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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

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We’re All Mad Here | Jurdan College AU

Summary: Ire is a thin blanket around us, an opaline veil that makes everything shimmer and sharpen with pristine clarity. I have never felt more alive as I do when I look at him, and feel nothing but hatred.

Rating: T

Content Warnings: Mild cursing. Minor mentions of anxiety, panic, murder.

Part I | Part II | AO3

Part III- Rival

He is hanging my shirt to dry on a shelf, high up where I can’t reach, weighting it down with two cans of coffee beans.

I stare at his back. The black fabric of his shirt pulls into ripples and waves as he moves. The sleeves are still rolled up past his elbows, exposing pale forearms and the creeping blue veins there.

In the front of the coffee shop, customers continue their prattling, spoons continue pinging against ceramic mugs. The espresso machine drones on. All of it sounds muffled from beyond the kitchen door.

In here, though, there is only the refrigerator’s low thrum and my raging heart loud in my ears.

Greenbriar. My mind reels. This man, my classmate—a Greenbriar progeny.

Namesakes of the city’s most prestigious university and beneficiaries of a mega-corporation called The Mab Group, the six children of Eldred Greenbriar are not quite heirs to all of Insmire, but they may as well be for how much power their name holds.

If the heir in front of me is in one of my mandatory lectures, he must also be in the same year as me. Which can only mean one thing.

I look up at him with renewed hatred.

He appraises me, taking up a casual stance leaning against the island countertop right across from where I sit. He crosses his arms and seems entirely unaffected by my serrated gaze. Which only makes me grit my teeth harder.

“You seem awfully quiet, Jude,” he says, voice made of velvet. “Have you pieced it together? Have you figured out who I am?”

I have to fight to keep my breath from going ragged, my hands from shaking. I grip the edge of the counter with a vengeance. It’s my only tether to sanity.

He brushes one knuckle across my whitened ones. They are nearly as white as his, now. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. The laugh that skitters from his lips is hushed and dry, like a centipede’s legs scraping as it scuttles through seared grass.

Out of every pompous prick in the Greenbriar line, the one who stands before me is by far the worst. And not just because he spilled coffee all over my only nice blouse—though that has certainly been added to the growing list of all the reasons why I hate him.

I have only ever seen his name on paper. A list tacked to a bulletin board outside the Politics and International Relations department. Three names, one from each year. His name instead of my own. For a year, that list has haunted me.

Cardan Greenbriar is known for his debauchery, not his intellect. He’s the kind of entitled that makes me want to paint the wall with his brains. And then my own. This, a kind approximation of his person, I’m sure.

Perhaps that’s why it hurt so much when he won Top Scholar last year. Perhaps that’s why I never learned his face—knowledge of it would only derail me from my goal.

“I have to say,” Cardan continues, “I’m disappointed it took you so long to deign to work it out.”

“Starved for attention, are we?” I hiss through my teeth.

Something I can’t quite decipher snaps across his face; but then it’s back to that cool veneer, and I wonder if I imagined it. One corner of his mouth tugs up.

“Figures,” I say, tearing my eyes away from his and towards the ceiling. Mostly to distract myself from that corner. “Your whole family seems to think the world revolves around them. I’m surprised you haven’t keeled over with the weight of my offence.”

“On the contrary. I find your not knowing me… refreshing.” He starts unrolling his shirt sleeves.

It is an exceedingly nice shirt for a day off. Come to think of it, all of his clothes are exceedingly nice. Gilded filigree triangles make the tips of his collar look dipped in gold. Between them, right where his top button should be, clings a black onyx brooch in the shape of a beetle.

I narrow my eyes. This is obviously a rouse of some sort. I think about how kind he acted before. His seemingly innocuous request to help get the stain out of my shirt. His sudden change in demeanour. There’s something missing, but I can’t figure out what. I don’t like it—this waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What do you want with me?” I ask.

“The same thing you want with me, Jude,” he says, black tourmaline eyes unflinching. He buttons his cuffs. “I want to ruin you.”

I clench my jaw as his words soak in. My nostrils flare. My heartbeat is so wild in my chest I think I might die. Or be sick.

I want to tell him the feeling is absolutely mutual. I want to breathe fire and be livid and berate him for the crime of his family’s existence. I want to tell him to go fuck himself. But I know what will get under his skin most.

“I want nothing to do with you,” I say, sticking out my chin, defiant.

Cardan’s mouth splits into a hideous smile that must usually be reserved for the pillow and languorous mornings in bed. Though, I suppose for him, such mornings probably lie within the same realm of pleasure as tormenting enemies in the kitchens of what is apparently his coffee shop.

“Fortunately,” he says, pushing off the counter, “You won’t have anything to do with me much longer. I have a meeting.” He holds out a hand. I blink at him. “Jacket please.”

“Like hell,” I seethe, clutching at the lapels.

“Fine.” He drops his hand. “An interview without a statement piece wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for today. Though, I suppose it shouldn’t matter.” He straightens his collar, his black beetle brooch. “Dain will hire me regardless.”

Something sinks in my stomach like a stone. Dain.

Dain Greenbriar. CEO of the Silhouette Gazette, taking time out of his very busy schedule to interview today, and only today, for one coveted position amongst his team of interns. Dain Greenbriar, his brother and my would-be boss had I not been so foolishly diverted.

But I have been a fool. One look at Cardan tells me this. The spill, the innocent act, the plea to help me. It was all a ruse. Strung up and sutured by none other than the youngest Greenbriar, himself—and I, a much too eager victim.

He’s smirking and my face heats. Something roils right under my skin, white-hot. Just waiting to be unleashed.

So I unleash it.

I lunge. Across the countertop. I am diving, scrabbling, reaching.

Right for the knife block. Metal sings as I rip one free. A sound almost as glorious as the way it feels to angle a blade right at Cardan’s throat.

He braces his hands on the countertop behind him but does not lift a finger to defend himself.

I only see red, and the way he regards me cooly. A smirk juts the cliffs of his cheekbones. The steel I hold to his skin reflects his face so that I see it twofold. Even my own weapon taunts me.

He looks down his nose at me, despite being held at the peril of my blade. I know then what it is to loathe with my entire being.

“That internship is mine,” I tell him, my breath a jagged thing in my lungs.

“Looks unlikely, sunshine,” he says, and I want to scream. “What with you missing your interview and all.”

“Because of you, you snivelling little coward.” I press the knife’s edge flush against his throat. His eyes shutter. It’s the only surrender I get to savour before I am fixed with his stare once more.

“Ouch,” he mocks. “Not nice words.” Though he is smirking, his gaze glitters dangerously, as if he might murder me outright. Even though I’m the one with the knife.

“You took Top Scholar from me last year,” my voice quakes. Bile rises in my throat at the admission of it—my one and only failure. Until today, at least.

“Took?” His brows rise high and arrogant on his forehead. “I think I won that title from you, fair and square. Upset that someone bested you for once?”

“Please,” I scoff, indignant. “You’re a nefarious moneybags prick. Your family probably paid someone off.”

His laugh is surprised and derisive at once. “Nefarious moneybags prick,” he muses, giving me a full grin. “Now that, I have not heard before. Kind of a mouthful, though. Got any nicknames?”

I only lean in closer, pressing the knife harder. One slip of my hand and— “Give me your interview slot.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“You’re quite confident for someone held at knifepoint,” I say through gritted teeth. “Give me your slot.”

“What are you going to do? Murder me about it?”

“You really want to test that theory?”

He considers me for a moment from under hooded lids. His eyelashes are stupidly long. It’s disgusting. “Even if you had the balls to do it, which I don’t doubt you do,” he says. “You wouldn’t. Wanna know why?”

“Why?” I say with ample venom.

“Because it would cost you everything,” he tells me. “How my father would froth at the mouth for the opportunity to put you in shackles.”

Ire is a thin blanket around us, an opaline veil that makes everything shimmer and sharpen with pristine clarity. I have never felt more alive as I do when I look at him, and feel nothing but hatred.

“It’ll be your word against mine,” I say, “And you’ll be dead.”

Cardan rolls his eyes. “Even if you had a valid excuse for murder, which you don’t,” he points out, “And even though my family does not give a rat’s festering ass about me, they would not hesitate for a moment to rip you apart in court. To see the Duarte name trampled down into the dirt where it belongs.”

I know what Cardan says is true. I would revel in dragging the Greenbriars down to the deepest trenches of hell, even if it took me with them. Just as surely as they would relish in my demise. It has always been this way. For as long as I can remember.

I am sure he reads this all on my face as I think it because his smile is a sharp gash of white.

“You may have held the title of Top Scholar once, but I bested you last year,” he says. My mind sieges against the notion. “And though I fully intend on doing so again this year, if you murder me for it, you won’t even be in the running for the title come tomorrow morning. No, the only title you will ever hold for the rest of your small, pathetic life will be Inmate.”

I almost concede a flinch. Small. Pathetic.

I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get under my skin, and credit where credit’s due: It almost works. But my fickle temperament, his not knowing what I will do next; these are my only chances at gaining control again.

I cannot show my hand.

So as my instincts scream against it, I tilt my chin up to look at him. “And how are you so very sure, Greenbriar,” I spit, “That Inmate is not a worthy enough title for me?”

“Because, Jude,” he says my name like it is his favourite flavour of sin, and I despise the way my heart flies into my throat at the sound, “It’s not. I am observant, if nothing else. I happen to know that being locked behind bars is a far cry from what you crave most.”

“As if you’d be privy to what I crave,” I say, though my stomach turns itself in knots, my grip loosening on the knife. Because he’s right. He’s so very right, I am nauseous at the thought of it.

Cardan shrugs. “Believe me, or not. I have my ways of knowing,” he says. Then, with the newfound space I have given him, he leans down close to my ear. “I reckon, however, that I am far too insignificant a name on what is presumably a very extensive blacklist for you to be kept from your higher ambitions by murdering me on a whim of passion.”

He makes a lazy trail with his index finger from my left elbow up my arm. My cheeks blaze, but the skin still pebbles there. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

“There are so many more valuable prizes for you plunder,” he croons, breath fanning across my face. He leans back a bit to look me in the eye. “Aren’t there, dear Jude?”

It is the secret of myself unravelled before me. I cannot bear how vulnerable it makes me feel. I stagger back, breathless, and blink.

My knife is in his hand. How did it get there? How had he taken it without my noticing? He’s moving away from me now.

“As lovely as this little meeting has been,” Cardan says, sheathing the knife back in its stand, “I think I’ll be going now.”

He brushes himself off, grabs his to-go cup from the counter, and I’m standing there like an idiot with my mouth hanging open. He pauses in front of me before he goes. I’m not sure what it means when he frowns, but I hope he feels every poisoned dagger I sink into his skull.

Then, Cardan does the very last thing I expect.

Every inch of me goes still as he takes a strand of my hair between his fingers and tucks it carefully behind my ear.

“It really was quite the show,” he murmurs. As if we are lovers tangled in sumptuous silk sheets. Instead of what we really are.

Rivals. Luring each other into cages of our own making.

Just like that, he’s gone, and I am left alone with my threadbare self.

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

It takes me all of twenty seconds to react. I count them going by on the ticking hand of my cracked watch as I try to cobble together a plan, try to breathe. I feel like the walls are closing in on me, all my demons crawling to the surface. But I’ll be damned if I let them win. If I let him win.

Then, I am chugging my cappuccino. It’s lukewarm. The syrup has pooled at the bottom and I get it all in one gulp. Sickly sweet and absolutely revolting, but I need the fuel.

When I’m done, little rivulets of coffee stream down my cheeks. I wipe them off with the sleeve of Cardan’s black jacket, grab my bag from the floor, and start running. I leave my shirt hanging to dry on the shelf. Buttoned, the jacket covers me enough and I cannot waste time. Not now.

I careen through the metal doors, apologizing to a grumbling Liliver as I sprint out from behind the counter, and wonder just how much Cardan’s glorified bathrobe would go for on eBay. He did say it was designer…

Finally, I’m outside again. It’s stopped hailing, and the air is blessedly cool. It helps me sort through my muddled thoughts.

I see Cardan’s wretched curls bobbing up ahead. He stops for the red man on the pedestrian signal. Idiot.

My breath swirls around me. I look both ways and dive between a reasonably spaced motorcycle and a bus onto the median in the middle of the road. Then between a bus and a less reasonably spaced car, who has to put on their breaks. The driver lays on the horn and I flick him off over my shoulder.

I’m already on the opposite side of the road, flying through the heavy glass doors of the Silhouette skyscraper. I don’t look back to see Cardan’s face, though I can imagine some pretty satisfying expressions on my own.

It’s enough to help me form the next steps of my plan.

I survey the lobby. It’s all glass and dark wood and marble. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling. It smells like coffee and expensive cologne. Moneybag pricks, indeed.

There’s a sign to the right for the lifts; and right next to it, the door to the stairs.

The Gazette’s main offices are on the fifteenth floor. Which is actually probably the fourteenth floor, when you factor in people’s weird aversion toward the number thirteen. The stairs would be faster, anyway. Especially if there were multiple stops on the lift. Or many.

I think I could climb thirteen stairs. I don’t think Cardan could.

Moving as quickly as I can without drawing too much attention, I slip into the stair-well. I climb one floor, slip out into the hall, press the lift call button, slip back into the stair-well, and climb to the next level.

I do this thirteen more times, pressing the lift call buttons on every floor. I get some weird stares, some alarmed looks from people passing by. But mostly, I ignore them. My vision is tunnel-like.

I cannot let Cardan beat me. Everything I’ve been working toward for the past thirteen years is riding on this internship. If I can get just two minutes alone with Dain, maybe I can convince him to let me reschedule my interview. Maybe I can fix this.

By the fourth floor, my thighs start to burn. My feet slap against the concrete steps. The sound echoes off the stair-well walls.

Small, pathetic.

To see the Duarte name trampled down into the dirt where it belongs.

I want to ruin you.

It really was quite the show.

It’s that last one that sets me sprinting. By the tenth floor, I am heaving breaths. My lungs feel like they’re full of hot lead. The only things keeping me going are my goal and Cardan’s extremely punchable face like a beacon in my mind’s eye. I hate him I hate him I hate him. It drives me.

Finally, I slam my shoulder into the door with a sign next to it that reads, FLOOR 15, in bright red.

I spill out into a warmly lit hall. It’s lined with framed newspapers, chic black and white photographs of the city, and one large gilded mirror. There’s a potted organza sitting on a copper accent table just opposite the lifts, but not much else.

The set of glass double-doors to my right reads, “THE SILHOUETTE GAZETTE”, just above the handles, in bold black lettering. The same doors my mother walked through to get her internship here when she was my age. The same doors she walked through every day for so many years after.

No time, no time, no time. Cardan is hot on my tail. I can’t be sentimental, now.

I’m a little frazzled, but only a tad sweaty. I glance at the mirror. No, that’s utter bullshit. I look like I’ve walked through a sprinkler.

I take a moment to straighten my pencil skirt. Smooth the hair away from my face, dab the sheen on my forehead and nose and chin and everywhere else with the back of my hand. No time.

I roll the sleeves of the ridiculous jacket so they don’t swallow my hands. The red lining is vibrant against stark black. I throw my shoulders back, and before I begin to doubt myself, stride toward the doors.

My boots click against the dark granite tiles, but when I step over the threshold, it’s all grey carpet and phones ringing, the shuffling of hurried feet and stacks of paper.

The familiar smell of freshly pressed ink greets me. The man behind the reception desk straight ahead does not.

The receptionist is burly and bald, save for a tuft of black hair right on the top of his head, pulled back into a small bun. Blue ink creeps from underneath the collar and sleeves of his crisp white button-down. Tattoos. Lots of them. He wears a floral printed tie and doesn’t glance up from the computer when I approach.

I clear my throat. “Ex—cuse me,” I say. “I’m… here for an interview? With Dain Greenbriar. About an… internship?”

“Are you sure about that?” the man asks in a gruff voice, still typing away.

My brows cinch. “Yes. I scheduled it weeks ago.”

“It’s just…” he looks up at me then, “You don’t sound so sure. Besides, he’s in a meeting right now.”

My jaw clenches. “No. Actually. He’s not,” I say as politely as I can, then throw a glance over my shoulder to make sure Cardan isn’t on his way to dropkick a wrecking ball right through my life. Again. “I’m his 8:20. I know I’m incredibly late, but I got into an accident on the way here.” It isn’t technically a lie, but it slides from my tongue just as smoothly.

The receptionist gives me a disapproving look. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“I really only need five minutes of his time,” I say, breathless. “Could you please. Please. Just page him. Everything in my life depends on it.”

He raises one brow, regarding me dubiously. “Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.”

“Look,” I say, starting to panic, “I don’t have much time to explain before the world’s largest middle finger to the very foundation of this establishment walks through those doors and ruins everything. But if you do this for me, and I get this internship, I will bring you coffee every morning for two months.”

He’s silent for so long, I think he’s going to reject my offer. But then he says, “Make it three. Regardless of whether you get the internship.”

“Deal,” I blurt before I can stop myself. Before I can think about the strangeness of his contention. I certainly don’t have time to haggle.

The receptionist sighs, lifting the phone to his ear. Punches a few numbers. Listens. “Wait over there,” he mouths at me and points to a cluster of sleek leather chairs in the corner of the entryway that look about as comfortable as your standard park bench.

I thank him silently and head over, plopping down on the nearest one. I was right. It feels like I’m six again and sitting on the lap of my sister, Vivienne, whose legs are notoriously spindly.

The receptionist is muttering words I cannot hear into the phone’s receiver. I presume it’s Dain, but for all I know, he could be talking to Glinda in accounting, or whoever. Laughing about the silly little girl who just fell through the doors, looking for all the world like she’d been down the rabbit hole and had to claw her way back up to get here. He wouldn’t be far off, if I’m honest.

Or worse, maybe he’s calling security.

I shove those thoughts from my mind and lean back in the chair. My right leg starts to jiggle like it always does when I’m nervous. I lean forward again, bracing my elbows on my knees. I need to focus.

There’s a sudden movement in my periphery. A tall man in a navy blue suit enters the reception area. His golden crown of curls and swaggering demeanour clue me in enough. Dain Greenbriar.

The last time I saw the second eldest, and arguably the most decent of the Greenbriar progenies, was thirteen years ago. In a rescue chopper. Above a boating accident. He was in the pilot’s seat flying the chopper, while Madoc was tending to my sisters and I. But I still remember his confident air, that dash of white smile when he told us everything was going to be okay. Even though it wasn’t.

He hasn’t changed much.

“Miss Duarte,” Dain says, stopping near the reception desk. I wonder briefly if it’s a power play. Make me come to him. It’s fair enough, if that’s his ploy. It’s what I would do.

I’m surprised I’m not more phased by the memory of him. I expect to feel an inexplicable sense of dread. I expect it to be difficult to see him now, in the flesh, but it’s not. I feel nothing. Maybe that’s the difficulty. Or maybe this is just the tip of the iceberg.

I rise to my feet and make swift but assertive strides.

The thumping of the chopper was so loud that day, I don’t think anyone said much. So I’m not sure I’ve officially met him. Though, I could be remembering it wrong.

I stick out my hand anyway. “Mr Greenbriar,” I say. “I apologise for my delay. I was in an accident and couldn’t get here sooner. Thank you for meeting with me.”

He looks me over none too swiftly. He’s either decided that my appearance is evidence enough of my story, or that I’m attractive enough to forgive the faux-pas, because he takes my hand in his, giving it a firm shake that I return in kind.

“As much of a pleasure as it is to see you again, Miss Duarte—”

“Please. Call me Jude,” I say, then clamp my mouth shut. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Who the hell do I think I am, cutting off the man who’s about to hire me?

Dain’s smile is small and savours highly of pity. A sinking feeling starts in my gut. “Jude,” he continues, apologetic, “I wish we could be meeting again under better circumstances, but I’m afraid I have an appointment very soon and quite the busy schedule today.”

“I only need a few minutes of your time, Mr Greenbriar.”

“You understand, Jude, that we take our internships here at The Silhouette very seriously.”

“Yes, of course. I am one-hundred percent serious.”

“Unfortunately,” he says, “Interviews at the Silhouette require more than a few minutes to be conducted.”

“I’m sure I can give you a shortened version. When is your next appointment?” I ask, and he pauses, then looses a hesitating laugh. I realise too late that he’s not laughing at my gusto. He’s laughing at something over my shoulder.

“Now, apparently,” Dain tells me.

I whirl around and see a most loathly figure walking through the doors.

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

More like this: Crashing | Fine Line | King

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AN: We love a petty Jude. Just hitting all those lift buttons on her way up. Also some of y’all guessed it but Jude definitely went for those knives huh. Anyways, thanks so much for reading! If you liked this chapter please do let me know, via comment/reblog/keyboard smash! It truly does help me recharge my writing energy, and I appreciate every single one.

If you’d like to be added to the tag list for all future updates of We’re All Mad Here, let me know via comment/ask/message!! Thanks again for reading! Back to the forest now. -em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Rival by Ruelle

Tag List: @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @velarhysismine @knifewifejude @danieldesario @annihliation @wickedqueenoffantasy @not-tess @clockworkgraystairs @jurdanhell @afexiss @snap-crackle-and-pop @rowaelin-percabeth @runnybabbit9 @cardaans @hoegreenbrair

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

THE MADNESS OF MR. CROUCH

Sirius still didn't really look like himself as he collapsed back into his seat, there wasn't enough energy around him like there should have been. It was clear to all, that the more that was shown of this after Azkaban Sirius, their Sirius would continue trying his very hardest to act in as exact opposite as possible in his efforts to prove it wasn't going to get to him. In fact, just to put himself in even a slightly better mood and keep as much attention off of him as he could for a time, he exclaimed, "I think we should give Lily a Marauder's nickname!"

"Why?" Remus chuckled, not knocking the idea, but laughing that this came out of the blue.

"I like it," James said at once, taking no time to warm to the idea. "She's been unofficial since her and I got engaged, this would make it official."

"And what would you suggest?" Lily wrinkled her nose at the boy's, feeling beyond flattered that they were doing this, but never missing a chance to tease them. "Mrs. Prong's? I think not."

"No, no, it's got to be better than that" James sighed, running his hand through his hair in thought. "What about Willow?"

"Isn't that a tree, why would you go with that?" Sirius snorted in surprise.

Quickly moving past, he kept shooting off, "What about Petal, she is my Lily flower."

"What about Doe." Harry offered with a faint smile, trying to restrain how immeasurably happy it made him to witness this. When he received a few blank looks, he shrugged and said, "What, it's a female deer, and you guys all got named for your animals, shouldn't she be the same?"

"Yeah, but that's not very subtle," Sirius said, his head cocked to the side in thought.

James snorted, "like Padfoot is? Or Prongs? Remus' is practically smack you in the face obvious."

"Well If I get one then so does Harry." Lily quickly shot off.

"What, no," he automatically tried to protest, going beat red in the face, but James waved him off at once saying, "but of course, I would have said something sooner, but I can't come up with a good one for him either."

"You really don't like Bambi?" Remus wheedled, a smirk still threatening to show.

"What's that got to do with a deer?" Sirius demanded.

Several other things got circulated, and Sirius sat back in satisfaction his plan had obviously worked, now trying to hide his own amusement at Lily correcting.

"-we are not calling him PJ, or MJ for that matter, come up with something more original."

"If you like referring to a baby deer so much, let's call you Fawn," Remus shot at her.

"That's as ridiculous as you trying to call James Comet, or Prancer. What's with all the deer themes?" Sirius insisted. "What about Wildfire, or Brighteyes. Both compliment her physically, and you know those would translate into her animagus."

"I like Roan, as my actual guess for the deer she'd turn into would be a red deer," James offered. "And what about Fleetfoot for Harry? Deer's run on their toes, it fits." *

Sirius was clearly fixing to return with something else, but then Lily finally cut across and insisted, "I was going to serve lunch after this next chapter, if you actually want to eat why don't you get along to the book mister."

Sirius pouted at her for ruining his fun, but the hold of food over his head finally won out and he forcefully started his chapter with only a bit of unease still lingering in him.

The three of them went up to the Owlery the next day to send that letter to Percy, using Hedwig to give her something to do.

"You'd think she'd enjoy the time off," James rolled his eyes.

After that, they went down to the kitchens to give Dobby his new socks, the elf was ecstatic.

Lily was beaming with pleasure, so proud of her boy for turning around and giving Dobby back something for all the help he'd given.

Squealing about how Harry Potter was too good to him.

"Nah, he deserved them," Remus smiled, "otherwise it really did seem like you weren't going to be doing that task."

Harry didn't disagree, but still he asked, "How do you think Dobby even knew to grab that for me?"

"He mentioned he heard the teachers talking about it," Lily reminded, "so he probably got the idea from them and filched it from Snape. Does not seem out of character for him to do anything to help you."

Harry agreed, but still couldn't quite erase that nagging feeling he had that he was missing something from this exchange.

Harry returned that Dobby had saved his life with that gillyweed,

"Maybe literally," Sirius muttered to himself, none of them still wanting to think what would have happened to Harry if he hadn't completed that stupid task.

while Ron asked for more eclairs.

Hermione scolded he'd just eaten breakfast,

"And why should that stop him?" James demanded of no one. "Are you telling me she doesn't eat dessert after every meal?"

yet another platter full of eclairs had already appeared via the other house-elves.

Harry asked if perhaps they should ask for even more extras to take back for Snuffles.

"Yes," everyone but Sirius instantly agreed, while he honestly looked disappointed at Harry.

"A little conspicuous don't you think? Food isn't usually sent to the mountains."

"Shut it and say thank you," Remus snapped instantly, squirming in unease that Sirius was starting to act as paranoid as he was in the future.

Ron agreed to the idea at once, they could use Pig so he could have something to do. The house-elves were already scurrying around for the order.

"Even Hermione can't argue with the good of that," Lily smiled.

Hermione turned back to Dobby and asked how Winky was doing?

Dobby's enthusiasm vanished at once as he gestured to the fireplace, where at first the elf was indistinguishable from the blackened bricks.

"Eesh," James muttered in disgust. House-elves were normally very clean creatures, it was in their nature, and the thought of one falling this far really boggled his mind.

Her clothes were falling apart they were so unkempt, and she had several empty butterbeer bottles all around her, a mostly empty one in her hand as she swayed on her stool.

Dobby told that she was drinking at least six of those a day.

"Is she actually getting drunk off of it?" Harry asked in surprise, thinking there must be something really odd for house-elves to be having reactions to a nonalcoholic drink.

"I honestly have no clue," Sirius raised a brow in surprise, "I've never known one to drink it. They usually just eat whatever they're masters say they can, and I've never known one to allow them to have a butterbeer."

Harry told that it shouldn't be strong enough, but Dobby corrected it was to their kind.

All of the elves around them now were giving disapproving looks to the pair of house-elves as they began edging away to perform other works.

Dobby continued explaining that Winky was still pining for her old master, she hadn't accepted Dumbledore as her new one yet.

Lily gave a pitiful sigh for the poor thing, also wondering on if Dumbledore knew how bad she was? She liked to think he wouldn't really leave her down in the kitchens to mope all day like that, but then again, what else would he be expected to do with her? He'd hardly kick her back to the streets.

Harry got a sudden idea about Winky, and turned to ask her if she knew what Crouch might be up to these days.

"I can't see how she would," Remus said in surprise, the former house-elf of the guy had never even crossed their mind. "Crouch only started acting like this loony self after he sacked her."

"I'm sure Hermione would just love to point out how much he deserves this just for that," Sirius smirked.

Further talk of Crouch was not making anyone better, and though it wasn't the elf's fault at all, they were all desperately hoping Harry would drop this very soon so they could move away from this.

Winky focused bleary eyes on them as she hiccupped her way through asking about her master not coming up to school anymore?

Harry confirmed he'd heard reports about him being ill, and Winky began sobbing how Master needed his elf!

Hermione tried to cut in, saying plenty of people got along with their housework.

"Well sure, but magic just can't do everything," James sighed, his mind flickering back sadly to his mum always giving him chores on his holiday. Now that she was gone, he was surprised how much he missed the menial tasks, and her lectures that elbow grease was as good as any spell he would try using.

Winky was distraught at the notion that was all she did, still hiccupping at every other word about how she kept his trust and his most important secrets.

Sirius rolled his eyes in derision at the idea of, "who confides anything in a house-elf? I can't imagine Crouch using her like a diary. Sure he'd talk openly with her around since she couldn't go spreading whatever he told her not to, but I think she's exaggerating her own worth now."

Lily gave him a hateful look for that, he still somehow managed to sound far to condescending of the house-elf kind.

Harry was on his mum's side, there was something very ironic in Sirius thinking house-elves shouldn't be bothered with secrets and tasks...

Harry tried to ask for more, but Winky glared mutinously at Harry, telling him off for being nosy in between her slurring.

Dobby jumped to Harry's defense at once, telling Winky off for calling Harry Potter nosy!

"Well this is certainly interesting," Remus couldn't stop a curious smile lighting him. "House-elf versus house-elf, against two people who aren't even technically their masters."

"I'm sure you'd just love to do a whole study over this," James snorted.

"I'll admit, this is fairly unique," Sirius agreed.

Going on to say Harry Potter is brave and noble, and not nosy!

Despite his own blushing at the praise, even Harry couldn't stop a light laugh along with the others at that last trait he'd own up to.

Winky was being adamant, still hiccupping after every word about how he was putting his nose in her master's business, but Winky kept her silence no matter who asked-

Sirius was going cross eyed with annoyance at having to read so many hic's. Couldn't someone shout boo at her already and scare that off, Winky was certainly tipsy enough she'd fall for it.

then suddenly she slid off the stool and fell to the ground snoring.

"Or that," Sirius said aloud with a happy little laugh, refusing to explain himself to the others just to annoy them.

The now empty bottle rolled away, and a few house-elves came over to tuck a blanket around her, hiding her from sight.

"I'm sure that's their favorite part of the day," James shook his head, "when they can put her in her place."

"You two are depressing me," Lily scolded them both, still trying to find the sweetness in the gesture they were putting a blanket over her even when they didn't like her.

One elf turned to apologize for Winky, asking they not think of the lot of them like her.

"Hermione's the only one who's trying to," Remus had an odd look in place, "which is ironic, considering she's trying to force them all to act that way and not acknowledge they all have rather unique personalities."

"Honestly hoping you two have a discussion about this someday," Sirius told him honestly, if only for the fact that would mean Remus was back in the picture at all.

Hermione tried to explain for the poor thing that she was unhappy, couldn't they try helping rather than just covering her up.

The elf shook its head, saying they were too busy to be unhappy, there was work to be done and masters to be served.

"Well that was just depressing," Lily sighed, having finally admitted that though house-elves seemed to live for their work by their very nature, couldn't they at least have a side hobby or something. They shouldn't have to live for their work twenty-four seven, and should be allowed to grieve or other instances when the time came. Then she honestly wondered if, like Dobby's unique reaction in being happy of his freedom, was Winky even having these emotions at all just as circumstantial? Had studies ever even been done to show the emotional range of these creatures? She'd never heard of one, and now added it to her list of growing projects.

Hermione lost her temper on them, telling all within ear shot to listen to her, they had just as much a right as wizards to clothes and wages!

Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes, wishing he'd taken the time in that cave to talk about house-elves with Hermione rather than Crouch.

Just look at Dobby!

Dobby begged her to leave his name out of this.

"I don't blame him," James was surprised at himself how upset he felt on Dobby's behalf, the poor guy was already an outsider by his kind, Hermione was only making it worse just then.

All of the happy smiles around them vanished at Hermione's declaration, and were suddenly eyeing her as if she were mad.

"From their perspective, she is," Remus agreed.

An elf appeared from the crowd with a ham, and a dozen cakes for Harry to leave with.

Despite the paranoia ringing in the back of Sirius' mind, he wasn't going to deny how warmed he was at Harry considering him like that, ham always sounded better than rat.

Then said ungraciously good-bye, and many tiny little hands were forcing all three of them out of the kitchens.

"Wow, George's prediction came true, Hermione did start a riot in the kitchens," James raised a brow.

"Just in the opposite way of how she meant to," Remus shook his head.

"Credit, we've never been thrown out before, so you did something else we never have," Sirius couldn't stop a bit of laughter.

Dobby called one last thank you for the socks as he vanished from sight.

Ron was angry with Hermione at once, pointing out they wouldn't like them visiting anymore.

"And why would that stop you coming back?" Sirius asked. "You can still pop in and visit, they'd just be a little more bitter about being polite. It's still in their nature to serve you though."

They could have tried to find out more about Crouch from Winky.

"I don't see that happening though," Remus disagreed.

Hermione snapped he didn't care about that, he just wanted more food.

"Yes, and?" James asked, wondering what other reason there was.

The two were irritable for the rest of the trip back upstairs, so Harry went off alone to send the food to Sirius.

"Here I thought you said you were used to it," Lily sighed.

"Doesn't mean I always enjoy hearing it," Harry shrugged.

Pigwidgeon was too small to take the lot, so Harry got a couple of school owls to help.

Sirius still couldn't stop a grimace, the more owls the more obvious the delivery and only proving his point further.

Once they were out of sight, Harry leaned against the windowless ledge and stared out into the grounds, Hagrid's cabin visible. The man was out front his hut, digging up what looked to be a new garden.

"Wouldn't be that surprised," Lily smiled happily, thinking she'd have loved nothing more than to listen to Harry simply watching the going on's of the grounds for hours from his perspective, it would have been far more enjoyable than half the death defying stunts he was usually in otherwise.

Maxime soon made an appearance,

They all got a haughty look about them for that at once, none of them wanting to hear from her after the way she treated Hagrid, and honestly half convinced it was still her fault he'd ended up in the papers like that.

and looked to try talking to him, but Hagrid hardly spared her a glance, and she soon left.

"I'm loving all the colorful things he could have said to her," Sirius gave a not so happy smile.

Lily liked to think Hagrid would have been a bit more of a gentleman and just kindly told Maxime to move along, but honestly she wouldn't put it past him to say something worse either, she sort of deserved it.

Instead of going back to the Tower, he instead stayed late into the night watching the lawns until everything faded to black.

By breakfast Ron and Hermione's argument had ceased, most likely because despite Ron's prediction, breakfast was as good as ever.

"I could have told you that," James chuckled happily.

Harry loaded his plate with all the bacon and eggs he usually did.

Sirius groaned and rubbed at his stomach, food had been mentioned far too often already for his stomach's liking.

Lily sighed, she knew that was coming, and decided she really would start thinking about lunch after this chapter.

Mail arrived on time, and Hermione began looking around expectantly.

When asked, she told that she'd taken out a subscription to the Daily Prophet.

"Honestly I'm stunned it's taken her this long to do so," Remus agreed, "I'd half expected her to do it back in first year when she first found out about them."

She was sick of getting all the news from the Slytherins.

"And there's that," Sirius nodded along, thinking it was poor form on Harry's part to always have to wait on his enemies to find out these important things going on.

An owl did indeed arrive for her, but so did half a dozen others.

"Err?" Lily said in surprise.

"Did Hermione subscribe to a few other papers as well," Sirius tried to say before trailing off in confusion.

Harry asked how many subscriptions she'd gone for, but Hermione had no clue what was going on as she tore open an envelope. Then she blanched.

"That's not an encouraging start," James winced.

She quickly flipped the paper around to show them, and it wasn't a handwritten letter, but a jumbled note clipped from newspapers detailing what a wicked girl Hermione was toying with Harry's life.

"Ouch," all five of them winced for poor Hermione.

"I can't believe this," Lily snapped, "people are actually sending her hate mail? Because they think they have the whole story when they've never even met her."

"Welcome to the media," Remus reminded bitterly, "where people will instantly believe the worst."

Hermione was going through even more, getting angrier with every one that was just like the previous. Then she got to one that made her yelp in pain as a yellowish liquid came pouring out over her hands, causing her skin to boil.

"What the bloody-" James began in outrage, thinking if someone had actually sent Hermione a cursed letter for this mess Skeeter had started than someone was really going to have a problem from him.

One sniff showed it was bubotuber pus.

"Oh that poor thing," Lily crooned, already having to fight down the urge to shield Hermione and rush her off for help, she could only imagine how painful that was.

"I'm going to hex someone's brains out," Sirius growled at anyone doing that to a kid. Hermione hadn't always been the top of his favorite people, but even he'd never disliked her this much, and all over a stupid article!

Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes with pain as she tried to wipe it off, but her fingers were already swelling and sores were appearing in her skin.

Harry was starting to go red with rage that someone had caused that kind of pain in his friend, when she hadn't done anything to deserve it, and this was all Skeeter's fault!

Harry promised they'd tell Sprout where she was as she sprinted off for the hospital wing, while Ron whispered that he'd warned her.

"Is now really the time for I told you so's?" Remus demanded.

"He's paying back Hermione for all the times she's done it to them," Sirius sighed.

He was still sorting through the opened letters, clearly worrying as he told that she'd better watch out for herself.

"Or just not open any mail any time soon," Lily agreed through gritted teeth.

"I for once actually wish Hogwarts would screen these kids mail or something," James shook his head with depression. "Even Death Eaters never sent cursed mail to students."

They went through Herbology subdued without their friend, and traipsed down to Care of Magical Creatures in the same mood, which didn't improve when the Slytherin's were seen approaching. Pansy was already giggling and whispering about something, and her mood only seemed to improve when she called to Harry where his girlfriend was? Why had she run out of breakfast crying, had they broken up already?

"I don't believe Pansy's ever had the pleasure of knowing what bubotuber pus can do to you," Remus began pleasantly enough.

"There's an egregious lapse on her part," James agreed with a heavy smile, "I do hope someone passes along the message to a set of twins. She really needs to be set right."

Sirius thought that was being too kind, he wished he could be the one to set the lot of those Slytherin's right, but it was a good starting point.

Harry turned away to ignore her, not wanting to give the satisfaction of knowing how much damage that article had done.

Last lesson had ended with Hagrid promising they were done with unicorns, and the fact that the first thing Harry spotted was more boxes this time wasn't encouraging.

"Err oh," Sirius hummed, fear that the skrewts had somehow created another clutch of eggs. They'd all really been hoping Hagrid had learned his lesson before.

Harry's first thought was more skrewts, but once he got a look inside, he saw fuzzy little black creatures with long snouts and feet like spades, all blinking up at them happily enough.

"Nifflers," Remus beamed at the admittedly adorable mole like creatures of havoc. "I've always loved the root word of them, niff, which means to pilfer. They were originally bred by Goblins to help them in their search for-"

Lily reached over and placed her hand over his mouth with an obvious look, while he pouted and jerked away.

Sirius wasn't even bothering to hide his laughter, they'd all told Remus more than once not to go spouting off those kinds of facts until after Hagrid had explained whatever so that they wouldn't have to hear repeat information.

Hagrid greeted them all, before saying today's lesson was over nifflers. They were found in mines and loved sparkly stuff, one such even demonstrated by suddenly leaping to its feet and going for Pansy's watch. She shrieked and jumped away just in time.

All five of them laughed at that, it was small payback but dearly loved.

Hagrid was still going, saying these little treasure detectors had a job today. Each of the students were going to pick one, and they were going to find the coins Hagrid had buried over there.

He gestured to the upturned soil Harry had seen Hagrid working on yesterday.

"Never let anyone say Hagrid doesn't do interesting lessons," Sirius vowed, his eyes shining with light at this. "All Kettleburn did was a demonstration for us, had a gold coin being moved around while the creature followed it."

After a warning for them all to tuck away their own shiny valuables, Hagrid promised a prize to the person who got the fastest niffler, and then they all stepped forward to pick one.

Harry picked one up curiously, and its long snout at once went sniffling around his ear.

Lily giggled childishly, at the image.

James couldn't resist making the crack, "good luck of it finding anything in there."

"Gee thanks," Harry laughed.

It was really quite cuddly.

"No we're not getting one Lily," James said at once when she looked to asking. "Ask him why not," gesturing at Remus to continue.

He crossed his arms and gave them all a look that plainly said, 'oh, now you want me to talk?'

"Well, just take my word for it then," James concluded.

Hagrid did a quick count before they began and realized they had an extra, asking where Hermione was?

Ron explained she'd had to go to the hospital wing, while Harry promised he'd give details later, Pansy was listening.

"Guess I'm just happy she didn't witness it," Lily sighed, "it would only make things worse."

The class was highly entertained as the little creatures went diving in and out of the dirt like water, always coming up with a new clutch of coins. Ron's was by far the fastest, his lap was soon filled with the gold.

"Good for him," Sirius beamed, thinking as small as it was, it was good for him to have even this small little win.

Ron was enthused with the idea of even buying one for himself.

James was all the more pleased Ron had now asked, since Moony was giving them all the silent treatment.

Hagrid at once deterred what a bad idea it was, they were house wreckers.

"He could have gone into a lot more detail," Sirius said, giving Remus an obvious look, "but picture that thing going into every corner of your house collecting anything it wanted and tucking it away. You can't really train them either."

Lily deflated on the idea, even if she did still want to see one in person eventually.

By the time all the coins had been found, Hermione made her slow approach, her hands heavily bandaged.

Hagrid didn't notice at first as he was telling off Goyle for trying to tuck his coins away into his pockets,

"Why am I not surprised?" James rolled his eyes in disgust.

saying it wouldn't do him any good as it was leprechaun gold, it would vanish in a few hours.

"I'm actually not surprised by that," Sirius agreed, it didn't seem like Hagrid to be playing around with real money.

Ron's niffler had indeed won, and he was presented with a large bar of chocolate.

"Best prize he could get," Sirius smacked his lips in appreciation.

Class was dismissed, and the three of them hung behind, Harry and Ron making sure all the nifflers were put back in their boxes while Hermione told Hagrid what had happened.

Harry spotted Maxime looking out her carriage window at them.

"Serves her right," Lily huffed, she hoped Maxime regretted this forever.

Hagrid shook his head sadly for her, telling her not to worry too much about it, he'd gotten the same hateful letters about him at first.

"What is wrong with people?" Lily flushed anew with hatred. "He didn't ask for his parentage, Hermione never got to tell her side, but these people can just send those terrible, possibly dangerous things. What if Hermione hadn't been able to go to the hospital wing?"

"I wonder if that pus would even have any effect on Hagrid's skin," James scratched absently at his face in thought, then flinched away from his wife who was sending him a very obvious 'that wasn't my point'!

Hermione was shocked as Hagrid quoted a few, but Hagrid brushed it off as them all being nutters. Hermione would do well to just burn the lot if they came again.

On the way back to the castle, Harry told Hermione about the lesson she'd missed.

"Oh that's right Harry, just rub it in," Sirius rolled his eyes.

Ron didn't speak the whole time on the way to lunch, and Harry jokingly asked if he'd gotten the wrong flavor chocolate?

"No such thing," James shook his head at once.

Ron instead asked Harry why he'd never mentioned the gold?

"Why would Harry tell Ron about the leprechaun gold?" Lily asked in surprise.

"Harry didn't even know," James suddenly recalled telling him this back at the Cup.

"Was Ron planning on stealing some?" Sirius asked redundantly.

Harry asked what he meant, and Ron elaborated all that leprechaun gold he'd given at the Cup to pay back those Omnioculars. Harry hadn't ever mentioned it disappearing.

"Uh oh," the five of them muttered, even Remus involuntarily as they all realized this was coming pretty late after the fact, but it still might upset Ron.

Harry had to cast his mind back to realize what Ron meant, that then quickly pointed out he hadn't noticed till much later, he'd been busy looking for his wand.

Ron stabbed at a potato as he bitterly said how nice it must be to be so rich you didn't notice a pocket full of Galleons going missing.

Harry opened, then quickly closed his mouth sheepishly. Truth be told, the thought never had crossed his mind again, as he'd just defended he'd been far more concerned about his wand, and then after the whole event seemed spoiled.

"Ron's just being too sensitive," Remus sighed, breaking his silence, he was getting bored anyways. "I doubt he would have noticed either if it had been his wand."

"It speaks," Lily grinned.

"Apparently about anything other than Magical Creatures," he rolled his eyes at the lot of them.

Harry tried to remind Ron about the important rest of that night, but he was still stuck. Saying Harry shouldn't have given him that hat for Christmas.

"Oh come on, don't tell me Ron's really going to linger on this," Sirius pouted.

"It really was just an unfortunate happenstance," James winced in agreement.

Harry instead tried to convince him to forget about it, but Ron bitterly stated that he hated being poor.

"How do you even respond to that," Lily muttered to herself, keeping her voice low enough Remus wouldn't hear as he'd clearly realized he'd chosen a poor moment to speak up again, he knew better than anyone this wasn't a feeling you ever really just got over.

Continuing he couldn't blame Fred and George for what they were doing, trying to earn some money. He wished he could go buy a niffler and get rich.

"Would not make his situation any better," Remus sighed, "not all the shiny things they find are worth money."

Hermione tried to make a joke they'd be sure to get him one for next Christmas then, but when he still didn't look any better, she instead pointed out it could be worse, he could have bubotuber all over his fingers.

"There's the bright side," James tried for a winning smile.

Hermione was having difficulties eating her own meal, her hands so swollen she couldn't maneuver her fork and knife.

"She should have just had soup that night," Sirius winced.

"I don't think curling her fingers around a spoon would be any better," Lily sighed.

She dropped them quickly enough and burst out in anger how she was going to get that Skeeter woman back.

"Can not wait to hear that," they all agreed enthusiastically, Harry more than anyone with utter conviction it would happen.

Over the next few days, hate mail did continue to come for her, but in Hagrid's advice she tried to get rid of it all. That didn't always work, as some sent howlers, which screamed at her loud enough that the whole hall knew of the event even if they hadn't read about it.

Harry was trying to encourage her it would all die down, like that stuff about him had.

"Still infuriating they believe it at all," Lily snapped.

Hermione was still furiously curious how she was even doing it, listening in on these things when she shouldn't have even been there.

"Hopefully something illegal enough Skeeter won't ever be able to write again," Sirius grumbled.

Harry had an absent smile of agreement in place, thinking on how right Sirius was.

She hung back in their next DADA class, though no one else did as they sprinted for the door. They'd all been treated to Twitchy Ear hexes, Harry still having to hold his down to stop them moving.

"What on earth is the point of that spell?" Harry muttered in agitation. It was certainly annoying, but hardly the best tool he'd heard of for Defense.

"Some spells are created for the sole purpose of not actually having a bad impact when landed," Remus happily answered, and Harry had a flashback to Professor Lupin now more than ever. "When you learn a shield charm and such, you only hope if the spell doesn't work, it won't leave you harmed as much."

Harry nodded in understanding, knowing he'd never have asked Moody such a question, he was too afraid to ask the old Auror what the point of any spell was the way he went on.

Hermione caught up to them, made sure Harry could still hear through his clamped ears, and told that she'd asked Moody, he hadn't seen her anywhere near the judges table, cloak or otherwise.

Ron asked if there was any chance she'd drop this?

"Why would she?" Sirius asked, aghast with once at Ron.

"So she doesn't get even more hurt," Lily sighed, some lingering fear for Hermione still there she could be getting in over her head, going after such a powerful woman with such a following. There was always the chance even if Hermione did find something out, it had to be something so irrefutable Skeeter couldn't write it off as the payback of a 'silly little girl.'

Hermione snapped no at once, she was going to find out how she'd heard all that stuff!

Harry offered maybe Skeeter was bugging people.

Harry felt his tongue curling in his mouth, his jaw doing a wonky number in regret of himself saying that for some reason... and was thankfully distracted from his own dilemma by his dad cocking his head to the side in confusion.

Sirius said back, "I'll explain if the book doesn't in a second," thinking Ron wouldn't know any better than Prongs.

Ron asked what good fleas would do?

James gave a happy little laugh, both that he hadn't been the only one to not get it, and that had been what he was thinking.

Harry explained about recording devices while Hermione shot down the idea.

James pouted, but admitted he was fine with the answer for now even if he was interested for more.

Demanding to know if they were ever going to read Hogwarts, A History?

"Why would they?" Remus smirked, "she clearly has it memorized, they can just go to her for it."

Ron asked why they'd bother, since she knew the whole thing.

"Shut it Padfoot," Remus said instantly before Sirius could mock him.

Hermione answered that electrical devices didn't work at Hogwarts, they went haywire around so much magic.

"Is that why Hogwarts doesn't have phones?" Harry asked in surprise. He'd always thought the castle was just being traditional with the owls and such, not that there was an actual reason for them.

"Yep," Lily agreed, "even outside of Hogwarts, in just plain wizarding houses, anything that relies too heavily on electricity won't work. It's why purebloods are so unaware of them in general, it's not that they refuse to learn about them, they've just never come across them."

"I can vouch for that," James nodded along.

Rita wasn't using anything muggle, if only Hermione could figure out what she was doing.

Ron pointed out they had enough to worry about without adding a vendetta to the list.

Hermione snapped they didn't have to help, she'd figure it out on her own!

Harry did honestly feel bad for her, he knew he and Ron would have tried to help if they could, but they were a little too worried about the payback Rita had already done. That's all they needed was for even more bad things to arise and hit them, but clearly Hermione cared nothing for the consequences.

She marched off, and Harry had no doubts she was heading for the library.

"I agree," Remus chuckled.

Ron asked what the odds were she'd come back with I Hate Rita Skeeter badges.

"I'd wear that prouder than a S. P. E. W. badge," Sirius said with chipper.

"IHRS actually sounds pretty cool anyways," James agreed.

Hermione didn't ask for their help again on the subject, and both were grateful as they didn't have the time to help if they wanted to. Both were hardly treading in their mountain of homework.

"I'd rather find ways of revenge than focus on homework," James scoffed.

Harry didn't understand how his friend had the time for anything extra as he focused on his workload. Still, he made time at least several times a week to send more food up for Sirius.

Sirius couldn't stop a little hitch of gratitude in his throat for that no matter how much he insisted it was unnecessary aloud to him.

Harry just gave him a challenging look back, stating, "If you're going to be sticking around me at your own risk, the least I can do is help however I can."

Sirius could have kept arguing, but he was so touched, and honestly it was a moot point as of right now.

After last summer, Harry had not forgotten what it felt like to be continually hungry.

Lily shivered slightly as she avoided looking at both boys for a moment, growing more and more wary the longer the parallels between those two continued. She'd never wish anything remotely like Sirius' life on Harry, yet that's what seemed to keep happening.

He kept sending notes as well, telling there was nothing new and they were still waiting on a reply from Percy.

It came in the form of Easter Eggs, passed along from Mrs. Weasley and Percy at once. The boys were the size of dragon eggs and filled with toffee. Hermione's was hardly bigger than a chicken's egg.

"Oh she didn't!" Lily burst, turning the growing worry she had for Sirius into outrage on this. "Molly did not really believe this of Hermione!"

"I'm not that surprised," James crinkled his nose up in agitation, "if she believed that tosh about Harry the first time, she'll believe anything."

"I do not understand this woman," Sirius shook his head sharply, "she knew what was written about her own family wasn't true, but readily believes the same woman about kids she should know better!"

Hermione eyed the egg for a long while before asking Ron if his mum could have read that article?

Ron said it was a possibility, around a mouthful of toffee.

Remus shook his head pitifully at Ron not taking a bleeding hint, he really thought that the friend should have offered his own egg in compensation for his mother acting like a prat.

Harry distracted her by reading Percy's letter, which was short and irate.

"It takes talent to make a letter irritated," Sirius agreed.

Stiffly written out that as he told the Prophet, Crouch was taking a well-deserved break. He knew his boss's hand writing of course, so he knew the instructions he was being given were genuine. Please stop spreading rumors otherwise, and don't contact him again unless it was important. He at least signed off with a Happy Easter.

"A very happy holiday to you too," James huffed, even with Percy gone he'd still managed to be an irritation to them all with his unhelpfulness.

The start of the summer term would normally have meant that Harry was training hard for the last Quidditch match of the season.

"Don't remind me," Sirius groaned like he had a bad stomach ache, missing that sport even more with all the stressful things they'd been dealing with lately.

Instead the approach of the last task was coming, brought up by McGonagall telling him to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine.

"Why?" James narrowed his eyes, with some excitement and some worry he wasn't even sure himself.

"It's a big, obvious place the foreigners can find?" Lily offered, though honestly the Entrance Hall would make more sense if that was so.

"Anybody else wondering why all the events are on the 24th of their month?" Remus asked to try and change the subject.

"To be extra cruel, leaving them at the end of the month," Sirius muttered belligerently.

Bagman would be there with further instructions.

"Why did it have to be him?" James huffed, this night getting worse and worse as that's all he wanted, more paternal advice from Bagman.

At the set time, Harry headed down and met Cedric on the way. He asked if he had any ideas what was coming, and Cedric told that Fleur had been telling him about some tunnel challenge, they'd be looking for treasure.

"Wonder where she pulled that from?" Remus asked in surprise.

Harry said he could deal with that, he'd just ask Hagrid to let him borrow a niffler.

Lily had a little vindictive smile in place as she said, "I think Maxime's making up some tosh, claiming she spoke to Hagrid because that's what she saw him working on."

"If the only reason she ever liked him was because of his dragon help in the beginning, then I'm all the more happy it's been broken up," James scowled.

They made it down to the stadium, but quickly stopped short when Cedric exclaimed what they'd done to the place!

Sirius straightened up in agitation at once, his eyes narrowing viciously. Even if he didn't currently like Cedric, he was a Quidditch fan, and on the Quidditch field making that kind of exclamation was not a good thing!

The once smooth, green field was now jutting with crisscrossing walls in every direction.

"They didn't!" James spat in disgust.

"How could they," Harry bemoaned, thinking if this was the result of their not being constant practices on it, he'd ask his team to go down there at once even on top of their homework.

Upon closer inspection, Harry saw they were hedges.

Then something snaked down Harry's spine, wrapping tight around his lungs and suddenly leaving him breathless with fear. The impact of the third task suddenly being all too real were making spots appear in his line of vision, insisting something truly awful was going to happen in the thick of those hedges, something about him and Cedric...

Someone called to them from the center of the field, and they noticed the other three waiting.

Fleur smiled at Harry's approach.

"There's the bright side of that task," Sirius said with absolute chipper, still agitated enough about his pitch he didn't notice Harry's internal dilemma. "Fleur doesn't see you as some little kid anymore."

When Harry didn't respond, Sirius just put it down to him being too flustered to say otherwise.

She'd been doing a lot of that since he'd 'rescued' Gabrielle.

Bagman greeted them by exclaiming over the place, saying when the time came Hagrid would have these things twenty feet high! All while bouncing with enthusiasm.

"When is he ever not?" James huffed.

Upon correctly reading the looks of the two Hogwarts boys, he quickly promised the place would be put back right once they were done with it.

He asked if they could guess what was coming, and after a beat of silence, Krum said it was a maze.

Bagman congratulated him at once, saying their last challenge was a straightforward maze to the Triwizard Cup, the first to touch it won.

"Joyful," Lily sighed without emphasis, her mind already offering up a few horrid plants from Herbology she remembered that she was sure was now going to feature in this thing. All not even seen by Harry until he reached the highest greenhouse levels.

Fleur asked if the maze was really it?

Bagman did add on that Hagrid would be giving a few creatures to make it an extra challenge,

"Oh just kill me now," Remus blanched in horror at once, anything Hagrid would be providing would leave anyone but the man himself running for the hills.

"Not happening Moony, I'd miss you too much," Sirius sighed as he fidgeted uneasily with the pages, honestly agreeing with his friend anyways.

plus some spells and enchantments they'd have to get past.

They'd be let in in order of their points, so the Hogwarts boys first, then Krum, then Fleur.

"I guess that's a slight advantage," James sighed absently, he'd honestly been wondering what the point of those points were.

"Really says something about Harry that he's tied for first place," Lily gave her son a warm smile, even as unprepared as he'd been for all of this, he was still managing to hold his own in this competition.

Harry gave her a lackluster smile back he in no way felt.

They'd all have a fighting chance on the inside, pointing out how fun this would be.

"I am going to strangle him," James emphasized every word, he couldn't have been more clear if he'd tried how much this bloke was annoying him with his constant enthusiasm for all of this.

Harry, who had real world experience with the kinds of things Hagrid would be offering, thought fun was the last word he'd use.

"At least Harry agrees with us," Sirius gave him a wane smile, for the first time noticing Harry wasn't exactly paying too much attention. Still, if he didn't want to speak up, he wasn't going to force him to.

They were all dismissed, and as Harry turned to leave, Bagman tried to catch up to him.

All five of them groaned in annoyance at this. Even if it was part of the Tournament, and it really wasn't feeling like that since they hadn't found a single hint he was doing this for the others, it was never not annoying from the man.

He was beat by Krum tapping Harry on the shoulder.

"Timing," Remus grinned absently, suddenly as on edge as everyone else what Krum could be up to.

He asked if he could have a word, and Harry agreed.

Bagman offered to wait for Harry, but Harry told him not to bother, he could find the castle on his own.

"Are you sure?" James eyed his son critically, "because I sometimes get worried about that."

"I'm sure I can ask directions from Krum if not," Harry said back solemnly, the joke losing something in the delivery because he was still so distracted by whatever horrid thing was going to come up in the last task, but trying his hardest to ignore it for now.

Harry and Krum left the stadium, but Krum did not set a course for the Durmstrang ship. Instead, he walked toward the forest.

"What's he up to?" Sirius narrowed his eyes at the pages and alternately giving Harry a scrutinizing look.

Harry shrugged without too much concern, and Sirius decided he'd been harping on Harry enough about safety lately, he didn't really think Krum would do something in front of the castle...right?

They passed Hagrid's and the Beauxbatons carriage before he stopped in the shadows of the forest. Harry asked why, and he said he didn't want to be overheard.

"That's not ominous at all," James murmured, suddenly right in line with Sirius' thinking.

When he did stop, he turned to ask Harry what was going on between him and Hermione, still mispronouncing her name.

All four of those around Harry cracked up laughing, while he glared at nothing in particular. He was just so happy for them thinking this was funny, while he was honestly even more annoyed Krum thought that was as true as the rest of the world.

Harry had expected something much worse from this set up, just stared for a moment before declaring nothing! It hit him all over again how much taller than him Krum was.

"You think he'd punch you out if you said otherwise?" Sirius asked in an almost conversational tone.

"I wouldn't have thought he'd really like Hermione that much," Remus returned.

He promised they were just friends, she wasn't his girlfriend, and never had been.

"And never will be," Harry added on meaningfully, unable to picture her as anything but a sister.

Krum pointed out how often she talked about him.

"Because we're friends," Harry said in exasperation, the memory of telling all of Hogwarts this making him think he was probably being too harsh on Krum as he cracked.

Harry insisted it was just because they were friends.

Harry was finding this all hard to believe that the acclaimed International Quidditch player was looking at him as a rival.

"Well you certainly are on the field," James said pompously, all of Harry's Quidditch wins swimming to the surface, "it's not that surprising off."

Harry didn't agree, on either front, but wasn't going to argue either.

Krum struggled to get out one more question, trying to ask if Harry had ever...

Harry understood, and instantly said no.

Krum finally looked appeased, instead telling Harry he'd seen him during the first task, he was a very good flier.

Harry blinked in surprise, somehow a world renowned Quidditch player saying that still didn't feel as big as his dad saying that, though both equally went over his head as he still wasn't sure why they thought that.

Harry thanked him, exchanging the compliment and saying how he'd seen him at the Cup, beginning to ask about that Wronski Feint- but quickly stopped when he spotted movement in the forest behind Krum.

Knowing what bad things could be in there, he spun Krum around.

"Poor guy could be in for some real trouble," Remus agreed at once, suddenly wishing he could shoo the two out of there.

Krum asked what was wrong, and before either had a chance to do more, a man stumbled out.

"Err," they muttered in surprise, but it was better than a beast.

For a moment, Harry didn't recognize him . . . then he realized it was Crouch.

"It was what now?" Sirius yelped, looking suddenly likely to chuck the book in the flames the moment that name came back up. The residual hatred of what he'd done, or was going to do and not the point, to him leaving Sirius with a nasty curse on the tip of his tongue.

Still, the moment was truly odd enough that he pushed past his own vile at his abrupt entrance and read on to hear why.

It was clear he was worn from traveling, his robes were ripped and he clearly hadn't washed in days.

While Lily could not garner up much sympathy for a man who gave people to dementors like it was nothing, she still couldn't help the edge of curiosity in her voice rather than wanting to scream it, "what happened to him?"

"Sounds like he was attacked," James raised an almost triumphant brow, "maybe he was on the grounds snooping around again and something in the forest got him." He did not sound the least bit concerned, if anything the opposite that Crouch had gotten away.

He didn't even seem to see them, babbling wildly at a nearby tree instead. He now resembled a beggar, and Harry's mind flashed back to a rant Vernon had once given to what he'd like to do to people like this.

"I have never in my life wanted to hear Vernon's opinion on any subject," Remus scowled hatefully, "but even I won't deny I'd hand Crouch over to Vernon like that." At least Vernon would be inflicting the pain on someone who deserved it.

A few creatures came to the boy's mind of something that could have possibly bitten Crouch to cause him to be so delusional, at least one of them big and nasty enough they hoped Crouch wet himself before he was bitten and somehow managed to escape.

Krum asked if this was the same judge from their Ministry?

"Sadly," Lily hissed with disgrace.

While Harry nodded his answer he edged towards Crouch, who was paying them no mind as he told a nearby tree that once Weatherby was done with that

That was so unexpected Sirius involuntarily laughed that Crouch was still calling Percy that, which quickly fizzled out as his mind quickly realized he was supposed to be plotting imminent death for the guy.

he needed to be sending owls to others as well, going into a list of tasks.

Harry tried to get his attention, but still the man seemed convinced he was talking to Percy.

Harry took another step closer, as Krum asked what was wrong with him?

"More than I care to list at the moment," James snapped instantly.

"Or did he mean in the moment?" Lily scowled, "because that I have no clue, and no real care."

Harry began to say he wasn't sure, but instead they should-

He was cut off by Crouch coming forward, grabbing a fistful of Harry's robes and dragging them face to face.

Sirius felt a guttural noise escape his throat in protest of that guy grabbing hold of Harry like that, he was suddenly wishing Padfoot had been on the grounds this night, not only was he owed some payback, but he hated the idea of Harry being out there at this moment in time.

His eyes still remained unfocused, but now his voice was strained for every word as he begged to see Dumbledore.

Harry promised they could to go him, but Crouch didn't even seem to hear him as he insisted, pausing after every word that he'd done something stupid,

Lily was finally starting to feel a wisp of unease for the man, side along with her hatred of him. She was getting very concerned at his actions, and did not want Harry around him any more than could be helped in case he somehow got worse, like violent.

he had to tell Dumbledore.

Harry tried shouting to emphasize they could do just that if Crouch would just let go.

Instead, Crouch asked who Harry was?

Under any other circumstances, Harry would have laughed, as he loved nothing more than to not be recognized, but as memory of this was being replaced, he'd never found anything less laughable.

Harry promised he was a student at the school, looking to Krum for some help, who was still hanging as far back as he could.

"Some backup," Remus grumbled, Krum not exactly endearing himself further to them.

Crouch asked if he was his?

Harry said no even as he had no idea what that meant.

Harry looked around hopefully, but either they were still too angry at Crouch to consider what he could mean other than a madman's rambling, or they had no idea and Harry wasn't in the mood to ask which.

He got out one last time he had to warn Dumbledore, before switching back to conversing with Weatherby about how he and his wife and son were due to have tea with Mr. and Mrs. Fudge later that day.

Sirius shook his head pitifully as he got all that out, unable to decide which he was more maliciously happy for, Crouch's moments where he tried to beg forgiveness from Dumbledore for all the things he'd done, or these moments of delusion where he still seemed convinced he had a good life. Both would snap eventually and he'd turn back into the heartless monster he really was.

Crouch was now talking fluently to a tree again,

"There's a sentence I never thought I'd hear," Remus shook his head.

and Harry was so surprised he didn't even realize he'd been released.

Crouch was still babbling on about how proud he was of all twelve of his sons O. W. L. grades.

Lily bitterly turned that in her mind, wondering just how proud Crouch really was, or if he even cared above the achievement and not the boy himself getting the marks and making his father look good.

Harry began backing away, telling Krum to stay with him, Harry was going to get Dumbledore since he knew where his office was.

"I'd just leave him there," Sirius said in no uncertain terms.

Harry gave him a wayward look, but didn't respond. No matter how angry he himself was at the man, he'd never just leave someone in that kind of situation.

He turned to leave, but Crouch seized hold of him again, this time clinging to his knees as he begged not to be left alone! He was back to talking brokenly, every word a struggle as he told how he'd escaped

Sirius sensed someone was about to interrupt him in confusion, this didn't feel as comical or lording anymore, there was something almost sinister in that wording, but Sirius ignored and didn't let the comment rise nor did he allow himself to stop in confusion until he got it all out.

had to warn Dumbledore, it was all his fault, Bertha dead his fault, his son all his fault, had to tell Dumbledore that Harry Potter, Dark Lord stronger, Harry Potter...

Sirius finally looked up, blinking in shock to indicate he was done.

"Did he say he knew Bertha was dead?" Remus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "why on earth would he know about that? The only ones who should..."

He trailed off, either because it was obvious or he was too appalled to say one of the names was anyone's guess, but James had a much more important question, "what's this about you?"

"Don't know," Harry practically whispered back, hearing the truth in his own words, "nothing good."

Sirius felt chills tracing his skin, he didn't find this nearly as funny or pleasurable at Crouch's expense anymore, the venom had actually dripped right out of his voice in his fearful curiosity to read what Crouch was on about.

Harry forcibly wrenched himself free this time, telling Krum to stay here with him while he went for Dumbledore.

Krum called after his retreating form to hurry.

"No, he's going to take his bleeding time," James huffed through his nose, starting to feel twitchy at all the bad this could be. Nothing was adding up with this man lately. There was just no way he could really be a Death Eater, but then how else would he know about Bertha? He'd been acting off since the beginning of the Tournament, and it wasn't just them, everyone had been saying so. James honestly wished Harry had stuck around and tried to ask him some of these questions, Crouch seemed out of it enough they may have even gotten an answer.

Harry made it to the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office and tried to use the password sherbet lemon.

"Oh crap," Remus winced, clearly Harry didn't know that changed every year, and Harry didn't know the new password.

"Wasn't a bad start pup, but now go for McGonagall," Sirius quickly agreed, then turned back to the book in hopes Harry would do just that.

When the statue didn't move, Harry yelled at it to move!

Lily felt a bubble of laughter wanting to erupt up her throat, nothing magical had ever just moved because you shouted at it, but the humor quickly died as she realized how panicky Harry was.

But nothing at Hogwarts had ever moved just because he shouted at it. Instead he began heading for the staffroom?

"Even better," Remus agreed, "there's almost always a teacher in there, and just as close as McGonagall's office which she might not be in right now."

He only made it a few paces away before someone behind him shouted his last name.

They all startled a bit at Sirius shouting that, but no one rebuked him, too busy hoping Sirius would get a move on and show it was Moody or something, he was the most likely to shout they supposed.

Harry stumbled to a halt and turned to see Snape coming out of Dumbledore's office.

"Argh!" James snarled in outrage. "Why is it every single bleeding time something goes wrong around that place, Snape is always the one to show up and make it worse!"

Lily was surprised her first instinct was still to defend, say Snape hadn't done anything wrong yet and instead could just as easily tell Harry the password as any teacher, but the moment was kicked away in seconds as she agreed with James, she had no delusions this was going to go well.

The statue was already closing behind him as Harry came back, telling desperately that he needed to see Dumbledore, Crouch was down in the forest-

Snape cut him off by telling him to stop talking rubbish, what was he talking about?

"He's not speaking Mermish you imbecile," Remus snapped at once, "pull your arse out of your ears and listen for once."

James had a brief flare of regret Remus wasn't at the castle, again, not only because he knew Harry could have instantly gone to him, but just to be telling Snape something like that.

Harry half shouted now about Crouch being down there, ill and acting odd, he needed to see Dumbledore!

Snape had a cruel smile across his face as he told the headmaster was busy.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Lily was already half shrieking in frustration. "What about that was funny? Any part of that should have sent a decent teacher running for the Forest while telling you the password so you could get Dumbledore to do the same!"

"You said it yourself Lils," Sirius bitterly reminded, "Snape has never been anything decent in his life."

Harry shouted back he had to see Dumbledore!

Snape asked if he was deaf?

"Clearly you're not hearing him," James seethed back.

Harry could tell Snape was thoroughly enjoying himself, denying Harry the thing he wanted when he was so panicky.

Remus had his fingers pressed against his temple to try and suppress his urge to keep shouting about this lunatic, who in Merlin's pants enjoyed watching a child clearly frightened except the most sadistic of people?

Before the circular argument could continue, Dumbledore appeared.

"I'm surprised half the castle couldn't hear me shouting and come running," Harry muttered bitterly.

Harry quickly sidestepped Snape,

"I'd have just shoved him out of the way," Sirius snapped.

"Defenestration is lovely any time of year," Remus agreed.

and again told what was going on.

Dumbledore asked no question, but told Harry to lead the way.

Lily sighed in relief, for all of Dumbledore's ever growing shortcomings, at least the man was still springing into action now.

They left Snape standing next to the gargoyle and looking twice as ugly.

James gave a bitter laugh he wished he could indulge in more.

Harry gave more details of what all Crouch had been babbling about as they headed down, Dumbledore's pace quickening with every word.

"He's spryer than you'd expect for a man his age," Remus muttered absently.

Harry finished by telling he'd left Krum to look after him, which sent Dumbledore into such long strides Harry was running to keep up.

"Why would he be worried about that?" Lily asked uneasily, starting to feel a little jittery. She didn't particularly like Krum, but why would he be in danger at the moment, which was the only reason she could think of Dumbledore hurrying along even faster?

No one answered.

Harry took the lead as they got close to the spot, finding the place he'd first stopped and calling out for Krum.

No one answered.

Sirius couldn't help the worry starting to creep up in him, suddenly more thankful than he could put into words Harry had run off for Dumbledore instead of the other way around. This was stupid of course, Krum was fine, Crouch was acting like a lunatic and they were going to find him in moments...

Harry insisted they'd been here!

Harry bemoaned his life that always, at the most crucial times, he seemed to come across as a lunatic.

Dumbledore lit his wand tip with Lumos, and came across Krum.

After a quick inspection, Dumbledore deduced he was stunned.

Lily was biting her tongue to stop herself demanding of nothing what was going on. They weren't even dealing with a task right now, yet they were more wound up than if they were. This was by far one of the creepiest things to happen on Hogwarts grounds.

Harry offered to run for Madam Pomfrey, but Dumbledore told him to stay where he was.

James honestly disagreed, he'd love nothing more than for Harry to go running into the safety of the castle, he wasn't even sure if he trusted Dumbledore enough anymore to keep Harry's safety in mind with whatever was going on, and just knew one thing for certain. He wished Sirius were there.

Dumbledore instead cast a spell that sent the ghostly image of a bird flying towards Hagrid's hut.

The blatant but odd use of whatever magic that was hardly distracted any of them from their scattered thoughts.

Then he turned his attention back to Krum, using the spell Enervate to awaken him. He tried to sit up with a start, but Dumbledore kept a hand on his chest and told him to stay down for the moment.

Krum told that he was attacked.

Sirius was so surprised by that, he just sat there for a moment with his mouth flopped open. Harry had to give him a hard nudge to get him to keep going, resisting the temptation himself to wrench the book away and read it.

That old madman had attacked him!

Lily had half been convinced Krum must be talking about some other 'he,' because there was just no way he could mean Crouch. For all his horrible faults and deeds, it just didn't feel possible he was actually a Death Eater.

Hagrid arrived then, his loud footfalls announcing his approach with his crossbow in hand and Fang at his heels.

"Why's Hagrid there?" James yelped in surprise, not unhappy at his arrival, but the timing.

"You think it was that thing Dumbledore sent?" Remus asked. "A new way to summon someone to you?"

"If so, I kind of like it," Sirius muttered before pushing on and hoping Dumbledore or Hagrid would actually explain it later.

Dumbledore turned and instructed Hagrid to go get Karkaroff, tell him his student had been attacked. Then to go find Moody-

but was cut off by his arrival.

"Now this one I'm calling bull on," Sirius narrowed his eyes curiously. "Why would he know to come down there?"

"One of his detectors he didn't disable went off?" Remus offered without any real hope, it was still too odd a coincidence.

He was cursing his leg, saying he'd have been here faster if not for it. Snape had told him what was going on.

"Now he's lying as well," Remus balked. "There's no way in hell Snape went and told Moody anything."

"I'll worry about Moody later," Lily hissed, trying to wave them all down, "for now let's see the rest of this play out.

Dumbledore turned to Hagrid and insisted he go get Karkaroff, Hagrid agreeing at once and thundering off.

Dumbledore then turned to Moody and told him to start looking for Crouch, which he agreed to at once.

The three remained silent until Hagrid and Karkaroff came back, the second demanding to know what was going on?

"We'd all like to know that," James rolled his eyes sourly.

Krum told his headmaster, and Karkaroff was instantly outraged a Triwizard judge had done this!

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Karkaroff was livid as he called Dumbledore out on this treachery!

"That's his first conclusion?" Lily looked aghast. "That Dumbledore did this. I've called him a lot of things recently, but I can not see him attacking Krum, or in any way setting this up."

"Can't see Karkaroff himself doing it either, and trying to push blame," James agreed. "Krum should be the last person he'd want to attack for any reason."

He went into a mired of tyrants about Dumbledore being a two face, going on about how they should be rebuilding old ties instead of everything that had happened this year! Then he spat on the ground at Dumbledore's feet.

James nor Sirius looked the least bit impressed with this act of defiance. Dumbledore was at the top of their list of someone they needed to have a very heated conversation with, but for all his underhanded and seemingly cruel moves towards Sirius of late, even this still didn't feel in the headmaster's style. They'd give him that much at least.

In one move, Hagrid seized the front of Karkaroff's furs and slammed him against a tree.

"Now see, why couldn't he have done that to Vernon?" Remus grinned victoriously. "I'd have loved nothing more than for that first visit to end with Hagrid chucking them all into the sea, the pigtail clearly didn't do any lasting damage."

"Reason number seven why I think Hagrid should be around all the time," Sirius nodded along.

"What are the first six?" Lily giggled.

"I'm compiling a list," he waved her off, "I'll let you know when I'm done."

Hagrid snarled for an apology, while Dumbledore told Hagrid to put him down.

"Dumbledore never lets anyone have any fun," James pouted, he rather enjoyed this mental image.

Hagrid released him at once, Karkaroff falling to the ground in a tangle of twigs and leaves at the trunk.

Despite the seriousness of Harry's situation, that didn't stop anyone giving a nice laugh at Karkaroff's misfortune.

Dumbledore told Hagrid to take Harry back to Gryffindor tower now.

Hagrid tried to insist he'd rather stick here, but Dumbledore was being firm, turning to Harry that he was to go back to his tower and stay there. Anything else of any importance, even any owls he wanted to send,

"Hey, leaving me out of the loop like this," Sirius yelped in protest.

Honestly, the others were almost relieved. Now that there was no doubt Harry was out of danger, being with Hagrid and heading back to his tower, they didn't want Sirius anywhere near this. If Harry sent him a letter now, he'd be on the grounds of the castle to investigate before you could finish the first reason of why it was a bad idea.

could wait.

Harry agreed with some unease, wondering how Dumbledore knew he'd already been forming a letter to Sirius in his head.

"Because Dumbledore is a Legilimens," Remus sighed, "something he doesn't usually use on students, but I guess he made an exception on you to see if you missed any details."

Lily tisked, wishing he'd asked permission.

Harry followed in Hagrid's wake back to the castle, after he left Fang standing guard over the scene.

Hagrid was in a rampage, muttering curses about this whole situation and Karkaroff's take on it. Dumbledore was worried about everything lately and this was no help.

Then he turned on Harry, who jumped at being taken aback.

"So am I," James had jumped slightly at Hagrid turning his attention on Harry. What had he done wrong to deserve this?

Demanding what he'd been doing down there with a Durmstrang?

"I think Hagrid's taking Maxime's spurn a little too personally," Remus sighed, "now he hates all the foreign people."

"Though with good reason from that school," Sirius scowled at Harry as well, "I wasn't any happier when you went off with him," still, he smoothed out his face and finished, "but Hagrid is in the wrong this time, Krum wasn't the problem."

Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather, and Hagrid, acting so paranoid when Krum had never done a thing wrong to him.

Krum could have jinxed him, hadn't Moody taught him anything?

"Moody isn't exactly one I'd be taking life advice from," Lily shook her head.

"Well he has kept himself alive long enough to be some credibility," James couldn't help but poke back.

"After gaining himself how many enemies?" Lily challenged right back.

James let it drop.

Harry defended that Krum was alright, they'd just been talking about Hermione.

Hagrid vowed he'd be having words with her next.

"Be afraid for Hermione," Remus said, in almost close to amusement. Cleary Hagrid had taken on an almost paternal roll for all of the kids, which was honestly adorable, the most of which for Hermione. Krum now had Hagrid to fear if things got serious between them.

None of them should be having anything to do with those foreigners.

Harry pointed out he hadn't thought so when he'd been spending time with Maxime.

"You know why that changed," Sirius looked at Harry in disbelief, "why would you bring that up?"

"My point still stood," Harry defended, "he was just fine with it when it was him."

Hagrid looked so menacing as he told Harry not to mention her, he actually looked frightening for a moment.

"I honestly forget how scary he can be," Harry said a little faintly, not used to seeing such a lovable man in an apron look ready to use that crossbow any second. Last time had been his first trip into the Forest, and that hadn't been pleasant either.

Saying he knew better now and that third task wouldn't be over soon enough. They couldn't trust any of them!

"That is so depressing," Lily sighed in sympathy for the poor guy.

Hagrid was in such a bad mood, Harry was relieved to say goodbye to him at the portrait hole. He went inside and at once went to tell his friends what had happened.

"Least you can tell them," Sirius was still pouting he was being left out of the loop till the very last as he passed the book to Harry.

HPHPHPHP

*I've mentioned that I would love nickname suggestions, now you know why. The ones I last used are the ones I like most, but really they're not sitting right with me. The Marauders gave themselves nicknames based on the actual animal's parts, whereas Roan and Fleetfoot just don't fit the pattern as well...

Finally saw Fantastic Beasts, just in time to further appreciate the adorableness of the nifflers in this chapter. I know I've failed as a fan, especially a Hufflepuff at that, by not having seen it long before now but stupid college life crap stopped me. Still, the movie was as beautiful and wonderful as everything with the HP name attached to it, especially for me as I freaked out every five seconds at getting to see all of those beautiful creatures. Let me know which one was your favorite from the movie! Mine was the occamy, kept whispering I want one under my breath in the theater and pissing off those around me, most beautiful gorgeous thing I've ever seen!

Also let me know what beast's you're hoping to see in the following movies, my fingers are crossed for a Horned Serpent like my Ilvermorny house!

In order of the nicknames appearing, suggested by:

MelodyGirl239- Willow/ Petal

MelodyGirl239/ Shakira94- Bambi

#the life that never lived #Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #GoF #Marauders #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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isauntervaguelydownwards · 4 years

Text

Living - for lack of a better word - Daylights

Baz is almost certain about three things; one - he thinks Simon Snow is a vampire, two - he can't believe that could be true, three - no matter what, he's incredibly in love with him.

Fill for the COC2019 day 2 prompt: role swap. Snowbaz.

Baz

There was something very weird about Snow, other than him being the ‘Chosen One’.

Whenever I even thought the words ‘Chosen One’ I heard my aunt Fiona’s derisive snort at the term, so I tried to think about it as much as possible. It felt a bit like home, even just mentally hearing the snorts.

If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said he was plotting something. I realise that that’s what he’s been saying about me for the past seven years, but there’s something about his behaviour that just doesn’t fit. Even if he was the Chosen One, receiving special training from the Mage - which seems extremely unlikely, considering the careful distance the Mage always keeps - none of it would account for the irregular disappearances Snow manages.

He just goes up in smoke - not literally, but I wouldn’t put it past him, either - once or twice a week. The only thing I’ve figured out there’s in common all of the times is that he starts looking wan about the day before he goes missing, is gone for several hours the next day, and comes back looking - revived, for lack of a better word.

If I didn’t know better, I’d call him a vampire.

It fits, that’s the worst part. He’s pale as anything - I mean, yeah, he’s a redhead, but he’s paler than any human should be, redhead or not. He’s got this weird way of smiling - not that he’s ever done that in my direction, but I’ve seen him smile at both Bunce and Wellbelove plenty of times - where he keeps his mouth closed. I’ve heard of close-lipped smiles before, but I do think the saying was invented with Simon Snow in mind.

He can’t be, though. He can’t be a vampire, the very idea is ludicrous. He’s the Chosen One! No matter how ridiculous that nickname is, the fact remains that he’s very, very powerful, if having slight issues controlling that power. As if that wasn’t enough, no vampire had ever been allowed into Watford, and not even the Mage would’ve let one in, no matter how far he’s let standards fall since Mum died.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t want to accept my own suspicions as truth.

I just didn’t want to believe that the guy I’m head over heels in love with is a vampire, a creature like the ones who murdered my mother. It would’ve been me, too, hadn’t it been for the stomach bug I’d caught the day before.

They’re monsters, and I don’t even want to be close to one - much less sharing a room with it. Of course, this is only idle guesswork, and the idea that Snow is a vampire isn’t even close enough to reliable that anyone, much less me, would entertain it.

Simon

I had to eat. Well, I had eaten, of course I had, but I needed to see to my ‘dietary requirements’ as Penny so nicely called it.

There wouldn’t be a deer left in the woods, much less a rat in the dungeons, soon enough. Back in the Normal world, I mostly ate cats, which probably was a major reason for me changing foster homes as often as I did. I did keep to the strays, and I hadn’t eaten a single one of my foster siblings, which I think proved a certain strength of character not many would have, much less show.

It’s a vain way of thinking, I guess, but I have to have some pride in myself. Otherwise, I’d probably have killed myself - or at least let one of Baz’s schemes succeed.

I’m not exactly happy or proud of my affliction, but I’ve gotten used to it by now. Maybe I’m lucky in that I lived my life in the Normal world and wasn’t exposed to all the prejudices about vampires. I probably would’ve killed myself if I had to suffer through that internalised self-hate.

Baz

He was gone again. I know I don’t have any business wondering, it’s no skin off my back, but I can’t help but be curious, anyway. Time to be proactive and do something about it, maybe. I’ve been wondering for almost seven years, I won’t let it be another one. They say curiosity killed the cat, but I’ve also heard satisfaction brought it back.

Decision made, I pulled the school blazer on and made my way out of the room I shared with Snow. A quick follow in his steps lit his metaphysical tracks up like a Christmas tree, and with a furtive glance around (and my mental - in more ways than one - aunt Fiona yelling about me to ‘act like you belong’), I hurried off.

The tracks led down into the dungeons, which probably surprised me more than it should have. If he is actually a vampire, isn’t the dungeons so stereotypical he should avoid them on principle?

Simon

As I drained the latest rat I’d found, I heard footsteps coming closer.

“Shit,” I hissed to myself, hurriedly extinguishing the lit candle I carried. Penny had magicked it - light my way - so I would be the only one to see the light, but I always felt it better to be safe rather than sorry, though. Especially when it came to drinking the blood of innocent, dungeon-dwelling creatures.

Trying my best to melt into the wall, I could only watch as the flickering light of a torch approached in time with the footsteps.

Baz

I rounded the corner, hot on Snow’s heels - quite literally. The closer I got to him, the brighter his footprints burnt, and now they were veritably blazing with proximity. When they all of a sudden ended, I also came to a stop. It was in the middle of a hallway, somewhere deep below the school - actually, it was probably somewhat close to Mum’s crypt.

Raising my eyes slowly from the floor, the torch-light following my eyes up, I caught sight of Snow’s shoes, heels pressed close to the wall. That would explain why the footprints just stopped. Trepidation made me track my eyes up Snow’s figure slower than I ever had before, and that’s saying something.

I met his gaze before properly processing what, exactly, I was seeing. He looked terrified. Scanning down his body again, I took in the whole view. His mouth was half-open, failing to contain the sheer amount of razor-sharp teeth he was currently equipped with. In one hand he held an unlit candle, smoking ever so slightly, and in the other - hovering awkwardly in the air - he held a struggling rat.

I’m not ashamed to admit I screamed before turning on my heel and running.

Simon

Oh, shit.

Baz

My scream still echoing through the hallway, my heartbeat pounding too loud for me to hear anything else, I ran. I ran for my life, terrified of what was chasing me. Maybe that’s why I didn’t pay proper attention to where I was actually heading, not until I ran headfirst into something - someone, even. Whoever it was stumbled forwards a few steps, while I lost my footing and fell backwards.

Once I’d gathered my bearings, shaking away the cartoon birds flying around my head, I looked up and saw, to my horror, the very thing I was running from. Simon Snow.

Simon

Scream still ringing in my ears, I slumped back against the wall I’d been trying to melt into just seconds earlier. Bringing my hand up to rub at my face made me realise I still held the rat I’d been about to eat. Scoffing, I leant down and released the rat, which ran away with a squeak.

With a conscious effort, I retracted my teeth. I wasn’t entirely sure how that worked - I somehow grew a new set of (very sharp) teeth, but it didn’t hurt my ordinary teeth at all? Once I was done with the, well, eating living things teeth, my regular teeth came back, no harm done. Sometimes I really wanted to see another vampire, just so I could finally find out what, exactly, was normal for vampires, and what was actually my very own flavour of weirdness.

Baz’s scream had just barely gone quiet when something ran full tilt into my back. Turning the stumble into a turn, I spun around to see Baz sitting on the floor, with a whole flock of little cartoon birds flying around his head.

I crouched down in front of him, not saying anything as he managed to get his hands under him and scramble backwards. He soon hit the other wall, making a credible impression of me about five minutes earlier. His efforts to blend into the stone wall didn’t succeed any more than mine had.

It was the most un-composed I’d ever seen Baz, and it was simultaneously hilarious and a bit sad.

Baz

Had I been speaking out loud, I would’ve sounded something like:

“V-v-v-v-vampire!”

Simon

Stuttering, too. I wonder if he was even aware he was speaking out loud?

“I am a vampire, yes, good on you for noticing,” I said, crouching down to be more at his height. Can’t imagine having what’s apparently the nightmare of your life looming over you is all that fun. I actually felt a bit rude and quite patronising doing it, but considering Baz had spent a considerable amount of time trying - and succeeding - to get me to cry, I didn’t regret it. Much.

The sarcasm was apparently a bit too much to take, as Baz’s fear switched - very quickly - to anger. He was angry enough that there was actually steam coming out of his ears.

“What the fuck, Snow?!” he swore, scrambling to his feet. His hands were still clutching at the wall, a death grip on the stones, but he was glaring hard enough that he’d probably manage to set me on fire by looking at me. “What the actual fuck!”

I stood up from my crouching position - he’d tower over me no matter which, but this way he couldn’t loom angrily at least - in the smoothest move I’ve ever pulled. Sadly enough the only one who’d seen it was my archenemy, so it’s not like it was to much use.

Baz

Okay, so I’ll admit I was scared shitless, but the nonchalant and almost joking way the fucking idiot spoke to me just made me very angry. Quite angry enough that it easily took over, smothering the fear with a pillow.

Just like what I was going to do to the smug Chosen One.

“What?” said the smug asshole, smugly. I absolutely was going to smother him, and I’d take great joy in it, too.

“What do you mean what! You can’t be a fucking vampire!” I insisted, torn between what my fear said I should do - cower - and what my rage claimed I should do - grab him by the lapels of the incredibly tacky school blazer he was wearing and shake him.

“Uh…” he said, going shifty-eyed - as if he’d just now realised exactly how deep shit he was in. “I mean. I apparently can?”

“No! No you cannot, because you! You’re the fucking Chosen One! What the fuck Snow!”

“I didn’t choose to be?”

“Tough luck! You are!” I turned away from him and began pacing between the walls of the dungeon hallway. It was a wide hallway, so I could pace properly, but it was still a hallway, so I didn’t quite get the satisfaction I wanted from it. “So you can just - just stop! Stop this vampire nonsense immediately, that’s what you’re going to do.”

Simon

Baz had an impressive way of nodding decisively, as if everything he’d just said would miraculously happen, and I’d immediately stop being a vampire.

“Baz. I’m sorry but it doesn’t work that way.” I stood silent for a long moment, just looking at him, considering exactly how honest I wanted to be. If I didn’t want this to spread all over the world, I decided I needed to be brutally honest. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

He looked at me, in the same searching way he always did before deciding just what to say to in the shortest amount of time make me cry. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought, deciding that I had nothing to lose by telling him.

“The only reason I’m not dead is because it’s very difficult to do something about the whole ‘alive’ thing when you actually want to live.” I shrugged and looked away from him. It was incredibly difficult to meet his eyes.

“We’ve shared a room for the past seven years, Snow,” he said flatly. He wasn’t usually very expressive, but this was flatter and more monotone than I’d ever heard him.

Baz

For seven years, I’d slept in the same room as a vampire - the very sort of creature who killed my Mum. I’d turned my back to him, had somewhere trusted that no matter what he wouldn’t hurt me.

I’d bullied him - almost had him killed, almost made him lose his magic. He’s a vampire, and I can’t say I’m not terrified of him.

Yet, I can’t help but love him.

He looked a bit like a drowned cat where he stood, actually, and I felt a rush of fondness for this actual disaster of a person.

“You haven’t killed or harmed me, despite the chance - and honestly, you’ve had good reasons too. Why?”

“Well,” he said, shifting nervously from foot to foot. I levelled an unimpressed glare at him, and I could almost see him pull himself up by the bootstraps. “You see, Baz, I realise that I’m a vampire, and you’re a raging asshole, but. Well. I’ve been crushing on you since second year, and I’d even dare say I’m in love, for some unfathomable reason.”

Simon

All the ways I saw that confession going, none of them involved Baz throwing himself at me and kissing the living - for lack of a better word - daylights out of me.

#coc 2019 #carry on countdown #snowbaz #carry on #carry on fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #mine #simon snow #tyrannus basilton pitch #type: text

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

I love things like this so much?

But also?

FAHC AU where something similar applies, because reasons?

Could be supernatural/urban fantasy/general AU?

Early days for Ryan in Los Santos and he gets sent on a job and his beater of a car maybe kind of gets wrecked or set on fire/blown up in the process. (It happens, okay. Don’t judge.)

There aren’t any cars he can aggressively borrow nearby and he’s too tired to trek out to the main roads to do so. Figures hey, why not call a cab? (Kind of embarrassing because Vagabond? But whatever. It’s been a long night and he still has to deal with insurance and the whatnot, so.

The first couple of cab companies hang up on him once he gives the address. One straight up laughs before they hand up. Someone curses him out and then hangs up.

It’s the last one that bothers to hear him out, seems a little hesitant but he supposes he sounds a little at the end of his rope at that point.

The person he’s talking to tells him to hold on for a moment and they’ll check if there’s a driver willing to go out there this time of night.

Ryan doesn’t get it? But sure, okay. Maybe this one will pan out so he waits. They don’t even put him on hold, is the thing, so he can hear the person on the phone yelling to the cab drivers asking if anyone wants to make double their fare (Ryan may have tried to sweeten the pot a little) and he can hear the responses.

They vary from derisive laughter to angry yelling (???) to this short pause and then someone distinctly yelling fuck it, why not and then the person Ryan’s talking to tells him they’re sending a cab to get him before hanging up.

He waits around a bit, notices there are these weird little cold spots all over the place as he does. Weird noises. Flickering lights and shredded awnings that move without a breeze.

All the typical things and shrugs it off because hey, Los Santos is kind of a weird city to start with, you know?

Half an hour or so goes by before he hears the cab, sees it cruising along the street, driver side window halfway rolled down and the guy behind the wheel - kid, really, clearly searching for Ryan.

And, like an idiot, Ryan steps out in front of him and, scaring the poor cab driver who just stares at him like he’s an idiot.

Ryan’s still wearing the mask - Halloween’s in a few days and, again, Los Santos is just weird enough that no one will care - and the cab driver puts the car in park and gets out.

Looks around them for a moment, eyes narrowed before he snorts and walks to to Ryan.

And then he pokes him in the chest.

Pokes him, what the hell???

“Oh, good,” the kid says, and flashes him this smile. “You’re real.”

Ryan...has no damn idea what to make of that so he just tips his head to the side and the kid laughs, gesturing to Ryan to get in so they can get the fuck out of there already.

Tells him about the ghost fares and such the cab companies used to get before they instituted new policies and such. Chatters on about it and tells him stories he’s heard from the people he works with while Ryan is just sitting in the backseat like what the hell kind of city did I come to?

Can’t decide if the kid’s fucking with him or not and a little leery of being kicked out of the cab in the middle of nowhere so he keeps his mouth shut.

When they get to the address Ryan gave the kid he turns around and after the stories he’s been telling Ryan he's half expecting him to be a ghost himself. (All those stories Ryan heard growing up. One with hitchhikers who are the ghost or the driver who picks them up being a ghost, all those.)

But no, no.

Just this kid with this Boston accent and brightly dyed hair.

“Don’t know what you were doing out there and I don’t care,” the kid says, proving he’s not a complete idiot as he holds out a business card. “But if you ever get stuck out that way again give me a call and I’ll come get you.”

He grins at Ryan and happily takes the fare money, tips him this little two-finger salute as he drives off and Ryan watches him go because bar none, that was the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to him.

Ryan heads home, place a couple of streets over because paranoid, and after a shower and change of clothes gets on his computer to look up Los Santos’ ghost stories to read up on as he makes himself something to eat.

Finds the ones about the cab companies getting stiffed by ghosts (???) and other places of note.

Tragic deaths and other unexplained things and sits back to let all that sink because it’s a lot, okay?

And then he thinks about the phenomena he experienced for himself out there - or maybe they were coincidences or fluke of nature or who the hell knows.

Can’t quite shake that feeling he was being watched, though. That he thought he could almost hear people talking around him when he knows for sure he was alone out there. Just the recent dead and him, and okay some rats and mice and other gutter dwellers.

Shakes it all off because he’s tired and it’s been a long night - did he mention that before? - and it was probably his mind playing tricks on him because clearly ghosts aren’t real.

Fast forward a few years and other moments and situations Ryan can’t explain away, so he doesn’t try to. Just sets them off to the side and pretends he doesn’t know what the hell any of it was and joins up with the crew or whatever.

Realizes they all have their little ghost story moments here in sunny Los Santos and doesn’t volunteer any of his own because no thanks?

But then Geoff brings in this kid from B-Team, right?

Hair’s dyed a different color from when they met and his accent’s softer now, but the smile is still the same.

Ryan’s never needed to call the number on the card he gave him way back when, but he kept it all the same. Tucked it away in his wallet for safekeeping and almost forgot about it.

(Considered calling when he had those ghost story/unexplained moments because there was something to the way the kid talked about that stuff that said he knew something about it, you know? But for whatever reason he never did.)

And Jeremy, because of course it’s Jeremy, grins like an idiot when he sees Ryan.

Remembers that fare he took years and years ago now, idiot who got stranded in the heart of spooky central (nickname the cabbies he worked with had for it) and goes over to Ryan and fucking pokes him again to the confusion/consternation of the rest of the crew.

“Still real, huh?” he asks, cheeky as hell because there are rumors now that say the Vagabond is just another spirit haunting Los Santos.

Vengeful and all that, lock your doors if you see him.

Ryan sighs, because he gets so much shit from the others for that and it looks like Jeremy’s not going to be any different. (Wouldn’t expect anything else, really.)

The other are a bit ??? when Ryan doesn’t do anything about being poked - honestly, they don’t know what they’re expecting because this situation hasn’t come up before, but who knows, right? - they dismiss the whole thing as just another weird Ryan Thing.

And when they find out Ryan and Jeremy (sort of) know one another/met before neither of them explain it? Just let everyone’s imaginations run wild and play along when someone proposes possible scenarios that range from working together for a crew to former former government agents/spec ops team and the completely ridiculous.

They are pretty fond of that last one though, and since they make a damn good team start calling themselves the Battle Buddies and just kind of never stop?

And yeah, okay. There are times they get into situations where ghosts and the whatnot feature and Jeremy may or may not punch a few here and there.

Might know more than he lets on when the crew steals a cursed artifact from some rich asshole while they’re also stealing other shinies from him.

Might get into the kind of situation where he has to bail the others out of trouble with some supernatural being or other. (Something to do with his true love and Ryan in trouble and forced confessions and Ryan all :O because the Pining he’s been doing all this time is mutual???)

All that good stuff and just shrugs because it’s this whole Dooley family business kind of thing, no big deal guys, really.

(I kind of lost the plot here, but you get the idea I’m sure.)

#ragehappy #jeremwood #supernatural au cabfare version #technically not a fic #vagrant fic

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elizabeth-234 · 5 years

Text

Whumptober 2019

Day Three: Delirium

Hi Friends! Ironically, I'm delirious with a fever right now. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Day Two: Explosion

Summary: Peter strikes off on his own not heeding the consequences to rescue a friend.

He should have listened to Mr. Stark. If only his pride hadn’t gotten in the way, they could have went about this in a procedural manner. They could have rescued him and been back in time for dinner. Instead he let the sleepless nights and being talked over compound inside of him. He let himself storm off thinking that he could do everything himself.

And why couldn’t he? He was Spiderman after all. It was a fact that the Avengers always seemed to forget when they were talking tactics for missions. They never forgot his age though. They never forgot that he was still in high school and technically a Junior Avenger or Avenger in training or, worst of all, Baby Avenger.

At first the nicknames didn’t bother him. He didn’t care as long as the word Avenger was in there somewhere. To be included in the group at any capacity launched him over the moon but somehow along the way the nicknames turned mocking. There was a hint of derision that he couldn’t help as well or do as much because of it. Peter had to control a flinch anytime someone said one of the names. It wasn’t his fault he was young.

Mr. Stark defended him against the others. His savior always came to his defense but the others started getting angry with the man. What person took a fourteen-year-old kid to Germany to fight? His hands would tremble when they brought that argument up. It was a long time ago and he proved himself over and over again; at least he thought he did.

That was why when Rhodey said he couldn’t go on this latest mission it tore him up. The man was like a cool uncle to him. He was the one that always treated him as a person rather than something too fragile to deal with. He spoke clearly and, as much as he hated to admit it, logically. From a tactical aspect he shouldn’t go, but his hackles rose and to his mortification Peter snapped at him.

He remembered the way Rhodey’s eyes widened only to calmly explain why he couldn’t come. How he wasn’t trained for this type of mission. That there were aspects the others in the group were better prepared for but none of that registered. He said Peter couldn’t go and that was all he heard. The others looked at him with concern but he ignored them to turn to Mr. Stark. Looking back on it now he realized how childish the action was; when daddy says no to something you turn right to mommy and ask the same thing. His eyes plead with Mr. Stark but in the end he sided with Rhodey.

He gave the last refusal and that was final.

His fingers crushed together and he stormed out of the room not caring that he pushed the door so hard the handle was crushed into the wall. He didn’t care that he could hear the talk, not even quiet whispers, from the other Avengers behind him. Peter went straight to the roof in order to cool down. Winter was around the corner and his breath smoked out of his mouth.

Everyone was being so nonchalant about the whole thing but this was Loki. He was Thor’s brother and they were being their usual selves and moving so slow. Sure, Loki technically wasn’t an Avenger but he helped them sometimes. The information he passed along helped everyone on more than one mission. Thor was resplendent whenever Loki showed up and even Mr. Stark didn’t seem to hate him anymore. The others were a little wearier but Peter could see him trying to be civil. Peter liked his humor at least.

His hands gripped the railing but he released it before he damaged to the metal. Mr. Stark would not be happy if the whole building was destroyed in a fit of anger. Peter breathed out again and leaned forward cradling his chin in his palm.

He thought back to the first time that they met.

It was one of those fancy charity parties that Mr. Stark would throw sometimes. The Tower sparkled as people milled around talking about whatever fancy things adults did.

He hadn’t wanted to come but Mr. Stark wanted to introduce his intern to some competitors. He said he wanted to ‘show off that he had the best intern and make them all red with jealousy’. Peter arrived in some of the nicest clothes he owned, blue dress pants that tapered off above the ankle and a nice button down shirt. May wanted him to dress shoes but he opted for converse. As soon as he got there he realized he should have listened to May. His blush should have been permanently on his face it was there so often through the night.

The amount of people attending dwindled down and Mr. Stark got pulled away to talk with someone so he made his escape to the bar looking for some water. He stood to the back, waiting for the bartender to look over from where they were talking to someone else. Peter looked at the heels of one of the women at the bar and frowned at his own comfortable shoes. He waited some more and clasped his arm in front of him, his fingers playing with the end of his sleeves.

He stared decidedly forward when he felt a presence behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck raised and he stepped closer to the bar. The person stepped forward and Peter swallowed as his eyes bore into the bartender. Maybe he could just go to his room?

“You must be the famous Peter Parker.” A smooth voice spoke behind him and Peter turned, plastering a smile on his face, and nodded. He was extra cautious at events like this to represent Mr. Stark in a positive way.

A tall woman with blonde hair stepped forward. She was beautiful and Peter had the urge to make sure his hair was still in place. He quelled the urge and fidgeted with his sleeves.

“I’m Cassandra Paen. Nice to meet you.” The woman brought her hand forward and Peter waited a moment before shaking it. He noticed the maroon manicure on her hands and again fought the compulsion to make sure his hands weren’t dirty.

“Nice to meet you as well, Ms. Paen. I hope you enjoy the night.” He managed to smile at least semi-convincingly and turned to walk away when he felt a hand on his arm stopping his movement.

If he wanted, Peter could have removed the hand with no effort. He could have done it quickly and with no pain or with all his strength as he could manage but he didn’t. Instead Peter smoothed his frown out and turned back toward the woman noting the frown she did nothing to hide.

“Peter, I can call you that right?” Peter nodded unenthusiastically. “I wanted to talk to you about a job.”

“I have a job Ms. Paen and I’m quite happy, thank you though.”

“A job for Spiderman.”

At that statement Peter’s smile froze and then melted off under the heated glare Ms. Paen was sending him. No outsiders knew he was Spiderman. Only Mr. Stark and the Avengers knew. And how did she know? No one was supposed to know!

The women smiled and added: “There now I have your attention. Why don’t we find a place more… private to talk?”

Peter felt sick and didn’t notice the hand on his arm slid around his back until he was pulled tight against the woman’s side. He looked around trying to see someone he knew, anyone at all. The bartender continued talking to the couple at the end of the bar and the room was otherwise vacated.

“Now Peter. You’re such a talented young man and I can’t help thinking we could work so well together.” Her hand squeezed Peter’s arm and he could feel her nails slowly move in a circle.

“Look I should be going. I don’t know what you’re talking about or what you think your talking about but you’re mistaken.” Ms. Paen laughed and continued to drag Peter out of the room and down the hallway.

His heart was pounding. All Peter could think about was how easy it would be to move away from the arm holding him and run but he stayed pliant while they walked. Something stopped him from moving away.

They made it to the hallway and Ms. Paen still didn’t let go. Why wouldn’t she let go? All he knew was that Peter didn’t want to be alone with this woman, whoever she was. He took in a deep breath before stopping causing the woman to stop as well.

“I really need to go back. I think you’re confused and you need to leave. I’m supposed to meet someone and they are waiting for me now” Peter’s voice shook as he stared at the floor.

The arm unwrapped from his body and the woman suddenly appeared much taller than she had a moment ago. She stepped forward, backing Peter into the wall, and loomed over him. Peter’s breath stilled. His fingers trembled against his pants and he felt so small, so weak.

“Listen here you little snot… I know what you are and if you don’t cooperate you can’t even imagine what we could do to…”

“Is there a problem here?” Both their heads turned to the sound of the voice and Peter’s knees felt weak with relief.

Before this he had only seen Loki at a distance but he knew he was Thor’s brother and that he was reformed. Mostly reformed. He smiled widely at the newcomer and Loki’s eyes searched his face for a moment before switching over to the other occupant of the hall. Ms. Paen smirked and moved her hand to rest on the wall so that Peter’s face was blocked from view.

“Nothing at all. If you’ll be on your way we were just having a private conversation.”

It was quiet and his stomached clenched. What if he left? He had to leave now. Peter gathered up the crumbs of courage left and spoke up. He wasn’t sure how but the woman’s face when he did still haunted him.

“I’m so glad you found me.” He said from behind the arm. “I know we were supposed to meet in the lab but we can walk there together.”

Peter ducked under the arm before it could grab him again and made his way to Loki. He played the part perfectly and a lazy smile crossed his face. He bowed shallowly to Ms. Paen and bid her goodnight. Peter couldn’t look back; every fiber of his being needed to leave and never see her perfect blonde hair again. Loki fell into step beside him.

His knees shook and he put his hand in Loki’s, suppressing his surprise at how cold there were. They walked in silence and he hoped he couldn’t feel the trembling in his fingers. Peter’s vision tunneled and he couldn’t think straight. He was grateful when Loki took the lead and steered them back to the party. Before they entered he stopped and looked Peter over. Peter stared at his face noting that no emotions crossed it besides the barest of flashes through his eyes. It was to fast for Peter to decipher.

“Stark’s in there now. I would appreciate my name not be mentioned.” He smiled at his dazed nod and left without another word. Peter stumbled into the room and into Mr. Stark’s care. He never thought to wonder what Loki was doing at the Tower that night.

Peter never mentioned Loki’s name but kept his assistance at the forefront of his mind. Over the months after their first encounter he would see him here and there. He was always alone and curiosity pricked him. What was Loki doing and why did no one else seem to know he was there?

On several instances he tried to approach him but he ignored his greetings. His pride hurt, he thought two could play and started ignoring him. This did the trick and piqued Loki’s interest. Soon he found he would pop up in the elevator and other places making it his mission to annoy Peter.

All in all, Peter found that he couldn’t hate him even if they met in a different way. He even started to like him. May would have said it was in his nature to see the good in people but he truly thought that Loki was different than what people thought. Deep down maybe but it was still there.

They came to have long talks about everything and anything. He wasn’t sure what Loki thought of him but Peter began to think of him as a friend and that was why he was so upset when everyone, even Thor, weren’t worried when Loki was taken. They displayed the pictures of the facility where he was kept during the meeting and Peter heard what the others were saying about the place to know that it was serious.

He was there. Alone.

Peter took it upon himself with all the bad decision making skills of a stereotypical teenager to rescue him himself. That’s how he found himself commandeering one of Mr. Stark’s jets, landing (crashing) said jet into the building, and ending up in a cell sans Loki. His hands were restrained in some type enforced metal and try as he might he couldn’t break out of the cuffs.

One of the first things they did was take off his suit so he was stuck in biker shorts and a thin under armor top. He could feel the air rushing into the cell making the hair on his arms stand on end. Pretty soon his fingers tingled at the ends. Once in a while there were footsteps out in the hallway but other than that it was quiet. His stomach clenched around nothing. Time went by but there was no way to keep track.

He coughed, wincing at the hoarseness now that the cell was finally free from his voice, and felt him eyes droop. No! His head snapped back. There was no way he could fall asleep. What if someone came in when he was sleeping and … who knows what could happen?

Peter snorted to himself. Anything would be better than being alone at this point. The white walls surrounding him were sterile and he missed the feel of the breeze in his hair and the smell of freshly cut grass. His mind kept flipping between thoughts but he was tired and it was hard to concentrate.

Finally the door swung open and his head tipped up. A man in a white coat wheeled in a cart into the room and toward him.

“Hiya Doc.”

The man didn’t reply but pulled up his sleeve and rubbed a cotton ball on the juncture at his elbow.

“That’s cold!” He whined.

Still nothing and he pulled out a needle. It set his heart racing.

“Don’t bring that thing near me. Stop!”

He didn’t stop and he couldn’t stop him. The metal encasing his limbs rubbed and inflamed the tender skin it was touching. He inserted the needle without looking up and Peter flinched when burning liquid was injected into his arm. The pain intensified, burning up and through his body.

“Stop.” he whispered. There was a vague image of the man walking out of the room before his head dropped forward and darkness descended.

A hair fell into his face and tickled his lips. He blew it away but it floated down and touched him again.

Where was he?

His neck ached when he brought it up. The white walls surrounded him and he remembered. The hair tickled his lip again and he brushed it out of the way. A gasp escaped him when he noticed his hands were free. Peter rubbed his wrists avoiding the swollen skin where the metal rubbed. He tried to stand up from the chair with haste but fell forward landing on his hands and knees.

“Ugh.” His head was pounding and his arms shook under the weight of his body. Try as he might his legs wouldn’t move from under him. With heavy breaths he started crawling to the door. The room spun around his head but he made it to the other side of the room.

“Hello?” He yelled out ignoring the burning in his throat. Peter felt shivered and felt his forehead. Sweat came off onto the back of his hand.

Peter sat against the wall next to the door periodically bringing his hand up to rap on the cold metal. It was pathetic attempt but it made him feel more in control. Why did they release him from the restraints? He lifted his arm up inspecting the small needle marks at his elbow. They could have dosed him with anything and now it was inside of him. Peter could feel it inside of him.

What did they inject him with? His arm trembled and he let it fall into his lap. His breath came out in pants. The muscles in his limbs were tired from his journey across the room. What did they inject him with? Peter got back on his hands and knees, and tried to stand up. By the time he made it to his feet he was panting and felt the sweat gathering on his lip. What did they inject him with? He raised his fist and banged it on the door. The muffled sound made him want to scream. He banged it again and again and cradled his hand against his chest. Nothing happened. What did they inject him with? His body slumped forward and came to rest on the door. Peter never felt so weak before. Not since… What did they inject him with? Not since before the spider bite.

What did they inject him with?

The trembling in his legs got worse and they gave out underneath him. His body flopped against the hard cement and he blinked away the tears gathering in his eyes.

Why didn’t he listen to Rhodey? To Mr. Stark?

Peter laughed then. They were full-bodied laughs that left him out of breath by the time he was done. The floor was cold beneath him and he let out a scream that morphed into a moan. Who cares if anyone heard, maybe they would take pity on him. His eyes closed and he drifted off as tears slid down his cheek.

The sound of the door opening woke him but he kept his eyes close. His heart pounded inside of his chest and he worried it would give him away.

“Peter?” A voice asked and his eyes flew open. A smile lit his face before he giggled.

“Loki! I knew you were here.” He said before frowning. “I found you first so the others can pound sand for all I care.”

The man opened the door further pushing his feet caught behind it. He came further into the room, kneeing before him.

“Are you alright, child?”

He stared at him a moment. He had never called him a child before now. Loki had always laughed with him before when he told him about the nicknames the others gave him. His vision tunneled on Loki’s face, the target available to pit his anger against.

“I’m not a child!” He yelled at him, his hands balled together. The smile on his face from earlier gone unnaturally fast.

Loki looked him over eyes targeting his elbow and raised his hand to feel Peter’s forehead.

“You have such cold hands. Did you knooowww?” He sang the last word and missed the way the man’s eyes narrowed as he flung his hands in the air above him.

“We need to get you out of here.”

“Okay, but you have to tell them I rescued you.” On a second attempt he managed to lift his hands and grasp Loki’s shirt pulling him closer. “Please, I wanted to rescue you and they’ll think I’m a just a stupid child. I am strong. I am.”

“Yes. Yes you are Peter. You rescued me from here after all.” Loki didn’t smile but there was a quiet ease in his eyes.

He let the tears fall. Loki’s hand wrapped around his own just as his fingers slipped through the material of Loki’s shirt while his other hand caught the back of his head before it hit the ground. He shifted his arms so that he could stand up and after several tries Loki picked him up all the way.

He wiggled in his arms and laughed at his frustrated expression.

“Stay still you infuriating…”

“You like me. I know that.” Peter lifted his arm so that he could bop his nose but misjudged the distance and pressed his chin. His head flopped back as more laughter twinkled out of him.

“I do not.” He spoke low and stepped over something. Peter looked back over Loki’s shoulder and say guns and bodies scattered on the floor. Distantly he hope they were sleeping.

“Yes, you do.”

“Do not.”

His smile faded from his face as he gazed at his harsh expression. Sadness welled up inside of him. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he really did annoy him.

“I thought we were friends?” He said, sniffling into his shoulder. Peter heard him sigh and suppressed a smile. “Come on Loki. Say it.”

He remained quiet and he tried to get out of his arms, swinging his legs. Loki held him tighter and glared at him face.

“Saaayy it. Say it!” He said in obnoxious voices.

“If you will quiet yourself?” Loki waited until he nodded. “Fine. I suppose that we are indeed not enemies and I’m not bored when we have our discussions.”

His heart panged and this time a different emotion overtook him. That was basically the sweetest thing he ever said. Peter brought his arms up and tried to hug him. He tried to say something else but the fog in his mind thickened and made him more confused.

“Where are we?” He whispered as he brought them to the top of the building, leaning Peter against a short wall. The muscles in his neck protested as he tried to look around. Loki sat next to him.

Peter was confused but he knew he was safe. He was Spiderman and if that wasn’t enough Loki the funny god was right besides him. His head rolled to the side and a sigh escaped him. He was so tired.

“Tell me a story.”

Loki’s voice floated in and out of his mind until he closed his eyes.

Peter woke up in the Medbay a pounding headache assaulting him. The memories were hazy and were not forthcoming. He blinked at the people surrounding him.

Mr. Stark was upset but winked at him when everyone else left. Rhodey apologized once he was out of the Medbay. Of course that was right before he lectured Peter about responsibility but he withstood it graciously and gave him a hug after.

Loki visited him once everyone was gone. He just sat there in silence.

“Tell me a story.” He said bored of sitting in the infirmary. His eyebrows quirked at the small laugh Loki gave at his request before launching into what had to be made up. He asked him if they were about Loki and the only response he got was a sparkle in his eye.

On the fifth day in the Medbay he gathered enough memories to piece together and when it was his nap time, he grumbled when everyone started calling it that, he stayed awake and tried to remember more.

The congratulations from everyone and the wink from Mr. Stark. They all thought he rescued Loki. That was the only way it made sense. Loki lied to them. For him. It didn’t escape his notice that no one called him one of those nicknames again.

Thor went so far as to knight him or what he thought was the equivalent to knighting someone wherever Thor was from. When he showed Loki the pin his eyes widened for a moment before he scoffed at it stating it was not impressive.

That was the second time he saved Peter and he smiled when he remembered how Loki basically admitted they were best friends.

That day when he visited, Peter was convinced he could walk through walls; he looked into his green eyes.

“Thank you.” He whispered and he smiled when Loki ignored him before launching into a story about how Thor tried to outdrink Volstagg. The thunder god didn’t stop until he was drunk out of his mind and on the ground.

Peter never did tell anyone it was really Loki that saved him. The incident set off a chain reaction through their team and slowly, with trail and error, Loki was not welcomed but tolerated by everyone. When he left to go back to his planet Peter hid on the roof. His age was far older than before but his first instinct was still to storm off.

Loki came onto the roof and stood beside him, asking for the pin that Thor gave him years ago. With only the mildest blush Peter pulled it out of his wallet and handed it over. Green smoke sunk into it and Loki put it back in Peter’s hand.

“Tell me a story.” Loki said and when Peter began talking, his voice echoed in a pin worn and battered that Loki took out of his pocket. He threw his head back and laughed calling it an alien cell phone.

Loki looked indignant but could never come up with something cooler to call it when they used it, separated by thousands of planets.

Thank you!!!

Taglist (send me an ask if you want to be added): @verdonafrost

Day Four: Human Shield

#whumptober 2019 #whumptober #no. 3 #delirium #Peter parker #loki #Peter and Loki friendship #Tony stark #rhodey #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #avengers #Tw: peter gets drugged #my writing #eliza writes

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teacupfulofstarshine · 6 years

Text

living in the real world (ain’t it fun) CHAPTER 2

*rolls up six months late with starbucks* PLEASE ENJOY THIS UPDATE I LOVE YOU ALL

WORD COUNT: ~3569

TW: anxiety attacks, arguing, brief mentions of physical injury

also available on ao3! the link will be the first thing in the notes since tumblr is glitching out rn

“So, let me get this straight.”

“Impossible. We’re not straight.”

Thomas blinks at Roman. “You – all of you are gay?”

“Thomas, we’re pieces of you. We have the exact same . . . romantic tendencies as you,” Logan explains. For how explosive he seems to be wherever Roman is concerned, Logan has been incredibly patient with Thomas. All three of them have, even though they’re clearly exactly as stressed-out and uncomfortable as he is.

“Okay, so, rephrase: let me get this gay then. You three –” Thomas makes a weird gesture that he hopes encapsulates the sentiment of “whatever-the-fuck-is-going-on-right-here”. Logan raises an eyebrow, Roman tilts his head in confusion, and Patton just smiles.

“You’re all different elements of my personality, given a form and an independent consciousness.”

“Indeed!” Roman exclaims.

“Okay, but . . . I have so many questions.”

“Which is to be expected. We promise to answer them to the best of our abilities, Thomas,” Logan reassures. Thomas looks at him again, eyes wide and earnest behind his glasses.

“Are there any more of you?”

Logan starts to respond, but Roman cuts him off with a flippant hand gesture. “Well, I certainly hope not!” Thomas feels an uneasy anger build in his chest, and it confuses him.

“What Roman means, kiddo, is that no, we’re not the only sides of your personality that exist in that head of yours!” Patton laughs. “But for the time being, we do appear to be the only ones who’ve manifested in the real world.”

“And that is a good thing, Thomas, believe me! We three are the core aspects of your personality – we are the most important ones. The others are . . . unsavory, to say the least.”

“What . . . what are you talking about?”

Roman lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re the dark sides, Thomas!”

Logan rolls his eyes. “What Roman is trying to say, despite his penchant for unnecessary theatrics, is that the other aspects of your personality are often problematic. All of us act in the way that we think is best for you, but their methods are . . . unorthodox, to put it mildly, and often tend to disrupt your daily life.”

“They mess everything up! Especially Anxiety,” Roman says, and the sheer derisive disgust with which he says anxiety sends a terrified shiver down Thomas’s spine. “That asshole never lets me do anything! That’s the whole reason that our evening last night was cut short – because he–”

“Language, Roman,” Patton says. “And be a little nicer to him! He just wants to protect Thomas.”

“From what, living his life? Honestly, I’m glad he’s not here. I hate dealing with him.”

Thomas feels the weird ball of anger in his chest melt instantly. It’s replaced with a cold, quiet feeling that he can’t really identify, but it makes him feel uncomfortable and out of place in his own house. He doesn’t like that feeling, and rather than dwelling on it, he focuses on Logan.

“I’m sure that you have more questions,” Logan prompts gently. “I would be happy to answer them.”

Thomas’s next question is significantly lacking in any sort of tact, but he can’t help blurting it out. “How come they’re adults and you’re not?”

Logan’s face contorts into a pained grimace. Thomas half-expects the little throbbing angry-vein thing that shows up in B-roll anime to appear on his temple. “Contrary to my physical appearance,” he grinds out, gritting his teeth, “I am twenty-nine years of age, just like you.”

“But you look like I did when I was in high school.”

“I . . . am aware.”

“I’m so confused.”

“Well, maybe it has something to do with when you first started needing us,” Patton muses.

“I didn’t even know you existed until thirty minutes ago!”

“Not consciously, but we’ve been in your head the whole time! I’ve been around since the very beginning – even little babies have emotions, right?”

“Y-yeah, I – I guess that makes sense.”

“I first took hold when you were a preschooler,” Roman explains. It’s weird to Thomas to hear his voice coming from Roman – it’s weird from all of them, but Roman is doing some kind of accent thing that’s making it very difficult to focus on the words coming out of his mouth. “You were very imaginative as a child, Thomas! I had a lot of control back then!”

He glares at Logan. “Then the Microsoft Nerd here showed up, and I got kicked out of my spot!”

“Falsehood,” Logan counters. “Even before I had form, I was there within Thomas to an extent. It is not as though I just materialized one day.”

“Oh, but it is! I woke up one morning and there you were, standing there with your glasses and your necktie and your holier-than-thou-I’m-always-right attitude and –”

“That’s rich, coming from you, you self-besotted, stuck up, head-in-the-clouds –”

Thomas feels a familiar headache building behind his eyes, pressing at them like they’re going to pop out of his sockets and roll across the floor, hammering at his forehead and temples like the bone is going to shatter and let all of the turmoil inside him come spilling out into the real world.

As he watches Logan and Roman get increasingly agitated, he considers the possibility that it already has.

“Kiddos, it’s time to stop now,” Patton says, but neither one of them can hear him. the headache worsens. Thomas drops his head into his hands. There’s a strange feeling building up in his chest – not anger, but exasperation, covering something desperate and needy that’s begging everyone to stop stop stop stopstopstopstop –

“Stop it!” Thomas snaps, shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes so hard he sees phosphenes dance across the resounding darkness. “Stop fighting, stop yelling, just stop it!”

And they do.

Thomas lifts his head from his hands, startled by the sudden silence, to see Roman and Logan, staring at each other, still angry but silent. Both of their mouths are open, like they were in the middle of saying something, but neither one is making a single sound.

“I . . . did not expect that to work.”

Logan shuts his mouth (although it looks painful, like he has to force it) and turns away from Roman. “Apologies, Thomas,” he says quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, but . . . geez, my head is killing me,” he groans. Patton worriedly presses a hand to Thomas’s forehead, like he’s checking for a fever or something. His hands are soft and surprisingly warm.

“A headache will not be identified or cured like that, Patton,” Logan says.

“Like we need that information right now,” Roman mutters. Logan glares at him. Roman moves his hand like he’s going to flip Logan off, catches the expression on Patton’s face, and reconsiders.

“Guys, I’m okay, really, I just . . . my head,” Thomas says. “It . . . it hurts. Do you two always fight like that?” “We get into the occasional argument,” Logan says with a noncommittal shrug.

“Occasional?” Roman laughs. “We have more arguments than there are days in a year, pocket protector!” Logan bristles at the nickname, snatching a decorative pillow off the bed and hurling it at Roman. The pillow falls onto the ground, neatly halved, as Roman brandishes a sword at Logan. It’s long and shiny and silver, and it looks kind of like a katana. Logan yelps and scrambles backwards.

Thomas feels an unfamiliar panic spike through his whole system. He wants to curl into a ball and hide, even though he doesn’t really think Roman will stab him. He doesn’t really think Roman will stab Logan, either, for that matter. Still, he feels as though he is going to die – even if Roman doesn’t stab him, the terror welling in his chest will crush his heart to dust.

“Roman, what the fuck?” “Language!” Patton snaps. “And Roman, kiddo, put the sword away!”

Roman wiggles the sword menacingly at Logan. “Roman, stop it!” Logan squeaks, voice cracking in the middle of his sentence. His face is pink, and Thomas winces a little, remembering the visceral embarrassment of his voice doing that in high school. Another spike of anxiety has him doubling over a little, curling slightly into the fetal position and clutching at his chest, right over his heart.

“Oh.”

“Kiddo, put the sword down!” Patton reiterates, standing between Logan and Roman with his arms spread out. “You can’t just stab Logan because he said something mean! And you can’t just say mean stuff, Logan!”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Logan protests, wincing as his voice breaks again. “The pillow couldn’t hurt him anyway!”

“Guys, please,” Thomas groans, and all three of them turn instantly. “Just – the sword, it – put it – I –”

He feels an inexplicable panic surging up in his chest, rapidly flooding all of his senses, constricting his breathing, causing little black spots to dance in his field of vision. Before he can properly focus on trying to stave off his impending panic attack, he feels it start to ebb all on its own.

It doesn’t get far.

Thomas can faintly feel his chest heaving in large, panicked breaths and faintly hear Patton trying to talk to him and faintly see Logan and Roman watching him with horror and concern smeared equally and identically across their faces, but he can’t focus on any external stimuli. The only thing that he can concentrate on is the strange tug-of-war of panic within his chest as he grows more anxious and then less anxious and then more anxious and then less anxious without any conscious input at all.

Gradually, the panic recedes far enough that he can feel warm hands on his face and hear Patton’s voice, which is shaky despite his calm tone. “Thomas, kiddo, you have to breathe. You’re okay, everything is okay – Roman put his sword away, see? Everything is okay. You just have to breathe, Thomas, can you do that for me? I know Logan was doing some counts for you earlier, do you need him to do those again? Can you hear me, Thomas?”

Thomas manages to lift his head and meet Patton’s eyes, which are exactly the same as his but somehow still wildly different. “There you are,” Patton says, and his tone would be patronizing coming from anyone else, but Thomas can’t process it as anything but comforting. “You’re gonna be just fine, Thomas, okay?”

He manages a stiff, shaky nod. “Good! That’s good. Do you want me to count the breathing exercise out for you again?” Thomas nods again. “Okay. I’m going to put my hand on your thigh, alright, Thomas? I’m going to put my hand on your thigh and I’m going to tap out the counts, and I want you to breathe with me. Here we go. Are you ready?”

It hurts, at first, following the breathing exercise. The panic has an icy vise grip around his heart, and his ribs ache every time his chest expands. He’s hyperventilating, he discovers, and apparently has been for a while now, because it’s difficult for him to get enough breath in his chest to make it past the first count of four. He notices Patton wincing when he tries to breathe, but he just keeps counting. “It’s okay, Thomas. Just keep trying, okay kiddo? In for four, here we go. One . . . two . . . three . . . it’s okay, we’ll try again, yeah?”

It takes ten minutes for Thomas to get enough breath to complete one cycle of the breathing exercise, but once he gets that first cycle complete it’s easy to keep going until he’s breathing normally again, uncurling his body and flexing his stiff muscles. “Sorry, he croaks, wincing at how shitty his voice sounds. “I’m – I don’t know what –”

“No harm done, kiddo!” Patton says brightly, if slightly strained. “As long as you’re okay now, right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Thomas looks at Logan and Roman. Roman’s sword is nowhere to be seen, but he looks absolutely distraught. “Roman, I –”

“I am so sorry, Thomas!” Roman wails. “I – I truly did not intend to cause you distress, especially not such a severe level! My sword is intended only to protect you, never to harm you! I – I’m so – I’m sorry, Thomas, I didn’t – I never meant to – I – I’m so sorry!”

Thomas is shocked, and more than a little concerned. “Roman, it’s – it’s okay. I’m not sure why I panicked either, it’s not like I actually believed you were gonna skewer me or whatever. You’re okay, I’m not mad. It’s okay, Roman.”

Roman sniffles, scrubbing at his eyes and smearing tears all over his face. Thomas wonders briefly if he looks this ugly when he cries. “Are you – are you sure? That was an intense panic I drove you into, and if I had known that would be the result I never would have –”

“Roman, I believe you.” Thomas stands up, stretching his legs out before crossing the room and opening his arms. “What – what are you doing?”

“I’m hugging you. Come here, Roman.”

“Wh-why are you –”

“Roman, come here and let me hug you,” Thomas says. Roman shuffles into his arms stiffly, but the second Thomas’s arms settle around his waist and shoulder he relaxes, hugging him back tightly. Hugging Roman is drastically different from hugging Patton – Roman is broad and muscular, and he smells kind of like a weird amalgamation of every scent Thomas has every found to be particularly attractive. Even though Thomas is ostensibly comforting Roman, he can’t help but feel safe in his arms, as though nothing can touch him, as though he is protected from the world.

Roman’s arms are strong and warm, a heavy, comforting weight around him. “I’m sorry, Thomas,” Roman murmurs. “I would never harm you – and I would never harm Logan, either. Or Patton.”

“I believe you, Roman, don’t worry,” Thomas soothes.

Roman pulls away from the hug and turns back to Logan. “My . . . apologies, Logan. I suppose that what I did was . . . was not exactly the best course of action.”

“It is fine,” Logan says, only slightly stiffly. Roman opens his arms for a hug, but Logan takes a step backward and extends his hand. Roman stares at it for a moment before shaking it.

“Well, this has been a wonderful learning curve, but I need to eat food,” Thomas says. A thought occurs to him. “Do you guys . . . need to eat?”

“Need to eat? No, we don’t,” Logan says.

“But we like to!” Patton adds. “And I can cook pretty darn well!”

“I still do not know how that is possible, considering that Thomas’s cooking skills are . . .” Logan hesitates, like he doesn’t want to insult Thomas, before settling on, “mediocre at best.” He looks at Thomas quickly out of the corner of his eyes, like he’s worried that he’s insulted him.

Thomas shrugs. “I mean . . . fair, Logan.”

Patton nods excitedly. “I’ll make breakfast!” he says. “I can make scrambled eggs and pancakes and –” He keeps talking, listing off different breakfast foods, while Roman nods along in agreement and Logan quietly points out which options are infeasible. Thomas heads for the kitchen, figuring he should probably figure out what all he actually has in his fridge.

He makes it to the top of the stairs before realizing that he cannot go any further. He tries to take the first step down the staircase, but it’s as though he’s slammed into some kind of wall – he can’t actually move. “Um, guys?” Patton steps into the hallway. “Yeah, kiddo?” The second that Patton’s foot crosses the threshold into the hallway, the hard barrier dissolves, and Thomas falls forward down the stairs. He hits another barrier before he gets very far, but then Patton is running down the hallway and the wall dissolves again and Thomas goes flying down the stairs.

He collapses into a tangled heap of limbs and bruises at the foot of the stairs. The breath is knocked clean out of his body, and it takes several seconds of gasping like a fish yanked out of water before he gets his breath back.

“Thomas!” There are gentle hands on his shoulder now, helping to unfold him and lay him out flat on his back. “Thomas, what happened? Did you trip? Did you hit your head, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Pat . . .” Thomas groans. He can still feel all his limbs, and he can feel his head – more accurately, he can feel the massive bruise forming on the back of it. “There . . . there was something that kept me from going down the stairs. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t move past it.” “What? There wasn’t anything like that when I was on the stairs!”

Thomas can hear the pounding of footsteps on the stairs as Roman and Logan come running. “Patton, what happened to Thomas? Is he okay?”

“Of course he’s not okay, Roman, he fell down the stairs!”

Before either of them can come to blows again, Thomas sits up, holding his head. “I’m okay, guys. I need an ice pack, but I . . . I think I’m okay.”

“You should get tested for a concussion,” Logan says worriedly.

“Is it really that bad?” Roman demands.

“I don’t know! But if it is, Thomas needs to go to the hospital.” Logan crouches in front of Thomas, holding a finger up in front of his face. “Thomas, follow my finger with your eyes, okay?” He moves his index finger slowly back and forth, and Thomas dutifully flicks his gaze left and right after it.

“Good, Thomas, that’s good. Now, I am going to ask a series of questions to test your cognitive faculties. Answer them to the best of your ability. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“What is your first name?” “Thomas.” “What is your last name?”

“Sanders.”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m in my house . . .” “What is my name?”

“Logan.”

Logan pulls Thomas’s phone out of his pocket and shines the flashlight in his eyes. Thomas winces at the bright light in his eyes, but Logan seems satisfied. “Your pupils are dilating properly,” he hums. “I do not believe that you are concussed.”

“Wouldn’t we feel if Thomas was concussed?” Patton asks. “We felt when he went down the stairs.” This is when Thomas notices that Patton is rubbing the back of his head, exactly where Thomas can feel the throbbing pain of a bruise, and Logan is holding his left wrist as though is aches just like Thomas’s does, and Roman is wincing as he stretches his legs out.

“You guys felt that?”

“We didn’t know what was happening,” Patton says, “but we all felt a lot of pain in our arms and legs and head, so I wasn’t surprised when I saw that you had fallen down the stairs. I was concerned, sure, but not surprised.”

Thomas reaches over and pinches Logan’s forearm. He doesn’t pinch hard enough to hurt, but he pinches hard enough for Logan to jump and let out a startled yelp. And just as he’d suspected, Patton and Roman both jump and yelp as well. Thomas himself shivers, feeling a pinch on his left forearm exactly where he’d pinched Logan.

“Thomas!” Logan shrieks, scrambling away from him. “What was the purpose of that?”

“I felt that,” Thomas says.

“What?”

“When I pinched you, I felt my own arm pinch. In the exact same place, Logan.”

Logan’s face shifts from betrayed and pained to curious and eager in a heartbeat. “Really? So you would feel if I did this?” Without hesitation, he whirls around and socks Roman in the arm, a little harder than is perhaps strictly necessary. Roman shrieks and shoves Logan in retaliation; he falls onto his back with a soft thump.

“Yep!” Thomas wheezes. “Felt both of those!”

“Fascinating,” Logan muses, not even bothering to sit up. “Whatever you feel, we feel, and whatever we feel, you feel?”

“Well, yeah, why wouldn’t that be the case? You’re all parts of me, aren’t you?”

Logan starts muttering to himself, waving his hands absently in the air. Thomas sucks in a shaky breath as glowing blue lines appear in the wake of Logan’s fingers, forming themselves into words and numbers and weird, complicated-looking diagrams. “Uh . . . Logan?”

Logan, apparently, does not hear him. “Logan?” he repeats. Logan looks up, blinking at him through one of the diagrams hovering in the air. “Yes, Thomas?” “What . . . what are those?”

“What? Oh, these? They happen all the time. They’re a literal representation of your thought process.”

“I thought you were the literal representation of my thought process?!” “No, I’m the literal representation of your ability to think. Confusing, I know, but different things nonetheless. They’re not strictly necessary, they just help me organize new information.”

Logan blushes. “Plus, I . . . think they look kind of cool.”

“Nerd,” Roman mutters, but there’s a teasing smile on his face. It doesn’t stop Logan from lightly punching him in the arm again, but the force of the blow is significantly lighter.

“So!” Patton grins, clapping his hands together. “Pancakes?”

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#starshinewrites #ain't it fun!au #sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #platonic lamp #platonic polyamsanders

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

Text

ask your destiny to dance [2] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

“So what do you think?” Freddie’s eyes are shining when he accosts Ash on her way back from the bathroom. Giving a gentle shove, she weaves through the crowd, picking up various empty glasses scattered about the room while there’s a lull between sets.

“Yeah they go pretty alright.” She concedes, pretending like she didn’t have Doing Alright’s harmony running through her mind. That seemed to sate Freddie well enough, and he followed along behind her, picking up a few glasses here and there before she headed back to the bar.

“Hey, Pocket Rocket,” the way the nickname is said makes Ash’s hair stand up on the back of her neck, and she fixed her best ‘customer service’ smile on her face. Roger’s grinning back at her, almost completely ignoring Freddie, who turned sharply to Ash and mouthed the nickname at her with raised eyebrows. His incredulity, which she catches out of the corner of her eye, still making unwavering eye contact with Roger, makes her sharply professional smile crack as she represses a genuine grin.

“Yes, Roger? Can I help you?” Voice sweet, she sees Freddie’s eyes widen even further, if it were possible, recognising the poison in her voice from a mile away.

“Me and the boys are about to start our next set, could I grab some beers?” There was nothing innocuous in his words, and he kept his gaze focused on hers, but he’s grinning like it’s a challenge. She doesn’t back down.

“Of course.” She sets about her work, grabbing three bottles from the refrigerator behind the bar, uncapping them, and handing them over. His fingers brush against hers where he’s quick to pick them up, and Ash retracts her hand like his touch burns. “Well, if you need anything else-” Tone chipper, she’s quick to fold her hands behind her back, bouncing quickly on the balls of her feet.

“I know where to find you.” Roger agrees, his gaze lingering just a little too long on the tightness of her smile before turning away.

“You guys are playing really well, tonight.” Freddie adds, and Ash chuckles at his earnestness, the sound fond and sincere where she were artificially bright only moments ago.

“Yeah, thanks mate.” Roger looks over his shoulder, her soft, genuine laughter catching him off guard, but she’d moved to start washing up the glasses she and Freddie had collected.

As soon as Roger had gone, Freddie rapped his knuckles against the bar top to get her attention, practically bursting with questions. With the band starting up, however, she can barely hear him over the buzz of the music and the crowd, and so she offer to take her break early. Waving off her offer, Freddie seems far more content listening to the music, but she knows that he’d bombard her with questions at the next given opportunity.

By the time the last set is winding up, Freddie’s had to head home, like Cinderella before the strike of midnight, and a lot of the crowd had dispersed.

“You boys did such a good job.” Maureen’s voice carries over from where she’s uncapping three bottles of beer for the guitarist. Ash, tries not to eavesdrop, but Maureen’s speaking loud enough so he can hear her across the bar, over the jukebox.

“Yeah, we’ve never really played here before, what made you guys try and find us?” Brian, leaning against the bar, takes a sip of his own beer, letting the other two sit patiently beside him, getting gradually warmer.

“Ash is the one who asked, actually.” As soon as she hears her name come from Maureen’s mouth, Ash freezes. “Yeah, apparently her little friend is a fan.” And there’s a fond note in her voice that has Ash smiling abashedly.

“He around? Should thank him for getting us a gig.” Brian’s smile is bright as he turns, gaze roving over the crowd, though Ash joins them, grinning faintly.

“I think you’re talking about Freddie; he’s left.” And at the sound of her voice, Brian’s turning back, though Ash’s attention shifts to Maureen. “’Reen, I’m gonna have a smoke, can you manage this lot for ten minutes?” Grinning, she doesn’t even need to cast her gaze around the bar to know that everyone at the bar was too busy fawning over Tim, the singer, to be bothered to order much.

“I think I can manage, my little Pocket Rocket.” Maureen ruffles her hair, stepping out of the way as Ash went to swat at her, making a beeline for the back door.

“Ash, could you do us a favour?” Calling out after her, Brian holds out one of the beers as she turns back with a half smile. “Rog is out by the van, can you take this to him?” After a beat of hesitation, she forced a smile on her face and took the beer, heading much slower towards the back door.

He’s sitting in the open back of his van, leaning against the side door, wearing shorts that exposed way too much of his thigh. He’s got one leg hanging down to the ground while the other was drawn up to him, where he’s propped his hand which held a gently smoking cigarette. His head was leaning back, his eyes closed, and after a beat of watching him, so relaxed, taking a moment in the cool night air, Ash watches him exhale a lung full of smoke, watches the smoke turn rose gold in the glow of the streetlight. There was something pretty, even calming, about the sight, his aura of easy confidence apparent even without his usual posturing.

“This is yours.” Breaking the silence, Ash steps from the back doorway, onto the gravel of the back car park, letting the door swing closed behind herself. He doesn’t start when he hears her, just cracks open his eyes and gives her a once over, eyes zeroing in on the beer. Neither of them move for a long moment, and then he’s turning, grinning at her as he legs hung over the edge of the back of the van, holding out a hand for the drink.

“Thanks, love.” The crunch of the gravel sounds so loud in the silence created by the closed door. Once he has the beer, she’s moving back to the door, pulling one of the crates from the stack by the bins, and sitting on top of it, patting down her pockets. Part of her knows he’s watching, curious, possibly a little amused, watching as she finally pulled out a pack of smokes and lit one, stashing both the remaining smokes and her lighter in her back pocket.

“Where’s Pocket Rocket come from?” Roger’s the one who breaks the silence. Ash looks like she’s trying to melt into the brick wall, head back, shoulders loose, heels resting in the gravel where she’s got her legs straight out in front of her. Smoke drifts from her lips, eyes looking up at the stars, and at first she doesn’t answer him, he thinks perhaps she didn’t hear him, and he opens his mouth, but she speaks over the top of him.

“Me or the nickname?” Unsmiling, she digs her heels further into the gravel, listening to the stones shift against one another. Roger takes a long draft from his cigarette, gaze wandering across the back of the building, along the parking lot that was mostly empty, save for the staff cars.

“Surprise me.” He finally says, and Ash makes a noise in the back of her throat that he can’t identify, though it does sound a little amused, but not necessarily in a good way.

“Why?” She snorts, finally looking at him, smiling sharp and uncooperative.

“Why what?” He asks, frown creasing his brow, and her smile widens.

“Surprise me.” It’s a challenge not an answer, and he knows he met her a few hours ago, but he thinks her grin has turned a little more genuine, a little more playful. Or maybe he’s imagining things. Either way, he finally looks away, goes back to leaning against the inside of the van with one leg up, looking up at the sky.

“I’m just trying to make conversation, aren’t I? We’re probably going to be working together again, after all.” He lets himself smile at her snort of amusement, or perhaps derision, but continues anyways. “Fine; you first, then the nickname.”

For a long time, Ash is quiet, watching him, trying to discern his intentions, and he waits patiently for her to respond, sipping his beer, flicking his ashes onto the gravel.

“Fife.” After a beat, she sighs, knowing before he even opens his mouth that he has no idea where that is. “Northern Scotland.”

“Hence the accent,” Roger muses, squinting up at the sky.

“Hence the accent.” she agreed, taking a moment to breathe in another lung full of smoke and lean back against the wall of the pub, joining him in his stargazing. “And I’m Pocket Rocket because I am.” It takes a long moment for her words to sink in, Roger flicking his cigarette butt away.

“That’s not an answer.” He scoffs, and Ash makes a hum of agreement, cigarette hanging from her lips as she pulls out her notebook. Her answer was incomprehensible to him as she spoke both through her accent and around the cigarette between her lips. “What?” He actually turned to her, brow furrowed, trying to decipher what she’d actually said. After a beat, and without looking up from her work, she takes the cigarette out and breathes out.

“‘s not like I owe you my origin story.” The way she drew out her annunciations made Roger feel a little bit like a fool, though there was something about her accent that he found charming. “What are you even doing out here? Shouldn’t you be inside with your groupies and whatnot?” Not even letting him get a word in edgewise, she goes back to speaking normally, which he can decipher easily when she’s not mumbling around a dart.

“Can’t a man have a smoke and get ready to load his van in peace?” Roger grinned, standing and stretching. Ash mumbled something else, too quiet for Roger to even hear, though it was accompanied by an eye roll where she was looking at what she was drawing. “Oi, watch it.” He went out on a limb trying to call her out, and when she looked up at him, flush with embarrassment, he at least knew what she’d said hadn’t been exactly polite.

“Watch yourself, drummer boy.” Despite the retort, she was bright red. Her gaze met his and she could see the triumph in his eyes. She could feel it rising within her, that anger from before at his sheer arrogance, even as he stepped out of the shadow of his van, haloed by the streetlight, smiling at her despite the situation, perhaps challenging, though, she thought it looked more playful than anything else.

Breaking the look, she turned away, face still warm with embarrassment having been caught shit talking under her breath. Stubbing out her cigarette, she put away her notebook and pencil, standing and taking a moment to kick the crate back to the stack beside the bin. Roger watches her all the while, his arms folded over his chest, as if analysing her; she doesn’t look back at him. The only sound is the aggressive crunch of gravel beneath her feet as she makes her way back to the back door of the pub, pulling it open to fill the night with the sounds of people talking and laughing, and the jukebox playing. They don’t exchange any more words, and when he comes back inside to start loading the van, she’s nowhere in sight.

“Ash, the band wants to see you!” Maureen calls when Roger leans against the bar, asking about their pay for the night once everything’s been loaded into his truck. All the bands get paid cash in hand, and Dave had left Ash in charge.

“If I have to talk to some long-haired muppet about how I owe him more than what I promised, I’m gonna retire on the spot.” Dave had said to her, looking exhausted at the mere prospect and putting a stack of notes in the till with a rubber band securing them together. “This is how much they get; no more, no less.” He’d been very serious about that part, and Ash took pride in the fact that he’d trusted her after so little time.

The smile she gives Roger is tight as she passes him the money, and he raises his eyebrows at her, finally picking up on her strained professionalism.

“Thanks again for the gig, uh, Pocket Rocket, was it?” He asked, feigning innocence, something inside of him delighting at the way her jaw tightened.

“Sure,” Ash said, working to untense her jaw, “it was lovely having you play.” After a beat, he gave her a nod, his own grin now just amused as he leaves to join the other members of the band where they’re talking to some, what Ash assumed to be, fans.

Roger catches her humming Doing Alright as she wipes down tables a little later in the night, and, for reasons he’s not quite certain of yet, he smiles.

the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe @laueecakee@smittyjaws @crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings@2ptonpt @benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times@heyyouitskay @yepimthatperson

[buy me a coffee?]

#roger taylor #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor imagine #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #ask your destiny to dance fic #ben hardy #queen #queen imagine #the angry lizard writes

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adventuresloane · 5 years

Text

Nothing Like the Real Thing

Read on AO3

"It's like sex. You do it often enough and eventually the thrill wears off."

"Pfft." The noise might have been derisive or might have been amused or both. It was hard to tell, muffled as it was under layers of polystyrene and fiberglass. "I seriously doubt it. Just because you're above it all doesn't mean I have to be."

Sloane shrugged and did not respond immediately. The late sun's rays splintered into spikes as they hit the edge of the steel garage door. They pricked the corners of her vision and made her eyes sting until they watered. She turned away from it to look at the small woman whose head rested in her lap. Her raven mask created blind spots at the edges of her vision, a black frame encircling the world, so that she could not see all of the halfling at once. Not that she would've gotten a good look regardless. The Ram still wore the bone-white visage of her namesake over her face. Horns curved backwards from the top of the glaring skull to curl around her slightly pointed ears.

This level of contact would not have been feasible months ago, when they had only just begun to race together. In the beginning, Sloane had tensed even at the accidental brush of their greasy knuckles as the Ram passed her a wrench. But she had been forced to get used to it. There had been enough of holding ice packs against one another's bruises and burns, enough all-nighters working on the wagon when they fell asleep slumped against each other, enough celebratory embraces after they had flown over the finish line both smelling of blood and dust. Touching between the two of them was, by now, nothing out of the ordinary and nothing especially meaningful.

At least, Sloane told herself that. She could even believe it up until the moment when they actually made contact. Somehow, she always forgot just how it set her off tingling whenever they touched. It caught her off-guard every time.

"I'm just saying," Sloane went on, "I've been doing this longer than you. Winning races is always great and everything, but the adrenaline rush isn't always there after awhile. You won't always have the novelty of it. You know someone's really accomplished when they just take winning in stride because they've gotten so used to it. Like me."

"Wow. You're so cool."

"Why thank you!" Sloane answered brightly, blatantly ignoring the sarcasm.

The Ram giggled and then shook her head. "Anyway, I don't believe it," she said softly. "I don't think it'll happen for me at least. You can never quite remember just what it's like until you're there in the thick of it, you know? The way the wind feels in your hair and the way the cheering drowns out everything else. You just can't replicate it, I don't think."

Maybe, for the Ram, that would indeed be true. She was hungry for life, in a way that Sloane had seldom seen in other people. Open to it, not in the sense that she passively accepted whatever was thrown at her, but that she threw herself into the thick of things simply for the experience and for the knowing. It was not the nihilism that others displayed on the track. The Ram didn't drive like today was her last, but rather like she was trying to prove herself immortal. Her racing moniker--although not befitting the unified goth corvid aesthetic that Sloane had so carefully cultivated--was well chosen. She didn't race against their competitors. She charged toward the western sun and tried to outpace it so that it would never set on her. The other racers were just in her way.

Sloane's eyes had started to drift down to the Ram's toned arms, where freckles dusted the skin like snowflakes that had yet to melt. She caught herself trying to trace their pattern, trying to memorize the exact curvature of the muscles, and viciously chastised herself. That would only lead to self-torment. She had tried, in the past, to scan crowds for the Ram, searching for halflings with the same stout body type and slightly springy gait. But she had never found any quite like her, and there was no point anyway,. The Ram had insisted on the utmost discretion from the very beginning. That had been just fine by Sloane. It was strictly business. They would not acknowledge each other outside of the track and the garage. Personal lives were to be discussed in only the vaguest of terms. And no taking off the masks.

"And hey," said the Ram, "your experiences are not universal. Maybe you've just been having bad sex."

"Hey, fuck you!" Sloane shot back, hoping she could hear the smile in her voice. "I'll have you know I have fantastic sex on a very regular basis."

"Right. That's why you're in here with me almost every night working on the wagon."

Sloane snorted. "Well, there's the pot calling the kettle black. If I'm not getting any, you're not either, are you?"

"We've both been busy, I guess," she murmured, drumming her fingers lightly against Sloane's thigh. Her flesh felt almost unbearably sensitive, all of a sudden, almost ticklish.

"Yeah." Sloane swallowed. "Yeah, we have. Too many nights with just the two of us, huh?"

For a second, she regretted saying it, as the Ram turned away from the sunset outside to look up at her. But then, she answered, "It's just...I always find I'd rather spend all my time in this garage." Sloane may or may not have imagined the note of wistfulness in her voice. She wished to the gods she could have made out her expression.

"I know what you mean."

"What happened to all that fantastic sex you keep having?"

"I lied, Ram. I'm a criminal. We do that."

"Guess so," she murmured. The Ram's chest expanded as she inhaled and seemed to just keep inhaling. She held the breath for a long time, as though waiting for some sort of cue to release. For her own part, Sloane's muscles were knotting by the second as she waited in the hot silence.

"Raven," the Ram breathed at last.

"Yeah, Lamb Chop?"

She snickered, and for an instant the tension ebbed. "I've told you that's the dumbest fucking nickname possible."

"I think it's fun." Sloane hoped her nervousness did not leak through her teeth. "You know, like the little sheep puppet? You ever see that thing? Everyone loves--"

"Can I kiss you?"

The words came out fast and sudden and struck her between the eyes hard enough to daze her. She had to take several moments to process their meaning, then several moments longer to try to convince herself that she had simply misheard. But no. The Ram was sitting up, now, and turned toward her, fixed on her.

Sloane stared, and considered it lucky that her face was covered, because she undoubtedly would have looked like an idiot. otherwise. After a time, she was able to pick up her jaw and use it for speech. "Uh. No?" She shook her head quickly. "I mean, it's not that--we can't, you know? That was your rule, the thing about the masks."

There was a slight strain to the Ram's voice as she murmured, "No one kisses with their eyes open anyway. We could just close our eyes while we had the masks off. There's no catch here, I swear on whatever god you like, there isn't. Just this once, just for a second, I...I just want to know what it'd be like." Sloane heard her voice deflate into something quiet and unsure as she reached the end of the last sentence. That hardly ever happened, high and bold and buoyant as it was. She turned away. "But you don't want to. Fuck, I can't believe how stupid this is. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even...if you don't want to, I--"

"Wait, no, I..." Sloane thought about it. Or, rather, she tried to. Thoughts coursed around her skull too quickly for her to get a grip on them, so quickly that they blurred, until they were formless and incoherent and little more than streaks of color, of emotion. All she could do was feel, and all she could feel was want. It was, in fact, a stupid thing to do. Idiotic, first to expose herself and then to kiss someone whom she had never really seen before. A completely pointless risk. And nothing, nothing, not the diamond necklaces tucked away in the aristocrats' safes nor the finish line near the cliff had ever tempted her more. Nothing had ever seemed more worth it.

Her heartbeat was powerful enough to make her whole body quiver with it as grabbed the beak of her mask. "On three?" And the Ram nodded.

At first, she squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to make colors spark out of the darkness. She screwed them shut against her temptation to look, just once. For a moment, she sat unmoving and waited for anything, any sound of movement or any sudden touch coming from out of the dark. But none came. All she heard was breathing, her own and another's, one shallow and one steady. She had not noticed the sounds before.

Finally, she whispered, "Are you...do you want me to start?"

"If you're alright with that. If you're ready."

"Yeah."

The bench on which they sat creaked as Sloane pulled herself forward on it. That brought her close enough to sense soft, cool breaths whispering faintly along her skin. A sudden shiver jolted through her. She felt cold, and electrified. Every inch of her seemed to reach out for contact, every one of the fine hairs that stood up on her arm and the tiny raised bumps that now peppered her flesh. The rhythm of the Ram's breathing was not so steady now. It quickened and hitched as she moved nearer.

Carefully, she moved her hand forward, not so much to touch as to orient herself in her blindness. She searched for a center that she could cling to, when before she had been moving directionless through the black. She found it as her fingertips brushed the spot just above the Ram's breast. When she lay her palm flat against the expanse of her broad chest, her fingers curved over the hard rod of her collarbone. She could fit her thumb into the divot behind it and feel the velvet-soft skin there.

Up over the thick shoulder, rounded with muscle. This was the part that Sloane knew well, the soft strength of her arms. She paused just as her hand began to travel upwards, following the upward turn of the side of the neck. Perhaps she would have been too nervous to go on had it not been for the hand that she felt slip underneath her arm and wrap around her waist, tugging her nearer, just a little. Small fingers lightly gripped the fabric on the back of Sloane's shirt. Her blood ran hot. She traced the neck with two fingers. Sloane could tell that the Ram tilted her head upward to expose it fully, as the muscles shifted beneath her and she felt every hard ring of the throat as she traveled up and up, then around the chin until she reached the fragile, full lower lip, which gave so easily when she pressed a little bit into it.

The Ram's mouth was slightly open. She knew by the periodic rush of warm air over her knuckles. She pulled her fingers away. It would have been easy to meld their bodies together right then, but it was not the time just yet.

Instead, her palm settled on a strikingly warm, soft cheek. The Ram seemed to lean into it, like a cat. Behind her ear, amidst the fuzz of her shaved head, Sloane's fingers ran over ridges, rough and uneven. Scars, previously unknown to her, interrupted the topography of the halfling's head. Some were so wide that she could nearly stick her finger into the gap where the flesh had been excised. Were they all racing injuries? She doubted it. She went over and over them, trying to read them like Braille, like a map in three dimensions. As though her touch could have coaxed out the stories buried beneath the layers of hardened flesh, the memories deep in the skull. She wanted to know who she was, this woman whom she felt she could simply fall into. There was so little she knew, even now.

A moment of doubt unsteadied her. Furrowing her brow, she ran her thumb over the Ram's cheekbone, then, after a moment's wondering, moved up to brush, as lightly as possible, over the eye. She made contact with the delicate closed eyelid. The Ram chuckled, and it sounded the way a steaming cup of coffee felt. "You don't trust me?" she asked gently. "I'm not going to peek." She took Sloane's hand and placed it, carefully, over her own forehead. Sloane could feel the featheriness of the Ram's eyelashes and the slight movement of her eyes against her palm. Everything about her was hot and real and so, so close but not close enough.

It was impossible to say who kissed first. When she went to seize the Ram's lips, she could already feel her pushing against her, ready to take Sloane in. They settled into a cycle of give-and-take, with Sloane moving in further and further towards her until she finally pushed back, smoothly overtook and enveloped her like an oncoming wave, making Sloane lean back. But more than anything else she sensed the Ram's fist entangled in her hair, gripping it close to the roots. Occasionally she would tighten her hold and place a type of tension on the scalp that was not quite pain but close to it, close enough to make it feel dangerous and therefore tempting. Everything in this moment was something Sloane wanted. She wanted to hoard every sensation and detail for herself so that she could revisit them again and again, have them even in the privacy and darkness of her own room. But this was the sort of thrill that could not be replicated, the kind that, she thought, would feel new every time. She needed the real thing.

After what seemed like ages and like too short a time, Sloane broke away to recover her breath, but it hadn't been enough for the Ram. Nothing had ever been enough for her. While Sloane panted slightly, the Ram nuzzled the crook of her neck and planted feather-soft kisses along it, trailing upwards towards her jaw. When she kissed the side of her mouth, she paused, then ran a finger along the upward curve of the lips and giggled. "Are you smiling?" the Ram asked, almost playful.

Sloane gave a soft laugh as well, which only made her grin grow broader. "Are you?"

"Yes. I am."

Good. You always should, Sloane thought before she could stop herself, and that was how she knew, for sure, that she was slipping into something that would be difficult if not impossible to get out of. If her guess was right, she would have no reason to want to.

They connected again, and Sloane wanted nothing but to take all of her in, to know her, to know her.

The scream of breaking glass sounded behind Sloane's head. They both gasped in shock as she whipped around. She had to blink hard to clear her vision, and when she did the flames shooting up from the middle of the floor seared her eyes that had adjusted to the dark.

She leapt to the small smashed window, grabbing the hand-crossbow that she kept near the wall and pointing it through the opening in one motion. Behind her, she heard the rumbling of a small sound wave, and the crackle of the still-burning magic missile diminished. The Ram handled the thing the same way she deflected ranged attacks on the track, using the magical energy from her body to push it away, which left Sloane free to scan for Hammerhead fucks. But all she heard was the faint patter of footsteps disappearing down one of the many alleyways. That was fine. She could get back at them later. She knew how the door to their garage could be jiggered open and figured she could use a couple of spare radiators that they wouldn't miss.

She turned back, mouth open as she prepared to ask her partner if she was alright, since she always asked after a close call like that. Except every other time she had asked that question, her face had been concealed. It was only when she looked back and saw the face of the Ram for the first time that she remembered they were both unmasked.

The Ram was still stamping out the last of the little fires that had been ignited on the floor--the fire extinguisher on the wall was reserved for the real disasters. She looked up from the black scorch marks a second after Sloane saw her and froze, lips parted. For the glorious half-second or so before recognition set in, she was gorgeous. Sunset-red curls, which had before been hidden by the helmet-like mask that covered her whole head, were fluffed up and shone in the late light. A trail of freckles ran across the bridge of her nose and her round, still-flushed cheeks. Her eyes were large and brown and softly blinked at Sloane, as though in wondering.

All of which would have been lovely, had those same features not belonged to Lieutenant fucking Hurley.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed as she sprang away, as though the halfling were about to detonate. Instinctively, she threw her hand up over her face to cover it, but she knew it was too late. They both knew.

"Wait, wait, please just listen for a second."

Her heart was so far up her throat she feared she would vomit it up. The cop was blocking the door, and the window was too small for her to crawl through quickly, even if she toughed out the broken glass. She could only back up against the wall and wait until she was given an opening to slip past. The lieutenant was quick--she knew that implicitly, she realized with another wave of nausea, because the Ram was quick--but she was faster.

Hurley's hands were raised in front of her, palms out in a gesture of appeasement, as if she had a hope of that at this moment. "Raven, I'm sorry, just don't--"

"Oh, yeah, take off my fucking mask for you, right? You lying motherfucker!" How long had she been sitting there just now with her eyes open while Sloane stupidly refused to look? How much information had she gathered while letting Sloane believe that she was the one learning the Ram?

"No, no, this wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't mean..." She stopped and shook her head quickly. Sloane could almost hear her swallow as she glanced away. There was a touch of desperation in her voice, and Sloane hated hearing it, and she hated herself for hating it. "I'm sorry, you're...I shouldn't be asking you to stick around. You're free to go, okay? I understand if you...if you don't want to see me anymore."

Sloane stared at her. "Wh...hell no, I'm not leaving, now that you've said that. How many cops are waiting for me out there, huh?"

"This isn't like that!"

"Or the second I have my back turned you're just going to call up half your department to come--"

Immediately, Hurley took her stone of far-speech out of her pocket, held it up for Sloane to see, and then chucked it overhand like a baseball out of the garage.

Sloane followed its path with her eyes, then snapped her gaze back to look at Hurley, whose arms now hung at her sides. "It's just the two of us," she said quietly. "I promise."

The Ram had never once broken a promise.

Sloane took in a breath that shook her chest. "Why the fuck wouldn't you try to bring me in?"

She smiled a little in return. Sloane used to imagine what her smile would look like. She had imagined it to be dimpled. She was right. "Don't you think that if I were going to arrest you, I would've had plenty of chances before now?"

That, her slightly less panic-addled brain had to admit, was a fair point. "Maybe you were waiting for the right time," she mumbled. "Or for more evidence." But even she knew she sounded doubtful.

Hurley laughed. "Raven, if I..." She paused. "I...I guess that's not really your name, is it?" In response to the glare that Sloane fired at her, she smirked. "Do you really think it's going to make much of a difference now if I know your name?"

She turned away from Hurley and let out her breath in a huff. Regrettably, she was right again. "It's Sloane," she said after a silence.

"Hurley."

"I'm aware," she grumbled.

The lieutenant extended her hand. Sloane just cocked her eyebrow and looked at it, then at her face, then back at the hand. Hurley gave a little shrug with one shoulder. "Since it's the first time we're meeting formally."

"Why are you here? If not to catch me, why?"

Her arm slowly began to droop down, along with her smile. "Same as you," she murmured. "To race."

Sloane scoffed. "That's it? You, star lieutenant, decided to go against every ounce of training you ever got and work with the Raven just for kicks?"

"Would you believe it?"

She thought back to the familiar sound of the Ram's wild, screaming laughter that could be heard even over the consuming drone of engines. How she had worked for thirty-six hours straight once to get the wagon in shape for the Calaveras Sprint. How she appeared more often than not with dust in every crevice, having taken the machine far out into the desert for yet another "test run." All the charming things. "I believe it," Sloane answered quietly. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned her back on Hurley, staring at the wall of wrenches and welding torches. "That's really the only reason?"

"It was." The two words were barely audible, but they made Sloane's ears prick up before she could stop them. She glanced over her shoulder to find Hurley back on the bench, eyes turned downward, rubbing the back of her neck. "For the record, I've never tried that hard to arrest you. Even on the clock. That'd be bad for both of us."

"Not all bad for you, right? Bet you'd get a nice raise or some shit if you caught me."

"And I'd never be able to come back here again." She sighed. "I'm sorry for making this difficult, Sloane. And...for everything else, I guess. You probably have no reason to believe me, but none of this is going to leave this garage."

It was strange to hear her name coming from the Ram's mouth. She couldn't tell whether she liked it or not. "So that was all real, huh? Just now, I mean."

Sloane heard her inhale deeply, as though to brace herself. "Yes."

With a long sigh, she brought her hand up to run through her long hair, but resisted the urge to tug on it. Even so, she could still very nearly feel the phantom tingling near her roots where the Ram had pulled her closer. She would not have been able to recreate the feeling herself anyway. It wouldn't be the same. "Well, that's fucking inconvenient."

It was growing dim. Outside, the sky was red-orange where it was not dark. "Can I tell you something?" Sloane didn't answer during the pause, but Hurley still went on, "I didn't want to see your face today anyway. I was always scared you'd see me without the mask, but after awhile I thought it'd be even worse to see you without yours."

"Why?"

"'Cause I thought you might be beautiful." Sloane barely managed to suppress her gasp, but there was no way to hold back the heat she felt creeping up her neck. "And if you were, I thought I'd see you and that'd be it, and I'd finally be in too deep. I was right." She spun around to find Hurley still staring at the ground, this time smiling with something like regret. She saw the last light of day hit her face in profile and curve off her smooth cheeks and in too deep, in too deep reverberated inside the chamber of her skull, dulling all other thoughts.

So Lieutenant Hurley really was the Ram. It hadn't fully sunk in for her until that moment. She didn't know many others besides the Ram who would be so goddamn blunt.

"You..." Her face was overheated, she felt her mind short, and the only thing she could think to do was stamp her foot like a petulant child and shout, "Dammit! You can't just say that shit to me!"

"Sorry," Hurley chuckled. "I was just being honest."

She huffed and dropped her forehead into her hand. It sat there heavily for a moment before she slowly looked up again. She made the mistake of making eye-contact. Hurley's wide gaze seemed to plea with her.

For another long while, she hesitated, until finally she went to sit on the bench next to the Ram the way that she always had. Out of the corner of her vision, she noticed Hurley stare with her eyebrows arched in surprise, but she did not turn to face her even as she spoke.

"I hate your kind," she started. "Not just for personal reasons, either. I'd still think the militia was scum even if I weren't on your most wanted list."

To her surprise, Hurley mumbled, "Understandable."

Sloane sighed. "You're also the best racer I've ever met, and an even better partner. You've saved my literal, whole-ass life on multiple occasions, and I guess I've done the same for you. And..." And the Ram always seemed to glow like a small sun. And in spite of all the secrecy Sloane had still never felt more comfortable with any other person. And sometimes she got up in the morning purely because of the knowledge that she would see the Ram later. And she felt lighter just walking in to find her in the garage. And even now a part of her wanted to slip into the arms of, yes, Lieutenant Hurley. "And there's other things, too," she finished weakly.

"Are you saying you still want to be partners?"

"Well. Damned if I do and damned if I don't, I guess."

Hurley glanced at her again. There was a nervousness in her eyes, but something else, too, that made them sparkle even under her furrowed brow. The wood beneath them groaned again as she slid over. She did not so much lean on Sloane as simply touch shoulders with her. Warmth seeped from her body into Sloane's. If she let it go on long enough, the tautness in her flight-response-ready muscles would gradually melt away, and she would be off her guard.

Sloane looked down at the woman at her side, bared to her, entirely, for the first time. The adrenaline and fear in her blood had congealed into thick exhaustion, weighing down her limbs. Her thoughts spun her around, and she didn't feel like thinking them anymore. All she saw was the head of curls beneath her.

Gradually, she bent over slightly, just enough to rest her chin on top of the fluffy locks. She didn't need to look down to know the way Hurley exhaled and curled against her chest. No other feeling came close.

"Shit," she whispered and then kissed Hurley again. It was dark all around now, and she let herself sink.

((Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed!))

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pikapeppa · 5 years

Text

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Humility

Also known as: Vivienne’s recruitment mission. Fenris and Hawke go to Vivienne’s salon, and Hawke behaves... predictably? XD

Read on AO3 instead. ~3700 words.

**************

Hawke whistled softly as she and Fenris walked through the huge foyer of Duke Bastien’s mansion. “Damn,” she said. “And you thought my house in Kirkwall was fancy.”

“It was fancy,” Fenris muttered. “This is… extravagant. Excessively so.”

“I think ‘extravagant’ automatically means it’s excessive,” Hawke said.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I am well aware,” he drawled. “Now imagine how much I mean it by saying this mansion is excessively extravagant.”

“Ah.” Hawke chuckled. “Point taken.” She glanced around at the groups of quietly chatting lords and ladies sprinkled around the foyer, then looked curiously at Fenris. “You know, I’m still surprised you agreed to come to this. You really didn’t have to.”

He shrugged moodily. “Cassandra and Leliana think the Inquisition needs help. It seemed churlish to turn down an unsolicited offer of assistance without first hearing it.” He shot Hawke a slightly resentful look. “Besides, you are the last person who should be complaining about me accepting an invitation. You never turn down any invitations to anything.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not complaining. I’m just thinking of you. You hate these things.”

“So do you,” he muttered.

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “But what we do isn’t up to me anymore.”

Fenris took her arm and stopped her. “What do you mean by that?”

A slow and slightly incredulous smile crept across her face. “You’re the one running this whole Inquisition thing,” she said. “Surely you can see that.”

He stared at her. “That is not true.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows and didn’t speak, and Fenris scowled at her knowing expression. “It’s not,” he insisted. “The Inquisition is Cassandra’s making. It belongs to her and Leliana. It’s… we’re…” He took a breath and gave Hawke a stern look. “You and I are stuck in the middle, nothing more.” He placed his hand in the middle of her back to propel her forward. “They seem to think we will continue running around Thedas helping people after the Breach is closed,” he muttered in her ear. “But this is not Kirkwall, and I am nobody’s Champion. Once this Breach debacle is dealt with, we will stick around for as long as it takes for Solas to remove the damned mark, and then we are gone.”

Hawke lowered her voice to a whisper. “And what if the person who made all of this happen really is Corypheus?”

“So what if it is?” he said defensively.

She lifted her shoulders helplessly. “I don’t know. We can’t just… leave, can we?” She wrinkled her nose as though she was tasting something bad. “Shouldn’t we tell someone? Or… do something?”

He clenched his jaw. Then he sighed. “Fasta vass.”

She patted his hand sympathetically. “I know,” she whispered. “I don’t like it, either.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Why in the blasted Void is it taking Stroud so long to reply to your letter?” he hissed.

She grimaced. “Weisshaupt is very very far away?”

Fenris gave her a chiding look, and she tsked. “I don’t know, all right? It is far away, though. Or maybe he’s just busy with Warden stuff.”

“That much is certain,” Fenris replied. “But with what, exactly? That letter he sent before all of this… He never sent a letter before that was that vague.”

Hawke shrugged, and they both fell silent for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and shot him a bright smile. “Well, we might as well have some classy food and drinks while we’re here, right?”

Fenris nodded. “Quickly, though. I would prefer to make this meeting as short and discreet as possible.”

“Yes,” Hawke agreed. “No undue attention and all that.” They finally stepped into the main ballroom.

A servant standing at the door straightened as they approached, then turned to face the elegantly-dressed crowd. “Lord Fenris and Lady Rynne Hawke of Kirkwall, representing the Inquisition.”

There was a brief hush, then a wave of increasingly excited babble rippled through the room, and Fenris gritted his teeth as every head in the room turned to stare at him and Hawke.

She laughed lightly. “So much for going incognito.”

“The Champion of Kirkwall and the Herald of Andraste!” An excited Orlesian lady hurried over to greet them as quickly as her flouncy skirt would allow, followed by her gentleman escort. She fanned herself delicately as she reached them. “Oh Maker!” she tittered. “I had heard you were invited you to this soirée, but I thought it was just a rumour!”

“Ah, too bad,” Hawke said cheerfully. “If we’d known there was a rumour, we wouldn’t have come. We like to keep people guessing, you see.”

The lady covered her mouth in surprise, then let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, but of course, you are joking! Nobody turns down an invitation from Madame de Fer.”

“What does that mean?” Fenris asked suspiciously. “And who is this Madame de Fer?”

The lady fanned herself again and turned to her male companion, who bowed slightly. “My lady, my lord. Lady Vivienne is the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle. ‘Madame de Fer’ is a… fond nickname the court has given her. We’ve heard she finds it amusing.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. That seemed ominous, somehow. Then the lady delicately placed her hand on her chest. “We have heard so many tales about you both! Lady Rynne, I read The Tale of the Champion and the stories of your many fights and victories, and of you and the Herald himself… It all sounds so romantic.” She giggled and shot Fenris a coquettish look.

Fenris scowled. Damned Varric and his damned book, he thought. But Hawke simply laughed. “Oh yes, well, it’s certainly interesting to have a famous author for a best friend,” she said pleasantly. “My favourite chapter is the one that talks about how I can turn into a dragon. What did you think of that one?”

The lady’s eyes grew impossibly large. “Quoi? Mais non, I did not read that! Which chapter was that?”

Fenris tilted Hawke a chiding look. “Don’t encourage this,” he muttered.

She blinked innocently. “Encourage what? It’s the truth! Turning into a dragon is one of my special skills.”

The gullible lady was gaping at Hawke as though she really was a dragon. Fenris rolled his eyes. “She cannot turn into a dragon,” he told the lady flatly. “It is wishful thinking, that is all.” He gave Hawke a forbidding look.

She pouted prettily and folded her arms. “Well, thank you for crushing my dreams, Fenris.”

He huffed, half-amused and half-exasperated by her antics. Then the Orlesian lord delicately cleared his throat. “We have heard a great many things about you as well, Lord Fenris.”

He pursed his lips. “I am not a lord,” he muttered. And he didn’t particularly want to hear what people were saying about him. He was sure it couldn’t be complimentary.

Hawke, on the other hand, was ever the gossip hound. “Do tell,” she said with relish.

The lady jumped back in before her companion could speak. “Some say that when the Veil opened, Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade!” she chirped.

Fenris pursed his lips. “You should not believe everything you’re told,” he grunted.

“That’s right,” Hawke chimed in. “No one can know for sure who exactly pushed Fenris out of the Fade.”

Fenris shot her an annoyed look as the lady gasped dramatically. “So someone did help you out of the Fade!” She turned excitedly to her companion. “Oh, I do hope the Inquisition attends more of these parties. C’est tellement divertissant.”

“The Inquisition? What a load of pig shit.”

Fenris and Hawke turned toward the derisive voice. It emanated from yet another fussily-dressed Orlesian man who was strutting toward them with all the airs of a puffed-up peacock. “Washed-up sisters and crazed Seekers,” he announced. “No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I think you’ve mistaken us for the remainder of the Chantry. Which is odd, since we’re not wearing wimples…”

Their new antagonist approached, and Fenris could see his sneer beneath the elaborate mask. “The Champion of Kirkwall,” he drawled. “Pah! More proof that the Inquisition is nothing more than a handful of criminals and strays.”

Hawke laughed. “You’d be surprised how much a handful of criminals and strays can achieve if they put their minds to it.”

Fenris took a step closer to her and lowered his voice. “I don’t believe this is helping,” he muttered. He wanted to abandon this stupid conversation altogether, but if Hawke kept engaging the nobleman, it would only encourage him to keep prattling.

She tutted in annoyance and gestured at their new opponent. “Nothing can help this poor fool. Except perhaps a good tailor who isn’t colourblind.”

The man’s face began turning red beneath his mask. “Insolent bitch,” he snarled. “We know what your Inquisition truly is. If you were a woman of honour, you’d step outside and answer the charges! Or better yet, I will duel your knife-eared pet.” His turned to Fenris and turned up his nose. “They say you were the most formidable warrior in Kirkwall, but you’re not in Kirkwall anymore.”

Hawke burst out an incredulous little laugh, then took an aggressive step forward. “What did you just call him?”

Fenris grabbed her wrist to stop her. “I will handle this,” he hissed. Then he speared the nobleman with a glare. ��I do not duel,” he said. “I cleave through limbs and crush hearts with my bare fist. Is that what you are hoping for?”

The nobleman took an involuntary step back. “You don’t scare me,” he blustered. He reached for his rapier, then froze.

Literally froze. A crusting of ice had appeared across his arms and torso, holding him completely immobile.

Fenris gaped at him in surprise, then frowned at Hawke. “Did you…?”

“No,” she said. She looked just as surprised as Fenris felt. “Not my kind of party trick. You know I prefer to stick to taking my top off.”

Fenris scowled. “Then who-”

“My dear Marquis. How unkind of you to use such language in my house to my guests.” A smooth, cultivated voice drifted down the stairs, and Fenris and Hawke looked up to see a beautiful and elegantly-dressed woman floating down the stairs.

The woman sashayed over and studied the Marquis as though he was a particularly ugly piece of art. “You know such rudeness is intolerable,” she said in a casual tone.

“M-Madame Vivienne,” he said through chattering teeth. “I humbly b-beg your pardon…”

“You should,” Vivienne replied, and Fenris stared at her with narrowed eyes. So this is the First Enchanter, he thought. The look on her face was both cool and smug at once as she studied the frozen Marquis, and Fenris felt an instantaneous rush of dislike.

A mage who used her magic so casually to control the people around her, and in such a petty setting as a party? Fenris didn’t know much about Orlesian politics, but if this is was a prime example, it was not so different from the Imperium. And from the supercilious look on Madame Vivienne’s face, she did not seem much unlike a magister.

Vivienne tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” she mused. Then she turned to Fenris. “My lord, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

“Release him from the shackles of your magic,” Fenris snapped.

Vivienne’s eyebrows lifted very slightly. Then she gave the Marquis a tiny smile. “By the grace of Andraste, you have your life,” she told the Marquis. She snapped her fingers lazily. “Do be more careful with it.”

The prison of ice shattered with a glassy tinkle, and the Marquis gasped in a breath and began to cough. Vivienne folded her arms unconcernedly. “Run along, my dear. Do give my regards to your aunt.”

The Marquis bowed hastily to Vivienne and scurried away without looking at either Fenris or Hawke. Then Vivienne treated them both to a charming smile. “Lord Fenris, Lady Rynne. I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering,” she purred. “I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

Fenris scowled at her suspiciously. “To what end?” he asked.

Her smile cooled slightly. Then she waved an elegant hand. “Let me take you on a little tour,” she said. “The garden is such a lovely view at this time of night.” Without waiting for his response, she began to stroll away.

Fenris pursed his lips and glanced at Hawke. “Well?” he muttered.

She shrugged and grimaced. “You have to admit, she’s got panache.”

“And that justifies her use of magic to… to freeze the first person to speak a curse word in her house?” Fenris demanded.

“I didn’t say that,” Hawke said calmly. “I’m simply wondering if she would wear that dress to go fighting demons.”

Fenris grunted, then jerked his chin in Vivienne’s direction. “Come on. Let’s see what she wants.”

They hurried to catch up to Vivienne, who led them to a window that did indeed overlook a very well-maintained garden of exotic flowers and topiaries. Fenris frowned at the view as Vivienne spoke. “Allow me to introduce myself,” she said smoothly. “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

Hawke tilted her head. “First Enchanter, you say? But all the Circles are dissolved.”

“Ah, yes,” Vivienne said. She gave Hawke a brief and rather condescending once-over. “You’re a champion for the rebel mages, as I understand it. And from what I hear, you were a friend to that apostate who set Kirkwall on fire, were you not?”

Fenris whipped around. “No,” he said firmly.

“Yes,” Hawke said belligerently at the same time. “But I’ll admit, that was not his finest moment. Unfortunate that a slap across the face didn’t smack some sense into him as well.”

“I see,” Vivienne murmured. She studied Hawke critically for another moment before turning her attention to Fenris. “My Lord,” she said sweetly.

“Do not call me that,” he said brusquely. “It is simply ‘Fenris’.”

Vivienne paused, then gave him the tiniest hint of a smile before going on. “I didn’t invite you to the chateau for mere pleasantries. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people.” She lifted her chin. “As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

Hawke wrinkled her nose. “Loyal mages?” she repeated slowly. “Loyal to whom?”

“To the people of Thedas, of course,” Vivienne said. “We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic exists to serve man. I support any effort to restore such order.”

Hawke frowned at her pointed little dig, and Fenris gave Vivienne a shrewd look. “Yes. Magic exists to serve man, not to rule over him,” he said. He jerked his chin in the direction of the ballroom. “And what would you call that blatant display of rulership that we just witnessed?”

Vivienne blinked. “My dear, whatever do you mean?”

Fenris pointed at her accusingly. “You used your magic to muzzle a man who spoke words that you didn’t like,” he said. “You used it to punish him for failing to comply with the way you see the world. How is that not a perversion of the Canticle of Transfigurations?”

Hawke shot him a surprised look. “Damn. You were actually listening during all those chats with Sebastian, weren’t you?”

Vivienne ignored her. “My dear,” she said to Fenris, “the Marquis was speaking against you. Words are as dangerous as any weapon of steel. More so, in fact, and I would counsel you to learn that lesson quite quickly.” She delicately brushed an invisible speck of dust from her snow-white sleeve. “I personally would view such an insult as a direct attack requiring a direct defense. Hence my quick and effective actions.”

Fenris sneered at her condescending tone. “I disagree,” he said bluntly. “You used your magic to control him. To stifle him, to - to shackle him to your will and smother him!”

“What would you have done instead?” Vivienne asked mildly. “Drawn your sword to skewer him on my ballroom floor?” She waved her fingers dismissively. “Such a messy solution, my dear. A well-chosen word and a hint of magic can often achieve what no number of swords can do.”

Fenris glared at her. “You would have killed him with a snap of your fingers if I had said the word,” he snarled. “You say you believe magic should be leashed and controlled, but your actions say otherwise.”

Vivienne smiled sweetly, and the expression only made Fenris’s hackles rise even further. Before he or Vivienne could say anything more, Hawke interrupted. “Tell me something, Lady Vivienne,” she said. “You say you’re the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle, even though the Circles no longer exist. So what do you see happening with the rebel mages? You would force them all back into Circles, given the choice?”

“Darling, there is no choice,” Vivienne said. Her tone of voice was suggestive of a teacher speaking to a particularly stupid child. “Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents? We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows magic will find neither on its own.”

“That’s not true,” Hawke said. “Mages are capable of teaching each other to control their magic without Templars breathing down their necks.”

Fenris rubbed his forehead. He was suddenly exhausted. This situation was swiftly going from bad to worse. First it was having everyone in the room gape and gawk at him and Hawke. Then it was being called a knife-ear by some idiot noble. And now he was suffering through the unending argument of mage rights with a complete stranger?

Vivienne laughed lightly. “And where do you suppose you’ve ever seen such a thing actually work in practice? When have you ever seen mages teaching mages without falling to complete corruption?”

“You are looking at her,” Fenris interjected tiredly. He waved a hand at Hawke. “She has been an apostate her entire life. Her father taught her everything she knows, and taught her well.”

Hawke dropped her belligerent pose and looked at him in surprise. “You’re defending mage rights?” she said slowly.

“I am defending you,” he told her. “You are an example to be followed. Many mages could stand to learn something from you.” He shot Vivienne a filthy look.

Vivienne scoffed. “My dear Lord Fenris, I refuse to believe that your apostate lover has a greater talent with magic than an Enchantress of the Imperial Court.”

“And that is why you will not be joining the Inquisition,” Fenris retorted. “I have no need for mages with talent. I need mages with humility.” He placed his hand at the small of Hawke’s back and ushered her out of the room without saying goodbye to Vivienne.

Hawke was quiet until they returned to the busy ballroom. Then she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and batted her eyelashes at him. “So chivalrous,” she simpered. “You didn’t have to stand up for me.”

“I did,” he said firmly. “She… that woman… kaffas, she would be right at home in the Imperium.”

Hawke snickered. “Maybe she’ll go there now since you turned her down.” She squeezed his arm and grinned. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

Fenris shrugged bad-temperedly. “Leliana and Cassandra want to put us in charge of recruiting? Then I shall use my own criteria to recruit.” He lifted a hand in polite refusal as a passing waiter stopped to offer them a tray of sparkling wine.

Hawke, however, plucked two glasses from the tray and handed one to him. “Come on, Fenris, we might as well have a drink now.” She smiled and winked at the waiter, who smiled back and bowed before drifting away.

Fenris curled his lip, but took the glass nonetheless. He tapped his glass against the edge of Hawke’s. “Benefaris,” he muttered. “A toast to going home as quickly as possible.”

Hawke sipped her wine, then shot him a little sideways look. “Is Haven our home now, then?” she asked.

Fenris paused, then lowered his glass from his lips. “No. I simply meant…” He trailed off and frowned at her. “Why? Do you consider it our home?”

She shrugged. Her coppery gaze was warm as she studied his face. “It’s safe enough. And our friends are there.”

He looked away from her and sipped his wine to stall for time. He wouldn’t necessarily consider Solas and Cassandra and the others to be friends, but his criteria for friendship had always been considerably stricter than Hawke’s.

Hawke snickered again, and Fenris raised one eyebrow. “What?”

She rubbed her nose, then shot him a little smirk. “We should have brought Sera along to this thing.”

Fenris stared at her, then smirked as well. This mansion and everyone in it epitomized everything that their odd new companion seemed to hate. “Keep it in mind for the next time we’re invited to this kind of affair,” he said.

Hawke laughed, then finished the last of her wine and waved to another nearby waiter with a tray of glasses. “Well, I think we need a second drink. We have one other cause to celebrate.”

“Oh yes?” Fenris drawled. “And what’s that?”

She smiled slowly at him. “You and I both dislike that Vivienne woman. I think this is the first time we’ve agreed on something.”

He huffed in amusement and pinched her waist. “It is not the first time.”

She giggled and slapped at his hand. “It might be. Now come on, I think we should have sex in one of her billion spare bedrooms to celebrate.”

Fenris chuckled and shook his head. “I think not.” He finished his last sip of wine, then glanced at Hawke.

She bit her lip and lifted her eyebrows in challenge.

Fenris grinned.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenhawke #hawris #fenris the inquisitor #fenquisition #Lovers in a Dangerous Time #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #pikapeppa writes

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norbah · 5 years

Text

The Plover and the Crocodile

A continuation of this other story:

http:// norbah. tumblr. com/ post / 182333442252/ another-grima-piece-fgrima-msummoner

Just something that came to mind while thinking about Grima. Didn’t mean for it to get this broody and philosophical. Hope you like it anyway. Any thoughts would be INCREDIBLY appreciated. Thank you!

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

Lucina's eyes were trained on the sprawled form of the Fell Dragon as she approached it, but her eyes flickered upwards to its horns, one of which was currently serving as a perch for a lone human. He was kneeling dangerously close to its edge, hands busy wringing a mop's head over a bucket. He was either extremely confident in his own balance, or trusted the horrid beast beneath him not to move too brusquely. A distressing idea, in Lucina's head. That anyone could trust that treacherous snake... how ridiculous. Her grip tightened over her blade's hilt, bolstering her confidence by its presence alone.

"Move aside, Summoner," Lucina said as she stepped forward, Falchion in hand. "I would not want you caught in battle."

The Summoner blinked in surprise and looked up from where he had been working, already mopping the horn's surface in the time Lucina had been musing. He looked down at her, confusion in his eyes, before panic bloomed in his expression and he twisted around, as if looking for someone.

"What are you doing?" Lucina asked, not expecting this particular reaction. It was with no small amount of dread that she noticed Grima's eyes had opened, and now regarded her, unreadable and cold.

"You said a fight was coming," the Summoner called back down, unaware of the staredown that had been initiated. "I assumed the Emblian army had broken through!"

"Wh-What?" Lucina broke eye contact with the Fell Dragon, stunned. "No! I meant Grima! Move aside so I may slay Grima!"

"Oh. I guess that makes sense." The Summoner seemed calm now. He turned to face Lucina, but instead of hopping down from the horn, he sat down on its edge, legs dangling off, and looking down at her with a calm expression on his face.

"No. No, I don't think I will."

"What?" Lucina was genuinely bewildered. "But can't you see?! This must be done, Summ-!"

"Plover, please!" He called down before she could finish. "Call me Plover!"

Lucina couldn't help but flush. The Plegians (Tharja, Henry, and Aversa) had taken to affectionately calling him "the plover" once they'd noticed his devotion to the Fell Dragon's hygiene. Henry had explained to the more curious Heroes that they were referencing a small bird from Plegia, which seemed to enjoy a unique relationship with the vicious crocodiles in their rivers. It would clean the reptiles' teeth, pecking away at anything caught in them, and the normally voracious crocodile refrained from closing its jaws around them. Over time, "the plover" had simply become a nickname, "Plover". It didn't help that very few Heroes had actually bothered to ask his name. Or that the nickname seemed to fit him better than any name could. It was a bit embarrassing that he had found out.

"So where's this coming from?" The Summ- no, Plover, asked Lucina from all the way atop Grima's horn. It spoke to how much time he spent on the dragon that he seemed to know which volume would carry best to the ground. He didn't sound like he was shouting.

"It has killed hundreds! Thousands! It needs to be stopped! To be killed before it can unleash destruction here in Askr! Please, P-Plover," she cursed internally as she stumbled over the informal form of address for the tactician of the Order of Heroes, "let me fulfill my purpose!"

He seemed to think for a moment. Lucina caught Grima's eyes again, and started shaking as they fixed on her again. The beast hadn't moved once, and its eyes held no aggression, but... was Lucina imagining it, or was there mockery in those three hellish red spheres?

"She," Plover suddenly called out, breaking the spell over Lucina.

"Wh-What?" the future Exalt could only ask. And it was frustrating to realize that this whole time, that had been her biggest reaction. Surprise. Not decisive action.

"She," Plover repeated. "You keep calling Grima 'it', but she's, well, a she."

"I... How is that relevant?!" Lucina felt so, so frustrated. Even dealing with the other versions of herself didn't vex her like this.

"It's not," the Summoner admitted. "But I felt it was important." For the first time, Grima's eyes looked away from Lucina and fixed on the Summoner, and Lucina could never have imagined they could look so soft, so gentle. The great dragon rumbled loudly, shaking the earth around them moderately. The Summoner held to Grima's horn with almost casual ease, not minding the razor-sharp edge of the bony appendage. Lucina stumbled a little, but kept her balance, ready to dodge an attack, until she realized...

"Wait," she thought. "Is Grima purring?!"

"In any case, I'm sorry, but I have to deny your request, Lucina," Plover went on, and to his credit, he did look apologetic. "Unless you can answer one simple question."

"Ask your question, then," Lucina declared, confident once again. If this was all that stood between her and Grima's defeat, then she would answer any question unfalteringly. Whatever was required of her.

"Here goes, then," he said, and leaned forward, as if to look at Lucina even more closely. Grima was quiet once more, and its- her eyes, Lucina grudgingly granted, once more only on her.

"How many Plegians?"

"I-I'm sorry?" Lucina asked, her confidence wavering only a little. What kind of question was this? The Summoner's idea of a joke?

"I should have elaborated," Plover murmured, but the silence was such after Grima's minor earthquake that Lucina heard him, even if vaguely. "Here it goes again:

"How many Plegians have died to that sword?" he asked, pointing at Falchion.

"I haven't-" Lucina began, not quite liking where this was going.

"And just to be clear," he went on, "I don't just mean at your hands. At your father's too. And his father's. And that one's important," he said with a rather pointed look. "I have heard he waged a rather bloody war on Plegia in his time. How many dead, do you think?"

"That was different!" Lucina called up, but a pit in her stomach had opened up at the mention of her grandfather. There was no denying that his actions had led in the long term to Validar's possession of the Plegian throne. Emmeryn had spent her life trying to undo the hatred and resentment born from his brutal actions.

"It was?" Plover seemed surprised. "I don't see a lot of ways how that could be."

"Of course you don't!" Lucina yelled, getting angry now at his flippancy. "You tend to Grima! You serve it-"

"Her."

"-almost like you worship it!" She went on, not hearing his firm correction. "Almost like you're-" and a thought occurred to her now. A sobering thought that horrified her, but one she chastised herself for not thinking before.

"Like you're Grimleal..." Lucina whispered, horror-struck. It made sense, she realized. His slavish devotion to Grima's comfort and appearance. His claims of Grima's innocence, his insinuations that the Ylissean royal family were as bad... It all pointed to-

"Okay, now I know you've been hitting Gray's Duma Moss a little too hard," Plover called down, snapping her out of her spiral.

"... What?!" She spluttered out after a few seconds of shocked silence, mortified. Was he implying that she used substances?!

"Word to the wise," he kept going, oblivious to her distress, "don't keep going after the third toke! It builds up!"

"Stop shouting that!" She hissed, red in the face and glancing behind her to make sure nobody was hearing this. If this rumor ever got back to her father...!

Grima's throat rumbled again, this time in quick succession and with higher intensity, and Lucina went scarlet in the face, in both rage and mortification, when she realized the Fell Dragon was laughing at her embarrasment.

That brought her back to the present situation, and seemed to do the same for the Summoner, even if he still had a smile on his face.

"No, I'm not Grimleal," he said gently. "I don't worship her, any more than you worship..." his brow furrowed.

"Gerome?" He asked. She blinked, confused. "Inigo?" He tried again. "Severa? Brady? Laurent? Robin? Kje-" he stopped when he saw her go red one earlier, and blinked in honest surprise. "Robin, huh? Way to break the bro code on that one..." he murmured. Grima snorted as well, amused in some way by this knowledge. Lucina could only growl at the two of them.

"Well, I don't worship her. Same way you don't worship Robin, and he doesn't worship you. Not literally, anyway," he finished. Now it was Lucina's turn to snort in derision. How ridiculous.

"How can what Robin and I share be anything like what you and Grima have? They are different bonds in every way, are they not?" She asked, mentally comparing the two in front of her to a twisted version of what Robin and her father shared. Trust and camaraderie beyond what regular people shared. That, at least, she could respect. Perhaps she could understand now why he seemed so hellbent on-

Aaaaaaand he was blushing bright scarlet now. And avoiding eye contact with her. Things certainly couldn't get more awkward, Lucina thought.

Until she noticed Grima staring directly at her. And as soon as Lucina made eye contact, its massive, bony, scaly eyebrows rose, then fell. Once. And again. And again.

Desperately trying to ignore the fact that Grima had just waggled its eyebrows at her (and hoo boy, would that one require some therapy to get past), Lucina latched on to the last piece of rational discussion she could remember hearing, and tried to bring this whole thing back to Ylisse. Zenith. Wherever!

"But why compare Falchion to i- to her?" She amended, seeing the testy look on Plover's face. Once that faded, however, he looked relieved to be back on track. He shrugged again.

"Just wanted to point out that if we were to measure something's malice by how many it has slain, then your blade is pretty evil in its own right."

"That was a war. It was different," Lucina argued.

"Does that make their deaths any more just? I'm fairly sure many of those soldiers also thought they were doing the right thing. I doubt that even half of them were zealots at all, either."

"And what of her?" Lucina asked, anger creeping back into her voice as she pointed at Grima. "What of the many slain by her? The deaths to come if she were to be left unchecked?!"

"Just as terrible and unjust," Plover said agreeably. Lucina paused. She'd expected him to argue against this. To claim Grima was innocent of any wrongdoing. The dragon herself held Lucina's gaze, almost defiantly.

"Everybody she killed," he kept going slowly, picking his words with care, "was a life taken. And it was as unfair as the ones taken by Ylisse. The ones taken by Falchion. But it is as you said. It was war. You can't win a war without enemy casualties. The world isn't so nice. Hell, we're at war right now."

"But just as Ylisse fought their war against Plegia and against Valm, and as you fought yours against fate," he went on, "she was fighting her own war."

"Against who?" Lucina demanded. Plover grimaced and scratched the back of his head. He seemed almost unsure of his next words.

"Against humanity," he said, glancing away. "Against people who might seek to use her, to hurt her."

"I chose," Grima's voice hissed out from between her jaws, vast and grotesque, sibilant as the wind in a seaside cave. Lucina could feel every bone in her body vibrate as the gravelly sound washed over her, and only through great force of will did she resist the urge to lift Falchion before her, "to wage my war on all of mankind. Let none who might have sought my pain or my service survive. If leaving naught but the bones and ash of the human race was what it took for my survival... then so be it."

"But... But that's insane!" Lucina argued, her voice shaking after Grima's first words in the discussion. "To eliminate all humans over the potential of one seeking to use or destroy you..."

Plover drew in a deep breath, and Lucina knew from the pain in his eyes that he did not like saying what came next.

"As insane as trying to kill your husband over the chance he might be an unwitting enemy agent."

Lucina's breath caught in her throat, and for an instant she saw red. This man, this non-combatant, this traitorous filth who knew nothing of war was daring to compare her to Grima?!

But... he wasn't entirely wrong, was he? She had turned on Robin. She wasn't able to go through with it, even after he spread his arms wide with a smile and said to go ahead, that his life was hers. But she had turned on him nonetheless.

And she thought of her original timeline. Of Grima's future. When everything in Ylisse, Plegia, and Regna Ferox seemed to be out for her blood. When only her friends and family remained at her side. When the whole world was hellbent on her destruction. How close had she come to despairing then?

She'd been willing to do anything to fix that, hadn't she? To destroy her enemy And save those she loved, she'd been willing to bypass time in its entirety. But if she'd had world-ending power at her disposal and no loved ones to save... could she really say with any certainty she'd have been that much different?

With a heavy, heavy sigh, Lucina sheathed Falchion. She turned to leave, but Plover's voice stopped her.

"You never did answer the question, you know," he said. But it was quiet, almost gentle. Lucina's fingers found Falchion's hilt again. But instead of the usual comfort and strength its presence brought her, the sword felt heavy with questions she'd never have posed before. To herself or to others.

How many Plegians? No. That wasn’t the true question. How many people? Plegians, Valmese, Alteans and people of Gra. Humans, Manaketes, and Beastfolk. How many had met their end on its blade?

"Far too many," she finally said, her voice and heart as heavy as the sword at her side. "And yet... as many as were needed," she finished her thought, and felt both revulsion and disgust with herself for even saying it. Because even among the heroes who had killed because they had to, because it was the only way to stop disaster from ending even more lives, death stained the blade. Of innocents in their own way. Her father had told her of the Plegian general Mustafa, for one. And more than that, the shadow of her grandfather darkened the grim duty and noble resolve that the Sword of Seals should embody into something much worse. There? There lay no justification. Only cruelty.

"We do what we must, don't we?" Plover asked her softly. She turned her head to look at him, and found him looking at her with a sad smile.

But it was Grima she was looking at when Lucina answered.

"Yes," Lucina said. "We do."

And for the briefest of moments, Lucina thought some understanding passed between the two of them. But it was only an instant. Lucina turned back again, looking at the castle.

"It's not over yet," she called out loudly, knowing they could hear her. "I'm still not entirely convinced. And I have earned a fight with her."

It was a few seconds before she got her answer.

"You have."

Lucina nodded in acknowledgement, and walked away. Maybe it was her imagination, but Falchion felt lighter now than a minute ago. She would have to talk with her father... and with King Marth, if she could find him. Maybe they could help her make sense of this.

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

They watched her go, curious and apprehensive at the same time. Then Grima's eyes turned to Plover. The question was not voiced, but he knew it anyway.

"I think we gave her a lot to mull over," he said softly. Grima rumbled in response, her eyes sliding towards Lucina and following her as she left.

"Gave you something to think about too, huh?" He asked with a smile. Grima didn't answer. But with the two of them, that was an answer in itself. He simply laughed and decided to put the words away for today. He still had a job to do, after all. He hoisted himself back onto her horn, careful not to shear his calves off as he did, and picked up the mop. Grima's eyes soon drifted shut, as she fell gently asleep.

As the afternoon wore on, the plover continued to clean its beloved crocodile. Not out of hunger, as other birds had done in the past. It cleaned because it wanted the crocodile to be happy. And the crocodile knew this.

#grima #f!grima #female grima #lucina #summoner #feh #fire emblem heroes #fanfiction #fluff #philosophical discussion at swordpoint #my work

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tiny-cloud-dragon · 6 years

Text

FF7: Random Bits 02

Chapter 5

[Setting - The tour is just about over, but there are a couple of surprises for both Percival, and his tour guides.]

[Location - Main Building, outside the Infirmary - An impromptu wet bar inspection was just what Percival needed after a harrowing morning being introduced to the interesting world of the new Midgar Army.]

There was nothing like a bit of alcohol to steady the nerves, Zack thought he and Cloud escorted Percival on a brief tour of the Infirmary. Percival was much more talkative now, and his seemingly perpetual anxious full-body tremor had all but disappeared. Even his eyebrows somehow seemed less...twisty.

"This is the Infirmary," Zack said as he reached for the button on the wall panel that would open the doors.

"You mean, the, uh, The Screamatorium?" Percival said in a shy, hesitant tone as his underused sense of humor made a spirited attempt at a joke.

Zack was momentarily caught off-guard by the unexpected jape, and his face split into a wide, delighted grin as he spun around with a "Aaaaayyyy! Right on, Percy!" while making finger guns.

Percival couldn't help but feel oddly pleased.

While Percival basked in the praise, Cloud inconspicuously moved away, desperately trying to give the impression to any passers-by that he was NOT associated with Zack, or his ridiculous finger guns. In fact, he didn't even know the young man with the spiky black hair who was waving at him and calling his name.

"Hey, Cloud, Percy just made a joke!" Zack crowed, excitedly grabbing Cloud by the arm and dragging him down the hallway. Cloud fought his ELITE form's strong urge to desperately dig his claws into the wall or the floor, or even chew his own arm off to escape. He imagined himself in his own horror movie, the unsuspecting victim abruptly snatched by the monster hiding in the murky shadows, now being dragged down the blood-smeared hallway to his doom.

Zack, oblivious to Cloud's internal torment, put a friendly (and restraining) arm around Cloud's shoulders. "Get a load of this," Zack continued, "Percy just nicknamed the Infirmary 'The Screamatorium'!"

"That's great, Percival." Cloud managed, while the Inspector beamed.

"Told you it was awesome, Percy!" Zack said in a proud tone. He gave Percy another set of finger guns.

"Stop doing that!" Cloud hissed at him, practically slapping Zack's hands down while looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure no one had seen the gestural atrocity.

"Calm your tits, man, jeeze!" Zack said in a slightly hurt tone, rubbing his wrists. "They're just finger guns!"

"Never point a weapon at anyone or anything unless you intend to pull the trigger."

"Don't worry they weren't loaded."

"Put your finger guns away and let's get going. Percival doesn't have all day."

"Yeah, okay, " Zack replied with mild sarcasm, "Let me just pick my hands up off the floor."

"I think one landed behind that potted plant by the closet door." Cloud countered in mock helpfulness.

Zack made a show of pretending to reattach his hands, then holster his finger guns. "There, all set!"

"You forgot to put the safety on."

"Zip it!"

"Well, if you want to put a hole in your foot, or blow your 'nonos' off..."

"They'll grow back,"

"Not before you bleed to death."

“Good thing we're at the Infirmary!" Zack countered with an annoying grin.

Cloud rolled his eyes and gave up.

Thankfully, Zack kept the tour of the 'Screamatorium' brief, not entirely trusting Percival's more relaxed nerves. There wasn't much to see anyway, since hospitals were dependent on strict organization and standards. Even Cloud noticed that the Inspector wore an expression that looked suspiciously similar to boredom.

Percival was struggling with his thoughts, wondering what was wrong with him. He had steeled himself for the chaotic scene of medical staff rushing frantically to and fro as they tried to help the injured, who littered the exam and emergency rooms, screaming in pain as they clutched broken limbs, gaping bloody wounds, or tried to keep handfuls of assorted vicera from spilling out of opened abdominal cavities, while blood flowed in runnels and pooled on the floor. What he was greeted with was a quiet lobby where a nurse was quietly checking in a 1st Class SOLDIER with mild puncture wounds to his right hand.

Percival was horrified to realize that he was feeling strongly disappointed at the lack of chaos. The SOLDIER seemed only mildly concerned with his hand, and in fact, was more interested in getting the nurse's phone number. He could have at least had the courtesy to produce a small scream of pain! Percy thought, much to his own shock.

Zack, seeing the way Percival's face had gone a little white around the lips, misinterpreted his pinched look of distress, thinking that the sight of the SOLDIER's wounds were just a little too much for Percival's fragile sense of adventure.

"That is pretty much it, for the Infirmary, " Zack said, steering Percival towards the exit, "We'll skip the Barracks, since they are literally just rows of beds...but they are very neatly arranged, if you do want to see them."

"I don't suppose I really need to. I mean, as long as they are properly equipped, which, judging from the rest of the building, I would assume they are."

Cloud suppressed a smile as he realized that the scarecrow-thin man was not interested at all in seeing the Barracks.

"But you did mention earlier that you had indoor training facilities, and I...would like to see those. If it isn't too much trouble?"

"Of course not!" Zack said pleasantly, noting the sparkle of interest (and alcohol) in Percival's eyes. "They are right this way,"

"I'm not sure the Training Rooms are a good idea," Cloud whispered to Zack as they headed down the hall.

"Why not?"

"Look at him!"

Percival, two pints worth of stout percolating through his bloodstream, was trailing behind them, weaving slightly like a shopping cart with a bad wheel.

"He's fine!"

"He's drunk!"

"He's not drunk, he's just got a little buzz," Zack drawled as he pulled the Training Room door open and ushered Percival inside.

The first thing that impressed itself on Percival's inebriated brain was the size of the room. It was huge, vaulted, and one could even go so far as to say 'cavernous'. All it was missing was a dragon on a pile of gold. "It's very impressive!" Percival commented, trying to take in all the space and equipment.

"This is our large-scale VR training room," Zack explained, "We use it for running more advanced simulations involving multiple platoons, free time activities, and also as a regular gym if the weather is too severe for outdoor drills or training."

There were several 2nd Class SOLDIERs sparring over to one side with training swords, an ELITE watching over them and alternately offering advice and sarcastic comments. Zack took his group over to the same area, moving a little farther down the equipment lined wall where they would be out of the way of the sparring group.

Zack eyed Percival for a moment, then picked out a light training sword and gave it a few experimental swings. "This is our training equipment, " he said, using the sword to point to the racks of weapons. "We have a large variety of weapon types, so the men can get experience with getting stabbed with as many as possible,"

"Good heavens!" Percival squeaked, aghast.

"Just kidding!" Zack said quickly, "They are all blunt training weapons. Any stabbings that do happen are purely accidental. Only 1st Class SOLDIERs and ELITEs are allowed to spar with real weapons."

"But isn't that dangerous?"

"If they haven't learned control by the time they are ELITEs, then getting a few holes poked in them will help them learn fast. Here, try this one!"

Zack pushed the training sword into a startled Percival's hands. The inspector held it out in front of him by the pommel at arms length, as if the blade were, at any moment, going to curl up its length and bite him on the hand. His skinny arm trembled anxiously.

"The pointy end goes into the enemy," Zack said helpfully. He took the sword from Percy, corrected his grip, and stepped back. "Relax, my dude, it's not going to hurt you," Zack said with a chuckle as Percy stood there, arms held out stiffly.

"It could if someone-!" Cloud began.

"Shut it!" Zack shot out of the corner of his mouth. "Go ahead, Percy! Give it a swing."

Percy shut his eyes and gave the sword a reluctant shake.

"Not bad," Zack said, "Try giving it a swing now. Pretend you are trying to staple an unruly stack of papers!"

Percy moved the sword with a bit more force this time, the motion actually qualifying as swing.

"Goodness!" Percy exclaimed, a flush coloring his face. A spark glittered in his eyes and he gave the sword another experimental swing. Long-dormant emotions were beginning to turn over in their sleep...

"Great job! Try this," Zack began taking Percival through several simple moves, while a few of the 2nd Class SOLDIERs drifted over to watch. They smirked at the whip-thin Inspector who was playing at being a SOLDIER.

Cloud noticed the derisive sneers. Zack had intentionally brought Percy to the Training Room, and had picked out a sword that was the perfect type for Percy. While some would have put it down to Zack just having an eye for weapons, Cloud knew that Zack had seen something in this seemingly innocuous looking man. One of the first things even Cadets learned was not to judge by appearances. These 2nd Classes could do with a good reminder.

"Brooks, front and center!" Cloud called, pointing at a raven haired 2nd Class who was sniggering the loudest.

The startled SOLDIER hurried over, saluting nervously.

"You can be the Inspector's sparring partner. He's learning a few basic moves, and it always helps to have a real dummy...er, partner to practice with."

"That sounds like a great idea!" Zack agreed, having noticed the sneers and overheard the whispered comments as well. There wasn't much that made it past a wolf's ears unheard.

"Oh, goodness, I don't think-!" Percy began to object.

"Nonsense," Zack said quickly. "You're doing great. The best way to put theory into practice is with a sparring partner. Don't worry, Percy, Brooks knows how to spar," he gave Brooks a hard look that was part warning, part threat "and won't try any fancy moves."

The two reluctant opponents began circling each other, clashing hesitantly, in Percy's case, while Cloud and Zack stood by with shouts of encouragement and instruction. Brooks, who looked like he wanted to slice Percival in half and whiz on the pieces, brought his sword up under Percy's, trying to catch the sword under the cross guard and flip it out of his hands, but Percy twisted his wrist and the blades met with a clash.

Brooks pressed forward, shoving Percy back and followed him as he retreated, blocking the blows purely out of desperation. The tip of Brooks' blade snagged one of the buttons on Percival's suit jacket, slicing the threads. Percival stared mutely as the plastic disk fell to the mat and lay forlornly, the few remaining threads in the holes laying askew like the limbs of a fallen warrior. His jacket hung open unevenly.

Percy felt something deep down in his soul, as his inner caveman stood up and, for the first time, hefted his hunting spear. A white-hot jolt streaked up to his brain and sparked, igniting a primeval thrill that burst out of Percy in the form of primal scream that rocked the Training Room.

Percy suddenly exploded into action, screaming like jagged steel on concrete, his training sword flashing in a storm of strikes that had Brooks backpedaling in a circle as he tried to process what was happening.

"YES!" Zack howled in excitement, throwing a fist into the air, "YES!"

Percy, eyebrows writhing like angry snakes as he roared like the wrath of the gods, continued his assault. What he lacked in strength, he made up for in ferocity and tenacity. Brooks tried to fight back, but was barely managing to block. The barrage of blows ceased suddenly as Percival abruptly turned, threw down his sword, and ran in the opposite direction, screaming. Brooks turned, thinking the match was over only to see Percy leap out from amongst the weapons racks, still roaring, but now holding two swords.

"Oh, shi-!" Zack began before devolving into shrieking laughter. Brooks could do little but run around the mats, Percy following him like an angry bantam rooster. No one could have guessed that there was so much strength in that skinny frame. Brooks found himself on the ground, with two swords pointed at his throat, gazing into two eyes that burned like gimlets, and two eyebrows that were bristling like angry cats.

"Good job, Percy! Let's let him get back to his platoon." Cloud called.

Percy, blinked, the red battle haze fading as he heard the familiar voice calling him. He looked at the SOLDIER on the ground at his feet, and yanked his swords away from his throat. Cloud took the swords from Percy's hands as Zack, grinning from ear to ear, gave him a congratulatory slap on the back that almost sent him tumbling to the ground.

"You did great, Percy!"

"I did?"

"You're a natural! How do you feel?"

"I feel...wonderful. Invigorated. Like I could, I don't know, shove a staple through an entire ream of paper. And not care if it went in straight or not!"

Zack just grinned and patted Percival's shoulder as Cloud helped the humbled Brooks to his feet and dismissed him back to his platoon.

"Let's go back out to the Training Field, " Zack said as they left the cavernous training room.

"You mean the 'Plain of Pain'." Percival corrected him.

"Right!" Zack laughed, resisting the urge to do finger guns so Cloud wouldn't die of embarrassment.

"Are we going to inspect The Course" Percival asked in a hopeful tone.

"No, sorry," Zack apologized, while Percy deflated in disappointment, "But, since you did so well sparring, you can see Cloud's half-form!"

Percy perked up, curiosity showing clearly on his face.

Cloud, giving Zack that carefully blank expression he used when he was angry, irritated, or uncomfortable in public Shifted reluctantly to his half-form.

Where Zack had a wolf's ears and tail, Cloud had strange ears that reminded Percy of a bull's ears. They were white with fine, soft hair with ragged edges, and tipped in black. Where Zack's wolf ears were perched on top of his head, Cloud's were on the sides. He had a long, white whip-like tail that ended in a blonde plume. His weight was balanced on the balls of his strange white feet. The closest thing Percival's brain could compare them to were monkey or lizard feet, with a little rat thrown in for good measure. Something about this half-form reminded Percival of something else, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

"Do you have wings?"

Cloud's summoned his wings. They were black and leathery with a mottled white edge, and each of the wings' five digit bones ended in a large white feather 'finger'.

"Fascinating!" Percival said, "What kind of animal are you?"

Cloud looked at Zack, uncomfortable with all the attention.

"Don't be shy," Zack said, "Just show him. He's earned it."

Cloud sighed, and Shifted to his ELITE form.

Percival found himself facing what looked very similar to the dragons the Wutai people favored in all of their artwork. Cloud's head darted down on its long neck, long 'mustaches' at the sides of his snout brushing curiously at the inspector's jacket.

Percival's eyebrows shot up like rockets, actually left his forehead, shooting up a good ten feet into the air. Cloud pulled his head back with a startled goose-shriek and Shifted back to his human form.

Zack and Cloud glanced at each other and then at the inspector's eyebrows as they fluttered down to the ground like brown leaves. Cloud stepped away, leaving Zack standing all alone with the fallen facial features. He had dealt with a lot of strange, wacky, and down right disturbing things in his life, and today he was drawing the line at wiggly eyebrows.

"Uh, here, let me help you with those," Zack said as Percy patted his brow forlornly.

Zack stooped and gingerly picked up the eyebrows, "Happens often, does it?" he asked as he regarded the scraps of hair resting on his palm.

"Only when I get really startled,"

"Maybe you should see a doctor?" Cloud suggested, standing as far from the eyebrows as he could get without being rude while Zack tried to help put the facial hair back where it belonged. It was proving troublesome due to the fact that the eyebrows seemed to have developed sentience.

"I go once a year," Percy said, "Ever since they were transplanted. Come to think of it, they never did tell me what they were grown from..."

They wiggled and waved around like fluffy caterpillars as Zack struggled to reapply them to Percy's forehead.

"Here...just--hold on...come on little guy..."

"I think that one goes on the left," Cloud said.

"Right," Zack replied.

"No, left."

"Right, you said that."

"No, I said left!"

"Rigth!"

"No, it's left!"

The eyebrows stated waving frantically, twitching and writhing in agitation.

"Now you've gone and upset them!" Cloud chided.

"I upset them--?" Zack began defensively, until the eyebrows started flapping more strongly.

"Shhhhhh! Shhh-shhh! I'm sorry!" Zack said quickly, carefully stroking the eyebrows with his fingertips, "Uncle Zack didn't mean it. It's okay, guys. There, there!"

It seemed to work, the eyebrows relaxing to lay docilely back over Zack's palm.

"Good boys," he said, pleased, "How about you jump back up on your Dad's face for me?"

The fluffy strips of hair hopped back on to Percival's brow, settling down in their proper places. Zack later swore that he'd heard a quiet purring sound.

"Oh, my! Thank you!" Percival sighed, relieved. "You do seem to have a way with them,"

Zack couldn't really think of anything to say aside from "It's all in how you talk to them, I guess."

"Yes. Well, thank you for accompanying me on the inspection, gentlemen," Percy said, shaking hands with each of them. "I believe that this was the most enjoyable inspection I have ever done."

"Glad to hear it!" Zack said with a smile as they walked Percy to his car. "Give the President our regards."

"I most certainly will, and if he has any questions, I will be sure to direct his attention to Rule Number One."

"You do that, Percy," Zack said with a chuckle, "He'll understand."

They watched Percy's car until disappeared around the corner.

"Rufus is going to be...upset, you know." Cloud said after a few moments.

"What's he gonna do, fire us? He works for us, remember?" Zack said, lightly jostling Cloud's ribs and waggling his eyebrows at him.

"Don't do that!"

"Do what? This?" Zack wiggled his eyebrows again.

"Yes, that!"

"Yes, do that? Okay!"

"Stooooop!"

Zack laughed and kept wiggling his eyebrows all the way back to the Main Building.

End.

#final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ff7 fanfic #ffvii fanfic #fanfiction #ff7 fanfiction #ffvii fanfiction #cloud strife #zack fair #random bits #ff7 random bits #final fantasy fanfiction #humor #comedy

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welovekpopscenarios · 7 years

Text

The Stars Above the Chaos (Space/Halo!AU Mingyu x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Earth is under attack, and Mingyu is being shipped out to war tomorrow. You don’t know if this will be his last one. Better make the night count. Space/Halo!AU

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Smut, teensy bit of angst

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Warnings: Language, slight mentions of death

Word Count: 3555

A/N: Don’t let all the terminology or Halo scare you off, it’s basically a smut with a bit of backstory. This was honestly just to feed my need to write for Mingyu seeing as he is my bias and Halo bc it was the game of my childhood and it will always be one of my top games (I even have a big book about it that my ex got me for Christmas haw haw). But yeah, this is essentially just a smut and can be taken as a basic Space!AU, so I hope you still read and enjoy regardless of the space/halo stuff in it! Happy reading! (Low key happy about this one LOL)

I made a little index with info and visuals, if you’re interested in the help!

The sound of mindless chatter and clinking metal sounded in your ears as you entered the canteen to collect your dinner for the day after training, nodding your head in hello at chefs and soldiers alike, the ships A.I Sasha even throwing a sweet wave as you passed the holographic screen. Your eyes searched the large space, table upon table filled with soldiers of every ranking; cadet to captain, private to sergeant, but you were only looking for one table in particular. Tucked away in the corner of the room, you found some of your friends sitting together and chatting amiably amongst one another, as usual around this time in the evening.

Seungkwan spotted you first, his head raising from the conversation to wave you over with his usual sweet smile. You headed towards the spot with hurried steps, ignoring the talks of the ongoing battle ensuing on Earth, the countless number of deaths and casualties occurring while you’re stuck here on this ship, waiting for the day when you get called to join the gruesome fight. Jeonghan greeted you with a smile and moved over on the bench, making room for you to sit, placing you directly in front of Mingyu who fixed you with a small smile and a subtle wink. The others – Seungkwan, Minghao and Wonwoo, to be exact – all gave you their own greetings before returning to their previous conversation.

“I don’t think I’ve ever fixed so much equipment before – seems like there’s something coming in nearly every hour to be worked on lately,” Wonwoo complained, playing idly with the food on the tray in front of him. “So many weapons and vehicles coming in, needing repairs. Some of them are so badly damaged, I don’t even know where to start with them.”

Jeonghan made a noise in agreement, shaking his head. “Tell me about it, the med wards are flooded here. It’s too hectic to keep up with, and we’re nearly running out of supplies.”

“We’re overloaded here,” Seungkwan piped up from beside Jeonghan. “I can’t even imagine what the situation on Earth looks like right now.”

The table grew quiet, the horrible elephant in the room ever present as you thought about the struggle on Earth. Just recently, as small fleet of Covenant ships exited slipspace and began to attack the African city of New Mombasa. During the ensuing battle, a Covenant Assault Carrier breached the orbital fortifications on the city and made its way to the surface. The ship, which carried the Covenant Hierarch known as the High Prophet of Regret, took position over New Mombasa, deploying troops and vehicles which occupied the city, and the city's civilians either evacuated, took shelter, or were killed.

Nobody could talk for too long on those who were lost to the hordes of aliens destroying the city, be it soldier or civilian. You felt useless, stuck on the UNSC Say My Name while others risked their lives to stop the invaders from controlling the city. But another part of you, hidden deep underneath your skin and making you sick with guilt, was slightly relieved your unit wasn’t shipped out to deal with the situation yet. The tales you heard from the returning soldiers; the frightening pincers of the Elites, the raw terrifying strength of the Brutes, even the swarms of Grunts and Jackals becoming too much to handle in the heat of the moment. Nobody knew exactly the intent of the invasion – just that if the Covenant managed to take control of New Mombasa with the fleet they have, more will come, and Earth will soon be in the hands of the enemy.

Minghao made a loud tutting and jabbed irritably at his food, scowl present on his otherwise pixie-like face.

“I wish they’d just send us out already. They clearly need us, and I’m sick of all this waiting. We should be going now instead of tomorrow” he grumbled, shovelling tasteless slop into his mouth hurriedly. Jeonghan gave a derisive snort, fixing Minghao with a level stare.

“You should wish they won’t have to send you out,” he retorted, to which Minghao gave another tut and a slight roll of his eyes. “To send the ODST’s out would mean that the situation really has gone to shit. And that’s when panic sets in,” he explained, picking up his cup to take a sip and raising a brow at the infamous ODST over the rim.

“ODST’s: Orbital Drop Shock Troopers,” you mused quietly, and looked forward to find Mingyu’s eyes already on you. “Things must be getting really bad down in New Mombasa if they’re gonna send out the ODST’s soon,” you said, and all heads at the table turned at your voice. “You’re practically a last resort when these things happen.”

Mingyu nodded seriously, shoulders heaving in a sigh the exited through his nose. “Yeah,” he agreed. “They say the fight’s getting pretty grizzly and they’re losing hope. The Covenant are pushing strong. Coups said we could be shipped out some time tomorrow,” he elaborated, and made eye contact with you to give you a heavy stare that put a dead weight in the pit of your stomach. It was a stare that said ‘I’m going away tomorrow, I don’t know when I’ll be back. I don’t know if I’ll be back.’

You always knew what would happen when one of you gave a stare like that, a sort of tradition between the pair of you after you began seeing each other in secret years ago. But it would have to wait until after dinner. You brushed your leg against Mingyu’s underneath the table.

Minghao gave a humourless smirk. “’Last resort’,” he repeated, shaking his head. “We’re the best of the best. They just don’t want to use us so early in the fight. They wanna see if they can pick them off without using all their resources first,” he said arrogantly, but you saw right through him as if he were glass. He might be an ODST like Mingyu, a soldier who went through tougher training than most, than yourself, but he was afraid. Just like everyone else was. One wrong move, and life as you knew it was gone.

“Actually, The8,” Wonwoo mocked Minghao’s notorious nickname as if it were an insult, and Minghao turned his head to his left to glare at the taller boy. “I wouldn’t consider ODST’s the best of the best. You’re good, yes, but you’re just that bit stronger than the average soldier, like Y/N,” he nodded his head in your direction, and you ducked yours when Minghao’s dark eyes flitted to your form. Mingyu stifled a giggle at Minghao’s enraged face, and instead paid attention to the rest of Wonwoo’s speech. “If you were to call on the best of the best, then the Spartan’s would have been sent. Those were the real super soldiers.”

Seungkwan cut off Minghao’s retort in an effort to keep the peace once he saw the ODST clenching his fists and flaring his nostrils. Minghao always got too fired up when danger was imminent, snapping at everyone without warning. “Spartans aren’t in use any more. Well, except for the Master Chief. He’s the last Spartan alive, apparently,” he said, checking his surroundings before leaning into the centre of the table, the rest of you following suit as he lowered his voice.

“I heard he was on the UNSC Pillar of Autumn when it exploded. He was supposed to be destroying a new alien threat that was released, something even worse than the Covenant. But that’s all I heard. There were a few units that came into contact with this new threat but…not many people made it back alive,” he gossiped, a grim look upon the nurse’s soft visage. Mingyu groaned, eyes darting to the ceiling, cracking his knuckles loudly that had you cringing at the sound.

“As if we need even more shit to deal with,” he whined, boots tapping yours in silent conversation. ‘I’m worried.’ You tapped back and gave a slight smile, one that felt weaker than intended. ‘I know. Me too.’

“Regardless,” Minghao clipped loudly, sitting upright once more as he spooned the last of his grub into his mouth, “we’re the next best thing. There are more of us than there are Spartan soldiers, isn’t that right, Gyu?” Mingyu nodded wordlessly, eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline as he sipped his water. “We’re the ones who are going to be doing most of the fighting. Master Chief can join whenever he wants, but he better not steal our glory.” And with that, he stood up from the bench, gathered his tray, and stormed away from the table. Wonwoo rubbed his eyes tiredly while Jeonghan shook his head disappointedly.

“Please, ignore him,” Mingyu apologised, resting his forearms on the table. “His feathers get a bit rustled when a fight is just around the corner. He doesn’t mean to snap.” The group just nodded in understanding. Truthfully, tensions were high with everyone now, stress piling on every time a new problem came up, which seemed to be nearly every second now.

The intercom above interrupted the chatter in the room, calling upon all available technicians to return to their work stations immediately, and Wonwoo placed his forehead on the table and gave a pitiful, exhausted groan. Mingyu laughed warmly and reached an arm around his friend’s shoulders, squeezing in sympathy. The leaner male simply sighed, and drug his body out of his seat on the bench. Lifting a weak arm in goodbye, he picked up his tray and headed in the direction of the technician’s labs.

“We should get going too, Y/N,” Mingyu announced, your attention aimed at him once more as he looked at you with a hard stare. “We need our rest as soldiers, don’t we?” he asked, and you nodded in agreement mutely, picking up the remainder of your food and standing up from the bench. Jeonghan gave you a knowing look, one that had you fighting the heat rising to your cheeks and scowling when he gave a light scoff. You curse the day you called him your friend and trusted him with the information about your secret relationship.

Before you could grab him by the throat and choke him out for being so obvious, Mingyu tilted his head in the direction and led you both out while you ignored the teasing “have fun” from Jeonghan’s sugared mouth. Mingyu guided you down the hallways of the ship while you saluted every passer-by, reminded of just how vast and lively this single airship can be. It was essentially a world of its own – each person a cog in the well-oiled machine that was the UNSC Say My Name, another fighter in the galactic war. Turning a corner in the metallic hallways, you came upon a rare occurrence of the hall being completely devoid of life. And just when you thought that Mingyu was leading you nowhere, you were suddenly dragged into what seemed to be a supply closet and promptly pressed up against the newly locked door.

You gasped as Mingyu’s sturdy body was flush against your own, his calloused hands trailing a rapid path across your skin as he attempted to feel as much of you as he possibly could, his hidden fear and his duty as a soldier causing him to panic and rush his actions. You grabbed a hold of his wrists to stop him and stared deep into his wide eyes, so beautifully dark and so tragically frightened. Your thumbs rubbed soothing circles over the veins, and you watched as he gradually relaxed and sighed out of his stiff posture, deflating like a balloon until he looked unbearably small in the cramped space of the closet, the light casting even darker shadows over his weary face. Bringing his wrists to your face, your lips skimmed the smooth surface, his pulse dancing beneath your mouth as he closed his eyes in peace.

Edging closer to you, he moved his arms to wrap around your form as you wrapped yours around his waist, holding him close to you as he rested his forehead atop the crown of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair and keeping you hidden in his longs arms for as long as he could. He’s not stupid. The situation on Earth is way worse than ONI or the UNSC are letting on. But for the sake of keeping their soldiers up for the fight, they’re staying quiet about how bad the devastation in New Mombasa is. And while he knows he’s one of the best ODST’s in the army right now, he isn’t sure if he’ll live to see another battle after he gets deployed and sent feet first into hell tomorrow. He knows when he sits in that pod and gets dropped into the heat of battle, there’s no going back for him. And the only thing that has been racing through his mind since the Covenant invaded the planet was you. Thoughts of you heading into the fight soon, thoughts of you being safe on the ship while he was doing heavy duty, thoughts of if he’ll get to see you again once everything’s been dealt with.

If everything’s dealt with.

And it’s with this in mind that he plans to go through with the unspoken tradition for when either one of you are set to leave. A moment of bittersweet release, one last night in paradise, as he bitterly jokes, a time for you both to feel alive and in love before it’s drained out of him in the coming hours.

He moves first, his lips pressing butterfly kisses to your forehead and moving them downwards; kissing your cheeks, your lids delicately, and even your nose before they finally reach your lips, where they seal over yours in a searing kiss, one that left your mind spinning and perfectly distracted you from the worries plaguing it. Your fingers trail through his hair, tugging at the soft strands and wrenching a delicious moan from deep within Mingyu’s chest.

You felt the ends of your standard tank top being tugged out of the confines of your cargo pants, but couldn’t think on it too long, not when Mingyu’s tongue was sweeping across the seam of your lips so wonderfully. You opened up for him and he dove in like a man starved of everything that was you, your tongues swirling and pushing in ways that had your knees turning to jelly. You think you would have fallen if not for Mingyu’s strong arms keeping you upright, hands working frantically to open the buttons on your pants.

You did the same, hands reaching beneath his shirt and brushing over his toned muscles, honed after years and years of training, your fingertips caressing the little bumps of scars, hard work and even harder memories painted across his skin. He tore his shirt off impatiently, the fabric pooling somewhere on the ground, and he did the same with yours, your arms raised high above your head as he near ripped the piece of clothing off your body, leaving you in your sports bra and pressing you to the door once more.

The cold sting of the metal against your flushed body wasn’t near enough to distract you from Mingyu’s ministrations of trailing kisses down your neck, his thick fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your bra behind your back. You made a light squeak when his lips touched the more sensitive parts of your neck, lust seeping over your mind like a cloud on a stormy day, and you could do nothing more than pull on Mingyu’s hair whenever he did something particularly pleasing. He was placing your pleasure above his own, like usual. He pulled your bra off until you were completely bare from the waist up, and Mingyu took the opportunity to place hidden nips and bites along your chest for only his eyes to see, sucking on your pert nipple and rolling the neglected one with his fingers.

You bit your lip to contain the moan threatening to leave your chest, feeling your arousement seeping through your underwear and your core throbbing annoyingly, desperate to be touched.

Mouth still lavishing your chest, Mingyu worked on getting your pants down and off your legs, pulling until the fabric piling around your ankles until you kicked them off along with your boots. You gasped aloud when his hand flew into your underwear and straight for your slit, fingers rubbing up and down the flesh before moving to your swollen bud, circling around the nub harshly that had stars as bright as the ones you’ve seen out of the docking bays windows flashing behind your closed lids.

But Mingyu knew there was no time, and so he tugged your underwear off and left you as naked as the day you were born, his hands shoving his own pants and boxers down his thighs. Without even taking them off, he lifted you up with ease, your legs wrapping automatically around his waist as his forearms kept you balanced beneath your rear. You reached between your bodies to grasp his member and gave it a few pumps, leaving Mingyu to grit his teeth at the sensation.

Once he reasoned he was fully hard, Mingyu moved his dick to your soaked folds, rubbing the tip up and down your core, drenching his member in your slick before he pushed in, moving you down his length slowly until he was fully sheathed in your heat. He allowed you a moment to breathe, peppering kisses on the underside of your jaw before you gave the go ahead, and next he was lifting you up and down his cock while you clung to his shoulders for dear life.

You could feel the rumble of his chest against yours with every grunt and pant he made, driving you even crazier as you watched him become more ruined the closer his orgasm came. Each thrust caused his abdomen to grind against your throbbing clit, and you were too weak to even keep your eyes open at the feeling, that knot in your stomach growing larger and more intense with each hard plunge of his shaft into your sensitive cunt. The lewd sounds of skin smacking against skin slapped around the metallic supply room, your moans lost to the wind in airy little whispers as Mingyu readjusted his position and hit that oh-so-special spot deep inside of you.

Your orgasm was approaching fast, too fast, but you were powerless to stop it when Mingyu sped up his thrusts and kissed you so hard you lost your breath. Your back arched as white heat washed over you, your nails biting into the bronzed skin of his shoulder blades while Mingyu hissed with pleasure, that knot finally unravelling and dragging you down into a plane of pure ecstasy. Your body twitched in satisfaction, feeling truly spent, and you coaxed Mingyu to his own end with whispers of praise in his ear, and when your walls clenched around him, he gave a whine and pulled out, hand rapidly pumping at his hand.

With furrowed brows and sweat lining his forehead he came, white strings of his seed spilling over his stomach and his hand, and with all the energy you could muster you bent down to grab your underwear for him to clean himself with. It was better than nothing.

You pulled back on your clothes groggily as Mingyu wiped down his hand, chest heaving from exertion, and soon he too was getting dressed in the dark space of the closet. Fully clothed, you stared at him for a moment before he dragged you in for a kiss, one so passionate and desperate, you swore you felt your heart break just a little bit. Pulling back to gasp for air, he leaned his forehead on yours and held you close to his body, rocking you back and forth in a way that seemed more soothing for him than you.

You wished you had more time, had an opportunity to have a proper night together, to lie peacefully in each other’s arms rather than a quick fuck in a dirty closet. You wanted to spend your life with him, a life of serenity, a home, with a child and a pet and-

Fuck, you just wanted a better life for him.

Your hands held either side of his face and forced him to gaze into your eyes, eyes that looked so heartbreakingly dismal that you wanted to cry right then and there. You steeled yourself - for his sake - and took a deep breath. You can do this.

“I want you to win this fight, Mingyu,” you said simply, and he stood still, emotionless, before resolve flooded his face, and with newfound determination and strength he nodded resolutely, pressing one more sweet kiss to your lips. And he’d make sure it wouldn’t be the last.

And when you both exited the supply closet, ignoring the curious looks of other soldiers and workers and watching as you headed in the other direction towards your sleeping quarters, Mingyu was certain of his decision to finally propose to you if he comes back from battle.

When he comes back from battle.

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