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#he represses it to the point that he offers greg to fight him
wellavanilli · 2 years
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novantinuum · 3 years
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Fandom: Steven Universe
Rating: Teen Audiences
Words: 2.2K~
Summary: A series of shorts detailing what might’ve happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.
Greg apparently had a LOT on his mind, because this was supposed to be short and instead it’s over 2000 words, ahah. Final chapter!
If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3
Chapter warning: Allusions to past non-canon character suicide.
____
Chapter 6: Greg
Hours pass.
Bismuth makes quick and quiet work of replacing the cracked slider door in Steven’s room while he sleeps, and secures a thick tarp over the open front of the house to keep the coastal breeze somewhat at bay until she can finish her repairs to the windows and siding. She warns that might take a day or two. Garnet, meanwhile, busies herself the rest of the afternoon and evening fielding all of the Diamonds’ frazzled calls, and reassuring them of the boy’s current stability. Pooling their knowledge, Dr. Maheswaran and Peridot make sure to confirm that. Beyond some minor scarring, neither his organic or Gem half seems to exhibit any serious physical health conditions in consequence of what happened today, news which works to ever so slightly lift the air of the household. With no other concrete tasks to complete, Pearl, Amethyst, Lapis, Connie, and Greg all rotate between sweeping debris off the floor, wandering the beach to mentally recuperate, and dutifully sitting at Steven’s side as he rests. It may not sound like a lot, but alas the level of emotional labor demanded by such a situation is immense.
All in all, the sun’s long since dipped below the horizon by the time Greg finally collapses onto the mattress laid out in the back of his van, craving if but a moment of privacy and respite from all the chaos. It’s been... an insufferably long day, to put it lightly. Busy. Tons of cleaning, and intercepting nosy neighbors, and bedside monitoring...
He offered to take the first night shift watching Steven a few minutes ago, but Pearl must’ve noticed the dark circles creeping ever wider under his eyes, because she proceeded to gently overturn his offer and remind him of humanity’s daily sleep requirement. And she’s right, of course. He can’t stay up as long as he used to in his twenties anymore. Plus, he probably deserves some time to himself after everything that’s transpired. There’s plenty of Gems left in the house who can keep watch, after all. Steven will be fine for a few hours. Surely nothing else can happen when he’s asleep, right?
 Right??
Exhaustedly slumping against the side wall, Greg offers a glassy, vacant stare at the contacts list of his phone, roughly wiping the damp from his cheeks with his other hand as his thumb hovers over one of the numbers. Does he dare drag someone else into this whole situation? Surely the kinder solution would be to refrain from widening the circle any more, from letting anyone else learn about today’s harrowing events. And yet if he fails to find a proper outlet for the raw emotions all of this has violently hauled to the surface, he fears he just may suffer a mental break himself, repressed memories bursting like a vicious flood through the dam he desperately tried to seal them behind all those years back. Much of this is just... far too familiar.
His phone slips right through his trembling hands as the cruel reality of what he witnessed today finally begins to carve its indelible presence in his mind. A strained sob leaking from between his tightly pursed lips, he buries his head between his knees, clutching at the worn bottom hem of his jean shorts like an infant to a parent’s finger. Small. Vulnerable.
Helpless.
His son... oh stars, his only son, he—
He can’t talk about any of this to the Gems; they wouldn’t wholly grasp the uniquely human nature of his concerns. And he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing these matters with Dr. Maheswaran, especially not after the stern words she dealt to him back at the hospital. He’s burdened her enough already, by this point. No, there’s only one fellow human he feels close enough with to engage in this sort of conversation.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he reaches for the phone he dropped on the mattress. Turns it on. Nervously clamps down on his bottom lip as he selects his cousin’s contact and dials.
The passing heartbeats slamming against his ribs are almost nauseating in their needy clamor as he waits, his calloused fingers tapping against the thick rubber of his phone case. Andy’s never been a particularly tech savvy guy, so honestly, it’s well within reason he might not even carry his phone on his person to answer. And that’d be fine, really. In fact, he might even prefer it, since he’s still not confident he’s emotionally prepared to discuss any of this at this precise moment, anyways. But just as he’s beginning to undergo mental preparations for what on Earth he might leave as a voicemail message, his older family member finally picks up.
“Greg?” Andy’s gravelly voice rings through, sounding somewhat tinny through their connection. “Hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s the ol’ Universe family unit doin’?”
“Not great, honestly,” he narrowly manages in response, his throat constricting tight. “That’s kinda why I’m calling, if you have the time to listen?”
“Heh. I’m a drifter, you know I ain’t got no schedule. Carry on.”
“Well... geeze, how do I put this. There was, uh... a bit of an incident today. With Steven.”
“An incident?” his cousin questions, marked worry immediately painting his tone. “The kid okay??”
He falls silent for a few seconds upon this question, threading his hyperactive digits through the split ends in his hair on automatic, a stress-induced habit. “Unclear,” he says, a slight quiver making itself intimately known in his words. “I mean, physically, at the moment, yes, but—“
He cuts off once more. It suddenly occurs to him that little of today’s events would make sense to Andy without providing the appropriate context. Or, at least, what little context he’s capable of giving as a father. It’s still terrifying to admit the truth to himself— that he doesn’t possess the full story. That he hasn’t been paying close enough attention. That, in many ways, he willfully blinded himself to all the troubling events transpiring around his son throughout the years, foolishly believing that if he didn’t involve himself... that if he simply stayed out of the Gems’ hair... everything would go to plan, and Steven would finally receive the training he needed. He didn’t expect things would grow so complicated.
He didn’t expect that his teenage son would have to march into battle carrying nothing but his wits and a shield time and time again.
With a weary sigh and a quick apology, to which Andy brushes off, Greg begins to weave a verbal picture of everything that’s transpired across the last few days. First, the hospital call. Rushing home from tour, only to find his son giant and flushed pink, literally filling an entire room with the sheer volume of his trauma. The shattered x-ray in his chart, hinting towards hidden hurts that— before all this— even Steven seemingly hadn’t processed or quantified. Then, the road trip. The unwanted reminders of his childhood. That blasted CD. His expression sobers as he describes the fateful argument they had on the road home, one which lead to his son accidentally breaking the steering wheel and flipping the van. Next... his disappearance. No texts for four whole days, which is so unlike him. He was worried sick. And the next time he saw him, he was eight feet tall, glowing, and painfully manic in behavior, with each new sentence spilling from his mouth revealing an even more heartbreaking picture of the sort of poor mental state he’d spiraled into. It was nothing short of a father’s worst nightmare, propelled into horrifying, vivid reality.
Nothing in this corner of the galaxy could’ve prepared him for the primal surge of terror and anguish he was engulfed within when that nightmare distorted and transformed even further.  
His only son... colossal and coated in thick scales and spines, sclera black as night... roughly clawing at this unfamiliar form, smashing his skull against the cliffside, roaring with an inner pain so primal that the sound now haunts the depths of his very soul—
“I- you remember what happened with cousin Jo, back when we were young?” Greg says softly once he’s caught Andy up with the details of situation, his voice frail and unsteady, the tone of a man helplessly marooned amidst his anxieties. “Before she was sent to that mental rehab place? Well, I’m... with the addition of Gem magic, it almost felt like that. I mean, h-he’s fine for now, we have him resting, but... but I’m just so scared he won’t come out of this, like her, a-a-and that one day he’ll—“
A mewling sob bubbles up in his throat, swiftly severing that train of thought. N-no. No, he refuses to even utter that horrible idea out loud! After all, a world without Steven in it isn’t worth envisioning.
Andy’s eventual response— albeit tinged with a justified shade of awkwardness, given the emotionally charged nature of this conversation— is filled with genuine compassion, and for that he’s dearly thankful.
“Aw, hell... Greg, I’m- I’m so sorry. I, uh- I could fly over, if any of ya’ need me? For emotional support, or whatever?”
Upon this kind offer, he inhales deep to steady his breath, and wipes away dewy beads of moisture from the corner of his eyes, desperately hoping that he can mitigate the pitiful wavering of his voice over the phone. He’s gotta fight to reliably keep some form of composure in front of other people, damnit. His kid can’t have his dad breaking down around him too, of course.
“No, you’ve got places to be,” he replies evenly, pressing his thumb and pointer against one of his aching temples. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You ain’t asking,” he retorts, the eye-roll evident in his tone. “I’m offering. Listen- family takes care of family, y’hear? And I’m only about a day’s flight away, anyways. It’s really the least I could do.”
He sighs. Absentmindedly tugs at a thick strand of his hair. Offers a long, contemplative stare at the rickety age-worn handle affixed to the inside of the van’s back doors. Truth be told— ignoring his deep-seated guilt at dragging Andy into all this to begin with— he’d love having another family member around to embrace, especially a human one who can more deeply understand the crux of his anxieties about this delicate situation. But in the end, he shouldn’t be prioritizing his own feelings and comfort. He’s not the one in crisis, his son is.
Desperately hoping he’s making the right choice, Greg flexes his fingers, and acquiesces to the offer, on one condition: only if Steven consents to having visitors, once he’s awake.
Andy hums in approval. “Understood. Don’t wanna overload the poor guy with any surprise visits, or whatever.”
“Yeah. The last thing I want to do is push him too hard, too fast.”
He pauses, braving waves of parental grief to spend a moment to reflect on Steven’s emotional progression over the past few months... a stray negative comment here, an unusually forlorn mannerism there... All of them events that, in isolation, wouldn’t point to anything more than your standard ‘teenage angst,’ but when observed in strong, unceasing patterns, begin to reveal deeply harrowing truths about the state of an individual’s self-image. How did he never notice? Why wasn’t he there to catch him in his fall?
“I think he hates himself,” he says quietly, his voice hitching up at the end. “He didn’t say so directly, but- but I can sense it. And I don’t know how to help him, I-I... I don’t know if I can.”
“Nonsense,” his cousin scoffs, “‘course ya’ know what to do! What does any good father worth their salt give their sons?”
Unable to evade the momentary temptation of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, he slumps back against the wall, giving a weak shrug that his current audience would never see.
“I dunno, maybe a stable, safe childhood? Not growing up poor as dirt in a van?”
“No, you numbskull,” Andy immediately cuts back, “you love on ‘em and support ‘em just as much as you always have! Y’ show him that you’re always gonna be there for him, and that he can trust you with anything.”
“But I haven’t always been there for him,” he exclaims petulantly. “That’s the whole problem! That’s one of the reasons he ended up like this.”
“Greg,” he says, his voice softer this time. “Listen to me, ain’t nobody perfect, okay? We’ve all made our mistakes with people. Me? More than most. But what we can’t do is let those mistakes cloud what’s happening right now. Y’know, that’s one of the hard lessons I’ve had to learn over the past two years, that you can’t always make things about you. Because right now, it’s about him. He’s dealin’ with some hard feelings, and he needs all of our help. So, let’s help him. Together. We’ll start with one foot in front of us, and we can take it from there. All right?”
Closing his weary, exhausted eyes and pressing his thumb firm against his still-aching temple, Greg Universe gives a long sigh and finally concedes to the reality that— just as he’s not solely responsible for the decline of his son’s mental state— no man should be an island when it comes to the task of supporting one’s journey towards recovery. As with everything, the extended Universe family unit will face the future together, hand-in-hand. Step-by-step.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think that’s do-able.”
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rohad93 · 4 years
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Sea Glass: Chapter 15
18+
At sun up St.Lucia had come into view on the horizon and Yellow was more relieved then she could describe. She was ready to be back on her own ship, but more importantly she was ready to be off The Menagerie.
She had sat out on the deck the entire night. She didn't trust any of the members of The Menagerie outside of Blue and Rose not to stab her in her sleep… that and there was the precarious situation she found herself in with BLue at the moment.
They had not spoken nor shared a glance since their encounter the previous night. She couldn’t look at her and she didn’t know what to say after she had run away from her last night.
Yellow leaned against the railing of the ship, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the ever slowly approaching island port and stewing. She was mad at herself.
Mad at herself for being an idiot and a coward; for running away from Blue.
She hissed through her teeth at herself and turned to look at her feet, eyes narrowed, her wrist was throbbing this morning. 
She sighed heavily and looked up, watching the crew go about their daily chores of swabbing the deck and tightening the rigging.
The captain’s cabin door swung open and Blue came strutting out. She evidently changed clothes and brushed out her hair, it hung loose across her back and shoulders, a few braids scattered among the straight strands. She looked fresh and clean again for the first time in weeks and Yellow couldn’t help but watch her, despite the knot of shame and embarrassment that taken up a semi-permanent home in the pit of her stomach.
Blue glanced around and for a brief moment their eyes locked, but the look in those cerulean depths made Yellow turn away, eyes going back out to the ever approaching island, jaw clenched tight and shoulders bunched up around her ears.
She didn’t look up again but she heard Blue move away, unable to look up at her face again.
How quickly it seemed she could turn something that was already a mess into one of even greater proportions.
She could only assume that Blue was less than pleased with her, she knew she would be were their places reversed. 
Her whole body tensed, fists clenched as she kept her arms crossed, drawn tight up against her. 
She wanted to talk to her, to try and explain what had happened last night but she had no real explanation for it herself. She hadn’t had enough time to think about it.
It was just too much too quickly for her.
Yellow couldn’t remember the last time she had been so physically enthralled by someone as she was with Blue, probably because she never had before. 
Blue had a special talent for getting under her skin, both in the irritating sense and the… less irritating sense.... 
She was exceptional at setting fire to every nerve ending in the blonde’s body and causing her mind to phase in and out of coherent thought whenever it suited her to do so.
Yellow scowled to herself. That was one part of the problem though.
Yellow hated not being in control of herself and Blue excelled at making her brain turn into goo, for relatively short periods of time but that was much too long for Yellow. She felt like a fool standing in front of Blue, something else that irked her incredibly.
What’s more she was sure Blue did not understand that Yellow had absolutely zero experience to draw from for this particular facet of life.
After joining her first crew she had completely spurned all emotions like that, all they had done was get her branded and chained, she actively spent the majority of her adult life repressing them, they had never served any practical purpose to her. 
So last night, with everything finally laid bare between them, Blue’s hands sliding through her hair and the high pitched call of her name in a voice that set fire to the blonde’s skin without any effort, it had all been too much. 
Like an errant spark from a fire into a barn hayloft.
Blue set her on fire. Everything was a smokey haze and the fire spread so quickly she wasn’t sure where to focus on first and instead panicked and ran.
She scowled angrily to herself. So many emotions that she wasn’t used to all vying to be at the forefront of her mind and Blue’s fingers on her scalp and hot breath in her ear had just caused a complete and total shutdown.
Blue brought out a plethora of emotions in her and she’d had all night to evaluate them more closely, one by one rather than all of them in the span of a few seconds.
It was hard for her to put an exact name on it, considering their previous relationship and years as… less than friendly acquaintances. She wouldn’t say enemy because all her enemies were at the bottom of the sea by now, but her feelings for Blue were there, a complicated and unnameable mish-mash of annoyance, attraction and fondness that she couldn’t describe, but they could at least all be summarized quite easily. 
She wanted Blue, in a multitude of ways. 
But had been too panicked to capitalize on the opportunity when it had finally, truthfully, represented itself to her last night. Blue practically offered herself to her, only for her to turn and run the minute it happened. 
Now she didn’t know what she could even begin to say to make this right with Blue, or even that she should try. 
She would not beg, she had made a mistake but maybe Blue was past the point of forgiving her and she had her pride, it would not allow her to bend a knee to Blue and beg for a second chance.    
No, she had made her bed, now she would have to lie in it.
No matter how much she hated it.
~ ~ ~
When the ship pulled into port the crew went about their duties of tying things down and dropping anchor. Though Yellow could tell just by watching them that they didn't plan on staying very long, just long enough to drop her off.
Luckily, at the other end of the docks she could see it.
The Cluster
It looked just the same as the last time she had seen it, for which he was glad, because a small part of her did worry that the crew fighting amongst themselves may have destroyed it. 
The gangplank was lowered and Yellow looked up as Rose approached her, Blue stayed where she was on the other side of the ship, arms crossed over her chest and watching. The look on her face was one Yellow could only describe as hurt. 
The younger woman looked rather nervous and twitchy as she stopped just a few feet from Yellow.
“You better hurry off,” she finally said, nodding to the plank, making Yellow blink. Rose glanced over her shoulder and Yellow understood.
Blue wanted her gone, and quickly.
She didn’t blame her at all. She couldn’t stand to have Blue looking at her like that another moment. It dug painfully at something in her chest.
With a jerk of a nod she turned on her heel and started off, pausing just a moment, to look back at Rose, who still looked more than a little pensive, words on the tip of her tongue.
‘Tell her I’m sorry.’
That’s what she wanted to say, but she didn’t, she couldn’t
She swallowed them, even as they threatened to stick in her throat and carried on down the plank, it took effort not to look over her shoulder, but she didn’t and instead made a beeline straight for The Cluster.
The plank was down and Yellow hurried up it. She was quickly noticed and the same shouts that had echoed on Blue’s ship now filled the deck of The Cluster as the crew noticed the blonde appear on deck almost immediately.
“Captain!” 
“Your back?”
“You’re alive!?” 
When all the yammering pirates gathered around her had calmed down enough to let her talk she explained where she had been to them, though the heavily edited version. There are some things her crew, nor anyone else, ever need to know about her chained adventure on the sea.  
Jasper is exceptionally glad to see her and once things settle they ask her where they’re headed next and Yellow smirks to herself.
She had a debt to repay.
But a few things had to be taken care of first.
Her jacket was practically in tatters, as was her shirt. Her gun and saber had been taken away and her hat had vanished.
A trip to the markets was the first order of business.
~ ~ ~
With a bath, change in wardrobe and armed again, Yellow felt far better, despite the gnawing in her stomach that appeared whenever she thought of Blue, but that was something to examine later. She had another matter to attend to at present.
 Yellow walked through the woods with Jasper and Joe on either side of her as they approached the farm house.
The barn door swung open and Greg appeared, a sack of grain slung over one shoulder as he muttered curses under his breath.
He swung around to face them and jumped, the bag falling off his shoulder as he stared at the three with wide eyes, his jaw ajar as dark eyes flickered between the three of them. 
“Y-you!” Greg finally seemed to get a handle on himself as he pointed at Yellow.
“I have an offer for you, Greg.” The blonde started without preamble.
“Offer?” He blinked.
“You want to sail, don't you? Well I happen to find myself in need of a new cabin boy on my ship.” 
“Cabin boy?” he repeated dumbly and Yellow rolled her eyes 
“Yes. Do you want it or not?” She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked down at the shorter young man.
“I do!” He jumped. “I… don’t even know who you are…” he trailed off. Yellow had forgotten about that little bit. 
“Are you daft?” Her first mate couldn’t contain herself any longer. “This is Captain Marigold Faust!” Jasper snarled out and Greg’s face stayed frozen in a look of confusion before slowly morphing into one of disbelief and awe.
“You’re the infamous pirate, Yellow Diamond!” He squawked, hands slapping the sides of his face.
“Yes, and you did Blue and myself a service and I’m not in the habit of leaving my debts unpaid. Do you want to sail under me, or not?” She narrowed her eyes at him. She had spent enough time on land lately and she was quite eager to be back on her ship, away from here and so she could finally sleep for the next two days.
“I…” Greg trailed off, glancing between the pirates and then back to the farmhouse on the other side of the property. 
His still hanging open mouth shut with a click. 
“Yes” He nodded.
As they were walking back to the row boat out on the shore so they could return to the ship Greg had a certain thought.
“Wait… did you say Blue… like, Blue Diamond?!” He yelped remembering the sickly woman he had poured medicine down.
Yellow’s shoulders bunched up around her neck at the name being shouted out loud and her jaw clenched.
“Yes…” She managed to bite out. The two other large sailors at her side seemed to know better as they glanced at each other but said nothing while they followed their captain.
“That was Blue Diamond! Wow… even sick as a dog she was still just as beautiful as they say.” He said more to himself but stopped when the loud growling sound came out of the blonde. Greg looked at the tall womens black coated back. She didn’t turn around but Greg could practically feel those scary amber eyes on him and quickly shut his mouth.
“Let me offer you some advice.” The large, bald sailor had slowed down to walk beside Greg. “Don’t talk about ‘Ol Blue when the Cap’n is around,” he said quietly. Greg nodded dumbly, watching the blondes back, face scrunched up in confusion. 
Once they were back on the ship Yellow made a beeline for her quarters with orders for Joe to show Greg the ropes and to set sail. Some merchant ships would be moving through the waters just north of them and they could use an easy job.
Once the door was shut behind her she hung up her hat and coat and flopped gracelessly onto the bed with a frustrated sigh.
Seemed no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t totally push away her thoughts of Blue. She’d been managing all day because her crew knew better than to mention that name in her presence but now the thought was stuck at the forefront in her mind.
She slung an arm over her eyes and sighed wearily.
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diddlydarndoodles · 4 years
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More brainstorming for the Change your mind AU
Steven recognizes White’s gaslighting/abuse as such cause he knows what healthy relationships are like/has a frame of reference he can refer to, so it’s easier to work through it. He also assurance that he is not Pink Diamond, and one(1) friend there with him, so he’s not entirely without support.
None of that makes it any easier—this entire situation plays directly to all of his insecurities, and spending every second of every hour of every day trying to justify your existence to an Alien Tyrant while she bombards you with thinly veiled verbal abuse is incredibly exhausting.
Steven starts to hate White Diamond a little after she kills Connie, and his resentment builds slowly over time. He first noticed during a convo where pink Connie was venting her own anger about White, when he caught himself mentally agreeing with her. He immediately felt illogically guilty about it.
As the constant back and forth with White drags on, it gets harder for Steven to find the words he wants to use to explain his points, and White pounces on his every little slip up, and makes a fuss over minor mistakes and derails his entire argument as he struggles to keep up. It gets so frustrating and exhausting that talking becomes too difficult/painful for him to handle sometimes.
Connie was badly affected by the experience as well. White didn’t pay much attention to her, but when she did she treated her like an toy or pet, and used her presence to belittle Steven. “Aw, don’t you think you’re too old for comfort items, Pink?” It’s degrading and humiliating, and Connie’s self worth takes a bad hit. She’s completely powerless in this situation, and it’s hard not to fall into despair. She finds that focusing on Steven makes it easier. She can actually help Steven, even if it’s little things like telling him stories to cheer him up, and she doesn’t have to think about her own tumulus emotions. Because of this she starts neglecting herself. She almost slips back into the mindset Pearl instilled in her in ‘Do it for Her/Him’.
Steven and Connie don’t immediately think of contacting Lars after Connie turns pink because they’re both busy fending off the constant mental barrage White is heaping on them. It’s only after white attempts to mind control Steven that the fear and anger overpower the exhaustion and doubt enough to let them focus on one thing—getting the hell away from there.
Also at first Steven tried to convince himself that he had to stay and put up with this to save his friends and help White/out of a misplaced sense of responsibility for his mother’s actions/to take the attention off Connie, always dancing around the lingering doubt that persisted in spite of everything, that maybe he deserved this, that maybe what white said was true.
Connie and Steven are able to escape because White’s shock over her powers failing on Steven distracts her long enough to give them an opening.
Lars managed to sneak back in to the palace to rescue Peridot, lapis, and Bismuth, who had all been poofed.
White still gets redeemed, because tbh there’s no possible way Steven could win this otherwise. He’s got Connie, Lars, The Off colors, Lion, his dad, nephrite and the barn residents with him and White has multiple bioweapons, both Blue and Yellow under her control, and an army. However, it’s a longer and much more arduous process to redemption here because Steven, justifiably, Very Much Does Not Like White, whereas in canon he was more neutral towards her.
This means that Steven’s goal wasn’t to reason with her or convince her to stop, he was trying to deal with a threat and rescue his friends. This also means she came to the conclusion that what she was doing was wrong on her own, and the one to offer the olive branch.
Despite his anger, Steven accepted her peace offering because he was tired and scared, hated fighting and knew he couldn’t win. However, he and his friends refused to make any sort of agreement with White until she released the other diamonds and the Crystal Gems from her control.
Connie and Lars bond over being pink zombies.
Steven and Nephrite are both now ‘off color’ and so are immediately adopted into the Off Colors
Connie, Nephrite, Lars, and Greg co-found the Steven Quartz Universe Protection Squad. Lion is the mascot. All of Steven’s friends eventually join.
White mentions Spinel to Steven and Connie at one point, so they are able to find her and explain things way earlier, and with some Trusted Adults present as back up. The events of the movie are avoided.
Steven is also more motivated to check up on White’s other victims, and gets to know Pink Pearl a bit better than in canon.
After a long time and a lot of trial and error, Steven builds a fragile rapport with Blue and Yellow. However, he avoids white like the plague unless it’s absolutely necessary.
Blue and Yellow distance themselves from her as well, because when you mind control someone for a month they tend to get angry.
Blue and Yellow try a lot harder to better themselves, because now they’re not just doing it to get on Steven’s good side or atone for their treatment of Pink. Now they know what it feels like.
White tries a lot harder to atone after seeing how her actions have alienated her entire family and caused them to distance themselves from her. She never really mends those bonds, but she makes new bonds with new people. She doesn’t let ‘earning my family’s forgiveness and approval’ be her motivation for improving herself.
The thing that white struggles with the most is understanding that she hurt more people than just Steven and the other diamonds, and that their pain is equally important.
After everything is over, Steven and Connie seek therapy.
Garnet helps them with that once she’s free
Effects this has on steven: selective mutism(sometimes talking is a bit too much for him), still outgoing and social mostly but requires periods of solitude, cares more deeply about establishing boundaries for himself and others, has a harder time emphasizing with people(he has a severe emotional breakdown once this is pointed out to him; it takes him a while to recover and realize that this isn’t necessarily a bad thing)
Effects this has on Connie: separation anxiety, for a while she can’t handle even playful teasing because it reminds her of white’s insults. As stated earlier, she almost backslides into her toxic mindset in ‘Do it for Her/Him’. With white her only goal for a while was to protect Steven no matter what it took, and she started to view her own life and self as worthless. She represses and ignores a lot of her own trauma because she doesn’t want to think about or discuss it—when she’s just talking normally she can talk about herself and her interests freely, but when asked about homeworld she always focuses on Steven, because (it’s easier than thinking about her own experience) it wasn’t THAT bad, she wasn’t THAT affected, and what Steven went through was worse.
Lars snaps Connie out of it by replying it wasn’t that bad?? You died!”
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ordersreality · 4 years
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Crossroads
Ekúi, still sore from the swim and weary from the medication, decided to stay at home, that night. After all, he hadn’t been invited and his big brother can always fill him in, later.
The first thing Second Class Petty Officer Kirk Samuel Hicks, the Coast Guard Instructor, said when Cull got there was, “Go ahead and tie the dog outside. We won’t have room for him.”
Azif reluctantly agreed to play along.
Just in time to hear his name taken in the role call. “Azif i-Sabba? Sounds Iranian, you a terrorist son?”
“Yezidi, Sir, and a terror only to my vitals, Sir.”
“Yezidi? Never heard of them!”
“Must be because you do not listen, can we get on with the class, Sir?”
He called on “Colin Ironwode? What kind of fool name is that?” Then with a little more volume, “Ironwode!?”
The teen opened the door, “Does that mean the ‘dog’ can join the class now?”
“Wait, ‘you’ are Trainee Colin Ironwode?”
“Intern, Son, and yes. And that is ‘iron wood, not iron wad; it’s a weed, not a spit ball, Khurg.”
About that time Captain Madoc stepped to the door, and not realizing the mess that was just made, “Ironwode, what the hell are you blocking the door for?”
“Sorry Captain, I’m tied up for the moment. Still waiting on the Little Officer to let me play with his toys.”
His crew mates thought that was just a little too much, but contained the giggling rather well.
Madoc was still not amused. He opened the door he swept his hand to wave xer in.
Cull grabbed a blue plastic, butt-slider chair at the back, turned it around, and climbed in as best xe could.
Meanwhile, Hicks just had to ask, “Why didn’t you tell me you were signed up for this class?”
“Why did you ass-u-me I wasn’t? You did not even ask, just commanded I be tied up. A fetish of yours, Mate?”
“But, your not hu-,” the man gestured at the body in that blue chair, trying to make sense of what was going on, sputtering, badly.
While Cull patiently waited for the ignition, Hicks went onto the next name on the list, with better courtesy, now that the good Captain was present.
This was followed by what even Madoc thought was a boring rendering of Coast Guard History, skipping over the less popular events like turning the fleet into engines of war during every major military event. Cull had taken to writing one of those Drheigr nursery rhymes when Hicks passed down the isles handing out a booklet.
Cull just couldn’t figure if the man was afraid he wouldn’t have enough, or if someone would get more than their share. The Petty Officer grabbed the doodle and demanded, “What the hell is this?” Without waiting for an answer, “Not in my class!” While the dragon-skinned teen was repressing a growl, “Put that away, you won’t need it here.”
“Um, put what away?”
Tapping the Input Recorder, “That cell-phone, you won’t need it.”
“Khurg, that ‘thing’ is anchored to my skull. It isn’t going anywhere I am not.”
The instructor moved to take it when Madoc barked, “Leave it, Petty Officer!”
“But, Sir,” the Petty Officer whined, “the class, what if it rings!?”
Cull simply grunted, and offered, “It is not a cell-phone. If it rings, I’m the only one who would hear it. Can we focus on the class, Khurg, or can I go home and get some …?”
“… Ironwode!” Madoc barked. “Hicks, either teach the class or get out of my way so I can do it!”
Much subdued and clearly chastised, the Coast Guard Petty Officer continued to distribute his booklet to the rhythm of pages being turned. Though angered by the act without permission, he held his tongue.
When he returned to the front, Hicks asked, “What are the three most important components to an investigation, anyone?”
The seconds ticked on, again to the sounds of pages being turned, without a single volunteer. Feeling somewhat responsible for the silence, Cull raised a winged hand.
Reluctantly, owing mostly to the lack of participation from the thirty-two students before him, he pointed.
“First, blood, sweat, and tears, ninety-percent: then educated and talented deductive reasoning, eight-percent: finally, Anomalous Thought Entities, three-percent.”
“That does not add up, um, Son.” When no explanation was forthcoming, “So, what are ‘Anomalous Thought Entities’?”
“Ideas, hunches, connections, sudden bursts of inspiration, wild-ass chains of reasoning, knowing something without knowing how you come to know it, that sort of thing.”
“And you think it’s that important?”
Shrugging, “It helps.”
“I have never heard of someone relying on ‘hunches’ as a major part of the investigation.”
“Um, my 101% might be a bit fuzzy, but how is ‘three-percent’ a ‘majority’?”
“Tell me, ‘Cull’, how much field experience do you actually have?”
“You mean with the Authority? I don’t know, counting …, wait, is this paid time?”
“Just answer the question!”
“Thirty-two-and-a-half hours, give or take. That would not be counting the times I spent on paleontological digs with my uncle.”
“Thirty-two-and-a-half hours, give or take? Well, I have you know, after eighteen years in the First Fleet I have never entertained a single hunch. Pure science young, um, is it man or woman?”
“Imán, Khurg.” The look of confusion, though entertaining, dispelled any further explanation. “Choose one that entertains you the most, and go with it. I do.”
Then plowing into the ensuing silence, “Petty Officer, after eighteen years you should know that pure science includes both a recognition of ourselves as part of the subject of observations, as well as the knowledge of how very little we really know. I’ve seen people digging in the dirt for hours only to get dirty. And someone accidentally digs where they weren’t supposed to because they thought they saw something, and ‘Dingo!’ a prize in minutes. I’ve also seen someone ignore those hunches and get very hurt. Now, if you don’t mind, I will trust my nearly seventeen years of life experience over your mindless service to our country, any day.”
“Captain, do I have to tolerate this insolence? If he were in the Coast Guard….”
“…I think you would be in chains, Sir. You came to this class with insolence on your tongue. Azif has done nothing to you and yet you call him a terrorist? In a world where that could get him in a lot of hot water? Extraordinary rendition mean anything to you? Pinochet maybe? I don’t even care that you call me a dog, make fun of my name, but he’s my crew mate. I wonder if you even have any friends, Khurg!”
“Captain!?” When Madoc didn’t say anything, “Tell me this, have you ever had a single ‘hunch’ pay off?”
“Just this last Saturday,” Azif replied. “Xe saved a child’s life with it, Sir.”
“What? I don’t get that, how could she have saved a child’s life with a stupid hunch?”
“Story, Petty Officer,” Cull went forward, “the parts that are up for public consumption, that is. I’m floating up there, getting a workout because the ceiling winds are pretty disorganized at the time. I drop down a bit to get some rest and I smell petrol burning. Knowing what I do about the winds I try to follow the smell with my mind as best I can, leading to the discovery of low lying, whitish smoke accented with a taste of black. I fly over there to investigate and notice the boat had already sunk, and a man swimming for Mazatla Peninsula. I’m in contact with my skipper and alert him to my findings. But, I find I am entirely too interested in the sinking boat, and decide to learn why—the singular Anomalous Thought Entity in my equation. The schooner is sinking slowly, nose up, natural I guess if there is still air caught in it. So I open a locked hatch, swim up inside, and there is this little, maybe seven-year-old boy, frightened, feeling very unloved. He says his daddy’s angry with him, I ask where his daddy is, get him to come with me, and learn his dad is now arrested. So, I suppose that ‘one’ hunch saved a boy’s life and lead to a criminal investigation.”
Madoc added, “Not to mention, there were barbiturates in the boy’s stomach. His inhaler was fighting them off. Cull thought enough to grab a baggy and collect the evidence before the fish did.”
“That was just an act of due diligence, Sir, not a hunch.”
“And where were you when you heard the explosion?”
“I don’t know that there was one. I was 33 fathoms over Elephant Island.”
“There wasn’t, just fire,” Madoc added.
“So, how did you learn of it?”
“Okay, let me replay what I said so I know I said it; yes, yes-yes, okay, yes, right after the upper atmosphere turbulence, I told you I smelled the petroleum burning.”
“You must have some pretty special talents to have been made part of the service. Where do you hail from, son?”
Somewhere in the distance a phone rang.
“My mother. Tell me, Second Class PO, eighteen years, and only an E5?”
“Um, nothing to worry about.”
“Good, can we get on with the class? I have some personal training in a few hours and would like some rest before then? We are supposed to be discussing ‘Coast Guard Forensic Procedures,’ not airing your personal issues out.”
The Captain’s personal phone rang, quietly.
The Petty Officer barked, “See, that phone rang!”
Ignoring the charge, “Cull, there is a problem we could use your help with.”
“What and where?”
“Lincoln Street Bridge, the top of the south pillar, a man looks like he might jump. They want us there to collect if he does.”
“Let them know I’m on my way. What frequency?”
“Em-4. What are you waiting for?”
“Sir, only one of us is passing through that door; right, thanks.”
Out, down, and up, Cull found the warm night air a bit thin, but usable.
Madoc simply added, “Class dismissed, Petty Officer, you are on report.”
“What?”
“You spent three quarters of your valuable class time—which is supposed to contributed to these people’s certification—on anything but the subject you were sent to teach. Azif, did he insult you? There, the very reason you are still only a Petty Officer.”
“Well, he kept calling me Khurg, it’s Kirk.”
Greg, who was carrying a heavy load toward the dry-dock, followed by am orc carrying a heavier load, “That would be orchish, mister, means ‘dog’. Did he say it kindly or cruelly?”
· • º • ·
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xx-thedarklord-xx · 6 years
Text
Draco’s Emotional Uprising
As always, can be read on Ao3   
----------------------------------------
                “Draco!”
                Draco groaned, wishing his head wasn’t throbbing. Merlin, how much did he drink last night? The night had started out decent, but soon went to shit when he caught sight of his ex-boyfriend at the Ministry charity gala. The twat was a temporary foreign exchange transfer from France, the exchange program was supposed to unite the wizard community as a whole and welcome the idea of unity between all societies of wizards and witches no matter the country.
                Christophe had been charming in the beginning. Dinners, dates and nights out on the town had been refreshing, especially considering the lack of people wanting to date Draco. Not too many ‘respectable’ people wanted much to do with him. The six years since the war showed him how long people could hold a grudge, not that he blamed them.
               With his reputation shattered, it was nice coming across someone who didn’t seem to care. It was nice having someone be there. At least for a while.
               Draco should have known it was too good to be true. After six months of dating, he thought they were really going somewhere. Christophe had decided to leave the exchange program in favor of applying for a position in the Wizengamot Administration Services. Normally, that wouldn’t be allowed, the Wizengamot had rules against those who were not citizens of the United Kingdom holding a seat in the Wizengamot. But the Malfoy line had several unused seats, and with Draco giving up his own, it opened opportunities for Christophe.
               Only… Draco hadn’t counted on Christophe leaving him too.
               “I got what I wanted, Draco. You are only useful in what you can do for me, not the other way around.”
               Christophe had chosen him because of his tarnished name. It had never been about love, or attraction. With the seat already being given to Christophe, there wasn’t anything Draco could do. All that was left was waiting for the Wizengamot to make a decision. And why wouldn’t they choose Christophe? The man was a spineless git that sucked up to everyone. They wouldn’t see his true intentions until it was too late. Just like Draco.  
               What stung the most was that Draco knew that there was something off about Christophe. His lonely heart had ignored the warning bells and chose companionship over logic and common sense.  
               Maybe karma was meant to hit him socially and emotionally. Perhaps he was destined to spend the rest of his life making up for his actions but be alone and miserable at the same time.
               “Draco!”
               Draco groaned, shutting out the sound of whoever was disturbing his sleep. Really, how much did he drink? It was hard to piece the night together; a lot of his memories were clouded in alcohol. When he had caught sight of Christophe trying to charm his way into a discussion with members of the Wizengamot, Draco ended up summoning a bottle of Firewhiskey from his bag—propriety be damned.
               If there wasn’t love involved, or even if there had been fights, Draco would have been hurt, but he would have at least understood. But to use someone like that? Only seek them out for personal gain? It was cruel, and Draco wished he could say that he didn’t deserve it.
               “Draco Abraxas Malfoy, if I have to dismantle your wards, you are getting nothing from my will.”
               The sound of his father’s voice had Draco leaping up, only to groan miserably when his head throbbed, and his balance had him clutching the nearest thing to keep him steady. What he hoped was the wall was actually thin air—Draco crashed to the floor, wondering if this was his destiny. To be a fucking mess.  
               Draco shot out his hand, grateful that his wand came instantly. At least his wand loved him, that was something.
               With his wards lowered, he heard the door to his flat open, and braced himself for the commentary he knew would come.
               “For the love of—really Draco? Artificial leather? You have money, use it. And what’s with the color scheme? Is that—oh Merlin it is—floral print? This is worse than I thought. You need to move back home. Clearly allowing you to venture out on your own was a mistake.”
               “I’m an adult,” Draco yelled, still laying on the ground, not bothering to care enough to move. He had chosen his furniture knowing it would haunt his parents. Petty spite did wonders for the soul.
               “Are you? Because your actions prove otherwise.”
               Draco sighed, not ready for another lecture. It was too early for this—he squinted at the clock, wincing when it showed it was six in the evening. It was too late for this.
               “I was woken up this morning by six firecalls. Six. Draco do you realize how influential you are to getting the Malfoy name back into a proper standing?”
               The sound of cleaning charms had Draco huffing. It wasn’t that dirty. Sure, the dishes could be done, and perhaps the trash was a week overdue, but he didn’t need his father cleaning up after him.
               “Nothing will get the Malfoy name to be respectable,” Draco mumbled low enough that his father wouldn’t hear it. That would just make the lecture longer.
               “You caused a scene at the gala. So much so, that they called in Aurors.”
               Draco winced, trying to recall that. There were flashes of fancy robes, horrified faces and then green eyes. He groaned when he realized that Potter must have been the Auror on duty. Lovely.
               “Do you—” An incredulous noise left his father’s mouth as he stopped at the entrance to Draco’s room.
               “What the fuck did you do to your hair?”
               Draco would have been impressed with the expletive, since his father was too proper to do anything common like swearing, but he was too distracted by the question.
               “What? Is it a mess? I just need to brush it.” Not that he could remember where exactly his brush was. Did he own a brush? Goodness, much more of that and he could be Potter’s twin.
               When his father continued to stare, Draco summoned a mirror.
               A squeak left his mouth when he caught sight of his reflection. The sides of his head were shaved, and he had a choppy wild mane on the top. The hair on the top was randomly cut in places, and he wondered if someone had done the haircut blind.
               Draco bit his lip, forcing himself to think back. After leaving the gala, he flooed to Greg and Neville’s flat. Which is never a promising idea, the two were the worst friends possible—always convincing him into stupid endeavors.
               “I want it gone,” Draco remembered telling that to an equally drunk Greg.
               “I can cut it, but I’ve only got Nev’s hedge trimmers.”
               Another once-over had Draco biting his lip. “It’s not bad,” he hedged hesitantly. “I can pull it off.”
               “That’s not the point,” his father drawled, impatience heightening the harsh tone. “Why did you cut it?”
               “He loved my hair long,” Draco whispered, eyes on the ceiling as he refused to look at his father.
               “Draco, it’s just a breakup.”
               Draco scoffed. Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his father’s broken heart. He wasn’t the one left a mess, he wasn’t the one who had to come home to an empty flat every night wondering where it all went wrong, or how simple naivety had clouded all common sense.
               “You need to start acting like the respectable pureblood that you are.” Draco closed his eyes, tired of the disappointment in his father’s voice. “Appearances are everything. It doesn’t matter what fickle emotion you feel, what matters is how you look. Hide all of this behind a glamour and move on. I raised you better than this. Malfoy’s don’t fall apart.”
               “I can’t do that.” Draco sat up, fighting a wave of nausea. “I’ve spent my whole life hiding everything. Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to be kind, Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to associate with lower classes, Malfoy’s are supposed to be regal at all times, Malfoy’s don’t show emotions, Malfoy’s save face at all costs—”
     Draco took a deep breath, air coming in as a gasp. “Well, fuck being a Malfoy.” A quick glance showed his father’s mouth open a few centimeters, the closest thing to gaping as his father could get.
               “Father,” Draco ran his fingers through his hair, reveling in the difference between the sides and the top. “I’m not okay. He broke my heart, and I don’t know how to emulate it any other way than destructive. Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to be like this, but I’ve repressed so much for so long that I need to express myself. I need to be someone other than just a Malfoy.”
               They stared at each other, neither wanting to give in. “It’s just a breakup.”
               Disappointment filled Draco as he stood up, gesturing for his father to leave. “No, it’s more than that. It’s an uprising—an emotional uprising where I find myself again.”
 -------------------------------------------------
               “Let’s get revenge.”
               Draco looked at Neville, surprised that he was the first one drunk, not that he wasn’t on his way there himself. “Revenge? How so?”
               He knew that no matter what Neville said, there was no way he was listening. Neville would never stop being a Gryffindor. If it wasn’t for Greg’s relationship with Neville, he would wonder how they could be friends. But only a few times around him was enough to show how loyal he could be.
               “We could set his house on fire.”
               Draco threw an alarmed look to Greg, silently demanding his friend fix this. Were all Gryffindors this crazy?
               Greg huffed in amusement. “Neville, love, that’s too adventurous. How about we tone it down?”
               “Oh,” Neville whispered, voice in awe as he blinked rapidly, alcohol dimming his normally kind aura. “We could send him a howler?”
               “Too tame,” Draco countered, shaking his head. Revenge didn’t actually sound so bad.
               “I don’t know what you want from me!” Neville cried, arms reaching out for Greg.
               Draco raised his hands placatingly when Greg glared at him, as if drunk Neville was somehow his fault.
               “Maybe we could set his house on fire,” Draco said, a shot of Firewhiskey and two large gulps of Elvish wine making the decision for him.
               “What?” Greg asked incredulously as Neville cheered loudly.
               “Maybe just his lawn?” The offer had Neville frowning, but at least he wasn’t crying.
               “I’m not drunk enough for this,” Greg whispered, exasperation bleeding through.
               Neville grabbed the Firewhiskey off the table. “I can fix that!”
               “That’s not what I mea—” Greg sighed as Neville smiled earnestly, eyes wide and hopeful. “Thank you, Neville.”
               Even in his intoxicated state, Draco knew that Greg was smitten.
               “Let’s make bad decisions.” Greg lifted his glass in a toast.
               “Already did that,” Draco jeered, joke falling flat as his mind went back to Christophe.
               “Fire, fire, fire,” Neville chanted, hands hitting the table as they all took one more round of shots.
  -------------------------------------------------
               In hindsight, being caught wands out and no alibis as Aurors showed up, really wasn’t the best decision. How were they supposed to know Christophe had backup wards? Honestly, it was a miracle they managed to tear down the original in their state.
               The fire was still going, and that was Draco’s greatest accomplishment to date. He watched Weasley attempt to wrangle it in with difficulty. Revenge on Christophe and manage to annoy Weasley? It was a great end to the day.
               Well, other than being caught.
               “What were you three thinking?” Potter looked between them, brows arched when they all looked at each other.
               Neville huffed, hands coming to his hips. “Harry, Draco is worth twelve of Christophe!” An angry finger was pointed to where Christophe was being questioned by an Auror.
               Draco wasn’t sure what exactly that meant. Why 12? Oddly specific? Only 12? Why not 50? Or a 100?
               By the way Potter softened, eyes glancing towards Draco, it was clear that he understood the reference. “Is he now?”
               Neville nodded fiercely, hiccup escaping. “He hurt Draco and that’s not okay.”
               When Greg nodded along, warmth filled Draco as he stared at his friends. He could honestly cry.
               A familiar harsh scoff had Draco tensing. “This just proves how imbalanced Draco is.” The accented tone had Draco clenching his fists tightly. “Always knew you were mad, if only I could have ended the relationship sooner.”
               Draco closed his eyes, wishing that a confrontation didn’t have to happen while he wasn’t sober.
               “I almost had your Wizengamot seat a month earlier, but you were holding out, wanting to mean something to me.” When Christophe snorted, light brown hair falling into his face, Draco took a step forward.            
               “As if you could mean something to—" Draco punched Christophe in the face, hard enough to have him taking several steps back.
               Draco wrung out his hand as the sound of Neville and Greg cheering could be heard. “I am worth 12 of you. I may be tarnished, and not whole, but I didn’t deserve what you did.”
               The truth of his own words had Draco pausing, a revelation taking place. He hadn’t deserved it. “I deserve someone who wants me for me. I deserve love just as much as the next person. And I deserve to love myself.” By hell, he was going to. Draco was done caring what other people thought. If society wouldn’t forgive him, then he would forgive himself and go from there. Fuck everyone else.
               Christophe clutched his face, breath coming out in quick successions before he rounded on Potter. “Aren’t you going to do something about this? They come to my home and set fire to my lawn. I then am physically attacked, with witnesses.”
               “Witnesses?” Potter asked, eyes narrowed and voice hard. “Goyle, Neville, did you happen to see anything out of the ordinary?”
               “No,” Goyle grunted, smirking when Christophe made an indignant noise.
               “Only a Nargle,” Neville offered grin on his face and eyes tracking what Draco assumed was a Nargle, whatever that was. They may be friends, but Neville wasn’t exactly normal—a symptom of spending too much time around Lovegood.
               Potter snorted, shoulders shaking with barely concealed mirth. “Unfortunately, the fire is still going and therefore not something that can be explained away.”
               Christophe made a noise of triumph, hands folding over his chest.
               “I am afraid you three will have to pay a fine.”
               “Yeah,” Christophe nodded in agreement. “Wait, a fine? They set my lawn on fire.”
               Potter bit his lip, something Draco was keenly aware of. “As negligent as their accidental magic was, it was still just an accident. Right guys?”
               “Absolutely,” Greg spoke up, hand not so subtly covering Neville’s mouth when he started to shake his head.
               “What?” Christophe’s tone was becoming increasingly louder. “You can’t just let them get away with it!”
               “Everything alright over here?” Weasley asked as he walked over, eyes looking around closely. His robes were singed, and Draco was pretty sure part of his right eyebrow was burned off. It really was a lovely night.
               “Yes,” Potter turned to Weasley, eyes shifting slightly, probably expressing something Draco couldn’t read. “The fire was a result of accidental magic. They are being charged with property damage due to negligent magic.”
               Weasley arched his brows incredulously as he looked down to his ruined robes. “Alright. Less paperwork for me. I buy it.”
               Draco grinned when Christophe gaped. His smile grew when the arse stormed away, angrily cursing in French.
               Neville whooped loudly, pulling Draco and Greg into a group hug. “I love you guys.”
               “I love you too,” Draco whispered, holding them tightly. “Both of you.” He knew that Potter and Weasley were watching them, probably not understanding their friendship, but that was alright.
               Neville was the adventurous one, Greg was the voice of reason and Draco was along for the ride. He didn’t need romance to form bonds. Friends helped emotionally, and it was already a fact that Greg and Neville were the best friends he could have.
               Romance wasn’t something he wanted to settle on. He was going to love himself first.
               When Neville and Greg began making out, Draco hastily took several steps back. Their friendship wasn’t that close.
               As Draco caught sight of Potter staring at him, he could see interest in those beautiful eyes. A wink had his cheeks heating up. Despite this, Draco knew it wouldn’t be fair to Potter if they began anything with Draco still needing to sort himself out.
               Draco walked towards Potter, aware of the way Weasley made a hasty retreat. “Thank you.”
               Potter grinned slowly, eyes traveling Draco’s face. “It was my pleasure.”
               The urge to forget his new restraint was prominent, but Draco knew he had to remain strong. “Potter, once I gain some emotional stability and become less of a mess, do you think I could—that we could—” Draco huffed as he closed his eyes. “When I find myself again, would you want to go out with me?”
               Potter’s grin became goofy, something that clearly hadn’t changed since their school years. “I’d love to.”
               Draco’s eyes closed again as Potter leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
               “As long as you don’t start any more fires.”
               A startled laugh left Draco as he watched a sparkling shine to Potter’s eyes manifest.
               Draco continued to watch Potter, even long after he left to talk with his co-workers.
               “Looks like the fire was a great plan.” There was a smugness to Neville’s voice that hadn’t been there when he was first introduced to their duo that quickly became a trio. Draco couldn’t be prouder.  
               When Potter paused at the gate, sparing one last smile for Draco, he couldn’t help but agree with Neville.
      “It sure was.”
  -------------------------------------------------
               Draco paused at Potter’s office, unsure if he could do this. It had been a few months since the night on the lawn, and he wasn’t sure if Potter was still interested. They had maintained correspondents, but that was all friendly, never straying into anything that could be considered romance.
               The door opened instantly when Draco knocked. Potter was poring over folders and parchments. When he cleared his throat, and Potter glanced up, Draco smiled at the way Potter’s eyes widened.
               “Draco,” Potter sounded breathless and that had Draco’s heart racing.
               “I wanted to say thank you,” Draco said, wishing Potter’s robes didn’t fit him so tightly. Merlin, it was a distraction.
               “For what?” Potter’s head was cocked to the side endearingly.
               “Getting my seat on the Wizengamot back.” Draco had received several howlers from Christophe blaming him for an internal investigation that ended with an expulsion from the foreign exchange program.
               “I don’t know why you are thanking me.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Potter’s eyes and it had Draco biting back a grin.
               “Word around the Ministry is that you have an in with the Wizengamot Administration Services. Granger just happens to be the next in line to become head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Interesting coincidence?”
               Potter laughed, before shrugging. “I may have talked to her. It was the least I could do.”
               “Thank you,” Draco said, conviction thick. “The least you could have done was nothing, but you didn’t, and that means a lot to me.”
               Draco wanted to squirm when Potter regarded him warmly, chin resting on his palms. “Is that all you came here for? A simple thank you could have been put into a letter.”
               Whoever said Potter wasn’t observant was a liar. Draco shifted on the soles of his feet. He took a deep breath before locking eyes with Potter.
               “I’m still kind of a mess,” Draco began, fingers twisting the sides of his robes. “My house is still in need of several cleaning charms, my furniture has grown on me, I even like the floral print—Merlin knows that will give my father a heart attack.” Potter tilted his head to the side as Draco rambled, and he knew he was rambling, but it was all coming out regardless.  
               “My emotions aren’t ever going to go back to how my father wants. I still want to cause scenes at Ministry functions. The thought of biting my lip to save face like my father wants makes my skin crawl. I want to be loud, I want to be able to express myself and I just want to be me.”
               Draco let out a soft sigh. “I’m not sure how long it will take me to be comfortable with who I am, but I’m getting there. I love myself more than I used to, and I know in a year, I will love myself more than I do now, and that’s progress—progress I can live with.”
               Potter was grinning, eyes lit with many things Draco couldn’t name.
               “I might always be a mess,” Draco continued, voice coming out quietly. “But this mess is my own doing, not a side effect of someone else’s cruelty. That’s enough for me.”
               Potter stood up, making his way towards Draco. “I’m a mess too, I think everyone is.” There were only a few inches separating them. “But I would like to be a mess with you, if you want?”
               Draco threw his arms around Potter, sighing when strong arms wrapped around him. “I want that. I do.”
               As Draco tilted his head back, eyes searching Potter’s, he knew that he would always have things to sort out, always have to be mindful of his self-worth, but that didn’t mean Draco had to go it alone. And as Potter said, everyone’s a mess.
               So why not embrace it?
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This is for my second prize winner in the giveaway. @ironlilyflower this is for you! It was supposed to be 2k words but it ended up being 3600 words. I really do suck at limiting myself. 
In case anyone noticed, or was curious. This was actually inspired by a song. Mama’s Broken Heart, by Miranda Lambert. 
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