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miekasa · 3 years

Note

speaking of college boys, what do the college au aot babies study??

Okay, okay, I think I’ve talked about this in an ask before but I can’t find it 😭😭 but it’s okay, I love college aus, so I’ll talk about it again! Plus, now I’ve got more thoughts for more characters, so here we go

Levi — neuroscience and psychology of human behavior

He started out on track to do a bachelor of arts in psychology, but when they touched on the anatomy and biological parts of it during his first year lecture, he switched to a bachelor of science.

The focus is still psychology, but through a more clinical lens. Essentially, he gets the best of both worlds this way. He’s intuitive and analytical, so clinical and mental diagnosis is easy to dissect for him. He’s also canonically good at math, so the calculus and stats parts aren’t too bad, either.

This major also leaves him with a few options post-grad, which is a nice bonus for him. He’s likely going to medical school, but that’s not the only route open to him: law school, therapy, lab work, medicine and pharmacy, even teaching are all viable options without going to grad school.

Do not talk to him about Freud unless you wanna get punted off a building.

Be careful with him, because with a single glance he’s already got scarily accurate predictions about your parental and emotional attachment styles, your behavior in social settings, and the onset (or seemingly lack thereof) of your frontal lobe development.

He thinks he’s so smart making comments like, “I see those synaptic connections aren’t working so well for you today,” like mf come here let me lobotomize you and see how well your synaptic connects are working after that🙄

Eren — general health sciences

He’s interested in science and the discovery aspects of it, but picking a specific field of focus right now feels too final. He likes it this way, because his schedule and requirements are less restrictive, and he has more room to find out what really interests him.

He does best when he’s doing something he loves, so picking a major with a bunch of reqs that he couldn’t care less about would have sucked big time for him. It also would have affected his grades. There are still some classes he has to take that he’s not fond of (see: chemistry), but that’s to be expected. Science in general is cool to him and he hopes to make his own discovery some day, even if it’s microscopic.

He also plays a lot of sports, keeping his schedule flexible is important. The sports end up helping him excel academically, which is a nice bonus. Honestly, Eren uses his time at university to learn more about himself than anything, so having control and freedom to do what he likes the majority of the time was important to him.

He uses his elective credits to take philosophy or history courses of his interest, or maybe even a course that you’re in just to spend time with you. He also uses you as a live model for his homework bye, congrats on being patient number one to him.

Armin — astronomy and physics

He’s still interested in marine biology, but unless he attended a school near a coast, or with a specialized integrated program for that, it’s unlikely he’d major in it during undergrad.

Space and ocean exploration aren’t all that different. Both are vast, largely unexplored domains that reel-in Armin’s interest for discovery. So, while studying astronomy, he still gets to study evolution and make his own predictions about what could be out there because there’s so much to know.

Physics comes with the territory of learning about planetary science, and he’s mathematically inclined, so it works out for him. Learning about the different physical properties of other planets and space masses is honestly pretty sick to him. Because math isn’t a struggle, he actually considered aeronautical engineering, but he didn’t want to be a part of the college to military pipeline; that is, he didn’t want any potential design of his to be weaponized.

He still gets to study animal biology through his elective courses, and might even find a few focused on marine animals to satiate him. Plant and cell biology are also of interest to him, and are just further applications of his primary study anyway, so he’s got plenty of room to work with.

This boy is interning at NASA and still, with his whole chest out is like, “I don’t need to discover a new planet, you’re my whole world.” Armin, go check on the Mars rover or something please.

Mikasa — anthropology + minor in japanese language studies

Anthropology is virtually interdisciplinary in nature, and Mikasa is a pretty well rounded student, so she’s able to excel in a program like this. She gets to study history, science, cultural studies, and even a bit of art all at once.

She’s still debating between going to law school vs med school, so anthro this is a good in-betweener. She gets a taste of science through her anatomy and kin courses; and lots of practice with reading and dissecting texts through the historical and cultural lectures. So, when the time comes to decide, she’ll have some experience with both.

Don’t know whether it’s confirmed that she’s (part) Japanese or not, but either way I headcanon that she speaks/spoke some second language at home. She wanted to delve more into it, and courses were offered at the university so why not?

Cultural studies courses end up being her favorite. She likes learning about the history of people and their cultures, and it encourages her to learn more about her own family history and culture. It also propels her to apply for a study abroad opportunity, so she spends at least one semester doing an exchange program and absolutely loves it.

She would also encourage you to apply and go, too. You guys might not be in the same program, but if there’s an applicable program in the same country she’s going to, then she’d definitely want you to apply. Spending the semester away with you would be a dream come true.

Hange — bioengineering + minor in political philosophy and law

It’s almost self-sabotage to be in an engineering program and have a minor; the coursework for engineering alone is backbreaking, and bioengineering has the added weight of human intricacies, but of course Hange makes it possible.

They’re nothing short of a genius, so of course they have time to work a completely unrelated minor into their schedule. It doesn’t surprise anyone that they go on to complete an MD-PhD after undergrad. Insane.

Bioengineering is essentially the synthesis of chemical engineering and health sciences; Hange spends their time exploring biological sciences and applies the engineering aspects of their coursework to their understanding of (and interest in creating) medicine. Truly a one of a kind mind.

They also have an interest in philosophy and justice, so when they found out they only needed a measly nine or ten courses to minor in, they went for it, of course. In honesty, they don’t find the studies all that opposing: both law making and medicine making both have some kind of philosophy or method to them in their eyes.

Hange has... little to no free time pls. They don’t mind it, because they love their coursework, but this means you are essentially ducking into their labs or scrambling to find them in-between their classes during your time in undergrad. They appreciate every second spent with you tho, and will gladly rope you into long discussions about their work.

Jean — biochemistry + minor in art sustainability

He was undeclared his first year, and took a little bit of everything: art, science, history, anthropology, english. Basically, anything that fit into his schedule. It was hard for him to pick one thing—he liked the science and lab applications of STEM courses, but not the math; and the obvious painting and creativity of art, but hated the pretentious air about art history.

What he wants to do is make a difference, which is how he ends up knowing that he wants to go to med school after, so he picks a science-heavy major, but uses his elective spaces to take art courses. When he mixes the two, he ends up on sustainability—and the complexities about it that are applicable to both science and art are what really reels him in.

Interdisciplinary studies end up being his forte. He can approach sustainability from a science perspective which impacts his art style and materials; and tuning into his creative side allows him to think about science not just from a purely clinical perspective, but from a human one, too—patients are people after all.

He believes that everything is connected somehow, even things as seemingly opposite as art and biochemistry. And he works towards finding the unique intersection where everything overlaps. His studies are pretty cool, and he’s very passionate about them, so ask him about it 😌

The art he makes is pretty sick, too, and often commentary about science; he’s proving they’re not so opposite. You also heavily influence his studies in both areas: caring about you so much inspires him to take the healthcare focus seriously, and your very nature is inspiration to his art.

Sasha — nursing

She’s friendly and good at working with people, so nursing was an easy choice for her. She accredits most of her motivation to being around her younger family members, and learns that she finds a simple kind of joy in helping to take care of others.

She struggles a bit her first year when it’s mostly all grades and standardized testing, but when she starts getting clinical experience and working in the hospital on campus, things round out for her.

Patient care is her strongest point. A lot of people often forget that knowing everything isn’t everything; if you don’t know how to calm or even just talk to your patient, you’re not that great of a healthcare professional.

Pretty certain that she wants to work with kids in the future, but she’s open to public health and even being a travel nurse if she finds opportunity there!

Of course, she’s pretty doting when it comes to you and all her friends. She might want to go into pediatrics, but the basics of nursing and health care extend to everyone, so you’re guaranteed to be well taken care of with Sasha around. You might even have to switch roles and take care of her sometimes, because her coursework can get pretty out of hand.

Connie — computer engineering with a focus on game design

He might not look it, but Connie has a brain under that shaved head of his. Computer engineering is cool to him because he basically learns about how simple things he uses every day (ie: phone, computer, microwave) works.

Systems and coding are actually the easy part for him, especially when they get into the application of it and aren’t just stuck looking at examples. That’s how he gets into game design.

The part about math and electricity and magnetic fields… well let’s just say he needed to make friends with someone who likes math and hardware his first year to get through it. But the struggle was worth it, because by his junior year he’s found a professor willing to mentor/supervise him as he works on his game and other projects, so life is good.

His school work is definitely hard, which is why the lives by the mantra of “work hard, party harder.” It’s only fair.

He makes you a little avatar so you can test out his games for him <33 best boyfriend things <33 He’d also… build a game about your relationship. Every level is a different date you guys went on, and he definitely includes something cheesy, like “There are unlimited lives because I love you forever babe <3”

Porco — kinesiology + maybe mechanical engineering

He’s pretty into athletics and working out, but didn’t wanna go down the sports psychology route; he wanted something that left him with a few more options, so he ended up in kinesiology.

He was surprisingly pretty good at biology in high school, so something stem-oriented works out in his favor, and it turns out he’s pretty damn good at anatomy, too. He’ll probably end up in physical therapy after graduation.

He’s also got a knack for cars, which is where the engineering comes in, but he doesn’t care so much for the math part of it (he doesn’t care for it at all actually, fuck that); he just wants the hands on experience of building/fixing things and working with his hands. So, if he can get a minor in it and not struggle through 4 years of math, then he’d do that. If not, he’d take a few workshop-like classes.

Because he wants to go into physical therapy, you are essentially his practice patient. Your back hurts? Not a problem, he’s basically a professional masseuse. Muscle aches? He’s got a remedy and understanding of why it’s happening. Don’t let him catch you hunting over your desk grinding away at your homework, because he will poke your neck and correct your posture (he’ll also massage your shoulders, but after the scolding).

Pieck — classics + minor in philosophy

Ancient studies interest her, but more than that, the language of ancient Greek and Roman culture fascinates her, so classics is the way to go.

Because her focus within Classics ends up being Greek and Latin language studies, she is essentially learning both languages at the same time. She gets farther with Latin that she does with Greek. For whatever reason, the former comes almost naturally to her, so her written and translated work is more complex in Latin.

However, she finds cultural studies relation to Greece more interesting than that of Rome, so it’s a give and take with both; better at languages for Roman studies, better at culture and history for Greek studies.

Her minor is a natural evolution from her primary coursework. Ancient Romans and Greeks set the foundation for a lot of modern day philosophy, so it comes up in her major classes, but she wanted to delve further into the philosophy, and not just look at it historically, so she takes more courses to fulfill the minor.

Can be found laying on a blanket in the quad on a hot day, with her books spread out all around her, highlighter in hand as she works through her reading. You’re always invited to sit with her, and more often than not, it ends up with Pieck’s head in your lap, a book in her hands, and your own schoolwork in yours as you both read in each other’s company.

Bertholdt — computer science and coding

He’s level headed, good at planning, and above all, patient, so he’s cut out for this. He doesn’t consider himself to be particularly creative, which is why he doesn’t pick a speciality with lots of design; but he’s good at streamlining and ideas to life.

The patience really comes in when his code doesn’t run. It’s frustrating to scroll for two hours just to find out that the issue is a missing semi-colon in line 273 that he overlooked, but Berty will sit there until he finds it.

He’s also good at fixing issues. That’s not limited to issues in the code itself; it can mean finding shorter ways to produce the same function or loop, or integrating new aspects into existing code.

Also, he’d just be so cute, coding away on his computer. Just imagine: Berty working on his homework in the library, he’s got his signature crewneck + collared shirt look going for him, his blue-light glasses, a cup of coffee nearly as tall as him sitting at the corner of his desk. Adorable.

He’d make little codes/programs for you, too, even if it’s silly. A simple code that helps you decide what to eat for dinner or where to go on a date, one that shuffles different reminders for you, hell he’ll even forgo the torture of design engineering just to build you a little robot that says “I love you” to you.

Reiner — english + minor in justice & political philosophy

Everyone expects Reiner, star quarterback of the university’s rugby team, to be a business student or communications student; but no, he’s an English major, and he loves it.

Just imagine a guy as huge as Reiner absolutely manhandling someone on the field, just to show up in his lectures with a tiny paperback of The Great Gatsby tucked between his fingers with his reading glasses on. It’s so precious.

He’s always running a bit late to class—either coming from the gym, or practice, or oversleeping from exhaustion—but he’s so sweet to his professors and genuinely interested in the literature that they don’t give him a hard time about it. They can tell that balancing school and sports is difficult, and they just appreciate that he takes his studies seriously.

Yeah he’s in a book club and he dog-ears his books. What about it. They’re doing poetry this month and Reiner actually likes Edgar Allen Poe. Who said jocks can’t be sentimental.

He also reads a lot outside of his classes, and has a soft spot for coming of age stories. He usually empathizes with the main character somehow. His ideal weekend plans after a week of grueling games and essays is taking a long, relaxing shower at your place, while you both share a bottle of wine, and maybe even get you to read a chapter or two of his current book out loud to him.

Annie — clinical psychology/neuroscience

Almost scarily analytical and methodic, so this major was calling her name. Localizing brain legions is… insanely intuitive to her it’s incredible. She’ll be an insanely impressive doctor someday, even if she doesn’t end up working with patients directly.

She doesn’t care too much for the more philosophical/reading heavy parts of psychology. Even experiments and research closer to the social end of the spectrum aren’t all that interesting to her; but the brain science behind it it.

Nobody should be good at cellular biology. Nobody should be able to ace cell bio and neuro and calc and work towards their thesis proposal in the same semester, but Annie proves it’s possible.

Ends up working in one of her professor’s labs by her junior year. She was offered three TA positions working with first year students, but she swiftly turned them down. Teaching isn’t her thing.

She doesn’t bring up her studies to you unprompted, but if you ask her about them she’ll explain it to you. Her notes are color coded and it’s super neat, and very cute; coloring them is somewhat relaxing for her. She usually saves the coloring part for when you guys study together; there’s extra comfort in doing it with you around.

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brawltogethernow · 3 years

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How would you, personally, go about writing a plot where twenty-something Dick Grayson has to take care of suddenly-deaged-to-just-after-his-parents'-deaths Bruce, who doesn't remember anything of his adult life? (I mean, other than Necessary Alfred.)

Well, the part of this concept that can really sock you in the face is. Dick knows exactly what Bruce needed to hear right after Martha and Thomas died.

Bruce, though not lacking for people trying to take care of him, did not get what he needed after becoming an orphan. He grew up, and he made the best of things, and he thought about what he needed from the world and didn’t get, and he became that, and that’s Batman, and that’s Bruce Wayne. When he saw a kid go through trauma very similar to his own, he had an entire playbook written by his own suffering and fixer tendencies ready to go. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best thing in the world for Dick Grayson short of his family spontaneously coming back from the dead, and things were good for a long time.

And now Dick Grayson, age, I don’t know, maybe the same age Bruce was when they met to intensify the parallels, has this playbook memorized. So.

Brief, miscellaneous scenario that’s about to cause the de-aging, to establish adult Bruce’s voice. He is motivated and capable with a strong sense of deadpan humor, and there is a large mishealed wound at his core. He is aware of this. He is used to working around it. He isn’t even that bitter about it, most of the time. Basically any supporting cast members filling out the scene could be interesting, so lacking an established roster to pull from you can use anybody. I think I'd use heroes who aren’t in the Batfam - characters with their own concepts of Batman but who don’t all know Bruce’s entire life story from a personal or Gothamite perspective. Dick is not present.

So something goes zam or zap or “Go back to your beginning, hero!” —Actually yeah, I like someone using magic to try to turn Batman into a baby but the symbolism catching wrong and rewinding him to when Batman was “born” instead. Some heavy-handedness is good with DC.

Elementary age Bruce Wayne is deeply unsettling. He intuits most of the situation without assistance or effort. He also doesn’t care. You can’t expect a pile of shattered glass to care about some sci-fi nonsense suddenly happening. He is a million years old. He hates you. He should be dead, they shouldn’t be dead, nothing is right. Breathing hurts, or, doesn’t, but should. It’s unconscionable that it doesn’t hurt to breathe. This child's despair is actively uncomfortable to be around. The grit of a nascent Batman grants him immunity to being comforted by the surrounding gaggle of semiprofessional child comforters. —I’m of the opinion that Bruce Wayne was probably a weird child to match the weird adult he grew up into, just initially happy about it, which I’d gun to make clear in his reactions even with the bottomless agony.

You could also snug a very traumatizingly timed identity reveal moment in here if somebody was tagging along who can go, WHY do I recognize this face from old news... WAIT.

Now Dick can show up. To a JL workroom, or the batcave, or maybe the manor, because I would want to demonstrate that Alfred is well versed in this and is sent back to a not great mental place by it. The old coping methods rise easily to hand even after decades, but he feels he never properly figured out how to fix the problems Bruce had in this period instead of just working around them. Eventually Bruce started working around Alfred’s inability to help. —But anywhere you put that sequence seems like it would drag the pacing.

So Dick shows up, and he crouches down with his characteristic gymnast’s fluidity, and he puts his hands on this kid’s shoulders, and he says...something. It’s not going to be okay. How could this ever be okay? The people assuring you it will aren’t trying to lie to you, there just aren’t words for this. But you can stop this from happening to anyone else. Opening with a conscious deployment of Bruce’s own words from a decade and then some ago, because Dick has always understood this element of their dynamic.

Except then he’s touching this real child who is warm under his hands and small. The shoulders under Dick’s hands are bony, which is a brain-meltingly irreconcilable detail with adult Bruce Wayne the meat slab. When Dick says, “My parents were killed when I was your age, too,” it’s a completely unintentional verbatim quote that crawls up out of his throat like a toad in a fairy tale. He hates that; he has a whole snarled up capital-T Thing about unconsciously parroting Bruce. But also it’s not like he’s going to stop comforting the actual child who now has a complicated look in his eyes—like he was drowning and then Dick threw him a life preserver and told him to hang on until they get to land because it’s impossible to reel him back up to the boat.

So then we go to the manor, and finally get to do some domestic nonsense, but hideous. Ugly conversations about coping and grief in your socks in the kitchen—when your parents just died, the sentence “The weather looks bad” is about your dead parents—because Alfred is coping by airing out whatever rooms Bruce used when he was smol he doesn’t now so hard you’ll never know they were shut up, which leaves Dick free to feed the child a fortifying dinner of instant oatmeal. (Mourning and food have a complex relationship, and I don’t feel food you actively enjoy is always a good choice!) This process involves Dick walking on the counter unnecessarily, which entertains Bruce for a quarter second before he’s swamped by guilt at having the audacity to enjoy something.

It’s miserable, but there’s a distinct glimmer of something promising under the murk. There’s this building surety that this could lead to something good. Bruce gave Dick the tools he needed to heal once, and as an adult Dick could repay that to this version of Bruce with interest.

And then Bruce pops back to normal, because that’s not how time works, with all of the ways that his emotional wounds healed wrong and healed open intact. But also with this Escher-like doubled recollection of the most formatively terrible point of his life, a short new version layered over the original that was pointing distinctly in a direction that would have sucked less.

#dynamic duo #DCU #batman #dick grayson #bruce wayne #(⓿‿⓿)#you don't actually WANT to leave it long enough #for them to establish a batman and robin-like dynamic that should be weirder than it is #because the more progress you make on kid bruce the worse it is when the status quo reasserts itself #and also we have seen that story before #though when dc is doing it well it proves that's not a drawback #and really committing to diverged timeline bruce as a separate character would be like #i'm listening.#phoenixyfriend #asks answered #notfic #w

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missdawnandherdusk · 3 years

Text

once upon a flight

Draco X Reader (post war)

Summary: The Wizarding World earnestly searched for the newly discovered Heir of Gryffindor. After many failed attempts at the claim, McGonagall almost gives up hope, but sends off one final letter. Draco looking for a reason to clear his name has an ulterior motive to find you... that is until he meets you.

A/n: So, as promised, an Anastasia AU that is frankly one of my favorite things in a while. For all intents and purposes Snape isn’t dead because this is my blog and my word is law. Also, this is about 10k words... so you’re welcome.

Long ago, Hogwarts was founded by four great wizards: Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff. The Slytherin heir was found centuries later in one Tom Riddle who became the greatest Dark Wizard of all time, only to be defeated by the great Harry Potter. Yet, the story of the heirs does not end there. The unfortunate demise of Helena Ravenclaw ended the lineage of the Ravenclaw house for she had no children. The Hufflepuff heir, Cedric Diggory was killed in the war by Voldemort. Only one heir remains, and their whereabouts are unknown to all, but sought after by most. Minerva McGonagall is keen on the discovery of this witch or wizard, the last true heir of Hogwarts, and perhaps the most powerful of them all. Only in the hands of the true heir, will Godric’s mighty sword come alive with magic once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s a girl, raised muggle, in America,” Snape threw down the Daily Prophet. “This could be your chance,”

“My chance to what?” Draco huffed, running a hand through his hair before examining the paper. “Like a Slytherins could ever find this Gryffindor heir, let alone in muggle America,”

“But if you do,” Snape hinted, a smile curling on his lips. “It might clear your names,”

“Would you give that a rest?” Draco muttered, throwing the newspaper down of a very scared looking American girl. “Even if I do find this girl, why in the world would she trust me?”

“Because, she might have questions, and who is going to be there with the answers for her?” Snape raised an eyebrow.

Draco pondered the idea, then glanced at your photo in the paper in front of him. And he thought there perhaps might be a chance.

____________________________

“London?” I eyed the passport dubiously. “What long lost aunt wants me in London? And why did she show up now?” My fingers ran over the long letter explaining everything and nothing.

“Do you want to go or not?” Mrs. Greenwood asked. “Because I’ve got a lot of girl like you who’d kill for a chance at a family again.” Her snappy condescending voice wouldn’t be missed.

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

I zipped my bag closed, folding the letter, and placing it in my bag with the plane ticket and passport. It was a long drive to the airport that was filled with people who all went about their business. I had never felt more lost. I read the letter again as I waited for my plane to arrive. Something proved magical about the parchment and inked letters. A style never used in a modern day. It gave me hope. Or an unsettling sense of dread.

“Excuse me,” His voice was polite and broke through the music of my headphones. It was his accent that caught me off guard. He was a brit.

“Yes?” I asked, taking out an earbud.

“You wouldn’t happen to know a Ms. McGonagall, would you? I’m supposed to be aiding her niece back to London,” I eyed him skeptically.

“Is that so?” I raised an eyebrow. “Alright pretty boy, tell me, what absolute stranger is going to trust a random brit who comes up to her claiming to know the name of someone that he could easily have read off the girl’s letter?” He seemed amused at my skepticism.

“I suppose you’re right,” The stranger didn’t seem cornered, however. His caviler didn’t waver. “What if I told this stranger that hypothetically I knew that her aunt wasn’t really her aunt but someone looking for her to be claimed as the heir to a school of magic?”

“Well, hypothetically, I’d probably laugh and call security,” I eyed the cop, whose gaze caught mine before flashing to the beautiful stranger before me.

“And if I proved to her that magic was real? Would this stranger believe me?” Danger lurked in his eyes.

I snorted. “If you can prove that magic is real, I’ll follow you anywhere buddy,”

“Careful there stranger, you’re promising something you might not want to,” He warned.

“I think I know what I can handle pretty boy,”

Without another word, he took my hand, clasping it in his. Glancing around he slowly raised his hand away from my palm, where a flower began to bud and bloom from nothing, sparking in the fluorescent lighting. I wasn’t impressed.

“Nice trick, but I’m not convinced.”

The stranger laughed. “I should have known it would take more to convince you,” He ran a hand through his silvery blond hair, looking around, before his gaze settled back on me. “What if I told you that you could do magic?”

“I’d say you’re crazy and were back to calling security,” I went to walk away, I had enough time before my flight that a quick walk wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“But you must have felt it,” His hand reached for mine. “When you were younger, and things happened around you that you couldn’t explain. A sense that you didn’t belong. That you were different. That you could see and feel and do things that others couldn’t.” His words were earnest and urgent. I paused.

“And if I did?” I didn’t face him.

“That you hear stories of magic and fairytales, and you thought maybe you belonged in them because there was no one quite like you,” My eyes met his, baffled, curious. “And you felt it just now, not on the surface of your skin, but in your hand, in your blood, a feeling in your heart that felt right. That felt powerful,”

“Okay, pretty boy, you seem to know a lot about who you think I am, so what’s your deal?’ I folded my arms, still not completely convinced but more than curious.

“I told you, I’m here to help you get to London in one piece and how to be an heir of magic.” The light in his eyes glinted as if he had won.

“Alright, let’s say hypothetically I believe you, then what?”

“I’d buy you a cup of coffee and we’d try this again?” He raised an eyebrow, nodding to a chain Starbucks that was near dead in the early hours of the morning.

I stared at the chai tea latte that was warming my hands. He didn’t say a word. Draco. The beautiful stranger who promised answers. Who looked a bit too good to be true.

“From here, I get a letter for an aunt I didn’t know that I had, and a plane ticket to London. Then I met you, claiming that you know her and that you’re here to help me. Then you tell me that my aunt really isn’t my aunt, and that magic is real and I’m the heir to some sort of magic school in London? This is a really good way to get kidnapped and never heard from again,” My skepticism grew. He could see that.

“You’re not wrong,” He leaned onto the table, closer to me. “And you wouldn’t believe me unless you knew that magic was real.”

“Every lonely girl dreams of fairytales and magic,” I countered. “Is it so far-fetched to really believe it?”

“Believing sure,” He gave an easy smile. “But you can do magic and you know it,”

“How do you know what I know?” I snapped back.

“I know you’re in denial,” He chuckled. “And easy, you’re doing it now, but no one could tell you that you were because it’s subtle and hard to pick up on,”

“In what way?” I demanded.

“Defense spell,” His smirk started the urge in me to deck him. He was so self-assured, and it drove me insane. What was worse, was that he might be right about everything.

“Sure, why not,” My tone fell flat. “Okay pretty boy, how exactly am I using a defense spell?” I leaned back in my chair, unamused.

“No one in this airport gave you any trouble. A strange man comes up to you and you show signs of distress, and yet no one helps you. You’re hiding yourself from their point of view. It’s very self-assured of you to think you can handle yourself,” His explanation made to much sense... again.

“I’m the self-assured one?” I muttered. “And sorry to burst your bubble English, but this is America and we all pretty much keep our heads down.”

“And yet the second you decided to trust me, the security guard walked the other way—away from his post I might add,” His confident smile didn’t leave.

“He... what?” Now I backtracked.

“You like to be left alone, I can admire that, but you have so much potential and you could do so much more,”

“And if I don’t want to?” I offered a bit hopeless.

“Sure, go be a faceless nobody in the sea of Americans, work a nine to five, and never see adventure or magic again in your life,” He leaned back in his chair, casual. As if what he offered was the option a rational person would choose.

“And I should trust you? To take me to London and bring me to this magic school to be an heir or whatever it is you Brits do?”

“You seem quite offset that I’m not American,” His amused smile returned.

“Force of habit,” I shrugged, giving a carefree smile that caused indignation to flicker into his eyes.

“Well, you have approximately thirty seconds to decide if you trust me before you’re called to board,” His devious smirk had me reeling to look at the gate and the flight attendant who was ruffling through papers and getting ready to signal boarding groups.

“God, I hate you,” I muttered, resigned. “Fine. Whatever. Life of adventure and magic, sure.”

We boarded and Draco took the seat akin to mine in first class without the bat an of eyelash. My anxiety began to flare again thinking of how easy it was for him to find a place next to me on a full flight to London in the early hours of the morning.

Then there was the matter of flying altogether. I had never been on a plane ride before. And I was about to be on a nine-hour flight with a supposed magician and a promise of adventure. What had I gotten myself into?

“I can hear you worrying.” Draco muttered as the plane left the runway and began to ascend.

“I’ve never flown in a plane before in my life. All things considered, I think I’m allowed to worry,” I snapped.

Draco reached into his bag and held out a small vial filled with an amber liquid.

“Here, take this,” He offered it to me.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking,” I snorted. “There is no way in hell that I’m taking that.”

“Y/n, please,” It was the first time that he had ever used my name. A name I hadn’t told him. A name he knew. A name that got my attention and reminded me of the situation that I was in.

“What is it?” I took the vail from his nimble fingers.

“Anxiety potion,” He explained calmly. “It will calm your stress levels and allow you to think clearly,”

“Magic?” I eyed him dubiously.

“A form of it. Your people call it chemistry, but we have access to more ingredients than the causal muggle,”

“Muggle?” I raised an eyebrow, still examining the contents of the small vial.

“People who can’t do magic nor live with other wizards,”

“Wizards,” I mused softly to myself.

The pilot informed the cabin that we had reached cruising altitude and my anxiety came back, overshadowing the tales of wizards and magic and the perfect stranger beside me. Draco could sense that. He let out an aggravated huff and rolled his eyes.

“Use your senses Y/n, you don’t know how to control it yet, but you have magic in your blood. It’s kept you alive and ahead this long. What are they telling you? Not your fears and anxiety, but your heart and head.” His voice was low and urgent, and I had to concentrate to catch all of his words.

“This isn’t another one of your—”

“Y/n,” He pressed, not having it with my second thoughts and doubts. “Concentrate.”

Deciding to trust him, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The air around me was artificial and frigid. It made my senses stand keen on edge. It was unnatural to me. I could feel the people as they settled down for the long flight. The pilot shifting and the attendants flitting about. They were all overly ordinary. Like most people I had been surrounded with my entire life.

Then there was Draco beside me. I could feel his warmth, his presence... his aura. Unlike anything I had encountered before. A halo of power and... magic that embraced and clung to the edges of him. It matched the silvery blue of his eyes trailing off into green. I could trust him. But there was a darkness underneath that I couldn’t trust. The one that I feared.

Then the vial clasped between my fingers. It held no ill will toward me as I thought of it. It promised to help in words that didn’t belong to Draco beside me. Something all of it’s own. All of my own.

Another deep breath out.

“Okay,”

“What did you gather?” He didn’t taunt me, but rather it was genuine curiosity that colored his tone.

“You’re... different. From the rest of the people on this plane. You... there’s like... an aura? A feeling but with color? I don’t know...” My eyebrows furrowed. “It told me I can trust you... but there’s something darker underneath... and I’m not sure... I’m not sure I trust that darkness.”

He stared at me, baffled. Not that I had said what I said, but instead what I had said.

“The... the darkness.” He muttered. “I thought...”

“That you could hide it?” I raised an eyebrow, only half teasing. We all had darkness. I wouldn’t hold his against him.

“That there would be more... the things I’ve done,” He was a burning man before me. I looked down to the vial in my hands. I toyed with it.

“Here’s to new beginnings?” I offered a bit hopeless, breaking the wax seal and downing the contents like a parched man in a desert who comes upon an oasis.

And I understood what he meant. A pack of stress and the ability to think clearly. All of the fogginess that the anxiety induced was gone. I looked at the world around me with new eyes.

“Woah,” I whispered, looking at Draco clearly for the first time.

A smile played at his lips.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

I nodded and looked out at the grey and blue beneath the plane. Closing the shade, I turned to Draco as much as the first-class seat would allow.

“So magic?”

“Where do you want me to start?” He was expecting my question.

“The beginning is a good place,”

“We’d be here forever,” Draco chuckled. “I’ll start at the beginning of what would be your story though”

I marveled at his words. Two worlds divided but always existing beside each other. Sometimes they would intertwine sometimes they would be forgotten. He spoke of being raised in such a negative perspective of muggles and the life I led, putting me on edge until he gave a placid smile and an apology. His tale turned darker with the war that was fought and a hope that was lost and found again.

“Potter,” Draco’s tone snarled around the name.

“Harry Potter,” I mused. “So why can’t he be the heir of this Gryffindor whoever?”

“Like that would help his ego any,” Draco muttered flatly. “And he can’t because he’s a half blood. The heirs are pure blood wizards, not a drop of Muggle blood in them,”

“Okay...” my brows knit together. “But how does that explain me? They told me my mother was... and my father walked out on her. She died giving birth to me,”

“Back in the early days of the first war, I can only assume your parents were against the Dark Lord which gave them their death sentence. Especially if he knew you were the heir of Gryffindor,”

“But I’m not dead,” I pointed out.

“Seems that way,” Draco gave me an amused smirk. “They must not have known you existed. And seeing as you were raised in America, I came see why they—no one knew. Not until recently anyway.”

“But how did they find me? How did you find me? How did this letter even find me?”

“Would you accept magic as an answer to those three questions?” Draco tried.

“Sure, but I’m still creeped out,” I folded my arms. “Heir to a school of Magic...” I pondered the words aloud for the first time. “What does that even mean? What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Whatever you want,” Draco shrugged.

Our conversation pulled after that into almost nothing. I closed my eyes once more and began to feel the world around me through my newfound sixth sense. It became overwhelming after a few moments but when homing in on Draco’s presence quelled some of that overstimulation. His aura was calming, as if it were a foreign lullaby to my heart. A lullaby that lulled me to sleep before long.

But a darkness lingered still in my dreams. It was alien. Not what I had seen in Draco and not what I knew was within me. Something else. An evil presence that yearned to be free. To take control. To have power. It wanted me. It was suffocating. It dragged me down. Down. Down. Draco felt further away. The plane, it’s passengers, nothing but specks. The darkness dragged me forward. Red eyes stared me down and a smile full of knifes taunted me.

I struggled back, away from the evilness, trying to break free of the darkness but I was trapped. By back was against a wall. There was no escape.

A flicker of silver caught my attention. Bright and beautiful. A ray of hope. My eyes dared to leave the shadow figure to follow that ray. When I saw it again it because more clear. The wisps of a dragon made of pure light. It did not come for me, rather it showed me the way out.

There was a way out.

I gasped, my eyes fluttering open to see the glow of fluorescent lighting and worried grey eyes.

“What—that—who—” I sputtered, my heart racing.

“Are you okay?” His genuine concern called to me. I nodded, tears stinging my eyes.

“What was that Draco?”

“I don’t know,” From his tone I knew that he did not like not knowing. “But you’re safe now,” The comfort of his arms around me made me believe his words more than I thought I would. “We’ll land in a couple hours, just try to relax,” His tone was soft, something new.

The grey dim of London didn’t impress me. I squinted up at the misting rain. Draco took my hand and led me through the maze of the airport, gathering our bags and ushering me toward an empty alley way.

“Draco,” I warned, not enjoying the situation.

“Just hold tight to me and don’t touch the edges,” He instructed. “Don’t let go of your bag either,”

“What? Why?” I broke away from him, to his annoyance.

“Can’t you just do what you’re told? No questions asked?” He seemed to be asking the sky more than he was asking me. I gave him a flat look. “It’s magic. It’s called apperating. It’s going to feel weird, but you should be fine.” He offered his hand to me again.

“Should be?”

“We don’t have time for this Y/n,” He stressed.

“Like hell we do,” I snapped.

“Fine, if you’re not fine then you have total permission to hit me, that make you feel better?” He demanded, insisting that I take his hand.

“No,” I mumbled, placing my hand in his.

That feeling of power was back when he took out a wand—his wand—and twirling it, before I could make fun of him, we were whisked away, and I had to remember to hold on. The distorted reality around me was so enticing to touch, as if it were an impressionist painting that replaced with the dingy grey around me. Then it stopped.

“Where are we?” The scenery changed, still a duller grey, but now in front of a large mansion that I had only seen in movies.

“Malfoy Manor,” Draco said curtly. “Come along,”

Taking a second to recover from the beauty that was all around me, I grabbed my bag and followed him inside where I gasped again. The house looked like something of those fairytales I had always dreamed about.

“Are you coming?” Draco asked promptly.

“I... do you live here!?” I scrambled after him up the stairs with my bag.

“Yes,” He didn’t understand my amazement. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve never been something this... beautiful before,” I turned back to look over the banister at the grand foyer. “You just... live here?”

“Yes,” Now there was a smile playing at his lips. “Come on, we’ve still got much to do,”

“There’s more!?” I followed him up the stairs.

“You haven’t used magic in your entire life, and you think I’m gonna let you waltz in there scared and unprepared?” Draco snorted opening up a random door. “This will be your room. We have a couple days—it won’t be enough time but perhaps I can make you somewhat believable...”

“No one said anything about having to prove I was the heir!” I argued, again taken back by the lavish room but ultimately was overridden by my anger and fear. “Show up, sure! Maybe take a DNA test! But act like some wizard protégée!?”

“Witch,” He mended softly. “And we’ve got this under control,”

“We?” I did not have this under control.

“Snape and I. He will be helping me help you. There’s a lot you need to learn. But for now, rest. Dinner is in an hour,” Closing the door he left me to my thoughts.

Sitting on the bed I looked around the room. Anxiety began to creep in my chest again, but not for the reason it had... this morning. Could it still be the same day? Could I have only met Draco a dozen or so hours ago? My thoughts were reeling.

“A witch, an heir,” I scoffed. “Magic,” it was more of a whisper.

I lifted my hand and remembering the power and golden feeling that had come when Draco created a flower in my palm, I surged for the magic within me. To my surprise, golden flames licked at my fingertips, shimmering in the evening light. A giddy laugh left my lips as I intensified the flame to consume my entire hand.

“He said you were a quick learner,” A stern and nasally voice drew me from my stupor.

My hand dropped and my flame fizzled out as I stood.

“I—uh,”

“I am Severus Snape. I am here to help you. It is in your best interest to do exactly as I say without any questions. Understood?”

“Uh... okay?”

“Dinner will be downstairs soon. Draco would like you to join us. There are clothes in the wardrobe. Change into something more suitable and come down.” His instructions left no room for argument, but my stubbornness flared, yet he left before I could snark a reply.

Mourning my sweater jeans and converse I headed to the elaborate wardrobe and opened the great oak doors to reveal an array of gowns, cloaks, and dresses. Together they were worth more than any amount of money I had come into contact with. And of much higher taste than I’d dare to ever wear.

Riffling through them there was a semi bearable dress that looked as if it were from the 1950s and held a navy-blue color. It would have to do, and it could have been worse. I eyed a heavy shimmering gown with pearls and lace, shuddering at the thought.

———————————————

Draco’s day could have been a lot worse than it ended up being. After finally giving in at Snape’s insistence that he fly back to England and not apparate he thought his day was a lost cause. But then he met you and Merlin were you a handful.

He could easily see the magic you were doing and the power you were giving off. It took a lot of his willpower to not submit and leave you alone, as your defense ordered. But as soon as your eyes met his and a smile played at your lips, he didn’t have to fight any longer. You allowed him to stay close to you, assured that he meant you no harm. No one had trusted him like that in years.

For the heir of Hogwarts, you were quite remarkable. An easy sorting into Gryffindor with or without the hat. He had to play his cards right however, to maneuver you into a world of magic from the mundane of America. But he accomplished the feat, easier than he would have thought done. Perhaps you were more than ready to leave your Muggle world and join his magic one. And not like he could blame you. If he never had to ride in a plane again, he’d do anything.

But just as he thought you were safe, your eyes closed in a peaceful slumber, something dark came back to hurt you. Red eyes that he knew well. How... how he didn’t know. But he could feel the cold evil presence seep into your skin and consume your aura. It terrified him. Draco knew you were defenseless. No amount of unintentional magic could keep the Dark Lord at bay, dead or alive.

So, he did something he never had before in a desperate attempt to protect you and him from that evil. He called his Patronus, touching his wand to your temple, willing it to go and pull you out.

Your eyes flashing open, fear written on your usual confident features, your hands digging into his arms, Draco’s heart churned in his chest. You looked to him for safety. Him—who you’d met barely five hours prior when you were sure he was there to kidnap you. And now you held to him like a prayer. He didn’t expect that. There was nothing else he could do but hold you close and assure you that it was going to be okay.

If you two could ever get off this godforsaken plane.

With touchdown, Draco wasted no time in dragging you by the hand through the throng of the Muggle airport before he lost his temper. In a secluded alley he was finally ready to apparate home. Of course, you had thoughts of your own and he really wasn’t about to fight with you on this. He just wanted to go home. So, he gave in. Just this once.

And Merlin he was thankful that he did. He had never been so happy to see the Manor. You had never seen a Manor before. He almost laughed at the childlike wonder on your face. But instead, he was enamored by it, the same way you were enamored by a house that had lost its shine to him over the years. Draco longed to see the mansion through your eyes even for a moment.

“Your mother wrote,” Snape offered a letter. “She’ll be here within a day,” Draco sighed and skimmed the letter. “Do you still think this is a good idea?” “It’s the best one we’ve got,”

Before Draco could argue, the clearing of your throat softly drew his attention. You had changed into one of his mother’s old dresses that he hadn’t seen in years and you looked quite sheepish about it. Draco stood, out of respect or perhaps startlement. Snape gave him a look which he promptly ignored, going over to you.

“I... I hope it’s alright,” You fiddled with the skirt. “He... he said I could—that I should...”

“You look wonderful,” Draco encouraged softly. “Come, dinner is ready.”

He took your hand and led you through the large house, tuning out Snape’s instruction to you about how to hold yourself as you walked. Draco smiled at the annoyance in your eyes.

Dinner was... more or less a disaster. Your stubbornness met Snape’s instruction, getting you both nowhere.

“If you want to become the Heir of Hogwarts you will listen to me,” Snape almost snarled.

“I don’t want to become the heir!” You stood abruptly, throwing your cloth napkin onto the table. “I just want to know who I am!” Storming out of the dining room, Draco watched you, before sharing a look with Snape.

“She’s hopeless,” Snape muttered.

“You’re dealing with an American Gryffindor; did you think she was just going to sit still and look pretty?” Draco chuckled, standing.

It took him a while to find you. Draco could only fathom that you had gotten lost in the house yourself and winded up on a balcony somewhere on the third floor. You had a blanket draped around your shoulders as you stared up at the stars. The night had cleared, giving clarity to its pathfinders.

“I know what you’re going to say,” You spoke softly, sensing him nearby. “I... I can’t do this Draco. I’m not some lady, some long lost princess in some sort of fairytale. Magic or not...” You took a sharp breath in. “Fairytales are just stories. I’m still a girl with no parents, no family, no past... and no future.”

Draco studied you, wondering how you had changed so much from the confident self-assured girl he’d met this morning. He also had little clue what to say to cheer you up. So, he did what normally comforted him, he spoke fondly of his mother.

“My mother wore that dress,” He began softly, leaning against the door frame. “When I was young, before Hogwarts. Father would always be away on business. She’d take me to the garden, and we’d have a picnic. I remember her in that dress on those warm summer days,” Draco let his eyes slipped closed, lost in the memory. “She used to tell me that I’d never be alone. That as long as I could do magic, I’d always have a place to belong. That there would always be someone out there like me.” He paused. “Hogwarts was my home for quite some time. Slytherins were my family.”

“Who am I to come and claim it as mine then?” The words barely left your lips.

“You’ve been alone and away from your family for so long now. Don’t you think you deserve to go home? To a place that you belong?” You turned to face him, hope flickering in your eyes.

“But I—” You ran a hand through your hair nervously. “I’m never going to be good enough. Dinner was a disaster and I’m never going to please someone like Snape, let alone any other wizard!”

Draco couldn’t do anything but laugh. “No one can please Snape, darling. Don’t take that personally.” He sobered a bit. “You’ve never going to please everyone. Believe me I know. But... it’s more about becoming someone you’re proud of,”

“I don’t know who that is,” You turned back to the stars.

“If you run away, you’ll never know,” Draco mused, standing next to you, leaning on the railing. “But... if you truly can’t stand it in the next three days... I’ll take you back myself,”

You looked over to him, a swirl of emotions unidentifiable on your face. Before he could start to decipher even one of them, your gaze turned downward. He let out a soft sigh.

“If it’s any consolation,” Draco began. “I believe in you. I think you belong,” He turned to leave.

“Draco, wait,” You called out, “Thank you... I know... I know I’m a handful,”

A smile played at his lips. “That’s one way to describe you,”

You rolled your eyes, but you still didn’t smile and that worried him more than he cared to admit.

“I’ll take you back to your room,” He offered.

“I’m quite capable—” You cut yourself off and sighed. “Thanks, again,”

Staring at your closed door, Draco found himself wanting you back before him, so that he could continue to talk to you. He enjoyed it more than he thought. You didn’t fawn over him, nor did you fear him. Instead, you treated him as an equal. As a person.

“Oh, she looks like a kicked puppy!” His mother fawned the next morning. “Draco Lucius Malfoy I’ve taught you better!”

“It wasn’t me!” Draco argued back. “It was Snape!”

“Don’t you talk back to me young man!” She scolded. “Poor thing,” She turned to you, tucking a strand of hair out of your face. “There, there, I apologize for my son’s behavior,”

There was a look of bewilderment on your face at your gaze met his. He didn’t know what to do but shrug and shake his head.

“It... it really was Snape, Mrs. Malfoy,” you stammered out. “Draco’s been...” He met your eyes again and the words you were about to say died on your lips. Not this his mother noticed.

“Oh, don’t you worry about him!” She consoled, standing. “Severus Snape what have I told you about manners!” His mother shouted. Draco was grateful he was no longer the one being shouted at as his mother left to go and reprimand Snape some more.

“Your mother is...” you started a smile finding your lips. It was the first time you smiled since dinner last night.

“I should have warned you a bit more, that was my mistake,”

“No, she’s lovely,” You insisted.

“You don’t have to lie on my behalf,” Draco mused, earning a laugh from you.

“She really is wonderful,” Your laugh faded to a smile.

“You say that now, but if you thought Snape was a lot,” Draco laughed at the dread in your eyes.

His mother insisted they go to Paris to shop for you. A way to take your mind off yesterday, as well as find you the basics of wizardry. Which started with a wand.

“This is stupid,” You muttered as the shop keeper flitted about the hundreds of wand boxes, tittering in French to his mother.

“You need a wand,” Draco whispered back. “Every wand is unique, so there’s one for you,”

It took a few tries, and a few shattered light fixtures—and repairing spells—before you had a loyal wand in hand. Draco made sure that you could use the wand comfortably and surprised him by calling a lighting charm without the incantation... or him telling you to. He caught his mother’s eye who was clearly impressed with you. A new set of robes, what seemed like a new wardrobe entirely and a few books later, you seemed satisfied.

“I really can’t ask anything more of you,” You argued. “This is all more than enough,”

“Nonsense, darling,” His mother laughed. “Think nothing of it. Every great witch needs the tools to help her be successful,”

You blushed, looking down. “I mean it,” You tried again. “Even a trip to Paris would have been more than enough,”

“You’ve never been to Paris!?” His mother was aghast. You had really done it now. “Draco! Why didn’t you tell me the poor girl has never been to our city?” She turned to you. “You really must forgive his rudeness, I blame his father,”

“He—I—” You stammered.

“But I won’t have you here and not show you the wonders of the greatest city in the world. Come! Come!” She ushered you off and Draco had no choice but to trail behind and make sure you didn’t get into too much trouble.

After what seemed like days—though it was only hours filled with shows, attractions, museums, antique shops and more—his mother finally found a resting place, and by the look on your face and your slumped shoulders, you needed it. It was a rooftop restaurant that overlooked the city scape of Paris, off to the Eiffel Tower that lit up the night sky. You had that look of wonder and enchantment in your eyes again as you took in the city scape. Again. Draco wished he could see it through your eyes... for the first time all over again.

“She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” His mother whispered in his ear, far from your earshot. “I’m surprised at you Draco. I’ve never seen you this way around another girl before,”

“She not just another girl mother,” Draco retorted, trying not to blush. “She’s the heir of Hogwarts. The Gryffindor crown princess.” He sighed softly. “She doesn’t have time for...”

“A handsome young man who’s been on his own for too long?” His mother mused.

“A Slytherin,” He finished. “A Death Eater,”

“You’re no more a Death Eater than she is a muggle,” Narcissa said sternly. “I see the way she looks at you Draco,”

“Enough, mother,” Draco shook his head, pursing his lips. “Enough,”

“Fine, fine,” His mother scoffed. “Y/n, darling!” She called.

This dinner was a bit more successful. You were animated with conversation and excitement from the day. There was a way that you spoke about his city that had his heart. Dinner lulled to wine and dessert as couples began to take the dance floor, gliding along to the live band.

“Do you dance darling?” His mother asked, noticing your interested.

“Uh, no, not really,” You stammered, looking sheepish as you blushed.

“Oh, that won’t do! Draco, go on, teach her!” Narcissa gave him a pointed look.

“No really it’s okay!” You refuted before he could.

“Nonsense, every girl must know how to dance, magic or no,” You could both sense that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

So, he ended up with you in his arms on the dance floor as he tried to lead you through a simple waltz.

“You have to trust me,” He instructed, as your eyes met his. “I’m not going to let you fall,” His tone softened.

Your eyes didn’t leave his as you began to find your rhythm in the dance, letting him lead you through it all. Soon you were laughing with joy as he twirled you around the dance floor. He heart skipped a beat or two. The music ended before he wanted it to and a round of applause went up.

And Draco had to let you go.

______________________________

I laid in bed that night, staring at the stars I had created with a simple spell. With the use of my wand, magic was... easy. If I thought and felt what I wanted, it occurred. Though it seemed like a natural process to me, Draco, and Narcissa—and even Snape—were impressed.

Staring regardless, I replayed the night over and over. Dancing with Draco... in Paris... on a rooftop like some sort of stupid fairytale. Whose ending didn’t belong to me. It was the one question I didn’t ask through Narcissa’s lessons. What happened to Draco and I after I had claimed my ‘throne’?

It left me sleepless.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered to him the next day, in front of the grand gates of Hogwarts.

My anxiety was through the roof. Clad in new formal robes, and hair and makeup perfected courtesy of Narcissa, all I had to do was walk in.

“We can still turn back,” Draco gave.

“I can’t do that either,” I muttered, causing him to laugh.

“I believe in you, Y/n,” His earnest words caught my attention and out gazes lingered a bit too long, leaving us both blushing.

“Just... don’t leave me,”

“I remember you telling me that if I could prove magic to you, you’d follow me anywhere. I don’t think I have to worry about you ever leaving me,” He joked softly as we walked into the castle grounds.

“I suppose not,” I smiled at the ground.

“Y/n,” Draco paused, the mood shifting to something more serious and downcast. “You’re... you’re gonna hear somethings about me and... they’re not going to be good,” I pondered his words for a moment.

“You flew halfway around the world to find me, and you helped me get back on my feet, that’s good enough for me,” I smiled softly.

Draco pursed his lips and took a deep breath, still looking despondent about the situation.

“Draco,” I called softly. His grey eyes met mine. “I’d never have followed you onto that plane if I didn’t trust you,”

Deciding that he didn’t have an argument to that that he deemed should be voiced, he led me deeper into the grand castle and it took everything in me not to stop and stare at just about everything.

“You went to school here?” I squeaked. A smile parted his lips.

“Yes... you should have too,” He seemed to realize the injustice.

“We can’t change that now,” I comforted.

Magnificent doors parted the two of us from the entire school and quite a few wizard officials according to Draco. I stared at the intricate detailed work of the doors. If I wasn’t so nervous, I could have spent the entire day staring at these doors alone.

But there was something to be done.

The doors opened and the entire hall fell into a pin drop silence. I grabbed Draco’s hand without thinking for the comfort and support. He squeezed mine reassuringly as we began out steps forward to the front, where older, authoritative looking wizards stood.

“Death Eater,” A student hissed.

“Traitor,”

“Scum,”

“You don’t belong here,”

“Slytherin,”

My eyes glanced up to Draco, who had a mask of no emotion, but I could see the stress in the clenching of his jaw and tightening of his eyes. It was subtle but it was still there. This time I gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance and glared down the crowd, who immediately went quiet. There was not a menacing whisper to be heard.

At the front of the Great Hall there were three wizards who stood out among the rest. They were younger, but still assured of themselves as they stepped forward towards us. A boy with fiery red hair holding hands with a girl who had a glare that I was proud of and beside them a boy with a mess of black hair and piercing green eyes.

“Potter,” Draco’s eyes narrowed as he stood a bit taller.

“Malfoy,” There was the same distain in the supposed savior of the wizarding world’s tone.

I snorted, drawing both of their attention.

“What are you? Five?” I crossed my arms. “Y/n, nice to meet you,” I held my hand out for Harry to shake.

“I still can’t leave you two alone for five minutes,” A new voice sighed, stepping forward. “I hope they haven’t caused you too much trouble, child. I’m Professor McGonagall, headmaster of Hogwarts,”

“Y/n,” I gave again. “Supposed heiress to Gryffindor,”

“Yes,” She smiled. “I can see it in your eyes,”

Harry scoffed, sulking mildly. I looked over to him, then to Draco, confused and amused.

“I must apologize for the deceit in my letter.” McGonagall continued paying no mind to the interaction between Harry and me. “I feared that it was the only way to get you to come,” Her kind blue eyes held mine.

“I understand,” My smile was light. “In fact, if it wasn’t for Draco, I’m not sure I would have found my way here,”

“He used you!” Harry argued. “He wanted to clear his name so of course he helped you! You think he’d be a decent person if there wasn’t something in it for him!”

“That’s enough of that Mr. Potter!” McGonagall scolded. “Mr. Malfoy aided the heir of your house here from America unprovoked and I will not have you accuse him of such things,”

“If she trusted Malfoy there’s no way that she could ever be a Gryffindor. She doesn’t belong here,” Harry’s words were as cold as ice.

The malice and hatred in his voice and eyes was a fatal blow to my heart and confidence. Harry was right. I didn’t belong here. I looked around to the lavish hall and all of the students and wizard officials who had years of training and practice and grew up knowing who they were... this wasn’t where I belonged.

“How dare you,” Draco snarled, taking a step forward to shield me from Harry’s further words, but they had already hit their mark.

Their bickering silenced, but the tensions were high. Not that I noticed, I was too wrapped up in my negative thoughts.

“Come child,” McGonagall beckoned.

“Give me a minute,” I requested softly.

“We really need—”

“I said in a minute!” My raised voice shocked Draco and McGonagall. There was almost fear in their eyes. Harry still held the same hatred for me in his stare, now smug as if I proved his point.

It was enough to cause me to run.

Never being in a castle before in my life let alone a magic one, I was lost before I took my third turn. Tears streaming down my face, I never felt more alone. I found myself in a small courtyard with a lone old oak tree.

As I did when I was younger, I began to climb high into the branches, looking for an escape from the world below me. But there weren’t branches high enough this time. Resting on a high branch I leaned against the trunk, I let myself cry. The passage of time was hard to tell as the sun sank and the stars came out to play. It might have been an hour or two. I didn’t know and I was too miserable to care.

I didn’t belong here, and I wasn’t wanted here. Moments before I was only thinking that I didn’t care what they thought about Draco. I never imagined that there would be doubt and uncertainty about me.

I heard footsteps coming into the courtyard.

“Go away Draco,” I warned, pausing when I saw that it wasn’t Draco, but instead McGonagall. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“I know who you thought I was,” She peered up at me through the branches. “Merlin’s sake what are you doing in a tree?” I heard the sternness in her voice, but I couldn’t help but here the amusement underneath.

“Hiding,” I offered sheepishly.

“Well come down from there,” She ordered.

I made my way down with ease. Dropping to the ground from a higher branch than I could have, I knew that I startled the headmaster. I gave a polite hesitant smile.

“What do they teach you in America,” McGonagall pursed her lips, an undeniable hint of mischief in her eye.

“I’m... really sorry professor,” I sighed. “I know I’m not what anyone thought. And I know I don’t belong here. I’m sorry I ever...”

“Never mind all that,” She cut me off. “Who are you, child?”

“I... I was hoping that you could tell me,” I glanced down, fidgeting, and straightening my robe.

“My dear, I’m old, and I’m tired of being conned and tricked.” She began.

“I don’t want to trick anyone,” I said earnestly.

“And I’m sure owning this castle means nothing to you either?” A silence passed between us.

“I just want to know who I am,” I finally spoke. “Whether or not I belong to a family, if I’m someone like you,” I sat on the stone bench that was to the side. “Draco said that Hogwarts was like home to him... a family,” Tears stung my eyes. “I never had a home, a family...”

McGonagall sat beside me, placing her hand over mine.

“Heir or not, you will always have a home here at Hogwarts. It is a safe haven to all witches and wizards who wish to remain,” She assured me. “And I am the one that must apologize. Mr. Potter is very hotheaded, a negative attribute to Gryffindors I’m afraid,” A smile played at her lips. “But... if Draco followed you to America and brought you here, I have no doubt that you are the heir.” I smiled down at my hands. “I see the way he looks at you,”

“I’ve never met anyone like him before,” I confessed.

“Then you are very special,” She stood. “Now come, you have a title to claim and a sword that belongs to you,”

“I get a sword?” My excitement grew as I followed her. McGonagall merely laughed and led me back through the castle.

Draco, who was anxiously pacing outside of the Great Hall, caught sight of us. He rushed over to me, looking me over before pulling me into a hug, before remembering himself.

“I’m so sorry,” He insisted. “This is my fault. Harry and I never got along, and as soon as I walked in there with you, I pinned you as a rival to him,” He cupped my face softly. “I’m so sorry,” He repeated.

Nodding, I gave him a smile.

“You destiny awaits inside my dear,” McGonagall motioned toward the entrance to the hall.

The second time I walked down the aisle of students, I no longer had the confidence I had before. Except, Draco’s hand in mine gave me the courage to keep going. Except this time, Harry’s malice was not the force holding me back.

As Draco and I were halfway across the room, a great darkness flooded the hall. Disquieted whispers of fear were exchanged among the students and official wizards.

“No other heir will take the throne,” A cruel voice hissed, that I had only heard once before, in a dream. I grabbed Draco’s hand. “No heir but Slytherin,”

I looked to Draco, trying to find what to do next in his eyes. He was just as uncertain as I was. Then something sparked in his eyes.

“The sword Y/n!” Draco urged. “Take the sword and claim your throne!”

“But how is that—”

“Just go!” He ordered drawing his wand and leaving little room for argument.

The darkness hung heavier in the room. Shedding my stuffy robes, I was free to run in nothing more than jeans and a sweater to the podium where the sword lay.

“Don’t touch that sword!” The voice hissed. “Or your lover here dies!”

I turned to see Draco almost entirely consumed by a thick black smoke, struggling for air.

“Don’t hurt him!” I screeched, pausing on my ascent toward the sword.

Hundreds of wizards and witches watched us with bated breath, warned by McGonagall to stay back. I could see the fear and fury in their gazes.

“Don’t hurt him,” I begged, taking a step away from the podium.

“Y/n, don’t—don’t worry about me,” Draco gasped out.

“You’ll die,” I argued weakly. “You can’t leave me! You promised!”

“I know,” He choked out. “Just trust me. It’s magic,” The sparkle of mischief in his eyes gave me the courage I needed to ignore the threatening evil voice and walked up to the sword for the third time since I arrived.

“No past... no parents...no home...” I muttered, looking at the sword. “But you won’t take my future!”

I gripped the sword handle and held it high above my head, watching as the Great Hall was bathed in golden light. Every person in the room stared at me, before bowing. I didn’t care. My eyes held onto one person.

The dark cloud has nowhere to run, it was vaporized. Draco fell to the ground gasping for air. I dropped the sword to the ground, hearing it clatter somewhere behind me as I rushed to Draco’s side.

“My god, Draco!” I worried over him, holding him close. “Don’t you ever do that again!” He coughed out a laugh and his arms weakly embraced me.

“Y/n, sweetheart, I don’t think now is the right time. You can yell at me later,” He nodded to the faces in awe that stared at me.

I scrambled to my feet, helping Draco up.

“All hail the Gryffindor Heiress and the Slytherin Prince!” McGonagall proclaimed with a clear voice. A loud cheer went up in the Hall that had me blushing and nearly clinging to Draco.

McGonagall came over to me, offering me the sword that laid in her outstretched hands. “I do believe this belongs to you,” She smiled.

I took the sword, and though the light wasn’t as great as it had been moments before, there was a golden shine to the silver metal. I held it up, examining it. A word burned into the metal, in a golden script.

Virtus

I smiled at the word. Glancing up at Draco, and the adoration in his grey eyes, the sword was soon forgotten from my attention.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“Hello,” He smiled.

“So... I’m the Heir,” I offered, nervous for a new reason.

“I see that,”

“Draco?”

“Yes?”

“I... I, uh,”

“I know.” Draco smiled, “I fancy you too,”

I laughed despite myself at his British vernacular. Of which I had to quickly explain because of the hurt look on his face. Rolling his eyes, he pulled me close, causing me to look up at him. I met curious warm grey eyes that held the secrets of a world. I smiled.

Draco leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, cradling my face with the utmost care as he kissed me. Another cheer went up causing me to laugh and forcing me away from his kiss.

“I love you,” He mended, whispering for just us to hear.

“I love you too,”

Then he pressed his lips to mine once more not caring if the world was burning or celebrating around us.

masterlist

more like this:

beautifully beastly

a death eater and a dancer

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230 notes · View notes

valdomarx · 3 years

Text

La Campanella

McShep + Rodney plays the piano Rodney never could resist a challenge, especially when it’s set by Sheppard.

Atlantis is a place of many wonders, but Rodney's favorite is this:

In a distant part of the northern pier is a short, squat tower which he and Sheppard investigate on a routine patrol.

And in that tower is a large, unassuming room like a lecture hall.

And in the center of the room is an object seven foot long and three feet high, elegant, delicate, and familiar.

“Is that…” Rodney practically runs over to touch it, as reckless as that urge can be in Atlantis, but he knows this isn’t a weapon or a piece of broken technology or some dangerous machine. It’s a thing of beauty.

It’s an instrument remarkably like a piano: white and black reversed, keys slightly different lengths, but the same 12-step configuration making up an octave. Keys which strike strings stretched over a wide frame with soft hammers, and this can’t be a coincidence.

“How... ” he starts, and then he answers his own question. “The Ancients must have invented this instrument and brought the concept with them to Earth. But that would overturn so much musical history they’ll have to rewrite the textbooks, can you even imagine the implications -”

John does not look as fascinated by the profound repercussions of this discovery on the history of western classical music as Rodney is.

He waves questions of history aside and sits on the low stool in front of the keyboard, blowing away the years of accumulated dust. His hands instinctively settle into arches, his wrists loose, and he plays a few simple scales. The notes sound out clear and true, but -

He frowns.

“Something wrong?” Sheppard is leaning over the instrument, studying him and it with interest.

“This is tuned half a tone lower than an Earth piano. Feels a bit weird, that’s all.”

“How do you know that?”

Rodney affects his smuggest smile. “Perfect pitch, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sheppard says, rolling his eyes.

Rodney looks around the room furtively, keen for reasons he can’t articulate that no one else should observe them, and he starts to play.

It becomes a habit, a place to unwind, somewhere they visit on off hours and in quiet moments.

Today Sheppard is flicking through a golf magazine while Rodney warms up with some Bach. The music is pleasing and orderly, and the sparse, bright notes explode in fractal-like patterns, unfurling and changing and becoming more complex the closer you look.

John tilts his head to one side and says, “You know there’s a whole bunch of classical music on the Atlantis server?”

Rodney grins. He did know that, in fact. Never get between a team of scientists and their file sharing. “I may have heard.”

“I listened to some of the Chopin you like. Then some other piano stuff as well.”

“Yeah?” Rodney picks at a fingernail. Something about the idea of John listening to music just because Rodney likes it makes his heart beat a little faster. “Find anything you liked?”

“A bunch actually. Have you heard of a piece called La Campanella? By a guy named Liszt?"

"Have I…" Has he heard of the single hardest piece in the entire solo piano repertoire? The fact he could never get those double stops right haunts him to this day. "Yeah, it rings a bell."

"I like that one," John says decisively. "It's nice."

Nice??? Sheppard thinks the most epic and demanding piece of all time is nice? Of course he does.

"You should learn to play it," John says casually, like he's suggesting they watch an action movie instead of a scifi.

"I should -" he splutters. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is? It's practically impossible."

John smirks and says, "I thought practically impossible was your specialty?"

Rodney is still spluttering when John throws him a wink and walks out.

And then, because despite being the finest mind in two galaxies, on some level he truly is an idiot, he stretches out his fingers and starts to practice.

It's not like he had copious free time to start with. But he makes space whenever he can to come to the piano room, chipping away at this ludicrous piece, bit by bit, phrase by phrase, over and over and over.

People think that learning to play is artistry, and maybe it is that too, but mostly it's a grind. You keep doing it again and again until you get it right. It's as much about stubbornness as about skill.

And stubbornness is something Rodney McKay has in abundance.

Liszt really was a sadistic old bastard, Rodney thinks sourly as he works on the right hand jumps until his fingers turn to lead.

Sometimes Sheppard comes and sits with him while he practices, and on those days he plays easier pieces, things which are familiar and casual. Not that John seems to pay much attention, but Rodney has the urge to impress him all the same.

He’s always having that urge around John.

He spends an entire week working on his goddamn trill.

It shouldn’t matter and it’s not like anyone will really listen to it. But it seems to represent something important — a sequence of paired adjacent notes, next to each other but never quite touching, bouncing off each other time and time again, a dance of two — though he doesn’t want to examine that too closely.

He doesn’t tell anyone else about the piano. He tells himself that’s because it’s convenient that he doesn’t have to share and can use it whenever he wants.

But really, he likes that it’s his and Sheppard’s; their own tiny secret in this vast and sprawling city.

He hears the piece in his sleep, and on missions, and when he’s working in his lab. It becomes a background hum of his brain, always there, a sort of yearning for the possible, the platonic ideal, the way that things could be.

He tries not to examine that too closely either, though the weight of the realization is becoming harder to ignore.

Eventually the piece is as ready as it's going to be. He scribbles a quick note during a meeting, folds it into a paper airplane, and throws it at Sheppard's head. He hits him right in the temple, and he manages to avoid cheering when Elizabeth glares at him.

I have something to play for you, the note reads. Meet you at 7? You know where. - R

He jots it down without really thinking, and only once he's thrown does it occur to him how soppy it sounds.

John doesn't seem too perturbed though. He smiles down at the note and meets Rodney's eye with a little eyebrow wiggle which Rodney takes to mean, Gonna impress me?

By the time John arrives, Rodney is all warmed up and more nervous than he's ever been about a performance. His heart is racing, and when John gives him a fond look and says, "Hey," it trips even faster.

Once he settles in to play though, there's a certain kind of mental clarity that settles over him. His hands know how to do this, he just has to sit back and let them.

His wrists are still tense as he sounds out the first few bars and then, all at once, he relaxes into it and lets the music carry him. Hours of repetition have made every chord, every melody, every insane and unreasonable jump into something almost effortless. He even forgets John is there: there’s only him, and the piano, and the music.

The music builds and builds, each section becoming more and more ornamented, more complex, more physically demanding, all at a relentless pace that sends most players reeling. But he's got this, he can do this, it turns out all he needed was a bit of motivation.

The penultimate section is his favorite: The technical parts are done and here he can throw himself into the wild, over the top glory of the final melody. And perhaps he shows off a little bit, catching John's eye and grinning at him, but that's all part of the fun.

The piece ends with a crashing, massive finale that makes him feel like a virtuoso, and then in a last few epic chords it's done, as tight and perfect a five minutes as you could wish for.

The final chord reverberates on and on through the stillness of the room, glowing out beyond the city and into the night.

"Wow." John's eyes are wide. "That was great."

Rodney preens, because that ineloquent little comment somehow means more to him than an auditorium full of ecstatic applause. Having John look at him like that makes the months of practice worth it.

"You liked it?" He's fishing for compliments, but he figures he's earned it.

"I did," John says, staring at Rodney's hands like they hold the secrets to the universe.

He looks up and blushes at having been caught staring. Then he deflects and shrugs one shoulder. “Honestly, though, it’s not my favorite piano piece.”

Rodney narrows his eyes. He has the distinct impression he’s been played. “What was your favorite then?”

"I prefer Songs Without Words."

"Mendelssohn?" he explodes. "You wanted Mendelssohn? Jesus Christ, I learned to play that when I was eight!"

John grins. "I appreciate simplicity in music."

"Then why on earth did you make me learn Liszt?!"

John has this joyous, manic light in his eyes, like he's having the time of his life here, messing around with Rodney, of all the things he could be doing. "I like watching you do impossible things."

He sucks in a breath. "I hate you."

"No you don't." John leans in, smug and delighted, and oh, Rodney is so in love with this ridiculous, infuriating man that he could burst. "You learned La Campanella for me."

"It wasn't that hard," he says quickly, because he has a reputation to maintain here. But John laughs and gives him this soft, teasing look, one eyebrow quirked at a ridiculous angle beneath the chaotic mess of his hair, and Rodney is defenseless.

"Whatever you say, McKay," John says, and Rodney has the feeling he sees straight through him. "Now play it again."

#mcshep #stargate atlantis #my writing #where my fellow classical music nerds at this one is for you

57 notes · View notes

janekfan · 3 years

Note

ooooh..... difficult anniversary and/or you’re not human anymore bingo prompts for jarchivist obliteration?

AAAA This took so long! I am SO SORRY!!! <3 <3 <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31123295

Jon was used to hurting.

Used to hiding.

Which is why he didn’t notice. Didn’t understand what was happening to him and more importantly why.

A panic attack here. A bad day there. A cold, maybe? Until the scars on his skin from the worms and the corkscrew and the scratching woke one day as though they were fresh and new. His skin crawled, the slightest touch filled him with revulsion and, lord, he had to keep it together because Martin would almost certainly overreact and Jon hated, hated to be the source of his worry.

So he would ignore it as usual.

Whatever it was would pass. And he could avoid being the center of attention for this thing that was out of their control. He’d read the Lord of the Rings. He knew about the less romantic side of anniversaries. What was one more thing for him to overcome?

It didn’t stop them from hurting like the day they were drawn on his body and while the rents in his skin looked the same as they ever did, he nearly bloodied himself after a particularly wretched nightmare with his frenzied clawing.

And it passed. The burning, bleeding, boring sensations disappeared and Martin hadn’t suspected a thing. Okay, that was a lie. But he seemed mollified enough when Jon wrote it off as a tough week at university.

“I’m just tired, habibi.” He forced himself to reach for Martin’s hands, sighing in gusty relief when everything was normal and allowing himself to get wrapped up in warm arms.

The mark left behind by the Distortion ached deep and throbbing and somehow also elsewhere. It was a phantom pain traveling the myriad corridors of his veins, his arteries, his nerves and when he couldn’t rid himself of it in any conventional way, he waited. It would pass. It would. Just like the last one. This was just pain. He knew pain. Was fast friends with it by now and this was nothing like his worst days.

“Jon-darling?”

“Mm?” He was flipping through the pages in a book, not too fast, not too slow, not really reading anything, trying to pretend that everything was normal when his foot cramped up like he’d been bitten. He was practiced now in not looking; there wouldn’t be anything there anyway. His skin might as well have been a great big door and the only way through to the other side didn’t involve knocking.

“You look pale.” Ah. Well. Pain like this would do that to a man.

“Just a little sore today, love.” It wasn’t a lie. Jon set the book aside, not bothering to mark whatever random page he’d landed on, and threaded their fingers together.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into carrying the shopping.”

“What are you talking about? I always help carry the shopping.” Despite his chronic conditions, Jon pulled his own weight.

No, stop. Of course you do and you have nothing to prove, especially not to Martin of all people.

“You’ve been run down.”

“I have not!” Martin fixed him with a stern look and he cowed under his scrutiny. “Perhaps a bit, but you know how these things go.”

“I do. And I can’t help but feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.” Here it was. Martin’s overture, his olive branch. His invitation to come clean and tell the truth and avoid his wrath when he found out later. But Jon never was a quick learner of these social lessons.

“I’m fine, hayati.” Jon soothed, tipping Martin into his newly throbbing shoulder. “I’m fine.”

The next three hit him like a lorry, nearly as hard as they had a year ago and nearly all at once.

His burn scar, just like the worm scars, felt blistered as badly as the day he’d taken Jude’s hand, and he shook violently at the onset of it, thankful he was squirreled away in his office at the University and not crying into Martin’s shirt even if that’s where he’d prefer to be but Martin hates burns.

Hates how they look, how twisted and ugly they become when they scar.

Burns made him upset. Burns made him sick.

He hates them. Hates them. And while Jon was reasonably sure Martin would never turn him away when he was hurting like this, the fluttering undercurrent chanting what if wouldn’t leave him be.

So Instead he sniffled away in the dark, wrist pressed between his knees in a vain attempt to stop the shaking while he tried to remember how to breathe.

It was dark when he slipped into bed beside Martin, dead asleep after a run of night shifts. For a frantic moment Jon wanted to shake him awake, beg for reasurances, for relief, but it would ruin this. Martin looked so peaceful, face relaxed in repose, cheek soft when Jon pressed his trembling lips there.

“Jon... ?” Washing out on a swirling tide his voice was fuzzy, thick with exhaustion, and the hand that brushed the small of his back lingered only for the time it took for him to drift back under. No. He’d wrought enough damage here. Better for Martin to rest without worry. He shouldn’t have to deal with Jon and his problems. Especially when they would be arriving like clockwork for the rest of his life. Jon pressed himself against Martin’s warmth, trying to soak it up, stop the shivering. How could he be so frozen when his whole right arm was engulfed in flame? Silent, he let the tears come, closing his eyes against a burgeoning dizziness he knew would only grow worse.

Be quiet. Just be quiet. Don’t disturb him, you mustn’t. You’ve nothing else to give except more burdens that aren’t his to carry.

The ceiling was spinning so fast above him; lights, cast shadows, cabinets whirling, reeling, spiraling so much he’d be sick with it any minute. The vibrations from Martin’s pounding footsteps resonated through the whole of him, pulsing, in time with his uneven battering pulse.

He barely remembered the actual fall, just the terrifying sensation of being weightless and the fear welling in his throat like coagulated ink. Forever. He’d be falling forever. Nothing to hold. To grab. To slow. To Know.

Endless.

His scream wrenched away from him in the rushing winds filling up his ears, stealing his voice, his breath. No one could hear him in this place. Martin would never know what happened. That Jon was eaten up by the sky. Surrounded infinitely on all sides by a sea of simultaneous nonexistence and brutal presence. Jon’s awareness whittled down only to the pull of gravity in all the wrong directions.

“Jon!” A bleary shape manifested above him, blocking out the worst of it. Hands, gentle, probing, searching subconsciously for breaks, contusions, his training winning out over the panic Jon could just make out in the set of his mouth. Fingers ran soft through his curls, seeking out any swellings and Jon winced when he found one. Must’ve struck his head on the way down. Those cool hands settled, cupping his face, and twin thumbs brushed over his cheeks. “You’re warm, love.” A murmur, almost to himself as Martin puzzled.

“B’bit of, of vertigo, s’all.” Uncoordinated, Jon’s arm struck out as he tried to reach for him and landed on his wrist. “Tryin’...nnh.” He gripped Martin like a lifeline, slamming his eyes shut against the need to be ill.

“You’ve clocked yourself.” Fair enough. “But I think you’re alright. Think you can move?” With no other option than to speak lest he set it all swirling again, Jon whimpered. “Okay.” With one more pass through his hair Martin stepped away and soon enough had Jon settled as best he could on the tile, tucked beneath a blanket with a cold pack pressed to the back of his neck. Relief came gradually and Martin’s unasked questions lingered on the edges of their companionable silence. “Better?”

“Mm.” Despite the hard surface applied to every pressure point, Jon was falling asleep cocooned in the safety of Martin’s soothing company.

He wouldn’t be able to keep this up

Martin teased him mercilessly about the loss of his voice and Jon let him have it if it kept him from noticing how sore his throat really was. He wanted to tell him that it was Daisy’s mark, to cry and come clean and beg Martin to stay.

But that wouldn’t be fair. Jon had to be a whole person in this relationship and stop relying on Martin to pick up the slack. He would figure this out. He’d prove his past didn’t control him.

After he could get out of bed.

And here was what he’d strived to avoid. Finally laid low.

“I worry, Jon. You know that.” That was the problem. Martin was already going to be late to work from all his fussing. With the scrap of voice he’d gained back he protested in a hoarse whisper, syllables squeaking past what felt like a shredded voice box and listened to Martin call in again. He had to be better than this but he was overwrought, dangling at the end of a very frayed rope. This marked a sharp decline and Jon was sure it hadn’t escaped Martin’s notice that they were coming up on the date he’d more or less died. He could barely rouse himself in the mornings for school, drifting through lessons and relying more on his TA than he’d like. More than once he’d splurged on a cab, not sure if he’d make it on the tube and Martin’s fretting and worry and distress only made Jon more secure in his conviction. If it was this bad already, how bad would it become if he knew the reason it was all happening? They were supposed to be free of this. Jon wasn’t supposed to keep doing this to Martin.

Melanie’s scar throbbed, chipping away at any scant reserve he had left and ruthless with its aim. It was worse than Daisy’s even though he could understand both motivations. Daisy was putting down a monster. Mel was striking out at someone trying to help, driving home with the scalpel that no good deed goes unpunished. Rationally, he knew he’d deserved it. Too bad it didn’t dull the sting of it all really.

“Darling? Sweetheart?” Jon forced his eyes open, gasping when it sent the dark room to pirouetting, his stomach to churning, staging a mutiny against the scant meal he’d forced on himself not too long ago. Anything he’d gained in their short reprieve had long melted away under the stress. “I’m here, what’s wrong, love?”

“Nnothing…” he regretted the word as soon as it passed his lips.

“You’ve a fever so high it woke me. That’s not nothing, Jon.” Mercifully, he gave him a moment to gather his thoughts, catalogue how much more of this he could take before it broke him. Burned hand shaking, Jon clenched his fist which didn’t help the pain rocketing through his arm and into his heart, but steadied him.

“Jus’a, a bit of a flare up.” Those sometimes came with fevers.

“Oh, love. Why didn’t you say?”

Because it was a lie. Because I didn’t want you to worry. Because I never want to see you upset over me. Because I’m not worth it. Because if it’s always going to be like this--

“Din’t want you to, to…” The cramping agony slurred his voice badly, stringing syllables together with an uncooperative tongue was too much effort. “Nngh.” Dazed and groggy, Jon shut his eyes tightly, trying to focus on Martin’s soothing touch stroking over his face. Like a coward, Jon let sleep rescue him from the truth.

It was the flesh that gave him away.

Woke him screaming; hot and twisting in agony with Jared’s phantom fingers dug into his rib cage. More fingers clamped onto his shoulders, shaking him, a distorted voice calling, shouting his name over and over and over.

“Jon!” Martin was little more than a blur, obscured by tears, and Jon’s panic was reflected straight back at him. “Where does it hurt?”

“Wha…?”

“Where, habibi? Left, right? Please, Jon.”

“Not...not. S’not--” He couldn’t get the words to come, to admit after so long what he’d kept poorly hidden.

“Not what?” Frustration bled sideways into his words and Martin gripped him harder as though he might tear the answers out of him.

“Real.” It burst from him in a raw, somehow soft explosion. It wasn’t. Not really. The wounds were long healed over.

“Looks plenty real from here, Jon.” He batted away questing fingers.

“No. No.” There was no way he’d be able to explain through this piercing agony, the literal holes invisible in his skin.

“It’s the fears, isn’t it? Your marks, your scars.” Martin already knew judging by the disquiet in his tone. This was merely confirmation.

“Yes.” He sobbed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was hurt in his voice, sadness and betrayal, alongside the ire.

“I thought, I thought--” Jon couldn’t breathe, panic and pain stealing the very air from his lungs. This was only going to get worse. After all they’d done, he’d done--how was he still a monster?

“Shh, shhh, thought what, love?” Martin held him carefully, mindful of all the ways Jon hurt, ticking off fears and scars on mental fingers, trying to figure out how long he’d been hiding it. How long he’d been suffering alone.

“Supposed to be, god, supposed to be safe, free of this.” He was trembling now, with chills or anxiety or both, gasping for every sip of oxygen and swallowing seawater for his trouble. “Can’t, what if--?” Choking himself off, Jon strangled. Martin stayed silent, rocking them both gently, back, forth, soft, slow, calm, calm, calm, and when Jon finally spoke again had to strain to hear him over the echo of a hammering heart beat. “Every year?”

Every year.

He couldn’t Breathe.

Everything was close. So close, too close, and he was crushed under the implications.

“Jon?” Now he was heaving for it, fast and deep, and while Martin could feel the strain it was to breathe he knew it wouldn’t be long before Jon lost consciousness altogether. “Hey, hey, listen, hayati, slow down, sloow down.” Jon’s entire body lifted when Martin inhaled, and again, and again, until he picked up the thread and made more than a half decent attempt. “Okay, there you are, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. So well.” Time passed in measured breaths, so much so that Martin had begun to think Jon had fallen asleep when:

“You’ll leave.”

Soft and shattered. All the fear that he’d piled onto the pain flowing out of him, a dam burst and broken.

“I won’t.” Jon’s movements were hard-won but he managed to shift himself enough to face him. His expression was firm.

“You, you can’t be stuck taking care of an i’invalid again, Martin. I won’t. I won’t have it.”

“Ah. You won’t have it.” Martin scoffed. “And what about me? When do I get a choice?” Jon, eyes wide and dark with exhaustion and pain, looked at him as though he’d grown a second head, perhaps a third.

Or like Martin was a predator and Jon was prey, cornered and hurting.

“You shouldn’t want this.” Me. “This, this burden. This trap!”

“You’re not some sort of trap!” Martin could see the moment Jon decided to change tactics, to try and convince him otherwise, win the game. Too bad for Jon that Martin knew him better than he knew himself.

“You want this don’t you?” He sneered, so convinced, and while once upon a time it would have made Martin wilt and retreat, now he was familiar with Jon’s lashing out. Sorry, Jon. “I won’t be another reason for you to martyr yourself.”

“And I won’t be scared off by your nasty attitude.” Softening, he reached for Jon’s trembling hands, running his thumbs methodically over the backs of them. “I won’t. Together. Right?”

“Martin.” His name broke open on a sob. “I don’t. I don’t want this for you.”

“Tough.” Smothered, Jon’s next words died in his throat, a fledgling bird crushed before it could take flight. “You don’t get to choose for me, even to protect me.”

“Every year--”

“We don’t know that. Not yet.” Martin eased him down. “You aren’t a burden. You aren’t trapping me here.” He kissed away the tears, the hopelessness, even as Jon shook his head nigh delirious.

“I am, I am.”

“No, love. What you are is worn out and hurting.” Martin teased out Jon’s tangled curls, stroking his fingers through them and watching him relax as much as he could at the moment. “What you’re going to do is let me take care of things. Of you, Jon.”

“Don’deserve you.” Fresh tears welled in half lidded brown eyes, slipped into the fly aways at his temples when they closed. “Never have.” Martin stood, pressing lips to his hot brow, intending to gather up anything he thought might help.

“We’ll talk when you’re feeling better.” Jon nodded and Martin turned to leave, stopping when he found himself caught by quaking fingers tangled in his sleeve.

“I, I love you.” Contrite, whispered and awaiting rejection. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, darling.” Martin leaned down, thumbing away new tears. “I know, I know and I love you too.” He stole one more shivering kiss. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #sick #anniversaries #scars #fever #pain #hurt #fights #reassurances

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years

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Standards of Performance, Chapter 12: What Happens in Alleyways

From the Beginning, Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Sorry it's a lil short, it's more of a transition chapter to actually jumping into this case and Reader's now even more confusing "relationship" with Hotch. Things get kinkier and angrier and more explicit from here, but I'll do my best to tag stuff. Thanks for your patience as always, guys, especially amidst the dumpster fire that is current events right now <3 Your reblogs and tags slay me and I love it.

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary: Turns out, the world doesn't stop on its axis just because you had sex with your boss. You’re unsure whether or not that’s a good thing.

Words: 1,882

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Violence, dark themes, explicit sexual content. More specific warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

You awoke to the dim light of the dawn, rain gently pattering on the windows, and the blaring sound of Hotch’s ringtone three feet from your face.

“Jesus christ, old man,” you groaned, blinking your eyes open, “turn your hearing aids up.”

Already sitting up in bed, he paused with the phone halfway to his ear.

Shit. You were being too casual - waking up in his bed, joking with him. Acting like you belonged there. You didn’t know how he felt about what happened, for all you knew he regretted every second and-

“You’re paying for that later,” he smiled before answering the call.

The playful threat filled you with relief before it made your stomach flip, and the memories of last night came flooding back. His body, his eyes, his hands all burned inside your eyelids as if you’d been staring directly at the sun. You’d never been in this situation before - waking up next to someone you’d spent the night with and desperately hoping it was the first time rather than the last. But you’d also never felt your body sing with the white-hot pleasure it did when it was touched by the seemingly unattainable man who did so last night, so. There was that.

The low rumble of his voice brought you back to the present, and you looked up at his face to find it was twisted up in concentration, resignation, and something else.

“I’ll be right down,” he said, standing up swiftly and pulling his work clothes on with practiced speed. “Don’t let anyone touch anything.”

He shoved his phone in his suit pocket and looked at you, still tangled up in his sheets.

“Get dressed and meet me downstairs,” he said, terse. “There’s a body in the alley outside the building.”

“Outside this building?”

“Yes,” he responded, “and there’s a note.”

As he swept out the door, leaving you reeling, you realized what the other expression on his face was. Fear.

***

Hotch had gotten ready and exited the apartment before you had even processed the situation, and your mind was racing a mile a minute as you flung yourself out of bed and scrambled to get dressed. The logical assumption, of course, was that the stalker had left the body. People didn’t just end up dead in alleyways in this part of town, and certainly not in the middle of a rainstorm mere floors from where the BAU Unit Chief slept - not without a reason.

You threw on your coat and boots, forgoing contacts and makeup in favor of your glasses and a hat to cover the tangled mess last night’s tryst had made of your hair. Without even pausing to look in a mirror, you scurried down the stairwell and exited the lobby into the cold October wind.

It was easy to tell which alley the body occupied - there were an excess of thirty people milling in and out of the space to the right of the building. Crime scene investigators, policemen, and other personnel talked in hushed voices. You spotted a clearing in the sea of people and knew that’s where the victim would be, given a wide berth per Hotch’s instruction.

The team hung out at the edge of the circle watching Reid, who was kneeling in front of the body slumped against the side of the apartment building. Moving closer, you could tell he was in the middle of one of his spiels, gesturing wildly while the everyone nodded along. You joined the group that had formed around him and caught the middle of what seemed to be a hypothesis about victimology.

“ -no patterns, obviously, but if we assume similar characteristics would be present in all his victims, it’s hard to discern what statement he could be making. Positing a male in his mid-to-late twenties is statistically most likely, but stalkers of this age group also frequently have some sort of sexual motivation, and if the autopsy is consistent with what we can observe now,” he gestured to the body, “I don’t think that’s the case here.”

Throughout his speech, you’d been scrutinizing the victim - a brunette women who looked to be no older than 20, arranged in a half-sitting position against the wall behind her. There was no blood anywhere you could see, in fact, she barely looked dead at all, likely thanks to the below-freezing temperatures last night that had put a pause on the early stages of decomposition. Pinned to her shirt was a white envelope that bore an ominous message in bold, black ink:

“For my friends at the BAU.”

Not hard to guess who had killed this woman.

“Can you determine cause of death, Spence?” Prentiss asked, her arms folded.

“I’m not sure, but if I had to guess…” he used his pen to push the victim’s hair to the side, exposing a neck mottled with stark blue bruises.

“Anger, then,” you offered, speaking to the psychological drivers behind strangulation, “but I doubt we’ll find any sign of sexual assault. The unsub made it clear that his disdain is directed towards us; it’s not likely that would extend to his victim.”

The rest of the team nodded in thought, but Hotch looked at you in surprise, as if just noticing your presence. As his eyes glued on yours, his face changed, and he grabbed your arm in an unpleasantly tight grip.

“Open the note. I’ll just be a moment.”

Unaware of his boss’ sudden change in demeanor and the vice on your elbow, Morgan gloved up and reached for the envelope. Hotch, meanwhile, unceremoniously dragged you down the alleyway and around to the deserted back side of the building.

“What the hell?” you hissed, yanking your arm out of his grip.

“Did you fail to look in a mirror before you came down here?” Hotch’s narrowed stare betrayed nothing but contempt, and you scrambled to determine the implication of his question.

“I’m sorry, did you want me to take a shower before looking at the dead body? I did the best I could, it seemed urgent -”

“No,” he snapped, “I’m referring to the fact that your neck looks worse off than our victim’s does.”

You processed his words for a moment before the implication hit you.

“Are you talking about the hickies?! Christ, Hotch, I’ll get a scarf then. Just give me a second!”

“Please do. I’d like my agents to appear professional, not like they’re college kids coming off a one night stand.”

His words halted your stomp back into the building, and you turned back, furious.

“You put them there! How is this my fault?”

“I didn’t think I would have to be this explicit about the fact that I don’t want the fact that we had sex last night broadcast to everyone at the crime scene.”

You gaped at him in disbelief.

“Are you embarrassed or something? I’m sorry if you regret what happened, but you don’t need to lash out at me like this -”

“I’m not lashing out,” he interrupted, “I’m informing you of my expectations for my agents. Is there a problem?”

You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to smack that perfectly raised eyebrow and controlled expression right off his face. But he was boxing you in - speaking to you as your boss and not the man you slept with last night, and as much as you hated him for it, your sense of self-preservation won out.

“There’s no problem,” you mumbled, unable to make eye contact as you slipped past him and around the building.

You made it halfway up the stairwell before the tears started flowing. Had you really thought sleeping with him was going to change something? That he was going to ask you to be his fucking girlfriend, like he wasn’t the chief of your unit and you weren’t a twenty-something intern? For all you knew, he did this all the time. His level of skill in the area certainly made it seem like he did.

That wasn’t true, though, you knew it. He may not reveal much, but you could tell it had been a fraught decision to let your relationship develop the way it had. Perhaps even a decision he regretted now - and it certainly seemed so, given his behavior.

Wiping tears on your sleeve, you fumbled with the spare key he’d given you to his apartment and walked in. You glanced in the mirror by the entrance and your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. Hotch wasn’t exaggerating when he likened the marks to strangulation - indigo smudges, still peppered with the angry red of burst capillaries, circled your throat.

It was a juvenile, possessive, ridiculous display, and Hotch was absolutely right to label it unprofessional. And yet, the thought that you’d walked onto the scene bearing the marks he’d given you filled you with a thrill so intense you had to brace yourself against the entryway table and clamp your legs together.

Breathe. There’s still a fucking murder scene downstairs.

You steadied yourself and headed for your duffel bag, where you’d thankfully packed a scarf in preparation for the cold snap that was predicted to hit the state this week. Midway through unzipping your bag, though, your eyes landed on his dresser and the devil sitting on your shoulder, buzzing with a deadly combination of anger and arousal, whispered a terrible, reckless idea in your ear.

***

You practically skipped downstairs to rejoin the team, who appeared to be engaged in a lively debate about the contents of the envelope Morgan was holding. After gloving up, you reached out a hand towards him.

“Can I read it?”

He handed it over, distracted by another stream of consciousness from Reid. Hotch took note of your return and glanced in your direction before turning back to the conversation.

You pretended to read the note and waited for him to notice.

You waited all of three seconds.

He whipped his head back so comically fast you struggled to suppress a snort, and you knew exactly what he was looking at. A midnight blue cashmere scarf, nicked from his dresser and wrapped artfully around your neck to cover the bruises, just like he’d asked. The first compliment you’d ever paid him was in regards to this scarf; tentatively whispered when he’d worn it to a chilly 2 am crime scene. He’d accepted the compliment passively, but the optimistic part of you had noted that he seemed to wear it much more frequently after that.

You weren’t entirely sure what statement you were intending to make by wearing it, but his reaction told you you’d certainly succeeded at provoking something.

Morgan reached back out for the note you were still pretending to read and dropped it in an evidence bag. If he noticed Hotch steaming from the ears next to you, he didn’t say so.

“They’re ready to pack everything up and head back to the lab. Let’s meet ‘em there?”

Everyone nodded in the affirmative and headed back to the SUVs.

“You riding with me?” Morgan asked, nudging your ribs with an elbow.

“No,” Hotch answered for you, an unseen hand suddenly gripping the back of your neck. “She’s not.”

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lunar-magnolia · 3 years

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@honestlyshamelesscollector thank you for asking me this!! I'm really happy to share my thoughts, I hope to answer your questions in the best way possible akdjsk

I absolutely agree with you about Xie Lian. He does indeed grow a lot, even though he does so in a traumatic way.

***A little disclaimer: these are just my thoughts here, first impressions having read the novel once, plus watched the donghua and read the manhua a couple of times. I'm no expert at all, but I have lots of feelings about this akdjskfmf

**Putting a read more because long lmao

Young Xie Lian's dream was to become a god and save the common people. And present Xie Lian does it everyday, as much as he can. The biggest lesson he got growing up was probably the fact that he can't save everyone at the same time, but saving (or helping) even just one person was enough. He might be a god, but he is still one person. Having godly powers doesn't make him omniscient or give him the ability to suddenly work on a bigger scale than he could when he was human.

Book 4 in particular highlights just how much the present Xie Lian has changed from the Crown Prince that Pleased The Gods, filled with the idealism of a young man and maybe just a little bit spoiled, to the kind and humble Scrap Immortal that does everything in his power to help the people he comes across.

We see him starting to change as soon as book 2 though. When he tries to both save the Imperial Capital from being invaded and save the Yong'an people from the draught, it's the first time Xie Lian faces the limits of his godly status and power. He divides his time to keep it going for a bit, but in the end he's exhausted and overwhelmed, and he can't do it anymore. Even though he is a god. The inevitable consequences of his own actions and the fall of Xianle challenged his idealism and destroyed his heart so hard that he almost gave in and took his revenge on innocent people. But one person is enough, right?

One could argue that Xie Lian never really had it in him to do it, and I'd probably agree. The whole waiting for someone to help him before releasing the curse, and then trying to sacrifice himself when it eventually was too late to avoid it was enough of an indication for me. It only took the kindness of one person to make him change his heart. If he truly sought revenge, one person wouldn't have been enough. And damn if that didn't ruin Bai Wuxian's plans wonderfully lolll

Xie Lian knew in his heart that the people of Yong'an didn't deserve to pay the price for what happened to Xianle. Even though Bai Wuxian tried (and for a while succeeded) to make him believe it.

Straying from the path that Bai Wuxian wanted him to walk was not as easy as it seems. Bai Wuxian carefully paved all the paths for him, pushed Xie Lian in the directions he wanted him to go with the most violent methods I've ever seen, but Xie Lian always found a way to avoid it, also thanks to Hua Cheng's presence, even when he didn't know it was him (I have so many feelings about that imma cry skfjkefj). Hua Cheng always believed in him and knew what Xie Lian was truly capable of, and boy was he right gdi.

When Xie Lian went through the betrayal of Jun Wu, Hua Cheng's presence reminded him of who Xie Lian is and what he's become. The doubts Bai Wuxian put in his mind, the danger of the Human Face Desease threatening to be freed again, and the resolution to not give in into grief and pain and staying true to the person he had become were again overcome thanks to one person. Xie Lian could have never actually become what Bai Wuxian wanted him to, no matter what he threw at him.

In the end, Xie Lian learnt how to save the common people for real. And he realized that didn't have to do it alone! Instead, the common people themselves were part of the solution (the human array to contain the resentful spirits yknow). It does send an important message, and it's probably the most important thing that Xie Lian learnt: that one person alone cannot save all, if all don't want to be saved. It's a group effort, it takes time and heart and not everyone has it in their heart to risk their lives for the sake of others. Godly powers can only do so much, and a god cannot change fate from above. A god must instead support and protect the people, work with them, give them a boost, and in the end the people will save themselves.

It's a really nuanced and complicated process, I don't know how to explain it properly ajdkfjdl.

It's also worth mentioning that the relationship with Mu Qing and Feng Xin had all the potential to prevent much of what happened to Xie Lian. But just as Xie Lian was young and inexperienced, so were they. And despite all, until Xie Lian stopped thinking of them as servants, he couldn't grow. He had to lose them to truly understand the depth and worth of people believing in him. Which doesn't make it any less painful or sad... Things could have indeed gone differently, but the outcome would have never been the same. I'm glad in the end they kind of sorted it out though.

And the fact that Mu Qing and Feng Xin still cared for Xie Lian when he ascended for the third time was so evident in hindsight. Made me smile when I realized.

Also I liked that in the end Xie Lian didn't go rule the heavens or even go back to it, and instead stayed in the mortal realm to continue doing what he did for the past 800 years. Considering that young Xie Lian said clearly that he wanted to become a god, it's an important thing. It shows that in his mind the concept of gods and their role has changed, and he will stick to his new views despite the possibility of achieving what his young self wanted. Though this isn't just a consequence of book 5, it was shown even earlier when he first visited his palace in the heavens. Xie Lian didn't want to enter it, it made him uncomfortable, and instead sat outside waiting for Shi Qingxuan.

There are so many things to say about Xie Lian but idk if I have the competence to express them all akdjskfj I love his character to bits. His development was not banal in any way, and even though we didn't see all the 800 years it took for him to change, we do feel how gradual that was. Just think of when he met Banyue.

He was still a bit idealistic, telling her that his dream was to save the common people, but he already grew enough of a thick skin to understand when it was worth to pick a fight or not, and he wasn't picky on food (even cooking it himself in his helmet, with outrageous results). It might not seem much, but all things considered, it was a change.

In his first banishment he learnt how hard life was without his Crown Prince status, but he still picked fights with people and refused to eat some things because they weren't as high quality as the food he used to eat at the Royal Palace.

During his second banishment, he learnt to be humble and how problems couldn't be solved with just the right idea. He learnt the grayness of morality and life, how right and wrong are not absolute concepts. He experienced the worst fortune (by his own choice) and learnt how to not let it get to him, how to grow enough of a thick skin to get up each time and not take his frustration out on others.

Truly, Xie Lian is a great character. I have read the novel only one time so far, but I'm planning to reread it soon. So who knows, I might notice more things next time around! This was just my first impression Ahah

As for things I wish that were better explored in the story, I'd say Pei Ming's growth and maybe Ling Wen's motives (though I might have just blinked and missed this last part, because I was still reeling from the Black Water arc lmao).

About Pei Ming, I think he went through a considerable growth since the first time we see him, when he tries to save Little Pei from banishment. At first he gave me the impression of being the usual arrogant womanizer, who would do anything to avoid having his reputation tarnished. But blinking to book 5, we see that he's... Idk, it feels like he's taken that shameless arrogance and put it away, especially after interacting with the Rain Master. Their story is extremely important to his development imo. Their shared past held a place in his heart, and it resurfaced when he met the Rain Master again. I think he was deeply signed by her actions in the past, and he never forgot her.

It's shown when Pei Ming refuses to be saved by the Rain Master and refuses the sword she wants to give to her (which incidentally is the same sword that, yknow, she used to sacrifice herself in front of him back in the days). He says (or better, the people around him say) that it was out of pride, because he couldn't accept that a woman saved him. But he never confirmed or denied it, instead he ran after her "to help".

At the end of the story Pei Ming is not as loud and proud of his reputation as he was in the beginning, instead he seems humbled.

I think the Xuan Ji case also had an important role in his development. Considering how we see her dissolve having found peace after talking/fighting with Pei Ming during the Mount Tong'lu arc, I do think that Pei Ming himself must have reflected on himself a bit too.

He also lost his two best friends, Shi Wudu and Ling Wen, so... Yknow, my hualian ship captain must have had some changes.

Especially when it comes to the Rain Master, I feel there are good basis for a good friendship between them, despite the past. The Rain Master never showed open animosity towards him, instead she helped him. It seemed to me that Pei Ming is the one who believed she hated him, but it was never confirmed.

And maybe if you squint there could be more between them, if you're into that ahah. I wish we could have seen more of his grown version, though I do understand that it happened in the epilogue and the book is already as long as it can be ahaha. So really I'm not that sad it didn't happen, I'm happy that there are signs in the background that "hint" at that instead (if they can be considered hints, idk ahha).

About Ling Wen, ehhhh I want to reserve the right to reread and reconsider. Right now I feel like the Brocade Immortal thing was almost unnecessary? I like her background, how she became the biggest civil goddess of the heavens, but I didn't get why she created the brocade. Again though, I might just go back and reread that part later. Tbh I was reeling really hard after the Black Water arc, so I just blanked on some things akfjskf

Did the Brocade serve any purpose in the end? Aside from being the catalyst of Ling Wen's story arc and being one of the two mighty ghosts in Mount Tong'lu (and also giving that nice hualian scene where Hua Cheng was trying so hard to get kissies from Xie Lian ahaha). Idk, I'd like to hear your thoughts about this!!

I think I rambled enough, if you got to this point wow you're amazing! And thank you for going through this long rant Ahah. I hope it makes some sort of sense! Thank you again for the questions, talking about tgcf made me really happy!

#Tgcf #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #Xie Lian #Thoughts #I have lots of feelings and I can't wait to reread the novel #Gosh truly a masterpiece #So many good points made here and there about so many things #Also Xie Lian my beloved #He deserves everything in the world and he got it in the form of Hua Cheng #I love them so much y'all #Long ass post #Tgcf spoilers

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lilyharvord · 4 years

Text

Like Real People Do

Hahahahah I dont want to write for my series fics. So here, have this instead. (:

“Mr. Barrow?”

Daniel looked up from the carving in his hands, he had been whittling for the better part of an hour on the balcony of the Barrow’s townhouse, enjoying the evening sunshine and letting it warm his aching joints. The cold mountain air, while refreshing, sometimes drove old pains to the surface. Phantom aches, Ruth always chided when he complained. He was healthier than he had even been in his life, and although he was grateful for the work of the silver healer, he still felt a twinge of deeply seated resentment that it had taken her hands to heal him. He would never truly voice that thought though.

Standing the doorway, looking more like a child about to be chastised than the man Daniel knew him to be, Cal seemed to try and make himself smaller while he waited to be acknowledged. Grunting and waving him out with the whittling knife, Daniel said, “You don’t need to sulk in the doorway.” Cal slipped out then, looking even more uncomfortable as he eyed that knife, if that were even possible. Daniel frowned at him still before looking back down at his carving. “And I’ve told you at least ten times now that you can call me Daniel. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that my family has no sense of decorum.”

Cal laughed softly at that, before sinking down into the other chair. He laughed more and more these days, Daniel thought, and Mare did too. Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, Daniel wondered why exactly Cal had decided to come sit out here when he knew for a fact that the whole family was sitting inside playing some game or another. He could hear the shouts of all his children as they played, and the shriek of his only grandchild as she played as well.

Of course, Daniel had learned that like him, Cal seemed to seek out solitude every so often. Mare always teased him about dropping into moods, but Daniel knew his daughter had her moments too. And while he had been very much opposed to the rekindling of her affair with the young man across from him, he had to admit that over the past few years, he had begun to notice the connection his youngest daughter always commented about. He didn’t agree they had been built for each other like Gisa claimed. Then again, he and Ruth hadn’t exactly fit together perfectly the first time either. Relations were like carvings though, the true image never appeared while you were working. It was only after a few final, very carefully planned steps that the final carving could be seen.

“If they’re being too much for you, no one would miss you slipping out.” Daniel observed, when he heard Clara’s airy peal of laughter quickly followed by her shouting at her mother for cheating.

The bitter seed that had been planted in him from the time he was young always seemed to uncoil a bit every time he saw or heard that little girl laugh. He knew Ruth felt the same way, and that she had been keeping a very close eye on their eldest daughter who had been spending more than enough time with Clara lately. Daniel didn’t want to know about his wife sneaking suspicion, and whenever she brought up the idea of moving out of their town house to possibly find a bigger one to fit their growing family inside, Daniel immediately changed the subject. Mare was grown now, old enough to handle herself, but that didn’t change that she was still his first born daughter. Or that he still sometimes saw a screaming, naked toddler running from Ruth while she tried to catch her for a freezing bath.

“It’s not, sir.” Cal said quickly as he scratched at something on the knee of his pants. His eyes kept darting back inside though. Daniel really didn’t have patience for moments like this. He was a blunt man, and hated how the silver sometimes danced around words and phrases like he was searching for the best way to say something. Daniel had already talked to Mare about it and expressed his feelings on the matter. His daughter had pursed her lips in distaste at her father’s comment and said, “he can’t help that. Our family makes him uncomfortable, especially you. He wants to say the right thing and not piss any of you off.” To which Daniel had fired back that Cal wouldn’t feel that way if he hadn’t royally messed up years ago, and betrayed everything Mare had stood for and what Shade had died for. Mare wouldn’t hear anything about it though. She had moved on supposedly, and wasn’t going to tolerate Daniel continuing to use that moment as a crutch for his argument on why he didn’t like Cal. Only a month later, when Daniel had brought something like that up again, Mare had glared at him across the table and sneered that if he didn’t like that Cal was silver than he should just outright say that and stop pretending there were ulterior motives or reasons behind his dislike. She’d left the family dinner after that, and hadn’t spoken with Daniel for weeks.

Ruth had begged him to apologize, since Mare refused to speak to any of them, and although Daniel had been begrudged about it, he had. He didn’t mind apologizing for what he said, it had been in poor taste and he knew it. He hated that apology though because Mare was probably right, and he had just buried that truth as deep as possible to avoid looking at it.

Still, if Cal had something to say, then he should spit it out and get it over with before Daniel dragged it out of him mercilessly. Glancing back down at his carving that was supposed to be a bird of some sort, Daniel broke the silence with a gruff question, that was safe territory. “How have the States been?”

“Fine, it’s… odd being as removed as I am now.” Cal replied, seeming to relax a bit more in the conversation. “I don’t like being separate from something that was always a large part of my life. It feels like I’m ignore a duty.”

Daniel looked up at that, his interest piqued. Setting his carving on the little table next to him, he eyed Cal closely. He hadn’t changed much in the years following the war. He’d grown out his military haircut, but other than that, he still looked the same. Maybe Mare had spoken to him about the whole word play thing, because that was the bluntest thing Cal had ever said in his presence.

“Can’t imagine.”

“You don’t have to pretend to care,” Cal murmured as he turned his eyes out on the view of the city. Daniel huffed at that. If he didn’t care he wouldn’t have bothered to respond at all.

Still, the sound brought Cal’s eyes back around. His expression could have been cut from stone though. He was a serious person, Daniel knew, which probably balanced well with his daughter’s often bordering on carelessness actions. She at least had someone who could reel her in when she went too far. Someone she could make into a punching bag that could hit back when she hit too hard. He’d seen it before with the two of them. Mare sometimes didn’t know when to quit, and he’d heard more than once her admit to saying something in an argument that she shouldn’t have. Cal had no problem putting her in her place though.

“Contrary to how I may act, I do have a decent amount of respect for you.” Daniel admitted quietly as he folded his hands on his stomach. He had been thinking about that for weeks now, turning it over in his head like a newly minted coin. It took a courage that he did not have to come sulking back with your tail between your legs and admit your wrongdoings. Cal had never stopped apologizing to Mare’s family, and Daniel knew that. He may have stopped saying the words, but they always hung there in every action.

Cal paled in what Daniel had learned was a blush, and he looked down at his hands before saying, “I don’t think you know what that means to me.”

Waving away Cal’s humility, Daniel leaned back in the chair again and sighed heavily when the muscles in his back loosened. Closing his eyes, he let the sun warm his face. He loved it here, loved the mountains and the green smell in the air. He especially loved that he didn’t have to trudge through river slop to get places. He missed Norta though. It had been his home for so long, that he had had trouble adjusting to this life now. Some nights he still woke in the early hours of the morning, expecting to hear the sloshing of the river on the banks.

“I wanted to actually talk to you about something along those lines, sir.” Cal finally said after a few minutes of silence. Daniel grunted as he opened his eyes again. Now they were getting somewhere. If he knew they just had to sit in silence for a little bit, he would have done that a while ago.

Cal paled to the tips of his ears and looked back down at his hands when Daniel dropped his gaze from the sky. He rarely met Daniel’s eye unless he was speaking, and adding sir like he was made Daniel lean forward a bit. His stomach curled like it used to when he went into the trenches. He had a sneaking suspicious of where this conversation was going, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Mare and I have been talking, and discussing things,” Cal kept looking everywhere but Daniel’s direction, and Daniel couldn’t help but sneer.

“Look at me when you’re speaking boy.”

As if that derogatory term had burned him, Cal reeled back to sit ramrod straight in his chair. He swallowed as Daniel set his hands on the arms of his chair. It was strange, having this much power over a man who used to be able to order him to his death. It made that bitter little seed so very happy to see this especially this silver squirm.

Cal swallowed visibly again and with a hesitant smile said, “I love your daughter, more than anything else in this world. She… she’s made into a better man. I couldn’t imagine my life without her.”

Daniel huffed at the wording. This conversation was going exactly where he thought, and he wished that it wasn’t.

“I don’t know what your traditions are, but in court… it was customary to ask for the daughter’s hand and get a blessing. I—I came out here to tell you that if you gave me your blessing, Mare would never want for anything in this life. I would never ever hurt her, or leave her. She wouldn’t have to ask for anything. I would give her the world if she asked it. I will love her in this life and the next, and any that come after that.” Cal gripped the chair arms, and the temperature around them grew unbearably hot for a moment. Daniel felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck, and he reached up to swipe at it in displeasure.

“I want to ask if I can marry her. If I could continue loving—”

“No.” Daniel interrupted stiffly, and if he were a silver, he knew he’d be a shiver with how icy that one word was. Cal froze, and the temperature around them swung the other way so quickly Daniel was surprised frost didn’t form on the metal railing next to them.

“What?” Cal wheezed in reply, that smile falling. Daniel heard rather than saw the way Cal’s entire being cracked down the middle with that single question. “I said no. Is that a word you are unfamiliar with?” Daniel went to pick up his carving again. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned. He had given his answer, and didn’t plan on changing it anytime soon.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” Cal whispered, and Daniel glared at him.

“You do not have my blessing or my permission. And that will always be my answer.” He turned the carving over in his fingers and began to carve one of the wings more clearly. It was so quiet after his words that he heard every ragged breath Cal took. He didn’t get up from that chair though, and Daniel’s blood boiled in response.

Glaring, Daniel spit, “Do you need permission to get up from your chair?”

“Why?”

Daniel saw the way the metal chair arms were starting to turn red hot under Cal’s grip. At least he wasn’t burning the air around them anymore. A couple chair arms were of no concern. Daniel knew exactly what question Cal wanted answered, and he didn’t mind giving his honest opinion on the matter anymore. “Because while I may have a smidge of respect for you, I don’t like you. You have made sweeping promises to my daughter before, and I’m sure you will continue making sweeping promises and breaking them. You and yours always were very good at doing that.” Daniel carved a small line, and began to work on the feathers.

Cal didn’t move, in fact he seemed rooted to the spot now. The boy’s determination to sit through this was bordering on masochistic at this point. Daniel knew it, and he was willing to feed that. Continuing to burn a hole at the point between Cal’s eyes with his own gaze, Daniel continued, each word cutting as deeply as his whittling knife. “My daughter and the rest of my family may be willing to overlook things to forgive you, but you wronged me and mine too much to earn my forgiveness, let alone my blessing. I won’t give my daughter to you only to regret my decision in a year. I couldn’t protect her before; I will not be helpless to do that again.”

If he had been truly paying attention, he would have heard the silence that had fallen inside. He would have heard the soft creak as someone got up from a chair. But he was warming up, and not planning on stopping any time soon.

“From the moment I learned about my daughter’s decision to rekindle whatever it was the two of you had, I have been wary. As far as I am concerned, you have done nothing to convince me of your full commitment to her. There is nothing you could do in this life or the next, or any after that frankly, that will change my mind on this matter.”

From the look on Cal’s face, Daniel would have caused less pain by stabbing him in the chest. Still, he looked back down at his carving and said, “I have nothing else to say to you on the matter, and I won’t tolerate you bring it up again.”

Cal was quiet for a long time, so long that Daniel finished the first wing and turned his carving over to begin the next. When Cal spoke again though, his voice was like steel, and it cut just as deeply as Daniel’s. “I can see I’ve wasted your time.” The chair legs scrapped on the ground and when he had stood up, he said coolly, “But I have to let you know that with or without your blessing, Mare and I are planning on getting married. I was the one who insisted on getting your blessing, even though she told me not to bother.”

Daniel looked with a raised brow, partially surprised at this silvers audacity, partially respectful of his determination. Still, it wasn’t going to change anything.

Squaring his shoulder under that look, Cal said quietly, “I have made many mistakes in the past, and I readily admit to them. You’re right that I did something akin to spitting in your family’s face, and I know that I hurt Mare so deeply that she didn’t truly trust me for years. But I love her, and I would rather cut my heart out than hurt her like that again.”

Daniel sniffed in distaste, too taken aback to say anything else though. Cal’s lips drew in a tight line before he turned on his heel and went back inside, leaving the balcony door open. There were hushed, hurried whispers in the room following his departure, and then the sound of the front door opening and closing a few seconds later. Daniel sat back in his chair then, his whole body tense, awaiting the next person that he knew was probably trying to find the right thing to say to him.

She came out only a moment later, the scent of ozone announcing her. The hairs on Daniel’s arms rose as she approached to stand over him. She was more furious that he anticipated. He didn’t look at his daughter though when she spoke.

“There are no words to express how much you hurt him and hurt me.”

“I said my piece,” Daniel replied quietly, the ice gone from his voice. “I won’t lie to appease him or you. He was better off hearing the truth.” He carved a delicate line in the wood, curving it up so it would look like the bird was just about to open its wing and take flight.

“He was going to officially propose tonight at dinner, with the whole family and our friends present. He has been planning this for weeks.”

“I don’t care if he’s been planning it for years. The only reason I have not driven him from this house before today is because I know that he makes you happy enough. But I won’t let him take that next step and put you in a position where he could hurt you greater than ever before.”

“I already told him no six times.” Mare hissed, and that brought Daniel’s eyes to her face. He had not known that fact. The two them had never given any indication that she had turned him down before. But the fact that he had asked her six times before and been denied every time only to stick around was probably a testament to his stubbornness.

Mare’s cheeks were red, and her hands were in fists as her sides. She inhaled slowly and forced the exhale through her nose before she spoke again. “He asked three years ago, and then five times over the next two years. I told him no every single time because I wasn’t certain yet. I only told him recently that I believed his words.”

Daniel frowned, only to grimace as Mare spit, “I am twenty-six years old, you don’t need to protect me anymore. I know my heart and I know what I want. I know him, and his heart.”

The breeze from the lake cut through the air, stirring the hairs that had fallen out of Mare’s bun. Daniel watched her face for a long time though, trying to read the new, strange emotion that had crossed her features. Her eyes darted away and Daniel caught the shine of tears there. His heart squeezed. He hadn’t just cut Cal when he denied him today, he had hurt Mare too, possibly more than Cal. All he had done was wound Cal’s pride, but Mare, he had hurt something deep in her.

“I told him yes a few weeks ago because I’m pregnant.” She exhaled sharply after admitting that, and whatever imaginary weight had been on her shoulders disappeared as she admitted it. Swallowing, she whispered, “I want to keep it. I want to have a family, and I want to do it with him.” Mare dropped down into the chair Cal had occupied minutes before and let her head fall into her hands. She looked exhausted, and Daniel tried to ignore how much that keeping that secret probably cost her. Still, he watched the top of her head, waitng for her to continue before asking quietly in case Ruth heard and came barging out, “does he know?”

“No, but he’s not stupid. He suspects something.” Mare whispered as she swiped at her tears with the heel of her palm. It had been a long time since Daniel had seen his daughter cry. To be honest, he couldn’t remember the last time. Had it been after Shade? Maybe, but Mare had been so cold and numb back then. He knew how much she hated the weakness that came with tears though. It took a lot for her to show emotion like this now.

“He’s not asking to save both of you from the situation that comes after?”

“What situation, Farley’s?” Mare snorted at Daniel’s expression only to spit, “Please. You wouldn’t have let Shade marry Farley to save them from a situation either. So don’t pretend to use that as an excuse now.”

“Does his family know?”

“Julian knows about the engagement, and Sara only knows about the baby because she confirmed it for me. Anabel doesn’t know about either, but that old crone will probably smile to my face and spit at my heels when I turn my back. I don’t care though. I don’t care what she thinks anymore.”

Daniel set his carving aside, and rested his hands on his stomach again to observe Mare. Maybe he had jumped the gun with his quick refusal. It would be difficult to mend the bridge he had burned though. Tapping his thumbs together softly, Daniel looked beyond Mare at the mountains rising in the distance.

“He really wanted your blessing, dad. I know he said we would get married anyway, but I have a feeling he won’t follow through on that even if I push him. It’s going to eat at him until you give permission. I want to get married while I can still fit into a dress though.” Mare added the last part with a snort before sitting back in the chair. Daniel tilted his head and grumbled, “Your mother is going to be very happy when she hears about this baby.”

“I’m sure Gisa already opened her fat mouth and said something.” Mare grumbled as she crossed her arms tighter across her chest. Daniel hadn’t noticed until now that Mare was wearing a very thick, very large sweater. It should have been a dead giveaway. It was more than a little odd given that it was almost the end of spring. No wonder Ruth had begun to suspect something. Mare had been steadily changing her wardrobe over the past few weeks, but the abnormally chilly spring had helped her disguise things. She wouldn’t be able to hide during the summer though.

“When did Gisa find out?” “A week ago. She came over for breakfast and had to sit there holding my hair for two hours while I vomited everything back up.” Mare grumbled as she looked out over the city.

“You really want this?” Daniel asked when the next breeze whistled between them. He never thought he’d hear his eldest daughter talking about this moment. Gisa, he for sure thought would be married with children before Mare, if his eldest ever got to that point. Then again, he always thought he would have to give Warren his permission if it ever came down to it. Mare had never been the nurturing or domestic type, but already he could see the changes coming over her. For claiming to be such an observant man, Daniel had missed quite a bit.

Mare turned to him again, and even without her speaking, Daniel saw the resolution in her eyes.

“I know I always said I didn’t want kids… or any of that life. But Cal will be a great father, and I’m convinced that he’ll make me a great mother too. I know that we’re going to be happy, that he’s going to make me happy for the rest of my life.” She smiled softly as she spoke, her eyes shining. Daniel was certain she was looking into the future as she spoke, and he felt a bubble of warmth building in his chest that chased away that bitter seed when he saw that light shining from within her.

There was really nothing else he could ask her. He had his answer, even if it smarted the part of him that had already turned Cal down. With a grunt, he pushed himself up from his chair and winced as his knee gave a twinge from sitting too long. Mare leaped up to grab his arm when he went to put weight on that aching joint, but he waved her off. “Where has he run off to lick his wounds?”

Mare blinked at him in surprise, her cheeks flushing as she whispered, “Have you changed your mind?”

“Don’t make me change it again. Where has he gone?”

“I don’t know, probably back to our apartment, or he might have gone to find Julian.”

“I’m not running around this city after him, because then I really will change my mind, so find him.”

“He went back to the apartment.”

Both of them looked up to see Gisa leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed. She tilted her head to side, making her newly cut, chin length hair shift in a shimmering curtain before smirking at them knowingly. “He said he was going there right before he left.” Daniel sighed at that. He may not have been more than a military grunt, but he knew enough about military strategy to know he would rather have this conversation on his own turf. Still, he was going to have to give ground. Especially if Mare’s happiness was concerned.

“You’ll take me over,” he said to Mare who nodded quietly, and trailed after him.

(///////)

Mare went into the apartment first, calling for Cal as she went. He gave a gruff response from somewhere in the back rooms making her go in search of him and leave Daniel by the door. Closing it softly behind him, Daniel resting his hands on his cane and inhaled the smell of the apartment. It smiled like wood smoke and pine. He didn’t like that he hadn’t been over here that often. Then again, he normally made a point of avoid it when Cal was here.

It was nice though. Warm, inviting, everything he had wished his family’s home had been while they were in Norta. Ruth had a hand in decorating this place, based on the pictures hanging from the walls. She’d probably have an even large hand in the coming months too.

Edging in, feeling more like an intruder than ever before, Daniel paused in the sitting room, and glanced through the windows at the view of the lake. From this angle, it looked red with the sunset. In the heavy silence, he could hear his daughter speaking quietly in the back. He didn’t hear Cal, but he assumed the silver was just listening and determining his next move. Daniel took that time to continue exploring.

His daughter certainly lived here, based on the papers that littered the desk near the windows, and the blankets thrown everywhere on the couch, but the silver was there too. There were more books than his daughter would ever read on the shelves, and on the small coffee table there was a scattering of papers in careful handwriting that Mare would never achieve. There was a perfect little mix of both of them in this room, and Daniel knew if he continued into the apartment that ratio would persist. He could see a child running around this space. He wondered if it would be a perfect mix of the two of them too.

Stepping up to the desk, Daniel shifted a small pile of papers that Mare had purposefully stacked to hide the book underneath. Daniel’s stomach twisted at the title. While he believed his daughter when she told him she was pregnant, it made it so very real to see her reading about it, and preparing for it. A small piece of paper had been tucked halfway through that book. He hesitated for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, before pulling it out a bit more to see a list of names in his daughter’s scratchy print. Most of them were scratched out, but at the bottom, written like she was uncertain of it, Mare had written her brother’s name. Daniel pushed the paper back in, feeling like he had just encroached on a secret Mare was not ready to discuss yet.

He pulled the papers back over the book and turned around when he heard light footsteps. Mare stood in the doorway to the sitting room, looking a little nervous. She edged closer and said, “Give him a minute.”

Daniel nodded, and leaned all his weight on his cane again, trying to ignore that continual pain in his knee. Mare sank down onto the couch in response, hugging her knees to her chest. The silver was really only a minute behind her, looking about as disgruntled as Daniel felt. His face was stone cold as he met Daniel’s eye across the space between them though. Straightening, Daniel cleared his throat and said, “I want to speak with you alone. If I may.” While he may not have been in his own home, he wanted to at least draw the battle lines. Cal tensed, and glanced to Mare, who looked just as uncertain at her father’s tone.

Unfolding herself like a newly blossoming flower though, she whispered, “I’m going to go make tea.” She pushed up from the couch and crossed the room then. Daniel didn’t miss how Cal’s fingers brushed hers for a moment as she reached his side. Pausing for only a heartbeat, she squeezed his fingers back before continuing into the kitchen. She made a show of banging cupboards closed and making more than enough noise the moment she got there, letting them both know that she was trying not to listen in on their conversation.

Neither of them moved through, and Daniel wasn’t sure what would happen if he did. Eventually though, he cleared his throat and said, “There has been… information brought to my attention since our conversation.”

Cal didn’t reply, and his expression remained stormy. Daniel gripped his cane tighter in response and said, “I will admit that I might have been hasty in my answer to you.”

“You made your feelings very clear, sir, and I would like to think in the past few years that I have stopped being as naïve as I was in the past.” Cal edged into the room and leaned against one of the tables where a few pictures had been carefully set up. Clara seemed to be the biggest theme of them. Daniel had a feeling that in a few months there would be a new face on that table.

In Daniel’s continued silence, Cal’s brows dropped and his eyes narrowed. “I know that you have not have seriously changed your mind as drastically as Mare seems to think in less than an hour.”

“The recent information I heard has certainly changed my mind.” Daniel admitted quietly. Cal’s expression changed from disbelief to confusion and finally settled on what Daniel assumed was suspicion. Tapping his cane against the floor to fill the silence, Daniel said, “I did not know that my daughter had already turned you down so many times.”

Cal made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like he was trying to stifle a laugh. Daniel smiled softly, knowing exactly what that felt like. Straightening his back, he said, “I will tell you a secret, something I have never told any of my children, or even my wife.”

Straightening up, Cal eyes darted in the direction of the kitchen. Daniel knew Mare was probably listening at this point, but he wanted her to hear it, to understand his thoughts and his feelings on this matter. “I was younger than both of you when I went to Ruth’s father to ask his permission to marry her. I didn’t even get half as far as you before he denied me. I had no means of caring for his daughter, not a penny to my name, and I had just come back from my first tour of duty.”

Cal’s eyes darkened at the mention of the old conscription orders, but Daniel would not be hindered by the past now. “I told him the same thing you told me and swore on my life I was going to marry his daughter whether he agreed or not. He laughed me off his porch. I was due to leave for the Choke again in two weeks and knew at that point that I couldn’t follow through without putting Ruth in a position that would compromise everything she had.”

Daniel heard and saw his daughter appear in hallway that connected to the kitchen. Her eyes were wide, but she did a marvelous job of hiding her shock when she met her father’s eye. Clearing his throat then, Daniel turned his gaze back to Cal, whose own expression had softened considerably.

“He did not trust me to care for her daughter, and he didn’t have an ounce of respect for me. I asked him three more times, and after the third he told me that if I could convince him that I would be able to care for his daughter and any children we had, then he would let me marry her.”

“I thought of every sweeping declaration, and swore up and down when I left that I would prove myself. I scrounged together every penny to my name and even borrowed from my parents to go to the market to find a ring. I wanted her to have one that every girl in the Stilts was envious of.”

Mare edged into the room completely then, and even though Cal’s arms were crossed, she threaded hers around one of his and hugged herself to his side.

“Every vendor laughed themselves hoarse at me, and I left empty handed. I went back to her house knowing that I was going to have to admit defeat. On the way there, I stopped by a small vendor who was selling carvings. He offered me a half finished carving, and a whittling knife and told me that I would have to finish it myself if I wanted to buy it.”

“I took that carving and sat on Ruth’s porch trying to finish that carving while her father watched me. It was the ugliest thing I ever made, and I cut my hands up doing it. When I finished and handed it to him saying it was all I could offer, he told me that if I was willing ruin my hands to the point that I couldn’t hold a gun at the Choke, then I obviously carried more about his daughter than my own life.” Daniel wasn’t quite sure if either of them knew where he was going, and he honestly wasn’t sure either. He had never told this story. There had never been a reason too. Swallowing around the tightness in his throat, he whispered, “while I know you have done things in the past that are unforgivable, I know that you have cut your hands up trying to atone for them, and have willing thrown yourself in the line of fire to protect and care for my daughter.”

Cal glanced down at Mare for a moment, who gave him a tiny smile in response and squeezed his arm lightly.

Clearing his throat to get their attention again, Daniel finished, “And while I may not completely trust you, my daughter does, enough to change the vision she always had of her future to be with you.”

Cal’s face twisted with confusion, and he glanced down at Mare who blushed a dark red and whispered, “I’ll tell you after.”

“I think I’d rather know now.”

“Later,” Mare insisted with a smirk, as she nudged him and nodded in Daniel’s direction before giving him a smile that could probably light up Ascendent for the next few years.

Daniel couldn’t ignore that his next words were probably going to make Mare happier than ever before. It would probably pale in comparison to the next few months of her life though, and the moments that would come after. “I have decided to give you my blessing. You have my permission to marry my daughter, so long as you agree to continue cutting up your hands to love her.”

Cal didn’t move for a few seconds, and in that time, Mare’s smile began to fall as she looked at him expecting a response. Unfolding his arm from her grip, Cal approached Daniel, closing the space between them in two slow steps. Daniel straightened up to stand at the same height as Cal when he got there. They stood toe to toe for a moment, until Cal held his hand out and said, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Daniel slipped his hand around the silver’s and squeezed tightly. Perhaps another reason he had resisted this moment initially was because he was going to have to let go of Mare, and trust someone else to protect her. For some reason, he had thought he would always be the one to protect her. He had stopped holding that duty a long time ago though.

When they dropped hands, Mare wormed her way between them to hug Daniel. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and closed his eyes as she squeezed tightly. He hadn’t realized how much she had grown up. It felt like yesterday that she had squared her shoulders and flown back to Norta to stop an invasion.

“We’re going to be okay, you know that right?” She whispered in his ear, and he nodded slowly before replying quietly, “I do.”

She pulled away then, and glanced back at Cal before reaching for his hand. He gripped hers tightly and Daniel let Mare slide out of his arms reluctantly so that Cal could engulf her in his. They smiled at each other, and Daniel cleared his throat again before saying, “I except your mother will want to hear that good news.”

“I’ll take you back—” Mare began, only for Daniel to shake his head and start across the living room.

“I’ll walk back. Besides, you two have things to discuss. Things this old man doesn’t want to be concerned with for a few more months.” He chuckled as he left, already hearing Cal demanding to understand before he even closed the door to the apartment.

80 notes · View notes

gingerwritess · 4 years

Note

Ok crazy thought. So if the last predating is to go through with Loki being tortured and reader saving the day like a boss, would Loki be hooked up to machines? More specifically a heart rate monitor? That for some reason increases when you get close? And goes ballistic when you touch him?

part 17, in which you absolutely snap

warnings: a big phat long chapter, prisoner situations, lots of emotions, the beginnings of tension, and big reactions

You’re mad—but you’re not exactly sure if you’re supposed to be.

Technically you didn’t kiss Loki. You kissed Laing, and it was all part of keeping up your cover, so automatically…no strings attached.

But the so-called god now strapped to the hospital bed a few doors down is definitely the one who’s lips had been on yours, at one time or another.

He’s also the highly dangerous criminal wanted by most of the worlds officials, who you also at one point let shower in your home, sleep under your desk, sat on his lap, brushed his hair, fed him, clothed him, patched him up—

Sheesh, that’s enough.

You scrub at your mouth with your shirt sleeve, blanching at the memory of almost liking it.

Now—and you really shouldn’t be surprised—you get to answer for it all.

Thor is not helping.

“I knew it,” he announces and points a finger at you. “You are attracted to him! You like him in a physical, romantic sense of the word—”

“God, no, that’s–that’s not even close—”

“Easy, Thor.”

Luckily Tony shuts the other god up while you bury your face in your hands.

After Loki had passed out, you’d been escorted—in a much gentler fashion than he was—to a crisp white holding cell and given some remedies to try and sober you up as best they can.

You recognised it to be an interrogation room, much like the one you’d seen Loki cursed to before this whole thing got blown to hell, but at this point, you can’t care.

Steve is the first to come question you (probably because he’s the only completely sober one), and the first thing you can think to blurt is “don’t hurt him.”

Then you mentally smack yourself across the face—they already saw you kissing him. Now this?

Maybe Thor was right.

“I have to ask,” the captain slowly starts, “was the motivation of your…partnership…romantic?”

Even with how furiously you deny it, you still don’t think he believes you.

The night becomes morning before you know it, filled with endless questions and exhausting interrogations, which you answered completely truthfully and to the best of your ability.

Even taking the liberty to include some of Loki’s story.

When Thor was in the room, you jumped on the opportunity to describe just how beat up his brother is and how he’s been covering it up because of some “target” on his back, how he’s been lying through his teeth about every motivation for the attack, how he needs help.

You’re still mad—you’re mad at Loki for refusing to talk for so long, for being so damn stubborn he nearly got himself killed, and now for dragging you this deeply into the newest villainous conspiracy.

…and for becoming himself when you kissed him.

Kissing Loki was never the plan; you didn’t mind kissing Laing.

The sun is fully risen by the time you’ve covered the whole story from day one, almost down to every detail—the avengers don’t need to know how many times you accidentally saw him shirtless—and you still have a team of people grilling you.

Marcus lounges against the doorframe, gun limp in his hands and visor down, most likely to cover his eyes as he tries to catch a few winks of sleep, but another guard walks in and they both shoot to attention—a bit groggily.

“He’s awake,” she says, “and he said he wants to speak with all of you immediately.”

Your head shoots off the interrogation table with a start. “Huh??”

“You stay here,” Tony instructs, gut twisting when your face falls. “Look, I’m sorry, but as far as we know now, you’re in kahoots with a criminal. We have to take every precaution, alright? Just while we get this figured out.”

“Tony, he’s been lying—”

“I know, I know, you’ve told us.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But we’ve got hardly any proof of that. Give us some time.”

Motioning for the two guards to follow them, Steve, Tony, Bruce, a pretty hungover Clint, Natasha, and Thor head out, leaving you in the cell to freak out about what the next few hours hold by yourself.

You’ll be fired, without a doubt. Even if Loki does admit to any of what you told them, you still aided in his deception.

Damn it, why did you have to let him sleep under your desk??

Who in their right mind agrees to that?!

Worst case scenario, you stay in jail for a good chunk of your life. Loki will either be in the same position or worse—if he was that adamant about not returning to Asgard, you figure it’s execution that awaits him there.

Or something worse. They’re gods, they probably have something much worse.

The little cot is relatively comfortable; this isn’t a jail cell, technically. It’s a holding cell, for…characters of interest.

Which is now you, apparently.

Thanks, Loki.

It’s comfortable enough, and you slip into a dreamless slumber within minutes.

—

Eyes on you bring you back to the land of the living, that eerie, squirmy feeling that you’re being watched.

And you are: stifling a yawn and blinking to clear your eyes, you sit up to find Clint and Thor staring at you through the cell windows.

You can kind of understand why Loki hated it. It’s an awful feeling, being a trapped specimen to be watched and studied.

It’s Tony who opens the cell door, and followed closely by Thor and Clint, he leads you to a couch this time, not the interrogation table.

“What happened, what’d he say?”

Tony laughs uncomfortably, chewing his lip.

“This…isn’t going to be easy for you to hear,” he carefully tells you, stepping around his words. “You, uh, you were influenced in this whole ordeal.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You laugh, looking around to each of their somber expressions. “C’mon, we were all a little drunk.”

“Not like that.” Tony sighs and presses his palms to his eyes. “You were, for lack of a better term, mind controlled. Loki had you under his flying monkey spell, he admitted to the whole thing.”

You gape at him, trying to process what he just said. “I was not—”

“I know it’s hard to hear,” Clint cuts in. “It’s an awful feeling. But he made me his right hand man, so…you’re not alone in this. Loads of us were affected by it, too.”

Mind controlled. This whole time??

You fall back against the couch with a thud, mind reeling.

He hadn’t mind controlled you. Sure, he threatened it, but you made every one of your decisions perfectly consciously. You chose to let him come over, you chose to feed him, and yes, you’re paying for it now, but everything you saw with your own two eyes and remember vividly as your own.

He did kind of coerce you into pretending to date him, and it was a little more like blackmail, and yeah, he did try to alter your memory, and–and…

“Shit.”

“We’ll give you a moment,” Tony quickly offers, patting you on the shoulder. “Clint is here if you need a companion with similar experience, don’t be afraid to talk through this.”

“Nooo, this can’t—”

“The good news is you’re in the clear!” The false cheeriness is anything but reassuring. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to, but we do have some support, or therapy kind of things for people he hurt this way.”

You stare at Tony, then at Clint.

You’d seen footage of the assassin when he was under Loki’s control: terrifying and exceptionally believable, but nothing like what you looked like.

You take a deep breath and turn on Thor.

“Have you even thought to go talk to him??”

“Of course,” Thor immediately answers, brow furrowing. “He refuses to talk, he won’t say any more than what he wants to say.”

“But have you shown an interest in wanting the truth??”

“He’s the god of lies,” he exclaims, glaring right back at you.

Shoving up in the face of the god of thunder was never something you thought would happen, but here we are.

“That doesn’t mean anything, argh, you two are so stuck in your god complex—”

“Truth has never been his way,” Thor interrupts. “I tried to warn you he would do something like this, you can’t actually be surprised this happened.”

“Actually, I am, because apparently I’m the only person in here with an ounce of sense—you know what?” You drop your accusing finger and laugh. “Screw this. I wasn’t mind controlled.”

Then you turn on your heel and sprint down the hall to find Loki.

He’s being kept in a what’s basically a lab, and ten times worse than a cell: strapped at the wrists and ankles, he’s restrained to the bed but propped up slightly, an array of needles in his arms and cords reaching for monitors from his chest, and worst, a stupid little smirk on the lips you wish you hadn’t kissed.

“You little shit,” you hiss the moment you’re through the door. If it weren’t for the injuries still hiding beneath his facade, you’d slap him, but you resolve to grabbing the cup of water by the bed and throwing it in his face.

That wipes the smirk right off his face.

“You didn’t mind control me!”

Sputtering and shocked, he opens his mouth—

“No,” you snap, shoving a finger in his face. “No more bullshit, you didn’t mind control me. I saved your ass and I did it by choice. And I don’t regret it! You didn’t have any say in that, and yeah, you threatened it, but I never let you.”

Thor and the others crash through the doorway after you and come to a screeching halt as your rant rages.

Loki’s eyes flicker to them and for a split second he considers just taking all his strength and leaving—this can’t end well.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn, and lean over him with a gaze so threatening and fiery the heart monitor next to him starts beeping steadily faster.

You pretend not to notice.

“I’m trying to help you,” he whispers, trying to keep up the cocky facade, but his eyes almost plead. “Trust me—”

“Trust you.”

You turn to Thor with a hysterical, exhausted laugh. “He wants me to trust him!”

The other God’s face twists in confusion.

“I don’t trust you,” you spit back at Loki. “You haven’t earned that, but I don’t want you to die, either.”

Loki’s eyebrows lift, water droplets clinging to their curve.

“Why?”

Clenching your eyes shut and chewing your bottom lip, the right words just won’t come to you.

“It’s a valid question,” Thor helpfully adds from the doorway—and in that moment, you silence a god with one burning look.

“Because I don’t—I haven’t found any…ugh.”

“See,” Loki cuts in, “alterations to the mind—”

“Because I already should’ve killed you,” you blurt, then clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide.

Nobody moves, all staring as you try to sort through everything that’s come to light.

“The day I first saw you,” you grit out, glaring at the stubborn god, “I wanted to hurt you, I wanted you to die and I made a stupid judgement call and decided that’s what should happen.”

“Thanks,” Loki dryly remarks.

“Shut up. I shot you, that time you showed up in my office, and I really thought I–I shot you—but, um, you didn’t die.”

Your hands clench into fists by your thighs.

“And now I have to live with that guilt, even though it didn’t actually go through. So…I don’t want you to die, ‘cause after everything you’ve failed to hide from me, I don’t think you deserve to.”

The room falls silent, and Loki shifts uncomfortably on his pillow.

Damn it all to hell, maybe you were mind controlled. Where did that come from??

“Sorry,” you mumble; then with one last decision, refill the cup with water and fling it in his face again.

Just for…everything’s sake.

You flop into the nearest chair and drop your head into your hands with a groan.

“So…”

Tony clears his throat, gaze falling on Loki.

He’s never seen the god trying so hard to look like himself.

“You better start freaking talking.”

Loki considers it for half a moment—eyes flitting to you and really weighing the options—and with a twitch of his lips, his restraints fade and he stands.

“Mm…no.”

The plan was to fade into nothing and leave them all grasping for him right at that moment, but you’re on him in an instant, tackling him back onto the bed.

“YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING TALK,” you screech, pinning him to the mattress. “YOU’RE GOING TO TELL THE TRUTH AND WE’RE GOING TO HELP YOU, YOU LITTLE—”

“Fine, fine, norns,” he gasps, struggling to catch your arms and flip the tables, “gods, woman, STOP—”

Thor moves to grab you, but you finally come to a stop simply holding Loki’s shoulders down—and straddling his hips, you realise, but like, professionally.

The heart rate monitor is going ballistic, and Loki can’t glare up at you with enough venom.

“You are the stupidest, most disdainful midgardian I have ever encountered—”

“Oh, cause all your interactions with mortals were so great,” you scoff, pressing down harder on his shoulders. “I’m sure all your subjects would agree—”

“Hey,” Tony cuts in, stepping closer to the two of you—on top of each other on a bed, you remember. Oh well. “What the hell is happening right now??”

“Loki is going to drop all his magic shit, right now.”

“Like Hel I am,” the god under you spits.

“Take it off,” you order and give him a good shake, “all of them, off, no magic.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Do it, dipshit—”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!” He mimics, that sick grin back on his face. “There’s no point at all—what are you doing??”

Practically ripping his shirt open, to be specific, and Thor gasps, positively scandalised by the image you can only imagine this looks like.

The beeping of his heart rate speeds to a ridiculous amount and you actually catch a deep flush spreading over his face; pushing the shirt from his shoulders, you climb off of him and take advantage of his fluster to shove him onto his side.

“HAH.”

You point in triumph at his back as he scrambles to pull the blanket over himself.

Gaze falling on the array of something on his brother’s back, Thor holds out a hand to summon mjolnir with a whoosh and a thud; he grabs Loki to push him onto his stomach before he can get away, and sets the hammer right on his butt.

“You have got to be joking.”

“Nice trick,” you tell Thor, clapping him on the shoulder before moving to stand beside Loki. “See? Told you.”

Thor moves first, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to poke one of the barely scabbed cuts on his brother’s back—you catch his wrist before he can.

“That’ll hurt.”

He can’t speak a word, silently staring at the plethora of half-bloody lashes striking across his brother’s skin. You can’t blame him.

“I hate every single one of you,” Loki announces from his pillow, still struggling to move. “You will pay dearly for this—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you cut in dismissively, “we know, you’re a big, tough, scary god. Now shush.”

You can practically hear him gritting his teeth together, no doubt holding himself back.

“So…someone did this to you?” Tony asks, cautiously scanning the god for other signs of abuse.

“No, I did it to myself, Iron Man.”

“Sorry, bad wording. Mind telling us who the hell we should be searching for, if it’s not you?”

“Thor, get your precious hammer off my arse—”

“C’mon, Thor.” You wave him over with a nod. “Let him talk to us when he can face us, I think he’s thoroughly humiliated.”

Thor removes the hammer, and you help Loki struggle to pull himself onto his pillows and face the rest of the group.

Most of the team has joined now, no doubt hearing the screaming matches from ten floors up, and sit sparsely around the little lab, waiting.

Finally situated, Loki draws in a slow breath, casting his gaze around the room at the somber faces.

You can’t help but notice when he makes eye contact with Clint and immediately gets a burning death glare in return—it only makes sense, after what Loki, or who you thought to be Loki, did to him.

“Talk to us,” you whisper, perching on the edge of his hospital bed.

The beeping from the heart rate monitor picks up in the slightest.

This time, you glance over to watch the little spikes get closer and closer together as Loki, the god of lies you almost killed, decides to tell the truth.

—

There’s a new air sitting heavy in the little room when Loki finishes, slumping back onto his pillows in defeat.

No one responds, and you don’t think anyone wants to.

To your surprise, Clint breaks the silence.

“No one should ever have their conscience ripped apart,” he states flatly, void of emotion and staring at the wall. “But you’ve got a long ways to go before you have my respect or forgiveness.”

That gets a couple nods scattered around the room.

“I am not asking for forgiveness,” Loki says, steeling himself. “And I certainly don’t need your respect. Just punish me, release me, kill me, make a decision.”

Steve stands with a slow exhale, gaze hard as concrete. “I think we need a moment,” he tells Loki, turning to nod to the rest of the team. “Thank you for your honesty. We’ll see to it that you’re healed, but past that…we’ll get back to you.”

Tony stands, too, shakey and deep in thought.

“Sorry you got pulled into this,” he says to you with a small smile. “But thanks for all your help. And thanks for jumping him, I don’t think he would’ve talked if you hadn’t.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” You point to the silent god next to you. “Thanks for believing me and letting him talk.”

Thor has yet to speak.

The rest of the team trickles out of the room, eventually leaving just the two of you and a couple guards stationed outside the door.

You certainly don’t want to talk first, so you slip off his hospital bed and wait uncomfortably by his bedside.

Not sure what you’re expecting, to be completely honest.

Maybe an apology for…everything, but your hopes aren’t too high.

Loki just picks at the palm of one hand, staring holes into the wall.

You clear your throat. “Well, I’m gonna go—”

“Thank you.”

That gets you to freeze. “Excuse me?”

“Thank you,” he repeats, still refusing to look at you. “I owe you a great deal.”

“I mean, I did try to kill you, so I think we’re even—”

“You’ve kept me alive,” he cuts in, “when I didn’t even want to be. That…annoyed me at the time, but if this is another chance they decide to give me, I–I suppose I owe it to you.”

It’s not an apology, but you’ll absolutely take it.

“Well.” Fighting back a smile, you drop your gaze to your hands. “Sorry for–for shooting you. And tasing you. And all that stuff.”

“Don’t be.”

A relieved breath lifts your chest and you give him a small smile.

“Mind if I stay a bit?” You point at the couch in the room, “I’m exhausted.”

He nods, fishing around in the blankets for his shirt again—it’s on the floor, but you find yourself deciding not to share that with him.

“Be my guest.”

You can’t help the sigh that leaves your lips as you sink into the cushions, as uncomfortable as they may be.

Maybe, for once, when you wake up, you can begin your normal life again, with no fake boyfriends and world-threatening secrets.

Then you remember you kissed a god last night.

Who’s still shirtless on a hospital bed, barely an arm’s reach from you.

“Loki?”

“What?”

“You passed out after I kissed you,” you grin, closing your eyes. “In case you didn’t remember.”

“And your point?” He doesn’t exactly sound happy to be reminded, but the beeping of his heart rate monitor speeds up again and tells differently.

“I gotta ask. If you passed out, how long has it been since—”

“Centuries,” Loki blurts much too quickly, and the beeping might’ve reached a concerning level. “Cut me some slack.”

“Centuries,” you repeat with a low whistle. “Well then.”

“It wasn’t because of that,” he assures you, wishing you’d just change the subject. “I was knocked out right afterwards by a guard, a fist straight to the head.”

“Right.” You smile at the ceiling, eyes still closed. “Definitely wasn’t the kiss.”

“Of course not.”

His heart rate hasn’t slowed.

Loki takes one look at the scribbled lines flashing furiously on the monitor and promptly rips the cords from his chest.

“Right.”

― ― ― ―

fuel the writer?

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@toozmanykids

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #loki angst #loki slowburn series #loki fluff #pre-dating idiots #loki requests #loki fanfiction #loki drabbles #loki laufeyson

786 notes · View notes

jenomark · 4 years

Text

➔Pairing: Haechan x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: Hendery ➔Genre: College AU, Fluff ➔Warnings: Self-esteem issues | Body issues | Kissing | Mentions of smoking ➔Word count: 3,160

➔Summary: You attend a college party with your best friend Haechan, and both of your crushes happen to be there. What could possibly go wrong? Or, what could possibly go right?

“If you like him, go talk to him,” Haechan said. “He might like you back. I hear that sometimes they like you back. I wouldn’t know.”

You hovered by the snacks, like always. Parties were never your thing. There were always too many people touching you as they passed, too many loud voices fighting over each other, and someone always vomited in your shoe. The only way you would consider going to a party was if your best friend Haechan wanted to go. Imagine your face when he pulled up in his dad's car, music threatening to blow the glass out.

“Talk?” you asked. You shoved hard pretzels into your mouth until you couldn’t speak, even if you wanted to.

“You’re so weird,” he said. He jumped up onto the counter and sat. “How are you ever going to get a boyfriend if you won’t talk to boys?”

You swallowed. “I do talk to boys.”

“Name one.” he said.

“You.”

Haechan patted his body as if he wasn’t aware it existed. He was mocking you, which was pretty on-brand for him. You nudged his leg and jumped up next to him, your feet hitting the cupboards. You sat like that for a while, just munching on pretzels, until the girl who threw the party forced you down from your perch. You both moved through the kitchen in sync, avoiding people whilst simultaneously making fun of them.

Haechan spoke, “All I’m saying is that you can’t count on me to always be there. Yes, I am a boy, but this boy wants a girlfriend. I want to come to parties like this and take her upstairs and make out with her until our lips fall off, or whatever”

“Don’t let me stop you.” you said, trying to go in another direction.

Haechan pulled you back, bringing you in for a bear hug. “Come here. Don’t be that way. Talk to him. There is a big chance he likes you, too.”

“I doubt it,” you said, wheezing because he was squeezing you too tightly. “Not a lot of guys think I’m pretty. I’m fat. I’m not nice to look at, so why would I be nice to talk to?”

Haechan let go of you. When he looked into your eyes, you could see that he was hurt by the way you talked about yourself. It was often you felt down about your body so publicly, but you couldn’t help how you reacted when the feelings reared their ugly head.

“You are fat,” he said. “And you are beautiful, and I think you’re beautiful. ”

You were going to whine that his opinion didn’t count, that he wasn’t the boy in question, but you knew Haechan would give you a long lecture about having confidence in yourself. Truly, his lectures always made you feel better afterwards. You began to accept your body as it is. You took it easy on yourself. There were days where you fell back into the old routine of self-pity and hoping you’d magically wake up in someone else’s body. You wished you could be the person to do it for yourself instead of doing it for him, but you were still grateful for him.

“I am beautiful. You are right.” you said, nodding to yourself.

You were getting ready to thank him when you noticed his eyes on a girl across the room. She was the new girl in town, and she didn’t talk much, but Haechan was obsessed with her. You had to listen to him talk about his crush for hours, about how cool her electric blue hair was, and how her taste in music was superior.

“Do you think she’d listen to me sing?” Haechan would ask.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you didn’t think a girl like that would listen to him speak, let alone sing. Haechan’s talents should be safe in the arms of someone who cared, like you. You convinced yourself the jealousy you felt was because he was giving attention to someone else, and not because you wondered what that attention would be like for yourself. The way he watched her moved you. No one had ever looked at you that way.

“I think I’m in love with her.” he had said one of many times.

You dismissed the notion of love, at once. Crushes were not real love. When he asked you what you thought real love was, all you could think about was your friendship with him. Who else would sleep over at your house and sit with you while you cleaned dishes? Who else would love all the things you hated about yourself extra hard? There was no space for real love for a girl who thought she was better than everyone else.

“You go talk to your crush,” Haechan said, his hand on your back. “And I will go talk to mine. We’ll meet outside when the night is over, and I will drive you home.”

Like a hawk, he watched her move across the room. You held his arm so he wouldn’t immediately go to her. You started to panic and pulled his sweaty arm back to you. Sensing that you were on a downward spiral, he removed your grip on him, grabbed your face, and kissed you on the forehead.

“You can do it,” Haechan “I promise you. You are more brilliant than you know. Believe in yourself.”

“Is this your motivational speech?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “What if I don’t want to do it? What if I just live the rest of my short teenage years alone. I’m nineteen. I can be twenty without having my first kiss, or a boyfriend.”

You knew he wasn’t listening, but you couldn’t stop having diarrhea of the mouth. Once again, Haechan told you to have a little courage, but his attention was already gone. He gave you a pat on the shoulder and went through the crowd. Your eyes followed his back, silently begging him to turn back and look at you. Please, Haechan. Look at me, please. When he didn’t, you looked around at the people dancing around you. Someone bumped your shoulder, which made you mad. You went outside and hung out on the porch by yourself, picking leaves from the bush.

“Do you always go to people’s houses and ruin the foliage?” a voice asked.

“I hardly count this as foliage.” you said, flicking the last leaf.

The boy who came up to you was familiar. He wasn’t your crush, and he wasn’t Haechan. Your brain only liked to focus on a few boys at a time, so the memory of the boy before you was hazy, at best. When he saw you struggling to pick his name out of your brain, he offered it up with a smile.

“Hendery,” he said. “Easy name to remember. I haven’t met any other Hendery’s in this town.”

“Me either.”

He sat next to you on the wall and picked his feet up until he was hugging his knees. He was handsome, probably more handsome than he realized. You imagined talking all night with him and letting him be the boy of your dreams. It was short lived when the anxiety crept it.

“I have to go.” you said, standing up.

“Oh, ” he said, dropping his legs. “I’m sorry, did I scare you?”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, of course not. I’m just-”

This is why Haechan and your mother think you’re going to die alone. You slowly sat back down on the wall and trapped your hands between your thighs. You told him your name in your most normal tone and asked him why he was at the party.

“Friend forced me to come here,” he said. “And then he ditched me for a girl.”

“Me too,” you said. “I guess that happens a lot. College life, am I right?”

Hendery laughed. “Haechan went and ditched you for a girl?”

You didn’t know how well Hendery knew Haechan really, but by the sound of his accusatory tone, it sounded like they were old buddies. You were confused and hungry for whatever detail Hendery could give you about your best friend and his new dream girl.

“Do you know something about her?” you asked. “The girl he likes? Is she a bad person? I mean, does she do bad things?”

“I don’t know anything about a girl,” he said. “Which is one of the reasons I’m finding it hard to believe. Me and Haechan have been casual friends for years. We don’t hang out a lot because he’s always with you. We text sometimes.”

“Oh. Okay.” you said. “I thought I knew all of his friends.”

Hendery smiled. “Like I said, we’re only casual friends. He’s a cool guy.”

You wracked your brain for any recollection of Hendery, but could find none. The fact that Haechan might have a whole world of friends you didn’t know about made you feel anxious. You weren’t selfish enough to be the only person in his life. You knew he left you sometimes to hang out with other people, but he never liked to talk about it. He always said they didn’t matter.

“Wait,” you said. “You said it was one of the reasons. What’s the other reason? Why are you so shocked that he went with that girl? Does he like boys? Is that the secret he’s been hiding from me? It’s okay if he does. Or maybe, don’t tell me. That’s his secret to tell me, not yours.”

“Whoa,” Hendery said. “Slow down. I don’t know if he likes boys, but I do know that he likes you.”

Your mind was reeling. You were imagining every secret Haechan might not have shared, and you compared them to your own. Maybe you did have a small crush on Haechan. Maybe you cared who he wanted to hang out with. Then you realized what Hendery had said, and you had to ask him to repeat it one more time.

“He likes you,” Hendery said. “He’s liked you since forever. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone knows!? I didn’t know,” you asked. “What? What do you mean Haechan likes me and everyone knows??”

Looking uncomfortable, Hendery stood up. He looked around, his eyes beady. He said, “Did you really not know? He’s around you all of the time. Have you seen the way that guy looks at you? It’s like you have sunshine coming out of your butthole.”

You stood up and looked out into the road. No one was paying attention to you having an epiphany. People were milling about, some talking, some kissing, and some smoking. While your mind was blown, life was going on all around you. When you turned back to Hendery, he had vanished into thin air. You looked into the window and saw him walking through the crowded dance floor, holding his arms out in front of him to get people to move. You went inside, working your way through the sweaty bodies to try and find Haechan. When you didn’t see him, you texted him. No answer.

“Hendery!” you called.

You found him in the kitchen. As soon as he saw you, he turned to leave. You caught up with him and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him backwards. You put up your hands in surrender, in order not to scare him off.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I don’t mean to keep pushing you, but I need to know. Please?”

He looked unsure, but he nodded. “What?”

“Does he like me currently?” you asked. “Since he likes that new girl, he must have moved on. Right?”

“I don’t know,” Hendery said. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“I can’t!” you said. “I can’t talk to boys.”

But Haechan, like you said, wasn’t just any boy. Haechan was your best friend for as long as you could remember. You talked to him about almost everything in your life. He had seen you nearly naked on more than one occasion. He had been there when you pissed your pants from laughing so hard. He comforted you when your hamster died and you wanted to bury it in the backyard. He went to every school dance with you. He used to copy your homework. He was the person who sat at the table with your mom and told her she was too good for your dad. He was your person.

“Look,” Hendery began. “From experience, that girl means nothing to him. If you ask me, he’s filling a void. Chances are, he’s just waiting for you to realize that he’s the one you want.”

Hendery left you with those words. You stood in the kitchen for a long time, your eyes on the pretzels, and your heart wherever Haechan was. It was like everything had clicked into place. Every conversation with him came flooding back to you. Every look was flashing through your brain like moving pictures. It was all so crystal clear: Haechan liked you, and you liked him.

You went back to the front of the house to look for him but couldn’t find him. You peered up the stairs and prayed that he wouldn’t be up there making out with her, his tongue jammed down her throat. You took some of the courage that Haechan begged you to have, and you ascended the stairs. When you reached the top, so many people were trying to push their way downstairs to get to a fight that was happening.

“Haechan?” you called, your voice too soft to be heard over the noise.

Right in front of you, your crush appeared. He was asking you to excuse him, his expression kind, and his eyes staring into your soul. You moved, pushing your body against the wall for him to pass. You were scared of him touching your stomach, but he didn’t.

“Thank you.” he said.

You watched him walk downstairs, his hair perfect, and his jawline sharp enough to scoop to the bottom of the dip bowl. Those words were the most you’d ever heard him say to you, and they would be the last thing you ever wanted from him. You knew now.

“Haechan!” you called, banging on doors.

As you moved down the hallway, you were expecting a moment where he came out of a door and into your arms. It was cinematic and poetic.... and it was absolute bullshit. The only person that came from a door was Haechan’s crush, and she nearly bumped into you.

“Where is he?” you asked.

She didn’t notice you because she was looking down. When she saw you, her face was puzzled.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice getting shaky. “What did you do with him?”

“With whom?” she asked. “Haechan? He’s in the bathroom. Fuck, can you relax?”

“In the bathroom?” you whispered, your eyes staring at the door she had come out of.

“Yeah,” she said. “I told him I would be right back, but I have to go. Can you tell him? For me? It would help me a lot.”

“Yeah.” you said, your heart breaking.

You questioned if Hendery was right. If he were wrong, you were heading towards a boy who was genuinely going to be hurt that his crush had left him alone without telling him. The crush moved past you and barreled down the stairs, leaving only you on the landing. You could hear the fighting going on downstairs, but it was all background music.

“Shit.” you said underneath your breath.

As you stood in front of the door, you suddenly felt self-conscious about everything. You tugged at your outfit, tried to smooth out your hair, and made sure your hands weren’t sweaty. You put your hand on the door knob, closed your eyes and opened it. Taking one step forward and shutting the door behind you, you opened your eyes to find out that you were in a dark room. Disoriented, you opened your mouth to speak but were met with a pair of lips that swallowed your words.

At first, the lips were really dry. The owner of the kiss did not move their lips, just kept them still and let time pass by.Your heart was hammering in your chest, and your palms were definitely sweaty. When you parted your lips to kiss him back, you could feel the wetness transfer to his lips, and could feel him pull away quickly to break the kiss. You touched your hands to your lips like you couldn’t believe you had finally had your first kiss.

In the dark, you couldn’t see anything. You could hear Haechan breathing, could feel the shuffle of his feet as he moved forward again. Instead of turning on the bathroom light, his knees knocked into yours, pushing you back against the bathroom door. The second kiss was much better, and softer. He touched your hands lightly, before fully clasping them and bringing them around his waist. Your body was pushed up against him, every roll of fat you hated people touching. He felt your body, his fingers greedily wanting to touch every inch, and you let him.

You were scared that he still thought it was his crush. He had been expecting her, so would you be a disappointment in her place? He had to know it was your body against his, had to know the shape of your lips when he kissed you, right? Could he smell the perfume he had bought you for your birthday?

While you were contemplating life and everything you thought you knew, the light came on. You saw his hand moving away from the light switch, the mole on the top of his hand so familiar to you. When you took in his whole body, he was standing with his hands in his pockets and a bashful look on his face. You wanted to open your mouth to say something romantic, or to force the mood in a good direction but all you could say was that his crush said she was sorry, but she had to leave.

“She said that?” Haechan asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “I know you really liked her and wanted her to be here. I didn’t mean for you to kiss me, I’m sorry, but you came at me so fast and I couldn’t-”

To quiet you, Haechan grabbed the side of your face and kissed you again. When he pulled away, you kept talking with your eyes half closed, so he kissed you again.

“You talk too much,” he said. “You think too much. I knew she was never coming back.”

“You did?” you said, looking into his eyes.

Haechan nodded slowly, like you were a baby needing to understand. “I told her to leave. I couldn’t do it. She came in to kiss me, and I couldn’t do it.”

“Why?” you asked, your heart hopeful.

“Because she’s not you.” he said.

#haechan #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #donghyuck #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #haechan fanfiction #nct fanfiction #haechan fluff #nct college au #hendery #donghyuck fluff #haechan week

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passionate-reply · 3 years

Video

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This week on Great Albums, I finally explain the deal with that record you’ve seen in the background of these videos, with those dudes working in the office. These dudes used to be in the Human League! Oh, and they really hate fascism. Full transcript of the video after the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be looking at the debut album of Heaven 17: 1981’s Penthouse & Pavement. While you may not be familiar with Heaven 17, chances are pretty good that if you know your Western pop, you’ve heard of the Human League! Before forming Heaven 17, Ian Craig Marsh and Martyn Ware were members of the Human League--and they were also the band’s creative core. But they had a very different artistic vision, and one that doesn’t exactly prefigure the success of hits like “Don’t You Want Me.”

Music: “Being Boiled”

Between its plodding electronics and inscrutable lyricism, “Being Boiled” is pretty far from a pop hit. When Marsh and Ware left the Human League, they were keen to continue pursuing this sort of underground, experimental, quasi-industrial direction. Initially, the two of them formed the British Electronic Foundation, or “B.E.F.” It was chiefly a production company that worked with other artists, though they also released some instrumental music under this name. With the recruitment of vocalist Glenn Gregory, who Marsh and Ware had initially intended to front the Human League in the first place, they were set to get right back into the groove of what they had been up to before.

Music: “Fascist Groove Thang”

“Fascist Groove Thang” is the opening track of Penthouse & Pavement, and was one of its chief singles. While it’s much less ambiguous than “Being Boiled,” and much easier to dance to, it’s still got a lot of that subversive, underground charm--enough to get banned by the BBC, anyway. I know they always say that history rhymes, but it’s one of those songs from this era that really feels like it belongs more in our time than the one it came from. I like to think that its unforgettable chorus sounds more like a chant you might hear at a protest march, as opposed to something that belongs in a proper song. “Fascist Groove Thang” is actually based on an instrumental track by BEF, which was simply called “Groove Thang” before being reworked into this political anthem. Both versions are indeed pretty groovy, thanks in large part to the bass guitar work of session musician John Wilson. Compared to their work with the Human League, Penthouse & Pavement has an overall richer sonic palate, with more of those traditional instruments, as well as backing vocals. You’ll hear a lot of those on the album’s title track:

Music: “Penthouse & Pavement”

Penthouse & Pavement’s title track is the longest track on the album, clocking in at over six minutes. Between that, the lush instrumentation, and the honour of being the title track, it certainly feels like an anti-capitalist epic, dramatizing and dignifying the inner thoughts of a common wage-slave. The first side of the album, dubbed the “Pavement Side,” is where you’ll find both of these tracks, and it seems to deal chiefly with working-class struggles, as well as having a bigger emphasis on that bass-heavy groove, musically. Naturally, then, the flip is the “Penthouse Side,” it’s more melodic, and it seems to focus more on the lives of the rich and famous...though it isn’t quite that straightforward.

Music: “We’re Going To Live For a Very Long Time”

“We’re Going To Live For a Very Long Time” is perhaps the clearest expression of the idea of the upper classes living in their own protected bubble, shielded from plebeian woes. There’s a religious dimension to it, in that the narrator manages to live without worries because of their assuredness that Heaven awaits them when they die...but, as the title reminds us, they’re also confident that Earth will be good to them, as well. In case you were worried this message might not be ironic, the song actually stops abruptly in the middle of its final refrain, providing a sudden end for that narrator--as well as closing out the entire LP with a bang, since this is the final track! The idea of the wealthy actively taunting those beneath them is also central to the most rhythmic track of the Penthouse Side, “The Height of the Fighting.”

Music: “The Height of the Fighting”

In “The Height of the Fighting,” that march-like chanting takes center stage again, but it feels very different here. Rather than embodying a sort of grassroots resistance to the consolidation of power, “The Height of the Fighting” seems to be the voice of authority and power coming downwards, fitting the theme of the Penthouse Side. The song’s assertions, like “if you can’t take it, fake it” and “they sent you to it, do it” could be interpreted as pithy, meaningless sayings--perhaps throwaway lyrics, taking up space on a single aimed squarely at the dance floor. However, if you know the context of the Penthouse Side, it’s hard not to see them as representations of the worthless advice the rich often give the poor. Get a job. Get a side hustle. Work harder. Eat out less. And so on. Much like the implicit messages about class in popular culture, “The Height of the Fighting” might seem disposable, but the thrust of what it’s saying is actually deeply warped. Another complex, and perhaps conflicted, track on the Penthouse Side is “Let’s All Make a Bomb”:

Music: “Let’s All Make a Bomb”

Songs against nuclear war were commonplace in Cold War-era music, but “Let’s All Make a Bomb” isn’t quite a typical example. At first, its slow pace and despondent melody make us think we’re getting the usual fare. But the return of that swelling, chant-like refrain style, as well as a closer inspection of the lyrics, reveal otherwise. As the title might imply, “Let’s All Make a Bomb” asks us what kind of character is actually crazy enough to *want* nuclear war, and the character Heaven 17 have chosen is a hedonistic libertine, who sees the end of the world as one big party. The atomic bomb is not a thing to be feared, but “a brand new toy, to idolize.” As dark as that is, the fact that it’s also part of the Penthouse Side, and ostensibly a representation of what those who hold influence and power believe, adds a whole new level of horror to it.

While I love album art, and my interest in it is the main reason I started collecting vintage vinyl, I think [the cover of Penthouse & Pavement just might be my favourite of all time. Penthouse & Pavement’s cover portrays the three members of Heaven 17 as though they were businessmen, co-opting motives like glass-paneled skyscrapers and the deal-making handshake straight from the 1980s corporate visual lexicon. They've even got cities they're allegedly based out of, one of which is their native Sheffield, England. If you look closely, there are a few hints that they’re actually a music band and not a firm, such as the reel-to-reel tape player in the upper right-hand corner, and the fact that in the lower left-hand corner, Martyn Ware is writing music in front of a keyboard. At the bottom, we also find the logo of B.E.F., which brings this grand “joke” full circle. As the “British Electronic Foundation,” they had also billed themselves as a faceless organisation, adopting a name that sounds more at home on a utility bill than an album cover. Here, the trio have done it again, in a bit of ruthless satire towards the rising “yuppie” culture of the 80s. Incidentally, the cover art is a traditional painting, credited to one Ray Smith. It wasn't unusual to commission paintings for album art at the time, but it does tickle me knowing a human being physically painted Heaven 17 as office workers. If the original ever came up for auction, I'd probably shell out for it. It would look great in my office!

Anyway, it’s also worth mentioning how the title “Penthouse & Pavement” adds to that corporate theme. The X-and-Y format recalls the names of many real-life firms and companies, such as Ernst & Young. A “penthouse” is an apartment located very high up in a tall, urban building. Such apartments are usually expensive, and are hence occupied by well-off tenants. “Pavement,” in this context, probably refers to what Americans call the “sidewalk,” the paved pathways where the less fortunate among us might walk past those penthouses, without ever getting too close. Each side functions as an ideal symbol of the kind of people it represents, and the physical gap between them is a visceral representation of economic inequality. The title is also quite pleasingly alliterative!

While Penthouse & Pavement maintains a certain underground integrity, which is consistent with Marsh and Ware’s track record as part of the Human League, it’s still much more of a pop record than anything they had done before. Heaven 17 never went quite as pop as the Human League did without them, and they certainly never saw the same level of mainstream success, but they did pursue an increasingly pop direction with their next several releases. Their 1983 followup, The Luxury Gap, delivers less of that hard-hitting critique of capital, but did produce some of their best-known singles, namely, “Temptation” and “Let Me Go.”

Music: “Let Me Go”

My favourite track on Penthouse & Pavement is “Geisha Boys & Temple Girls.” I like this track’s overall mysterious, otherworldly vibe--it’s not terribly easy to pin down what it’s really about, or what sort of mood it’s meant to convey. The intro to this song sounds more like Karlheinz Stockhausen than something you would hear in pop, and I love how strident and abrasive it is. Given its place as the opening track of the Penthouse Side, and its opening line, “look ahead, on the screen,” I’m tempted to interpret it as a representation of a fictional romance in television or film. It’s dramatic, unpredictable, exotic, and also completely fake and divorced from how people behave in the real world. The idea that entertainments and diversions are part of what shelters the rich from the consequences of their actions is another one of those things that makes this album continue to feel relevant. That’s all I have for today--thanks for listening!

Music: “Geisha Boys & Temple Girls”

#music #album review #album reviews #great albums #heaven 17

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black-dragon1998 · 4 years

Text

Kryptonian in the mcu(chapter 1)

What would happen if a Kryptonian would land in the MCU instead of the DC universe. Pairing: Natasha x fem Kryptonian, all the rest is canon kinda.

preview

MCU 2008

The ringing of a phone is what wakes you form your peaceful slumber. It causes you to cuddle closer to the warm body that is buried against your front.

“make it stop! Before I smash it.” Your voice is hoarse from sleep and makes the woman in your arms chuckle. She always found it sounded like home when she heard it.

“pleas refrain from doing that. You already broke two this year alone.” She teases, but you are too lazy to reply with your usual sassy answer. Natasha figured at mush and lets you grumble and turn around to bask in the light of the morning sun that seeps into the room. The image you present is that of a goddess, at least that is what she thinks.

She untangles herself from the sheets that had been kicked off during the night, your body heat more than enough to keep the both of you warm.

When she picked up the phone, she knew you would eavesdrop the conversation, with your super hearing it wasn’t that hard.

“Romanoff! Took you long enough.” Maria hill’ voice rings to the phone, clearly annoyed for having to wait.

“Hello to you too Maria.” Natasha replied drily. Maria decided to not pick up the usual banter and cut straight to the case.

“you and Danvers are requested at HQ. Fury wants to talk to the two of you immediately.” Maria ends the call before Natasha can react.

Natasha gets out of bed to get ready, but you stay put and bask in the morning sun. you didn’t want to go on another mission. You had just come back from one, it had left you drained.

It almost caused you to Solar flare, hens why you wanted to stay in the sun as long as possible.

“come on! We don’t want to be late.” Nat says shaking your shoulder, you don’t budge and only open one eye to look at her. Natasha catches this and smiles sweetly, a rare emotion for the master spy/Ex-assassin. It was only you who could invoke such emotions from her.

“if your quick enough we can get a cup of coffee on the way.” She knew just the thing to get you motivated.

A gust of wind blows in her face as you use your superspeed to get ready and back to her side, looking like an excited puppy. You grin at her, towering over her with a few inches.

“ready?” you step toward the door taking the keys. You hear her mumble something that sounds like a showoff, but don’t comment as her arm quickly winds around your waist. Plucking the keys out of your hands.

“I drive, I would like to get there in one piece.” You gave her your best pout, she only chuckles and kisses your cheek before walking out the door.

Quickly following you jump into the passenger seat.

“You want Natasha to do what!” you slammed your hands down on the table in front of you, denting it in the middle. The anger you felled almost made you lose control and fry the person sitting at the head of the conference table.

“I want Romanoff to shadow Stark as Stark’s new assistant. He has recently promoted Pepper Potts to CEO and head shareholder and is looking for a new assistant. This is the perfect opportunity to see if Stark is fitted to be an Avenger.” Fury stated plainly, like always no singe of emotion whatsoever. He was also far too used to seeing your rage outbursts, most of them were directed to him.

“you want her to shadow that arrogant, childish son of a bitch?” if he wasn’t the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. you would have roasted him with your heat vision long ago.

“yes.” Nat turns you around to calm you down before you do something you regret. Like always she was calm and collected.

“(Y/N) it’s okay. I can handle Stark.” She gives you a sincere smile and you couldn’t help but smile back. Taking a deep breath, you turn to Fury again.

“What are you expecting from me, if you are sending Natasha undercover?”

“We want you to be her back-up. Stark is known to attract attention and I doubt he is going to stop anytime soon.” You give him a pointed look, but nod.

“fine, I do it. But step in whenever I see it as necessary, even if this least to me revealing my powers.” Fury stares you down, but you don’t budge so he reluctantly agrees.

After the meeting Natasha steers you toward her office at S.H.I.E.L.D., to prepare for the mission and to calm you down. Once inside she turns to you and razes an eyebrow

“care to tell me what that was?” figures nothing would get passed the famous Black Widow. She knew this wasn’t about her getting hurt. She had done far more dangerous missions, with far less information. So, she knew it wasn’t that. You turn so you are facing her, cupping her face and admiring her beautiful face. Her flawless skin, her beautiful long red hair.

“you know my species is territorial in nature and bonds for life. You know I would kill anybody who would even think of taking you away from me.” She nods, knowing this from when you first confessed your love to her. She presses further into your palm, giving it a small kiss.

“I remember. Nothing has changed I still love you, and only you.” You smile at her response. Both of you show each other enough how much you love the other but saying it is rare.

“I know you know, but just the thought of you having to seduce and extract intel form that arrogant man has my blood boiling.” You confess your insecurity. Instead of laughing like you expected her to do, she came closer and reached up to kiss you.

“you know I will do whatever it takes to complete a mission, but I will always come back to you.”

“I know that too. I just get jalouse sometimes.” She chuckles and gives you another kiss. It’s this kind of gestures that you feel at home.

Until you met Natasha home was a lost memory of flames and dead. The loses of your family haunted you every moment of the day. When you were with Natasha it was almost like you were back on Krypton and you be damned if you let that go. You don’t think you would be able to survive that.

At this very moment, you were not impressed with Tony Stark. You were watching his boxing with his driver. Like he had to pay people to be around him. From your viewpoint, floating in mid-air you could see the whole mansion. Using your X-Ray vision to see every nook and carnie.

You did not see what Fury saw in him, he was as shallow as the tabloids made him out to be. The security in and around his house was also crap. No armed guards, no security cameras. I guess his personal A.I. would alert him if anything was off, but still, you were sure you could bust inside before anybody would be able to stop you.

A car stopped in front of the mansion and out stepped Pepper Pots and Natasha following the other woman. Natasha was going to make the first contact by presenting as a candidate for being Starks personal assistant

She got this if anybody were able to convince Stark they were the best it was Natasha. Thoughts consumed you when she walks in. actually, Stark’s attention was also on Natasha the moment she walked in.

You couldn’t help but laugh when he asked her to step into the boxing ring. He was a goner the moment they had prolonged eye contact. You knew the look all too well, she used it on you numerous times, mostly when she needed something from you.

Stark left her alone in the ring with his driver wanting her to have a little box match with Happy. He sat down next to Pepper, who looked unamused. She even warned him that Nat could a very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit.

He would be dead before he could even try. You would make sure of it. On the other side, it did confirm that he wanted Nat as his assistant. While Stark and Pepper were having their discussion Natasha floored Happy with famous Black Widow move and as nothing happened she makes Stark sign some paperwork. Reeling him in again with lingering eye contact. And like every man before him, he took the bait.

Natasha meets you back at your shared apartment. Her heels were off before she was even at the living room and launched herself on you, who was sitting on the couch.

“That was exhausting,” she grumbles into your neck. On instinct, you wrap your arms around her.

“I could tell. I like the skirt though.” Nat smirked down at you. She razed herself so she was sitting on your lap looking down at you while intertwining her fingers behind your neck.

“were you ogling me?” Nat teased.

“you know I can’t resist you. You are the most beautiful woman on the planet to me.” Her eyes soften before she kisses you. You deepen the kiss while pulling her closer. Your hand sneak under her dress shirt.

“you look like something sweet to eat in that skirt. I think your little seduction act didn’t only work with Stark.” You whisper in her ear trailing kisses down her neck, goosebumps following your trail.

You quickly aren’t able to talk anymore because Natasha crashed her lips on yours and pulling on your shirt to get it off. Without breaking the kiss you pick her up and walk toward the bedroom.

There were too many people packed in this joint. Why did Stark have to come to Monaco for a freaking racecar, also to many people were excited about this thing. Justin hammer was also trying to impress a journalist, the poor women did look quite bored. He was giving you a headache and you wanted to punch him.

“Why are we here again?” Natasha almost giggled at your whiny voice. You hate being in crowded paces. It tended to overload your already keen senses.

“Because Stark is sponsoring one of the race teams. It is also Pepper’s first event as CEO.” She tells you without acknowledging you. Being undercover kind of prevents you from standing next to her and having a normal conversation.

Before you could start whining again you saw Pepper and Tony walk in followed with the flashed of the press. Their flashes were so bright it was giving you an even worse headache than Hammer did.

Natasha immediately walks toward them and leads them toward their table. Following the conversation with your hearing. He even had the nerve to demand another table.

While Nat made this happen Tony and Pepper went to the bar. Stopping right next to you. Being stuck next to Hammer meant having to witness the uncomfortable conversation. When the press starts to follow you discreetly start to make your way elsewhere. Ended up in the crowed between Nat and Stark. A feeling came over you that something was going to go wrong in the near future.

Your feeling was confirmed when Stark Jumps into his racecar, making his driver quite. For the first lap, everything goes good when suddenly a man steps on the tracks. He starts cutting cars into two out of nowhere with. He is cutting them with something that looks like whips powered by a power reactor.

Well, there goes Stark’s statement that nobody but him can build them.

Not hesitating to help, you use your super speed to get onto the tracks. Immediately starting helping people of the track. Lifting a couple of cars to help trapped drivers. Luckily all eyes are on Stark and the current bad guy, big surprise. Staying in the shadows after helping the last driver of the track you see a car come crash down on the bad guy. Ramming him into the side of the track.

“though motherfucker.” You think to yourself when after several hit he just walks it off. After allot of screaming Stark finally got into his suit. Than Nat started telling you to back down into your earpiece. Saying it wasn’t worth it.

“oh come on sweetheart. Where is the fun in that.” You reply smirking, but you did what she asked off you. Angering Natasha was not something you liked to do on a regular basis.

You almost jump back into action when saw Stark being strangled with one of the reactor whips. Chocked wasn’t a good look on him. But you didn’t need to intervene, because he quickly blows up the power soars. Rendering the whips useless.

The police arrive and you take that as your cue to blend in with the crowd as they put the guy in cuffs. Crisis averted I guess, and you didn’t even have to go all Kryptonian on them.

You do keep trailing Stark, just to make sure nothing ells attacks him. Imagine your surprise when you see him walk into the police station to talk to the guy who just tried to kill him and is twice Tony’s size.

You can’t follow the whole conversation because you are unable to follow them inside the building and because of the incident the who place in on high alert. What you can make out of the conversation is that the bad guy’s father used to work with Howard Stark and that Howard somehow wronged Vanko. He also knows about Tony’s palladium poisoning. For a man without a name, he sure knows a lot.

The media storm that comes down on Iron man is massive. After his statement that nobody was able to make tech as advanced as his, the media is having a field day with this. Luckily for you, nobody seemed to recall a woman lifting cars or pulling people out of fires.

Nat is swooped up in the madness, trying to contain the story as Stark’s personal assistant. You yourself are stuck watching it all go down while keeping an eye on Tony.

While Pepper is trying to safe the company from more bad press, he is searching for everything that as much relates to Anton Vanko. You try to follow his madness but with your X-ray vision, its hard to see the 3D projections but you manage.

For now, all you can do is wait, it’s like drama show unfolding before your eyes. It is kind of amusing.

part 2

#marvel mcu #Black Widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #Kryptonian reader #Kryptonian #Krypton is still gone #Iron Man 2 #Iron Man #tony stark #pepper potts #nick fury #maria hill

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blu-joons · 4 years

Text

He Comforts You When You’re Feeling Low ~ Min Yoongi

His heart shattered when he found you laid out across your bed when he came home, tissues surrounded your body, damp from the tears you had shed, unable to keep yourself together any longer.

“Jagi,” he whispered, carefully approaching you, watching your head look up at him.

You forced a soft smile to your face, feeling the bed dip beside you from his figure laying down beside you, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist. Your hand fell over his, intertwining your fingers with his. His lips pressed to the back of your head, peering over to look at you.

“Bad day?” He asked, frowning as he watched your head nod lightly in despair.

He knew that you’d had a few hard days, there was a lot of pressure on your shoulders, which had often been weighing you down. He squeezed you a little bit tighter, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, trailing several sweet kisses along it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He whispered, stroking his hand through your hair, tucking it behind your ear. “We can lay down, and just cuddle. You can tell me all about what’s on your mind.”

He tapped the space that you normally lay, shuffling you cautiously so you could rest on your pillow, wary of how fragile and weak you were feeling, he didn’t want to cause too much distress.

“Can I just lay?” You whimpered, staring up at him with tear-stained cheeks. He nodded, pressing a delicate kiss to the top of your head, wrapping his arm back underneath your waist.

“Whatever works best for you is good for me,” he replied, resting his head on yours.

You wanted to talk about your problems with him, but if you spoke once more about what was on your mind, you didn’t know if you’d survive. You were a blubbering mess if you were honest, trying to fight back the hard times you were feeling, being strong for Yoongi.

“I know what I can do,” he smiled, tickling lightly against your waist, “I’ll tell you the things I love about you to make you feel better.”

Your head shook, hiding your bright blush against his chest, pulling the duvet up and over you to shield you from him. “You don’t need to do any of that, just laying with you is making me feel better already Yoongs.”

He wasn’t listening to you, as he began to reel off the things, he loved about you. He began with your eyes, reflecting on how bright and powerful they were, how they could tell so much, and bring a smile to his face without you even being aware.

“Your lips against mine is the best feeling in the world, I love the taste of your strawberry gloss, and the reassurance and love I find just from a quick peck from you.”

His hand came under your chin, pulling your face up to look at him, pouting until you pressed your lips to his gently. The familiar taste was still there, the strawberry gloss you made sure you wore everyday tasted sweet against his lips.

“I love your body too, it’s so sexy. I know you feel insecure sometimes, but I wish you had more confidence in yourself. Your figure is incredible, and I know so many other people who would kill to have a body as gorgeous as yours.”

His hands trailed, from under your chin to around your body, feeling around your waist and hips. His fingers separated, tickling against your skin to comfort you, he was light and feathery, you could barely feel him, but the touch of his skin felt nice against your own.

“When are you going to stop this?” You giggled.

“I can’t forget your mind as well, you’re so smart and funny, I love that you know so much, that you’re so successful, you should be proud,” he encouraged, kissing the top of your head.

He loved how smart you were, despite all his success and achievements, you were your own person in your own right too. Nothing in your life was because of Yoongi, you’d worked hard to get what you wanted, you didn’t want to use his money to get what you wanted.

He admired your strength and your courage, but tonight he knew that you just needed some time. You were prone to bottling things up, you hated venting constantly to Yoongi about all your problems, he had enough things to worry about himself.

He’d try and pry things out of you, and normally it would work, but he’d never seen you in such a state before. His hands brushed over the top of your head, comforting you softly, hearing you hum at the nice silence the two of you shared.

He began to mumble a soft tune trying to help you get some sleep, a good night of rest and a fresh morning to wake up to would hopefully clear your mind. Whatever was bothering you would pass; everything would be alright in the end.

“Yoongs,” you whispered, bringing his little song to an end. “Thank you.”

He looked down at you, brushing the pad of his thumb against your reddened cheek, bringing your tired eyes up to look at his. He shrugged lightly, “why are you thanking me?”

“Just for everything, for being you.”

“You don’t need to thank me; I just want what is best for you. If laying here in silence, if a moment to think is what you need, I’m always happy to give it to you. Anything I can do to make things feel better, I will. I’ll wait forever if you need me to, to tell me what’s on your mind.”

You took a moment of silence once again like he suggested, letting go of a deep breath, focusing on steadying your heartbeat that had been pounding all day. You followed the calming beat of Yoongi’s heart, resting your hand over his heart to follow.

“It’s just been a really long few days that I’d like to forget. I just couldn’t wait to come home to you tonight, the thought of a cuddle from you really has been the only thing keeping me going today when at times all I’ve wanted to do is give up on everything.”

“Bad times will pass, and good times will follow,” he whispered.

It was a piece of advice his mother gave him when he first debuted, it wasn’t easy, and at times he felt like he wanted to give up, but she was on hand to give him the motivation that he needed to carry on, to remember the good times that you were working hard for.

You allowed yourself to settle against him, just like he used to, you took the advice to heart, holding it close to you as a reminder that there would be a better day tomorrow.

“Get some rest now my love,” he smiled, lightly kissing the top of your head, “just try not to worry about anything for a while.”

You hummed, allowing your eyes to shut, much to his relief. Sleep had been something you’d dreamt about for so long, but with the exhaustion and pressure you felt, you never quite could drift off.

“Goodnight Yoongi,” you spoke, feeling safe and secure in his arms, finally giving yourself some time to rest.

“Night jagi.”

---

Masterlist

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icicleteeth · 4 years

Text

So I wrote a tiny ESO AU with @your-holy-mountain ‘s Finn and my dunmer Servyn for the laffs and because I got emotional about Finn being a good friend because Tii is a good friend of mine enjoy the trash under the cut...

(Disclaimer though, this isn’t going to be super well written at all, as it’s just an off the cuff little ficlet alsjfdj)

The early morning rabble of Mournhold’s central trading plaza sings with the hustling and bustling of a city which never sleeps nor rests--men, mer, beast, automata, and sometimes tamed daedra fill the streets in a near shoulder to shoulder crowd, all of which with important work for important people to attend to, though none of which called themselves nor anyone else by their real names, as such work wasn’t so important as to interrupt the annual weekly celebration of the Jester’s Festival--an honored holiday amongst all of Tamriel where Khajiiti named Kitty Kitty Bang Bang and Bosmer named Big Meat Indulgence address eachother as such unabashedly, as if it were completely normal and expected to do so.

Servyn wished he could join in on such festivities. He quite hated his name and would usually revel in any excuse to change it (even if temporarily)...but there wasn’t much use in changing one’s name when said one is a street Dunmer. He never had any reason to give anyone his real name, let alone a silly made up one. Most just called him Beggar. He supposed “Beggar” was a better name than “Servyn”, but it would feel odd to share the same name as every other beggar in Mournhold (of which there were many).

He lies curled up on the ground against the blacksmith’s plaza. Many filter in and out without noticing him much, though this particular spot gave a perfect view of the city’s wayshrine, where those coming in from all over Tamriel will inevitably see him, as the blacksmith’s is right across from the shrine’s entryway. Servyn looks to his tattered cap a few feet away, and makes a heartless effort to reach for it without having to get up (this being for a lack of motivation, he tells himself. Not because he doesn’t trust his legs to give out the moment he tries to use them). He’s able to brush the tip of it, but gives up trying to check it. Probably no coins in there anyway. At least watching the large guild stores haggle with passing knights and mages and trading goods he could never hope to behold in his life brought him some amusement. The aforementioned humorous names exchanged while doing so helped a bit, too.

Something was sniffing--a breathy heavy sniffing--at him. Servyn had managed to shift between laying on his side facing the streets to instead face the wall some time ago, which he’d done so when watching a trader present a whole roasted bantam guar became too much to handle. This seemed like a good idea at the time, though it meant he couldn’t see what was currently invading his personal space; not that this was too unusual. Street animals were just as numerous as street mer, and even they weren’t desperate enough to gobble up filthy urchins with hardly any meat on their bones. Just let it happen and it’ll go away.

“What’s that you found, Dandelion?”

At the sound of a man’s voice close behind him, Servyn twitches and sweats. Okay, so it isn’t a nix hound. That’s fine. Right? He’ll take one look at me, reel back in repulsion for a few seconds, and let me go--

Before he’s able to finish that thought, he’s suddenly off the ground, for whatever was sniffing at him decided to pick him up and carry him by his shirt. The first thing he sees is the large bear paws--bear paws!--shuffling below him on the ground. The second thing he sees is an even larger Breton man in a black tunic and huge muscles adorned with intricate tattoos standing before him.

This is it, then! This is where I die, right here and right now! Be it by the hands of a strongman or in the belly of a bear...or both! All he could muster is quick desperate breathing, for it was useless to cry for a guard. They wouldn’t care to see a beggar go, anyway.

As expected, the Breton reels back with a look of surprise--though this surprise doesn’t seem like one of disgust.

“Wow! You found a baby grampa, Dandie! Amazing!”

Grampa? He was hardly past his early twenties! Not that he was offended by the mixup--his hair is naturally white, and the unkempt nature of his facial hair could certainly fool anyone into thinking he was an old man. The uncontrollable shaking in fear surely ought to tell the man he was far from a grizzled elder. Now you’re just giving him more reason to see you as easy prey!

“Oh, but will you please let him go, Dandie? Most people don’t like being held by a bear’s maw--I know, I don’t get it either. But it is what it is!”

Just as commanded, the bear releases Servyn, who falls to the ground like dead weight. Were it not for his still raspy and frantic breathing, one could easily assume he were already dead.

“Sorry about that, little elf! Dandie likes magical things, because she’s magical too! But that means you’re magical, right?”

Not really. He may know a good deal more magic than the average street rat, but it was only simple magic he picked up from beginner’s spell books in the public library. He likely paled in comparison to the city’s many wizards and Telvanni mages. Surely this adventurous looking man has seen a good number of better mages to gawk at.

“Finnegan Stormborne, at your service!” he bows, and squeaks “and Dandelion, at yours as well!” in his best (and frankly impressive) falsetto. The bear still seemed uncomfortably interested in Servyn, but he was powerless to run away. He didn’t want to talk to the stranger, but decided maybe if he engaged in small talk with the man, then he may be generous enough to not let his bear tear him to shreds.

“Is...that your Jester’s name, sera?”

The Breton blinks, though is silent for only a moment before bursting into hearty laughter.

“Ha! I could never be a real jester, no. They’re funny on purpose, you see.”

“I...do?” The intentions of the Breton named Finnegan were lost on him. It didn’t seem like information--which was good, because Servyn wasn’t like the other beggars in that way. It didn’t seem like he simply wanted an easy target to bully, as he hasn’t done so--yet. It couldn’t be money, because surely the last place you’d look for extra gold is--

“Say, you dropped your hat!”

Oh. Maybe it is money after all. Servyn doubted anything was in it anyway, but on the off chance there was...well. He supposed it wasn’t the first time he’d resigned himself to another night of sleeping hungry, though he didn’t have much time to lament about this, as he feels something placed on his head, and a handful of coins presented to him.

“These were inside it, too. Best hide ‘em, you never know when the gold-eating rats decide to come out...”

The what?

With great effort, Servyn sits up to better address Finnegan (though slightly wilting at the man’s towering height).

“There are no gold-eating rats here, sera. Or anywhere...at least, I don’t think so...” He cuts his own sentence off quickly, fearing the man would snap at him for talking back.

“Oh! That’s just what I call tax collectors. But eh, what does sera mean, by the by? Do you mean to say “serenade”? Cus I’m always in the mood for a song, and I don’t do so well, being tempted with a good time!”

Now it’s Servyn’s turn to blink. Finn, on other hand, seems jovial as a drunken Nord.

“Yeah, you know what? What do you say to a night in, Dandelion? I’ll get you a good roast, sing some songs...hey! Why don’t you join us, Dunmer? Dandie seems to really like you!”

Now the Breton must really be out of his mind. Him? In a tavern? With other people, who will probably sneer at the presence of a vagrant in their establishment? Alongside a stranger, no less!? The worst part was said stranger seemed genuine in his offer--but it didn’t matter. He shouldn’t go. He can’t go.

“Erm! I’d be happy to join you, Sir Finnegan, but my legs aren’t very strong, and I don’t think I will be able to stand...nor do I think tavern patrons would stand me, if you understand what I’m saying. You’d best be off on your own, the local tavern is that way--”

In an instant, Servyn, for the second time, is lifted off the ground; this time in the rock-hard muscular arms of Finnegan (a feat not difficult for him at all, as Servyn’s meager height of under five feet tall and malnourished frame required no more effort to lift than a sack of potatoes). This time he does yelp, though it comes out more akin to a frightened squeak.

“If that’s all that’s stopping you, then I can help with that! By the way, you can call me Finn. Now, where’d you say the nearest tavern was? That way? Come on, Dandelion!”

Servyn wasn’t sure which was worse: watching Finn dance the Lava Foot Shuffle directly on the Flaming Nix Inn’s hot coal stove, or watching Dandelion gnaw at roasted salmon. Neither one helped calm the frantic anxiety for his new friend‘s wellbeing...or the ravenous appetite of his long-unfed stomach. Finn notices this, and hops off the coals for a moment.

“Hey, are you alright? If you tell me your name, I can sing a song about you!”

In truth, Servyn wasn’t really paying attention to Finn. In an attempt to look somewhere else, his eyes ended up settling on the large cauldron of duck soup cooking behind the innkeeper’s counter. He didn’t notice the bit of drool escaping his mouth, but Finn does, with a sad “Oh.”

Before Servyn knew it, a bowl is presented to him, with Finn kneeling down a bit to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry, friend. I should’ve known you must be famished, being on the streets and all. Do you like this stuff?”

Were Servyn in a different position, he’d beat himself up for such rudeness, as he didn’t wait to ask before taking the bowl from Finn’s hands without a single word and wolfing the soup down in a hunched up ball on the bench. Finn, however, is more than happy to let his friend be, and return to his dancing, only turning around to say: “I paid the chef for as many bowls as you want, so don’t be shy if you want more!”

Three bowls and an unceremonious belch later, Servyn lies sleepily against Dandelion, who situated herself behind the mer and quite enjoys acting as a large fluffy pillow while she dozes a bit herself. Finn, in his never-ending zeal, still happily dances amongst the coals whilst singing a new song about a Nordic king in a far-off kingdom. However, once noticing his ursine companion give a big toothy yawn, he stops singing.

“Ah, suppose you’re right, Dandie. It’s getting late. Hey innkeep! I’ll have two rooms for the night, put it on my tab, will you?” He makes to leap gracefully off the coals, but trips on a particularly odd-shaped stone and falls with a thud and a nonchalant “Ow.” Servyn perks up, immediately worried for Finn, and is not calmed down despite the Breton getting up easily and without distress.

“The second room I bought is for you, Dunmer. You don’t have to take it, but I thought it’d be better than going back to the streets. It’s no big expense on me, either way.”

There wasn’t time to worry about that right now. Struggling to get up, Servyn manages to stand, though with wobbly legs and a belly that felt much heavier than he was used to.

“Sir Finn, your arm..!” He points to a raw patch of skin which endured direct contact with the coals, and is now a large splotch of pink. Finn shrugs.

“Oh, don’t worry about that! I’ll take care of it later. But you look exhausted, friend. I can carry you to your room, if you’d like. Or the streets, I guess...if that’s what you want...”

Without thinking, Servyn trudges over to Finn, half of his energy focused on not collapsing, and the other half dedicated to channeling a healing spell. He all but collapses into Finn’s arms, but is able to cast the spell on the burned skin, and watches with relief as it mends right before his eyes--and Finn’s who stares in awe.

“Say, I knew you were magical! My arm feels good as new!” He hugs Servyn a bit tighter than he’d like, but thankfully the man has enough foresight to not put his usual effort into the embrace. He now cradles his friend, who looks to the floor sheepishly.

“It was just a simple spell, and was the least I could do, given the kindness you’ve shown me...”

“Simple? I’d say that’s a real talent you have there! Have you tried joining the local Mages Guild? I bet they’d love to have you!”

Of course not. Someplace as prestigious as a guild would turn him away the moment they saw him, with his dirty untamed hair and filthy ragged tunic and patchwork pants. Finn was the weird one for not doing the same. Why didn’t he do the same?

Knowing he expects and answer, Servyn simply shakes his head. Finn makes his way up the stairs, still with the mer in tow, who doesn’t object or ask to be taken back to the streets.

“You should! I work for them sometimes. Sort of. I find these weird books all over the place that they’re interested in, but lots of mages are real stuck up. They complain and say things like “Finnegan, why is it covered in swamp stains?” Maybe because I found it in a swamp! You wouldn’t care if I gave you a book I found in a swamp, right?”

Servyn once again shakes his head, and mutters “a book is a book, sera. It’s not your fault it happened to end up in a swamp.”

“Right!? See, you understand, and I bet you would call me Finn instead of Finnegan. Mages do that to sound regal, but it’s too formal for me! Wish I had a friend in the guild who wasn’t so stuck up...like you!”

They reach a door. Finn pushes it open with his shoulders, and lays Servyn on the single bed. He blushes a bit--at the softness of the mattress and blankets so foreign and long forgotten after years of sleeping rough, and at the seemingly never-ending kindness of the Breton man.

“I’ve got to tuck Dandelion in now, but I’m in the room just across from yours. You can knock if you need me.”

Finn turns around, but before he’s able to leave the room, a soft voice interrupts him.

“S-Servyn! My name is Servyn. So you know who to...um, send the bill to. I don’t know when I can pay it back but--”

“Servyn, eh? I like it! Now I know exactly how to introduce you to the Magister! This is fantastic! Thanks for telling me, Servyn. But I’ll let you sleep now, okay? We’ll need all our strength for tomorrow, after all!”

The door clicks shut before Servyn is able to retort back. He isn’t sure whether he’s decided to give up on understanding Finn or understanding why he let the Breton sweep him up into a tavern room to begin with--all he knew was he was tired, much so that he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He could hear the man from the hallway baby-talking (presumedly to his bear) but didn’t feel at all annoyed by this break in silence. Finn’s voice truly exude a warmth so rarely heard, even from the kindest Temple priests. Servyn couldn’t bring himself to complain, and felt odly...okay with him knowing his true name, and he knowing Finn’s, and this sickeningly sweet okay-ness that he never thought he’d ever feel again lulls him into a gentle sleep.

But if anyone else asks, my name is Captain Sujamma Guzzler.

#eso #the elder scolls online #fanfic #this isn't edited so apologies for the uhhhhh zero quality #doodledumps

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