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adorerdraco · 4 years

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Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 4

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Summary: PART 4 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and now having to deal with the reality of his Death Eater status.

Warnings: lots of ANGST (but also tiniest bit of fluff), lots of tears, lots of emotional pain on everyone

Words: 7.5K

A/N: FINALLLYYYY i had no idea what to do with this but something finally came to me !!!! and also an ending ;( so there will only be maybe one or two parts after this one since it is a miniii series BUT FOR NOW I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS AND IGNORE ANY PLOT HOLES FROM THE ACTUAL HP UNIVERSE I TRIED MY V BEST AHHH <33333 do not own gif.

There was an unsettling sense of impending doom that washed over the Hogwarts castle in heavy rain and dark thunderous clouds. The familiar orange and bright sunlight and purple-pink sunsets were gone, the sun only making meek appearances through the thick rainy covers of the sky before disappearing into the nightfall. No one knew what was coming or what to expect. Schooling continued like normal and everyone had entrusted that whatever was the situation outside the bewitched stone walls of Hogwarts; there was no way it could get past the protection charms put in place by the all-powerful Headmaster and his fellow teachers.

The only two people in the school who couldn’t share that same comfort with their peers were also the only ones in the school who had an inkling of what was going to happen next. The second Draco realized he had successfully mended the vanishing cabinet he had a squirming sense of regret and guilt begin to eat away at him. You felt the same burn of shame in you when you mulled over the fact that it was you who had encouraged him to keep at it even when he continuously wanted to quit.

So now here you were, in the chilled room of requirement after finding out the cabinet worked only minutes ago, the two of you sitting in silence together on an old pile of junk while you held a shivering Draco with his face buried in your neck. There was a feeling of droplets of quiet tears falling onto your skin while you pet the top of his silver-stricken hair in reassurance and tried to hold your own tears back. The breakthrough that was supposed to be the biggest accomplishment of the young Death Eater ended up feeling like his biggest failure and it devastated him more than he could have ever fathomed.

When he had finally gathered himself together, he stood up and totteringly fixed the wrinkles on his black suit before offering you a trembling hand. You took it and allowed him to walk you out of the room and back into the empty corridors and towards the staircases. It was a silent trip down to the dungeons and you didn’t want to ask where he was taking you but you regretted not doing so when he stopped the two of you outside a certain greasy-haired Professor’s door. He brought his free hand up to the wood and let his knuckles hit against it faintly with one knock before you rushed to stop him as you yanked the two of you away from the door once you had realized how unwise this felt.

“What are you doing?!” you asked him in a hushed fearful tone.

“I have to tell Snape about the vanishing cabinet,” he responds dully.

“I don’t think he’d like me to be here when you tell him that-”

There was a sudden clicking sound, the door of the office swinging open as Snape emerged from the room with an angered expression when he saw the two of you standing there. When his dark eyes landed on you specifically, you shivered underneath his vexed gaze. It was clear, just how you had said, he did not want you there.

“Inside, now, Draco.” He grits the demand through his teeth.

“Y/N is coming in too,” the Slytherin says quickly, earning another scowl from his Professor. He stepped aside from the door with a visible rage as you followed Draco inside to the dingy room lined with jars filled with weird unnameable objects.

Draco stopped in the middle of the room, reaching for your hand again and tightly gripping it in reassurance. You stared into his worried gray’s with fear, silently begging him to not let you go as Snape walked past the both of you.

“Do you have any idea how imprudent you are, Draco?” Snape sneered, staring down the boy beside you who kept a straight face. “Do you understand how reckless this is? How much does she know?”

“Everything, Professor,” Draco answers quietly. There was a fiery glint in Snape’s eyes as he looked towards you now, his lips curling upwards in a snarl.

“Foolish girl with an equally foolish boy,” he scowls. “You have nothing to do with any of this. You have done nothing but write yourself a death sentence all for the sake of what... love?”

“With all due respect, Professor,” you start timidly, “I knew what the consequences would be if I stayed with Draco and I will gladly accept whatever fate is in store for me for my decision. I also promise you my silence with everything I know.”

Draco squeezed your hand and glanced towards you with a sadness you were easily able to see.

“How touching,” Snape says lowly. “So you’re prepared to die at the hands of the Dark Lord? Or perhaps at the hands of his precious aunt who might get to you first?”

“Yes, I am” you stood tall when you answered, hoping to appear courageous for not only a very doubtful Snape but more for Draco who you felt cringe every time your possible death was mentioned.

He said nothing, but his mind was swarming with thoughts and plans on how he could save you from every dangerous person and outcome that tormented his surroundings. There was one constant threat after another and although he’s contemplated on it several times, there was no solution he could come up with where the two of you stayed together and you would survive. He mentally kicks himself, wishing he pushed aside his own selfish needs and never promised you he wouldn’t leave you again and he wishes now more than ever that he could. It wasn’t because he didn’t love you - it was the opposite of that. He loved you almost too much and as dreadful situations were approaching, he wished he could leave you out of the death and destruction that would soon ensue on everyone, especially you, all because of him. All because he needed you by his side for him to even feel any sense of life in him that kept him going.

“Very well, then, I cannot stop you from these naive decisions,” Snape sighs deeply in defeat and faces the troubled blond, “and what of the vanishing cabinet?”

You felt Draco stiffen, a trembling exhale falling from his lips before responding with, “it’s done.”

“Excellent, expect their arrival soon,” he rounds his desk, stopping right above his chair, “you may leave.”

You hurriedly turned to go, tugging on Draco’s hand as you did so and the both of you drudged out of the office with a heavy sensation settling over the both of you. There was nothing either of you could do now. There was no more stalling with the cabinet, no more keeping quiet, no more hopeful possibilities that things could turn out differently.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was nearly physically painful to attend all your classes today. It was fake smiles and conversations that left you feeling pathetically phony -feeling like you were lying to everyone that they were going to be okay when they weren’t. You even made plans with housemates to have a little gathering in the common room later in the week to celebrate someone’s birthday and plans with friends to go study in the library with them.

It even hurt to see your Professors, always kind and helpful, not knowing that sometime in the near future, they’ll be either fighting for their life or the lives of students at Hogwarts.

Draco had it even worse. Not one peep from him throughout any of his classes. He was deathly quiet, walking around looking like a kicked puppy and avoided any conversation or interaction with anyone, not even eye contact. He just felt so guilty that he was going to be the reason why death would inevitably wreak havoc on so many souls. He knows eventually the dark wizard he’s resentfully following would have found a way inside the castle walls somehow - you had reminded him that countless times, but it still left him wondering what would have happened if he couldn’t fully mend the cabinet or refused to.

Halfway through the day, he saw you in Slughorn’s class. The two of you worked diligently together through the whole lesson and when the bell rang, he gave you a small kiss goodbye before walking over to his other class. Your worried eyes followed his retreating figure, leaving you a chilling feeling as he disappeared down the hall.

During his next class, he sat in the far end of a classroom, slumped in his chair with his chin on his palm as he thought of you. He wishes he could be stronger for you, braver and less cowardly. He wished he was unafraid of consequences and could simply grab you and his mother, and eventually even his father, and just apparate to somewhere far away and hidden where the Dark Lord and his followers couldn’t get to him or those he loved. But he knew that no matter how much he wished it or try to convince himself he could; he couldn’t do it and he knows his family wouldn’t let him either.

When classed had finally ended for the day and the corridors were packed with rushing bodies of people meeting up with their friends as they laughed and talked with a weightless glee, Draco found himself pushing past everyone like a mindless zombie as his feet mindlessly carried him throughout the school with no specific destination. There was no moment of peace in his head, just a raging battlefield of endless awful possibilities.

You had been scurrying through the halls, hoping to find the mop of platinum blond amongst the busy crowd of people. The scene felt like a maze, twisting and turning through people and corners until you felt like you were on the edge of madness.

There was a small tap on your shoulder before a large hand had snaked down your arm and into your hand with its familiar cold grasp. You sighed in relief, your head turning softly to face your noticeably stressed boyfriend who had put on a very feeble smile for you.

“Can we go somewhere else,” he asked faintly, leaning down towards your ear as he spoke, “I can’t be here anymore.”

You nodded eagerly, moving the two of you towards the nearest exit of the castle, finally releasing a breath of fresh air when you felt your shoes sink into the soft earth below you. There was a humid and muddy smell in the air, the soil, and plants still wet from the on and off rain that had been occurring for the past few days.

Far from the school and on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, there stood a tall and sturdy tree. It was the new tree you had picked for the two of after the first fall out between you and Draco. Its trunk was thick and wide, allowing both of you to hide from anyone who passed by or saw it in the distance. The tresses of leaves nearly showered onto the ground from its long branches that twisted and turned in ways that appeared like it was trying to hug itself. It almost looked like a huge, untrimmed dome, encircling you inside its core while it protected you from unwanted attention. It was perfect.

When you finally reached it, you pushed back some of the leaves so you could walk into the dimly lit and vast space it naturally created and plopped yourself against the trunk with a deep exhale. Draco sat down with you, adjusting himself so that he could lay his head on your lap, humming comfortably when your fingers began their usual work through the soft strands of his hair.

You sat there in silence as the both of you thought, and thought, and thought. It was hard to believe that only this morning you were standing in the room of requirement with him, shocked and distressed that he had finally fixed the vanishing cabinet. Now Snape and the rest of the Death Eaters were aware of the new opening into Hogwarts, preparing to set ablaze the school with pain and some sort of destruction.

You looked down at the boy in your lap, a permanent wrinkle in between his eyebrows as he lied staring straight ahead, a lost look in his gray eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly. One of your hands had trailed from his hair and rested gently on his forehead, your pinky gently trying to smooth out the crease between his eyes.

“I should have never fixed the cabinet,” he sighs and sits up to face you. You noticed the glassy look and reddened lash lines, the storming tears ready to come out at any moment.

"Draco, anything that happens next is not your fault,” you tried to reassure but it only made him feel worse.

“No, it’s not only that,” he lets out a shaky breath, letting the first tear fall that he couldn’t hold back. “I have to dedicate myself to my second task now.”

You froze as you remembered the biggest responsibility he had, demanded to him by the Dark Lord himself - the obligation of killing Dumbledore. A mere 16-year-old boy, who was in the middle of a collapsed world and broken judgments, was burdened with the worst trial of them all.

Draco shuddered at the thought, moving to sit beside you against the tree as he sat with his knees pulled to his chest and the waterfall of tears now falling freely down his face.

“I can’t kill him, I don’t want to kill him,” he lamented, “I can’t do it. He’ll kill me first before I can even try.”

You placed a hand on his arm, rubbing soothing circles into it as you let him cry and thought of what you could say. The vanishing cabinet was one thing, but this, this was a life. This was someone who is known to be the most powerful wizard of all time, the only one alive right now who the enemy truly feared. This was someone who everyone needed alive at this time. If Draco went through with this, he would never be able to recover. You know he doesn’t want to do it, at all, and having everyone else in his life nag at him in encouragement is the opposite of what he needs. You truly couldn’t give him any advice on what he can do or why he should.

“I don’t think he would,” you started quietly, trying to find the words to piece together what you wanted to say, “kill you, I mean. I think you’re so used to You-Know-Who, that, you forget Dumbledore isn't evil and is merciful. And maybe, if you stall long enough, someone else can do it? Maybe Bellatrix.”

Draco let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head at the suggestion, “my dear aunt Bellatrix more than anyone, wants me to do it.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” you frowned, letting the back of your head fall against the tree as you stared up at the swinging greenery above you.

“You can help by keeping yourself alive,” he sniffles, his cold hand enveloping itself in yours as he spoke. “If there was one good thing that came out of all of this, it’s you. I think you not being here on this Earth, would feel far, far worse than taking Dumbledore’s life.”

He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a warm kiss onto the skin before he held it against his chest.

“I wish I could put you in a bubble and send you up above the clouds so you could watch the sky all day and be happy, and most of all safe from everything evil,” he muses, a slight smile on your lips as you listened to his wish. His fingers began twirling around the band on your wrist, the same band he had gifted you the night before when everything seemed to be okay, in a sense.

“Evil will always be here, Dark Wizards present or not,” you remind him gingerly, “just as there will always be good. It’s a balance, one can’t be here without the other.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs. “But I still wish it was possible to send you away in a bubble.”

“If that was possible, you know you would come with me, right?” You turn your head, smiling at him when he met your eyes. You brought up your held hand, wiping away the stray tears that had lingered on his paled cheeks as he kept a firm grasp on your wrist.

“I would love to go with you,” he said tenderly, heart-swelling at how easy you made him feel calm and present. It was wonderous, he felt, how someone had managed to make him feel this way. He never would have thought he’d have someone who genuinely loved him and he loved back, in his love life. Especially not at this time, in this year, where he was facing his worst tribulations and turmoils.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you now staring up into the darkening grayed sky that peeked through the mess of leaves above.

“It’s getting dark, we should probably go soon,” you mumble tiredly, noticing how the moon was already starting to make an appearance behind the heavy gray clouds. "And it looks like it's about to rain."

As soon as the words left your mouth, there was a loud cracking of thunder, the tree’s branches surrounding you suddenly shaking at the sound. You shot up to your feet, Draco following closely as the two of you heard a whining sound coming directly from the trunk of the tree. Its leaves began to move wildly in the wind that approached, more booming of thundering filling the air as a storm above began to brew. The branches began to swing carefully and more inwards as if it was alive and closing itself up from any danger that was coming from around or above it. The leaves were falling over one another, covering up any spaces in the tree that the constricting branches couldn’t cover.

“Draco,” you say timidly, reaching for his hand in fear, “is it just me, or is the tree moving?”

The space underneath the tree had shrunken significantly, it was now a small circle going around the trunk that was big enough to walk around but not enough to run through like you once could. Whatever light the outside was able to offer was now gone, the cracking and compressing branches and leaf clumps blocked out everything from the outside, including the rain that you could very loudly hear pattering against the fronds above you.

“I think its closed us in,” Draco mutters, moving you behind his back as he pulled his wand from his pocket and whispered a quick, ‘lumos,’ so that the two of you could see. He held you behind him protectively as he stepped towards the walls of the tree, pushing against the leaves and branches that were now tightly contracted together that allowed no room for escape. “We’re stuck in here - unless you want to blast a hole through it.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. You moved away from him and walked towards the trunk of the tree, placing a gentle hand on the dry wood that still seemed to be faintly buzzing from its movement. “We’re not going to hurt it.”

“Y/N, we’re stuck in here, no one knows where we are-” he tries to reason more but you shush him quickly.

“And that’s such a bad thing?” you scoff, moving to press your ear against the wood as you tried to examine it more. You heard the same whining from earlier but much weaker now, its bellows fading now as it felt protected from the storm.

“What are you doing?”

There was confusion written all over the blond’s face as he watched you inspect the tree, curious and concerned with your attentiveness.

“Dray, come here,” you rushed out, motioning towards you so he would hurry over. He let you grab his free hand when he reached you since his wand hand was still casting the only light around you. You placed it against the trunk of the tree with yours, a sudden vibration shooting up his arm at the contact with the wood. “The tree is a sentient. It’s alive and very aware.”

“What, so like the Whomping Willow?”

“Exactly like that, but not aggressive at all,” you nod, beaming up at him. “I think it knows we’re here too.”

For a moment, there was finally a fleeting feeling of glee as both of your worries from the outside left you, allowing reverence and excitement to fill you and spread to Draco.

“You speak tree now?” He snickers, smirking at you when you rolled your eyes.

You leaned your head against the tree, closing your eyes as you quietly thanked it for its protection from the thunder and the rain and its beauty. Draco’s gaze stayed on you, watching you with wonder and fullness in his heart. He began to question himself how someone like you was real, who was so caring with everything you touched, from nature to people. You radiated bravery, loyalty, strong intelligence, and ambition wherever you went and in every situation, you were in.

How did I get so lucky, he kept thinking.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a bright glittering blue light, and then a purple one, then a pink, and a white. He fully looked up and inhaled faintly when he saw what they all were.

Small translucent and thin stringy flowers of all colors that he could think of began to illuminate themselves from the many branches of the tree before floating off, dancing and twirling in the air as they descended towards the two of you. He noticed they looked nearly identical to spider lily’s - all thanks to Professor Sprout when he was forced to learn several different flowers in her class.

He nudged you gently, pointing up to the air when you opened your eyes and you stepped away from the trunk to look around in awe. There must have been at least a hundred of them spinning and flying, their petals bouncing up and down as they carried themselves around the open area.

You reached up your palm, catching one in your hand as it landed daintily and glowed a bright rose color, its petals still lifting up and down like if it was keeping itself afloat. You turned to bring it carefully towards Draco, almost jumping up and down in excitement that it was on you. He turned off the light of his wand with an easy, ‘nox,’ putting it away now that the area was now fully lit up in beautifully twinkling lights. He smiled down at you, placing both his hands under your one as he helped you hold it up since you were nearly exploding from happiness.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” you whispered in wonder. “I didn’t even know trees could do this! Our tree!”

“I think this is only because of you, darling,” he whispers back. “You have a way of bringing dull things to life.”

Your gaze flickered up, smiling warmly at him before pushing up gently on the flower, encouraging it to fly away so you could move. You got closer to the Slytherin, his arms encircling around your waist once you were flush against him. One of the green flowers had landed on the top of his hair, settling itself carefully on him.

“I’ve got one on me, haven’t I?” He chuckles and you nod, a bright smile on your face as you looked between him and the flower.

“It likes you,” you beam. “But, not as much as I do.”

He laughs a real laugh of delight and amusement, squeezing you delicately tighter against him.

“Obviously.”

You stood on your tip-toes to reach his tall figure, craning your face up and pressing your lips against his in a loving match. You parted your lips and allowed his warmth to wash all over you in comfort, all thoughts being numbed at the feeling. As your lips continued to move against his, you began to feel a tickling all over your hair and whatever skin was exposed to the air. You pulled away from him curiously, gasping softly when you saw that all the flowers had flown down towards the two of you landing and sitting on you both as if they were attracted like magnets.

Draco moved one of his clasped hands from your waist up to your cheek, grinning to himself as you leaned your head into his touch.

“I’m glad this tree has us trapped in here,” he mutters. “I wouldn't want to be anywhere else with the one I love.”

“I love you more, Draco.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The two of you awoke to the sound of cracking wood and swooshing leaves, a cold breeze following quickly as it encompassed you. You gradually opened your eyes, seeing that the tree was expanding and moving back to its original state and appearing back to normal. Carefully sitting up, you realized the flowers were gone, there was no sight of them anywhere. If it wasn’t for Draco being there with you, you would’ve thought you imagined the whole thing.

Speaking of the said boy, he groaned beneath you, balled fists going up to his closed eyes as he began to rub his sleep away. The early morning light had streamed through weakly through the clouds and through the leaves onto you.

“I wonder if anyone looked for us,” you yawned carelessly, standing up and flattening down the wrinkles on your clothes. You outstretched your hands and back, deeply exhaling at the feeling of relief from the ground below you.

“Probably,” Draco answered sleepily, standing himself up and wiping himself off of all dirt and grime. “We should go back now before it locks s in again.”

You skipped over to the trunk of the tree, placing your hand on it once again and whispering to it a tender, “thank you.”

You could’ve sworn it whined something back, but you brushed it off at your drowsiness and continued towards the castle with Draco.

The two of you walked quietly hand in hand to your common room, stopping outside of it with a sigh as you read a clock on a far-away wall.

7:42 AM

“How long have we been out?” You question fearfully.

“No idea,” he yawns. “Must have been a very long time though.”

Draco freezes in his spot, feeling his body crawl with what felt like tiny spiders when he saw who was standing at the end of one of the nearby corridors, a scowl on his face when they made eye contact.

“Go inside and get yourself cleaned up and ready for the day, love,” he rushed out, placing a quick kiss on your forehead and parted lips as he nudged you towards the entrance. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You tiredly nodded, giving the required password to the common room before sneakily stepping inside and tip-toeing towards your room.

When the doors finally closed and you were gone, Draco turned down the corridor and started towards a furious Snape down the way. The raven-haired man stayed glued where he stood, patiently waiting for the young Death Eater to approach him so he could swiftly unleash hell on him.

“I have been searching for you all night,” Snape snapped lowly. “Where did the two of you run off to?”

“We got stuck somewhere, but I’m here now,” Draco answers, staring into the accusatory eyes in front of him.

“You better hope you kissed her your final goodbye,” he snarls. “They’re coming tonight, and you must carry out your last duty - tonight.”

“Tonight?” Draco echoes emptily, feeling like whatever happiness he had left in his body from last night was slowly trickling down his body and out into the floor like a sad, melted popsicle.

“Yes, and after tonight you will no longer be a student here,” Snape reminds with a hushed tone. “Miss Y/L/N cannot follow you. I hope you understand that. it would be incredibly dangerous for you and her.”

“No,” Draco begins to shake his head in refusal, his heart dropping to his stomach as the realities began to set in. “I don’t want to leave her, I don’t know how.”

“I think it’s time you start figuring out how,” his Professor suggests inconsiderately. “Room of requirement at nightfall, you’re opening up the cabinet for them so they’re able to transport. Come alone and prepared to leave the school.”

Before Draco could try to argue, Snape brushed past him and disappeared down the corridor and past a corner, leaving behind a pain-stricken boy who was stupidly in love with someone he couldn’t find in him to let go.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Something was off and unsettling, you noticed. You weren’t sure where it came from, but you felt it eat away at you even though nothing had happened to you. You came home feeling wonderful from an impromptu dreamy night with Draco, completely love-struck and ditzy and halfway through your shower was when it was all washed away and replaced with dread.

You wondered if this is somehow how Draco was feeling before deciding against your gut.

I’m not a mind reader, you thought repeatedly.

It was odd how you saw him nowhere around the school, even more, odd when you hadn’t seen him in your shared Potions class that left you partnering up with your friend who didn’t mind the on and off switching. She asked you eagerly about your disappearance, expecting juicy details but was immediately bored when you gave her a watered-down story of what had happened.

“Oh, we were just watching the stars and accidentally fell asleep outside,” you lied, trying to force excitement in your voice to make the story more believable.

“That’s it?” she deadpanned. “You guys are so boring. Also, what if something attacked you guys? The Forbidden Forest is right there.”

You rolled your eyes, secretly wishing the two of you really were a simple boring couple and not facing the most life-threatening and scariest adversities.

“I’m sure one of us would’ve woken up if we heard something,” you shrug and she sighs, shaking her head.

There was still no sign of him after this class. And there was still no sign of him after the rest of the schooling day had ended.

You sat with your friends in the bumbling busy courtyard, listening to them quietly as they chatted happily. You were worried out of your mind, the pit in your stomach growing wider when you saw Draco’s familiar group of Slytherins gathered together in the distance, not a single platinum head in sight.

As the day continued into the evening and people were making their trip over to the Great Hall, you made up a quick excuse to your friends and broke off from them to scourge the school in its emptiness. It was quickly getting dark, you finally decided to follow your instincts and let yourself bound down the stoned staircase towards the even darker lit dungeons. It was empty and cold, a dooming atmosphere for no apparent reason.

As you were about to turn around, you heard the door to the Slytherin common room open and relief flooded you when you saw Draco emerge from the exit with a new black suit on, perfectly styled and gelled hair, and a somber expression on his face. He looked paler than usual, almost gray, the way he looked when you had found him that day in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom with a curse ravaging his body.

“Draco!” You called out to him excitedly, running towards him and wrapping your arms around him tightly when you reached him. He felt rigid underneath your touch, a distant look in his eyes as he looked down at you quickly. “Where have you been all day?”

“I’ve had to take care of some stuff,” he murmurs in response.

“Are you okay?” You ask carefully as you observed him. He was cold, emotionally, and physically. He resembled his house’s ghost, the Bloody Baron, cold and angry with hidden despair - just without all the blood.

“I’m fine.”

You stepped away from him at his answer, peering up at him in confusion at his sudden aloofness.

“I need to tell you something,” he ends up breathing out after a moment of awkward tension. His hand wraps around your forearm instead of his usual spot in your hand, nearly dragging you towards an empty classroom that was a few feet away from where you both stood.

He closed the door warily behind him once the two of you were inside, the dingy lamps in the room automatically lighting up when they sensed a presence so you wouldn’t be left in the dark.

“So, what do you need to tell me?” You begin to wring your hands in distress, not feeling hopeful under his miserable gaze.

“We need to end this, here, right now,” he spits out quickly, a troubled expression taking over his features as soon as the words left his lips.

There was a thick silence that fell over the room, a heavy tension that grew with every passing second was bursting at the seams of the walls. You couldn’t think straight, your heart feeling like it had fallen into your back and your stomach bubbling dangerously with bile you desperately wanted to release.

“What do you mean,” you ask stupidly. The tiniest piece of you was desperately hoping that he had meant something completely different than your relationship.

“You and me,” he pointed between the two of you brokenly. “I have to kill Dumbledore tonight, and then I have to leave.”

“I’ll go with you,” you promptly offer, nodding in agreement with yourself.

“You can’t,” he asserts sadly, walking up to you and placing both hands on either side of your biceps, gripping you tightly in place as if you were toppling over. “Y/N, this is the one time you can’t help me. If you come with me tonight, someone will hurt you.”

You stared up at him in dread, relentless tears streaming down your face as he stared back at you with the same look. He was breaking apart, his insides shriveling up in agony while he spoke and continued to hurt you.

“But when will I see you again?” you cry out hoarsely, letting your head fall against his chest as he moves to hug you tightly.

“I don’t know,” he whispers out.

“Draco, please let me come with you,” you begin to plead into the jacket of his suit. “I’ll hide, transfigure me into a goblet, anything! Just please don’t leave again. You promised!”

“I can’t,” he shakes his head. You felt his hot tears land onto the top of your hair, adding more fuel to your anguish. “You have to stay here, in this room, until I’m gone.”

“Are you that dense?” you cry wildly, pushing yourself away from him as you gave him a look of pure anger. “You expect to let me wait here like a sitting duck while I could be out there helping you somehow.”

Draco watched you with remorse, his hand reaching into his suit pocket before drawing his wand out on you with a vigorous trembling hand. You gasped, quick to reach for your own with the same shakiness before it was thrown out of your grasp the second you pointed it at him.

“Expelliarmus,” he said quickly, voice matching his hand. He looked at you painfully again before sputtering out, “locomotor mortis.”

Your legs locked together from beneath you, sending you tumbling backward into an empty desk beside you. You caught yourself on the edges of the desk, staring agape at a shuddering Draco a few feet away.

“I’m sorry,” he cried hard, “I’m so sorry, but I have to keep you safe.”

“Draco, I swear,” you wailed out in despair, “if you leave me here, I will never forgive you.”

Draco halted, contemplating his next move for only a minute. His heart thudding fast against his chest, yearning to give into you as he weighed out his options. He swallowed thickly and turned on his heel towards the door. When his hand landed on the brass handle, he turned back one more time to look at you and felt his world completely and irreversibly shatter.

You were in hysterics, legs stuck together and your hands barely being able to hold yourself up on the desk. You had a despondency about you now, weeping strongly in heartbreak that was caused by him.

He speedily opened the door and threw himself out, shutting it tightly once again and placing his wand against the handle.

“Colloportus,” the lock chimed with a magnifying and powerful click.

He let his head quietly fall against the door, tormenting himself further when he heard your continued cries and now yelling out a pained, “you promised!”

Nothing was holding him together now as he ripped himself away from the door and began his walk to the room of requirement. There was no more hope, no more tranquility, no more comfort. He couldn’t run back to you at the end of the night and let you heal him with soft reassurances and tender kisses. He couldn’t feel your hug anymore or the way you’d lull him to sleep after a rough day with your hands in his hair. It was all gone, all of it. Including you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You don’t know how long you cried or when you had fallen to the floor and accidentally fallen asleep in your hopelessness.

When you finally woke up, the room was especially dark now, the lights having been dimmed to nothing as the room had thought you were gone. All you could feel was grief and dejection, everything you knew and loved had been torn away from you; because it was.

When you subsequently felt some of your energy return, you rolled yourself around the floor, extending your arm to grab onto something sturdy so you could hoist yourself up and begin looking for your wand. Luckily, the lights lit up again when they sensed your figure begin to hop around the room, allowing you to search much more easily.

You hopped down each row of scattered desks, searching high and low for where your wand might have been thrown when you were disarmed. You mentally cursed Draco again for the thousandth time that night, the throbbing in your body growing stronger while you thought of how he had left.

You found yourself regretting the bluff you threw at him, feeling stupid now that he was gone with the idea that you might hate him. You regretted letting your rage and sadness get to you, yelling at him things you didn’t mean all because you were angry he was trying to do to protect you.

Stuck in your head and mindlessly hopping towards the front of the room where Draco had hit you with both spells, you didn’t see your wand under your shoe until it had rolled out from underneath you, sending you falling into a set of desks that were lined up behind you.

The impact of the fall barely phased you, weakly shifting yourself upright and bending over and outstretching a hand towards your wand. When you finally felt it between your fingers, you dragged it towards you and into your grasp before hurriedly pointing it towards your legs and muttering the counter-curse to unbind yourself. Once you felt the feeling back in your legs, you jumped up and ran towards the door only to slam against it, unknowing to you that Draco had also spelled the door before he left.

“Arse,” you mutter, touching your wand against the lock and speaking out a clear, “alohomora.”

When you stepped out into the gloomy freezing corridor of the dungeons, you knew something was wrong. It was clear in the air that something awful had just happened, every feeling of sadness seeping deep into the stone of the castle.

You flew up the stairs, running as fast as you could towards the Quad where everyone was gathered like zombies. Your legs continued carrying you out, looking up at the sky to see a huge Dark Mark painted in the grayed clouds above. Your gut was screaming at you the reason why, but you didn’t want to believe it until you had seen the evidence of your thoughts lying on the ground not far from you.

It was Dumbledore, motionless, and gone.

Harry was sitting above him, Ginny hugging him tightly as he cried quietly. You felt your tears prick your eyes, feeling guilty that you had known all along what was going to happen, guilty that you couldn’t do anything to stop it, guilty that there was no one to challenge against the evil that doomed the wizarding world, guilty that you couldn’t help Draco against it.

You kept telling yourself he couldn’t have done it, he couldn’t have, but it was clear as day - the scene in front of you. You swallowed the lump in your throat, allowing yourself to cry with your school in grief, crying even more while the second loss you experienced tonight had begun to work itself back into your tears.

And when everyone had cleared out, and it was just Harry and a few others, including some Professors, you begrudgingly made yourself walk up to the group. It was hard, seeing Harry and his friends stare at you with a look you couldn’t quite place. A look between pity and something unidentifiable.

“I’m sorry,” you let out hoarsely to Harry as you finally neared them. “I know this must be hard for you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he answered awkwardly. “I saw it happen, you know.”

“Oh,” you frown, rubbing your sweaty palms against your jeans as you waited for him to curse you out, to yell at you for Draco’s wrongdoings and murderous feat. But he didn’t. He only stared at you sadly.

“If you wanted to know,” he began, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he spoke, “Malfoy didn’t do it, he couldn’t.”

There was a solace that ran deep within you at the revelation. A shaky exhale quietly falling from your lips while you tried to hide your relief. You silently thanked the stars for sparing Draco, knowing now that there was still hope he could be saved.

“So then who did it?” You ask timidly.

“Snape,” he shook his head glumly, “it was Snape.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

There was a loud snapping sound ringing throughout the Malfoy Manor as Draco apparated inside the living room with his mother, clutching tightly onto her as he stumbled over his feet, feeling sick to his stomach and distraught at everything he had to live through that night.

He fell to his knees, backing himself up against a wall as he began clutching at his chest, gasping desperately for air as his panic attack had started to tear away at him. He was breathing erratically, tears falling from his eyes in rivers as he tried to remove the suit jacket that felt too tight against him.

Narcissa Malfoy looked down at her son, fear and sorrow suddenly undertaking her as she bent down to sit in front of him. She was momentarily glad she felt the need to meet the others near the outskirts of the school’s failing barrier, instantly grabbing Draco from the group when everyone was planning on staying longer for further destruction. One broken look on his face was all she needed to whirl the two of them out of there and back into their large empty house.

“Breathe, Draco,” she said softly, placing a warm hand on his wet cheek as he continued to sob. “Breathe.”

“I left her,” he choked out through his tears, “mother, I left her!”

“Who?” Narcissa asked, puzzled. “Who did you leave?”

But he didn’t answer her. He only cried harder and it didn’t stop even though his mother was holding him reassuringly in her embrace. She swiftly realized that there was more than he was letting on, and she knew that these weren’t only tears from what had happened with his failed task, she knew his tears mostly came from an ache deep within his heart, from an anguishing love.

“I left her there!” He cried loudly in her arms, clutching onto her tightly as he continued to struggle for his breath and sanity. She felt her own heart begin to break, wishing so deeply she could remove all hurt that stabbed at him.

“Draco, my love,” she tried again gently, “who did you leave?”

“Y/N,” he croaked out, “I left Y/N.”

PART 5

TAGLIST:

@viirgobbyy @bluesunflowersz @dreamyvcid @goddessofgames @natt-nih @cheesecakes-randomshitz @supersouthy @rebellionsarebuiltonhopee @peter-parka @thefandomplace @angelofslytherin @blueleonor @karentheugly

(I’m sorry if I forgot anyone, I <3 all of you and everyone who read this)

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engagemachine · 3 years

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"You're so gentle," she tells me. They all say it. I hear it from my patients every time I take their arm to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it, or when I place my stethoscope on their belly, or when I rub circles into their back when I've helped them sit up on the side of the bed for the first time in three days. Sometimes they cry, because it's the first tender touch they've felt since they've been in the hospital. It's very humbling and at the same time very concerning -- why has no one else offered this tenderness to you? Why am I always the first?

But I don't feel gentle. Not when a pair of ribs are cracking beneath my hands as I'm doing chest compressions on a Covid patient who's stopped breathing--the second time I've administered CPR on a Covid patient in two days. I don't feel gentle when I'm wrestling with a patient and begging for them to keep their oxygen mask on. When I have to hold them down and hold them still so my coworker can draw a blood sample. I don't feel gentle when I'm inserting a nasogastric tube down someone's nose, then throat, and into their belly while they're gagging around the tube and their arms are flailing. And I don't feel gentle when I'm washing a sacral wound with bleach and they're crying because it hurts. I don't feel gentle when I have to shout, beg, and plead for patients to listen, when I tell patients they're going to die if they don't keep their oxygen mask on. I don't feel gentle when I have to place a patient in restraints, or when I call a family member and tell them that their loved one's condition hasn't improved. I don't feel gentle when a patient tells me they can't breathe, they can't breathe, I can't breathe, and I'm yelling for coworkers to call the doctor while I'm cycling through different oxygen masks and trying to administer medication to slow their respirations and calm their anxiety.

I'm writing this because I feel like I've been living a little bit behind a veneer on here, although I know deep down that's not really true; I have always wanted my blog to feel like a positive space for anyone and everyone, including myself. I come here to have fun and destress and that's why you usually don't see me reblogging content having to do with politics or global news. I think it's possible to create a healthy space where one does talk about those things and spreads awareness for important causes, but for me, Tumblr is where I come when I need to escape the harsh realities of real life. This is my platform where I can indulge in my fictional proclivities and interests, where I can appreciate art, photography, beautiful writing, my favorite films, music, and cute animals. That's what this space is about. I also have loved meeting new people and getting to know my readers and making new friends and chatting about my stories. That's why I'm here and I thank you all so, so much for indulging me in my passions and for encouraging my writing the way that you have: it has helped me weather the current storm of stress I am feeling in more ways than I could possibly convey.

But I have to be very honest with you all about how much I've been struggling lately, as I feel like I'm reaching a breaking point and I'm somewhat at a loss for how to handle it.

Since September of last year, I've been on an accelerated track to finish the degree I'm working towards, which is a Bachelor of Science in Nursing. I've been a nurse for four years, but I graduated from a two-year nursing program versus a four-year program because I wanted to get into the field earlier than some of my peers, which has been great. Anyway, my school counselor/mentor and I agreed that I could obtain my BSN in a year if I really pushed myself. The program I'm in is self-paced, which has been both a blessing and a curse. Most of my classes I have finished in about three to four weeks. Other classes, like biochemistry, took substantially longer, about seven or eight weeks, if I remember correctly. All of the classes have relied on my ability to self-teach, as there are no scheduled lectures to attend, only assigned readings and videos to watch, if you choose to do so. Fast forward to the end of May, when I went to visit some family, and, upon my return home, really started to lose some of my motivation to complete my classes. I was meant to finish my program in August (this month) but agreed with my mentor that I would take a short break and put my last three classes on hold so that I could resume the program in September. I've enjoyed approximately a month off from school, but "enjoyed" is a term I use loosely here as I was also picking up extra shifts at work because we've been so short staffed and losing nurses left and right.

Which brings me to the main cause of my stress. This pandemic has completely changed the landscape for how I administer care to my patients, and the stress of the care itself has been so utterly overwhelming at times I can hardly bear it. I broke down in tears at work on Sunday morning, shortly after 4:30 am, right there at the the nurse's station, and was sobbing so hard that my supervisor had to pull me away so that I could have some privacy. I wish I could tell you that I sobbed harder than I have in a long time--but I had sobbed at work with that same intensity just four weeks prior, only, I had been alone at the time. It's becoming a trend--I either cry at work or I cry at home--because the stress of this job has become unbearable.

I wish--I desperately wish--I could convey to you the seriousness of Covid. I think so much of the world has already decided to move on from it because they're so tired of having to deal with it and, quite simply, are ready to return to normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore and when--or if--we'll ever be able to return to it. And that has caused me a fair amount of stress and anxiety in and of itself. I miss traveling so much and I don't know when I'll be able to do it again. I haven't seen one of my best friends since the fall of 2018 for this reason, which kills me.

I've seen so much death. Transferred so many patients to the PCU and ICU. Frantically chased patients' oxygen saturation, trying to keep them from circling the drain. Being responsible for six or seven human lives at one time is a stress you cannot fathom unless you have done it yourself. I have cried with a patient, a young woman, who had lost her husband to Covid only hours before in the ER, a young woman who was now faced with battling Covid herself but also planning the funeral of her high school sweetheart from her hospital bed. I have wheeled a patient to the ICU so that he could say one final goodbye to his wife--married for over 50 years--before they pulled the plug and removed her from the ventilator. I have raced down the hallway with my patient on BIPAP, pushing his bed to the ICU and praying that he doesn't stop breathing on the way there. I've had to console crying family members over the phone who are worried about their loved ones, not to mention my crying coworkers who are as overwhelmed as I am. These are just a handful of experiences from the past month alone. There are so many more.

The discomfort of my job has become secondary. I expect, now, to be wearing an N95 for a full twelve or thirteen-hour shift because there isn't time to take it off. Not having a chance to pee or go to the bathroom during that time. Not drinking any water until I'm in my car and taking off my mask and finally taking a deep breath.

On a more personal note, I am continuing to lose weight and it's so discouraging. In high school I used to wear a size 2 or 4. Now, depending on the brand, I wear a double 00. My hair is falling out because of my stress. I haven't slept during the night in... I don't even know how long. I'm constantly tired. Exhaustion hits me like a great tidal wave and I am powerless to stop it. I expect now to crash during the middle of the day on my couch, only to wake up at 11pm and be wide awake for the rest of the night, and, if not wide awake, then in an out of nightmares and sleep paralysis. I have thought about leaving my job, but the idea of job hunting during a pandemic, and while I'm in school... it just makes me feel even more stressed.

I need a break, but it feels like there's nowhere to go to escape. I fantasize about some great adventure, going somewhere I've never been, but I also really miss my family and I'm scared to go home to visit.

This post doesn't really have a conclusive ending. I'm just exhausted and overwhelmed. Any prayers/thoughts would be greatly appreciated.

#text

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mellometal · 3 years

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Is it time to tear ANOTHER Dhar Mann video to shreds? YOU BET.

I've been sitting on this one for a bit because I wanted to make sure I talk about this tactfully. The subject of parents abandoning their disabled children is a very touchy one.

Parents abandoning their disabled children simply for being disabled is way too common. Like, I understand that not everyone has the resources to care for a disabled child (which is why you reach out for help, and why people like me, who work with disabled people, exist), but it doesn't mean you just walk out of their life. There are exceptions, like if you truly didn't want children or something like that, but just flat-out walking out of your kid's life BECAUSE they're disabled is fucked up.

I know someone personally whose biological mother abandoned her when she was born. Why? Because she's disabled. Physically, and mentally, to a point. I work with this woman on a daily basis. I don't really know WHY exactly her biological mother abandoned her, but I do know that her being disabled was part of it. It's sad. It doesn't affect her, thankfully. I'm happy that she's got her biological dad, her brother, and another maternal figure in her life, at least.

ANYWAYS. Before we get to the topic at hand, I need to put an obligatory trigger warning, like I do with EVERY Dhar Mann post:

This post will be talking about parents abandoning their disabled children simply for being disabled, treating disabilities like they're tragedies (in this case, we're talking about autism...again), divorce, and some SPICY ableist bullshit from an allistic (nonautistic) PIECE OF SHIT.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable in any way, you don't have to read this post. This isn't worth putting yourself in a bad state mentally. I would never ask for any of you to put yourselves in that position all for a post. Put your mental health and well-being first. Consume media that sparks joy for you.

As far as my response goes, it's definitely more calm than normal. Funny....since this video is about autism spectrum disorder again. (Third time's the charm, huh, Dhar Mann? NOT.)

LET'S FUCKING GET IT.

The video starts off with these two parents (Gwen and Allen) in a psychologist's office. The psychologist tells the parents that their son (Chance) is autistic, and she tries to explain what autism is to the parents, but Allen cuts her off. Why? Because he teaches at a prestigious university, so he AUTOMATICALLY knows what autism is from that fact alone.

Um, excuse me? Just because you're a teacher at a prestigious university, it doesn't mean you're an expert in everything. It doesn't make you an expert in ASD or anything like that. Unless you SPECIALIZE in that area. Even then, shut the fuck up. The people who know about being autistic are AUTISTIC PEOPLE THEMSELVES! SHOCKER.

Hey, Dhar Mann! QUIT WITH THE VIDEOS ABOUT AUTISTIC LITTLE WHITE BOYS AND YOUNG WHITE AUTISTIC CISHET MEN! I'M SICK AND TIRED OF IT. It's annoying, ignorant, and it feels like you're doing this on purpose at this point to piss people off. If you're so uninformed about autism in women and girls, FUCKING ASK AUTISTIC WOMEN AND GIRLS! DO BETTER RESEARCH THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE AUTISM SPEAKS. The Autism Self Advocacy Network (ASAN) and the Autistic Women and Nonbinary People Network (AWN) are great organizations to go to for any kind of research on ASD in women and girls. STOP GOING OFF OF THE BRAINS OF AUTISTIC WHITE BOYS AND AUTISTIC WHITE MEN.

I don't feel I need to go too deep into the fact that autistic women, autistic girls, autistic nonbinary people, autistic BIPOC, autistic AAPI, autistic LGBT people, autistic teenagers, and autistic adults exist. Y'all already know.

Gwen asks the psychologist if that means Chance isn't healthy. (I understand not knowing about autism, but don't treat it like it's a terminal illness. Please.) The psychologist tells her that Chance is fine, but he just learns differently and might need more support compared to his peers.

Yeah, autism can affect how you learn about certain things (limited and repetitive patterns), but there are other disabilities that can affect learning as well. Like how dyslexia can affect your ability to read, dyspraxia can affect your ability to do math, and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) can affect your ability to focus or on impulse control. Autism affects how your brain is developed, it affects you socially, behaviorally, and how you communicate.

Allen is upset, says that he can't have a son "with a learning disability" (ASD is a neurological disability, not necessarily a learning disability), and treats Chance like he's stupid for being autistic. Gwen tells her husband that autism doesn't make you any less intelligent, WHICH IS SO FUCKING TRUE. ABSOLUTE FACTS. I was totally with her until she began that little monologue with "Just because a person HAS autism". SAY "JUST BECAUSE A PERSON'S AUTISTIC" INSTEAD! IT'S NOT HARD. PERSON FIRST LANGUAGE ISN'T WHAT EVERY DISABLED PERSON PREFERS. Allen says that "they could have another kid" and "put Chance up for adoption". Gwen obviously wasn't down with that. Allen gives his wife an ultimatum that it's either HIM or their son Chance. Gwen says that she can't choose between the two, but she will stand by her autistic son. Allen gets up and leaves the office, saying he wants a divorce.

Years pass by, Gwen is single and taking care of her autistic son Chance, and Allen has a new life with a ✨perfect son✨ (Samuel). He never mentions the son HE abandoned (Chance). He's completely forgotten about Gwen and Chance. (YOU OWE SO MUCH CHILD SUPPORT, ALLEN.)

Hey, Allen, how much do you wanna bet that your ✨perfect son✨ Samuel is autistic too?

There's the SATs, they're announcing a winner, and guess who it is? IT'S OBVIOUSLY CHANCE, OF COURSE. He's got the highest score in the country, with Samuel in second place. Allen is PISSED.

Chance gives a speech about how his mom really helped him, he struggled with autism, how Allen LITERALLY ABANDONED HIM, and THE CROWD GOES FUCKING WILD. Samuel, instead of being a sore loser, APPLAUDS FOR CHANCE. Stay humble, Sam.

My thoughts on the video? If you cannot tell by my tone throughout this post, IT WAS DOG SHIT. This video was insensitive to the true reality of parents abandoning their disabled children just because they're disabled. What do I expect from Dhar Mann at this point?

Here's my response to his video below. Don't worry, I will fully type out my response soon for anyone who cannot read the screenshots easily. It's a lot easier for me to do that on the desktop site than it is for me to do it on my phone.

For anyone who can’t read my response, I’m typing it out for you. Like I said, it’s easier for me to type it out on the desktop site than it is for me to type it out on my phone. It’s a real royal pain in the ass. But because I’m trying to make my posts easier to read for people, I’m doing this anyway. /lighthearted

First, second, and third screenshots (broken up into paragraphs):

Hey, listen, I appreciate the message you’re trying to go for, but can you please stop putting autistic people into a box? Can you stop treating being autistic like it’s a tragedy? Not every single autistic person is a little white boy in elementary school who’s considered “wild and unruly” or “super quiet and makes no friends”, nor are they a young white cishet man who’s a super genius or is how Chris Chan was before she came out as trans. (For anyone who doesn’t know about Chris Chan, there are many documentaries people have made on YouTube, and I highly recommend Geno Samuel’s docuseries, if you’re really interested in learning about Chris Chan.)

Autistic women, girls, nonbinary people, BIPOC, APPI, LGBT people, teenagers, and adults all exist too.

It’s very apparent now that you get your resources from Autism $peaks, a hate group that spends the vast majority of their money on funding eugenics instead of helping autistic people like they claim, claims that only little white boys and young white cishet men are autistic and ignores all other autistic people who don’t fit that description, have no autistic people on their leader board or on any board for that matter, have members who have actually fantasized about k1lling their autistic children, treat autism like it’s a tragedy or a disease someone can catch (completely false), act like autism should be cured (there is no cure, and ABA therapy is a total shit show in itself), and treats autistic people like they’re broken and need to be fixed. Also, not every autistic person is a Super Genius(tm). That’s so demeaning to autistic people who aren’t seen as intelligent in any way. I’m autistic and seen as smart; however, there are subjects I’m stronger in than others.

If you can’t handle the possibility of having autistic children, or just disabled children in general, DON’T HAVE CHILDREN. If you can’t handle working with or alongside disabled people, including autistic people, maybe find a different profession. Even if you do that, you’ll never get away from disabled people. Disabled people aren’t a disease. We’re human beings just like neurotypical and able-bodied people.

Fourth and fifth screenshots (broken up into paragraphs):

I would highly suggest getting resources from reputable organizations for ASD, such as the Autism Self Advocacy Network (ASAN) and the Autistic Women and Nonbinary People Network (AWN). Talk to any autistic person who isn’t a little white boy or a young white cishet man.

Instead of using the puzzle piece, which is a symbol that many autistic people, myself included, are offended by (because of Autism $peaks and other organizations before them using it, plus it symbolizes that only autistic children exist and that we’re “missing a piece” like we’re broken), use the rainbow infinity sign (for all neurodivergent people) or the red and gold infinity sign (just for autistic people). Instead of “lighting it up blue”, light it up red or gold. Do both if you want.

I’m actually really sick and tired of seeing just autistic little white boys and young autistic white cishet men being represented in the media, and y’all manage to fuck that up too.

Before anyone mentions Sia’s movie “Music”, that’s also very poor representation of autistic girls. Besides, the actress who played the autistic girl isn’t even autistic. She MOCKED autistic people. I know she’s a kid, but that’s still super fucked up. I hope she’s able to turn that around.

If anyone would like to discuss this topic with me or ask any questions, feel free to. I’ll answer as best as I can. Thank you and have a good night.

Before I get attacked for mentioning Chris Chan in my response, I bring up Chris Chan because allistic people think that every autistic person is like her (especially before she came out as trans). That person is part of why I wasn't open about being autistic or talking about my diagnosis until this year. I didn't want to be grouped up with Chris Chan because I do have very similar interests to her, I've been seen as cringey for having said interests, and just the way Chris treated autistic people who were formerly diagnosed with A$p3rg3r$ $yndr0m3 (like I was) really made me feel even more alienated.

Also, S1a supports A$ (Autism $p3aks). She's not a very good person to support. Some of her music is good, but her as a person....no. Her movie "Music" was gross, from what I've read about it and seen pictures of.

If you've read this far, thank you so much!

#mello speaks #dhar mann #dhar mann talk #dhar mann will live to regret his decision to make these fucked up cringe videos #dhar mann will live to regret his decision uwu #dhar mann is a piece of human garbage #please stop supporting dhar mann #autism isn't a tragedy #we need better representation for autistic people who aren't little white boys or young white cishet men #dhar mann is a cringe ass nae nae baby #tw abandonment #tw ableism #cw sia mention #cw chris chan mention #tw dhar mann

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uglierdaikon · 3 years

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I’ve had this one WIP sitting in my documents forever, and as hard as I’ve tried I absolutely cannot think of a direction to take it in but I really like what I have written, so I’ve decided to say “fuck it” and just post what I’ve got in here and let y’all imagine whatever ending for it you’d like. Without further ado, I present my long-deceased Witch!Nene x Demon!Hanako au:

Nene, my love. Whatever happens do not forget that you are special. You were born special. You will help so many people.

Nene couldn’t remember her mother very well. She had been so young when she died. In the furthest, foggiest corners of her mind, she could recall the long gray skirt that she clung to and hid behind when the other townspeople jeered at her. There was silvery hair like hers, and surely a face that would resemble hers. She remembered a voice that sang, a voice that stood up for her, a voice that told her, you are special. You will help so many people.

And so she did. Although people were still unkind, still jeered at her, still called her an unnatural thing, she helped them. Some learned to be kind, and those were the ones who made it feel worth it. The others… well, the others couldn’t help that they found her strange. She was strange. Witches weren’t supposed to be born—they were made, by sealing deals with demons. And yet, she’d had magic from infancy. This marked her as an oddity, and people were afraid of things they didn’t understand. The rumors that swirled around the village about her certainly didn’t help. But Nene didn’t mind. Or, at least, she told herself she didn’t mind.

There was work to be done. A farmer wanted a spell to help his cow get pregnant; the blacksmith wanted his tools bewitched to feel lighter to ease the strain on his aging back; a merchant from a nearby town had written her asking for a cure for his wife’s morning sickness. Morning sickness was simple enough—if you knew your plants well enough, you didn’t even need magic. She’d start with that.

Nene set out her pestle and mortar on her worktable, then went to her cabinet for ingredients, whispering them to herself as she searched.

“Cinnamon, dragon’s blood, rose petals… ginger.” She stopped short, carefully tucking jars of the other three ingredients in the crook of her left arm. “Have I used up all my ginger?” She shifted jars and vials and other magical odds and ends around her shelves, but there was no ginger hidden amongst them. She swore softly, set the other ingredients down on the table, and grabbed her cloak. She’d have to run out to her garden.

She stepped out her back door and into the cool night. It had been unseasonably warm as of late, but now a chill wind nipped at her nose. Still, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, taking in the scents of damp earth and autumn rot. The woods around her house seemed to thrum with gentle sounds, crickets and owls and the wind shuffling through the leaves. Nene smiled to herself, then hurried off to her garden. She knew it well enough that the dark was no impediment to her finding her ginger. She knelt carefully between other rows of plants and tugged up what she needed and a little extra, for next time.

As she stood and began to brush dirt from her dress, Nene heard a rustling that did not belong to the thrum of her woods. It was a disruption, a discordant note. She heard a twig snap not far off and nearly dropped her ginger. Her immediate thought was that she should run—people may have been coming to accept her, but she wasn’t naïve enough to believe there was no one in the village who would do her harm. She should run, but her legs wouldn’t move except to tremble.

“H-hello!” she called cautiously. Perhaps it was just someone lost. Or maybe it was only an animal, and she was being paranoid because some foul-tempered old woman had told her she was going to hell the day before. “Is anyone out there?”

There was a pause, and then the rustling and crunching of leaves and earth continued, louder and closer. Nene frantically tried to think of a spell—something to freeze them, or confuse them. But when a shape finally moved in the darkness, all she could do was shriek, “Don’t hurt me!” and squeeze her eyes shut.

Silence. No rustling, no movement. No attempt to seize her, or worse. Nene peeked an eye open, then the other. There was… nothing.

“Meeeooow.”

Nene jumped, then laughed. At the edge of the woods, mere feet from her garden, was a small black cat with golden eyes.

“Well, hello there,” she said, crouching down and holding her hand out to it. “You sure gave me a fright, didn’t you? Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.” The cat peered at her curiously, then took slow, cautious steps forward. When Nene reached to scratch it behind the ears, it flinched away. “I suppose people aren’t very kind to you, hm? Black cats are supposed to be a curse, you know. But I’m supposed to be cursed, too, and the only sign I see of it is in my love life. So I’m not afraid of curses.” The cat stepped toward her again. It seemed to her to be trying to communicate something with its eyes, some need or question. “Are you hungry little fella? I’ve got some catnip growing here.” The cat circled behind her, and in her squatted position it was awkward to turn to try to face it.

“You shouldn’t feed strays. We’ll just keep coming back.” The voice came from directly behind her. Male. Dark. Amused, like he was laughing at her. Nene stumbled forward, whipping around to look at him once she was somewhat upright again. Where the cat should have been, there was a man dressed in fine black clothing, with choppy black hair and golden eyes. He was smiling at her, and the smile was not kind.

“You—you—how, I—”

His smile widened.

“Hello there, little witch,” he said. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?” He looked her over like an animal eyeing its dinner. Nene pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

“Wh-who are you? What do you want?” she managed to stammer. She tried to think of a spell, something to confuse him, or send him away. She didn’t have it in her to hurt someone, but she couldn’t expect the same of him. They were alone here by the woods, a long way from any neighbors that might care enough to help her.

The man’s smile quickly morphed into a pout, and his eyebrows knit together. He stepped closer and leaned forward to peer at her. Nene made an odd squeaking sound and stepped back.

“You haven’t been expecting me?” he asked. Before Nene could say anything, or think further about what to do, he reached out and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “Hm. You really don’t know who I am.”

“Y-yes, that would be why I asked,” she said, jerking her head to break free of his grip. He tapped his chin thoughtfully and began to circle her. “You do know what I am though, don’t you?”

She didn’t. She had been too shocked, too frightened to see him as anything but some frightening man in her garden, possibly a warlock. But now that he asked, she didn’t know how she hadn’t sensed it, the power radiating off of him. The magic.

“You’re a demon,” she said, her voice very audible. There was nothing she could do. No defense. What was her magic against a creature like him?

The man gave her a small nod.

“Tell me then, little witch,” he said. “How did you get your powers?”

“I was born with them,” she said. Her voice was stronger—she’d had enough of that line of questioning over the years. He smiled at her, and she managed the courage to hold his gaze. She hoped he couldn’t tell that under her dress, her knees were shaking.

“Were you now?” he said. “Oh, I do think I like you.”

As he passed again on her left, he ghosted a hand through her long hair, watching as it faded from silver to green between his fingertips. The look in his eyes had changed into something less playful, just for a moment, and it did funny things to Nene’s already racing heart. Finally, he came to a stop in front of her again. The too-wide smile had reappeared.

“I have a proposal for you,” he said. “I came tonight to claim something, but I can think of a much more entertaining game. How about a wager? What I want against what you want.”

Nene narrowed her eyes.

“What do you know about what I want?” she asked. His eyes narrowed slightly, but they still held their humor.

“Oh, I can make some guesses,” he said. “I wager that in a week’s time, I will be able to tempt you into agreeing to… something. If I fail, I’ll be on my way, and I’ll never haunt your doorstep again. If I win, well. You’ll have agreed to my terms anyways.”

“I don’t want any part in your wager,” she said. She tried to sound firm. Being firm with people who meant to manipulate her usually worked—it was a strategy a boy in town named Kou had taught her many years before.

He shrugged.

“Then I’ll just take what I came for and go,” he said, advancing toward her. Nene quickly scrambled back.

“No!” she cried. She couldn’t imagine what horrible thing a demon could want to demand from her. “…Just a week? And once you fail, you’ll go.”

He chuckled.

“At once,” he said. “If I fail.”

Nene scraped together the last of her courage and nodded. He would leave. She would lose nothing to him, face no harm whatsoever, as long as she simply said no to anything he might offer her. He would be gone.

“Then it’s a deal.”

His smile grew wider. Before she could react, he had wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his chest.

“Do you know how demons usually seal their deals, little witch?” he asked, putting a hand under her chin to tilt her face up towards him. His gold eyes were hooded, locked onto her lips. Nene couldn’t form words, couldn’t form thoughts, as he slowly leaned in and—

“No!” she cried, turning her face away. He stopped short. When she dared to peek at him, she saw his eyes were wide, like she’d startled him. That was a thought. Her, startling a demon. Then he laughed, and let go of her waist.

“If you insist,” he said. He took her face in two large hands, tilted it slightly downward, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s sealed. We’ll begin tomorrow.” Before her eyes, he began to fade into nothingness. “Good luck, Miss Yashiro.”

#tbhk #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #hanako #yugi amane #yashiro nene #hananene #witch #demon #alternate universe #fic #snippet #i had plans for this but I don't like any of them and I can't come up with anything better #sorry for failing witchy nene like this everybody #my fic

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bokutosworld · 4 years

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perfect match | miya osamu

a/n: i am so thrilled that haikyuu is back!!! can’t wait to see more of inarizaki and (excuse my bias) osamu!!!! <3 so here’s a very self-indulgent piece in celebration of their comeback haha

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

wc: 2.6k words of fluff and bit of angst if you squint lmfao.

summary: in which you and osamu go in circles, walking the fine line between keeping the friendship or taking the leap in your relationship. inspired by the prompts: “It’s you, it’s always been you.” + “Are you really gonna leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

'for the last time, i am telling you oyakodon cannot be better than katsudon. nothing beats a good crisp, deep-fried pork or chicken over a steaming bowl of rice,' you said, putting your lunch tray on the table with a thud and settling on the bench.

'yeah, sure. but they're basically the same thing,' he slips in the space next to you, placing his food and getting his chopsticks ready. 'they're both donburi meals, only difference is how they're prepared. what matters is they're both delicious.'

taking a spoonful of your meal, you chew fast before deciding to answer back, 'i know that.' you pause to catch your breath, earning a worried glance from osamu as if he telling you to eat slowly. 'but katsudon just ranks superior. end of discussion.'

the both of you, cooped up in your own conversation, were oblivious to the stares and smirks of your friends in the table. atsumu, deciding to be the braver among the peers, cuts through the silence. 'you know, we could hear you bickering from the queue all the way here,' a hint of tease evident in his voice and osamu smacks his twin.

suna perks up, joining the conversation, 'that's like the third discourse they had today, man. and it's only lunchtime.' the rest of the group laughs and shakes their head, as atsumu adds, 'will there ever be a day where we enjoy some peace and the two of you just quietly get along?'

you share a look with osamu who simply shrugs and continues to chomp down (albeit rather cutely) his food. your friends weren't wrong but it's not like you and the boy hated each other's guts. your close friendship with him was comfortable, so much so that the two of you would talk and argue literally about anything. but as always, there were no hard feelings in those moments of disagreements.

it's just the way it has been since the day you met the twins in middle school. they were both kind and took care of you like their little sister. but somehow, you found yourself growing more attached with the quieter twin. there was something about conversing with osamu that made you feel like you can open up to him about anything. he was smart, a good listener, a natural conversationalist that he always had something ready to answer to your quips. he would always indulge whatever topic you brought up and challenge your ideas and beliefs - the latest one being the katsudon versus oyakodon dispute.

you notice the piece of rice stuck in the corner of osamu's mouth, and you were just about to wipe it off when hikari calls out your name. your hand falls limp on your side and you turn to her, 'what's up?'

'are you free this weekend? i was supposed to set up my cousin on a blind date with my co-worker but she just informed me that she can't go. they have exams this week. so,' she purposely dragged on her words, weighing if would consider being the substitute. raising an eyebrow at her, you completed the sentence for her, 'so, you want me to go on the blind date?'

she beamed, clasping her hands together as if she was reciting a prayer. 'please! i will owe you my life, this is a one time thing, i swear! i made him a promise. you know how i hate breaking promises.'

osamu took note of the way you sighed and how your shoulders slumped at your friend's request. you were never one to say no, you always found it difficult with your kind-hearted nature. so it wasn't a surprise to him when you turned and asked, 'we don't have anything planned for this weekend, right?'

truthfully, osamu wanted to say that you did have some sort of hangout planned. he didn't know why he was finding it hard to say no right now, so he was relieved when his brother spoke. 'you should be free, y/n,' swinging his arm around his twin's shoulders, atsumu looked at him and smirked. 'besides, we have a practice match this weekend. we wouldn't be able to do the usual hangout 'til after 6pm.'

this made you exclaim, 'great! you can give that guy my number then!' hikari proceeded to tell you the details - it was happening on saturday. she already arranged for the meetup time and place to be 10 am at the subway station near the park.

as hikari continued to talk to you about your date, osamu couldn't help but listen in on the conversation and take note of the details. he didn't miss the way your eyes lit up at the mention of your date's name - taichi - to which you remarked that it was 'a handsome name.' osamu rolled his eyes at that. lost in his own thoughts and conflicted feelings about your blind date, he wasn't able to control his facial reactions anymore - a slight look of envy and disappointment ghosting over his features and atsumu was enjoying every bit of it.

weekend arrived and to say that you were excited for the blind date was an understatement. you were looking forward to it, the evidence seen in the way you have prepared your outfit (with the help of osamu who you video called last night). as your closest friend, osamu tried his best to be thrilled and happy for you. he knew you have been wanting to experience a first date for a while now. but a feeling was gnawing at him, a feeling that wishes it was him who was taking you out on that weekend. nonetheless, he gave you a pep talk and reminded you to just have fun and be yourself.

so here you are now, standing in the middle of the station and waiting for your date. it wasn't as crowded as you thought it would be so you kept an eye out for taichi. he texted you just before you left, informing that he would be wearing a denim jeans and black jacket. keeping your eyes peeled for a person who fit that description, you see a shadow of a person jogging across the station and a voice calls out your name.

'y/n!!!!' you spot taichi running over to you, he crouches to try to catch his breath when he reaches you. when he's calmed down, he immediately apologizes, 'i am so sorry. have you been waiting long?' you assure him that it's fine and after a few minutes of back-and-forths of apologies and assurances, you two go on your way to your first stop: brunch.

taichi was indeed as handsome as his name initially suggests. he's got a boyish charm to him, and it would be a lie to say he wasn't drawing you in. all throughout the brunch, he proved to be someone who can keep a conversation with you. it was one of your worries that your date would find you boring, but osamu told you would do fine. thankfully, taichi could hold his ground with you, very much like your best friend who can immediately answer your witty quips with his own humorous comebacks. in your mind, the two boys were very much like and you couldn't wait to tell this to osamu.

after eating, he brought you to an aquarium. your genuine excitement made taichi smile as he shared that it was worth an effort asking hikari what you wanted if he could see you exude so much happiness. you made a face and hit him, 'i didn't know you were cheesy. thank you.' he then led you two inside and spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the huge aquarium, in awe of the different fishes and feeling if you were lost in the underwater.

but all good things come to an end. by the time your date ended, it was already 6:33 pm. though it was still early, you had a curfew of 8 pm and taichi offered to accompany you home.

dropping you off at the front gate, he looked at you, hopeful, 'i had a really fun time today. hikari did great by setting me and you up together.' you laughed at this, admitting you've almost forgotten that this was a blind date, 'it's like i've known you forever!' despite the surroundings being dark already, you didn't miss the movement of a shadow just a few blocks away. you had a hunch as to what or who it was, and you couldn't wait to expose them.

'well, i don't want to keep you out any longer,' taichi began saying his goodbye. 'i'll text you when i get home. we should do this again.' your attention was brought back to the boy in front of you and you chuckled, 'don't be a stranger! just text or call me anytime, okay?' taichi began walking back to the main street, and he waved as you shouted your last farewell, 'be careful on the way home.'

when he finally turned to the street, you cleared your throat and called, 'you can come out of your hiding spot now, dumbass.' the person you were referring to sheepishly moved where the light can cast over him, revealing, 'osamu.' he could see the way your eyes glinted with a hint of mischief and he knew he wouldn't be able to escape your interrogation.

you ran up to him and tackled him, poking his sides which made him fall into a fit of laughter. he took your hands to make you stop, 'stop that.'

'how long have you been hiding out there,' you ask osamu. it wasn't impossible to miss the tinge of blush on his cheeks, your question obviously caught him off guard. 'well, osamu? are you gonna answer me or are you just going to keep staring into space?' you wave your hands in front of him, but he quickly gets hold of them and laces his fingers with yours. it was a usual gesture between the two of you, but right now, why did it feel so intimate?

after moments of silence, he speaks up, 'did you have fun on your date?' his eyes boring right into your soul and you swore your heart started beating faster. for some reason, you couldn't answer right away, your voice somehow betraying you at that moment. 'it.. it was nice.'

osamu continued to stare intently, waiting for you to finish. so you went on, 'they're a good person. he's very funny, you'd like him too, you know! he surprised me by taking me to the aquarium,' at this point, you were rambling just to avoid the awkward silence. 'it was so big, osamu! you'd like it there too. and then -'

'will you take me there with you?' now your heart was threatening to beat out of the chest. osamu was rarely serious with you, and right now, you could feel that he wants to say more but he's restraining himself.

you already had an idea of what he was trying to say. the butterflies in your stomach was starting to go wild at the thought. but you wanted to hear it from your best friend himself, so you feigned ignorance, 'what do you mean, osamu?'

the grip on your hands tightens and he pulls you a little closer to him. osamu wants to say that he wishes it was him who saw your smile in the aquarium, who you talked with nonstop in the cafe, who you exchanged stories and laughter with throughout the day. he wants to say that it should have been him who took you out on your first date. all these emotions and words were too much for him, so he takes a deep breath and rests his head on your shoulders instead. perplexed at his actions, you immediately wrap your arms around his waist. 'osamu? are you okay?'

'yeah, let me just stay like this for few minutes.' he buries himself deeper in the crook of your neck, getting lost in your familiar, comforting scent. he knows why he was acting like this and he was screwed. he loves you, but he doesn't want to risk ruining the friendship you have built. after a while, he stands up straight, shooting you his signature smile and ruffles your hair.

'thanks, i was just really tired from the practice match. i guess i missed our number one cheerleader.' he steps away and begins to walk home, but he doesn't get too far when you shout, 'are you really gonna leave without asking me the question you've been dying to ask me?'

he stops in his tracks. this time, you close the distance and he feels your presence behind him. 'come on, osamu. no secrets, right?' at this, his resolve breaks and a dam opens, his unrequited feelings for you finally flowing out in the open. osamu turns around and engulfs you in a warm embrace, and you just know.

'if you wanted to ask me out, you could have just asked me you know,' you tease him. flustered at you what just said, he looks at quizzically, 'how...'

'you're not very subtle, osamu. and the stunt you just pulled tonight basically confirmed you like me too,' you hope he caught your words at the end. because honestly, while being best friends with him has been the best thing to happen in your life. you've always wondered what it feels like to take the next step in your relationship with him.

it takes him a while to register your remarks and when the realization sets, he finally asks, 'since when?' the question was vague, but you knew what he was referring to if the hopeful look in his eyes was anything to go by. so you take a courageous leap, finally crossing that bridge to move to something more. you caress his cheeks, osamu leaning close to the warmth of your hands, 'it's you, osamu. it's always been you.'

he finally closes the gap, bringing your body to his in a tight hug, as if he was afraid to let you go. you stay like that for a few minutes, the passersby cooing at the 'lovely couple' on the street. he pulls away for a quick second, then all of a sudden, he was leaning in. your eyes instinctively shut, waiting for that sensation on your lips, but instead you feel him press a tender kiss on your forehead. he was always a man of few words and through his actions, you know that everything will never be the same again, but it was the kind of change that you have always hoped for.

so when you two go to school the following week, holding hands and finally not bickering in the morning, everyone in your friend group was dumbfounded. again, his twin was the only one brave enough to point out the difference, 'took you guys long enough. congrats, osamu! i knew you had it in you!'

hikari wanted to ask you about taichi, but after the date, the boy has already his expressed gratitude and shared how he felt that your thoughts were occupied by someone. and certainly, looking at you and osamu now - sitting by each other's side in peace and in your own love bubble - it seemed that you have already found your perfect match.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuucreations #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu fics #haikyuu x you #osamu fluff #osamu scenarios #osamu drabbles #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu miya osamu #I AM LAUGHING AT MYSELF ONCE AGAIN #THIS PIECE GOT SO LONG I PLANNED THIS TO BE JUST AROUND 1.5K

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fluffleforce-mysdrym · 3 years

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Steadfast - October Writing Prompt

Thank you to @toastvogel for suggesting Chyrus. He is the best paragon <3

..................

The Archon sits on no throne, but even without one, many kyrian often see her as a more distant figure. It is understandable. Even if she wasn’t a god, she is the leader of the realm. By her will is Bastion maintained, and by her hand are the ascended directed. There is more work that goes into doing even those two dealings than most will ever know, and she does so much more than that. It is a wonder she ever has time to address any of her subjects.

In that way, Chyrus can’t help but wonder—hope, really—whether she is at least somewhat protected from some of what is happening right now. She is not at the temples, watching their brethren fall before each other’s blades. She can feel the realm wither around her, in spite of her will, but she cannot see how that crushes the spirits of those relying on her unwavering resolve. She is spared their doubts.

Until those doubts become too powerful.

And then she is blindsided with the betrayal.

Because most anyone else could have seen something like this coming. Perhaps not on such a grand scale, but there were signs, clear as the skies over Bastion.

Chyrus frowns as the sound of a broken chime reaches his ears. With a quick inspection, he finds the culprit underfoot, half crushed under his large toes. Kneeling, he picks them up gingerly, the lute-like chimes tiny in his palm, and the ring they used to hang on broken.

It’s hard to imagine what could have damaged it so. Someone getting thrown into it and their weapon catching it just right? Or had one of their many attackers been so overcome with rage that the sound of the gentle instrument filled them with such animosity that they wanted to make sure they would never play again?

There has been so much heartache in Bastion throughout the eons.

Bastion’s pride is its noble cause, but perhaps it is because he does not cling to such emotion that Chyrus has always been able to see the melancholic undercurrent. The broken hearts sent back to Oribos to be judged anew because they could not relinquish the memories of their mortal lives has always been there. Friends and students alike have ‘fallen short’ over the years. He wonders where they’ve gone, sometimes—those he remembers.

And there are those who have done as was required of them, who sometimes quietly peruse their old memories, watching the foreign stories play out with a quiet resignation that their sacrifice was for the greater good. Still, sacrifices are nothing if they are not mourned from time to time.

As Chyrus peers around to see if there are any other pieces of the little chimes to be gathered—to be given to someone with smaller hands who needs so desperately something to focus on other than the present—the sound of large wings grow closer.

He catches the last bit of pipe beneath his foot as Thenios lands, unintentionally scattering the debris left in the forsworn’s latest attack with his great wings.

Chyrus offers him a word of greeting before picking up the chime. It wouldn’t do to forget it, and even though there was no proof of it, Chyrus has often felt like little objects could have a feel to them. They could know when they are broken and appreciate when they are repaired.

It’s a notion Visephone smiles to think of, and one that Xandria will mull over before irritably asking questions that have no answers. Simple things that cannot be done in front of their charges, but are held precious in those fleeting moments when the paragons are alone together.

This is not going to be such a moment, Chyrus can tell, if only by the thin line of Thenios’ lips.

That doesn’t stop Chyrus from giving him a simple smile himself. “What brings you all the way out here?”

Thenios stands tall and firm, armor shining in Bastion’s radiance.

That in itself makes Chyrus’ heart hurt. Thenios does not don his armor for any occasion.

Or he didn’t. Not before the forsworn, before Devos’ betrayal. Though he would never voice it, Chyrus often suspects that Devos fall from grace affected Thenios the most severely of them all, hitting him harder than even the Archon.

How often had the two visited each other’s temples in casual attire to sprawl out together and read. Thenios usually brought the scrolls and books, and Devos was always pleased to see whatever it was that he had for her. She’d once told him he could make even the driest, most technical of reports sound fascinating.

Chyrus can still remember finding them curled up together, feathers fluffed up as they read through something that wasn’t work related, and how Xandria had hounded them about how adorable they were for weeks after, insisting to Visephone that she had missed something absolutely precious.

When it was just them, of course. When they have those fleeting moments where they can simply be people instead of unyielding leaders.

Thenios hasn’t taken his armor off since Devos’ death.

The paragon motions for Chyrus to follow him, and they both take flight, soaring out into the fields where they will not be overheard.

Their feet have barely touched into the soft grasses when Thenios begins to speak, unable to contain himself any longer. His voice is a mix of its usual matter-of-fact tone used to inspire confidence among his aspirants and something else, something almost accusatory. “The Maw Walker has recovered some records for me. Salvaging what the forsworn are so hasty to destroy in their hunt for whatever they think matters more.”

“We are fortunate to have such help—”

“They brought me this.”

There is nothing particularly noteworthy about the record in Thenios’ palm, but Chyrus knows what it will be before it plays. Funny that he was just remembering this aspirant as he surveyed the damage to his temple. She had been close to ascension when she fell. She came to him, telling him that the path had taken everything from her, made her into someone she didn’t recognize.

She had been the latest in a long line of those who were not meant for the path after all.

Chyrus listens to his own disembodied voice recount the incident and remembers musing about whether there was another way for those within Bastion, a way that didn’t require a complete abandonment of the past.

The reasons for the path’s current route were valid, of course. No good came from ferrymen who judged the souls they collected.

It was a hard path, but it was one that had served them well for almost all of eternity. And if it weren’t for the lack of judgment in Oribos…

Chyrus makes no offer to take the record from Thenios, more than a little sure that if he did try, it would be denied him. Instead, he waits for Thenios to make whatever point he is there for. A chiding perhaps that such a thing was left where aspirants could find it?

“Did she ever talk to you?”

The question is a surprise, a reminder that Chyrus cannot predict everything his fellow paragon will think or do, and it hangs between them.

“No,” Chyrus finally replies. The word feels cruel somehow in its succinctness. “The first—and only—time I heard of Devos’ dissatisfaction with the path was when she told us of Uther’s injury.”

Thenios flinches at her name. No armor can protect him from his memories, and Chyrus has been worried about what will happen to him. Forgetting their fallen brethren will be nigh impossible. Their paths were far too entwined and to take her away would leave him with so much emptiness…

Chyrus has already lost so many, his heart breaks at the mere of thought of who else may fall, of who might be left a shell of their former selves because of hearbreak they can’t overcome.

“She told me.” Thenios voice cracks at the last word. He is quiet a moment before clearing his throat, his composure regained. “I told her to be careful the sort of thing she said.” His chin inclines, gaze skyward. “I did not think…I did not know that you had wondered about this very thing.”

“Haven’t we all?” Chyrus offers gently. None of them are above doubts, after all. He reaches out and lightly places a hand on Thenios’ arm, a connection his friend so clearly needs. The action startles Thenios out of his thoughts.

“If I’d listened…if I had let her talk…hadn’t let her feel so—” Thenios curls his fingers around the record, practically crushing it in his hand as he lowers it to his side, fist shaking. “How could she have… the Jailer.”

His voice cracks again, and this time he stops talking, a tremor in his jaw as he clenches it.

With a quick step, Chyrus reaches out and wraps Thenios in a hug, ignoring the way the bits of armor poke into his bare arms. There is hesitation, and then Thenios grips Chyrus back, clinging to him like a drowning man in a stormy sea.

There is not enough time. There may never be, but here, now, Chyrus is acutely aware of how damaged his friend is and how there are people who need both of them to be unbreakable pillars.

It is cruel that he can offer Thenios so little of his time. Chyrus makes himself a silent vow that he will be there for his friend, to properly mourn what they have lost when things are finally set right.

When Thenios pulls away, a shiver runs through his feathers and for a moment, Chyrus thinks he may take his helm off.

Instead, he takes Chyrus’ hand, surprised to find the tiny bits of broken chimes already there as he places the record among them. “I would hate the forsworn to get this and think you would be a good target to convert.”

Chyrus chooses not to point out that they have already tried. “Thank you, my friend.”

Thenios turns away and then pauses, looking back at him. “If you need someone to listen to your doubts…”

Chyrus wants to tell him that Devos’ fall is not his fault, but there is no way for words to reach, much less ease, the guilt there. Instead, he gives Thenios a nod and a gentle smile. “Of course.”

Thenios attempts something like a goodbye, but when he can’t trust his voice to hold steady, he instead dismisses himself without ceremony. Chyrus does not insult him by watching his retreat, instead turning his attention back to his temple.

There is much to be done.

#world of warcraft #chyrus #my boi #thenios #devos #thenios x devos #kyrian #Chyrus and Thenios are bros #the best bros

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phykios · 3 years

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volcano kiss scene but make it medieval, for @perseannabeth 💙 note that this is little more than a fancy rewrite, but... marble king verse is too good to be done with completely

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June, 1446

As Percy led his little band of adventurers through the tunnels of the Labyrinth, himself, his questing partner Ana Zabeta, his childhood companion Aegidius, and his half-brother, the cyclops Tison, following a marvelously clever creation of the god of fire, he allowed himself, for a brief moment, to feel a small sense of pride. They had finally located a deity who not only did not appear to have any negative designs on their characters, but had also promised them his help--after they had performed him a small favor, of course.

Hephaestus had fashioned for them a little spider made of metal, who moved about as though it had a beating heart, darting this way and that, nearly invisible, were it not for their torchlight flickering off its shiny, shiny legs. Though he would never speak it aloud, Percy felt a particular kind of pride on Annabeth’s behalf, as she followed the eight-legged creature with neither complaint nor fear. He knew full well just how totally she detested the beasts, her eternal and forsworn enemies, just as their mother had been an enemy of Athena.

They rounded a corner, moving from a passageway lined with a strange, shiny substance which felt cool to the touch to one of crudely-cut stone, when he spotted a tunnel off to the side, dug from raw earth, wrapped in thick roots which pried their way through the holes in the stones. Aegidius had noticed it as well, slowing his pace until he stopped entirely in front of the dark, gaping maw in the wall. “Aegidius,” Percy said, stopping as well. “What is it?”

It was as if he had not heard him. The satyr merely gazed into the black tunnel, his curly hair rustling in an impossible breeze.

“We cannot delay!” said Annabeth. “We must keep moving!”

“This is the way,” Aegidius muttered, hushed and reverent. “It is here.”

He couldn’t possibly mean… “The way to Pan?”

But Aegidius ignored him, turning instead to Tison, the creature whose very nature often rendered him speechless with fear. “Do you not smell it, too?”

“Yes,” said Tison. “Earth. The forest.”

Before them, the spider skittered further down the stone corridor. If they delayed any further, the trail would be lost to them.

“Once we have finished our errand for Hephaestus,” said Annabeth, “then we can return for Pan, I swear it.”

“The tunnel will have gone by then,” said Aegidius, with a confidence Percy had rarely seen before. “A door such as this will not remain open for long--and I must enter it.”

“But,” she said, desperate, “the forges!”

He looked at her sadly, but firmly. “I cannot go with you this time, Annabeth.”

Percy had forgotten--Aegidius was not only his companion. He had been Annabeth’s as well. He had been responsible for seeing her safely over the magical boundary in Sigeion. But the spider was nearly out of sight, and they could not tarry any longer before the gateway to the god. “We will continue to the forges,” he decided. “Aegidius, you go on to seek Pan.”

“No!” she gasped. “It is far too dangerous. If we part ways, we might never find each other again! And I cannot let you go alone.”

It was then that Tison, gentle creature he was, put his hand on Aegidius’ shoulder. As much fear as satyrs held for cyclops, Tison, for some odd reason, held just as much, if not more, for the satyrs. They had made an amusing pair at times, two of the sweetest, kindest people Percy had ever known, cowering in fear at the other. But Tison showed no fear now. Now, he was brave. “I shall go with him.”

Percy could not believe his ears. “You will?”

He nodded. “The satyr needs help. We shall find the god of the wild--together.”

Aegidius took a deep, steadying breath. ��I wish I could see this through to the end with you, but--”

“I understand,” said Percy. The search for Pan was his life’s goal, the final prize in a quest which had taken his father, his father’s father, and so many searchers before him. If he did not succeed on this journey, the Council of Cloven Elders would never give him another chance. “I pray that you are right.”

Shoulders square, suddenly possessed of a confidence Percy had rarely ever seen from him, save for when he deliberated on how keftedes paled in comparison to spanakopita, he grinned. “I know that I am.”

Percy took a heartbeat to gaze on him one last time, imprinting him in his memory--just in case. “Be careful,” he told him. Then, he looked towards Tison, and opened his arms to his half-brother, who went into them willingly, squeezing Percy so strongly his eyes just about burst from his sockets.

Tison and Aegidius then disappeared into the darkness of the tree roots, lost to the wild.

“This was a mistake,” said Annabeth, her voice trembling. “We should not have let them go.”

“We will see them again,” Percy replied, attempting to summon Aegidius’ confidence. “Now, come on. The spider will not wait for us any longer.”

“Do not remind me,” she said, shuddering.

Before very long, the tunnel grew warmer, the stone walls red and glowing. The air felt as though they were walking through a giant oven, as though they had been transported into one of the forges beneath the villa for Hephaestus’ children, and he supposed, in a way, that they had. The tunnel sloped down, deeper into the earth, the spider nearly tripping over itself to reach the bottom, Annabeth right behind it.

Percy jogged to catch up. “Annabeth!” he called. “A moment?”

She glanced back at him, but did not cease her quick pace, forcing Percy to match her. “Yes?”

“I have a… question,” he panted, “regarding what Hephaestus… said, about your mother.”

“She swore never to marry,” Annabeth said, easily. Curses, Annabeth did not appear to be even remotely out of breath. He felt like such a fool compared to her, always. “She is one of the maiden goddesses, alongside Artemis and Hestia.”

Percy frowned. He had not recalled that detail about the war goddess--though, he was rather infamous for nodding off during lessons. Perhaps he had simply slept through that particular lesson. “But, if she is a maiden goddess, then--”

“How is it she came to have demigod children?”

Blushing, he nodded.

Now, this was not at all appropriate conversation, he knew. Young boys and girls were not meant to discuss such things with each other--not yet anyway. But Percy was nearly a man, and besides, he had spent enough time with Carlos and the older boys at the agoge to pick up a few pieces of knowledge here or there. Hopefully, Annabeth would think the flush on his cheeks was due to the heat of the cavern.

“Do you know how Athena was born?” she asked him.

“She was born from… the head of Zeus? In armor?”

“Precisely. She was literally born from his thoughts--and thus, her children are born the same way. When Athena falls in love with a mortal partner, it is a purely intellectual affair, just as it was with Odysseus in the epic tales. Our mother says that it is the truest kind of love.”

“So,” said Percy, frowning. “Your father and Athena… you were not--”

“I was born from their minds,” she interrupted, quickly. “Sprung from the divine thoughts of my mother and the mortal ingenuity of my father. Her children are gifts, blessings on the mortals she favors.”

“But--”

She turned to him, exasperated. “Percy, the spider has nearly vanished. Do you really wish for me to explain the precise details of my birth?”

Flushing even harder, he snapped his jaw shut.

Victorious again, she smirked. “I thought not.”

Running ahead to catch their guide, Percy followed, very neatly put in his place, and not certain he would ever be able to look at his friend the same way ever again. Some things, he decided, were perhaps better left as mysteries.

After another few minutes or so, they emerged into a cavern, larger than any stadium Percy had ever seen. It felt to be five times the size of the mighty Colosseum. There was no floor, just miles of bubbling lava beneath their feet. Standing on a rock ride which encircled the cavern, Percy saw a complex, overlapping network of metal bridges spanning the width of it, meeting on a huge platform in the center which housed the largest anvil he had ever seen, a block of iron the size of a villa. Dark, strange shapes moved about them, like formless shadows, too far away to discern what manner of creature they might be.

“We cannot sneak up on them,” said Percy, noting the distinct lack of places to hide with some despair.

With a slight grimace, Annabeth picked up their metal guide, its form having changed to a small ball, and slipped it into a fold in her dress. “I can. Wait here.”

“Hang on--” But Percy was too late, as Annabeth put on her magical cap, a gift from her mother, and vanished from his sight.

Percy cursed. He did not dare call after her, not willing to draw attention to her tactics, but nor did he appreciate the idea of her approaching the forge on her own. If those creatures could repel the likes of Hephaestus, what hope did Annabeth have? It was not safe. She was their leader--they could not risk her life. Percy would not risk her life.

Alas, he could never sit still for very long. Creeping along the outer rim of the lake of molten rock, he darted from stalagmite to stalagmite as best he could, hoping to find a better vantage point. Really, Annabeth should have known better.

The heat was horrendous, heavy and oppressive. Drenched in sweat, and eyes stinging with smoke, he moved along, staying as far from the edge as was physically possible, until he found his way stopped by a large metal box, fitted on wheels. Peering inside, he saw it was full scrapped metal, bits and bobs of broken swords and lumpy shields, piled on top of one another. Nothing he could reasonably use for an extra weapon, or even some kind of defense. Making to squeeze himself around it, he suddenly heard from up ahead a voice, rough and grating, speaking an ancient language which no man alive had heard for a thousand years.

Monsters, he knew.

There was no time to run away, no place to hide… except for the box. Leaping inside, covering himself with a dented aspis, he curled his fingers around his father’s sword, that blade Anaklusmos, hissing as the sharp metal of his bed cut between the soft parts of his armor, biting his tongue so no curse could escape.

With any luck, the monsters would pass him by, and he could continue along unmolested.

That was when, of course, that the box lurched forward, pushed along by the monsters, carrying Percy along with it. Malaka! Was he about to be tipped into a smelting pot?

All around him, he heard the chatter of terrible beasts. He was not so skilled in the ancient tongue as Annabeth, but even he could recognize a few words here or there, “weapon” and “cyclopes” and “furnace,” and some names as well: Zena, hissed with scorn, Posidaota, spat with bile, and, most chillingly of all, Kronos, spoken with reverence and awe.

Percy blinked against the sudden light as his cover was removed from his person, revealing himself to the monster, who was so taken aback by his presence, that it blinked back at him in return. For a few moments, neither of them moved, so shocked were they by the other’s sudden appearance. Then, springing into action, Percy slashed upwards, dissolving the beast in a cloud of golden smoke. Snatching up another shield and leaping from his bed of spikes, he saw with his preternatural vision a small army of at least twenty monsters, black like dogs, but with sleek, shiny skin, and legs which looked to be more suited for swimming than scrambling around the rocks of Aitne.

With a hearty battle-cry and another wide swipe, he repelled the front row of these creatures, carving himself some space to jump, sprinting for the mouth of the tunnel. The monsters followed after him, baying and growling as a pack of ravenous wolves, and they would have caught him, tearing him to pieces, had they been but a little bit faster. Thinking quickly, at the top of the tunnel, Percy hurled his shield into a column, the rocks crumbling upon impact, burying the monsters and blocking off the path with a great, noisy cave-in.

He doubted it would keep them trapped for very long. Not only that, he very much doubted that they had been the only monsters in the cavern. Percy had just announced his presence to anyone who might have been listening, destroying their chance for any sort of subtle reconnaissance.

And Annabeth was still out there, somewhere, invisible.

“Annabeth!” He yelled, running towards the platform at the center of the ocean of lava. “Annabe--!”

An invisible hand clamped over his mouth, wrestling him down behind a large, bronze cauldron. “Silence! Do you mean to have us killed?”

Arms flailing, he managed to locate her head, slipping off her cap of invisibility. She shimmered into view as an island emerging from the mist, scowling and covered in ash and grime. “It’s far too late for that,” he said, grimly. “I came upon a group of monsters, and brought the roof crashing down on them.”

Hissing curses, her hands clenched, as though she meant to strangle him, before she visibly managed to control her temper. “You said there were monsters?”

He nodded. “I know not what kind. I had thought they may have been dogs, were it not for their flippered feet and human hands, adorned with claws. They spoke of furnaces and weapons, making arms for the first Titanomachy.”

“Telkhines,” she gasped, eyes wide. “Of course! I should have known. I had wondered when I saw… well, look.”

Together they peered over the lip of the cauldron. In the center of the platform stood four of these demons, larger than any Percy had seen before, standing at least the size of a fully grown man. Their black, scaly skin glistened in the light of the fire as they labored, sparks flying between mighty hammer strikes on a long piece of glowing, hot metal, hissing to each other in the ancient language. “What are they saying?” he whispered to her. If he could not understand them, Annabeth surely would.

“They are talking of fusing metals,” she said, frowning. “Other than that, I--I cannot say.”

“Is that bad?”

She stared at him, incredulous. “The telkhines betrayed the gods,” she said, “for practicing dark magics. For their transgressions, Zeus banished them to Tartaros.”

“Alongside Kronos.”

She nodded. “We must return to Hephaestus at once--”

But no sooner had she spoken than a sharp, clawed hand pierced its way through the rubble of Percy’s cave-in, pushing aside the rocks which blocked its path, followed closely by its snout, teeth long and sharp and dripping with saliva. “You must return to the god,” Percy said, moving into a crouch. “Leave me here.”

“What?” she shrieked. “No! I will not leave you!”

At any other time, he would have praised her for her courage, but not now. “You must! Let me distract the monsters, and perhaps the spider can lead you back through the Labyrinth. You are the leader of this quest--you must take the message back to Hephaestus.”

“But you’ll be killed!”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, turning to face her. “As well, there is no other choice.”

She glared at him, her lips pulled back almost in a snarl worthy of one of the monsters. He knew this look of hers well--it was the one she wore whenever she considered hitting him for his foolishness.

But rather than hit him, she did something which shocked him even more.

She grasped the collar of his tunic, pulled him close, and kissed him. “Be careful, phykios,” she murmured against his lips, breath hot. Then she put on her cap, and vanished.

Percy couldn’t breathe, and not for the smoke. Had it not been for the lava, the monsters, the weapon, the quest, he would have been quite content to sit there all day, thinking of nothing but the softness of her mouth and the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight, unable to even recall his own name.

A sea demon screamed, jolting him back into reality.

The horde of monsters, freed from their prison, charged across the bridge towards him. Percy scrambled up from the ground, running for the middle of the platform, startling the large monsters so thoroughly that they dropped the red-hot blade over which they labored. It was as long as they were tall, curved like a crescent moon, its shape burning into his vision, sending shivers down his spine.

Unfortunately for Percy, the monsters recovered quickly from their shock. Every which way he turned, his exit was blocked by a small army, surrounding him. Cutting him off.

Raising Anaklusmos, he prayed that they could not see the blade shaking.

“Son of Poseidon,” rasped a demon, speaking Percy’s own language now. “We are honored by your visit, fish-blood.”

He spread his senses, casting about for an escape, but there was none. He was trapped.

“Will you strike us down, half-blood?” asked another one. “An you try, the rest of us shall tear you to shreds.” Licking its lips, it advanced on him, claws glinting in the glow of the forge. “Perhaps we shall deliver you to your father in pieces--an omen of the horror we shall visit upon him, and all the rest of the twelve, for their betrayal.”

Annabeth would not have allowed herself to be cornered this way, but Percy was no strategist. If the gods favored him at all, they would have seen to Annabeth’s escape, leaving him to his doom.

Was this to be his doom, he wondered? Trapped in the heart of a volcano, overrun by monsters which would use his bones to pick their teeth?

The tallest of the demons plunged its hand into the furnace, scooping a handful of molten rock. “Let us see the might of Olympus,” it said, grinning. “Let us see how long it takes him to burn!” And it threw the lava at Percy.

Dropping his sword, he swatted at his clothes which had been set alight, as though he had merely had an unfortunate run-in with the lava trap at the agoge, but it was not nearly enough, the fire engulfing him with each passing second. At first, oddly, it had only felt warm, though it grew hotter and hotter with every heartbeat.

“Your father’s nature protects you,” one monster sneered. “Makes you hard to burn. But not impossible, fish-blood. Not impossible.”

Later, Percy would struggle to remember the particulars. He would recall only the fire, and the pain. He would not remember how he crumpled to the floor in deepest agony, the sea demons howling in delight at his terror.

Nor would he remember the voice of the naiad at the farm of the giant Geryon. The water is within me, she had said.

Between waves of torment, there was a tugging sensation in his gut, calling vainly for water where there was none: not a river, nor a stream, nor even a petrified seashell. Percy called for the sea, the towering waves which could wash away villages, the currents which could destroy ships in a single blow, the endless power of the ocean, and he called for these things inside of himself, letting it loose in one terrible, horrible scream.

Fire and water collided, a typhoon of unearthly power shooting him up from the beating heart of Aitne on wings of superheated steam, peeling his skin away, another piece of flotsam flung from the earth by the force of the blast. Higher and higher he flew, further than Icarus, than Bellerophon, than Zeus himself, so high that the lord of the heavens would not be able to reach him--and then he fell, a shooting star, hurtling towards the sea which would not save him. Not this time.

#aegidius = grover btw #the marble king #perseannabeth #my fic #darkmagyk #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #marble timestamps

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anna-pixie · 4 years

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safe passage -> the witcher {part one}

This is going to be quite a long series - hopefully! Let me know if you’d like more parts :)

Summary: Your parents have married you off to the prince of a far away town, but to get there you need to pass through some trecherous lands. Your father hires a Witcher and his bard to assure your safe passage. When feelings get involved, what could possibly go wrong?

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Warnings: None

“The next time I see you, you’ll be a proper woman.” Your mother blubbers, grasping one of your hands in her own as she cries. You pull yourself from her gasp with a roll of your eyes, still sour due to the fact they were pawning you off for their own gain.

“That’s if I ever do see you again. Who’s to say he won’t keep me locked in that tower of his forever?” Your voice is sharp as you spit the words, turning away from your parents sorrowful gazes and heading towards the carriage waiting for you.

Your wrist is snatched quickly and you’re turned back, your father's eyes glaring into your own, “You’d best hope this attitude is fixed by the time you reach your new home. A month on the road should be plenty of time for you to really understand why we did this. We’ve paid the Witcher his coin already, he is waiting in the carriage and will assure your safe passage to Vizima.”

“I hope he lets me die on the way there.” Are the parting words you utter to your father, who releases your arm with a resigned huff. You pick up the bottom of your pink gown as you step into the spacious black carriage, not bothering to glance at the man who already resides in there.

Your mother waves at you once more, whilst your father signals to the rider that it is time to leave, and the carriage rolls on slowly as you leave your life behind. Tears prick your eyes and you sigh sadly, finally looking forwards at the hulking man sat across from you, a smaller man that you hadn’t even noticed sat next to him.

You had never seen a Witcher before in person, but their reputation precedes them - this one in particular. You’ve heard of the inhumanly large man, with hair the colour of pure silver and eyes like a cat - but it is the wolf pendant hanging around his neck that really tips you off. You’re sitting in a carriage with the white wolf himself. Geralt of Rivia, or as he is more commonly referred to, the Butcher of Blavikken.

And, oh, the stories must have failed to mention that he may be the most attractive man on the continent. He observes you with his bright eyes, his chiseled jaw clenched as his fingers tap against his large thigh.

“I’m Jaskier, you must be Princess Y/N!” The smaller man greets you, a wide smile on his mouth as he extends his hand towards you. Although your aim was to not get along with your carers, to anger them until they left you to die in the forest, you can’t help but smile warmly at the man in a blue ensemble, shaking his hand gently.

“It’s a pleasure, Jaskier. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

The man furrows his brows at you, “Better circumstances? We’re delivering you to your new husband! A prince! Shouldn’t you be happy?”

“I should. It’s a princesses duty to accept her husband with happiness no matter if it is her choice to do so.” You reply, a tight smile on your face as Jaskier takes in your words. Your eyes travel to the man next to him who has remained silent, his yellow gaze fixed on you, unnervingly so.

Your body heats and you squirm a little, looking out of the window to escape his suffocating gaze.

“Is that why you hope for me to let you perish on our journey?” The butcher speaks, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest. Your breath catches in your throat at the sound of it, it’s so raw, so dark and masculine. You’ve never heard anything like it.

“Oh, you heard that.” A blush coats your cheeks, and the younger man begins laughing while the white wolf merely continues gazing at you.

The corner of his lip quirks up ever so slightly, “Your father paid us a hefty sum, with even more promised once we deliver you to his highness. Forgive me, princess, but I cannot let you perish, even if that may be your wish.”

“Perhaps I will just have to outsmart you then, run away.” You jest, although a wry smile coats your mouth as you realise you will never be able to outrun a Witcher, there is really no point even bothering.

“I’d love to see you try, princess.”

The next few hours is spent with Jaskier trying to get to know you, and by the time you’ve stopped to set up camp for the night you feel as though you’ve been well and utterly interrogated.

“And then as I was jumping out of the tower, the needle caught on my leg, went all the way through.” Jaskier’s face is pale, and you smirk as you show him the scar on your shin, letting this be your revenge for his incessant questions.

“Forget I even asked.” He pretends to gag, leaving you giggling to yourself while he exits the carriage.

“Impressive, you’ve shut the bard up for a while.” Geralt comments whilst returning to help you climb out of the carriage. You take his hand and jump, gulping when his other hand rests on the back of your waist, steadying you.

“I have two younger brothers, I’m quite well versed in how to deal with an annoyance.”

“Hmm,” He observes you, his hand lingering for a moment, “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“I’ve never been this far out of the city before.” You think outloud as you gaze around the tranquil clearing, watching Jaskier drink from an almost too-blue lake. The unnamed carriage driver slumps against a tree, a hood covering his head while he takes a nap. There is a calming breeze in the air, the thin tree branches swaying and rustling, “It’s so peaceful.”

“Don’t get fooled into a false sense of security. There is a reason you were never allowed out of the city, monsters lurk everywhere, even in the most tranquil places.” Geralt’s eyes dart around while he speaks, like he has just reminded himself that he needs to check for potential dangers.

You observe him as his nose scrunches ever so slightly. Is he trying to sniff out the monsters?

“Witcher’s have increased senses,” Jaskier speaks, startling you as he appears beside you silently, “Smell, taste, hearing, you name it he’s got it.”

“That’s amazing.” You’re awestruck as you watch him slink around the nearby trees, hopefully determining that this is a good enough place to spend the night.

“I tend to forget that one too many times, run my mouth when Geralt annoys me not realising he can hear everything I’m saying.”

“Well, if we need to run our mouths during this month we’ll make sure to do so far away.” You joke, sending a joking glance towards the laughing bard. Your head snaps forward when you hear a low chuckle, and you realise with a groan that Geralt had been listening in on your conversation.

“See what I mean?” Jaskier rolls his eyes, heading to grab the tents from the back of the carriage when Geralt gives him an approving nod.

You lounge back, leaning on a thick tree bark whilst the two men construct the tent, under the shade of two large trees. You look over to the carriage driver, still asleep under the tree adjacent to your own. You don’t know the man, your usual driver remained in the city, continuing to serve your parents whilst they hired a replacement to take you to your new husband.

Your eyes catch the end of a scar peeking out of his black sleeve and your brows furrow as you look at it, your gaze travelling back up again expecting to see the driver sleeping peacefully, but you instead catch his dark gaze peering back at you.

A smile crawls up his lips but before you can dwell on it too much, your attention is stolen by Geralt who places a large hand on your shoulder. You can’t help but shiver at the feeling of his warm skin through your thin dress, looking up at him with a curious gaze.

“We have two tents. Jaskier, the driver and myself will take one - apparently it’s not … “lady-like” for you to lay with men you’re not betrothed to.” His tone is sardonic, clearly not agreeing with the strange marital traditions of upper society.

“Thank you, Geralt.” You smile at him, shuffling behind him as he leads you to the small white tent in which you’ll be sleeping.

You’re on your knees, about to crawl into the tent when Geralt’s voice stops you once more, “We won’t spend every night on the floor, princess, we’ll take some care to stop at inns. Your fathers request.”

“Oh how lovely of him to ensure I have a comfortable place to lie whilst I wait to be sold off like a prized pig.” You mutter quietly, turning away from Geralt before you can catch the way his stoic face drops for a moment as he gazes at your retreating figure.

You decline Jaskier’s invitation for you to join them in eating that evening, you’d been thrown a leaving banquet the night before and still felt stuffed. You can hear the low chatter of the men whilst you toss and turn, waiting for sleep to overtake you.

Slowly falling into a slumber, you can just about make out the shadow of a man standing outside of your tent, unmoving as they seem to just stare at you. In your drowsy state, you don’t think twice about this, simply groaning to yourself before falling into a restless sleep.

#geralt x reader #geralt x oc #geralt x you #geralt imagine #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x oc #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia #geralt x ofc #the witcher #the witcher imagine #witcher imagine

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heyzagman · 3 years

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SO! I’ve been thinking about how Zagreus, a literal god, trained fighter under Achilles, has to fight through each region of the underworld, powered by the Olympians and ancient Titan-slaying weapons, dying multiple times, before he is able to reach the surface. And Orpheus, dude who has never held a sword in his life, just walked right in and out with only his lyre and his falsetto. I’ve been thinking about that so here’s a fic from the prospective of Thanatos about it:

disclaimer: I have no idea what the underworld timeline looks like so we are shooting pinball with the ages of the gods here

Thanatos was but a godling when the Orpheus debacle happened. Queen Persephone was with child, attempting to grow a new plant in the garden, when they all heard the singing. This was the first Thanatos himself had heard of it, although Mother Nyx and Lord Hades did not seem alarmed. Specifically, Mother Nyx did not look surprised, but instead, impressed. Lord Hades was enraged. He stood up dramatically, slamming his hands on his desk. Thanatos had been speaking to Mother Nyx about his future duties, the young god had recently found his calling and would soon be working among his older brother Charon and the young Olympian Hermes helping souls to their final resting home.

Speaking of, Lord Hades was working on attempting to gain communication with the god of messengers.

An orange orb appeared in the air, as a quick voice emerged, echoing around the house.

“Hey there, boss, you called?”

Lord Hades’ voice bellowed, trying to be heard over the distant plucking of a lyre. “Have you yet found out who exactly has infiltrated my realm?”

“About that, you see, that’s gonna be Orpheus, son of a Muse, you know those.”

“Why is he here? How did he get so far? I can hear that obnoxious lyre from my desk.”

Hermes tsked. “Well, that’s not a question for me, boss. That’s a question for your security system.”

“My security system is in ORDER! I would have heard if he had killed even one of my wretches.”

“Guess he’s not killing them then, huh? Anyway, good luck, keep me updated, gotta dash.”

The orange orb zapped out and the presence of Olympus left the chamber.

“Agh!” Hades pressed his fingers on his forehead. In a low voice, he called for Nyx.

Mother Nyx carted a hand through Thanatos’s hair to calm him before she rose to speak to Lord Hades.

Thanatos stood up and began walking towards the garden. Hypnos was standing at the doorway of the garden, peering out.

“What are you doing?” Thanatos asked.

“You know, just waiting for the Muse’s kid to get here.”

“He cannot. No one alive can enter the underworld, much less the House. The wretches will stop him.”

Hypnos grinned. “He’s gotten through both Elysium and Asphodel. Tartarus is probably a cakewalk, who knows when’s the last time those shades have heard music?”

“You think he is getting through just with his singing?” Thanatos looked through the doorway. Queen Persephone was no longer tending her garden. Instead, she was simply standing and looking, waiting.

“I can tell that some of the shades out there--they’re sleeping.” Hypnos wrapped himself in his blanket. He said it nonchalantly, as if sleeping shades was a common incident when, on the contrary, it should have been impossible.

Thanatos hovered closer to his twin, whispering harshly: “Don’t you think you should do something about that? Can’t you wake them up or something?”

Hypnos yawned. “I’m Sleep Incarnate, brother. ‘Waking up’ isn’t really my domain.”

Even if it had been, it would have been for naught. A melody erupted from the garden and the twins barely moved out of the way as all the shades in the House burst out the door in a green river of souls. The eruption, followed by a shout of anger from Lord Hades himself, was matched with the appearance of a young man, surrounded adoringly by shades, walking into the garden.

In his short trips to and from the surface, he had heard music but nothing quite like this. This was a melody that seemed to be aimed directly to his heart, his heart, as if it was sung just for him. Hypnos beside him seemed as close to wide awake as he’d ever been, as the two godlings peered out to the garden.

The musician, Orpheus, continued his descent through the garden. Queen Persephone held a dark purple plant to her chest and stepped aside, allowing him entry. She stood still for a moment, and then threw down her flower and ran ahead of Orpheus, past the twins, and to the desk of Lord Hades.

As Orpheus and his parade of shades entered the House, Thanatos watched Queen Persephone take Lord Hades’ hands in hers and whisper a plea.

The professional plucking of the lyre echoed and bounced around the chambers, drawing out shades. The House had never felt like this before, everyone kept to themselves and milled in silence. Even the announcement of the pregnancy of the Queen hadn’t held such a communicable celebration. The arrival of Orpheus drew in everyone. Thanatos could see even Sir Achilles swaying on his feet, debating to leave his post to get closer to the music.

Mother Nyx appeared behind her sons, resting a hand on each of their heads.

“Mother, what will happen to him?” Thanatos asked.

“I believe the Queen is attempting to sway Lord Hades’ anger of the musician’s trespassing, my son.”

“But he must be punished,” Thanatos said, finding sorrow in his tone.

“Yes, my child. But we do not yet know the extent of his crime. The Queen wishes for him to, at the least, be heard.”

Thanatos believed Orpheus was already, clearly, being heard. Mother Nyx remained with the twins as the scene unfolded before them.

As bold as his actions had been and as long as his journey, Orpheus seemed nervous. He arrived before Lord Hades’ desk. The God of the Dead was standing tall, one hand curled in a large fist, slammed down on a pile of parchment-work. The other was gentle, as Queen Persephone was clutching it.

Instead of immediately striking down, sending the man’s soul flailing hopelessly towards Tartarus, Lord Hades said: “Do tell, what has prompted you to defy my power and waltz into my home?”

Orpheus’s song stopped and Thanatos could have wept due to the sudden silence (some shades did). His hands shook as he held his lyre close. “My lord, I-I did not mean disrespect to you and your House, or-or, to the Queen. Quite simply, my muse, my love, my Eurydice, had fallen to unkindly fate which led her here. And, well, I do intend to be taking her home with me.”

Lord Hades laughed starkly at that. “Ah, I see. Not only do you break into my home but you expect to leave with another soul? A soul that rightfully belongs here? Have you any idea who you speak to?”

“Uh, I believe you are Lord Hades?”

“That--why you--”

Lord Hades paused and leaned down to the Queen Persephone, who spoke quickly and quietly. A hand rested on her stomach and the god’s expression softened.

A heavy sigh blew around the chamber. Lord Hades sat down in his chair. The Queen found a seat as well. He said, “Well then. Go on.”

“I’m sorry, my lord?” Orpheus, as well as Thanatos, seemed surprised.

“If your intentions are of that--of love--well, I will need you to convince me. How do I know this is not a ploy? How do I know you did not come here in malice against me and my family?”

Orpheus brought a smile to his face. “I-I see, my lord. I have a song, if you’d be willing, that will assure you my true intentions.”

Lord Hades nodded. Queen Persephone smiled and leaned forward, as if she was preparing to soak in the moment, savoring every note of the lyre and utterance of the man.

Orpheus began to sing a love song. It began light and happy and adoring. Thanatos did not need to process the words for the feeling of it was enough to be understood. Mother Nyx gently pushed on his back and allowed them to move forward.

Thanatos and Hypnos didn’t need more encouragement. Without much thought, the twins broke their endless hover and walked, feet on cold tile, to sit at Orpheus’s feet and listen. Amongst them were all of the shades, gathered around, emerging out of the lounge and administration chamber. Cerberus rested all three heads on the ground, puppy eyes pondering Orpheus. Achilles did not give breaking his post a second thought, and walked over to be closer, leaning with his head against the wall, closing his eyes tightly, as if trying to imagine himself somewhere different.

The end of the song came too quickly and too sorrowfully. Contrary to the beginning, the ending was of grief and mourning, of loss and the extent one will go to lay eyes on their lover again.

At the last note, it seemed like a spell had been broken, releasing the House from the song. Thanatos did not realize how much time had passed, but felt in renewed spirits. He wished to thank Orpheus, but instead rose again, grabbing the hand of his twin, who had curled in his quilt, yawning.

Thanatos returned to Mother Nyx who was watching Lord Hades at his desk, wiping his eyes and furrowing his brow. Thinking of what would come next.

But they all remembered how it went.

Time later, the Queen left and returned, both times due to her son, Zagreus. Orpheus was back and singing once again. Zagreus found Thanatos peering over the River Styx.

“Hey, Than!” Zagreus had just returned from another run, ransacking the underworld. Of course, Thanatos had lent a hand, but that wasn’t something that needed to be announced. It had taken Thanatos time to justify his actions. Especially before it was Zagreus’s duty to do so, back when Thanatos thought that everytime he helped, he was only assisting in Zagreus leaving him.

“Hello, Zagreus.”

“Did you hear? I was able to lift Orpheus’s punishment, he can visit Asophel to see his muse whenever he’d like.”

“That’s great, Zag. I’m sure he appreciated that very much.”

“I sure hope so, it cost me a couple diamonds. I suppose I’ll just get more from Lernie. Actually, I came to ask, weren’t you there? When Orpheus first came through?”

“Yes, I was,” the song Orpheus had sang was a low hum in the back of his mind ever since, “but I was quite young.”

“I see. I can’t stop thinking about it, you know? Everyday or night, I nearly die trying to get out of here, and that’s with help from a lot of gods. And he just walked through. I doubt he fought.”

“No, he did not. He just sang.”

“I’ll have to give it to him. He made it look easy--the getting in part, at least,” Zagreus smiled. The song, that damn song, seemed to play louder Thanatos’s head. What were the words of it? Did it matter? Why was it louder now, but less clear?

Zagreus was talking, asking him a question: “So, do you think you would?”

“What?”

“Look back. If you had been Orpheus, would you have looked back?”

“Oh, well. I don’t know.”

“Me neither. Seems like a pretty simple task with a high reward, don’t you think?”

Thanatos nodded. Seemed so. Then again, sometimes things that seem so simple prove to be the most difficult.

“Alright, I need to trade in some fish, thanks for the help back there?”

“Of course,” Thanatos said as he watched Zagreus trot off, waving to Achilles on the way.

He, he thinks, understands. He knows, actually. If it was Zagreus behind him, he would have to turn back.

He would have to know. Could he be faulted for that?

#thanzag #fic #orpheus #eurydice #thanatos #zagreus #hades game #hades #hades supergiant #nyx #mother nyx #hypnos hades #achilles #im sorry if there are typos grammar issues #i wrote this quickly #fanfiction

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morganas-pendragons · 3 years

Text

Willow | Din Djarin

life is a willow and it bent right to your wind..

long story short | no body, no crime | song #3: willow

this got away from me, i am not sorry

tags: @snippy-tano / @mackstrut / @majorshiraharu / @sacred-things / @wonderlandgabby / @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol / @roseofalderaan

set during chapter 14

Din.

His name still rolls around inside your head like the waves of a storm building over the ocean. It’s intoxicating. Overwhelming. He had bared himself, soul and all, for you to know the most intimate details of a life that no one else has had the privilege to know.

But someone can only bend so far before they snap.

Life is a willow and it bent right to your wind..

It should have been easy. You and Din had brought Grogu from Corvus to Tython so the baby could use the Force Conduit to call out to any of the remaining Jedi left in the galaxy. It was supposed to be a means that would further lead him to his people.

And lead him further away from you and the man he called his father.

“What’s he doing on the magic rock?” Din questions skeptically.

“Entering a meditative state, you di’kut.” You reply, eyeing The Mandalorian who stands at your side as you both eye your child. Grogu was young in terms of his species. You knew that. Despite his limited experience with formal training during his time at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, his reach to the other remaining Jedi was remarkable. The field he’d created was impenetrable. You and Din couldn’t get through it. “It’s a conduit. A conduit that’s powerful, Din. We can’t get through it.”

“You can’t either?” Din asks. “You’re-You’re a Jedi too, you should be able to get through!”

The desperation in his voice is palpable. Seeing Grogu in the midst of the act is forcing Din to realize just who his son is - how powerful he is, and how he is so far out of his depth right now - and that, eventually, he will lose him too. Just as he’s lost everyone else, and will inevitably lose you.

“Grogu.”

It’s so hard not to fall in love with the man when he holds that beskar ball the baby loves to play with up between two fingers and gently calls out his name. Grogu has made it abundantly clear that he is a daddy’s boy and thus never fails to make his father laugh with the response he gives to his name.

You’re too busy focusing on the fact that he made Din laugh to hear anything else.

Din won’t lose you today. Not tomorrow, but someday. Men like Din Djarin don’t get happy endings, no matter how badly they want them.

And as you sit there tucked into his side, head tilted upward towards a helmeted face that’s most likely beaming beneath the mask, you realize that this is where you’d like to spend the rest of your life.

You and him. Him, when you had no one else. Sounds like the ideal happy ending.

“Until he’s done communicating to the other Jedi,” You reach down to the belt at your waist and remove one saber, then two, and ignite both blades as you peer over the side of the hill. “We have to protect the child.”

The two of you take off down the hill.

The more that you say, the less I know Wherever you stray, I follow

Over the treeline, Slave One lands in the clearing with Boba Fett and Fennec Shand on board.

I’m begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans

That’s my man

Din yanks you behind one of the largest boulders as a series of shots rings out. It’s most definitely the man who had landed the ship over the hill, and he seems interested in Din. “I’ve been tracking you, Mandalorian.” He calls out, unaware of your presence as Din clamps his hand down harder on your mouth.

“Are you Jedi?”

“Are you kidding me?” You seethe through your Bond -which is always fun because Din is never expecting it - eyes narrowing in annoyance as you tilt your head upward to see if you can glance a peek at the newcomer. “Does everyone look Jedi to you?”

The minute Din lets go of you, the newcomer removes his hood and you are greeted with a face you’ve seen multiple times before in your dreams from when you were younger: The same face that over a million soldiers for the Grand Army of the Republic had shared.

“Boba Fett?”

That definitely catches the newcomer off guard. You’d only seen him in passing - only each other’s faces, never names - since the last time you’d been on Tatooine, well before you’d met Din, but you had failed to mention to the Mandalorian that you had been part of the reason that Boba Fett had lost his armor to begin with.

“You.”

***

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneakin' in

You’d give Boba Fett credit for his ingenuity. You had known upon meeting him that he was a talented bounty hunter, but he was lethal. You’d never in a million years anticipated him being so deadly in the face of storm troopers.

Then again. He was a clone.

As if you were a mythical thing Like you were a trophy or a champion ring But there was one prize I'd cheat to win

“If you were given the option, what would you cheat to win? What would be your prize for falling in love with him?” Cara had asked you idly when the two of you had returned to Nevarro.

“The best one. The one I already have.” You had murmured in reply. “His heart.”

“Din!” You yelled. The Mandalorian’s head snapped into your direction, wild and alert, as you rolled in front of him and held your sabers in an X formation. “Sword and shield!”

Din removes the second blaster from the holster against his thigh, and together the two of you mirror one of the very movements you had perfected with your clone troopers during The Clone War. You had been young.. but you remembered.

The more that you say, the less I know Wherever you stray, I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand

When it’s evident that Boba and Fennec have control of the valley in which the Stormtroopers are trying to overrun them on, the two of you sprint back up the hill hand in hand to try and retrieve your child.

Grogu is still in contact. The sight of him so at ease as he reaches out to the ends of the galaxy in search of another Jedi - one that is not you, because the person acting as his other parent cannot be the one to warn him against attachments - makes your heart ache because that ease is what he should know. What he should’ve been able to live on a world where the Empire wouldn’t try to hunt him down and slaughter him for simply being alive.

Wreck my plans, that's my man You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans, that's my man

“Sarad!” Din yells. “It has to be you! I-I can’t-” The tips of his boots dig into the ground as he pushes himself forward, lifting each foot as he does, because Din is simply desperate enough to fight a cosmic stone. “I can’t-hold onto-him!”

Life is a willow and it bent right to your wind...

They count me out time and time again

You trudge forward. It’s so difficult to fight this, but you do. You trudge forward despite the pain, despite the gnawing fear that you won't be strong enough to retrieve your son, and with a bloodcurdling scream you push your hands through the field.

Your fingers touch his robes before you’re thrown backwards and land right on top of Din.

Life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind

“Sarad, please.” Din’s hands cradle your cheeks as your vision swims in and out, and your head is aching and you want to sleep but your child is in danger, the man you love is in danger, you cannot just-

“I’m here.” You murmur, pressing your aching forehead against that of his helmet as he slowly hoists you to his feet. “Life hasn’t broken me yet.”

He’s so kriffing proud underneath the stupid beskar. Din only hopes you can feel it through the Force.

Head dried with blood, you throw your hair over your shoulder and cast a look down into the valley. One saber ignites, and then two.

Din watches your back as you both retreat back down the hill. What you both remain ignorant to is that the moment you turn around, Grogu disengages and the field dissipates.

Your son lays his weary head to rest.

***

Wait for the signal, and I'll meet you after dark Show me the places where the others gave you scars

Your heart aches for him. The minute that things seem like they’re starting to go right, a single shot rings clear from the sky and blows The Razor Crest to kingdom come. Your home. Grogu’s home. Din’s home.

The Mandalorian doesn't say a word. He just stands there and breathes in the wake of the destruction.

“The kid!”

You, Din and Fennec turn around and take off back up the hill to try and reach Grogu before whoever is coming above him. There are four of them - robotic in nature - and they are coming in fast.

“DIN!”

Lungs heaving, blood pumping, heart pounding, your feet slam against the Earth as you use the Force to launch yourself in the direction of the baby-- only for him to be taken into the arms of the dark trooper as you make a less then graceful landing.

Your knees give out beneath you as your face nearly collides with the rock beneath your hands. Gravel bites into your palms. You don’t care.

They took your son.

The more that you say, the less I know Wherever you stray, I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand

“Grogu.” You whisper. Allowing your eyes to flutter shut, you wish away the overwhelming feeling of tears that pool in your eyes - you’ve gotten alot more used to heartbreak since the genocide of the Jedi - and focus on the thrumming Force signature of the baby. “Stay safe, ad’ika.”

You don’t dare tell Din the emotions that radiate from his tiny form. It’s not fear. It’s anger.

When all is said and done, the three of you find yourself back in the ashes of The Razor Crests remains. Din sifts through until he comes up with an object, tiny and silver in nature, and you swear your heart drops into your stomach when he pockets it. Grogu’s ball.

“They took your son, Jedi.” Fennec murmurs, almost as if she can feel the way you are trying so hard to keep yourself composed, and lays a hand on your shoulder. It’s not the comfort you’d take from the man you love but it is more then enough. “You are allowed to grieve.”

Wreck my plans, that's my man You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow

As Din talks with Boba and Fennec, you disappear over the hill back in the direction of the rock and ignite your sabers. Jedi are not supposed to deal with their anger this way. You don't care.

They took your son.

The first one goes flying down the hill by control of your capable hand, arcing through a cluster of trees at its base until there is nothing left but smoldering limbs.

You don’t care.

They took your son. The son of you and Din. His son.

I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans, that's my man

“You abandoned me.” You whisper. When no one replies, you say it just a little bit louder and with alot more force- “YOU ABANDONED ME! After everything I did, after all I lost-” Images of your final days in the Jedi Temple flash before your eyes like the images of a holodrama played out frame by frame as you are forced to watch clones murder your teachers, your friends, your family..

A hand comes up to clasp your own, stained in blood.

A scream echoes down a empty hall. A gun fires. Clones shout orders at one another.

A bloodied body collapses at your feet, lightsaber rolling from limp fingers.

These images flood your mind until they dissipate like smoke and leave you in a shattered reality where you have again lost everything you care for. “You have the audacity to take him away from me?! Why?!”

The Force hums in your ear. You see the clones who murdered your family, who killed your Master, all the clones you had been forced to kill because it was them or you.

Just like right now, it was the child or you and din. They chose The Child. They chose the one who could barely defend himself. He was so innocent. So gentle.

Why did the Empire have to ruin all the gentle things?

You throw your arm as far as you are able and send the second saber in the same direction as the first one, using bloodied hands to guide the arc made between the two as they dissect the trees in half. “Have I not suffered enough?!”

I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans, that's my man

A small voice echoes in the wake of your anguish, “What about me?” Din asks through the vocoder and catches you so off guard that your sabers come soaring into the sky and disengage with a snap of your fingers before returning to your hands. The valley beneath you is nothing but ruin. How appropriate. “Have I not suffered enough, Sarad?” A pause before his trembling hands at his sides clench themselves into fists. Your eyes follow the defeat in his body language until your eyes are high enough that if the helmet were not on, you’d be looking directly into his own. “Have I not paid enough?” Din crosses the gap between you and lightly taps the beskar’gam. “Have I... have I not lost enough?!”

It’s not like him to yell. Not at you. Not around you.

Was the price not high enough? What else can they take from me?

Your lips quiver as you eye the man in front of you. Without uttering another word - and in spite of the tears that fall freely down your face - your gaze never tears away from his own as you remove his glove and link each finger, one by one, until your hands are linked.

Then you lift them to your lips, unlike your fingers, and kiss each fingertip.

“You haven’t lost me.” Din wraps an arm around your waist to gently pull you into his hold, fingers curling around your hips as he peers at you through the visor. You can’t see his eyes, but you imagine there’s tears reflecting in them.

“I will. I lose everybody. That’s why I’m lone wolf, that’s why until I met you... I was always alone.” He laughs bitterly. “A Mandalorian and his ghosts. What a pair we make.”

You wonder if Din’s ghosts are anything like your own, wearing the faces of the people who’d left you. Who'd sacrificed themselves for you.

Life is a willow and it bent right to your wind...

You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as he exhales shakily and rests his forehead against your own. Fennec and Boba are waiting for the two of you in Slave One, but they’re not in a rush. You have work to do in order to rescue your son from Moff’s Cruiser.

As much as you hate it, the rescue of your child can wait for a moment if it means you can comfort Din. If Din can get to be human and grieve. He needs this moment so you can reassure him that no matter what The Empire - or the remnants of it - tries to take from him, you refuse to be a victim of it. You refuse to break.

You won’t give them that satisfaction.

“You won’t.” You promise. “I belong to you. I am imprinted on you, Din. Heart,” You take one hand and press it against your chest, spreading his fingers over the pounding of your heart as you take your other hand to curl your fingers around the bottom of his helmet. You won’t lift it though. Not until he gives you permission. “Body, soul.”

Those words ring in his mind as he takes his helmet off and allows it to clatter against the ground. The seeing stone looms behind him as his focus shifts away from that which has been taken from him, and that which is in front of him.

You.

“We’re going to get him back.” You murmur against the shell of his ear as, for that sole moment, he allows himself a luxury he is so often denied. “We are going to bring our son home.”

Din’s face falls to your shoulder and he hides himself away from the world there. For that sole moment, he allows himself to be... human.

What a luxury that a galaxy this one cannot afford him. What a luxury.

Life is a willow and it bent right to your wind...

#Din Djarin #Din Djarin x Reader #The Mandalorian #The Mandalorian x Reader #Star Wars imagines #Star Wars oneshots

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taetaespeaches · 4 years

Text

“Please forgive me if I end up breaking your heart.”

jimin x reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 3.2K

a/n: I hope this isn’t too much of a mess :( as I was editing I ended up changing things and adding a bunch so I’m not sure if it flows all that well but nonetheless, here it is. This takes place a week after Jimin and Dear define their relationship in “I think we should avoid overthinking.” I hope you all enjoy and thank you for reading! :))

p.s. Happy Jimin Day! I love this sweet, one of a kind man so much!! I hope he had an amazing birthday <3

p.s.s. Happy birthday @thatredwine!!! <3 Jimin’s birthday twin :( thank you so much for all of the support you give me and my writing. It’s unreal and I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you found this blog. I love having you here and I just adore you. 28 is going to look amazing on you. I hope you enjoy this drabble, it’s for you <3 (it also features a bit of Joon bc you deserve it)

WITH his hand encasing yours, fingers intertwined, he dragged you through the hallway, you giggling as you he told you to hurry up.

“We have about thirty minutes, maybe more,” he told you, turning the corner, Namjoon’s studio door in sight. “Gotta hustle, Dear.”

“You’re gonna yank my arm out of its socket,” you joked, Jimin scoffing as he looked back at you with a fond smile.

“So dramatic,” he teased as he pulled you against his chest, wrapping his arms around your body and leading you backwards toward Namjoon’s studio, your hands enclosing over his slim waist as you giggled. “Remind me to get you a crown.”

“Huh?” You asked in confusion, Jimin smirking.

Suddenly, he halted, his arm leaving your body momentarily to knock on the door. “Drama queen,” he told you simply, you huffing as you rolled your eyes, Jimin letting out a light chuckle.

Knocking on the door again, Jimin’s eyes pulled together in question. You both waited in silence for a moment, hearing no “come in” or “one second”; just complete silence, which would have been fairly normal for Yoongi’s studio, but not Namjoon’s. Jimin knocked again, you both waiting for a response, still receiving none.

“Should we just walk in?” He asked, you shrugging against him. Waiting a couple more seconds, Jimin tried the knob, and when it turned, he shrugged and pulled the door open, turning his back to it as he walked backward into it, you peering over your boyfriend’s shoulder to spot Namjoon’s new but very close friend shaking out her hair as Namjoon straightened his posture in his chair, spinning around to look at his intruders.

“Oh?” You said in surprise, Jimin quickly letting you go as he turned around in suspicion.

“Oh, sorry,” your boyfriend immediately said, both of you staring awkwardly at Namjoon as he sat in his chair, his hair slightly disheveled as his friend stood beside him, her hand on her hip as if to look nonchalant. “I didn’t know you were here, my bad,” Jimin explained, the girl shaking her head as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“What are you two up to?” She asked, trying to act normal, despite you and Jimin nearly catching them in a… compromising position, despite the duo’s claim to be ‘just friends’.

“Ah, not much, I just finished recording for a bit,” he told the girl. “We’re actually just heading to do the thing I told you about,” Jimin said, directing his comment to Namjoon, the man’s eyes widening as Jimin spoke. “So I just thought I’d let someone know in case they need me sooner than they expected,” he explained to Namjoon, the older man clearing his throat as he nodded.

“Oh, yeah, cool,” Namjoon continued to nod, his friend holding back a smile. “Have fun,” Namjoon added, smirking as he caught the girl fighting her amusement.

“Yeah,” Jimin said, grabbing your hand. “You too,” your boyfriend noted with a teasing tone, Namjoon snorting as his friend slapped his arm. Leading you out of the room, Jimin chuckled to himself, you following along with an amused smile of your own.

Shutting the door behind you both, you and Jimin looked to each other with knowing expressions. “They’re just friends,” you told Jimin innocently, the man throwing his head back in laughter, falling against you adorably.

“Ahh,” he yelled out, pushing you down the hallway, “so awkward,” he did a little wiggle to physically express his discomfort at catching them as they were up to something.

“Oh shush,” you giggled, “they’re cute. And they’re taking things at their own pace, which we know all about, now don’t we,” you told your boyfriend, the man smiling as he nodded.

“Points,” he noted, you scrunching your nose at him. “Now come on, we got places to be,” he told you, you giggling as he led you to god knows where. Reaching the elevator, you gave him a skeptical look. “Just trust me,” he giggled. “Close your eyes.”

With a bit of hesitance, which was just to tease him, you shut them, allowing him to press the floor number without you watching. Stepping behind you, he placed his hands over your eyes to shield your vision from his pending surprise.

“Where the hell are we going?” You asked through your massive grin, Jimin pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

“Patience,” he whispered into your hair.

“I have none,” you added, Jimin giggling as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

When the elevator dinged, the door opening, he gently guided you out, you both taking a few steps forward before stopping. “Ok,” he breathed out. “We’re nearly there.” Spinning your bodies 180 degrees, he continued covering your eyes. “Any guesses?”

“I literally have no clue,” you admitted, just as Jimin’s giggles intermingled with the sounds of a door opening, street noises soon joining the mix. Hit with a rush of cool air, you gasped. “Oh my god, are we on the roof?”

Uncovering your eyes, Jimin stepped back from you as you turned around to see him standing with his arms open, the Seoul city lights shining behind him. “Surprise,” he told you softly, you shaking your head in disbelief.

“Jimin,” you cooed. “This is so cool, oh my god.” Looking around in surprise, you wondered why you had never been up there before. “Wait, I didn’t even know there was access to the roof, since when is this allowed?”

Letting out a light chuckle, he reached out for you, pulling you into him as he held you in a hug, your arms easily wrapping around his waist. “Honestly, I don’t know if it is allowed, which is why I had to tell Namjoon where we are so he can tell me if I’m needed. That way we can hurry down without getting caught,” he chuckled, you pulling away to shoot him a look of shock.

“You’re so bad,” you smiled as you teased him. “Sweet, and unbelievably amazing, but so bad.”

“Thank you,” he smirked. “Come here,” he told you, grabbing your hand and leading you further into the space, allowing you to see the little picnic basket, which you immediately recognized at Jin’s.

“Chim, oh my god, what have you done?” You asked, the man laughing in amusement by your surprise.

“We’ve been a couple for a week now, and I haven’t had time to take you out on a proper date yet,” he told you, turning to look at you. “So I thought maybe this would be a decent alternative until I can take you out.”

With the moonlight and the Seoul skyline reflecting off his face, you were able to make out his bashful expression, his nervousness etched into his pretty features. Driven by pure love and appreciation, you wasted no time in placing your hand to the side of his face, pressing your lips to his as you kissed him passionately.

Since deciding to take the step from friends to lovers, there had been a lot of kissing between the two of you, but this one felt different as you tried to pour every ounce of love and admiration and gratitude you’d developed for him, not just in that moment but over the course of your entire time knowing the man.

No man had ever respected you and cared for you the way Jimin did, and you found it easy to open up to him, which was rare for you. You’d been in love with him for so long, you forgot what it felt like to not love Jimin. And that’s what you wanted to tell him with the kiss.

You were afraid that words would never be enough. Or that you wouldn’t be able to speak the words as you meant them.

Pulling away just slightly, you pecked his lips once more before whispering, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express to you how much I love you, and I’m sorry for that.” Tears began forming in your eyes as you spoke. “But please know, you’ve changed me and my life, and I couldn’t be more grateful for you and your existence.”

Jimin let out a breath of air, as if he had been holding it in, scared of missing a single syllable of your confession. “I-“ he started, searching his overwhelmed mind for the right words. “This really isn’t much, Dear,” he downplayed the thought he put into the evening.

“It’s everything, Chim,” you assured him. “Thank you.”

“I love you,” he told you before kissing you repeatedly, you giggling at the action, the kiss becoming perfectly messy, riddled with laughter and smiles. Pulling you against his frame, he hugged you close and tightly, you exhaling into the embrace as you melted in your boyfriend’s arms. “Do you want to see what I brought?” He whispered in your ear, alluding to the picnic basket.

Pulling away from him to look at his face, you nodded. With a stunning smile, he turned away from you, releasing you from his hold as he crouched down next to the basket. Pulling out a bottle of wine, he gracefully used his other hand to model it, you gasping in appreciation.

“Is there even food in there or is it just wine,” you teased, Jimin giggling as he pulled out some insulated lunch boxes. “Wow, my boyfriend, everyone,” you noted, looking around at the city. “Incredible.”

“Jin helped me,” he exposed himself, you giggling as Jimin set the food and wine down. “I did however forget wine glasses, because I’m an idiot,” he told you as he pulled out a pair of plastic cups. “So I stole these from Yoongi’s studio.”

“Resourceful,” you complimented with a grin. “That’s sexy.” With a snort, he put the cups down, grabbing his phone and connecting it to a Bluetooth speaker before starting some music. “You really did plan everything out,” you appreciated, Jimin smiling shyly as he worked on uncorking the wine.

The song that echoed across the rooftop, fading into the night sky, was ‘Sweet’ by Cigarettes After Sex. As you swayed to the song, Jimin pouring the wine into the disposable cups, your eyes were set on him. Looking up at you, he smiled before standing, holding out one of the cups to you.

You know that I’m obsessed with your body

But it’s the way you smile that does it for me.

Jimin’s smile. There really was nothing quite like it in the world. You were obsessed with it; especially when it was directed to you, his expression full of love.

Taking the cup from him, you tapped it against his own. “To us,” you spoke softly, Jimin’s smile only widening, his eyes turning to crescents.

“To us, Dear.” Both of you took a drink of the wine, the swallows a bit larger than what most people would take. And as soon as the slightly bitter liquid slid down your throats, Jimin’s arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his body as he swayed with you.

“I still can’t believe you did all of this,” you told him, Jimin’s gaze scanning over your face thoughtfully.

Cocking his head to the side, he pulled his eyebrows together slightly. “Of course I did this for you,” he told you sincerely. “I want to do more for you. I want to give you everything.”

“You love me in a way that no one ever has,” you whispered. “With my dad,” you started, Jimin nodding in understanding, making it so you didn’t have to elaborate on your father’s absence in your life since you were young. “And my dating history,” you added, your boyfriend’s hand sliding from your lower back to your side, squeezing comfortingly. “It’s hard for me to feel worthy of you sometimes.” The admission had him shaking his head slowly at you.

“You’re worth more than what I can give you,” he assured you while also revealing one of his own insecurities. “But thank you for allowing me to try to love you the way you deserve.”

“Jimin,” you started, your boyfriend talking over you.

“I’m always going to be trying,” he told you firmly. “I promise.”

“I wouldn’t ask you for more, Chim,” you assured him. “What you can give me is more than enough. Never doubt that.”

Leaning toward you, Jimin caught your lips with his own, kissing you passionately, expressing unspoken promises into the action. You knew Jimin was very much in love with you, and though you loved him just as deeply and devotedly, you were still learning to trust yourself with someone as generous and sensitive as your lover.

Resting his forehead against your own, your hand met the side of his face as you cradled his soft cheek. “Jimin,” you breathed out shakily. “Please forgive me if I end up breaking your heart.”

You weren’t sure where the words came from. Perhaps it was the song’s bridge, repeating the lyric, “And I will gladly break it, I will gladly break my heart for you,” and your knowledge that Jimin would do just that for you. Or perhaps it was your internalized belief that you could never treat someone like Jimin the way they deserved to be treated. You didn’t mean to speak the words, but you realized how truly you felt them. If you broke his heart, you wouldn’t just lose a boyfriend, you’d lose your best friend. Your favorite person. Your soulmate. And it would be all your fault.

“Hey,” he interrupted your thoughts, placing a sweet peck to you lips to bring your attention to him. “You won’t break my heart.” Before you could protest, he shook his head. “No, I trust you, Dear.”

You hoped he was right.

Nodding, he smiled comfortingly at you. “I love you,” he told you for the second time that night, your lips curving into a small smile that you just couldn’t hold back.

“I love you, Chim.” The phrase had been exchanged frequently between you both but you didn’t think you’d ever tire of hearing them, or saying them.

As the song faded out, the next one starting, you rested your head against his shoulder, nuzzling your nose against his neck in a way that made him squirm from being ticklish.

In that moment, the man who owned your heart blissfully happy, you could see the accumulating moments throughout your friendship that led you to this rooftop with him. It was as if it was playing back in your mind like a movie montage on one of those old film reels…

Your first meeting with Jimin on that October night, his birthday, his smile as bright as the street lamps and neon signs shining in the night sky; the time he brought you body wash, handing it to you as you showered, you splashing his face with water, teasing him about sneaking a peak at your naked frame; the countless times he had brought takeout and wine to your apartment after work asking you all about your day as you both downed the bottle, becoming increasingly touchier the more the alcohol influenced your actions; the night you first told him about your childhood, opening up about the absence that had impacted you throughout your life; dancing with him in the studio a few weeks prior, nearly kissing him for the first time before Taehyung barged in cluelessly, asking if you wanted to go get pancakes at 11 pm; and the night you and Jimin finally crossed the line of friendship, just a week ago after two years of holding back, hands feeling every morsel of flesh as you tried to grasp onto the reality of the moment, feeling rushes of excitement and relief, Jimin’s stunning features glowing in the low light of your bedroom as his darkened eyes focused on you and only you.

With the past two years of experiences with this man running through your head, you realized that maybe you didn’t completely trust yourself with loving him quite yet, but it was Jimin. And as much as no one had ever loved you like Jimin did, you also had never loved anyone like you did Jimin.

Placing your trust in the universe that led you into one another’s arms, and more importantly, in Jimin, and his unwavering faith in you, you realized that was enough. This moment, him, it was all enough. Relaxing in his arms, you kissed the side of his neck tenderly.

“I think you’re the end of all my endings,” you whispered, Jimin smiling as he soothed his hand overtop your hip.

“I know I am,” he said simply, you giggling at his surety as he lifted his cup to his lips. Downing the wine in a few gulps, he nodded to you, you smiling before doing the same. Taking the cup from you, he dropped them to the ground, grabbing your hand to pull you against him, leading you in a proper dance as he hummed along with the melody of a song you didn’t recognize.

Soaking in the moonlight, every touch Jimin placed upon your body felt like home while simultaneously sending a rush throughout your frame. Spinning you under his arm, you threw your head back in laughter at nothing but the bliss that came with being with Jimin in this way. Carefree and in love. So fucking in love.

Draping your hands over his shoulders, his find your waist, you sighed contently. “Thank you for always believing in me,” you sincerely expressed your gratitude for the man. His gaze was kind as he watched you carefully. “You help me see the good in myself.”

Jimin’s soft eyes scanned your features, a smile forming on his pretty lips. “I won’t stop until you see what I see,” he told you with a grin. “And even then, I won’t stop.” You giggled at the comment, Jimin pressing his lips to your cheek. “Do you think there’s another us somewhere in the world?” He asked thoughtfully, his orbs staring into yours.

Lightly chewing on your bottom lip, you hummed. “No,” you answered simply, watching as the smile on your boyfriend’s lips widened, his eyes crinkling. “Maybe that’s naïve,” you shrugged, “but I don’t think there’s anyone else on the entire planet quite like you,” you told him. “And I think we’re special.”

“I agree with that last statement,” he nodded cutely. Giggling at his adorableness, you pulled him into another kiss, the man easily falling into step with your lead, arms wrapping fully around your waist as he pulled you flush with his own stature.

With the music humming in the backdrop of the chilly night air, you basked in the rareness of your union, your lips moving against his own. It was that moment that you vowed to always fight for Jimin. Fight for your us. You promised yourself and you promised the man, though he was unaware of it, that you would battle anything that tried to come between you both. Even if it was your own mind. You wouldn’t let him slip away.

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accioxreparo · 4 years

Text

baby fever | g.w.

part one // baby fever

synopsis: It came out of nowhere for both you and George. Maybe, just maybe, it might be something to consider

pairing: George Weasley x reader

warnings: none

a/n: Hi so this popped into my head and I had to get it out there cause it’s cute and sure maybe its a little self indulgent cause my cousin just had a baby and she’s adorable and here I am lol. This part is a little shorter but the next one is...well let’s just say it’s definitely longer. Also there may or may not be nine planned parts to this hc/fic hybrid series so...

tagging note: I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea and just to be safe I was thinking of making a separate tag list for this so hmu if you want to be added!

~~~~~~

It wasn’t fair really. You never stood a chance.

Teddy, your godson, had just turned a year old and it seemed like he was growing more and more every day. He had such a bubbly personality and despite the fact that he reminded you so much of his parents, ones who had felt so much like your own, he never failed to bring a smile to your face

Two afternoons a week you’d go straight from work to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes where George was more often than not carrying Teddy, who would always be wearing a tiny little suit that perfectly complimented his, in a baby carrier strapped across his chest. Whenever you mentioned the fact that Teddy was close to walking by himself now he only smiled and gave you a shrug, “He walks too slow.”

You knew, though. Knew that he enjoyed the days you two had Teddy more than anything. The fact that he was growing right before your eyes made him want to hold on as much as possible.

That day was different. It felt different from the moment you woke up early in the morning to find George with Teddy (who Harry had just dropped off) hoisted up on his shoulders, talking to him as if he could understand him while making breakfast.

“Alright Ted, here’s our to do list. We have a new shipment coming in today with the materials we need for the skiving snackboxes. Just in time too, everyone’s gonna start shopping for school soon. We need to get on it if we want to have these done by July. - What was that? - No you cannot try these candies. Not yet anyway.”

The sight has you beaming at them and stirs something inside you that you can’t quite pinpoint. You don’t even say anything until Teddy sees you and babbles while reaching for you. Then George is the one who smiles as you take Teddy from him, his hair turning bubblegum pink as you toss him in the air once before hugging him tightly

You think about that scene in the kitchen all day long. Every now and then you find yourself grinning and it’s only intensified when you’re sent to help out in the Infant and Children Wing of St. Mungo’s. The kids make you smile and you can’t help the lingering thought that you can’t wait to have one of your own.

It surprises you. You’d thought about it, even talked about it with George before you got married but until then it’d sort of been put on the back burner. Still, the thought stays very much present in your head all day long.

Then you’re sent to the Ministry to drop off some paperwork and that’s when you run into Bill. He looks quite flustered as he holds little three month old Victoire in his arms with a backpack thrown over his shoulder. When he sees you he shouts your name across the Atrium, catching the attention of several people. “I went to find you at work and they said you’d be here. You wouldn’t be able to do me a huge favor would you?”

For a moment you pay no attention to his words, simply cooing at Victoire who’s wide awake and giving you a toothless smile. “That depends, what is it?” You finally answer, happily taking Victoire from and smiling when she giggles as you gently rock her back and forth.

“That actually,” Bill says as he drops the bag to the floor and sighs heavily. “There’s this ministry gala today that I totally forgot about that Fleur and I have to go to. I’d take Vic to mums but her and dad also have to go and you know how picky she is about everyone else. Adores you and George, though. You wouldn’t mind taking her would you?”

Your answer is immediate “Not at all. Me and George have Teddy today too. I’m sure they’ll love seeing each other again.”

Bill looks relieved and he hands you the bag, “Perfect! We’ll be at yours later tonight then.” He says a quick goodbye to Victoire and hugs you before starting to walk away, shouting another quick thanks behind him as he disappears down the Atrium once more.

When you step out of the floo and into your apartment you almost immediately feel a small pair of arms wrapping around your legs

“Why hello there, love,” You smile and kneel down on the floor, pressing a kiss to Teddy’s forehead. He peers into the bundle of blankets holding Victoire and his hair turns a variety of colors before settling on pink once again. “Look who came to visit.”

You don’t fail to notice how easily everything comes to you. It’s completely naturally that you and George move around your house together over the next few hours, chasing after Teddy, entertaining Victoire, making dinner together as the kids sit nearby.

You quickly fall in love with both the sight and the feeling

You’re not too sure what time it is when Teddy finally falls asleep on the couch and you carry him to the room. Once he’s settled you head back to the living room to find George rocking Victoire to sleep while Bill digs through your kitchen and Fleur makes herself comfortable on one of the couches.

When she sees you she motions you over and you take a set next to her. Her head falls onto your shoulder and you laugh a little. “Long day, huh?” “The longest.” She lazily motions over to where Vic is almost fast asleep and she shakes her head. “She never falls asleep that easily. George is a natural,” Fleur then turns to look at you and gives a sly smirk. “I hear you both are.”

You smile and look down at your lap, suddenly finding your wedding ring very fascinating. “I guess so.” You honestly have no idea how she does it but Fleur knows exactly what you’re thinking. “You’re debating it, aren’t you?” She sits up and turns to face you, leaning close in an attempt to keep your conversation private from your respective husbands. “Having a baby.”

You shrug and try to wave her off. “Probably just baby fever or something.”

“It’s okay, you know,” Fleur sets her hand on your arm and you see the genuine, caring smile on her face. It comforts you, makes you really believe that maybe you are ready for a baby. “If being a mom is what you want then I know you of all people would be an amazing one.”

“You think so?” You find yourself asking as your eyes wander back to George who smiles at you when he finds you looking. Fleur nods as soon as the words leave your mouth. “I know so.”

It’s then that you decide that maybe it is time to have a very important conversation with George. You only hope it goes as well as you find yourself wanting it to.

>>> part two: the Talk

#hp fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter headcanon #george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #my fics

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captain-emmajones · 3 years

Text

everything is icy and blue (you would be here too)

Dearest @klynn-stormz, Merry Christmas! It has been so lovely to get to know you during this past month. I hope you’ll enjoy this gift I wrote for you, and here’s to hoping we’ll get to know each other more during this new year!

A big thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this event, to @therealstartraveller776 for being the loveliest beta and to @carpedzem for screaming at me -- always.

Summary: Canon divergence in which season 3B happens during Christmas time. Set after 3x16 and before 3x17 (let’s pretend more time passed between Neal’s death and Hook’s curse).

When Hook has to adjust to Storybrooke’s Christmas traditions and learns about mistletoe, he starts carrying it around with him, all the time -- just in case Emma decides to join in the fun that was promised and kiss him. Except it doesn’t exactly go according to his plans.

6OOO words - Fluff - Angst - Ao3

The sun is long gone when Hook and Henry finally sail back home. The stars and the moon have invaded the night sky, twinkling peacefully above their heads.

Hook exhales a sigh of contentment, twirls of white smoke dancing out of his lips.

“Quite chilly, isn’t it, lad?”

Henry stands before him, spyglass firmly pressed against his right eye. It seems to take him a few seconds to register that Hook has been talking to him.

“What?...No! I’m not even cold!”

A quiet laughter jolts out of Hook’s mouth. Of course he isn’t cold. The lad has been looking mesmerized ever since they left port. It is a miracle he still knows his name.

A mechanical swing of the wheel, cold fingers against cold metal -- and not warm wood, not like the Jolly -- and the small boat Hook has ‘burrowed’ slides gracefully into port.

“Almost there, lad.”

If Henry hears him speak, nothing in his demeanor gives it away. Hook’s heart smiles as something warm swells inside his chest.

The sailor has to admit that Storybrooke’s docks in this late winter afternoon have proven to be a sight for sore eyes. They seem forever entrapped in shimmering clouds of misty darkness, the pavement glistening under unusually bright street lights.

Hook frowns.

“Tell me something lad, why are those street lights this colorful?”

His question causes Henry to finally give up on the spyglass. He clicks it shut, and abandons the front of the boat to reach him.

“Christmas lights. Why do you ask?”

Although Hook has very little idea what this Christmas thing is, he gathers from Henry’s matter-of-fact tone that it is on the list of things he shouldn’t be talking about with the boy if he doesn’t want Emma to kill him.

“Oh, just like that, lad. My vision must not be what it used to, because I couldn’t make them out properly.”

Emma’s cheeks are flushed and her nose stained with red when Hook and Henry finally reach her. Her slim body appears tense under the quivering lights of the docks, and there is not an inch of her skin showing.

“Everything alright?” she asks, voice hoarse from the cold.

Her head is buried beneath what she calls “a beanie”. It is also red, and it is positively the most wonderful vision Hook’s had the pleasure of gazing at in weeks.

“I think so, Swan. The lad is quite fond of the sea. Isn’t that right, Henry?”

Henry is polite enough to look up from the video game he was already engrossed in to nod vigorously.

“Yeah, it was so much fun. Thank you for taking me, Killian.” Henry dedicates a smile to Hook, to which the pirate answers back: “T’was my pleasure, lad.”

The boy then shifts his attention to his mother. “Can I go wait in the car?” he asks.

Hook watches as Emma pretends to think, for one minute -- eyes rolling and underlip tucked between her teeth -- before she drops the car keys into his hand.

“Thanks, Mom. Bye, Killian!” Four words and the boy disappears as a gust of cold wind curls around the two warm bodies still outside.

Emma scoffs a little as her eyes linger on her son settling himself comfortably in the yellow bug parked a few feet away and raises her eyes to gaze at Hook.

The immediate effect it has on his heart rate is truly ridiculous, and Hook cannot hold back his smile.

“Thank you for taking him,” she mutters quickly, scrunching her nose -- and her words seem to burn her lips.

Hook sees himself lean into her space, smirking.

“Why, you’re most welcome, Swan.”

He watches as her eyes widen and scrutinize him before a slow, timid smile curls up her lips.

Behind her back, the waves crash tenderly against the harbour, claiming it as home.

It’s always a sight for sore eyes, Emma Swan smiling at him, and Hook counts his blessings.

“Oh, by the way, tell me something, Swan,” and as he speaks he leans into her space even more, bending forward as if Henry might hear them.

Emma’s eyes grow wider, but she does not back away.

It isn’t necessary, of course, and it isn’t like Henry is paying any attention to two of them anyway but neither Hook nor Emma seem willing to take that into account.

“Yeah?”

Her breathy tone and bright eyes cause Hook’s heart to leap inside his chest. As he squeezes his belt between his fingers to gain some composure, Hook gathers enough courage to incline his body towards hers even more, lips dangerously close to Emma’s face.

“The lad mentioned a Christmas celebration, and I’m afraid I haven’t been updated on this subject.”

Hook catches a whiff of Emma’s fragrance as he backs away to gaze into her eyes, cinnamon and vanilla invading his lungs, and he has the pleasure of seeing her face crease into a wider smile.

“Christmas, uh? Don’t worry, I’ll make you flashcards.”

“I don't know what that is but sure.”

By the time he finishes his sentence, Emma’s grin is dazzling and Hook begins considering freezing this moment forever in time and possibly angling his face just right so that he might meet her lips, perhaps, just perhaps --

“It’s a holiday from our world. It’s supposed to be religious, but for most people it’s mostly an occasion to exchange gifts and kiss under the mistletoe--”

“-- kiss under the what?”

And Hook sees the bubble burst, just like that. A veil falls over her gaze and her smile dies away in a frown.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” Even as she talks, her legs take a step backward, and Hook can only watch as this invisible tether between them seems to stretch and stretch.

He wonders if she feels it too, this suffocating feeling as she pulls away. The answer is cruel: surely not, or she wouldn’t be pulling that way.

“I see. Well, goodnight, Swan.”

Although she’s just begun walking away, Hook knows Emma is long gone when she whispers back: “‘Night, Hook.”

Since Emma doesn’t seem willing to share anything with him these days, Hook settles his mind on learning more about this world’s tradition on his own -- which ends up being quite easy, as he fumbles through Storybrooke’s library.

The Wicked Witch hasn’t shown up in two weeks now — since Neal died — which allows Hook to take some liberties with his time schedule.

“Do you need any help?”

Hook startles and turns around to face two, big blue eyes.

“Belle,” he says, but it sounds a lot like a reproach. Belle’s clearly understood it because she is frowning now.

“I saw you all alone with your books in the Christmas section and I figured you might need help to understand this world’s traditions,” she explains but any warmth has definitely escaped her tone.

Guilt immediately circles Hook’s throat, and he is gentler when he says: “No, I’m fine lass but... thank you for offering.”

Belle simply nods as a faint smile flickers across her face. And Hook thinks guilt is quite a vile thing because it pushes him to give up on the book in his hand Christmas Traditions to Brighten your Holidays-- silly, silly title -- and press his palm across the brunette’s shoulder.

“Actually, you might be able to enlighten me on something…”

A wink, and the right corner of Belle’s lip raises slightly.

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Swan mentioned a kissing tradition that involved toes of some sort?”

She’s frowning now, and it cannot possibly be good.

“What?” Her hands meet her hips as she furrows her brows harder. “Oh you mean mistletoe!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said.”

Hook watches as Belle’s grin becomes impish. “I’m not sure Emma would like me telling you this,” she begins, coy.

“Which is exactly why I want you to tell me.”

Belle shrugs, glances down for a bit. “Well, I guess there’s no harm…”

“So you mean to tell me if this plant hangs over two people, they have to kiss?”

Hook’s startled blue eyes are quite a comic sight, Belle must confess. Surprised glimmers glisten amidst tender blue; he looks younger.

“Yes, that's what I mean.”

But Belle knows Hook’s cheerful smile is merely a facade. A few minutes ago, he seemed so...lonely, when she entered the library, nose buried in his book, and Belle figures it isn’t quite fair that he ends up having to learn it all -- on his own.

No one deserves to be left alone. Especially not during the holidays.

“And what does it look like?”

Belle gives a little chuckle. “Why? You want to use it?”

Hook’s answer comes out as a matter of fact. “Aye.”

And he looks so boyish, with this Christmas book in his hand and this hope hovering his eyes that Belle cannot help but smile frankly.

“I’m not sure Emma will fall for that.”

“Never try never know, lass.”

Belle sighs, scanning the shelves of books. Her eyes settle on one that she flips through rapidly.

“There,” she points with her finger, “this plant with the green leaves and red berries? It’s mistletoe.”

Hook peers above her shoulder. “Thank you, lady Belle.”

In a wink, the pirate has disappeared out of the library and Belle scoffs— amused, in spite of herself. He won’t be stopped, will he?

Hook and Henry are playing dice at Granny’s when he figures he might as well just ask the boy for more information.

“I’ve got a question, mate,” he begins, uncertain as to how to address the subject without sounding suspicious to those teenage ears.

Thankfully, Henry’s little concerned about Hook as he shoves French fries into his mouth.

“Yeah?”

Hook tries not to look horrified as one French fry tries to escape and Henry tucks it in expertly with one greasy finger.

“Where do you think I could find mistletoe in this town?”

That does make Henry stop for one tiny second, eyes open wide and eyebrows raised.

“Mistletoe? Why?”

Hook clears his throat, looks down at his fingers stretched on the table and lies: “Mary Margaret sent me.”

From the look on Henry’s face, he isn’t convinced. Smart boy.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve been living in this town very long. You should ask my mom about it.”

Hook frowns. “Nah, let’s not bother her with this when she’s already busy with her...how does she say it…?”

Henry’s eyebrows reach unprecedented height. “...Case?”

“Aye. That.” Why would Swan bother with cases, that Hook doesn’t bloody know -- but it’s part of the things he doesn’t question.

If there’s one thing Hook’s learnt over the years, it is that if one wants something badly enough, it always ends up in one’s lap. However, the tricky thing is it rarely lands softly or in an expected way.

As Emma and he investigate the west side of the forest looking for the Wicked Witch, he quite literally stumbles onto mistletoe.

As things turn out, it is quite a painful venture and it involves gazing for a bit too long at Emma who is a little far behind and not long enough at the vicious root right under his feet -- not that Hook truly thinks he is to blame -- and plummeting to the floor, head first, leading up to Emma falling on top of him in a colorful “HOOK”.

Hook groans at the impact but he isn’t about to complain -- Emma falling on top of him might be the only way she’ll fall for him these days.

Emma, on the other hand, isn’t so pleased.

“What the hell? Can’t you look where you’re going?” she hisses as fiery green eyes pierce through his soul from under golden strands of hair.

“I didn’t bloody mean to do that!”

Hook wishes he didn’t sound like a ten-year-old boy, but that’s what it’s come to these days with Emma.

Emma grunts some more before rolling onto her side and kneeling to spring to her feet.

“You’re impossible”, she mumbles, and it sounds a lot like she might just kill him as she taps snow off her knees. “Tripping in the snow as if the Wicked Witch couldn’t kill us both on sight…”

Hook keeps his lips resolutely closed. When Swan starts rambling about him, he knows better than to interfere and possibly worsen the situation.

She’s still dusting snow off her jeans when suddenly, she stops. And stares at him.

Hook’s toes curl in his boots. “What?”

Emma scowls and he thinks she’s hesitating. “You’ve got...” she starts and then seems to catch herself up and stops.

Hook is about to ask what he’s got, but then Emma’s walking towards him, her hand raised up, and before he knows it her fingers have landed into his hair.

“Don’t move…” she whispers. Hook stands very still, feeling a blush creep up his skin, eyes lowering slowly not to stare.

From his height, he is able to see the slight freckles dusted over her small nose, and her pink lips and, -- perhaps he ought to look at the ground.

Emma’s face remains blank as she rummages through his hair, gentle fingers sieving through it, but a hint of red does stain her cheeks. When she retreats, the glimmer of a smile lingers on her lips.

“You had mistletoe in your hair,” she finally explains, with that quiet, abashed tone that’s only too rare.

Hook swallows down, heart drumming. “Thank you for the assistance, Swan.”

But then she’s quick to avert her gaze and Hook knows the spell has been broken as the small sprig of mistletoe lands onto the snow-coated ground in a faint whisper,

“Come on, let’s go. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

Hook lets her stride forward, making sure she isn’t looking at him before stooping down and picking up the small plant to slide it into his coat. He promises himself to come back for more. We’re not about to waist treasures, now, are we...

Hook is a subtle man, but he is aware that he cannot rightly expect Granny to be okay with him sticking mistletoe onto the window above Emma’s booth without asking first.

So he does.

“Why isn’t there mistletoe here? Isn’t it a Christmas tradition?” He begins, the picture of innocence, as he twirls a spoon into his cup of tea.

Granny sees right through him. “Very cute of you to be concerned about our traditions, Hook,” she mumbles, piling up plates onto a drying rack.

He nods, smiles even. “Fortunate are we that I’ve already stocked up on it.”

Granny’s eyes pierce through his soul. “How fortunate indeed.”

She lets him, of course. Not that Hook had any doubt.

When Emma strolls down the B&B’s stairs to go claim her daily hot cocoa and bear claw, Henry still caught up in a teenage coma, she does think Hook looks especially weird -- staring at her with a glint in his eyes that she can only coin as mischief.

“What are you up to?” she mumbles on sliding into her booth.

Hook says nothing but leaves his spot next to Granny at the bar to come and sit down in front of her. Emma doesn’t have it in herself to complain -- it’s too early for that and it’s not like it would make him go away anyway.

“Nothing, Swan. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asks, pointing towards the window pane.

Emma tilts her face to gaze through the window. She distinguishes a sky heavy with grey clouds of snow and looks back at him with a puzzled frown in her eyes. He is being suspicious. She squints.

“Is that grey sky the reason you’re so cheery?” she asks, and then dives into the hot cocoa Granny just dropped in front of her.

At least, hot cocoa is still sweet and perfect and doesn’t disappoint her.

“Can you blame me for being happy to see you?”

Emma nearly chokes on her beverage but she catches herself soon enough. Instead, she furrows her brows and proceeds to ignore as well as she can the stubborn leap of her heart.

“You’re never that happy to see me,” she retorts, smothering a smile, and then drinks up another mouthful of hot cocoa.

Why is she encouraging him?

“Allow me to disagree, Swan. Plus, look up: there is a wonderful opportunity to make me happier.”

“Why would I want to make you hap-?” she begins, but then she discovers what he’s pointed at with his hook and the end of her sentence vanishes from her mind.

It takes a lot of willpower not to burst into laughter or stab him in the face with her little spoon -- which one she hasn’t made up her mind on just yet -- and instead plaster the blankest expression she can conjure on her face....

...which is in that case a silly, silly smile.

“You’re really desperate if you think mistletoe is what it’s going to take for me to kiss you,” she retorts, and she really hopes the heat she feels blooming on her face isn’t showing up.

From the look on Hook’s face, however, it is definitely showing. Emma wants to rip that stupid, smug smirk off his face.

“Can you blame me for trying?”

This time she cannot hold back the chuckle that’s bubbling inside her throat as she shakes her head. Idiot. Her cheeks hurt.

“No, of course not, if you don’t expect to succeed.”

And he smiles that smile, that “that’s when the fun begins” smile and stands up.

“We’ll see to that, Swan.”

And when Granny asks her “So, mistletoe, uh?” Emma figures the grin spreading across her face isn’t her best poker face and she pretends to be exceptionally thirsty for hot cocoa -- mostly to distract Granny’s from the flush on her cheeks.

Hook is meticulous in his endeavours, and has the sense of details, Emma will give him that.

She slowly finds out that the whole town suddenly is brimming with mistletoe. Mistletoe in the B&B’s corridor, mistletoe in the laundromat room, mistletoe in the library, mistletoe everywhere.

Mistletoe even in the leather satchel Hook carries around everywhere with him. “You never know when the occasion might be right, Swan. You have to be prepared.”

Although she hates him for it, she does not hate him nearly as much as she hates herself for not hating it completely.

After all, it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

For instance, when Mary Margaret and David notice it above their head at Granny’s, they smile and meet halfway in a kiss. The other day, Granny’s lips also found Ruby’s forehead and left a sonorous smack there -- a rare display of affection between the two women -- and Ruby then proceeded to stain Emma’s left cheek with a lovely burgundy color.

No one knows Hook is the one hanging them there -- except for Granny -- and Emma wishes she would find it more ridiculous. (Even a little bit, that’ll do to make her feel better about herself.)

They are only a few days from Christmas Eve when, after another endless afternoon spent patrolling, Mary Margaret starts musing over the Christmas spirit in the sheriff station.

“I just love Christmas and I am so glad we are spending it together, this year -- Wicked Witch or not.”

Mary Margaret’s right hand brushes over her round belly while the other rests above David’s shoulder.

Emma sits in a corner; exhaustion is weighing down her limbs, coloring her world blue. The snow seems to have sunk into her skin, crystalizing over her muscles.

She can hardly share their enthusiasm. With the Wicked Witch on the run, she’s had little time to think about the holidays -- if not for mistletoe because of a certain someone -- and what it means to spend Christmas with her parents and her son. Henry still hasn’t recovered his memories and all she can think about is avenging Neal’s death and the life she gave up on, back in New York.

“Should we invite Regina?” Emma asks in a breath. This all starting to sound a lot like a complicated masquerade.

She stares at the bright, yellow neon lights above her head. She’s stared at them so many, lonely times, but now their sight is almost comforting... and then, slowly, slowly, flutters her eyes shut…

It would all be so simple, if they went back to New York. No more villains, no more happy endings to bring, no more sacrifices to make -- just Emma, a mother, and her son in a normal, quiet life. It was enough. She would be enough.

Silence. Emma cannot see her parents’ faces but she thinks she guesses quite well their expression anyway.

And then her mother’s voice, a bit blurry, as if erupting from another reality: “I mean, yes, we probably should or she’ll be alone for Christmas Eve. We’ll just have to tell Henry this family is really close to the mayor.”

“I still don’t know why you guys celebrate Christmas. It’s not even from your world,” Emma mumbles and yawns.

She is tired, so very tired. And celebrating Christmas always did feel like staring at an open wound that will not heal.

“Then we should also invite Belle…”

Emma hears her mother sigh. “In that case, maybe we should just all gather at Granny’s.”

Emma opens her eyes. The bright neon lights above her head are no longer soothing; they glare and burn. There will be no happy ending for the Savior.

“That makes sense,” she whispers and stands up before she can sink into another lethargy

Emma rubs her eyes and stretches her sore muscles.

“I gotta pick up Henry. Hook and he went sailing this afternoon,” she says as she slips one arm back into her jacket and another yawn quivers out of her.

“You should tell Hook, Emma,” adds her mother while Emma sieves impatient fingers through her hair.

Emma stops in her steps, arches one eyebrow. There is still so much exhaustion clinging to her bones and clouding her mind. “Why should I be the one telling him?”

Emma’s mother isn’t impressed by her petulant tone. “Because you’ll see him tonight, Emma.”

Emma winces. “Right.”

Christmas always sucked for Emma. She doesn’t know why this year should be any different.

Emma nearly hates Hook on sight when she sees him reach the B&B alongside Henry, his arm swang around his shoulder and this stupid gust of wind playing with his thick, black hair. She rubs her hands together to warm them up. At least the cold breeze is enough to sharpen her senses and wake her up.

It does warm her heart, to see Henry and he get along just fine, not that she’d admit it under torture or something.

Henry greets her with a hug and Hook with a tilt of his face and an intolerable smile. As they enter the B&B together in silence, warmth curls around their bodies, hugging them tightly, and Emma unzips her jacket on the way up the stairs.

“Go take a shower, Henry. I’ll be here in a sec,” she tells her son, palms on his shoulders to guide him inside their room.

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Hook peer at her but she ignores him. “‘kay, Mom.”

The door bangs close behind her back and Emma shifts to face Hook staring at her with his insufferable blue eyes and a quiet smile and that silly, silly mistletoe hanging between them -- teasing her, it seems.

Smells of food and the faint rustle of conversations surround them as they stand in the corridor -- as if isolated in a liminal space.

Emma blinks, breathes in, inhaling some courage, and exhales: “We’re going to celebrate Christmas all together at Granny’s.”

She can tell he isn’t following because he looks taken aback for a moment and she hates seeing him like this -- when the mask cracks and light spills in and illuminates this earnest look on his face. It’s really hard then to convince herself that she does not care -- not at all, not one bit.

“Are you inviting me, Swan?” he asks, and Emma knows he means to sound impish but something else is rearing its head behind the sly smile and Emma feels a weird pang, down in her stomach.

“I’m not inviting you,” she retorts but she doesn’t have it in herself to keep her armor on tonight and she feels herself smile a sluggish smile. “Everyone is invited.”

He’s tilting his head then, in that manner that has a terrible effect on Emma’s heartbeat, and slowly bends down towards her -- his fragrance filling her lungs.

Emma thinks then that her eyelids are definitely far too heavy, that she should sleep, and she watches herself lean into him.

“So,” she begins again, voice hoarse and it isn’t quite because of the cold, “are you coming or not?”

But then, somehow, something seems to shatter between them and Hook takes a step back. Emma’s stomach gives another lurch and she has to fight the instinctive spring of her hand towards his arm.

“I’m sorry, Swan, but I don’t think I’ll be able to attend.”

“Why?” The word comes out of her mouth before she can think about it.

From the colored windows, Emma can make out the sun setting behind Hook’s back -- purple and pink clouds softly floating away -- and that sadness everywhere -- on his face, in her open palms with nothing to hold, in that distance between them.

Emma clenches her jaw as she watches him, as she watches him pulling away from her.

“I don’t think it is my place to be,” he simply answers.

Emma’s stomach twists.

This same urge to touch him burns her fingertips, owls that she should take a step forward. She doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand why he won’t, why she feels that --

Instead she remains very firm on her legs and smiles a faint smile and says: “I understand. Just know that if you want to drop by, you’re welcome to.”

A grin flickers across his face, but the glimmer dies before it reaches its eyes. “I appreciate that, Swan.”

And then she says: “Goodnight, Hook.”

And feels something bitter tug, tug, inside of her when he bows his head and disappears without a word.

As Emma expected, this Christmas Eve dinner in Storybrooke is...something.

Granny’s diner is bursting with people and clatters of heels and a silly, silly jingle bell rattles the walls. For the occasion, everyone brought a dish of their own while Granny arranged the bar to turn it into some kind of buffet where the guests get to pick and choose what they want to eat.

Emma stands on the side, an empty glass of champagne clasped between her fingers, as she watches her son queue near the buffet.

Emma isn’t hungry. In fact, it feels like her stomach is full to the brim with heavy bricks and she cannot swallow anything else down.

As her gaze wanders and lingers on the Christmas tree, near the stairs, Emma isn’t so sure she wants to be here at all.

She wants to blame the Wicked Witch for her lack of enthusiasm, but the truth is this scene of profusion and happiness is quite painful to watch.

There are so many people, and so much noise, and Emma feels like the light garlands are mere colorful spots dancing before her eyes, twirling and twirling, and they will not stop and she wishes they would.

Hook isn’t there. In fact, since their last conversation in the corridor, he has seemed quite inclined on avoiding her -- which is fair, considering it’s exactly what she’s been doing since she got back from New York.

Emma sighs, lowering her gaze to watch the Champagne bubbles fizzing inside her glass. Perhaps if he were here, it would be a bit more bearable. Emma frowns, fingers clutching around her glass. Nonsense.

A warm hand closes over Emma’s shoulder.

Emma startles, but when she looks up, she only meets Mary Margaret’s gentle green eyes.

“Emma, your plate is still empty. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Emma brushes off the attention. “I’m okay for now, thank you. I’ll go get something later.”

Dammit. She doesn’t mean to sound this cold, doesn’t mean to push her away like this, but thankfully for her Mary Margaret knows best.

The next thing she knows her mother is sitting down on a chair next to her.

“Is everything alright, Emma?”

Emma hates the concern she hears in her voice, or rather she hates that it is somehow enough to tighten her throat and burn her eyes, and that there is a part of her that is desperate to feed on it. Maybe, just maybe, her mother can help her lift the bricks down in her stomach.

“I’m okay, I’m just --”

But then Emma glances down again, and she stares at mother’s hand, brushing over this round, loved belly and Emma’s breath catches in her throat.

Run.

“Emma, you are…?”

Something clatters down to the floor, and suddenly everything is too much. Emma’s eyes widen and before she knows it she’s moved up from her chair, heart pounding.

“I need to get some air,” she says very quickly, putting her coat on with trembling fingers.

The siren keeps blaring in her mind. Run. Run. Run.

“Please, will you make sure Henry eats something? I won’t be long.”

Emma does not wait for her mother’s answer to flee from the dinner, bursting through the front door.

The icy winter air leaps onto her skin just like she expected it to and Emma sighs in relief, closing her eyes. Her legs are still trembling beneath her weight, and her blood is still pulsating at her temples, but at least she is outside now. Her lungs quickly fill in with December smells — burnt wood, misty dead leaves and something almost magical that crackles as she breathes.

Outside, beyond the quiet chirping of insects, there is no noise. And it is incredibly peaceful.

Emma breathes in, and out, envisioning her anxiety slowly flowing out of her body like trails of electricity.

“Swan, are you alright?”

Her eyes shoot open as her heart skips a beat. There he is. Hook is sitting alone, his flask of rum in hand and his legs crossed under the table.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, voice still stammering.

Shit. She didn’t mean it to sound like that. Too late, Hook’s smile has already faded into a mirthless expression. Emma curses herself inward.

“It is always a pleasure to see you too, Swan.”

Oh she hates the tone of his voice, this distant, cold tone that sounds so sad, so sad. She cannot bear it.

“I’m sorry,” she exhales rapidly and she sees his eyebrow raise up under the surprise as she heaves short breathes. “I didn’t mean it like that.” A pause to stretch her hands, to feel the cold seize them gently. And then she tries again: “What I meant is.... why are you not inside?”

He’s quick to strike back but his tone is tender: “Why aren’t you?”

Although her heart still beats uncomfortably fast, he makes her smile.

“Don’t change the subject.”

She wonders if he can tell, if he can tell that she is still shaking, if he can tell that it is helping to simply be there and talk about something else.

Unfortunately for her, her legs are still frozen and she stands on the stairs leading up to Granny’s as he ponders his words.

Of course he can tell. Open book.

“I’m not sure people really want me there,” he says.

Emma’s stomach lurches forward just as her legs begin moving against her will. “That’s not true,” she begins, still walking towards him.

She does not understand the wave of relief that washes over her as she strides his way, and suddenly the Champagnes bubbles are fizzing gently inside her empty belly.

“Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite and distant.

“Yes,” she asserts. She fists her cold palms. “People want you around. Look at Henry, he really likes you. And I --” she begins and then stops in her tracks.

She’s standing before him now, and he’s staring at her with his bold blue eyes, his expression blank.

He isn’t making this easier for her, but when did she make things easy for him?

“And you…?” He’s challenging her, taunting her to jump the one step she will not take with him.

She breathes in the cold air.

“And I could use you around, in case something bad happens--”

His mask finally drops, his eyebrow raising. “-- in case something bad happens?” he repeats, frankly grinning now.

Emma’s lips quiver with a smile. “In case something bad happens,” she confirms, nodding.

All anxiety has now departed from her body and Emma feels light for the first time in...in a very long time.

And then Hook’s standing up in front of her, and Emma’s surprised to see how close they’ve gotten.

There is this terrible moment during which they both stare at each other, and Emma glances down at his lips and fancies herself leaning in and --

“It’s a shame you’re not carrying that stupid leather satchel, tonight,” she says.

She does not leave him time to ponder over her words before she crosses Granny’s door again.

As things turn out, Hook fills the chair next to hers quite nicely. And by his side, the dinner isn’t that noisy and overwhelming anymore -- not that Emma would tell him.

“Killian showed up! That’s great!” Henry looks up from his game when the pirate has gone to get one more serving of turkey.

Emma smiles down at him. “Yeah. I’m glad, too.” Hook definitely seems at ease, twirling among the rest of the guests, one eyebrow raised as he examines the food on display.

Clearly, he was wrong. He fits in just fine. And Emma starts thinking perhaps she was wrong, too.

“It’s good for him, you know,” her son continues and Emma blinks to see Henry, head down, focused on his game as he speaks, “I don’t think he has that many friends here, but he definitely likes you.”

Emma is glad Henry isn’t looking at her then, because it saves her the embarrassment of having to justify the blush on her cheeks.

When Henry’s climbed back up to the B&B to get some sleep, and everyone’s helped to clean the dinner, and Hook proposes one last drink outside, Emma may or may not ask him to go ahead in order to retrieve a bush of mistletoe from the window above her booth.

She may or may not slide it into her pocket and join the pirate outside.

She lets him tell his ravishing tales of pirating and freedom, as they exchange his flask of rum. The starry sky is their only quiet companion as they sit outside until eventually the tingle of her lips cannot be ignored anymore, and Emma gets the small sprig out of her coat.

The bewildered look on Hook’s face is a sight for the ages.

“Pirate,” he says then, and he probably means to say more, but Emma is holding the mistletoe above their heads resolutely.

“Tradition is tradition” she says, even as her free hand already closes over the lapel of his coat.

“As you wish…”

Later, much later, Emma will blame the mix of rum and champagne for the way their lips met in an icy, starry kiss and Emma lingered above his lips, just a little bit, unable to get enough of him, until they were both panting outside of Granny’s -- forehead against forehead, twirls of white smoke escaping their mouths.

And Hook will definitely tease her about her definition of “one time things” but surely that matters little when she can just grab the lapel of his coat to make him shut up once and for all.

#cs ff #cs fanfics #csss20 #cssecretsanta2020 #captain swan #klynn_stormz #my stuff #i hope you'll enjoy this <3 #amy writes

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