting on the sidelines and being kept out of the loop. If Nick had anything to do with it, I’d have ended up either dead or in the church with the rest of them. I was lucky not to be at the Academy when the hunters came, even luckier I had found a pastime with a riveting Summoning and Bounding literature masterpieces.

“No. Not gonna happen.” Nick waved me off, not bothering to spare me a glance and I scoff.

“Why not?” Harvey raised an eyebrow, eyeing me with interest. He definitely had questions.

“Yeah…Why not?” Folding my arms across my chest, I tilt my head to the right ever so slightly with the faintest, coldest smile I could muster.

“Because I don’t want you there.” Nick’s lips press together and I roll my eyes, but Sabrina was faster than me with her reply.

“I’ll go. I was baptized with holy water, remember?” She smirked, shrugging my way.

“So was I.” I raise my hand, stating it a bit too bitterly. Jealousy isn’t easy, especially not when it’s between two women who greatly respect each other.

“I am half angel. I reckon I have a good chance to stop them.” Yet my mouth keeps moving as if I want to say YOU’RE NOT THAT SPECIAL SPELLMAN, but I don’t say it. I don’t, but I can sense someone’s in my mind, probing for answers. Usually I’d assume it’s the Weird sisters, but this is Ambrose. I just know it.

“NO. They despise nephillims more than witches!” Nick raises his voice, turning to me with a hostile look in his usually loving eyes. The hostility doesn’t come from anger or hate, it’s not animosity, rather worry. It’s fear. “I will.” Sabrina repeats with a sigh, glancing between Nick and me. His eyes remain on me, lips pursing as the eye contact breaks and I finally feel like I can breathe. “You’re not seriously gonna let her go alone, are you? It’s a suicide mission.” Harvey’s eyes wander to me, pleading. He wants me to go, especially after he heard of my roots – a half witch is usually less than impressive, but a half angel with witch blood is unseen. Well…until I appeared. “You don’t seriously think I tell her what to do, do you?” Nick smirks, shrugging it off. He watched them leave, his back turned to me and I felt uncomfortable for the first time since I’ve met him. Nick had let his girlfriend go, yet asked me to stay.

“I couldn’t…I can’t risk you. You’re all I have in this wretched life and if something happened to you, I don’t think I’d survive it.”  

His words aimed for my heart and I flinch with the sheer intensity of the truth hidden within each, emotional syllable. It was the first time he had made me feel as if I matter since Sabrina came along. I felt loved. I felt needed.

It didn’t last.

A week later he and I parted ways.

Nick stayed true to his word, giving me space to breathe and he had his hands full with the new Sabrina and her wish to convert the coven into a church per her father’s view. She wanted to make a difference and while I agreed with some of the teaching, I didn’t fall prey to her charm. Something didn’t feel right and while I was expertly kept out of the loop, I had time to realize how much of my life revolved around Nick.

What little I had left of him felt as if it never existed.

I can’t lie and say he didn’t reach out a few times. It wasn’t a face to face talk, but I did get a few messages on my arm – a little secret we used to have. An enchanted pen to talk in class, when he was away for holidays. It was our way to always stay in contact and from what I’ve learned, he had given our secret away when he made the same pen and gave it to Sabrina. I was no longer our thing. It was just a thing.

“You really should be more careful with your thoughts.” Ambrose Spellman settles beside me, a small smile playing on his lips as if he isn’t here to reprimand me for the distasteful thoughts I’ve had about his cousin.

“Stop peering into my mind and you won’t be as insulted.” I shrug, turning my attention back to the book I’ve been studying. I have always been one of the best students at the Academy. I’d go as far as to claim I’m at the same level as Nick, if not better.

“You do realize Nick is miserable without you.” Ambrose leans on his elbow, smirking once he notices I closed my eyes. “He’s always talking about you. I’m genuinely concerned Sabrina will spell his mouth shut.” He chuckles, looking around as if to make sure we’re alone. “I mean, there’s an apocalypse happening and in an hour, yet he’s still only interested in threatening everyone not to tell you a single word about it.”

Snapping the book shut, I sit up straighter and turn to Ambrose. “What, in the name of Satan, are you talking about?!” The smallest of smiles appear on my lips, assumptions of it being a well-crafted lie making my heart remain steady. However, the smallest inkling of it being a truth thrashed my usually peaceful mind.

“Sabrina’s father, aka Satan, wants to make her his queen and from what I’ve realized, it is happening tonight and we made plans to trap the dark lord but I have a feeling it might not be as easy.” Ambrose pauses as he notices me pale and I’m sure I’m barely keeping a straight face at this point. “Everyone’s in it, but you. Even the mortals.” Ambrose leans back, having set the bait and he knows this will be the reason why I engage.

“We’ll be waiting. You might want to pop in for the coronation.” Ambrose raised both hands in mock surrender as if he didn’t just drop a major bomb my way. He made his way out of the library while I grabbed my bag and frantically searched for the pen.

CORONATION?!

No response.

NICK!!

No response. I know he sees it. I know he feels it. But if he knew me, he knew it would only provoke me. Just because we lost each other doesn’t mean I don’t love him – as a friend, as a woman. I need him, even if he doesn’t really need me back. He may think he does, but he doesn’t.

I am the one who needs his whispers and smiles. I’m the one who needs promises sweet as the touch of his hand. I was a slow dying flower, turning sour and untouchable when he found me. He saved me. And ever since then I’ve needed the darkness, the sweetness and even now I need the sadness and weakness coming from loving him. I need his voice to lull me to sleep, his fingers running through my hair, the tender touches that brought me peace.

I need him. It was dark enough, he saw me, he had me – he just didn’t want me. He made his choice and I know what that choice brings. He’ll do anything for Sabrina. It’s who he is, how he always wanted to love and he will risk everything.

At the end of the day, I’m the one who has nothing left to lose. He has everything to live for. I love him enough to let him go…to protect him while I do it.

With a snap of my fingers, a long, blood red dress wraps around my body. The lace weaves around my arms into long sleeves, the silk falling down to my feet. A slight chill runs down my spine as wind dances along my uncovered back and I smile – the dress is perfect. With a sigh, a spell the only earthly possession I care about onto my neck, the pendant with his initials resting just above my low-cut decollete.

“So you always have me close to you.” Nick smiles widely and my heart stops. He’s so beautiful. I wonder if he knows that he’s more than just a body though. He’s beautiful, inside and out. And he’s gifting me jewelry, something I’ve never had. How did he know?

Struggling to keep my tears in, I smile, looking down on the half a heart pendant. “I love it.”

I love you. I wanted to tell him. I did. I wanted him to know and to hell with it, but I couldn’t. To be so brave, to tell him what weighs on me is to risk losing him. He’d be uncomfortable around me if he didn’t feel it and I couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.

Instead of waiting for an invite, I followed the screams.

“Lanuae Magicae.”

Transporting myself into the ballroom wasn’t the plan, but I had to hurry. And I was right to.

“Well played, Spellman.” I hear Nick’s voice, instinctively looking for him and it seems as if he had felt me too as he turns to me, our eyes meeting. The surprise passing his features made my lips twitch, wanting to smile. It’s inevitable – Nick always makes me smile. But our reunion is cut short, the prison they tried to hold Satan in falling apart and I step back, looking to Nick in a panic, but he’s looking at her. He always is. “You try and try to defeat me. I am the Great Satan that no prison may contain!” Ignoring how handsome Lucifer is, I close my eyes and swallow thickly. Opening them again, I look at him and every time I look at him I know. I know he’s never going to be mine. But I can make sure he has his happy ending. “I can’t restrain him for long.” Sabrina warns and I take a step closer while Nick speaks. I always believed he’d be back to me – that we’d become more in time and we’d work out. We’d be the couple everyone envies – the power couple. I always wondered how he looks at me with so much love and tenderness but holds not romantic feelings. “There’s nothing stronger than an Acheron.” Nick exclaims, panic written on his face, fear rising in his eyes and clouding his judgment.

“Incorrect, Mr. Scratch. The mightiest prison is the first one, created by the False God. The human body. Flesh and bone. The strongest and most sacred bindings in nature.” Lilith explains, her own fear evident as she looks to Lucifer who was ready to kill everyone in the room. “It has to be me.” Sabrina says and I hear him scream “No” as he used to do for me. He doesn’t want to lose her. He can’t. He’d do anything for her and I’d do anything for him. “I’m the best binder and conjuror since Edward Spellman. If anyone can keep Him trapped, it’s me.” He exclaims, but I shake my head and look back at him only to see anything but certainty in his eyes. He feels like he must do it.

“No.” I step forth, determined – more than he is. “I am the best binder and conjuror.” Smiling, truthfully, I speak before he can interrupt me. “You love her. I love you. This is a testament to how much. Don’t forget me.” I plead, keeping my eyes on him as his lips quiver and shock paralyzes him. “Carne teneantur tenere tenebrasque.” I begin without so much as blinking. I don’t want to miss a single moment of the last time I will ever see him. Nick is trashing against someone. They’re holding him back. He’s muttering something and I can’t understand what, my focus must remain untouched. “Palatium, carcere…” And my mind darkens.

Gasping, I find myself on the sidelines, my body no longer mine to control as I leap toward Sabrina only for my eyes to close with Ambrose’s spell. “A sleeping spell. Well done.”

I think to myself, keeping an ear out to the outside. I can hear them, but it’s distant.

“You’ve made a big mistake, little nephillim.” Lucifer appears and I roll my eyes at him.

“Shh.” I point up, telling him to listen which only insults him.

“HOW DARE YOU TELL ME TO SHUT UP?!”

“Gah, you’re annoying.” I groan, casting a spell to bind him but it doesn’t work.

“Really thought you’re in control? Think again, little one!”

“Shit!”

What I didn’t know is how they decided my fate after I’ve fallen. “What happens now?” Sabrina asks, watching Nick crying over Y/N’s body, calling for her, muttering spells like it would make a difference. “You won’t like it, I’m afraid.” Lilith frowns, a sincere look of compassion in the borrowed eyes of Mary Wardwell.

“You’re not touching her!” Nick growls, his eyes focusing on her pale face and dark red lips – his favorite lipstick from the past times she’d asked for his opinion. He always chooses maroon. He won’t be able to again.

“She’s not going to Hell with you. I will make an impenetrable room at the Academy.” Nick promised, his heart aching and breaking at the sight of his necklace resting on her chest. She wore it – even now.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” And that’s when Nick fell asleep too.

PART 3

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

ACTION COMICS ANNUAL (2021) fixed the trash fire that was Future State: Superwoman so lemme just RAMBLE about how much I loved it.

Spoilers, obvs.

Folks who read this blog (thank you, but also, my sincere apologies XD) will perhaps recall that I...did not particularly care for the Superwoman book, that came out of Future State.

(Of course, various individuals on twitter have since pointed out that Future State was deliberately set up to be a bad timeline; a future that the current DC books are actively fighting against. So I guess, technically, you could argue that the book was awful on purpose.

Except that, you know, some of the awful stuff was still framed good and inspiring. 

So, okay, but also, no.)

BUT THIS ANNUAL? FIXES EVERY GRIEVANCE I HAVE WITH FUTURE STATE: SUPERWOMAN.

I wasn’t even going into this book with huge expectations for Kara because of Superwoman, but! She’s here! As like, a key component of the House of El!

SHE IS THE LEADER. FOR MANY YEARS, APPARENTLY, WHILE CLARK IS AWAY.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

Backtracking a bit: this book begins with a framing device, featuring a group of Kryptonian refugees that have been introduced recently in Action Comics. 

We’ve got an older guy, Byla, telling a bunch of kids stories about The House of El.

Which is how we get back to the characters introduced in the initial House of El oneshot: Brandon, Theand’r, Ronan, Rowan, etc.

And, to be clear! I was excited for this book, knowing it would be about these guys! And these guys alone! Because they’re very cool! And there’s clearly like, a whole history and mythology just simmering below the surface and MAN. I wish we had a House of El ongoing. XD

They’re all gathered on Sanctuary to attend the wedding of Alura Van-El and Khan.

So FIX NUMBER ONE: The moon sanctuary introduced in Superwoman is no longer home to a bunch of rando jerks; rather, it’s an ACTUAL sanctuary for aliens/folks who need it, AND there are a BUNCH of House of El family members!

PKJ clarified on twitter that the ‘Sanctuary’ is built from Kara’s Fortress of Sanctuary, and that it’s a city that functions a little like Camelot. They grant refuge to all, and the members of the House of El act as a kind of Knights of the Round Table, protecting anyone who needs their help.)

THUS!! The actual dream of Kara’s Fortress is realized, AND she is SURROUNDED by friends, family, and loved ones, as opposed to dying alone. On the moon. With just her dog to keep her company.

Anyways it’s great. We love to see it.

FIX NUMBER TWO: Kara displays an emotion OTHER than barely-suppressed rage, and is genuinely happy to be overseeing this wedding!

Like, there’s no background, simmering animosity towards her cousins. 

Byla even hints at another ‘tale of the House of El’ where Kara and Clark meet again! And presumably get along okay!

FIX NUMBER THREE: The Superwoman mantle is passed down to Theand’r! 

Future State: Superwoman made a big to-do about how the Supergirl name was so singular that Kara never gave it to anyone (which is so STUPID because if your big thesis is how inspiring Kara is as an individual but you say, ‘no one else gets to be Supergirl’ you kinda undermine your own point.)

(Imagine if Into the Spider-Verse spent all that time building up how inspiring Spider-Man is as a hero, and then in an epilogue narrated by Miles, he revealed that no one else ever became ‘Spider-Man’, and that the name died with Peter.)

(That would be DUMB, right?????)

This isn’t passing the Supergirl mantle, but it’s passing the Superwoman mantle, so it’s close! Which, hey. I’ll take it. XD

FIX NUMBER FOUR: Kara actually comes across as the mature, adult leader of the House of El. This ties into the whole ‘she’s not a walking bundle of barely-contained rage’ bit; she’s, like. Graceful and dignified and very clearly no longer a kid/teenager. 

Literal and figurative character growth! WOOOOOOO. 

FIX NUMBER FIVE: There isn’t the gross ‘birthright’/’pure-blooded Kryptonians are stronger/better’ element in play. In fact! Pyrrhos, the bad guy, calls Kara a traitor for allowing the ‘diluting of Clark’s bloodline’ e.g. letting folks who AREN’T Els by blood become part of the fam.  

FIX NUMBER SIX: Kara gets angry at Cyborg Superman (the original one, not her dad) but it never devolves into murderous rage, as it does in Superwoman. She PARDONS him!

Mercy! Sympathy!

AaaaaAAAAhhhhhh love it. LOVE IT.

And so! Nearly every. Major. Complaint I had regarding Superwoman is fixed in this Annual.

*happy sigh*

Some final thoughts on the Annual overall, so as not to make this COMPLETELY about Kara. ...Well. Moreso than I already have, anyway.

The art is solid, though I feel for the artist who had to share the book with Godlewski; it’s not that their art is bad, it’s just that Godlewski is very, VERY good, so his pages look a touch more polished and confident.

That said, the character art throughout? Excellent. This is a cool, varied cast and both artists do a great job with all the designs/costumes etc.

(Well, okay, Kara’s costume looks a little weird at times; I like the costume but I honestly think they should’ve stuck with the costume introduced in Superman of Metropolis, it’s much easier for artists to replicate.)

(But also like. The Superwoman costume looks more stately/’grown-up’ so I get it.) 

I WANT TO SEE MORE OF BRANDON AND HIS KID.

I want to see more of ALL of these characters but you KNOW I found the two of them particularly endearing.

I love that the House of El has a Brainiac!

As is right and good, and should always be!

Overall, SO GLAD the annual allowed us to go on another adventure with these guys, and hope that PKJ has opportunities in the future to weave them in a bit more.

There’s already a cool connection brewing with the new character introduced in Action Comics proper. Thao-La, I think her name is? Can’t wait to see where that goes!

[yuthoe]

Day 29: Covert (PENTAGON: Ko Shinwon)

LONG TIME NO MTM!! work kicked my ass this past week, so this is the most i can give. i'm definitely completing the whole list tho, even if a lot of it is late. it's almost the 30th here, but im still gonna post this anyway. today's May Trope Mayhem prompt is:

Day 29: Reverse Verse/Trope Inversion

so i decided to do a "fake NOT" dating premise, and then decided on shinwon cuz i think he'd be the type to have trouble keeping up appearances (like a relationship). this was surprisingly longer than i thought it would be, but i'm pretty happy with it.

PAIRING: Ko Shinwon x reader. GENRE: fic, fluff. WARNINGS: none. WORD COUNT: 1,135.

---

Shinwon pulls back his hand just shy of touching your back. There are cameras everywhere and being overly familiar isn’t really the best idea when you’re trying to hide a relationship. The solo gig he’s on doesn’t have a live audience so the cozy ensemble comprising the three hosts and you, another guest idol, is quite comfortable. It’s easier to keep mum about something when there aren’t a hundred pairs of eyes watching his every move, after all.

Unfortunately, he felt too comfortable—the hosts are really fun and they pry out TMI easily from him that for a while he forgot he was actually on a show. Throughout a whole segment he kept sneaking glances at you and watching your reactions to the comedic bickering on the other couch.

Looking back, he made it painfully obvious that he’s interested in you; he just hopes the cameras weren’t trained on him at the time. Oh, he can’t wait for all the edits and comments on the internet and a scolding from his manager.

Now, he clutches his fist in the other hand and stands next to you at the table rigged up by the production crew, trying to listen to the hosts’ explanations of the segment as cold sweat drips down his back.

The woman in thick-framed spectacles and a bobbed haircut invites you to pick from the basket of balls containing a keyword you’ll have to act out with Shinwon, that he has to guess.

“Okay, here I go,” you say, plunging your hands into the basket and rummaging around, finally pulling out a green ball a second later.

Shinwon steps back to the other half of the stage and watches as you open the ball and read out the keyword. You raise your head, scrunching up your face as you turn back to the hosts and show them the piece of paper.

“Aaahh, what is it?” he calls.

“It’s so hard,” you answer, looking at the word again before folding it and putting it back inside the ball. “But I think it’s doable. I think. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Shinwon laughs loud, but groans afterwards, mind completely on the challenge now.

“I’m just gonna go for it,” you say, stepping over to him. Once close enough, you whisper, “I’m so sorry in advance.”

It takes him a second to register your words, but the reply dies on his lips when you launch yourself at him and grip his shirt tight. He hears the hosts squealing behind him.

“You promised!” you suddenly say, and Shinwon really can’t stop the confused expression on his face. “You promised we would go, and I even took the day off for it!”

Shinwon is drawing a blank, no idea what the keyword could be. It takes him a few moments to realize he can actually reply to you. “Wh… Where were we supposed to go?” Another burst of laughter from the hosts.

You’re pouting so cute and clutching at the ends of his sleeves, bouncing on the balls of your feet in petulance. “Come ooonn, don’t tell me you forgot about it—we’ve been talking about going for ages!” You break character for a moment to widen your eyes at him, a silent, Come on, you know this gesture, before playing up the cutesy vibe more. “I know you’re scared of them, but you promised!”

“Scared?” one of the hosts says. “Oh, that might narrow it down. Can you think of anything you’re scared of Shinwon-sshi?”

“Oh, I’m scared of a lot of things, so that doesn’t really help,” he says, hands coming up to unconsciously hold your arms—it’s on instinct at this point that he does it, especially when you’re doing your best to act all cute and make him give in to something.

“But they’re really cute tho,” you say, pursing your lips and giving him your best puppy dog look—Shinwon gasps.

“Dog cafe! Is it ‘dog cafe’?” he yells, and the hosts jump and shout, and you break away to celebrate.

“‘Dog cafe’ is correct!” the male host says, clapping at their performance. “How did you get the answer that quick, though?”

“Oh, you’re right,” the bespectacled host agrees, patting her colleague on the shoulder. “Y/N-sshi didn’t give any big clue on it.”

“Ah,” Shinwon says, filtering the appropriate words in his head.

This dog cafe issue was actually the subject of your first big fight, about three months into your relationship—In a moment of weakness brought about by your adorableness, he’d promised that you’d go to that dog cafe you’d wanted to visit. Yes, he’s afraid of animals. Yes, he was serious. Yes, he did forget about it and you got mad at him. Shinwon looks upon that argument with sadness, but the conversation afterwards resulted in you finding out about his phobia, so ever since then you didn’t pressure him to go to any animal cafes anymore.

“I’m actually scared of small animals,” he says, moving with you towards the guests’ couch. “And there was this one time pre-debut where the members and I had to go to an animal cafe for a mission, and I was so scared of the puppies I nearly fainted.”

You’re nodding along to his explanation. “Yes, and we were quite close as trainees so he told me about it.” The lie slips easily from your lips; while it’s true that you were trainees at the same time, you barely said a word to each other until Pentagon’s and your debut. It wasn’t out of animosity, rather you both were just too chicken to talk because of your massive crush on the other. “I’d tease him about it every now and then.”

All the hosts let out “aahh”s of understanding, once again applauding Shinwon for getting your clues and you for acting so well. There’s a clap of the slate and the production head calls for a 15-minute break before Shinwon takes his turn, and he finally breathes a sigh of relief, sagging against the back of the couch.

You turn to him, eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry, Shinwon,” you say quietly. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”

He sits up straight away. “No, no, it’s fine, Y/N. Honestly, I wouldn’t have known what to do either if I’d gotten that keyword.” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “We’re trying to keep us being together under wraps, but I think I’m doing a terrible job at being inconspicuous.”

“Ugh,” you say, leaning an elbow on the couch’s arm. “I could say the same for myself.” You sigh and look at him, eyes and smile soft and all for him. “We’re really bad at keeping secrets, aren’t we.”

Shinwon smiles back, hands itching to hold you, lips itching to kiss you. “Yeah. We really are.”

[my-fan-side]

Remember When...

A/N: Okay. So here it is. A lot of people of liked and reblogged this HC of mine. And it got me so excited, so I worked hard to finish this as soon as I can. I really really hope it doesn’t disappoint you guys. Enjoy. I’d love to hear your opinions and comments as well. Thanks.

Word Count: 4,087

Shock. That’s what all of them initially felt when one moment they were enjoying some tea and biscuits in the House of Wind, and then suddenly Azriel appears in front of them: eyes dark looking somewhere far away, brows furrowed and lips thinned. Every one stood, Rhys was immediately beside him, he took him by his arms and asked, “What’s wrong? What happened?” His voice was on edge and you can sense the worry in it.

Az closed his eyes, shook his head and took a deep breath before he spoke. “We were ambushed on our way back from Setovia Camp. Nesta is hurt…it’s bad.”

There were gasps and it was from both Feyre and Elain. Rhys had to ask, knowing both sisters couldn’t but needed to know. “Where is she? Where’s Cassian?”

“At their cabin, the healers are already with them.” And that’s all Feyre needed to know, she quickly grabbed Elain’s hand and winnow them to that cabin herself. The rest took it as a cue and winnow into the mountains simultaneously.

As soon as they entered the cabin, they saw Cassian sitting on the floor, his back by the wall beside their bedroom, with his head buried in his hands that’s resting on his knees. As soon as he felt their presence he looked up and saw his friends, his family. His eyes immediately went to Elain, then to Feyre. There’s fear on both of the sister’s eyes, just as much as there is on Cassian’s. But his eyes held more than that, there’s also anger in it, and it made both sisters shudder.

Hesitantly, Elain made her way toward him. Rhys and Az were looking at her cautiously, ready to step in should Cassian make a wrong move since his instincts may be unpredictable and on edge right now. She made it beside him, kneeled close to him, but didn’t dare touch him. “What…what happened Cassian?”

Cassian closed his eyes and rested his head by the wall. With a shaky voice he told them what happened. How the meeting with Setovia’s Camp heads went smoothly, how they were already a few kilometers from the camp’s border when suddenly an arrow was shot directly straight into Nesta’s torso. It was such a shock to him that it took him a moment to move after hearing his mate’s scream and saw her drop to the ground. And then the rebels had the gals to let their presence known to both the General and the Shadowsinger. There were about thirty or forty of them. But they were no match to both Ilyrians. It didn’t even take more than a couple of minutes for them to finish off the rebels. He took Nesta to their cabin immediately, while Azriel disappeared to get the best healer in the camp. Now there’s nothing they can do but wait. 

After hours and hours of waiting and praying to the Mother for Nesta’s condition, one of the healers finally stepped out of the bedroom. Everyone was on their foot in a second.

Elain and Cassian being nearest to the door was instantly asking questions. “Is she okay?”, “How is she?”, “Can we see her?”, “Is she awake?”

Helen, the healer, raised her hand to stop the barrage of questions. “There were a lot of blood lost, a couple of her organs needed to be put together, and the poison from the arrow that shot her delayed her ability to self-heal.” Everyone was holding their breath, hoping that what she’ll say next is better than what she just explained. “But she’s strong and holding up really well. I can’t say she’s out of the woods yet, we still have to monitor how her body would respond to the healing for the next few hours. But we are done patching up inside her body, and we’re now finishing up on healing the external wounds.” Helen continued to explain to everyone in the room Nesta’s current situation. “She…uh…woke up for a couple of seconds. She whispered your name.” She nods towards Cassian.

With this, Cassian released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. And the spark in his eyes starts to finally come back. “Can I see her? Please?” He was pleading now, and the crack in his voice can’t be helped anymore.

“As I’ve mentioned, we are not yet done with her.” She raised her brow with the way Cassian’s eyes went towards the bedroom door and the way his fist clenched on his side. “But I guess you can stay with her—”, before she finished her statement, Elain stepped closer to her as well and held her hands firmly. Elain was looking straight in her eyes with that begging brown eyes of hers. Helen sighed deeply. “Fine. But not more than the two of you, okay? We are still cleaning her up. And make sure both of you are not in our way.” She was still speaking as she opened the door and walked back inside with Cassian rushing in after her. Elain looked back to Feyre, and as soon as her younger sister gave her an understanding nod, she followed the two immediately.

-----

After another ten minutes, all the healers left the room and gave courteous bows to the High Lord and High Lady as they passed them and left the cabin. Then after a little while, it was Elain that stepped out of the room to give Cassian and Nesta some alone time. She went straight to Feyre and gave her sister a hug.

“She’s going to be okay. She woke up again, although she can’t seem to talk yet but she’s nodding and her eyes are clear. Oh Feyre, she’ll be okay.” Elain was holding and squeezing her sisters’ hand as she informed her. Then she looks towards the rest of the Inner Circle and tells them again. “She’s okay. She’s fine.” Elain was smiling and her eyes were tearing up.

Everyone was still looking at her intently, and then Mor asked, “And Cassian? Is he okay?”

Elain didn’t even think too much about the question, she just responded automatically. “He’s fine. I mean he was scared, he thought he’d lose his mate. But…yeah, I guess he’s okay.” She smiled at them and nodded.

And that’s when she noticed it. That relieved sigh that they all released when they informed them about Cassian… not when she said Nesta is okay. She looked at them one by one. It confuses her. She knows that there is still some animosity from them towards Nesta, especially from Rhys and Mor. It’s actually something she never understood completely. Because it’s been a while, Nesta and Cassian have gone through a lot together in this mountain, and they’ve been mated for years now. She knows that the hate rooted from what Feyre has probably told them of their story when they were still living in that ramshackle house near the woods when they were still human, but is it really all that is? And what did her sister exactly tell them for that matter.

She didn’t know if she should feel disgusted, sad, mad or amused at them. She didn’t even hide her disappointment when she shook her head and snorted. Amren noticed Elain’s reaction and had to ask.

“Is there anything you want to say, girl?” Amren was leaning by the window, arms crossed and brows raised.

Elain didn’t know if it’s the effect of everything that happened this past few hours that’s giving her the boost of confidence to finally stand up to them, but she’s taking it now that she has the opportunity to do so.

“Actually, I do! I just want to know, and please don’t even try to lie to me, are you all here because you care about Nesta’s wellbeing? Or you just want to check on how Cassian is doing? Or---” she then slowly looked at Feyre still in front of her. “because Feyre needs to be here, and you all want to be here—for her?”

“Elain!” Feyre held onto her older sister’s hand tightly interrupting anyone’s attempt to answer the question. But by the looks of it no one seems to be inclined to do so. Rhys just narrowed his eyes at her. Mor looked away. Amren kept staring at her, but tilted her head. And Az, he frowned and closed his eyes. 

Elain’s eyes widened at this. She was expecting them to reason out with her, but this? They didn’t even have to answer in words, their response seems to do it for them. Feyre looked at all of them and their reactions, she seems to be caught off guard as well. But if that surprised her, Elain’s question shocked her even more.

“What exactly did you tell them Feyre?” It wasn’t just the question. It’s the way Elain delivered it that made everyone turn their attention to them. There was anger in it that they have never heard from her before.

“What do you mean, what did I tell them?” Feyre asked, although she had a hunch of what this is about.

“I mean, what did you tell them that made them hate Nesta this much?” Feyre was speechless, she was stuttering and blinking. “I told them...I told them the truth.”

“Elain, we don’t hate Nesta.” Mor tried to back up her best friend.

Elain looked at her and crossed her arms, “No, probably not. You just don’t care about her.” 

Rhys, trying so hard to contain his anger because of what this conversation is doing to his mate, spoke up this time with as much venom in his voice as is Elain’s. “Your eldest sister let your youngest one, who’s just a kid at that time, roam into the woods surrounded by wild animals making sure your family survives, while she does nothing to help. She’d rather bury her nose to those god damned books instead of taking over her role as the eldest Archeron offspring and make a living.” His eyes were burning into Elain and Azriel immediately went in front of her just in case. Feyre, feeling Rhys’ agitation on their bond, runs to his side to calm him down. 

Elain was having none of it though. She’s not afraid of this court’s High Lord. She stepped out of Azriel shield and raised her chin higher. 

“First of all, Nesta is just 3 years older than Feyre. So really, at the time our life was tested by poverty, Nesta and myself were barely an adult too. Second, if letting the youngest sister risk her life for our family because the other sister wasn’t doing anything is your reason, then how come you don’t hate me just as much?” She tilted her head and asked all of them this. Her voice is not accusing, but sincerely confused instead. 

“It’s not the same. You’re not the same.” Mor answered.

“Why? Because I’m the pure-soft-spoken-always blushing Elain?” She snickered at this. “Right.”

“And lastly, how are you so sure she didn’t do anything to put food on our table? Were you all there? Did you see everything that’s going on in our lives?” Elain kept asking them this, one after another. 

“Yes, Feyre did everything she told you she did for our family. I’m not trying to convince you otherwise. And me and Nesta, we will always.. always be grateful to you for that. We may have not expressed it in words all the time. But we are very thankful for you.” She’s now facing Feyre again. 

Looking at the others again, “But, just because that’s all Feyre has told you, doesn’t mean that’s everything that happened.” Looking at Feyre again. “Feyre, there were some times when you were out on your hunting trip more than you expected. A couple of weeks, that is the longest you’ve been away and hunting for us. How’d you think we have survived that two weeks? I’m telling you it’s not because of our father. And definitely not because of me.” 

Everyone was listening intently to her now, so she kept on going. “I don’t know exactly how, but all I know and can tell you is that during those harder days, Nesta spends a night at Tomas’ family house sometimes. And she comes back the next day with a pack of foods good for another couple of days. Think of that what you will, but know that you’re not the only one that made sacrifices.” 

“You told them about the cold, bitchy, and hard headed Nesta. The version of her after we have been struggling because of the loss that our father causes to our family. But have you told them about how she was before all that?” Elain is now face to face with Feyre, but she didn’t miss the surprised reaction of the rest of the inner circle.

“I...I have not. I don’t....” Feyre looked away from Elain as she shook her head and closed her eyes. Elain’s eyes were shiny and lined with tears that were just about ready to fall. She’s sad, because their baby sister doesn't remember or choose to forget that side of Nesta. Feyre felt her sadness and bit her lip.

Elain came closer still, Rhys looking from one sister to another beside Feyre, she held her hand out and touched her sister's cheek. “Then please… please remember.” She tucked the loose hair to Feyre’s fae ears. “Remember when… we were younger, before our worlds came spiraling down.” She’s now holding her sister's hand with both hands.

“Try to remember… remember her when she took care of us the way our own mother was supposed to be the one to do so.”

“Remember... who guided you when you took your first walk.”

“Almost there. You got this, Feyre! C’mon!” Four year old Nesta was on his knees with both hands stretched outward. Elain was beside her jumping up and down and clapping cheering for their youngest sister. “Feya! Feya!”

Meanwhile, One year old Feyre was wobbling towards Nesta with a huge smile on her face but full concentration on her eyes. And as soon as she reached her eldest sister, the three girls pulled each other into a group hug as they laughed together.

“... who fed us when we can barely eat on our own…”

“Mama, I think Feyre and Elain’s food are too hard for them to chew.” Five year old Nesta watches her two younger sisters, as they try to eat the meat chunks on their meal by themselves.

“What do you want me to do then? Can’t you see I’m trying to have my lunch.” Their mother snapped and rolled her eyes at them, then returned to talking with her friends beside her.

Nesta gave a sigh then. “Okay Feyre, here.” Nesta took the chunks out of Feyre’s plate and put it in hers. Then as carefully as a five year old petite hands can do, she cut them into smaller pieces and held it towards Feyre’s for her to take by her mouth and eat. Elain saw this and without hesitation, put her chunks into Nesta’s then she looked up to her and gave her a cute smile. Nesta smirked at this and did the same thing for Elain. 

“... remember who kept the nightmares away…”

Eight year old Nesta’s bedroom door banged open in sync with the loud boom of thunder outside. When she looked by the door, both her younger sisters were standing by the entrance, eyes wide and clutching their own stuffed toys close to their chest.

Until the thunder booms again and they both screamed and ran towards their eldest sister. They jumped into her bed, over the sheets and snuggled close to Nesta. She held them both tightly, whispering comfort words to calm them down. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s just the thunder. It won’t hurt you.” 

“Can we sleep here please?” Elain asked from her left. “Pretty please?” Feyre seconded on her right. 

“Okay. But this is the last time okay? You have to stop being afraid of lightning and thunder.” Nesta told them.

They both nodded and clinged to Nesta tighter until they all fell asleep.

“... and who used to kiss our wounds to make it better…”

“Feyre!” Ten-year old Nesta and Nine-year old Elain were running towards their Seven-year old sister who fell from the horse she was riding and was now clutching her right arm.

“Are you okay?” “Where does it hurt?” “Can you stand?” Both of them were asking simultaneously. 

“I’m fine, just…” she showed them her arms. There was a cut just below the elbow, the bleeding isn’t too heavy and it looks like it didn’t need any stitches. They acted quickly and led them to their medical hall anyway. Nesta was holding her other hand, while the other was being checked and cleaned by the nurse. When the ointment that stings was put into her wound, Feyre jerked and leaned towards Nesta. She held her tighter and kissed her on her forehead. Feyre looked up to her sister with a smirk at this and said. “Aren’t you supposed to kiss the actual wound to make it better?” 

Nesta narrowed her eyes at this and replied. “Will you want me too, because I will if—“ 

“Ew no!” Feyre cut her off. And then they looked at each other and then laughed out loud together: They didn’t even notice the nurse leaving.

Feyre is in a daze, her memories that seemed to be locked in the back of her mind were surfacing. She didn’t even know that it was possible to remember all of those things at that age. But for some reason she does now, and it's hitting her hard. And then her memories took her on those moments that for some reason marked her mind, but she’s suddenly seeing it from a different angle now.

“Where’s my coat? I left it in here yesterday?” Feyre asked as she was about to step out in the cold. 

“Here! You’re talented in so many ways, but for the life of yourself you can’t stitch your clothes properly.” Nesta rolled her eyes and left, after throwing her coat in her youngest sister's arms. 

Nesta was her snarky self, but she did fix her coat right? She’s trying…

“I’m telling you, that guy you’re smitten at. He’s no good for you. He’s just playing you. We may be poor now, but you’re not that desperate Feyre, are you?” Nesta was facing her with her hands on her hips. She just rolled her eyes at her and instead of listening, she talked back at her. “Right. And how would you know that? Besides, why do you even care?” 

Nesta narrowed her eyes at her and raised both arms in surrender. “You know what. Don’t come running to me crying because your heart just got broken by the same guy.” Feyre snorted and shook his head. “As if.”

And what do you know, that same guy was suddenly announced to be married to a wealthy heiress two weeks after that conversation. Oh she was heartbroken alright. She thought Nesta was just being intrusive at that time, she should have known better then.

“Elain! Elain! Oh thank you! Thank you so much!” Feyre jumped straight to her older sister’s arms that surprised the latter. “Feyre?” Elain was looking at her confusedly.

“For the paints! You know I’ve been wanting to get those colors in the city, but I’m still trying to save up for that.. I mean… How do you even manage to get those?” Elain was blinking at her younger sister and was just open and closing her mouth but no words were coming out. “Oh anyway! Thank you! I love it! It’s the best birthday gift ever!” She was so excited at that time, they barely have any money for necessities let alone hobbies. Feyre was already leaving when she heard Elain whisper to Nesta. “Nesta did you…” But Nesta shushed her so Elain never got to finish her question. 

Feyre should have known it was from Nesta, that’s why Elain was so surprised and confused when she asked her. Besides, It was also the same week she noticed that Nesta stopped wearing their mother’s earrings, and she said she lost it when asked. 

More snippets of their human days came rushing back to her where she thought Nesta was being bitchy towards her, but when you look more into it, there’s that eldest sister she has always hoped for in there. Nesta just has a different way of caring for her, but she always did care, didn’t she? It was Feyre that didn’t see it clearly. She didn’t know how long she was out of it. She didn’t even realize she had closed her eyes and that she was crying, until she opened them and in front of her was her sister’s brown eyes in tears as well.

Elain was smiling at her, and Feyre moved her eyes from the rest of those in the room with her, and what she saw surprised her. 

Mor was staring out the window, with tears falling down her cheeks and guilt radiating off of her. Az was looking down trying to avoid her gaze and biting his lip looking apologetic as well. Amren was a different case though, instead of guilt there was sympathy in her eyes. And when she finally looked at her mate, she understood why they’re all looking like that.

Rhys gave her a nod. “We all saw it Feyre darling. Your daemati power released a burst of energy as soon as you closed your eyes, and it shot through our mind walls.” It surprised him at first, but he decided he wanted to see what’s happening as well. And it seems everyone thought the same. He was caressing her arms trying to comfort his mate. Truth be told, shame was running through him. Looks like he needs to ask for some apology soon.

Feyre just nods at her mate. She was speechless. That rush gave her so many feelings. She’s sad, but at the same time glad. She feels so sorry, but realized she should be thankful as well.  It was all overwhelming. 

“Feyre?” They all look towards the voice. It was Cassian, leaning on the open door of their bedroom. There’s something in his eyes now, that they have missed these past few hours. It’s more relaxed, relieved even. And was that a small smile on his lips? They all turned their gaze inside the room and saw Nesta sitting on the bed, her back on the head board, and she was looking straight at Feyre. Their same blue-gray eyes meet and there it reflects understanding on both sides. Because Feyre realized that Cassian and Nesta have seen it too, all of it. A couple more seconds of staying still and she couldn’t help it anymore. She ran towards her sister’s bed and gave her a hug as carefully as she could. She pressed her face in Nesta’s neck and sobbed, apologizing repeatedly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

Nesta lifted one of her hands as much as she could, settling it on Feyre’s lower back, and nozzle into her youngest sister’s hair. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

Elain took her time reaching them to give them more time alone, but as soon as she reached their side, she took both of her sisters in her arms. They laughed. They cried. But they were together, just like when they were younger.

Cassian peaked at her mate’s eyes in between her sisters and gave her a small smile before stepping out of the room and closing the door to give the sisters some privacy.

-----   

Stepping out of their bedroom, he found all the eyes of his family on him.  He sighed, went to one of his cabinets and picked up a bottle of brandy with one hand and glasses on the other. Cassian settled down in the middle of their couch, poured a generous amount on his glass and placed his foot in the coffee table in front of him. He leaned his back and took the first sip of his brandy. The rest of the inner circle didn’t say a word, they’re just following his every moment with their gaze.

“So, who wants to start?” Cassian gave all of them that smug smile of his, and they all knew then…. This is gonna be a much longer night for all of them.

[klarojonsa]

AN: So, I had this idea a very very long time ago. This is the first time I'm writing Jonsa fanfic, or Atleast contemplating whether if I should go on with the story or not. It's really been a long while since I really wrote anything, so here we go. Please do tell if I should continue or not.

Also the chapter is set before Jon leaves for the wall. If y'all want me to write more, I'll try it out on ao3

___________________________________________

Love the way you lie

Sansa leans against the heart tree looking up at the starry sky, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Sometimes she really does wonder if her life has a meaning or not. She knows she wants to be a queen to a king, a princess to a prince and a wife to a husband. But what of her as a person? Will someone love her for who she is, not for how she acts? Father always said that he would find her a match worthy of her, but she didn't think he really cared. Her father never looked at her the way he looked at Arya, like she was the only daughter he has. She knows he loves her as well, but Arya is his pride just as she is her mother's. But sometimes, even if she would never admit, it hurt. Would her father love her more if she knew how to use weapons? Sansa shook her head, she came here for peace, not to get her mind woven in the webs of sorrow.

She felt someone sit beside her in silence. She didn't look away from sky, her head still resting against the tree and her fingers mindlessly weaving through the grass, plucking some in her hands.

After a comfortable silence, she blurts out, "Do you ever feel like that there is not a single person the world that loves you?" She wasn't really expecting an answer. It was a while after she heard a velvety voice answer her.

"Aye, sometimes."

She blinks in surprise to see Jon sitting beside her. His answer startling her even more. She sits up straight, her eyes falling back to her hands, her cheeks flushed. Jon was the last person she thought would be here. She could feel Jon's gaze on her and then heard him sigh.

"Your lady mother is worried for you. She searched out the whole castle but she couldn't find you. Don't know why, but I had a feeling that I would find you here. Are you okay?" He asked, his face masked with confusion and his forehead wrinkled in worry. Was he worried for her?

"I just needed some time alone, I suppose. I come here whenever I seek peace of my mind. I'm okay, Jon." She expected he would leave. Like everyone does. But instead, he stood there nervously shifting on foot, his hand going on the back of his neck as he tried to open his mouth to speak. Sansa knew she shouldn't be here with him, she shouldn't be seen with him. Her mother will most certainly be disappointed in her. But before she could stop herself, she asked, "So you feel like there are no one here who loves you?"

Jon ponders for a moment but then nods before asking her, "Do you? Do you feel like that?"

Sansa purses her lips. She didn't want to sound ungrateful for what she has. "Yes. I don't know why? I know everyone loves me and yet, deep down in my heart, I feel like it's not enough. Does that make me a bad person, Jon?"

"I don't think feeling makes you a bad person, Sansa. It's okay to want more. You know, you're meant for so much more than just this. I'll let you in a little secret. There is whole world out there waiting for you, great cities, art, culture, genuine beauty," he looks at her, his eyes warm, "and you can have it all. All you have to do is just ask."

Sansa looks at Jon, her eyebrow arching in amusement, "Oh yeah? And pray tell who will give me all that? Who do I have to ask?"

Jon shrugs, and Sansa wonders if the look in his eyes means if its him she should ask. She has no doubt in her heart that it she asks Jon of this, despite of their animosity, despite of him favoring Arya over her multiple of times he would give her all in heartbeat.

"Very well then," Sansa smooths her skirt with her hands, "what of you? If there is this whole world out there as you say, then why are you confining yourself to the north? To the wall. Yes I heard father speaking to uncle benjen."

"I don't want it. I'm not made for your world. I don't deserve it," Jon grits out, all earlier warmth and amusement gone from his face. He clenches his jaw, staring hard at the ground.

"Liar."

She had never seen him look so confused and angry at the same time. His head snaps to look at her so fast, she was pretty sure it must've hurt.

"What did you say?"

"Liar. You heard it the first time, Jon. You're lying about not wanting it , just as you're lying about not deserving it," Sansa answered gracefully.

She doesn't have to look down to know he is clenching his fist, barely containing his anger. His jaw clenching.

"Oh because you know it so much better. It's been fun evening, Sansa," the way he says her name sends shiver down in her spine, "but it's time you leave. This is no place for a lady to be such a late time."

Sansa scoffs, "Deny me of truth all you want but your face betrays everything you try so hard to hide. You want it all. And I'm here to tell you that wanting it, dreaming of it, it doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't make you selfish. Take your own advice, Jon."

"Easy for you to say," she could hear the disdain in his voice.

"Its even easier to lie to yourself and convince it's the truth when it's anything but. You make your own way. It's your choice Jon. Punishing yourself into going to wall?"

"I'm not punishing myself," he sighs.

"Mhm, whatever you say. I must be off to my mother's chambers now. She must be worrying for me as you said. Do think about what we talked about before you make any decision and even though I already know. Farewell, Jon Snow," Sansa let his name roll out of her tongue easily. She got up with help of his outstretched hand he offered before walking away without sparing him a glance.

[justacouplebandfics]

We’ve got scars on our future hearts (Jalex) - Chapter 3

Description: Alex dealt with self harm when he was younger, that’s over now though- he’s better, until he’s not. Struggling with the idea of self harming as an adult Alex keeps the issue to himself, but living on a tour bus with your band there’s only so long you can keep something a secret.

Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of self harm

It’s also available here on Wattpad, and you can find the masterlist here. 

Alex's POV

The show went great, well, in my mind it went great. The alcohol slightly numbing my system might be skewing my perception. Jack seemed a bit on edge, understandably- but it looked like he hadn't told any of the guys. We all joked around, Jack joining in occasionally but mostly staying on the side lines, the crowd all seemed super into it- if there was any visible animosity between me and Jack they definitely didn't pick up on it.

"Damn Alex, what'd you get up to this afternoon?" Rian asks as we all walk back towards the tour bus "I've not seen you that pumped in while."

I think about it for a moment- telling them I was solo drinking in the middle of the day is probably a bit of a red flag, especially after this morning with Jack. But I don't have to completely lie "I found this Mexican restaurant in town, they serve you a beer with each taco- I guess I just kinda lost count a bit" I laugh.

Rian joins in "Does this mean you're coming out with us tonight then?" I look over at him, and Zack behind him looking on expectantly.

"Yeah I guess so!" I say without really thinking. I'm not sure more drinking is the best thing for me right now, I should probably take the evening to process what's happened today, but before I can revaluate Rian and Zack are already running towards the bus to take the first shower, leaving me with Jack.

I hear his footsteps stop falling in line with mine and turn around to see him standing still staring at me, we make eye contact and the tension is unbearable- neither of us want to speak first but we both know something needs to be said. With the remaining liquid courage in my system I decide I'll break the silence "What?" It comes out a lot harsher than I intended, and I cringe internally as his face drops a bit.

"What do you mean 'What?', I understand that you don't like talking to people about your problems Alex but I'm not okay with that- I'm not comfortable just pretending this morning didn't happen"

I can feel the same uncontrollable wave of emotions building inside me as earlier, but I try to push it down and diffuse the situation "Jack, I know I flew off the handle a bit earlier, and I'm sorry- I shouldn't have done that. But what you saw isn't anything to worry about. They're old blades, I honestly forgot they were in there- I'm fine" I tell him, putting on a smile. Nice, nailed that.

But Jack doesn't think so "That doesn't add up and you know it, don't lie to me."

So much for controlling the emotions- words start coming out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about them "Can you just stop Jack? I don't need this pity, and I don't want it- I didn't ask for you to go rooting around in my stuff this morning." Jack looks taken aback, and before I can stop it "Just leave me the fuck alone."

I turn and start walking to the tour bus, the moment the words left my mouth I regretted them, but I'm still so consumed with emotion that I don't know how to process that, let alone rectify it. Fuck it, maybe getting wasted is exactly what I need.

Jack's POV

Alex is drunk- not regular Alex-letting-off-steam drunk, not even first-record-deal-party drunk, Alex is beyond wasted. Sure- it's a laugh, and I'm sure if this morning hadn't happened I'd be right there alongside him, but it wouldn't be happening at all if this morning hadn't happened.

Me and a few of the crew are standing a bit off to the side, nearer the bar so the music is just quiet enough that you can have a conversation if you really try. They're talking about some show that's just come out, I smile and nod in what I think are the right places, not really trying to hear what they're saying- I think they're mostly involving me in the conversation to be polite anyway, I'm much too focussed on Alex.

He's out in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by the guys, he looks like he's having the time of his life- but every now and then he stops just for a moment and he gets this blank look on his face, but as soon as it comes he's right back into it. Maybe I'm reading too deep into it- maybe it's just because he's drunk, but there's something about it that just doesn't sit right with me.

I decide I'm not doing myself any good by watching him and go out to the smoking area, I don't even really want a cigarette, I just want some fresh air and a clear head. I light one up anyway and lean against the barrier, taking some deep breaths- I think about how to talk to Alex without him blowing up on me again. I was a little hurt by what he said earlier but the rational part of me knows he didn't mean it, he's just overwhelmed, he doesn't know how to handle what he's going through. I'm disrupted from my thoughts when a group of girls come out into the smoking area, all loud giggles and screams- I give them a smile and quickly finish my smoke, stubbing it out and heading inside. I'll take pounding music over drunken screams any day.

It takes a minute but I find the group again, they've moved off the dance floor and are now over by the bar- I notice there's no Alex.

"Where's Alex?" I ask Matt, not caring how desperate it sounds.

"Oh dude you just missed it!" He laughs "The kid was wasted, threw up all over Rian's shoes and started babbling on about how sorry he was for everything"

"I tried to tell him it's just a pair of trainers, I can get them cleaned but he didn't seem to get it" Rian adds, I look down to see him in just his socks, shoes kicked off to one side and looking definitely worse for wear.

"So where is he?" I ask again.

"On his way back to the bus, I guess he must've got all the booze out of his system when he threw up on Rian 'cus he was with it enough to call an Uber"

"You let him go on his own?" I shouted.

"Dude chill, Zack offered to go but he was adamant he was fine- seriously once he quit the crying he seemed pretty sober."

None of this was sitting right with me at all, something about Alex's behaviour was just so wrong. "I'm gonna go back too, I'll see you guys later" I told them, not waiting for a response before I started jogging towards the exit.

Alex's POV

I stumble onto the bus, throwing my jacket down on the sofa- I'm not even that drunk, yeah I threw up but whatever that happens all the time when people drink. That's not the reason I needed to come back, I needed to come back because I realised I am the problem, the way I spoke to Jack, the way I treated him when he was being nothing but kind to me- it's disgusting. I'm disgusting. I'm this huge, pathetic burden on everyone I'm around.

I make my way to my bunk and grab my sunglasses case, bringing it to the bathroom with me and slumping down on the cold tile floor. I open it up and tip it upside down, but all that falls out are the sunglasses- frowning, I tilt it back up and pry open the back pocket, there's nothing in there. "Fuck sake Jack!" I shout, realising he must've got rid of them after this morning- I don't know why I expected them to still be there, it makes sense. I bang my head back against the cabinet and think for a moment.

It's not that I'm planning on killing myself, I never cut deep enough for that anyway, I just feel like I deserve the pain tonight. Opening up the cabinet behind me I have a look around to see if there's anything I can use- I see an unopened pack of razor heads, taking one out and smashing it open with the corner of my phone case I pick up one of the blades. Its so much thinner than anything I use, I lightly run it along my finger and it cuts right through the top layer of skin- okay so it's a lot sharper than anything I use too.

I take off my jeans and throw them against the door, hiking my boxers up on the right side. Taking a deep breath I position the razor on a clean patch of thigh, dragging it across my skin- its light, barely even breaks through the first layer of skin, so the next one I push harder, then harder. The alcohol's thinning my blood so I'm bleeding way more than normal, the floors a mess- I'm not sure how I'm going to clean this up before one of the guys get home.

With far too much alcohol-induced confidence I push down deep and do one final slice on my thigh- it looks different and I immediately know I've fucked up. Bubbles of fat are popping up through the skin and it's bleeding bad, this is so much deeper than anything I've done before.

"Oh fuck" I say to myself, I keep repeating it again and again just staring at it- I'm hyperventilating and I have no clue what to do, I start to cry, salty tears streaming down my face, snot bubbling out my nose. I press tissues to it and it starts to stop the bleeding but that only means I can see the fat better now- it's terrifying. I used to think when I hit fat I'd finally feel content with my self harm, that it would feel like some kind of achievement, but the reality couldn't be further from that.

I'm so caught up in my own mess I don't notice Jack entering the bus until he's swinging open the bathroom door, he looks down at the blood and the tissue I'm pressing to my thigh and then up to my face. "J-Jack" I sob, no idea how to deal with this situation, "Please help" is all I can think to say.

"It's okay" he keeps repeating "It's gonna be alright," normally I hate when people say that but now it's okay, it's what I need. I need someone to tell me it's going to be okay. He kneels down beside me and takes the razor from my hand, I didn't realise I was still holding it, and leans over to grab the rest of the broken razor head from the floor and throw it in the bin.

He takes a deep breath and moves my hand holding the tissue, by this point mostly soaked with blood, pulling it away from my thigh. I watch his face as he looks down, his eyes go wide for a moment "Oh god 'Lex, I think this might need stitches" he looks up at me and back down to the cut.

"No please Jack I don't want to go to the hospital, I don't want people to know" I plead with him, he looks at me with so much emotion in his eyes, and after a sharp sigh bends over to kiss me on the forehead.

"Alex I don't think that's the right decision but it's your decision- I know we have some butterfly stitches in the first aid kit out front just give me a moment I'll go get them." I nod, tears still falling from my eyes, but at least I'm breathing somewhat normal again. He returns with the butterfly stitches and some bandages- looking back down at the cut I've noticed it's stopped bleeding, they all have. "You're gonna need to get cleaned up before we can bandage this up, do you think you're able to get in the shower?" he asks, turning it on so the water heats up.

I stand up slowly, putting my weight mostly on the clean leg and hobble towards the shower "Yeah, I think I'll be able to manage it"

"I'll be right outside the door, just shout if anything goes wrong." He makes a move towards the door.

"No wait, please stay" I beg, catching his arm. "Please, I don't want to be alone." He looks at me before pulling me into a hug, I wrap my arms around his waist as he wraps his gently around my shoulders.

"It's gonna be okay 'Lex." He buries his nose in my hair for a moment and pulls away "If I'm gonna be in here while you get showered I'm going to grab some cleaning stuff and start clearing this up- I'll be back in a second okay?"

I nod and take off my boxers and shirt when he leaves the room, stepping into the shower- grateful that the steam fogged up the glass so Jack couldn't see me. I start to wash off the blood, some of it dried, some of it still fresh- I can vaguely see Jack's figure on the floor, scrubbing at the blood. I feel bad, I should be the one doing that.

"I'm all done out here when you're good" he calls out after a while "there's a towel and some boxers on the toilet, just let me know when to turn around" he calls out over the shower door.

"Okay, I think I'm done- turn around." I step out the shower to see him standing in the doorway facing away from me, I quickly pat myself dry, taking extra care on my thigh so as not to make the cuts start bleeding again, and slowly pull on my boxers; Stretching the right leg to the absolute limit of its elasticity so it doesn't touch any of the cuts- unsure what to do I sit down on the toilet lid. "All dressed" I say kind of awkwardly, and Jack turns around.

He immediately kneels down in front of me and starts working on my leg "Okay so I did a little bit of googling and I think we need to close up this big one with some butterfly stitches, and then the rest we can just cover up with bandages" he looks up at me as if asking me to confirm, I nod weakly, it all sounding right to me, and watch as he takes out a couple butterfly stitches.

"I think this might hurt a little, I'm sorry" he says, pushing either side of the cut together so it closes up, I wince a little in pain but keep my leg still- there's no point jumping around and making this take longer. Sticking one side of the stitch to one side of the cut, he moves his hand and tapes the other piece to the other side, closing up half of it- he repeats the same process again and the cut looks a lot less scary. Still not great, but it could definitely be worse. He cuts off a piece of bandage and tapes it down, covering all the fresh cuts.

Once he's done he simply holds my thigh in his hands for a while, looking into my eyes "Jack I'm scared" I finally break down again, hunching over into a sobbing mess.

"I know 'Lex" he tells me, standing up and scooping his hands under my knees, picking me up to carry me to his bunk. He sets me down on the edge and climbs into the bunk, scooting backwards against the wall; pulling up the covers he gestures for me to come in and be the little spoon. With my injured leg facing upwards I get under the covers next to him, he wraps his arms around my chest and pulls me back, holding me tightly. "I'm always here for you." I break down into another fit of sobs, but Jack calmly runs his hand through my hair and shushes me until I fall asleep in his arms.

disclaimer: If you hit fat ALWAYS go to the hospital guys, it's not an option- it leaves the risk of infection insanely high if you don't get it professionally stitched. Remember, this is just a story.

[hedwigstalons]

The Tracy Prize - part 5

Kayo sat at a nearby table, ostensibly reading a magazine but instead following the meeting between the two scientists intently.  She had to hand it to Brains.  Although not comfortable with field work he was managing remarkably well.  

It had been decided beforehand that Brains would not reveal his involvement with the Tracys.  Claire’s rejection of their previous attempts to make contact had shown she was not one to be swayed by the Tracy name; quite the opposite in fact.  Through the careful use of half-truths and omission Claire was under the impression that Brains worked in a small research facility and that his knowledge of her recent work was as a member of the short-listing committee for the Tracy Prize.  It was a plausible cover story and thankfully one that she was not probing too deeply.

The pair chatting over coffee kept the conversation neutral and on safe topics.  They discussed recent well publicised developments in the fields of chemistry, physics and engineering.  Brains soon found he lost his nervousness and was enjoying the chance to discuss his favourite subjects in depth.

His nervousness returned when a slight nod from Kayo indicated it was time to make his move.

“So Claire, seeing as you d-d-didn’t get the Jeff T-T-Tracy grant will you be applying for other funding?  I-I-It looked like an interesting project.”

“No. Everything else seems to come with caveats.  It will be hard work and it will take longer but I’ll continue the research in private around my lecturing until I’m ready to publish under my own terms. The hard part is getting access to the labs”

Here was the opener Brains had been hoping for.  His chance to entice her to the island.

“Aren’t the f-f-faculty supportive?”

“As much as they can be but without the legitimacy of funding I often can’t get a lab slot.  Trust me, I’d be in there now if they weren’t fully booked out.”

“Where I work is small but w-w-well equipped.  You would be m-m-more than welcome to come and use the facilities and there are g-g-guest rooms on site you can stay in.  C-c-call it my way of trying to make up for you m-m-missing out on the main prize.”

Claire swirled the last of her coffee around the cup as though trying to divine the right thing to do from the patterns in the frothy dregs. Brains was quite glad her focus was elsewhere because he was sure his nervousness was etched on his face like a book.

On the one hand she had always said she would work alone but on the other she couldn’t work at all without the right facilities.  She had nothing keeping her in Denver and the change of scene might do her good.  If she could get some lab time it would be a working holiday and if the facilities weren’t suitable she would treat it as a normal holiday and explore the local area.

To her own surprise as much as Brains’ and Kayo’s she found herself agreeing to the visit.  Brains assured her that the flights would not be a problem; they would be on a private supply flight to the facility and she would be able to return to Denver on the next supply run scheduled in about a week.

The pair parted with Claire being instructed to be ready to be collected from her apartment in the morning and to pack for tropical weather.

After a quick detour to her office to alert the faculty to her upcoming absence Claire headed home.  

In anticipation of this being a working holiday the first thing to pack was her work set up.  While her research methods were cutting edge her approach to recording the results was the complete opposite.  It was the reason why Kayo had been unable to find a digital trail of her research.  

In order to maintain her privacy Claire recorded all her results in physical notebooks.  Each night, on returning from the labs she would scan in the pages and save them to her computer, adding them to the research files.  The notebooks were then locked in a fireproof box as a back up record.  The computer itself was a standalone unit.  She had even gone to the trouble of physically removing all wireless cards and drivers.  She packed the computer, scanner and a couple of notebooks into a reinforced flight case.  In a world of holo-computers and 24 hours connectivity her methods were considered not just archaic, but perhaps a little unhinged.  For her it was the only way she felt that her privacy was truly secure from hacking and intellectual espionage.

With the work side of packing completed she threw a few clothes and her lab coat into a separate bag and settled down for an early night.

The following morning Brains collected Claire as arranged and introduced her to Kayo.  Claire hoped she wouldn’t have much to do with the quiet and serious young woman.  Animosity radiated off her and the intense green eyes appraised Claire in a way that left her feeling like her soul had been stripped bare.  It was a relief when Kayo shut herself on the cockpit leaving Claire and Brains alone in the passenger compartment of the jet.  

The flight was smooth and uneventful.  Kayo activated the intercom for the first and only time of the journey to instruct them to fasten seatbelts for landing.  Claire looked out of the window and was surprised to see they were still flying over ocean.   The only visible landmass, a tiny island in the vast expanse of water, was evidently their destination.  She hoped the laboratories were up to scratch because sightseeing was not going to take long.  There weren’t even that many buildings.  The whole place looked more like an upmarket holiday resort than a scientific research facility.

The plane touched down on a tiny runway and Kayo emerged from the cockpit.  She handed Claire a small watch-like device.

“You’re to wear this at all times.”  The instruction was blunt.  The tone was that of someone used to being obeyed.

“What is it?”

“It’s a radio.  If you are anything like Brains you’ll lose track of time.  We’ve found this is the easiest way to remind people when meals are ready.  Saves having to send someone to look for you”

Claire realised that her travelling companions were wearing similar devices. She fastened the strap, unaware that the device also contained a tracker.  It was one of the many security protocols Kayo had insisted on when Scott had announced his desire to bring Claire to the island. Others included initiating Operation Cover-Up and, if possible, ensuring Claire was never left alone in case she wandered in to any of the more sensitive areas.

“Brains?”

“That would be m-m-me.  No-one here c-c-calls me Hiram.”  Brains was quite glad to ditch the pseudonym and reclaim his more habitual moniker.  It would save a lot of confusion.

The exited the plane and Claire breathed a deep lungful of sea air.  It felt good to be out of the city.

A young man with blonde hair and a questionable taste in shirts hurried forwards to greet them.

“Hi, I’m Gordon” he said with a grin.  “I’ve been given unloading duty, worse luck.  You’ll find everyone else in the lounge. They’re keen to meet you.  As you can probably guess we don’t get many visitors here.  You can leave your bags behind, I’ll make sure they get taken to your rooms.”

Gordon disappeared into the cargo area of the plane where he and Kayo started stacking boxes ready for transportation to the various store rooms and hangers around the island.  Brains and Claire were left to make their own way up the house.

“Gordon is out resident m-m-marine expert” Brains supplied.  “We are a small t-t-team so everyone helps out when needed.  He m-m-must have picked the short straw.  We ought head up, we d-d-don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

As they walked along a meandering path by the shore Claire was suddenly daunted by the prospect of meeting the entire island population in one go.  She tried to quiz Brains about who else was on the island.

“Beyond m-m-myself, Kayo and Gordon there are only four others here p-p-peramently.  It’s p-p-probably best if I let them introduce themselves.”  This was a topic Brains was keen to avoid and he quickly lapsed into silence.

They entered one of the few buildings and Claire was struck by the expense of the place.  This was evidently a residential area.  There was no evidence of offices or workspaces.  No clinical corridors.  She felt like she was intruding in a private home.  A private home for someone very wealthy.  It made her feel uneasy.

The hallway they were in opened out into a large lounge area dominated by a circular area of seating sunk into the floor.  An unusual mix of people occupied the seats.  One teenager, one older lady and a young man.

The man unfolded himself from the seats as she entered.  He was tall and athletic with startling blue eyes.  He quickly crossed the floor to greet her.

“Dr Ashwell, I’m so pleased you came.  I’m Scott.”

Unfortunately for Scott his offered hand was ignored.  Claire was staring straight past him to the far side of the room where a final figure was perched on a piano stool.  Her feelings of unease evaporated and were replaced with full-on defensive mode.  Her attitude became glacial.

“Mr Tracy, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

[primedirection]

Dead to me

In which Harry does the unthinkable

Warning: Angst

AN: Idk about you but I like the pain

These past three years have been an absolute rollercoaster. It had it's ups, it's loops, and right now it's downs.

It had been building up over a couple months. Harry could be the sweetest enchanting soul and he could be the coldest. Giving even the devil a run for his money. It was what you like to call 'On season'. The season where he was in the studio everyday, and when he wasn't in the studio he was out with mates 'finding inspiration' until the sun came up. The one where only some nights he'd have the gall to send you a 'Don't wait up!' text, instead of just leaving you to stay up and worry until he walked through the front door again. But during 'On season' even when he was home it wasn't much better. He'd either sleep the day away to recover from the nights he went out, or he'd spend them locked in his study going over the soon to be promo schedule bound to drag him away from you as well. Those days he hardly spoke a word to you.

Like everything else in this relationship, part of the blame fell on yourself. It's not like you didn't know what you signed up for. You knew how massive his role was in this world, how important and how hard he had to work to keep his career thriving. How much he meant to people around the world and what they meant to him. It's why during 'On season' you bit your tongue until it sometimes bled to dejectedly leave him be instead of starting a potential argument by asking him to spend some time with you. And perhaps that's where you went wrong because you let it build until it reached your limit.

Tonight started like the many. Harry starting his day in the studio and ending it in a club somewhat drunk. Unsuccessfully sneaking inside at four in the morning to lay down on the sofa to sleep it off, but you were there already up waiting on him. Not that he was even slightly surprised to see you there.

He merely sighed raking his fingers through his short disheveled hair before dropping his keys off and shrugging off his coat. Slurring, "Shit, could've sworn I text you,"

The lack of a genuine apology in his carefree reply had overstimulated the animosity building up inside you and spilling out of your mouth without a second thought. Scoffing, "That would require you to think of someone other than yourself for once. Obviously something you're not capable of,"

You didn't mean that, you swear you didn't but once you started it was impossible to stop. At the sound of your tone he momentarily paused before visibly wilting. With a new type of lag in his step as he approached. The closer he got the better you could see the cold bleary green of his heavily lidded eyes, and the dark circles under them to match.

"Please, please don' fuckin start. I'm tired, you're tired let's just go t' bed and start over tomorrow when-"

"No! Fuck that! All I've been doing is waiting! Waiting for you to take a break, waiting for you to come home, waiting for you to fucking acknowledge that I even exist!" You shout absolutely fed up.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and it immediately reminds you of the first time you had this argument. Back then the gesture used to calm him down. He looked up afterwards with remorse in his eyes, hurt that he hurt you and it ended in a sincere apology and the most intense love making you've ever had. But now when his hand dropped he looked nothing short of furious. Nostrils flared, lips pressed tight, jaw clenched, and brows pulled tight enough to create the famous crease his fan girls loved so much.

"Alright then, c'mon! Lay your shit on top of the even bigger pile I have on my plate! Hurry up and blame me for everything so I can get to fucking bed already," he seethes through bared teeth.

"Oh come off it, you're not the damn victim here, Harry. If you're really so got damned tired then maybe you should try sleeping at night instead of partying all the damn time!"

Harry flinches at first, that taken aback. He thought you understood more than anyone just what he'd been working so hard toward. So just as quick he becomes really angry, chest heaving and unable to refrain from storming toward you and shouting back, "I've been fucking working! You know good and well networking and being seen is apart of my job. I can't afford to be a damn hermit!"

"Every single night? Really?"

"You don't seem to have a problem with that when the bills come in. Not that you've ever seen one," He glares maliciously.

Now that actually hurt, like taking a punt in the gut hurt. You were left breathless all the same. Gasping, "Harry,"

And yet he still wasn't done. "No if you're gonna attack me for being 'selfish' then I get to defend myself when you're being ungrateful!"

"Ungrateful, are you kidding me? I've made sacrifices just to be here with you Harry! I'm the one that comes running to your every beck and fucking call. Whenever and wherever you're lonely, tour included! When your so called friends bail I'm the only one left to take care of you!" Adrenaline courses through you so intense your hands won't stop trembling.

"Wow, I didn't realize flying out for a fuck was such a big deal. You made those choices to come, I didn't force you! And s' not like you didn't get something in return for it anyway,"

Your heart nearly shattered at how vile he painted that experience. The lowest blow he could ever make. Those memories truly meant the most to you. "And it's not like I asked you buy me shit!" You fumed.

"So you're just gonna ignore this fancy fucking house we live in? As if it wasn't your idea, hmm? The nice cars you drive, the endless flights back and forth for your family because you can't be alone for one damn day, the five star hotels, the fucking trips that I take you on-"

"That's not the point, Harry!" You damn near shriek overwhelmed, tears pouring freely down your cheeks, "I don't care about any of that!"

"You don't care? You don't care and I've been working my ass off for it. Really?" In that moment something snapped inside of Harry, like a switch. His stress and rage merging into one and swelling like a balloon, desperately needing some kind of release.

"Harry you know I—"

"No, I know exactly what you meant! Fuck all this shit right? You don't care?" Harry suddenly goes on a rampage. Starting with the first shelf that you built together when you first moved in, lined with pictures of both of you from milestones over the years. With rabid force you've never seen him use he tosses it over face first. Shattering most if not all the frames on the tiled floor. The shelf itself splitting in half.

Leaving you screaming, "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"You're what's wrong with me!" He shouts and then went another shelf. One that contained both of your favorite childhood photos.

"Harry stop!" You plead shielding your eyes as shards of debris fly all over the place.

"I've been working myself so hard! Practically to an early grave for this— for you?!" He began stalking towards the fireplace and your heart stopped. He wouldn't, would he?

As he shows no signs of letting up you panic and desperately beg, "Harry stop! Please don't —" but he doesn't care and you are too late to physically stop him.

The sounds of glass breaking as he swept his hands over the mantle was enough to startle you but there was a crash of one particular item that sent your heart shattering with it.

A container that hadn't even been a year old yet. Your feet carried you over to the mess without your brains comprehension or a single care that Harry's tirade moved on to a different shelf. Nor about the shards of glass that stung both your knees as they tore your skin open or Harry eventually demanding what the hell you were doing. All you registered was the slight cloud of dust resonating in the air and the actual pool of ashes spread about all over the floor.

Ashes that belonged to your father. Just everywhere.

Harry had heard you cry before plenty of times, not that he was proud of it. But there was something eerily disturbing and heart wrenching about the way you were trembling and sobbing uncontrollably now. As upset as he was it made him stop dead in his tracks. He instinctively assumed that you had been hurt given your collapsed positon. Immediately he felt guilty but that multiplied by ten fold once he rushed closer to your side to help.

At first he didn't understand how you could be covered in dirt so suddenly and then the realization set in that it wasn't dirt at all. He fucked up and he fucked up irrevocably.

Hardly even a year ago your father passed from cancer and you had been waiting to scatter his ashes on his birthday. Harry knew that. He just didn't know that you moved him there on the mantle he all too recently destroyed.

Pretty soon he found himself on his knees cursing and pleading. His hands shaking too now grabbing at broken shards of glass, "Shit! Shit baby, I didn't mean tha'! I didn't know he was there I swear it! Shit. M' so sorry. I'll fix it, I'll get you a new one I promise,"

Your father's death took the hardest toll on you that he's ever seen, and once again it was resurfacing. He broke you.

Your feedback is always appreciated!

Part 2

[missjosie27]

Year 1 Part 9- One Ending, A New Beginning

Hello, friends!

This is the last chapter of Year 1 that I wrote. I sincerely hope you enjoy it and as always, please leave feedback or comments if you’d like:)

Year 2 will be coming soon! Probably within the week!

It took about as long as Merula said (the only thing she hadn’t lied to them about in their year of knowing her) but after about ten minutes the body bind curse had worn off and the three Gryffindor boys were back on their feet, albeit heavily disgruntled.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate Merula?” Rowan said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Hate doesn’t even begin to describe it,” David seethed, his hands curling into fists. His mind was practically spinning from the amount of animosity he felt towards her.

“Now I know the exact pain you saved me from when she was bullying me,” Ben groaned as he clutched his side. “Ugh, everything hurts.”

“Not as bad as she’s going to hurt after I’m through with her!” David declared, charging forward towards the door.

“Wait, David,” Rowan said, grabbing his arm. “Hold on a second. She’s still in there.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Merula would have found what she was looking for and left. She wouldn’t stick around. Something must have happened.”

In the midst of despising the first year Slytherin no one had considered that angle until now and it left the trio pondering for a moment.

“It might be too dangerous to go back in,” Ben said nervously. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

David considered that possibility, but two worse ones overrode any hesitation he had in entering the door. With his anger subsided slightly, he was able to assess the situation much clearer, however, he felt more determined than ever.

“True, but if Merula gets her hands on something really powerful who knows what she’ll do with it. Above all, we need to find more clues about my brother. I can’t turn down the chance to find out what happened to him.”

“I agree,” Rowan said pulling out his wand. “If it was my brother, I’d feel the same way. Plus, an all powerful Merula is not something I want to think about right now.”

“It’s settled then,” David said, following his best friend’s lead. “Are you with me?”

Rowan and Ben nodded as they approached the door once more. All or nothing, Merula or not, this was the first step to finding answers to so many questions.

Alohomora!

The door creaked open once more, allowing the Gryffindor trip to step inside and shut it behind them. However, the sight that greeted them was far from what they were expecting.

True, the chilly cold that emanated from the door was ten times worse on the inside, but far from witnessing an all powerful Merula, she was trapped up to her midsection in a block of ice. Indeed, everything in the room seemed to be encompassed by ice. It was small, only big enough for a handful of people and unremarkable other than the frozen entity that marked its interior.

“Merula?”

“What happened?”

Rowan on the other hand was laughing.

“And here I was thinking you got your hands on some ancient amulet. This is too good!”

“Get stuffed, K-Khanna!” Merula shouted though she struggled to contain her shivers. “This weird ice st-stuck me to the f-floor, and k-keeps spreading all over me!”

That was disturbing to say the least. Ice of that nature couldn’t be common even within the magical world at Hogwarts.

“It’s spreading all over the door too!” she cried, pointing a finger. “G-get me out of h-here before I j-jinx all three of you.”

“I don’t believe you’re in a position to be making threats,” David said, the full brunt of his sarcasm coming to bear. “But by all means keep acting like a prat.”

“Grant! Will you just turn around?!”

All three of them turned to see that ice was forming seemingly out of nowhere and spreading down the door, forming a thick, icy top layer that eventually glossed over the door handle. Rowan quickly moved to open the door again, but found it wouldn’t budge.

“I can’t get a good grip on it!” he said, panic in his voice. “The lock and handle are frozen shut.”

“What do we do?” Ben asked frantically. “How do we get out of here? I-I’m s-starting to feel the cold too, D-Dave.”

Resisting the urge to wrap his own body in his arms, David realized none of them would last very long in here if they couldn’t get out. They had to find a way and fast. But none of the spells they had learned could break or melt ice. There was only thing they could do.

“We have to knock this door down off its hinges,” he said aloud. “We can use the knockback jinx to try and break it.”

“Are you sure that’ll work?” Rowan asked.

“It has to, otherwise we’ll be frozen statues by the time anyone finds us in here.”

He took out his wand and motioned for Ben and Rowan to do the same. However, he couldn’t help but take a glance back at Merula. It had only been minutes before since the full concentration of his rage had been focused upon her, but seeing her trapped- weak, afraid, and completely helpless- caused his resolve to soften. With her wand laying on the ground, she had no way to free herself.

I can’t leave her here. No matter what she’s done.

“Brace yourself, Merula,” David said to her, aiming for her entrapped legs.

“W-what are you g-going to do?”

“Save your arse.”

Without waiting for her permission, he fired the knockback jinx.

‘Flipendo!’

It had the desired effect, sending Merula backwards into the wall, shattering her icy prison.

“Oww,” she moaned.

“For the record, you totally deserved that,” Rowan remarked.

David, however, walked up to her and offered his hand to pull her up.

“Not even someone like you deserves to die in here. We’re going to need every wand on hand to bust down that door.”

She began to protest but the Gryffindor cut her off.

“We can go back to being enemies later, okay? But this one time, I need you to work with me. Help us so you can get out of here.”

Appealing to her own sense of self preservation did the trick as Merula reluctantly took his hand, grabbed her wand and jumped to her feet.

The foursome, briefly united in their desire not to end up in an early grave aimed at the door.

“On three,” David told them. “Fire with everything you got. One, two, THREE!”

A chorus of ‘Flipendo!’ rang out as four jets of light hit the door simultaneously, sending it clean off its hinges and onto the ground. They were free.

Merula immediately bolted without so much as a thank you, but Rowan hung back for a second, puzzling the other two boys.

“Rowan let’s go!”

“Wait, Dave. Look!”

He pointed up at a series of symbols and markings on the top corner of the wall.

“It’s the same language we saw on the golden brick outside of the door. I need to write this down.”

Rowan quickly pulled out a piece of paper, copying it down while Ben urged them to hurry.

“Filch is going to be here any second! Someone will have heard that noise!”

“Just a sec…got it!”

With barely any time left to spare, the Gryffindor trio ran as fast as they could, away from Mrs. Norris, Filch, Snape, or anyone else who could have possibly been alerted to the presence of a busted down door. They didn’t stop until they reached the common room, not even bothering to hide the noise they made whilst they hurried to their dormitories.

There were many more questions buzzing in David’s head as he jumped into bed and attempted to pretend he had the ability to sleep after what happened. But the questions could wait.

Presently, not getting expelled was more than enough consolation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

To the surprise of everyone involved from that night, almost nothing came of the incident. David had fully expected a visit from Professor McGonagall or Snape or someone about breaking into (quite literally) the mysterious door and a lengthy detention sentence that would lead into the next year. Even more shockingly, Merula kept to herself during their classes, only occasionally throwing out a barb or insult. She wasn’t stupid, any mouthing off on her part about the vaults would only serve to get her in trouble as well.

And so, life went on and the routine of Hogwarts returned. Exams were coming up and most of the student body settled into a quiet lull, especially the older students, who’s careers depended on their following results. Rowan in particular was adamant about focusing on their studies, constantly quizzing them on various spellwork, facts, and numbers. It became so intense, that even Ben was bold enough to suggest they should take a break from the library and actually eat a meal.

The routine wasn’t to last long, however. There was one last bludger to be thrown before the year was out, and it came in the form of Professor Dumbledore.

In the midst of eating dinner per Ben’s suggestion, their meal of shepherd’s pie (and a retelling of story about one of Charlie’s younger brothers) was interrupted by Angelica.

“David,” she said to him. “We need to talk.”

Swallowing a mouthful of pie, he gazed up at her.

“About what?”

“Did you try and enter that door on the 13th corridor?”

His stomach immediately lost any desire for food as it felt like a stone dropped in the middle of it.

“Maybe this can wait until later? This is a pretty good pie, if I do say so myself. And Charlie was in the middle of a joke so…”

“You have a comeback for everything, don’t you?”

“It’s where I get my dashing charm.”

Angelica looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or scream, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that? To think I’ll be your prefect for the next two years.”

“Imagine how fun that will be.”

“David, I know you think this is all hilarious,” she said, putting her arms on the table and giving him a piercing look. “But whether you care or not you represent Gryffindor, just like your brother did. Risking that representation is a poor way to go about your time here at Hogwarts.”

“I don’t know what you heard,” the first year answered back. “But it’s rumor.”

“You blasted down a door,” she shot back. “It’s not exactly a huge mystery that someone was in there.”

Sighing, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you or punish you. I’m actually just a messenger. But I do want you to know that your house and everyone else in it matters. Not just you.”

David took the letter from her and recognized its seal- that of the Headmaster.

“Dumbledore wants to see you. He didn’t say why so don’t ask. But you better hope it’s nothing serious.”

He opened it straight away and saw a neat message inscribed:

Dear David,

I should like to speak with you tonight in the courtyard as soon as you are done with dinner. Please ensure you are alone as I would like our chat to be private. I look forward to seeing you then.

Sincerely,

Professor Dumbledore

In truth, David felt quite uneasy about the prospect of a one on one with the Headmaster, but he also had no choice. The most powerful wizard in Britain was not someone you could avoid or runaway from like Snape or Filch. He did, however, have one more thing to say to his prefect.

“Whatever you think of me, Angelica, know this. I’m not just here for myself, you can ask anyone at this table about how much I care about Gryffindor, my brother, my family. They’ll tell you.”

Ben, Rowan, and Charlie each nodded and that seemed to put Angelica more at ease.

“Okay,” she said approvingly. “I’ll hold you to that. You’d best be off now, you don’t want to keep Dumbledore waiting.”

Let’s get this over with

“Good luck,” Rowan said to him, while Ben smiled, and Charlie gave a thumbs up. Somehow, it was inspiring and that was not an emotion that he was intimate with. Even should he be punished; he knew his house had his back and he had theirs.

Deciding it was best to heed his prefect for once, David got up from the bench, and headed towards the Courtyard.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sure enough, the eccentric wizard was there when David finally arrived in the courtyard. Wearing blue robes with stars on them, they complimented the atmosphere rather well, as the first dots of light began to emerge in the evening sky. Approaching slowly, he figured Dumbledore knew he was there, but as of yet made no movement or indication of it, keeping his head towards the heavens.

When the Headmaster did acknowledge him for the first time, it was a warm, friendly greeting, almost grandfatherly in a way.

“Thank you for meeting with me, David.”

The first year Gryffindor wasn’t entirely sure what to say, but he figured it was best to at least be humble and not try and pull any funny business with Dumbledore.

“Of course sir, I just wanted to say that-”

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” the old man interrupted, returning his gaze to the stars.

“Sir?”

“The quiet night, the calm air of spring with the promise of summer ahead- it truly puts your troubles into perspective doesn’t it?”

David had no idea where he was going with this but decided not to question it.

“I suppose so.”

“I oftentimes come here when I need to make an important decision.”

Perhaps a decision about his time at Hogwarts thus far? It wouldn’t have surprised David if Dumbledore was pondering that topic as they spoke.

“My prefect said you needed to see me, but she didn’t specify what. I assumed it was everything that’s happened this year- the dueling, fighting werewolves, the cursed ice…”

He trailed off as the Headmaster took a long look at him through his half moon spectacles. He did not look angry, however.

“Perhaps you were expecting a lecture or a far worse punishment?” he asked aloud. “But I sense you have just as many questions about what has happened so far.”

David realized that he was allowing him a freebee to ask whatever he desired, a fact he failed until realize until now as the words came spilling out.

“Sir, what are these cursed vaults? And why was my brother so obsessed with them? Do you have any idea where he is?”

A whole year had led up to this moment, but perhaps constantly avoiding the subject of his brother had been unhealthier than previously realized. In any case, Dumbledore did not look surprised.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you do on the subject of the vaults,” he explained. “I have been seeking out an expert on the subject myself. Some say that they were created by a powerful sorcerer who was a student during the days of the Founders, others say Salazar Slytherin used them to hide his immense treasures and secrets. Perhaps they originate with the school itself. One cannot be certain, but as you’ll find, Hogwarts holds many secrets.

“As for your brother, his disappearance has baffled even me. He came across the vaults as a second year and his efforts to prove they existed resulted in several dangerous incidents that forced my hand, unfortunately. I do not want to damper your impression of him, however, he was an excellent student and quite the keen mind. Jacob was quite popular with the staff and most of the students, but I have guessed that he was led astray by someone or something along the way.”

“My brother, for all his feats was…complicated,” David said quietly. “He was always good to me, but there was a lot more happening with him than he let on.”

“Much of which you are just finding about now,” Dumbledore added with a small nod. “It is not easy being apart from a sibling. It is something I can highly empathize with.”

“This whole thing…this whole year has been one giant mystery.”

“Indeed, Hogwarts itself can be considered a mystery. But I expect you to learn more in the coming years of your time here.”

David breathed out, as Dumbledore’s words sunk in, implying he was not about to be kicked out, which had been a very real prospect coming into this meeting.

“Sooo….I’m not going to be expelled?”

Dumbledore’s gaze was slightly stern but there was still the hint of his usual twinkling in his blue eyes.

“You have made many mistakes this year, David. But you have also demonstrated great compassion, resourcefulness, and courage. As I say to many of my students, it is the choices we make that truly define who we are underneath. From what I can observe, you are quite the talented young wizard and Hogwarts is better off with your presence. I believe you have earned Gryffindor one hundred points.”

David could hardly believe his ears, the revelation that he was not expelled consuming most of his happiness at the extra points.

“Thank you, Professor!”

“You are welcome. Though I daresay it does not erase the poor drubbing the Gryffindor Quidditch team took at the hands of Ravenclaw.”

David scoffed. “We’d need a thousand house points to erase that deficit.”

Dumbledore gave a booming laugh, one that resonated across the courtyard.

“Indeed, there is that famous sense of humor you possess. I look forward to six more years of it, the wizarding world suffers for the want of a good joke often times.”

The first year Gryffindor knew that his time with the Headmaster was winding down, but his mind still burned with questions.

“Sir, thank you for everything. But can we talk more about my brother and the vaults?”

Dumbledore nodded, the full twinkling in his eyes returning.

“We can and we will. Next year,” he said. “In the meantime, I believe you have final exams to attend and a feast to prepare for. I do hope you have a good summer holiday.”

Gesturing with his robe, the Headmaster indicated for him to be on his way and David obliged, heading back to the Great Hall to finish up his shepherd’s pie (if Charlie hadn’t finished it by now). There was much to do, and he wasn’t sure what would come next. But one thing he was sure of: he couldn’t wait for the next year to start.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The inevitable day arrived as the students took their luggage down to Hogsmeade station to depart back to London where their families and friends waited for them. Many were saying their goodbyes already as a sea of crimson, yellow, blue, and green interacted and chatted away while preparing the board the train.

“I can’t believe how fast it went,” Rowan said as he lifted his luggage into the compartment.

“Me neither,” David agreed. “Before you know it, we’ll be seventh years rowing back across the lake at graduation.”

“Don’t even say that!” Rowan shuddered. “I still have six more years of academics to go, Dave. I’ll have to do everything I can to become the youngest Professor in Hogwarts history. There’s not enough time.”

“I’m taking the mickey,” David laughed. “Relax, mate. We got plenty of time. Just you wait, there’s a lot ahead of us and we’re going to see it all.”

“You’ll definitely need more than seven years then,” Charlie interjected, joining their space. “Have you seen how huge this place is? Loads of people come through without learning half of what goes on here.”

“Personally, I’d be fine with that,” Ben added, the last to join their space. “Better safe than sorry.”

“It’s not Hogwarts without a little adventure, Ben,” David said with a wink, his good mood having been sustained the past few weeks. True, Gryffindor had only placed third in the house cup, but at least Ravenclaw had pulled out all the stops to take down Slytherin. It saved him the agony of seeing Merula brag with the rest of the snakes.

“I’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime really,” the blonde boy muttered but a friendly pat on the back from David was enough to induce a small grin from him.

“Just you wait. By the time this thing ends, you won’t be afraid of anything.”

Charlie took a glance at his watch.

“I gotta go find Bill for a second. Also don’t worry about Jae, he’s off selling the last of his merchandise before the train leaves.”

Before the three other boys could get comfortable, however, Rowan slapped his forehead.

“Oh, I almost forgot, Dave.”

He quickly took out a random piece of paper, the same one he had used to jot down the message inside the door with the cursed ice.

“I did a little digging after we broke down that door. Took me awhile, but I finally managed to decipher what was on top of the archway.”

This was certainly news to David, who had desired more answers after his talk with Dumbledore.

“You’re joking. What does it say? What was it?”

“I found on obscure book about ciphers and ancient languages. It’s Aramaic, probably goes back a thousand years. It says, ‘The Ice Knight stands guard past the vanished stairs.’”

This newfound information was both welcoming and also frustrating to the young Gryffindor. As opposed to answering questions it gave rise to new ones? What was the ice knight? And where were these vanished stairs?

“It’s not much to go off of but it’s a start,” David sighed.

“I’ll do more research over the summer,” Rowan told him. “I’ll have plenty of time too. Plus you know how much I love to read.”

“I can learn some more spells, too,” Ben offered. “I know it’s not much but…”

Rowan and David looked at each other, failing to stifle a grin, causing Ben to look alarmed.

“What? Oh God, did I say something stupid?”

“It’s alright, mate,” David explained. “I guess no one told you but we’re not allowed to do magic outside of school.”

“Yup, or else you get your wand snapped.”

The blonde boy sighed.

“This crazy world is just full of surprises isn’t it?”

“Too right, my friend. And there are far more awaiting for us when we’re second years.”

“Wonderful.”

The train soon whistled, signaling its imminent departure. The last of the students climbed aboard and they were off.

As Rowan, Ben, and Charlie set up a game of exploding snap, David gazed outside at the fields and hills that began to roll past, both confident and anxious about the future. In his heart, he knew the mysteries of Hogwarts had only just began.