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madamedevien · 3 years

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Infernal Heat

Hey! It’s been a while - I really miss you guys. Anyway, I know that a lot of you were keeping up to date with my Mammon x GN! Reader fic...while I’m updating it regularly on my AO3, I thought that I’d post the chapters that I’ve got here as well. I’m planning for it to be a 4 chapter fic, but let’s see how that goes! Warnings in tags (both here and AO3) - monster fucking comes into play much more come Chapter 3 and 4. The biggest thanks to @mawwart for their inspiration and @popcherrypop for reading over what I had all those months ago and actually helping me find direction. I’ve got a bigger/cheesier spiel on AO3, but anyway. Fingers crossed that the ‘Keep Reading’ line shows up here...

Chapter 1: Embers

The Great Mammon had woken up in a mood. He'd felt this creeping up for days now and he wished that it would just come and go already. It was hella distracting to have a constant tug of warmth and want in your gut, y'know? And it was annoying to feel the incessant need to primp and to add to the nest of pillows, blankets, sentimental and decorative items that now overtook most of his bed. But he was due a heat cycle. Annoyingly, he felt that it was probably going to settle in properly on that particular day and he'd been wrangled into going shopping by you. And for whatever reason he'd agreed. Not because he had a crush on you or anything. Damn, he couldn't even remember what you two were meant to be shopping for, that's how addled his mind was. Mammon really just wanted to stay put and perfect his nest. Maybe show it off to you. Although he wasn't sure if you'd appreciate the fact that he'd stolen a few items of yours while on laundry duty to tuck into said nest. Or that he wanted to maybe do something kind of nasty to a piece of your clothing. If not you.

But would you want to? To see his nest? To lay in it, lay with him, to mate with him? He wanted you to. So very, very badly. He didn’t feel like he deserved you but, oh, to say that he wanted you was a vast understatement. Fuck.

He groaned and threw one of his tanned arms over his eyes. The silveret realised that he was going to have to partially dislodge his beautiful nest to pull out Goldie (he couldn't go shopping without her - the very thought was offensive!) and that he was going to have to get rid of his raging boner before he faced you.

So into a cold shower he trudged, loudly cursing the whole time.

---

Longest shopping trip in fucking history.

It seemed like you were in need of freakin' everything imaginable. He wasn't to know that you were actually just taking your time because it'd been a while since the two of you had some time to yourselves. The demon had been acting strangely around you the past few days, although he was completely oblivious to just how weird it’d been for you.

And today, the Avatar of Greed just wasn't engaging. Questions went unanswered, as if he hadn't heard even when clearly looking at you, no boasting or sulking occurred, no bets or harebrained schemes hatched...he didn't even take you up on your offer of Hell Sauce Noodles! The demon was completely disinterested in all of this - the only thing he was interested in was you. He was also trying very very hard not to let his thoughts slip into anything inappropriate. Which was probably the single most difficult thing he’d had to do in all of his many years. Mammon wanted to take your hand and lace your fingers together; to shamelessly nuzzle your cheek in front of everyone on Silent Avenue. The thought made his heart swell. Better yet, if you were mated, he could kiss you in front of the whole crowd before publicly mounting you and-

Damn, it was hard to keep lewd thoughts at bay. He could feel his cheeks burning and looked away when your concerned expression turned to him.

On the trek home (finally!), he fell into a lazy pace behind you and Mammon couldn’t help it as you walked together. His cerulean gaze raked over the beautiful curve in your neck - the space was perfect. In his mind, he could see how perfectly his head would fit and how the mark he could leave there would only accentuate the beauty of your skin. It’d be a gorgeous brand that would loudly proclaim to all, ‘I am mated to THE Great Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and Second of the Seven; don’t you dare even think to touch me’. The very notion only caused the flush of heat over his skin to worsen and his breath to hitch; he wanted to tear into his flesh to relieve himself of the insufferable and fiery itch.

The same thoughts washed over his brain again and again like some cruel tide, even once you'd passed through the doors of the House of Lamentation.

It took only a scant moment. He didn’t even think. The silver haired demon was aware that he was losing his mind due to his damned biology, but he didn’t realise that he was so far gone that he would do something so stupid. It was only your screech that alerted him to the fact that he had pulled you tight to his chest, that he was actually in the process of sinking sharp fangs into your supple skin. The sudden realisation made him tear off of you in surprise.

Beel had been the first to burst through a doorway and into the corridor. The redhead stopped dead in his tracks and stared wide-eyed at the two of you; you with your hand clamped over the section of your neck that had been bitten, and Mammon an arm’s length away from with a look of abject horror painted over his handsome features. Stupid Mammon, indeed. The next to burst in was Lucifer, who looked ready for a proper melee. The sound that had come from you had genuinely startled the older brother, not that he’d admit that if asked. As his garnet gaze took in the scene before him, his mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Mammon…” Lucifer’s voice was dangerously low. Mammon shook his head urgently in response, “Nonono, Luci, it didn’t - I mean, yeah, it is what it looks like an’ I didn’t mean ta, but it...it’s not deep enough. Y’know?” The second brother sounded desperate. Mammon anxiously twisted his rings around his tanned fingers and had to fight back the tears that threatened the edges of his vision. He could have hurt you. “Oh, I think you’ll find that it’s more than deep enough.” Lucifer stalked toward you and put his hand on top of the one you were using to cover your wound. “Let me see how much damage the fool inflicted on you”. Mammon could see the frown that pulled at your mouth as you revealed the bite mark to his brother. No proper damage - the indents might linger, but no blood had been drawn; no skin had been broken.

“It was more from the surprise than pain, Lucifer. I just wasn’t expecting someone to bite me, you know? That’s the kind of thing that I’d expect more from a very hungry Beel.” Your attempt to lighten the mood only made the Avatar of Pride’s expression sour further - but Beel muttered a small, “Fair”. Lucifer sounded positively glacial when he spoke again. “Beelzebub, please take our brother to his room." The Avatar of Gluttony nodded solemnly, gently taking the second eldest’s shoulder. Mammon stared miserably at the floor, guilt clearly written on his flushed face although he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He didn’t trust himself to. Not after such a stupid stunt. As the other two made their way up the stairs, Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.

This wouldn’t be pleasant.

It was no surprise to Mammon that Lucifer texted him shortly after the whole ordeal. He was just thankful that Lucifer hadn’t decided to come up to his room and literally tear into him after biting you. Of all the people to bite in the entire Devildom, it just had to be you didn’t it? Lucifer: Mammon. I have strictly instructed the household that you are not to be disturbed until I have given the all clear. You will stay in your room and I will bring you provisions at regular intervals. If you need anything, you will let me know. Are we clear? Mammon: Yes. Lucifer: Good. He waited, hopeful that Lucifer would provide an update on you. After an eon of waiting (which was actually all of seven minutes) he decided to ask. Mammon: Are they okay?

Lucifer: They are. And they will continue to be so long as you stay in your room and do not venture out. Ensure that you lock your door and remember to take your pheromone blockers as well or the whole house will reek of your mating scent. What were brothers for, if not a good motivational speech? --- Chapter 2: Flames Even with Lucifer’s reminder, Mammon had forgotten to take the pheromone blockers and to lock the door. He’d been far too distracted; worrying about your state of health, whether he’d damaged your relationship beyond repair, still trying to keep the lewd thoughts at bay, his instincts fretting over the piece of nest that had been dismantled earlier… It was a lot to be preoccupied with, okay? Without the pheromone blockers, the corridor outside of Mammon’s room was thick with the sweet perfume of a demonic male in heat. It was rich and cloying, the kind of scent that would cling to one’s clothes much to the annoyance of the other residents (Asmodeus excluded). Mammon, however, didn’t care. He was too busy now attempting to cool the heat in the pit of his stomach and to regain some clarity of mind. An attempt at sleep had been made once his nest had been repaired and Goldie tucked into her rightful place, the lights turned down low and his clothes discarded to some far corner so that he could crawl into the nest in a comfortable state...but how could he sleep when obscene images of you kept popping into his head? At first, he had tried to keep some semblance of his mind. The demon didn’t like to lose control during his heats. If he could keep his mind, he would keep to his more humanoid forms - and that was what he wanted. Because if you did, by chance, happen upon him...well. He didn’t want to scare you. Before he allowed himself to spiral into the anxiety of your imagined reaction, he reached for his ridiculously large bottle of lube. If he was going to dwell on the thought of anything, it was going to be how good he knew you’d feel… --- Mammon wouldn’t have been able to say how much time had passed. He had brought himself to orgasm more times than he could count - but it only seemed to just take off the edge. A demon’s heat was never an easy thing, but why was this time around so damn difficult? Satan would have been able to answer that with ease, the smug bastard; if a demon chooses a mate they will, naturally, be most inclined to couple with said mate for optimal breeding. To not couple with a chosen mate could make a heat worse - but to withhold coupling at all? Well, it would be a foolish endeavour. The Avatar of Greed hadn’t realised just how he was slipping ; wings and horns had appeared without him even registering and his fangs had dropped to a predatory length (which he only noticed when he had apparently attempted to put a mating mark on a pillow covered in one of your stolen shirts that he’d been desperately rutting against, much to his embarrassment). His breathing was rough. Mammon was equal parts exhausted and invigorated. He wanted nothing more than to let his knees fall out from under him so that sleep would hopefully take him - he wanted to stalk down the hall and into your room and fuck you senseless. And if Lucifer found out? Well, Mammon would love to see him try to pry you from his arms. The very thought made him snarl, his grip on his cock tightening. It was enraging to even think that his brother would dare, a thought that had him so preoccupied that he didn’t hear the door click open. His blue eyes slipped over to you and the wet sound of him furiously fucking his fist stopped abruptly. It was impossible to tell which one of you was redder. This was not what he had been expecting. “Uh-” A rasp of your name interrupted you. “Didn’t Lucifer tell you not to come?” He watched as you nodded dumbly, “Yes”. Heavy breath was the only noise to pass between you several beats. The demon in front of you was wondering whether this was fate; you weren’t running, you looked interested and, fuck, you smelled so good. You smelled aroused and it made him growl; “C’mere then”. The way that you slammed the door and scampered toward him practically had him preening in pleasure. Just as eager, Mammon scrambled over to meet you, flustered yet excited, and hauled you up close to him. He bumped your foreheads together. From here it was easy to see how incredibly blown his pupils were, to feel how desperately ragged his breathing was. You were dangerously close. “Now, see here, I'm gonna give ya one chance to go. ‘Cause if I kiss ya, I’m not gonna be able to stop. I won’t be able to let ya go. You’ll be stuck with me for the whole fuckin’ ride, ya hear?” Holy shit, his voice was so strained. “Then kiss me, you dummy.” No repeat was necessary. Mammon threaded his fingers into your hair, hesitating for only the briefest moment before pressing his lips to yours. When you responded in kind his fervour, his deep rooted greed, quickly followed. He’d wanted to kiss you from day one and not a moment had gone by since without him imagining it. This felt so incredibly right. But he couldn’t ignore the heat curling in his gut. He needed you, wanted you. And as far as he could tell, despite the dark whispers in the back of his mind saying otherwise, you seemed to feel the same.The way that you returned his greedy kisses, how your fingers had twisted sharply in his hair, how you didn’t seem to mind the messy clicking of his elongated fangs against your blunt teeth as he tried to figure out how best to navigate your mouth in this form - how could he deny that he was wanted? Mammon's only regret when looking back on this evening with you would be not savouring your body laid bare for him for the first time. His mind was too heat-addled to appreciate it; he was unable to slowly peel off your layers and to have the sentiment returned in kind as he had previously fantasised about. In his mind’s eye, he had a whole big romantic gesture planned if you had decided to sleep with him. Previously, he had imagined how he would make love to you and treasure every moment of it...but alas… Your clothes were quickly stripped from you, sharp fangs nipping at new skin as it was exposed. There was no delicate treatment here and he paid no heed to the sound of torn material. When he next plundered your mouth, it was far smoother than the first time - he was a fast learner, after all. The only complaint that he had about kissing you was that it muffled those beautiful noises of yours. When he broke the seal of your mouths it was to gently toss you back toward the top of the bed, deeper into his nest and into the comfort of a ridiculous amount of pillows - to properly secure you into his nest. To see you like that felt...good. It felt right. It was clear that was exactly where you belonged. The very image had him growling in satisfaction as he took the opportunity to crawl over your body, his fingers gripping at the meat of your thighs and hips as if ensuring that you were truly there with him. Thankfully, his nails had not yet turned into talons or they would have pierced through you with ease at the way that he handled your flesh. Mammon had to take a deep breath when he looked at you this time. He needed to make sure that he didn’t hurt you while doing this - it was the last thing in the world that he wanted. It was unusual for the Avatar of Greed to put the needs of others before his own...but you weren’t just some ‘other’. You were you. His very own treasure, his very own mate. Reluctantly, a hand left your body to fish for something buried within the nest. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” He coated his fingers generously in lube, desperate to ensure that he would cause as little pain as possible, “Just fuckin’ perfect”. Two fingers slipped into you as Mammon spoke, his tone low and hoarse. Never had he imagined just how difficult it would be to hold himself back like this, nor could he have been prepared for just how much desire he felt in that moment. The sensation of your hot core wrapped around his fingers had him shamelessly rutting against your thigh, a poor attempt at taking the edge off of his lust. A human really had no business wrecking him like this. His heat cycles were normally pretty boring - desperate rutting for a day or two and then back to normal life. You had no right to set his skin aflame like this, no right to have him feel like he could cum just from the noise you made once he had three fingers fucking into your heat. The way his blood was rushing in his ears was deafening...and he wanted more. It didn’t take too long for it all to get too much. Even all of the dark hickies that he had furiously littered your neck, chest and shoulders with weren’t enough to distract him from the wet sound of his fingers preparing you or the stunning sounds he managed to pull from you when he got the angle of his hand just right. Mammon would never admit it, but he kind of missed his target. The point of removing his hand from you had been to slip himself right in. Instead, as he kissed you he rolled his slick cock against your sex...which, to be fair, had felt better than your thigh. And if the sound that you’d made in response was anything to go by, you thought so too. He liked that noise. A lot. So he rolled his hips against you again, groaning in response to you. Ever eager to please, the greedy demon found a rhythm that you both seemed to enjoy in the interim. “Ya like that, huh?” Mammon wasn’t sure where the cockiness in his tone was coming from when internally he felt so nervous. It was those very nerves that quickly had his hand moving to guide his cock to your entrance and thrusting into you before you could retort. Mammon didn’t realise it would silence both of you. By no means was he a virgin. The Great Mammon would have it known that he was a proper Casanova type, thank you very much. He just didn’t realise how different it would feel coupling with someone that he truly and deeply loved. The heat causing that deep need to breed the closest thing with a pulse didn’t help things, of course. It was...incredible, for lack of a better word. Divine. Mammon choked on an Infernal curse once seated completely in you and had to literally bite his tongue to keep an anchor on his self-control. All of that hard earned control was thrown out the window when his name passed your lips. There was no hesitation in how his hips pistoned, fucking into you relentlessly. His hands manoeuvred to cradle the back of your knees and he pushed your legs back to allow him more access to your body, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. The noises that left him were snaps and snarls of Infernal praise, not that he realised. The only thought on Mammon’s mind was his primal objective of breeding you until neither of you could move ; it didn’t matter whether you could actually fall pregnant or not. No logic or worry clouded his mind with these thoughts. All he could focus on was filling you with his seed until he couldn’t any more, the thought of your stomach tender and round because of his affections toward his mate... Mammon’s first orgasm came with an embarrassing quickness. When he spilled inside of you, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your chest, he was quickly filled with a relief and warmth that he hadn’t felt in ages. For the first time since his heat had set in, there was true clarity in his mind. While his natural instincts weren’t completely quelled, it was enough for him to actually think with something other than his adamantly pulsing dick. His relief quickly fell to mortification, the shadows of which were clear on his features when he pulled back to look at you. His cheeks were tinted red both from exertion and embarrassment ; he hadn’t paid enough attention to get you to climax. He was quick to stutter out your name, mouth tripping on the words that were trying to get out of his mouth as his sluggishly content brain tried to supply words just beyond reach. “What, isn’t The Great Mammon going to make me cum?” Your sass fanned the flames in his loins. A playful snarl was made in response, “Oh sweetheart. I’m going to make you cum so fuckin’ hard you black out. You won’t be able to feel your legs by the time I’m done with you”. And so The Great Mammon set to work. --- Mammon hummed contentedly as you lazily played with the hair at the nape of his neck hours later. This was perfection. Strong fingers stroked your thighs as he enjoyed the sensation of you wrapped around his hips, the pleasure of you sat on his lap while cuddled up together in your nest. The demon toyed with the thought of pushing his hips up just to make you gasp from the overstimulation, but decided against it. Although he was loath to admit it, you needed rest - because Mammon had been good to his word, ensuring that you both had more than your fair share of orgasms. But this was good. The fire in his gut had died down to crackling embers, although he knew it would flare up again soon - but you would be there to help ease him through it. And you even seemed to like helping him out. What was the phrase… ‘mutually beneficial’? Somethin’ like that. His eyes fluttered open when he heard your chuckle. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew how freakin’ stunning you were when you smiled like that. “What?” When your eyes met his, he was pouting frowning. The laugh that you let out only made his brow furrow more, “I said what. What’s got ya laughin’ like that, huh? You should be out like a freakin’ light by now”. It wasn’t until you replied that he realised how obvious it was, “I didn’t know that demons could purr”. Mammon squawked loudly and attempted to divert your attention - he sounded like a damn motor! It wasn’t fair! He wasn’t even able to control the way he was going off… It was embarrassing. “Well, yeah, y’know, sometimes. We’re incredible ‘n mysterious creatures us demons, y’know! Demons are capable of things that your human mind couldn’t even comprehend! Anyway, ’s not like ’s all the time or anythin’ like that…” He tried to occupy himself and forget about the heat radiating from his face by playing with your hair - but he could feel you smiling against the crook of his neck. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” The incredible and mysterious demon sounded more like a petulant child (well, a purring and petulant child). “So, when do you normally purr?” “I dunno. When we’re happy, I guess?” “Does that mean I haven’t made you happy before?” The way that he spluttered was definitely worth teasing him. “Who said that ya haven’t made me happy?! ‘N besides, this is different!” Even Mammon couldn’t deny that he was now pouting, but he tried to focus on the feeling of your fingers running along his shoulders. It was nice; soothing, even. Until he felt a sharp tug on the back of his neck. “Ouch! You gotta be more gentle than that!” The look of surprise on your face made him want to curl in on himself. “Mammon - are those feathers?” “Phffft,” The greedy demon rolled his eyes and tried to deflect your query, “Shaddap. You dunno what you’re talking ‘bout”. When your mouth opened again, he did take the opportunity to thrust sharply into you. At the gasp, he lurched forward with a passionate kiss. Simply to shut you up, of course. No hidden agenda. His pleased purring melted into a deep rumbling, the fire in his belly stoking itself back to life. It was impossible for him not to roll you over to allow him to bask in more of your shared passion. The laughter that ensued, laughter that he was sure was aimed at him, only made his heart swell as much as his cock.

#obey me #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date #deVien writes #deVien writes for asmo #Infernal Heat #Smut #mammon x gn! reader #mammon x gender neutral reader #Gender neutral reader #Mating cycles #Heat cycles #mating cycles/in heat #Feral Mammon #Monster fucking #Well gradual monster fucking #Insecure Mammon #Kind of a breeding kink but that's more instincts

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azurethevampire · 3 years

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I Will Give You A Reason

A/N: Set in season 6, episodes 2-3 (I think at least it was those episodes xD) This piece is quite angst-filled one, so prepare yourself with tissues if you have to. If there is any mistakes to the few words/sentences of Swedish used in this, they are entirely my own as that isn't my strongest foreign language and I didn't use a translator. Also this was written about a year ago when I watched True Blood for the first time.

Fandom: True Blood

Summary: Emily and Pam have searched for Eric across the world. When they finally find the 1,000 years old viking vampire from France Emily's already shattered world seems to turn into dust: Eric, her rock, her best friend, the only father she's ever had, is sick.

Characters: Eric Northman, Pamela Swynford de Beaufort, Emily Northman (oc)

Words: 2736

•-•-•-•-•

•-•-•-•-•

"Pam, you have to eat."

You don't look like yourself, she wanted to add but stopped herself just in time. The vampire had been snappier for a few days now and Emily didn't want to make her mad at her. Not that she believed that Pam would really hurt her, even in anger. She had never done so after that one time and that had been when Emily was six and she hadn't known when to keep her mouth shut.

Well, maybe she still didn't know when to keep her mouth shut —but she was better than ten years ago!

Pam turned to look at the teenager—No. The young woman, that Emily had blossomed into in the last months despite that the world seemed to grow shittier every fucking day. Perhaps that was the reason why. Emily had lost that soft roundness on her face and her eyes were tired, dark bags under her eyes. Her clothes hung on her, and Pam, for a brief moment, wondered when was the last time the human herself had eaten.

"I'm not hungry."

Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead, she sat down on the only chair in the motel room they were in. "Snälla, Pam. You could at least stop lying to me about it - I'm not blind!"

Pam was about to snap something back, but instead, her hand reached the doorknob. But before she left the room she turned to face Emily again. "If I can't find anything tonight, I'll feed on you tomorrow, I promise. Stay here, don't open the door to anyone and don't invite anyone in."

Emily let Pam say those words the vampire had said every night although the girl is tired of hearing them night after night. But it seemed to help Pam, to get to remind her of those small yet so trivial rules. So Emily's "I know" echoed in the empty vampire-friendly motel room after Pam had left and closed the door behind her.

Her eyes spotted the room key left on the small cracked table near the door. In the first months of their search, Pam locked Emily in but lately, the vampire had not taken the keys with her at all.

And because of that Emily knew that Pam was starting to become suicidal in their search for Eric.

•-•-•-•-•

“I think I found him.”

Pam has never - as far as Emily’s memory goes back - sounded more… excited? Happy? No, that is not the right word and she knew that. Pam’s voice was flat, she tried to hide the hope that had filled her but Emily felt it. It radiated off Eric’s first progeny and she couldn’t help it; for the first time in months, Emily dared to let herself hope too.

But there was something else she sensed from Pam. She was sad too, and that made the girl swallow. “But?” When did my voice start to sound so weak? So small?

Pam’s next words killed something inside of her.

“Tara is dead. I felt it.”

What felt like minutes passed and Emily couldn’t say anything, couldn’t move from her spot. Pam was still but there was no denying the glint in her eyes. Emily and Pam had never been the type to coddle each other. Never.

Still, Emily raised up in her bed anyway, took the few short steps it took to reach the vampire, who had been her only family for six months now, and she wrapped her arms around her, swallowing and blinking back the tears she felt coming.

“I’m so sorry, Pam.”

And Pam - beautiful, bad-ass, smart Pam - returned the young woman’s embrace, letting bloody tears run freely, staining Emily’s shirt with red.

•-•-•-•-•

The plane landed in France the same evening - Pam in a coffin in the cargo hold.

They flew to the villa in France. Pam had told Emily that she and Eric used to live here before they were forced to go to Shreveport.

She could see why the two vampires had chosen this place to reside in — even in the night, the garden surrounding the sand-coloured walls of the large building was breathtakingly beautiful.

Emily had more pressing matters though than to watch the sights. She could feel him. First time in over six months, Emily felt Eric. That familiar flare that had so long been gone from inside her, burned again. No. Not completely familiar. There was no doubt that the vampire she felt was indeed Eric Northman. But his life force, which had always been so strong… it cracked. Like old dry cement.

Something is wrong, Emily thought as she followed Pam inside, to a spiral staircase going down, down, down.

Emily swallowed. She had a bad feeling. Very bad feeling - and god, she wished she was wrong. She begged to be wrong. That there was simply something wrong with her own powers, and not something wrong with her Eric.

Wishful thinking, foolish thinking, she knew. Knew because she had felt this same feeling before over the past months - recently more often than she would have wanted to.

Emily and Pam started to make their way down the stairs, and Emily - her chest tightened in pain.

Two youngish and beautiful women met the vampire and the empath on the stairs. One of them said something in French. Emily couldn't understand, she had never bothered learning French. Maybe sometime during 'forever' — she had used to think that. Not anymore, not for a long time now.

She didn't know what the French woman said but she did feel their emotions. Confusion. Betrayal. Hurt. Confusion.

The final round of the spiral and Pam and Emily saw the room.

As soon as Emily's eyes fell on him, she felt her heart tighten. She had thought she had felt pain last night when Tara died the true death. She had been wrong.

Nothing she had ever felt compared to the heart-wrenching, punch-in-the-gut pain that crashed over her like a hurricane when the dark veins creeping up her guardian's chest, the meaning of them, finally hit her.

And even though her legs felt like boiled spaghetti, Emily forced herself to step closer to Eric. Eric who was sick. He can't be! He's Eric for fuck's sake! But he could be, and he was. "No" pushed through her lips, past the lump in her throat, the word sounding broken.

And Eric.

Eric Northman's eyes switched from his first progeny to his human equivalent to a daughter. "You found me."

“How long?” Pam asked the question that burned on Emily’s mind too. It seemed that Eric was still in the first stage of the Hep-V virus but she knew that that didn’t mean anything. Not because she didn’t know how long Eric had been sick. He could have months left with proper blood sources but then again, if the disease got worse, he could only have days.

The tall blonde vampire didn’t answer, not right away. He almost looked like he was about to fall asleep. Hot tears began to blind the teenager’s vision as she grabbed his hand in hers. His hand had always been cold. Cooling touch relieving to Emily. Eric’s hand was warm now. This is wrong! Emily’s mind screamed at her.

“Eric?”

“Can you repeat the question?”

And those words that seemed so meaningless, so genuinely apologetic, were the words that sent Emily’s tears falling from her eyes.

“How long have you been sick?” And Emily heard in Pam’s voice that she was crying too.

“Saw the first signs last month”, Eric said and not once in the time Emily had known Eric had he sounded so weak. So tired.

“When you were in St. Petersburg”, Emily heard herself say. She and Pam had tracked Eric there - Pam cursing all of the time they were in Russia, how she hated the Russians with her gut.

Something flickered in Eric’s blue, tired eyes. And even though faint, Emily felt the emotion: surprise. And even if the situation they are in, is fucked beyond belief, the young woman of seventeen found herself smiling, just the tiniest bit. Because one didn’t sneak up on Eric Northman that easily.

“Don’t act all surprised”, Pam said behind Emily. “We searched the whole fucking planet for you - St. fucking Petersburg, Eric? You know how I hate the Russian people.”

“Well, I didn’t know you two were gonna come looking for me”, Eric said, eyes moving to Emily whose eyes squinted slightly.

“Then you were an idiot”, Emily said in Swedish. Another small wave of surprise from Eric. Emily continued. “Why did you keep moving then?”

“Yes, I want to know the answer to that as well”, Pam said crossing her arms.

Eric chuckled, although it awfully sounds like a mix of a chuckle and a cough. Too rough, Emily thought.

“Congratulations, Pam, Emmy-”, and Emily’s eyes were burning with unshed tears again because it had been so long that she had heard that nickname from Eric. “You have outwitted me.” His hand raised to touch Emily’s cheek. “But only because I’m not well.”

Pam told about Tara, but to Emily’s confusion, Eric didn’t offer words of comfort, didn’t say he was sorry to hear that. Instead, he asked about a stupid bucket game he played in Marocco - the same game Pam had played last night to get the information of Eric’s location.

“Oh… I liked the bucket game.”

And Pam was about to snap, she already took steps forward, but Emily beat the vampire to it.

“What is wrong with you?! You are Eric fucking Northman!” her hands balled to fists, the tears in her eyes no longer coming out of sadness, but anger. “You don’t give up. You fight!”

“Fight’s over, Emily.”

“This can’t all be about Sylvie.”

Emily didn’t know who Sylvie was. But she knew that Eric giving up like this couldn’t be just because of one person.

“Godric”, Eric stated. “Nora.” Emily felt a tug of pain in her chest, partly her own, partly the vampire’s whose hand she still held in hers. “And yes, Sylvie too.”

And Pam’s next question made Emily’s heart skip a beat, two beats. Because she had never, even in her wildest worst-case scenarios, thought about that. Not until Pam put that idea in her head when she asked: “Did you contract the virus on purpose?”

Eric wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do something so… he wouldn’t! but despite her thoughts, Emily couldn’t have said why she was suddenly so afraid of his answer.

“On purpose? No-” Eric said, shaking his head a little, and Emily felt a relieved breath leave her. “But did I go about my dealings with a devil-may-care attitude? Absolutely.”

“Damn you!” Emily snapped, but then she burst into tears. She was exhausted - she hadn’t slept since Marocco and even there it was just a few hours -, and the only thing that had kept her from having a break-down had been hope. Hope that she would see Eric again soon. But this reunion had not been the relief she had waited for. She was glad to see him again, but a small part of her wished they never would have found him.

Because now, she was afraid. More afraid than she had ever been in her entire life - and that was saying something after the torture Edgington had put her through two years ago.

Eric tried to reach for the girl, but Emily turned away, scooting back in the chair so she sat by his legs. She pulled her knees up, hugged herself tightly and buried her face in her knees as sobs racked her whole body. She was barely aware that Pam had sat on Eric’s other side, trying to reason with him.

“Don’t do this to us”, Emily heard Pam start sobbing and she turned her head, just enough that she could see Eric and her again - and she didn’t want to. She really didn’t but she still reached out with her hand, and her fingers - still so small and slim in comparison - wrapped around Eric’s large hand the best they could. “Please, Eric…”, Emily sobbed, too.

“God damn you!” Pam cursed.

“For more than 1,000 years, the world has been my oyster”, Eric said.

“And it still can be”, Pam argued. “I’ll do anything.” Emily squeezed Eric’s hand. Me too. I would do anything for you. She wanted to say but the words refused to leave her.

“I’ve lost my taste for oysters, Pam.”

“Then find it again.” Emily’s voice came out harsher than she intended and she gained Eric and Pam’s attention. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she uncurled herself from her position. “Du lovade mig”, Emily said in Swedish, desperately, and her voice was thick with emotion.

Something in Eric’s eyes shifted. Turned softer and sad. “I know I did, sweetheart, but the world has changed since then.” He grabbed Emily’s wrist and pulled her towards him - and even sick, Emily found out that Eric was still so much stronger than she was. She was only human after all - even if it was with a little something extra. Eric’s feelings were clear and honest at his next words as his hand rested on the side of Emily’s face, thumb lightly brushing away her tears.

“My sweet little Emily”, Eric whispered, his lips forming a quick smile, sad and warm at the same time. “You are gonna go out there. You are gonna grow up to be a beautiful, smart woman, go to some stupid fucking university and find yourself a good, loving human husband. You’re going to have kids and you will tell them stories about their 1,000 years old vampire grandfather… and you will be happy… Do you understand?”

Emily swallowed, her hand raising on top of Eric’s now-wrong-temperature hand. She only barely managed to croak out the tiniest of “yes”. Even though she knew she would not do any of that.

“You should go. Both of you.”

Pam was crying but she was the first to rise from beside Eric and start to walk towards the staircase.

This is wrong! Emily’s mind screamed as she rose. Virus or no virus Eric was not just any other vampire - he was Eric! 1,000 years old vampire and a viking! Vikings had not just sat down and waited for death to come collect them! At least Emily didn’t think so. No. Vikings, they avenged. Just like Eric had avenged his human family only seven or so months ago.

As his last act… Emily felt no guilt of thinking about this at that moment, no guilt about throwing someone else’s life to a path to death - as far as she was concerned the other person deserved it.

As his last act before true death, Eric Northman could take revenge against the person who did this to him.

“Sarah Newlin”, Emily said, turning back to face Eric again. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Pam turn on her heels a glint of surprise and (oh that traitorous) hope in her eyes.

“What about her?” Eric asked, his eyes closed.

“What if I told you that Jason Stackhouse let her live.”

Eric’s eyes opened, his voice hardened. “He didn’t.”

“He did”, Pam said, catching on to Emily’s plan. “And she’s out there.”

“Where?”

“No one’s seen her”, Emily said.

“I have to imagine she’s in hiding somewhere”, Pam offered.

Emily saw Eric’s jaw clench. Then… then, with what seemed like a heavy effort, Eric pushed himself up in the chair and slowly, slower than Emily was used to seeing the vampire’s motions - Eric Northman stood in front of her, grasping her shoulder, as his eyes once again roamed between his girls.

“Well, let’s go find her.”

Emily wasn’t naive. She knew that Eric was still dying, but at least now he wouldn’t just sit down here and wait for it. He would go down fighting.

Just like he had taught her was the right way to go.

Just like the viking he was supposed to be - just like Eric fucking Northman was supposed to fight.

So, yes, Eric was still dying but at least now - and maybe it was selfish to think that way, but Emily didn’t find it in herself to care - Emily had a few more days to spend with the man who had taken her in as if she was his progeny instead of some orphan human child with empath powers.

#true blood #true blood fic #eric northman #pamela swynford de beaufort #oc #eric northman fic #my writing #my fic #true blood oc #oc: emily northman #angst fic

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sunflowerryvol6 · 3 years

Text

Pigments

Warnings : angst, mentions of blood

WC : 2k

Hey! so I've got all these angsty prompts anywho, hope you like this. This the first time I've had an OC, so let me know if you like that? This came together, quite quickly, so the edit might be a little choppy. Feedback and ideas are always welcome!

Masterlist

happy reading!

"Lovie! You can't be knocking things in your wake, gotta be a little more careful y'know?" He said.

Nylah froze. "I'm sorry, H. I guessed I misjudged the distance?" she nervously giggled.

"S'okay, you good? You don't sound all too convinced about that?"

"Nope. All good, I guess it was a little foggy, nothing too serious."

"Okay, if you say so." That response didn't convince him, though. Ever since the patio incident, he'd been keeping a close eye on you. He had a feeling she'd been hiding something. But he wasn't sure enough to call her out on it. He was waiting to see if she'd come to him first. Even if she was the stubborn one between the two, he would let it go for today, and no one wants to argue on the weekend, right?

He wishes he'd had that argument and taken one for the team because maybe then he could have avoided this phone call altogether. Or that's what he tells himself.

Nylah had taken a significant fall at work, slipped down the stairs and hurt her head, and they said she was bleeding. That's all he heard before he made a mad dash to his car to get to his fiance. His heart was racing; he couldn't piece any information together. He remembered to make a quick call to his mother; asked her to call Nylah's mum and meet him at the hospital. As far as any information went, Nylah was still unconscious, so that they wouldn't allow him in with her.

"Well, I'm her husband. You've got to let me stay with her. What if she wakes up and there's no one beside her? Please, let me go see her."

"I'm so sorry sir; She's getting her stitches now. You can wait outside the procedure room, and they'll let you in as soon as it's completed." the nurse says.

Amid this argument, Anne comes rushing through. "What's going on? have you been in to see her yet? have they given you any update?"

"No. we're waiting on them to finish stitching her up. After that the doctor will come and speak with us, I suppose. I don't know why I didn't pay more attention, maybe she was sick and didn't tell me? I mean, I should have noticed, right?" Harry was finding it hard to not tear up with anxiety.

"Harry, what's happened has happened. You just need to make sure she's okay now", and on that cue, the doctor walked in to greet them.

"Are you with Ms Jones?" The doctor asks

"Yeah, I'm her husband. Is she okay? How bad was the fall?"

"It's not too bad, but my concern is more to how she fell. Do you know if your wife has a history of fainting spells? or balance issues? could be one of the reasons she could have taken the tumble."

"None that I'm aware of. Nylah does have low blood sugar, but she is good at keeping that in check and, as far as I recall, she hasn't fainted from a low sugar spell in a few months. But why is that a concern? I mean, it could have just been that she tripped, right?"

"We're just trying cover our bases, Mr.-" He looks at Harry as if to ask your name

"Styles." He responds.

"Okay, well, Mr Styles, you may go keep your wife company now. The nurses will let us know when's she awake, and we can have a chat then."

"Thank you." and He turns to what he assumes Nylah's room is and walks in to see her still unconscious.

"Hey kid, I'm so happy to see you; gave us a proper scare. I'm going to be right here beside you when you wake up." He coos. Harry sits down beside her bed and reaches for her hand. He's too fidgety from anxiety to stop his knees from bobbing up and down. Still thinking about what the doctor said. Could it not have been a trip up? Could she have fainted, and no one was there to help her break the fall?

She was doing so well with keeping her sugar levels in check, and maybe she slipped up? All these questions were running amuck in his mind, and he couldn't make sense of it.

In his anxiety spiral, he had utterly missed that Nylah was coming to it. She was slowly peeking through her lids as if the lights were too much for her. Harry quickly stands up. "Baby! Are you okay? Does your head hurt? I'm going to call the nurse for you, okay?"

"Woah, slow down, H, I'm okay. Can you please ask them to dim the lights? It's too much for my head right now." She winces.

"Yes, let me call the nurse for you."

"hey! Did you press the call button? Good to see you're awake, Ms Jones."

"Yeah, she just about woke up. Could we please dim down the lights in here a bit? She's finding it a little difficult to open her eyes because of it."

"Okay, sure, let me inform the doctor, and I'll see about the lights."

"Thank you."

"So, what happened? Did you feel lightheaded? missed lunch or something?"

"Okay, so I mean, my vision has been getting kinda blurry of late? I don't know what that's about like I can't see things that might be in my surrounding that well." Harry looked like he wanted to cut her off but let her continue.

"Before you say anything, I didn't want to worry you, and I wasn't worried either until today. I thought I would take the stairs today, and they were white? And I couldn't place my feet. Because I couldn't tell them apart" She was tearing up.

"Hey, it's okay, we'll figure it out, okay? It's probably nothing. Don't worry about it. You're fine, and that's more than enough for now." Harry soothed her. But he really didn't know if it was going to be okay.

When the doctor came, they relayed the same information to him. he suggested getting some tests done to check her diabetes and vision. She's only 25, so it's highly unlikely it's anything major, or at least that's what they thought.

---

Everything will be okay, is what Nyah kept telling herself, but who was she kidding? She had been hiding the blurriness in her vision for quite some time now. Why didn't she want to get it checked and find out what's wrong with her? She can't tell you for the life of her.

On the other hand, Harry had always known, but he thought she would address it sooner or later. He'd noticed she'd totally missed the butter sitting right in front of them at breakfast, and he had to get it for her. She would often take a second to adjust to light early in the morning.

You can't really do anything if you're missing big and obvious things sitting right in front of you, right? But he was wrong, Nylah was stubborn as hell, and she wasn't going to admit herself that she needed help, so it was up to him to figure it out and advocate for her. Had he done this sooner, they wouldn't be in a position like this, right?

---

The white walls of this hospital felt like it was caving in on Nylah. She didn't want to be here, neither did she want to get tested, and she didn't know anything point. This nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach just wouldn't go away. Harry was trying to be as supportive but to be honest, he was scared shitless too, neither of them of any help to each other. So they sat, quietly taking the eerie atmosphere of the hospital, holding each other's hands, hoping that warmth would enough to get through this cold tunnel of uncertainty.

After a whole week of a myriad of tests, they were sitting in front of their eye surgeon, who just gave them the news. They call it retinitis pigmentosa, and there isn't a concrete treatment that's shown to work yet.

That's all she heard before Nylah stormed out of the office.

She couldn't sit and hear another word. When the doctor told her about how her children, children who weren't even born yet, would be carriers or sufferers of the same illness. How could she succumb to this fate?

Harry and she were to still get married. They were going to travel the world. They'd been saving up for it, right? And babies? Oh, her babies with Harry, would that even be possible right now? Would he even want to continue this engagement?

She was sitting on the stairs outside the hospital. Crying into her hands, she didn't know what the hell to do anymore. So she would do what she thought was the best for her and Harry.

Harry came running after her. "My! what's wrong? Please come back? The doctor wasn't even finished giving us options on what we could do about this. Petal, you've got to hear him out. Please. " He looks like he's about to cry too, wouldn't you? If you found out the love of your life wasn't going to be able to see anymore? That she would miss arguably the best years of your lives together? He couldn't break down in front of her, though. So he would be the calm, reassuring voice of reason for her right now. Breaking down is for later when she is resting.

Nylah wouldn't budge, so eventually, they drove back home. She jumped out of the car before he could even be done parking. She hadn't said a word throughout the ride, and he didn't know what was on her mind. So he parked the car and walked in.

He slowly approached their room, only to find her packing all her belongings. He was a little puzzled, "Ny, darling? What are you doing? why are you packing?"

She turns around to look at him. That's when he notices her red-rimmed eyes, pooling with tears. She walks over to the dresser, takes off her ring and places it on the table. It was as if she was saying; This is it, you know?

He finally placed what was going on. "Oh no. No. You're not doing that, this is stupid, you're ending our engagement over this? Absolutely not. Please, baby, you've calm down. There's a long way to go still, and we don't even know all our options yet."

"I am going blind, Harry. I won't be able to see your face when I kiss you anymore. I won't give you children that might not be addled with the same disease as me. Hear yourself when you make this commitment, Harry." and go. I'm to packing her stuff. She was furiously wiping tears away. How were you supposed to keep a straight face when the love of your life is not going to be a part of your life anymore.

"I do, I'm in it for the long haul, aren't I? We'll break our savings and go to all the places you want to go to. We'll make audio vlogs, we'll document everything that we encounter, for you to remember. I'll do anything!"

Harry was panicking now. He's desperately trying to get her attention, to get her to see that he'll bring her the moon if that's what she desires. But this silence was too much for him. He could'n;t keep up with her. She was just throwing things into her bag. Finally, it felt like he snapped back into his reality, and he rushed behind her to keep those items back into her part of the closet. Because he wasn't going to let her go that easily. She'd have to fight him for it.

As he was putting things back, she was putting more stuff into her suitcase, and it was this weird limbo of aggressively shoving things here and there.

"Stop putting things back! I have to leave. I'm not going to put you through this, I'm not waiting around for you to decide when you're done with me, when it gets too tiring, No. I'm not sticking around to witness us and our love going sour. " She's screaming now.

He doesn't bother replying to her. He knows she'll ride out this tantrum.

He's crying too, heaving heavy breaths. He doesn't know if this is enough. If just letting her be angry is enough. He's just quietly putting her clothes back. That's when he hears something shatter against the wall. He frantically looks up to see their dresser lamp broken into million pieces on the floor. She goes for the jug of water next and throws it at the wall with as much strength as possible. The cup goes next.

He's screaming at her to stop, but she can't hear anything over her wailing and things breaking. She grabbed a vase from their windowsill and broke that too, it's mad fury, and she's so angry she can't breathe.

She's snapped out of her reverie when she hears him shout in pain. She looks at him and sees that he's stepped on some broken glass, but that's not what he's shouting about; he's screaming to get her attention to make her see that she's, in fact, hurt herself.

The carpet has got blood all over it, and there's broken glass everywhere. He strides across the room to reach her, only for her knees to buckle and take both of them down, she sinks on the floor with loud sobs, and he can't bring himself to stop crying either.

He rocks her gently, and whispers "We'll be alright", over and over again.

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insert-current-obsession-here · 3 years

Text

The Benevolent Possession of Waverly Earp - pt1

After two whole years of sharing her body with a fallen Angel, Waverly likes to tell herself that she is used to it.

Having someone else in her head, hearing every thought and knowing every desire (who often encourages the darker ones) can be overwhelming at times.

Waverly likes to tell herself that she’s used to it but there are days where she does not feel particularly strong and the lack of privacy, the shared autonomy, the temporary loss of control, the unimaginable sensation of loneliness, can break her down and crumple her up until she is unrecognizable.

On those days, few and far between now, she will clutch at her temples and scream at the sky and the Angel will scream too, always louder than her, and it helps, knowing that her struggles are shared, that the burden does not rest squarely upon her own two shoulders (even if it literally does).

In that regard, it is not all so bad.

It helps that the Angel gives in unexpected ways. Waverly learns early on that she has an eidetic memory and an affinity for remembering the phone numbers of fast food restaurants. She often loans a bit of her inhuman strength to help Waverly open the lid of a stubborn jar, or to hit just a bit harder when training with Wynonna. If Waverly needs advice, the Angel is always happy to provide her calculated opinion. If Waverly stumbles, the Angel will catch her.

And, of course, the power. An electric buzz just beneath her skin, itchy and always, always present. The Angel can handle it with deadly precision and she tries to explain to Waverly that she does not need to be afraid of it - afraid of what they can do - and that she could learn to use it, the Angel could teach her, if she wanted. But Waverly can already see the way everyone looks at her when the Angel is in control and so she tucks it away, in the back of her mind, and promises the Angel that she’ll get back to it eventually.

Though they never do and the Angel does not bring it up again, a small mercy for which Waverly is grateful.

Besides, there are more important things to worry about.

It takes them a long, long time to decide on a proper name for the Angel. But when they finally do it feels like Waverly is less hollow, like she’s not simply listening to the ethereal voice of her own darkness anymore. Adrian sounds pretty and divine and fitting for the Being that she has grown to know over the last two years. When they try it out for the first time it settles like it belongs on their tongue, and Waverly feels something that was stolen from her chest slide back into place.

And of course, Waverly gives, too.

Sometimes, while tossing and turning above the sheets, flashes of a frozen horizon and a stone throne chasing away sleep, Adrian will quietly ask if they can go flying.

Waverly’s shoulders tingle, the wings that she cannot see but knows are there itching for freedom, and she rolls her eyes at Adrian’s obnoxious attempt to convince her because they both know that she always says yes.

She rolls out of bed and pulls on the first thing that she can find in the dark and with one last, longing glance over her shoulder at her sleeping wife, she slips silently from the bedroom. In the hallway, Adrian reminds her to skip the missing step - the fifth one up from the bottom - and Waverly white knuckles the banister as she steps successfully across it only to gracelessly stumble over one of Rachel’s overturned sneakers laying forgotten at the base of the stairs.

Waverly strings together a line of mismatched curses as she hustles the rest of the way outside, to the porch. Adrian’s laugh is too loud to belong in the still quiet of the night and despite her anger at Wynonna for putting a fire axe through the stairs and her annoyance at Rachel for ignoring her request to keep her shoes by the front door, Waverly laughs too.

She peels away from the homestead, a steady hand pressing firmly against the stitch in her side, and listens to Adrian discuss ways to punish Wynonna for her drunken escapades.

Under the light of the stars, Waverly stands on her tiptoes to find the half-full pack of Marlboro’s and the lighter she’d stored on top of the shed out behind the barn. “You know we can fly, right?” Waverly ignores them and continues to feel around until her fingers hit the corner of the carton and it falls deftly into her awaiting palm. “Stubborn.” Adrian says, her tone teasing, Waverly only grins.

Vice in hand, they wander away from the homestead, bare feet moving easily across familiar land. They don’t stop until the Earp arch is a fuzzy blur in the distance. “You need glasses,” Adrian comments, and in the empty space just to the left of her humor, Waverly can feel her itching to switch places. Adrian’s low voice is barely audible over the hum of anticipation in their veins, “Humans and their proclivity to deteriorate.”

Standing alone (but not really alone) in a wide open field, her toes anchored into the cold Earth, Waverly relaxes her body, closes her eyes, and let’s Adrian take over.

The transition is seamless to the point where Waverly doesn’t even realize that it has happened until they’re among the clouds. Waverly’s mind wanders while they fly, her thoughts trailing miles beneath them, and if Adrian cares about her detachment she does not mention it. Eventually, they slow to a stop, the large grey wings flapping furiously to keep them in the air, and Adrian takes a moment to light a cigarette. She places it evenly between her lips and breathes in and out four times before asking, “Would you like to watch the sun rise?”

Waverly doesn’t say anything, Adrian knows her answer.

They turn around and Adrian flies them home, back into the ghost river triangle, angling towards Purgatory. They pass over Shorty’s and the police precinct and are halfway down the gravel road that leads to the Earp land when Adrian asks if Waverly is unhappy.

“I’m not, not happy,” Waverly says quickly, watching as the edge of the lake behind her home races into view, “I just sometimes feel like I’m letting everyone down and I don’t know how to change that.”

They land behind the barn and Adrian takes her time crushing the end of her cigarette against the wooden siding with her thumb before she responds, “Is this about Wynonna? Her killing?”

Waverly flinches away from the reminder and Adrian makes no move to comfort her. Her response is blunt and honest in all of the ways that Waverly is not ready to hear, “You cannot blame yourself for the actions of your sister.”

“But I do,” Waverly admits, the truth staining the cold air bright red, “I do blame myself. I… we could have helped her. What was I so afraid of? All I’ve ever wanted was to be the chosen one, to be special. And to learn that I’ve always had the power to help but have been too… weak to use it? How can I not blame myself for that.” Waverly can barely catch her breath, she can feel herself spiraling down, down, down…

Adrian presses their palm to the center of her chest and pushes hard enough to pull Waverly back, to anchor her to the spot they share, and she breathes for them.

Adrian flexes her wings, let’s the rising sun dry away any moisture that they’d collected while up in the clouds, and shrugs, “We can go whenever you desire, the Garden will always be there to let us in.“ She relaxes, closes her eyes, and Waverly shifts forward to take control.

Blinking her eyes open Waverly shakes out the tension in her fingers and watches Adrian’s suggestion float through their mind; peace, Heaven, paradise, waiting for them - “No, no,” Waverly is firm, certain, and if she childishly stomps her foot just a bit for emphasis no one but herself and an Angel are there to see it, “I don’t want to leave my family...” She sighs, heavy and tired and full of so much guilt that her lungs ache with the force of it, “This is my home. It’s where I belong.”

Adrian lets it go, releases the idea back out into the cold world and let’s it and all of its promises leave as simply as it had come, “Then this is where we shall stay.”

Waverly pulls the sleeves of the flannel tight around her arms, inhales a mouthful of vanilla lingering around the collar, and shivers as she begins the long walk back to the homestead.

“You cannot avoid watching the sun rise forever,” Adrian says, carefully, after Waverly has stored the pack of cigarettes on top of the shed and they’re standing on the back porch, hand wrapped loosely around the brass handle, waiting for the urge to go inside.

Waverly pushes forward, all motion and chaos, and steps across the threshold into the only home that she’s ever known, “I’m not avoiding it and you know that…” She sighs, frustrated, and she wishes that she never would have gotten her hair cut short so that she could have something to pull on when the words won’t come out like she needs them to, “I think it’s just that I don’t feel like I deserve it — yet.”

Adrian stays silent and Waverly feels more alone than she ever has before.

She starts the first pot of coffee and brushes her teeth three times at the kitchen sink before Nicole comes trotting down the stairs. She can hear her wife catch her foot in the hole and stumble over it but when she turns the corner into the living room she is smiling brightly like it had never even happened, like nothing has changed. “Hey Wave,” She says, leaning across the table to press a kiss to the side of her head, “How long have you been up?”

Waverly shrugs and scratches at a spot near her left shoulder blade, “Not very long.”

Nicole nods and reaches up to pull three mugs down from the middle cabinet. When Waverly turns to look up at her, the weight of the world sitting at the tip of her tongue, Nicole is already moving away towards the fridge, “I was thinking pancakes for breakfast.”

The sun is up, the kitchen is warm, and Nicole is smiling at her.

Adrian is quiet.

Waverly licks her lips and tastes smoke.

#waverly earp #dark!angel waverly #Wynonna Earp #benevolent possession #benevolent passenger #Adrian the Angel #not really 100% set on the name but it kinda feels nice #nicole haught #lil wayhaught is u squint #waverly is a complex person who needs one really good hug #and some therapy #i have a pt3 sitting in the notes of my phone so maybe let me know if i should share it... if ur interested ;)#thank you for reading #wayhaught

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adropofgoldenrachelx · 3 years

Text

No Show - A Thread: Part One

Summary: Rachel has been a no show for a while and Toulouse shows up at her door to find out what’s going down. She tells him her story, and why she’s been hauled up inside for a week. It’s kinda sad but also it’s cute and we’re not sorry. Reply order: Rachel, Toulouse (blockquotes).

Featuring: Rachel and @beaumont-ague , Mom (Arianna) and Dad (Fredrick). Also guest appearance from Dad’s Moustache.

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of panic attacks, flashbacks, references to past trauma as with the drabble.

—————————————————————————————————

It wasn’t like Rachel to choose not to go to her classes. She hadn’t missed a single day (except for three days where she was overcome with an unfortunate flu and forced to stay in her bed) since enrollment, and by every intention she wouldn’t miss another. College had been a grand milestone in her life, after finding her freedom and spending her first two years in an intense schooling program to bring her up to the standard (or as close to) of her peers. It hadn’t been easy, given what they were working with, but she worked her butt off and was finally allowed to enrol in Redwood College when she received her high school diploma. Rachel loved learning, so much so that, after finding enough courage, she would sneak into the back of lecture halls she wasn’t enrolled for just so she could learn as much as humanly possible.

So, for Rachel to be missing from class for a day, two days, a week was strange.

She hadn’t told anyone she wouldn’t be there. It hadn’t been planned, but she had lost so much sleep lately that she slept in for her morning lecture, and then couldn’t face showing up late in the afternoon. It spiralled from there, and now here she was, cooped up in her bedroom a week later wishing she wasn’t. Artist Block she would say, all the while painting away at the mural on her bedroom wall.

It was Rachel’s father, Frederick, who answered the door. He was an imposing figure, moustached for the gods and flaunting a raised brow at the young man who had knocked looking for his daughter.

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse didn’t really pay attention to who he saw and who he didn’t see around campus on a daily basis. Actually, he never really paid all that much attention to anything on campus, let alone people. He was always in his own world, rushing to classes or trying to get inspiration for a new piece. However, one person that he knew for sure he hadn’t seen in a few days was Rachel. At first, it hadn’t dawned on him that he didn’t see her for a few days. What gave it away, was the fact that he’d delivered his latest gift to her for their gift exchange, he hadn’t received one back. Even if they’d only known each other a short period of time, it just didn’t seem to be in character for her to up and quit. At least not without an explanation.

Of course, that wasn’t why he was worried or upset. He didn’t mind that she hadn’t given him a gift. In fact, he did feel slightly guilty for enjoying that he was currently winning. The lack of gifts in their exchange had simply alerted him to the fact that he hadn’t seen her recently, prompting him to ask around. Rachel was fairly popular. Of course she was, he thought to himself as he’d gotten plenty of answers when asking for her around campus. Toulouse had managed to get her address, and fortunately someone was nice enough to tip him off that her parents could be sort of… strict. How strict, he hadn’t known, but he thought it better to make a decent impression than show up in his sweatshirt and joggers that he’d been wearing to class. Substituting them for a polo with some slacks and loafers was a much better choice.

It wasn’t that he didn’t take pride in his appearance, he really did. But, it was to be expected of a college kid to just want to get through class, and really, he didn’t have that many people to impress. Throwing on a watch and trying to comb his unruly mess of hair before leaving, Toulouse made sure to bring his phone and one of his rings, which he often used as a fidget toy. He didn’t suspect he’d need it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have it along. When he’d arrived at Rachel’s address -at least, he hoped it was the correct address- he was met by a rather tall man with an even more intimidating mustache. This was where his proper etiquette would come in handy.

“Hi Sir,” he greeted the man politely with confidence. “My name is Toulouse Beaumont, I go to school with your daughter. Some of us were worried when we realized we hadn’t seen her around the campus in a few days, and were hoping to see that she was alright. I also had some assignments to drop off for her, if that’s alright?” Holding out a small stack of papers, only the top was a legitimate assignment. The rest were ones he’d made up, copying previous lesson plans he’d seen or received. Of course, no one else would know that without a very close inspection. “One we’re supposed to work on together, actually,” he added quickly after, to strengthen the chance he might get to actually see Rachel. Her father could very easily just take the papers and ask him to leave, which he had prepared for, though he was optimistic.

—————————————————————————————————

Frederick could hardly help himself from vetting everyone that came within a ten mile radius of Rachel and their home, and had no intention of being any less intimidating when Toulouse introduced himself politely, or explained the reason for his visit. “Rachel is doing perfectly fine,” he answered, offering no further explanation to her current plight. It was none of this young man’s business, after all. “I’ll pass the a--” Frederick was soon interrupted.

Rachel’s mom had been in the sitting room reading, but emerged behind her husband shortly after Toulouse introduced himself. Arianna was a touch more savvy than her husband (though not any less protective) and knew that it was important for Rachel to still see her friends. She recognised his name after Rachel had come home from the festival gushing about paper flowers and cupcakes. Arianna didn’t have to say much to Frederick -a cough and a lifted brow was enough- before he stepped out of the doorframe begrudgingly.

“Rachel’s in her room,” Arianna offered, gesturing to the foot of the stairs. It was important to her that Rachel was treated like everyone else, and if that meant letting her friends in to see her, then so be it. The young man didn’t seem like he would hurt a fly anyway and Arianna was sure her daughter wouldn’t want to miss out on too much work. “You can head up, but knock on her door first. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll pass the assignment on for you.”

Rachel was still occupied by her painting, huddled under a quilt on the floor like she was turning into a human tent. She wasn’t sure how long she had been trying to mix this very specific shade of coral, but she had every intention of keeping at it, humming and singing and mumbling to herself to pass the time and fill the silence.

Had she any inkling that Toulouse might appear, she would have made herself look slightly more presentable, maybe even tidying up her paints and forty other hobbies and projects she had been occupying her hands (and her mind with) over the week.

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse was never that great at talking to older men, and he knew the exact reason why, but he didn’t feel the need to disclose that at the moment. Fathers and father figures just weren’t a comfortable subject for him. Mothers, on the other hand, were different. He knew how to win over the heart of a mother figure. If it weren’t for Rachel’s mother sitting in the other room, he was sure that he would have to go back to his dorm and try to figure out a different way to speak to Rachel. Thank god for that, as she quickly stepped in to allow him into their home.

With a grateful smile, Toulouse gave her a wave. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. I promise I won’t overstay my welcome.” If Rachel didn’t want company, he’d leave willingly. Still, it didn’t hurt to try, right? He mainly was just glad to hear that she was alright. Toulouse hadn’t completely lied when he said there was something that the both of them were meant to work on. It just wasn’t an official assignment. Rather, something to cheer her up. That was of course, permitted that she wanted to be seen.

Taking the stairs up to the second floor, Toulouse took a guess at where Rachel’s room would be, and was just about to knock when he heard soft humming on the other side. Definitely her room, then, he thought to himself. His hand had been raised, ready to knock, though it slowly lowered as he listened to her sing more. She sounded nice, better than most people who casually sang to themselves. It may have been a selfish move, but rather than announce his presence, he stayed for a moment and just enjoyed her singing, eventually joining in subconsciously as he leaned up against the wall.

—————————————————————————————————

Arianna offered Toulouse a sweet smile, all the while side-eyeing her husband who had puffed up his chest and was acting a little miffed. She would have a gentle word with him later, but for now they would leave Toulouse to it. Rachel’s room wasn’t terribly hard to locate, as she had started painting her door with some pretty flowers (fully intending on moving on to every door in the house when she had the time for it).

Rachel continued to sing, none the wiser to the listening ear at her door. She liked to sing, finding it a pleasant way to fill silence. She sang in the studio sometimes, and she sang in the shower, and when she was making breakfast. It was a comfortable past-time. Of course, she didn’t always have an audience (a visible one anyway) and so the faint voice from the hallway, matching her song, caught her off guard. Dad didn’t sing (and the voice wasn’t deep enough to be Dad’s if he did). After a short continuation, to make sure she wasn’t going completely loopy and making up harmonies in her head, Rachel’s singing fizzled out.

There was a brief panic that her parents had left the house, and someone had broken into her house. (That had happened before, it wasn’t a wild conclusion to draw.) With her quilt still draped over her shoulders, Rachel grabbed the first thing at hand (thankfully not a frying pan) and crept toward her bedroom door, opening it just enough that she could see who was standing on the other side and close it swiftly if she had to.

It was a surprise (a pleasant one) to find Toulouse leaning on the wall outside her room, a stack of papers in hand (and an equally pleasant look on his face.)

Oh no. Oh no, the room is a mess! My hair is a mess! I’m holding a weapon! He’s gonna think I’m a weirdo!!!

There was no time to fix anything, so all she could do was stare dumbfounded from behind her door frame. “Hi…” Rachel managed, throwing on the closest thing she could find to a cheery smile. Should she bring up the singing thing? It was kinda cute… No, no that would be peak weirdo, he obviously didn’t know she could hear him, right..? She went for the safe option. Or rather, the obvious question that anyone who wasn’t totally freaking out right now would ask. “Uh… Come here often?” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right one.

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse wasn’t sure how long he would wait before knocking on the door. He was preoccupied listening to her sing, which was probably weird, in hindsight, but he’d deal with those consequences later. Sure enough, later came quickly, and Rachel was opening the door faster than Toulouse expected her too. Maybe he was singing a bit louder than he thought, since it seemed a little too coincidental that she would be leaving her room at that moment.

He made no comments about her appearance, or the fact that she was only looking at him through a crack in her bedroom door. “No, actually. Not yet, at least,” Toulouse responded to her question with a chuckle. “Actually, I’m sort of surprised I made it this far. Remind me to thank your mom later.” Clearly Rachel wasn’t expecting company, and he could understand why. Anyone who knocked on the door would have likely been greeted by Mr. Moustachio, potentially with a scripted list of questions before being turned away. He wasn’t rude, just... stern, from the impression Toulouse gathered.

It was at that moment that his eyes lowered a bit to an object that Rachel was holding in her hand. Pointing to it hesitantly, Toulouse furrowed his brows before asking, “Is that… is that a lamp?” The amount of effort it took for him to keep a straight face was almost painstaking, a smile creeping onto his face as he tried not to laugh. He sort of understood, afterall, given that he’d just been standing outside her room with no warning. “Maybe we ought to plug that in, yeah? It’d be a bit hard to read these in the dark.” He gestured to the papers in his hand.

Mentioning the assignments was mainly so that in case her father was listening to their conversation downstairs, his story would ring true. While he didn’t want to invite himself into Rachel’s room, as that was sort of a private matter, the suggestion of plugging in the lamp and going over the papers implied that it might be easier to do so somewhere other than the hallway.

—————————————————————————————————

Rachel was kicking herself for her awkwardness, though Toulouse seemed to take her stupid question in his stride. It had hardly occurred to her that Toulouse would have knocked the front door, and that Dad would have answered it. He meant well, Rachel knew, but she wished he was less stubborn sometimes. “Oh, you made it past Dad,” she laughed apologetically. “Sorry about him, he’s kind of… He means well.”

Rachel grimaced, glancing down at the lamp in hand. What on earth was she thinking? That a lamp could save her butt? She floundered for a reasonable explanation as to why she brought a lamp with her to greet a guest at the door. “... Yes… Yes, this is a lamp. I was just-- It needed… dusting...” Yeah, that could work. She was going to dust it! The reality was Rachel was jumpy, but there was no chance she was going to explain that right now.

Wildly embarrassed at sporting the lamp, but deciding hiding behind the door was only making it worse, Rachel opened the door just enough to invite Toulouse in, still hiding behind the door itself. Now that she knew she wouldn’t have to use the lamp on him, it seemed silly to leave him standing out in the hallway. “Sorry,” Rachel laughed quietly. “Uh, you can come in just-- Ignore the mess?”

By Rachel standards, the room was a bombsite but it wasn’t nearly as messy as she thought it was. Everything had a place, and she tidied every morning when she woke up to make sure nothing was amiss. There were paints and a few sketchbooks dotted around the floor that she had been using, and a half eaten plate of cookies on her dresser as well as a few odds and ends not in their proper home. (Notably, the paper flowers Toulouse had given her at the Hootenanny had a special place on the centre of her bookcase, inside a tiny vase, and the other gifts from their competition were set out neatly on her desk by the window.) By any other standards, her room was perfectly fine but she scurried to place the lamp back where it belonged and then set about moving a few things to make the place seem more presentable.

—————————————————————————————————

This was probably the first time that Toulouse got to see Rachel’s awkward side. It was a nice change of pace, really, though he wouldn’t dare say that out loud. No, he would keep that to himself for his own enjoyment. “I can tell. It’s alright, seriously. I’d probably be a little weary too about some strange kid showing up at my doorstep.” Giving a shrug, he looked back at her with a playful grin.

Did he believe the lie? Of course not. Did he pretend to? Yes, yes he did. “Makes sense. I usually forget to dust my lamps, but you know, too much dust could be a fire hazard. Good on you for being proactive.” Toulouse was grateful for the invitation inside, slipping past the door. Truthfully, he was pretty curious to see what her room was like. Toulouse always thought that a person’s bedroom was another outward expression of themselves, and to be invited into one was a rather intimate matter in a different way than most people would associate it. He liked his space, and only if he fully trusted someone would he ever let them into his room back home. At school, it was slightly different, but still, he liked to control who was and was not allowed to see certain things.

Immediately, he started to look around, not at the so-called mess that Rachel tried to get him to ignore, but all of the things that made this Rachel’s room. Besides, it was hardly messy at all. He noticed the paper flowers that he had gotten her, which made him smile, perhaps even more than seeing all of their little knick knacks from their gift exchange going on. Then, he noticed that Rachel was fussing about, trying to clean and organize what she likely saw as the mess she’d left behind, not thinking anyone would be over. “You don’t have to do all of that. Trust me, my room is five times messier than this when I’m home for longer than the weekend. I’ve seen far worse,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood before bringing up the serious topic. “Sorry I didn’t say anything before showing up. But, since you never returned the gift I gave you last time, I just had to come find out your excuse.”

His words were light, and playful, and much better at bringing up the subject of Rachel’s absence than flat out asking her why she hadn’t been at school recently. It must have been a good reason, considering it wasn’t like her to skip, from what he knew about her, and the fact that she looked hesitant and possibly even scared to open her door.

—————————————————————————————————

It seemed her Father was weary of anyone that showed up at the door looking for Rachel, whether they were rough and tumble or not, but she couldn’t blame him for it, given circumstances. Of course, Toulouse didn’t know the circumstances. Maybe if none of this had happened Toulouse could have waltzed right in. “I did tell him about you, a little, but there’s not much convincing him everyone is fine.”

She glanced at the lamp, giving it a quick dust (partly to prove the lie, mostly because Toulouse was totally right and she didn’t want the curtains catching fire.) “Yeah, it’s always the last thing to get cleaned, I guess.“ Despite the insistence that she didn’t have to tidy up, Rachel continued to do so anyway, putting things back where they were supposed to be, with the exception of the paints that she intended on using to work on her mural after Toulouse left again. If anything, it was nerves. Something to keep herself occupied with that didn’t involve any anxious tugging at her hair (her tell). Usually she was better practiced in hiding all of her messy feelings, except for those who knew her, but she wasn’t having much luck today. “At least let me clear you a seat,” Rachel insisted, lifting a few cushions to give them a good fluff before she plopped them down at the bottom of her bed. She didn’t have guests over very often, and her desk chair wasn’t the most comfortable. Cass always sat on her bed when she visited, so it didn’t seem strange to think Toulouse could do the same.

Rachel gasped with the realisation that, in cooping herself up, she had forgotten all about Toulouse’s gift. So much so that she hadn’t even thought about making it yet. Immediately, she jumped to the conclusion that he must think she was a terrible friend for not keeping the exchange going and then saying nothing to him all week. That was textbook bad friend, right? “Oh no! I-- Sorry! I forgot all about it and I haven’t made it yet but I promise I’ll return it by, like, Tuesday.”

(Toulouse, well-intentioned though he was, had picked a bad week to visit.)

“It’s just that it’s been kind of a weird week and I got… artist’s block and stuff and it went totally out of my head.”

—————————————————————————————————

It came as a bit of a shock to hear Rachel admit that she told her parents about him. Surely that was normal though, wasn’t it? To talk about your friends to your parents? Toulouse never really understood those parents who had known their children's friends for years and yet still couldn’t be bothered to remember their names. He hoped that if he were ever to become one that he wouldn’t be one of those. “Maybe he’ll warm up in time,” the blond shrugged. Not that Toulouse was planning on coming over every day, as that was a bit excessive to think about now, but still he’d hoped to spend more time with Rachel in the future, thus meaning eventually they’d probably come round each other’s homes more often. His mother would definitely be more than willing to have her over.

Something was definitely wrong. Over the years, Toulouse had been able to pick up on habits that people tended to develop under stress or trauma, and this was giving him flashbacks. Clearly Rachel was bothered by something, and though he wanted to be there to listen to it, he also didn’t want to force her to talk about something she didn’t want to. Clearing them spaces to sit was fair enough, so he didn’t object. Before sitting down, Toulouse took his shoes off so as to not get anything dirty.

Unfortunately for Toulouse, Rachel must have been too focused in her manic cleaning spree and overthinking that she didn’t understand he’d meant to go about it in a light hearted way. That wasn’t what he cared about, really, but he wanted Rachel to open up on her own terms. “Hey, hey, it’s fine, Rachel, really.” Anything he said however was going in one ear and out the other as Rachel continued to ramble. Finally, Toulouse just reached forward and grabbed her hands, squeezing them to get her attention. “It’s fine. I’m not worried about the gift, or how long it takes, really. Don’t fuss over it. I’ll survive another week, I’m sure,” he smiled softly, shaking his head to reassure her that he didn’t need it right there and then.

Letting her hands go, Toulouse put them by his sides as he scooted further back onto the bed. “Everyone gets artists’ block now and then, no need to stress about it. I just meant that you haven’t been around, recently. Is everything ok?”

—————————————————————————————————

"I hope so," Rachel replied casually, truly hoping her Dad would relax a little more around any of her friends. He seemed to like Cass well enough, but Rachel guessed that was mostly because of her job. She didn't invite many other friends over, but that was mostly because she preferred spending as little time indoors as she could. Still, it would have been nice if Dad's moustache didn't turn upside down whenever he was greeted with a new guest.

Rachel was trying very hard to remain as chill as possible, and keep the freaking out to a bare minimum. Usually she was better at hiding her worry than this, or she thought so at least (but there was a lot to unpack with that, which was another thing Rachel didn't need to completely spiral over). Her smile was still genuine, thankful for the company that Toulouse offered, but it didn't quite hit her eyes in the usual sunny way.

It felt a little like she was walking in circles, moving things here and there that didn't need to be moved and she would have kept at it had Toulouse not taken her hands, catching her off guard and stopping her in her tracks. Rachel had jumped to so many conclusions in a minute that now she felt all kinds of silly for worrying over nothing. The squeeze of their hands was just enough to halt that worry. "Are you sure..?" Rachel asked quietly, just to be totally one hundred percent sure that he wasn't actually upset about the gift thing.

It was an instinct to twist the ends of a lock of hair when he let go, rapping it absently around her fingers as she sighed onto the free space on the bed. She didn't think anyone would notice her absence enough to wonder where she was, let alone come to check up on her. Rachel hesitated too long to reasonably answer yes to Toulouse's concern. Artist block wouldn't cut it. Would a proper explanation do any better though? Rachel wasn't sure what she could even say without the risk of Toulouse freaking out too.

"I've been worse?" Rachel admitted finally, a grimace masked by a bashful laugh. "It's… hard to explain. I didn't think anyone would notice I was gone, I'll be honest. I just… I mean, I wanted to go to class but I just couldn't, I guess. I don't know."

—————————————————————————————————

As someone who was used to having his own difficulties with anxiety, Toulouse understood that Rachel was probably just acting on those impulses, which was why he didn’t try harder to stop her from running about and cleaning. Sometimes you just had to get it out of your system, and he understood that. Control what you could, and confront what you couldn’t. Only, it was the confronting part that he was worried about for her. Had she even taken the time to sit down and process why she had been missing classes? He didn’t know the reason himself, but he hoped that she did, and would understand why that was.

Grateful that catching her hands seemed to calm her down at least a little bit, he nodded casually with a smile. “Absolutely. Besides, you know you never even had to get me one in the first place. I haven’t been expecting any of the ones you’ve given so far. Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d give up one day, ‘cause that’d mean that I won,” he teased, laughing as she sat down on the bed.

Anything was hard to explain when it came with emotional baggage. Toulouse was sure that he could handle it, though, after years of practice. “Try me. I bet you I’ve heard stranger stories.” When she mentioned not assuming anyone would notice she was gone, however, Toulouse took that a bit personally. He didn’t show it of course, but the personal offence was only because he really didn’t think Rachel was being as kind to herself as she could be. “How could someone not? I mean, you’re probably one of the most outgoing people who go to that school. It’d be stupid for no one to notice.”

Laying down on his side, Toulouse propped himself up onto his elbow, his gaze softening as he looked to her to continue speaking. He wanted to know as much as she would tell him, but didn’t push too far. “That’s understandable, I mean sometimes we all need a break to deal with emotional things. Do you think talking about it might help? I’m a great listener, if I do say so myself,” he humbly bragged, trying to get her to smile.

“Or, if you’d prefer, I can ask you questions completely unrelated to any of that, and try to take your mind off of it? I have the perfect one to start,” Toulouse assured. “For example…” His facial expression suddenly got quite serious, leaning in slightly toward her as if to tell her some sort of precious secret. “How long did it take your dad to grow that moustache?” He couldn’t even keep a straight face as he nearly burst into laughter, shaking his head. “But really, I have to know! It’s quite impressive.”

—————————————————————————————————

Glad that Toulouse wasn’t fussed about the gift, Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. It was one less thing to worry about. That being said, there was no way she was not going to give him a gift at some point just because she was feeling down. It was a competition, after all. Rachel wasn’t a quitter. “Sorry, you haven’t won yet. This is just a momentary interlude.”

“Trust me, you really haven’t…” Rachel insisted through an awkward laugh, running her fingers through her hair. She would be willing to put a bet on it, actually. If it wasn’t her own story, she would have thought the whole kidnapped as a baby, raised by a fake ‘Mother’ in isolation for nineteen years, then rescued by some dude who eventually abandoned you and became your art teacher four years later all while coming out relatively unscathed thing was totally made up. Truthfully, it had been suggested to Rachel that she didn’t bring it up as flippantly as she had done when she was first introduced to the outside world and now she wasn’t really sure if she should bring it up ever. She said nothing to the fact that people might actually notice if she was gone, shrugging it off to avoid arguing another case against herself.

“I’m not sure if I should,” Rachel admitted meekly. It might not do any harm, or it could tarnish Flynn’s newfound reputation. Rachel held her breath when Toulouse leaned in like he was about to tell her a secret, and snorted a laugh when his question came. It was a totally unexpected one. “He does have a very impressive moustache, doesn’t he?” Rachel nodded, relaxing just enough to keep laughing. “He’s had it as long as I’ve known him. I think he even had the moustache on his wedding day.”

A distraction would have been welcome, but it also could have been part of the problem. Everything previously scattered around her room had been a distraction, as was the current patch of wet paint on the wall, and the five batches of cookies she had baked for everyone at the precinct, and everything else she had done until she couldn’t take it any longer. Rachel desperately wanted the distraction Toulouse was bringing in making her laugh -Cass would have insisted she face the problem head on instead- but if Toulouse had any intention of sticking around, it made sense that he would have to know what was going on.

Rachel hesitated for a moment, looking rather serious as she looked for any sign that Toulouse would nope on out of the conversation the moment he realised just how much baggage she was about to unload on him. He seemed trustworthy enough, but that kind of thinking had gotten her burned before. “Can I trust you?” she asked. It seemed the simplest way of knowing. She didn’t think he would lie. “I mean, I probably should actually tell you some things if we’re going to be friends and all that but if I tell you, you have to promise not to freak out.”

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse had to admit by now that he was curious. What could be so mind boggling that Rachel seemed to think he would find her crazy. He had his own fucked up past, sure, and knew very well that most people did. For whatever reason that just didn’t seem to fit Rachel’s personality. For someone so nice to have such dark secrets… it was both scary and intriguing. “Hey, I understand. Trust me, I won’t take it personally if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t want to make you talk about it.”

Hearing Rachel laugh was possible one of the best sounds he’d ever heard. The worrying after not seeing her for a week or so had been dialed down once he made it past her front step, but making her laugh made it worth the concern. “Do you think it takes a lot of effort to keep it looking so nice? I mean, one could only imagine,” he continued, chuckling to himself as they joked around. The joking didn’t last forever though, and by the expression change on Rachel’s face, he wondered if she was going to start opening up more.

Had Rachel not looked so serious, Toulouse might have answered somewhat sarcastically. But with Rachel, his sarcasm meter was usually lower anyway. So instead, he gave her a reassuring nod. “Of course. I trust you, so I hope you would be able to trust me. Here, give me your pinky.” Toulouse shifted closer to her, sitting upright on the bed with his own pinky extended. “Have you ever heard of a pinky promise? They can never be broken, so that means they’re extra special,” he explained with a smile.

Toulouse took his pinky promises very seriously. Hopefully Rachel would too, since this was the best way that he could think of to ensure she trusted him. “You should never make a pinky promise if you plan on going back on your word. So, I’m going to pinky promise to you, that whatever you tell me, anything at all, whether it be that you have an evil twin, or like… you hate coffee or something ridiculous,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Whatever it is, I pinky promise I won’t freak out, and that you can trust me with anything.”

—————————————————————————————————

“Don’t tell him I told you, but he spends ages in the bathroom preening it.” A sincere smile swept Rachel’s features as she looped Toulouse’s pinky around her own. Rachel never broke a promise. She liked having a signifier of trust here. “Thank you,” she replied gently and could only hope he meant it.

Rachel took a deep breath; it was mostly to steady herself, but it was also a preparation for the long, rambling story she was about to tell. She supposed the best way to go about telling the story was to just let it all out in one fell swoop. The quicker it was out, the quicker it was done and the quicker Rachel could shrug it all off like none of this was really that big of a deal.

“Okay, so,” she began, pushing her hair back from her face. Just rip the bandaid off. “I’m a-- I was a Milk Carton Kid. I was kidnapped when I was a baby, and raised by a woman who I thought was my mother. She homeschooled me, sort of, and said that there were people out there-- out here-- that would want to hurt me, or steal me. That I had to stay inside the house, with her, so she could protect me.”

Rachel took a pause, glancing carefully at Toulouse. Any sign of a freak out and she would end her story there. It had been the easy part for Rachel to tell, but it also happened to be the part of the story that made most people uncomfortable. Still, Toulouse promised not to freak out, and Rachel was going to hold him to it. She went on but her stomach was starting to turn itself in knots again, and the fingers through her hair found a lock to tug at.

“‘Mother’ was the only person I knew for my whole life, and she never let me-- I never-- I thought everything outside of my home was dangerous and scary, and that the ruffians and thugs would probably get me. I had thought about asking her to take me to see the lights for my birthday a few times, but something always came up so we never did… Um, but anyway, one day when ‘Mother’ was gone someone broke into our house, not realising I was in there, and I obviously totally freaked out and hit him with my frying pan because I’d never seen a grown man before.”

(At this, Rachel hoped Toulouse had forgotten about the lamp.)

“When he woke back up… I asked him to take me with him. I wanted to see the lights on my birthday, and he agreed to take me there and bring me back in one piece.”

Here, Rachel hesitated. She had lost so much sleep in the past few weeks over the next part of the story that she could feel the knots tightening, and her eyes starting to sting at the corners. That would surely be enough for Toulouse to process for a moment while she swallowed the horrible feeling.

—————————————————————————————————

When Rachel started to tell her story, Toulouse used all of his focus to make sure he was giving her his undivided attention. He could tell as soon as she started that it was a very emotional story. What he didn’t expect however was just how traumatizing it was going to be. Not wanting to be disrespectful by interrupting, Toulouse let her get everything out, hoping it would help her from stopping and creating awkward silences. Watching her body language, it was obvious that the topic was uncomfortable to talk about. For that, he commended her greatly.

As soon as she did pause, Toulouse jumped into the conversation so that she wouldn’t feel embarrassed. He had promised not to freak out, and though all of this was pretty freak out worthy, he wasn’t going to break his promise. “Wow… so you’ve only really been home for a few years? That’s… well, I couldn’t even imagine.” For Toulouse, his family meant everything. To think that Rachel was raised from such a young age to find out that her mother was just some deranged lady who’d kidnapped her? He wouldn’t have known how he’d react. No wonder she was having so many emotions the past week. Not to mention she’d robbed Rachel of things like basic human knowledge. To have never seen a grown man before sounded almost impossible.

“So… you saw them, then? And what happened after that? I mean, obviously you found your parents eventually.” Toulouse could see she was hesitant to continue. Pausing for a moment, he shifted his positioning on the bed to get more comfortable and turned to her. “You don’t have to keep going, if you don’t want to. It’s just- I know what it’s like. To you know, go through something pretty traumatic.” He didn’t want to unload all of his trauma on her, especially not when this was supposed to be a safe time and place for her to tell him what was on her mind. Rachel deserved to tell her story with no judgement and no diversions.

—————————————————————————————————

“Four years this month,” Rachel admitted quietly, a strange melancholy lingering in her chest. It felt like much longer, and somehow like no time had passed at all. Until recently, Rachel thought she had been doing just fine settling in. She had been doing just fine. No one had counted on her past bumping into her on the streets. Rachel didn’t expect Toulouse to understand what any of this had been like. Hell, she hardly expected him to believe her at all, what with how outlandish it must have sounded. But he hadn’t ran yet, and he hadn’t freaked out, like he promised. For that Rachel was thankful. So for all it was uncomfortable, she thought it was best to continue and leave nothing up to speculation.

“I did see the lights...” she replied, watching Toulouse carefully as he shifted on the bed. For the most part, Rachel had kept herself rather close, a knee pulled up to her chest, a comforting arm around it. There was an ever present twisting of her hair. She took another pause from her story to offer Toulouse a genuine, heartfelt smile, finding some sort of comfort in his reassurance. “Thank you, Toulouse…”

Determined not to hesitate again, Rachel buried her discomfort and went on. “It gets kind of complicated after that. Or more complicated, I guess. After we saw the lights, Fl-- the man was supposed to take me home, but he didn’t. He, uh… He brought me here, to Redwood Hollow instead. He left me at the Police Station without an explanation and I thought I would never see him again.”

“I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know who I was, didn’t know I was missing. My birthday wasn’t even my real birthday. And suddenly they were asking all these questions, trying to get me to prove that I was this missing kid and before I knew it I was meeting my real parents and testifying against ‘Mother’ in court even though I barely knew what she had done wrong. Then they realised that I knew literally nothing, and I had to go on this schooling program just so I could maybe go to college one day…”

Of course, this explained a few things, but she didn’t think it explained why she had been skipping class, and at that thought the tears sprung from her eyes. “Sorry… This is definitely not what you signed up for.”

—————————————————————————————————

Four years. Four years! Toulouse couldn’t even imagine being away from home for one let alone four. Then again, Rachel hadn’t even known that the home she was living in wasn’t home. She hadn’t suspected anything at all until that day, and even then, she had no clue what was going on. Toulouse’s head was spinning as she told the story, it getting wilder and more complicated as she told it. Honestly, he wasn’t shocked that she remembered it all, but he was surprised that she was willing to tell it.

“Wait, so if you really had no idea that you weren’t with your actual mother until this man showed up, did he recognize you? You know… after he regained consciousness,” he chuckled awkwardly. “I mean, it’s good and all that you weren’t hurt, but that part is sort of suspicious that he would just agree to take you somewhere. Especially since he broke into the house not knowing you were there.”

It was definitely a lot to unpack. Toulouse had a hard time imagining Rachel trying to process it all back then, especially since it must have been one hell of a shock. “I mean, I signed up to listen, didn’t I?” He reassured her. After a moment, he shook his head though. “Damn… I mean, I just can’t imagine what that must have felt like.” Running a hand through his hair, Toulouse sighed, looking back at Rachel. “I’m guessing there’s more, though, right? I mean, if that was all the past, what’s been happening now?”

Before she could even respond, Toulouse held up a hand. “Wait,” he hesitated, laying down on the bed on his side and motioning for her to do the same. “Might as well get comfortable, right? Okay, I’m ready.”

—————

All Rachel could do at the question was shrug. By all accounts, it didn’t make any sense, but it had been advised that Rachel didn’t dwell too long on Flynn’s true intentions. “I guess he must have recognised me or something,” she replied, pulling some hair away from her neck to show a small, dark mark behind her left ear. “I have a birthmark shaped like a sun behind my ear, and I look a lot like my Mom when she was a teenager. He probably heard about the reward and when he realised who I was… It was a lucky fluke.”

A nod of her head followed when Toulouse asked if there was more. They were up-to-date and now the whole reason she hadn’t been in class was looming. All that other stuff had been easy in comparison to admitting that things weren’t going so great now.

Rachel froze with her mouth drooped open, paused before the answer could find her tongue. Her eyebrow raised as Toulouse held up his hand and he proceeded to lie down, and she almost assumed he was preparing for a nap at how boring he was finding her story. But then he went and made her laugh quietly despite her nerves and in spite of her tears. She didn’t move immediately, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist, and then with a sigh she lay down on her side, propping herself on her elbow to mirror him.

“I thought I was actually doing okay until, like, a week ago…” Rachel admitted through a sniffle.

She had to think of the best way to word this part of the story. Obviously Toulouse would know who Mr Rider was, and the last thing she wanted was for any of this to taint his opinion of him. For all he had hurt her, for all she was now convinced he hadn’t cared about her at all, Rachel still thought there was good in him, and that he deserved to be treated as fairly as anyone else. With a defeated huff, she plopped down onto the bed to stare at the ceiling, half-way painted with the beginnings of a new mural.

“So, you know the man that found me? I haven’t seen him since he left me at the station four years ago. And then just before the Hootenanny I bumped into him on the street and it was like-- I don’t know, it was like nothing had happened, and obviously I was kinda surprised but I thought that was the end of it until he, like, showed up at college.” Rachel took a moment to steady herself, in between speaking a mile a minute and crying more than she wanted to. When slightly less frantic, she glanced at Toulouse out of the corner of her eye. “You know Mr Rider, the new art teacher..? That’s him. He didn’t even say anything and I’ve just been pretending we never met because I thought I would be fine, ‘cause he seemed fine. And Cass was like oh you should tell the school and get a new teacher, it’s bad for you to talk to him and I was like no, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, nothing’s gonna happen! And now… Tada! I wanted to go to school, I really did, but I just-- I couldn’t get past the driveway.”

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse could see there was a look of confusion on Rachel’s face when he asked her to wait a second. For a moment he wanted to apologize and reassure her it wasn’t a bad thing, but she seemed to come around quick enough. He could tell that she was a little emotional about all of this, but didn’t comment on it as he didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. She didn’t have to hide the fact that she was upset around him, but he did feel bad that this had impacted her so greatly. “So what happened a week ago then?”

Watching her carefully as she fell on the bed, Toulouse wondered what she was thinking about. He took the opportunity to follow her gaze to the start of a beautiful painting. Smiling to himself, he turned back to give her his attention, and just in time, it seemed. When he heard the name of the man Rachel had been talking about, Toulouse nearly sprung up out of the bed. But, he had promised to keep it together, thus the most he gave in response was a wide eyed stare. “No… no way. You’re serious?” Mr. Rider had seemed cool enough, Toulouse thought, though he always got along better with his female teachers. Of course, he hadn’t really put in the effort to get to know him, but now he kind of felt like he did. At least, a part of him.

“Wait, so Mr. Rider broke into your house? And then was still allowed to teach? How does that make any sense?” That was probably the most confusing part about all of this. Toulouse was raised with the knowledge that there were people in the world who committed crimes, but those crimes had always been followed with a consequence. Then there was the conflicting opinion of Cass, who he didn’t really know, but he had to admit they had a point. Clearly it wasn’t good for her mental health to be seeing him this soon. Not out of the blue, anyway.

“No one is going to think less of you because you missed school, Rachel. It’s okay to take that time that you need.” Rachel was still at a very vulnerable part of her life. Toulouse recognized that, and wanted to make sure she knew that it was okay. But also, he just really wanted to give her a hug. Debating it over in his head, he finally said fuck it, why not? and decided to offer one. Nudging her gently, Toulouse motioned for her to come closer, holding his arms open. “You look like you need one,” he offered, rather meekly.

—————————————————————————————————

Rachel waited for the penny to drop, for Toulouse to lose his mind over the ordeal. Continuing the absent twist of her hair, she could see out the corner of her eye the look of total disbelief written across his face. “Mmhm. Deadly serious.”

In Rachel’s head, the whole breaking-and-entering thing was a total non-issue. She had learned enough of Flynn’s history to know why he had been breaking into her house in the first place, and by the time they were off to see the lights that detail was all but forgiven and forgotten. Cass freaked out about it because she was a police officer, so of course that made sense, but at this point Rachel couldn’t see what the big deal was about a previous thief teaching an art class. (Her judgement was quite clearly skewed in the wrong direction, it seemed.)

“Everyone gets really hung up on that part…” Rachel muttered incredulously, already having logiced her away around the dissonance of being terrified of ruffians and thugs and completely sympathising with one. She was blissfully unaware that he had done jail time for his crimes too. “I don’t know, I guess he was just going through a rough patch a few years ago? I mean, it was petty theft. It’s not like he killed anyone.”

Rachel sniffled a few more times, and though she wasn’t totally okay, she managed to pull herself together just enough to stop sobbing. “I know…” she replied quietly. “It’s just that-- I don’t know… It’s a whole mess.” She would have lay there moping for a few more minutes had it not been for the nudge from Toulouse, which took her by surprise. With his arms open, she hesitated (Rachel never asked for hugs no matter how badly she wanted or needed one). “I do kinda need one,” Rachel admitted finally, giving a thankful smile before she scooted close enough for a good old hug. “Thanks…”

—————————————————————————————————

Toulouse could tell that she was dismissive about it. Though he didn’t want to pick an argument by trying to explain that any crime was still a crime, he also worried about her judgement of character. Deciding that wasn’t the focus of the conversation, he let it go. Obviously the college would have looked into it, right? So it was probably fine. At least, he was going to say it was for now. “Yeah.. you’re probably right, it’s probably nothing…” Even if it was just nothing, Toulouse wanted more information. For now, getting to lay down with Rachel and just comfort her would be enough.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he hummed, giving her a comforting squeeze. Besides, a good cuddle was always the best kind of thanks, really. Of course he couldn’t say that out loud —at least not yet. Toulouse didn’t break away from the hug just yet, wanting to enjoy the moment a bit longer. “But I mean… if you really want to thank me, I’d take a look at the papers I brought you. Some of them are boring school work, but a majority are fun. I made some up, and some are just fun things to do when you get bored of just sitting at home,” he explained, letting her go from the hug with a playful smile.

“I don’t know if there was more I need to hear about, but if you want, we can take a break,” he offered. Rachel seemed to be pretty drained emotionally, and he didn’t want to push her further. “Can I ask you a silly question, though? Had you really never seen a man before? I mean, that’s pretty crazy,” he said with a chuckle. “Most of them aren’t that exciting, though, so you didn't miss much.”

—————————————————————————————————

Rachel hoped it was nothing; she couldn't take any more curveballs at this rate. (Admittedly though, if one good thing came of this, it was that Toulouse threw a soft curveball by showing up, like a weird, cuddly saving grace.)

Just as apologising had become a force of habit, it seemed thanking people for tiny things was right up there beside it, and she had to actively think about not saying sorry for saying thank you. Her curiosity piqued at the mention of the things Toulouse has brought, pulling back just far enough to give him a flash of her raised eyebrow. She had all but forgotten he had something in his hands, you know, because she was so preoccupied with the lamp and all… "What's in the papers?" she asked, wondering if some of it was missed homework and what on earth he could have made up.

“A break would be nice. I think that’s everything…” Rachel sighed, a strange feeling of relief finally hitting her. A faint blush crept its way across Rachel’s cheeks as she nodded in admission. She wished she had been making it up, but Rachel hadn’t even laid eyes on the Postman. The house had been surrounded by a great deal of trees and high hedges, and a wall that was supposed to be unscalable. The Postman left letters in a postbox outside the garden gate, and Rachel had been forbidden from collecting any mail until the late afternoon, when he was long gone. “I wish I was kidding,” she laughed bashfully. “I mean, I’d seen men in, like, pictures in books and sometimes on TV and stuff, but never in person. I think everyone is a little bit exciting, but I don’t exactly have much to draw from.”

—————————————————————————————————

“Some missed assignments, nothing too major. Plus you have an extension to do them. I had to ask around a bit, but everything should be there,” Toulouse explained. “The ones that are made up were just in case your dad tried to take them.” Chuckling slightly, he shook his head, turning to look at her. He was glad that Rachel agreed to take a break, though he knew that sometimes when people got into slumps like this, taking a break only made them feel worse. Fortunately Toulouse was always good at making them fun. “Some of the activities are things like watching a bad movie on purpose, baking, trying a new skill, helping Toulouse with an art project, you know, just fun stuff.”

That last activity he’d slipped in there purposely, hoping that it would peak her interest. He wanted to collaborate with her on something, if she was willing. Of course he hoped she was, otherwise he wouldn’t have put it in there, but that meant he would once again have to get past her father. Unless he came at a time the man wasn’t home; her mother seemed much more accepting of strangers into their home.

Toulouse couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the idea of never having seen the opposite sex in person. “What about when you went to the doctor? Grocery shopping? A taxi? Surely you had to have at some point,” he further investigated. Rachel made a fair point, he supposed. There were plenty of things that each person had that might have been exciting, but as far as men go, Toulouse wasn’t very impressed. “Do you think I’m exciting?” he teased, his lips quirking into a half smile as he waited for her to answer. The feeling was mutual, if her answer was yes. Toulouse found her very exciting. Just then, the sound of the doorknob turning caught his attention as he directed his gaze toward Rachel’s door.

—————————————————————————————————

“You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” Rachel replied quickly, hoping that her absence hadn’t been too much of a burden on her friend. She was quite sincerely touched by the gesture and the effort, but the last thing she wanted was for anyone to go out of their way for her, friend or not. “I promise my Dad isn’t that scary once you get to know him,” she insisted, though she couldn’t completely understand why Toulouse might think he would take the papers away.

“Those definitely sound like you made them up,” she laughed quietly. Fun, yes! Not real assignments? Definitely. Luckily for Toulouse, Rachel was as naive as the day was long; his not-so-subtle hints, that would have been obvious wink-wink, nudge-nudges to everyone else, went right over poor Rachel’s head and she took the bait without even realising it. “An art project?” she asked, thoroughly interested.

It occurred to Rachel that Toulouse probably didn’t realise the extent of I Never Left. She genuinely hadn’t seen another human being because she genuinely hadn’t been allowed to leave the gates of the house. “Nope. I didn’t get to go to any of those places. I… couldn’t leave.” Now, for some reason, Rachel was blushing furiously. Her only ideas as to why was being embarrassed about the not leaving thing. It obviously had nothing to do with Toulouse asking if she thought he was exciting. “I might,” she replied, trying to play it cool. She didn’t have time to offer further explanation before her bedroom door opened.

Dad’s moustache peeked around the door, the rest of his head following quickly after. He looked just as gruff as when he had answered the door, his brow pulling together when it was apparent the pair were sitting far too close for comfort on the bed. Rachel paid it no mind, and threw on her usual sunny smile (hiding the fact she had been crying moments prior).

“Your mom said I should bring you snacks…”

—————————————————————————————————

End of part one.

#rachel #toulouse #no show #part 1 #the formatting of the replies from the doc hasn't transferred over but i'll fix that later #panic attack tw #flashbacks tw #abuse tw #trauma tw #also this is long lol soz

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shatterstar · 3 years

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okay now i am desperately curious to know your canon on what happened in between xforce annual 1999 and xfi #43!! your brain is massive and good

YES okay sorry this took me so long I was gathering my thoughts. so I recently have been giving this a lot of thought but I haven’t really got a concrete Sequence of Events. anyways so annual 1999 isn’t chronologically the last time we see him before xfi #43 because (I am fairly sure) it takes place before xforce #76 (which is the one where ‘star and domino fight in madripoor while rictor is held hostage). it doesn’t REALLY matter though. the next time you see shatterstar is in the x-force shatterstar miniseries (2005) which is followed chronologically by x-force volume 2 (2004). then after that you don’t see him until xfi #43 (2009).

as before do me a favor and don’t reblog thanks. here we go:

**technically he shows up in civil war: xmen (2006) and I think 1 issue of cable and deadpool (?) but its really not relevant to the plot.

so the way I see it is here’s what happened: rictor and shatterstar left xforce in xforce #70 and went to mexico to take down the richter family arms dealing operation. they also wanted to get some space from xforce to figure their shit out. which, I have to say, going on a crusade against a whole bunch of arms dealers is not the ideal setting for working out your relationship but hey, what do I know. this goes on for a bit, and things actually go pretty well which can be seen by the fact that they shared a bed in xforce annual 1999 :)

I actually think a fairly significant amount of time passes and its not just nonstop fight guys destroy guns like they have some really nice, almost normal time together, and this is the time where their relationship develops the most!

until eventually the thing goes down in oaxaca where rictor gets captured and arcade takes shatterstar to madripoor to fight against domino (this is in xforce #76). after this they carry on for a bit but it starts to get hard because A) rictor feels like a liability (Classic. I love him so much you know I just wish he loved himself some more) and B) ric is worried ‘star is only still with him because it’s all he (’star) knows and it makes ric doubt whether their relationship is real or just a product of being stuck together through so much shit.

eventually ric is basically like “you gotta leave me and figure out who you are beyond me” but (ric doesn’t realize this) shatterstar kind of already did after that the first time ric left in xforce #45 (and this is something I’ve actually given A LOT of thought to). like he kind of had to because of the whole ben russell stuff, doubting his identity gave him the space to think about what it means to have an identity in the first place. like after the initial “what the fuck” of it all its like coming to accept that whether his life on mojoworld was real or not, he is still a whole person with possibly a whole future and he gets to decide how it goes.

unfortunately 'star doesn’t really have the skills to communicate this in a way rictor will understand. like he can’t explain how he really HAS become his own person because he still kind of doesn’t understand the whole benjamin deal and also lacks the proper words to explain how it is for him to be who he is, so they have this whole argument and rictor is like “you don’t care about me you've just learned what it looks like to care about someone and you’re imitating it with me because I am the only thing that’s familiar to you” and long story short they go their separate ways. Pain.

shatterstar ends up drifting for awhile and then going back to madripoor voluntarily because xforce is all people he doesnt know (this is at the end of v1 when the team gets completely different) and hes like well I guess I can fight. and a LOT happens here I haven’t expanded much but he spends a while just doing fights and stuff and the only sort of concrete event I have is that He eventually loses in a hair match (like in wrestling) and they shave his head. which is why he has short hair in xfi because I REFUSE to believe he would do that voluntarily.

also at some point here the whole shit goes down with the fuckin uhhh blade of whatever in the xforce shatterstar miniseries and also he goes to the alternate universe where spiral has taken over. this is xforce volume 2 which is genuinely a garbage comic. even by rob liefeld standards, it fucking sucks. the xforce shatterstar mini has some redeeming qualities like the “light pierces my eyes and I’ve returned to the coliseum” bit as well as “i force my body to yield, to ignore every impulse, demanding that I bury my sword within this mans chest. ending his life in the most violent way possible” which is a really good illustration of A) how far he’s come and B) how much he’s going through it right now.

I also do want to bring up one thing about xforce volume 2. there’s a bit where he says “if I am to be such a failure as a man, then let me succeed as a weapon of mass destruction” and later he says “...as much of a posturing fool as I am” and I have read every shatterstar comic multiple times and this is literally the only example I know of where he talks about himself in such a self-deprecating way. this is why I think things were seriously fucked for him between annual 1999 and xfi 43. I think he and rictor definitely had some kind of falling out or breakup and it’s largely because the way he is in the 2005 mini and xforce v2 are soooooooo .... it’s like he regresses back to the way he was in very early xforce but with added edgelord moments. like he talks about failing to learn to be human and failing to be more than a weapon and yes this can be explained easily by the fact that these are liefeld books but. I choose to interpret meaning where there likely is none. that post about skateboarding up a flight of stairs, you know?

anyways, some more time passes, he ends up with domino somehow and they do some shit in the civil war: xmen mini and then after that I haven’t really figured it out but eventually he gets cortex’d and then you have xfactor #43. I do think that since cortex is a madrox dupe and madrox knew about rictor and shatterstar’s relationship it is likely that cortex sought ‘star out specifically to Get rictor in that storyline. but idk.

yeah that’s.... thats it. that’s all I got for now.

#answered #shatterstar #NSCU #plounce

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years

Text

Fic: Haven (24/50)

Summary: They say Resembool is a haven, and they’re right. Lush pastures, quaint country town, farmers’ markets on Saturdays: a bucolic paradise.

But it’s more than that. Resembool is a haven for the runaways, the deserters, the people who don’t want to be found…

The Resembool community knows there’s something odd about Hohenheim, but they’re not going to let that stop them helping him out. This is Resembool after all, a place where no one has to hide and neighbours help neighbours, be they building a fence, chasing a sheep, or trying to save the country from an evil they inadvertently helped release centuries ago…

Or: A series of slices of life in an AU in which Hohenheim never leaves, and several broken state alchemists find hope and home in Resembool.

Rated: T

Haven

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18][19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [AO3]

Summary: A traumatised young alchemist on the verge of a nervous breakdown leaves Ishval in the middle of the night. Through a mixture of providence and sheer stubbornness, Roy Mustang finds his way to Resembool entirely by accident.

Characters: Roy, Hohenheim, Trisha

Content Warning: Suicidal thoughts and PTSD.

I kind of… broke Roy a bit here. Don’t worry. He’ll get better.

Roy Mustang was eighteen years and two days old when he was deployed to Ishval as a very newly-licensed state alchemist.

He was not ready for what happened after that.

He knows that if he’d been able to follow the path that he’d originally set out - enrol in the military academy and graduate there, complete his apprenticeship under Berthold Hawkeye within the normal length of time instead of getting swept up in the whirlwind of fast-tracked licensing - then things would be different. He would still have had to do all the terrible things he’s had to do, but he likes to think that he would have been slightly more mentally prepared for them. Even just a couple of years as a buffer would have been enough. He would have been fully prepared for everything that he would have been expected to do, and he would still have felt horrible, but he wouldn’t have broken down. He doesn’t think so, at least.

As it is, Roy is now a couple of months shy of twenty-one and it feels like he’s clinging on to his sanity by a thread. The smell of burning flesh won’t leave his nose and he’s lost count of the number of times he’s woken up screaming with Hughes’ concerned face hovering above him.

Things had been just about manageable until Lieutenant Colonel Sherman vanished. Roy wishes he knew what happened to her. She’d always kept an eye out for him and the other wet-behind-the-ears alchemists barely out of short trousers. Then she’d had one argument with General Abrams too many and then she was gone. He doesn’t know whether she deserted or whether she was shot for insubordination behind a tent somewhere.

All Roy knows is that if he doesn’t get out of Ishval right now, he’s going to steal someone’s sidearm and blow his own brains out, because he can’t go on like this any longer. He curls up in his bedroll, looking over at Hughes and thinking about Hawkeye just a couple of tents away. He can’t leave them here in the middle of this hell, but at the same time, he can’t stay here either, and surely it must be better to vanish like Sherman did rather than leave them to deal with the aftermath of his very final departure from the world.

The bombardments are heavy tonight, and Roy wonders privately if it’s artillery or just Kimblee on a spree.

Still. Whoever it is, they’re providing good cover, as Roy very quietly gets out of bed and pulls his boots on, filching Hughes’ sand overcoat because Hughes is taller and his coat comes down to Roy’s ankles.

He leaves everything else behind. Uniform, spark cloth, pocket watch, anything that could identify him or slow him down. Roy sneaks out of camp wearing boots, boxer shorts, an undershirt and someone else’s sand coat, and as he continues to creep away, he thinks that he really has tipped over the edge into insanity. Someone’s going to find him gibbering in a ditch in the morning. Maybe he’d get discharged and sent home then.

Maybe not.

He has a choice between heading east into the desert or heading west back towards Amestris, and he’s got enough sense left to know that wandering into the desert isn’t a good idea despite how incredibly inviting the notion is.

He keeps ploughing forward through the contested zone, keeping to the shadows, keeping out of sight, but in reality not caring too much if he’s caught and shot. He’s not sure what sense of innate self-preservation keeps him going whilst his thoughts are spiralling, but he keeps going nonetheless, not knowing or caring where he’s going, as long as he keeps moving, and keeps out of sight.

Roy doesn’t know how long he walks for. It feels like years.

Once he’s crossed into Amestris proper, it starts raining. Roy can’t bring himself to care. In books there’s the idea of the rain being a purifier, washing away people’s sins and leaving them clean and fresh. Roy can’t see it that way. The rain is just turning the dust and sand of Ishval into mud, making him feel even more stained and broken, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel properly clean again, not after everything that’s happened.

He pushes on, not even sure where he’s going or what direction he’s going in anymore. Maybe wandering out into the desert to die alone would have been a better option. At least it would have been warm and dry rather than cold and wet.

Maybe dying face down in a muddy ditch is what he deserves, but despite the dark thoughts running through his head, he keeps moving nonetheless, trudging on through the night into the dismal day and back into darkness again, keeping to fields and hedgerows, away from the main roads.

It’s only when he sees a little house on the top of a hill in the distance that Roy receives a new lease of life, remembering that he hasn’t eaten for a couple of days, and he’s suddenly ravenous, knowing somewhere deep down that if he wanted to die he should have just given up and done it by now.

He can't really ask for shelter when he’s a deserter and a traitor and probably wanted by the military already, but he’s not thinking that far ahead right now, and as he approaches the house, he can make out an expansive vegetable patch outside it and the smell of ripening tomatoes. They won’t notice a few missing, surely...

Roy crouches down behind the tomato plants as a light comes on in the house upstairs. He can see shadows moving around and curtains twitching, and he stays as still as he can, hoping they can’t see him. With any luck, the pale sand coat is now dirty enough not to be noticeable in the moonlight.

There’s no luck. More lights are going on and the door is opening, and someone is coming out into the rain.

On instinct, Roy snaps, but he left his gloves miles away and it’s pouring with rain anyway. The figure comes closer, holding out an umbrella over him, and Roy makes out a man with long hair wearing a raincoat and rubber boots over pyjamas. He holds out a hand to help Roy up off the ground.

“You’ve come from Ishval, haven’t you?”

Roy looks down at the drenched sand coat and military issue boots. He can’t really deny it.

“Well, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Come into the dry.”

Roy finds himself in a warm kitchen with a woman in a dressing gown making tea.

“There’s no need to hide under the tomatoes,” she says, pouring hot water into the pot. “We don’t bite. How long have you been out there? I’ll go and run you a bath, you’ll catch your death. Just leave your wet things in a heap by the door, we’ll deal with them in the morning and Edward, I told you to stay upstairs.”

The woman bustles out of the kitchen, and Roy gets a glimpse of a tousled golden head around the door before she chivvies him away and up the stairs.

Roy just stands dripping in the doorway for a few moments, not entirely sure he’s not actually lying in a ditch somewhere and this is all a fever dream.

The man brings over a couple of blankets and goes to pour the tea. Elsewhere, Roy can hear hot water pipes clanking and hissing, and he finally realises that he’s very cold and very wet. He strips down completely, reminded that he was so out of it that he managed to walk here from Ishval in little more than his underwear, and wraps up in the blankets, taking tentative steps towards the kitchen table.

“You seem very calm about all this,” he ventures. “Has this happened before?”

The man shrugs. “You’re the first person we’ve ever found in our vegetable patch, but you’re by no means the first person that the village has taken in on the run from Ishval. Both Ishvalans and military runaways; we get them all and we take care of them all. We always have. War is a horrible thing and we do what we can to mitigate it.”

He looks like he must be in his late thirties, but there’s something in his unusual golden eyes behind his glasses that gives Roy the impression that he’s seen centuries’ worth of violence in his time.

He gives a tired smile. “My name is Van Hohenheim. Welcome to Resembool.”

Whilst Roy has always firmly claimed not to believe in God, and that Ishval only strengthened that lack of belief, when he looks back on his first night in Resembool, he thinks that something outside of normal human power must have happened to have provided this safe haven just at the moment when he was on the knife edge of despair.

Hohenheim and Trisha let him into their home with no judgement and no expectations, giving him tea and food and a hot bath and spare pyjamas. They give him a makeshift bed in Hohenheim’s study, and when he wakes up screaming from nightmares of Hughes and Hawkeye paying the price for his desertion (Hughes was shot point blank in a phone booth, of all places, and Riza had her throat cut with a sword that looked suspiciously like Bradley’s), Hohenheim just gives him a knowing look from where he’s working on something at his desk. They talk about nothing of importance until the sun comes up and the rest of the family start to stir.

He meets Trisha and Hohenheim’s two boys in the morning, and they’re obviously intrigued by the stranger who turned up under their tomatoes in the middle of the night. Alphonse is more reserved, but Edward has no fear whatsoever.

“Are you an alchemist?” he asks. “We get a lot of them coming here from the east.”

Roy looks down at his hands, remembering everything his alchemy has done and his stomach churns with the memory of that awful stench that still won’t leave him behind.

“I was.”

Whether he’ll ever be able to use it again without needing to throw up afterwards is another matter entirely.

“That’s enough, Edward.” Trisha’s tone is firm as she flits around the kitchen, getting ready to leave on some kind of errand. Edward opens his mouth to protest, but a look from his mother silences him.

The other alchemists who’ve arrived in the town probably didn’t arrive in quite as dramatic a fashion and in quite such a hopeless state. He can understand Edward’s curiosity - he could tell from the moment he set foot in Hohenheim’s study that he’s a master of the craft to rival Berthold Hawkeye and Basque Grand - but at the same time, he’s grateful not to have to talk about it, and Edward dutifully doesn’t ask anything more.

A couple of hours later, Trisha returns with a familiar face that Roy has never really entertained the hope of seeing again.

At least he now knows the identity of at least one of the other alchemists who made their way to Resembool.

Alex Armstrong smiles at him, a smile that’s both sad and sympathetic at the same time.

“It’s good to see you, Mustang.”

#FMA: Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Roy Mustang #Fic: Haven

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

A Stranger in a Crown (part two)

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3! It really means a lot and god damn this took a long time to write

Huge thanks to my betas @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian! Love you both!

Trigger Warnings: Discussion of a Juno/Diamond past relationship and all that implies, references to drug and alcohol use, references to suicidal thoughts. But! Happy ending guaranteed!

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The waiting was the worst part.

Juno almost wished the queen would just tear him to pieces in front of the entire ball and have done with it, throw as many bottles at him as she liked. They’d shatter so prettily on the parquet floor. They could call them a feature and before the month was out, broken glass would litter the floor of every noble ballroom on the planet.

Even that would be better being yanked to her side as soon as he came within reach, black dirt from the garden still clinging to his heels, with not even a word. Just the black fury seeping out of her skin and staining the air between them, the set of her jaw that fired old instincts to run and make himself as small as possible and hope the storm would pass. She marched him around like that for the hour that remained of the party, like a dog on a leash. Juno took the hint and kept quiet through the painful conversations with dignitaries and councillors, all pretending not to see just how hard the queen was gripping the princess’ arm or the depths of volcanic rage clearly showing through the cracks in her make-up.

And, as the grand clock that still worked on real gears and springs like in the olden days chimed out the first hour of the new day, those guests not yet rendered completely useless by drink all stood to attention, waiting politely. Juno felt eyes pierce his skin in little pinpricks and he swallowed hard, looking down.

They were waiting for the announcement. This was the ball to celebrate his betrothal, after all, and there was still one role left conspicuously unfilled. This was the last chance and of course it only made sense for the queen to leave it until this last moment, the perfect flourish, only right and proper.

But Sarah Steel only clenched her teeth tighter and made a dismissive gesture to the herald, signalling the end of the ball. A ripple of surprise and confusion ran through the crowds still left on their feet, murmurings bubbling up as the queen marched Juno from the hall without so much as a closing pronouncement, Benten running after them and only just slipping through before the heavy doors boomed shut.

Well, Juno thought bitterly, at least they’d have something to talk about on the journey home.

It was clear immediately that they weren’t going to the twin’s room. Apparently Juno had fucked up so bad that this dressing down could only take place in the throne room, dark and silent now but for the intense lights that were always kept on, framing the throne itself.

It was an undeniably beautiful thing. Made of silvered wood, the kind that only grew on Harpyia, so it glowed with a faint bioluminescence, it was carved in the shape of vines thick with butterflies. The wings of each and every tiny insect was inlaid with jewels and rich pigments that hadn’t faded with the years. When the queen sat on it to hold court, looking like some mystical creature of the forest, the kind that were said to have lived on Harpyia in its earliest days, she was equally as beautiful. But she never looked further away from his mother.

It just looked imposing now, with the vast hall around it empty but for the three of them, their footsteps echoing on the floor, the queen’s determined and purposeful, Juno’s dragging, Ben’s hurried and frantic.

Eventually, she let him go, once they were at the foot of the small stairs that lead to the platform, perfect for the ruler to look down from. Juno was overbalanced when she stopped him and almost fell, the heel snapping off his shoe in his attempt to right himself.

“Juno,” she snapped, as Benten rushed to help him but was stopped in his tracks by a flick of her fingers, “What is that?” Her other hand snapped out to point up the stairs.

Juno didn’t understand, trying not to visibly shake even with the panic rising, “I...I don’t…”

“What is that?” she repeated again, more force in her voice.

“The throne?” Juno guessed, feeling his pulse behind his eye. His instincts shouted at him to please her, to do or say whatever it took to calm her anger, but it was so hard to do that when he didn’t know where she was going.

“Exactly,” her voice dripped with sarcastic praise, a parody of a schoolteacher with a young child, “And what exactly does that throne mean, Juno?”

Juno shook his head, mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of an answer that would pacify.

“No answer for me, little monster? Not a single word on what this throne, with all its history and all the people depending on it, means to you? But you still claim to be my heir.”

Juno felt tears burn in his eye. He hated this, he hated that she could still do this to him, that he’d never been allowed to be anything other than a child no matter what he looked like on the outside or what they also paradoxically claimed he was ready for.

“I’m sorry…”

Sarah shook her head, no interest in hearing it, “I know you had your reservations about tonight but I thought you were willing to make the sacrifice for our planet and our people. I thought you’d listened, all the years I did my best to raise you so you’d be ready. I forgave your embarrassing lapses, telling myself that you’d grow up one day and you’d see…”

“I left for an hour, that’s all!” Juno burst out, unable to swallow the unfairness of it all.

“An hour,” the queen raged at him, “An hour plus five years of dragging your feet, turning back fine suitors I would have killed for when I was your age, ignoring your responsibilities while we’re recovering from a goddamn war.”

Juno trembled, now it was the truth of what she said that burned, “I...I’ll do it, I’ll pick someone…”

“Too little and too goddamn late,” the queen snarled, “Ever since you two were born I’ve had to do this on my own and shield you from the wolves at our door. Keeping a broken country running while people like the Kanagawas lick their lips and eye us, dodging the snakes in my own palace. All on my own. No one will take that throne from me when I have worked myself hollow for it, not Min Kanagawa, not Lord Takano, not my own selfish little princess. Do you hear me?”

“Jack…” Ben murmured, frowning, but he may as well have been on a different plane of existence to Juno, who could only see the queen.

“Mother, I…”

“No,” she shook her head, nearly dislodging the grand crown from her head, having to stop and fix it before centuries old gold and diamonds could clatter to the floor, clinging to it like the shadows she saw might rip it away at any moment, “I tried, Juno. Know I tried to work with you and give you some agency in this. I tried so hard…”

Tears that hadn’t been there a second ago were suddenly visible in her eyes, shining like the gems she gripped so tightly. Juno jolted, seeing his mother standing before him, the mother who had told him stories about the harpies and the butterflies, who’d kicked away her shoes after endless balls and dinners and galas, exhausted, and sat between her sons’ beds to make them laugh with court gossip and the antics of drunk rich people. But then she blinked and was gone, only the queen remaining, cold eyed.

“I received a message two days ago, one I wasn’t going to share with you but you’ve left me no choice, Juno,” she spoke with as much ice in her voice as in her gaze, “Diamond put forward a request for consideration as your spouse. And I will accept.”

Juno felt the oxygen leave him all at once, like the floor had disappeared out from under him “No…”

“Mother, you can’t!” Ben sobbed out, horror on his face.

“The bride price they offer far outstrips anyone else’s, even the Kanagawas,” the queen continued like she couldn’t see them, sounding rehearsed all of a sudden, like she’d been practicing this in her head all night, “Their family is powerful, with influence that, true, others could match and exceed but it comes from within Harpyia itself. We could become stronger. We can’t make our little rock any bigger but goddamn it, we can make it something to be reckoned with. And marrying them will give us that. That’s all they ask, Juno, just you, nothing else.”

Juno couldn’t hear her, he was spiralling, unable to hear anything through rushing air and the throb of old bruises, “Please...mother, please…”

“After everything they did to Juno?” Ben’s tears were falling thickly, dripping onto the shadowed floor, “How they hurt him? How can you be so heartless, mother...”

The queen turned the full force of her glare on him, “I am doing what needs to be done to save this planet. As apparently you and your brother won’t.”

Juno had seen Ben angry before, it had always looked so out of place on his sweet, gentle face, so clearly made to smile. And this kind of wounded, aching fury looked even more strange.

“You have no idea how much he does,” getting the words out was a struggle, his voice tight as a drum, brimming with the anger of a child who has been lied to, “No idea.”

And he turned and fled the room, fled the shadow of the throne, his tears leaving a trail on the floor.

Juno looked but couldn’t find enough of himself to call to him or run after him as he wanted to. He was too busy hearing angry voices that he’d told himself he didn’t remember, words he’d thrown and words that had struck him. He was remembering how the blows had come without warning, every time, as he’d broken rules he hadn’t known existed. He was remembering a year of nothing but fear and hate, when the way out had been behind him the whole time but he’d never looked.

The queen wasn’t wrong. Diamond had been- and apparently still was- a figure of power in Harpyia, even if it was a kind of power that most wouldn’t look too closely at. There had been an official face of their family, a good name, structure and commerce as the scaffolding to the true reason why the heads of much older, more wealthy nobles bowed when they entered the room. They were part of Harpyia’s foremost organised crime family, one of the many that bred in the poorest parts of the city. But this monster had gorged itself during the war, pulling the right strings and putting money in the right places to grow and swallow others until they were the largest and richest and, as far as they were concerned, only. Diamond was their heir, the first born into the prestige and respect their dealings had acquired.

And didn’t they know it.

Juno had been fascinated since the first day he saw them, at a party much like that night’s disastrous one. And they had been fascinated with him in turn, bringing him close, making him feel seen in a way no one else did. Diamond hadn’t cared that he drank, that he did drugs, that he harboured so much black resentment in his heart. They’d listened to the things he couldn’t even tell Benzaiten, taking Juno’s chin in their fingers and promising the world was so much bigger, telling him everything he wanted to hear, feeding the bitterness and despair inside him even while Juno had believed he was happier than he had ever been. With Diamond, things had made sense. Juno hadn’t needed to face the questions and panicky chaos inside him because all he’d had to do was listen to Diamond. Diamond became everything.

And when Sasha, Mick and Ben had protested, saying it wasn’t right the way they treated him, the way they controlled him, that he’d been so close to getting clean before he’d met them and now he was in deeper than ever, Juno had felt sorry for them because they didn’t understand. They didn’t understand how happy he was.

Realising how wrong he was had been like shattering to pieces on jagged rocks hidden by the surface of the sea. The queen had exiled Diamond, banning him from the palace, once Benten and Sasha had brought her enough evidence of how he was abusing the crown princess. She hadn’t said that was why, of course, she wasn’t going to put her heir’s scars on display. But it wasn’t as if there was a shortage of legitimate reasons for their fall from the royal graces, they’d just been ignoring them up until now.

Putting himself back together and climbing back up the cliff face had been twice as painful as the breaking but he’d done it, in time for coming of age. And he’d actually started to be proud of himself.

And now he was falling again. As easily as that.

“We will announce your betrothal tomorrow,” the queen kept talking like Ben’s outburst hadn’t happened, “Diamond not being present at the ball will give us a good excuse for why we didn’t do so tonight and silence any gossipers. God knows some of them are bound to have seen you stumbling out of the gardens with mud on your skirts. There’ll be stories breeding like rabbits all through this palace. But this will set it to rights. This...this will fix everything.”

If Juno had been looking, if he’d been able to see or think or feel in that moment, he’d have heard the crack in her voice on the last word. He’d have seen another flash of his mother, looking as scared as her son did in that moment. He’d have seen a child in a crown, looking at the shadows on her bedroom wall and trembling in terror.

But he couldn’t. So he didn’t.

A guard must have been summoned to lead him to bed because the next time Juno could feel his heartbeat and the air moving in and out of his lungs and the wilted silk against his skin, he was leaning back against his bedroom door.

Growing up with the only space that was truly theirs being full of antiques and priceless, ancient furniture had been strange. There’d always been a disconnect, like their ancestors would come haunt them if they left a jacket on a thousand year old chair or something. So they’d tried to leave as much of a mark as they could, if only a removable one. There were posters on the wall and you could neatly divide the room by which brother owned which half, just by which bands and streams were represented where. Their clothes were chosen for them, for the most part, but in here they could wear sweatpants and soft jumpers and simple t-shirts and throw them on whichever part of the floor they pleased. Old toys they couldn’t bear to throw away were in boxes at the corners and there were books everywhere that would never be allowed in the palace libraries. They’d managed to give it the veneer of actually having two twenty two year olds living in it.

And Juno had always felt a little bit safer here. So now he was inhaling the smell of Ben’s hairspray and the cheap barbecue chips he was unapologetically addicted to and even the funk of their unwashed socks, he could think more easily. He could leash the panic and start to think.

And, as it had been all his life, his first thought was to make sure Ben was okay.

Juno waded into the room, taking off his dress and letting it fall carelessly, shedding everything that would remind him of the last ten minutes. He quickly dressed in something comfier, pyjama bottoms patterned with characters from a cartoon he hadn’t watched since he was six, a loose top that hung off his shoulder. He shed all the jewellery like a snake changing it’s skin, leaving it all on the dresser though the more expensive pieces would need to go back in the vaults or back on display. His lady in waiting, Rita, would sort that out in the morning, she was good at keeping him on track.

The tiara should have gone with it all but, somehow, when he had it in his hands, he couldn’t let go. Instead he gazed at it for a moment, seeing his own face, puffy with tears and streaked in makeup, fractured and repeating over and over in the jewels.

What had Peter Nureyev seen in that face?

The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a dream. All he had to tell himself it was real was the dirt on his broken shoe and the memory of those other hands holding this tiara. Not much to hang a promise on.

But no, not now. Benten. Find Benten and comfort him, somehow. Tell him what had happened in the garden, tell him that everything would be okay, that he’d find a way to fix it all, even if it tasted like a lie. Then...then Juno didn’t know.

He didn’t have to look far at all, as it happened. He was putting the tiara down on top of his dresser when the door behind him opened. Still tense and bad memories clinging to him like burrs, Juno jumped, having to swallow down a scream but it was only Benten. His suit, done in colours to compliment Juno’s dress, was rumpled and had clearly gone beyond its natural lifespan, his make-up shedding from his face. Juno vaguely recalled a time when they’d been jealous of their mother, getting to go to all these wonderful parties that sounded so magical.

In the same instant, after a moment of looking at each other and feeling each other’s exhaustion, both of them spoke in perfect synchrony, “I need to tell you something.”

They had to smile a little at that, despite everything. Juno held out his fist with a questioning expression and Ben grinned tiredly, answering with his own. Three taps, Juno threw scissors and Ben threw rock.

“You always do that,” Ben observed distractedly.

Juno wasn’t going to point out that it was deliberate, motioning him to sit on his bed while he sat across on his own, “What do you need to tell me?”

Ben didn’t hesitate, setting his shoulders and looking directly into Juno’s eye, “You need to marry Mick.”

Juno was the one who couldn’t bear to hold his gaze, who couldn’t watch a man still half a boy give up nearly everything that made him happy with not a waver in his voice. He looked at his hands instead, clenched tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Benten...we’re not doing this…”

“Juno, it’s the only way. Everything mother said, everything about why she’s...doing this. Mick’s got all of that, his family’s here on Harpyia, they’re powerful. And Mick isn’t a goddamn abusive psychopath. We can take it to her before it’s too late and...and hell, even if she doesn’t agree, if we go and just do it she can’t argue and you’re safe-”

“Ben, I said no, this isn’t an option!” Juno protested, heart thudding hard enough to make him feel sick. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, I’m supposed to keep you safe, not drag you down into it with me.

“Juno, it took you so long to get away from them, I won’t let you throw yourself away like that. It was bad enough when mother was marrying you off when you didn’t want to be but now...god, I don’t even want to think about what they could do to you.”

“But Benten…” Juno didn’t see how there were any tears left in him but his eye was wet all the same, “Mick is yours.”

His little brother, who he’d always seen as his little brother despite the mere half an hour between them, who he’d always admired for managing to hold his smile when it seemed impossible, who’d always believed in the best of people after so many had tried to prove him wrong, who’d shown more bravery in his optimism than anything that tried to take it away from him, he smiled with the sadness of someone so much older.

“Juno, he’s never been mine.”

And he understood then how it must have felt, to fall in love with one of your best friends, to find someone who understood you so completely and made you feel safe. And to also know they could never be yours, not really. Not in a way that anyone else would ever recognise. Because of something as insignificant as half an hour.

“It was nice to pretend and...and thank you, for everything you did, covering for us and all the times we switched clothes halfway through a party so I could dance with him twice,” Ben laughed but it was a hollow sound, like a recording of his usual laugh, “Remember that?”

“You always wore everything better than me,” Juno murmurs, his fingers numb now with how hard he was clenching his fists.

“But...Juno, you being safe and whole and...and well, maybe not happy but, god, not living in fear of your life, that matters more to me than playing pretend,” Ben turned a bracelet around his wrist over and over again, “And Mick...maybe it’s for the best. It’s not going to hurt any less the longer it goes on, right? And I meant what I said to Mother, you’ve already sacrificed everything. If I can help you with this one thing then...then at least it’s a start to making up for everything you’ve had to do.”

Juno looked up at him, voice soft, “Benzaiten…”

His brother coughed slightly, clearly it was becoming more difficult to keep his tears as the lump in his throat, “You know, I found it hard to get until those nights, where I’d become you and you’d become me. When the guests all thought I was you...they treated me so differently. They looked at me like they were waiting for something, like they expected something from me and every second I didn’t do it, I was a disappointment. But I didn’t even know what they wanted! I felt that weight on my shoulders you must feel every second of every day and...god, it was awful. I’d always resented the way I didn’t matter if you were in the room, I never wanted to say it but I did, deep down. I used to hate being the spare. But after five minutes of being you, I’d much rather be invisible than carry that weight on my own.”

“You’ve never been invisible to me,” was all Juno could think to say, “To Sasha or Rita. And definitely never to Mick.”

Ben looked grateful that he’d said that, it seemed to give him the strength to swallow and say, “Let me make the weight a little smaller, Juno. It’s all I can do.”

A small part of Juno he didn’t want to believe existed whispered how easy it would be. Depending on how much was already agreed between her and Diamond’s family, the queen might be furious but Ben was right, the Mercury name had everything Diamond’s did but with more legitimacy, she’d have to forgive them in time. And Mick was kind. He would never do anything unless Juno asked. And, in time, after the performance and the heirs and spares the kingdom demanded, maybe he’d even become fond of him in a way he wasn’t right now. Maybe he’d have something like love in his life. He’d never have to find out what was in the galaxy he could see as points of light in the darkness, he’d never have to risk anything. He could stay in this broken system that had hurt him so much already and try and scratch something good out of the poisoned earth. But he’d know where he was and who he was.

It was more tempting than Juno wanted to admit.

But he was an older sibling, down to the bone, it was the only part of himself he’d ever been proud of. And he wasn’t about to watch Ben make such a sacrifice for him.

Not when there was a chance they could do something together.

Juno stood and moved to Ben’s bed, sitting beside him and putting an arm around his shoulders. The dam burst then, as he’d known it would, his brother weeping against his neck while he held him tight and rocked him gently. He had a vague memory of their mother doing something like this for them, when they would skin their knees or a favourite toy broke or when she would have to go away for a while. But after she’d changed, after the mask had become impossible to tell apart from her real face, Juno had become the expert in making his arms feel like a shield.

Eventually Ben ran dry and he was just leaning against him, sniffling softly, “So you’ll do it? Please?”

“No,” Juno said simply.

Ben growled in frustration, shoving him away, “For fuck’s sake…”

“Will you give me a second?” Juno sighed, catching his hands and holding on to them, “Let me explain. I won’t marry Mick. But I won’t marry Diamond either.”

Ben frowned, eyebrows knitting together, “What…”

And Juno told him everything. How he’d been in the middle of a panic attack when Rex Glass had appeared like a fairytale prince, taking him outside. He told him about the kiss, the jewellery in his pockets. And he told him about the offer, about the tiara.

Well, he told him almost everything. He kept Nureyev’s name as Rex Glass, realising what a gift it had been to hear his real name. Juno Steel kept his promises where he could.

By the time he was done telling it all, Ben was looking at him like he’d looked at him the fair few times Juno had snuck back into the palace, steaming drunk, and collapsed over his legs just before dawn rambling about nonsense.

“Juno, that sounds fucking insane,” Ben said warily.

“It does,” Juno nodded, “But just because something sounds insane doesn’t mean it is.”

“Well no, but it’s a fairly good indicator…”

“If you don’t believe me, go check the queen’s jewellery box. You and I both know her bedroom and her office are the most fiercely guarded places in the palace, especially after the night I lost my eye. You know she’s been tripling security nearly every month, Sasha told us so. If Glass isn’t who he says he was- I mean, the second time around- then there's no way her jewellery would be missing, right?”

Ben absorbed that, nodding slowly, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“Then go see,” Juno spread his hands, “Go see, come back and tell me.”

Ben seemed to come back to himself more, now that he had a task to complete and a mystery to intrigue him. He jumped up almost eagerly, throwing off his ballroom attire much like Juno had, not really caring for it’s crumpled finery. Rita would have a fit the next day, Juno knew, she took the abuse of any pretty fabric as a personal offence.

Once he looked like Benzaiten again and not Prince Steel, he made for the door, only freezing right at the last moment, when his hand was on it.

“Ben?”

“I’m just…” he chewed on his lower lip, “I’m not sure I want to see mother right now. I don’t want to pretend like everything’s okay with her after...after what she said…”

When you said something so many times, when you fell into comfortable, familiar patterns of speech, you often missed your own eccentricities. But one thing that Juno noted every single time it happened was how, to him, Sarah Steel was the queen and, to Ben, even now, she was mother.

She had two faces, that was the commonly whispered gossip in the quieter corners. When they said it, they were referring to how quickly her moods changed, how she could be their wise, benevolent queen one minute and, the next, the paranoia would show and she would become someone much more sinister. Juno wondered if they knew how right they were in their idle gossip.

The problem was Juno only saw the queen, cold and fiery by turns, focused only on securing their future and making their people safe in her misguided ways. Ben could still see their mother, who loved them and shared her secret jokes with them and did everything to protect them. And neither of them were wrong and neither of them were right. But how could you see something that was turned away from you?

Juno sighed softly, “Benten, I don’t want to make things difficult for you…”

Ben set his jaw, stopped his quivering lip, “No. You know what? If I see her, I’ll tell her the exact same thing. I’ll tell her she’s wrong to do this to you. And if she doesn’t like it then she can be mad.”

Juno’s mouth tugged up at one end and he felt a warm glow in his chest that, after everything he’d been through that night, was like balm on an angry burn, “Just don’t get yourself grounded.”

Ben wasn’t gone for very long, all of their bedrooms were in the same royal suite. But it felt even shorter than it was, with Juno thinking about the kiss Nureyev had left him with. A silly thing to focus on, when so much was at stake, but it soothed him. The way he’d been held, the way he’d been able to be the small one who’d needed comfort. The way Nureyev had kissed him like there was nothing else he’d rather be doing. The way he’d looked at him after they’d drawn apart and Juno knew he was seeing him. Him, not the dress or the jewels or the tiara or the name. The way Mick looked at Ben, the way Juno had always been so jealous of because he’d known he could never have it.

But there it was. And Juno just couldn’t let it go.

Then Ben was crashing through the door, eyes wild, and his thoughts were interrupted, “It’s gone! Every single one, just like you said! And I asked the guards, they have no idea, no one’s come in or out!”

Juno breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He realised then that he had no clue what he’d have done if the jewellery had been there and it really had all been a dream. He’d just believed, completely and utterly, in Peter Nureyev and never imagined he might have been lying.

That was new.

“Mother’s going to go apeshit…” Ben was shaking his head in amazement, like a puppy with burrs in it’s ears, “Your thief better be coming back before she realises or he’s going to get his head put on a spike…”

“Come on,” Juno rolled his eye, “She’s not gone that far yet...was she there?” He had a sudden sense of having very little time, like Diamond might come knocking at the door at any moment.

Ben paused in his frantic amazement, frowning a little, “Actually she was still in the throne room. Shouting at someone. Jack, I think.”

Juno felt like he should be more concerned about that but he was too busy feeling the kind of hope he’d thought had died around the age of seven.

“I can’t believe this,” Ben flaps his hands in front of his face, pacing back and forth.

He looked like he had whenever their mother would reach the climax of their bedtime story and the heros would be dangling over the precipice or facing down something with slaver stringing from it’s teeth. Back when she had the time, she’d been excellent at telling stories. Back when she’d had time to live lives other than her own, when she hadn’t been the one facing monsters that may or may not be shadows on the wall.

“You’d be the heir,” Juno nods, heart pounding, “You could marry Mick, for real.”

That seemed to hit Ben with the strength of a sledgehammer, hearing it out loud, hearing it be spoken by someone he trusted implicitly. He practically staggered, hands going to his hair and stroking through it rapidly like he needed something to hold on to.

“Oh…” he murmured, eyes clearly seeing something else, watching what had always been a selfish dream become his possible future. “I could. We wouldn’t have to sneak around, we’d have an engagement party and everyone would know and it would be fine, we’d get married in the grand hall where they all do and it would make mother smile and she’d know we were safe and you! You’d be my…”

He stopped then, his face falling, his hope and excitement shattering like a broken vase. He looked to Juno, looking like he’d become ten years younger in an instant.

“You wouldn’t be there,” he murmured, voice small and far away like it was coming from another room, “You’d be gone.”

Juno closed his eyes tightly and took a breath, needing to steady himself before he could meet his brother’s gaze. He’d never found it easy to crack himself open and show others what was inside, even with Benten. How could he, when he was raised to do the exact opposite, to move through a prearranged list of tasks as effortlessly as a ballet dancer, never giving the impression that there was anything but clockwork in his chest?

But if this was going to be goodbye, he was going to fucking suck it up because that’s what Benzaiten deserved.

He stood and opened his arms, Ben crashing into them so hard they both were in danger of going flying. For a long few heartbeats, the two of them just held each other, as tight as they could, the kind of hug that could only happen between two siblings, between two people who loved each other so fiercely it hurt and who had also called each other every curse word under the sun.

“I won’t do this if you don’t want me to,” Juno murmured, voice muffled against his own shoulder, “You’re the other half of me, Ben, and I’m not going anywhere if you aren’t okay with it.”

“Juno…” Ben sighed, drawing back but putting his hands on Juno’s shoulders, gripping tight, “You’ve spent your whole life doing things for other people. You deserve this. And I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about me. I mean, I know you’re always going to…”

Juno chuckled wryly, “Yeah...can’t help it. It’s a big brother thing.”

“Only by half an hour!” Ben rolled his eyes, exasperatedly, “But whatever. I can stand on my own two feet, Juno. It’s time people realised that.”

Juno sighed a little guiltily through his smile. Maybe he had been seeing Ben as younger and more helpless than he was. Maybe it had been convenient for him to have someone need him in a way he could fix. He couldn’t solve the housing crisis or the poverty in Harpyia, he didn’t have magic words to turn back the queen’s paranoia. But he could hold his brother when he cried at night, he could swap clothes with him so he could dance with his secret boyfriend, he could tell him stories from their childhood to help him remember when things had made a little more sense. And maybe he’d forgotten somewhere along the way that Ben was clever, brave and would make a wonderful crown prince. Better than Juno ever could be, because he hadn’t grown up with the title and had it break him slowly in a myriad of tiny ways.

“But…” he shook his head, “I’d feel like such a coward. And...and you said, you said you hated being me at all those parties!”

Ben smiled simply. He did that so often, like the act didn’t cost him anything.

“So I won’t be you, Juno. I’ll be me.”

It was very hard not to cry then but Juno had done enough of that. Any more and he’d render himself useless.

“And you’re not a coward,” Ben added firmly, “That’s the last thing anyone can call you. It shouldn’t be down to one person to fix all this shit, anyway. It’s going to take time and effort and smart people who care.”

“But...they’re getting Mick Mercury?” Juno grimaced, finding it easier to not cry if he was joking. It was even easier a second later when he had the pain of Benten socking him in the shoulder to focus on, “Kidding, kidding. So...I guess that makes this…”

“No,” Ben said quickly, holding up a finger, “Don’t you dare. Not yet. Or I’ll cry and then we’re never going to pull this off.”

Juno smiled, nodding, more than a little relieved.

“Okay then,” the smile was back, almost blinding, “Let’s go get you a happily ever after.”

It had taken some time for the queen to wipe the regret off her face, some was still clinging when her sons assembled wordlessly behind her. But by the time she stood out on her balcony, it was gone, not a trace of it lingering.

The press and dignitaries assembled below her all turned their faces up as the doors swung open, like flowers moving towards the sun. A sun they needed, a sun that fed them but they would still snipe and gossip about her as soon as she set. She would love to see how they’d survive in a cold world with a dead sky.

The best of Harpyia was assembled below her, as well as the sweepings of the surrounding planets who were still here. Of course they were eager to hear what she had to say, after the debacle that had been last night's ball with no pronouncement. Perhaps she should thank her little monster. The delay had only fanned the flames and stoked the interest.

She could sense him behind her, standing next to Benzaiten as a perfect matching set. He’d turned his eye away every time she’d made to glance at him, since he’d been summoned to this announcement and hadn’t emerged from his room until that moment. If he hadn’t already hated her, these next words would set it in stone.

Inside the shell of what she’d become, Sarah Steel wept.

Outside the glass, the sun was making it’s slow, leisurely way below the horizon, the glow from the gardens was just igniting in long pulses like a heart waking up. Late for an announcement like this but it had taken a long time to assemble everyone important enough to need to be here. Not long by anyone else’s standards of course but for a queen, it was closer to night than she would have liked. Perhaps she could spin it as deliberate, so they could make these decisions in the glow of the years past, the same light their ancestors had been bathed in as they forged the planet they now stood on, some bullshit like that.

Of course it would give a lovely ambience to the drinks and canapes after, the circles of the ballroom Juno and Diamond would take so people could congratulate them and all those who’d dared oppose her recently could quake in their boots at the sight of the princess’ arm through that of the heir to the most powerful crime family. You gave me nothing, her smile would say when her lips couldn’t, so I found my own strength. Now fear what my planet will become.

It was the face absent from the crowd that concerned her more than that, however. Jack wasn’t anywhere to be seen when, by rights, he should be already doing what he did best, winning people to their side, smoothing the cracks. Likely he was off nursing his battered platitudes and niceties she’d torn through last night. Well and good, as long as he remembered who truly ruled Harpyia but that didn’t mean she would forget his absence.

She was done forgetting and forgiving.

She spoke in a loud, clear voice, the one she’d honed for years with her mother standing her at one end of the empty throne room and her at the other. She had nightmares about that sometimes, her mother’s voice booming at her from somewhere she couldn’t see, louder, louder, louder, Sarah. She spoke of the strength of Harpyia, how they would only flourish and grow in the coming years as Princess Juno moved towards his time on the throne with his new partner by his side. She put a lot of emphasis on the power and prestige of his betrothed, how their family was part of Harpyia, a hard working and dedicated family that showed the best of what their planet could be. A pit of snakes with venom dripping from their fangs, she corrected herself inside her mind, and I will step carefully. But oh, won’t it be fun to throw some of you bastards into that pit.

“And now to formally announce his betrothal, my beloved son and heir, your Princess Juno,” she moved smoothly to one side, to give her little monster a severe don’t fuck this up look before he spoke the pre rehearsed words he’d been delievered that morning, voice clear and bright and without a tremble.

And she was faced with empty air.

The queen was glad she was turned away so they couldn’t see the shock and dismay on her face. So they couldn’t see her look at Benzaiten, still standing straight backed and to attention, the barest flicker of a smile on his face and growl through gritted teeth, “Where the fuck is he?”

The two guards there purely for ceremony looked around, helpless, fumbling. The murmurs below began, quiet and rumbling as a river with hidden currents ready to pull you below and choke you. And Benzaiten only shrugged. He shrugged.

Not caring who heard now, the queen dispatched the guards with a curse, ordering them to find the crown princess and drag him up here whatever state he was in. She gave a bitten off scream of frustration and brought her palm down on the polished wood of the balcony’s railing, snapping two of her nails. She brought her heel down so hard it snapped off halfway up.

And inside, Sarah Steel prayed that her son was running hard and fast.

The garden really was beautiful. Juno thought it every time he sat here, no matter what or who he was occupied with, but it bore saying over and over again. It was beautiful. Harpyia was beautiful.

The gathering night put some coolness in the air. His dress was far less ridiculous than last night’s monstrosity of lace and petticoats but the sleeves were shorter, leaving his arms free to pepper with goosebumps as he sat on the bench and waited. His silent flight from the balcony, taking all the quickest, quietest ways he’d ever snuck in and out of the palace, hoping that everyone was too busy looking the other way to learn the name of the person he wasn’t going to marry, had left his heart writhing with leftover adrenaline.

But now he could just sit and take air in and out, feeling shreds of himself fall away and get snagged by the wind like petals. He would have to check in later and see what was left, see whether he’d lost anything he cared about. He doubted it though. He only felt lighter as the moments passed.

And then he wasn’t alone.

“Juno Steel,” the voice came from close by, “You can’t know how happy I am to see you here.”

“Same to you, Peter Nureyev,” Juno turned and smiled, he was sitting right beside him on the bench, “This is yours.”

He held the tiara out to his thief. It felt so light in his hands, far too light for the history it carried. The history he was giving away in this moment, as he moved from being the figurehead of a planet, the mannequin on which they dressed their centuries, to being a flesh and blood human being. Who could make mistakes and do things wrong but also learn and grow and make beautiful things out of it all.

Like falling in love with the man in front of him.

Nureyev barely even glanced at the tiara, already leaning in and kissing him. If Juno had harboured any worries that last night had been a dream, that he’d blown it up in his mind, that it would never be what he’d remembered in his stressed out, desperate haze, that kiss wiped them away in a moment. It was just as sweet and honest and full of promises that he believed Nureyev would keep. It made sense, in a beautifully simple way.

And as much as he wanted to sink into it, his ear was straining towards the palace, a shrinking distance away from them. Was that the trickle of the water fountain hidden in the middle of the maze or was it angry voices rising in volume? Was that the beat of butterfly wings above them in the canopy or footfalls on the gravel, running towards them?

Reluctantly, Juno pulled away as far as he could bear to which wasn’t very far at all, “We should go. I want a seat on that magical escape and I don’t fancy seeing you in the dungeons.”

“That’s a shame,” Nureyev gave a smile that flickered quick as a sparked match and Juno’s face felt hot like he’d been standing too close, “But you’re right. I came to steal you away and I do not intend to have this particular prize taken from me.”

Juno grinned, letting him pull him to his feet. Both of their hands, Juno’s right and Nureyev’s left, held the tiara as their fingers wound together. Perfect complementary shapes locking into place, the spun gold snug between them. All they had to do was keep a tight hold and not let go.

And run.

It was immediately obvious that this was Nureyev’s element. Like Ben dancing, like Rita at her comms, like the queen in her throne, this was where he was the brightest star in the sky. Sprinting through somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, holding something he wasn’t supposed to have, making a breakneck escape, this was what he was made for. All Juno could do was hang on and grip his hand, letting himself be pulled along.

They weren’t going to be caught, he realised that after a minute, as Nureyev fearlessly dived into the thick woods that surrounded the royal grounds. The queen may as well try and catch lightning in her bare hands, it just wasn’t going to happen. A force of nature was a force of nature.

Which meant Juno really was leaving for good.

In between his own ragged breaths he wondered what Ben was doing right now. Crying probably, though Juno really didn’t want to think about that. But if he was, he hoped Mick was holding him tight against his chest the way he’d seen them do, where Ben could tuck his face against Mick’s collarbone. Mick had been there for the goodbyes, with the rest of them, with all of the people he actually wanted to say it to when he’d realised he had less than an hour to go.

Juno didn’t want to think about that too much, not right now when he had to depend on his lungs to pull in air and his eye to stay clear. The time for it would come later when he could sit and see the miles he’d put between his home and him clearly in his mind. For now, he just hoped that Ben was safe in Mick’s arms, that Rita was pulled into a tight hug, that Mick’s hurt anger had faded some. He could just hope that they’d be okay.

And in return, he would go and be okay.

The forests around the palace were so dense, they were rarely set foot in, the gardeners had long ago given up on taming them. Juno always remembered being warned away from it as a child, nanny after nanny and even their mother telling them firmly that the forest was not a playground and it would be so easy to get lost. They hadn’t listened, obviously, he and Ben, along with Mick and Sasha, had dared each other into them hundreds of times, sitting under the towering trees with their veins of bioluminescence and passing bottles of expensive wine and joints back and forth, telling ghost stories and seeing who could climb the highest.

But even they had never pressed in too far, staying where some sunlight could still trickle in between the leaves overhead. There was just something primal and terrifying about the true heart of the forest, something about it that still felt alien, no matter how long Harpyia had been colonised. Those trees and plants had been there long before any humans, seething there for centuries upon centuries, and it was easy to believe they still harboured a grudge.

Juno hoped it wasn’t too strong a resentment as he followed Nureyev deep into their embrace, feeling very at their mercy. But maybe they would understand. Maybe they could empathise with a princess running away from the same structures that had infected the planet that had once been theirs. Maybe they envied his legs to run with.

He must have had the right of it because the trees kept them well hidden, wrapping them in a veil of black leaves, stems throbbing with blue light like there were hidden rivers running through them. That was the only light they had, all the brightness of the setting sun completely banished by the thick of the foliage. Their own personal, premature night had fallen, lit only by faint stars in an array of natural, biological colours. But it seemed to be enough, Nureyev never stumbled once, even as the ground beneath them grew spongy and uneven and twigs started to snap under their heels like broken bones.

Juno was starting to curse his dresser. He obviously couldn’t dress for his escape, not when he was trying to make it seem like he fully intended to attend the pronouncement, not without arousing suspicion. He’d long ago learned how to run in heels and full length skirts, he was no amature. But even he was starting to suffer, points of agony flaring on the soles of his feet and he was sure the hem of his dress was a wreck.

And then Juno realised he was only noticing his hurts because they were slowing down.

Soon they came to a stop entirely, Nureyev pulling them into the shelter of the thickest, blackest trunk, the one roughest and most scarred with age. He was sweating too, lightly around his hairline, breath coming in soft, practised pants. That pleased Juno, it was good to see his thief really was human.

“This will do,” Nureyev kept his voice low, though sound would never carry here, “We can rest here awhile.”

“What’s the plan?” Juno wheezed, leaning against the tree. He still hadn’t let go of Nureyev’s hand.

Nureyev grinned at him, he clearly loved explaining his plans, seeing another person’s eye widening in awe at their brilliance, “They’ll be expecting us to run straight for the capital port. Or one of the smaller ones, if they have any regard for our intelligence. So instead we wait, out of range of sensors or signal jammers, give them time to exhaust all the obvious options and become panicky, become more reckless and heavy handed. Those heavy hands may come down with more force but it only makes the gaps between the fingers wider. That is when we slip through them in my own vehicle. Unregistered, untraceable and damn good at escapes. It’s been waiting here in these woods since last night with my supplies.”

Juno followed his easy gesture over to a particularly thick bramble patch. Only when he squinted and looked very closely could he see the glint of something chromatic, a bright flash of green, the edge of a wheel.

He grinned, “So we wait right under their noses, somewhere they can never find us.”

Nureyev gave him a languid smile, “Are you afraid of roughing it for a night, princess?”

“No more than anyone else. And call me Juno, okay?”

“Juno,” Nureyev repeated obediently, letting his voice slide over each syllable.

He sounded different, he’d clearly been wearing a voice as easily as he’d been wearing those clothes at the ball. It was all gone now, voice softened with the subtle accent of somewhere outer rim, the clothes just plain black pants and a tight black jumper, belt heavy with packs and rolls and concealed tools, no square inch of skin exposed that didn’t absolutely need to be.

Juno realised then that he found competency very hot.

Clearing his throat, he stood and pulled a twig from his hair. He let their fingers unwind, leaving Nureyev with the tiara, likely he had some place in that car to conceal his treasure.

“There’s hot pools just a little ways over there,” Nureyev was watching him carefully, a smile playing on his lips, “If you want to freshen up.”

“Yeah,” Juno felt adrenaline fuelled laughter bubble in his voice, “Yeah, I do look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, huh?”

“Please,” Nureyev sniffed playfully, “The hedge was Plan B. No, I just mean...if you need a moment.”

Juno gave him a grateful smile and steadied himself back on his own feet, “Sure. Feel free to join me.”

Certain his intentions had been made clear, he picked his way through the clinging leaves half gone to rot and the claggy, black mud. It wasn’t hard to follow the steam to the pools Nureyev had spoken about, close by just as he’d said. He must have spent months memorising the layout of the palace and the forest, he knew things even Juno didn’t after living here all his life.

Fingertips brushing the surface of the water told him they were plenty warm without being blisteringly hot. The mud made them black as night, no wind meant they were still as a mirror. You could so easily stumble right into them, never knowing they were there, if you didn’t spot the bioluminescent fragments of leaves floating on their surface.

It was a while before his heart stopped pounding and his breathing stopped coming in hitched gasps. Once it did, once the quiet of the forest settled into him like a plant growing roots through his veins, everything felt so fresh and new. Like up until now, he’d had wool covering his skin, stuffed into his nose and mouth, clinging to his eyes. Now it was gone, Juno could believe he’d never heard butterfly wings beating above him before, that he’d never smelled fresh earth, that he’d never really seen water running in perfect diamond droplets down his fingers.

The jewellery went first, rings, necklaces and hair pieces falling to the ground like stars. Then the eyepatch, it’s delicate lace and white satin instantly muddied. The gown next, a sweet off white waterfall of lace, specifically chosen to echo a wedding dress. Juno took great pleasure in pulling out a penknife (it was amazing what you and a dedicated lady in waiting could hide in such voluminous skirts) and sawing through the material just above his knee, freeing his legs should he need to run again, before hanging it over the bough of a tree and letting the sheaf of cut away lace flutter down to the ground. He had a sudden daydream of a mother fox snagging the loose material and using it in her den for her cubs. The shoes were completely abandoned, their white satin and pearl decoration ruined by the mud. If Juno had to run again that night, he would do it in bare feet.

Lastly, he hung his chemise and panties from the same black branch, shivering pleasantly at the cool air on his skin. It made for a shuddering contrast when he slipped into the water, felt it rise to the level of his throat, deeper than he’d first anticipated. The line between the heat and the cold was sharp, it could have been drawn on with a marker, and for a moment it was all he could do to close his eye and feel it all. He hadn’t known freedom would have such a distinctive taste to it.

He took a breath and submerged himself, letting the black warmth close over his head with a sensation not unlike being consumed by some beast, close enough that there was an edge of fear to the action. But then he was just floating, like a heart in a chest, for a moment that seemed so purely endless. Like he could just keep sinking, through the earth, through to nothing and never feel anything but peace.

Juno had felt something like that before, a version of that promise of a quiet eternity that wasn’t as clean and neat as this. He’d replicated it with drugs, with alcohol, with walking along the very edge of the palace roofs, knowing that all he’d need to do was take a step forward and the fall would stretch on forever. And there had always been a bitterness when it had faded, when he’d pulled away and the feeling had slipped through his fingers.

This time there was none of that. This time he rose up out of it gladly. Because Juno knew what was waiting for him up above was worth returning to.

When his head broke the surface again, Peter Nureyev was there a little ways away, hand resting lazily on the nearest tree but there was a hopeful kind of strain in his bright eyes. He was naked too, a bottle hanging from the fingers of his slack hand, the black leather of a harness hugging his slim, angular hips.

Juno had to laugh, “So when you said you kept your kit in that car...what part of thieving is a cock useful for exactly?”

Nureyev gave a disarming smile, relaxing at his positive reception, “For the part where you steal away pretty ladies to secluded areas in beautiful forests, obviously.”

The adrenaline reawakened in his veins as Juno hauled himself up out of the pool, already stirring before he even broke the surface, before the ghost of the warmth broke into tiny pearls on his skin. By the time he and Nureyev met somewhere in the space between them, he was half hard and had a moan waiting for when their lips met. He didn’t have a chance to feel cold because Nureyev was burning when he wrapped his arms around him, his skin prickling with a close heat.

Juno wondered cheekily if he got this way after all of his daring escapes. If after every one he had to find a shadowed corner, some kind of privacy, and tend to himself, pressing back sighs of release with his palm. He liked that idea. And suddenly he wanted to be around for every one after this point.

He let Nureyev lead, aware of the points of contact but not the movement between them, too lost in his lips and the slide of his tongue. His back pressed against the ground which was suddenly so soft, warm with whatever underground spring fed the pools. Nureyev’s hands were greedy things, at his hair then his broad shoulders then tangled in the hair on his chest then following the rounded valley of his hips. Juno felt appraised almost, climbing high on how clear it was that his thief liked what he touched and saw. He felt precious.

Kissing had never factored much into Juno’s other nights, at parties with heirs just as lost as him or beautiful servants who’d caught him when he was feeling lonely. But now that it was someone he wanted to kiss, he was addicted, moving in again and again after they’d snatched a breath of air, until both of their mouths were bitten and tender and everything tasted the same.

There was so little of Nureyev physically, he was all angles and bones, but somehow he was everywhere, wrapping Juno up so completely, it felt like he must have more hands than just the two. They were here, then there, then they were slick with cool gel and then, oh, they were right where they needed to be. Juno gasped, catching his lip on Nureyev’s pointed teeth and grinding hard into it. Nureyev gave a soft laugh and murmured something about impatience that was lost to a low groan as Juno’s thumb began to circle one of his nipples.

After it all, they’d ended up with Juno lying flat on his back, his knees the parentheses for Nureyev’s hips, his dirt stained hands splayed on his thin chest, their faces bare inches from each other, close enough that their noses could touch. Nureyev’s fingers were sunk deep into the earth, anchoring them both.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured into the moment’s pause before he pressed inside him.

Not your gown is pretty. Not your hair is lovely or your makeup or your crown. Nureyev saw Juno, only Juno, as stripped bare as he could ever be and saw he was beautiful.

And Juno realised he was going to follow this man to the very edge of the stars.

He pressed him forward with his heels, the need now beyond desperate. Nureyev complied, moving almost reverently, like it was a privilege to share his body, kissing him as he sank deeper and deeper until their skin met. He licked some of the water still beading on Juno’s cheekbone as he began to rock, slowly at first then steadily faster until it felt like they were running again, hearts pounding in their chests and breath misting in the air.

It wasn’t a fairytale. It was getting cold and Juno didn’t even want to think about where he’d be finding dead leaves in the morning, they were both giddy and giggling and trying new things in bursts of frenetic eagerness, too hungry to settle on just one thing. And, far sooner than either of them would have liked, Juno was gripping Nureyev tightly, pressing his face to his shoulder and gritting his teeth as he painted both of their chests. Nureyev fell with him a few moments later, gasping and groaning, sinking to his elbows as his strength left him in shudders and starts. Passionate but in a hectic way, messy and dizzy and grasping, not the tasteful fade to black at the end of a fairytale when everything was wrapped up neatly and everyone was on the path to their perfect future.

But it did feel like the start of something.

Juno thought about that as they washed off in the pools and wandered back to Nureyev’s car, wrapped themselves in blankets he pulled from the seemingly bottomless trunk and watched the stars from the backseat. He thought about it as he fell asleep listening to Nureyev tell him about all the famous heists and daring stunts that had been pulled off in this car, his head pillowed on his thief's stomach.

He’d never had the start of something before. He’d always had endings, he’d had destinations to chase, goals to achieve and once he’d done that, nothing. But there had been some security in that, at least he’d only ever had two options. Get there or fuck up. Success or nothing.

Starts were different. Starts could lead anywhere, there were a million options, all branching out into tomorrows he couldn’t see, roots of a tree that just went deeper and deeper. Any one of them could lead to heartbreak, any one could be a wrong turn. Hell, the way this was going, he could end up in a jail cell for the rest of his life. So many ways for this to be a shattering mistake.

But Juno slept better curled up on the back seat of the Ruby 7 than he had in any featherbed in the palace. He felt safer with Nureyev’s heartbeat and quiet voice than he had in years.

Juno would take a start every time.

The space port had a metallic, inorganic kind of stink to it, the smell of cluttered machinery, of too many kinds of homespun fuel, of rust and ill fitted parts. That alone marked it as not the biggest nor the nicest port on Mars but one of the smaller ones that clustered in places like Olympus Mons, stretching out like growing boils across the sands, even to the Cerberus Province. This one would be somewhere between those two extremes. The black market items weren’t on flagrant display on the tables but you got the strong sense that the merchants wouldn’t have to reach far to get a hold of them.

Juno was standing at one of the more reputable looking booths, a StarMail station, one of millions that could be found scattered all over Solar planets, even one or two on the outer rim. They all looked the same with their faded chrome and smiling AI attendant on a glitchy comms screen, the loud, colourful logo of a cartoon star with a mail bag slung over one shoulder, their promise to send all messages securely and safely to all corners of the system. This one was squatting between a booth selling rusted parts clearly scavenged from battlefields and a vendor selling wraps of some meat that steamed like burning tires and seemed to actually have parts covered in scaly chitin.

The funny thing about StarMail was, if you had the right codes on the right signal jammer, the kind that were only sold to certain individuals in certain seedy space ports, you could send something completely untraceable. Your message could have come from Jupiter or Mars or Brahma, anywhere in the solar system, bouncing around mischievously between all of these identical booths. All it took was a press of a button, under the guise of scratching your chest under your long trench coat. The one you’d just bought and fit you better than anything you’d ever owned.

But you still kept the same slightly too small dark sweater underneath it. Because your boyfriend had given it to you one damp, humid morning in the forest half a week ago and it still smells slightly of his cologne.

Juno kept the message short, it would be easier that way, just in case it did fall into the wrong hands. After all, there were several hundred million creds attached to it. Hidden, sure, but enough that you couldn’t be too careful.

For social projects. Housing, hospitals, anything that will help people. More to come. I’m doing good. Miss you. J.

He had to smile a little, as he sent it off and watched his words dissolve into pixels that blew away on a digital wind. It certainly was helpful that the palace’s email servers were the best, most secure on the market. Benzaiten Steel was probably the easiest person to send the funds of a stolen tiara, broken down and sold across the solar planets.

Juno had been half listening to the comms perched on the counter of the food stand, tinnily broadcasting the news in a sugary, bubblegum voice of whatever presenter they had this month. The usual stuff, the political and high society dramas that always raged through the celebrity stratospheres of the galaxy, barely touching the people below. Marriages and divorces on the same day, murders before breakfast the next morning. Amounts of creds hundreds of zeros beyond what he’d just sent off changing hands in seconds, forced or gladly frittered. Parties and balls and orgies, the fallout of so much money and so little sense. Big and flashy and grand and final. Countesses, stream starlets, mobsters.

And runaway princesses.

“The search continues for the princess of the outer rim planet, Harpyia, missing now for close to a week. Rumours abound despite the stony statements from the palace. Was Princess Juno stolen along with millions of creds worth of ancient royal jewels? Or did he flee of his own accord, taking the jewellery as recompense for years in the spotlight? Several stream studios are already in talks to tell the story of this runaway heir, even as it unfolds. Little concrete news comes from the planet’s current monarch and her staff but we think the sudden announcement of a hasty engagement between the remaining prince and one Lord Mercury speaks for itself, viewers! Keep watching for more on this unfolding rollercoaster. Or, well, watch it all played out on your screens in technicolour before too long!”

He allowed himself a smile, one that would still be hidden behind the scarf wound around the lower half of his face. It was dusty on Mars after all, especially out here in the shadow of the great mountain, with these cut rate domes.

There was so much to see in the Olympus space port, so many unique little pieces of life, so different from everything he was used to. He could have stayed and breathed in the rank smell of the charring meat and listened to the two traders off to his left exchange rapid fire insults he didn’t understand all day, endlessly fascinated by it all.

But Juno couldn’t hang around. He couldn’t linger and listen to the tragic, already mythologised tale of princesses gone astray, of glamour on the run and jewels worth more than stars going missing.

He had a ride to catch. And someone to catch it with.

You couldn’t park an infamous getaway car in the middle of a busy space port. They took a hoverbike out into the sandy wastes where Nureyev had stashed it, safely tucked out of reach of the city lights.

“Well, Juno,” he smiled his sharp toothed grin as he brought the engine to life and put his whole weight on the pedals, pressing them back in their seats, “We’re between jobs and we’re filthy rich with ill gotten gains. The entire galaxy is yours, my love. What would you like to see first?”

Juno knew exactly what he wanted to see first, though he wasn’t going to share it. He waited until they were past the milky red haze of the atmosphere, until there was just the blackness around them, just the endless night of space.

There he could see his reflection better. He saw his square jaw, the shadows under his eyes from the endless travel in a short space of time, the plain black eyepatch. He saw his curls, flattened and out of shape from sleeping in the back of the Ruby 7 and doing a lot of things that weren’t sleeping in the back of the Ruby 7. He saw the smudge of sauce from the street food they’d eaten still standing up, marring the corner of his mouth. He saw the ease his face was starting to settle into as a matter of course, hesitant like the muscles weren’t quite sure what to do just yet but they were learning.

And he saw the stars, up above him, all around him, through him. All his possible futures mapping themselves out, like constellations that hadn’t been sketched in yet.

And in the middle, his own reflection, clear as day against the night. A face he was happy to see.

And Juno smiled.

#jupeter #royalty au #juno steel #peter nureyev #benzaiten steel #mick mercury #ben/mick #tpp #tpp juno #tpp nureyev #tpp fic #the penumbra podcast #juniverse #junoverse

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440mxs-wife · 4 years

Text

You Say It’s Your Birthday

March 13th, Your birthday. When you turned the page for the calendar, you noticed that your birthday was going to fall on a Friday. Oh, great, you thought. Friday the 13th. Let's hope that it's smooth sailing and that the day doesn't live up to its "bad luck" reputation.

The morning of your birthday, you noticed that the bunker was unusually quiet. You looked around for a note, or some sign as to where the guys went, but didn't find anything. Probably went out on a hunt, you thought. Hope everything's okay.

You stumbled into the kitchen for some coffee. You could tell some had been made, because the aroma was still in the air. You went over to the coffee maker to pour yourself a cup, but noticed that there was none left in the pot. You replaced the empty pot and put your mug back in the cupboard.

Oh well, I guess I can do without coffee for one morning, you thought. I'll have some cereal. You opened the fridge only to find that you were out of milk. You closed the fridge door and sat down at the breakfast table. Usually, there is a loaf of bread or a bagel, but not this morning.

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. No coffee, no milk for cereal, can't even make toast. This was shaping up to be one fine birthday morning, you thought sarcastically. With a deep sigh, you pulled out a notebook and started to make a list of the supplies everyone would need for the next week or so.

After taking a quick shower, you got dressed and looked for your wallet. It had to be a quick one because there wasn't enough hot water for any longer of a shower. You found your wallet on your nightstand along with your car keys. You picked up your notebook with the list and headed to the garage, making sure to lock the door behind you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Just after you left, Sam, Dean, Castiel and Jack all came back from an easy case, a simple salt-and-burn. The boys were trying to take Jack on some easy cases, since he had lost his powers. Cas was backup in case something went wrong.

The guys called out for you, but there was no answer. "That's weird," Dean said. "Wonder where she could be? I'll try her cell," he suggested. When he heard it ringing from inside your bedroom, he went on high alert. "She's supposed to have that with her at all times, what the hell is going on?" he snapped.

"Dean, calm down, maybe she just forgot to put it in her pocket. The fact that it's here doesn't automatically mean that something went wrong," Sam remarked.

"Yeah? It could mean that Crowley somehow got in here and whisked her away, or she took off in her car and got into an accident. She could've gotten herself locked in one of these rooms, it could mean any number of things!" Dean shouted.

"Perhaps we should just calmly wait for her here. Sam's right, there could be a perfectly simple and non-life-threatening explanation. I do not detect her presence here in the bunker, so we'll have to wait until she returns home," Cas replied.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

About an hour later, you pulled back into the garage. Baby was parked in her usual spot, so you knew the boys were home, hopefully safe and sound. You grabbed some of the grocery bags, figuring you or someone else could go back for the rest. You threw open the door and as you got to the bottom of the spiral staircase, you felt four pairs of eyes on you. "What?" you asked warily as you looked to each of the men.

Dean made a beeline for the stairs and yanked the grocery bags from your hands. "So this is where you've been? Couldn't bother to leave us a note? And I thought we agreed for you to have your damn cell phone on you at all times!! You had me-us worried sick that something had happened to you! I can't believe how irresponsible you are!" he ranted.

"I'm--" you started.

"Save it. For the time being, you're on house arrest. That way we know where you are. You can stay behind and do research because you're not coming along on hunts. Guys, go get the rest of the groceries, I'll take these to the kitchen to be put away," Dean finished.

Head down, you followed Dean to the kitchen to start putting away the groceries. You started taking items out of the bags, separating them between fridge, freezer and pantry items. Sam, Cas and Jack brought in the rest of the bags, and you did the same with the other items. Soon everything was put away where it belonged. Peanut butter in the pantry, fruit in the basket and beer in the fridge.

After putting away the groceries, you sat down at the breakfast table and put your head in your hands. You hadn't meant to worry anyone, in fact you figured you'd be home before they were anyway. One more way that today is fulfilling the Friday the 13th prophecy, you thought. Dean was so angry, and it was the first time that the brunt of it had been directed at you. He was right though, you should've left a note, made sure you had your phone on you before you left. As a hunter, you always had to be on your guard.

You went to the library to do some reading, hoping it would take your mind off of what a rotten birthday it's been so far. You picked up your book from where you left it on the table and settled into a corner of the couch, because your favorite chair was taken. You opened the book but for some reason, you kept staring straight ahead, not reading a word.

"What's the matter with you?" Dean muttered.

You slammed your book closed and glared at Dean. "I don't really feel like telling you, Dean. So drop it," you retorted.

Dean looked up from his project, trying to read your facial expression. "Well, you're in a mood. What is it, that time of the month?" he asked. You heard audible gasps from Sam, Cas and Jack, who all knew Dean had crossed a line.

"Let's see. I woke up to an empty bunker, because you all had left. I didn't find any note either, come to think of it, but I figured you were on a hunt. I remember thinking that I hoped everything was okay," you answered. "There was no coffee left in the pot, no milk left in the fridge for me to have cereal, no bread or bagels for toast. Not enough hot water for a decent length shower. Then I do the unthinkable and go on a supply run," you continued.

"Now wait a minute--" he interrupted.

"I'm not finished. Only I forgot to leave a note or take my cell phone with me, which caused great unrest in the house of Winchester. As a result, I get put on 'lockdown' without an opportunity to defend myself, which is what I'm doing right now. Spare me the lecture, Dean. Friday the 13th is bad luck enough as it is. If you're going to yell at me, though, please wait until tomorrow when it's not my birthday anymore!" you concluded. You rose from your place on the couch and went to your room, tears threatening.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Wait, today's her birthday? Why didn't she say anything?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, but it's still her birthday, we should do something for her," Jack suggested. "She does so much for us every day, the least we could do is help her to celebrate her birthday."

"I agree with Jack," Cas replied. "What can we do, what are her favorite things?"

"We can run into town and get some Chinese food. That's usually her go-to when she's feeling upset," Sam offered.

"Her favorite rock group is Queen, and I know there were a couple of T-shirts she was looking at last week when we were out," Jack mentioned.

"She loves to read, so maybe she would like a gift card from the bookstore?" Cas suggested.

Sam, Jack and Cas all looked at Dean, because he had yet to chime in. "I suppose I owe her an apology, for starters. I'll run into town and pick up the stuff you guys mentioned, then add something from me," he remarked.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of hours later, you carefully opened your door to see if anyone was around. You didn't hear much noise, so you figured they'd all gone out again. You put on your robe, then gathered up your towel and clothes. You wandered down the halls to the room where you'd found the large and inviting bathtub while exploring one day.

As the water ran nice and warm, you added a peach blossom bath bomb to it and watched it fizz. Once the tub was filled at the proper level, you carefully lowered yourself into the water. You leaned back and closed your eyes in relaxation, letting the day's earlier memories drain away from you.

After no less than twenty minutes had gone by, you were sufficiently relaxed, so you got out of the tub. You dried off your body, then pulled on undergarments, your pajama pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. You went to your room to hang up your robe and towel, then put on your slippers.

You decided to try reading again, now that you were more relaxed, and you thought it may help you fall asleep. You became concerned when all the lights were off, so you called out to Sam, Dean, Cas and Jack.

All of a sudden, you hear, "SURPRISE!!" and all of the house lights came back up, with the boys standing around a table. Sitting on the table was a birthday cake with lit candles, and brightly colored gift bags. Tears sprang to your eyes when you realized the effort they had put into helping you celebrate your birthday. Especially given how it had gone up to that point.

"Guys, thank you. I'm sorry about earlier. I should've---" you started.

"Never mind that for now, time to celebrate your birthday!" Sam exclaimed. "You should probably blow out the candles, since they're dripping wax on the birthday cake," he grinned.

"Make a wish," Dean said softly. You closed your eyes, thought of a wish, then you blew out all the candles in one breath. Everyone cheered and suggested you open your gifts.

The first gift you opened was a big red bag from Sam, and inside was Chinese food from your favorite restaurant in town. "Aww, thank you, Sam! These guys make the best egg rolls, you have to try some!" you exclaimed as you passed around the container with the egg rolls in them.

The next gift bag was blue, and was from Jack. You reached in and pulled out the two Queen T-shirts you'd had your eye on since last week. "These are perfect, Jack! Just the ones I've been looking at," you remarked.

Cas leaned over and grabbed an envelope from the table and handed it to you. You looked at him in surprise and tore it open. Inside the birthday card was a gift card to the bookstore in town. "I know how much you like to read, but you won't find anything current on these shelves. I thought you could use it to find something new," Cas explained. "Thank you, Cas. I'm sure I can put this to good use," you replied.

Since you had opened all of your gifts, you suggested breaking into the Chinese food and then cutting the cake. As Sam started opening the trademark white cardboard boxes, Dean went to the kitchen and brought out some plates. He seemed to be taking extra effort not to make eye contact with you. He must still be upset with me, you thought, as you tried to concentrate on enjoying the celebration.

After dinner, you all decided to watch one of your favorite movies, The Princess Bride. During the movie, one by one everyone started to get sleepy. Sam, Jack and Cas each gave you a kiss on top of your head as they left or went to their rooms.

You tried to make it to the end of the movie, but after the fire swamp scene, you also gave in and decided to go to bed. Dean was relaxing in the library with his tumbler of whiskey when you softly wished him good night.

A little while later, you awoke from a horrible nightmare. A demon had captured you all, but it killed each of the boys one by one, while it forced you to watch. You sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily, trying to get your bearings. You reached for the glass of water you kept on your nightstand and drank its contents. You tried to get back to sleep, but each time you closed your eyes, you were taken back into the same scenario. After laying there for about fifteen minutes not sleeping, you got out of bed and wandered into the library.

To your surprise, Dean was still there, nursing his glass of whiskey. He glanced up to see who it was, and relaxed a bit when he saw it was you. "Can't sleep?" he asked.

You nodded. "Nightmare," was all you said.

"Want to talk about it?" he inquired.

"Not really, not now anyway," you replied, shaking your head.

Dean tilted his head back and drank the remainder of his whiskey in one gulp. You took a step closer to him and put your hand on his shoulder. He looked at your hand then at you, trying to tell what you were thinking.

"Listen, Dean, I'm sorry about before. You're right, I should've left a note, or at least made sure I had my phone with me. It was stupid and careless, and it won't happen again," you said, walking back towards your room.

Dean caught your hand and stopped you. "Nah, I'm the one who should be apologizing, I overreacted. When I called out for you and you weren't here, I....got worried that something terrible had happened to you. I panicked, and then when you showed up, all that just kind of exploded in me.

“I was so relieved to see you, but instead of seeing my relief, you saw my anger for making me worry. I am sorry for that, and for not realizing it was your birthday," he finished. "I didn't even get you anything."

"You didn't have to get me anything, Dean. I'm not into getting stuff. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gifts, but all I really ever want is to not be forgotten. For someone to say, 'hey, you're somebody special, and I'm glad you were born today'," you explained.

Dean thought for a moment, then a grin spread slowly across his face. "I have an idea. Get your shoes on and grab your coat," he said.

"What? Why?" you asked.

"No questions, just go get your shoes and your coat on and meet me in the Impala," he grinned then winked at you.

A few minutes later, you slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean backed out of the bunker garage, then headed down the highway. You cast a sidelong glance at him, trying to figure out what he's up to, but he kept his eyes on the road, a mischievous grin on his face.

Seeing his destination, he pulled the Impala over onto a small side road with a clearing. Dean got out of the car and rushed over to the passenger side to open the door for you. He held out his hand to assist you. You placed your hand in his, feeling the strength and safety you knew it and the man himself offered. "Thank you, Dean," you blushed. "What are we doing here?" you asked.

"Look up," he replied softly. You leaned against the Impala, then did as he asked. You couldn't help but be awestruck by the seemingly limitless number of stars present in the moonlit sky. "It's breathtaking," you whispered. "I've never seen so many stars. I wish I knew what some of the constellations were, other than the Big Dipper," you remarked.

Dean came over to where you were standing. He placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you so he was behind you. "I happen to know a thing or two about astronomy, I'll show you. Pointing to his left, he said, "See that bright dot over there?" You nodded. "Well, that's not a star, that's the planet Venus. The clouds on Venus trap the sun's rays, making it glow."

"Tell me more," you prodded.

He rubbed your shoulders a bit before moving his hands a little lower to your sides. You started to feel slightly warm, like you may no longer need the jacket you brought with you. Dean pointed to his right and upward. "That's Cassiopeia, a very vain and naughty Greek queen. There's Orion, the Greek hunter, trying to hold up his pants with his belt," he grinned.

You giggled at his joke. "There's sure a lot of stars up there, how do you know so much about them?" you asked.

"Truth?" he responded, to which you nodded. "Well, if you're ever lost, you can navigate by the stars. And maybe....to impress women," he added sheepishly.

You turned to face Dean, his hands still on your sides. "I'd say it worked on this woman," you replied softly, reaching with your hand to cup his face.

Dean searched your face as if he were truly seeing it for the first time. "You sure look pretty, especially in the moonlight. I don't know how I didn't see it before," he marveled. He pulled you closer, then leaned in to capture your lips with his. You were amazed at how tender his kiss was, compared with his tough side that he shows the rest of the world.

Your mouths moved fluidly with each other, tasting and exploring with your tongues. Dean's hands left your sides to roam freely up and down your back. Your hands had gone from stroking his cheek to running through his hair. When you paid particular attention to the ones at the base of his neck, he groaned in appreciation. "Woman, you're going to be the death of me, you know that?" he growled.

"But what a glorious way to go, hmm?" you teased, causing him to grin against your mouth.

"By the way....Happy Birthday, sweetheart," Dean replied softly.

"Thank you, Dean. For the stars and for making my birthday wish come true," you said.

#dean winchester #deanxreader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #spn fluff #spn imagine #supernatural

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doomstypewriter · 4 years

Text

Helpless Au - A draft fragment

This is my Prinxiety ghost/haunted mansion AU.

More about the AU

If anyone wants to be tagged on posts regarding the AU, please, just comment, I’ll be thrilled.

Helpless Au - A draft fragment: In which Logan saves Virgil’s life from a situation worse than social interaction and, thus, they become best friends.

This is written quickly, because it’s a draft, not to say that it’s poorly written (although that would be for each one to judge), just that some transitions are fast as a means to tell efficiently what’s going on.

CW: Persecution, swearing, anxiety on Virgil’s part (but that is to be expected). Nothing more I can think of (don’t hesitate to tell me if you find anything else).

Word count: 2069 (heh, you know what that means).

Virgil goes down the pathway that takes him out of the grounds of Patton’s house. Even though the sun is still setting, there’s a certain degree of darkness because the clouds have turned black. A pouring is about to start, Virgil rushes so he doesn’t get caught in it on his way back to the mansion.

He reaches the dirt path that’s beside the road, he ought to be in the mansion in a matter of five minutes, provided that he walks at a decent pace. Patton’s house is relatively near the mansion, but, for starters, Patton’s garden and the mansion’s are equally enormous, and, secondly, the access that connects them by road, the only way to come back without jumping a fence (which wouldn’t have been an ideal first impression for Patton’s grandma, but, now that Virgil knows her, perhaps the strange woman would have found it hilarious), is quite twisted.

Virgil sees a person walking in the distance. He doesn’t really care for it, he simply internally prays that they won’t speak to him. Social interaction would be worse than anything. ANYTHING.

Predictably, it begins to rain and Virgil quickly gets his folding umbrella out of his backpack. Quite a thoughtful present from his dad, not to mention the cool design with a giant white skull on a black background. He keeps on walking whilst thinking ‘fuck, my converse are turning into soup. Heh, my converse are at soup. But, for real, this is horrible’.

After a while he realises that the person from before is keeping the same distance and Virgil proceeds to methodically overthink it: ‘they don’t have an umbrella, how is it that they aren’t walking faster? They’re getting drenched!’. He asks himself too where are they even going, taking into account that the only thing ahead is the mansion. In the end, Virgil chooses to walk faster. So does whoever. This is when Virgil lets go off his umbrella and RUNS.

Our favourite emo searches for his phone, but lo and behold, it’s not anywhere to be found. The memory hits him like a brick ‘OH SHIT I MUST HAVE FORGOT IT AT PATTON’S. COOL. I’M GOING TO DIE’. The stalker keeps on running and jumps over the umbrella, sprinting towards him.

Suddenly, a bike races by and skids into a stop with a deafening sound of the brakes. Logan is on that bike.

He looks at Virgil with a deadly serious expression and tells him to hop on. Virgil runs for the bike and gets on holding onto Logan.

Logan starts pedaling like a bat out of hell. THANK EVERYTHING THAT LOGAN’S LEGS ARE LONG.

“Sorry for not bringing a spare helmet, I wasn’t prepared for this happening”.

“Honestly, I don’t fucking care. You just saved my life”.

Would you look at that, there was something worse than social interaction after all. The universe must love him dearly to correct him in such a kind way.

“I wouldn’t exactly say so, but that man running after you is certainly distressing”.

“Light way to put it”.

“You’re right. It was scary. We ought to call the police as soon as possible”.

“You bet. What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know. Oh, on the subject of calling, you left your phone at Patton’s”.

“Yeah, I found out while I was being chased. Honestly, thank god for my forgetful ass”.

Logan laughs loudly.

“Indeed”.

“I won’t tell Patton you laughed”.

“Thank you”.

“No, thank YOU, man”.

They arrive at the mansion completely soaked. He asks Logan for his phone and calls Janus to open the door.

After a while, the entrance door swings open.

Janus starts by saying: “Sorry if you rang the doorbell, I was in my room and I didn’t…” that’s when he takes a proper look at his brother and Logan and is worried sick. The only thing he can ask, obviously, is: “WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Virgil explains, not gladly, none of the events could quite get him in the mood, the world shall be left wondering why.

Janus tells him to take Logan to one of the bathrooms and let him borrow some clothes so he can get the shower he so desperately seems to be needing and also instructs him to do the same while he calls the police and their father.

The sound of keys then is heard. Janus mentally tells himself ‘one less call, then’.

The father enters frantically asking for Virgil, two umbrellas in his hand.

He sees him wet from head to toe in the hall with his friend and runs to hug his son.

“I saw your umbrella laying on the road on my way here. Thank god you’re fine. What happened?” he asks while looking at his sons and Logan.

Janus gestures him while on the phone and mouths an ‘I’m on it’.

“Okay, tell me after getting a shower, both of you. Lend him some clothes, you can take some of mine if they don’t fit. Oh, hello, by the way, I’m Virgil’s dad” he says as he offers his hand.

Logan gladly takes it. Yes, gladly, because social acceptance and interaction are quite refreshing from his usual interpersonal awkwardness.

“Greetings as well, I’m Logan, and I’m Virgil’s��” he thinks about how to phrase it properly but Virgil simply cuts him.

“He’s my friend, dad”.

“Oh, gosh, you made a new friend! That’s great son! Well, we can talk later, go get that shower”.

“Okay. Follow me Logan”.

They both climb the main stairs and turn to the block of rooms to the left.

Logan talks about the architecture all the way. They go up the spiral staircase. He mentions that the painting of the house that hanged in front of the stairs looks like an impressionist depiction of a British manor of the sixteenth century. Virgil blinks like on a vine and asks him how does he know that.

“I have an appreciation for architecture”.

“Just as you do for poetry”.

“Indeed”.

They reach the bathroom of the second floor.

Virgil tells him that he’ll go to his room to fetch some clothing and might leave it on a chair outside or in the bedroom nextdoor.

“I’ll see you at the living-room”.

“How can I find it?”

“Go downstairs back to the hall and then to the left, it’s the room with the big ass stage”.

“That seems a little excessive”.

“Yeah, the dude who made the house was extra af”.

The police arrives and takes their statement. A middle aged woman and her young male partner question them. The partner looks kind of goofy but pays full attention, the lady, on the other side, looks like she is done with life after having seen too much shit, but she is really nice.

“Look, guys, I’m going to be honest with ya. It’s hard to tell if we may find whoever did that, because you haven’t seen their face. Without that, there isn’t that much we can do to find them. Pressing charges is hardly possible because they did not assault you nor pulled out a gun. What they did to you was bad, and I’d love to be able to help more, but I cannot tell you how this is going to turn out, it’s a tricky situation”.

“Excuse me, ma'am, but, hadn’t I arrived when I did, anything could have happened to my friend. It is most distressing to have someone chase you down and I can’t make out what their intentions would be to do such a thing if the individual didn’t plan something nasty”.

“We know it’s unfair, well make sure to catch them!” the goofy-looking guy answers this time. In his righteous enthusiasm he coughs a few times.

“Asthma too?”.

The guy looks at him awkwardly and nods.

“Can I speak to you alone, son?” the lady asks Virgil.

“Sure”.

They leave the room to the corridor of high ceilings that connects it to the library and the main dining room. The voice of his father and Ethan are coming from the library, discussing their shared worries. The talking ends as soon as they hear them.

“Why do you think that person was chasing you?”

“How could I know? Am I in trouble for something?”

“Uuuugh” she pinches the bridge of her nose “shit, I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. Look, if anything remotely weird has happened, that could link to that person chasing you I need to know, I want you guys to be safe. It’s never a good sign to be chased by someone on a lonely road. Tell me, it’s my understanding that you and your family have been here for a month, has anything out of the ordinary occurred? Something that could alarm you?”

“I’m the kind of person that is alarmed by mostly anything so you’ll have to be more specific”.

“I’m also that kind of person, Virgil, so I hope you understand what I tell you when I say that there’s the ordinary kind of alarming; like the fear forgetting about closing your front door, and finding that door open after you made sure to check it was closed”.

Virgil breathes in with tension. He feels watched. Not precisely by his family, which is odd. Who else would be watching? Damn, this hypervigilance thing was driving him nuts. Although, this once it made total sense, the situation had been a perfect brew for anxiety.

“Would you mind following me elsewhere?”

“Sure”.

On their way upstairs, to the tower room, Virgil adds:

“Okay, I know it seems kinda weird to make you climb all of these stairs and unnecessarily mysterious, but my room is the ‘loneliest place in the castle’ and I don’t want my family to get worried if they overhear this”.

“It’s fine, son, that’s perfectly understandable”.

They enter the room and the lady whistles in awe.

“Wow, what a room you got here, I’d wish I’ve had this when I was your age”.

“Well, you must be the only one”.

“Why is that?”.

“Everybody keeps on ranting about how this place is freaky”.

“Is it?”.

“No. This and the library are the nicest places in the house. I like being able to see so much”.

Virgil guides her to one of the windows.

“Well, with the panoramic view, it’s almost like a watch tower”. “There” Virgil points at the part of Patton’s garden that’s visible. “A few nights ago I spotted a guy talking at a phone, I think he saw me watching him, because when he looked at the tower he immediately left”.

Later, when the police has left, Logan tells him that he is trans. Why? Well, he has to stay the night because the pouring is more like a violent storm. Also, Patton might kill him if he doesn’t take off his binder, which he put back on in spite of being soaked.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back dude. Here, have this, it’s one of my baggiest”.

On Virgil’s hand is a giant black zip-up hoodie.

“It’s not much of my style, and not the most elegant solution, but it will suffice. Although, it is very comfortable and the fabric texture is kind on the skin. Thank you very much. I shall take off my binder and put it on”.

“Toilet’s over there. Place the binder on the radiator so it dries”.

Virgil tends to his devices. Logan comes back with the hoodie on, comfy as ever.

“Are we having a sleepover?”

“I don’t know. Do you want us to have one?”

“I’m unsure as to if it’s appropriate given the circumstances that brought me here, as well as the fact that I have no expertise on the subject”.

“Neither do I, but it could be cool. We can have a spooky sleepover, throw some candles here and there and read Edgar Allan Poe or watch some horror films”. “I’m not convinced by the horror films, but, perhaps some Hitchcock would be a suitable replacement suggestion and we may add Bukowski to the least of authors to read”.

“Sounds fine by me. Maybe we could get Patton on Skype”.

“I’d enjoy that. On a different note, it’s getting late, we should have dinner”.

“Uh, sorry, right, you probably didn’t have time at Patton’s”.

“Not to worry, though, I’m glad I didn’t. Otherwise I wouldn’t have caught you in time”.

“Ain’t that the truth”.

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davidlynchschreibner · 4 years

Text

It seems I come bearing another topical bouquet of fluff rather than the fic I am actually trying to finish. This one is Actual Rubbish and ran away from me a bit. But I’ve always wanted to see closeness and health in Matteo’s repairing relationship with his mother. I do not excuse what we know of the parenting problems that led Matteo to distance himself, however, this is meant to be a positive--- perhaps even sappy--- take. (Should I write one about David’s godmother too? Let me know because I have some thoughts.)

A note: Parts of this belong to a list of headcanons I started before the pandemic hit and as such imagine a world where we don’t have that reality. Is that out of line with the real-world spirit of Druck? Yes. Am I coping with life by writing about what this year should have been? Also yes.

Most Radiant Suns And Sons

For all that he lacks certainty about if he wants to go out with the boys tonight, what mood he will be in the following week, where he will live the month after, and what career he will pursue in the coming year, there are a few things that Matteo is sure of. One of these is that he loves his mother. Even in the stifling mineshaft of his depression he had never fully divorced himself from wanting to be near her. Indeed, if he did not love her with the strength he does he would never have grappled with their relationship and stressed over her reaction to certain elements of his person. Instead would have simply excised her in all but name from his life as he had his shitty father. Not every person is given to this kind of bond to their mother and there was nothing whatsoever requiring him to welcome her back into his life. But no matter what bitter edge his references to her had acquired in past painful periods, it was only the gritted teeth tone of an injured person and never real resentment.

That was the hardest part of it all, really, that he was so overwhelmed and exhausted he had to withdraw for his own sake. He had needed to be free of the sucking drain of his mother’s downward spiral. It was impossible to be there when his own developing depression rendered him inert by spreading numbness from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t care for another person, should never have had to, as he slowly surrendered to the weight of shovelfuls of damp earth burying him alive. Yet in the same breath that dismissed her he sighed with missing the lightness of Mama’s laugh and the slow flow of her hands carding through his hair. He pushed her away, cast his eyes to the ground, but could not tell her to stop calling him. However many congested streets and neglected texts he positioned between them there remained (in dim corners he avoided examining) a craving for tenderness and acceptance.

Their reconciliation was a soft-spoken and understated process. It came as the slow creep of dawn, a gentle spilling of light into the dark expanse of a troubled time. There was no reproach nor tense conversations. They spoke little of the past estrangement, save for the day Mama drew her son into the safe harbor of her arms and whispered her apology into his open ear. Matteo blotted the tears that came to his eyes on her shoulder and murmured back in kind. There was no need to unpack and pick through each mistake and no blame to assign. Proceeding amends were made with time spent in building a more stable place for their bond to live. Bricks of mellow afternoon visits, insulation of long hugs and kisses pressed to Matteo’s brow, wires of smiling conversations, carpet of revisited memories from happier periods of childhood. They came to each other as new and bettered people with a long future ahead.

On the opposite side, David didn't anticipate ever having a relationship with his boyfriend's mum beyond polite interest. He had no intimacy and little contact with the woman whose body had sculpted him and his godmother’s affection was backed by a lifetime of filling that void. The potential for rejection had been in his mind as the dull ache of a yellowed bruise when they went to meet Matteo’s Mama. She greeted him by clasping his hand in her fine-boned fingers and telling him she wished they had met sooner. Her voice was soft like a lullaby and she regarded him with eyes that promised multitudes of care. Perhaps he should have expected she would step over the threshold of his increasingly populated bunker and plop herself onto the bare floor the same way Matteo had. She never treated him like a stranger; instead she still looks at him with the same saltwater-blue wave of fondness that her son does.

After months of getting to know and trust her David felt it was safe to explain the part of him that provided context to stories of the rocky start to his relationship with Matteo. Though her inexperienced confusion showed in the wrinkled skin around her eyes and a halting request for clarification, she received his explanation without resistance. Her reassurance that this would not change her perception was the kind of compassionate acceptance he wished his own mother had offered. Never once did she make him feel any less than he had been when she thought he was cis. She affirms him by treating him exactly the same as her son, aside from the little opportunistic affirmations she includes to make warmth swell inside him. He can see the protectiveness coiled in her shoulders when he mentions his past, a readiness to defend him from the whole world if she has to. There is a space kept for him in the circle of her sun-freckled arms. He well and truly loves her.

When the pleasant weather of 2019 began to fail everyone unconciously clustered closer together as if to keep warm. Filled by a renewed craving for home and closeness Matteo and David set aside one night each week to have dinner at Mama's new flat. It doesn't matter which day it is, or who is cooking, or how any one person is feeling. If Mama is not well Matteo cooks, or if he isn't able then she does, and on rare occasions it's up to David to rally his skills at reading recipes in Mama’s looping hand. But no matter what the mechanics are they make the family ritual work. Their attentive support of each other will catch whoever is sinking to the ground. What began as an effort to reconnect becomes an irreplaceable cornerstone of their lives. It's an opportunity to look after one another that the three of them need after that cold period of feeling so alone. In the humid, fragrant air of a cozy kitchen their wounds scab over, heal, and fade.

It was actually his mother that convinced Matteo to seek therapy. David never pressed the issue with expectations or made his boyfriend feel broken for the recurrence of foggy moods and anxiety attacks. Not even when they stumbled and slogged through another major depressive episode. All around him people were prepared to meet Matteo’s needs as best they could determine. But braving the elements without a map or proper gear would find everyone in desperation at the end. He came to his decision not through any coercion or frustration but by observing his Mama. Counseling and medication helped her so much and she spoke candidly with him of her mental health struggles as she had felt unable to when he was younger. They have a better relationship now than over the many years of her dipping condition and inconsistent functioning. Matteo wanted to have those coping skills, too, so with the faithful support of his loved ones he sought the resources to help him.

As spring began to swell buds and moods Mama rediscovered gardening. Her therapist prescribed something meditative with a tangible positive result, and she at first floundered unmoored until Matteo reminded her of the small plot she once tended so skillfully. To gently encourage her confidence he and David picked out a houseplant to gift the next time they visited and the smile she received it with was incandescent. After a few weeks of devout indoor care she broached the subject of planting a small and uncomplicated bed. Matteo grinned with all his teeth when she asked if they would help her. Being plant-lovers themselves the boys took pleasure in joining Mama there. Matteo found a profound connection to his body and its proximity to the people around him with his hands thrust into the crumbling earth. Sometimes they worked in the companionable silence of three introspective personalities. Others, they spoke about deep things as people only do while working. The garden is a good place. There they are putting down a lot of roots and not all of them belong to plants.

Mama has always been a fan of the outdoors, as Matteo recalls from sticky summer picnics and the rich smell of soil on her hands when they cupped his sunburnt cheeks. Not all his childhood memories are happy but the silhouettes of wild grass and lake shores come through a golden soft-focus lens. When Mama discovered David’s athleticism she joined forces with him to plan hikes, swimming trips, and numerous walks. Matteo was not sedentary by nature but he was then getting more exercise than he had since he was a child. At first he wheezed and dragged and had to be motivated by David’s cunning tactic of turning everything into a competition. (It worked, mostly, save that time they were overly ambitious enough to try hiking in the Grunewald for an entire day and Matteo was so tired he sat down right in the center of the path.) Yet he didn’t mind the way his limbs were like ungainly cannons as he towed them up the stairs following a day of walking. At odds, his chest felt light and well aired out.

When the summer set in fully Matteo found himself more often outside, be it jogging slowly after David while he ran in the morning, tending the garden with Mama (he discovered he finds pulling weeds cathartic), or engaged in some activity with his friends that required him to move more than his heat-softened limbs would like. He would once have complained of the insidious sunburn that always seemed to find cracks in his suncream application and pools of sweat that made his clothes clammy. But that was another time and another Matteo, one younger and less conscious of how special his relationships are. He loves all his people with the deceptively muted fire of a star, no matter what it is they ask of him. When they set themselves up for a day in the park the world seemed to roll wide before him. There was nothing on it he loved more than seeing the happy flushed faces of his favourite people glowing in the sun.

It was a surprising revelation that Matteo gets his sense of mischief from his mother. She has the peaceful face of a fresco saint and speaks quiet like they're in church but her son has her heart. David was thrown at first by her playful, teasing, impish side. It flickered up like bright sparks and the first few times Matteo seemed to cringe away as if he too was surprised. But over time he rediscovered a long discarded rapport and began to play back. David watched with laughing eyes and raised brows when she and Matteo got going at each other. And it wasn’t long before Mama started teasing David too. For such a kind person she could be a bit of a menace. It was completely endearing and welcome. She stuck soapy hands in her son’s hair to make horns and Matteo squawked then retaliated by swiping bubbles under her nose like a mustache. It was the kind of absurdity David had never imagined such a quiet woman could perform. He thought it fantastic.

She had met them briefly when Matteo moved in but it took time and meditation on the prospect to invite Mama into life at the WG. It was not a matter of shame regarding either party. He wasn’t certain of a friendship between a relatively conservative older woman and the youthful wildness of his flatmates. But he knew that to bring his mother fully back into his life this important part of it needed to be shared. He needn’t have worried. Mama loved Hans, who learned quickly that he need not don a costume to earn her respect. They spoke to one another with the soft intimate tone of kindred spirits united by their common depth of caring and love of one particular boy. Victoria flitted around like a bright bird that made Mama smile warmly and rest her hand upon its head. Though she was not over often due to being easily tired the WG was happy to tuck her into its embrace. With his Mama, David, and his flatmates arranged on furniture around him Matteo felt completely and contentedly at home.

Matteo had never experienced the sort of profound faith his mother enjoyed. Church was more a cultural experience than a religious one. Whenever she felt up to it Mama read stories from the bible to him before bed but he never did internalize them as divine truth. He enjoyed the reverent music and beautiful architecture as a child but felt always a little drained after service. The one thing he had an affinity for was choir, though he abandoned that activity when he was old enough to be concious of how uncool it was. Church was not something which he would attend alone but did so on occasion to spend time with his mother. She took immense comfort and pride in sharing her sacred experience with him and he in turn felt a modicum of satisfaction when she beamed at him over the pages of her choir book. Sometimes David joined them. Those services were the best, when Mama radiated joy on the right side of Matteo and he had David’s warm hand curled in his left.

Mama once him that he is the light in her world. She tips her head back to look at him like a person enjoying the sun after weeks of overcast weather. So he tries to show her his brightest face. He knows she is proud of him regardless of what he does in life. When he is slow to make decisions or arrange important sentences she tells him that he cannot disappoint her. Whatever gives him nourishment is what she dreams for him. It’s a comfort to know he doesn’t have to strive to make sweeping changes to the world and lofty successes to be valuable. It is possible to be wholly a sum of his many individual parts, imperfect as some are. Mama admires the gentle halo of his warmth, the wicked tilt of his smile as he sweeps mischief onto unsuspecting moments, the clever snap of his tongue and his restless fingers, the immeasurably gentle way he clasps close those who are struggling. He is her beautiful boy and she would want no other.

He is proud of his Mama, too, for taking the difficult steps that had moved her from the bottom of the hill to climbing its side. Sometimes she stumbles, slides back, even has to stop and sit for a bit to give her lungs rest. But she always digs her walking stick into the ground and begins the ascent again. Her legs burn with the strain but she does not let it stop her. Once Matteo had experienced deep dread that he was just like his mother. It had seemed to be so when he lost all interest in participating in the world. He sees now that it was true in its way: he is like his mother. But she passed on to him more than her sadness. Like an ocean of kindness she washes into him, their borders delineated by landmasses and temperature but ultimately comprised of one great expanse of water. They are not the same, he would not have it so, but he is no longer afraid of how they are alike. He has joys and and struggles and fears and victories the same as she. And Matteo loves his Mama.

#druck #druck og #og druck #fic #matteo florenzi #Matteo deserves soft mum feels #as do I #so here they are

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fae-redux · 3 years

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rules of the game: ch. 3 - the lights are on and everybody’s home

Story Summary:

The Evergreen and Imagi were never quite in peacetime. Roman’s just trying to figure out how to survive and succeed his mother. Logan wants to live long enough to use his magic however he wants. Patton is coasting while repressing everything, still trying to figure out what feelings are.

Virgil doesn’t want to change the world.

Luckily, it isn’t up to him.

first | ao3 | prev

Chapter Summary: A witch in the woods with her head held high, a host of fae are wondering why.

Word count: 2530

Pairings: future lamp, platonic anxceit

~|~

There are reasons for the things the queen did, and then there are excuses. Her reason is simple. For years, she wished to create a proper heir to the throne. Gods only knew, she was never going to let herself be succeeded by Virgil of all people. He was uncontrollable, wild, dirty magic, and what was worse, he didn’t even know. She needed someone who would listen to her, someone who would allow her reign to flourish and bring true magic back to the land. She didn’t need Virgil, she needed a child of her own, two. Her excuse for two, just in case the first one didn’t have her magic. Excuses always have consequences.

She tried and tried, but with no success, she made a choice that would change the course of the kingdom’s future forever. She sought out the fae queen.

~|~

Valerie was used to the calls of humans. When it was cold, she sang life into their crops, and when it was warm, she touched the ground with ice so they might escape the sun, skate, and play. Back before the witch took her seat on the throne, fae were welcomed into the human kingdoms with open arms.

These days, the humans have all but ceased to call her. As much as she avoids the border for fear of knights, humans avoid the border for fear of fae. It makes her stomach turn, but she doesn’t even have to put up guard around to dissuade them from entering the Evergreen anymore.

Regardless of the fact, she does put up a patrol around the northern border, and there’s no one more surprised than her when they summon for her one autumn night.

She gets her steed and sets off in the direction of the call. Three of her guards form a circle at the edge of the wood. “What’s happened?”

“The witch has entered the Evergreen. Lauren is missing from her post, she didn’t answer when we raised the alarm,” Toby responds coolly. “Kai’s gonna pitch a fit if he finds out. Finding her is top priority.”

There aren’t many places Adelaide knows about, luckily for them. If Valerie remembers correctly, Dee only ever told her about the court. He never mentioned telling her about his home, but that doesn’t mean Adelaide won’t stumble across some other poor unsuspecting fae before she reached her destination. “Get to the Lapointe estate in case she goes after Dee, I’ll catch up to her if she goes to the court.”

Yanking on the reins, she does a full turn to go back to the court. Dee wouldn’t have told her a direct path, just a general location supported by the fact that they hadn’t crossed paths as Valerie rode to meet her guards. That means she has time. Urging her horse just a tad faster, she hopes she gets there before her.

~|~

“It’s a nice place you’ve got here,” Adelaide circles the throne room lazily, her plate mail clinking as she walks. Her steed stands by the entrance, large and imposing as Valerie pulls up to the edge of the room. The pearlescent marble under the witch’s bare feet glimmers in the moonlight. “If I were you, I’d never leave.”

Valerie dismounts her horse. “I like to know the people I’m ruling,” her mouth twists into a grimace. “They trust me because they know me.”

The witch doesn’t miss the slight, allows it with a tilt of her head and a slight smile. “I’ve come to seek a treaty-”

“Then you may leave,” She responds sharply, imitating Adelaide’s smile.

Adelaide shakes her head, loose red hair spilling around her neck, taking a seat on her throne, making her bristle, “Come now, don’t be rude. If you don’t want peace, I have plenty of your fae in my kingdom who wish to return to the Evergreen, and it would be a shame if they never made it back.”

“If you wanted peace, you would’ve sent your husband,” Valerie doesn’t quite snap, controlling her tone, “And you wouldn’t have touched Lauren.”

“Oh, was she important? Don’t worry, she’s still in the forest. If she’s a real knight, she’ll find her way back. You should really train them better if you think a little displacement spell will kill them, Mab,” The witch leans back, completely relaxed. “The treaty will return her, and all your people, if you so wish to make a deal.”

“My people?” Valerie echoes hollowly. “Do better than that.”

“The fae in the castle will all be back, as per your wishes, but I need a deal first.” Her teeth shine, light catching on a fang, as she smiles, “Who knows what would happen if they tried to pass through the iron wall on their own, no?”

She’s been staking out the knight’s exit for a very long time, enough time that it might’ve caught her attention. “What have you done?”

“Nothing,” Her nails glint as she studies them, the disrespect, taking her eyes off Valerie, “Not yet, anyways.”

Valerie’s lip curls in disgust. “What do you seek, mortal?”

“Finally!” She drops her arms to the armrests and pushes herself up, “Two children for the safety of your people on their return to you.”

“No, ‘my people’ is a term that only includes winter fae, and ‘on their return’ is not true safety, be more specific,” If the queen of the human kingdom wished to play it like that, she would have to try harder.

“Okay, fine, give me a moment,” The queen ponders, her finger tapping innocently on her chin like she has never done anything wrong in her life. Valerie can’t stop imagining the blood from Dee’s throat coating her fingers. Adelaide is not human and she is not fae. Revenge is not something Valerie could execute without risk, but Adelaide has to pay. Her eyes narrow. “I would like to give birth to two children and in exchange for helping me, I will return all the fae that lived in this forest alive and unharmed.”

“And I shall grant you this on one condition,” Valerie begins to craft the magic. If she does this right, the Evergreen would get an heir despite her wish to remain without a romantic partner. If she didn’t, Imagi would end up with two heirs. “If you go back on your word, your firstborn child shall be mine.”

The queen’s face sets in determination. “I agree to the terms. In fact, as a gesture of goodwill,” she waves a hand, and Lauren collapses on the floor from thin air, gasping for breath as her feet scrape the ground, running behind Val.

“Very well,” Valerie runs a gentle hand over Lauren, taking the remaining magic that clings to her skin. “Now, get out of my forest. You never asked for protection while you were here, and to have the children, you must first get out alive. I suggest,” She hands the queen a leaf coated in her magic, which glows in the witch’s hand, “you start running.”

~|~

Adelaide’s screams echo throughout the castle halls, and Terrence has never had a bigger headache, the pressure of old magic pushing down on the space in his skull behind his eyes. Tonight is the night that the twins would be born and if the awful sounds echoing down the hallways could be trusted, the twins are most definitely being born.

With the climate in the castle, he knows that as a fae, he has a greater duty to the rebellion tonight than he did to Adelaide. Any loyalty he had to offer her ended the moment she put up the wall.

A deal, she’d said, that she made with Valerie to have a child and in return she wouldn’t harm any fae that swore loyalty to her.

Bullshit.

His messages couldn’t reach Valerie if he sent them. Adelaide made sure of it when she closed the walls and leashed their magic. Any words spoken ill of her were bound to get back to her, so instead, he said nothing at all, waiting patiently for his time to come.

Tonight, there would be an opportunity. Terrence knows as well as any fae does of the little one of their kind growing in the queen. If the deal was what he thinks it is, the magic of the Evergreen will make it such that the child is returned, and with it, the balance of deals made in the forest fulfilled.

With the wolf star directly overhead, he lets the magic guide him through the halls, unseen. He watches as Adelaide denies the babe any touch, any comfort as he enters the world as his screams pierce the night. In a daze, he follows a maid to the nursery, picking up the baby, far too light and far too small for who Terrence knows he will be.

The child is unnamed, unmoored to the land. His pointy ears wiggle as he yawns. Even now, Terrence coos at the sight of little tips of white fangs peeking out from his gums. The magic coming from the child is neon, not quite of the Evergreen, but not anything he’s seen from any magic user either.

This is him, Valerie’s child. No power in the world, let alone a wall, could have stopped them from riding out into the night.

~|~

Lauren is stationed at the base of the throne room when Terrence rides in.

“We need an audience with the queen,” Terrence clutches the bundle to his chest as tight as he can. “Please tell her it’s urgent.”

The tiny fae is starting to squirm in his blankets as she books it up the stairs and no matter how cute the babe is, Terrence is entirely ill equipped to handle it. The child has barely been in the world a full day, but he still has no name, no prospects. By blood he is royal, but the way Adelaide practically scrambled away from him denied him a place in that castle.

The queen descends the spiraling stairs behind her throne, the cool ice-like structure making her look twice as alluring as usual, and Terrence, like most who ever receive the honor of being in her presence, is enchanted.

“Who in the gods’ names is calling me down so late? Is it really important?” She yawns and stretches, her sleek light blue robe falling in waves around her. “I really don’t see the point in-”

With a fond smile on his face, he can identify the exact moment she sees him.

“Terrence!” She runs down the steps at full tilt towards him, and he swings the baby closer and hunches in to protect him as her arms come down across his shoulders. “Terrence, you’re okay,” She pulls back and her hands stay on his shoulders as she kisses both his cheeks then leans back to get a better look at him, “You are okay, right? I swear, if that witch laid a finger on you, I’ll have her skull as an ornament.” Her eyes land on the baby. “Oh, darling, you never said anything about a child.”

She sweeps up the child, thoroughly distracted with his clear green eyes. “I’m fine,” He starts, amused with the way she dances away with the baby. “He isn’t mine, you know?” She hums as she dances away and the child giggles. “He’s yours.”

Valerie stops dead in the middle of the throne room, her eyes never leaving the babe’s, the echo of her footsteps fading into silence. “Excuse me?” Her voice is untethered, the same way the babe’s magic feels, white just like the frost that forms at her fingertips in shock.

“He isn’t named yet, Adelaide didn’t bother. She gave birth to him last night.” He hands her the certificate detailing the time of his birth, “Right under the wolf star. He’s her first born.”

She holds him just a touch closer, nudging his nose with her own, to the child’s delight. “I did say he would be mine, didn’t I?” Her voice has softened the same way it did when she took the crown all those years ago.

Staring at the child, Val reaches her free hand towards him, and he takes it because he has to and he has missed her more than she would ever know.

“You’ve come back to me,” Her hand squeezes tight around his hand, “And you are safe,” Her voice breaks on a cry as the child begins to warble out a sob.

Terrence forces the longing to stay back down to his stomach where it belongs. “But there are others still trapped in the castle,” He doesn’t want to say goodbye so soon. “And I have to go back before Adelaide notices I took him.”

He doesn’t want her to hope for him to stay. It will make it that much harder for him to leave. Her magic is too strong though the moon is still a crescent above their heads.

She leans her head against his chest and he can feel her tears on his shirt, and he can do nothing more than keep his arms around her.

“Under the wolf star, you said?” She hums a shaky tune under her breath and the baby stares up at her in awe. He nods to her question. “Then his name shall be Remus.”

The magic floods the room, and it has been ages since he has really felt connected to the forest, but he can feel the change in hierarchy in the woods themselves. Mother and son glow green the way he has only seen potions of a particularly dangerous nature shine. It’s as if their very souls are visible.

She is so pained yet so joyful when she says, “He’s mine,” The two of them continue to look at each other, and Terrence can feel the power they radiate unfiltered and raw. It bleeds into his skin in a way that he knows he’s going to smell of it for days. “He’s so fae, Terr. You can feel it, just look at him,” her tone is already as full of warmth and love as her heart is. Choking back her own cries, she stands tall, her eyes still glowing bright, and smiles.

Terrence can feel her leaving him before even she speaks.

“You will be safe on your return.” Her voice has taken on this ethereal echo, the way it does when she can’t quite cap her energy. The babe blinks and his eyes are now a blazing, neon green, and for the first time since he left the castle, Terrence feels at peace.

“Thank you, Val.” He unwraps his arms and leans down so she can grant him one last kiss on the forehead. “Wish me luck.”

She smiles and cradles her child to her chest. “You won’t need it. I will see you soon.” Her tune starts to reverberate through the walls and the trees and the sky.

He rides under the cover of night, her melody following him through the break of dawn and all the way to his bed where his eyes close, restful and safe in his queen’s song.

#sanders sides #ts remus #sanders sides fic #remus sanders #rotg au #rules of the game au #awen writes #i accidentally left an authors note in the last chapter and NO ONE TOLD ME until HOURS after it went up #thank you alex #also open invitation to everyone to fuckin roast me if i do it again

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 3 years

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a rock and a hard place

an AU one-shot by la-topolina rated for Mature audiences Warnings: Domestic Violence Summary: Raising four-year-old Harry Potter alongside her own son with little support has Petunia at her wit's end. One afternoon a pair of mysterious strangers approach her with an offer that would rid her of Harry forever. But will this devil's bargain truly free her--or will it bury her for good? Alternate Universe--Canon Divergence

Lily’s Eyes+ >>

The water scalded Petunia’s hands as she washed up the breakfast dishes, but she didn’t mind the pain. The chemically floral scent of the detergent and the repetitive movement of scrub, rinse, dry, repeat, gave her a moment of respite from her rambunctious charges. Any minute now Dudley and Harry would be crashing into the kitchen, screaming and interrupting her peace. They’d been fighting all morning, but every time she separated them, they inevitably came together; polar opposites attracted by some perverse magnetic force.

She let the water out of the sink and stood there staring at it spiraling down the drain with a ominous slurping sound. Vernon wouldn’t be happy if the pipes backed up again. She dried her hands on a threadbare kitchen towel, grimacing at the sight of her red, wrinkled skin. Her long-fingered hands were the only part of her that were truly lovely. She’d have to be more careful about fitting in the nightly routine of lotion and gloves. It would be a shame to let that one, perfect part of herself go.

“Mummy!” shrieked Dudley, running into the kitchen.

“What is it, dear?” she asked wearily.

He grabbed hold of her skirt with his plump fists. “Harry! He’s a dragon and he’s going to eat me!”

“He’s not a dragon and he’s not going to eat you.”

Harry came roaring into the room, his spindly arms over his head and his fingers bent into claws. Dudley screamed again and ran behind his mother, twisting her skirt around her legs and burying his face in it. She slapped at him reflexively. It seemed to her that the children were always pawing at her and hanging on her, and she couldn’t stand it.

“That’s enough Dudley!” she shouted over the din. “Harry, stop it or no lunch!”

Harry ignored her and continued to chase his cousin. Dudley released her skirt, and the two of them started running circles around her, roaring and screaming. Her heart started pounding, and her blouse was sticking to her from the heat of the day and the dishwashing. She put her hands over her ears and fought the urge to scream until she was dizzy with the effort.

“Harry, go to your cupboard!” she cried, desperate to stop the infernal noise.

The words came out in an angry snarl, and the boys stopped dead in their tracks. Dudley’s lower lip started to tremble, and Harry gave her a long, solemn look before retreating to the tiny room under the stairs. Petunia hated Harry’s stoic stares more than she hated his exuberance. It was as though Lily were accusing her of some crime from beyond the grave.

Shaking off the imagined judgement, she scooped up Dudley and swung him around until he was no longer in danger of starting to wail. Then she set him down in the living room with a stack of plastic duplos and built animals for him until he was engrossed enough that she could slip back into the kitchen to make the boys’ luncheon. The early August afternoon was far too hot for her to even think about eating, but she knew the boys would be whining for food within the hour.

Once she had them both set up at the table with cheese, hard boiled eggs, and sliced peaches, she took a large bowl and her glass of lemon water out to the garden for a few moments of peace. The tomato plants were heavy with fruit, the basil was running riot between them, and she knelt down on the earth to fill her basket with the bounty. Cold tomato basil soup would be just the thing for dinner, and for a quarter of an hour she could breathe easy, her hands in the soil, and only bird songs filling her ears.

She dawdled on her way back to the house, the shouting from within making her drearily slow her steps. Why was it that the boys did nothing but shout? She didn’t so much mind the messes they made (as long as she could get them cleared away before Vernon—who did mind—got home) but the constant noise set her teeth on edge.

“You can do this, Petunia. Just get them through lunch and then they can watch the telly for an hour and you can read your book,” she muttered to herself as she went back into the kitchen.

“Mummy, somebody’s been ringing the boordell,” shouted Dudley excitedly.

“What was that dear?” she asked, setting the basket on the counter and washing her hands.

Dudley didn’t answer, preferring to dash into the other room. When she followed him, she found both Dudley and Harry standing on the sofa, peering through the lace curtains to see who had come to visit.

“Boys, go back and finish your lunch,” she said sharply. “Now.”

The boys paid her no attention, and as the doorbell started to ring again, she decided it would be faster simply to deal with the unwanted guests than to argue. She yanked the door open, but instead of a solicitor or the mailman, two women stood facing her. One she vaguely recognized, a white-haired matron wearing a faded, but neat, dress. The other wore an old-fashioned tartan, and peered at her haughtily through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

“May I help you?” Petunia asked.

“Good afternoon Mrs Dursley,” said the tartan-clad woman in a stern voice kissed with a Scottish burr. “We’ve come to speak to you about young Master Potter.”

There was only one way that these odd women could know about her nephew, and Petunia felt her hands go cold.

“I don’t think now is a good time,” Petunia said. “Perhaps another day.”

She moved to close the door, but it stuck fast.

“Now, if you please, Mrs Dursley,” the Scotswoman said. “I assure you we won’t take much of your time.”

Petunia wanted to tell them to go to hell, but she knew what came of arguing with those kinds of people.

“In that case, won’t you come in?” she said waspishly.

“Thank you, we will.”

Petunia stepped back as the women entered the house. There was something about the Scotswoman’s manner that made her feel like a child caught doing something naughty. But she drew herself up to her full height, and ushered them into the kitchen. The boys watched with wide eyes, but she was careful not to give the intruders the chance to speak to them.

“Won’t you please sit down?” she said, quickly clearing the boys’ plates and putting the kettle on for tea. “I’ll just settle the boys down with their afternoon program, and be right with you.”

The Scotswoman started to say something, but Petunia didn’t wait to hear it. As she quickly turned on the telly and found the afternoon children’s hour, her mind was spinning, trying to guess what the women wanted. If they really were the freaks she feared, it could be nothing good.

“Stay here and watch your program while Mummy has a chat with her guests,” Petunia said, trying to sound as though nothing was wrong.

“But I didn’t finish my food,” Dudley said.

“Mummy will make you another lunch after her company leaves. Now sit here and be quiet.” She glared at Harry, who stared passively back at her. Did he know what was going to happen? “Both of you. Or else.”

Thankfully, the boys didn’t follow her back into the kitchen; and she had a few moments of bustle preparing the tea and pouring it. When she was finally seated at the table between the frosty women (there was no mistaking the contempt with which they looked at her) Petunia felt her nerves come rushing back, and she gripped her tea cup to keep her hands from shaking.

Breathe, Petunia. Just breathe. “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” Petunia said, amazed at how steady her voice was. “You know me, but I don’t know who either of you are.”

“One might think you’d recognize your own neighbor,” the Scotswoman said. “But never mind that. This is Mrs Arabella Figg, and I am Professor Minerva McGonagall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Petunia shivered at the heathen name. “A pleasure to meet you both, I’m sure. Mrs Figg, you do seem familiar. I’m sorry not to have made your acquaintance before today. I’m afraid the boys keep me running day and night.”

“So I’ve seen,” Mrs Figg said in a tone that bespoke her disapproval.

“What do you mean by that?” Petunia demanded. “What cause have you to go spying on your neighbors?”

“Mrs Dursely,” Professor McGonagall said, “being as you are so busy, let us be frank. You know as well as we that Harry Potter is no common boy.”

Petunia shivered. “That may be so, but he’s being raised to be a good boy. A proper boy. He needs have nothing to do with the likes of you.”

Mrs Figg scoffed loudly. “Because he’s so much better off being screamed at and beaten by your oafish husband?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. How we discipline the boy is our business,” Petunia blustered.

Professor McGonagall set down her tea cup with a sharp rattle and pulled her wand out of her sleeve. Before Petunia could object, the witch flicked it at the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Harry’s bed was in full view beneath the cobwebs. His bed sheets were all awry, and his tattered teddy bear’s head was squashed from being caught between the edge of the mattress and the door.

“We are making it our business, Mrs Dursley,” Professor McGonagall said.

“He’s my nephew!” Petunia’s eyes stung with tears of shame and frustration. “I’ll raise him as I see fit.”

“Mrs Figg and I have watched you raise the boy as you saw fit for nearly three years now. It could not be more obvious that you desire to be relieved of your burden.”

“Where is he to go? I was told by that mad Professor Dumbledore that he had to stay here for his own protection,” Petunia countered, even as she wondered why she was bothering to object. Hadn’t she spent the last two and a half bloody years wishing every day that Harry would cease to be her problem?

“There is someone who can serve as guardian to the boy. If you agree to our terms, then you need not worry any longer about the fate of Harry Potter. You need never hear of him again,” Professor McGonagall said.

“What terms?” Petunia asked.

“There is a spell you must perform with Harry’s new guardian. It will extend the magical protection that Harry enjoys under your roof to his new home by making you and his new guardian blood siblings,” the professor explained.

A wave of panic rolled through Petunia. “Absolutely not. Besides, I can’t do magic anyway. I thought you knew that.”

“You need do nothing but participate. It will take less than ten minutes, and will leave you and your family free to live as you see fit.”

Professor McGonagall’s words were perfectly polite, but Petunia could hear the disdain echoing in them.

“It would be in everyone’s best interest if you at least thought about it, Mrs Dursley,” said Mrs Figg. “Give it a few days, talk it over with your husband.”

“Yes, you needn’t decide this instant,” Professor McGonagall said. “Simply send word to Mrs Figg in the coming week, and she will know how to contact me with your decision.”

The women gazed at Petunia with such stern authority that she felt it impossible to defy them.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Very good, Mrs Dursley,” Professor McGonagall replied. “We won’t take anymore of your time. Thank you for the tea.”

She murmured an automatic pleasantry and accompanied the women to the door. The boys hopped up from their place by the telly to climb on the sofa for a better view. She had nearly gotten rid of her unwanted guests, when the question she probably should have asked earlier popped out of her mouth.

“Who is this guardian you mentioned?” Petunia said, for some strange reason dreading the answer.

Mrs Figg and Professor McGonagall exchanged a closed look before the latter replied.

“He is a former classmate of your sister and a colleague of mine. His name is Professor Severus Snape.”

*****

Petunia spent the first few days after this baleful visit on pins and needles. She jumped at every unexpected noise, and found the boys’ rough-housing even more unbearable than usual. But when a week had gone by and the witches had not returned to transform her into a toad (or whatever they were actually planning to do with their spell) she began to cautiously let down her guard. Give Harry to that Awful Boy? Send him into that world—the world that she’d been shut out of? She’d be more likely to send her nephew to the moon than to Hogwarts.

As one week became two, and still no witches’ coven descended on her doorstep, Petunia put the whole bloody business out of her mind. The boys and the relentless heat continued to oppress her spirits, and one morning she dragged the lot of them down to the play park. Dudley whined the entire way there, pulling on her hand and complaining that his feet hurt. Harry seemed keen enough about the unusual adventure that he walked obediently next to her, but this show of good behavior only irritated her spirits, as it put her own son’s tantrum into sharper focus by comparison.

When they reached the park, the children made for the swings and the slides without a backwards look. Petunia sat primly on a bench, and pulled the latest Ellis Peters novel out of her bag. It was considerably cooler within the pale of the shaded park than it had been on the walk there. She dearly hoped that the boys would both leave her to read in peace and wear themselves out enough to actually nap after lunch.

She’d been engrossed in Brother Cadfael’s deductions for more than a chapter when she gradually became aware of someone watching her. She looked up to check on the boys, who were currently occupied with the swings (Harry was propelling his swing unnaturally high for a boy his age, and Dudley was red-faced with effort as he tried fruitlessly to keep up). The park was otherwise empty, but as she turned to glance over her shoulder, she saw the intruder.

He was dressed all in black from polished shoes, to trousers, to buttoned shirt with a strange Chinese-style collar, to sunglasses. His stringy hair was pulled back from his sallow face, but his hooked nose and long-fingered hands marked him as the person she least wanted to talk to. She hoped for a moment that this was some ugly coincidence, and he would pass by the park. This was a vain hope, for he entered the grounds and stalked towards her bench like a lazy cat prowling towards its prey. She stuck her nose back in her book and did her best to ignore him, remaining silent even when he sat down on the other end of the bench. Several minutes ticked by while she waited for him to say something, that she might have the pleasure of ignoring him. But he simply sat, watching her in irreverent silence.

At last she could stand the suspense no longer. She snapped the book shut, and turned to glare at the Awful Boy.

“What do you want, Mr Snape?” she demanded crisply.

His thin lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Why so formal, Tuney?” he asked. “And without so much as a good morning after all these years? You cut me to the quick.”

Her heart started to pound as her temper rose. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs Dursley,” he replied with false gallantry. “But if you wish to continue in this vein, it’s Professor Snape. Mr Snape is my father.”

“And how are your parents?” she asked pointedly.

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Your son is the spitting image of his father.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said.”

She wanted to box his ears and wipe the smug look off his face, but her instincts warned her that he would not take kindly to being used in that fashion. Much as she tried to dismiss him as beneath her on every level, she’d always been a little afraid of Severus Snape, even when they'd been children together. The rail-thin man who sat before her now radiated a confidence in his powers that disturbed her deeply.

“I know why you’re here,” she said accusingly.

“Do you?”

“Yes, and I won’t do it. Harry is just fine where he is. I shudder to think what kind of a freak he’d turn out to be if you raised him.”

“Mrs Dursley, let’s not waste time pretending you give a rat’s tail for Harry Potter.”

“Of course I care for him! He’s my sister’s child.”

Snape took off his sunglasses, and his black eyes showed such contempt that she could not help shrinking from him.

“And did you care for him last night when you let that Muggle husband of yours beat the boy black and blue? I wonder at your audacity, bringing him out in public today. What will the neighbors think?”

“How dare you!”

“If one didn’t know better,” he continued mercilessly, “one would think you have every intention of killing the boy via neglect.”

“Stop it.”

“One blow too many to the head—and on such a small boy—might relieve you of your burdens very neatly. Although hiding the crime would be quite another matter.”

“And you think you can do better?” She was gasping for air and twisting her paperback in her hands, nearly breaking the spine. “I think you know a thing or two about beatings. The first time Harry tries your patience you’d be after him with a switch too. Or with some voodoo trick that will do the job even more easily.”

Somehow she knew she’d crossed a dangerous line. The temperature between them plummeted despite the midday heat, and when he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper.

“I would never beat a child.”

“So you say,” she said petulantly.

“Mrs Dursley,” he continued in that awful, quiet voice, “perhaps you intend to get your revenge on all of us by taking it out of your nephew's hide.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she did know—he was giving voice to the darkest part of her heart, and she trembled to hear it spoken aloud.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“And I might not know the laws in the land of the freaks, but England it’s illegal to spy private citizens.”

He ignored her jab. “Admit it. Every time you or that fat pig of a husband lash out at the boy, you’re getting some of your own back. I haven’t forgotten the letter you wrote to Dumbledore, begging to join us at school.”

“You shouldn’t have read that letter.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Revenge I mean.”

“You’re an evil man.”

He let out a laugh rusty with malice. “Your sister died to save her son. You remember her by locking the boy in a closet at night—and you call me evil?”

“Be quiet!”

“No. Not until you agree to give me the boy. Until then I will haunt you day and night.”

She believed him, and she turned away from his stoney gaze, her mind furiously searching for some means of escape. Her eyes fell on Harry, still swinging higher than he ought. As the swing reached its apex, the child let go, flinging himself out of its seat. He hung in the air for an instant longer than anyone could naturally do, and he landed lightly, glowing with pride. In that moment, all his resemblance to his stupid father fled, and Petunia could only see Lily in her nephew’s green eyes. Something inside her broke; she could feel it snapping in her heart.

“I’ll do it,” she said dully.

“What was that?” Snape demanded.

“I said I’ll do it. You can have him. He belongs in your world anyway.”

Snape’s left eyebrow twitched, but otherwise his face was dreadfully impassive. “I’m glad that you’ve decided to see reason. Come, we will do it now.”

“Here?” she squeaked.

“Afraid of being caught with your hand in the cauldron? No, your kitchen will suffice.”

She was too tired to argue. “Fine. Let’s…let’s just get it over with.”

*****

Professor McGonagall and Mrs Figg were waiting for them on the door step when Petunia, Snape, and the boys reached home. Dudley was clinging to his mother’s skirt, terrified of the strange man, but Harry watched Snape curiously from behind his taped glasses. The other women made way for Petunia to unlock the front door, and then they filed into the living room, solemn as mourners at a funeral.

“You knew I would agree?” asked Petunia sourly.

“Severus can be very persuasive,” Professor McGonagall replied.

Petunia bristled at this, but decided not to comment. “I’ll go pack Harry’s things.”

She went upstairs before anyone could object, in search of Lily’s old suitcase. As she bustled from the closet in the unused bedroom to the cupboard under the stairs, she heard Snape and Professor McGonagall talking to Harry, but she didn’t bother to listen to anything they were saying to him. She neatly tucked her nephew’s clothes and a few books that Dudley hated into the case, along with Harry’s tattered teddy bear, and the one photograph of his parents that had been rescued from the rubble of their house. Lily's smiling face appeared to be speaking to her, but she turned it over so she wouldn't have to look at it. When all was ready, she snapped the suitcase shut, and brought it into the living room. She felt numb from head to toe, and while she thought vaguely that this lack of response was somehow shameful, she could not bring herself to feel any emotion at all.

“Here are his things. Dudley, say good-bye to your cousin,” she said.

“Not quite yet, Mrs Dursley,” Professor McGonagall said. “We’ve still the matter of the blood bond to attend to.”

Petunia had been hoping to skip that part. “What about the children? I can’t very well mind them and do magic.”

“Fortunately, you will be required neither to mind them, nor to do magic,” Snape replied.

“Come here boys, and we’ll read a little story,” said Mrs Figg.

Petunia didn’t like the way that Harry and Dudley both joined the old woman on the sofa without question, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She left them to Mrs Figg and joined the witch and the wizard, trying not to think of what Vernon would say if he knew they were about to do that in his very own kitchen. Snape was already at the counter, stirring a beaker of a bubbling green liquid and muttering strange words under his breath. A drinking horn that looked like something out of Beowulf sat next to the beaker. If Petunia hadn’t been so numb, she might have been afraid, but if any emotion was attempting to break through her mental fog, it was curiosity.

Snape finished his stirring and nodded to Professor McGonagall. The witch picked up the drinking horn, and he poured the liquid into it. When it was full, he took it into his hands, raised it to Petunia, and arched a sardonic eyebrow.

“To you, dear sister,” he sneered, and drank.

She accepted the horn from him when he finished, though she ought to have recoiled in horror.

“No, brother,” she shot back, “to you.”

Before she could think better of it, she drank deeply of the blood-warm brew. It tasted of ginger and basil, and stung her throat. It coiled in her stomach, swirling like a whirlpool, but she thought she could keep it down. The idea of vomiting in front of Severus Snape was too humiliating to bear.

“Hold your hands out,” Professor McGonagall ordered as she took the horn from Petunia.

Snape did so, looking grave, and Petunia hesitantly extended hers as well. Professor McGonagall cut a shallow gash on their palms almost before Petunia registered the silver blade in the witch’s hand. Before she could protest with more than a startled yelp, Snape had clasped their hands together. A burning sensation radiated between them, as though someone was holding their hands to a fire. Petunia blinked furiously, determined not to cry in front of these freaks, until her eyes locked with Snape, and something even more strange began to happen.

As she looked into those inky depths, she no longer saw her neat little kitchen. Instead she seemed to be huddled in the corner of a shabby, dirty one. A man and a woman were arguing fiercely in the other room, and she was terrified that they would come and find her. This scene melted into another place and time, where she was running through the hallways of a great castle, a pack of laughing boys on her heels. Then she was lying on a threadbare bed, pointing a wand up at the ceiling and shooting down the flies that buzzed overhead.

By the time she realized she was somehow reading Snape’s mind, it was over. He let go of her hands so quickly that she stumbled, and Professor McGonagall had to catch her arm to steady her.

“It’s done,” the witch said. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs Dursley.”

Petunia nodded her head, too bewildered to think of anything sharp to say. Snape was avoiding her eyes, and she wondered wildly if he’d been able to read her thoughts as well. And if he had—what had he seen? Still pondering this final humiliation, she allowed Professor McGonagall to usher her back into the living room. Dudley was snoring on the sofa, exhausted from the events of the morning. Harry looked up at them, and Petunia noticed that his glasses were no longer taped together. She reflected bitterly how easy it must be to fix a small child’s glasses with magic when he broke them every other week.

“Harry, it’s time to go,” Snape said in a voice that was stern, but not unkind. “Say good-bye to your aunt.”

Harry slid off the sofa, but went to his suitcase instead of his aunt. He tugged at the latch unsuccessfully, until Snape gave an impatient snort and flicked his wand at the thing to open it. Harry plucked out the teddy bear, and brought it to Petunia, holding it up to her until she took it from his little hands.

“Good-bye Auntie Tuney,” Harry said.

“Good-bye Harry,” she replied. “Behave yourself.”

Harry nodded and put his hand in Snape’s, and the two of them began to follow Mrs Figg and Professor McGonagall out of the Dursleys’ lives, presumably forever. On the threshold Snape paused, set down the suitcase, and turned back to Petunia.

“Petunia,” he said in the same tone he’d used with Harry, “if you should ever decide you wish to leave this life, you have only to write to me and I will do what I can to help you.”

“Why on earth would you bother yourself with that?” she said indignantly, even as a mad urge to beg him to take her and Dudley with him choked her.

“Because, now you are my sister.”

She wanted to laugh at him, but that mad part of her wouldn’t allow it, as though it were afraid of shutting this door completely. Instead she simply pursed her lips and nodded once her understanding. There was nothing more to be said between them, so he picked up the suitcase and led Harry out of the house. As she closed the door after them, a rush of panic went through her, and she paced nervously from room to room, waiting for it to pass. At last she found herself back in the kitchen. The gashes on her hands had mysteriously disappeared, so she filled the sink to wash up the breakfast dishes. Anything to pretend that life was as it should be.

When the sink was full, she realized she was still gripping Harry’s teddy bear. She set it on the counter, and started the mundane ritual of wash, rinse, dry, repeat. The bear's button eyes stared up at her until her own eyes blurred with tears she could no longer contain. She snatched up the toy in her red, wrinkled hands, and sank to the floor, clutching it to her breast with far more care than she’d ever been able to show its former owner.

She’d been left behind—again.

*****

Lily’s Eyes+ >>

#pro snape #severus snape fanfiction #petunia dursley #harry potter #inmyownlittlecorner5

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williamsilverwood · 3 years

Text

The Banquet Part ll

(( This takes place post BFA and before Shadowlands. Because I’m lazy with writing. )) The embroidery was impressive, the highest quality silk one could get their hands on. A vest with the Silverwood house sigil on the chest and shoulders hugged against the young lord’s chest, fitting snugly against his body. He wore grey and dark pants that were of a similar fabric. To top off the outfit, a billowing cloak hung around his shoulders and down the rest of his back like a blanket.

Will sat on the edge of his bed, tugging black shoes onto his feet. It had been sometime since he wore proper noble attire and even longer since he was in his human form to do so. His elongated ears twitched at someone approaching. He turned to look over at the grizzled complexion of his friend and trusted advisor, Thoros.

“Well, never thought I’d see much of you in your old body.”

“I thought perhaps it is time to get more acquainted with it. Though I’m unsure what the reactions of the other nobles will be.” He replied, murmuring out his last words.

Thoros’ bushy mustache twitched and he rolled a single shoulder in a shrug.

“I do not think they’ll make too much of a fuss about it. Besides, it is a face they remember after all.”

Will rose a brow. “Is it? I did leave home in my teens, and I doubt they remember what I looked like.” He rubbed at his face with both hands. “Even then it's still the face of the first born son of a prominent house who decided to abandon his duty to his family and live in the city.” He ran a few fingers through his long locks, looking up towards the older man.

“Can’t dwell too much on the past, lad. You came back, didn’t you? Established your right once more and have been fighting under the Gilnean banner for years now. Though, I’m sure Grymm’s Vale’s people would like their lord around more often. You’ve been fighting for quite some time.”

Will blew a strand of hair away from his face, peering towards Thoros. “Well, there’s always fighting to be done. Not my fault there are constant battles. The Legion, a bloody fourth war. Never seems to end. I just hope we’re given some time to finally relax.”

“Agreed.”

In the moment of silence between the two men, the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard along the spiral staircase that led to Will’s chamber. A teenage boy with the symbol of a Silver tree emblazoned on his tunic’s chest came hurrying into the room. He had a shock of messy red hair and wide cheeks.

“My lords..” He dipped his head and upper body into a brief bow. “The guests have arrived in the great hall. Shall I see them to their seats in the dining room? Or do you wish to make an address first, my lord?” His hurried eyes glanced towards the lord in question.

“Hm. What do you think?” Will eyed Thoros who was busy caressing his goatee.

“Huh? Oh, you should greet them. Its the formal thing to do. It leaves a good impression, lad.”

Will nodded. “Right..” He brought himself up to his feet, brushing his pants off for a moment and passing Thoros with a good hearty slap to the shoulder. “C’mon old man, lets go address the peoples.”

“You are addressing them! Not me. Don’t be putting this on me like usual, boy.”

The young lord patted the teen on the shoulder, ushering him down the stairs as he turned his head to flash a grin to his old friend. Those prominent fangs sticking out as he did so. “I’m just messin’ with you, ya’ old bastard. I know what I gotta do. No sweat.” He waved a hand dismissively before following suit down the stairs.

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

The various lords, ladies and high ranking officials of the Grey Hand were present within the great hall of Silverwood manor. They intermingled with each other; mostly conversing about where they felt Gilneas and the Alliance as a whole was headed after the recent war.

Will had just arrived at the main floor with Thoros in tow. He looked around the room, watching as servants carried out large platters of food. Various meats, breads and other treats were placed upon the white tablecloth.

The dining area housed a long table with many chairs tucked neatly beneath it. The most prominent chair was at the front of the table, stark white in color with a large emblem of the noble house it represented on the back.

The Lord of the house sits there. Many times did William see his father sitting at the head of the table, usually stroking his beard and always looking grumpy. The forced dinners with other families were always the worst. Though William had a good feeling this one was to be different than all the rest. Hopefully.

Thoros slammed a heavy hand against the young Lord’s shoulder. “Ready to make that address, lad? Doesn’t have to be too long, just welcomin’ them in.”

Will’s brow twitched and he glanced over to Thoros. “Suppose so. I never did listen when my father did these things. I was always off in my own head, wanting to break out of these stone walls.”

“Ha, I know lad, I know.” Thoros replied.

With a soft sigh, Will began to move towards the banister that overlooked the main entrance where everyone was lingering. Before he could however, he heard small footsteps barreling towards him. His ears twitched and his head turned. Though he did not even need to look to know who it was rushing towards him. A wide smile was already present on his face as he knelt down to welcome the embrace of his only daughter.

He hugged her against his chest, squeezing for a moment or so before letting her go. “You look adorable.” The young girl donned a dress. It was dark in color, various blacks and greys with intricate patterns of red roses running along the trim in typical Gilnean fashion.

Zoey beamed, moving away from her father to spin around in her dress. She seemed rather pleased with herself. “Its pretty!”

Will gave her a look. “I thought you didn’t want to wear a dress..” He murmured, a glint in his eye as he teased his daughter.

She puffed up a bit, cheeks tinged with crimson. “W-well… I…!”

Her father laughed, reaching down to comb a few thick fingers through her chestnut hair that was all done up in curls. “I’m teasing you, sweetie. You look very pretty.” His daughter’s smaller fingers tried to bat away his own as he touched her hair.

“But daddy has to talk to all the lords and ladies. Carmen will take you to the other children. Play nice.” He pinched her cheek before kissing her forehead.

Zoey nodded quickly, prancing off to one of the caretakers that took her hand and led her to one of the tables.

Will walked confidently towards the main bannister overlooking the conversing crowd that had gathered. Men were in fine linens and suits while most of the ladies wore expensive dresses.“Good evening!” Will stood at the bannister, gesturing with his hands out towards the

crowd. He was using that billowing, loud voice of his. Instead of shouting over a battlefield, he was shouting over lords and ladies. He was certainly not in his element. Many heads turned to regard him, looking up at a lord they did not instantly recognize.

Will was one who revered the embodiment of Goldrinn’s fury. It was a blessing to him. More often than not he was within his Worgen form. Tonight, he donned the body in which he used to frequent these very halls with. However, it was changed. He was beginning to slowly adopt more of his wolven features onto his human body. It was without a doubt because of his nearly incessant use of the blessing that was gifted to him. He did not mind the changes much but to the various aristocrats gathered in his great hall… that remained to be seen.

“I welcome you to Silverwood manor as it’s reigning lord.” One of his brows twitched. Usually he heard his father say those words and it was odd to hear them come out of his own mouth now. The thought of having a similarity with his father provided an unsettling feeling.

“Tonight, we celebrate our victory in the fourth war. From Arathi Highlands to the distant shores of Kalimdor, the Alliance have claimed a resounding success against the Banshee Queen’s brutish Horde.” William paused for a long moment, looking across the crowd of faces that peered back at him.

“She has descended into darkness once more and our hunt continues. But for now, drink, be merry and enjoy yourselves. Glory to Gilneas.” He ended to an applause from the guests. The tips of his ears twitching slightly and a smile forming on his lips as he offered a half bow. He turned on his foot to face Thoros who had been crossing his arms over his chest nearby.

“Brief but good. Nice job, kid.” He clasped a thick, calloused hand on Will’s shoulder, giving him a firm pat.

“I thought I started to sound like father. Almost lost my appetite.”

Thoros bellied out a loud chuckle. “At the start, a bit, but you’re not him. Don’t fret now. Try to enjoy yourself tonight. You’ve earned it.”

“Mm.” Will muttered, staying at the top of the stairs so he could greet each and every noble that walked up on either side. It was draining. He was a socialable person but this seemed like too much. Every lord and lady were greeted formally with slight small talk before he moved onto the next couple. It went on and on before he finally saw no one else coming up the stairs. He turned, eyeing everyone at their seats, conversing quietly. Will let out a small sigh, about to engulf himself within many more conversations before he felt a presence rush up behind him suddenly.

Instinctively, he whipped his body around, right clawed hand ready to slash at whomever had decided to appear from the shadows.

A raven haired woman in an equally as dark dress quickly ducked underneath his hand that was coming towards her. As soon as the young lord saw the ‘intruder’ was not really an intruder, he stopped his hand before it would even reach her.

“I didn’t see you treat the other guests like this..” Her voice was soft but carried a slightly huskier tone to it, one that made Will’s ears twitch in familiarity.

“... Caitlyn?” He asked, eyes widening to see the woman before him.

She stood close to him, a lavish and elegant vanilla scent surrounding her form. Her face was narrow with sharp features. Lips plump and painted in a daring red color. Her eyes were large and strikingly bright green, dark full lashes surrounding them, paired with smokey eyeshadow. They held a mischievous glint in them as they peered upwards to him.

The woman’s body was more on the skinnier side. But for some reason, she still looked like she could hold her own. Perhaps it was the aura of confidence she seemed to exude around her or the stance she took with her head held high and eyes forward.

“It has been some time, dear.” Will smiled softly towards her.

“That it has. And you’ve.. well… you’ve changed a lot, Will.” She reached out with long, thin fingers and took one of his hands, moving it up in between them so she could see those elongated, sharpened nails. “Gods, your’s are almost longer than mine. Such interesting changes.” Her own long nails pressed against his palm for a moment before withdrawing.

“Aye, it happened over a long period of time. I never really do come out of my other form.”

“You prefer it?” She perked a thin brow before upturning the corners of her lips into a grin. “That does not surprise me.”

Will could not help but to let out a small snicker at that. “I do, yes. Much more than this form. This body, this.. face, reminds me of my days back here. Being molded into the perfect first born son I was supposed to be.”

Caitlyn took a step back, getting a better look at him. She crossed her left arm over her chest, placing her right elbow into her palm and cupping her chin while an elongated nail tapped at her soft lips. “Well, aside from your wolvish features, I see much of that perfect first born son you were supposed to be right now.”

Will’s brow furrowed, eyes glancing away from her.

“Or.. its just the clothes you’re wearing. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in threads like those. Definitely not back in the city.” She winked at him, moving a few steps forward so she could place a gloved hand against his chest. “Now, don’t you have guests to attend to?”

Will looked down towards her with an amused gaze. She was just like he remembered. Bold. Confident. Alluring. There was much he learned from her from his time in Gilneas City, like how real people got their way. That certain kind of charm that became one of the young lord’s most strongest attributes. He had much to thank her for. Perhaps an invitation to his chambers to catch up would suffice.

“Unfortunately so. And you’ll have to tell me how you managed to get past my gates, my hounds and my guards without so much as a speck of mud on you.” He remarked.

Caitlyn slid away from his body, moving towards the large banquet hall. She stopped for a moment and looked over her right shoulder to simply wink at him before proceeding to walk confidently into the main hall as the various nobles conversed with each other at the table.

Will stood there, eyeing her as she left. The corners of his mouth upturned in a gentle grin. It seemed the distraction that was needed from this formal procedure had just arrived.

#roleplay #world of warcraft #warcraft #writing #oc #gilneas #worgen

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