#he still ends up being the prickly prick that buries them all
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my thoughts on pathologic classic
finally finished the game all the way through, so here are my (not at all concise) thoughts
beware of spoilers and A LOT OF TEXT
NOTE: I do know quite a bit about pathologic 2, but seeing as I haven't played that game yet, I'll try to keep my ideas here separate and only focus on what I got from playing the classic version
Bachelor:
By far my favorite character, and if you say I'm biased cause we have similar degrees, you are absolutely right, but that's not why I love him. I got into pathologic by watching all the video essays I think everyone else watches, so coming into it I had a very specific idea of what Daniil would be like - rude, condescending, heartless, "the prickly prick who will bury us all" - and while I can definitely see where some of those are coming from sort of, after 80+ hours of playing this goddamn game I can safely say: Daniil is a good person who does good things and the hate he gets is largely undeserved. I'm a Daniil Dankovsky TRUTHER.
He's kind! He's surprisingly good with kids; when he does snap at them and threaten to put them in timeout or to call their parents, it's usually because they're breaking his quarantine rules and that's a REALLY BAD IDEA (after 2020, I feel we can all relate to that frustration). In one instance, Capella asks him to look for a kid in an infected district and, upon finding him, Daniil tells him to run off and leave testing the disease to him, earning a shmowder from the kid but also getting the plague. This is a side quest, it's up to you to decide if getting infected is worth the shmowder or not, but the fact of the matter is, Daniil doesn't have to care about this kid, he doesn't have to do this quest, but (at least in my save) he does. Forgetting about the kids though, Daniil is just a genuinely helpful guy. He's a fucking lifesaver when you're playing as the Haruspex, he clears your name completely on day 1 when he really doesn't have to. The two go on to collaborate pretty much until the end. When Daniil's solution begins to diverge from Artemy's, he explains that no, killing the polyhedron won't help Artemy actually, it's the only way to ensure Aglaya is sacrificed, which is the only way Artemy will be accepted by the kin, which he knows is important to him, it's his inheritance! Time and time again, Daniil gives it his all to protect the people of the town. He talks Peter down from suicide, he can try to do the same with Rubin, he kills a bunch of men to protect Andrey, at some point he has a mission to reunite a daughter with her father and he only fails that mission because Artemy kills her (because you asked him for an infected heart and Artemy chose hers). His best efforts are constantly thwarted or misunderstood. I'm not saying he's a saint, he still has plenty of awful dialogue lines to choose from, but? MAN, I've been a health professional during a pandemic, I understand frustration, the pure fucking rage felt at the people who don't quarantine or believe vaccines will help, the hatred that rises in your gut when you watch as politicians take advantage of the situation. I was only a student back then! Imagine being 1 out of FOUR (4!!) people who can do something!
Daniil's condescension is another one of those things where... I see it, but I don't. Yes, his latin is tacky and he does have lines calling people dumb as shit compared to him, a genius mastermind, but one thing that we have to take into account is that Daniil is, by all accounts, a genius mastermind. The mysticism of the town goes completely over his head (it's SO fucking funny to me that Daniil has 0 knowledge that the Rat Prophet even exists), but this is because it's not something one can easily prove 1) it exists and 2) can be repeated and reproduced, both of which are VERY important in scientific experimentation. Meanwhile, in the Capital, Daniil is a famous scientist known for his experiments surrounding death; he's so good he's earned himself a following, and if the rumors on the street are to be believed, Daniil has even successfully brought someone back from the dead! I think he gets to flex his smarts, maybe. He doesn't need to be rude about it, sure, but it's not like the people would respect him if he didn't flex it. He's told from the start that he just doesn't get it, will never get it, "you're smart but you're not" type of conversation time and time again, since he's not attuned to ~miracles~ like some of the others are. Again, as an atheist myself, I can see why that would get frustrating. There is also an instance where Daniil "mansplains" antibodies to Artemy? Artemy, a fellow doctor sort of, can reply with something along the lines of "don't make fun of me" and Daniil's response is a genuine "i wasn't making fun of you, i was only explaining a concept". To the fellow mentally ill person reading this, ain't that the most relatable thing ever? Talking about something you're passionate about with a person that you like, wanting to make sure they understand the concept because you love it and understand it, but just coming off as obnoxious?
Daniil is GAY AS HELL. Those videos don't prepare you for how gay this man is. I started getting into the fandom telling myself "wow people ship these two huh, I can't imagine why" and then I played the fucking thing and you can't not ship them. It's not even subtext at this point, this is how Daniil introduces himself to Artemy:
He has two women thirsting over him (I don't know if Maria's feelings are genuine of if the Mistress magic within her just recognizes that he's her path to victory) and he barely reacts to them inviting him to their bed or saying "I love you" to his face. He can flirt back, but I feel like Daniil is just a charming guy as it is, he's from the Capital, he was friends with Andrey so you KNOW he did drugs in university and he has to know about the orgies already. He does care about Eva, but who wouldn't? In the runs you don't control him he often refers to her as "my Eva", but I always read it as platonic I'll be honest. Her death hits him hard, she's a sweetheart who only ever tried to help him, she housed him barely knowing who he was for fuck's sake, and Daniil's last conversation with her in the Cathedral shows he feels awful because he thinks she did it for him. I like to think that Daniil took a liking to Eva's kind and free spirit and often looked to her for comfort. Do I think he was in love with her? Absolutely not <3
Finally, let's talk about his ending, shall we? I feel like this is often used to demonstrate just how heartless Daniil is, and I will admit that, to me, his ending felt weirdly cruel and sudden while I was playing him. Hilariously, though, when I was playing as Artemy and spoke to Daniil about his solution, I thought Daniil had way better reasons to keep the polyhedron when I wasn't controlling him, and he explains his views better too. Daniil sees that the town is basically destroyed already, so many have died, so many more are infected and will soon die, they have a panacea but lack the materials with which to make enough to go around. The tower is aseptic, children have managed to live in it for the entirety of the plague without getting sick; it would be the perfect isolation ward for the survivors, a controlled space where they would be able to be vaccinated and monitored. Daniil does show frustration with the town, I think he even has some less than kind lines calling it backwards and doomed, but when his mind is clear and he's just talking about his plan, he says that he wouldn't mind saving the town, but he knows Block has to shoot something, and the polyhedron is worth preserving. I feel like his reasons are mostly empirical, a real science man's choice, but I'm also not one of those people who believes that Daniil represents hard, cold logic. The only reason he's searching for a way to defeat death is because he wants humans to die on their own terms, at peace. He follows facts but he interprets them with the mind of a bright eyed idealist. He writes the most dramatic letters in the world. He wears his heart of his sleeve! By the end of the game, he has seen evidence that the Kains are as magical as they claim to be. Maria's prophecies have come true, and he's literally spoken to the spirits of Nina and Simon. He sees the marvel of architecture that his twin friends managed to build, he admires it for what it is even without the mysticism on top, but then he actually learns that the mysticism is real, and he's naturally enthralled by it. Going into the polyhedron, hearing that music and seeing those lights, watching the kids play without a worry or care in the world. The future could be immortality and comfort, peace equal to that of a child who doesn't know pain, wouldn't that be wonderful? Adding to the mix the fact that he feels used by Aglaya (gonna be real here chief, either she played me super well or I was just not paying enough attention cause no matter which protagonist I was, I only ever loved Aglaya, this one is on him xoxo), while knowing she will die only if the town falls + knowing Artemy needs her dead or his prophecy won't be realized and his people won't accept him....... When talking to Clara about her ending, all she says is that she can't explain her miracle, a miracle requires faith, and yeah! If you were to meet God and he told you exactly how or why he stayed silent and hidden from you all your life, believing God exists and has power over the world would become fact, not a belief. There are too many "what ifs" in Clara's ending, at the cost of blood sacrifice one might add. Idk, I hate to see the town die and I do still think this ending is a bit cruel, but I get it. Daniil would think keeping the Polyhedron alive is the best choice, I can't fault him for it.
Side note, I would like to add that, although Daniil doesn't understand magic, as I've mentioned, he is the first person to defend it when he finds proof for it, and this doesn't just apply to the Kains. He admits he was wrong about the people and practices of the Steppe; they do work, he doesn't know how, but they are very much real and they do absolutely work, Artemy even gives him a panacea, a cure for the epidemic made from ancient, sacred blood. How can he go on claiming they're dumb superstitions? When you play as the Changeling, Daniil doesn't believe what he's heard about you at first, good or bad, but then he witness one of your miracles and from that point forth he's on your side. He defends her from Aglaya, once again rectifying the reputation of a perceived scoundrel simply because he can and he thinks they deserve it.
Haruspex:
This man makes me feral, I want to hug him so bad. His casual playfulness gets to me, the fact that his bound are children means that he often has to deal with them, and he really is good with them. A lot is said about his first mission being a testament to how hard the game and, indeed, his whole run is: one of your bound, a kid, asks you to kill another kid for betraying him or whatever. The reward is a shmowder, a cure to the plague, but you obviously lose reputation for going through with it. And see, if making this decision really was as crucial as some people make it out to be, I would get it, but it's really not. Letting the kid leave with his life means you don't get a shmowder, sure, but that doesn't matter cause you're playing the guy who invents the fucking cure. Notkin, the kid who "hired" you, thanks you for letting him live because he no longer felt so angry he wanted him dead once you left his hideout. TO ADD EVEN MORE REASONS TO WHY YOU SHOULD BE A DECENT HUMAN BEING, that kid you let escape comes back on day 9 and helps you get the Bachelor out of prison, no questions asked. Saving that kid and getting rep for it is so much more important than getting a single cure, especially because, if you're role-playing as Artemy in that moment, he probably doesn't even know what the shmowders do. Don't make your life harder. Play Artemy as the nice, moral man he is, protect the kid, protect all the children of the town, and you'll be rewarded with their friendship and all the things they can do for you. Murky alone provides the ingredients you need to make 2 fucking cures, and the price you pay for that is "go on a nice stroll through the steppe looking for her missing doll".
Related to my last point, Artemy will only really be hunted down by the masses for his crimes if he goes around town killing innocent people for no reason. You don't need to do that!!! If you must kill (and I do understand you kinda do in order to make your awesome potions), killing criminals at night raises reputation and, surprise bro, they also have organs: steal 'em, cook 'em, thrive. Artemy is portrayed as a brutish, scary man who will spill blood, and just like how it is with Daniil, this is all true in places. Despite what his model in 2 might suggest, I always envision him as a tall, large and imposing figure, the giant with the heart of gold archetype and all. People in the streets see that man, they hear about his crimes and his alleged crimes and they think the worst of him. I do believe part of the confusion also comes from the racist views of the people of the town, who go on and on about how freaky the worms and the brides are. Artemy's prophecy that he will spill blood is true for his ending, that's how he gains access to the ingredients he needs to make the cures, but it's also just a part of his occupation. Not to be a filthy solasmancer on main, but there's a character I really like in dragon age who says "the healer has the bloodiest hands" and to me that's Artemy in a nutshell. Daniil is more scientist than doctor imo, he deals with antigens and antibodies, proteins seen only through a microscope, a modern invention. He injects his solution with aseptic, hypodermic needles, and it seems to me that he mostly dealt with corpses in his previous job. Artemy's role in his society requires him to get his hands dirty to make sure that whoever is still living but hurting can recuperate and go on living. I think both positions are admirable and, to me, Artemy's is downright beautiful. As the devs have said, his story is about love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HIS ENDING FUCKED ME UP, MAN. I really spent the entire game thinking I would go for his designated solution no matter what. Nothing else made sense to me, I was looking forward to seeing how Daniil would explain his side to convince Artemy into choosing ANYTHING over the town, his town. Then I found out about Oyun who told me about Aglaya, Daniil told me that, if Artemy destroyed the polyhedron, the ancient blood would indeed flow, but the kin would not allow him to use it because, by choosing to not take his sacrifice when he needed to, he would not be accepted by them. Aglaya x Artemy is the only romance with the protagonists that I'm willing to believe, besides Daniil x Artemy ofc. Aglaya is enamored by Artemy (or possibly manipulating him because) she sees how he lives his life independent of the Powers That Bed. So what if my decisions are preordained? They're helping the ones I love. She's hoping his independence will rub off on her, and indeed his ending is the only way she lives. If you care about Aglaya, which I certainly do, choosing an ending as Artemy is torture.
I wish Artemy had stronger ties to the town. His father is dead when the game starts and all of the kids he's put in charge of are strangers. He does have an old friend there, Rubin, but he mostly contacts him through letters telling him he's out to kill him, and if I'm remembering correctly, later they meet once so Rubin can apologize and then he never comes back? My memory is bad, but that feels right. Anyway, the kin do seem to remember him, they do certainly recognize his name if not, but they don't respect him until Artemy proves himself to them. I won't get into pathologic 2, I said I wouldn't, but I know this alienation was tweaked in that game and I'm glad for him. Having Grief and Lara as extra childhood friends only adds to Artemy's connection with the town and the people living in it. Wanting to keep his childhood friends safe, who are all bound to Clara, would give him even more reasons to agonize over his ending. Imagine if, after falling down Oyun's hole (oops!) and speaking to the Changeling, Artemy had to choose one of those three women to die knowing one of his oldest friends was among them! Delicious drama, I say.
Oh yeah, Artemy is also gay as shit. I'm sorry, but if a stranger from the big city came to me and asked me for a still beating infected heart which I might have to lose reputation to get, I would at least think to tell them "maybe" if not "go fuck yourself". I won't go into this ship again, but the way they're both always so willing to help each other, even though it would be easier not to.........
Changeling:
Getting into this game, I had quite a bit of information on Daniil and Artemy, but very little on Clara. I knew the basics: she's the plague, but she isn't! She has a twin but she doesn't! How is that possible? Fuck you! That being said, I was probably looking forward to her route the most because I felt like this was the character I had the most to learn about, and I was right. Clara deserves more love, her character is truly incredible. But.... where to start, oh my god................
Okay, so Clara is the personification of the plague, we learn this super early on; in the Haruspex route, she asks Artemy to talk to the Rat Prophet about who she is and what her purpose is. Artemy can be nice and tell her she's a holy healer who can only do good, or he can tell her the truth, which terrifies her. She is spit by the Earth (wakes up in a hole with no memories) and arrives in town on the day the plague starts. While Daniil and Artemy have to pay everyday for updated maps showing the different infected districts, Clara sees her "twin" in dreams who tells her where she'll go next, so she always just Knows where the plague's spreading. She has to convince her mirror self to leave an infected district to prevent it from staying infected until the end of the game. It's obvious that she holds power over the plague, the how is what gets most people. How can she both have and not have a twin? How is she a deadly disease but also a holy healer? The answer, in the end, is quite simple. Clara is the personification of the plague, but she is also a bright 13 year old girl with an imagination. In this world we're invited to play in, which is actually the invention of two very traumatized children and, beyond that, a group of indie game developers with a passion for what they do, having an avid imagination is what makes Clara unique, it's the source of all her magic and goodness, even if it cannot completely erase her wickedness. Clara believes she can heal people and find a solution that doesn't require Block to shoot anything, and in doing so, those options become real. When Clara said she had a twin sister, she spoke another Clara into being. It's truly fascinating and also tragic, I think, to tell the story of a young girl who believes she can cure all of Humanity's ailments, not realizing (or perhaps living in denial of the fact) she's the reason those ailments exist in the first place.
I'm gonna break the mold a bit and talk about her ending already, because I feel like it flows well coming from that last point. Clara's ending, the miracle that keeps both the polyhedron and the town, can only be achieved by keeping her bound alive and healthy until the end of the game, which is harder as Clara than it is as the other two. With Daniil and Artemy, if you manage your time correctly, you will keep all your bound healthy, but Clara's daily missions require her to meet her bound and learn how awful they are (well, some of them) and then she has to lie about their true nature to those who could punish them for it, just as Clara lies about herself. She detests trickery, but if we ourselves are to suffer deception, our hands are no longer tied. When you know the truth about something, you are compelled to form a just opinion on it, but if you are lied to or deceived in some way, any decision you make may yet be forgiven because you just didn't know all the facts. Clara lives in make believe land in the most figurative but also literal sense possible. The sins of her bound don't hit her as hard because they have been deceived into believing they're real people, so she's inclined to forgive them, especially cause she's certain they can still be useful to her. In many ways, Clara is lying to herself about her true nature so she can navigate the world without concerns. Lying to her dad about the "goodness" of her bound and taking the reputation loss because of it is kind of poetic; her dad made the wrong choice by believing her and not arresting those people, but he's been freed from his crimes by her lies. Later, when Clara turns to her bound and asks them to make the ultimate sacrifice to power the miracle, they go in peace. Most say they're glad they get to die like "a real human" with a blood like Simon's.
Clara's route is really fun, but later on it does get as repetitive as everyone says, you can tell she was rushed. The missions "find your sister and banish her" and "find the bachelor and the haruspex so they won't kill each other" do get annoying, especially because they don't even have different dialogue prompts and every time you get into one of those houses to talk to them you just get the shit beat out of you, or you get the plague. There's also like... NO mention of Eva's death in her route? She's alive in the Haruspex's so I though she would be too in the Changeling's or, if she did die, I thought there would be a really cool conversation between them, seeing as the Changeling sends Daniil a letter taunting him with Eva's suicide. But no, Eva just stops showing up at her house and that's it. Huge waste of potential there. I also don't get why some of her bound are those people? Anna Angel, Bad Grief and Aspity are the fucking most in this game, so those I get. Oyun is out to kill the Burakhs, so yeah I read him on the bad vibes scale too. Katerina is a failed Mistress who only ever gave me bad instructions, so I GUESS she counts, and Alexander is a cop so fuck him too. I could make a case for Rubin? Kind of? But for Lara and Yulia, I am truly out of ideas. Clara's bound is made up of all these complex liars and cheats, corrupt politicians and the like, and then there's the lady who's too nice to shoot even her father's murderer and the math lesbian who....????? I'm gonna be real here, I never know what the fuck Yulia is talking about, I could not tell you if I like her or not because I simply do not understand what her purpose is. She's a fatalist who believes in the predetermination of fate and, as far as I can tell, that's it. Cool look, though.
I love that she gets to meet the Powers That Be twice and that they're spooked she got to them earlier than the other two. I also like the detail that this whole Clara dichotomy exists because the kids can't decide between one another if she should save or kill everyone.
One thing I forgot to say in the section about her ending: I love the implication that her ending will only reach peak effectiveness if the healers learn to work together. Clara will transform the blood of those who volunteer to die "like Simon"; this blood is what will allow Artemy to make the cures to all of those who get infected; this blood is also what allowed Daniil and Rubin to make a vaccine that can prevent the disease from coming back for as long as they can. Note: Awesome world building detail, adding in that Simon's blood was old and that was why it could only be used to make vaccines, not panaceas. It makes me think about how older folk tend to hold wisdom of past generations that allow the younger ones to avoid unnecessary pain (Daniil is older than the other two healers, not by a lot but still....... curious). This suggest that, when catastrophe does hit, the younger folks can return the favor by protecting them to the best of their ability, and then, when the bad days pass, we can look to the children and recognize that the future we build afterwards is for them. Allowing humans to exist within a loving community is Clara's miracle. It's so fucking nice to be alive, you guys.
anyway play pathologic, it's not as hard as it seems, and if it is just cheat, i won't tell anyone
#pathologic#don't look at me i have many thoughts so i'm dumping them here#edit: I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT IN THE CHANGELING ROUTE IT'S IMPLIED THAT DANIIL AND ARTEMY FOUGHT EACH OTHER IN THE RING NEAR THE TERMITARY#clearly none of them won. how fucking funny is that#i'm having plague thoughts (BEWARE)
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any post that talks about how “the bachelor isn’t that rude you’re all just choosing the worst dialogue options >:(” entirely misses the point that when you’re not in control of him... he usually picks those Worst Dialogue Options himself. when people call him a rude little bitch it’s because he is one whenever you’re not there to rein in his rude bitch disease! and you know what?? i love him for that! he’s a great character! he’s morally gray! he has interesting morals that are understandable given his situation! he’s not a complete good guy nor a complete bad guy! however his ending sucks, it’s the worst, i hate it, and nothing will ever change that.
and also... he’s like... really popular. i don’t know if that’s just me but it’s not like he’s Universally Hated or anything. you don’t need to defend him just because some people call him a bastard twink. especially when he’s so insensitive and downright condescending towards the town and the Kin’s cultures.
#pathologic#daniil dankovsky#like no matter how nice you have him be in his route#he still ends up being the prickly prick that buries them all#all those people you acted as nice as possible to?#he orders that they should be killed#not saying that it's necessarily an easy decision on his part#but that's still what he does#moreover even if you have a cure he'll still want to argue for his ending right#so like. people call him a bastard for a reason#and that's fine! it's okay!#i just think maybe we should find some balance between reducing him to The Worst#and acting like he's Actually A Sweet Boy uwu#i did see someone call dandan a baby and i can only hope they're joking
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- Sapphire - Pt. 2
(Mammon x MC)
part one | part three |
NOTE: F!MC
“Warm skin, the color of caramel, electricity felt in the slightest of touches.
Hair born of the winter, soft as the Heavens from where it once reigned.
Completely enamored by this creature, I would also happily fall from grace.”
Hair born of winter? Fall from grace? Tan skin?
Wait. That sounds like..
Realization hit him like a truck.
“..It’s about me..” He whispered, barely audible even to himself.
His chest felt like it was going to explode. His stomach so full of butterflies he felt nauseous.
He couldn’t believe it..
--
“Hey, great job out there kid. The crowd really liked you.” The man who had been the emcee for the open mic night was shuffling around backstage, putting away equipment and cleaning up. “We do this on the 2nd Thursday every month, if you’re interested.”
“Thanks! I’d love to.” You were beaming.
Being out there, under the spotlight, reciting your work that you had poured your heart into, full of all the emotion you had to keep to yourself, was so empowering. You were on top of the world.
You thanked the man again and made your way to the exit. Just outside the door, a rather attractive demon was perched against the wall. Upon seeing you, he smiled and left his place on the wall, coming toward you.
He looks kind of familiar. Does he go to RAD?
Never having seen him outside of a RAD uniform before, you quickly pieced together that the guy was in your Devildom History class. From the few interactions you’d had with him in class, you knew he was pretty nice and also enjoyed poetry. The two of you talked and laughed for a few minutes.
“Next time you gotta tell your boyfriend to get here earlier so he can get a better seat.” He said.
Boyfriend?
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You said, lightly shaking your head.
“Oh”, his eyebrows scrunched, “Well, the two of you are always together at RAD so I just assumed..”
Oh God..
No.
This isn’t happening.
You tried to keep your cool, but it was too late. The color drained from your face. The back of your neck felt cold and prickly. You felt sick.
Mammon was here. He heard ..everything.
“Anyway, he left right after you got off stage. He looked kinda mad.” The guy said.
...Mad?
Oh God. My stupid poem freaked him out! It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who I was referring to. He’s probably grossed out that a human has a crush on him.
What were you thinking?
--
After you had finished reading and walked off stage, Mammon immediately stood up and went outside. He needed air. Hearing the words you were saying caused his eyes to prick with tears.
There’s no way. I’m getting somethin’ confused somewhere. Have to be.
Once outside, the cool air hit his face and he took some deep breaths, on the verge of panic.
“There’s no way that was about me.” He kept whispering to himself.
Why would you write something like THAT about him? He’s just a scumbag after all.
Yeah, just a scumbag. Don’t get your hopes up.
His face fell. In the brief moment he got to believe that you loved him, he’d never been happier.
If it wasn’t about him, who was it about? The description was uncanny, and not many demons look like him. Not that you know, anyway.
As the questions swirled around his brain, he saw you walk outside the coffee shop. Before he could react, he saw a demon who was waiting outside the exit, strike up a conversation with you.
Who’s that? Does she know him?
Mammon stepped behind a magazine stand trying to hide, but still watch your interaction with the unknown demon. You’d been in the Devildom long enough to travel close to home without being messed with, but it still made him nervous. He kept his eyes fixed on the two of you.
He watched as you chatted and laughed with the good looking demon, growing more jealous and hurt by the second. Unable to watch anymore, he stormed off in the direction of the House of Lamentation.
“Maybe she does have a boyfriend. She seemed to know that guy pretty good.” He scoffed.
He wasn’t mad at you, he couldn’t be. He was mad at himself. Maybe if he had told you how he felt you wouldn’t have been chatting it up with that pretty boy.
But what about the poem? That’s gotta mean somethin’ right?
When he got back to the house, he went straight to his room and slammed the door, nearly running Asmo over in the process.
“Hey! Rude.” Asmo called after him.
He didn’t care at the moment. He just needed to be alone. The weight of it all was too much.
As quickly as his love for you was reciprocated, it was ripped away. This time, he didn’t try to hold back the tears.
--
Shit, shit, shit! What now?!
You cursed yourself the entire way home. How are you supposed to just walk in nonchalantly like Mammon didn’t just hear you confess your entire soul? Not to mention the fact he apparently looked mad.
Ugh. I wonder is Solomon knows a spell that’ll open up the Earth and swallow me whole?
You quietly walked up the front steps to the House of Lamentation and opened the door slowly. Peaking in to see if anyone was around, thankfully not, you carefully made your way inside.
If I can just make it to my room, I’ll be fine.
You crept up the stairs and down the hall. The coast was clear.
Once you got close enough you ran inside your room, shutting the door quickly behind and for the first time since right after moving in, you locked your door.
Usually the brothers come and go out of room, which you don’t mind but tonight you just wanted to be alone.
You dropped your bag on the floor with a hard thud, and sank down to the floor, burying your face in your hands.
How could you be so careless? You should’ve known one of them would figure out where you were. I just wish it hadn’t been THAT one.
*knock knock knock*
The light tapping on the door made you jump put of your skin. Your hands flew to your mouth to stifle the small yelp you let out.
Just stay quiet. Whoever it is will go away.
“MC? It’s me. I know you’re in there.”
It’s just Asmo.
With a sigh of relief, you stood to unlock the door and let Asmo in, quickly shutting the door behind him. He made a face at your strange behavior.
“Hello to you too. And was your door locked? What’s that about?” He almost sounded offended, turning to face you.
“So, what happened?” He asked.
You were a little caught off guard but tried to play it cool.
“What do you mean?”
He perched himself on the edge of your bed.
“Well, this afternoon when I got home from shopping Mammon asked me where you were, seeing as you told him you were going with me. Then, he came home just a little while ago, visibly upset. He nearly ran me over on his way to his room.” He explained.
Crap! Had I let Asmo in on my lie about going shopping with him, I probably could’ve avoided this entire fiasco.
“He was mad?” You asked, voice getting quiet.
Asmo nodded, “Very.” He replied.
That made your heart hurt.
I’ve really done it this time.
--
Avoiding Mammon was going to be hard. The two of you practically did everything together. Did you really have a choice though? You can’t face him right now.
Breakfast was the easiest. Mammon is always late, so all you had to do was wake up early.
Beel is usually the first one to breakfast, so I can ask him if he’d walk with me to RAD. I’ll study with Satan as usual, and I can spend more time with Levi and hide out in his room or nap with Belphie.
This sucks.
It’s not that you don’t enjoy the time you spend with the other brothers, because of course you do, but you miss your best friend.
The walk to RAD with Beel was quiet. He could tell that you were sad, and didn’t want to make you talk if you didn’t want to. Before you went your separate ways to your classes, he gave you one of his big squeezy, pick-you-up-off-the-ground hugs. It made you feel a bit better. How could it not? It’s Beel.
--
The day went rather smoothly, not once bumping into Mammon. Come to thin of it, you hadn’t seen him at all today.
Maybe he skipped? You thought.
The thought made you breathe a little easier, considering your last class of the day is Devildom History, which is one of the few classes the two of you have together.
You sat in your usual seat, and looked at the empty one next to you that Mammon usually sat in. Your heart started to hurt again.
Trying to distract yourself, you started going over your notes for the upcoming test. When the seat next to you scooted out, your heart stopped beating.
Oh my God! Just stay calm. Don’t freak out. Breathe, dumbass. You chanted to yourself.
“Hey.” he said, as he sat down. You looked up at the demon next to you.
It’s the guy from the coffee shop.
Phew! That was close. Your heart rate started to return to normal.
“Hi.” You replied with a faint smile.
As students kept filing into class, the two of you talked back and forth about the upcoming test and other school related topics. He seems like a pretty nice guy. Why was he sitting next to you though? Surely he knows who always sits there. Although, it was nice to have someone to talk about poetry with.
Just then, as the bell rang loudly signaling the beginning of class, someone came running through the door.
Mammon.
Shit! I thought he wasn’t here today!
Cue heart rate acceleration.
Mammon looked at you, and the occupied seat next toy you. His seat.
His face distorted.
You kept your head down trying to avoid eye contact. The guy next to you, I think he said his name was Ezra? I don’t even remember, stiffened at Mammon’s reaction to seeing him in his seat.
Mammon made his way to the back of the class to the only empty seat near a bunch of succubi. Their expressions lit up when he sat down. That made your heart hurt.
Their reaction to just sitting near him, just proved how insane you were for thinking he could ever have feelings for a human.
The class seemed to drag on forever. You couldn’t wait to get far away from there.
I’m definitely texting Solomon about that “Earth opening” spell.
--
When the bell signaling the end of class finally rang, you hurriedly made your escape.
I gotta get out of here, and fast before he can catch up.
With zero hesitation, you walked as fast as you could, nearly jogging, to the House of Lamentation. If you could just get to your room again without being stopped, you were in the clear.
Plowing through the front door and running up the stairs, you made it to your room without being discovered. It looked as though you were the first one home.
You opened your bedroom door, and stepped inside feeling accomplished. Before you could turn and shut the door, it was slammed shut.
You jumped and screamed as though the murderer you were trying to outrun had finally caught up to you.
You turned to see that it was Mammon who had slammed the door.
You would’ve rather it had been the murderer.
| part three |
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Soaring Love 2
Pairing: Severus Snape x reader
Word count: 2645
Warnings: none so far, sorry for any typo
A/N: I did this mood board for this fic because I thought it would look better if we had some visuals to help, and I had a lot of fun doing it.
Part 1
--- --- --- --- ---
Breakfast is a breeze, compared to the cold shoulder Severus gives you all the time since then. But all the rest of the faculty treated you warmly since most of them had been your teacher from the year you had had in Hogwarts.
You go back to your room, to start unpacking. You look around for a few seconds, accessing the room, and well everything could go. You reach inside your bag and rummage for a few moments until you can feel your fingers brush over a rectangular wooden object, pulling it out to reveal a bookcase. You walked to the wall that had a window, and put the tiny toy-sized bookcase on the ground, taking out your wand and performing an enlargement charm to restore the bookcase back to its original size.
Taking a step back to look at it, and make sure it fitted in that corner, you start to take the rest of your furniture out and placing them on the ground before enlarging them back to normal so you could decorate your room before the school term would start. After all, you would be living here until the term of the year, so you wanted to make it feel as homey as you could.
Books were flying out of the bag, floating themselves to the shelves with a swish of your wand. and your clothes were folding themselves in the air, before neatly laying themselves at the bottom of the drawers. The room looked like chaos if someone were to walk in, but it was little by little getting tidier, looking like a proper room and not an empty dusty space.
It took you the entire day to finish, but once you did, the room resembled a better-looking copy of your previous apartment, and it also seemed to be bigger as well, wish wasn't complicated since it was an overpriced matchbox.
Once your room was fully furnished and all you had packed before coming to Hogwarts was fully stored away you walked down your tower, to go to one of the many school courtyards to soak in the sun and enjoy the rest of the afternoon exploring the castle grounds and getting reacquainted with them. The school was bigger than what you remembered, even more so now that you had more places you could go to without getting into trouble since you are no longer a student. So many new shortcuts and hidden passages you were afraid to get lost eventually. Maybe you should get a map of the place, just as a precaution.
During the two next weeks you still had before term started you spend most of it with Madam Pomfrey, getting to know the Hospital wing like the back of your hand and where all the potions and salves were stored. She also showed you to the teacher's ingredients cupboard, where you could take all ingredients you might need for anything at all, and the staff room where you would spend your free time between classes to rest and prepare for the next one.
--- --- --- --- ---
The term has started but for a week, and already you could hear all the students complaining about the potions master and his classes, dreading the times they had to go to the cold damp dungeons to have potions. You never minded your potions professor when you had been in Hogwarts in your time, but from the small amount of time you had known Severus, you could see how the kids would dread him for his cold demeanor.
Your first year's classes hadn't started yet, so you had a bit more time to prepare them for next week when the easily impressed youngsters would be having their first flying class. You had prepared a simple first day, to just teach them the basics, and let them have a bit of fun at the end of the class. If they all behaved.
The older years had started their flying classes though and they were taking it pretty well to the fact they had a new flying instructor. They already knew the basics of flying, so they really enjoyed the practical classes where they learned different maneuvers and how to play quidditch. They were all extremely excited, especially second years, since they would have the opportunity to try out for the teams in a few weeks, so they were all showing off their moves and speed on the brooms to try and impress the team's captains.
In the meantime, you were being kept busy helping out Madame Pomfrey, that had asked you to help her with bandaging and healing some students that seem to attract trouble since day one. One second year, in particular, that seemed to have been pricked repeatedly in an herbology class by a particular spiteful Spiky Prickly Plant, that kept shooting its thorns directly at him, no matter how far he backed away.
With both classes and helping out in the hospital wing, you were being kept pretty busy, often time getting to your room existed and ready to sleep right away. Especially after the night, you had night patrol walking the corridors at night to make sure no student was out of bed after hours. Waking up after those days was harsh, and often time you wished you didn't have morning classes to give, so you could stay in bed for a few more minutes to soak in the warmth of the heavy blankets, that were a welcome addition to your bed once the temperature in the castle started to drop on the last months of the year.
Often you found yourself, in your free time, down at the quidditch pitch, just soaring calmly in your broom, letting it float in the gentle breeze, laying down in your broom while looking up at the passing clouds. Sometimes you timed yourself, racing around the goalposts and back to see if you still had in you to do all the maneuvers in a timely manner. Trying to beat your own personal best times. All this made time pass so quickly that it was almost Christmas break when you blinked next.
It's been a tiresome week, so once you reach your room you basically pass out from exhaustion in your comfy four-poster and sleep on. At least until you are rudely awoken by the shooting pain in your leg and back, causing you to almost jump from the bed because of it. You try to take deep calming breaths to try and clear your head long enough to get up and limp to your desk where you kept your spare potions, only to find all the bottles empty, the pain giving an extra jolt through you as if mocking you for not being prepared.
You made up your mind and start walking to the supply cupboard, many many flights of stairs below you. You curse every step of the way, cursing whoever thought having that many stairs were a good idea. thirty painful minutes later you find yourself searching the cupboard in search of the correct ingredients only to find that there was no dragon liver in it. You sighed and started to walk over to the potion classroom down in the dungeons, there should be some in the storage of the ingredients there, or… you though, if you went directly to Severus office, he would have some for sure.
Taking the solution that provided you with certainty and not a 'might have' you decided to walk to Severus office, a crushing pain in your leg almost rendering it useless, making you have to clutch at the walls for support so you wouldn't collapse.
You walked down the corridor and knocked on the door, not expecting at all the gruff voice that came from the inside, sounding tired and annoyed to be getting disturbed at this late hour. You opened the door and walked in, slowly, taking in all the details of Severus' office. You could see him at his desk, buried behind heavy potion tomes, reading them diligently and taking in its knowledge.
"Good night Severus." you say in a low voice.
"(Y/N). It's late, should you not be asleep?"
"I would, but I ran out of my potion for the pain. And ingredients were missing in the teacher's cupboard… so I thought you might have some here in your office. I just wasn't expecting you to still be awake at this time working." you could hear his sigh and the scrape of his chair while he rose, pointing at the chair in the corner of his office for you to take a seat.
"You do seem in a lot of pain, is everything alright?" despite his blank facade, there was worry in his voice when he asked it, walking to a small cauldron in the corner and lighting a fire underneath it and pouring some ingredients inside of it, starting to turn a murky grey color.
"It's from an old injury that never truly left. Sometimes the pain comes back, and I usually have potions to take, but my stash has run out without me noticing and replenishing it back. You know you can just give me some dragon liver and I'll be on my way back to my room where I can brew the potions myself, no need to burned you with it."
"No need for that, I am after all the potions master in this school. I am more than capable of making you the potions and it would be no burned what so ever." he interrupts you, making you sink down further into the plush of the chair you were seated on.
"Very well then." you concede, while you keep watching him move around his office collecting all the ingredients he would need to make the potions, and then adding them to the steaming cauldron, the liquid inside changing colors occasionally.
"You know, you can let me be the one brewing them from now on, that way you would make sure you always have a reserved stash brewed on time, whenever you might need them." the offer surprised you. Severus was willingly offering himself to go out of his way to brew you your pain potions whenever you would need some more, and that seemed so out of character for him that you just stared blankly at him for a few moments before nodding in agreement, not trusting your voice to make itself be heard with the amount of pain you were still on.
"Very well then." he said, getting his attention back to the potion bubbling away in his cauldron. The pain had subsided a bit, but not enough to let you go back up the stairs to your room. "Dumbledore said you used to be the greatest player on top of a broom Hogwarts had seen for a while." was he really trying to make small talk?
"Hum…. yes, I guess. I left Hogwarts in my third year, so I was only here for a little while. It was enough to get me noticed by some quidditch teams. But after my accident, no one would take the chances."
"Accident?"
"It was in my last year of school in Ilvermorny, I had already been invited to make the team of Haileybury Hammers once I finished the school year, when it happened. I was playing a school match when a rogue bludger came hurtling at me and made me fall from my broom." he was intently looking at you, while stirring the cauldron, not wanting to lose any part of the story.
"What happened next?"
"I broke almost every bone in my body, spent the rest of the school year in the hospital wing in a coma, recovering. I was at risk of never walking again, let alone pick up a broom, so the team revoked their invite, and after I recovered, no other team would take me in, they didn't want to risk it."
"And the pain?"
"It resurfaces once in a while, there's only so much magic can heal. So I use the potions to numb the pain so I can go on with the rest of my day." he was now searching his shelves for an empty bottle to pour the liquid potion inside of it, having one vial to you right away so you could take it. "Thank you, Severus." the potion took a few minutes to start working, but once it did, you could feel all the pain ebbing away right away, instead of just numbing it like your potions usually did. "This one is quite a strong potion."
"Well, I wouldn't be much of a potions master if I couldn't make the potions stronger. Besides you seemed about to pass out from the pain, so I thought something stronger could be of help."
"Thank you, once again for it."
"I'll have new batched ready for you every week, if you need more sooner let me know, for now, I'll bottle the rest of the cauldron and deliver it to you in the morning." he walked to the door to open it, so you started to rise from the chair so you could leave the man alone, he was clearly done with your presence bothering him so late into the night, when he surprised you by supporting your back with his arm, accompany you to the door and out to the cold dungeon. "I'll accompany you to your room, to make sure you don't fall."
"You don't need to, I'll be okay…" he interrupts you by making a dismissive sound and waving his other hand around.
"It's no big trouble, I couldn't sleep anyway, so maybe having a walk before going to bed will help. So… is that why you took the flying instructor's position here?" he asked after a long pause of somewhat awkward silence.
"Yes. Flying was my everything, my parents were always on the move, so I learned how to fly in a broom from a very young age, being up in the clouds was my safe haven. Flying was one of my only constants, I never keep many friends since I rarely stayed for even one year in the same school. Hogwarts was the only one I stayed more time. Once I woke up, and they told me I might not walk again I wasn't worried about it, really, I was more worried I would have to give up on flying in my broom." Severus looked at you once you said that, almost like he understood the pain of what had to give up on something that you loved doing did.
"Dumbledor talks highly of your skills, he even said he was most pleased that you took the position, and he could see you teach the first years with all the knowledge you had." that made you smile. The students were taking your classes very seriously and because of that, you always let them have little games at the end of your classes, like dodgeball, but on a broom, training their fast reflexes on the broom, and letting them have fun in the process.
"I'm glad I took the position. I missed the bustle hustle of quidditch, so teaching it is the next best thing. And the students make it worth it."
"They could do with more discipline and attention in classes." he complained, making you stifle a giggle by the annoyed look he had on his face while talking about the students. But you could still hear the fondness he held for teaching them. The two of you reached your door and after helping you inside, and making sure you wouldn't fall off, Severus walked to the door slowly. "Good night (Y/N)." he said and left without much noise, leaving you to think about all that happened since you walked down to the dungeons a couple of hours before.
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Whumptober: Infection
Masterlist. Janiya.
Whumptober.
~#~#~#~#~#~
She hissed as she peeled back the dressing, biting her lip through the tugging, burning pain. The unmistakable scent of sick-sweet rot filled the air.
Janiya stifled the urge to gag and threw the bandage away. She didn’t want to look at the wound, but she forced herself to, to ignore the red and yellow and objectively evaluate it. It was still bleeding, red tinged pink as the wound seeped something runny and colorless, and Janiya held her breath as she opened another bandage.
She stuck it on and strangled the whimper. It would be fine. It had to be fine. It was just a scrape and she’d cleaned it and it would be fine.
Pus was normal. It was healing. As long as she kept changing the bandages, she would be perfectly okay.
Janiya clutched the counter and levered to her feet. She pulled her jeans back up, and limped to the counter to wash her hands. Her thigh throbbed, the scrape hallway between hip and knee – it was nothing. She’d tripped and fallen against a bench. If she hadn’t landed in a muddy puddle, it would’ve healed two days ago.
She stared at herself in the mirror and pretended that the sallow color of her skin was just the bathroom light.
She hobbled out of the bathroom, saving walking straight for when she had company. She could hole up in her room with her laptop, claim a headache or something. Finish up some work.
Of course, it didn’t end up going the way she’d planned.
She had barely taken ten steps down the hall when Ash and Rita tore up the stairs – Rita giggling, Ash furious. Janiya moved to step to the side, unwilling to get involved in whatever was going on, but Rita grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, laughing, “Save me!”
Ash growled and the sudden movement caused Janiya’s head to spin – she faltered and Rita’s tug was suddenly too strong and Janiya couldn’t brace herself before they stumbled into a side table.
Hip first.
Someone screamed, and she only realized that it had been her when she opened blurry eyes to see Rita and Ash hovering over her, faces drawn.
“What the hell happened?” Ash asked, his gaze fixed on the slowly darkening spot on her jeans. The smell was back. Janiya didn’t need to read their mind to know that both of them had seen the tinge of red. Or that the color was wrong for it to be only blood.
“Just a scrape,” Janiya said, as airily as she could manage, and forced herself upright again. Her left leg throbbed, extremely displeased now that she’d added another bruise to the growing wound. She needed another bandage. She needed to get out of here.
Rita and Ash were still boxing her in. “That doesn’t look like a scrape to me,” Rita said quietly.
“Honestly, it’s a little scrape, I’ll just get a new bandage, I’m fine –” Janiya cut off with a strangled sob as Ash jabbed her thigh. “What the hell, Ash,” she snarled, her breaths ragged.
“It’s not a scrape,” he said coldly.
“It is –” But they were already ignoring her.
“Get her out of the jeans,” Ash said to Rita, backing away, “Darin’s downstairs.”
“I don’t –”
“Come on.” Rita’s expression did not encourage disobedience. Janiya hung her head and limped after Rita as she headed towards Janiya’s room. The jeans were perhaps not the brightest idea, they tugged at the wound as she carefully tried to peel them off, and Rita’s sharp hiss made it clear that it wasn’t pretty.
Janiya carefully hopped into the shorts Rita offered, and followed the woman back downstairs.
“I just need to change the bandages,” Janiya tried, because all of them had become overprotective mother hens and she didn’t want to be fussed over for what was just a simple scrape.
“It’s infected,” Rita said sharply. Janiya thought about arguing further, but she had to use the woman’s shoulder as a support to hobble down the stairs, and by the time they reached the bottom, Janiya’s breathing was heavy and pained.
“What’s going on?” Gavin asked mildly as Rita pulled her into – the living room, why did it have to be the most trafficked room in the house – and pushed her down into a chair. Darin had his supplies set up on a small table, and he drew her injured leg across his lap as he pushed the hem of the shorts up.
“What happened?” Gavin asked, definitely not mild this time. It had the effect of silencing all conversation in the room.
“It’s just a scrape,” Janiya said, her voice weak even to her own ears. Ash hovered at Darin’s shoulder, watching with a shadowed face as Darin carefully peeled the soaking bandage off.
Gavin made a low, horrified sound and Janiya winced. She didn’t want to look at the wound. She knew what she’d find.
“When did this happen?” Darin asked softly. He had an antiseptic wipe in his hands.
“Beginning of the week,” Janiya said, flinching as he drew the wipe across the wound. The antiseptic was beginning to sting. “I – I cleaned – cleaned it – ow – and wrap – wrapped it – and – fuck – and it should’ve been fine.”
The antiseptic wipe was discarded, red and yellow and discolored white.
“It’s infected,” Darin said levelly, “It needs to be debrided.”
Janiya didn’t know that word, but she had a chilling feeling that it was nothing good.
“Do you have the supplies here?” Gavin asked, “Or do we need to go to a hospital?”
Janiya made a protesting sound – it was just a scrape, they didn’t have to be so smothering –
“I have the supplies here,” Darin said, and shifted to get up while keeping her leg on the chair, “General or local anesthesia?”
Janiya found her voice. “You are not sedating me!” she said, her tone shriller than she was going for.
“Local anesthesia it is,” Darin muttered, heading for the locked cupboard where they kept the more serious supplies. Ash was glowering at her, and Gavin merely raised an eyebrow.
“It’s just a scrape,” Janiya repeated, unsure as to why they weren’t getting it. “It just needs a new bandage. I’m fine.”
“It’s an infected wound that’s been festering for five days,” Ash snapped, “It needs debridement and then to be wrapped properly.” Janiya bristled at the implication that she hadn’t done a good job of wrapping her own wounds. “And you need painkillers.”
“I’m not a child,” Janiya hissed, “I can handle a few stings without popping pills!”
Darin came back with gloves and a set of tools. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt more than a few stings,” Darin said flatly, “The local anesthetic is non-negotiable.”
Janiya swallowed, eyeing the tools warily as they adjusted the set-up, bringing the coffee table to support her leg as she stayed curled on the chair. Darin took a set on the stool next to her, and filled a needle with something from a clear glass bottle.
Janiya braced herself for the prick and let out a ragged exhale as numbness spread through her leg. The throbbing pain vanished and it let the exhaustion weigh down heavier as she watched Darin sort through his set.
Janiya got a sense of what ‘debridement’ meant when he drew out a sharp-edged tool. Janiya sucked in a sharp breath and turned away, unwilling and unable to see what he was doing to her leg. There was a soft warmth right next to her, and Janiya squeezed her eyes shut as she buried her head in the sweater, one hand curling into the hem, the other wrapping tight into someone’s grip.
A hand began stroking her hair as Darin did…whatever he was doing, quiet squelching sounds echoing strangely, and someone else began humming something soft to cover up the noise. Janiya hated herself for this, for being so useless she couldn’t even manage to properly take care of a scrape and essentially disrupting everyone’s evening as they gawked at her.
The only saving grace was that she hadn’t started crying. If she did, the humiliation would be complete and Janiya could just go ahead and give up the prickly shield she’d managed to claw back after the incident, even if her words didn’t land with the same venom they used to. Once was bad enough. She was not going to dissolve into some helpless little –
“Almost done,” Darin murmured, and Janiya turned instinctively, morbid curiosity moving her to check –
Darin had a bent needle in his hands.
No.
Janiya wasn’t aware that she’d stopped breathing until Ash’s face filled her view, blocking her from seeing what Darin was doing – his hands grabbed her face, fingers slotted into familiar positions, curling around her cheekbones, holding her jaw still, she was screaming but nothing she could do would make them stop –
Her face was buried in something soft – it smelled like chili peppers and chocolate and hands were stroking through her hair and there were words drifting around her but Janiya didn’t have the energy to figure out what they were, especially with the high-pitched whine in her ears and the terror locking her muscles and the ache building in her jaw.
“No,” she whispered, choking on the word, “No stitches.”
The hand in her hair stilled. “I’m sorry, Janiya,” Ash said softly, “But the wound needs to be treated.”
She clutched at his shirt with trembling fingers – tears were leaking down her face as her eyes burned, wet and hot – she was shaking, she was falling apart – she could imagine it, imagine the needle poking through, the pinprick of pain that grew to searing flames, the tug of thread sliding through, the horror settling into her bones –
Words, low and soothing, a hand tracing circles on her shoulder, fingers through her hair, a quiet conversation, half-strangled sobs and hitched breaths.
She didn’t feel the last stitch. She didn’t feel the antiseptic cream. She didn’t feel the bandage being wrapped around her thigh.
She felt the shame and the exhaustion and the sick, burning heat in her stomach.
“It’s over,” Ash said quietly, “Darin put a bandage on it. It’s over, Janiya.”
It wasn’t over. The stitches would have to come out at some point, she knew they would, and she never wanted to feel the sensation of thread against skin ever again.
Janiya clutched his shirt tighter and shivered.
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<< Allegiances || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>
Chapter 11
“Hold still!” Mothwing insisted.
“It hurts!” Mackerelpaw complained, holding out her paw awkwardly.
Mothwing glowered down at the thorn embedded deep into the apprentice’s pad. Such injuries weren’t common in RiverClan, but Mackerelpaw had reportedly chased a squirrel into a thicket near the Twoleg barn. Mothwing had no idea how ThunderClan or ShadowClan cats went three steps in their own territories without coming back with a bundle of thorns in their paws.
She lapped at Mackerelpaw’s pad, using her tongue to draw up the end of the thorn. It took a few tries before Mothwing could get it between her teeth and, with a sharp pull like Mudfur had taught her, she yanked out the barb.
Mackerelpaw yelped at the bright spurt of blood, her eyes wide.
“It’s okay,” Mothwing assured, spitting the thorn out near the edge of the den. What a big, nasty thing! She’d move it later, before some other cat trod on it. With a paw she smeared on some prepared marigold pulp onto the pad. “Keep off of it for today, and let me know if it starts hurting more than it should.”
Mackerelpaw sighed. “Blackclaw is gonna be furious! He’s annoyed that my assessment’s been delayed by this.”
Mothwing blinked at the young cat with sympathy. As a former kittypet, every assessment was vital for Mackerelpaw’s growth into a RiverClan warrior, and Blackclaw was a tough mentor, according to Falcontail. “It’s not your fault, really,” Mothwing assured. “Things like this happen. Give it a day or two and you can have your assessment.”
“Really?” Mackerelpaw’s eyes lit up with hope.
Mothwing nodded. With all that was going on in the forest, Leopardstar had stressed how important it was for RiverClan to continue on as normal. Though Mothwing found her mother’s mindset increasing her anxiety, it seemed to be keeping the Clan from panicking. Still, Mothwing wondered if the buzz of Twoleg monsters weren’t getting closer and closer every passing day…
Mackerelpaw left the den, tail up and looking happy. Mothwing sighed and went to tend to the thorn, only to find that Mudfur was doing it for her – the old brown tom was burying it in the dirt beneath the reed bed.
“Good job,” he rasped, looking up from his work. “Your nest-side manner is improving.”
Mothwing’s pelt warmed. “Thanks,” she purred, her tail curling.
Mudfur stamped down the dirt over the thorn, clouds of dust billowing around his paws. Mothwing frowned. The drought had ended, and yet it still seemed like the earth was thirsty. It’s been a very hot greenleaf, she reflected. Hotter than the last. Even the river seemed to be having a hard time recovering.
She busied herself with cleaning up the marigold, sweeping it into the hollow shell of a log that they used to store their herbs safely. It had its gaps packed with mud and leaves to keep the water out when it rained. Mothwing glanced over the protective coating and wondered if it was cracking in the heat.
“We need more borage,” Mothwing reflected, looking into the shell. She pawed at the leaves in the dark. “Dawnflower is going through so much, with three kits to feed.”
“Hm,” Mudfur grunted.
“And I think we could stand for a few more sprigs of thyme,” Mothwing went on. She pulled her head out of the log, her nose tingling with the smell of dried leaves. “What do you think, Mud-”
She cut herself off, stiffening as she saw Heronleap pad into the den. Behind him came a very small, lean-bodied brown-and-white tabby tom, whose bright green eyes were wide with exertion. Mothwing had to scrub the herb dust off of her nose before she could make out the newcomer’s WindClan scent.
“Ryewhisper?” Mudfur wondered, ears pricked. “What’s going on?”
Ryewhisper blinked at the RiverClan medicine cats, but it was Heronleap who answered, glaring suspiciously at the WindClan medicine cat apprentice, “He says he came to speak with you, Mudfur. My patrol found him at the border.”
“B-Bristlepaw and Graytail are sick!” Ryewhisper burst, stepping forward, pushing past Heronleap. There was a plea in his eyes as he looked at Mudfur and Mothwing. “Neither can keep down any f-fresh-kill, and they’re vomiting so much… We’re out of herbs, and we don’t know what to do!”
Mudfur’s ear twitched, concern passing over his face. “Barkface has no ideas?”
Ryewhisper shook his head, looking desperate. “Please, help us… there isn’t time to go anywhere else.”
Mudfur looked to Heronleap. “Tell Leopardstar we’ll go,” he ordered.
Heronleap looked shocked. “Really?”
Mudfur bristled. “Did I stutter, kit? Go!”
Heronleap jumped at his tone and dashed out of the den. Mudfur’s neck fur bristled in frustration as he muttered, “Back in my day if a medicine cat told you to jump you asked ‘How high!’” He swung his head back to Ryewhisper. “Give us a moment to gather supplies.”
Mothwing sighed – there was something to admire about Mudfur’s strength, but she could see just how much the effort was paining him. His limbs were trembling subtly, and the light in his eyes was from pain, not determination.
“I’ll go,” Mothwing told him, heart pounding in her ears. “Just me.”
Mudfur looked like he might protest, but he shut his jaws on the matter. There was no need to argue in front of Ryewhisper, not when the thin WindClan cat could no doubt see his weakness, too. “Can you handle it?” was all Mudfur asked.
Mothwing hesitated. She’d only been training for a few short moons – Ryewhisper had far more experience than she did. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “but Barkface and Ryewhisper need help. I’ll do my best.”
It was a long moment before Mudfur made his decision. “She’s sharp,” Mudfur assured Ryewhisper, “and her mind is fresh. She’ll see things more clearly.”
Mothwing took a deep breath of relief, meeting Ryewhisper’s eye and finding that they were thinking the same thing – We’re both hoping I can come up with some sort of solution. Mothwing sent a silent prayer to StarClan. Please let me be able to help!
She gathered as many supplies as she could from the hollow log, anything she thought might soothe a stomach or prevent vomiting. Is it poison? She wondered as she scooped yarrow into her leaf-wrap. Or is it yellowcough? It doesn’t sound like redcough, at least… I hope I can figure this out…
“Hurry!” Ryewhisper pleaded.
Mothwing knew she had no more time for doubts or fears. She tied her bundle tightly and brushed past Mudfur, padding out of the den after Ryewhisper.
Outside, the Clan was clearly unsettled by their WindClan guest – the recent border crossings weren’t helping. Mothwing found herself frustrated with their looks. Ryewhisper was a medicine cat, what did they think he was going to do? Medicine cats don’t go around spying! It’s against our code!
“You’re going with him?” Falcontail hissed, coming forward.
Mothwing dropped her bundle, briefly. Ryewhisper glanced back, panic in his eyes. Quickly, Mothwing explained, “Mudfur thinks I can help.”
Falcontail leered at Ryewhisper, lashing his tail. “Keep a sharp eye out,” he growled, his voice low. His eyes flashed into Mothwing’s, and she took a half-step back out of discomfort. “And if you happen to see anything…”
Mothwing curled her lip. “I am a medicine cat,” she snapped, forcing her fur to lie flat. RiverClan did not need to see her arguing with her littermate. “Not a warrior – remember?”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. Mothwing scooped up her herbs and bounded after Ryewhisper, her anger at her brother’s request lending her paws speed. How dare he! She thought as she pushed through the reeds. Picking at me for being just a medicine cat, and then expecting me to spy on WindClan for him!
Who in StarClan’s name does he think he is?!
———————————————————-
Her anger had faded by sunhigh, as she and Ryewhisper crossed into WindClan territory. Mothwing could only stop and stare as the two padded over the rise of a steep hill. The reeds faded into the moorland, into rocking heather and prickly gorse that stretched on forever…
At least, it should have.
Huge swaths of WindClan’s territory were nothing but torn earth and mud, churned by the bright yellow Twoleg monsters slowly roaming over the hills. Even though they were far away, near the Thunderpath, the monsters were so visible and the Twolegs walking around them seemed to do so with no regard for the land they were stomping on.
Mothwing stiffened with horror, glancing at Ryewhisper. No wonder they’re all so skinny now, she thought. There was just no way for prey to live in the places where the Twolegs were rampaging, and even the hawks looked hungry as they circled in the clear sky. Ryewhisper seemed to guess what she was thinking. He said nothing as he led the way through the heather, heading for WindClan’s camp.
Thankfully, it seemed as if the Twolegs hadn’t yet found the camp. Mothwing, however, knew it was only a matter of time before those earth-eaters came and tore down the protective hills and gorse that sheltered the hollow where the WindClan cats called home. Ryewhisper led the way into the camp, lifting a stray bit of gorse with his tail so it wouldn’t catch in Mothwing’s thick fur.
Mothwing had never been into the WindClan camp before, but she knew there was no way it was normally in such disarray – bedding and old prey-bones were scattered all over the clearing, as if no cat had the strength to clean. Even the air inside the gorse walls seemed stagnant. Warriors were huddled up in tiny groups, their shoulder blades poking up from thin, ragged fur and their eyes bulging from bony frames. Though she was RiverClan, walking through their camp, there was no energy, no challenge; nothing like there had been in her own territory.
She knew she shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t help it. Sorrow gripped her belly like a hawk’s talons. WindClan was clearly suffering – there wasn’t even a fresh-kill pile that she could see, just a flattened bit of grass with old bloodstains. What were they eating? She glanced towards a hollow where two kittens stared out at her, before their pale-furred mother pulled them back inside. How were the kits surviving? They have to be giving them every spare morsel…
Ryewhisper led the way through the camp, towards an old badger set near the back of the hill that sheltered the camp. It had been hollowed out and expanded into a subterranean medicine cat’s den, safe from the heat. Mothwing, despite what lay outside, let herself be awed by the masterful way the hollow had been dug out – despite being underground, she felt safe, and not at all cramped.
Barkface was inside, along with who Mothwing presumed were Graytail and Bristlepaw. The entire den smelled of sickness, with herbs scattered everywhere over the hard-packed floor. Vomit-covered dock leaves looked as if they had been gathered in a far corner, but now they were left where they fell – Barkface was clearly at his wit’s end.
“There you are,” the small brown tom breathed. He looked exhausted, and just as thin as his Clanmates. “Please tell me you’ve brought aid…” His eyes drifted to Mothwing, then past her, as if he’d been expecting more.
“I’m sorry,” Ryewhisper breathed. The small tom looked exhausted. “I just don’t have the strength to go anywhere else - we can’t cross the Thunderpath safely anymore and there are just too many Twolegs near Fourtrees to get to ThunderClan in daylight.”
“I brought all I could,” Mothwing meowed, nudging her herb packet towards Barkface.
“It will have to do,” Barkface decided, tearing open the packet with a shaking claw. Mothwing and Ryewhisper huddled around him as he counted out what Mothwing had brought. To Mothwing’s dismay it seems as if she had brought every herb that Barkface had already tried – nothing inside the packet seemed to make Barkface look any more hopeful.
Mothwing looked over at the patients. Graytail was barely moving, his muzzle crusted over with old vomit and his eyes dull. Bristlepaw looked a little more lively, though that liveliness was him writhing in pain in his nest, groaning. Still, he was moving, and that was far more encouraging than poor Graytail.
Together, the three medicine cats tried everything they could with what herbs they had. Juniper berries seemed to help Bristlepaw some, but Graytail was simply not responding to anything – he hadn’t the strength to keep down any herbs, and barely had enough strength to retch. What vomit he did produce was speckled with blood, and Mothwing watched, helpless, as Graytail’s side slowly stopped moving, and his eyes grew dark.
“StarClan help us,” breathed Ryewhisper, horrified.
Barkface sighed, drawing a paw over Graytail’s eyes. “StarClan, guide him into your embrace…”
Mothwing could hardly hear the prayer. Ears ringing with shock, she redoubled her efforts to at least make Bristlepaw comfortable. As she dragged wool and moss over to the apprentice’s nest and stuffed it as best as she could, she clawed her mind, trying to think of something, anything that might cause such sickness. It’s not deathberries, they don’t kill like that, she thought desperately. Not nightshade or lily seed, tulip doesn’t grow around here… Oleander, maybe?
“I’m hungry…” Bristlepaw’s voice brought Mothwing out of her own head.
The small brown tom was still curled up and clearly in pain, but his eyes were bright as he looked at the medicine cats. He didn’t seem to notice or care that Mothwing was there – he simply looked at the three of them and repeated, “I’m hungry…”
“That’s good,” Barkface breathed, hope flaring in his tired gaze. “Ryewhisper, see if Onewhisker’s patrol is back. Bring him down the fattest of the rabbits-”
“No!” screeched Bristlepaw.
All three medicine cats stared at the apprentice, stunned by the force of his voice. Bristlepaw seemed shocked by it, too, writhing in pain. When he caught his breath, he wheezed, “No… rabbit… Graytail and I… we shared one… and then we got sick…”
Horror clenched Mothwing’s heart, and she looked at both Barkface and Ryewhisper. Rabbit was the primary prey of WindClan, they hardly caught or ate anything else in the barren moorland. If something was wrong with the rabbits… Oh, StarClan!
“Ryewhisper, stay with him,” Barkface declared. “Mothwing, with me.”
Mothwing followed Barkface out of the den and into the open. The WindClan cats were clustered around the fresh-kill pile, clamoring as Onewhisker and his patrol set their prey down. To Mothwing’s horror, there was a rabbit at their paws. Even more horrifying, the fresh-kill was likely the fattest thing the Clan had seen in a moon.
“Get it to Softbreeze,” stated Mudclaw, WindClan’s deputy. Even skinny and starving, he held his head high. “Her kits haven’t fed since yesterday morning.”
“Don’t!” Barkface croaked, pushing his way through the crowd. Mothwing followed in his wake, but she had a feeling that the WindClan cats hadn’t the strength to stop her. Barkface put his paw on the rabbit and drew it towards him, much to the dismay of his Clan.
“What’s going on?” demanded a small white she-cat. “Barkface, we need that rabbit!”
The pale queen from earlier poked her head out of the nursery. “You will not stop my kits from being fed!” she insisted, bristling. Mothwing trembled at the ferocity in the queen’s eye. Would she attack her own Clanmate for food?
“Enough!” Barkface raised his voice. Mothwing watched in awe as even the frustrated, starving WindClan cats fell silent for him. “Graytail is dead,” he announced. Horrified yowls rose from the crowd, but Barkface swept on, “Bristlepaw is hanging on, but he made a claim that a rabbit he and Graytail shared was what made them ill – it may be nothing, but I cannot allow any WindClan cat to eat a rabbit that might be tainted.”
The crowd fell silent, eyes round with horror. Onewhisker frowned. “Is there any way to tell?” he asked, glancing guiltily down at his catch.
Barkface stared down at the rabbit. Mothwing wondered what he was going to do when he raised his paw, claws unsheathed, and tore into the rabbit’s belly.
Shocked, horrified, all of the Clan backed up to avoid the contents. Mothwing’s nose wrinkled at the sour smell rising from the spilled stomach, but she leaned in to peer at what lay inside. It’s my job, she told herself. I don’t have to like it, though…
Barkface was looking with her. Amidst the rabbit’s last meal were various seeds and petals, but most prominently were bright blue bits of something unfamiliar, unlike anything Mothwing had seen before. She turned and sniffed at the meat of the rabbit and pulled back, shocked at the sourness.
“It’s poisoned,” she breathed.
“What?!” exclaimed Mudclaw. The WindClan deputy pushed himself forward, nose wrinkled. “What right have you to say that, RiverClan?”
“She is a medicine cat,” Barkface snapped, thrusting Mudclaw aside, “and she is right! These are no berries or seeds I have ever seen… it must have come from the Twolegs!”
Mothwing pulled her muzzle away, feeling sick to her stomach. Barkface turned to his Clan and sighed. “Let me speak with Tallstar. Mothwing, Whitetail; ensure no cat eats this rabbit… and don’t touch it yourselves.”
The WindClan medicine cat pushed through the crowd, following by worried gazes and chatter from his Clanmates. Mothwing placed herself beside the rabbit, conscious of the juices and blood running over the earth. Whitetail – the small white she-cat from before – sat beside her, looking utterly terrified as she watched Barkface disappear into Tallstar’s den.
Mothwing wished she knew what to say. WindClan was already struggling to survive the Twolegs encroaching on their territory – if they couldn’t eat rabbits… And what does that mean for the other Clans? Prey didn’t obey Clan borders, and Mothwing could swear she’d seen a rabbit on RiverClan’s fresh-kill pile. Fear gripped her heart.
Moments later, Barkface and Tallstar emerged. Though Mothwing was sure they used the tall rock in the center of their camp for meetings, there seemed to be no need for it now – and no energy. Tallstar was the thinnest of his Clan, trying to stride with confidence but clearly failing, even to Mothwing’s eyes. He leaned on Barkface as they padded to the head of the crowd.
Mothwing shivered as she looked into Tallstar’s eyes. The brightness that every Clan leader had, their gift of nine lives, was dull and difficult to see, even for eyes opened by StarClan. How many lives does he have left? What will happen to WindClan if he dies?
The WindClan leader only looked at the torn rabbit for a moment before raising his muzzle. The entire Clan was silent, the air heavy with tension as every cat, even Mothwing, was waiting for Tallstar to speak, to bring some sort of hope.
“I had a dream many nights ago, of a rabbit turning upon a WindClan warrior and killing him, but I foolishly dismissed it – it was clearly a sign,” the WindClan leader began. His voice was as weak as his frame, and sorrow burned in his hungry yellow eyes. “Barkface has told me what happened, and I’ve no choice: WindClan can no longer risk surviving on rabbits.”
Horrified yowls rose from the Clan, deafening all else until Mudclaw pushed through to call for silence with a sharp yowl. Tallstar looked to Mothwing, sighing.
“Warn your Clan,” Tallstar breathed quietly. “No more rabbits.”
“I will,” Mothwing murmured. “And the other Clans, too.”
Tallstar only nodded. “Go home, Mothwing. Thank you for your aid.”
As Mothwing was escorted, flanked by Onewhisker and Whitetail, she couldn’t help but feel as if being thanked for this was inappropriate. She could hear the horrified clamor of WindClan’s warriors, demanding to know how they would survive now. Mothwing could swear she heard a kit crying in terror over the growl of the Twoleg earth-eaters.
She felt as if she had just destroyed an entire Clan.
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Everyday
Fandom: SPY x FAMILY
Characters / Pairings: Twilight (Loid), Yor, Anya / some Twilight x Yor
Summary: The Forgers are the perfect fake family with perfectly fake feelings; flowers, sunset watching, and bedtime stories are to be expected, of course.
Word Count: 1,653
Read on ao3.
-
“Here, Yor, I got these for you.” Loid unceremoniously holds out a bouquet of flowers towards the woman in question. He shuts the front door behind himself so quietly it doesn’t make a sound.
Yor points a finger at herself. “For me?”
“I stopped by the florist on my way home—some of the neighbours were talking about us again—I believe this should quiet them down for the time being,” he elaborates. “They said it was ‘quite delightful’ when they saw me walking by with this in hand.”
“Well, they are lovely.”
Loid nods his head once in agreement, passing the flowers over to Yor. Following that, they head into the kitchen together. Anya sits at the dining table, her head buried in the latest volume of Spy Wars.
Her attention turns towards the sound of the entering footsteps and her eyes light up at the sight of Loid. “Papa!” she exclaims.
“What are those?” she asks next, pointing at the bouquet in Yor’s hands.
“Loid bought some flowers,” she answers with a smile.
Anya turns towards Loid with an expectant look on her face. “Did Papa get anything for me?”
“I’ve already gotten you enough things,” he reprimands.
“Maybe next time,” Yor intervenes. “Don’t you think these look nice, Anya?”
The young girl mumbles a few incoherent words in response.
Yor holds up the bouquet in her hands, observing it more closely. “Oh, there are lilies of the valley here… snapdragons too.”
She doesn’t see the way Loid’s posture straightens at those words. He swiftly inquires, “Are you familiar with floriography? The language of flowers.”
She blinks, gaze moving towards her fake-husband, then back to the bouquet. Her expression turns sheepish.
“I know of it, but I get a lot of the meanings mixed up. Oh, maybe I should understand it better, all things considered. And even you’re familiar with it…,“ she trails off.
Flowers aren’t necessarily her forte, but she does know a thing or two about thorns. And poison. Still, she probably shouldn’t say.
“No, it’s quite outdated. I don’t think many women these days understand it that well besides the most common flowers, such as red roses,” he reassures. “I’m not that knowledgeable of it either; I was actually wondering if you were. I’d only taken the florist’s recommendation for this.”
Anya stares at Loid, her eyes narrowed.
“Well, it looks beautiful,” Yor compliments. “We should put it in a vase.”
“Of course; I can do it,” he says, taking the flowers back from Yor. The kitchen becomes quiet once more as Loid busies himself with the bouquet and Anya turns her attention back to Spy Wars.
“Ouch,” Loid mutters suddenly, “pierced myself with a thorn.”
“Are you all right?” Yor asks immediately, concern lacing her voice.
“I’m fine; I’ve been hurt by much worse before,” he says wryly. “It’s barely a prick.”
Anya immediately jolts up and stares at Loid, her eyes wide. His focus stays on the flowers. The girl shakes it off before eventually asking, “Thorns?”
“Some flowers have thorns on them. They’re little prickly things. They hurt a bit when you touch them,” Yor explains. “Pretty things like flowers can be a bit dangerous sometimes.”
“Mama is pretty,” Anya says pointedly.
“Oh, well, this and that—they’re, uh, kind of different.” She chuckles then, a nervous hint to her laughter. “It’s not like I’m, uh—”
“Done.” Loid sets his finished work on the tabletop, interrupting Yor’s babbling. Anya seems to have lost interest, her eyes once again glued to the pages of spy shenanigans set in front of her.
Yor clears her throat then, gaze turning to the vase. The flowers are lined neatly. “Thank you, Loid.”
Daisies and daffodils make up most of the arrangement, she notices. A pure white. It’s accented with a few yellow roses and a handful of carnations, light red in colour. The lilies of the valley and snapdragons fill the rest, bringing it all together.
If she remembers correctly—
Her lips form into a small smile.
“Thank you for thinking of me, Loid, thorns and all,” she says softly, so quietly that only a trained ear can properly hear.
“It’s only natural for a husband to buy flowers for his wife,” he replies simply.
“Still,” she beams, “you’re very thoughtful.”
He turns his face away from her. “Think nothing of it.”
New beginnings, admiration, and happiness.
How sweet.
-
Twilight carries Anya in his arms as he strolls down the cobblestone path of the city. Yor walks next to him, diligently keeping up a perfect pace.
They look like the picturesque family, as they should.
The perfect fake family with perfectly fake feelings.
In his arms, he feels the steady rise and fall of Anya’s chest. She’s already fallen asleep. It’s been a long day after all, keeping up this farce. The sky is fading from a bright blue into a deep orange hue.
“Ah, the sun is setting,” Yor points out, her voice soft. “Twilight, right?”
He blinks. His face is neutral, doesn’t even move a single millimetre at her remark—he’s schooled himself in deceit, after all—but what if, what if. He gazes across the horizon and sees the shadows of buildings, homes, everything, silhouetted by the setting sun.
His mind runs at a hundred miles per minute; his backstory is perfect, Anya hasn’t let anything slip, his forged documents are infallible, and he’s a master of disguise. He hasn’t raised any suspicions with her, he concludes.
“Yes, twilight,” he eventually echoes.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she continues. “It’s always so lovely to see the sky painted in such warm colours. Twilight might be my favourite time of the day, I think.”
She says it so easily.
“It signals the end,” he comments. “Of the day.”
It’s elusive, not quite there. There for a moment, then gone in the blink of an eye, disappearing into the night sky. Something out of reach.
“You almost say it like it’s a bad thing,” she observes.
He shrugs his shoulders lightly, making sure not to wake Anya. “Some of my patients don’t do so well in the dark, with twilight—the transitionary period. The darkness in particular can be a pain point, especially the unknown that it brings. It’s not uncommon.”
“Oh, I see.” Her eyes turn back to the horizon. “That’s too bad. It really is beautiful. I think the dark… is also comforting. I’m more comfortable in the dark.”
He raises an eyebrow in response.
“Not to be weird or anything!” she exclaims. “And, uh, even though it’s the end of the day… I do think twilight is quiet, and… warm.”
He almost laughs at the thought, but he can tell from her body language and from the inflection in her voice that she is being completely earnest.
“And I think,” she continues, turning to face him once again, “that this is the perfect way to end the fun day we had, Loid.”
His mouth suddenly feels dry and Anya stirs in his arms.
Twilight’s gaze moves from the little girl sleeping peacefully against his chest, to the woman walking by his side.
Right.
The perfect fake family with perfectly fake feelings.
-
Papa is a liar. He lies all the time. He lies about his work, he lies about her, he lies about flowers, he lies about everything.
Mama is a liar too. She lies—bad. Mama is not a good liar, but she still lies anyway.
Anya is also a liar. Anya has to lie, because if she doesn’t, maybe Papa and Mama will stop lying too. And when they stop lying, they won’t need her anymore, and she doesn’t want to be just another number again.
She’s heard enough of Papa’s lies and truths to know.
So Anya will lie and she’ll try her best at school and she’ll be friends with snotty little boys for world peace, but mostly for her Papa and Mama. She might even eat carrots too.
A yawn escapes her lips.
“Are you tired, Anya?” Mama asks, her eyes glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost your bedtime, actually.”
“But Spy Wars isn’t over yet,” she whines.
Mama lets out a soft laugh. “A couple more minutes, then. It should be over soon.”
She picks up the petite girl once the show finishes, carrying her in her arms with ease. As she walks towards Anya’s bedroom, she suggests, “How about we get Loid to read you a bedtime story tonight?”
“What?” his voice exclaims from inside his room.
Mama stops in front of his closed door, giggling. “Come on, Loid. Anya’s been studying really hard lately.”
“Papa! Let’s read Spy Wars!” Anya shouts.
Papa doesn’t say anything, but Anya hears anyway. The door opens then and Papa has a frown on his face, but he still holds a Spy Wars book in his hands.
“You spoil her too much,” he mutters under his breath.
“I think we both do.” Mama laughs.
“I don’t get why this series has a cartoon, comics, and books,” Papa continues. He hits the cover of the book with the back of his hand as though that emphasizes his point. “It’s a bit much.”
Anya pumps her fist in the air. “It’s cuz Spy Wars is super cool! Right, Mama?”
“Yup, super cool.”
They walk into Anya’s bedroom next. Mama tucks her into bed, all tight and cozy, and sits on her right. Papa sits on her left and he opens to the first page of the book. He starts reading slowly, then Mama begins to read some of the words too.
Anya listens carefully. It’s quiet besides what they read off the pages, what they say out loud.
Papa and Mama lie a lot but sometimes they don’t, and Anya knows.
She closes her eyes as she listens to Papa and Mama’s voices.
That night, Anya falls asleep with a smile on her face.
——-
a/n:
I googled around for flower meanings, so there’s multiple interpretations for all the flowers I chose. I chose the ones I did for a reason tho ;)
09/25/19: added a few lines. This is what happens when u write a story in a couple hours and publish it right away
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life is so precious, and so fleeting (don’t let it pass you by)
(I had WAY TOO MANY FEELINGS about the Flower of Youth quest in ESO so you get a fic and a drawing about it! Humus and Aamos are my old Skyrim RP characters whom I still love dearly.
There’s not many people still around who know about them so here’s a tiny bit of info: Humus is a wood elf, very outgoing and fun, even carefree, and he feels strongly about many things. Aamos is a dark elf, doesn’t have any family left, he’s mute (psychological issue), fragile and sweet. His health has gotten better after meeting Humus, though! They met when Aamos was staying in Falkreath and the road took Humus there by chance. Their friendship has developed quite a lot since then and now they are visiting/living with Humus’ family in Valenwood.
But anyway here’s the story, I hope you'll enjoy it if you decide to read! The genre is hurt/comfort, of course.)
–––
Hartmin smiles, his expression distant, like he’s looking somewhere far away.
"It's funny. The flowers meant so much to us when we were young, but at the end, we didn't need the flowers any more. We had the memories."
The older bosmer breathes in softly, then looks back up at Humus.
"These seeds are wonderful though, I realise now their true significance. Thank you, my young friend. I'll remember you fondly."
Humus nods, trying to will his voice steady.
"May Y'ffre keep you both. Farewell, friend," he says and manages a thin smile. Hartmin looks at him with understanding and stands up for one final prayer.
–––
"Come then, little one," Humus murmurs to the imgakin by his side as he starts his trek towards the place where he left his mare. Piki follows quietly, soot-black eyes attentively watching the bosmer. Humus knows the monkey is more intelligent than people usually give his kind credit for and he's grateful for the silent support.
"We'll go home," he whispers, feeling the pin-pricks of tears in the corners of his eyes. I need to see Aamos, he thinks almost feverishly and chortles. It’s a travesty of a laugh, wet and thick.
His adventures really took him away from Valenwood for too long – he's become selfish.
–––
The ride to Woodhearth isn't long even when taking no chances with shortcuts and Humus arrives at the stables no worser for the wear. He untacks and quickly brushes Hennikki, throws a loose bale of hay into the pasture and goes to mix her a bowl of molasses. She deserves it, we've been on the road for a while, he reasons while eyeing the fairly round stomach of the mare. He then shifts his gaze to his own belly. Can't keep being selfish, right?
Piki startles him out of this thoughts with a high pitched squeak.
"Oh, don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you," Humus laughs and pats his shoulder to give the imgakin permission to jump up. He does and immediately settles onto his neck, keeping balance by setting his small hands on the top of Humus' head. The bosmer brings the treat to his horse, gathers up his belongings and goes home.
–––
They reach the house and Piki skitters off to bully some frogs or whatever it is that little monkeys do when they’re bored. As soon as Humus walks into the kitchen of his family's home, he is greeted by a cannonball into his middle. Specifically, the head of his darling little sister.
"Oof! Heledhes, ow, mind your head! You're getting too big for this!" Humus admonishes his sister as soon as he's able to breathe again.
"Never! So, did you bring me anything? Something exciting?"
Humus chuckles but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Heledhes either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care enough to press him about it.
"Nothing exciting I'm afraid, but it's certainly beautiful," he says and pulls out a flower seed from one of the pouches on his waist.
Heledhes peers down to look into his hand, frowning. Humus pats her head with his free hand.
"It's called Nereid's Smile and it grows the most beautiful blue flowers. Do you think mother would let you plant it in the garden?"
–––
Having survived his sister’s ambush, Humus wanders further into the house and finds his father in his nook of study, nose buried in an old tome.
"Welcome back," Taraven greets his son without lifting his head from the book. "Mother went with your brother to talk to some mages about a new potion or some such, if you're wondering where they are."
Humus makes a sound of acknowledgement and leans against the doorframe.
"You wouldn't know where Aamos is, then?"
"Oh, your dunmer friend went to the shore earlier. Wanted to see the Dominion ships I reckon," the older mer sighs. "Told him not to get too close. Don't know what's so great about them, fancy big they are, sure, but not much else. A ship's a ship, I always say..." The rest of the sentence fades into mumbling as his concentration starts to slip back into the words in front of him. Humus is glad for it.
"Thanks, father. I'll go see him."
–––
The salty air feels fresh and prickly on Humus’ skin as he walks closer to the shoreline. Travelling inland is always wonderful, to be surrounded only by foliage, thousands of years old trees and long lost ruins, but Humus grew up here in Woodhearth and the smell of salt, sound of waves and the squeaking of boats and ships rubbing against the wet wood of the docks is truly what makes him feel at home.
He spots a familiar pale figure tucked up against a rock, facing one of the big ships across the water. Humus stops in his tracks, emotions threatening to get the better of him.
Aamos is scribbling into one of his bigger notebooks, brow slightly furrowed in concentration as his gaze flits back and forth between the ship and the sketch in his lap. His pale blue complexion doesn't clash with the bright red of his borrowed tunic as badly as one could think, ash-blond waves of hair tumbling down his narrow shoulders, shifting every time he moves his hand. The dunmer's bare feet are dug into the warm sand and Humus' chest swells with affection.
–––
"Aamos!" Humus calls out and continues his walk towards the other mer. The dunmer's ears twitch at the sound of his voice and he's up on his feet even before getting a glimpse of the approaching bosmer. Aamos smiles so readily at him, wide and bright as anything, and Humus fears his knees will give out from under him. Aamos meets him halfway and the bosmer doesn't waste time to pull his friend into a tight embrace. Startled but not in a bad way, the dunmer wraps his thin arms around Humus' middle, nuzzling the top of his head in a questioning manner.
Humus draws a shuddering breath and shifts back so he's able to look Aamos in the eye, lifting his hands to cradle the dunmer's face in between his shaky fingers. The tears are coming now, freely, with no will to hold them back anymore.
"Aamos, my friend, you know–" Humus swallows thickly, "–you must know that I love you, don't you?"
The dunmer's expression crumbles and he nods frantically, as if he can't make his head move fast enough. His eyes shining with concern and love and all the other unsaid things he presses a dry, firm kiss onto Humus' forehead. The shorter mer sobs and Aamos lifts one hand to tuck the precious face into the crook of his neck. He might not know yet what brought this on but – he is certain that Humus will tell him in due time – what his friend needs right now is comfort and Aamos is more than willing to give it to him. He pulls their bodies closer, lets the bosmer wet his tunic with his tears and holds him, holds him, holds him.
#I don't expect anyone else to get much out of this but oh baby it was cathartic to write. and DRAW. my babies#hurt/comfort#tes online#the flower of youth#hartmin#humus#aamos#tervdraws#tervdrabbles#life is so precious and so fleeting (don’t let it pass you by)
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Almost *Peter Parker x Reader*
Summary: The one where you and Peter can only see each other in the Soul Stone and find out why
Warnings: Mild Language. Angst in the beginning and then fluffff.
Word Count: 1.9k
(A/N: I love soulmate AUs with my whole heart.)
Masterlist
You feel sick to your stomach as you stand alone in the never-ending forestry of Wakanda, lost and stumbling, searching in a panic for the woman that you trust with your life and then some; the woman that has taken you under her wing ever since she threw open your cell door and unshackled you from Hydra’s poisonous clutches a couple years ago.
Terror bubbles in your throat. You can hear the fighting and you can hear the struggles of your teammates but you can’t see them, you can’t find them. In the distance you hear Wanda’s piercing scream that tears through your entire being like a knife, and you know, you know that Thanos got Vision, you know that it’s all over.
Tears sting your eyes and then you hear it, a distinct cry in the distance, “(Y/N)?!”
Natasha.
You run, desperate to find her as you scream, “Natasha! Nat! Where are you?”
She sounds hysterical as she continues to call for you, her voice growing louder and louder as you pass tree after tree. Ten seconds stretch on for hours until you turn a corner and see her. Your cheeks are wet as you run into her arms, breathing a sigh of relief as comfort floods your chest.
She’s sobbing and clutching you like a life line, “I’m so glad you’re okay. When we couldn’t find you I thought---I thought---” her voice is shaky with distress as she struggles to speak, reliving the panic that had flowed through her veins when you had gotten separated from everyone else during the big fight at the barrier.
A loud crack of thunder booms and you pull away from Nat, your eyes glistening as a massive burst of lightning ripples through the sky and fills you with hope.
The hope disintegrates as fast as it had come.
And then a prickly feeling starts to ooze through your body like the static one feels when a limb falls asleep. It builds and builds until it envelops your body. Your eyesight flows in and out of focus as you stare at Natasha, terror and dread and confusion and sadness and every other emotion whirl winding in your mind and you know, you know you’re going to die.
Natasha clings to you, her eyes riddled with panic as she watches you slip away, powerless to stop the dust particles that melt you away, floating through the air as you shake, your fingers clutching onto her as if it would anchor you into existence.
“Wh-what’s happening to me?” you ask, fear thick in your throat as you cry.
Pain envelops Natasha’s face as she stares at you, holding your head in her hands and wishing that it was her instead, wishing that she was the one disintegrating instead of you. She can’t stifle the violent sobs that wrack her body as you fall between her quivering fingertips, just a pile of dust that once was a girl she loved like a daughter.
~~~~
Floating.
You feel like you’re floating, suspended in nothing as you lie with your eyes closed, arms splayed at your sides.
You feel neither hot or cold and a blankness in your mind that is almost comforting.
Almost.
But then it all comes back like an avalanche.
The fight. Wakanda. Thanos. The stones. Natasha. Dying.
Dying.
Your eyes fly open as a gasp escapes from between your lips.
You grasp at your body frantically, the memory of disintegrating into nothing but dust infesting your mind like a nightmare. Your terrified grasps are met by the warm flesh of your body and you can’t help but sigh in relief that you’re whole.
Breathing deep through your nose and out through your mouth to calm your nerves, you lift your attention from yourself to your surroundings. The sky is a bright orange, seemingly frozen in a single snapshot of a gorgeous sun set. A wide expanse of water rests under your body but you cannot sink below the surface, ripples spanning outwards from the base of your body.
Anxiety and fear course through your veins as you look in front of you until a soft, familiar voice reaches your ears.
“(Y/N)? Is that you?”
Whipping around, your eyes widen in disbelief at the sight.
There, disheveled and tear-stained and dressed in his suit but wonderfully whole and breathing and alive is Peter Parker, your best friend ever since your recruitment into the Avengers Initiative. The boy with a heart of gold that has been your rock from day one. The boy that is probably the biggest nerd you’ve ever met but wouldn’t have any other way.
“Peter?” you exhale, walking and then running and then sprinting towards him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes once more as you launch yourself into him, his arms reflexively catching you and pulling you into himself.
“Did you...?” you begin, not able to finish your thought through your sobs.
He picks up on your words, and you can feel the trembling of his fingers against your waist as he replies, “Yeah... yeah, I did.”
The both of you stand together, wrapped in each others’ embrace, finding comfort in the others presence as you reflect on what had happened, fear and failure hurting your heart as you bury your face in his chest.
You feel a pressure against the top of your head and despite it all, feel your heart flutter as you picture Peter’s lips pressed against your hair as he murmurs, “Did we lose?”
You bury your face even deeper into his chest, clutching the cloth of his suit between your fingers. Your reaction gives him all the answer he needs.
A couple silent seconds stretch on like hours as a thousand memories of the war fly through your mind. Your head screams with emotional pain, your eyes teeming with wet hot tears that soak into his suit until his hand covers your own, easing some of the trauma. You pull away slightly to flicker your gaze up at him, shyly looking into his eyes. He returns your teary gaze with his own, a half-hearted smile on his features.
He gently squeezes your hand, his thumb stroking the back of it comfortingly as he murmurs, “They’ll find a way to get us back. I know it.”
*An uncertain but long amount of time later*
“There’s no way that this is heaven, Peter,” you comment, laying your head back down on his stomach to use as a pillow after shooting him a look, “If this is heaven then everyone else that we care about would be here, too.”
You feel the rise and fall of Peter’s stomach as he let’s out a sigh, mussing his hair with the fingers of his free hand as the other rests behind his head. “Well where else could we be?”
You chew on your bottom lip as you contemplate the possibilities before vocalizing your thought process, “I mean I could be dreaming, or maybe I’m in a coma... or this could be some weird limbo or, hell, Thanos could be manipulating our reality with the stones--”
“Oh my God,” Peter shoots up, forcing your head from his stomach to his lap. His eyes widen in wild epiphany as he meets your gaze.
“What?” you question, furrowing your eyebrows.
He tilts his head and cups your cheeks, leaning down so he’s inches from your face, “I think we’re in the Soul stone.”
A blush creeps up your neck at the contact but you fight back the butterflies that flutter in your stomach as you reply, “Why?”
His eyes flicker to the sky before meeting your gaze once more, “Look around us. It’s all orange. Everything’s orange and the Soul Stone... (Y/N), the Soul Stone... it’s orange, remember? The sky isn’t really the sky at all, it’s the walls of the stone. I can’t believe it, it’s so simple but it still took us so long to realize.”
Your eyes widen at the revelation, your jaw dropping wide open as you place your hands over Peter’s, “Holy shit, Pete. You’re a genius.”
He breaks into a proud smile at your words, his heart swelling before deflating once more, his smile falling into a confused frown.
You remove a hand from his own and place it against his cheek, his head unconsciously leaning into your touch, nuzzling into your palm, “What’s wrong?”
His brow furrows and his lips form into a subtle pout, “I just... if half of the universe disintegrated like Thanos promised... then where is everyone?”
You dive into your thoughts at his words, trying to think of a possible explanation before it hits you in the face, a deep blush creeping up your neck as your stomach performs somersaults. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you gaze at Peter nervously. He picks up on your nerves, his head cocking to the side once more as he tries to read your gaze, “What is it?”
Fuck.
You fight with your feelings, struggling to spit out your words but failing miserably. You quickly grow frustrated at the uncontrollable quivering in your fingers.
If you can fight an army of aliens on your own and come out alive, then you can do this.
Mustering up your courage, you speak in a whisper, not trusting your voice, “W-well, maybe we’re together in the Soul Stone because... because... well--”
The corners of Peter’s lips curl up ever-so-slightly as he watches you stumble, his thumb stroking your cheek comfortingly like he always does when he holds you, “Hey, hey, hey. It’s just me.”
Red envelops your face and you practically choke out, “Well, maybe,” you let out a deep breath,”maybe we’re soulmates.”
You immediately turn away from him, ripping your cheeks from his grasp as you cover your face with your hands, completely embarrassed.
His lack of response unnerves you, and you’re half tempted to sneak a glance at him when you feel a gentle touch ease your hands away from your face. Peter’s index finger tilts your head toward him and your gaze meets his puppy-dog eyes. In a second, his lips are on yours, sweeping you away in a white-hot passion you had been craving for too long. His tongue slips into your mouth and explores it with a hunger you didn’t know he possessed, warmth spreading from your head to the tips of your toes as you tangle your fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck and take his lip between your teeth, tugging slightly before pressing your lips back against his once more.
The kiss is over all too quickly and you’re panting as you struggle to recover, your heart racing a mile a minute as you memorize his flustered features.
After a few moments, a giggle bubbles from your chest and Peter watches you adoringly before letting a few of his own laughs escape his lips.
“I think you just might be right, love,” Peter grins, the smile reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners in a way that you haven’t seen since before the Decimation.
Biting your lip, you look at Peter from under your eyelashes, your heart full as you let out a coy, “I think so, too.”
The look on Peter’s face is almost enough to make your heart stop.
Almost.
#avengers#the avengers#infinity war#marvel#avengers infinity war#peter parker#peter parker x reader#spiderman#spiderman x reader#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker imagines#peter parker one shots#peter parker imagine#peter parker one shot#spiderman fanfiction#spiderman imagines#spiderman imagine#spiderman one shot#spiderman one shots#avengers fanfiction#avengers imagines#avengers imagine#avengers one shots#avengers one shot#marvel fanfiction#black widow#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland one shots
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“Oh Love.”
This is was gonna be short Cheating Fic: Angst, PidgexLance, LancexAllura
@lavenderlady1999 helped me create this pain bomb.
Part 1/? Word Count: 2152
Part 2 Part 3
Based on this song
Pidge doesn’t even remember what they were fighting about. It seemed like every week it was a new thing, but she knew she had gone too far this time. She really said awful things. In the beginning it was amazing, they were a match made in heaven, Pidge never thought she could experience that sort of happiness. Pidge was confident in many things, but she never thought she was pretty or worth dating-- until Lance confessed his feelings. Lance, he was gorgeous, and no one made her laugh as much as he did. They were best friends.
So what happened? They grew distant, they fought more. It was over dumb, little things, but being how prideful they both were, neither could admit they were wrong. It always ended the same way, silence-- until they needed to talk. About bills, about groceries, about dumb things. That’s all it was anymore, dumb things. And it was a dumb thing that caused her to say the dumbest thing of all.
Even she couldn’t believe it came out of her mouth, she’s always been a hot head, and she always said things she didn’t mean in the heat of the moment. Lance knew this, but it was too far. Lance couldn’t hide the tears breaking past his furrowed brows and clenched teeth. It used to be that Pidge was the safe one for him to cry in front of, but now anytime he wants to cry it’s almost like admitting defeat. He didn’t want to be weak in front of her anymore, it made him more angry. She stared at him in defiance, waiting for him to say something, her gaze wicked and intense. Lance gritted his teeth.
“I can’t believe you Pidge.” He grabbed his jacket and left, slamming the front door behind him. Pidge was left there in the small apartment, fists clenched, she huffed and screamed into a pillow. She yelled a few curse words and kicked some furniture, before standing still. She had her eyes trained on the carpet, one of his dorky socks was partially hidden under the couch. It had cute cartoon cows on them, Pidge had gotten them for him on his birthday last year, they were his favorite pair. And without realizing it, she began to cry. She shouldn’t have said what she did.
Lance had texted Allura on his way over, he had just raised his fist to knock on her door when it opened, pulling him in.
“Oh Lance, I’m so sorry.” She hugged him, he buried his face into her hair and inhaled.
“I missed you Allura.” She pulled back to look at his eyes and he kissed her.
“Lance--” He wrapped his arms around her waist and deepened the kiss, Allura couldn’t help but leaned into him.
“Lance... I know Pidge is my friend, but everyday I regret not being with you. I see the way she makes you feel and I... I want to be with you. Ugh, I feel horrible--” Allura couldn’t finish her thought before Lance was kissing her again. He began pushing her into the bed and she let him, sighing happily into his mouth. “I’m so sorry she said that Lance, it’s not true.”
“I know babe, you’re the only one who cares about me.” He tangled his fingers in her hair.
“Lance we’ve been doing this for far too long--” She said in between kisses.
“You’re right, I’m gonna make it official, I’m breaking up with Pidge.” Lance sat up a bit, with a determined look in his face.
“Wait, Lance, I know you’re in pain--”
“No Allura, I want to be with you. I am so sick of sneaking around behind Pidge’s back, behind everyone’s back. I was supposed to be with you, and you weren’t ready. Pidge was just a shoulder to cry on.” Lance’s eyes went cold, and Allura looked at him with concern.
“Lance, can you really just throw away three years of commitment?” She whispered, trying to be gentle.
“I don’t love her, they were three years of playing pretend.”
Pidge decided enough was enough. Lance hadn’t come home for a few hours now, and it gave her lots of time to think. I should apologize, and make dinner-- his favorite, and maybe those fried plantains his grandma gave me the recipe for... Pidge knew things couldn’t keep going like this, she was going to make it up to him and they would talk it out. She was no longer going to put work before him, not that she was the only one at fault, but that was something of a sore spot in their relationship and she wanted him to know she was serious about fixing things. With a flame of determination she put her long hair up in a ponytail, and began setting up, cooking, and cleaning stuff off the couch and coffee table. She even added a candle, thinking he would appreciate the “romantic atmosphere,” most likely he would make fun of her but that was what she was going for. Finally, everything was ready. She had the different dishes laid out on the coffee table, and the fried plantains in the middle, next to the candle that smelled like pine needles. It was a bit of an odd mixture of smells, but anything to make him smile again.
She sat there for another thirty minutes. This was stupid, I don’t even know when he’ll be back... Sadness crept over her, she missed him. She missed the way he made her laugh, the way his eyes lit up when she came home from work. She hadn’t seen that in a few months and it was getting to her. When had it gotten away from her? She heard the front door knob jiggle, and for a brief moment Pidge was flustered, she didn’t know whether to sit or stand. As the door opened she decided on standing, her hands clasping together in nervousness.
“H-hey.” Pidge greeted the man at the door. Lance looked at her with eyes wide.
“What’s this?” He looked at the girl, whose blush had crept up to her ears and her hands turning white. His eyes scanned the coffee table filled with his favorite foods. Pidge began to get more worried as his expression went from surprised to pensive.
“Uhm, well, I just... I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for these past few months-- and I’m especially sorry for what I said to you earlier, I was mad and I didn’t mean it. I... I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with, I don’t know how to fit in, and you get the brunt end of that. I want to get better, I want to make this work, you’re such a special person to me Lance---”
“I can’t see a future with you Pidge.” The words stopped her dead in her tracks, her heart squeezing, she thought it had stopped completely.
“What?” Pidge’s ears burned, pressure building, had she breathed yet? She forgot how.
“A few months ago Allura admitted she liked me back. I’ve been seeing her since... I’m finally able to be happy with her. So...”
“S-So what?”
“Can you just tell me it’s over?” Lance’s gaze couldn’t meet hers. He stared at the ground, away from her general direction.
“Let me get this straight, you’ve been cheating on me with Allura for months now?!” Anger coursed through her, hot like molten iron in her veins. So why was she crying?
“Yeah, I didn’t mean to hurt you...”
“So what? You need my permission or something?! A ‘go ahead Lance, I’ll be alright,’ for your guilty conscious?!” Her voice was cracking, losing itself. She couldn’t even see him anymore, his figure blurred in and out of her vision, the tears were getting in the way.
“Pidge, I--”
“You apparently don’t need my permission for anything.”
“Pidge please--”
“Shut up Lance! I... I can’t even think right now! You, you cheated on me? For MONTHS?! With-- with Allura--”
“Yeah I did, I messed up...what can I do? I’m in love with her. I’ve been in love with her.”
“Was anything between us real?!” She hissed, her arms crossed, she was decreasing in size quickly as her body balled up in itself. Her expression screamed anger, but her body showed pain.
“Your words hurt, they cut like glass and honestly? Your whole personality is the same. How I ever fell in love with someone who’s heart is so prickly-- I don’t know. Allura is soft, and caring, you’re cold and sharp.”
“I.. I know that, that’s why I wanted to... It’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid--” Pidge was mumbling now, rambling.
“Dije que lo sentía, Lo siento por lo que hice--” He was almost whispering now.
“No sé como olvidar.” She spat back at him in perfect Spanish, she had been with him for so many years, she learned Spanish so she could speak to his Grandmother. Pidge’s eyes fixed on him, ice in her amber stare.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, but you never not wanted to hurt me. Goodbye Pidge.” His eyes went to the ground, and he walked out for the second time that day.
Pidge launched herself into work, it was all she knew to do. Her coping skills still weren’t the best after years of working herself through things. She couldn’t concentrate though, and when she ignored her brother’s texts, he began pounding on her door. She quietly sobbed as Matt called out for her on the other side of the door. She would fix this, she can fix anything. She knew deep down that Lance cheated, and there’s no excuses for cheaters but... she couldn’t help but blame herself. It was wrong, she knew that, she knew that... So why do you keep blaming yourself?
“I feel sick.” Pidge said to herself for the tenth time that day. It had been two weeks since Lance walked out. He had left his favorite jacket behind and, she knew eventually he’d be back to collect his things. That was when she would strike, she would win him back. Why? He made his decision--- She quickly chased the thought away. Because he was worth it, she loved him. Right? She was torn, but set her mind to it anyway.
Just like she predicted, he had come back a day or so later to collect his things. The atmosphere was thick, and tears immediately began pricking Pidge’s eyes. She fought them. Before Lance could go to the room to grab his clothes, Pidge stopped him.
“Lance, I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry, for everything, I was wrong. You’re the most important person to me, I... I don’t know where I would be without you. You’re my best friend and I know we fight a lot, but we can fix it. I want to fix it, because you mean everything to me.” Pidge couldn’t stop her voice from wavering, quivering. Tears bubbled up in her eyes, she smiled and looked up at Lance-- but when her gaze met his, it was cold.
“Pidge, why haven’t you realized it yet?” She stared at him, wide eyed and in shock. “I never loved you Pidge. I was heartbroken over Allura and you were there. I only needed your shoulder, and things got out of hand.” His voice was tough.
“I-- Lance I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to fit in-- I never have and you were my puzzle piece, I feel like I belong--”
“For fucks sake Pidge! Get it in your head! It’s done! I’m finally with Allura now, the way things should have always been.” He barked. Pidge shrunk back, and it stunned both of them. Neither one of them were prepared for how fragile Pidge had become. She began crying again, Lance rubbed the back of his neck, not able to look at the girl.
I thought we were gonna grow old together.
“C-Can... can I have a hug before you go?” Pidge sobbed pathetically. Why had that come out? Where did it come from? Had she really missed him that much?
“I don’t really want to hold you right now.” Lance bit back sharply. Pidge stood there, unsure of what to do or say. She felt like hyperventilating, her entire world was crashing around her, and she wasn’t sure how to put it back together. For once nothing was in her control. He gathered his things, Pidge standing in the living room crying silently the whole time. Why was she the only one in pain? Did he really not care? It wasn’t fair that she was the only one crying-- it wasn’t fair that she was crying at all.
All of Lance’s word rung in Pidge’s ears, burning them long after he had left her there. She was alone.
Hey! Thanks for reading, and we’re sorry. Let us know if you want a Part 2!
EDIT: Part 2 available now!
#voltron#legendary defenders#pidge#pidge gunderson#katie holt#lance#lance mcclain#plance#pidgance#allura#princess allura#allurance#fanfiction#vld fanfic#cheating#au#langst#plangst#angst#oh love#pain#trauma#tw#trigger warning#spanish
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