#without the lies fed to them they would have chosen friend | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

violet-knox · 3 years

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Hi 🤗

Can I ask for young!Severus when he has a crush on a reader, but he's to shy to admit it and she's so nice to him and they're starting to talk and spend more time together and become friends (maybe finally even more than just friends)?😊

A New World With You

Pairing: Young!Severus x Slytherin!Pureblood!Reader

Summary: Tension between Muggles and Wizards grow worse during your final year at Hogwarts, and in an attempt to help educate the students, you’re taken on a class trip where you end up exploring London with Severus.

Word Count: 8777

A/N: This was inspired by Midnight Stars Tree by @bush-viper-cutie. I’ve been thinking about this story a lot lately because I loved it so much. It’s so creative and so well written, I definitely recommend giving it a read. I think I veered from the original ask a bit, but I think I hit all the major points. Either way, I hope you enjoy. This one was a lot of fun to write and I love how it turned out.

It was supposed to be a fun get-a-way, a break from schoolwork and all the stress that came with it. But now, not only did you have to give up your weekend to complete a school assignment, you were randomly being paired with someone in your class. It wasn’t fair. Professor Polliwog could have at least let you pick your own partner, you didn’t need to be paired with someone who’d lived in the Muggle world to explore it. All you needed was a sense of adventure and some good company, which you thought you had this morning when you and your best friends got up early to prepare for the trip, excited to explore the city you’d always passed through on your way to the Hogwarts express, never giving it a second glance.

You couldn’t help the fact your parents had introduced you to most of your Hogwarts friends before you’d even gotten your letter, or that none of you had thought to visit the Muggle world before now. Why would you when everything you could possibly need was right there in the Wizarding world? But now that you were being given the chance to explore the unknown, to get to know how Muggles lived, you wanted to do it on your own terms without a Muggleborn tour guide.

“Gather around everyone, gather around,” Professor Polliwog ushered everyone around her on the platform as the last of the students jumped off the Hogwarts Express. You and your friends stuck together, frowning with anticipation of who you’d be paired with. You barely knew anyone who wasn’t raised in the Wizarding world, especially since your house was filled with so many Pureblood and Halfbloods, you didn’t have the slightest clue who you’d be paired with. You wondered if there were even enough Muggleborns to pair with the rest of the school. “I will read out your names in pairs and you will have eight hours to explore the town and return with enough information to write your papers. We will meet back here at 9:20 and make our way to the hotel for the night so don’t lose your tickets!”

“Why do we have to stay in a Muggle hotel? Can’t we at the very least have the night to recover from our visit to the zoo?” One of the students on the other end of the crowd spoke, his friends chuckling at his humourless joke. You shrugged at the attitude many of your Slytherin peers shared with one another, feeling like you were the only one excited to spend a night in a Muggle town. Even your friends weren’t as enthusiastic as you about the idea of sleeping at a Muggle hotel, acting like they were being forced to sleep in an uncivilized reservation with no running water or heating.

“You know very well Mr. Nott that returning to the Wizarding world would defeat the purpose of this trip. Tensions between Muggles and Wizards have risen quite a bit in the last few years, and this trip is meant to teach you Muggles aren’t so different from us. We must learn how they live so that we may learn to live in peace amongst them.”

Severus rolled his eyes, the irony of Polliwog’s words lost on him when it was clear she barely knew anything about the Muggle world herself, her outfit making her look more like a clown than a Muggle civilian. He felt a nudge against his side, looking over to see Avery smirking at him as Polliwog spoke, knowing exactly what was on his mind. He nervously smirked back, growing concerned he would end up paired with one of his own friends and they would find out where he really grew up. For so long he’d wanted to escape the judgment that came with living on Spinner’s End, from the Muggle’s living in Cokeworth and then to all the friends who’d accepted him into their circle at Hogwarts.

The day Lucius had introduced him to Avery, he’d decided he wouldn’t let Spinner’s End define him anymore, that he would forge his own identity and let the others make the assumption he’d grown up in the Wizarding world. He’d finally felt like he belonged when none of them questioned his origins, accepting him and everything he knew about the Wizarding world. When he heard about this trip, he tried to get out of it, begging Slughorn to excuse him, trying to give Dumbledore any excuse he could come up with, but when that failed, and Polliwog decided it was a fantastic idea to figure out who already had experience in the Muggle world, all he could do was hope Merlin would have pity on him and help him keep his secret.

“Now, once I call your name, you may find your partner and start exploring.” One by one your friends were paired up and ran off to explore the wonders of the Muggle world, and one by one the students drizzled down, leaving you concerned you’d end up stuck with Polliwog in the end, told there was no one to pair you with. The only thing that could possibly make this worse was spending the day with your professor and the more names spoken, the more Severus realized the second worst thing that could happen is if he got paired with the one person he’d been trying to talk to for the longest time.

“Severus and (Y/N).” Severus froze, his ears ringing as his heart raced, trying to run away from this horrible day. He’d been so busy worrying over what his friends might think of him, he hadn’t even considered the possibility of being paired with you. He couldn’t bring himself to look for you, feeling rather silly just standing there alone, thoughts of all the times he’d tried to talk to you rushing back to him. So many times he’d tried to plan out what he could say to you, how he could start a conversation, but he could never find the nerve to do it, scared he’d ruin his chance with you like he had with Lily.

“Severus?” You spoke his name, standing behind him and as he slowly turned around, trying to face you. His eyes were wide, blank and unblinking. He looked as though he’d just been struck by the most terrifying news and you felt all hope for a nice day in London slither away. He was clearly unhappy about being paired with you, his frown giving away the feelings he was trying to suppress, but it wasn’t like you’d chosen him. This wasn’t exactly the ideal weekend for you either, but you both had to try and make do with what you were given. “Shall we make our way?”

Severus blinked and found himself back in his body again, swallowing hard as he nodded. He walked after you as you jogged towards the wall separating platforms 9 and 10. Running after you, he found you on the other side, waiting for him and a small part of him began to panic as he realized how real this all was. He tried to think through his vocabulary, trying to find at least one single word to speak to you that wouldn’t sound absolutely pathetic. But he searched with no avail, thickening the awkward silence between you instead.

You walked out of the station unsure of what to say or how to proceed. It was bad enough you got stuck with someone who didn’t want to spend the day with you, but you were stranded in an unknown city with nothing but a tourist map Polliwog had passed out on the train. You had so many questions, yet you felt like you couldn’t ask any of them, Severus looking as though he would rather fall 100 feet than speak with you. You’d known Severus quite a while, at least from a far, so to say you were surprised that you’d been paired with him was an understatement. It had never crossed your mind that a Halfblood would have grown up in the Muggle world. You knew there had to be a story for him to share, you just weren’t sure he’d want to share it with you.

“H-have you explored London before?” you asked cautiously as you stood outside the train station, away from the crowd. Your eyes went straight to his frown, thinking back to the little interactions you’d had with him over the last seven years and you realized you’d only ever once seen him so unhappy. It was after rumours about James Potter saving Severus from the Whomping Willow had spread, chatter amongst the Gryffindors splattered across the halls about how Severus was crying outside their common room. He looked so defeated that morning when you saw him again, huddled into a ball by the fireplace. You watched him from the stairs and tried to will yourself to walk over to him, but you knew nothing you could say would sound right, especially since you were sure he had no clue who you were.

“No.”

“Then where in the Muggle world do you live?” You tried again, hoping to relax the tension between you and get to know him a little bit, but the annoyed expression on his face made it clear he didn’t want to talk.

“Lived,” he lied, his tone giving you the impression your correct assumption had offended him. Crossing his arms, Severus mumbled a truthful answer, hoping you wouldn’t press further. “Nowhere you’d know.”

A frown of your own appeared on your lips, fed up with his tone and attitude. You’d never thought Severus would be this rude, always seeing how kind he was to his friends. But it was clear that kindness was reserved for people he actually liked, and you weren’t one of them. Still, you had to try and get on his good side, otherwise the day would be completely lost and you’d never get to see the Muggle world.

“Alright. Well, any idea where we should start?” You opened up the map in your hand and looked over the odd looking shapes and words scribbled all over, finding it a bit difficult to read. Turning it upside down, you wondered if Muggles had their own secret way of reading maps, but clearly, you just hadn’t paid enough attention in your Muggle studies course, that or Polliwog had no idea what she was talking about all these years.

Looking back over to Severus, you watched him roll his eyes, pouting as he shook his head in disapproval. You couldn’t take it anymore. Even when he wasn’t talking, he still brought down your mood, making you wish you’d never gone on this trip, embarrassed that you were actually excited for it last night.

“Look Severus, I understand that you didn’t want to be paired with me, but there’s nothing we can do to change that. So why not try to make the most of it and have a bit of fun?” You did what you could to lighten the mood, hoping he’d agree and make both your lives just a little bit more bearable, but clearly your hopes were completely misplaced and you hadn’t caught on to the fact nothing would change his mind about you.

“Fun? What could you possibly hope to find fun in a Muggle city?” he said in disgust, looking down at the Muggles breezing past them on the street. He would never use the word ‘fun’ to describe the Muggle world, not the one he’d been born into. He couldn’t believe he was being forced to spend a day here when he’d spent every summer counting the days to escape Cokeworth. He especially couldn’t believe the fact that this would be your first impression of him, that of all the horrific scenarios he dreamt up, Merlin managed to come up with something worse.

He wanted so badly to start off your interaction with him in a positive light, to do with you what he couldn’t with Lily. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d waited so long to come up with the best introduction, to have his first words spoken to you be those you’d hang onto for the rest of your life. But the irony in your words told him he was far from such a position, your view of him now tainted by the idea that he didn’t like you.

“I-I don’t know I just thought-” You tried to oppose his views, knowing you had no ground to stand on when the only interaction with the Muggle world you’d had was passing it by on your way to the Hogwarts Express. You just could never imagine it being as horrible as everyone said, not willing to accept the tone Severus took when speaking of London.

“Muggles don’t live like us and even if they had our… skillset, they couldn’t possibly dream of creating a world like ours.” Severus rambled on without considering how you felt about his words or his attitude. Instead, he let his defensive tone once again ruin the chance of any sort of relationship with someone he admired. Looking over to you, he watched your frown match his own, your arms crossed and brows furrowed with anger. You’d had enough of his attitude, no matter how he felt about the Muggle world, he had no right to talk this way when this trip was supposed to let you form your own opinion about Muggles.

“Are you going to be this sour the entire day?” you snapped at him, ready to walk away and never turn back.

“I’m not sour! I’m telling the truth.” The words flew out of his mouth before he could even think, the need to hide himself from everyone around him ingrained too deep in his chest to let it go, even for you. He’d spent the better part of last semester trying to approach you, admiring your passion during class, your beauty during lunch, your kindness in the halls, and now he was throwing away any chance he had to befriend you with a sour attitude and bleak words.

You huffed in frustration, storming away without regarding Severus in the slightest. You couldn’t take being around him anymore, your weekend completely ruined after the discussion you’d just had with him. You’d rather aimlessly walk around in this unknown city, having no clue where to go or where you were than listen to another word from him. You were so disappointed in this trip, in Severus and his attitude. You’d always wondered how a conversation with him would go, how nice it would be to talk to someone about the subjects you learned in class. Severus always seemed to be the only one passionate about them, but clearly his passion extended further than his school subjects, a pleasant conversation with him now a thing of dreams.

“W-where are you going?” Severus’ voice followed you, leaving behind his awful tone. You were surprised he continued to walk behind you, despite your furious pace to get away from him and a part of you was glad for it, still hopeful this weekend would turn around.

“I don’t know, but I’m not going to stand there and listen to your rambles. The point of this trip is to explore the unknown and you're just spewing on like Muggles still live in the dark ages!” you said as he caught up with you. Severus wasn’t sure what to say, feeling horrible knowing he was the reason you were so upset.

“But here, look.” You stopped in your tracks, picking up an odd looking stick, intrigued by its bright red colour. “If Muggles are so unimaginative as you say, how can they come up with this? … Whatever it is.”

You examined the object, spotting a small dab of dried ink on the end and wondered if this was some sort of writing utensil. You couldn’t imagine how Muggles would use it, the dab of ink too small to write a single letter, let alone entire essays.

“It’s a pen.” Severus frowned, crossing his arms, unimpressed with Polliwog’s failure of illustrating something as simple as a pen. It wasn’t like the bloody things were expensive or rare, she could have easily bought a couple to show the class, but no, it was all about the textbooks and whatever words they possessed. Theory was all that mattered, Merlin forbit a professor at Hogwarts actually teach the students to apply their knowledge. At least McGonagall and Flitwick had the sense to demonstrate the spells they were teaching.

“Right, a pen,” you said, rather pleased your guess was right. Pressing the pen to his chest, you let it go and turned back to walk away, feeling like your mini triumph was ruined by his hatred towards Muggles. Severus caught the pen before it fell, looking at it in his hand and immediately tossing it to the ground, disregarding it without a second thought. He could never learn to appreciate Muggles or their trinkets like you did. He knew they were bright, that they had progressed in some ways further than the Wizarding world, but he just couldn’t get past the awful parts of their realm. He admired your open mind, he truly did, but you hadn’t lived like him, you hadn’t experienced the worst of what Muggles can do.

“Leave me alone, Severus, I’ll roam the city on my own,” you said when you realized he’d continued to follow behind. Severus felt his heart sliced up into pieces by your harsh words. But he knew he deserved it, that he’d caused your mood to shift to such an angry tone. He slowed his speed and watched you walk away as he stood there on the sidewalk like the fool he was. He’d completely ruined any chance of a friendship with you like he had with Lily and it was clear to him now that it was him who’d pushed others away all his life. When Lily stopped talking to him, he’d blamed Potter like he blamed his father when his mother left them last year. But it was him all along. He was the only common denominator between you, Lily and his mother, so it only made sense that he was the problem.

He’d lost sight of you, your figure disappeared into the crowd of Muggles passing him by, and he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He didn’t want to explore London like everyone else, he wanted to go home. Stuffing his hands in his pocket, he began making his way back to the train station, clutching his ticket in his hand. Perhaps the train was still there and he’d be allowed to pass the time in one of the compartments. At least in the train, he’d be as close to Hogwarts as he could, and he wouldn’t have to suffer through another day amongst people who could care less about him.

He walked as fast as he could, running through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, finally finding himself relax when he found the Hogwarts Express still sitting there, waiting for him to return. Without thinking, he ran to the door and tugged on the handle, finding it locked. Pulling out his wand, he cast a silent alohomora unsurprised to find the door still locked. He tried a few more charms, unhopeful they would work until he gave up and walked back to one of the pillars in the middle of the platform, sinking down to the ground, facing his only ride back home.

He hugged his knees and thought back to the horrendous day he’d had, starting it off horrified his friends would find out the truth about him, afraid he’d be paired with you, then finding himself living in a complete nightmare as he watched you storm off from his less than delightful attitude. He’d spent the better half of the day building up his defenses, too scared to let the world see him and who he was that he’d pushed yet another person away. A year he’d spent pining for you, trying to build up the courage to at least say hello, but his fear of repeating history had him putting it off until the universe decided enough was enough. He wasn’t ready. If only he had some time to prepare, if he’d spoken to you at Hogwarts with the conversation planned out… it would have still ended in a disaster because he was destined to live in agony and resentment.

He groaned in frustration, tears prickling his eyes as his mind dreamt up scenarios where he’d made a good impression on you, the friendship he could have built, the fun you could have had together. He could have finally talked to someone who appreciated Potions, Herbology, Defense, Charms and every other subject in school. You could have studied together, excelled together and helped each other build such promising careers. But of course, none of that would come to pass after what he’d just done. Hope told him to grab hold of the possibility you’d forgive him, that if he just found the right words, the right thing to say, you’d give him a second chance, but he knew fate would never allow for such a thing. He couldn’t break the cycle no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wanted it, he felt completely helpless.

He tried to clear his mind, quickly wiping away his tears to hide his disappointment, but he couldn’t help but think of you and how you were wandering around London on your own while the rest of the class all had company. He thought of you trying to ask Muggles for help, completely lost in this giant city. He thought about how you’d struggle to make your way back here, missing the deadline Polliwog set and forced to spend the night in some unknown Muggle street. It tore at him thinking of some Muggle finding you alone, taking advantage of your helplessness like he knew they would back in Cokeworth.

Jumping to his feet, he found himself running back out the train station and leaving behind the only sliver of his home he’d get until the trip ended. He needed to find you, to try and make it up to you or to at least make sure you were alright. He couldn’t let the Muggle world tarnish you like it had him and perhaps, by Merlin’s grace, you’d find it in your heart to forgive him for such a horrible first impression.

He looked down the steps outside the train station and began to retrace your movements, stopping when he spotted the pen he’d so carelessly brushed off after you’d admired it. Picking it up, he noticed how damaged it was, how beat up the casing had become after being tossed aside like trash. Pressing the tip to his finger, he dragged the pen across his skin and watched as it left behind a strong trail of red ink. It still worked after everything it had been through. Stuffing the pen in his pocket, he made his way down the street, looking everywhere for a sign, anything at all that could tell him where you were. It felt like a helpless case trying to find you in this city, but he had to try, he couldn’t give up now.

You’d really tried to brush off Severus’ words, but they stuck with you as you walked onwards, ringing in your ear with every step you took. You entered shops, hoping to find something that could help keep your mind off of him and your disappointment in this weekend, but nothing could lift your spirits after what he’d done. He’d hurt you more than you’d cared to admit, not just because of the way he spoke about the Muggle world, but his hateful tone shunned you away from any relationship you’d previously hoped to have with him. He wasn’t the boy you imagined, and it crushed you to know that.

Still, you marched forward and tried your best to do what you’d set out to do and make the most of this opportunity. You entered clothing shops and wondered how Muggles could possibly find some of these items comfortable or appealing to the eye. You passed by a toy store and was rather unimpressed at their odd boring selection. You rifled through a bookstore and bought a few items to give Muggle authors a try, starting to feel better about what had happened today. You walked the streets until you finally found a diner where you felt normal. Glaring at the menu, you smiled as you finally found something in common with the Muggles. You took your time, decided you’d spend the day here, eating and reading one of your new books and that would have to be enough for you to salvage the day.

The waitress brought you your food and you took a moment to admire the delicacy of the presentation. It looked very well made, like they were prepared by a dozen house elves. The burger wasn’t as large as those you’d seen at Hogwarts, but the fries were definitely much more crispy and the milkshake was absolutely astounding. You happily drank, wondering what Muggles would think of Butterbeer if they ever got the chance to taste it as you pulled out one of your books, flipping it over to read about the author. The picture was still, and for a moment you thought perhaps you’d seen her blink, but it was clear Muggles were unable to capture moving pictures like Wizards could. It was an interesting sight, but you weren’t sure you liked it. The constant stare of the woman creeped you out. Shaking your head, you turned the book back around and flipped it open, reading the first few words of the first Muggle book you would ever enjoy.

Severus felt hopeless walking down the streets of London, beginning to get lost himself as he tried every street, every store he passed by until his feet ached with pain. He’d lost track of time, but it had felt like he’d been walking for days, his heart slowing as he tried to catch his breath. He’d been in such a panic for so long, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stay standing for very much longer if he didn’t rest. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop, his guilt growing the more time ticked away. He’d wanted to try and make it up to you, but the more time he wasted looking for you, the less time he’d have to try and salvage your happiness.

He was almost about to give up, when he saw a waitress in the diner across the street setting down a plate of fries on a table where someone very familiar sat, reading a book. He stopped in his tracks, looking through the window, wondering if he was hallucinating, if his mind was playing tricks on him just to get him to stop looking for you. He crossed the street and the closer he got, the more he wondered if fate was trying to make things up to him after putting him between a rock and a hard place these last few days.

He walked into the diner and looked over to the side, admiring you as you read. You looked like you’d made up for his outburst all on your own. His shoulders dropped as he realized all he would do now if he walked up to you was remind you of how he’d ruined your day. He sighed and turned back to look at the door, knowing he should leave, but the need for repentance kept him from stepping out that door. He wanted a second chance, another go at a first impression with you. He wanted to have a real conversation with you, to make you smile and enjoy his time like you were doing right now.

“Severus?” He stopped his motions when he heard his name, turning his head back to you as he let the door swing shut. You’d seen him and if he ran out now, he’d have no chance of redeeming himself in the future. Walking over to you, he stood beside your table, unsure of what to say. “What are you doing here?”

He stood there hoping Merlin would help him find the right thing to say to you so what happened this morning wouldn’t happen again. Stuffing his hands in his pocket, he froze and suddenly found himself feeling calm, his mind clear. Slowly, he pulled out his right hand and gently placed on the table before you the red pen you’d picked up off the street.

“I-I’m sorry.” The words left his lips without a thought, knowing it’s what you needed to hear. “I shouldn’t have said those things, acted like that and I’m really sorry.”

You looked at him in astonishment, your eyes unable to leave the beat-up pen on the table. You were completely floored at the idea he’d found you just to apologize, that he’d kept the pen you were so infatuated with and you were touched. You smiled at his gesture, feeling your faith in him restore as he stood there in desperation, his eyes begging for your forgiveness. Picking up the pen, you held it between your fingertips for a moment, examining it like it was the most fascinating thing you’d seen all day.

“Do you want to sit?” you offered. Severus couldn’t believe your willingness to hear him out, but he didn’t hesitate to take the second chance you gave him, learning from Lily to never again take forgiveness for granted. He sat across from you and watched your every movement, worried that if he took his eyes off you now, he’d realize it wasn’t real.

“Do you want some fries?” You pushed the plate to him, noticing how shriveled he looked and realized he probably hadn’t eaten all day if he’d spent it looking for you. Severus peered down at the fries, trying to resist, feeling like he hadn’t earned the right to eat the food you’d paid for, but your smile was so inviting, and he’d used up his energy trying to find you. Picking out a fry, he slowly chewed on it and watched as you slid over your half-drunk milkshake with a smile. You were so kind, so generous; a Slytherin with a heart as many would joke at Hogwarts.

“Why do you hate the Muggle world so much?” you asked softly, hoping this discussion wouldn’t lead to another explosion of hatred, but you just couldn’t let it go and if there was any hope for you to build any sort of friendship with him, you had to get to know him more. You needed an explanation for what he’d done before you could move past it.

Severus shrugged in response, his wall building itself back up again as he tried to fight the urge to hide himself again. After he’d opened up to Lily about his life on Spinner’s End, he promised himself he would never do it again, not after she picked Potter’s side over his. He didn’t want to talk about the past, he just wanted to move forward and build himself a new future, one that wasn’t controlled by his parents or Potter or anyone else. “I suppose that I was quick to judge.”

“Well, they don’t seem so bad to me,” you retorted, finding yourself having enjoyed the day despite everything that had happened, though you were sure the mends Severus was making now was the only reason you felt as happy as you did. You were moved by his sentiment, never once feeling as special as he made you feel before today. “Have-have you been searching for me all day?”

Severus leaned back in his seat, cherishing the smile on your face, your curiosity and worry over him. He felt the heat rise to his face as he realized how embarrassing what he’d done was. It was bad enough he’d admired you from afar this past year, but to admit he’d ran down the streets of London searching for you was something he could never live down.

“No,” he shook his head and stared down at the nearly empty plate of fries, surprised he’d eaten so much when he’d given you his full attention. Your smile grew wider as you kept your eyes on him, knowing he was lying through his teeth. “I just-I didn’t want to leave you roaming around London alone.”

Your smile grew wider and he couldn’t help but return it. You leaned forward, setting your arms on the table as you narrowed your eyes. You wanted so badly to trust him, to have with him what you thought you’d never find with anyone else, but you were scared. You didn’t know him, not really. You’d seen him in class, seen his achievements, watched him pick his friends and fight with the Gryffindors, but you didn’t know the real him. The only thing you’d learned from today was his resentment towards Muggles and that wasn’t exactly something that gave you confidence in him.

“Well, we have a few more hours before we have to go back. Got anywhere in mind?” you asked, wanting to give this friendship a chance, wanting so badly to see him for who he truly was. You’d felt like you’d seen so many versions of him, you weren’t sure which one was real anymore.

“Have you seen the cinema yet?” He leaned in, eager for how well things were turning out, how forgiving you seemed to be.

“What’s a cinema?”

Severus chuckled, almost forgetting your lack of knowledge on the Muggle world. More than ever, he wanted to build at least a friendship with you, to be around you more and see through your eyes. Perhaps if he was given that chance, his outlook on the Muggle world wouldn’t cause him to explode like he did this morning. “They play movies there, like moving pictures that tell a story.”

Your eyes lit up, your back straightened as you smiled with fascination. You felt all your anger towards him completely melt away as you took him up on his offer to at least end the day on a happy note. “That sounds amazing! But I thought Muggles weren’t allowed to handle magical objects.”

“It’s not magic. It’s technology.” He grinned at your obliviousness of the Muggle world, looking forward to seeing it in a new light through your eyes. Finishing off the fries, you put away your book and red pen, then grabbed your milkshake to follow Severus down the street. The sun was already setting and for a moment, you felt a bit resentful towards him, realizing how lovely of an evening you could have had with him if he’d only acted proper this morning. But as much as you wished you could rewrite time, as much as you wanted to redo the day, you couldn’t and that was okay. He’d come back for you, he’d wanted to try again and perhaps it was because he felt guilty, but oh how you hoped it was because he saw the potential for such a strong relationship between you both.

There was so much you wanted to explore with him, but you knew nothing would come of this small spark of a friendship if Severus didn’t want it, if he didn’t tear down those walls. He’d always been such a mystery to you, but you realized now just how complex he was, how he was more than that lanky boy at the end of the library, studying until the lights went out. He was more than the Slytherin that had fought with Gryffindor’s Quidditch star, more than what everyone made him out to be and you could only hope he’d open himself up enough to let you see him for who he truly was.

The more you walked alongside him, talking to him about the Muggle world, already learning so much from him, the more you felt like you were getting to see a side of him he rarely showed anyone. You wondered if he was comfortable around you, if he was open to building at least a friendship with you, but you were too afraid to read into it or ask him how he felt. You’d started off the day so rocky, you didn’t want to risk ruining what you had now. You wanted to enjoy the moment and at least you would have this evening to look back on when you went back to Hogwarts.

The cinema wasn’t far from where you were, and you almost wished it was, enjoying the walk there with him more than the idea of seeing this ‘movie’ Severus spoke of. But, as you approached the doors, your curiosity for the Muggle world overtook you, your eyes trying to take in as much of the humongous building as they could. After your walk today, you’d assumed all Muggle buildings were small, nothing even coming close to the size of some of the shops you’ve been to in the Wizarding world, let alone Hogwarts. But this building looked endless, Severus claiming every room was twice as large as a classroom.

“What do you want to watch?” he asked as you both looked up at the billboard displaying the movies and their showtimes. You shrugged at his question, completely lost as to what you were looking at. You weren’t sure it would even matter what you ended up watching, just the experience alone was enough to keep you satisfied and the fact that it was Severus who was introducing you to this new world made it all the more special.

“Well, what was that book you were reading about?” he asked instead, hoping to pick a movie to your liking and get to know you a bit better. He wanted so badly to progress whatever it was between you both, to fast forward to the part where he knew everything about you and he’d trusted you to know everything about him. But he knew great relationships weren’t created with one measly conversation and trust had to be earned, so he settled for the opportunity to get to know you one bit at a time instead.

“It’s about this girl and her friends who plan on exploring rumours about buried treasure. It’s called ‘The Secret of the Forgotten City’’,” you said, unsure on how you felt about the book just yet since you’d only read a couple of chapters. But the bookshop owner had said it was a popular story amongst the Muggles, and it had yet to disappoint you so far.

“A mystery. Then perhaps we can watch that one?” Severus points at the title ‘Return from Witch Mountain’ with a smirk and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter, finding the name ironic considering your destination to Hogwarts tomorrow. Nodding, you agreed to watch whatever these moving pictures entailed.

Severus walked up to a booth where a man sat entrapped in some glass, which you thought was rather odd. But when Severus asked the man for two tickets to see the next showing of ‘Return from Witch Mountain’, you realized he was no prisoner, but a worker who’d chosen to remain incased, selling people tickets to see the moving pictures. The man gave you the price to be paid for the tickets and you both began to rummage through your pockets, Severus picking out as many coins as he could before he realized he was short. He patted himself down in a panic, feeling completely saddened at the fact that money had once again become a barrier between him and the thing he wanted most; a friendship with you. He could hardly believe his luck, utterly crushed at the thought of disappointing you a second time. He couldn’t face the idea of ruining your plans again, a look of anger on his face as he triple checked every pocket. He’d ruined his second chance, knowing there was no chance for a third.

Setting your money on the counter, you looked over to Severus, watching him struggle to come up with the full amount and immediately grabbed a few more coins of your own to make up the difference. Severus looked up when he heard your coins hit the countertop and watched as they were exchanged for two tickets. He was in shock at what you’d done. The tickets weren’t exactly cheap and it was him who’d suggested watching a movie in the first place. You had no idea what you’d paid for, yet you were happy to fork over your coins to have him by your side while you watched the movie.

“W-why did you do that?” he asked as you made your way inside the theater to find your seats. He wanted to be mad, his own ego objecting to the humiliation of a stranger paying for what he couldn’t. But he felt grateful, not for the money, but for your kindness and willingness to give up something so valuable just for a few hours of fun with him.

“Because I want to watch the movie with you Severus.” He smiled, feeling overjoyed at your words, your confirmation of interest in him, but how could you not after you’d admired him for so long? You’d wanted nothing more than to spend time with him and money wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.

“I’ll pay you back,” he promised, not wanting any reason for resentment between either of you, especially now during such a fragile state in your relationship.

“You don’t have to. Consider it a thank you for bringing me here.” You playfully nudged his arm with a smile. Severus felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he tried to suppress his ever-growing smirk. He was beyond relieved that he’d managed to redeem himself, that you’d accepted his apology and attempted to make things up to you after this morning.

You saw all the Muggles heading into the theater carrying snacks and noticed the absurd prices at the counter where they were selling popcorn, drinks and candy. You didn’t think twice about passing up on those knowing full well Severus would only feel worse if you spent more money on him and besides, you’d had quite the meal not thirty minutes ago, your stomach full and your heart happy with the company you kept. Severus led the way to the middle of the second to back row claiming they were always the best seats and you didn’t argue. You had no idea what to expect, but you were excited nonetheless.

“So, what now?” you asked eagerly as you sat in the dark room waiting for something to happen.

“Now we wait,” Severus told you, leaning on the arm rest between you. “The movie is set to start in fifteen minutes so they should start playing commercials soon.”

“Not even Muggles can escape the power of advertisement,” you chuckled knowing everyone around you would likely be completely bored by them, but you were looking forward to it. You wanted to know as much of the Muggle world as possible and what better way to do that then sit through some advertisements about Muggle objects or odd looking inventions.

As Severus had promised, a flash of light appeared before your eyes, colours spilling all over the screen as the first commercial began to play. Sound filled the theater and you could barely hear yourself think, wondering how anyone was able to speak over all this noise. The pictures moved before you, an image of a bed displayed with a woman slipping under it’s covers, some unknown voice speaking of the amazing mattress she was sleeping on. The commercial was dull and uninspired, but you loved every moment of it. The next commercial began playing and you found yourself completely lost at the object being sold.

“WHAT’S A TV?” You turned to Severus and asked him. Immediately everyone in front of you turned and looked at you funny, some shushing you, others looking like you’d gone mad. You looked back at them wide eyed, unsure of what you did wrong. You turned to Severus to see him trying to suppress a smile, chuckling under his breath as he looked at you.

“You aren’t supposed to speak in the theaters,” he whispered in your ear. He leaned back in his chair and saw a look of disappointment and embarrassment wash over your face. He suddenly felt very guilty for not informing you sooner of the general rules of the theater and leaned back to whisper the answer to your question, hoping if he tried to have a light conversation, you would cheer up. “A TV is like a portable theater. You can use it to watch movies at home.”

You smiled when Severus answered your question, feeling better about shouting in a place where talking was forbidden. But for the second time today, Severus was there to make it up to you, to make you smile when you felt so down. Placing your hand on his, you silently thanked him, not daring to try and whisper your gratitude to him. Severus felt his heart skip a beat when he felt the gentle graze of your fingers slipping over his hand. He looked down at the armrest between you and saw your hand over his and slowly, he turned his over to hold yours, returning your smile as the commercials continued to blaze the room.

Neither of you wanted to move away when the movie finally started, half your focus on his thumb mindlessly caressing your knuckles, stopping when you squeezed his hand in approval. Severus wasn’t sure what to make of your small gesture having convinced himself you’d hate him after what happened this morning, that you’d never want to speak with him again after tonight. Your hand in his kept him hopeful that you’d want to explore whatever it was between you, that you’d at least be willing to keep him as a friend during your last year at Hogwarts.

He cautiously turned his head towards you, trying to catch a glance of your face as you watched the movie. Your eyes were so full of wonder and he could only imagine how happy you both could have been if you’d spent the entire day exploring the city like you were meant to do. He would never forgive himself for passing up such an opportunity, promising himself he’d spend as long as he could trying to make up for that time you lost. But for now, he was happy to watch your eyes sparkle and your soft smile.

You easily lost track of time, your thoughts wandering from the movie to the boy sitting next to you. Any other day you would be infatuated with questions about how Muggles had managed to make moving pictures, how they could capture and tell a story in such an amazing way. But all you could think about was Severus and everything he’d done to mend your first impression of him, of how hard he tried to lift your mood and how amazing it would be to have such a person by your side during your last year at Hogwarts. You fantasized study sessions with him late in the Slytherin common room, cuddling up to him as you both crammed for your N.E.W.T exams. You dreamt of a future where you kept in touch with Severus after graduation and saw all the mesmerizing achievements you knew he would accomplish.

Peeling your eyes away from the screen, you glanced over at Severus to catch a glimpse of his eyes before he quickly turned away from you, his hair falling before his face and his hand retreating to his lap. He looked like you’d just caught him stealing from the Potion’s cupboard, ashamed of what he’d done and you felt your heart sink at the empty feeling in your hand. Abandoning all care for the movie, you kept your eyes on Severus, your hand slowly moving to find his again. You gently placed your hand in his, hoping he wouldn’t pull away, hoping if you tried to be forward with your emotions, he might return them.

Severus held your hand and looked up to find you looking so softly at him, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of your parted lips. He locked his eyes with yours and lost himself in your admiration for him. You opened your mouth like you had something important to tell him until you remembered what happened the last time you spoke in this theater. Your eyes fell from his a moment as you rethought your approach, needing to tell him how you felt. Severus tried to read your expression, wanting to know what was going through your mind. He hoped you weren’t having second thoughts, that you didn’t regret taking him up on his offer.

He waited anxiously to see you pull back and walk away from him. But instead, you slowly leaned forward, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips. His heart raced at the idea of a kiss from you, his body leaping at the chance as he leaned forward. You smiled when he mirrored your movements, giving you enough courage to close the distance between you and press your lips against his. Severus eagerly kissed you back, bewildered by the emotions you conveyed. You were pouring out your heart to him, showing him how you felt, how infatuated you were with him, how much you admired him, needing him in your life. You wanted to be close with him, to earn his trust and him yours. It felt so right, and you were overjoyed to see Severus return your feelings.

You finally parted and suddenly became very thankful Severus had picked the second last row with no one sitting behind you. If you were judged for speaking in the theater, you could only imagine how people would react if they caught you both so passionately declaring your love for each other through that kiss. Your grin stretched from one ear to the other as you opened your eyes, never wanting to lean too far back from him. You looked at him with such glee, his own smile growing larger than you’d ever seen. His happiness seemed so pure, so real, and you felt your heart flutter at the thought that one kiss from you had him floating on clouds. You watched his eyes flicker down to your lips again and you could hardly contain your giggle as his free hand reached to cup your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek as he leaned in for a few more soft playful kisses.

His lips were thin, but his adoration for you was ever present as they met yours over and over again. He lightly tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth and just when you thought you’d find yourself kicked out of the theater for all the affection flowing between you, Severus stopped and leaned back, admiring your eyes as his hand slipped down from your face to his lap. You happily interlocked your fingers with his and looked back to the movie, leaning as far towards Severus as the seat would allow. You felt his arm press against yours as he mimicked your movements, hardly able to take his eyes off you.

He did his best to pay attention, or at least to appear as though he was watching the film, but his thoughts were all fixed on you. He wanted so badly to hear you explain what had just happened, to ask why you’d done such a thing when you barely knew him, when you knew he wasn’t perfect. But that was the precise reason why you admired him so much. His imperfections had never been something he’d tried to hide, whether it be his large hooked nose, his greasy hair, his lanky body, his need to lean on others or gullibility. He never tried to keep the world from seeing his flaws like many others would. He instead displayed strength trying to improve himself, showing you the same ambition he carried during class when he came to find you at that diner tonight. He was perfectly imperfect and you couldn’t wait to get to know him better. You couldn’t wait to build a relationship in this new world you’d created with him.

@dracos-mudblood @darkthought15 @severuslovebot @mitchiesdungeon @bush-viper-cutie @wanderingtrails @sleepysnapesnake @fluffymadamina

#Severus Snape #severus x reader #severus snape x reader #snape x reader #young severus snape #my writing #pro snape #snapedom #snape community #slytherin reader #pureblood reader

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immortalonus · 3 years

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Where You Belong: Chapter 3

A/N: I hate this chapter so, so much. Unfortunately, I also couldn't find any way around it. If I got anything wrong, chances are I just missed it, so feel free to let me know.

Read on AO3 here.

“...Humans with ghost powers!? Crazy, right?” Valerie snorted, then paused.

“Or humans that turn into ghosts, or ghosts that—stay human when they die or whatever. The important thing is that there was a part of Ellie that was real. And if it hadn't been for Phantom, I'd have just left her there with Plasmius, to do whatever—to hurt—to—”

Valerie took a moment, struggling to admit out loud what she had already begun suspect for herself.

“—kill her. he was gonna murder a little girl, mama, and if Phantom hadn't convinced me she still had some human in her, if I hadn't listened to a ghost, I woulda let him.”

Phantom, if she hadn't listened to Phantom, specifically. It was a detail that still irritated her every time it came up.

The ghost boy had been so persistent, for so long in his charade of being a “good guy,” that most days, she simply tuned him out.

And truly, was that so wrong?

Up to that point, Everything Phantom had said in his own defense had been nothing more than talk. Oh, he said sorry, he said he felt bad about it, but at the end of the day, what had he done?

Ruined her fathers job and her life, then fled the scene like the criminal he was.

Stole for the hell of it and couldn't even be bothered to take the blame when he got caught.

(Valerie still had no idea why the ghost thought an “evil mind controlling clown guy,” was a reasonable excuse, at all, for anything.)

Who was always ready to fight, but never to help.

Never, not once, in all the wretched aftermath of the Grey's financial dissolutionment, had Phantom come to their aid. Not in the immediate events that came after, nor during the process of her father's dismissal, when he could well have stayed his expulsion simply by appearing, proving Damian Grey's assertions of spectral interference months before he would have been otherwise believed.

Not during the move from her childhood home to her current residence down in Elmerton. Too strapped to hire assistance, it had been down to Valerie, her father, and Fenton, who had taken his weekend off to help her move instead.

No haunting the creditors who dogged their every step, even now.

Hell, he couldn't even be bothered to tell the public that it was his fault her life was ruined! In private, yes, where he knew no one could hear. But never where it mattered, to whom it mattered, since that would require Phantom to actually give something up for once and admit what he did was wrong. Which he would never do, because Phantom, like all ghosts, was a fundamentally egotistical creature, right down to his very core.

No, Valerie had good reason to believe that she had Phantom all figured out: A showboating prig, full of hot air and false excuses, distinct from other ghosts only in his capacity to fool the masses into believing he was ever anything more.

Then Elle happened.

The ghost girl's mere existence had managed to throw Valerie's world into a whole new tailspin, leaving her reeling even as events conspired to yank more and more of her footing out from under her, teetering on the edge of her own understanding as all her convictions suffered blow after blow.

Living ghosts.

Ghostly humans.

Friends acting as enemies.

While enemies acted as friends.

“I woulda let him kill her.” She repeated, “Just like I let him kill—end—All those other ghosts I gave him, just handed 'em over for whatever freak experiments he had cooked up.”

Just like she had snuffed out who knew how many other specters during her own patrols.

How many of them were still alive in there, she wondered, underneath the ghost?

Her mother's brows seemed to furrow in response, worried, no doubt, over what exactly her daughter had done.

“I didn't mean it mama, it wasn't my fault! It was all Plasmius, you know Plasmius? That knockoff Nosferatu all the time picking fights with Phantom. He used me and he lied, and—“ Valerie licked her lips futilely seeking moisture from a mouth gone dry.

“He played human to do it.”

Valerie felt a flush of rage and shame wash over her at the words. She had been used all over again, played for a fool and manipulated just like her so-called “friends” had used her before, dangling control and importance in exchange for the very essence of her soul.

To learn that she had struck the same deal with a different kind of devil, that all her power was a tool in someone else's hands had curdled into an ache that rivaled the raw burn of a whole new betrayal.

Because unlike the A-listers she'd run with not too long ago, or even Phantom, who she'd always hated, Vlad Masters had been a man she'd seen fit to trust.

“Plasmius was Masters, and—God, they even share the same first name—My sponsor, the guy who gave me my first suit, trained me up, even kept me and daddy off the streets when things were at their worst. And me stupid enough to think it was 'cause he cared.”

A hard exclamation escaped her throat at the thought, to forceful for a scoff, too sharp for laughter.

No such thing indeed.

“Everyone's out for something. Masters—Plasmius, he was out for Phantom, and I was just the pawn that was supposed to get take him out.”

That's part of what scares me too. Why was Plasmius so dead set on Phantom? Why'd he sink so much money into taking him out? Why does Phantom hate him back?”

And it was peculiar, how much Phantom seemed to hate Plasmius. Valerie had thought for a long time that it was some kind of territory dispute, a conflict over a rare and valuable thin spot between realities. After years of chasing after Phantom, however, it became more and more clear that the ghost boy's resentment of Plasmius went beyond that of simple competition.

The mere mention of the vampiric specter was enough to turn Phantom tense and snippy, as though the mere thought of the other ghost irritated him, somehow. After witnessing the two up close, Valerie's suspicions had cemented into certainty: Phantom hated Plasmius, and he hated him personally.

“There's so much I don't know, and no one to tell me. Plasmius doesn't know that I know, and until I get out from under him, that's how it's gotta stay.”

How Valerie was supposed to get out from under Plasmius was another question entirely. Plasmius, in Vlad Master's guise, was the sole reason the Grey family had managed to keep on top of its debts for as long as they had. To make matters worse, he also provided most of the materials Valerie's suit consumed for its more elaborate systems and weaponry.

Even so, the temptation to throw it all away and smash Plasmius' smug face against her boot was a strong one, stayed only by the fear of what would happen to her father if she tried.

“Phantom went squirrelly on me too,” she said. “I thought maybe I could get something from him, since we never ended that truce. But in the end, he was still just a ghost.”

She hadn't wanted to go to Phantom, in those days between Elle's escape and her decision to plunge into the Zone, had felt too much like would be admitting something, somehow, to do so. Had it not been for the fact that Phantom was her sole and only choice, she was sure she would never have asked at all.

Once she'd made the decision to do it, he'd been easy enough to track down. She found him—where else?—but In the middle of a fight, duking it out at altitude with one of the countless animal ghosts that regularly made their way across the paltry excuse for a veil stretched across Amity Park.

The fight had been easy, the conversation that came after it, much less so.

How could someone be alive and dead at the same time? Were they alive and dead at once? all the time? Did they alternate at will? Were they born? Were they made? How many were there? A lot? How did she spot a human-ghost if she saw it? Was there a way to tell? Or did you have to guess?

Phantom had been the one to tell her that these human-ghost, ghost-human things could exist in the first place, which had lead her to expect, rather despite herself, that perhaps he could explain them, too.

So it was only natural, really, that in that moment precisely, he had chosen to clam up. He knew nothing of these miraculous hybrids, could find out nothing concerning them, and as to finding them, he had no clue at all. Nevermind that it had been he who had first told her such beings were possible in the first place, the ghost was a veritable well of ignorance, utterly unable to aid in her pursuits.

“Ghosts are narrow minded and selfish, they go round everywhere like they've got blinkers on both sides of their head. You stick an idea in front of their nose, and they grab it if they like it, and shove it away if they don't. They don't consider where you got the idea from, they don't think about why its there, they don't even goddamn care why you picked it up in the first place. All that matters is somethings blocking their little slice of the world, theirs, specifically, 'cause they wouldn't never consider any other kind.

That was Phantom's problem, he wanted a truce yeah, but his way, not mine. A truce for beating things up, not a truce for trusting and talking or or anything that might give trouble to him. That wasn't how he wanted it to work.

He was even worse with Elle. She's the only other one I could talk to—not counting you, ma—who could tell me anything about anything about what was going on!

And Elle, I couldn't track her down. When she said she had places to be, I thought she meant like Phantom when there wasn't anything fun for him to hit, not just gone! I tried tracking her, I did, but it didn't work. Either staying human hides her, or she's run too far to track.

Stupid Phantom wouldn't help me with that, neither. It was just 'oh she's fine,' this and 'why do you care' that, like I can't worry about a human girl wondering on her own without nobody to make sure she's even fed!”

Not only had he been absurdly reluctant to answer her questions, but even had the audacity to wonder if they were at all related to her continued association with Plasmius. It was an insult, beyond all doubt, as though he didn't know how little choice she had.

As though he wasn't the one who forced her into making it.

“I guess so far as he figured, if Elle wasn't being kidnapped, then she was fine. It didn't matter that she's a kid, or alone, or was stealing apples just to eat. She was strong enough to survive on her own and not melt, and that was good enough for him. He just sat there when she left, too, watching her scat like any other ghost."

Did he know how far she intended to run, or simply fail to understand why he should care?

"No matter how well he thinks he means, Phantom can't help the human parts of her. Just because she could beat any man that tried to take doesn't mean that she doesn't get—scared, or lonely, or—“ Valerie wriggled uncomfortably in her pallet of dust. “—Or that she doesn't need people. Phantom can't give that, and Plasmius is a sick piece of shit, so that left me. Just me. If I let that go, then Elle'd be alone for real.”

The worry in her mother's gaze didn't lighten, exactly, but it did shift, consternation giving way to curiosity mixed with a hearty topping of concern. It was easy to imagine the question she would have asked, if she could but speak.

“Then what is it do you think you're doing all the way out here, hm?”

Valerie sighed. This, at least, she had a clear answer for.

“I'm on a mission. There's this thing called the infini-map. Don't have all the details, but with a name like that?” She scoffed, “don't need 'em. Whatever it is, its good enough to send Plasmius into a fit just at the idea of laying claws on it.

If I could get something like that, imagine, I could find Elle in a heartbeat. No more lookin', no more running blind and hoping for luck. And when I find her, I could use it get out from under Masters thumb for good. Use it, sell it, whatever, with that thing, it would be easy. Me and daddy could be set for life.”

At the time, the idea had seemed brilliant. With her search for Elle stymied, and rental payments approaching their inevitable due, she had latched onto the idea of a Ghost Zone mission the instant her so-called benefactor had brought it up. It was a chance to bleed “Mister Masters” of a little more of his money, without actually having to tolerate his presence for any length of time. Even better, it presented an opportunity to do right by her father while staying far away from the quiet anger, the soft, dispirited sense of regret that had seemed to overtake him as jobs remained scarce, and Valerie continued to hunt.

Perhaps most selfishly, it was the opportunity for the Red Huntress to become what Valerie had had always wanted her to be: A free agent, no puppet masters, no expectations, just the world, and herself within in it.

It was one thing she truly did not regret, even now, lying in the dirt looking up at the memory of a memory ripped to tatters in her hands. Whatever else happened in this strange, wild place, it was her decision, her choice. She was finally in control.

Thinking of control, there was another reason why she wanted to speed up her search for the ghost girl.

“Elle's a good kid, but she <i>is</i> a kid, with a ghost in her she don't even know to fear. I'm not sure how long she can fight it like that without anyone to tell her what's going on. She needs someone who knows about ghosts,who can show her how to fight back, 'cause if she doesn't, I'm not sure how long she'll last until she ends up Plasmius."

“Or Phantom.”

It was an ugly theory, but explained a great deal. The identical looks, the raw antipathy towards Vlad, in particular, or how a full ghost could see himself as related, somehow, to a being that was something so much more.

All ghosts came from somewhere, and Valerie rather doubted Elle was truly Plasmius' only attempt at capturing a hybrid of his own.

“'Cause I think they're the same kinda thing. It explains why Plasmius wanted her so bad, and they change the same way, too. They go from being a ghost, ectosignitures and all, to being alive. Not some fake, but breathing, heartbeats, everything. There's something in them that's really, truly alive.

Plasmius and Elle, they're both alive," she whispered, "but only Elle's human, and I don't know how long that's gonna last.

I can't stay stupid about all this ghost shit, neither. There's so much they won't tell me, and Elle's my ticket to figuring it out. If I can find her in time, I could fix it. Bring her to the Fentons, maybe, take out the ghost before it gets too big, make cash, move out me and daddy and Elle all together. Either way, this is how I do it, right here, right now. This is my chance.”

No more being lead around like a particularly witless donkey for his carrot wielding master, no more suppressing every violent impulse that threatened to take her over any time she chanced to look “Mister Masters” in his insufferable face, no more long, interminable periods of her nose against a grindstone day after day, scraping her fingers bloody against poverty's wall in the way her father seemed convinced was better, somehow, for all the pain it so obviously caused him.

“I know it's risky, but it's worth it, it's gotta be. If I can get the infinimap, then I can fix everything, all at once. I won't owe nobody nothing, and I can start fixing things again, for everyone.”

And perhaps her mother agreed, as the shadow that had gathered against her brow seemed to ease, relaxing back into something more serene.

Valerie smiled, running her thumb over the place where her face once was, pointedly ignoring the sensation of absence in favor of the smiling visage still shining across her display.

“See, I knew you'd see it my way.” Valerie was pretty sure she'd had to have gotten her sense of adventure from somewhere, after all. “It's hard, but I'm fine. And when this is all done, it'll be more than fine, it'll be better.

Just you wait.”

Overlay image: Session end.

The memory of Theresa Grey vanished slowly, victim of her daughter's own reluctance to see her go. But vanish she did, sunshine grew pale and laughter faded, memory crushed into data and erased of meaning, and Valerie was once again alone.

She sighed, finally allowing herself to lower the photograph as she reached over for her other parcels, which she began collecting into a small bundle atop her chest.

Technically, she could reach over to put her mother with her boots and rations instead of the other way around, but found herself suddenly disinclined to do so. Without the stress of the day to keep her going, she found exhaustion pushing down at her very bones, keeping her pressed against the meager comfort of her body warmed hollow of dirt.

No, lifting herself up as little as possible seemed a very enticing proposition indeed.

She grabbed both her boots, then her gloves, peeled off to reveal the same skintight leather which coated the rest of her, the remains of her wallet, and a single, battered bag, too smooth for leather, too thick for silk: All supplies from her earlier run in with the thieving insect from before, pared down to those goods and supplies she could actually use.

She chose not to dwell on how few of them there were.

Her mother came last, placed gently at the head of the pile, where she could look it over one last time.

She should have done this sooner, she knew, perhaps even the moment she entered the Zone. Keeping the photograph on her physical person was too much of a risk, one born of foolish sentiment and thoughtless desire. She had just wanted so badly to keep one good thing with her, somewhere tangible and real, she'd disregarded the threat she put it in.

Because if there was one thing death was guaranteed to do, it was steal everything and everyone it thought was yours.

Valerie placed her hands over the small collection, reaching once again into the inorganic hum prickling ever at the edges of her mind.

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Processing…

A flick of her mental fingers, and it was done. Boots, bag, and all turned into their own kind of mist, dissolving into the small pocket dimension that followed her always, shadows diffusing into the surrounding light, the weight of them dissipating until nothing but the memory of their pressure remained.

Valerie brushed her fingers over the space they left behind, a half smile tugged at the corners of her trembling lips.

“Goodnight, Ma,” She whispered. A grief like seaglass hung heavy on her heart, smoothed over edges cut no longer, though the heft of its sorrow lay leaden even yet.

“Sleep good now, you hear?”

No voice answered in response.

Valerie no longer expected it to.

Deep in the realm of the dead, a figure turned on its side, curled against itself on its small outcropping of stone. Legs up to its chest, arms clenched tight around its shoulders as it heaved, breath by mortal breath, seeking some moment of repose.

#Valerie Grey #Danny Phantom #Fanfiction #Where You Belong #Chapter 3 #Writing

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wrienne · 3 years

Text

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé

Chapter 6: Lies and Pressure

Shoot.

Because it wasn’t as if though he had a famous girlfriend he had been cheating on you, his ex-fiancée, with for who knows how long. And though the amnesia had seemed to make him more mellow - probably because he recognized nobody else but you and therefore clung to that sense of familiarity - you would still not consider him a friend. Also, technically, he was still an idol and probably had an endless sea of fans that adored him in every and any way possible.

So, he was neither eligible nor a friend, in addition to being an idol, and here you were, wallowing in your feelings. Great.

Before you allowed yourself to sleep, you decided to check with Sejin. The man was pacing back and forth in front of the door, and opened his mouth to speak when he spotted you. Immediately, you put a finger across your lips, silencing him.

“He’s finally asleep,” you whispered as you poked your torso through the opening between the door and the frame. “I’ll stay here until morning, but then I need to head to school. I think it’ll be good if someone can be here by then to guard him against nosy journalists or stop him from being all too problematic.”

“I can be here by six-thirty,” said Sejin.

“That will be perfect,” you said. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he said instantly. “I can’t even imagine how the situation would have turned out without you here. The kid is lucky to have someone like you.”

You blushed at the compliment. “I’m just doing what any good friend would do.”

“I thought you said you weren’t friends.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” you admitted hesitantly.

“Are you dating?”

“No!” you blurted, startled by the question. You slipped out of the room and shut the door as gently as you could after you, as not to wake Jungkook. “We’re just… family friends.” This was sounding a bit repetitive even to you now.

Kim Sejin regarded you closely for a beat, but then relaxed. “Good. He already has one girlfriend to take care of. I would have hated to see him grow up into a type of guy to have several women on the side.”

You were tempted to laugh, but managed to rein yourself in. “Agreed.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

You fell asleep almost before you had returned to the vacant hospital bed. Now, your plan had been to wake up before Jungkook and sneak out quietly as not to disturb him. But what you had forgotten from your earliest days of acquaintanceship - sleepovers, yes, there had been numerous of them during your childhood - was his eerie ability to wake up before anyone else. By the time your alarm went off, he was already awake, watching you in the dark.

You yelped.

“Scared you.”

You only barely discerned his smile through the dark. “Stupid,” you grunted as you tried silencing the harsh ringing. “I could have attacked you and injured you even more. Colored your eye to match the splint.”

“Didn’t take you for the fashion-conscious type.”

“You didn’t react to me threatening to throw a punch at you.”

“I know you’re violent,” he replied. “Besides, I know Taekwondo. I would like to see you try.”

His voice was smooth, like a soothing summer eve’s breeze. Or rather, as if he just had drunk from the glass of water standing on the bedside table between the beds. You sounded like a troll, and probably smelled like one, too.

“I know you do,” you grumbled as you sat up and fumbled for the glass. “Now, what did you just say about my fashion sense?”

“You never struck me as someone who cared about his or her appearance, that’s all.”

You downed the glass of water. “‘His or her’? Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Still tired?”

“Not a morning person,” you answered as you rubbed your eyes. “Why are you so talkative? Didn’t you drink last… er, about six or so hours ago? Shouldn’t you be the sour, surly one?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you drink so much you-- oh.”

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you - amnesia is contagious”

“Clever,” you said with a chuckle. “But no, it’s not. I just have a case of bad genes.”

Your body ached as you rose and you stretched. You hadn’t slept in the most optimal position, nor any way near the amount you needed, and your body and mind made sure to remind you of that.

“You were going to try and sneak out without waking me, weren’t you?”

“Yup,” you replied.

“You know you can’t lie to me, right?”

You threw up your hands defensively. “I merely thought you needed to sleep some more.”

“As do you.”

You turned on the lights and immediately found the room flushed with pallid light. You made a face and replied, “I don’t really have the freedom to do so. I have school and then errands to run because of you.”

You hurriedly unplugged your phone and checked the fourteen notifications you had received, thirteen of which were concerned texts from your parents’ driver. The last one was a message from Se-Eun, who wondered if you would pick her up as you usually did Monday mornings. You shrugged on your jacket and purse while replying to both of them. You didn’t think you could make it to Se-Eun’s, however.

“Try to rest, Jungkook,” you said absentmindedly while typing. “Be polite to the doctors and nurses. And eat something while you’re at it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Just then, a growl erupted from his stomach. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I won’t sit here, being fed by some stranger who treats me like I’m an infant,” he said sternly, his large brown eyes defiant.

“Just like you won’t wear the hospital gown or follow any other kind of normal hospital regulations?”

“Just like that.”

“You don’t remember you’re a world-famous idol, but you sure do behave like a diva.” You snorted. “Have fun starving until I get back then. I don’t have time to force-feed you right now, but I will later.”

Jungkook snorted, too. You headed toward the door after refilling the glass when he stopped you.

“(Y/N), before you leave…”

You spun around. “Make it qui--”

You felt your chest tighten. He was holding up your engagement ring.

Jungkook had picked it up and kept it after you left him.

“Is this what I think it is?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t know what type of guy I was yesterday, but I don’t think I’d just walk around with gold and diamonds.”

“Maybe a new trend in the K-pop industry?” you managed stiffly.

“It’s too small for me,” he said as he slipped the ring onto his little finger. It stopped halfway down the digit.

You didn’t know what to say. This was your chance to tell him the truth: the two of you had been engaged ever since you were eighteen. But then, he had cheated on you and you had broken the arrangement. You could change all of that now. To be frank, you didn’t hate the idea as much any longer. You were the only person he trusted and, as you had acknowledged a few hours ago, you were starting to actually like him, no matter how scary that felt. And you would fulfill your promise to him - you would help him get through the amnesia.

But you couldn’t get the image of him and Park Yi-Jae out of your head. So even though it hurt more than anything else in the world, more than when you had broken your collarbone falling down a hill, more than all of Hye-Bin’s words and “pranks” combined, you decided to lie.

“There was a girl visiting you earlier,” you began as you felt your hand clutch harder around your phone. “Do you remember her? Slim and pretty, with short, curly brown hair.”

He frowned, but nodded. “Yes, she was just as weird as the guys.”

“You and she were--are in a relationship,” you went on while you inwardly prayed that you sounded convincing. “A romantic relationship. She is your girlfriend, Jungkook.”

“My… girlfriend?” The furrow between his brows deepened. “I don’t remember anything about a girlfriend. What’s her name?”

“Park Yi-Jae,” you replied.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“That’s the thing with amnesia,” you said with a voice you hoped sounded light and playful, at least in his ears. “You loved each other very much.”

“So you’ve seen us together?”

You forced yourself not to grit your teeth in anger. “Yes, I have. Just yesterday. You looked very happy together.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything. He simply held your gaze, his eyes trusting yet suspicious.

“If you say so,” he finally said.

“Yeah, well, anyway, I better leave now,” you said as you broke away. “I’ll be back sometime late afternoon with clothes and food. Call your parents if you want to be a bit helpful meanwhile.”

“I will. See you later.”

“Yeah.”

You left before he could add anything to prolong the conversation. You didn’t want to be there any longer. Still, though it pained you, you were proud of yourself. You had chosen the right option.

Yeah, sure you had.

Down by the front desk, you met Kim Sejin while he was purchasing some coffee from an old beverage machine. You doubted he had gotten much sleep, judging by the still present bags underneath his eyes, and gave him a half-hearted smile.

“He’s awake, hungry and probably a bit tense,” you greeted him with. “He’s not exactly convinced about the whole thing, but he has agreed to let me try and help him.”

“I’m afraid I have worse news,” he said grimly. “I spoke with a specialist just now, and he told me there’s a big chance that Jungkook won’t ever regain all of his memories.”

“That's not the worst thing in the world,” you replied, furrowing your brows. “He could have died.”

“Yes but with the situation being the way it is now, I don’t think Jungkook will ever be able to perform again, at least not with the rest of the kids. The director is already considering kicking him out of the group.”

“Why?” you exclaimed. “It’s not like he’s lost a leg or his mind or something - he can still dance or sing or whatever else you need him to do!”

You ignored the sharp look a nurse sent you as she hurried past. You were fuming. Here they were, this large company that probably made a fortune out of these seven guys - out of Jungkook. And they were just dropping him as soon as something - an accident - occurred?

“They just launched their biggest tour yet,” Sejin explained in a calm voice, though he also seemed disappointed. “The company poured a lot of money and planning into this. The boys are supposed to perform on a lot of shows and be on programs as well. But how are we - or anyone at all - supposed to work with a kid who refuses to cooperate with people he doesn’t know? Who can’t seem to recall a single song or performance with his members? And don’t make it anything personal - the director is desperate not to lose him.”

“But what are you going to do without him?” you wondered. From what you had heard from Se-Eun, Jungkook was one of the most significantly popular members of the group, which probably meant his mere presence generated quite the revenue. And judging by yesterday’s concert, he had the most lines in their songs overall.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, probably considering the same things as you. “They might make it, they might not. Chances are, however, that without Jeon Jungkook, the Bangtan Boys will disintegrate.”

You placed your hand against your forehead and exhaled. You weren’t sure exactly what the idol life consisted of, but you had caught bits and pieces from Se-Eun whenever she rambled with her friends about the group. It wasn’t what you would have chosen to spend your youth doing. It just seemed too risky.

And now, all of Jungkook and his hyungs’ accumulated effort from years of work, promotion and practice could crumble.

His childhood dream could crumble.

“I’ve grown too fond of them to let it end just like this, though.”

You shook your head to clear it from your brief reverie. “What can you do?” you asked, hearing a budding idea in his tone.

“I think I can convince the director to cancel most of the concerts,” said Sejin as he scratched his stubble. “Though it might be a little tricky, it won’t be impossible or detrimental to the company since the money is best in Japan, which is where the tour ends. If the kid could somehow perform by then, I might still have a job tomorrow.”

“But as you said, he can’t and won’t cooperate with anyone,” you pointed out. “Not even with medical personnel.”

Sejin drank from his coffee cup, then grimaced. It had probably gotten cold from all your talking. “The doctor told me there is an unorthodox way of reintroducing memories to a person with any kind of memory loss. Unorthodox because it isn’t scientifically proven and because, more often than not, it fails and proves fruitless.”

“What do I need to do?”

“You really are a great friend,” he said, giving you an odd look of sympathy. “All of this relies on your ability to remind him of his life before the accident. Since you’re the only one he trusts, he might be more receptive to you showing and telling him about the other boys, their music and their performances. All and anything that might cause it to fall in place inside his head.”

“This sounds like a movie trope or something,” you said skeptically.

“As I said, it’s unorthodox. But it’s all we really have. There are no known cures or proper treatments for amnesia.”

“Very well then.” You managed a smile even though you felt the heavy mantle of responsibility weighing your shoulders down. “I’ll try. I have at least until the end of the year on me, right?”

Sejin’s expression fell and he groaned. “Damn it, I forgot you don’t know their schedule like the back of your hand.”

“What is it?” you asked. “What do you mean?”

Tension and trepidation already tightened your throat, but your heart was beating steadily. When you had offered to help Jungkook that night, you had known it would be tough. And as the conversation with Kim Sejin had continued, you had had a feeling that whatever he was going to say would be the opposite of good. Still, you hadn’t lost faith in Jungkook’s recovery. Even now, looking at his manager, you knew it would be bad since his face said as much.

But you had never thought it would be this bad.

“The beginning of the end of their tour starts May 30th. That means you only have a little more than three months to restore him, (Y/N).”

#MCAF #wrienne #ao3 #bts fanfiction #bts x reader

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depressedhatakekakashi · 3 years

Note

I’m big sad this week can I please get some kakairu fic or HC I don’t care I just wanna talk haha but it’s kakashi falling in love with iruka because he’s just so thoughtful to kakashi specifically. Say, kakashi is always late because he’s got to eat and sleep and water his plant and feed the strays behind his complex and he’s (chakra) exhausted the works.

No one ever notices (besides gai ofc but they’ve been friends forever) but then he meets and becomes friends with iruka. And iruka notices. Iruka will take a subpar report from kakashi after hard missions and just give him a Pat on the shoulder and a smile, he will drop by with extra bentos to keep in the fridge and take off without a second thought since he was dropping off bentos (that he bought we know that man can’t cook) at narutos anyway. Gets kakashi a water globe for his plant so he doesn’t have to worry about him on missions.

But the thing that really does it for kakashi the holy shit I might love this man moment is when kakashi is dragging himself home after a super hard mission that went over by weeks and he goes to feed the strays behind the complex and finds iruka feeding them hunched over in this dirty dark alley feeding dogs what looks like his dinner for the night shift and.. is that the new icha icha from the release he missed in his hands?? Iruka got it for him since he was gone and knew how much kakashi likes them and that’s it kakashi is in love now thank you

//here’s to a hopefully more enjoyable, relaxed week coming up :)

AO3

It wasn’t unheard of for a mission to go on longer than it had been planned. Things happened, changes had to be made to the attack plan, sometimes the team. There were a variety of reason’s for a missions to take an extra few hours, or a day or two more.

But a week?

Only the worst missions went overtime by a week.

The one’s where the information was poor, or sometimes even completely wrong. Where the mission lead had to stop and fix up the plan in one or two areas, but had to start completely from scratch.

And just his luck, he had been the mission lead. The poor bastard who had to rethink the mission from scratch when it turned out that they had been lied to by the person who had come to them wanting ‘help’.

What they really wanted, apparently, was a chance to present some unsuspecting leaf shinobi to Some IWA shinobi in waiting.

Luckily for them, Kakashi was quick to realize that things were out of place and even quicker to come up with a new plan. One that only needed him and Gai, and an extra week of waiting time.

It worked in the end. Of course it did.

After waiting for the enemy to finally let their guards down, Kakashi and Gai were able to make their way into the camp they had made for themselves and get the scroll they had been sent for. One they had thought was just used as a trick to get them there, but found out through some careful spying on Kakashi’s part did actually exist.

Now they were home.

Aching and tired, but home.

Seeing Gai off, Kakashi headed straight for the little ally behind the apartments he lived in. Nothing called out to him quite like a nice shower, and a long nap in bed, but he had to check up on the strays before then.

Poor things hadn’t seen him all week, and he’s certain there’s no one else who feeds them. Most of the other jonin simply pick a favorite and take them into their apartment, or leave food out for them on the window ledge.

Kakashi took care of the rest of them.

“Here we go,” hearing a familiar voice, Kakashi stopped just before the entrance into the alleyway, unsure why exactly his heart was beating so fast now. “Eat up. You’ll get to see your favorite tomorrow. He just had a long mission and he needs some rest. But I have no doubt he’ll be here to see you as soon as he can.”

Peering around the side of the wall, Kakashi felt a warmth spreading in his chest when he saw Iruka. Sweet, kind Iruka. Kneeling down and pouring dry food into the bowls Kakashi had set out months ago.

"He does a lot for this village, you know," Iruka continued, and Kakashi couldn't help but linger and listen. "One of Konoha's top Jonin, so he's always going on missions to protect the village, gather information, help people out. There's a lot for him to do."

Leaning his shoulder against the wall, Kakashi smiled to himself.

For a few months now Iruka had been helping him out. Noticing little things about him and providing information or objects to make his life just a little bit easier.

A water bulb for Mr. Ukki so he didn't have to worry about going on missions and killing his only plant.

Bento boxes that he promised he bought from a store when he noticed Kakashi hadn't eaten that day. Not because he couldn't cook for himself, but because sometimes life just got too busy. There was soo much to do that often he'd find himself forgetting to feed himself while he tried to finish mission reports, or plan out training exercises for his students.

Kakashi hadn't thought about it much then. Simply thanking Iruka and moving on with his life.

But now, standing here listening to Iruka gush about him to the strays while he fed them in Kakashi's absence. Kakashi can't help but feel something deep inside of his chest.

Something he can't quite explain. It's warm and fuzzy, and it makes his heart skip a beat whenever Iruka continues talking, but he doesn't have a word for it. It's not something he has ever felt before.

"So be nice to him, hmmm?" Iruka continued, chuckling when one of the dogs barked. "I know he has to be gone a lot, but I'll take care of you when he's out of the village. I promise."

Poking his head around the corner, Kakashi chuckled when the dogs saw him and immidiatly started to bark, forgoing their food to run over to him instead for pets.

"K-kakashi," Iruka stood up, clearly caught off guard by Kakashi's sudden appearance. "I...how long were you standing there?"

"Mmmm, long enough I think," Kneeling down, he started to pet each of the dogs while keeping his eyes on Iruka. "I didn't know you made a habit of looking after Jonin's life responsibilities while they were gone, Iruka-sensei."

"I-" It was sort of cute seeing Iruka all flustered. with wide bright eyes and fingers that wouldn't stop pulling at his uniform sleeve. "I don't usually..."

"Well, I need some rest," Giving the dogs one more head pat he stood up and smiled. A warm, soft smile hidden under his mask. "But, since you've done so much for me I should pay you back."

"Oh, no you don't have to," Iruka waved his hands in front of himself franticly. "I was just- i wanted to make sure-"

"How about dinner?" Kakashi had a calm look on his face, and his voice was as bored sounding as ever. To an untrained eye, he likely looked like he was simply inviting a friend to go out.

Internally, though, he was freaking out.

His heart was hammering in his chest, going so fast that it actually sort of hurt. His stomach was a mess of knots and butterfly's, and his brain was going five hundred miles a minute. Thinking up all the ways Iruka could reject him, and screaming at himself for even making the offer like a love sick idiot.

Love.

That was the word he had been looking for earlier.

Minato-sensei had described the feeling to him years ago. When he was younger and confused about the way Obito acted around Rin, or why Rin was always trying to get close to him.

He was in love, and out of everyone his heart could have chosen, it went with Umino Iruka.

"That sounds nice, actually," Iruka whispered, glancing down at the ground while running a hand awkwardly through his hair. "Umm, where would you like to..."

"I'll make it," he smiled, now determined to make the best first impression. "My apartment, tomorrow evening. And don't worry about the dogs, i'll make sure to feed them before dinner."

He doesn't wait for a response. Disappearing into a whirlwind of dust he make's his escape. Desperate to get back to his apartment and collapse onto his bed and scream into his pillow like a twelve year old whos crush just called them 'cute'.

#KakaIru #I hope this makes you feel a little better :)

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winterrose527 · 3 years

Note

have you done an Ella - museum curator, Robb - investor on a tour work??

Ummmm no I had not! And wow was this one cathartic to write. It came out way longer than expected because this is a subject near and dear to my heart...

Thank you for this prompt!!

***

She was so sick of this shit.

Over a year of it. Ever since the governor’s order in April 2020. Back then she’d almost believed it was just a blip, a couple of weeks. A vacation, almost.

But then the ban on gatherings. The shutdowns. Finally the masks.

Every museum in the country had shut its doors along with libraries, movie theaters, and every other place desperate parents could take their children on a rainy Saturday.

Theirs had been luckier than most. An endowment a few years prior, which had been earmarked but not mandated for an expansion had been used to keep the lights on and the staff fed - literally. Their programming had gone virtual and understandably attendance had dropped but not entirely – thanks to a few local artists that had generously donated their time for a last minute plug.

Ever since restrictions had lifted, the crowds had returned somewhat. A rainy spring and summer had helped, but they were nowhere near their ‘pre-pandemic’ levels (and with the Delta variant on the rise she wasn’t super comfortable with the term ‘post-pandemic’ to describe their current state of affairs).

She wouldn’t say that today though.

No, today everything would be rosy – not just the botanical gardens that abutted the museum and had been started in 1853 – no, 1854.

Not that she imagined the potential donor would be fact checking her but nevertheless there was no room for error. She needed to represent the museum well. Her colleagues were counting on her – not to mention the collection itself depended on her.

The board had decided at its most recent meeting if they didn’t get an influx of donations within this quarter they were going to sell off a few pieces from the collection.

There was nothing sadder to a museum than deaccessioning. The staff all loved and protected the collection, and they truly felt the impact they and it had on the community. Myrcella loved to walk through the galleries on Thursday afternoons to see the regulars who’d come to visit the paintings like old friends of theirs, stopping by to say hello to a Baroque oil here or an Impressionist watercolor there.

So if schmoozing yet another prospective donor was what it took to mean that Mr. Poole’s favorite still-life stayed put for his bi-weekly Wednesday morning visit, then she would schmooze. She would schmooze Sansa Stark like her life depended on it.

She knew Sansa Stark sort of. It was the sort of thing where pre-pandemic they had run into each other at half a dozen events every year and always had a lovely chat and discussed getting together and then never did. The North was a small world and they ran in similar circles. But they weren’t friends.

Still, she was her best bet. From the wealthiest and most philanthropic family in the North, of course she was.

And she had to deliver.

The board had all made it clear that they expected results, and it had been suggested that really Myrcella Baratheon shouldn’t have such a hard time finding donors. But all her usual suspects had come to her with their own sob stories full of please tell me you won’t shut your doors but without any promise of relief, and the people she knew down south – the sort that profited from the world being in such dire straits had no interest in a little regional museum. No matter how much she marketed it as a hidden jewel.

To them, there was little worth in a jewel hidden, and they had no interest in having their act of charity buried under the northern snows.

So Sansa Stark was it.

She smoothed her dress, chosen carefully for the occasion. Sansa was always impeccably dressed and favored ladylike, tailored dresses for daytime, just as Myrcella did. Today, which had turned out to be a gorgeous one, she’d chosen a pale blue scallop trim knit dress, her grandmother’s wristwatch her only accessory. Feminine but appropriate. More comfortable than the clingier dresses she only ever so occasionally wore when taking around a male potential benefactor.

“Good luck,” Gilly, their glum registrar said as she raised her wrist to her nose to make sure she could still smell the scented oil she’d spread there that morning.

“Thanks baby,” Myrcella sighed, “Lunch from that naughty salad place when I’m done? My treat?”

Gilly smiled at that, “My treat if you get her.”

“Oh, now the stakes are really high,” she teased and blew Gilly a kiss and walked through the halls.

She felt eyes on her as she went. It was a small, tight-knit team, and it made it all the harder every time she received a sheepish regret. If she couldn’t succeed, one of them might lose their job if the board couldn’t decide what to sell. Even if they could, depending on how long this lasted.

Game face, Baratheon.

She took a deep breath and then smiled for fifteen seconds. She let it drop, knowing that it would still be in her eyes when she walked outside and it felt a little more genuine when her heels clacked along the gorgeous marble floor.

Walking over to the security desk, the smile reappeared on her face.

“Morning Roddy,” she grinned.

“Good morning to you Miss Myrcella,” Rodrick greeted her, “You see the game last night?”

“You’ve known me for four years,” she noted, “When in all of that time have I ever seen the game?”

He chuckled, “There was that one time in 2018.”

“Oh no, I totally lied about that,” she assured him, shrugging, “I wanted you to think I was cool.” She then looked around the empty lobby, “No Miss Stark?”

He grimaced, “Not yet. Traffic is back though, folks still aren’t used to it.”

She nodded, picking at a non-existent thread on her dress and looked around. Her eyes narrowed in on something and she crossed the lobby and picked up a tiny scrap of paper, crumbling it in her hand and then walking back over and tossing it in the trash behind Roddy’s desk.

“I’ve been sitting here for two hours, didn’t see it,” he noted.

She smiled, “Well you’ve been doing less important things like making sure no one robs the place.”

He opened his mouth to say something to her but then his gaze was directed behind her, “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t open until 11 o’clock on Tuesdays.”

“I sort of have an appointment,” the man said.

She knew that voice. She’d heard it before. In a coat closet at Alys Karstark’s birthday party. At the next table over at a charity even in 2019. Deep, stubbornly Northern, as unyielding as Valyrian steel.

She felt her palms sweat and forced herself not to rub them on her dress, rubbing them together instead and then turning around with a bright smile.

“You’re not Sansa Stark,” she greeted him.

He grinned sheepishly, though she wasn’t sure this man had ever had occasion to be sheepish in his entire life, “Afraid not. Myrcella, right? We met at that thing – that um… save the…whatsits.”

She giggled, and she heard the sound echoing garishly on the marble, “I believe that evening we were saving the seals. Or the… tulips, maybe.”

His smile spread slowly across his face, a dimple marking its end like an exclamation point, “Well we did our part even if we can’t remember what it was, I’m Robb Stark.”

She liked that he introduced himself. He’d done so every time they’d met, as though he in no way expected her to remember him. Sansa had done it the first five or so. Must have been how they were raised.

On the other hand, she’d been raised to act as though someone was foolish for not knowing who she was, introducing herself had been something she’d had to learn when she moved north, like parallel parking and salting her stoop.

Her hand extended and his met it, taking hers in his larger one and shaking it firmly as he looked her in the eyes briefly and then her lips slightly longer before purposefully going back to her eyes, “Myrcella Baratheon, and I remember you, Mr. Stark.”

“Well if that were true you’d remember I prefer Robb,” he noted, releasing her hand.

She shrugged, leaning forward conspiratorially, “Old habits. Can I get you something to drink before we begin our tour?”

“No thank you, I’m fine,” he shook his head.

She nodded, “Well it’s beautiful out now, why don’t we start in the botanical gardens. There’s been a bumper crop this year, we recently had the Cerwyn wedding here, did you attend?”

He fell into step next to her and said, “No, I didn’t. I was meant to but they reduced it to just family.”

She nodded, “Right, seems to be happening quite a bit. Will you do the same for your wedding?”

He stopped walking briefly and before she could stop too he had started again, “No… uh, rather than reduce the guest list we decided not to have it at all. We called the engagement off in January.”

“I’m so sorry!” she internally stabbed herself in the throat, “I didn’t know.”

He shrugged, “The nice thing about there not being any events over the past year is that the press didn’t really get wind of it.” Then stopped abruptly, “Not that… it’s not like that makes up for the past year or anything.”

She laughed, “Don’t worry, I know what you meant. I am sorry though, about your engagement.”

“As am I,” he agreed, “But it’s for the best. We parted as friends. Had we gotten married, I’m not sure we could have done so, so I’m grateful for that, and for her.”

A gentleman.

So many men played the part. Opening doors, buying flowers. So few of them realized that manners mattered very little when they were offered without grace.

“That’s lovely,” she noted, pleased for once not to have to lie.

It was a gorgeous day, a perfect seventy-nine degrees and clear blue skies. As though they’d understood the importance of the occasion, the Phlox stood proudly in battle formation and the scent of honeysuckle surrounded them.

“Sansa wanted me to apologize for missing your meeting,” Robb noted.

“I hope nothing’s the matter?” she asked.

A grin overtook his face, “No nothing at all. She’s in labor.”

She smiled, grabbing his forearm briefly. They both looked down at her hand on it and she pulled it back as gingerly as she could.

“That’s wonderful,” she told him, “Her second, right?”

He nodded, “A girl. And I’ve convinced her out of the name Corona.”

She chuckled, “Oh come now, you could call her Corrie for short.”

“And her parents idiots for long,” he noted. Then told her, “They weren’t really going to call her Corona.”

She smiled, “And here I was about to tip off the press…”

He smirked, “Narrow miss, then.” He looked around, “So. Flowers.”

“Not just flowers,” she pointed out, “We have a community garden to the left and down that lane local beekeepers keep their hives.”

“My mistake,” he allowed with a close-lipped smile.

That smile annoyed her. It was the same one she’d heard in the voice of every southern donor she’d called when they’d offered her good luck with her little country museum.

It was the smile someone gave her when she’d already lost.

“Perhaps we should go inside,” she noted, “I can show you our contemporary wing which we’ve recently devoted to elevating female and underrepresented artists. Or perhaps that’s a bit too avant-garde for you. Would you like to see our hall of armor and weaponry? I believe we have a few pieces that your ancestors left on one battlefield or another.”

“I’m sorry,” he noted, rubbing his jaw, “I told Sansa we should just cancel this meeting but she insisted.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark –“

“Robb,” he corrected her.

“No, I’m addressing Mr. Stark right now,” she argued, all of the frustration and helplessness of the past few months bubbling up inside of her, “May I ask what exactly it is about this that you find amusing? Is it the painting that we’re going to have to sell so that it can end up in someone’s climate controlled storage unit and never looked at again? Or is it the leaky roof? Perhaps the pay cut we asked all senior employees to take? Or how about the summer interns who had gone through a rigorous hiring process only to be told we couldn’t take them on at all? I certainly hope it’s not the seniors who used to come here for their Saturday afternoon watercolor classes which we had to cancel because we didn’t have anything to pay the instructor even though it would have been the perfect activity for them because it is outdoors and safe. Or maybe it’s the after-school programs you find so laughable…”

“I’m not laughing,” he pointed out. “But you’ll forgive me if I take your righteousness with a grain of salt.”

“I’m not sure that I will, actually,” she argued.

“No?” he asked, “Well let’s talk about those seniors? Don’t you think that funding is better spent ensuring they have free and safe access to the vaccination that can actually save their lives? Or what about those kids? Sure, the after-school program is great, but how about providing computers to allow them to do remote learning? Now I’m sorry if you have to lose one of a thousand paintings in this place, but if money can be better spent giving people what they really need then I’m sorry – sell the damn thing.”

That was hard to argue with.

But not impossible.

“So you’ve drained your coffers?” she asked.

There was only room for one of them on the moral high ground and she’d always enjoyed the view.

His cheeks had turned blotchy in anger but they paled now, “Excuse me?”

“Are you in the red?” she asked, “Declaring bankruptcy? Let’s not go that far - Taking out loans? Leveraging assets?”

His jaw clenched, revealing a muscle in his left cheek that might have been attractive if she wasn’t about to rip his head off.

“No,” he noted, “But my family’s company and my family have given an exceptional amount this year already.”

“Well,” she pointed out, “It has been an exceptional year already.”

“Are you always this haughty with potential donors?” he asked, stepping ever so slightly closer to her.

A flash in her mind of his hand ghosting across the back of her neck as he secured her coat over her shoulders. That smell.

“Never,” she admitted, stepping ever so slightly towards him, “But you’re not a potential donor, are you? And tell me, is it really because you don’t think it’s worthwhile or because it doesn’t sound worthwhile?”

His face contorted in anger, “You think we’re giving so that people will write songs about us? We want this country back on its feet. We want to return to normal and if we can’t do that, we want to make sure to give people as comfortable an existence until it reverts on its own. Tell me, Miss Baratheon, can you actually find fault in that?”

She shook her head, “No, I can’t.” He looked surprised and she shrugged, “It’s a flawless argument. Just an incomplete one. Giving an exceptional amount right now isn’t enough. You have to give until it hurts, because you can. It is wonderful, exceptional, heroic, to be doing all that you have done so far. But what comes next? What comes after? What happens when the dust settles? When things open? When we get things under control? What happens when people are ready to return to what was before and none of it is left because it wasn’t deemed essential. Because it’s just flowers and amateur beekeepers and pretty watercolors? I understand that we are not on the top of the list and we shouldn’t be. But we should be on the list. We need to do more than survive, Robb. There are things apart from us that we need to endure. Things we need to protect.”

His mouth twitched at that.

“I’m sorry to say I don’t have time to see the armor,” he told her.

She felt the defeat trickle through her veins slowly.

She held out her hand, “Thank you for letting me rant at you.”

He shook it once again, narrowing his eyes at her, “Something tells me you’ve still got some left in the tank. I’d quite like to hear it. Have dinner with me tonight and convince me.”

It was happening to all of her girlfriends. After a year in isolation, their ability to detect a creep from a mile away had withered. She hadn’t thought that hers had too. He’d seemed like one of the good ones.

She pulled her hand away, “That’s not the way I do business, Mr. Stark.”

His eyes widened in horror, “No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t get to make these decisions.”

“You’re the CEO,” she pointed out.

“Yes I am but Sansa insisted on inserting a clause into her contract that she gets final say over any philanthropic decisions,” he sighed, “I literally am not even allowed to choose the location of a book drive.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that, a tiny bit of hope bubbling inside of her, “So when you said you should have cancelled the meeting…”

“It’s because Sansa’s already decided that we will be giving a donation, she wanted to discuss the structure of it with you – you know whether you’d prefer a lump sum, or whether you want it in increments, if you wanted it to be public to inspire other donors or whether you wanted it to be private so that they couldn’t use it as an excuse not to give…” he waved his hand, “She’s better at the specifics and I’m sure she’ll be calling you in between contractions to fine tune them.”

She laughed, “Please tell her not to. A pledge is more than enough to take to my board, we can map out the nitty gritty whenever she or whomever will be replacing her in the interim has time.”

He nodded, “You’ll have them within the week.”

She was about to thank him but the words caught in her mouth, “So wait a second… did you just wind me up for the sake of it?”

He grinned, a chuckle present in his voice though it hadn’t yet broken, “I’d like to point out that it took very little to wind you up.”

She laughed, because he was right and admitted, “It’s been a tough year.”

He nodded, “For everyone. So, now that you know I have absolutely no control and can hold absolutely nothing over you… have dinner with me.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I enjoy arguing with you,” he told her, then grinned sheepishly, “And because I lied. Sansa told me that I could cancel the meeting and I insisted on coming because I wanted to see you. The bad thing about this year is that there were no events where I could have a chance of bumping into you…”

“Oh that’s the bad thing about this year?” she asked.

“Well,” he grinned, then did a scarily good impression of her, “Maybe it shouldn’t be at the top of the list, but it should be on the list.”

#fanfiction #modern au #robbcella #fluff #prompt

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

your love is my turning page

(based on “Turning Page” by Sleeping at Last because I listened to it the other day and cried like...twice)

tw: whump, major character ‘death’, blood mention, canon typical violence but only briefly, snuggling, fluff

---

Geralt cradled the bard’s body gently against his chest as he exited the keep, which was burning to a massive stony heap behind him. His amber gaze was blank and his mouth formed a thin, grim line as he moved steadily towards the side of the path ahead, where Roach and the sorceress were waiting for his triumphant return. How disappointed they would be.

Yennefer gasped and covered her mouth with her hand when she finally saw what Geralt was carrying, her tone utterly disbelieving. “No, Geralt. Tell me it isn’t true. Please tell me that he isn’t-”

“We didn’t make it in time, Yen.”

“Geralt, I’m-”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Witcher interrupted again. His voice was toneless and his eyes were glazed and empty when he spoke. Yennefer worried her lip between her teeth, mouth still hidden by her hand. She reached out for Geralt with the other but he growled and flinched away from the contact, “Don’t.”

“Just let me-”

“Don’t touch him, Yen!” the Witcher bellowed, curling his arms up and holding the bard’s limp form against his chest. Tears leaked from his eyes, slow and impossible in their appearance (Witchers physically cannot cry, or so he’d thought). They made their way down his stubbled cheeks and fell noiselessly to the ground. Some of them hung from the end of his nose for a moment before plummeting. Some dropped down to form damp, grey marks on the material of the bard’s half-open chemise. A chemise covered in dark, drying smears of blood.

Jaskier’s blood.

Too much of Jaskier’s blood.

The Witcher fell to his knees in a patch of flowers and pulled the broken form of his best friend even tighter to him. “I...I’m sorry I was too late this time,” he murmured against the crown of Jaskier’s clammy forehead. His slender, long-limbed body still hadn’t gone entirely cold yet despite the blood-loss. “Gods, I’m so sorry.”

There were marks carved all over the bard’s torso, oozing blood through the thin material of his shirt; Geralt had seen the bloody sigils glowing faintly before he’d killed the crazed mage who’d put them there. The Witcher had pulled Jaskier’s shirt back down to cover his wounds and absconded with him, casting a careless Igni on his way out the door.

The mage had needed a human sacrifice. The mage had chosen Jaskier.

Yen placed a gentle hand atop Jaskier’s unmoving shoulder and Geralt heard her empathetic sigh. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

“I waited nearly a hundred years for someone to come along and show me what love was supposed to feel like and I’d wait a million more; but only for him,” the Witcher admitted. There was no reason not to admit things, now, when he couldn’t ruin anything between them. He laid the bard’s body down beside a small patch of daisies and buttercups and let the aching, burning tears continue their cascade down his face. He didn’t say anything more for a moment; words had never been his strong suit.

“Tell him now,” Yen suggested, her own voice watery with emotion, “Tell him everything. I’ll give you a moment alone.”

Yen wandered a few steps into the treeline to give them privacy, to give Geralt a moment alone with his paralyzed but absolutely not dead bard. She smirked to herself and wiped the forced tears from her eyes. Like taking candy from an enormous, stupid baby. Can he not hear the faint beating of his little bard’s resilient human heart?

“I’d give anything to see you smile at me again, Jaskier. I’m so, so sorry that we didn’t make it to you in time. I’m sorry that you died like this, for the sake of a greedy, power-hungry asshole. You were so bright. You brought so much happiness to the Continent. You brought so much happiness to me.”

Geralt, still kneeling next to Jaskier’s limp form, brushed a stray lock of brown hair behind the bard’s ear and felt a primal sense of loss wrap around every individual piece of his shattered and slow-beating heart. “If only I could have caressed your skin as softly as I often dream of doing. If only I could have felt your warmth in such a simple, human way. You made me stronger every time you coveted my weaknesses, you know. Even when I failed, you stayed at my side and told me how strong and kind I was. How brave I was. Your heart was so delicate and human and fragile. You forced me to work every day to improve myself. I would have done anything to keep you from breaking under the weight of this awful world and yet-” the Witcher’s voice broke completely and he only barely managed to gasp out “-and yet here we are.”

---

Jaskier could hear everything. The too-sweet paralyzation agent force-fed to him by the evil mage was close to wearing off but until then the bard could only listen as the man of his dreams mourned his apparent death. He could only lay in stunned silence as Yennefer noticed the presence of the mixed herbs and refused to mention them to Geralt. Perhaps this was her gift to Jaskier; perhaps this was an apology. Whatever twisted form of affection she was showing her new friend for now, though, had the bard feeling more than a little upset.

He hated seeing Geralt so worked up. So sad. So hurt.

“I’m going to miss your presence in the world, Jaskier. I’m going to miss the way you smiled when you blushed; gods, I wanted to make you smile at me like that so many times...it was blinding. The way your lip would curl up and your tongue would poke out when you scribbled your poems into that damned expensive notebook at inns or near the fire. Gods, I-”

“I could fix him for you,” Yen offered, returning from the trees. It was almost nonchalant in its casualness. Almost.

“What’s the price for such an impressive feat?” Geralt asked. He smoothed the bard’s hair back again. He’d need to bury the corpse soon; he could barely stand to look at it any longer. It’s not Jaskier anymore, not without those sparkling eyes and that trembling, velvet voice.

He’d do anything to hear that voice again, even Jaskier was only cussing him out or calling him every name in the book. He’d listen to a thousand repetitions of every insult hurled his way by every villager across the Continent if it meant Jaskier was saying them with the voice Geralt knew he’d never hear again.

His voice was low and quiet when he asked the sorceress: “What kind of ingredients would you need for such a task?”

“I would need a sacrifice of equal value. Those runes can only be transferred from one person to another.”

Geralt’s head whipped around and his eyes widened hopefully. “Use me. If that will bring him back then take me.”

“And get horrifically murdered when he wakes to find his darling Witcher dead and buried? No, thank you. I don’t have a death wish.”

Smart woman, Jaskier thought. Just give me the antidote or whatever magical cure I know you’re hiding, Yennefer! Let me up! Let me comfort him, I’ve heard enough!

She’d clearly been listening to his thoughts because just as he summoned the worst of his insults to silently throw her way, Yen relented. She knelt beside Geralt and leaned forward, pressing her palm to the center of Jaskier’s forehead. There was a soft purple glow and Geralt panicked, “What are you doing!? You just said-”

“I lied,” she shrugged. “He was just paralyzed. You should have been able to hear his heart, faint as it was.”

“You...you mean…” Jaskier’s eyes slowly fluttered open and he groaned softly. The Witcher’s eyes were wide and shimmered with new tears as he leaned over the bard’s prostrate figure. “Jaskier?”

“Did-” he coughed and groaned again but pushed on “-did you mean it?”

“Every word,” Geralt smiled shyly. He hadn’t thought Witchers could blush, either, but here they sat; Geralt’s cheeks were pale pink and Jaskier was still heaving out labored breaths.

“Here are some basic healing supplies for the bard’s chest,” Yen interrupted, tossing a linen bag towards Geralt, who caught it easily. “I’m going to be on my way. You two need a moment, seems like.”

“Thank you, Yen,” Jaskier smiled. Geralt glanced between the two but before he could ascertain the bard’s meaning, the sorceress had fled through one of her portals and disappeared. As soon as she was gone, Jaskier let out the loud, anguished cry he’d been holding back in her presence. “Fuck me, this hurts! Fuck!”

“Fucking hells,” Geralt scrambled through the bag for some kind of pain relief. He placed a few drops of poppy tincture at the end of Jaskier’s tongue and lifted him slowly from the ground. “Let’s get you to an inn. I need to treat those cuts and I can’t do it very well in the grass.”

“My big, scary Witcher,” Jaskier smiled, hooking his arms around Geralt’s neck as he was lifted into the White Wolf’s embrace. “Taking care of me so well.”

---

That night, Geralt laid with Jaskier’s head atop his chest. The oddly patterned cuts across the bard’s torso were now covered in salve and bandaged tightly.

“None of my training prepared me for this,” the Witcher admitted, kissing Jaskier’s petal-soft cheek with the utmost reverence.

“What is this?” the bard asked.

“I am yours,” Geralt stated. It was a simple fact. A fact he’d accepted the moment he realized he hadn’t lost Jaskier forever. The younger man’s face went bright red and he nuzzled closer to his rescuer’s side. Geralt’s strong arm was looped around his back, holding him close. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

“Gladly.”

The bard leaned up and pressed his lips to Geralt’s. It was soft, tender, and endlessly healing. Warmth spread through the Witcher’s body, spreading from his heart to each and every one of his limbs. He pulled the bard completely on top of him and wrapped his arms around the man’s lower back to anchor him. Jaskier crossed his arms over Geralt’s chest and rested his chin there.

“Though we’re tethered to the story we must tell, When I saw you, well I knew we’d tell it well.”

“Is that your newest composition?” the Witcher asked, running his hand through Jaskier’s soft brown hair as he sang. The bard nodded.

“It’s a love song. About a Witcher...and a bard.”

“Hmm. I can’t wait to hear it.”

#geraskier fic #geraskier story #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #yen is there also being a bro #geralt whump #jaskier whump #emotional hurt/comfort #witcher hurt/comfort #geraskier hurt/comfort #geralt admits his feelings #geraskier first kiss #love confession #blood mention #injury tw

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lightsupinthenorth · 4 years

Text

Lend me your love

Read on AO3

Billy loves having his hair played with. When he was a child, his mother used to ruffle his hair in passing, or caress it when he was watching TV with his head on her lap. After she leaves, no one but himself or the occasional hairdresser touches his hair for a while. Not until Max comes along and wants to practice her braiding skills on Billy. He protests, at first, telling her to practice on herself instead of pestering him, but he ends up surrendering, as he has wanted to since she first asked.

He would never admit to her that he likes it when she styles his hair, but he can at least admit it to himself. He’s not in denial. He doesn’t even care when she tries something extravagant that ends up making him looks stupid, because by the time she’s done he’s always relaxed and somewhat absent.

Once they move to Hawkins, Indiana, their relationship has deteriorated so much that Max never asks him to be her guinea pig anymore. As pathetic as it sounds, Billy’s pretty sad about it.

In Hawkins, to appease Neil after what happened in California (that is to say, Neil finding Billy making out with a boy), Billy flirts with a lot of girls. He even takes some of them to bed. They don’t do much for him sexually, but sometimes, when he eats a girl out, her fingers grip his hair as she’s looking for something to hold onto. Billy likes that. He likes it so much that it nearly makes him stay afterwards, in the hope she will caress his curls as they lay in bed together. But Billy can’t do that. He doesn’t really want to, anyway: he’s just touch-starved.

After he finally grows some balls and apologizes to Steve for the fight at the Byers’, they become closer. Billy sometimes wishes he’d never apologized because, with him, Steve brings questions, questions about the bruises and scars adorning Billy’s body, questions that Billy always deflects.

Steve also makes Billy want him even more than he used to before they started being friends. One day, during the summer, after Billy has had to sleep under the stars because of his father, Steve sees a leaf tangled in Billy’s curls and takes it off himself. For a second, Steve’s long fingers are in his hair and Billy nearly faints. Once they’re gone, far too soon, Billy wants them back more than anything, but it’s not like he can just ask for it. He’ll just have to make do with the reminiscence of that brief touch. It’s all he’ll ever have.

After Starcourt, Billy’s body is so messed up he can barely wash his hair on his own. Raising his arms hurts like a bitch. He tries to power through it, but he’s fed up after barely a week. He’s got to do something about it. He’s not happy, but he’s got no other choice.

He goes to Steve, whom he now lives with, and hands a hair clipper.

Steve takes it and looks back and forth from Billy to the clipper with his big Bambi eyes.

“What are you giving me that for?”

“I want you to shave my hair.”

Billy would do it himself, but he’d better not take that thing anywhere near his head if he doesn’t want it to end in a catastrophe.

Steve’s speechless for at least ten seconds, mouth agape.

“What? But, why? I though you loved your dumb mullet.”

Billy sighs. He doesn’t feel like explaining himself, but Steve probably won’t do what Billy asked if he doesn’t answer.

“I can’t wash my hair properly ‘cause my arms are fucked up. It would be easier if I just had it shaved.”

“But… but that’s… are you sure you won’t regret it?”

Steve is now staring at the clipper as if it had personally offended him.

“I don’t know… I don’t have much choice, anyway.” Billy shrugs.

“Well… I could wash your hair for you, if you wanted…”

Steve looks up at Billy tentatively, and then looks down almost immediately.

Billy would say yes in a heartbeat if he didn’t already feel like a burden to Steve.

“Thanks for the offer… but you’ve done enough for me as it is.”

“I really wouldn’t mind, I swear… I don’t feel comfortable participating in the murder of your hair, to be honest.”

Billy ponders Steve’s proposition a while longer, biting his lip, before finally accepting. Steve beams at him.

“Great! Do you want them washed right now?”

“Ugh… if you’re free. If not, whenever is fine.”

“Now’s good.”

Billy understands very quickly that he has not thought this through at all. As soon as they enter the bathroom, and Steve asks: “how do you want to do this?”, Billy knows he’s fucked.

Filled with dread, he stares at their tiny shower.

“Don’t know…”

“You can just stand in the shower and let me take care of the rest.” Steve said.

“Should I… uh… take my clothes off or… ?”

“Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

Billy hesitated. He used to show off his body at every occasion and Steve has seen him naked countless times in the locker room after basketball practice when they were in high school. His body doesn’t exactly look the same as it did back then, however.

Steve knows that, though. He’s seen Billy’s freakish scars already. He probably doesn’t care whether Billy’s body looks good or not. Steve is straight, after all. Plus, Billy doesn’t feel like dealing with his wet clothes after his shower, so he might as well undress. It’s going to be fine. At least, he probably won’t get hard in front of Steve, which might be the only benefit from his meds killing his libido.

His yearning is still as strong as ever though, so Billy is far from safe.

Steve turns the shower on and Billy tenses up as the water comes in contact with his skin.

“Is it too hot?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“I’m sorry… I take my showers really hot, so I couldn’t tell.”

“’s fine.” Billy mumbles.

He’s been possessed by a monster who hated warmth. He wishes he could take his showers as hot as Steve’s.

Steve wets Billy’s hair carefully before turning the shower off and grabbing Billy’s shampoo. Steve’s hands are in his hair before Billy can brace himself. He shudders under their touch and his whole body goes pliant. He can barely stay on his feet and ends up needing to support himself on the tiled wall in front of him.

“Are you okay, man?” Steve asked, stopping his movements.

“Yeah… just tired.” He lies.

“Do you need to sit down or something?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Keep going.”

Steve resumes washing Billy’s hair and then rinses. Then, Billy’s left to deal with the rest of his shower on his own. Thankfully.

Like clockwork, Steve goes with Billy to the bathroom every three days to wash his hair for him. Billy feels gradually better, and his doses of meds get smaller and smaller, until he’s entirely off some of them. However, Billy doesn’t tell Steve he’s able to raise his arms again. He would answer honestly if Steve asked him. But that’s the thing: Steve doesn’t ask. He keeps helping without complaining, and Billy’s too weak to admit he’s fine when he’s not been prompted to. He wants to wring every last drop of joy out of this situation until Steve catches on and puts his gentle hands away from Billy’s hair forever.

It could have lasted a lot longer, if Billy had not given himself away like a dumbass. In his defense, it’s too early for reflection when it happens.

Billy has just woken up and finds Steve rummaging through one of their kitchen drawers.

“What the hell are you doing, Pretty boy?”

“I can’t find the whisk.”

“That’s because it’s not in there.” Billy says, as he reaches for it.

He could have simply told Steve it was on the top shelf over the stove, but no. He had to get it himself, because he hasn’t had his first cup of coffee yet and is therefore deprived of his ability to think for even a second.

He notices Steve starting at him and freezes mid-reach, but it serves no purpose except further highlighting he can now raise his arms pretty high. Higher than he would need to wash his hair properly.

“Here you go!” He all but throws the whisk at Steve before retreating from the kitchen, kissing his coffee and his breakfast goodbye. Escaping is now his priority.

He avoids Steve all day long, so he’s definitely perplexed when he is waiting for him in front of the bathroom door the next morning.

“What are you doing here?” He asks before his brain can tell his big fat mouth to stay shut.

“Well… helping you with your hair, as usual…” Steve replies, staring intently at Billy.

“But…”

“I know.” Steve interrupts him before he can say something stupid once more.

Billy is at a loss. What is Steve playing at? Why does he want to indulge Billy? Is it pity? Does he… actually like washing Billy’s hair? Why?

Whatever the reason is, Billy is not enough of a fool to ask. In fact, he doesn’t say anything, undressing in silence and hopping into the shower cubicle.

With Steve so close, and his hands touching him, it quickly becomes clear to Billy that his libido has chosen that day to make a comeback. He does everything he can so that it does not become clear to Steve, in addition to himself: he tries to focus on the least sexy images he’s able to conjure, but he can still feel himself getting hard. His dick has refused to get hard for months, and now it won’t stay down no matter how badly Billy needs it to. His own dick is betraying him. How sad is that?

Steve is now in the cubicle with him, his chest so close to Billy’s back that his now soaked t-shirt brushes against him. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed.

“Do you…” Steve clears his throat, but his voice still sounds strained, “do you want me to lend you a hand with that too?”

Billy opens his eyes right in time to see Steve’s slide down his chest and stop right above his crotch. They should talk about it, clear the air before doing anything, but Billy can’t bring himself to turn down Steve’s offer.

He can only whisper “please” in between two labored breaths. When Steve takes him in hand and starts stroking him, Billy’s knees buckle under the onslaught of pleasure, and he has to lean against Steve’s chest, which makes his hard-on rest against Billy’s ass.

“Fuck, Steve.”

Billy grinds against him, pulling a moan from deep inside Steve’s chest. He can feel the vibration of it go through his own body.

“God, you’re so hot.”

Billy isn’t sure he agrees, but he’s in no position to protest. He’s on the verge of coming already. He wishes he could hold on a little longer, but he hasn’t been touched in ages and the fact that Steve is the one touching him is not helping him stave off his orgasm.

“Steve”, he groans, “I… I’m gonna…”

He can’t even finish his sentence. His voice has failed him.

“I’ve got you” Steve assures.

That’s what sends Billy over the edge. He comes hard over Steve’s hand and his own chest. The still running water cleans it off in a heartbeat. As soon as Steve lets go of Billy, he turns around and kisses him.

He doesn’t know if kisses are on the table of their tacit agreement, but he’s going to find out. It turns out that they are indeed on the table, according to the way Steve kisses back eagerly and winds his hands in Billy’s wet locks.

They have to separate when Billy peels Steve’s t-shirt off him and passes it over his head. After throwing the piece of clothes carelessly on the bathroom floor, instead of putting his lips back on Steve’s, Billy starts trailing kisses down Steve’s neck and chest. He stops on his way to give some attention to Steve’s nipples, delighted to note that they’re sensitive enough to get Steve panting in no time at all.

Steve’s hands are already back in Billy’s hair, and Billy’s living for it. He keeps going down, down, down. Slowly. Until he reaches the elastic band of Steve’s old gym shorts which have been converted to pajamas. He pulls them down swiftly and takes Steve is his mouth, reveling in the gasp it gets him to make. He would have loved teasing Steve some more, but he’s been wanting this for too long. Billy looks up as he slides down Steve’s cock. Steve is staring, seemingly in awe, his brown eyes nearly black with arousal and his lips slightly parted. The sight, added to the weight and taste of the dick in his mouth, nearly gets Billy hard again. It would surely have if his cock had not just recovered from all the meds.

Surprisingly, it does manage to harden again a few minutes later. Billy doesn’t really have the time to analyze the situation, he just feels a spike of arousal when Steve pulls hard on his hair. A choked moan leaves his throat, half from surprise and half from pleasure, as he’s hauled off Steve’s dick. Then, Steve is coming all over him, nearly silent apart from his raspy breathing. Once again, the water, which is now uncomfortably cold, does its job and washes the mess off.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Steve apologizes, his voice shot to hell as if he were the one who had just had a cock down his throat. “I wanted to warn you I was going to come but I was literally rendered speechless”.

He’s now gently massaging Billy’s abused scalp and Billy closes his eyes to enjoy the feeling.

“It’s fine”, he assures after a while, as Steve helps him up.

In fact, it’s more than fine. The hair pulling really got Billy going. He can’t believe he’s only discovering this. He’s known he likes his hair being played with for as long as he can remember, but he had no idea getting it pulled could feel that good. Well, until now that is.

He can’t wait to explore that, preferably with Steve.

#Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #fluff #smut #fanfiction

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years

Text

Control - Ralph Anderson x Shifter!Reader 2 (The Outsider)

Sequel to Halfway Home

@mandy23b @wltz-bby @happyskywhale #mendotagsquad

Author’s Note: This song, this damn song, oh my god. I confess I hadn’t listened to any Halsey at all (besides a couple of collabs with other artists I like) until I was music swapping with @mandy23b... But I honestly don’t think I’ve loved an album this much lyrically in a very long time! Anyway, a second part was always in the works. This song for sure inspired the finish of it.

Thank you @mendelskrull and @crawlingmist I really REALLY hope the sequel was worth the wait 🙈🙈🙈🙈

Control - Halsey

Disclaimer: gif not mine / lyrics not mine / The Outsider & all associated characters not my property!

I wrote this before I read ‘If It Bleeds’ but I see the immediate eerie similarities in my Shifter species. I think I might cover it off in the finale...

Premise: After a particularly erratic encounter with Ralph Anderson, you wait on your fate... can you trust the Detective to make the right choice? Can he trust you, at all?

Words: 5737

Warnings: Swearing

⚠ Major Angst/Hurt Caution Warning (Again) ⚠

_____

They send me away to find them a fortune A chest filled with diamonds and gold The house was awake, the shadows and monsters The hallways, they echoed and groaned

I sat alone, in bed till the morning I'm crying, "They're coming for me" And I tried to hold these secrets inside me My mind's like a deadly disease

I paced around for hours on empty I jumped at the slightest of sounds And I couldn't stand the person inside me I turned all the mirrors around

I'm bigger than my body I'm colder than this home I'm meaner than my demons I'm bigger than these bones

And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?

---

Your first visitor the following morning surprised you. You thought Ralph might just have blanket banned the entire city from seeing you, but apparently some just wanted to break the rules. DA Kenneth Hayes stood hesitantly in the doorway watching you, clutching papers close to his chest – and you were inquisitive enough to wonder if he was about to serve you, or, you were going to be dragged into a questioning room. You sat yourself straight against the wall and folded your arms; “What will it be Hayes?” He jumped, and for a moment you thought you’d get a good laugh out of the papers scattering – no such luck though. “Detective Anderson has already appeared to have considered the full 48 hours. I just hoped as the DA you’d be able to shed a little light on the subject.” He was staring at you like he couldn’t believe you were talking, like an animal had suddenly found a human voice. You weren’t in the mood; “Look if you can’t tell me anything-” “Ralph told us to stay away from you.” “Then why are you here?” You realised how exasperated you sounded, but you hardly cared. “Are you… are you really…?” It was obvious that Hayes couldn’t bear to even voice it. “Yes. I am what he says I am. No, I didn’t have a hand in anything that happened here…” You tilted your head, “I don’t see why it has much consequence to you. They didn’t even tell you.” “But I know now.” You sighed; “Hayes just put me out of my misery, what’s the big plan!? I know I’m behind bars but I’m not an animal in a zoo.” Your eyes flashed, and it caused him to step back, truth was you were no longer trying to hide it, and they could all blame Ralph for that. “Least you could do is stop gawking at me like I’m about to spring into some kind of murderous, child-killing rampage, or change form.” He swallowed, “Ralph has it all planned out and I trust him.” “You know he put a gun to my head yesterday, right?” “I’m aware.” “Sounds like intent to me.” You scoffed, “I suppose to you I wouldn’t come under the remit of human rights, huh?” The way your eyes were burning an odd iridescent silver, and emitting light the way they were, made Hayes even more uneasy than just the thought of you really being a Shapeshifter, and he backed away – heart racing, “Good day, Y/N.” You shook your head after him with a roll of your eyes – Humans had always been so typical. Part of you wished for the days of old, when your kind was fascinating, mystifying and worshiped – and you could all coexist. Before humans, as they did, got ideas beyond their station. Now you were still revered, but not for being so unusual – for the thought alone that you could threaten their existence. People like Kenneth Hayes would brush this off as a bad dream and would never allow it to be mentioned or lingered on again, even if it was witnessed. Ralph would never forget – and it would scar him deep; that was without the added heartbreak of you. You were the final nail in the coffin for your beloved detective. You were sitting against the bars with your eyes closed the next time someone joined you. And you were immediately suspicious by the level of calm they issued – for one, you weren’t even in the mood to have visitors now. Ralph hadn’t come by, and by now you were thinking of refusing an apology if he even offered one. “Go away.” You groaned softly, “I don’t need you all staring at me like I’m some form of entertainment.” There was a tap against the bars and you cracked your eye open, greeted by a disposable coffee cup; “I’d rather make sure you were okay.” You took the cup from Detective Sablo, “Why? You were in Tennessee too. Your best friend know you’re doing this?” Yune sighed as he crossed the room to sit on the bench opposite your cell; “He’s not my best friend.” “Yeah he is…” You took a sip, and hummed in gratitude; he’d remembered your coffee order. Yune smiled gently; “I’m not afraid of you.” “You should be. He is.” “He loves you.” “Loved. I think you’ll find.” And you’d not forget that soon enough, your heart still greeted you with a sharp pain in remembrance. “Ralph’ll come around.” You indicated to the cell that you were stuck in, and it made him grimace, “Okay, I know. It’ll be a long time…” He ran his hands through his hair, “But I believe in the two of you – Look, Y/N, I want all of us to get out of this… I’ll talk to him; we’ll get you out of here. I promise.” “I’m not sure he wants to see me.” You took a few gulps of coffee, “At least not alive.” “Ralph’s not like that, you know he’s not like that.” You finished the cup and placed it outside of the cell for him to collect. “Yune, answer me one question.” He nodded, ready for it, and you breathed, “Who killed the Shifter in Tennessee?” “…I think it was a joint effort.” “Answer the question.” “I wasn’t there-” “Yune!” He had to realise that skipping around it was just as bad as what you knew the answer was. He swallowed hard, and couldn’t meet your eyes, “Ralph did.” You gave him a pointed look; which made his statement all but useless, “RALPH did.” *** Surprisingly Ralph Anderson did make his way down to you. You thought he might leave it the full two days and deal with you when he had to let you go, or when Hayes had figured out something that would lead to you spending a lot of time in prison. Maybe they’d even work out a way to pin the death penalty on you. You wondered if it’d work – but you weren’t sure you wanted to be the test subject. Or maybe he’d found a lab somewhere that was going to take you in – despite the fact that he’d spent the later part of his threats yesterday telling you that he’d rather no one knew you existed. You were back to lying on your bed and studying yourself with a depth of self-hatred – that this was something you’d chosen for yourself. That if Ralph Anderson came face to face with the real you, he probably wouldn’t have hesitated with pulling that trigger. That the blood flowing through your veins looked like the ink Ralph would make notes with in every interview he’d ever conducted, otherworldly, ethereal… dark and cold – rather than the rich red that could be associated with such emotions as anger, love and passion. The kind of emotions that were easy to feed on – your preference was love. Love was strong, and it only got stronger, and even when it wasn’t some kind of all raging passion when two people were all over each other, it was still there. And if you could surround yourself with couples (particularly those that had been in love a long time) you were at your happiest; and also your strongest. You supposed your Cherokee City counterpart had the same edge, but for fear, anger and total chaos. You could eat like a human, but you could sustain yourself on emotion alone. If he’d chosen a better path, he would have been able to as well – but he had to cause the pain he fed on. Which is why he had to move so frequently. After all, you couldn’t keep those close that you made angry or fearful of you – let alone if they died. But if someone loved you, if someone really loved you, you could live the rest of your life on them alone. You’d spent the best four years of your life living on his. But that was not the emotion that overtook Ralph Anderson’s body as he entered the room. It never would be again. You turned your head to him, and were met with that icy steel blue; calmer than last night, which you were glad of – you didn’t want to have to face that erratic anger again. But it hurt you; because your heart stirred just to see his face, and you had to push all of that back once more. He kept track of your every movement, but said nothing. When Ralph was satisfied, he opened the door; “Out.” You raised yourself, “What, they didn’t give you the full 48?” His eyes narrowed slightly; “I said out.” You stood and he unlatched the handcuffs from his belt “Hands front.” You raised an eyebrow in questioning but did as he asked. This was even more painful for Ralph – half of him felt terrible for going so out of control yesterday; half of him knew he was face to face with a monster, a woman who had lied to him for four years and broken his heart. He wasn’t about to apologise – and didn’t think you were either. He still kept his eyes on you as he picked up the bag, hating the fact that you were wearing one of his favourite shirts – he should never have given you that. But Ralph didn’t want any of your things in the house. He pulled himself upright to full height – you took half a step back, still not sure of exactly what he would do to you. You didn’t think Ralph knew himself. “Lets go.” He pulled you out of the cell and down the corridor – Ralph wasn’t about to tell you where of course, and it left you wondering if you were about to be met by a lawyer and a judge, and the same kind of water tight evidence that Terry Maitland had been. You supposed to the humans here your race deserved nothing less. And perhaps they were right. Humanity had never scared you; even when it had driven your race to hiding – you’d grown up around them, and you’d blended well. But humans had become the kind of scary stories told to children that ‘monsters’ were to them. Ralph’s reaction was simply proving every one of those stories true. When he pulled you back to the elevators you wondered if this was about to be Terry and the courthouse part II. Crowds of hundreds wanting a glimpse of a terrifying creature, and a few well aimed shots… “Stop it.” He growled, although he refused to look at you – talking to him was only going to make it worse, but upon flicking your eyes to the elevator doors you realised that all the thoughts in your head were causing your eyes to burn silver again. You blinked a couple of times and they returned to their ‘natural’ colour. Ralph gripped you tighter as he pushed you in, and as you found yourself in the parking lot, you were surprised to see there wasn’t a soul in sight. That only made you turn to him; “Where are we going?” He ignored you, pulling him along to his car and opening the back door – your stare was defiant and this time you demanded it, “WHERE are we going!?” “Get. In. The. Car.” Ralph’s voice shook with every syllable and you knew he was dangerously close to losing it with you again. He also probably didn’t like that you weren’t about to just let him order you around here, you’d always had a little bit of push about you – it was an aspect of your personality he really liked, especially when you were snarking someone he didn’t. Right now, Ralph didn’t need or want it – he just wanted you to get in the car so that he could do what he must. You only conceded because you weren’t sure you wanted that stalemate to end with getting shot – a little too aware of the pistol on his utility belt. He slammed the door on you and took a deep breath; it wouldn’t take much – he’d done it before. If he could keep a clear head, he could do it again – Ralph could finish this easily. All he had to do was get through this. *** You realised very quickly that you were heading for the city limits and sat up, twisting around in your seat. No court case? No going back home? You knew where the jail was and he certainly wasn’t heading that way. What was he doing? You bit your lip, knowing it couldn’t be good. Wondering if Ralph was numb to it all, or was simply that good at controlling his emotional output. It scared you that you weren’t sure of the answer. And suddenly you wished you didn’t know the answer to the question you’d asked Yune; one tear leaked and you rubbed your cheek on your shoulder to hide it, heck, now you wished you’d never asked that question in the first place. When Ralph finally stopped the car you weren’t sure ‘middle of nowhere’ covered it. You weren’t even sure what you were supposed to feel – and he’d been off-roading for so long he might well have been lost. Maybe Ralph Anderson wanted to get lost. It occurred to you that he might not want to be found out here; maybe he’d take that pistol and kill you before turning it on himself. Ralph didn’t seem like the type, but you felt perhaps now you’d seen him at his worst (what else would you call the previous evening), maybe he was… maybe he could do something that devastating. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a long time before he decisively shut the engine off – gathering his radio, cell phone, and gun, Ralph hopped from the car and pocketed all items before opening the back and dragging you out. Ralph marched you a little way from the vehicle and stood you roughly in the grassland before growling at you to stay still, and walking back towards the car. He stopped, maybe 10 paces from you and turned back. You blinked, but no emotions crossed your face. That only made him angrier, but Ralph wasn’t sure what he wanted to see out of you – blind rage and anger that would prove to him you really were the monster underneath your guise? Tears streaming down your face and begging him for mercy – as you rightly should be, after everything that had gone down in the past few months, after what you’d done to him for years. Maybe even controlled acceptance of your situation, that it had to end this way and you were alright with that. But there was nothing; not even that shiver inducing silver in your eyes. The silence eschewed and you found yourself looking around, fields and farmland to one side rolling for miles into hills, and a forest in the distance on the other – too far to think that even with your decent sprinting you could get into cover before he put a bullet in your body. Maybe if you weren’t human, but you weren’t about to give Ralph Anderson the satisfaction of seeing your true form. You looked back to him and took a step; “Look, whatever you’re gonna do… Will you just do it already.” The pistol was drawn immediately; “NOT another step.” “You’re really gonna use it this time-!?” You couldn’t help your cold laugh; “I swear to God Ralph Anderson, if you have it in you, it better be a good fucking shot.” If he wasn’t about to keep the venom out of his voice then neither would you. Ralph just shook his head. Paying more attention to his gun than you, he checked everything was in working order; “How could you do this-!? Do you not even think about what you’re doing to the person you’re with-!? How utterly selfish it is to play someone like that?” You flinched, pulling back a few paces – the metal of your restraints cutting into your wrists. What right did he have to ask you something like that? “Look at me, Ralph Anderson.” He didn’t. And this time you weren’t sure if you were crying from anger or because it was hurting you so much and you were just letting it; “RALPH! LOOK AT ME!” You yelled it, “Look me in the eye and tell me that even without the Frankie Peterson case, if I’d have told you what I was then you wouldn’t have reacted in exactly the same way-!” He raised his blue eyes to you, and he didn’t have to answer, the guilt was already there. “Tell me the second I said shapeshifter you wouldn’t have thought me insane – that the second I’d have shifted into someone else to show you, you wouldn’t have cast me out as a freak and wanted to use your damn pistol on me anyway.” “You could have HELPED the case!” “It’s NOT the case-! Stop pretending it’s the case! If you knew what I really was Ralph, you’d run 1000 fucking miles and not look back and you know it. The case!?” You looked around you again and now he could clearly see the tears running, “The case has put me in a field in handcuffs waiting for the man I love to kill me.” “NO. Don’t!” He held his hand up, “Don’t tell me you love me. You gave up that right.” “Then for Godsake Ralph,” you presented your body to him, “Just get it over with because I can’t take this.” your eyes narrowed, flickering again, “But don’t you dare presume to tell me that I can’t love you.” That was decisive enough and he swept his pistol up to aim for your head; yet Ralph knew he was thinking too much. He just wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was – wasn’t killing you just as bad as murdering someone? Sure, he’d killed one of you in Tennessee – but you weren’t an evil murdering entity (as far as he knew). You were you. And what Ralph would have to accept was that even if you were a monster, he couldn’t end your life without killing a part of himself. You watched all of this cross his face, even though his look maintained the utter hatred and disgust for what you really were, and you were soon yelling at him again; “Oh, why don’t you just aim for my heart—!!!!” He gritted his teeth; “Because that won’t work!” Hadn’t your counterpart taken a shot gun and a knife to the chest before he’d crushed its head with a rock? How many bullets would you take? Could he count on it being a one and done? You gave a shrug, wondering if there was just enough love in Ralph left for you to somehow talk him out of it, “For him maybe-! For me who knows-!” You focused acutely on his body, you knew that DNA so well by now; you could feel Ralph Anderson coursing through your veins even when he wasn’t a part of you. His breath was small, but still significant – the safety gave a click, and you realised this was the time to be anything that you could be but scared. Even if your fear was driving you to this. You didn’t really want to die, after all. You hadn’t come all this way in so many lifetimes for a Cherokee City detective to end your life in the middle of nowhere. “If shooting me is so easy for you, do it Ralph. But I should show you what you’ll do to yourself-!” Ralph would have asked you what the hell you meant. Ralph would have asked a million questions that he never got the chance too; because real fear finally flickered across his face, and his body became rooted to the spot, eyes wide. One second he’d been staring at you, defiant even in the face of your own death by his hand – until your eyes illuminated once more; but instead of it just stopping there, your whole body seemed to shimmer out of focus and pixelate. It clearly didn’t take you months to shapeshift into someone else – because now Ralph Anderson was standing face to face with himself. And if it wasn’t for the fact that your eyes were still a gentle silver colour (always the last thing to accurately render), it would have been just like looking in a mirror. Instead Ralph got chills; he’d seen a lot, he would admit to that much, but he’d never seen anything as unnerving as this. He had no choice than to immediately look away from you, hand over his mouth, for fear of throwing up over all this once again. Your eyes narrowed and you tipped your head to follow his movement – he better not think he was getting away with that. Unfortunately, your straining on the cuffs still didn’t cause them to break, and you could already feel the likelihood of leaving Ralph’s DNA in the middle of the field as pretty high, considering how raw your wrists now looked. “Look at me.” Oh, that was much worse. The shudder that coursed through Ralph’s body must have been visible – his voice coming from you; well him, but- It wasn’t him. He shook his head continuously. This was too much. This was way too much and Ralph was suddenly aware of how in over his head he was. He should have brought back-up. He should have listened to his friends. Ralph Anderson suddenly realised just how alone he was out here; and finally comprehended just what was in front of him. “LOOK AT ME!” This time you screamed it, repeatedly, admitting to yourself that there was a certain power that came with being in someone else’s body whilst also facing said person. And it’d never felt so good as this moment. Eventually Ralph Anderson did – but you could feel him when you were like this – and if anything, he was only looking at you because he wanted it to stop. He straightened; the pistol was still very much in play but lowered and hesitant, still you didn’t trust him not to take out your knee at the way he was holding it, and that finger was still hovering on the trigger. “What is wrong with you?” You continued, wondering if he might even listen to himself, “I can tell you what I think is wrong with you, Ralph Anderson, and you can hate me for it all you want – but I think it’s about time someone told you the truth.” You took a step and the pistol raised a little higher; “You have survivors guilt for whatever the hell happened in Tennessee, you feel guilty about everything that happened to Terry; from the way you arrested him to the way he died, guilt that you’ve left the Maitland family in the state it’s in and two girls without a father, guilt for the Peterson family because they’re all gone now – not forgetting the fact you shot Ollie. You think you’ve got off lightly with therapy sessions. For the record, I think he’s a God awful therapist and I get the feeling you don’t hold him in regard much higher than I.” You took a breath, “You feel guilty about everything that happened on this case, and every other fucking person that suffered at the hands of that shapeshifter and everything it ever touched.” You pointed to yourself… or… himself. “But I am NOT it, Ralph!! I didn’t do ANY of that. And you’re still here! You’re still alive and you’re still breathing! And you have friends and people who LOVE you!!!” You shook your head, suddenly a picture-perfect image of the man who’d been on the other side of your cell yesterday; “Face yourself—!! Face the person YOU are-!! How hard can it be!?” You couldn’t place your fingers exactly on the look on has face, it was such a distinct form of fear. No-one in the world should have to face themselves in such a way as this; and you could see it, Ralph Anderson was terrified of you. And you acknowledged that with a twisted smile; “Yeah. You’re damn right! You should be scared of me.” But it wasn’t just you, was it, that’s what you were getting at; “Scared of ME and yourself – at the man you can become!”

By this time Ralph was shaking, his hands were trembling and all he needed was one shot. Perhaps that was the point – was that what you were saying? By ending you, he might finally have peace? Or were you saying that’s what he thought he could have and it wouldn’t be that way? That he should face everything he’d done… that he thought he might have done, even when he hadn’t, and feel better. You didn’t want to die, but if he was going to do it the only thing you wanted right now was Ralph Anderson to be free from everything that haunted him. Even when you’re pointing a gun at my head I still fucking love you… But the shakes became sobs, and even Ralph knew he couldn’t hold that gun steady enough to take a clean shot. His vision blurred as tears ran; “God dammit-!” The pistol left his hands, settling in the grass – and Ralph’s hands went back to his face, trying to wipe those tears away as if you hadn’t been staring at him long enough to see them. Knowing it was over, you shimmered back to yourself, and although you wanted nothing more than to run over to him and hold him close to reassure him – the situation still had you standing calmly in the spot that he had placed you – waiting for Ralph to free you himself. Your detective crossed the grass to you, tears still staining his face, and again you found yourself wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold him close. You weren’t sure you’d like the result of that one – he had pointed a gun to your head and been seconds from pulling the trigger. Twice. In two days. Even though his hands were still trembling as he pulled yours towards him, he managed to unlock the cuffs with ease. “R-Ralph-” “Go. GO-!” He wiped his eyes again, nudging you away from him; resolve completely done. And you had a terrible feeling that Ralph Anderson was more broken than he’d ever been before. You shook your head, closing the gap again and trying to get him to look at you; “You don’t mean that…” You whispered gently, glad that he didn’t put away when you placed your hand delicately on his arm, “…You don’t.” “I do.” If there was ever a time to let him know that no matter your race you were still you, it was now. Maybe he expected the monster to run for its life. The woman who loved him would stay. “Tell me, Ralph Anderson. Tell me you want me to go. Right now. Say those words. That full sentence.” He was still determined not to let his eyes meet your face; “I want… I want….” But his body was still shaking; and his lip quivered. Ralph didn’t finish his sentence before he was sobbing again. “You can ask me to stay. Ralph. We can go back. I know this is going to take time, maybe a lot of time… but we ca-” “No. We can’t.” He shook his head, “I won’t.” Your face fell as he held out his car keys, “Take it. Take the car and go - I don’t care where, anywhere - just not Cherokee City. Not back to me.” “Ralph…” Your disbelief was more than evident, after all, you hadn’t done anything wrong and yet realised you were the one begging for his forgiveness now; “…Why? What about you?!” “Yune can pick me up. Look TAKE them!” He closed your hands around the keys and stepped away from you again, “Leave-! I’m letting you go, God dammit just GO!” “NO!” You shook your head again, “Why won’t you let us fix this? We can make this work! You know we can!” “BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO BE WITH YOU ANYMORE!” You were forced into a stunned silence, and your eyes couldn’t help but burn again. If you expected anything from him, it wasn’t that. You opened your mouth, but suddenly found it hard to form words. “I DON’T EVER WANT TO EVEN SEE YOU AGAIN-!!! BUT I CAN’T EVEN KILL YOU – I LOVED YOU TOO MUCH TO KILL YOU, AND WHAT DOES THAT MAKE ME!?” Ralph ran his hands through his hair, and suddenly that strange crazy energy he’d given off the evening before was back – but a hell of a lot more erratic. “R…Ra…Ralph.” You weren’t sure it was something you could reason with; and he snapped, just to prove you right; “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! FUCKING GO!” His advance on you made you stagger back, and this time the fear that ran across your face was something he’d never seen before. It unnerved him but he couldn’t stop now; “LEAVE! NO ONE IN CHEROKEE CITY WANTS YOU AROUND ANYWAY!” That was just a little too much, there was a knife already through your heart, he didn’t have to twist it. You were staring at a man you’d loved for four years, and you didn’t recognise him at all. ‘Oh my god, who… who is this man?’ The pain was unbearable, and you didn’t want to cry – you couldn’t show him he was upsetting you; but Ralph Anderson probably already knew exactly what he was doing. You shook your head, continuing to walk backwards towards the car – staring at him hard, even if you couldn’t hate him you could still let him know how angry you were. And you’d show him your anger before you let him upset you. ‘Human beings, all the same… I should just have listened…’ Throughout history when weren’t you told to never get involved with one? Lifespan was the least of the worries at the top of any other shapeshifters list; but you’d always been fascinated – and their biggest advocates. They were afraid and they had to drive you to this point, that always made sense – but they were fragile, and emotional, and they could love in ways so unconditional that you’d never seen another species replicate. Yet here you were, and the one you’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with was doing this. And Ralph Anderson was one of the good ones. “You have it wrong, Ralph Anderson. So fucking wrong. You think you don’t know me... but really, it’s me that doesn’t know YOU.” You didn’t turn as you kept backing towards his car, “How can you – YOU – prove my race so fucking right!?” You opened the door, still glaring at him, you wanted to say it, you wanted to tell him that you couldn’t believe you’d ever loved him. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t even bring yourself to pretend you felt that. Because even now when he was breaking your heart – you’d never loved a person as much as you had him. And you knew you didn’t know where you’d go from here – but you knew you’d carry that feeling with you for the rest of your life. There would never be another Ralph Anderson. You stopped looking at him, slamming the door shut, belting yourself in and starting the engine, throwing it into gear. You paused with a deep breath and allowed yourself one last glance at him. Standing there in the middle of a field alone watching you leave. Take a good hard look, Y/N, because you will never see this man again… You peeled your eyes away with an exhale, and closed them, counting to 10 before you pushed your foot to the pedal and the car began moving. But now you were stuck with eerie silence, and the echoes of his voice in your head – the remnants of his DNA in your veins. You knew Ralph would never let you go, but right now you couldn’t handle that. And suddenly realising how alone in the world you were, you had to pull over to the side. Tears were running before you’d even slowed to a stop, you buried your face in your arms against the steering wheel and all you could do was let out huge, shaking sobs. God damn you, Ralph Anderson… Why?! *** 9 Months Later…

You’d watched him for a little while, sitting in that little corner coffee shop. You would call him new in town; only you’d seen him a few times whilst running around. He drew you in in a similar way to the detective whose face you wore a little more often than you’d care to admit. Ralph’s body made you feel safe when you were alone, especially at night – he was familiar, his voice was familiar. Comfortable. Yet, with Ralph you could torture yourself for everything you’d ever done – and you were no longer content with looking at your own form. This man was gone because of you. Still, there was something about the one you were watching that you couldn’t quite put your fingers on… You tapped your stirrer against the top of your cup and bit your lip gently – never a fan of making the same mistake twice. But you knew that aura well, and he wasn’t human. Which was why you were sitting here and you looked like you again. Even though you couldn’t let him go; it was still Ralph’s shirt you were wearing, it was still his car you were driving, it was still him that you cried over every night. That didn’t mean that the man now turning from the counter with his coffee didn’t intrigue you enough to try it; had you found one just like you? His eyes met yours, and that silver flashed. And this time you couldn’t help but smile, using exactly the same tell on him. He wasn’t expecting it, and immediately froze, despite the tiny smile making its way to his lips.

And for the first time since you’d left Ralph Anderson in a middle of nowhere field, you didn’t feel quite so alone…

---

I really appreciate your support for this series 💕 Thank you for your readership! I’m sorry!

#Ralph Anderson #Ben Mendelsohn #Ralph Anderson x Reader #The Outsider #The outsider hbo #HBOs the Outsider #Ralph x Shifter!Reader #Shifter!Reader #Dia #Ever since reading If It Bleeds she certainly looks like Dia and not an AU!Harmony...#I mean I think this is probably worse than either of you were envisioning #UGHH! THIS SONG!!#SHE HAS SO MANY AMAZING SONGS FOR THE BOIS!!!!#IT'S SO CRAZY AND I LOVE IT!#158

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courtorderedcake · 4 years

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Hallow : ch xxi - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Read on AO3 here.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Ch / ?? - In which Pandora's one gift is given.

Sand poured down on Emma, her head spinning and wind knocked from her lungs from the fall to the cave’s floor. They were bathed in darkness now, the light of day Killian had disappeared into blotted out as she struggled to stand. Jasmine yelled from somewhere on her left, or somewhere on what could be her left, and Aladdin was groaning painfully somewhere that seemed to be below her.

It became harder to walk as more sand poured over her, anger and fear joined with grief, the unexpected stumble making her fall forward into the shifting grains.

He was gone.

She remembered everything.

And he was gone .

Emma screamed, letting her lungs work through their disuse and abuse in one long banshee chord, her fury rising in her veins. Kindling sparked, embers lit into a broad fan of flame that seemed to burn her alive. Magic exploded around her, bursting forth to bring the caves into a brilliant daylight that cast off the dark walls. Sand swirled around her in an elegant arc, up to the cave’s tall ceilings as it solidified into glass pillars, everything falling away at once to only the sound of her ragged cries.

Pushing herself to press against the walls of whatever enchantment covered the cave, Emma attempted to pull herself outside of the cavern, but could not. She cursed in frustration, tears pricking at her eyes.

“Emma, Princess, I am so sorry.” Aladdin approached cautiously, Emma’s head snapping up to stare at him. “I tried, I tried to -"

"Don’t you dare talk to her!” Jasmine hissed, moving in from another direction, over a large slope of sand. “You said you loved me, then you tried to murder me, and you think you have any right to apologize to anyone?"

"Jasmine, it’s not like that! I didn’t - I had no choice! I tried to tell you so many times, but I couldn’t -”

"Bullshit!” Jasmine screamed. “You knew my magic was weak, I told you how my mother died from this burden, you knew that I was absolutely terrified while I played these noble intrigues to curry favor, you knew my fears and you ran to my enemy to tell him every one of my vulnerabilities -"

"Stop it! Stop, just stop it!” Emma yelled, scrubbing at her face. She stood shakily, moving around the glass pillar she had made. Her hands shook, the feeling of being drenched in power overwhelming. “I need to - We all need to get out of here, so help me find a way out or get out of my way, but stop wasting time!"

Her attempts to magic herself and them out of the cave useless; Jasmine jumped back slightly at the burst of magic that escaped Emma, the blast knocking Aladdin off his feet.

He let out a rough groan, sitting up to look at Jasmine with a look of longing Emma recognized. It hurt to even acknowledge. All she wanted was Killian, and what if he wasn’t safe, if they actually killed him or made the Darkness worse? He had kissed her goodbye again, chosen for her again after everything they had gone through. She knew that they could beat the Darkness if he could just trust her, if he could just let her love him, and love her in return.

And now… And now —

Her brain raced as they dug through the leftover sand on the floor. If she had to count every last particle of sand in the desert, she would just to have him hold her again. There was so much, so much she hadn’t said; so much they had only dreamt of together, so many times she had wanted his touch but without understanding why . Only to have him leave her again.

"Look, look at this!” Aladdin was pointing to a crevice in the ground, broken apart by glass. Below it, a light shimmered in the form of a torch, intricately carved stairs curving down into the bowels of the cavern. Resting on a stair, glinting like starlight, was the shard on its broken chain. Killian had fought for her. He believed that this was fighting for them; no matter how wrong it was, he was trying. He was fighting in the only way he knew with the Darkness in him, and was willing to be torn to pieces for it. Her thoughts were so selfish and naive compared to his.

Carefully climbing down the thick glass, she picked up the shard. Peering down the torchlit corridor of steps that led down further, Emma tied up her skirts and began to move downwards. None of them spoke, Jasmine staying close as Aladdin trailed behind with pining glances and a skittish pace.

They all came to a halt at a door, clearly enchanted by ancient magic. A flowing language Emma could only recognize part of was written in the stone.

“A heart that lies craves the answer that allows entrance?” Emma asked, tracing the words.

“It wants truth. It says, ‘the answer is what the heart that is fed on untruths desires’, that only this will open the door. That’s what a dishonest heart craves the most, the truth to combat its lies,” Jasmine sighed. “So, truths… alright.”

Stepping in front of the door, Jasmine looked over to where Emma and Aladdin stood before looking back, clearing her throat.

“My truth is this: I never wanted to rule. My mother died saving Agrabah from a great cataclysm, which was to be my fate until she saw it. She sacrificed herself for me only to have me turn out to be only mildly clairvoyant. Grandfather locked himself away from us to hide here. After my father was killed, I took over out of necessity. This future is - It’s nothing as my mother described. It’s empty. It’s lonely.”

“I miss not having to constantly search the future for what is coming, I miss talking to my parents, I miss having friends or loved ones I could trust, I miss singing with my birds, and I miss…” Jasmine turned to look at Aladdin. “I told you everything about myself, showed you my world while you promised me that you would do the same. Why did you pretend to care about me? Why did you lie to me at every turn? I don’t want to miss you, and I hate that I let myself ever allow you to know anything about me."

The door shook, grinding open slightly.

"You aren’t innocent here either, Jasmine!” Aladdin hissed. “If you want truth, start there. You recognize me like this. You know who I am, and how your father let the guards tie me to that post for days, all because I stole a loaf of bread. You know that I was taken in again for stealing a melon, receiving lashes. You knew they called me a street rat, that I was an orphan deemed to be better on the streets than in a home. All the while, you looked right past me, as if I didn’t exist. I never expected you to ever see me as anything because you are royalty, but you staring into my eyes like that only to leave me at the mercy of the shopkeeper, the guards, your outdated laws that let my family starve… I became consumed by it. I wanted vengeance. I wanted it after your mother died, and after your father was poisoned.”

When rumors spread in the underground of a challenger to your fledgling rule, I jumped at the chance to be useful. I was a thief, no one would hire me after your father marked me as an untouchable. I was beaten for scraps of food while told only my fleas would mourn me above, but below, I was treated like a king. I rose quickly in the ranks as a dependable pickpocket and artifact hunter. That’s when Jafar had me procure the magic from this cave. I had no idea I would be cursed with the plight of the Djinn, bound to a lamp he could use. Jafar only had mumbled about making a Dark One, Arthur chiming in about some sword called Excalibur, before I found myself bound as a slave to them at this very door. The Djinn inside gives the holder the curse, but the wielder is the one who holds the newly made Gene’s lamp. Finding myself inside of it and being summoned to do their bidding was overwhelming. “

Jafar was quick to remind me I wasn’t as good as a Dark One, but I was determined to prove myself. He couldn’t be a Genie, but he could be an all powerful sorcerer instead of a mediocre magician. Hades and Arthur came next, each with their own selfish wishes to make themselves more powerful. I wanted revenge and a better life for the poorest in Agrabah. They wanted Agrabah to burn. We began to see each other in a new light.”

It was Arthur’s second in command who pivoted them to you. I know now that he was one of your guards, and I’m sorry for your loss. Lancelot was a great and honorable man. I never understood why or how he could stand with Arthur until he was gone, labeled a traitor. I owe him a great debt for pushing Arthur to introduce me to you, and to his indomitable belief that you would fight for Agrabah’s people. Lancelot pushed for an insider that would gain the trust of the nobles, ferreting out weaknesses. Arthur agreed that the best way to use me was to spy on you. He used my magic to create Ab’dua with me as its fake prince, so I could bid for your hand in marriage. When I fell in love with you, it complicated things. Genies can’t use magic to take life, create life, or create love - these magics are too ancient, they are lost to us and our workings. We can’t access the light or the darkness, but can access the chaos of the hidden spaces. “

I could not kill you, no matter how much they wished it, but I pretended to attempt it. I delayed their wishes by pretending, stalling, and proposing alternatives. I broke the Genie laws and told them no to keep you safe. I refused to do as I was told. I paid the price.” Aladdin gestured to the long scars that now ran down his arms, no longer the bright blue.

He stepped toward Jasmine as she backed up slightly, wavering. “When we flew to watch fireworks and you admitted you wanted to be just a normal peasant woman, I thought they would understand. I trusted them like an idiot. I couldn’t tell you I was a Genie without breaking your trust entirely or putting you at risk.” Aladdin raked a hand through his hair, laughing darkly. “They were already looking for other options since I refused to kill you. I thought our love would be enough, I thought I could keep them at bay, but then Jafar -

"Jafar attacked when I rebuffed his advances,” Jasmine interrupted. “I remember.”

“He tried to ra -” Aladdin tried to growl angrily, but she interrupted.

“I don’t need to relive the experience,” Jasmine bit out harshly. “In any case, it revealed him as a monster, a thief, and an unequivocal liar.”

“He is a monster. I couldn’t follow him any longer, but he was my master. I fought not to kill you, and I fought not to kill Emma. I made sure Killian could be freed, because I knew that he had deep feelings for the princess. I tried to do everything I could in my power. It was ripping me apart and I was lucky to survive… Which I’ve never been happier about. Please consider my apology, and allow me to protect you fully.”

The door slid open further, and Emma tried to push through. The gap was still just slightly too small.

“My truth is that… I love Killian.” The door did not open. “But that’s the truth!” she hissed, and Jasmine shot her an annoyed look.

“Try something a little less obvious, and more vulnerable.”

Emma paused, trying to think of something else that she could say. “I love my family? The United Realms? I…"

The door did not move. Emma screamed in frustration, pounding on it, tears suddenly burning in her eyes.

"Why!?” she screeched desperately, the howl nothing compared to what raged inside. “You want truth? Then why? Why is any of this, why does all of this suffering fall on me? Why can’t I just - why am I so useless?"

"Emma…” Jasmine whispered approaching in worry, but Emma brushed her off.

“I am so weak, I have had to be saved or pretend to be strong this entire time, to rely on lessons that never prepared me for any of this, and I’ve watched my people - my friends - get hurt again and again. I’ve watched them die ! Why? Are there no just gods? Is it my fault because of my royal pedigree I got by some prophetic birthright? Why can’t I just - why can’t I be stronger?” Emma cried, half heartedly pounding on the door with her shaking fists. “I just - I need to be stronger, because as far as I know everyone I have ever loved is gone, and they could be dead -"

"Emma. That’s enough!” Jasmine snapped, pulling Emma up firmly. She looked hard, lips set and her dark eyes glinting. “You are strong. How much have you faced? How much have you done? This is not your truth. Love can be an easy truth, and it’s not one needed here. Reach deeper.” Jasmine gripped Emma’s shoulders, giving a shake, before hugging her tightly.

“Jasmine, I don’t -"

"You do know, Princess,” Aladdin chimed in. Both women broke their embrace, looking at him expectantly. “Well, I mean -” He blushed, shuffling slightly. “Look. This is how I see it: you choose to find the best in people, like a superpower. You choose to find the truth of that person. You see good in Killian. You see… You saw good in me. Emma, your truth is not dark, and it’s not light; it’s in between, it’s both, it’s -"

"It’s hope,” Emma finished for him. “Pandora released all the terrors upon the world, until all that was left was hope. It clung to her skirts, multiplying for the eternity she walked the earth trying to undo her wrongs. I hold it in my heart, and I -” The door moved slightly, and she managed a wobbling smile, continuing on.

“I know despite everything there is hope. Hope for me to find strength, to beat Nil, to save my parents, and to save Killian. I have hope that the Darkness will not stop my love from reaching him.” The door shuddered violently, sliding cleanly as dust and dirt rose from the ground.

“I have hope that one day this will be over, and the Fae - all Fae - will be able to live better lives than they had before. Lives that are hopeful, as we keep moving forward into becoming better.” Emma’s voice wavered, the door wide in front of her. “No one is going to save me, to keep these hopes alive, except for me. I have to fight. I have to punch back.”

Jasmine hugged her tightly, laughing with glee, Aladdin joining them in an embrace as they all whooped with happiness.

Aladdin fit his palm into hers with a squeeze, Jasmine pulling him in for a tighter hug until shock registered. She jumped back as if she had been burnt, a reddening blush spreading across her cheeks. Looking sheepish, Aladdin opened his mouth to say something, but lost it when he looked to where Emma was gawking.

On a stone pedestal, raised and lit by some source of magical light, sat a golden lamp carved with ornate markings that shone in the cave, brighter than jewels.

Jasmine stepped forward and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Looking at the lamp, she called out.

“Alibaba, Prince of Thieves, Djinn All Father and my Grandfather, I ask you to please wake."

"Grandfather?” Emma squeaked, only to be hushed by both Aladdin and Jasmine. The cave rumbled, blue smoke filtering slowly from the lamp.

“Ten thousand years in a lamp will give you such a crick in the neck!” a voice thundered, a man appearing from a column of smoke. He wore a bejeweled turban and kaftan, his deep brown eyes strikingly familiar. They blinked in surprise as he looked down at where they stood. “Granddaughter? Why have you come? I have told your father that I will never reconsider - "

"My father has been gone now for several years,” Jasmine stated with a calm that bordered a line of steel. “He was poisoned. I took over in his stead and have ruled without incident until now, which is why I have broken your solitude to ask for aid.”

“Aid?” the Djinn asked, crossing his arms, his head falling to one side while his eyes surveyed Jasmine. “I will not help you fight some war, or subject you to the fate your mother sacrificed herself to prevent. If that is what you ask of me, you have only to receive disappointment.”

“Grandfather, I need the power of the Djinn at my side; not locked away under the sands in the middle of nowhere -"

"Out of the question. No. Your mother did not want the fate of the Djinn tied to your life, and she gave everything for it.” His eyes moved to rest on Emma. “I swore on her name and her memory that the only magic I will perform is creating our kind. You are already part Djinn, and the thief has been freed from his servitude. That leaves only your powerful friend here.”

“Power? Me?” Emma scoffed. “I know my magic is strong and I’m supposed to be some sort of savior, but I promise you this world has turned that idea on its head. I can barely save myself.”

The Djinn laughed, and looked at Jasmine. “The Savior of legend? Well, I never thought - I never imagined this. That means it’s my time. A new All Father must be chosen, your presence heralds my daughter’s protective barriers on Agrabah being broken. It’s time for me to finally rejoin her in the chaos from whence we were born.”

Jasmine blinked, looking as confused as Emma felt. “Grandfather, what are you talking about? Please, just come with us, or give me more than just this intuition, give me the magic my mother had -"

"The crown fitted with the diamond in the rough, delivered by the savior unknowingly, in exchange for shining her light on the Darkness. The diamond taking my place, to be seated on the throne with the crown. It was foretold, and now must come to pass before the Darkness is given a new host.” The Djinn stared at Aladdin, Emma trying to puzzle out his cryptic phrases.

“I need - please, if they’re trying to free Killian from that…” Emma trailed off, unwilling to think about what Killian might be enduring. “Please just help us. If I’m supposed to be some savior, help me!"

"I am. I have the diamond in hand, and he will be forever embedded in the crown as the prophecy foretells.” The Djinn turned, his eyes fixating on Aladdin. “Your power will be challenged immediately, and for that I am sorry. Take comfort knowing that your reign will be long.”

Aladdin sputtered, looking between Emma and Jasmine. “I don’t know anything about what he’s talking about, can someone please -"

"You have so much power, Savior, it’s fascinating. It’s as if the solution to the scale tipping is you.” The Genie Father’s dark blue eyes grew darker to a coal black, and Emma felt its magic pulse through her own, as if it rippled through her body. “Light casts no shadow, and can blind those who wield it with reckless abandon as effectively as darkness. Be sure to walk your path with careful steps… I look forward to waking again, if just to hear the end of your tale Princess Emma. For the light loving the darkest recesses where it cannot ever reach is a romantic tragedy worthy of telling.”

His visage became foggy, body falling away like a fading mirage. A stillness fell, as if the entirety of the cavern had hushed in expectation, everything gathering where the Djinn had been. Emma could feel the magic, its pull as it ate itself, condensing in implosion. As soon as she felt it taper into almost non-existence, it exploded outwards, ruffling her hair in its breeze. There were bright flashes of a woman with Jasmine’s eyes, her dark hair streaked with a shock of sky blue. She smiled widely, bouncing a toddler on her knees, the memory changing to a young girl child holding the woman’s hand. She turned, looking back, a perfect miniature of Jasmine. Jasmine gasped from behind where Emma had stood, Aladdin floating slightly as the shimmering copper spots seemed to burn around him.

The Genie Father laughed, his disembodied voice echoing in the cavern. “Be great and do things this universe needs. Do not get stuck forgotten beneath the sands, used up and all alone. Learn from my mistakes, and be better than I ever was. So long, Genie Father, leader of the free Djinn. Goodbye, my beloved granddaughter. I hope to one day hear tales of you, as well.”

Aladdin fell to the ground on his hands and knees, eyes closed as the air stopped shimmering around him. The old and ornate lamp on the stone crumbled to dust, and Emma caught the golden glint of a new lamp appearing in Aladdin’s hands. He gaped at it with wide eyes.

“Aladdin!” Jasmine rushed to his side, pushing him to his side despite his annoyed grunt.

“What just happened?” he asked, looking deeply confused. She looked him over as he began to grin, staring at her while she fussed over his exposed skin, looking for anywhere he had been hurt.

“I think,” Jasmine said slowly, shaking off her disbelief, “I think he made you the All Father. Which makes you a permanent fixture of my court. You serve as my second, my defense minister, my sorcerer - ”

“I guess you’re stuck with me, eh?” he teased. She only shook her head without speaking and he sighed, grin softening. “Jasmine, I’m -"

"You have to maintain the barriers, you have to help me keep my people safe, and he just gave it to you without any instruction.” Jasmine’s breathing came quick, her composure falling away to fear. “How could he do this to me, to Agrabah -"

” Our people,“ Aladdin replied softly. "I have to keep our people safe. And I will, Sultana. I’d fight to my last breath for everyone in Agrabah to have food, and to be protected. I swear to you, I will master the magic we need to keep Agrabah out of harm’s way."

"You told me the truth and I hated you for it. How can we work together now with everything, all of it between us? This is all too much - ”

“I have faith we will be alright, and faith has gotten me through most of this life. When I didn’t have food, I had faith I would soon. The hope for something better, that spite of living just because dying would be easy - I had faith I would change Agrabah, and change you. I was wrong in the end.” Aladdin cupped Jasmine’s cheek, her face tilting into the touch. “You ended up seeing through me every time I tried to get anything past you. It’s been the most mystifying prospect as a thief to be so easily laid out by you - and not only because of your fortune telling. I did not so much as change you as you changed me.”

“I foresee you stealing my heart from me, Aladdin. Especially now that you are royalty, and no laws have to change for us to be together.” Jasmine’s eyebrow raised slightly, and Emma’s heart ached for Killian. “But first, let’s get back the Princess’ guide.

"Call me Al.” He smirked, and with a snap of his fingers, they stood in the blinding sun of the desert, sand swirling around them. “Let’s go free the Dark One.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The trip to wherever they were was arduous; Killian’s feet blistered in his boots and sand stuck to any patch of sweaty skin it could cling to. His captors hadn’t stopped for rest, making it clear that they were happy to let him drag across the scorching sand or jagged outcroppings that made up the steppe. Sand became plains spotted with squat bushes and tall spiked plants, which bled into a wooded marshlands. There was a clear path now which Killian’s feet were grateful for, the faint whispering around him forcing him to raise his head.

Crumbling homes with tents or shoddy tin, mud, and wood patch jobs lined the road, a cart on its side with a broken axle smashed into one. Children dressed in filth caked rags peeked out from darkened doorways, while shadows creeped to peer out at the newcomer. The village stank, rotten food left out near the square that an older woman added a basket too, a pig and goat happily eating away at it. They were the only ones who seemed to be happy at all, let alone healthy.

The road curved, a towered structure coming into view.

“Welcome to Camelot II, Dark One!” Arthur bellowed. “It’s not home yet, but it will be once I repair the legendary blade!”

Killian ignored him as he prattled about the war, refusing to ally with the United Realms, and their subsequent banishment as they walked through the gate into the courtyard. Immediately, servants flocked to help the men down, bringing fresh fruit and water with them. Killian’s mouth watered.

“Ah, ah, Dark One!” Jafar waved a finger, chewing slowly on a fig. The juice ran down his face, into his twisted beard, Killian deciding very suddenly that he was no longer hungry. “Jawa, Anice, take the Dark One for a bath. I need him thoroughly cleaned.”

Two women came forward, flanked by a large guard who took the rope with a sharp tug. Killian lurched forward, following them with confusion. Why in seven hells was he getting a bath? He dare not complain for it, practically diving in the steaming tub that was filled for him. The women took their task seriously as they scoured his skin with rough cloth, and they were not interested in holding conversation unless it was to snap at the other.

They rubbed him in oils when he stepped out onto the woven towel, leaving him bare but for it. Not giving him anything to wear, they led him into a darkened room that emanated a strange green glow. A glass wall filled with swirls of brown and green hypnotized Killian, like something watched him from its depths, catching him in the cross hairs.

In the murky waters of the tank, something stirred. A dark tentacle met the glass, toothed suction cups scraping against it with a loud screech. A great yellow eye opened, something chittering as bubbles churned. Ink flooded the water making it impossible to see the thing that lay within, the tubes leading from the tank filling with black that poured neatly into a large beaker.

“We’ve spared no luxury for your stay with us, Dark One.” Jafar smiled, appearing behind him with the other two not far behind. “Kraken ink, an unlimited supply given at will. It makes it easy to keep you docile while we work on extracting the Darkness from you.”

Killian tried not to focus on the hands strapping him down on the table, or the clatter of tools as Jafar laughed with other men.

“Hades, Arthur, are you both ready?” Jafar practically purred. “First incision, with ink at the ready. Wound closure test one, with 60ml of ink applied topically on the left.”

The burn he felt took his breath away, the Darkness shrieking under his skin as the ink paralyzed it further. It bit into his muscles and tried to escape from around the wound, blood flowing freely without its cauterizing. He focused on the dripping ceiling above him and watched the shadows cast from the torches’ light, trying to hold himself together.

“The Darkness is not healing the laceration, as predicted,” a low voice commented. “May I?"

"Go ahead Hades. I have to prepare poisons, and Arthur has to get his machines ready.” Jafar was smiling, Killian was sure of it. A finger prodded the wound, his throat tightening with the need to scream. A needle pricked his forearm, ink beginning to pump through his bloodstream in earnest.

“Alright. Preparing for reaction to flame, magical and otherwise.” The voice that belonged to Hades seemed giddy with excitement now. “Test one of six hundred and twenty four: coals placed within bodily cavities. First, the chest cavity. Administered ink intravenously to prevent rapid regeneration.”

A sharp pain shot through his chest, a knife sliding across his sternum. Hands began prying him open, his lips finally able to part as he let out a howl. The ink cut him off as his ribs cracked, the sound coming to a stop while Hades started the slow process of burning every part of his body.

It seemed to go on for days as he drifted away, the Darkness focused on healing what it could and learning about its captors. A new, more malleable and pliant vessel suited its needs, and Killian could feel its delight at the idea even though the haze of pain.

He breathed his own ash, Hades throwing him in a dank cell where rats scattered from the place he landed, his chest only recently healed from the hot coals they had forced inside.

“Heal up, Arthur has many tests to perform,” Hades said in his low, mirthless intonation.

Killian curled into a ball, shivering. If Arthur’s chosen methods were anything like Hades, the violations would make his worst nightmares seem warm. When he heard Hades’ footsteps cease as a heavy door closed, he began to laugh, his dry and cracked wheeze full of charcoal dust. Madness was setting in already, and he had promised, promised -

Emma.

Her name snapped him back, the idea of a vessel capable of taking this curse away worth any torment the world could devise. His mind drifted to where there had been absence, now filled again with her, nothing but his desire to leave a man no longer tethered to the Darkness. He could almost hear her voice, feel her gentle fingers in his hair or her lips against the corner of his mouth.

Another voice broke through his reverie.

“Are you the newest Dark One then?” a man asked from the cell across from his, the iron criss crossing bars and dim light obscuring their identity. “You are in for a long and unpleasant stay, creature. Not as if you don’t deserve this, but I suppose even after all this time I can muster a sliver of pity.”

Killian grunted, sitting up.

The voice continued, despite Killian’s obvious attempts at ignoring it.

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize me, or that it doesn’t recognize me, I suppose. We were such close companions when I summoned it into this world.” The man let out a sigh. “Of course, it’s only a scrap of what it was, it seems -"

The Darkness took control with ease, Killian unable to leash it in his weakened state.

"You know nothing about me, sorcerer,” it hissed through his mouth, its voice dry and gritted. “You, ever the hypocrite, should not question my strength… or your own weakness."

The Darkness felt hot under his skin, as if it was boiling while it healed him, wanting to lunge from his bones and blood to attack the other prisoner.

"History is doomed to repeat itself, it would seem. That I do know, and I say it with the utmost disrespect to you,” the man laughed, quietly. “When you are destroyed again, and your vessel dies because of it, I hope this time you cease to be.”

“LIES!” the Darkness screeched, Killian’s throat raw after it quieted, his panting breaths deep.

Before he could process the words, he was forced to lean forward, then backwards into the stone wall with enough force to send him into unconsciousness.

He woke to the man still talking, his head throbbing and mouth dry. He could feel the Darkness seething, its agitation coming in waves.

He won’t shut up, shut him UP

“Is it telling you to silence me?” the man asked, sounding bored. “It does that when I tell it truth. The Darkness does not like honesty, especially from old Merlin here.”

“You’re Merlin?” Killian rasped, his head throbbing.

Don’t talk to him

The sorcerer is a LIAR

Silence him, slit his throat, cut out his tongue, just make him quiet!

“Indeed I am,” came the reply, with a hint of amusement. “My reputation precedes me, I presume."

"I must get rid of it, this curse,” Killian pulled himself closer to the bars, resting his head on the stone wall to keep from touching the iron bars. “Please, help me. I read your journals, I know that you were sure there wasn’t a way to end the Darkness, but there must be -"

"There is no way. I’m sorry,” Merlin swallowed hard, his voice softening. “And because of what you are, you’ll break the ones around you. I loved a Dark One. I know how selfish, how cruel you can be. You can’t be saved… I couldn’t save her because a Dark One can’t love ."

"I did. I do! Emma and I -"

"If you have even the smallest bit of doubt, it is too dangerous. It will destroy everything you touch. It stains.” His voice took on a tone of tenderness, wavering slightly. “My love - Nimue tried, she desperately tried, but it consumed her seeking its own devices. If it had the shard and its freedom, you wouldn’t be able to stop it."

Killian shook his head, the Darkness cackling as it tore him apart to put him back together. "You don’t know that. They can take it from me, and separate it from me -"

"It needs a host. You two are bonded by powers almost as old as time, heat, cold: instincts. It is part of you, and only death can free you. One special kind of death - even if it takes a new host.”

“No,” Killian let the word fall from his lips like a plea. “They will take it from me. I will be free of this!"

The sorcerer is right, for once

All she will be is a toy when you are gone, and I have a better vessel to control…

"I wish you could be, but it’s not the case. You’ll hurt everyone you love, the Darkness only gets stronger the more you try peeling it back. It drove Nimue mad."

"We could be different. You don’t know!"

Images of Emma flooded his mind, the Darkness clawing at them. He couldn’t imagine life without her, but imagining her suffering because of him, his abuse pushed by the Darkness and growing more unstable - it tore him apart. Merlin had said the Darkness stained. Had he stained her?

"You can have all the hope of a different outcome, but it will be the same. Nimue went at it with me in a full on rage, the need for power too much. I couldn’t risk her hurting anyone else, so I ended her life after it consumed her entirely. I loved her, desperately so. She didn’t believe in True Love, but I thought she was mine.” Merlin paused, wistful as he swallowed hard. “Don’t put your Emma through that, especially if you think you’ll hurt her before she can stop you."

And you will hurt her. She can’t save you.

"I wouldn’t, I never -"

"I’m willing to bet you have, Dark One.” Merlin sighed. “As long as you have doubt, the Darkness will win. Without the dagger’s control, you are still only just a puppet to its whims. I’m sorry.”

Silence but for the wind, dripping water, and the rattle of chains echoed through the cells, Merlin going quiet.

The sorcerer is right about that

You are my puppet. You will destroy her.

“It said you were a liar,” Killian blurted out. “What is it scared of, can it at least be destroyed -"

The Darkness howled, his jaw clenching shut. His body buckled, and he could now see Merlin through the gloom as his head hit the damp floor. He was tall, dark eyes sad as his lips curled into a pitying grimace.

"It can be destroyed, and sent away. I know it can,” Merlin turned away, walking out of Killian’s view. “I ran experiments; I thought - I thought I had the answer. I thought an element as ancient as it, the fundamental pillars of magic if you will, could break it. The Promethean Flame, The Philosopher’s Stone, the tears of a dying Goddess, first of her name. They all should work to destroy the Vorpal Dagger.”

“Then why didn’t you -"

"I couldn’t destroy it completely because it was bound to Nimue. I loved her, and it made me blind. She died for it to live, until your birth as the Dark One awoke it again. I was there that night, on the cliffs. It was supposed to be the Goblin King holding the power, and keeping her alive.”

“You fought on their side? Against your own -"

"I did. The war was a complexity I couldn’t untangle myself from. I know now neither side was in the right.”

“You helped him? He stole women, he raped them, he massacred those men -"

"You are too young to know what the Goblins went through. It’s been all but erased from time, impossible to find except in a few unedited texts that Arthur owns, and the Goblin’s own recounted history. This is what they were made to do."

"What are you talking about? They killed -"

A rattle and creaking of a door silenced him, Jafar grinning as he opened Killian’s cell. "My turn, Dark One. I hope Merlin has warmed up that mind of yours. I have some lovely treats for it.”

Killian was led away, fighting weakly, still not completely healed. Pushed roughly onto a table, Jafar readied neatly placed bottles of different sizes and colors, next to several different syringes.

“Shall we?” he purred. “I have a neurotoxin I have been dying to see the effects of."

There was a jab in his arm, and Killian felt the burn of something entering his veins. Bright sparks began to play behind his eyes almost immediately, his body beginning to convulse. He took a gulp of air when the Darkness brought him back from death, his eyes closed tight, peace just within sight but never within reach.

He couldn’t hear Jafar now, could barely feel the needles or poisons rushing into him to eat away at his organs. His broken mind focused on one single thought, holding its fragile light close.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The bandit camp came into view as Emma spat out the shells of dried cocoa beans off the side of the carpet. They’d been flying for days, stopping only if needed for quick sustenance, bartering for information, or other needs. They finally found one of the compounds Jafar was fond of using accidentally, a drunken and shouting group of men talking about the take over in less than hushed voices. It was easy enough to follow their camels until the sandstone buildings and tents caught the light of the horizon.

What Emma hadn’t expected was the projectiles launched at them, the carpet diving into a rolling dodge. They plummeted from the sky only to straighten a few feet from the ground. Emma panted, as Jasmine and Aladdin heaved in breath, the three of them gripping the carpet tightly as it continued forward. They arrived at the western side of the camp quietly, their weapons in hand.

Stepping out, her palms crackling, Emma felt a surge within her. Light surrounded her, magic pulled from the very air, the first man who realized something was amiss hitting the ground when her green eyes met his. She watched him wither, feeling oddly detached as Jasmine and Aladdin fought ahead of her. Or they did, until she drew near and more bodies fell to the ground. It felt wonderful to be so powerful, to look at the men with deep shadows in their eyes and scarred skin and know they lay on the ground because of her. They weren’t quite dead, but they were most definitely not as alive as they were.

Trailing her fingers along the rough clay walls, the texture made her irritated by the lack of care they had put into making this home for themselves. It was carelessly crafted with no artisanry, the sheer utilitarianism of its lack of beauty unacceptable. The fire that jumped from her skin was white and golden tinted cream, shooting up the structure.

Emma moved inwards, pressing through the smoke. "Killian?” she called out, but no answer came outside of the men who roared at her in rage. They all fell within moments, as if an unseen creature had bowled them over. Clucking her tongue, Emma stepped over them daintily.

She turned the corner to find Jasmine talking to a terrified looking younger man, his face just starting to grow hair. They were speaking rapidly in what sounded like a mix of Agrabaric and something Emma could not identify, his finger pointing to where she stood as he screamed in fright. Jasmine turned to look, and seeing Emma, sighed.

“He’s afraid you’re going to kill him.” Jasmine shrugged at her as Aladdin rounded a corner closer to where the young man was tied.

Aladdin laughed, and kneeled to look at him. “Tell him she could kill him either way, but for the chance of a less painful death, or possibly no dying at all, he should answer.”

Jasmine hissed something sinister sounding Emma could not quite understand, although she recognized the clear words for 'painful dying’ well enough. The man broke down into frantic speech, crying in deep gasps when he finished.

Jasmine laughed slightly, motioning for them all to leave.

“He said that they sent an envoy to Camelot II when they saw us arrive. The Dark One is held not too far from here, but he warns that the three plan to use him to transfer the Darkness to -” Jasmine blinked in surprise, looking back at Emma who fidgeted anxiously. “Killian has a brother?"

Emma’s mouth opened, and she blinked in confusion. "No, he had a brother, an older brother. Liam. He died in the War.”

The man began to babble, animatedly pointing to Emma, and she heard the name Liam several times in his speech.

Jasmine’s brow furrowed, and she looked back at Emma. “He says this is Liam, the younger brother of the Dark One. He doesn’t know of any other brother to the Darkness. Are you sure Emma? Because he swears -"

"I don’t care what he swears on, he’s wrong. Liam is dead, he died and - just ask him the way to Killian!” Emma snapped, her power making her hurt with how much it wanted to be used, as if a current ran through her body. Jasmine’s frown deepened, and Aladdin stepped between them with an uneasy smile.

“Emma, maybe you should take a moment -"

"I can’t - Liam was - Liam and Elsa are dead, and if Killian dies, if he -"

"He’s going to be fine. We’re only a few days behind them, he will have held on, alright? I see the way he looks at you Emma. He will hold on until you get there,” He approached cautiously, wincing slightly. Looking down, she realized the ground around her had begun to crackle with the glow of her magic. Aladdin glowed a light blue himself as if he was wading through a river. “Please, calm down.”

Emma took a deep breath, steadying herself, pulling her power back as well as she could. Everything screamed against it, begging her to punish those who had done wrong, whispering how she could purify this land. Emma blocked it out, focusing on Killian. She could almost hear him, a feeling of grief washing over her.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

Jasmine ended her conversation, nodding towards the carpet. “I got it. Let’s go."

Emma hesitated just a moment, looking at the man who trembled on the ground. She walked toward him, and whispered a word she hoped he understood.

"Run."

He fled, Emma walking towards the carpet where her friends waited. Dispelling the energy she’d been holding, the structure crumbled as flame burst from the ground, the heat blistering, blindingly bright and booming bursts of explosion rocking the ground as she joined them.

No one said anything as they flew away from what once was the encampment, now no more than a smoldering crater in the sands.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian was thrown back into the cell more dead than alive, cycling through consciousness until he was healed enough to maintain it. In many ways he wished he had stayed in the relief of the dark, the poisons Jafar had used left him confused, suffering hallucinations, and left him lying in his own sick multiple times.

"Who could ever love you?” Emma whispered, her throat cut by his own hand, heart beating rapidly in his other. “Go ahead. Crush it. Kill me, just like you thought you did - like you wanted to.”

His mouth tasted awful, his brain unsure if it was the twisted Emma’s kiss, or his own bile rising.

Liam appeared, fussing over him while Elsa shrieked at him to join them, faces pressing themselves close enough that his thin eyelids weren’t enough to keep them at bay.

“Just die Killian,” Elsa breathes in his ear, the cold air freezing his cheek. “It only hurt for a moment, and now it only hurts when the air goes through me. It’s that hole in my chest, it just lets the draft in!” she laughed, cackling.

Milah fell away at his fingertips, turning to dust that sent him retching, his mother’s rotted palm clammy against his forehead.

“Hush my sweet boy. Hush. Mummy loves you sweet Killian boy…"

The visions paraded through the cell until they were few, his breath not coming in gasps or pants and his eyes not blurring or falling away to kaleidoscopic fractals.

He turned his head, rolling to move out of the damp mess he had created. When he looked up, a new visage sat watching him. His father, looking worn and weary even in this younger appearance, stared at him.

"What do you want, phantom? Could they not send me Liam instead of you?"

The ghoul cocked its head, but moved closer. "I’m Liam.”

Killian barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. Liam was a better man than you ever were. Liam was everything good, and you and I, we… were everything wrong .”

“I’m not that Liam. He was dead after I was born.” The phantom paused. “Do you think I’m Papa? You killed our other brother. I know all about everything wrong you did, Papa told me so. I don’t expect either would haunt you, you’re a disgrace.”

The words settled heavily over him, and Killian tried to process them. He could see the differences now, the skinny and sallow cheeks hiding the curve of Liam’s - his Liam’s - jawline, the eyes of their father set deep under furrowed brow. If the scrap of a man had been fed better and had not had a slightly different nose, he could have passed for a scrawny version of himself with Liam’s face and hair.

But then, Father had named him for Liam’s memory, so as a child, as a babe even, he must have taken after their oldest sibling. The idea of his father siring another child made Killian’s stomach churn, his head still stinging from the nerves knitting back together.

“How did -” Killian hesitated, trying to make sense of this development. “Did he abandon you, too? Fall to drink and beat you? Did you run here? I can - "

"Abandon me?” Liam asked with incredulous laughter. His smile darkened, eyes glinting. “No. He got sick, Ma cared for him best she could until he died. Papa was patient. I don’t remember him drinking but he smoked a pipe a lot. He started all of this, with his hatred of nobility and what became of his sons. He said you both died in the war, but you died a coward. You were supposed to lead us until it was discovered how dearly you care for your princess.”

Killian swallowed hard. “Of course. Of course it was that simple to him.” Mumbling, Killian laid his aching head back on the stone wall. “He - Father was technically right. We both died in the war, I just came back as this. The remnants of a coward’s choice, even if it wasn’t mine."

"It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Liam sneered.

Killian shook his head slowly, before catching Liam’s eyes. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. Are you still sure you want to take it? To be filled with this Darkness, and become a coward yourself?

"I would never - Will never be a coward like you are. You follow that prancing princess and all these rules of good form and noble intentions,” Liam spat, his lips curled in disgust. “I will live hand and hand with the Darkness as we remake this world in the image of the Blackwater. I’ll go back and reclaim our lineage -”.

“No one has ever done anything hand in hand with the Darkness. It uses you, until you are empty. It will hollow you out,” Killian stated with bitterness. “I ask again, do you want this? Do you not have anyone that you wish to protect? It will hurt them, no matter how hard you try.”

Liam did not answer.

Killian sat in the silence, until Liam spoke quietly.

“Anyone?” Killian nodded. “Even family?"

"Especially family,” Killian admitted, unable to hide the sorrow in his voice. “I killed my brother as I begged to stop. The Darkness reveled in it. It laughed while I broke, as I screamed for it to spare him. Do you - are there more of - do you have more siblings? Is your mum…?”

“Still alive? Yeah, she’ll live another thousand years just to be around, pull'n me by the ear. She’s a terror. Papa said she was scarier than the sea and hell combined. They loved each other though, and me. It’s just us. She misses him a lot."

"I'm…” Killian swallowed hard again, a strange whirlwind of emotion going through his mind.

“You don’t need to be sorry or any of that shit.” Liam grunted, then spat at the floor. “You don’t owe anything to me or to Papa. You may have made Papa ashamed, but I didn’t - and I can’t wait to destroy everything for this cause. I’ll have the Darkness at my control in no time."

"You’ll die too then,” Killian whispered, shrugging. Liam tensed, his shoulders rising as his fists balled. “By Fath - by his standards I’m dead. You will be the end of the Jones men. It’s history repeating itself as usual - I killed my Liam, and now you, the new Liam, will kill me. Then in turn the Darkness will take over, and kill you. I’ll damn your soul gratis as I die, two Liams ended by my hand. Father will be ever so proud.”

“Shut up,” Liam hissed. He stood, leaving with a slam of the cell’s heavy door.

Killian laughed lightly, still unable to stop as he scrubbed his face. Merlin was either quiet or somewhere else, the stillness eerie as the wind outside howled.

Closing his eyes, he dreamt of being free, the Darkness too tired and hopeful itself to try and stop him.

Footsteps woke him later, the time indeterminate while he slept. He could hear Arthur’s laugh before his boots even came close, Merlin groaning as he was thrown back into the cell across from his. His own door rattled, and Killian resisted the urge to open his eyes. Heavy hands forced him up by his hair, his eyes squinting open to stare at Arthur’s grinning face.

“Time to play, Dark One.” Arthur began to walk, the man holding Killian by his scalp dragging Killian along behind his path. “I have a fascination with Mortal implements of torture. I can’t wait to see what my updates for them will look like, and how they will work on Fae. I had to get Goblins to do the iron working, I wanted it perfect.”

Something creaked loudly, metal clanging.

“Since you seem to be so tired, we’ll let you rest for a bit. Liam told me you were crying for your princess too, so I managed to get you some company - she’s a fine maiden, but a bit steely.” Arthur chuckled, and Killian was shoved into a dark space. His back hit spikes, the iron sharp. “Enjoy the embrace of the iron maiden, mate .”

The door closed, and Killian heard the crunch of his just healed ribs. He screamed, listening to Arthur laughing in glee.

It didn’t last long, the door opened only after a few hours and he was wrenched out, Arthur pouting. “ You didn’t scream for very long. How disappointing.”

Killian was thrown on a rough wooden table, his body stripped of the dirty clothing. Cold water was thrown on him as his wounds attempted to close, a rough scrubbing given to him by the same brute that had thrown him around.

“This though, this is my pride and joy.” Something was attached to him, then another. Suctioned pieces stuck on his skin in various places. “It’s a machination for torture, meant to hurt more than any magics or physical torment in the Realms. Merlin was forced to help me design it, and I must say, I hope his work is nothing short of masterful. Now, don’t hold it in this time.”

Something clicked, and Killian’s eyes shot open. He screamed, unable to stop, the pain shot up his nerves and down his spine as if he was being torn apart cell by cell. The Darkness fell away, watching something do its work far more efficiently.

It stopped, Arthur talking to someone he couldn’t see.

“What sort of message? Can’t you see I’m busy -"

The messenger dismounted from the carpet while Killian took advantage of the respite, sucking in hissed gulps of air. The binds at his ankles and wrists had rubbed the skin raw, but his head and chest were the worst, burning in a horrific fire like pain. Arthur bellowed out a laugh that trailed into a dark chuckle.

"Oh, now this… This is too rich. Sit down, Gilead."

The messenger sat dutifully, and Killian struggled to flinch back when Arthur slowly walked back to the machine.

"I must tell you, your obstinacy and impudence so far has been honorable. No one will say that you aren’t strong of mind.” Arthur paused, his grin wide. “ However , ever since I discovered the Darkness was so close to the surface, I have wondered how strong is the heart attached to it. To keep your princess alive for so long, against all odds and your own interests, well.” He smirked, laughing again. “I thought how weak you must be, if I could just figure out what was special about her. Did you covet her kingdom? Her power? Proximity to her parents and those who wronged you?"

Killian grunted, Arthur cranking the lever to stretch him taut again. The piece of wood in his mouth suddenly felt too dry, Arthur’s mentions of Emma putting him in a state of unease he hadn’t felt before.

"Alas, now I see how simple it actually is. Or, more aptly, was . You did not deserve how much she loved you. Lucky for us, that has been rectified. The princess has been removed from the situation."

The words didn’t settle on his pain hazed mind right away, his noise behind the gag in his mouth at first in disbelief. Arthur laughed heartily, motioning for the messenger to sit up.

"Come here Gilead. Tell The Dark One what you told me."

The curly haired redhead stepped towards his master, gulping before speaking in a reedy voice.

"Princess Emma of the United Realms was spotted approaching the Eastern compound near Agrabah with at least one other companion, possibly two. Our wizard took care of her.” The boy, he was more boy than man Killian could see now, mimed something crashing to the ground, Killian’s heart stopping.

Arthur roared with laughter, almost doubled over.

“You know, I meant what I said. You didn’t deserve how much Emma loved you,” he sneered, waving his man away. “It was sickening really, once I realized you two were always staring at each other or bickering. Yearning like some courtiers fresh out of finishing. It’s a shame that neither of us had a chance with her. She would have been a feisty little -"

Killian lunged, the Darkness roaring out of him as if he was nothing but its rage. Dark shadow fell around him, flowed through him, his hands shaking in the straps before he freed himself from one of his restraints. Arthur backed away, just out of reach.

Emma.

The name was an endless array of emotions that made him crazy, the Darkness irritated, and part of him mourned.

Emma, no. Not -

Let me go, let me take a new vessel, you sniveling coward

Die with your silly heart breaking, weakling fool!

Emma, his Emma, if she was - he couldn’t bear the thought.

The Darkness continued its pressure, tendrils of it exploding outward. Arthur let the machine run, doing its worst as Killian broke, Emma’s name on his lips.

"She died thinking she could save you, wanting to see you one more time. It’s your fault, but from what I’ve heard, that’s usually how this happens for you, isn’t it? Milah, Elsa, and now Emma - I know about them all. Your little princess was so worried about you when she thought she could confide in me. I wonder if she knew you would fail her like this?” Arthur laughed, Gilead clearing his throat to mumble something, his master’s head snapping to look at him. “Quiet, imbecile. Have respect for the dead."

Let go, vessel. Give in. She no longer waits for you.

Give me control. She’s gone, you have nothing.

She wouldn’t want that. She would have wanted you to be strong, she loved you - the real you - not what you were when the Darkness won out - and even then she loved you, Darkness and all, despite of everything. She would have fought for you, and now you have to fight -

She’s dead. What she would have wanted doesn’t matter anymore, she plummeted to her death because of you. You were her literal downfall, vessel. She tried to save you, but you can’t be saved. It’s better this way. I would have killed her in a much more personal manner if she had survived.

"Poor, poor Dark One,” Arthur sneered. “I can’t wait for you to break. The Darkness damns you even after death - poor sweet Emma is lost to you forever.”

It’s better that way, vessel. This is all for the best.

You were weak, and she died for it. It’s time to let me go, and for you to join the Darkness in eternity.

Far off, he heard the gentle noise of her voice, calling out to him. He wouldn’t let go yet, not until he knew for certain she was gone.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

Emma.

#Courtorderedcake #September #2020 #September 23rd 2020 #hallow #My writing #Captain swan #captain swan au #CSSNS #cssns 2019 #CS AU #CS FF #CS FF AU #23rd

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stephfento · 3 years

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( MARGOT ROBBIE, SHE/HER, FEMALE ⟩ we’ve been keeping an eye out for TWENTY SEVEN YEAR OLD STEPHANIE FENTON lately. they have been living in WICKERY FALLS for about SEVEN YEARS but something sparked my interest more. as it turns out - the FENTON family have indeed tried their best to tuck away STEPHANIE’S IMPATIENT tendencies, but it only seems to bring out HER PROVOCATIVENESS more. according to an anonymous source, SHE can be HUMOROUS. she is a pretty cool SCHOOL NURSE most shocking of all, it seems that STEPHANIE has been keeping a secret: one that could destroy HER life, but the thing is nothing stays secret for long, especially in WICKERY FALLS.

hello hello hello ! my name is jamie i am twenty one and im from the gmt timezone !! im super excited to get stuck into this roleplay and really get to know all of you and your muses ! my alltime fave is emma roberts and a good runner up is austin butler x enough about me tho ! let me introduce you to my QUEEN stephanie.

B A C K S T O R Y

Childhood

Stephanie was born to two loving parents just outside of San Diego, California. Her mother was named Helen, who was a midwife in their local hospital, and her father, David, was a banker, which often resulted in him working long hours, he worked in the city - so by the time he got home, he didn’t really have the energy to bond with his family. Stephanie had an older sister, by three years, named Charlotte and later in her life was blessed with a little brother, with two years between them, named Alex. As they grew into young children, a bond grew between Stephanie’s older and younger sibling. While Stephanie would see the way that Charlotte and Alex would play, she would spend more time with her mother, the two of them felt as if they only really had each other in the house, and over time they formed an inseparable bond - much to the disdain of Stephanie’s siblings.

As the years went by, and Stephanie started school, the rift in their family only seemed to grow. Her parents would argue more, and her siblings would purposely stop involving Stephanie in any plans. The Fentons still portrayed the perfect suburban family image to their mutual friends, to an outsider they seemed like they had everything together, but inside their façade was an ever-growing animosity towards each other. As Stephanie settled into the first couple of years of school she started to make friends, but her mother often found ways to get between her friendships, almost a level of jealousy that anyone would take away her relationship with her daughter. Unfortunately for Stephanie, as a young child she was blinded by the trust she had for her mother. Her mother always seemed to have a good reason for Stephanie to not visit friends, or have friends over, whilst her older sister seemed to have the freedom to see whoever she wanted - but even as Stephanie saw this, she felt it best to not question her mother. Instead, she would comfort her after arguments with her father, or help her with chores around the house, just to alleviate some of the stress.

Teenage Years

As Stephanie got older, and hit her teenage years, she barely spoke with her siblings, and shared a mutual dislike of her father with her mother, as she had only heard the negative stories from her mother - Stephanie’s mother made sure that the only opinion Stephanie could form of her father was the image that her mother wanted. Stephanie found that many of her friends stopped inviting her to birthday parties etc, as she was never allowed to attend anyway. Stephanie would complain about this to her mother and receive responses such as ‘Well are they really your friends then?” or ‘If they won’t invite you places, lets have our own day out.’ Stephanie would agree to these plans without any hesitation, she felt that her mother had no reason to lie to her, and really began to believe the lies that she was being spoon-fed. Stephanie knew to not even try and get a boyfriend, knowing it would be futile, especially with her strict parents, so any attention she received from boys she ignored, even as she got to the age of wanting to experience new things, she knew it just wouldn’t be worth the hassle trying to convince her mother to let her out. Stephanie finally started to realise that she had been trapped by her mother her entire life. She tried to talk to her sister about this but her sister had no empathy towards her, and just replied coldly “At least you finally can have a life.” Stephanie knew her sister was right, but it hurt her. She had no real friends at school, no siblings to share her issues with, and no boys to keep her entertained as a teenager. Through it all, however, Stephanie still managed to finish high-school with incredible grades, which promised her a bright future. Having an empty social calendar helped her to study at home and really achieve great results at the age of seventeen.

One evening, Stephanie was talking to her mother regarding her future career plans. She felt like she wanted to either go into studying Law or Business, and started to look into these fields at colleges around the country. Stephanie’s mother didn’t seem too interested as they spoke about these areas, and seemed to tense up at the mention of Stephanie moving across the country to study. Although Stephanie knew it would upset her mother, she also knew what she wanted to do in life, and how much she wanted to achieve, so for the first time in her life, it felt like she was finally choosing her own path. She applied to colleges throughout the country, knowing that at least one or two would accept her to be able to pursue a great life for herself.

Stephanie’s freedom didn’t last long. A couple of months passed after her conversation with her mother, and nothing more had been mentioned regarding her studies. Stephanie was sat at her desk in her room, when her mother came in, a smile on her face and a letter addressed to Stephanie in her hands. She took the letter from her mother, confused, and opened it. Inside was an acceptance letter to the nursing apprenticeship scheme that had recently opened at the hospital in which Stephanie’s mother worked. Stephanie stared at the letter for a few minutes, as she tried to process the information in front of her. Her mother had done the unthinkable, and chosen Stephanie’s life path for her. Behind her back, her mother had thrown away acceptance letters and written to colleges to withdraw applications that Stephanie had spent a lot of time and effort to perfect, and applied in her name to a nursing apprenticeship. Stephanie dropped her letter and left the house, her mother calling her back, but to no avail. She soon realised she had nowhere to go. Her sister had moved out, but never answered any of Stephanie’s calls. Stephanie tried to contact colleges to allow her another chance, but nothing worked. She was too late. Her fate had been sealed by her mother. She was forced to go into nursing, to work alongside her mother in the same building. But things would never been the same between them again.

Young Adult

Stephanie forced herself through her nursing apprenticeship - not because she wanted to, but because she felt as if she had no choice. Her entire childhood, the best years of her life, had been robbed by her mother. After the college incident between the two of them, things were never the same. Her mother and father finally split up, her mother receiving a big enough payout to allow her to survive on her own salary, in a smaller house, however. Stephanie’s brother, Alex, stayed with their father, and naturally Stephanie begrudgingly ended up with her mother. For a few months, her mother tried to fix things, but nothing would ever allow Stephanie to forgive the betrayal from her mother. Eventually, her mother gave up. They avoided eachother around the house, and even more so in the hospital where they both worked. Stephanie finally knew what it was like to be free. She started to make new friends, she was going out with her colleagues and forming lasting relationships with them, and finally had her first boyfriend, a student doctor by the name of Will. Their fling ended after a few months, but Stephanie finally had her taste - and she liked it.

Stephanie completed her nursing apprenticeship with flying colours, ready to experience her new found love for life, she hunted for jobs around the country, and found a school nurse vacancy in a town a couple of states over in Colorado. She applied - and the next thing she knew she was moving to Wickery Falls. Stephanie packed all of her belongings into a couple of bags, whilst her mother was out at work, and left their house, and her sheltered life in the past, where she felt it belonged.

Stephanie has spent the past seven years in Wickery Falls, with no contact with anyone from her past life. She finally could do the things she wanted to do, when she wanted, and managed to find a love for her job, although it was never what she really wanted, she made it work.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Impatient

Stephanie had lost her entire childhood and now feels like she has to make back all her lost time, so she does NOT have the patience to be waiting around - especially for people. If she feels like she is wasting her time by socialising or being anywhere near people she will happily drop them. If she gives you a time, she would expect you to be five minutes early.

Provocativeness

Stephanie’s wasted youth had her yearning after one thing that she knew she had missed out on... and that was the touch of other human beings. If she could find herself in a situation where all eyes would be on her, she would take it. The shortest dresses, the brightest lipstick, and the designer outfits. Anything to make people swoon at her feet, just so she could have her fun. The thought of being tied down to one person just doesn’t appeal - they’d have to really knock her socks off.

Humorous

Through it all though, Stephanie still knew how to have a laugh, she took pride in knowing that she could make people happy. She spent her whole life trying to make her mother happy so that was all she knew... making people happy, through her sense of humour. Even if she has to knock herself to get a laugh, the joy she receives from a smile outweighs all her emotions.

Wanted Connections !!

Ex-Love Fling

male or Female muses to have had a fling with stephanie over the past 7 years, could have ended badly, a one time thing, im up for any of the dramaaaa x

Current Love Fling

as above, but still going on ! could be fwb, an affair ( ! ) or someone trying to finally crack through stephanie’s hard shell against relationships and be the one x

Ex-Student

someone that went to almeda high school where Stephanie is a nurse, did stephanie help with an issue, did your muse hate miss fenton? is your muse a parent that may have needed to talk to stephanie in the past?

Friends

best friends since they met? on and off friends? friends to eachothers face but secretly hate eachother? stephanie is still learning what real friends are and your muse could be one of hers !

Enemies

ex-friends? did stephanie have an affair with your muses love interest? did stephanie do something wrong? did your muse do something even worse?

Plus Many More

those are just a few ideas! i love to plot and brainstorm and figure out the best options so dont think this is a list of the only things i want! if you had any ideas throw them my way id love to chat to you all x

#wickeryfallsintro #☆.。.:*・[ intro ]

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