#please don’t pick a fight over this as i don’t have the emotional resiliency to deal with internet fights
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6:14 AM 4/26/2023
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I still like to read El's fatal flaw as her unrelenting Resolve. The same ideal that's advocated by so much Shonen Manga and anime in general, shows off it's negative, flip side in FE3H through her. As I've said before, she never doubts herself, but that also means she never checks herself. She is always moving forward, unquestioning her path. In my opinion, it's also why she neither seriously considers changing her overall strategy, nor questioning the costs/"ends justifying the means". She laments the costs of her path, but she never lets it change her---which I think is the big difference between Dimitri's past of "villainous deeds" vs her past/present of villainy. (She's the villain of 3 out of 4 routes, the character designers put horns on her head and dressed her all in red like a devil, and then named her house "black" like darkness even though her house color is clearly red. FE3H did a lot to hint she's the villain. But that doesn't mean she still can't be the hero of her own story, and I think the FE3H devs honestly wanted that too.) I think it's symbolic that at the end of Azure Moon, she tries to kill Dimitri with the dagger that he had given her once in their childhood, which she says encouraged her to move forward, and a second time as adults, while Dimitri told her to use it to cut her own path. At the end of Azure Moon, El is defeated and Dimitri offers her a truce. But she is so myopically focused on her predetermined path, that she brings out the dagger that symbolizes her moving forward with her plans, no matter who/what she has to cut through or at what costs. And she uses it to try to kill Dimitri, because she honestly thinks she can still win. She can't see any other path for herself, besides the one where she wins thru force and conquest. But as admirable as Determination and Resolve are, in and of themselves, she demonstrates their tragic aspects by not even considering the alternate path of cooperation and drastically changing her strategy.
It's kind of ironic that she is so tied to her predetermined path of solving all of Foldan's problems through conquest, even if that path was determined by herself. Because she has so many moments where she almost sighs forlornly up at the sky, like at Gronder, and simply moves forward saying "And so we fight on", as if she's so sad about fighting all her old classmates, but helpless to stop it---or worse, willing to push down and ignore those feelings of dissonance and compassion, in order to make their deaths acceptable costs. And that latter is supposed to be "strength"??? El demonstrates a lot of good questions that the writers probably want us to ask, but blindly following her like she "did nothing wrong" deprives people from those productive questions. As I understand it, she has many moments throughout her route, of feeling bad for what she "must" do. But for all her "strength" in following her Determination and Resolve, she seems more helpless against it and powerless because of it. The ironic thing being that it is within her own power at any time to stop the war, cooperate instead, and/or pinpoint her attacks onto specific problematic authority figures (whether Rhea, the Agarthans, or those Faerghus nobility she mentioned, I think in 3Hopes, who were too tied to the Church). But instead, she is helpless against a predetermined path of her own making…knowingly, because she thinks it gives her strength.
(Not to bring up Sengoku Basara 2009-2011 again, but… This is just like Toyotomi Hideyoshi, thinking he has to prove his Resolve to himself, and thus his commitment to becoming "stronger" or his Resolve in being "strong", by killing the person he loved the most. As if killing those you care about are proof to yourself that you can achieve Resolve and walk a path towards "strength". But is it really Strength when you're killing off your compassion towards others? Making calculations weighing some lives as worth the nebulous "better future world" you're still speculating to make?)
Anyway, another thing I thought interesting was how each of the 3 main lords seem to represent different paths by contrasting each other.
People often say they don't understand the point of the Golden Deer, as if Claude's route seems too unrelated to the personal drama between Dimitri and El. But I think Claude was a vital contrast to El. Not only was he someone who was shown in his Supports to question himself, when confronted with being wrong, immediately pivoted to fix his flaws, but also when confronted with his blind spots, he took them in earnestly and head on. He is not someone who only finds Strength in rigid Resolve, but also in flexibility and adaptability. He also constantly reminds us that there are better ways than war to get even the dirty jobs done. I find it so strange that we have one lord, El, who acts like war/conquest is the only solution, while we have a prominent lord character, frequently reminding us that poisoning, subterfuge, and manipulation ARE A THING. To paraphrase an old ninja saying, a general killed in his bed in his sleep, is just as dead, as if you had sent hundreds of your soldiers to die on the battlefield, trying to take the general down. It is continuously ironic to me that El worked with subterfuge practitioners like Hubert and the Agarthans, and yet she is too set in her ways to consider making full use of such tactics.
The 3 main lords tell 3 different types of stories, which are made more interesting in how they clash and contrast with each other. El is on the anti-hero path in her route and the villain path in 3 other routes. She is in a tragedy story, because she refuses to acknowledge or change her flaws; she does not change/Grow. Dimitri is on a more typical hero or anti-hero route. He has a fall and does a lot of terrible things for a long time, but we witness his journey through that, towards repentance and redemption. He CHANGES and is the one forever bringing up his commitment to change and repentance. Claude on the other hand is on more a paragon story. He has already done almost all his Growth before the main story even starts. By the time he reaches Fodlan, he has already settled into an ideal of turning his tragic experiences into fuel for constructive change in himself and compassion extended outward to others, while not letting his past bog him down into sadness or obsession. And his plans to extend his compassion outward, also takes into consideration, respecting others' differences and accepting the hard work it would take to persuade dissenters without always resorting to violent force. He is already mature enough to not be looking at only himself and his past trauma, unlike the other 2 main lords. Meanwhile, we experience with Dimitri, his obsession with his past trauma, his reconciliation with his past trauma, and his eventual mature state of mind, focusing his efforts more on others than on his revenge, just like Claude. Meanwhile, El uses it as motivation for all her actions, which could be said to be pretty much revenge against the Church, the Agarthans, her past, the systems of Adrestia, and the whole world. She does all this self-focused mindset and actions, while refusing to acknowledge how she's centering everything in her world around her trauma and in a non-constructive manner towards others, thus still actually making everything about herself and her trauma. Meanwhile, Claude has already looked past his trauma and focuses more on others, and Dimitri's entire story is about his process of working to look past his trauma, to focus on others instead. As someone mentioned once, the majority of Claude's Supports are him offering help to the Golden Deer and solving their problems. Similarly, Dimitri takes on the mantel of king as a responsibility to serve his people, taking it as even more important than whether it's a position he deserves or if his past crimes can ever be redeemed.
I once said of Sengoku Basara 2009-2011's Date Masamune that his infinite Strength came from his heart being externalized outward. He seemed invincible because the thing he cared about most, wasn't obsessing over his past trauma or his own selfish wants---which he demonstrated in episode 1 he was willing to forgo for the sake of others. The thing he cared about the most, were his soldiers, the normal people of Sendai, the normal people of his entire country, who just wanted to live peaceful lives. There are only 2 times in that series when he actually puts his hand to his eyepatch, as if his traumatic lost eye was actually painful to him: When he worried about endangering the lives of his soldiers. A warrior of Strength and maturity, extends their concerns outwards, not centered on themselves. A general, waging wars to prove their own "strength" to themselves, to become "stronger", to avenge their past traumas, all while ignoring how it effects the normal people, who shouldn't have to be soldiers, is not a good leader. Whether Toyotomi Hideyoshi or El.
But since El is all about "the ends justify the means", why not interpret this by her own terms. She's doing all this horror, in order to establish a system that will supposedly be more beneficial for all. And that's where I think the contrast with the other main lords becomes interesting again. Claude is repeatedly said, within the canon text, to have the same goals and interests as El. Yet they contrast in their methods to achieve those goals. In a war story like Fire Emblem, it would be very easy, and often is the case of such stories, to just assume war as the only option. It's how the plot happens for the expected genre. But it's very interesting that we have a 3rd lord like Claude, who comes in to remind us that not only can conflicts be resolved through negotiation, but he is often spoken of (and in 3Hopes, shown) to be actually doing the hard work of negotiation with other authority figures, until he can convince them to his side. The best part being that Claude is flexable enough that we can trust him to be open to compromise, rather than rigid stubbornness in his positions. We've seen him admit mistakes and blind spots in his Support conversations. He knows how to meet conflict with a laugh, then actual practical argument points (see his Support with Lorenz), as well as pivot to integrate what he can learn from those that he has had conflict with. Even with people he conflicts with, Claude is always smoothing things over and encouraging cooperation. (Not just in his Lorenz support, but also in his Fire Emblem Heroes conversations with El. He is always luring her in with agreement, but then sliding in a contradictory point to consider, with the least amount of intimidation, until he moves the conversation the way he wants it to go.) Claude demonstrates that El's methods are unnecessary and methods more true to Compassion can achieve the same goals.
(And anyway, as the video essay "Edelgard Will Always Lose" by BOOFIRE191 noted, she is essentially creating the same system and similar problems as Rhea. A pure meritocracy always sounds nice, until you realize it's ignoring needed equity, for twisted versions of equality, while pretending external misfortunes don't exist, as if everyone in misfortune deserves it for not "pulling themselves up by their bootstraps". Or as Dimitri said, "It is the path of the strong, so it can only benefit the strong.")
Anyway, that was too much rambling about my problems with El. I guess I had stuff to get off my chest for a long time. As someone mentioned, Claude's flaw was being too secretive and still having a little more Growth to go, towards being as open to forging bonds with other people, as would have ideally better facilitated cooperation. Maybe some people wouldn't have felt the need to start wars if they were earlier and better made to feel they could collaborate with and trust others. Who knows? And Dimitri's flaw was his obsession with his revenge. We know that; we saw his entire Growth through his story. But that's as even as I'm willing to get about the 3 lords' flaws. I still have more problems with the Emperor, than the other 2 lords.
#lrb~lrt#rambling#random thoughts#contrasts#I don't know why I stayed up writing this after an all nighter#this is a jumbled mess#please ignore my idiocy#please don’t pick a fight over this as i don’t have the emotional resiliency to deal with internet fights#fe3hfuukasetsugetsu#elredeaglescrit
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pac: winter wishes from your future spouse
this winter, what message does your future spouse have for you?
pick a card for a message and chanelled christmas song from your future spouse <3
take only what resonates, this is a general reading
reblogs and likes would be really appreciated! :) i would love to hear which one you picked!
PILE 1
♫₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ come out and play - billie eilish
hi, my love. how are you? i wanted to let you know - i wish you could see your full potential. your shyness is cute and i love that you’re introverted because we get along so well (and i actually keep imagining us going on dates and your cheeks being all flushed... so cute) but i wanna encourage you to be more confident sometimes. you are beautiful and strong and i love you. i understand that when you were younger, people were harsh to you when they spoke to you, but i want you to know that it’s okay to stand up for yourself. i’m proud of you and i’m proud of you for wanting to heal your inner child. i know it’s scary and it feels difficult to face your fears… but i promise that your life will change for the better. don’t be intimidated and don’t listen to other people, you’re stronger than you think. i love you, you’ve got this, hang in there, the cold will be over soon.
PILE 2
♫₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ santa tell me - ariana grande
hey darling!! you’ve been working so hard recently and been so focused, i really admire it. but baby, please don’t get too obsessive with academic / work validation - you are so much more than that, especially to me. i feel like you’re my soulmate and i know that it’s part of my destiny to meet you, do i sound cheesy? anyways, you inspire me to keep working on my goals and to be resilient when i want to give up. your kindness and loving heart already support me during tough times. i can’t wait to meet you, i’ve been waiting so long and i’m so excited to build a future together with you.
PILE 3
♫₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ love to keep me warm - laufey and dodie
oh baby, i’m sorry that people have betrayed you in the past. you don’t deserve that at all. you’ve been manifesting me and i’m glad that i’ve been helping you in a way… when we meet, i'm gonna feel complete because i know we’ll accept each other for who we are. have you been shutting yourself off from meeting people, love? i feel like you are for some reason :( i know it’s daunting to think that you might get treated badly again but you are a beautiful person who deserves to make meaningful connections. don’t hide away, you’ve got this. also this is hella random but you remind me of a princess :) do i sound creepy? possibly but whatever, don't forget to wear your scarf.
PILE 4
♫₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ christmas tree farm - taylor swift
i feel kinda shy tbh… hello, i hope you’re doing well. i’m normally not an emotional person but i’m learning how to communicate better recently. i want to change myself for the better cuz firstly, i wanna be successful and also cuz i’m probably gonna have to fight for you lol. anyways, i’m not giving up. take care and stay warm, don't get sick and i'll see you around.
#tarot#pick a card#pick a card reading#pac reading#pick a pile#pick a pile reading#pac#pac tarot#tarot reading#tarot readings#kpop tarot
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Ok I thought I was gonna be making one nitpicky rant about TLoU show deaths but
I guess I’m actually making two. Because I saw another death and while I find there was nothing broadly wrong with it, there was some cinematic choices that drove me bonkers that I just wanna stress over.
So the rest will be under the cut, but for starters, this is about Sarah and Tess
Ok so Sarah isn’t really the meat of this rant, but I do want to talk about her death scene in the show because several things about it had bugged me. And please, I’m not really here to talk about the race swap. Overall I think it’s a little sus, moreso because the actress is the daughter of one of the executives of the show; so it suspiciously indicates nepotism. But the actress herself actually managed to do a pretty great job for Sarah’s death so really I couldn’t give a shit. ANYWAYS, the show’s death. What bugged me about it was the fact that there were CUTS while Joel is trying to comfort her and struggling to pick her up. The beauty of the cinematic choice in the game, where it turns into one continuous shot the moment Joel crawls over to Sarah, is that it inherently puts us in that moment with Joel, and by panning the camera over instead of cutting each time, it really shows how Sarah is right at death’s door, like you can HEAR the exact moment that she cries her last little whimper and just... goes quiet, right when the camera pans towards Tommy’s face. The problem with having scene cuts is that it drags the scene out in such an awkward way. Plus, Sarah’s still actively crying while Joel is screaming for Tommy to help him, and then the moment it cuts to Tommy the audio just cuts out very clumsily. As it cuts back to Joel Sarah’s just already dead, and additionally it makes no sense for Tommy to call to Joel to have him realize Sarah’s dead when she was still screaming and crying right as the camera cut. And then additionally, I’m not fond of the addition of Tommy saying Joel’s name, it feels almost... cold and detached. Like the tone of that line is “Joel she’s dead, it’s too late”. Whereas in the game, he’s moving towards Joel and Sarah and he’s in so much shock because he’s watching his niece dying in a crying, bloody mess.
So long story short, nothing wrong with the scene itself (though I gotta say I don’t think I’m a fan of Pedro Pascal’s line deliveries while he’s trying to stop Sarah’s bleeding. That’s less of a “one’s better than the other” and more of “that’s just my opinion that the emotion of the line delivery in the game was better”). Scene stayed true to the game.
But ohhh, OHHHH, you wanna know which death REALLY ruffled my feathers? Tess. Tess’ death was done so damn dirty in the show compared to the game (and side note, I hate the change to Tess’s character design. I loved the short hair held up by the headband, and I loved the short sleeves that showed her arms). I think by changing the entire death in the show, you take away from the character herself, and let me explain how.
In the game, they get to the Firefly meeting place, the Fireflies have been wiped out, and we find out Tess has been bitten. The military shows up, and Tess tells Joel that she’ll buy them some time and convinces both him and Ellie to leave. And the IMPORTANCE of her line “I WILL NOT turn into one of those things!”, which I’ll talk about. Joel and Ellie leave, Tess composes herself and gets ready to fight the soldiers. As you leave, you hear gunshots and hear Tess scream, and you find out she took out two soldiers; there was six guys and Tess took down two of them. This death is a perfect encapsulation of Tess’ character: resilient, stubborn, tough-as-nails, takes matters into her own hands. That is a death that treats the character with respect and actually plays into the character’s personality. It FITS. Tess is a woman whose life, her choices, it’s all in her hands and she will do what SHE wants to do.
In the TV show, they get to the Firefly meeting place, the Fireflies were killed by infected, and everything still plays out the same with Tess’ infection reveal (and I gotta say I’m not a fan of the dialogue choices nor am I a fan of the fact they tried to heavy-handedly push how Joel and Tess are a couple with the cuddling scene, whereas in the game the ambiguity of their relationship plays better into that final scene. I like the “Look, there’s enough here that you have to feel some sort of obligation to me” way more). Joel hears the infected, Tess starts tipping over some gasoline and grenades, and Joel and Ellie leave. Tess is panicking and frightened as the infected approach and flood in while trying to light the lighter, and then the BULLSHIT. The FUCKING KISS from the infected. And no I don’t wanna hear any ‘bUT it’S NoT A kISS, iT’S INfeCTiNg HEr’ excuses. It’s a fucking kiss disguised under the thin veneer of being some cool new infected lore, and it changes the entire death from a defiant last stance to a creepy, voyeuristic scene that’s going for a cringe-out factor. Like... Sure, you COULD explore that method of infection, it COULD be a neat behavior that we haven’t seen before.
But you don’t do that for Tess. She’s the wrong character to explore that with, and the show better actually try to stay consistent and show that again if people are gonna use the excuse of that scene being necessary. And the reason why it bugs me so much is because Tess, despite her short time in the story, is such a poignant character. She’s Joel’s partner, she’s OUR first partner. Taking that power out of her hands, putting her in this freaky powerless position where it’s like she’s being taken advantage of, does not compliment the character, especially when the death is a very easy to pull off trick that only solely relied on the lighter not working for cheap tension. If you wanted to give us a tense action scene, they could have actually shown us the Tess gunfight scene from her perspective, maybe give her one or two more kills than she had in the game. But this death was really insulting to the character.
TL;DR I’m incredibly autistic about all this dumb shit and it really just boils down to a difference of opinion.
#The Last of Us#TLoU#The Last of Us HBO#spoilers#I don't know if I even need to be putting spoilers for a nine year old game lmao but let's do it anyways#And honestly it's all just a matter of getting my knickers in a twist; I know there's a lot of people who are fine with it#And I'm not knocking them; that's their opinion#But I swear if it turns out that they don't EVER show that mouth-to-mouth behavior from them again in the show I WILL be pissed and call BS#And this isn't me saying the show is BAD; I think it's fine and I think at least (besides Tess) they're doing a faithful#and relatively thoughtful adaptation#I guess to me this doesn't seem like one of those franchises that needed a show adaptation#If you ask me we should have gotten a TV adaptation of Death Stranding#Just cast everyone from the game and boom; you have the perfect show#But anyways post edit in this section of the tags: why am I so ass-blasted over how Tess was handled?#1) I may be a little gay for her lmao; she was just one of my favorite characters#2) As someone who is so deeply invested in the character of; well; character this one really rubbed me the wrong way#And now that I type this I'm actually very nervous over how they're gonna handle Henry and Sam#You leave my boys alone you monsters; those guys practically wrote themselves all y'all need to do is follow the game#And let them die as they did; no M. Night Shamylan (however it's spelt) twist where Henry's infected instead and Sam shoots him and himself
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oblivious | k.takami
♡ pairing: keigo takami x gn!reader.
♡ word count: 1.8K
♡ rating: everyone.
♡ genre: pro hero!au, assistant!au, fluff.
♡ summary: usually, when it comes down to smooth talking and flirting, pro hero hawks has all the boxes checked right off. except for when it comes to his assistant, who doesn’t quite seem to get it. or the one in which miruko meddles with hawks’ love life on valentines day.
♡ warning(s): please read ! tooth-rotting fluff, cheesy pick-up lines, just keigo being a dorky boi! :D
♡ author’s note(s): goood evening my loves! here’s a little fluff fic for you on valentines ! it was requested a while ago by @mocha-focha but i figured today would be the perfect day! i hope youu enjoy, sorry this is so last min! happy valentines day <3
♡ masterlist | requests
keigo couldn’t tell if he found it more adorable or more annoying.
your obliviousness that is.
on one had, your cluelessness to the number two’s attraction towards you was most certainly adorable. the way you grew flustered when he walked by or leaned down to your height to tease and compliment you. the way your gaze dropped shyly to your desk when he’d ask something minuscule of you. keigo knew he intimidated you; after all, who wouldn’t be in the shoes of japan’s second most beloved hero.
the winged hero had wanted you ever since he first laid his avian eyes on you, after he’d stumbled back into his agency to complete paper work for that day’s patrol. you had been unpacking boxes at the desk outside of keigo’s office, hired to be a temporary assistant while the last had quit due to said blonde ‘being too much to handle.’
keigo still remembers the way your eyes had flittered to the floor as soon as he came into view and the timid way your name had slipped from between your pretty lips when he’d asked for your name.
the blonde swears he could never get tired of the sweet taste of ‘yn’ on his tongue.
you were nice company and worked well with keigo, since you were resilient unlike his last assistant. he couldn’t fault you anywhere, not in your kind smile and precious gestures ( you always brought him a chicken sandwich when you came back from your lunch break ). you were a gem. the only ‘annoying’ thing was that you never quite understood his flirting.
sure; some of keigo’s methods like bringing you little gifts of shiny things and rocks were a little unconventional... but he couldn’t help it! he was a goddamned bird after all and it wasn’t his fault you mistook the dead rabbit on your desk as a cruel practical joke instead of a proclamation of love. and okay, maybe keigo giving you extra work so you could spend more time with him after office hours was a little over the top; but at least his pickup lines got through to you.
they were cringeworthy of course but at the very least; they made you grin even if you were a bit confused. one time you thought he had been practicing on you to test on endeavour on their patrol later that day. another story for another time.
so maybe the most annoying thing wasn’t your obliviousness to keigo’s advances but instead the reactions and teasing from his friends. just like now.
“so what’s it gonna be today keigo?” rumi asks from the winged hero’s left, her rabbit ears twitch and pick up on his light scoff— while he mentally prepares for the incoming barrage of teasing. “’are you the alphabet because i can c u and i together?’”
“no rumi, i’ve got better than that.” keigo barks out with a shift of his crimson wings, the number five smirks from beside him and keigo rolls his eyes with defeat, hating the way his wings often conveyed his underlying emotions. the elevator they both travel in comes to a slow stop on the thirteenth floor of the hawks agency where the man himself hosts meetings in his office. the whole reason rumi was even here was to attend some dumb mission briefing the commission wanted to set them on but more than likely the bunny like hero would be here to tease keigo about his failed attempts at flirting with you. “just you wait!”
she enjoyed making his life a living hell. “i don’t know, nothing can quite beat that ‘i’m not a photographer but i can picture you and i together’ line you used last week!” rumi winks, swiftly exciting the elevator as the doors chime and open up, just narrowly avoiding the flurry of cursing and chirps from the bird-like hero.
said blonde follows with a huff, making a b-line for his sacred office as he sets his mind on getting the meeting done. the sooner it ends, the sooner rumi can get the hell out of his hair and stop bullying him for having a crush on his personal assistant. only, keigo is stopped in his tracks when he notices you innocently perched at your desk, tapping away at some document on your computer— one that he probably could’ve and should’ve done himself. hawks almost hates how he catches himself blushing over how you complete such a mundane task, the squint to your eyes and the slight pinch to your brows in concentration ( which is adorable to him quite frankly ) make his heart flutter.
he finds himself coming to a stop just in front of your desk, causing rumi to slow up ahead and turn around to watch the chaos unfold.
your typing ceases quickly when you notice the shadow on your boss looming over you— his gold and piercing avian eyes staring right back down at you as soon as you look up. “oh! mr hawks, you’re back—!”
“yn, i seem to have lost my number, can i borrow yours?” hawks blurts out the cheesy line, almost instantly regretting it right after.
there’s a beat of silence between you both while your face morphs into one of confusion. why would he need to borrow your number when you could just locate it in the personal records you had access to? in the meantime, miruko has taken it upon herself to fill the awkward air with pockets of wheezy laughter. you blink up at your boss, once, twice, three times before reaching for your notebook with all of his important details written inside. “mr hawks, if you wanted me to read your number out loud for you again , you could have asked! i'm more than happy to!” you say your words slowly, just to make sure he understands— your boss can be a bit of an air head sometimes and it is your job to help him out.
“no—yn, no i—” keigo instantly shakes his head, the red tint of shame blaring across his cheeks in a shade that almost rivals the red of his wings. said appendages puff up and flutter with embarrassment and it doesn’t help that his fellow hero is laughing at him so hard that she’s bent over and struggling to breathe. “baby—i meant i was asking for your numb—“
you smile up at him with sweet innocent eyes that have his words dying in his throat. “i didn’t know you had a baby! congratulations mr hawks!” and then you return to typing.
keigo wants to die, physically deflating right in front of your desk where he stands.
rumi, who now seems to have recovered from her laughing fit passes by keigo with a pat to his back, he only pouts while she wipes the remainders of amused tears from her eyes before perching herself on your desk, practically leaning over you. you look up once again, feeling shy under the gaze of yet another esteemed pro hero but greet her politely with a bob of your head.
“yn, hun, can i ask you a question?” the number five asks you, warm grin helping you relax just a little.
“yes miss miruko?”
you find the woman shaking with laughter above you before she pets your hair endearingly, the gesture almost makes you pout and you have to remind yourself of where you are and who you work for. “firstly, love, you can call me rumi, i know you’re shy but i don’t bite…” you paw gently at your cheeks in oder to fight the growing heat that burns brightly under your skin, growing ever so flustered under miruko’s silky voice and knowing gaze. “secondly, hawks isn’t a father nor does he have a baby— he was addressing you, sweetheart. and finally,” rumi pauses, patting your head again as her bunny ears twitch with amusement and mischief. “how do you feel about the bird brains over there, do you like him?”
takami jolts up in his place, impossibly redder than he was before while he makes an attempt to shut rumi up with his ruffled feathers. the bunny simply catches the red feather between her hands, giving them a little tickle to distract her fellow hero , tilting her head down at you as if to ask ‘well?’ you gulp, feeling yourself become nervous as the two wait for your answer expectantly. of course you had nothing but positive feelings towards your boss; he was kind and made the time out of his busy day to talk to you— but why did they care so much as to ask you for your opinion? you were only his assistant and saying anything bad about the number two hero would surely get you fired.
hesitantly, your gaze flickers between the clearly entertained miruko and the highly embarrassed hawks— forcing you to take a deep breath before delivering your anticipated answer. “well—! he’s a great boss, i— i couldn’t ask for better, why wouldn’t i like a boss who gives me an hour and a half’s lunch break?” you sigh in relief at your answer, assuring yourself that it won’t have offended anyone but your heart rate is quick to spike when miruko squishes your cheeks and tilts your head to face your flustered boss.
“no sweetheart,” she corrects herself, pointing over at keigo who cowers into his wings. “i mean, do you like him as in... would you date him?”
you swear on all might’s life that you almost pass out from her words, mind swirling with a thousand thoughts. why would she ask that of you? sparing a glance at your boss once move, you realise what all of this is about. his hot blush, the way he avoids your stare, his flustered state to match your own. he likes you, just as you like him. rumi was only being a good wing woman, one that you were grateful for— as you’d never make a move on hawks on your own, no matter how many feelings you’d harboured for him in the time that you’d worked for him. You had been oblivious to his romantic gestures this whole time and now; the situation for you to confess had presented itself to you.
to hell with it.
“yes,” you breathe as best you can through squished cheeks, staring at keigo with eyes dreamy enough to make his heart soar. “why wouldn’t anyone? i-i mean, mr hawks is so sweet and kind to everyone he meets, fans or not! and…and he’s really pretty— i mean handsome… and his eyes—“ you cut yourself off upon realising the tangent you’ve gone on just to prove your attraction to your boss, looking away shyly and rumi let’s you go with a sweet chuckle.
but just as quickly as you look away, the softness of a little red feather tilts your focus back to him. “glad to know you think so yn,” he winks, making you giggle shyly. “i’ll pick you up tonight at seven for valentines, then.”
and who were you to say no to him.
#tteokdoroki#bnha#mha#bnha x reader#bnha x you#bnha imagines#bnha fanfic#bnha fluff#bnha smut#mha x reader#mha x you#mha imagines#mha fanfic#mha fluff#mha smut#bnha hawks#hawks x reader#hawks x you#hawks smut#hawks fluff#hawks imagines#hawks fanfic#hawks angst#hawks headcanons#hawks fic#keigo takami x reader#keigo takami x you#keigo takami imagine#keigo takami fluff#keigo takami smut
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Devil May Cry: Unexpected Ties Part 7
Find the other parts here!
*
Nero was emotional.
Dante wasn’t used to dealing with that; he was pretty good at controlling his own emotions, and Vergil had always been levelheaded when they were growing up. He really wasn’t used to dealing with an emotional child.
Dante had to keep reminding himself that Nero was just a little kid- Dante hadn’t even asked after his age yet, but he’d be shocked if the boy was any older than five or six. He was still learning how to emotionally regulate himself. Dante got a crash course in that after his family was destroyed.
Dante kept his distance from Nero but left more little surprises for him so Nero knew he was still around. He kept a close eye on Nero in case he got it in his head to go back to the forest again.
But he was suffering outbursts, angry at everyone around him one moment, angry at himself the next. The adults in charge of him didn’t seem to know whether to punish him for his outbursts or soothe him for his self-loathing moments that followed.
The older boy, Credo, at least tried to help Nero find a productive way to work off his anger. He took Nero outside and raced him, or battled him with toy swords, or held a competition to see who could throw rocks the farthest. Nero seemed to do better when he had something physical to do with himself.
Dante was torn on whether to train the kid or not. Sure, having something physical to do would help him, and it would be good for him to know how to protect himself.
But what if he accidentally started Nero on that same quest for power his father had lost himself to?
If Dante left it alone, the Order would eventually train Nero, and he might just focus himself on gaining enough power to prove himself to the Order. That could be enough for him.
Dante hoped it would be enough for him.
The kid’s form was sloppy when he had his pretend sword fights with Credo. But he had a surprising amount of resilience, refusing to quit even when he was clearly outmatched and exhausted. Usually, they only stopped because Credo insisted they go get a drink.
Dante couldn’t help himself as he lounged down one of the sidestreets. Nero was on his own today and Dante knew he’d take this path.
Sure enough, Nero rounded onto the street after a few minutes, headphones on. He looked up and spotted Dante, immediately pulling his headphones down and picking up his pace.
“Heya, kid,” Dante said, saluting him.
“Hi, Dante,” Nero said. He was trying to act casual, but Dante could see the eagerness in his eyes and the relaxed set of his shoulders. He’d been waiting for Dante’s reappearance.
“So, I promised you those fighting lessons,” Dante said. “Got anything you can use to practice with?”
“I have a fake sword at the house,” he said. Then he frowned. “But it’s not very- oh! Credo has a practice one from the Order. I’ll take that. I don’t have a gun, though.”
“No need. Not good for your ears,” Dante said, falling astride Nero as he made his way towards the house at a brisk pace. “Won’t Credo know you took his stuff?”
Nero shook his head. “He’s at training right now. Even if he knows, I’ve been in trouble before.”
Dante couldn’t help but laugh at that. Nero seemed pleased he’d managed to make Dante laugh.
Dante lingered outside as Nero hurried into the house to ditch his robe and grab the practice sword. He came out with it strapped to his back, his balance only a little thrown off by it.
“Hey, how’s your arm?” Dante asked as they got walking again.
Nero touched his bandaged arm. “It’s fine. I heal really fast. Kyrie says…” He trailed off.
“She says?” Dante prompted.
“She says it’s probably my mom watching over me,” he mumbled.
Ah- not quite. More like his guardian douchebag dad.
Still, quick healing was the first solid proof Dante had that Nero wasn’t entirely human. He was quick, but not abnormally so, at least not that Dante had seen. And he was tough, but again, Dante had yet to see him in a situation that required inhuman strength or endurance.
“Can I see it?” Dante asked casually.
Nero reached up and carefully unwrapped his bandages. The wound had healed noticeably, far faster than it would’ve for a normal human.
“Looks like it’s healing well,” Dante said.
Nero rewrapped his arm, seeming to think nothing strange of his quick healing. “Uh-huh. Barely hurts.”
“Good. That means I don’t have to take it easy on you,” Dante said.
Nero grinned up at him. “Better not. I can handle it!”
Dante led them just inside the forest again. Nero pulled the sword from his back, looking ready to fight anything that came his way.
“Yea, no, not happening,” Dante said, striding forward. When Nero swung at him, he easily sidestepped it and kicked Nero in the back. He yelped in surprise as he hit the ground, the sword clattering from his hands.
He immediately scrambled for it, but Dante snatched it from the ground and held it to Nero’s throat. Nero went still and Dante thought that was the end of it.
Until Nero shoved himself back and kicked to the side, out of range of the sword. He leapt to his feet, crouched low, his fists balled up for a hand-to-hand fight.
Dante couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t quit, do you, kid? C’mere, you can have this back. I was just trying to make a point about how horrible your form is.”
He held the sword out and Nero cautiously took it back. Dante knelt beside him and adjusted his grip on it. Nero’s hands were so small, he struggled to get a good grip.
“Okay,” Dante said once he was pleased enough with Nero’s grip. “Now hold it like- no, no, not like that. You’ll throw your back out. Save that for when you’re an old man.”
He spent a long while just having Nero practice his grip and basic movements. Nero was clearly frustrated at first with being reduced to such simple tasks, but as he saw improvements, his frustration turned to focus.
But even that only lasted so long. “Dante, when can I actually fight?”
“Basics first, kid,” Dante said. “You’ll lose every fight if you don’t even know how to hold or swing your sword.”
He did pick things up quickly, though. Dante pulled him over to a tree and had him practice slashing away at it, stopping him frequently to adjust his stance, or his grip, or the way he moved his arms and back.
The marks he left in the tree were noticeably deep. The kid’s strength was not mind blowing, but it was noteworthy. He shouldn’t have had that kind of strength at his age.
“You’re a natural at this,” Dante said, placing his hands on his hips. He didn’t like upsetting Nero, but he was curious. “Has anyone told you anything at all about your parents? Maybe skill runs in the family.”
Nero’s expression was that sad one, torn between anger and pain. He sliced a deep cut into the trunk of the tree.
“No,” he said. “I dunno nothin’ about my parents. Credo taught me how to use a sword.”
“Ah, yea, brothers will do that. Leave you plenty of bruises while they’re at it, too,” Dante said with a sigh.
Nero stopped hacking away, his gaze wide as he looked at Dante. “You have a brother?”
Shit. “Had. He’s- well, I lost him when I lost my mom.”
“Oh,” Nero said, looking down at the sword in his hands. “I’m sorry you lost your brother. I don’t know what I’d…Credo and I argue a lot, but I wouldn’t want to…” He tightened his hold on the sword. “But if I’m strong, then I can protect Credo and Kyrie.”
Oh, no. Bad road. Time to cut this off.
“Nero, it’s getting late. You remember what happened last time we were here past dark,” Dante said, nodding to Nero’s arm. “Let’s get you back, kid.”
“Will you teach me more?” Nero asked, refusing to move out of his stance.
“Sure, kid,” Dante said.
Nero relaxed and put the sword on his back again. “Okay. I guess I better get the sword back before Credo finds out.”
Dante took the lead, Nero falling into step beside him. He was alert, keeping his hand on the hilt of the sword as he watched their surroundings.
“Hey, Nero, you said you've never left Fortuna. Where would you want to go if you did?” Dante asked.
Nero seemed startled at the question. “I don’t know. A- A beach?”
Dante wished he hadn’t asked. Now all he could think about was bringing Nero to a beach, training him with a sword on the sand during the day and swimming in the ocean to cool off after. He could imagine Nero’s delight as he dug his toes into the warm sand or let the waves lap at his legs, the sun setting and casting a fiery glow over the water.
And instead, Dante was bringing him back to Fortuna. A town that hadn’t seemed to change in hundreds of years, inhabited by religious zealots worshiping Sparda while mocking his grandchild.
Dante chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Maybe…if he took the kid, just for a few days…
No. He couldn’t. They’d hunt him down. Even if the adults didn’t think Nero belonged, Dante highly doubted they’d just turn the other way if they thought the boy had been kidnapped.
“I hope you get to go someday, kid,” Dante said.
“Me too,” Nero said softly.
Dante wanted to scoop the kid up and run them to the nearest beach. But instead, he walked him back into town and left him to walk the dark, familiar street back to a house he did not feel at home at, with a family that was not truly his.
#devil may cry#Nero Sparda#Dante Sparda#dmc nero#dmc dante#DMC#devil may cry fanfiction#dmc fanfiction#dmc unexpected ties#My writing
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Page 143 || {Part 2}
Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary - Spencer finds your journal.
Warnings - Angst
Word Count - 1.1K
And all imagines/fanfics/blurbs are written solely by me so please don't steal my work and/or post it without my consent. Feedback and Comments are welcome. Happy reading!
Please know that you are NEVER alone. There are people who love you. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. YOU. ARE. WORTH. IT. I LOVE YOU.
Requests are CLOSED!
Part 2!
**
“What the hell are you doing?!” The journal was ripped from Spencer’s hand. He looked down at his now empty hands, he was shaking. His mind was racing.
“Y/n, I, I, please,-” Your eyes were rimmed with tears, hands in fists. “Please don’t.” Those words were enough to push you over the edge.
Spencer didn’t know where to start but he knew that he had to say something; anything to let you know. Spencer couldn’t think straight but he started rambling. “You're mentally and emotionally exhausted, I get it but just don-. Please. You can’t give up. You need to stay here. You belong here. This world is twisted, dark but you’re not like that. What if I told you, I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you?”
You closed your eyes, fighting through the pain of standing still in your chaotic world. There was no getting out of this dark place where you placed yourself; the darkness was your comfort. It felt familiar.
“How could you be so selfish? Just because it hurts like absolute hell right now does not give you the right to decide you just want to give it all up and walk away from all of this!”
“All of what?” You spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“You're wrong you know. You're wrong about so many damn things,” Spencer points at you.
“About what?” Sharp pain throbbing behind your temples.
“Everything!” Spencer's loud voice echoed through you. It was piercing. “I can’t believe you don’t see what I see or, or, wha-” Spencer's words were getting stuck in his throat as his cheeks were stained with more tears. “Or what the tea-team sees. Why don’t you see it?”
“All I see is a broken, bruised, and beaten down human.”
“You want to know what I see?”
“Don’t lie to m-”
“I see a woman who is so special. I see how you go out of your way for everyone you ever meet. The way you look at people when they're talking about something, how you comfort them. The way that you’re always there for them no matter what. I see a woman who is brave, beyond words intelligent, independent, tenacious, clever, classy, powerful, driven, enthusiastic, resilient, and a fighter. God,” Spencer’s eyes were burning and getting blurry. "You are so strong.”
You reached your edge as your knees gave out of you. Instead of hitting the ground, you fell into familiar grace.
Spencer’s arms wrapped around you pulling himself closer. He grabbed your arms wrapping them around his own back, your nose picking up his sweet vanilla and coffee scent. “I got you.” A sob quacked through your body. “Let it out,” You continued to shake uncontrollably. Spencer held you closer because he felt as if you’d fade away if he were to let you go.
Spencer’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, you sobbed into his chest. All the pain, every ache, every ounce of fear that resided in your bones that lingered in your heart, you cried out on to his onyx coloured jacket.
“I’m so empty.”
“No, you're not.”
“I am Spen-” You grasp onto him tighter, it felt as if someone was sucking the air out of your lungs. “I am.” Spencer held onto you as he pushed both of you to lean against the edge of your bed. He sighed, rubbing your back.
“Listen to me, I'm going to make sure that you're alright, okay?”
“I’m pas-past savin-saving Spencer.”
“Everyone is worth saving. Even you.”
“What are you going to save?”
Spencer didn’t know what he was going to save, he didn’t know how or where to start. He spoke because all you needed to know was that someone cares for you. That someone can see you; that someone is listening to you.
The pain inside was burning into flames, setting you on fire.
“I’m tired from carrying this heavyweight.”
“I know.”
“I just want to end it.”
Spencer felt himself falling apart at your words, “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that.”
You look up, his golden brown, as beautiful as ever, “Please,” Spencer noticed your voice that was once soft like honey, was now wounded and cracked.
“I know you’re feeling really low right now and it's perfectly okay. It’s absolutely fine. But I really need you to listen to me, Y/n. Listen to me,” He grabs onto your face, holding you firmly. “You can’t stay here.”
You start to shake your head vigorously at Spencer’s words, you pull away.
“No, no, no, please. Let me go!” Spencer’s grip on you was tight but that didn’t stop you from trying. You managed to maneuver your way out of his arms. As you were pulling away, Spencer stuck his leg out, tripping you. You hit the floor with a thud, before you had the chance to run away, Spencer tackled himself on top of you.
“NO! Let me go. Please! Leave me alone. I want to go,” You cried, as he held down your hands, his tall frame overshadowing you. He gripped you by the lapels of your jacket, pulling your head into his shoulder, where you were seconds ago.
“I want to go,” You say, hitting his shoulder.
“Hey, hey, look at me! Come on, look at me. I'm right here. Ple-” You refused to pay attention to anything he was saying. “Y/n, that’s enough!” He yelled, his words burned.
Spencer noticed that your face was pale, your eyes glassy from all the tears and pain. Your arms were trembling as his grip was tight to keep you from fighting back. You started gasping in his arms, “Breathe Y/n. Come on honey, please,” The air was trapped somewhere in your body. “Follow my breathing,” Spencer grabbed your hand, placing it over his heart. “Feel that?” You weakly nodded. “Okay, now follow me.” You followed Spencer and within minutes you were catching up with your breathing.
“We can sit here for a minute or even two, but you cannot stay here, alright?”
“I like it here.”
The emptiness clashed with every pent up emotion you had left within your bones.
“No, you don’t.”
“I won’t be able to.”
“You have to.”
“It’s going to hurt like hell.”
“I know. You have me.”
Maybe that’s all you needed.
**
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” - Kahlil Gibran
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x series#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#bau#bau x reader#bau x you#bau x y/n#Criminal Minds#criminal minds masterlist#spencessmiles fanfics
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Hi! First of all, I just wanted to say that I fell in love with your writing and the way you analyze the characters. Now, there is something that has been on my mind for some time, since I found out that Huang Hua can feel other people's feelings, I just imagine that she found out how Lance started to develop feelings for the Guardian. The secret looks he gives her, the restlessness he feels when she enters.
Hello! Thank you so much for the compliment! ❤
The request wasn’t exactly formatted in the way of the typical ask, so I wasn’t exactly sure if you were requesting this as a hc / scenario or just commenting for a discussion, but since my page is primarily writing requests I can only assume it’s a request lol.
I’m not entirely sure what Huang Hua’s special power exactly is to be honest. Some people say it’s the ability to read souls, or sort of read minds, or emotions, things along those lines. I have a general idea that she can read someone’s inner heart, energy/aura, and true intentions, which sort of combines many of those ideas as well as your ideas in the request, so I’ll be writing with that in mind. I hope you don’t mind! It won’t really have much of a difference on how I write this as the general idea (how it’s used) is the same.
~ Under the cut ~
Huang Hua’s observations as Lance falls in love with Guardienne:
Huang Hua, of course, observed Lance during his years of change at the guard. He certainly did become someone different; wiser, more resilient, more composed. She knew him once before his years of being Ashkore, but if asked, she would say that she would like this new Lance better. His actions have humbled him and made him wiser, and he has a more realistic perspective on life now. She’s not pleased with what he’s done in the past, but she realizes that sometimes someone can be their own worst enemy, and if they rise above that and don’t give in to living their life in self-pity, they can become even greater than they once were and provide greater things than they once could have. It seems like this was one of those cases, so instead of holding his past against him, Huang Hua lets him thrive in his new era and provide what he can for the guard.
However, there was one thing that always bothered Huang Hua about Lance: it was nothing but work with him.
Even prior to being Ashkore, Lance spent very little time to himself. He would take care of himself, of course, but aside from the occasional friends or acquaintances, or the occasional one night stands (I don’t think it’s confirmed that Lance had a lot of one night stands, but looking at Valk’s history we can say it’s probably true), he didn’t really spend much time to himself.
This still holds true in this new era, but Huang Hua understands his reasoning better. Even so, everyone needs a bit of a break sometimes; a time to wind down and de-stress. She’s mentioned this once or twice to him when he seems to be carrying the weight of the guard on his back, and he says he’ll keep it in mind... but never really does anything different.
This changes when Guardienne emerges from the crystal.
Immediately, Huang Hua picks up that Lance is high strung and stressed - although he hides it very well (after all, a soldier shouldn’t be easily visibly stressed out right?) - at her presence... but there’s something else, too. Something... deeper. Admiration? Respect? ... Fear?
And even deeper than that seems to be some other sort of distress... Longing?
This genuinely shocks Huang Hua.
Lance, the destroyer of Eldarya, is scared of Guardienne? Sure she saved the world and put up a good fight, but physically she’s completely out of shape now! A great warrior like him has nothing to fear now!
Except, she’s aware that Lance knows the art of warfare much better than her, and he knows personal things about himself that she doesn’t know, even despite her abilities, so perhaps there’s something she’s overlooking or can’t see.
As leader of the guard - with the ability to learn about some of the most private areas of someone’s life by simply wishing to know - she’s basically promised herself to not use her ability unless necessary.
But Lance being terrified of Guardienne is a valid call for her to use this ability to monitor him, right?
Huang Hua has roughly mastered the art of balancing work and her personal life, so she carries on day to day life with little issues relating to this. She knows how to not let this effect the guard, and knows how to hide it so well that nobody would know that anything is going on, so she allows herself to indulge in the sudden mystery that is Lance and his emotions.
And then she realizes just how deeply Lance feels emotions, and just how influential they can be, and it nearly takes her breath away.
All of the emotions flooding through him at once; the regret, shame, sorrow, anger, and even fear, all have a special place in him. They’re always so consistent, and so overwhelming. For a while, Huang Hua wonders if it’s these emotions that drive him in general.
Yes, this is not the first time she's looked into his inner being to know him better - after all, looking into him is how she knew it was safe to release him back into the guard to train new recruits - but this is the first time since then that she's bothered to truly observe him again, and she's shocked by what is revealed. Huang Hua did not know that Lance still carried the burden of his past actions so heavily upon his heart.
But every once in a while, when Lance and Guardienne aren’t feuding with each other, Huang Hua sees the dark cloud of those horrific emotions clear away, and something... wonderful happens.
Lance holds a tender spot in his heart for Guardienne.
Beyond all of that fear, and anger, and sorrow for everything that’s happened to him and because of him - including what Guardienne went through - is a soft spot for the woman he hurt most.
Huang Hua nearly gets whiplash from the sudden realization.
And then she gets curious, perhaps more curious than she should have been.
How long has that been going on for? Did he feel this way before the final war? Is this another reason why he kidnapped her and ran to Memoria? ... Would he have even have been able to feel this way back then?
Huang Hua has never been more interested in someone else’s relationship drama.
She takes to observing his actions over time, trying to decipher what he does for what reasons, and then finds that when he’s not doing things out of responsibility, he tries to make things a bit easier for Guardienne. He keeps his distance, sure, but if there’s anything subtle that he can do behind the scenes to help her, he typically does so.
On occasion - when Guardienne isn’t paying attention to him - he’ll observe her as Huang Hua observes him. She can’t read his thoughts, but she can at least guess what’s going through his mind by the emotions that flood through him, and a common emotion she’s picked up on is cautious hope.
Hope for what? That Guardienne will manage to fix a future mistake he fears making on accident? That she’ll someday forgive him, or move past looking at him and always seeing his past actions? That perhaps someday they can actually be close with each other?
As much as Huang Hua understands why Guardienne is so persistent on being cautious about Lance, she can’t help but hope that one day soon she may relax around him and trust him, perhaps even grow closer than just co-workers or friends.
After all, the savior of Eldarya and destroyer of Eldarya in love? That’s a story of impossible odds, tragic stories, and bending the world’s rules that people write legends and stories about! But it’s also a symbol of hope and faith; that if Eldarya’s savior can one day look past the actions of Eldarya’s destroyer and fall in love with him, then who’s to say that anything is in vain? Who’s to say that moving forward alongside one’s past enemy - despite their past wars - is a fate hopeless and filled with inevitable hurt? Their story could be passed down through legends, and teach important stories to future generations. Among that, she would be a good influence on him! She knows how to relax and spend time with friends, and knows how to stand up and fight and hope for the best even in the darkest times. If the sky were to fall in their future, and their loyalty lie with each other, Guardienne’s hope and faith could be the sole driving force for Lance to perform wonderful miracles. He has the strength, stubbornness, and resources to do so, he just needs the faith.
And then Huang Hua realizes he does have hope and faith... but it’s invested in her.
Guardienne - just like for everyone else - is a representation of hope, but in different ways for Lance than with everyone else. He’s aware of the possibility that she may never be able to see past his former actions but he still works hard regardless, and not to impress her or make anything up, but because he knows that that’s what she would want from him, even if she has her doubts about him.
The Phoenix begins to see a side of the Dragon that she’s never seen before, and she doesn’t know if she approves or disapproves.
Lance begins to work even harder in Guardienne’s presence, and this concerns Huang Hua for a while. He works himself hard enough, how is it possible that he can still give more? Doesn’t he ever get stressed? Will this somehow kill him from overworking? And yet, as she continues to observe him, he still manages himself just fine, and now he’s even more driven to protect Eldarya.
These observations carry on for a long time, and as time continues on, Lance manages to sort out his emotions a bit more, identifying exactly how he feels about Guardienne and learning exactly what pleases her. He does his best to provide what he can for Guardienne, in all aspects of life. However, Huang Hua notices that Lance continues to keep a distance from the Aengel.
This makes her wonder; why is he being so cautious with her? Surely they’ve calmed down to each other by now?
But a small look at how Guardienne is feeling makes her realize why Lance is still keeping away from her; she’s still scared of him, and Lance can sense this.
The Phoenix gains a deeper sense of respect for Lance.
He loves Guardienne, and craves to be closer to her, but notices subtle gestures that she may not even know she does that tell him she still can’t fully accept being around him. Despite his want to be closer, he respects her need for space, and Huang Hua has a feeling that he would keep doing that for the rest of his life if that’s what Guardienne needed. However, even while knowing that she can’t stand to be around him, he still works hard with her in mind.
His loyalty to a woman who can barely stand him nearly makes Huang Hua swoon. This is not a common thing with people, others rarely have this deep of a sense of loyalty to one person - especially someone they hurt who keeps pushing them away; they usually just split up in time - but Lance is firm in his loyalty and persistence for Guardienne.
And then Huang Hua starts to catch him displaying subtle physical signs of his interest. Perhaps he’s decided it’s time to push the boundary? Was he really willing to take the risk of upsetting her?
His eyes will linger on her, no matter where they are, only looking away when he feels as though he’s at risk of being caught. He’ll try and stay physically close to Guardienne when he can, standing close to her side, and on occasion when he leads her somewhere he’ll touch her gently, even if for a moment. He’ll place his hand on her back or shoulder for a few heartbeats, guiding her in the direction they need to head in, and he’ll take her arm softly when he pulls her aside from somewhere to talk to her. Guardienne’s reaction really depends on her mood. If she’s irritated or is feeling threatened, Huang Hua observed, she’ll pull away from him, possibly even snapping back with a blatant statement of “don’t touch me!”. Lance remains calm and collected, but Huang Hua is aware of the jolt of pain that thunders through him when she rejects him, as that same jolt ripples through her as she observes his emotions. However, he never holds it against her, and almost seems to be expecting this sometimes.
On the other hand, every once in a while when Guardienne is having a good moment where she seems to be more trusting of Lance, she’ll allow him to touch her for longer, and Huang Hua could swear she could pick up some sort of... longing, or perhaps disappointment, from her when he pulls away.
And during these times, there’s something that happens between them when they touch. A tension seems to crackle in the air, so thick that Huang Hua is sure that they can see it, and is shocked that no one else can see it. But how could they? No one else has her powers.
This tension is what sparks Huang Hua to become truly invested in their possible relationship. Most of the time Lance and Guardienne don’t seem to know what to make of their relationship, but Huang Hua knows there’s something there that can’t be ignored. Sometimes she finds herself thinking to Guardienne “Oh, kiss him you fool!” when Lance is being particularly tender with her, laying all his tragic emotions bare in front of her as they talk about a harsh topic for him, or when he tells her that he’s glad she talks about important things with him every once in a while, even if it is hard for him. Guardienne didn’t seem to realize that this wasn’t a common thing with Lance; he wouldn’t lie about his emotions, but he was very evasive with talking about his past. To get him to talk openly about his past and have him openly admit his regrets was a rare sight - not because he didn’t like to admit his regrets, but because he felt it wasn’t relevant anymore. It was seven years ago, and he had clearly changed since. He regretted his actions, he wished it never turned out this way, he tries to keep it from repeating in the future; what more needed to be said about the subject?
In this time, Huang Hua begins to realize just how deep his emotions for her run.
Lance had a respect for Guardienne, for every part of her, even when she screwed up a bit or caused a bit of chaos, even if he was angry with her. He admired her stubbornness and diligence at defending the guard and Eldarya, and her optimism even in the darkest hours always had a tendency to shake him to his core and snap some sense back into him. Huang Hua began to notice that his emotions on him pursuing her reflected her emotions during dark hours of their story; it wasn’t over until it was over, and as long as there was a possibility that something could change for the better, that possibility should be sought after.
The Phoenix begins to understand why Miiko once had such intense feelings for the Ice Dragon. Even though so many things have happened to him and because of him, he refuses to be held back or muted. He still allows himself to be who he is at heart, and doesn’t care if others like his personality or not. He had confidence in himself, even after the terrible things he’s done. Lance knew very well the extent of his abilities, and was aware that the most important thing about those abilities were how they were used. He had committed atrocities, sure, but he was confident in himself now because he knows he’s not using his strengths for wrong anymore. He has chosen to fight for good, he can see clearly now, and his loyalties lie with the guard, and, overall, with Guardienne.
However, Huang Hua picks up another emotion as she observes Lance over time, and she’s unsure of if it comes from him, or from herself because of what's beginning to be revealed to her about him.
Some sort of hollow loneliness pierces her chest every once in a while as she watches him. He doesn’t have close friends, he doesn’t pursue any other women, and he doesn’t allow himself much time to relax. Lance is a ghost that drifts around the guard, searching for some true place not within the responsibilities, but within the people he protects.
His past makes him hard to relate to, his perception vastly differs from most faeries, and his emotions are a deep well of running water, constantly shifting and redesigning who he is in any given moment, and yet he strives to find his own place within the guard, not as the Leader of Obsidian, but as Lance; the Ice Dragon, the man, the deep ocean of emotions and history who may very well never find a home among a people he can truly call his. Still he remains the same person inside, but always he is adjusting for the outside world, and he had yet to find someone who would risk unraveling his constant adapting to truly know the man underneath.
But everyday he rises to that challenge, brushing off the echoing thought that perhaps he doesn’t belong among these people - that perhaps he may never find peace here at the guard - because he knows he’s best fit for this responsibility. He can protect these faeries better than anyone else could, and his morals lie first with that, and second with his own fantasies.
Even so, Huang Hua doesn’t miss the hollow echo in Lance’s soul as he watches the guard celebrate, or witnesses close friends embrace each other and confide in each other, and she realizes that Lance doesn’t truly feel at peace here, not at all - not among the people who he’s betrayed and become an outcast from. He feels no peace at all among these people, they are not his people... but perhaps, when he looks at her - Guardienne - within her hope he finds peace, and someday, perhaps, he may find peace, a home, within her arms.
Was it possible that, even as Ashkore, he felt he felt he could find solace within her? Some opening within the dark clouds that overshadowed his existence for him to strive towards?
Did Lance believe that Guardienne made him a better man, even more so than he already is?
By mere chance Huang Hua managed to piece together everything she knew of Lance and his relationship to Guardienne, and she came to realize that there was something between them for a long time. It was deep, and complicated, and was never able to be pursued until now. The Dragon’s emotions for Guardienne ran deeper than any of Eldarya’s oceans, farther than the furthest mapped points, and was purer than even the Aengel’s powers.
Lance was truly in love with her. Not her powers, not her history, he fell in love with a woman who moved something within him that no one has ever touched before.
The Phoenix almost begins to feel guilty over time.
There was something there for a long time. Did Guardienne know this? Did she need a wake up call in order to realize what was happening before her? Was Huang Hua supposed to intervene and help get their relationship going?
If only she knew...
I shouldn’t interfere with this, Lance would feel violated and Guardienne wouldn’t trust me ever again...
But isn’t it a shame to let them possibly waste their life away not telling each other how they feel, or giving this a chance?
Stress eventually invades Huang Hua throughout her days, even when she's not around Lance and Guardienne. The Dragon and the Aengel, in time, grow ever closer, ever more comfortable with each other, and may even be expressing signs of interest for each other! But no one is doing anything about it!
But no one can see the deep roots of their feelings like Huang Hua can, and she's nearly certain that Lance and Guardienne will continue to tip toe around each other in a fearful dance of figuring out where they fit into each other's lives, never daring to test deeper waters in fear of hurting the other and sparking off another bout of painful emotions that may haunt them, and the guard, for years.
It's very possible that their relationship could change the guard and Eldarya - positively - forever, so doesn't this give Huang Hua some right to try and push them together? But romantic relationships are so personal, especially ones as special as this. A unique relationship like theirs shouldn't be interfered with, it will bloom in time if given the right opportunity... but what if Huang Hua can create the right opportunity!? But that's still interfering in their relationship!
Without even knowing, the emotional toll of observing and pondering over Lance and Guardienne's relationship does begin to take effect on her, and Huang Hua's own partner, Ewelein, is the first to notice and call it out.
The leader of the guard then needed to decide if she was willing to indulge her partner, someone completely unrelated to the matter, in her almost stalker-like tendencies of observing the simmering relationship between the guard's resident Dragon and Aengel.
Eventually she breaks and admits to the Elf that she's been observing the inner worlds of Lance and Guardienne as of late, and has realized just how much of a mistake and a blessing it's been.
The first thing Ewelein jumps to is the fact that it's an invasion of privacy, something that - of everyone in the guard - the leader especially should not be partaking in. Huang Hua doesn't really fight back on that idea; she knows it was inappropriate, she should have just approached Lance and asked if he was alright.
"But of course he would say that he's alright! Maybe a bit unsettled, but come on, at the end of the day nothing shakes him for long, and to him that translates to he's alright!"
Eventually its clear to Ewelein that regardless of how Huang Hua came to be in this position, she's trapped in it now, and feels very passionately about the possible romance brewing within the guard, to the point where it truly is stressing her in possibly unhealthy ways.
Ewelein does her best to comfort Huang Hua as she spills everything that's been revealed to her, starting from the beginning of when Lance and Guardienne were still fearful of each other, to the most current moments of when they've been relying on each other, talking civilly, and even possibly shyly flirting. The Elf is quiet and attentive all throughout, knowing that - even as she's surprised in many ways as well by the things time has revealed about Lance and Guardienne - her shock and emotions couldn't begin to rival what Huang Hua has been feeling for the past endless days that she's been observing them.
“I can’t believe it! This is love that stories are written about, that changes worlds and changes people. And he’s hiding it so easily!”
"But would it be right of you to intervene? This is their story, not yours."
"I know, but couldn't this be good for the guard, too? And possibly even Eldarya? And as the leader of the guard, shouldn't I try and do what I think could benefit us?"
"You first started observing Lance under the excuse that it was for professional reasons, to make sure that he was alright to remain in power and carry out his responsibilities despite her presence, but we both know you did it for selfish reasons, too. You were curious as to why Lance felt what he did about her, and now you have your answer. However, you kept observing them after that, even going as far as reading into Guardienne's responses to Lance. Is that professional at all? And instead of invading her privacy, don't you think she would have told you the truth of her fearful emotions for Lance if you asked her heart to heart?"
Huang Hua lowered her head and avoided her gaze.
"You've gotten your professional answers and now you've seen into a very private portion of two people's lives. None of this is professional anymore, so you can't act professionally on it. You need to treat this as what it is; intimate, personal, and something that should be respected, not exploited. I know it would make sense to try and get this to help the guard, but really, there is no guarantee of that. What if they got together and then broke up a while after? What would the message be then, especially if it were known that you set them up together? My advice is to stay back and let this develop in time. Sometimes when I'm with a patient there is nothing I can do for them, sometimes leaving the body alone to heal itself is the best thing to do. I think this is a case where that rule should be applied. The best thing you can do is let them figure out their relationship in time. You can support them, but do not influence them."
Huang Hua knows Ewelein is right, and forever appreciates her partner listening to her thoughts. If Lance and Guardienne's relationship were to be true, they needed to figure out what they meant to each other in their own time.
So Huang Hua follows the Elf's advice. She bites her tongue and hides the fact that she’s witnessed almost every moment of him falling in love with Guardienne, vigilantly awaiting the day where Lance decided to emerge from the dark and shake the guard’s history for a second time.
Goodness this took a while to write, but I'm very pleased with the results! I think I got a good idea of Huang Hua's reaction and how her reaction developed in time in response to Lance and Guardienne growing closer, especially since I don't think her reaction would begin and end within one day of realizing what was going on.
Thanks for asking!
Have a request? Ask them here!
But first, please read the rules list for asks!
#eldarya#eldarya ane#eldarya lance#eldarya huang hua#eldarya lance ane#eldarya lance headcanons#fenristheorem writing#askfenris
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Bookworms (Draco x Reader)
Summary: Where Y/N and Draco discover that there’s much more to each other than what meets the eye.
Word Count: 11k
Genre: Fluff (slight angst in the beginning); enemies-to-friends-to-lovers ; No Voldy AU
TW: Self-harm but it’s not too much.
A/N: Hi friends! I want to say that I don’t really know where I was going with this, but that would be a lie. So a couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine (we’ll name her @minty-malfoy) posted a tag thread and one of her responses involved her wanting to own a bookshop. It got me thinking of a bookshop romance and ugh YES. With dark academia, how could I not? Fast forward to last week, I ask her for a favor without realizing it was her birthday, and I felt so embarrassed LOL. So, yes, this is your gift my friend. I hope you enjoy it. Keep shining like the light you are!
Besides that, I genuinely hope that if you come across this, you enjoy this big chunggus of a oneshot. I apologize if it’s slow at some parts. I also didn’t proofread the end. I should probably shut up now before I start questioning my writing omll
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Written in pages bound by leather covers are worlds that bring you out of your own. An adventure. An escape. Within that escape sprouts myriads of emotions and thoughts, but what you value the most amongst them all are its gifts of perspective and solace.
Y/N Y/L/N lived the majority of her life with her mother. Her father, who was an auror, passed when she was young, leaving them to surmount the challenges of the world alone. Together, they owned a decent bookshop in Hogsmeade. Its shelves lined the walls, occupying the entire expanse from the floor up to the ceiling. Within them were books of varying genres, filling your senses with the soothing aromas of old parchment, sounds of turning pages, and the feeling of warmth and coziness. To others, this little shop was known as Avenoir Books. However, you knew it as home, your safe space, your comfort zone.
Your mother was the one responsible for introducing you to your love for reading. Growing up, you’d recall the sound of her voice as she read to you--the way that it cradled you with reassurance when times got rough. She always managed to disguise her worries, yet in moments when she thought she was alone, you had witnessed her at her lowest points. It was only within your knowledge that you knew life was difficult, for your mother would shield you from the problems that reality had actually presented to you. She carried the weight of both your worlds on her shoulders, giving you protection by surrounding you with new ones to step into as you sat yourself in the confines of your cozy shop. It was because of her that reading became your refuge, and it remained so when you went away for school at Hogwarts.
Your mother’s resilience fueled your desire to become strong, to become great, to create a new life where you wouldn’t have to see her cry in secret. She was the reason you had been sorted into the Slytherin house in your first year, and she was also the reason why you’d been so successful within your 4 years of schooling by far.
You were a quiet Slytherin, mostly keeping to yourself while observing those around you. The most interesting and exasperating individual of the entire student body was a proud and arrogant boy, Draco Malfoy. He had never picked on you, but there were countless times you had witnessed his relentlessness with others, especially with the Golden Trio. Each and every instance increased your despise for him, furthermore deepening your ardent desire to keep your distance. However, it seemed that the universe had other plans for you today.
Weekdays kept you immersed in bulky textbooks--notes constantly jotted down through endless heaps of parchment. On weekends, however, you swapped your robes for a work apron, helping your mother around the shop. She’d situate herself by the counter and typically manned the ground level, while you’d be propped on a sliding ladder, managing books that sat on shelves higher up. You had a system in Avenoir Books. Customers would typically roam about the main floor, which was occupied by books from famous publishers and authors. However, for books that were more obscure or specialized, customers would head to the counter and gain consultation from your mother. In return, she’d direct them to you, prompting you to slide amongst the shelves in search for the requested titles, genres, or authors.
The store typically had a steady flow of people passing through. You have come across many different personalities and backgrounds throughout your life. Today was quite different, however. The bustling noises slowly died down upon the entrance of a pair of notorious figures, the air suddenly becoming tense. There stood Lucius Malfoy. His chin was pointed up, platinum locks flowing over his shoulders, walking stick in hand, his eyes scanning the shop with a pompous expression on his face. Standing to his side was Draco. He maintained the same look as his father, which soon featured a scowl as it managed to grace his face.
You heard the older man mutter, “Let’s get this over with, Draco.”
The two made their way through the vicinity as gazes were trained on them. Even you stopped what you were doing to observe their actions. Lucius approached your mother, who gave much effort to keep a welcoming smile plastered on her lips.
“Mr. Malfoy, what brings you the pleasure of stopping by?” Her tone was sweet and quite inviting, although it didn’t do much to shift the man’s attitude.
“You have quite the selection here at Avenoir--I’m impressed.” His tone on the other hand was laced with a tinge of venom and arrogance. Lucius' eyes kept trained on the expanses of shelves until they landed on you.
“I assume that’s your daughter, Y/N? Draco’s told me much about her.” You couldn’t decipher whether he meant well, moreover what Draco could’ve possibly said about you to his father. You weren’t aware that the boy even knew of your existence since all you did was keep away from him at all costs.
Your mother responds, “Yes, she’s a fifth year at Hogwarts. I assume your son’s the same?”
“You’re not wrong. Although, that’s not what I’m here for…” As Lucius continues his consultation with your mother, Draco takes the liberty to browse through the various genres of books featured on the ground floor. You don’t move from your position, rather you keep your gaze on him, observing his reactions. He picks up a familiar script. It’s a muggle book entitled, The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa. You witness him flip through the first couple of pages before focusing in on the first chapter. Slowly, you see the scowl begin to leave his face--the tension between his eyebrows dissipates, his lips release the frown that had situated itself there, and his eyes take on a more solemn and concentrated expression. It contrasted greatly to the image he maintained at school. You realized then that when he wasn’t so obnoxious and loud, Draco was actually quite handsome.
“Draco, drop that filthy muggle book!” You weren’t aware of Lucius approaching until the snake embellishment that topped his walking stick violently landed on the boy’s shoulder. You saw him wince in pain as he dropped the book, rubbing the area to soothe the harsh sensation. Before you could react, your mother calls out to you.
“Y/N, Alchemy, Argo Pyrites.” You broke out from your daze and simply nodded in understanding. The duo now had their eyes on you as you charmed the ladder to take you to the location of the book. You actively scanned the spines for the targeted title, releasing a small “aha” when you find it. Once it’s in your hands, you blow off traces of dust and ensure that the book is in mint condition. It doesn’t take you long to make your way down. As you do so, you approach Lucius and lend the book over. He takes his time to check for any disparities before meeting your gaze once again.
“Y/N is it? Pleasure to meet you.” His tone was anything but kind, but you go along with it, doing your best to maintain courtesy.
“Pleasure’s all mine Mr. Malfoy. It’s very kind of you to stop by.”
“Certainly. Draco, say goodbye to your friend, let’s get going.” Draco looks at you from top to bottom before releasing a smirk. With a quick raise of his eyebrows, he turns around and follows his father out of the shop. You watch their figures disappear into the crowd before making your way to your mother.
“Draco seems like a nice boy, doesn’t he?” You scoff and cross your arms in disagreement.
“Oh please. ‘Nice’ is the last thing he’ll ever be.” She gives you a knowing gaze.
“Did you see how his father hit his shoulder? Even I was shocked. That poor boy never saw it coming.” You recall the pained expression that Draco had on his face. You supposed his parents imposed their pureblood supremacist ideals on the boy’s choice of interests as well.
“It’s not like he doesn’t deserve the pity, mother. You should see him at school. Obnoxious! Rude! Arrogant! He bullies others mercilessly!” You expected her face to contort in disgust and disappointment, but she only gave that familiar motherly smile.
“We can’t always assume the extent of a person’s character based on what they show, darling. Similar to how we should not judge a book by its cover.” She emphasized the last point knowing that you would understand. You could never fight your mother. Despite the difficulty of getting to where you were in life, she always embodied grace and wisdom through it all.
She spoke again, “Did you happen to see the book he was reading?”
“It was The Memory Police.” You couldn’t understand why she asked. She approached the book that Draco had dropped and picked it up. When she returned, she looked at you expectantly.
“You’re going to see him again this Monday, are you not?” You nodded, “I want you to give this to him.” Your eyes widened.
“Mother, I couldn’t possibly-”
“No excuses, Y/N! A kind gesture never hurt anyone.” Her tone softens, and you knew you couldn’t say no.
“The look he had on his face reminded me of you when you were younger. Do you remember?” You only sighed, remembering the relief you felt when you cozied up to a book. She continued, “He seemed more peaceful having a little bit of time to escape don’t you think?” Your shoulders, which were once tense, dropped.
You groaned, “Fine! I’ll do it.” Mother, 1, Y/N, 0.
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Throughout the remainder of the weekend, you thought of ways you could slip the book to the platinum-haired boy without having to actually confront him. You couldn’t understand why your mother wanted to reach out to him so bad. Never in your entire life have you seen her extend that much sympathy to a customer before. Ever! That boy is a git. A rich one at that! Everything was practically given to him on a silver plate. Why would he care so much about a measly book?
These questions roamed through your mind as you packed your school bag the following Monday morning. The book was settled on top of your desk, staring and waiting for you to pick it up. With dread, you reluctantly take it and place it into your bag. With one last look in the mirror, you grab your things and make your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. As you enter the massive room, you take a seat by yourself in the Slytherin table. You took a glance to find a familiar blonde mop of hair. All of his friends were there in their usual spot with him being the only one absent, which was weird because he never skipped breakfast. Wanting to get your mom’s task over with, you approach the group. They were chattering amongst themselves, not noticing your presence.
You cleared your throat, grabbing their attention, “Um, hey. Do you happen to know where Malfoy is?” They only looked at you in awe.
“The famous Y/N actually speaks? Didn’t think I’d ever hear a word come out of you.” The girl, Pansy, pointed out. You rolled your eyes.
Another girl, Daphne, kicked the prior’s ankle, eliciting a loud yelp from her. She spoke out, “I’m sorry Y/N. He said he’s not feeling too well, so he’s cooped up in the dorm.” You appreciated the softness of her voice in contrast to Pansy’s strong tone.
“Why do you ask? You never talk to him.” It was Blaise’s turn to chime in.
“I have some business with him.” You stood there, feeling the awkwardness creeping up. Your fingers were twirling the ends of your hair and you casted your gaze elsewhere. They just stared at you, still comprehending the sound of your voice.
“Well?” You asked.
“Ah, yes. He’s in dorm 7.” You nodded your head in appreciation and turned around to leave. You had about an hour before class, giving you ample time to make the delivery and go about with your day. At least that was what you thought.
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Once you enter the Slytherin common room, you make a turn towards the boys’ dormitories. As you take the stairs leading to it, you’re met with a corridor that takes a close resemblance to the girls’. Doors were lined on either side with numbers used to differentiate them--Draco’s room was located all the way down the hall. Oddly enough, the closer you approached it, the more nervous you felt. You never imagined yourself stepping into this part of the dungeons, moreover doing so to drop something off for a boy you despised. You yelled at your mom internally for putting you through this.
The distance between you and the door kept shrinking, and as you drew closer, you began to feel strange. Something was off. The uncertainty looming in the air grew thicker until you finally found yourself standing in front of the room. Before knocking, you press your ear against the entrance. There was complete silence. You also notice that the door was not closed all the way. The animosity you felt towards the boy was gradually replaced with worry and concern.
“Malfoy? Are you in there?” You ask hesitantly. There was no response.
“Draco?” You press your ear further into the door in hopes to pick up any sign of his presence. When you received none, you pushed forward, entering the room with caution. You were met with the sight of a half-made bed, Draco’s robes and uniform laid out on top. His desk still had books turned to different pages, accompanied with an open ink bottle and quill left upon pieces of parchment. All these things, yet still no signs of the Malfoy heir. You stood in your place for a moment, trying to concentrate on his whereabouts. However, your thoughts were interrupted by the subtle sounds of sniffles. Your eyes widened as your focus redirected to locating its source. It was then that you noticed another door leading to what you believed was the bathroom. The noises became more prominent as you walked towards it. You felt nervous and uncertain about what you were going to find. As you wrap your hand around the knob to open it, your eyes widened at the sight of the boy grabbing his wrist, which was dripping with blood. On his side was a razor blade.
You gasped as his eyes met yours, your heart breaking in the process. In front of you wasn’t the same bully everyone knew. No. In front of you laid a half-naked Draco whose eyes were filled with what seemed to be hopelessness, defeat, and fright. Tear stains stroke his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowed with pain. His hair stuck to his forehead as sweat accompanied his tears. The hand gripping his wrist was stained with blood, its pressure only forcing the flow to increase.
“Draco!” You didn’t know what overcame you in that instance. You frantically threw your bag off your shoulders and proceeded to kneel next to him, taking in his wounded arm. The boy retaliated.
“What do you think you’re doing!?” His voice was defensive and strained, but it didn’t faze you.
“I’m trying to save your sorry arse! Look at how much blood you’re losing. Merlin!” You returned a gaze that matched the intensity of his. The concern in your own tone heightened as you dug into the pockets of your robes in search of your wand.
“I don’t want to be saved! Don’t you get it? Leave me alone!” He wriggled in your grasp, only inducing you to tighten the grip you had on him. He gasped at the stinging sensation, tears streaming down his face. Tears began to fill the brim of your eyes.
“Stop spewing nonsense, Malfoy! I can’t leave you and I won’t!” The pained expression on your face caught his gaze. Tears had already spilled over. “Please, Draco. Let me heal you.” The boy stopped his protests upon hearing the desperation that was laced in your voice. You used the back of your hand that was gripping your wand to wipe the tears off of your face. After calming yourself down, you hover your hand over his gashes to perform the healing spell, a serious expression now spreading across your face.
“Vulnera sanentur.” His blood begins to retract back to its origin, the rate of its flow slowing down.
“Vulnera sanentur.” Your wand continues to trace Draco’s wounds. The traces of residue begin to disappear. Draco looks at your concentrated face and then turns his gaze back onto his wrists.
You perform the incantation for a final time, “Vulnera sanentur.” The cuts disappear completely and you let out a sigh of relief. You cast a look at Draco’s stunned face before scanning his shirtless torso. It was also filled with scars that were most likely left to heal on their own. The frown on your face grows as a rush of thoughts suddenly occupy your mind. How long has he been doing this to have this many cuts and scars? Draco, behind his arrogant mask, was alone. You didn’t need him to vocalize that fact for you. It was written across his face. The expression glossed over his eyes longed for the company that he never truly had.
In that instant, you knew your mother was right. You really can’t assume the extent of a person’s character based on what they showed.
“Would it be okay if I took care of you for a bit? I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone like this.” Your voice was soft as you released small hiccups signalling the end of your crying. Draco, who has no energy to object, simply nods. Your thoughts drift to your mother and how she was strong enough to carry both your burdens. As you recalled the love she gave you, the sour feelings that you had towards the boy faded. At that moment your only task of importance was to clean him up.
It was silent the entire time. You picked Draco up and propped him up onto a stool. He did nothing but keep his gaze on you as you walked to and fro in the bathroom. You took a face towel that was hanging on the side of the sink and wet it with cold water. You then wring the towel of excess water and wiped his face. The streaks that the tears made disappeared. You proceeded to his forehead, getting rid of the sweat and pushing his bangs upwards. You then began to wipe his neck, making sure that there was a comfortable distance between you two.
“Chin up.” You demanded. He obeyed, and you wiped over the expanse between both jaws, his throat, and down to his collar bones. You yelled at yourself mentally to focus on the action instead of the curves and crevices outlined by his skin. Luckily, you were able to keep a straight face, making no sign of being flustered whatsoever. You step back to wet the towel again before proceeding to wiping his shoulders. At this point, you began feeling warmth spreading across your face. Draco let out a small laugh.
“Like what you see?” He asks with a broken voice. You snickered at the way he managed to be funny at a time like this.
“I’m only being nice, Malfoy. Don’t let your head get big. Not that it hasn’t already.” You say, giving a coy smile. You gulp discretely as you make your way down his chest. His eyes never leave you. You purposefully wipe that area much faster to prevent you from blushing even more. Once you get to his wrists, you rub circles on the area where the cuts used to be before running the towel over it and to his hands.
“How do you feel?” You ask.
“Better.”
“Good. Cup your hands for me please.” He follows your instruction once again. “Aguamenti.” A stream of water flows from the tip of your wand and into his palms.
“Drink up.” He remains obedient. Once he finishes, you pour in water once again, having him repeat the act. You feel at ease as he gulps the water down. His body still looks limp, and his face still gaunt, but it was a huge improvement considering the state he was in when you walked in.
Your gaze settles on the floor and the stray blade, both covered in dried blood. “Tergeo.” You mutter, cleaning up the mess.
You point your wand to the blade, “Evanesco.” It disappears in an instant. You turn back to Draco. You wrap your arm around his torso and bring him close to you to help him maintain his balance as you step out of the bathroom.
“Where do you keep your sleepwear?” You ask. He points to the cabinet, and you go forth to take out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. You hand him the articles of clothing and turn around to leave him to change.
He laughs, “You’re silly you know? You’ve already seen me half-naked, yet you turn around.” You only shrug and chuckle before turning around to meet his gaze. He leans on the side of the bed, arms crossed.
“I have yet to ask, Y/N. What brought you here in the first place?” You were so absorbed in healing and cleaning Draco that your initial purpose for coming over flew past your mind.
“Oh yes,” You pick up your bag that laid on the floor, and rummaged through it before pulling out his copy of The Memory Police.
“Mother saw how peaceful you looked when reading this book at the shop. She heavily insisted that I bring it to you, saying that you can use an escape too.” You lean on the space beside him as you hand him the book. His eyes widened as he cautiously took the book out of your hands, as if his father would appear right this instant. He scanned the cover, and flipped through the pages, his eyes glossed with disbelief. The sight of him like this made you imagine how much of his life had been kept in a cage. Wealth did not serve as a basis for happiness. You could only guess how much expectations were held for the Malfoy heir.
“My father would object to me having this.” You nodded in understanding, rubbing his shoulder to comfort him. He looks up at you.
“I won’t push you to tell me the reasons why you decided to harm yourself, but I’m certain that you need a break from whatever bothered you in the first place. Please, keep it. My mother will nag me without end if I don't deliver it.” He smiles.
“Thank you. I mean it.” Your jaw dropped. He rolled his eyes.
“Draco Malfoy actually knows how to say ‘thank you’.” You say, mocking a look of disbelief. He scoffed and his scowl reappeared in an instant.
You raised your arms in defense, “What? You can’t blame me.” You both share a laugh before silence overtakes you once again. Your head faced downward, and you kept your sights on your shoes.
“Thank you for letting me take care of you. It frightened me to see you like that.” You fumbled with your fingers.
“It’s a miracle that you came, Y/N. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself if you hadn’t yourself.” You smiled. You were appalled with the fact that there was a soft side to the boy. You looked at him, remembering the comfort that you found in your mother’s love through books. In that moment, an idea sprung forth in your mind.
“Ever since I was young, it was only me and my mother. Father passed when I was 2, and we were left alone to face the world.” You looked at him to find that his attention was on you. You continued, “There were plenty of times I felt hopeless and scared, but it was the comfort of her voice that washed that feeling away. She’d stay by my side at night to read me books, and she always managed to take me to worlds that detached me from the reality that we lived in. She told me that Avenoir, besides it being a bookstore, was established to become my safe space, my comfort zone, my refuge, if you will. She’s why I love reading.” You took Draco’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“And I want to extend that to you. Please feel free to come by whenever okay? We’ve never been that close, and you have been pretty gittish, but no one deserves to feel alone.” You gave the boy a reassuring smile.
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Draco gazed at his hand, which was still squeezed in yours. He then shifted his view back to the smile on your face. Y/N Y/L/N, the most reserved and studious Slytherin in their year, surely had a lot to say, but it was surprisingly the most relief he has felt in a long while, if ever. She gave his shoulder a little squeeze before picking up her belongings from the floor. Before she left his dorm she faced him once more.
“Will you be okay on your own?” She asks. Draco nods and gives his signature eyebrow raise. She chuckles.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in my dorm. I don’t plan on going to class today.” As he watches her leave, he notices the warmth that spreads over his chest. He brushes it off before flopping on his bed and immersing himself into the world of the Memory Police. For once in his life, he manages to escape the burdens of his family name. He escapes the burdensome fear of being considered a let-down to his parents. He escapes the rabbit hole of expectations, worries, pressures--the need to be “perfect” Draco. He finds an escape from the reputation that he upholds through you. Furthermore, he finds himself desiring more of your company. Because of this, he moves from his bed, with his book in hand, and strides into the girls’ dormitories. He never got her room number, but when he sees an open door, he automatically assumes that it’s her inside. Without thinking, he barges at the sight of her stunned face.
“Draco? What’s the matter?” The boy takes a good look at Y/N’s space. Her bed is made neatly and is stationed against the farmost wall in front of a large window. Her table is positioned at the end of her bed. There were a number of small bookcases that cover a majority of the perimeter of the room. It’s cozy.
He takes a moment to compose himself. “Is it alright if I can stay with you? Just a little longer?” The girl gives him a confused look, but agrees nevertheless.
“Sure, close the door.” He does as she says, and looks around. Her dorm truly reflected her personality. Her words break him out of his daze.
“You can sit on the bed if you’d like.” As he gets himself situated, he observes her. Y/N was known for her hardworking nature, and mostly stayed away from socialization because of it. In that regard, she never really had much to say unless she was answering a question during lectures. She doesn’t say much once he’s situated. Instead, she quietly turns back to her desk to focus on her note taking, actively highlighting important bits of information from her books. Draco was amazed to say the least.
“Y/N, why is it that you study so much?” He asks. Her gaze remains rooted to her work as she finished writing up the last sentence before gazing up at him. She grins.
“I’m working hard, so I can earn enough to give my mother a better life.” She says simply.
“Is the life you have right now not enough?” He doesn’t mean to come off as ignorant or insensitive, but he asks out of pure curiosity. Y/N only rubs her chin to think of a proper response.
“Don’t get me wrong, we’re both happy. I just suppose it would be nice to know that she wouldn’t have to worry about her resources. Life was always uncertain before opening Avenoir. I remember how she would hide away to cry so I wouldn’t see her tears. I felt helpless and I couldn’t do anything about it. I hate being weak because of that.” Draco simply gawked at her. The availability of resources has never been an issue for him; it felt like a slap on the face seeing how hard Y/N worked for that level of accessibility.
“I feel like a lot of people have been gawking at me today. Stop it.” You chuckled as you scratched the back of your neck, recalling the reactions of his friend group as you held a conversation with them.
“You’re surely something else, Y/L/N. That’s all.” Y/N only smiled as she removed herself from her desk. She pulled a random book from one of her shelves and sat herself next to Draco. Together they get lost within their own worlds.
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There was a mutual feeling of friendship that emerged between you and Draco. However, the both of you never bothered to make it obvious in the presence of others. Actions so far were limited to discrete nods towards each other in the hallways. Nevertheless, you were content. You didn’t see him constantly, but you heard people talk about him and how he hasn’t been teasing or picking fights with students as much as he did in the week prior. It was a change you were surprised with, but one that you were pleased to hear about regardless. Besides that, you still kept yourself to your own tasks throughout the remainder of the week. It was a set cycle, which involved going to lecture and studying within the confines of your room. Although, you had to admit that you enjoyed the blonde’s presence, and secretly wished that you’d spend more time together.
The weekend arrived, which meant you’d resume your work at the bookshop. The day flew by fast. Customers came bustling in by the hour that you never had much time to talk to your mother while you were working. As you waited for demands to trickle in, you occupied yourself with another book, The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde. It was a pleasant book about selflessness, however you found your mind drifting off often. When you weren’t reading, you kept your eyes peeled for the entrance, hoping that a certain boy would come in. However, no sign of the Malfoy heir showed as hours passed. Your hopes soon depleted. Giving up on the chances of him coming, you resumed your reading.
It must’ve been about 20 minutes after 3 o’clock when your mother calls you from the counter. You heeded her request and made your way down the ladder. Behind her are large boxes filled with new books that were to be stored on the higher shelves. As you drag them to the base of the ladder, your back bumps into something hard.
“I’m so sorry! Are you al-” As you turn to identify the person you collided with, your eyes widened at the sight of Draco. Your heart skips a beat as you scan his appearance. He sported a black turtleneck that fitted securely around his torso, which was paired with dark plaid pants, and black leather chelsea boots. Rings adorned his fingers, and his platinum locks are slightly disheveled from the wind. He looked delicious rather expensive.
Draco was just as shocked when he realizes that it’s you he bumps into. You weren’t wearing anything fancy as he was--just a simple white shirt, straight jeans that ended just above your ankles, faded white sneakers, which was all adorned by the work apron that wrapped around your waist. Your hair was tied into a loose bun that settled at the nape of your neck with some stray strands framed around your face. It contrasted to your typical appearance at school. He preferred you in casual wear much more than in uniform, but he wasn’t going to admit that.
You straighten your posture, “Hey! What brings you here?” The boy in front of you rubs the back of his neck bashfully.
“I just wanted to spend time here. You offered on Monday.” His timidness made you smile.
“You’re definitely welcome to stay-” You were interrupted by your mother’s gleeful shout.
“Draco! It’s so nice to see you! Please do make yourself comfortable. I assume Y/N delivered the book safely?” You rolled your eyes and let out a groan.
“Yes, mother. I did.” She only laughs in response. “I extended an offer to have him hang around if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all! Would you like some tea, dear?” The warm welcome fills the boy’s heart.
He gives a polite nod, “That would be lovely, thank you.” He looks to you with amusement plastering his facial features.
“Would you like some help?” The smile that you give to him in response makes his heart flutter.
“I’ll be okay. Like what mother said, please make yourself comfortable.” You reassured him, before urging him to follow you to the back of the shop. Past the counter is a corridor that leads to a small outdoor patio. Fairy lights are strung on the edges of the fence that borders the space, and a table for two is set near the entrance that goes back into the store. As the sun begins to set, the small set up becomes even more charming.
“It’s not much, but this is us.” Your arms spread as you step towards the center of the patio. Draco looks around and then back at you.
“It’s lovely.” He states with a happy grin stretched across his lips. The space doesn’t hold the same grandeur as his manor, but within the small and cozy confines, he feels safe and content.
“I’m glad to hear that. Take a seat! I still have work to do, but I’ll be clocking out soon. Stay as long as you’d like!” The joy in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s quite difficult to suppress the emotions after the anticipation that has built up throughout the day. With your spirits lifted, you return to work. The load of the boxes don’t seem as heavy as they used to.
Draco sits around in silence for a bit with his hands clasped together. The thought of being within your personal space makes his knees bounce up and down as he waits for his tea. Wanting to release his nerves, he explores the compound a bit more. He steps into the corridor, taking notice of the way it’s decorated. Pictures of you and your mother grace the walls. The sight urges him to look out in the front of the shop. He catches you piling books in your arms before making your way up the ladder. In doing so, he takes note of your focused face, the furrowing of your eyebrows, and the slight parting of your lips. Your eyes blazed in determination, sparking that particular warmth in his chest again. Draco tore his gaze from you and redirected it to the photos mounted on the wall. One that caught his interest was of you on your mothers back. Your small arms were wrapped tightly around her shoulders as your small face peered over her with a small toothy grin. He notices the light in your eyes. It had remained the same ever since. He stares at the photos for a couple of minutes.
“You found our pictures!” Your mother comes up from behind him, startling him slightly. She responds to his reaction with a hearty chuckle as she worms her way through the corridor, Draco following closely behind her. They sit across from each other, and the boy watches her as she sets a cup before him. She takes the tea pot and pours the liquid carefully.
“How do you like your tea, dear?” She asks.
“Slight cream, no sugar, Mrs. Y/L/N” Your mother looks at the boy. His shoulders are stiff and he’s tense all over. His hands look clammy. Basically, Draco looks nervous.
“I don’t bite. Don’t worry, love. Relax.” She gives the boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze. It was much similar to the feel of yours. He relaxes a little bit, adding cream to his drink.
“Y/N speaks very highly of you.” He states a matter-of-factly.
“Is that so?” A smile appears, “How’s my daughter at school?”
“She’s a really hard worker. Everyone knows her for her intelligence, but she is rather quiet. Much different than the way she acts here. She is so vibrant.”
Draco takes notice of the surprised look in your mother’s eyes, “Oh my dear, if I’m being truthful to you, it’s been so long since I’ve last seen her vibrant side shine through. She’s more demure in character. It’s not common for her to act that way.” Draco didn’t completely understand why, but hearing those words made his heart skip beats. He didn’t respond for a bit, allowing her words to sink in. Out of nowhere, Y/N calls out to her mother signalling the completion of her task. Her head pops from the door frame, and she glances at the tea briefly before shifting her view to the boy.
“Y/N! Why don’t you give Draco some company and have some tea? You can go to your room after!” You cough, but merely nodded in response. You seat yourself in the chair that was once occupied.
“How’s work?” Draco asks. He takes the kettle and pours you a cup.
“Busy as always, but it’s a pleasure to be here.” You thank him for the tea and proceed to adding your preferred amounts of cream and sugar.
“You look handsome today, by the way.” You took a sip of your tea so you wouldn't see his reaction. The boy only beamed.
“You look pretty too, if I’m being honest.” You chuckle as you set down your cup.
“You’re telling me that when I’m dressed in a t-shirt and some ragged jeans?” You didn’t really know what kind of answer to expect. For the most part, you felt average in your get up. He, on the other hand, looked like a model.
“Yes I am. You are pretty.” You only smile at your feet and thank him. The boy was charming without the pompous get up. Ever since that Monday morning, you began to develop appreciation for this genuine side that he showed you.
As time passed, your mother closed up the shop. Both you and Draco offered to help her, but she denied almost immediately. Instead, she insisted that you take the boy up, causing you to palm your face in embarrassment. However, you eventually agree and lead the way. Within the corridor were stairs that led to a second level. You and Draco climb them and turn to the first door on your right. Your room was slightly bigger than the one at school. It was furnished in a fashion that was similar to your dorm, but there were a lot more books--this time stacks of them could be seen littering the floor.
“Did you bring your book?” He nodded and fished it out from his back pocket.
He briefly scans the room, “Did you read all of these?” You nod with an embarrassed smile.
“I bet you’d love the library in the manor.” Your eyes widened at the sound of it. A tinge of excitement sprouted from your gut as you begin to imagine its vastness.
“I don’t think you’re wrong. I bet it’s quite the sight!” Delight could be heard from your voice. Draco only tries to suppress a smile.
“Maybe one day.” He mutters to himself, hoping that you didn’t hear. However, when he looks up, he’s met with your wide smile. He blushes immediately and curses under his breath.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend I didn’t.” You wink at him, and pull out your book. You flopped on your bed, patting the space next to you. When he situates himself by your side, you begin to pick up where you left off, already pushing the outside world aside. Draco sits with his legs crossed, and copies your actions. Silence fills the both of you as an hour passes. However, he’d take opportunities to sneak small glances at you once in a while. Your focus on the pages never shifted. If anything, the furrowing of your brows deepen as you turn with every page. With his curiosity getting the best of him, he leans closer to you to see what was so interesting. His actions don’t go by unnoticed, though. As soon as you felt his knee come into contact with yours, you realize how close he has gotten since you started reading.
“May I help you, Malfoy?” You ask, slightly amused.
“What’s your book about?” He asks. You tense your brows as you come up with an answer, not wanting to spoil anything.
“It’s about the friendship between a statue of a very selfless prince and a swallow. What about yours?”
“I’d never thought I would like fiction, but I do like this one. It’s about a girl who protects a person who can remember.”
“Remembers?”You ask with genuine curiosity. Draco nods, his eyes expressing the interest he has for the novel.
“Things on the island vanish, and the majority of the people have no recollection of it after it disappears. The people who show any signs of remembering get taken away.” Your interest for the plot increases
“That sounds very interesting. Do you think we can trade when we finish?”
“I think it sounds like a plan.” You stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before a snapping noise is heard. Suddenly your hair loosens, and you realize that the rubber band holding your hair together gave out. Draco looked at you with an eyebrow raised. As you reach to pull the remnants of the tie away, your hair frees itself. Some strands framed your face, while the rest flowed over your shoulders and covered the expanse of your back. You run your fingers through the front and they fall into curtain-like waves. Draco on the other hand is taken aback at your sudden change of appearance. Prior to getting to know who you were, nothing much was thought of you with the exception of your brains. Besides that, you were rather plain looking, always having your hair up in a braid or a ponytail.
It was a seemingly natural reaction to let your hair simply flow. You really didn’t think much of it. But, when you met Draco’s surprised look, it was your turn to raise a brow at him. He really didn’t know what overtook him, or why these particular words fell out without thinking, but both hearts were racing and ears turned warm after he spoke out.
“Merlin, Y/N. You’re bloody gorgeous.” It caught him off guard. Your expression was the only thing that made him come to terms with the reality of it.
“I- You- You weren’t supposed to-”
“Thank you.” Draco’s jitters stopped in an instant when he saw the way you smiled up at him. Noticing the silence that settles in, you quickly think of something to break it.
“Should I wear it down at school? I’ve been thinking about it. It’s time for a ch-” You were startled by how quick his response was.
“No! Absolutely not!” He speaks frantically.
“-ange. Okay, then. Sheesh.” You both just laugh at his sudden outburst. Draco’s, however, was a nervous one.
After a couple more minutes of reading, a savory aroma fills your senses, and your mother calls out to you both for dinner. The food was pleasant, but it was the actual state of togetherness that lit Draco’s heart. Although the warm feeling of you and your mother’s company was foreign to him, he was glad to have been able to experience it. The entirety of his stay lifts a huge weight off of his shoulders. Moreover, he begins to acknowledge the budding emotions that he feels for you. He felt each beat of his heart more profoundly within the small moments that you shared, with every glance that he took, and with every laugh that spilled from your lips.
You stare up at the clock, taking note of the time. It was already 7:30 PM. Curfew was at 9:00 for fifth years.
“Mother, I think it’s time that we get going. I’ll see you next week.” You notify her of your departure as you help clear out the table.
“Oh, it’s that time of the day already? Very well then. I’m so glad you stopped by today, Draco. You’re welcome here anytime. Let me see the both of you out.” After you give her a hug, you make your way to the main room of the store. Draco thought you were going to exit, and was brought to confusion when you suddenly stopped in your tracks.
Draco clears his throat, “So, do you know how exactly we’ll get back?” It was already late and the boats that transported students to and from Hogsmeade were closed for the day.
“Are you a fan of portkeys?” You ask. Draco’s eyes widened.
“Have you created an illegal one?” When you don't answer, he just laughs. You rummage through your bag, picking out a random book. When you open it, there’s a postcard with a picture of Hogsmeade on the front.
“It’s a touch-activated one. It goes straight into my dorm.” You look up at him to see a devious-looking smirk plastered on his lips.
“You really are something else.” He whispers. You roll your eyes and shake your head.
“Let’s touch it on the count of three, okay? 1...2...3.” At the touch of the object, Draco felt his body get sucked into a bind, lights flashing, and your surroundings blacking out until it wasn’t. He kept his eyes shut the whole time. The entire instance occurred for a second. When you arrived at your destination, you felt fine, having gotten used to the uncomfortable sensation resulting from the mode of transportation. The boy who isn’t as experienced, however, didn’t find himself so lucky, and opted to lay down on your bed for a moment, closing his eyes to regain his strength. As you gave him time to rest, you took the opportunity to change into something more comfortable, taking advantage of the fact that he wouldn’t be aware of you doing so.
When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by the familiar confines of your dorm. They roamed around until stopping at your changing figure. You had slipped on a jumper, which was paired with loose fitting sweats, the waistband wrapping securely on your hips. The only source of light was that of the moon as it radiated through your window and onto your bedroom floor. It casted a surreal glow upon your features, and Draco couldn’t help but stare.
“Would you like some water? I know the experience could be unpleasant.” Your voice was soft and was followed by the sound of your melodic giggle.
“Y/N, you’re mental if you tell me you do that every week.” He says astoundedly. You nod with a grin and shrug your shoulders as you passed him a cup of water. He takes it gratefully and gulps it down as you sit on the edge of your bed.
“You should probably get back to your dorm soon and take some rest. Do you need any help?” He shakes his head, but is betrayed by his body as he stumbles out of your bed. With quick reflexes, you hold him steady, allowing him to regain his balance quickly.
“Are you sure?” You ask doubtedly. He reassures you by straightening his posture and flashing a smile. You return it as you walk him to the door. He stands in the hallway, facing you as you lean against your door frame. You rushedly look left and right to ensure no one was looking before shifting your attention back to him.
“It was nice having you today. Mother was really happy you came by.”
“How about you?” The boy catches your gaze once more. You only looked at him with a raised brow, queuing the need for clarification.
“How do you feel about my company?” What he asked caught you off guard, but you couldn’t deny the joy that you felt being around him. The comfort you felt from reading alone didn’t compare to the calm silence that situated you both when you did it together. It was the simple yet overwhelming feeling of contentment--the feeling of someone entering your heart silently, gently, and with a rush all at the same time. Pure bliss was what it was, but you couldn’t formulate the words when he asked you. The boy smirked at your lack of response. Instead, he bent over to meet your eye level and leaned in. You held your breath within your throat as he drew closer, ultimately shutting your eyes in anticipation for who knows what. Draco noticed the slight change in your body language and softened the look in his eyes. His orbs, which were once filled with amusement, were now filled with adoration. He looked at your expression, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You opened your eyes, meeting his gentle gaze. Shocked, Draco backed away, shoving his hands into his pockets.
He stammered, “Y-You had something on your ear.” A flush had spread over his cheeks.
“Oh, is that so? Were you able to remove it?” You ran your fingers through your hair, oblivious of his frantic behavior. In your mind, you only wish it could’ve been more.
“Y-yea!” A nervous laugh leaves his lips. After he recollects himself for a few more seconds he says, “We should do this again sometime.” To which you happily agree.
You both bid each other ‘goodnight’. As you close the door, you lean your back against the wall, and slide down to the floor. You took note of the way your heart began to race when you recalled the events of today. The sound of his laughs, his subtle attempts to get close to you, his expression of interest towards the things that you treasured. Your image of Draco had begun to transform right under your nose.
Little did you know that as the boy walked back to his dorm room that night, the same thoughts ran through his mind. Although he was tired, he would constantly think about the way you looked when you were working, or when you were reading, or how your hair came undone. Moreover, he felt safe within your hospitality--it wasn’t forceful or intrusive, it just flowed naturally. This small escape made a huge improvement from the broken state you found him in that Monday prior. That night, as he laid in bed, he read his book peacefully until sleep took over his consciousness, filling his rest with dreams of reading with you by his side.
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It was a brisk Sunday morning when you found yourself at the Great Hall for breakfast. You were always one of the earlier students who came right when the doors opened. By the time you got yourself situated, only a few students trickled their way into the massive room.
Your hand took hold of your book as the other filled your mouth with food. Your concentration blazed as you immersed yourself into the world of the Oscar Wilde that you didn’t realize how filled the hall became once you put your book down. The reason for you doing so stemmed from the sound of a presence that sat before you. You never had company when you ate, so when you looked up you were surprised to see Draco settling in the seat in front of you. Murmurs from other students could be heard at the peculiar sight.
“This seat isn’t taken I presume?” He asks. The typical Malfoy smirk graces his lips as he lowers himself down.
“Not at all.” You respond simply. You look around with a weirded expression. People had their eyes on the two of you. One in particular caught your attention. It was Astoria Greengrass, also dubbed as the Slytherin princess. She had an annoyed look on her face, but you brushed it off, turning back to the boy in front of you.
“Aren’t your friends waiting for you?” You nodded towards the familiar group of people.
“I can’t read around them. They’re too loud.” Once the statement leaves his lips, he pulls out The Memory Police and finds himself in the same stature you were in previously. You smile inwardly before taking a few bites of your food. It’s silent and you can still feel the lingering stares around you. They begin to get annoying after a while.
“Leave them be. They can stare all they want, but I’m not moving anywhere.” He says as though he read your mind. He glances at you from the top of his book, but his tone remains unfazed.
“How’d you know?” You inquire.
“You have ‘uncomfy’ written all over your face, Y/N.” He keeps his gaze stuck to his book while stuffing a piece of scrambled egg into his mouth. You narrow your eyes at him before slowly opening your own again.
“What are you planning to do today?” He asks suddenly. You look up to see that his eyes never left the page. Your look at your own, except you’re not reading this time.
“Probably read at the lake, go to my dorm and read some more.”
“Do you do anything else besides read?”
“I study.” You could feel his eyes roll.
“Besides that.” You lower your hands seeing that you aren’t getting anywhere with the plot.
“What else is there to do on Sundays?” You laugh, “Well what do you plan on doing today?”
Your conversation gets interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. There stands Astoria Greengrass, arms crossed with an envious expression on her face. She looks at you then to Draco.
“Hey Dray. I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out with me at Hogsmeade today?” She asks with a sickly flirtatious tone. She squeezes his shoulder while you just roll your eyes and look away to mentally gag.
“You must be blind to notice. I’m preoccupied if you can’t tell.” The sound of his tone is cold, much akin to the one he uses when he’s bullying someone. However, a smirk sneaks up to your lips as you keep your gaze lowered. The girl only scoffs before turning to you.
“Cute little book you got there Y/L/N. You always have your nose buried in one, don’t you? What’s that one about this time?” You take note of her condescending voice, which slightly pulls on your nerves.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Greengrass? Sorry love, I’m too preoccupied to explain.” You wiggle your book at her before getting up. You throw the boy your version of his eyebrow raise before turning to leave.
“I’ll see you around ‘Dray’.” You say, imitating Astoria’s tone. You looked at her from head to toe and scoffed as you walked out of the hall. You couldn’t be bothered to deal with the likes of her. For the most part, giving her any piece of your energy was not worth it. You find yourself walking down the corridor before hearing the sound of someone running to you. You stop in your tracks and turn around to see the familiar platinum-haired boy.
“You need some company at the lake?” He asks. Your face, which was once filled with annoyance, releases its tension, and transforms into a gentle smile.
“I don’t need it, but you’re free to come along if you’d like to.” You turn your back quickly before getting a response out of him. He follows you.
Throughout the walk, Draco notices that your hair is up in a braid again, smiling as he reminisces the sequence of events that occurred the night prior. Could you have kept it up because he said so? Such thoughts filled his mind with interest. The events that happened in the hall also made him wonder. He had never seen you agitated before.
“I never thought you’d respond like that.” He says to start up conversation.
“To Astoria?” He nods.
“Not worth my time or energy. I may be quiet, but I’m not a pushover...Dray.” You tease him with the nickname, although he doesn’t mind it when it comes from you.
“It sounds better when you say it.” He says, making you shake your head in response.
“I was about to choke myself. Merlin, did you hear the way she said it? It’s enough to make your ears bleed. Bloody hell.” The way you release your frustration gives the both of you something to laugh about. That familiar feeling of comfort overcoming you both once again.
“Do you think she’s going to approach me again?” You ask.
“Knowing her, she might.”
“Merlin, avada me now.” Draco only laughs louder at the sound of your displeasure. By the time you reach the lake, the sun is seen casting its rays upon the water. Clouds are still in the sky, but the overall scene is bright and beautiful, assuring that it was going to be a good day.
You sit on a patch of grass that meets the sand, while Draco assumes the seat beside you. Before you could even begin to read, the boy takes the opportunity to ask you another question.
“How far are you from finishing your book?”
“I’m almost done. Give me a few minutes and I should be finished.” His eyes widened slightly
“Fast reader aren’t you?”
“No, well, maybe. There are more stories in this book. The Happy Prince so happens to be one of them.” He nods, allowing that particular conversation to end. He lays down on the grass, ready to read in the process, but is caught staring at the expanse of your neck. Your braid reaches the middle of your back, swaying in the wind. When he takes sight of the band that holds it together, he reaches out, hoping that you won’t notice, and pulls it off. He swiftly drops it to make it seem like he hasn’t done anything, so by the time you turn around to identify the cause of the loosened sensation, he already has the book propped on top of his legs, gazing at the lines with much concentration.
“Did you see anything?” You ask with a raised brow. He simply nods, trying to hide the smirk on his face. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you though.
“Draco. Was it you?” When he doesn’t respond, you laugh.
“You’re such a git.” Your fingertips trace the sand to locate the rubber band, but the boy stops you before going any further. He wraps his hand around your wrist, while catching your gaze.
“It looks better down.” He says firmly.
“But you said-”
“I don’t want you letting it loose for others to see. In front of me is fine.” He holds your gaze for what seemed to eternity before slowly loosening his grip on your hand.
He then proceeds to ask, “Can I touch it? Your hair?” You smile and nod at him. He takes the opportunity to scoot closer behind you. After he situates himself at a comfortable distance, he reaches out to your loosened braid, and gently runs his fingers through it, breaking it up entirely. Your strands are soft in his touch, and the light from the sun only emphasizes how shiny it is. You pay no mind to the boy’s doing. Instead, you continue reading while he plays with your hair.
After 15, perhaps 20 minutes of reading, you finally finish your book. It is then that you notice that he’s still stroking your locks. Slightly amused, you look up from your book and decide to tease him for a bit.
“Are you having fun back there?” Your question is accompanied with a giggle.
“Most fun I’ve had in years.” Sarcasm laced through his voice. “Can you teach me how to braid?” Your head turns back, but you’re only faced with a serious expression.
“What’s the sudden interest?” As you ask your question, the breeze picks up, eliciting a shiver out of you. It takes a second for Draco to notice how thin your clothes were.
“Why don’t we go inside? It’s warmer and you can teach me how to braid your hair.”
“You’re so insistent, aren’t you?”
“Not insistent, just ambitious.” You rolled your eyes as he lifted you from the ground.
You both make your way to the dungeons, taking the familiar route that leads to his room. You don’t protest the destination as much, only being grateful that it was warmer than the harsh change in climate outside of these walls. You can’t help but recall how much has drastically changed since the week prior, but it warmed your heart knowing that there was more to Draco than what meets the eye.
As you enter the dorm, you take notice of all the luxurious details that embellish everything from his furniture to the style of his clothes. It was much more put together since the last time you found yourself there. The crisp scent of apples filled your nose, allowing yourself to ooze into the comfort of the environment. You show no hesitance to flop on his bed, seeing as he has done so to yours a number of times already. While doing so, he discards his robes and hangs it over a coat rack. The sight of you brings out a small smile from him as he claims the seat next to you.
“Now, where were we?” He asks. You proceed to sectioning your hair into two parts. You hand him one, which he takes gently all while focusing his concentration on the demonstration you show.
“Okay, so we start off with three sections…” He does as you say.
“Now I take this, and flip it over this section.” He repeats. Only the sounds of his breaths can be heard.
“Now you do it to the other side, and repeat the pattern.” As you demonstrate with your strands, a shocked expression fills his face as he tries to repeat your actions. He gets it eventually, although his braid is much messier and unkept in comparison to yours, which is tight and neat. A familiar scowl appears on his face, but you try to keep your laughter in. In all fairness, he really was trying.
“Here. Take all of it. Try braiding my hair.” You run your fingers, deleting both your work and his, and turn so that your back is facing him. You keep your sights set towards the window, as he begins to work his way through your hair. He starts off by combing his fingers through your locks, which felt annoyingly good. He then proceeds to repeat everything that he has learned within the last five minutes. Him doing so only proved how quick of a learner he was. Silence filled you both, and as time drifted on, you ended up dozing off into sleep. It is only when Draco finishes that he notices you. He tugs at his final product slightly to see the expression on your face, but in doing so, you fall onto his chest as soft snores find their way out of your lips.
“And she calls me a git. Look at her sleeping while I handle her hair.” His eyes soften at the gentleness of your own expression before he scans the way your arms have wrapped themselves across your waist. Ensuring that you were sound asleep, he carefully reaches for your hand, forcing it to open as he slightly interlaces his fingers with yours. He takes a moment to comprehend the situation, his face warming up when he realizes that your back is slouched against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, and one of his hands clasped delicately into yours.
It’s when his eyes land on your resting face once more that he recalls all that you are, all that you have shown him. He then envisions the long-term, imagining all he has yet to discover about you. The care that you’ve shown him by far is more than what anyone has done throughout his life. He revisits the week before when you mentioned reading as a way to escape. Now that as he has you lying against him, he thinks of the possibility that his real escape is actually you. His mind finds pleasure in that thought, and it only makes his heart race when he thinks about what could possibly happen between you two tomorrow, or the day after that, a week, month, year. What answer would he receive by then? He isn’t even sure if you’d say ‘yes’ to an offer in a relationship, especially knowing how focused you are with your school work. Ridding the thoughts for another time, Draco slowly lays his back down against the mattress, bringing you carefully along with him. Your legs become entangled with his. His hand never leaves yours.
Ensuring that you were certainly asleep, he whispers softly to the air, “I think I like you, Y/N.” He wraps his other arm around you before falling into a peaceful slumber.
A/N: I don’t think this is the end, but that’s not the point! I hope you enjoyed it :) Any feedback is very much appreciated hehe.
#Draco Malfoy#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco lucius malfoy#draco malfoy imagines#draco x reader#draco x you#draco x y/n#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy x you#slytherin imagines
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Petrified (pt. 7)
Yandere Erasermic x f!Reader
SERIES MASTERLIST
a/n: this part is a lil short, but to make up for it the next one will be spicy. thanks for reading <3
*Sidenote*: Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the taglist!
4.4k words
Warnings: panic attacks, anxiety, mild gaslighting and light non-consensual touching
A certain ringing sounded inside your head as your heartbeat picked up its pace. Progress made towards calming frayed nerves crumbled in an instant. Even more so when whoever was on the other side of the door knocked in the same succession once more.
On dangerously shaky legs, you rose from your spot on the wooden seat at the kitchen table. You took slow and hesitant steps towards the entrance, not really knowing what you should do. The plethora of ideas as to what could happen based on how you react came as no surprise, countless scenarios racing through your mind at light speed.
Should you answer it?
Maybe if you ignore it they’ll leave.
But what if they don’t?
They have no reason to stay if you’re not home.
...
...Who’s on the other side?
By now you had carried yourself to be positioned just a couple of feet in front of the door. The next logical step would be to look through the peephole, if anything to simply satiate your curiosity that was eating you alive.
A voice permeated through the atmosphere before you could make any moves to do so.
Low and gruff, but most importantly―irritated.
“You in there, (y/n)?”
Realistically, you also shouldn’t be surprised that Shouta was here. Of course he couldn’t simply leave you alone. He was nothing if not persistent, and painfully unaware of how his presence could sometimes stir up more anxieties inside of you than he calmed.
Luckily for him, having been put through the wringer was greatly dulcifying your inhibitions. For the most part.
You were weak, and in no state to put up much of a fight. But you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try to, even in the slightest.
If he already could tell over the phone of just how worn out you were, hearing your broken and hoarse voice in person would likely only solidify his incessant concerns.
“Y-yeah, I’m here...You don’t, um...You didn’t need to come and check up on me, Shouta. Everything’s f―”
“Open the door.”
...
There was no use in arguing with him. He wouldn’t hear you out anyways.
Hands trembling as they fumbled with the lock, a few fresh tears rolling down your cheeks, you slowly opened the front door. The gap only made it about two feet apart before Shouta took over and pushed the rest of it all the way open.
Warily, you took a few steps out of the way. Without asking, although it wasn’t like he ever really asked for your permission, Shouta entered your apartment. He shut the door behind him, a resounding click as it closed, sealing you in with him.
Another thing you disliked about the erasure hero was that he only saw what he wanted to see. Things like what he thought was wrong with you, and subsequently what he wanted to fix.
You cursed yourself for growing so complacent with him. Because now, not only did you not have the energy to put up any more resistance, but even if you did, you weren’t entirely sure if you would do so anyways.
Right now, Shouta was seeing you beaten and bruised, both mentally and physically. That’s what he wanted to fix, and you had no choice but to let him have his way.
Accepting your fate, you remained in one place as the man approached you. Your body was shaking as you feebly attempted to contain more sobs from escaping you. But Shouta was smart―he knew very well that the moment he comforted you, there would be no way you could keep those walls up.
And so when he pulled you into a warm embrace, gently cradling the back of your head while whispering reassurances that “It’s okay,” and “You don’t need to hold back,” your body simply couldn’t stay resilient under that weight.
Your form crumpled against him, any apprehension for Shouta falling away into nothingness as your being sought the comfort he was providing. Like a damn breaking at the seams, preconceptions of the man faded while you tiredly submitted to his consoling. You hated yourself for finding solace in his arms, the headspace you resided in betraying as it desperately needed relief from everything that had been unfolding. Events not just from today, but from weeks of growing weaker and weaker.
The fact was that you couldn’t keep up with the changes in your life. On the inside, the stresses of having to repeatedly acquaint yourself with the hero and his partner was wreaking havoc on your mental state. On top of that was trying to balance living your normal life while maintaining a dishonest front to keep them satisfied. So on the outside, your body was diminishing in strength from having to spend its resources keeping your sanity afloat. Naturally, wanting to keep using your quirk at work didn’t do a single thing for you.
It all boiled down to you being completely and utterly wrecked in every sense imaginable. You couldn’t keep this up even if you wanted to. That fact hadn’t gone unnoticed, but as you succumbed to all the pent up strains, Shouta gladly helping you ride out the tremors of those ailments, it wasn’t something you could care about.
Did you really think you’d get away with this?
…
Shouta’s words, quiet so as not to frighten you in any manner, brought you out of the cloudy haze you felt yourself drowning in. “Why don’t I make you some tea―help you calm down a little, alright?”
Face still buried in his jacket, you weakly nodded. You didn’t even want to fight against the offer. Not now, at least.
Slowly, Shouta pulled you away from him, a light grip on your shoulders steadying you. It felt distant, the hand on the small of your back as he guided you into the kitchen. A chair already pulled out, you plopped down at the table. In the back of your mind you registered a hand on your head, briefly smoothing down your hair reassuringly.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened yet. Just take a few moments to relax.”
The hand disappeared, and you were left feeling empty and alone as Shouta went to turn on the kettle. You went back to aimlessly staring at the grooves in the wood of the table. With how muddled everything felt, it didn’t seem like anymore than a few seconds had gone by before a steaming mug was placed in front of you.
You could hear the sound of a chair quietly scraping against the floor as Shouta pulled it up next to you, taking a seat. A few seconds of silence went by.
Shouta waited for you to start explaining yourself. But judging by the still greatly anguished expression on your face, he noted that it wasn’t likely to happen just yet. The best course of action would be to continue to wait until you were ready, your mental state probably not capable of handling any insistence from him. So that’s what he did.
“You just let me know when you’re ready to talk, okay?”
Another half-hearted, barely noticeable nod from you, and that was all the confirmation he needed.
The small sounds of your sniffling filled the otherwise quiet expanse of your apartment. It felt like a herculean task to simply think. Of what you were going to tell Shouta, how you would portray either the truth, or keep lying to him and yourself. You tried focusing on any one thought, but it simply broke off halfway through, excuses unfinished, outcomes unexplorable. It was easier not to think, when nothing could really form a comprehensive conclusion anyways.
The intrusive noise of a knocking at the door caught both yours and Shouta’s attention. Nervously, you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, eyes remaining downcasted in worry. The erasure hero offered a quiet “Stay here,” as he went to greet whoever was outside of your apartment on your behalf.
The distant commotion of voices exchanging drifted into the kitchen. You didn’t need to look up to know who Shouta had let into your apartment. Not when that more high pitched, concerned lilt in a certain blond’s voice could be heard from where you were seated. It sounded like they were arguing, but the details of their dispute was beyond you. They seemed to be trying to spare your feelings, keeping quiet so as not to startle you any more. Especially when Hizashi’s voice raised even in the slightest, only to be followed by his partner coldly shushing him, it became clear that they didn’t really want you hearing whatever they were talking about.
But having resigned yourself, albeit not really willingly, to their whims, the notion that whatever they were discussing likely had to do with you didn’t really bother you. Something in the back of your mind reasoned that it was the aftershocks of having yet another meltdown, but you felt particularly docile. A subduing calmness, keeping you from caring about the two men in your home, or what they had planned for you. But you also knew that it was likely that even the smallest prompt of either of them poking at your emotions would have you relapsing.
Your mind went backwards onto its self doubt. You always knew that the chance of you succeeding in your scheme of lies and fake behaviour was low. But you didn’t want to believe it.
It was funny how the men that caused you so much distress were also so attentive to rid you of it. You were emotionally fragile. You didn’t have the energy to keep anything from them now.
You didn’t realize the two had entered the room until waves of loose blond hair caught in the corners of your vision. Turning your head, barely by even a few centimeters, you saw how Hizashi had slid into the chair once occupied by his partner, pulling it closer so he was right up next to you. Carefully, he placed a hand on your back, leaning down to try and get a glimpse of your drained expression.
Your tea was getting cold.
“Hey there, songbird. Ya wanna tell me what happened?”
Shakily, you brought up a hand to wipe the tears spilling down your face, noting the uncomfortable irritation in your eyes. You shrugged your shoulders, searching for the words to say. He waited patiently, and eventually you found them.
“I...um. T-there was this crowd, b-blocking my way. ‘Cause of the incident, a-and―” The admission caught in your throat, broken and incomplete for a few seconds as you involuntarily stopped to sob. Reminiscing on the event wasn’t as hard as going through it, but it did bring up many of the same emotions. Panic, being suffocatingly overwhelmed.
Helpless.
“...And I had to cut through them. T-there was the alleyway, b-but I couldn’t just…I c-couldn’t...”
You could feel your breath start to pick back up, nothing to stop it from losing control. Those painful memories made their comeback, filling your head with dreadful notions of what had happened, what could’ve happened.
“Hey,” a hand cupped the side of your face, turning it in the blond’s direction, “look at me.”
Your eyes, watery and unfocused, met his. The troubledness swimming in his look shifted. An expression of mild confusion took its place, studying your features intently. A thumb gingerly swiped the falling tears from under your puffy eyes. Hizashi’s focus shifted to the build up of wetness and makeup product on his skin, brows furrowing in the slightest. He regarded you once again.
“Sweetheart, we know you haven’t been holdin’ up your end of the deal. And...this is what happens when ya let yourself get so worn down. I mean...” He sounded hurt, like a disappointed parent trying to educate their child as he looked you up and down. But nothing could equate to the shattering feeling inside of you.
This whole time, you were unconsciously rubbing away at that artificial mask. Nothing was left to conceal your lies. No amount of excuses could hide your faults. Not with them there to witness the clear display of carelessness to keep such things hidden on your part.
It was over for you.
“...I-I’m sorry…”
A wave of fresh convulsing shuddered throughout you, your head still cradled in the blond’s hands, face leaning into his palm as you realized your mistakes.
The words were garbled, incomprehensible and panicked. “I couldn’t just...I mean, I t-tried to―”
Hizashi pulled you into his arms, an embrace somehow tighter than his partner’s. You didn’t even know where Shouta was actually, your eyes screwed shut as you were pulled into the voice hero’s lap. The noise of quiet and soothing hushes barely registered amongst this new bout of intense and taxing emotions.
It felt like everything was your fault. They had pushed you, sure, but you were the one to fight back so hard. You were losing yourself to self-deprecating ideas. But really, it didn’t come as a surprise. This was just how things always came to be in your subconscious. Against your better judgment, you decided that it was your fault that you were in this position.
Technically speaking, that was absolutely the case.
You could’ve very well put your foot down long ago. Stopped the two heroes the second they tried to pry into your personal life. It wasn’t right for them to guilt you into spending time with them, but that’s exactly what they did. And they did it until you were forced into an inescapable corner. If you fled, your faults would come back to haunt you. You would risk losing your job, and damage your chances of finding a career in the future.
If you had just been strong all that time ago, none of this would be happening. And now you were everything but strong. Reduced to a frail sobbing mess in Hizashi’s arms, emotions catching up with you faster than you were able to handle.
A certain sensation began to wash over you―one not entirely unfamiliar. A light feeling, enveloping you in a sedated stupor. And just like last time, Shouta and Hizashi were subjected to caring for you, knowing full well that you couldn’t cope with the weight of their words, a result of your actions, all by yourself.
Only this time, your panic and dread wasn’t brought on by mere lowly criminals that they sought to protect you from. They were at fault for alarming you further. What you didn’t know was that it wasn’t something they quite minded, when along with it came the notion that you would be forced to let them see you back to good health.
They were both troubled by your stubbornness. Yet, the anticipation for what your behaviour meant―that you would have no choice but to let them keep a closer eye on you―made the turn of events you were subjected to a welcome reality.
And so Hizashi comforted you as you cried, your breath fast paced and slowly bringing about unintended fatigue.
Shouta oversaw the ordeal, an irritation mixed with dangerous satisfaction brewing inside of him. Glad to know this would only make you closer to them, but frustratingly calculating how he’d beat this disobedience out of you.
You remained vulnerable. Tired, and unable to fend their ideals off. A state of complacency that seemed to grow with each passing second.
A state that you distantly feared would be your undoing.
_____
Hesitantly, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, wincing at the coldness of the hardwood as your bare feet touched the floor. The haze of slumber just barely resided in your mind, fading more and more into the background as the noise of someone moving throughout the small kitchen of your apartment drifted down the hall and into your bedroom.
Clinking of utensils and cupboards opening and closing met your ears, the culprit remaining unknown.
Secondarily, your senses picked up on the wafting scent of cooking food. Whoever had taken up residence, they seemed to be making breakfast.
You padded towards the presence, silent as you finally laid eyes upon the intrusion.
Briefly, a wave of relief washed over you, seeing that it was just Hizashi who was enthusiastically cooking with various ingredients at the stove. There was a certain beauty to it―how the warm sunlight of the morning washed over his form, painting him in gold. His locks, loose and falling over his shoulders, seemed to glow ethereally, swaying gently as he moved from the stove to the counter next to it.
And then you remembered why he was here.
Your gaze unfocused, thoughts falling victim to the recollection of last night's mishaps.
The notion that you weren’t entirely in shock at the turn of events since making it home after work scared you more than the fear you once felt at the hands of those events not too long ago. A deep feeling of emptiness for your lack of control over the situation overrided those jarring emotions. It was troubling, not being able to pinpoint the where it came from, it instead seeming like an all encompassing numbness.
Wrapped up in your thoughts, you unconsciously shifted on your feet, still positioned at the entrance to the kitchen. The slight movement wasn’t much, but it did inconveniently put pressure on a particularly creaky floorboard.
Alerted at your presence, Hizashi looked over his shoulder expectedly. “Mornin’, sleepyhead!”
Your drifting gaze shot up at the characteristically enthusiastic greeting. Now met with the weight of responsibility, to own up for your behaviour, and the thanks he was most likely expecting for taking care of you last night, a small pit of trepidation formed inside you.
Finding that the action of meeting his glance directly only put more pressure on your already strained being, you settled for awkwardly avoiding it to look at any one thing that wasn’t him. “Hey, uh….I’m sorry for last night, by the way. And...everything else.”
Unsettlingly nonchalant, Hizashi waved off the apology. “Don’t worry about it. We know you were just a lil’ frazzled and tired. You feelin’ any better now?”
You gave an insincere, half-hearted smile. It probably looked a bit pained, that being how you felt. “Yeah, I guess…”
It was obvious he was avoiding the elephant in the room, being the admission of your deceitfulness from less than twelve hours ago. Hizashi’s behaviour only made you feel worse, but it was what you had to deal with until he took his leave.
The blond turned back to the stove, which was preoccupied with a couple of pans, counters lined with bowls and plates. “Why don’tcha take a seat, hun. Grubs almost ready―oh, and Shouta had to head into work, but he wanted to stay ‘til you woke up.”
Moving almost sluggish, exhaustion always lingering, you did as he said. “What about you?”
The voice hero’s tone took on more enthusiasm, if that was even possible, seemingly just by you engaging in the conversation. “Called in sick just for you! Couldn’t have our songbird all alone after what happened, right?” He moved about the kitchen, you unable to see what exactly he was cooking from your position at the table. “I slept on the couch after tuckin’ you in, ya passed right out not too long after, y’know.”
You were thankful for the brief avoidance of the subject, regrettably noting that you couldn’t ignore it forever. Soon enough, Hizashi finished up with putting together breakfast, bounding across the room to set the table. Fresh off the stove, the mouth watering smell of all your favorite morning foods were displayed in front of you. He portioned out his own meal next to you, a relaxed sigh escaping his lips as he sat down.
Politely, you thanked him for the food, disregarding how it was made with stuff you bought, some of the ingredients you weren’t even planning on using for a while. Moving past that, you weren’t surprised to find that it tasted perfect. For a second, part of you thought you wouldn’t quite mind his meals to be a recurring thing in your life. But of course, that would mean he would be a recurring thing as well. You settled to enjoy his hospitality for the moment, and then move on.
Hizashi always tended to break the silence first, and now was no different.
“So, Shou’ and I were thinking―s’probably a good idea for you to take some time off work for a bit. I know you might not see it, sweetheart, but ya really need a break. Whatcha think?”
You nodded in fake understanding, setting down your fork in the process. “I get last night was...a lot. But that kind of stuff doesn’t usually happen―the incident, and the crowd. I can’t let it hold me back.”
Everything in your being wished he would take your response and accept it for what it was. In your mind, it stood as clear denial, a request to drop the subject. But Hizashi, naturally, saw it as a challenge. You just needed more convincing.
“I got it, really...but ya still lied to us. I’m not tryin’ to make ya feel bad, hun. Neither of us are...but you need the rest. And you gettin’ hurt last night only proves that.”
Without realizing, you began spacing out, away from the conversation, which was more like a lecture at this point as he continued to go on. You picked up on a few parts, how “much worse it could’ve been,” and that they were worried sick “once ya gone and fainted” in his arms.
But one thing was true and lingering in your mind while he spoke, a fact that could very well get you through all of this. “I’ve been through worse.”
It came out during the small break in his speech, still reciting why him and his partner were so convinced that you needed to hold off on work for a while. At the confession he paused, enough time for you to realize that it likely wasn’t the best thing to admit.
“W-well not much worse, but I don’t think this whole thing is such a big deal.”
The look he gave you, like a disapproving parent―it didn’t make you want to side with him in the slightest. “It is a big deal. Shou’ and I are just tryin’ to help ya, sweetheart.”
“Okay, well...I just don’t think I need any help.”
That wasn’t entirely the truth.
Yes, you needed help. But not from them. The only thing they were good for was causing you stress, sometimes not even the few moments when you did enjoy their presence was enough to redeem that fact. You needed someone who wouldn’t weigh down your conscience, someone who would support you properly, who’d handle the parts of your life you couldn’t yourself.
And most importantly, someone who would respect your boundaries.
Hizashi let out a disappointed sounding sigh, leaning back in his chair. Having somehow managed to finish his meal amongst his talking, he pushed his plate away. You could tell by the way he clasped his hands together, giving you a pensive and serious look, that you weren’t going to get anywhere with him. Neither of the two men really cared about considering your side of the story, favouring the one they made to fit their ideals instead.
“Regardless, we need to work things out here. Something's gotta change, this whole lifestyle ya got goin’ on isn’t doing a thing for you.”
Always unable to meet his level of confidence, looking back at him too tasking given how much attention he was giving you, you stood up. Judging by the lack of food remaining on either of your plates, it was decidedly safe to start cleaning up.
“Okay then. Maybe just...give me some time to think of how to fix things? Just to gather my thoughts, since y’know, I’m still a little beat from yesterday.” You spoke through the motions of gathering both of your plates, bringing them to the sink. As you ran the water to wait for it to heat up, you heard Hizashi rise from his seat, the sound of the wooden chair lightly scraping against the floor meeting your ears.
“That’s fine and all...but ya gotta promise us you’ll actually do something. You can’t just say you will and then―”
“I get it, Hizashi. I won’t do that again, I promise.” You felt his looming presence join you near the sink. Fearing that he’d scold you further for interrupting him, your eyes remain downcasted, face slightly contorted in worry.
In a gesture that was likely meant to be reassuring, except it didn’t feel that way, Hizashi’s hand met the small of your back. “We just want what’s best for ya, songbird.”
You snuffed the flicker of anxiety sparking in your chest.
“I know.”
A dreadful silence, only awkward on your end, hung in the air, you being grateful at the blond’s next statement.
“Well, why don’t I give ya some time to yourself for now―clear your thoughts, yeah?”
Trying to contain the relief and excitement you felt at his nearing absence from your apartment, you gave a small nod. “I think that’s a good idea, why don’t I see you out.” Plugging the drain for the basin to fill up, you dried your hands and led Hizashi to the front door.
“Remember to call us if ya need anything,” he said while putting on his shoes and coat. He continued, “And we still expect ya to take that time off, or at the least quit using that lil’ quirk of yours.”
“I’ll see what I can do, thanks for helping me out, and if you don’t mind―give Shouta my regards too, please.”
Sending you a beaming smile, likely at the fact of your semi-compliance, he finished shrugging his coat on. You expected him to finally make his departure, but by now you should really know that nothing was ever typical with the two. Before you could question his movements, Hizashi wrapped you in a tight bear hug, close enough that you could literally feel the warmth of his body seeping through his clothing.
“Shou’ and I, we worry so much about you. Try taking better care of yourself, for your own sake.”
Having your face practically buried in his chest was a saving grace, because he couldn’t see the look of a deep set uneasiness take over your expression. At the hand that was drifting just a little too low for comfort, and at the strange and oddly threatening sounding tone to his voice.
How very characteristic, but simultaneously uncharacteristic of him.
Hizashi held you for a couple more seconds than a natural embrace should be. When he relented, you forced yourself to appear unbothered, and more importantly, grateful.
“We’ll see you soon, ‘kay hun?”
Oh, you had no doubt that you would.
“Of course.”
(End of part 7)
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Right Behind You - Ch 3: Akuma
Chapter 1: Scandal
Chapter 2: Friends
Chapter 3: Akuma
Chat Noir vaulted from one building to the next with the ease that came with almost a decade of practice. Even the explosions that tilted the ground with alarming frequency did nothing to throw off the hero’s balance or progression.
He landed in a crouch overlooking the akuma. The akuma was cemented into the ground with neon blue cannons on both arms, but able to pivot in every direction. Smaller turrets dotted the area in half a dozen concentric circles around the main villain.
It shot off a projectile that split off into six different pieces, each one flying towards a different building. Chat cringed as the missiles found their targets bringing down each building in what looked like controlled demolitions. Seismic waves crashed through the area seconds later.
Definitely not good.
At least it was stationary. But it had enough firepower that getting close would be near impossible.
Maybe he should have dove in immediately, but he didn’t see any evidence of civilians, and he really wanted some backup because explosions sucked. Even if Miraculous Ladybug healed everything after the fact, fighting with broken ribs was not fun. Not remotely. And with the explosives coming at the end of heavy projectiles with homing capabilities, they would have to approach this one cautiously, and probably defensively.
He groaned. He hated laying siege. It was going to take hours.
Carapace landed on the roof beside him. “How ya doing, Kit-Kat?”
Chat Noir smiled in greeting, but his eyes remained laser focused on the akuma. “Honestly? I’ve had better days. You?”
“Same. I got almost no sleep last night. And the alert woke me from the absolute best nap I’ve had in weeks. Now, I’ve got a killer headache instead.”
The rooftop under them shook as a nearby building crashed to the ground in a heap of rubble.
“That is one nasty akuma,” Carapace said.
Chat Noir nodded in agreement as he opened up the extra-dimensional pocket in his baton and pulled out two little white pills. He held them out to his turtle-themed teammate. “I keep some extra strength Tylenol in my baton.”
Carapace’s face lit up as he took the offered medication. “Dude! I could kiss you!”
Chat smirked. “You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”
Carapace barked out a laugh. “I’m sure I could whip up a can of tuna for you, Kit-Kat.”
Chat shook his head playfully. “You’ll have to work harder to win my affections. I’ll have you know this cat has a very refined palette.”
Carapace laughed.
Chat Noir smiled. Maybe an hours-long siege wouldn’t be so bad. Definitely better than staying home alone in his oversized studio obsessing over every missed red flag from his “date” the day prior.
Maybe he should have gone on a date with Carapace instead.
Keep reading on Ao3
“Shouldn’t we be fighting the akuma instead of standing around flirting?”
Chat Noir and Carapace both turned around to see Rena Rouge standing behind them with her eyebrows raised in judgement.
Chat just grinned, sweeping her into a sideways hug. “Rena! It’s been so long!”
“Missed you, too kitty. What’ve we got?” she asked, peering down over the edge of the roof.
“A demolition man?” Carapace observed, as another six buildings crumbled to the ground.
“Isn’t that a movie?” Chat asked. An old movie. Had Nino tried to get him to watch it? Nino loved any and all action flicks - new and old.
“Yup!” Rena confirmed. “My ex subjected me to it. Terrible movie.”
“Lies!” Carapace objected, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to her, Kit-Kat. Definitely worth your time.”
“I will never get those hours of my life back,” Rena said, drolly.
Chat Noir burst out laughing at the appalled expression on Carapace’s face.
“Guys! Let’s focus!” Ladybug’s voice interjected from behind them.
Chat started for a second, and then whirled towards her with a charming smile. “It’s good to see you, m’lady!”
She didn’t smile. “Not tonight, Chaton. Can we just get this over with?”
“Everything alright, boss lady?” Carapace asked, his lips curled downward into a slight frown.
She didn’t spare him a glance either. Instead, she watched the destruction below them without emotion. “I was having a good time with my friends for the first time in forever after an absolutely terrible week. And akumas…”
“Suck,” Carapace filled in.
“Exactly,” Ladybug agreed. “So, let’s get this over with and maybe the day can be salvaged. Chat, you go down the middle, Carapace go left of the building, and I’ll take the right. Rena, we need a ton of decoys. The goal is for all three of us to get there simultaneously and strike at once.”
Chat frowned, glancing away from the akuma and towards his partner. “Are you sure, m’lady? Wouldn’t it be better to huddle up, let Carapace cover us to get close?”
Carapace and Rena Rouge said nothing, both turned to Ladybug waiting for her response, but Ladybug’s face was still flat and impossible even for Chat Noir to read.
“If we split up,” he continued. “We’ll be more likely to get picked off. And the decoys will help, but they can’t replace an almost impenetrable shield against those missiles.”
“Playing this one defensively will take hours,” she said. “Let’s try the offensive strike first, and if it doesn’t work we can pivot quickly and we’ll be in a closer position to set up a shield.”
Adrien did not like it. She was asking him to gamble with their lives, with her life, to save time. Even Carapace and Rena exchanged a frown.
“Please,” Ladybug begged, taking a step forward, her blue eyes darting from one of them to the next, her face finally showing some emotion, and he did not like what he saw. “I really need to avoid an endless siege,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly glassy, threatening tears.
Her distress hit him like a punch to the gut. She clearly wasn’t okay, and hadn’t been for awhile. How had he failed to notice that she was far from okay? Because her tears now had nothing to do with the current akuma. This went deeper and he hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. How long had she been struggling while he ran in circles trying to keep his father happy in between grad school commitments?
He couldn’t remember the last time he had met up with her for a joint patrol or just took her out on a friend date, which had once been a regular thing between them.
He would have to make it up to her, and he could start with making this akuma go away as quickly as possible.
He nodded, and offered her a small smile. “Okay, m’lady. I know that if anyone can pull off a crazy plan, it’s you.”
She offered a watery smile in return and he felt his chest loosen for the first time since the akuma alert had sounded. The day wasn’t wasted if he could help her have a better one.
“Thank you, Chaton,” she said. “I…”
Her words were cut off as the building adjacent to them crashed to the ground in a crumbling free fall.
“Whatever we’re going to do, we should probably do it now,” Rena said.
Ladybug’s soft vulnerable tears disappeared as she turned back to the akuma. Her usual game face - serious and sharp - took its place. And Chat couldn’t help the fond smile that bloomed across his face. Even when she was coming apart at the edges, she had so much strength. So much resilience.
“Rena, I want as many decoys as you can pull off,” Ladybug ordered. Rena nodded. “We’ll charge with a two second delay once the illusion is in place. Carapace, on the left, Chat in the middle, and I’ll take the right. Ready?”
“Aye aye, boss lady,” Carapace acknowledged with a salute.
The familiar sound of the flute rang through the air, and suddenly an army of countless Ladybugs, Carapaces, and Chat Noirs surrounded them protectively on all sides, just far enough apart that he didn’t really have to worry about touching them.
Chat launched himself off the rooftop towards the akuma.
Missiles flew at the decoys, but the illusions dove sideways and away from the projectiles, most of them avoiding the collisions. The missiles were too fast though, and dozens of decoys clipped out of existence.
Chat Noir maintained his forward charge trying not to think about how unprotected he was. How unprotected his lady and Carapace were.
The akuma was right in front of him - just a single vault away, when he stumbled - tripped over an errant piece of debris like a raw beginner who didn’t have nine years of experience under his belt. He took out half a dozen decoys himself as they ran straight through him.
He launched himself up from the cracked sidewalk immediately, but the damage was done. Carapace was stalled, fending off an unlucky aerial assault. Ladybug took the lead and reached the akuma first. But the villain fended her off easily with a backhand that sent her flying. Then fired off five missiles all tracking straight for Chat Noir who had just given away his position.
He dodged around the first one easily enough. The second one, too. But the third cost him his balance, and he barely managed to swerve around the fourth. He ended up helpless on his knees, at the mercy of the fifth.
Every muscle locked, anticipating the blow, when Carapace slammed into him from the side, stealing his breath away. And they both ended sprawled across the unforgiving concrete. Before he could recover, the projectile hit the ground where he had been kneeling seconds prior.
The pavement launched upward, slamming him completely back to the ground. The sound was too loud to be heard, but he definitely felt it rip painfully through his body despite his protective transformation.
His ears - ringing with the aftershock - couldn’t hear anything else. But the protective green glow of Carapace’s shelter bloomed into existence around them, deflecting the worst of the next concussive wave over their heads. The ground remained unsteady beneath them though.
Chat Noir allowed himself one deep breath before he kipped up to his feet and hauled Carapace to his, as his eyes rapidly took in the field on the other side of the green shield that was already cracking from a relentless assault.
“Please tell me this day is almost over,” Carapace growled out.
Most of the decoys had been decimated at this point - only a dozen or so remained, but Rena Rouge couldn’t create more without losing the current ones, which would reveal Ladybug’s position immediately.
Chat laughed. “I wish.”
He knew which one was actually Ladybug, though. It was in her single-minded focus. Every version of her was quick and graceful, able to pivot on the spot, and perform impossible dodges, but Ladybug always landed closer to her target than she started, determined as she was to end this battle.
She truly was in rare form tonight. Her plan would likely have worked amazingly if he hadn’t screwed it up.
The akuma managed to take out another handful of decoys with his latest barrage of missiles. And then the akuma got lucky, and shot towards the real deal.
“Carapace-”
She dove forward under the projectile, and then flipped back to her feet right in front of the akuma.
“-drop the shield.” Chat Noir ordered, already running toward the barrier, not waiting for it to fall.
She snatched a keychain or a dog tag from the akuma’s neck, grinning in victory. She crushed it into pieces with her strengthened hands, but her grin dissolved when no butterfly emerged.
The green shield fell away. Chat put on a burst of speed.
The akuma swung his cannon arm and slammed it into Ladybug’s side. She was thrown sideways, and landed in a terrifyingly still puddle of red and black.
The akuma pointed his rocket launcher towards her.
Chat Noir threw himself forward just as the akuma shot off the missile.
He took the blast square in the back. His suit no doubt offered some protection but this akuma had the power to bring down solid steel super frames.
Chat Noir’s skeletal structure didn’t stand a chance.
Pressure exploded across his spine. The blinding pain came an instant later. It felt like he was being burned alive both inside and out.
He didn’t break his fall, his arms dangling lifeless at his sides. He landed face first, his chin striking the crumbling pavement sending a second wave of agony through his form.
He couldn’t breathe, let alone scream.
Was this what dying felt like?
It had never hurt this bad before.
…
Carapace was still processing what Chat said when he took off like a bullet. Straight for the shield. Carapace frantically dissolved the barrier before his teammate could crash into it. Carapace shot after him, only a few paces behind, but he already knew it wasn’t enough.
His heart jumped up to his throat and time slowed to nothing as he watched Chat Noir take the hit meant for Ladybug, and crash to the ground, both his magical suit and skin torn to shreds, exposing raw bleeding tissue on his back and legs.
Carapace threw himself into a roll to put himself between the akuma and his fallen companion, and landed sprawled against the black cat’s unmoving form, screaming for his shelter once again.
The shield went up not a second too soon, immediately taking hit after hit. The sound of cracking glass echoed overhead reminding him that the shield would only hold for so long against the maelstrom.
He glanced back, hoping he had managed to envelop Ladybug in the protective barrier as well. No such luck. She was just on the other side of the glowing green bubble. At least it was between her and the akuma. They made eye contact, and she jerked her head towards Chat.
She wanted him to take care of her partner - not dive back into the battle.
He nodded acknowledgement.
A second later, she launched herself off the ground and took cover in the growing piles of rubble.
His attention turned to Chat Noir who wasn’t moving.
“Talk to me, Kit Kat!” Carapace shook his shoulder, but there was nothing, not so much as a groan.
Up close, Chat looked even worse - like he had been chewed up and swallowed by a dinosaur, only to be spit back out. Carapace could only imagine how much pain he was in. Carapace had been knocked around more than his fair share in this line of work, but he’d never taken a hit that vaporized the suit away!
He carefully rolled Chat to his side and then to his back, trying not to touch his injuries, which was almost impossible as they covered more than a third of his body. He was completely limp. Carapace leaned his cheek to Chat’s mouth, feeling for any signs of breathing.
There wasn’t any.
Carapace sucked in his own breath, his throat threatening to squeeze shut, and dread twisted his gut like a coiled snake.
Carapace had seen Chat Noir put under mind control, transformed into various inanimate objects, erased or vaporized from existence. But he had never before had to confront a lifeless body.
But surely the ladybugs could bring him back, right?
Another volley of missiles struck the outside of his barrier, the ground underneath them tilting sideways. The shield was holding.
The sound of static buzzing filled the air and Chat’s transformation dropped.
Carapace was completely unprepared. They were adults. They hadn’t timed out in ages. And he jerked his gaze away, but unfortunately, Carapace could recognize his own best friend from just his clothes and shoes.
Especially when he had his face pressed to that shirt not thirty minutes prior.
His gaze whipped back up to the painfully familiar face, now marred with gashes and a rapidly forming bruise on his chiseled chin.
“Opaque!” Carapace yelled. The translucent barrier turned a dark and solid green, though the cracks and fissures remained. He wouldn’t be able to see the battle, but that was better than losing Chat’s identity to all of Paris.
Adrien’s identity.
The same Adrien who befriended him in collège when he had fallen into almost total isolation after his older brother had disappeared, the Adrien who had coaxed him through his first gig, the Adrien who had nursed him through his break up with Alya, who had held his hand through his bisexual awakening, the Adrien who had never failed to be there for him.
The Adrien who was his very best friend who was currently not breathing.
Nino cradled his best friend’s head in his lap as hot burning tears fell onto Adrien’s cheeks.
“Carapace,” Chat’s kwami said. “He’s not okay.”
“But he’s going to be okay, right?” Carapace asked, his eyes never leaving Adrien’s pale and lifeless form. “As soon as Ladybug fixes everything?”
“Probably not,” Plagg said.
The two words struck him like a freight-train. His gut dropped out from underneath him as his heart rose up to his throat. His eyes burned, and the whole world went out of focus. He fell forward, his head pressed against Adrien’s as his sudden grief came out in wracking howls that sounded inhuman even to his own ears.
He rocked back and forth, still holding Adrien close - if Nino held him close enough and hard enough, maybe he wouldn’t leave him.
Nino knew that’s not how this worked. His throat cemented closed, and yet his devastated cries broke past the emotional blockade anyway.
“Carapace! Listen to me!” Plagg flew right into his face. “There’s a chance to save him! I need you to keep his heart going until Ladybug does her thing!”
“W-what?” Nino stammered, staring at the kwami in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Turtle boy!” Plagg barked. “I need you to focus! Hands on his chest! Now! I will not lose this kitten!”
“You mean, like CPR?”
“Yes! Now!”
Nino scrambled to comply, laying Adrien’s prone head gently on the ground, trying to ignore the stains of red on his own arms. He placed his hands on his friend’s chest. With elbows locked, Nino started pressing down hard over and over again.
“Faster!” Plagg directed. “Don’t stop!”
Nino tried to focus on his own hands, and not on the hot tears slipping down over his mask, or the blood seeping on the cement to his knees, or the angry deep cuts that slashed across Adrien’s face, or Adrien’s closed eyes that might never open again.
Nino tried to stamp down on his rising panic, tried to hold back the torrent of grief and tears, but he was failing. His whole form was crumpling in on itself as the wracking sobs kept coming in unrelenting waves despite his best efforts to hold them at bay.
“Don’t stop!” Plagg shouted again, diving towards Adrien’s jean pockets.
Nino swallowed his fear and his devastation, forced it down until his gut swam sickenly. He fought off his desire to fold into a ball and howl to the universe about how this couldn’t happen.
Instead, he forced himself to keep pressing down and up, and then down and up again on Adrien’s chest. It was a drum beat that he had to maintain, he couldn’t stop no matter how much his arms and shoulders burned in complaint.
Because if he stopped, the world might end.
If it hadn’t already.
Plagg reappeared with Adrien’s phone in hand. A minute later he placed the device against Adrien’s bruised chin. A youtube tutorial on CPR was playing. Nino adjusted his rhythm to match the rapid counting in the video. It became mindless at that point, which unfortunately meant he had more ability to think.
It didn’t seem like it was working. Adrien wasn’t responding at all, and he was losing more blood with every thrust of Nino’s arms if the dark pool of red black at his knees was any indicator.
Nino lost his pace for a second overwhelmed with fear. What if it didn’t work?
“Don’t stop!” Plagg shouted.
“He’s bleeding out!” Nino screamed back, syncing up with the video once again. “Aren’t I just making things worse?”
“Probably. I doubt anything is getting to his brain. But you’re not trying to revive him,” the kwami said, dismissively.
“I’m not?”
“No, you’re just trying to keep his soul here until Ladybug defeats the akuma.”
“His s-soul?” Nino stuttered over the word, his desperate sobs now coming in torrents.
His fucking soul? What was Nino supposed to do with that? It was too big and too much, and Nino didn’t know how to wrap his head around any of it.
“P-please, Dri,” Nino begged, his voice cracking on the nickname. “P-please, don’t leave me.”
Nino’s arms kept the rhythm, never losing the pace. Even transformed, his shoulders and triceps were burning in protest, but Nino ignored it. Wayzz would provide all the endurance he needed.
The sound of shattering glass exploded overhead, spiderweb cracks spreading all across the dome.
“Fuck.”
The shield couldn’t take another hit.
“Lose the transformation,” Plagg ordered.
Nino’s eyes whipped toward the cat kwami. “What?! Plagg! I don’t know how long I can do this without enhanced strength.”
“I will destroy anything that gets through until Wayzz has another shield up. You can’t do CPR and replenish our defenses over and over, simultaneously.”
“But… doesn’t a kwami using his power by himself make bad things happen?” ” Carapace objected out of habit, not because he particularly cared at the moment. Nino had never had the opportunity to see Wayzz without the limits of the miraculous.
“Something bad has already happened! This is called damage control! We don’t have time to argue!”
Another splintering crack overhead seemed to punctuate Plagg’s point.
“Wayzz, shell off,” Carapace whispered.
Immediately, his arms and back burned more intensely with the loss of the miraculous’s support, and Nino grunted with effort.
But he wouldn’t stop - not now, not ever. This was Adrien and he didn’t care if his arms fell off. He wasn’t going to give up on him.
“Cataclysm!” Plagg shouted, flying rapidly out of Nino’s line of sight. He didn’t worry about how much of the city block Plagg might take with him in destroying the incoming missiles, trusting the kwami would direct the damage AWAY from them. He didn’t worry about anyone being able to see his or Adrien’s identity. There was so much smoke that it wasn’t possible. And Nino didn’t worry about the fact that they were exposed or vulnerable.
Adrien was already dead. If they got hit, then at least they’d go together.
Black ash rained down around them like some kind of ominous snow.
“Opaque Shelter!” Wayzz called half a second after.
With the shield in place, Plagg whipped back down to Adrien’s shoulder watching intently.
“Come on, Pigtails,” Plagg grumbled. “We’re running out of time.”
Nino’s right arm spasmed in that moment, and he wasn’t sure if it was fatigue or the rising panic caused by Plagg’s words.
“No! We can’t be out of time!” Nino screamed as if Plagg could control when Adrien’s soul was gone. Nino wiped his snot on his own shoulder, and turned his glare on Adrien’s face. “Do you hear me, Dri?!” Nino screamed, unable to wipe the tears dripping from his eyes over his nose to fall on his own now bare hands. “You can’t give up on me! You can’t!”
This wouldn’t be Adrien’s last day on Earth.
It couldn’t be.
Because Nino didn’t know how to face the world without his best friend.
…
Adrien’s entire existence was pain. Everything was on fire - from the top of his head, through his body, to the tips of his fingers. All of it was pulsing in an agonizing rhythm. He thought the internal inferno centered on his chest, but his back felt like he had landed in a pool filled with glass shards. He couldn’t feel his legs at all, which considering how everything else was fairing, might have been a blessing.
But it was his chest that cried out as it was struck again and again without care for his fractured ribs.
Stop, he tried to say, begged from every inch of his mind. But the words would not form on his lips. Please, just let it end.
But the hammers to his chest kept coming, relentless and never ending. He urged his arms to action - to move, but every last bit of strength had been sapped away.
He prayed that it had been worth it - that Ladybug was alive and well - able to defeat the akuma without him.
But his condition suggested otherwise. If Ladybug was okay, he would be too.
Someone was crying hysterically just above him, well on their way to screaming. Their voice was broken and raspy.
It wasn’t Ladybug - the tone was too deep - but it struck a chord in him. He wanted to soothe it just the same.
I’ve survived worse, he wanted to tell the voice, though he had serious doubts if that was true. But being erased from the time continuum had to be worse, right?
“Dri?”
That was Nino. Adrien could only moan in response.
“Shit! Plagg, I think he’s awake.”
Why was Nino talking to Plagg? Plagg knew better.
“Don’t you dare stop!” his kwami ordered.
No. Please stop. It only came out as a whimper.
Something hot and wet fell onto his cheek. “I’m so sorry, du-” Nino’s voice cracked before he finished the word.
Nino was crying.
Adrien had made Nino cry. He hated that.
Adrien opened his eyes only to be assaulted with hard edges and burning lights that were far too bright. None of it made sense. He slammed them shut again, but it didn’t help. His head still wanted to split into halves.
“Dude! Take it easy!”
A warmth settled on his shoulder. Soothing vibrations pulsed through his neck. Like a cat’s purr.
Plagg?
“I know it hurts, kitten.”
Adrien would have laughed had he been able. Hurt did not begin to describe the agony he was in.
“But you will survive.”
The painful beat on his chest - so hard, so deep - like a stampede of gazelles were trampling over him - continued. It never stopped.
Adrien wasn’t sure he wanted to survive.
The sobs from the boy above him - deep cries of pure despair - made him reconsider. Adrien would survive anything - go through any torture - to soothe Nino’s pain.
Mercifully, everything faded.
When Adrien woke up again it was to a miraculously pain-free world. He sighed, his whole body easing in relaxation. The memory of his torture was already fading fast.
He opened his eyes again, but he still couldn’t bring the world into focus. There was a flash of green light of a miraculous transformation, but it was too bright. And Adrien let his eyes fall closed again.
He pressed his hands down for balance, expecting to find debris and jagged fragments on the sidewalk below him. But the cold ground was smooth and undamaged. His hands were bare - he wasn’t transformed. He should have been transformed, shouldn’t he? They had been fighting an akuma.
The ladybugs had healed everything. But then, why did his head still feel like thick fog?
“Dude! Can you hear me?”
He wetted his lips. “Nino?” Adrien asked, recognizing the voice.
There was a beat of silence. “Yeah, it’s me, dude. Can you sit up?”
Adrien attempted to do so, and was surprised at how hesitant his muscles were to respond to his wishes. He managed to prop himself up with Nino was bracing him on both sides. Adrien leaned into the support. What was wrong with his body?
“Why?” The word came out slowly, as if Adrien’s mouth was just remembering how to form the sounds. “Why... is the world spinning?”
Adrien wasn’t often one to complain, but usually, the ladybugs did a way better job.
“You sure he’s okay now?” Nino was asking. But who was he talking to? “Should I take him to a hospital?”
“He’s fine. The ladybugs healed him. The hospital wouldn’t know what to do with him now.”
Was that Plagg? Why was Plagg talking to Nino? Plagg should know better. Adrien clutched the sides of his head, in both hands. Why did nothing make sense?
But the nasally voice continued. “He wasn’t completely gone yet, so they could heal him. He’s physically fine now. Good job, turtle boy.”
“What about mentally?” Nino asked.
Adrien squeezed his eyes closed. They weren’t helping him anyway, only making him dizzy.
“You worry too much. He just needs twelve hours of sleep. He’ll be as perfect as a freshly opened wheel of camembert.”
Adrien snorted out a laugh. And it was surprisingly painless. He found himself smiling sleepily, and leaning into Nino’s chest, which felt a lot… more solid than normal.
“We don’t normally need twelve hours of sleep after a Miraculous Ladybug.” Nino’s voice was hard with frustration. “What’s different?”
“The difference is he died!” Plagg snapped back.
Adrien wanted to ask about that. What was the big deal? He had died countless times before, and it had never mattered before.
But the conversation faded away.
He woke again when he was laid down gently into his own bed. A heavy hand rubbed his shoulder soothingly. There was a beeping sound. A phone. And the hand disappeared.
Adrien whimpered at it’s loss.
“Yeah?” a familiar voice answered. It was still Nino. “LB, calm down. He’s okay. I took him home before anyone could see who he was. Plagg says he’ll be coherent again in twelve hours. I’ll tell him you want to see him for patrol tomorrow?”
And now Nino was talking to Ladybug like they knew each other well. It was like his worlds had smashed together like a meteor crashing onto the Earth’s surface and Adrien had somehow managed to sleep through the world ending collision.
Was any of this real? Was he dreaming?
He tried to sit up, but Nino’s sudden hand on his chest kept him down. Plagg curled up on his shoulder and started purring. Adrien stopped resisting and stayed down.
“Yes, he was healed,” Nino said. “I don’t know. Plagg said it was normal for him to be out of it for a while even with the ladybugs because of… how badly he was hurt.”
There was another pause, as the person on the other side of the conversation - presumably Ladybug - responded.
“I promise he’s okay. Yeah… of course. I’ll be right there.” And the comforting weight on his chest vanished.
“Plagg?” Nino called. “Can you let him know that he has a patrol with Ladybug tomorrow at the normal time? I gotta run.”
Adrien’s chest tightened at that announcement.
“You’ll call me if anything changes?” Nino continued.
“Sure, kid,” Plagg said, still curled up on Adrien’s shoulder.
Adrien tried to sit up again, but his body wasn’t listening to his brain. “N-Ni…no?” he forced the name past his lips. Why was it so hard to speak?
The smooth gloved hand was on his chest again, easing his anxiety. “Just rest, mec.”
But the hand disappeared again too fast and too soon.
“D-don’t… g-go,” Adrien managed to string together.
The comforting presence came back, and this time Adrien pinned Nino’s arm to his chest with both his hands, determined to keep him there this time. “Okay,” Nino reassured, and slid into the bed lying prone alongside him. Adrien’s body finally melted in relief.
“I’ll stay until you go to sleep,” Nino said.
For a beautiful moment all the tension in his body seeped away, and he just let himself drift. But a few seconds later, he processed Nino’s words and his eyes shot open.
Because Adrien didn’t want to sleep. Something was clearly wrong. He looked frantically around at the walls, ceiling, and furniture. Adrien recognized none of it. There were too many lights and colors and none of it made any sense, and it felt like the walls were closing in on him. What the hell was wrong with him?
“N-Nino?” Adrien called, his eyes burned and his throat was closing off. “W-what…?” but he couldn’t get the rest of the words out. And it was hard not to panic. His breathing quickened, and his heart took off like there was a race to be won.
He sucked in air frantically, because he wasn’t getting any. His chest spasmed painfully, and his arms were shaking, and his fingers tingling. The tremors spread to his extremities, the numbness only a second behind. He tried to stop the convulsing, he tried to hold it still, but he couldn’t do it. The pinpricks spread to his head, and his vision spun worse than it already was.
“Dude!” Nino jumped in, clutching Adrien’s head in either hand. His hands were gloved and hard.
Was it really Nino? It didn’t feel like Nino, and Adrien didn’t trust his eyes that were incapable of making sense of anything at the moment.
“You need to stay calm. Breathe with me,” Nino said, their foreheads pressed together, but Nino was wearing some kind of hood - it was hard… like Chat Noir’s armor.
“Dri!”
The exclamation cut through all of Adrien’s panicked thoughts. That was definitely Nino. Whatever he physically felt like, no one else called Adrien that. Nino had come up with the diminutive nickname a few years ago, shortly after he had broken up with Alya. He didn’t use it often - it was usually dude, mec, man, guy, but in the quiet moments, Nino would call him Dri. And Adrien loved it, especially when Nino was the one saying it.
“Can you do that, Dri? Breathe in slowly.”
And Adrien trusted Nino more than anyone, except maybe Ladybug, and even then, he thought it might be a tie.
And so he listened. He breathed in deeply and slowly on a count of four before letting it back out again for another slow count of four from his best friend.
His panic gradually receded. And he just lay there keeping his eyes closed, his hand clinging onto Nino’s - when had he even grabbed Nino’s hand - as if his life depended on it.
Nino was still wearing the thick solid gloves.
Nino didn’t wear gloves. Not ever.
“What happened?” Adrien asked slowly, pleased that the words strung together fully and clearly.
Nino’s grip tightened. “I promise I’ll explain it to you later, Kit-Kat. Plagg says you need rest.”
Had Nino just called him Kit-Kat?
“Plagg always…” Was he seriously talking about Plagg with Nino? This had to be a dream. “Plagg always votes-” Adrien’s sentence was punctuated by a yawn, “-for laziness.”
“I think Plagg may be onto something this time,” Nino said.
Adrien wanted to argue. He hated it when people didn’t explain things. When people kept secrets. And he knew he was the biggest hypocrite on that front, but he would have told Nino everything years ago if it had been his choice.
But his head was growing heavy, and his thoughts were still smothered in a muggy fog, so he didn’t protest.
“I love you, Dri,” Nino whispered. “You have no idea how much. Please. Please, don’t ever do that to me again.”
I love you, too.
…
Chapter 4: Fallout
#adrino#adrinino#friends to lovers#slow burn#Adrien Agreste#Nino Lahiffe#temporary character death#mentions of blood#anxiety#panic attacks#hurt comfort#romance#battle scenes are also hard#right behind you#my own content#miraculous ladybug fan fiction
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My personal interpretations of Claude.
I know that early into 3Hopes, I bought into that interpretation I heard from someone else, about 3Hopes proving that Claude actually did need Byleth just as much as Dimitri and Edelgard did in FE3H. But giving it more thought, that doesn't actually make sense to me. I've settled on a different interpretation of Claude for my own headcanons.
I think that Claude really was the most mentally, emotionally stable and mature lord from the beginning of FE3H. After all, despite his background traumas, he already proved to have chosen healthy reactions, like externalized compassion and his dream to create a world of understanding, diversity, and cooperation. His reaction to everyone in his upbringing treating him like garbage, was not revenge or thinking conquest/domination/retaliation was the answer, but instead, he choose to believe that if people could just understand each other, they could overcome their differences. Everything in his demeanor and FE3H Supports proved he was striving towards that belief in his dream, by practicing patience, sympathy, being open to changing his own mind, meeting even antagonistic people with cheer, and attempting persuasion over confrontation. Claude was doing all right, from the very beginning of FE3H.
Sure, Byleth's FE3H Supports with him proved he still felt lonely, and Byleth's presence likely helped Claude feel some extra support. But Claude didn't NEED Byleth; Byleth was just a blessing. (I don't ship Claudeleth, but I do believe that WANTING someone is more indicative of a good bond than NEEDING someone. So please take that solace.)
That being said, the events of 3Hopes, I think, broke that version of Claude, until he was on the same level as FE3H Dimitri and FE3H Edelgard, in needing Byleth. Someone once said that one of the great features about Claude is that, in contrast to the other Lords, he doesn't NEED Byleth for his emotional stability. But I think that after 3Hopes had Claude kill his brother Shahid, THAT PARTICULAR Claude NEEDED Byleth, as well as his time in the Academy forging closer friendships. That was one trauma too much for him to overcome alone. Likely because it forced him to kill his own family, which he states during that scene, he had always wanted to reconcile with. But also, it forced Claude to act in opposition to his own ideals and personal values. The dissonance clearly made him question whether all his resolutions to solve conflicts non-violently were just naïve and impossible. He was forced to see first-hand proof that not everyone can come to understand and tolerate each other’s differences. That dissonance, destroyed 3Hopes Claude’s ability to hope and strive for his dream without hesitation. Realistically, not everything can be solved non-violently and not all people will be able to understand and accept each other enough to live in peace. But it’s important to try anyway, and that starts with believing. It was important for Claude to be able to BELIEVE in those impossibilities anyway, especially in order to TRY to strive towards them. But killing Shahid introduced true doubt into Claude over his dream, for probably the first time in his life. That dissonance probably broke 3Hopes Claude.
And without Byleth, 3Hopes Claude went on to make some poor decisions in Golden Wildfire, that continued him acting against even his own ideals and the things we admired about him. I recently heard someone say that a person with a quiet, listening demeanor makes you want to tell them everything, and that observation reminded me of Byleth. It's very telling when Shez tries to comfort 3Hopes Claude after killing Shahid, but isn't able to get much out of Claude, and Shez notices and regrets their deficiency. Maybe if 3Hopes Claude was able to talk out his dissonant feelings after killing Shahid, maybe he would have been able to reconcile his actions with his ideals. But because he doesn't get that internal turmoil resolved, he goes on to make poor decisions in Golden Wildfire that seem in opposition to the reasonings and values we love about FE3H Claude. This is likely because he is still struggling to re-align those things within himself.
And personally, I blame meta reasons. Lots of people said FE3H Claude "didn't have a character arc", some people said, "he did have trust issues to resolve, but it was subtle, but that was his character arc", meanwhile, idiots like me were like, "I love a paragon character! He doesn't need a character arc, to me! He just needs to inspire others and be exemplary! But you guys saying he had an arc with his trust issues makes sense, so I will buy into that". When it comes down to it, I'm still suspicious that Intelligent Systems had 3Hopes Claude make BIGGER mistakes with BIG consequences, so that when he decided to rectify his flaws by changing, it would be unmistakably noticeable. All for the drama of a noticeable character arc. Well, we got our "Claude with an obvious character arc" now, and all it cost was irrevocable trauma to our boy. I hope everyone who wanted "a real character arc" for him is happy now.
I was upset with several of the things 3Hopes Claude did, even more than I was upset at FE3H Claude once for not avoiding fighting the Kingdom army at Gronder. (And a second time for not merely taking Edelgard prisoner. But that cutscene needed to share with Silver Snow's storyline, so Verdant Wind sadly didn't get to be more characteristic of Claude's story, I guess.) But I still think 3Hopes Claude is redeemable. In fact, I think allowing him to have character growth and a character arc is all about moving past his mistakes. And if we can all love feral boar post timeskip Dimitri, despite all his faults, then we can still love 3Hopes Claude despite his mistakes.
On the other hand, a Fallen!Claude could be some fun dark AU headcanons, and I think that would be easily extrapolated from 3Hopes Claude. I mean, even after his noticeable growth after his mistake at Ailell (so noticeable that Judith specifically says, "So you've finally decided to rely on your friends a little."), he still barely tried for a peaceful resolution with Rhea. He killed Rhea in the end of Golden Wildfire, instead of a non-violent or even non-lethal resolution with her. To me, that says that 3Hopes Claude may still have a way to go before he regains his semi-paragon level from FE3H, which was a lot closer to his non-violent ideals. But even in FE3H, things Claude said which sounded like metaphorical unification dreams of people coming together in acceptance, could very easily be interpreted as dreams of unifying countries literally through conquest. I could see 3Hopes Claude stumbling further from his values, to "erase borders" through conquest, instead of metaphorical border erasure through multicultural acceptance. That could be a fun, dark AU.
(No one has to agree with me. Everyone is entitled to different interpretations---And personally, I think that's the whole point of consuming media. Please don't start arguments. My mental state is too fragile to get involved in most back and forth discussions. x_x; )
Anyway, I think that's how I've settled on thinking of Claude, in both 3Hopes and FE3H.
#fandom personal records#personal records#rambling#please ignore my idiocy#please don’t pick a fight over this as i don’t have the emotional resiliency to deal with internet fights#fe3hfuukasetsugetsu#3hopes#claudeVRkhalid#character analysis#headcanons#claude von riegan#mypovclaudecharacterization
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Humans are Space Orcs: DON’T EAT THAT!!
So I’ve been obsessed with the whole “Humans Are Space Orcs” thing for a while but I haven’t had an idea to add to it until tonight. I don’t know if this has been done before but here’s what happened: I was texting my brother and he mentioned watching this video of a guy who was eating his leftovers in the styrofoam to-go container. Like, eating it styrofoam and all.
You’re probably like “You idiot don’t eat that!” and my next thought was “What if an alien reacted to that?”
Cause here’s the thing: we’ve all seen the posts of humans eating anything. We consume caffeine by the gallon in the mornings just to stay awake. We eat chocolate by the pound cause it tastes good and lifts our mood (don’t act like you didn’t gorge on that chocolate pie/cake at Thanksgiving. We all know you snuck that third piece when no one was looking.) We consume fruits that have cyanide-filled seeds. Hell pineapple is toxic if it’s unripe but we put it on pizza and salads anyways. It’ll burn our tongue anyways but we still eat it.
So naturally, aliens are in this mode of “Humans can eat just about anything. They come from this major Deathworld; why wouldn’t they eat everything? They already said “Fuck you” to the natural order of predation. Might as well have an appetite to facilitate that.” So just imagine this:
Xa’var shuffled into the mess hall after a long what xis human counterparts would say day. Xa’var had been up since the first shift and was just now getting something to eat. It wasn’t easy, being the liaison for xis’ council and the humans, but it was a job Xa’var took pride in.
Laughter caught Xa’var’s attention. The humans that xe had come to consider friends were hunched over a holo-device, laughing at whatever they were watching. Curiosity arose in Xa’var’s mind. It was always a fortuitous occasion to learn more about xis’ counterparts. It could even be a new report to make to add to the “How To Deal With Humans 101″ handbook. Xa’var used xis main tentacles to walk over to the humans’ table.
“Hello, Human Rachel. Hello, Human Todd. Might I inquire as to what it is you are watching?”
“Oh, Xa’var! Didn’t see you come in.” Rachel bared- smiled- there were still many things to get used to about the behaviors of humans- at xim and moved over so Xa’var could lean down comfortably. “Todd was showing me this video of this idiot eating his leftovers with his to-go box.”
Xa’var leaned down and focused one of his eyes on the holo-device while the other watched the reactions of the humans. On the screen, one human male was eating a white contraption that appeared to have rations in it. Other humans were telling him to cease the action, but he seemed to not believe them. Todd and Rachel seemed to be very amused, though the humor was lost on Xa’var.
“I am confused.” Todd wiped his eyes- note to add to the handbook: humans cry when laughing.- and looked up at Xa’var. “What is the human doing wrong?”
“Dude.” Rachel snorted, seemingly trying to not laugh. “You don’t eat styrofoam. Everyone knows that.”
Xa’var was astounded. He had believed that humans could eat anything.
Xa’var remembered when someone had accidentally spilled another’s ration on xim. The result was an extended stay in the medical wing because the acids in the foods had almost burned through xis carapace.
When Human Rachel came to check on xim and asked to see the rations, they were brought in for her inspection. To Xa’var’s horror, after smelling the rations, Rachel had taken a rather large helping and eaten it.
Instead of immediately convulsing and screaming in pain, as what had happened with Xa’var, Rachel simply moved her shoulders in a movement that Xa’var recognized as a shrug and said: “Could’ve used a little more spice.” When Xa’var had inquired as to how she could handle the acidity of the food, she had laughed and commented that her mother- the human term for egg-layer, since apparently humans weren’t hatched- used to make something called a curry that burned when one ate it. Xa’var had made a note that night to his council to avoid the human food known as curry at all costs.
“You... you mean humans can’t eat everything?” Xa’var knew it was not the most tactful approach, but the fact that the man was being seen as an apparent imbecile for eating his food container seemed to Xa’var to be a type of prank. Surely they weren’t serious about it?
Both Human Rachel and Human Todd lifted the hair above their eyes- eyebrows, Xa’var mentally corrected- in surprise. “Who told you we could?” Todd asked.
“I...” Xa’var felt xis skin start to flush with embarrassment. “It has been believed for a long time that humans can eat anything.”
“Well...” Human Todd leaned back in his chair. “I mean, we technically can eat anything, but there are things we shouldn’t. Does that make sense?”
“I am afraid it does not. Could you please elaborate?” Hunger temporarily forgotten, Xa’var lowered into a neighboring chair, tucking his tentacles under xis carapace to facilitate a comfortable position; new information was always worth giving one’s full attention.
“So here’s the thing: our stomach contains something called hydrochloric acid, which is largely responsible for breaking down everything we eat and converting it into energy, basic nutrients, proteins, you get the idea.” Xa’var nodded along, a habit xe picked up from xis human counterparts as a body language that communicates understanding. “Now we humans measure the acidity level of acids on what we call a ph scale. It runs 1 to 14. 7 is neutral, with numbers above it being alkaline in nature and numbers below 7 running acidic. The lower the number it is, the more acidic it is. 6 is more acidic than 7, 5 more than 6, and so on.”
“I see, I see.” Xa’var nodded again, enraptured now. Xe had been educated on the different scales humans use to measure things, so xe knew what a ph scale. Though, for xis people, 7 was actually capable of causing severe burns. A 4 could sear through a warrior’s carapace with ease, while anything less than a 3 was guaranteed death.
“So where does a human’s acid level fall?” In the back of Xa’var’s second brain, the knowledge that could come from this could be useful in avoiding injury should a human’s internal organs were exposed during a battle. Given a human’s resilience, xe wouldn’t be surprised if that happened at some point and the human continued to fight.
“It depends,” Rachel spoke now. “If someone hasn’t eaten in a while, the acid in their stomach might level out at about a 4, but while they’re eating it’ll go up to a 2 or even a 1.” Xa’var felt xis eyestalks retract slightly in horror. “Lemon juice is typically considered a 2, so if that helps put in perspective.”
“Y-yes. But I am still confused as to what you meant by “shouldn’t eat”.” Xa’var cleared xis throat, trying to not let the rising horror be exposed. Levels out at a 4?!? Rises to a 1 while they were eating!?! A 1 would melt the carapace and internal organs of his people with ease and continue destroying until it was neutralized, but this happened as a natural occurrence within a human’s stomach?? Multiple times a day!?!
“Ah, yeah. Well, I guess it’s kind of like what happened with you a couple weeks ago.” Rachel shrugged, crossing her arms. Xa’var recognized the body language as bored, not hostile. It was a fine nuance, but one xe was proud xe could spot the difference in. “Humans can eat virtually anything cause our stomach is so acidic it will kill virtually any virus or bacteria that enter with our food on contact, with very few exceptions. Even then we can fight through most illnesses and poisonings as long as we keep our immune system up.
“That said, there are some things we just shouldn’t eat because it provides no nutritional value to us. Styrofoam is one of those things. Glass, plastic, rubber, paper,” Rachel shrugged again. “We can eat all of those things, as evidenced by people who do, but we shouldn’t because they don’t provide the nutrition our body needs.”
“So, what you are saying is that, while humans are perfectly capable of consuming anything, but chose to not because of nutrition concerns?” Xa’var felt the inquiry sounded more absurd spoken than it did in xis head. To xis surprise, Human Todd and Human Rachel nodded.
“Pretty much. We can sometimes get what we call “acid reflux”, which is when the acid in our stomach rises into our esophagus. This is caused by allergies or a malfunction of the internal blocker we have to prevent that from happening, but it’s rare. Usually it’s caused when we eat something that doesn’t sit well with us and causes an imbalance in our stomach acid.” Human Todd confirmed.
“And this is not dangerous?”
“Oh no, it definitely can be.” Rachel commented far too nonchalantly for Xa’var’s comfort. “Usually it’s just uncomfortable, but it does burn like a bitch. It’s why we start crying whenever we throw up. Our esophagus doesn’t have the natural lining our stomach does to protect it from the acids, so the acids literally burn away our throat. Some people have burned a hole in their throat because of acid reflux. Most of the time though that can be fixed with a simple dietary change, though some people have to take medicine to help balance out their ph levels.”
Xa’var’s brains were reeling. Not only was the initial belief confirmed (humans can indeed eat anything), but they were capable of doing so because their internal organs contained an acid strong enough to melt his carapace! It could even burn the humans’ own throats but they treated it like it was nothing!
“Are you alright, Xa’var?” Xa’var blinked. Rachel was staring at xim with an expression xe recognized as concern. “You’re white.” Looking down, Xa’var realized xe was indeed white; xis people’s skin changed color based on emotions. Apparently, the horror xe felt was enough to cause xis body to involuntarily react and try to camouflage xim with the surrounding tables and chairs.
“Y-yes. I am fine, Human Rachel.”
“You sure? Have you eaten anything today?”
“I, have not. I will go do so now. Thank you for telling me this information.”
Rachel and Todd watched as Xa’var maneuvered out of the mess. Despite xis words, xe was going the opposite way of the food. “What’s his problem?” Rachel asked.
“I dunno. Maybe a long shift?”
“Maybe.”
Little did they know that Xa’var was heading to xis quarters to not only update the “How To Deal With Humans 101″ manual, xe was also going to send a very important message to his council about the truth of a human’s terrifying ability to eat anything.
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#humans are space orcs#humans can eat anything#humans are weird#humans are space australians#humans are strange#humans are terrifying#humans are the weird ones#thought dump#this came out of nowhere#i like it though
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Can I request a Love head canon with Geralt please? I just read the pre-relationship one you did for Jaskier and I absolutely loved it!!
I mean... I can try 😅 Though, I think it should go without saying that Geralt isn’t exactly synonymous with love and affection as we relatively human beings interpret them . . .
Who said “I love you” first?: Assuming we’re sticking strictly to the verbal expression of the phrase, I believe you already know the answer to this. After all, it’s simply not in Geralt’s nature to be the most talkative person, much less vulnerable and affectionate. And that’s referring to his nature as being Geralt of Rivia and not specifically his nature of being a Witcher.
You could wait an entire run of three human lifetimes and still potentially have to wait just a bit more to hear Geralt willingly say, “I love you” in this manner. It’s nothing against you, of course, but it’s better for you to recognize this and accept it than force otherwise. Besides, it’s not as though he doesn’t appreciate it: Deep down, Geralt is beyond startled that you would willingly apply such affection and devotion to him of all people, and a Witcher at that!
Though, if you’re willing to stretch the expression one uses for “I Love you”, then it’s arguable that Geralt said it first, in some way, considering that . . .
What are their primary love languages?: Geralt is a very . . . sexual being. Physically aggressive. And considering his complex relationship with Yennefer, it therefore would stand to reason that his primary expression of “love” comes in the form of physical touch. Hell, if love languages were a thing acknowledged of the period (and if Geralt ever even cared to acknowledge them), he might’ve grunted and agreed so himself, even if only to get the conversation over faster.
But the longer he spends having you as his companion, the more evident it becomes to him that this may not be the case. The thing is, physical touch can be more than just sexual release -- but for him, that’s all it ever was, simply because it was easier for him to do when Yennefer was still around. But since then, he’s come to recognize that perhaps he has more to offer than he gave himself credit for: Geralt operates through acts of service.
Geralt is never going to be the most openly expressive one of the bunch, even when it pertains to you. But he’s always going to show his care for those whom he has a soft spot for by assuring their safety and well-being -- in odds and ends, so to speak. He’s never going to write you sonnets or wax poetically to you; he will rarely hold your hand just for the sake of doing so, or be the best at offering words that could technically be comprehended as affectionate.
But when he notices you’re tired, he won’t hesitate to place you on Roach’s back -- an absolute honor, considering his protectiveness towards the mare. He’ll make sure that you’re warm and sheltered when you break camp, even if it comes at the cost of his own comfort (not that he feels much of a difference after this point anyway). If he thinks you may be doing something or even considering doing something that might put you in harm’s way or cause you mental or emotional pain, he’s unafraid to shoot that shit down (he loves you enough to let you hate him, so to speak).
It may be the bare minimum that he saves you from a death of cold or starvation or hazardous encounters, but for him, it’s a way of showing he at least respects your right to continue living.
He doesn’t really expect anything back besides respect. And perhaps some . . . physical comforts. But, once again, to his surprise, he’s not solely focused on physical touch when it comes to you. At least, not as intensely as he normally would be.
What Geralt specifically appreciates form you is words of affirmation. But only from you: None of that showy, obnoxious nonsense that Jaskier calls music. Geralt likes feeling recognized as a person, questionable as that sort of title might actually be. He just likes being talked to to a degree, over small things. The affirmations come where you openly appreciate him for his efforts and bravery, and even when you thank him for taking care of you.
Being a Witcher is a thankless job. But hearing you appreciate him for everything, big and small, and acknowledging his more humanistic traits at the same time? It does him more good than both you and he ever thought it could.
How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?: The closest you get is when the two of you are either in a very crowded market place or are running and you’re having trouble keeping up: He’ll hold your hand to assure you don’t get separated or left behind. There’s also, of course, the preservation of body heat when the both of you wind up breaking camp on a particularly cold night. But other than that, I wouldn’t expect much in the ways of affection.
What are their favorite things to do together?: The lifestyle you both lead (well, that Geralt leads -- you simply adopted it by association) doesn’t exactly lend itself well to couples’ hobbies . . . But the two of you haven’t bitten each other’s throats out yet, so clearly you’re doing something right, no? You aren’t quite sure what it is, but you heavily suspect that it might be when you ask Geralt to tell you about the creatures he’s encountered.
Not in the “Tell Me Stories of Your Amazing Feats” kind of way, but more so in a manner of “Please Make Me Aware of the Weird, Strange, and Horrific Beings Lurking in This World and How To Combat Them”. Which suits Geralt well enough, as he tends to skimp on the details and doesn’t care to describe battles or anything of the sort. He knows that you’ll never be a Witcher, but it surely couldn’t hurt you to have an awareness of the world around you. Besides, he’s witnessed far too often the slaughtering of perfectly harmless creatures due to ignorance -- he feels a sense of relief when you express an interest in learning how to differentiate beasts with intentions of harm and beasts that simply want to be left alone unless provoked.
Who’s better at comforting the other?: Neither of you is especially great at it, but for different reasons. Though it should at least be said that you’re better skilled at comforting than Geralt is: You by far are the more emotionally available and intelligent one between the two of you, so the efforts you put forward are at least more overt. However, given that Geralt is a rather standoffish person and not especially prone to expressing vulnerabilities of any kind, it’s hard for you to know if you’re getting through to him.
He won’t make it blatantly obvious if something is bothering him unless it’s bothering him in a way that earns his aggression -- and even then, he doesn’t need comfort, he needs you to gently chide him and calm him down as one does to an agitated horse or dog. Or a wolf, in this case.
Meanwhile, Geralt . . . just isn’t the best at comforting people. At least, not in the most traditional sense. When he tries to be, it comes off very awkwardly, the words not filled confidence as much as they are hesitancy. It’s only made worse by the fact that his gruff, barely-used voice just isn’t compatible with the words he tries to use.
Which is why he feels the best he can really offer to do is just say nothing at all. He won’t reject you or even flinch if you were to bury yourself into his side, instead just slowly placing an arm around you and trying to give a consoling, if stiff, pat on the back.
Please know that this is him trying his best, and that he’ll be far more relieved than you’ll be if you actually do find some semblance of comfort in his seemingly low-effort efforts.
Who’s more protective?: Geralt wouldn’t consider what he does protection -- it’s simply what he, well, does. He’s always fighting creatures (and people) in self-defense or for a cause of some kind. And whenever Jaskier joins the two of you, or once Ciri becomes a part of his life, the job only intensifies. Him keeping you alive is simply common decency, lover or not. But if one were to ask someone who’s more emotionally observant like, say, a certain bard who occasionally accompanies the two of you, then he would beg to differ: Geralt is fiercely protective of you, he just does so quietly.
Contrary to his stony nature,he does value your well-being. And even if you’re a commendable fighter, he acknowledges that it’s not as up to snuff as his own, making him feel more obligated to assure you come out of encounters alive and well. This is more obvious in the wilderness, of course, but when it comes to civilization he tends to become a bit more lax. He trusts you enough to measure your options when, say, some men at a pub are making particularly bawdy comments about you. He also trusts you to know when to whip out that knife you always keep on you. However, you needn’t worry about him turning a blind eye, should things threaten to escalate: Whether you’re at a marketplace buying some necessities, or paying for your meal at a tavern, Geralt is never so far away that he can’t keep a close eye on you or be unable to step in, should the environment intensify.
Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?: Geralt likes verbal affirmations, yes, but don’t discount physical: At least he doesn’t have to talk or respond when at the end of a long day, you sit next to him and nuzzle your head up to the crook of his neck. Plus there’s the whole intimacy he experiences for the first time in its true form when you and he finally decide to take that step.
What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?: Hm. It’s hard to say, especially considering that Geralt is a hard person to apply music to, much less music with a narrative or one that actually sounds like anything he might listen to, particularly in a romantic setting.
I had to push past that mindset just to pick anything, and what that got me to conclude was something along the lines of “Love Like You” by Rebecca Sugar or "Resilience” by Thomas Newman. Maybe “My Blood” by Twenty-One Pilots. I can’t place exactly how or why, especially sound-wise, but these just stood out to me in particular . . .
What kind of nicknames do they call each other?: You two don’t really resort to nicknames, actually. “Geralt” isn’t exactly an easy name to harvest a nickname out of, and he doesn’t do anything that particularly warrants one in reference to an idiosyncrasy. The closest you ever got was trying out “Wolfy” in reference to his title as “The White Wolf” but the look the attempt received, coupled with your own realized distaste for it, made you drop it in an instant.
And Geralt just isn’t the sort to apply nicknames in the first place.
Thank you for requesting this! I hope I did okay . . .
#geralt x reader#geralt imagines#geralt imagine#the witcher imagines#the witcher imagine#regrettablewritings#character headcanon meme#character ship meme#unrelated but GOD i love how he looks in that gif#just subtle yet shocking right???
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The Times They Are a-Changin’ (Little Brother!Sweet Pea)
A/N: Happy graduation to our class of Riverdale High School, and welcome back Sweet Pea even though you said like ten words during the episode. You looked great in the background, buddy. Here’s a little something about Ruthie and Sweet Pea and how they’re reacting to his graduation.
Word Count: 6,508
tagging @hughstheforcelou @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle @humangrumpycat @brittanyvengeance, and @thecaptainsgingersnap for encouraging me to post!
The winds of change had been blowing in Riverdale as of lately with students and parents alike crossing off the calendar days until graduation. It was a constant bittersweet reminder with banners going up in store windows congratulating the graduating class of Riverdale High School, baker cakes being custom-ordered with names written in black icing cursive. Ruthie can’t help but feel a bitter tug at her chest as she pushes the shopping cart across the grocery store, checking off the mile-long list of ingredients that Maria and Atzi needed to make food for the big party. Ruthie tosses a few more items into the wobbly metal cart and makes her way to the checkout stand, trying not to be impatient as she waited. There’s a handful of people in front of her in line, mothers buying last minute ingredients for favorite meals to be eaten as a high school graduate, a gaggle of teens seeing if their fake IDs were actually good enough to buy a case of cheap beer to bring to whatever party was inevitably happening that weekend. Ruthie thumbs through the rack of cards propped up by the register and plucks out one with a lot of space to write in.
When she was out of the grocery store (with significantly less money in her pocket), Ruthie is overcome with this sudden feeling of “rightness”. She doesn’t have to worry about pinching pennies and stretching paychecks to make ends meet any more, she no longer feared trips to the grocery store and the always looming threat of her card being declined at the cash register when she had a basket full of items. Ruthie did what she was supposed to do: she took care of her brother Sweet Pea, took care of herself, and kept a roof over both of their heads. And despite all of the bullshit that the two of them have faced in their short amount of years, Sweet Pea was graduating. And at the end of the summer he and Fangs were packing up Dante’s old truck and driving it upstate, where they’d settle into their own apartment before their first week of college. Ruthie is overcome with a sudden burst of pride for herself and for her brother, their resilience and fighting strength. Growing up was scary but they did it, even when it wasn’t easy and every fiber of their being was telling them they weren’t gonna get anywhere any ways, so they may as well give up now. But Ruthie and Sweet Pea never did.
After she drops off the groceries for the Abuelas, Ruthie is panting when she bounds through the front door to the Soh-Peterson trailer, swearing up a storm after having to carry so many bags up and down the driveway and putting everything away in its rightful place.
“God, Maria is a pack-rat, I swear!” The sound of Ruthie tossing her keys onto the linoleum counter is enough to startle Sweet Pea, who had been mindlessly ripping out papers and assignments from his old binder. “Every time I have to go shopping for her I come home feeling like I need a drink…”
“If you’re offering, will you bring me one?” Sweet Pea smirks.
Ruthie huffs in response. “If I do that, will you also bring me whatever shirt you’re wearing for the ceremony tomorrow so that I can be sure to iron it?” She heads into the kitchen to fill up a pot of water to boil. She was making spaghetti with extra oregano, Sweet Pea’s favorite.
He heads into his bedroom for a quick moment and returns with a wrinkled dark blue dress shirt. He holds it up to Ruthie. “Do I have to wear a tie?” It’s such an innocent question that Ruthie cant help but laugh.
“Do you want to wear a tie?” Sweet Pea shrugs at his sister. “There’s that handful of Dad’s that we kept in the hall closet if you want to look through those. And for the love of god, please, anything but that ugly Christmas tie.” Ruthie turns to pour the dried spaghetti noodles into the boiling water and Sweet Pea hangs his choices over the door of the hall closet, in Ruthie’s line of sight so it wouldn’t be forgotten.
The two of them eat dinner together, with Sweet Pea trading anecdotes about his last day of high school through bites of warm bread and rich pasta. He tells Ruthie all about the school’s unearthed time capsule and what it held, tells her that there’s a whole spread in the yearbook dedicated to the Serpents (and that he’d have to show her all the good pictures of him). Ruthie smiles at her younger brother as she watches his eyes light up as he talks about the last few grueling moments of waiting for the seventh period bell to ring, officially signaling the end of the school day and his high school career.
“It was like everyone was holding their breath, you know? And when the bell rings everyone throws all of their stuff into the air, all of their papers, and everyone was hugging, going for high fives, it was weird—” Sweet Pea pauses to wipe away the red marinara sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Reggie comes at me for a bro-hug…I thought he was gonna pick me up off the ground!” He laughs and shakes his head. It was a moment that was a clear testament to growth, because a mere two years ago, if Sweet Pea and Reggie were in that close of proximity, one of them was gearing up to swing at the other.
“Definitely weird” .
Ruthie holds up her almost empty bottle of beer in a toast. “To your last day of high school.”
Sweet Pea clinks his bottle against hers and then takes their bowls and silverware to the kitchen to be washed without Ruthie needing to ask him. He rinses things off and washes them clean before handing them over to Ruthie to dry, a system that had been perfected after years of not so careful practice. When the dishes are done and put away, Sweet Pea retreats to his bedroom for the night and Ruthie doesn’t bug him. She knows that something like this can be a lot to process, especially for a person like him who isn’t really the biggest fan of change. Ruthie knows that sometimes you simply need a moment to sit with your emotions, whatever they may be. She waits patiently, can hear Sweet Pea talking to someone on the phone, Fangs maybe, so she waits a little longer. Ruthie sneaks out into the kitchen and opens the freezer, spends a few minutes spooning chunks of frostbitten chocolate chip ice cream into two mugs, one for her and one for Sweet Pea. When she hears him hang up the phone, Ruthie gives two quick taps on his bedroom door before she enters.
Sweet Pea’s sprawled out on his bed, legs tangled in the blankets that are barely hanging onto his twin sized mattress. His yearbook is next to him, filled with gleaming photo paper and inscriptions done in sharpie marker. The side of his left hand is smudged with pen ink and he’s trying to scribble his name in big graffiti letters onto the inside front cover of his yearbook. Sweet Pea sees that his sister came bearing ice cream so he smiles, sitting up and inviting Ruthie to rest on the foot of his bed. They clink their spoons together and each take way too big of a bite, fighting off brain freeze as Ruthie starts flipping through Sweet Pea’s heavy yearbook. No one says anything for a minute and they settle into a comfortable silence. Ruthie finds the section filled with senior portraits of the graduating class and can’t help but marvel at how both Sweet Pea and Fangs have grown.
“What time do you need to be there tomorrow?” Ruthie asks, sliding off of Sweet Pea’s bed and grabbing his empty, sticky mug. There was still a lot of work that Maria and Atzi needed help with before the graduation party for Fangs, Queenie, and Sweet Pea, and Ruthie was finding a weird sense of peace amongst the chaos.
“Seniors need to be in the gym by 4:30, and the ceremony starts at five o’clock so maybe get there at 5:15 so you don’t have to sit though the speeches”
“I’ll be there on time, don’t worry.” Ruthie laughs and leans her weight against the doorframe.
“Are you gonna sit with the Fogarty’s?” Sweet Pea asks, somewhat nervously.
“Of course I’m going to.” She reassures. “What, you think FP’s gonna save me a seat between him and Alice Cooper?”
Sweet Pea frowns at his sister’s joke but Ruthie thinks it’s hilarious.
“You’ll see me, don’t worry. The whole family is gonna sit together and cheer so loud for you three that you’ll be embarrassed”
“I won’t be embarrassed” Sweet Pea promised, almost forcefully, as though he needed to be sure his sister believed him.
Ruthie quirks up an eyebrow but chocks up the sudden outburst of emotion as a reaction to everything around Sweet Pea that was changing. She stands up straight, metal spoons clanging against the empty ceramic in her hands. “Try not to stay up too late, okay? You’re gonna have a long day tomorrow”
“Yeah, I gotta get my beauty sleep” Sweet Pea jokes, pulling his bed covers back up over his long legs.
“Gonna need it” Ruthie laughs over her shoulder as she makes her way back down the hallway to the kitchen. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth!” She turns the faucet on hot and pretends that she doesn’t hear Sweet Pea groan from the other room.
~~~
The morning of Graduation Day, both Sweet Pea and Ruthie wake up way before their alarms, anxiety already cold and pooling at the bottom of their empty stomachs. Sweet Pea manages to close his eyes for a few more minutes before being started awake again, feeling like he was running late, when he realizes that he has nowhere to be. For the first time in four whole years, Sweet Pea doesn’t need to spring out of bed and rush to get in the shower before Ruthie hogs all the hot water. He doesn’t have to worry about what time he needs to leave for school, or account how much time it’ll take to get to Riverdale High School all the way from the Southside. Sweet Pea didn’t have to worry about any of that because today, he was graduating high school.
When he gets to the kitchen, Ruthie is already there with a pot of coffee steaming and a stack of warm pancakes on a waiting plate. She laughs and gives him a sheepish smile, gesturing with the spatula to tell him to sit down. “Felt weird that we both weren’t running around each other trying to get ready to leave, so I decided to take advantage of all this time.”
“Thank you” Sweet Pea mumbles through a full mouth.
It was a rare day where the two siblings seemed to have nothing but free time. Ruthie makes a thick stack of pancakes and they both eat almost all of what’s on their plates. Sweet Pea washes the dishes and she dries, and by that time it’s only 10:45. They’re both too hopped up on coffee to even bother trying to take a mid-morning nap, and that’s how they end up watching a handful of episodes of The Price Is Right until Ruthie excuses herself to get in the shower. No one has to rush that day. No one is pounding on the door yelling about how they needed to get in the bathroom to finish getting ready, threatening bodily harm on one another. Ruthie takes time lathering her hair with shampoo and conditioner, relishing in the warm water that she actually got to enjoy. No one had anything to stress out about today. Ruthie gets out of the shower, takes her time, and Sweet Pea gets in. Ruthie irons his dress shirt and his tie and hangs them back up until he’s ready. The two siblings convene for half of an episode of some daytime talkshow until Sweet Pea complains that he’s hungry. Sweet Pea makes grilled cheese sandwiches for late lunch while Ruthie does her makeup in the living room. Sweet Pea leaves the pan and their plates in the sink knowing that later he’ll wash and Ruthie will dry.
“Pick up the pace a little bit, okay? It’s almost four and we’re probably gonna need to leave soon so you have a chance to find your friends and sit with them.” Ruthie breezes into Sweet Pea’s room, dressed up in a way that made her look older than she was, but not as old as she felt. She looks good in her blazer and her heeled boots, like a proud parent.
Sweet Pea is dressed but his shirt’s not tucked in and his tie is crooked. He stands in front of the mirror and tries to fasten his father’s old tie into a Windsor knot but his fingers are soo long and too clumsy. “Shit…” He mumbles and Ruthie can tell he’s getting frustrated.
She doesn’t have to say here let me, she simply gives her brother the same knowing look she always does and steps in front of him to refasten and straighten Sweet Pea’s tie for him. Ruthie smooths her hands over his shoulders, wiping away creases and floating motes of dust and lint. She takes a long look at him and realizes how much he’s grown to look like their dad, or the way that Ruthie remembered her dad looking in the few old photographs stashed in a shoebox somewhere in her closet.
“You look so handsome” She whispers, her voice tight in her throat as she tries to will away any hot tears from spilling.
“Oh c’mon, don’t cry, Ruth” Sweet Pea says with an uncomfortable laugh, stepping away from his watery-eyed sister. “Cause if you start crying, I might start crying and then what good does that do for either one of us?” Ruthie laughs and gives a big exhale as she tries to compose herself.
“God I feel like Maria” She laughs, thinking of the Abuelas and the wrinkled tissues they always seemed to pull out of nowhere. Ruthie can’t help but shudder as she remembers back when Dante graduated high school and how she was surprised that Maria and Atzi weren’t dehydrated from crying under the hot spring sun.
Sweet Pea takes a look at himself in the mirror, running his comb though his hair to gel it back into place with sticky pomade. His shrugs on his long, blue graduation robe and tucks his cap under one of his arms before giving himself a last once-over in the mirror with a sigh, like this was as good as it was going to get. Ruthie slings her heavy purse over her shoulder and soon the two siblings are making their way out the door and down the front steps of the house. Sweet Pea almost hits his head getting into Ruthie’s compact car, she laughs but he scoffs and pulls the ray-ban sunglasses out of her hair and puts them on for himself.
The drive across town to Riverdale High School was longer than usual, the long lines of cars all leading to the same place. Ruthie honks her car horn, if not because she thought it could make things go faster, but just because she could. Sweet Pea scrolls through radio static until he finds a station that’s playing some old Green Day song that he and his sister used to dance around to when they were younger. He bounces his knee along with the rhythmic thumping of the drums and Ruthie taps her fingers along on the steering wheel. Sweet Pea’s nervous, they both know it but neither one of them would admit that. He’s worried that he’ll trip when walking across the stage, that his long legs and the long silk gown will get the better of him.
“Just breathe” Ruthie nods, following the cars all turning towards the high school. She parks her car towards the back of the school’s parking lot and waits with Sweet Pea as he tries to coordinate where to meet Fangs and the rest of their friends.
Ruthie makes Sweet Pea stand out in front of the school sign to take pictures in his graduation garb and her sunglasses. She snaps a few silly ones but doesn’t make Sweet Pea stop to take that many smiling pictures, knowing that after the ceremony and at the party he’d be having to run away from Maria and Atzi and their too-fancy cameras, who wanted to take pictures of the youngsters just as much as they needed their help with figuring out which buttons do what. Sweet Pea finds the Fogarty-Abrejo clan easily, giving Queenie a one-shouldered hug and slapping Fangs on the back, flicking around the blue frilled tassel hanging off his graduation cap. Maria and Atzi are doting on the two young men, going to pinch their cheeks and straighten their collars. Chimalma is lecturing Queenie about making sure she zipped up her blue graduation gown like the rest of the other students, still somehow unaware of the fact that the more she told her daughter not to do something, the more it made her want to do it. Ruthie raises her eyebrow at Queenie and the girl winks in return.
“One picture, you three, then I’ll leave you alone until later I promise” Ruthie holds up her phone and gestures for Sweet Pea, Queenie, and Fangs to all get together. The three squish together, giving cheesy smilies that will one day end up in a photo album with years worth of other cheesy smiles. Fangs is still a head shorter than both Sweet Pea and Queenie so he stands on the toes of his dress boots, smiling bigger than either one of them like it could make up for his lack of height. Sweet Pea hooks his long arms around his friends and pulls them close for one last picture and Queenie holds up her graduation cap to make sure it’s in frame, the picture of her father decorating the back of her cap watching over her protectively.
Last pictures were taken, collars were straightened and hair was smoothed down. Mr. Weatherbee makes the announcement that all graduating seniors needed to report to the area behind the gym for attendance, and that parents, families, and other distinguished guests could make their way to their seats. “See you on the other side, little brother” Ruthie gives Sweet Pea a wink as she holds the door open for the older women.
Riverdale High School’s graduation was like all high school graduation ceremonies in the way that it as both long and boring, incredibly drawn out by speeches from principals and vice-principles, esteemed faculty, and the class valedictorian. Betty Cooper delivers a moving speech about innocence and growth, stressing the importance of taking the time to be young and have fun, especially in a town that was plagued with so much heartache. There’s not a dry eye in the house when the young woman takes to addressing all of the trauma she and her fellow students had faced when Riverdale had them all in it’s clutches: “And it’s not fair that so many of our classmates aren’t here to walk with us today. And it’s not right that same of our parents aren’t here to watch those of us who are.” This strikes a chord in Ruthie and she can’t help but think what it would be like if Major Chase Lang Soh was here to watch his son walk the stage to get his diploma, or wonder how loud Pallaton Abrejo would whistle when his daughter’s name was called, smiling as Queenie’s blue silken robe billowed out behind her, (still unzipped, much to her mother’s dismay). Pallaton would tell Queenie that he was proud of her, and that he thought she was pretty damn cool for not wanting to blend in with the ranks of her peers.
“I wish Dante got to be here tonight” Ruthie leans over to whisper in Maria’s ear. The older woman pats her hand in response, a reaction that Ruthie thought was rather odd for Maria, but Ruthie chocks it up to her not wanting to be the rude people whispering. Apparently Dante was busy with some project over in Centerville, but Fangs had a graduation card coming in the mail and he promised he’d try to convince Spyder and CD to all drive down with him some weekend pretty soon. At least that’s what Dante told Ruthie on the phone a few days ago when he told her he wasn’t coming to graduation.
Everybody sits up a little taller in their chairs once student’s names started to be called, shifting in their cold metal seats and craning their necks to find where their loved ones were sitting amongst the masses of students. Ruthie claps politely for some of the names that she recognized, people that Sweet Pea talked about or hung out with, friends of Fangs and Queenie’s that she’d been introduced to at family parties and summer barbecues. For the most part Ruthie is pretty bored, reading through the flimsy paper program and wondering what it was like for everyone back when she graduated high school over at Southside High. Neither Ruthie nor Sweet Pea got to have their parents present at their high school graduation, but the Fogarty family never made them feel unwelcome or like anything less than family. They had cheered loudly when Ruthie’s name had been called, whistling and yelling when she walked across the stage. Dante and CD both laughed, watching Ruthie’s eye twitch as the principal called for Ruthann Soh-Peterson. There may have been a smaller number of people to watch Sweet Pea, Queenie, and Fangs graduate, but just because they weren’t loved widely it didn’t mean they weren’t loved deeply.
After Principal Weatherbee’s time at the Farm (Edgar Evernever’s poorly disguised cult), he got super progressive and made it a point to tell all of the seniors that on graduation day they could go by whatever their chosen name was, nicknames included. Ruthie and Sweet Pea had talked about it a few weeks ago at dinner, the merits of going by his given name for the first and only time in his high school career. “Why would I?” Sweet Pea had asked his sister, stabbing his fork into an unsuspecting chunk of broccoli. It was the last time the two brought it up.
Their three names are called sequentially; Queenie Abrejo, Fangs Fogarty, Sweet Pea Soh-Peterson. The uproar of cheers for Queenie, Fangs, and Sweet Pea was so loud that it paled every other family’s reaction in comparison. Ruthie whistled loudly, two fingers in her mouth. The rest of their big, blended family cheered and shouted loudly, clapping loudly and tapping canes against the polished gym floor. The ranks of polished Northside parents stick up their noses at the spectacle and go back to giving fake-polite golf claps. The rest of the ceremony goes by in a flurry of names, students in blue silk gowns walking across the stage to shake hands with Weatherbee and get their diplomas as quick as possible so they could do the cliche cap toss before getting the hell out of dodge, never having to set foot in the halls of Riverdale High School ever again. Atzi’s snoring on Maria’s shoulder and is startled awake by the thunderous applause after the final concluding words. “It’s over?”
When the ceremony is over it isn’t too hard to spot Sweet Pea through the crowd. Ruthie picks through the throng of people and runs at her brother with her arms wide open.
“You did it! Oh, my little high school graduate” Ruthie laughs, snaking her arms around Sweet Pea’s middle and pulling him into a crushing hug.
“Little?” Queenie raises her eyebrow, smirking over at Ruthie as she finally shucks off her graduation robe, handing it off to her little sister who didn’t mind wearing it.
“I’m so proud of you” Ruthie says, releasing her grip on her brother. “I’m so proud of all three of you, you did it!”
“Yeah we did!” Sweet Pea says, hooking his arm around Fangs’s shoulder as the group trailed back to the car.
~~~
The pageantry of Graduation Day was for the parents, everyone knew this. But the graduation party was for everyone else, one of the more enjoyable rights of passage after finishing high school. That was the part Sweet Pea was excited for. After the ceremony he tosses his cap and gown in the backseat of his sister’s car and loosens his tie before Ruthie can even start the engine. The drive back to the Southside is comfortably quiet, like both Sweet Pea and Ruthie needed a moment to recharge their batteries before the festivities. Ruthie pulls the car into the driveway, gravel crunching under her tires, and soon the two of them are barreling up the front steps. Sweet Pea holds out his hand for Ruthie’s keys and unlocks the door quickly, like he couldn’t bare to be in his nice clothes a minute more.
“I won’t make you wear a tie but can you dress up a little? For the pictures?” Ruthie asks, yelling from the kitchen as she gathers up any last minute things she needed to bring over to the Fogarty’s. “Something with sleeves, perhaps?” The sarcasm in her voice is palpable and Sweet Pea laughs as he trades his dress shirt for something that felt a little bit more like him.
The siblings are in and out of their house in record time and Ruthie lets Sweet Pea drive her car the short distance to the Fogarty’s while she sits in the passenger’s seat, clutching onto the crockpot for dear life. There’s already a dull roar emanating from the backyard; someone was bringing a big setup of speakers and Queen had been crafting the perfect playlist for weeks. No one bothers to knock on the front door because it’s never locked any ways. Ruthie immediately gets pulled into the kitchen by Atzi, who thrusts an apron at her before she continued her mission to make more counter space.
“Go find your friends,” Ruthie calls over her shoulder to her brother. “Just remember that you owe me pictures!”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember…” Sweet Pea rolls his eyes and goes to sample one of the hors d’oeuvres but Atzi smacks his hand away with her trusty spatula.
The party continues and more kids show up, all connected to Fangs, Queenie, or Sweet Pea in some way or another. It’s loud and it’s rowdy in the way that parties at the Fogarty house always seemed to get. Everyone was smiling, laughing, and dancing, but the general sentiment among everyone was that they missed Dante’s presence among the family and that they all wished that he’d been able to stop by. Maria and Atzi had been surprisingly tight-lipped about the whole thing and Ruthie was starting to think there might had been some kind of falling out.
Ruthie leans in close to Atzi, who was stirring a bubbling pot of sauce on the stove, seemingly in her own little world. “Did Maria and Dante have an argument or something? Is that why he didn’t show up tonight?”
Atzi glances up at Ruthie and smiles wryly, like all old women who held lots of secrets often did. “Nothing of the sorts, my girl!” She tosses the kitchen towel over her shoulder and goes back to flitting around the kitchen, stirring this and that, making sure nothing burned or bubbled over. “You’re looking a little dehydrated, hon, why don’t you go out into the garage and get yourself something to drink?”
Ruthie doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the eye or if Atzi winked at her. She tries not to take offense to the comment, having thickened her skin after years of “helpful” comments from the people around her. Ruthie was just happy to be relieved of kitchen duty for a little while. Wiping her hands on a towel, Ruthie makes her way into the Fogarty’s garage and to the outside refrigerator to grab herself a soda. She paws through the bottles and cans on the shelves trying to find something but she doesn’t hear the side door open, nor does she hear the familiar footfalls as they approach her.
Ruthie turns around and is startled when she find herself face to face with none other than Dante Fogarty. “Oh!” Ruthie exclaims, her soda can slipping from her hands and rolling out of sight. “Oh, I thought you weren’t coming!” She starts toward Dante and flings her arms around his neck to bring him in for a hug that was long overdue.
“I wouldn’t miss this” Dante says, rubbing his large hand over his best friend’s back. “I’m his graduation present, you know?”
“Your ass had better come with a gift receipt then” Ruthie laughs and gives Dante a playful shove before laughing into an animated rant about how mad she was at him for making her sit through that boring-ass, long-ass graduation ceremony by herself. The two of them want to kill a few minutes talking. Hell, Dante and Ruthie would hide in the garage for the whole party if they could. It wouldn’t be the first time. Dante fills Ruthie in on how everything is going in Centerville. She asks follow up questions about CD and Spyder, laughs as Dante marvels about how good the food from their cousins’s food truck is. Ruthie tells Dante about her new promotion to shift leader at the Elderly Services Department of Riverdale General Hospital. Dante talks at length about his girlfriend Valentina, smiling in a way that Ruthie thought looked good on him. But no matter how much they talked about the present (or the future), it was hard not to be nostalgic for the past, especially tonight.
“Man, your ass was miserable at your graduation party” Dante chuckled, glancing over at Ruthie. He leans against Maria’s old boat of a car that was forever in the garage atop cement blocks. “I’m pretty sure you stood outside and smoked a whole pack of cigarettes until Romeo forced you to come and socialize with everyone”
“Yeah cause it was my graduation party, it was Angel’s and I was just tacked on” Ruthie finds a beer in the refrigerator and uncaps it, her lost soda can long forgotten.
Dante thinks back to the moment before he agrees. “You might be right” He thinks about it some more, remembering the debacle. “You’re onto something there, Ruth.”
When the two of them decide that they had hidden away for long enough, Ruthie sneaks a cigarette to buy just a minute more before dragging Dante inside and into the kitchen. “Hey look who I found!” She calls out loudly, trying to get people’s attention over the music and the conversation. The Abuelas, no longer having to be tight-lipped about Dante’s secret arrival, grabbed his face and kissed his cheeks, giving him spoon and forkfuls of almost-done food that needed tasting. Fangs hears the commotion from outside where he, Sweet Pea, Queenie, and Mabel had all teamed up for beer pong so he opens the screen door, poking his head inside.
“Dante, you made it!” Fangs exclaims happily as he sees his older brother sampling the appetizers that Maria made. He rushes into the kitchen to give Dante a hug and giving him a brotherly slap on the back.
“Aw c’mon, you know I’d never miss something like this!” Dante slings his arm around Fangs’s shoulder and walks back towards the backyard “Now who’s up on the BP table, I want next game!”
~~~
The party persists most of the evening. The Beer Pong tournament ends up being a big debacle, with family and friends gathering around to watch it all unfold. Dante and Fangs played against Ruthie and Sweet Pea. They win the game but Sweet Pea swears that they cheated so he insists on a rematch, only to lose once again. Ruthie and Dante play against Sweet Pea and Fangs and they win again, so by that time everyone’s teasing Sweet Pea about his bad aim. Everyone poses for pictures way longer than they actually wanted to. There was pictures of the graduates, of them and their friends, pictures of the Abrejo family, the Fogarty’s, and the Soh-Peterson siblings. Maria wanted pictures of Ruthie, Sweet Pea, Dante, and Fangs, pictures of her with each of her grandchildren. By the time the cameras are put away everyone’s cheeks hurt and they’re seeing spots from the bright flash against the dark evening sky. Everyone eats twice as much food as they should have, and Maria was already promising to send people home with Tupperware dishes filled with leftovers. Queenie and Mabel sneak slices of the big bakery cake before Chimalma was ready to cut it so they spend the next twenty minutes out front sitting on the curb trying to avoid her motherly wrath. She was still on the warpath about her daughter being the “Only girl in the entire graduating class who didn’t zip up her gown like she was supposed to,” as if that were a supposed to be a bad thing.
Ruthie shakes her head, smiling to herself as she watches Sweet Pea try to shake off Maria, who was following him around the yard with another plate of food and yelling about how “You two boys need to put some meat on your bones before we send you off to college!” Sweet Pea goes to sit by the fire pit, away from Maria and her constant comments. Dante’s roasting marshmallows, eternally determined to piss off Elena by getting Daisy all hopped up on sugar after feeding her s’mores. Ruthie puffs along happily on her cigarette, a healthy distance aware from the rest of the partygoers (Sweet Pea had already come up to her once that evening, pulling a cigarette out of her mouth and grinding it into the dirt under the toe of his big boots). She watches over the party carefully, thinking about how time has passed and how everyone has grown.
“You warm enough over here?” Ruthie asks, her hand coming to rest on Sweet Pea’s shoulder as she approaches where he’s sitting by the fire pit.
He jumps a little, dropping the long wooden stick he was using to prod at the fire logs. “I’m fine” He replies with an eye roll.
Ruthie sits down heavily in one of the plastic lawn chairs than were posited throughout the yard, but loses her balance because of a wobbly, weathered leg. She laughs loudly as he recovers, her blood pumping in her ears. “You don’t have to be so grumpy about it” She teases, bumping his knee with her own.
“I’m not being grumpy!” Sweet Pea retorts, clearly still on edge from Maria’s overbearing attention and affection.
“Is it because you’re cold?” Ruthie raises an eyebrow at her not-so-little brother, already knowing his answer.
“I just graduated high school, Ruth, you don’t have to treat me like I’m some baby…” Sweet Pea shoes his head and brings his long-necked bottle of beer to his lips, taking a hearty sip.
“Oh but you’re always gonna be my little baby!” Ruthie coos with fake, overbearing sweetness and goes to ruffle Sweet Pea’s hair in the annoying yet endearing way that only older sisters seem to have mastered.
Sweet Pea’s scowl breaks into a smile and he rolls his eyes, letting his sister muss up his hair and dote on him just a little longer. He slides his arm around her shoulders and revels in her body heat and the familiar, comforting smell of her lavender shampoo.
“So what do you wanna do with your last summer before college, kid?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, honestly.” Sweet Pea muses. “Need to find a job so I have a little bit of rent money saved up.” He always thought practically, tethered to the tangible things he needed in order to get by in life. It might have been a trait he picked up from Ruthie, actually.
“You have all summer to work” Ruthie looks over at her younger brother. “You gotta do something fun this summer, okay? Me and you, we’ll go somewhere just us.”
Sweet Pea laughs, his brows creased in both confusion and amusement. “Okay…where are we gonna go?”
“Anywhere…I mean, anywhere my car can get us. Or maybe we rent a car and go up the coast, spend a week at the beach before I send you off to the real world.”
“Sounds nice” Sweet Pea nods in agreement, staring into the fire. “What about the money though, Ruth? A trip like this sounds expensive.”
“You don’t have to worry about the money, kid.” Ruthie sighs, and for the first time in a long time she actually means that. “You deserve way more than this, okay? It’s the least I can do. Nothing’s set in stone now so just promise me you’ll think on it, okay?”
Sweet Pea nods. “I promise”
“I love you, and I’m so proud of you” Ruthie says firmly, as to make sure there was no way for Sweet Pea to slither in and discredit himself and his experiences.
The two siblings sit like that in front of the fire for a while, limbs tangled together, both too old to be twisting their bodies to accommodate for the other’s needed space. Ruthie gives Sweet Pea a rare, quick kiss on his forehead and the two siblings untangle themselves, laughing about who’s old rocket chair would break first. Things get quiet again for a little, just like the party had, bit after a few minutes Sweet Pea speaks up,
“Hey Ruth?” He hesitates, sounding somewhat embarrassed.
“Hmm?”
“Where’s my jacket?” Sweet Pea asks, wincing, already prepared for his sister’s onslaught of I-told-you-so’s.
Ruthie’s eyes blink open quickly, her facing having been turned towards the warmth of the fire that cracked and rippled with every gust of the evening wind. “In the trunk of my car” She laughs, tossing him her keys. Sweet Pea fumbles the catch because of his cold hands and walks towards the car, rubbing his hands over his arms.
“That boy’s gonna be absolutely lost without you” Dante laughs, rounding the fire pit and sitting down.
Ruthie shakes her head and disagrees. “I think he’s gonna be just fine.”
#little brother! sweet pea#sweet pea x ruthie#sweet pea x oc#riverdale sweet pea#sweet pea imagine#oc: ruthie soh peterson#oc: literally ALL of lou's are mentioned#and some of vannah's
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Stagnation - (poe dameron x reader)
A/N: everyone needs a lil hurt/comfort Poe Dameron daydream :). I tried to make this one as gender neutral as I could, but please let me know if i missed something! I want to work on being more gender neutral when I write.
As always, if i use your gif let me know so that I can tag ya!
Warnings: um...none? I mean its a hurt/comfort so there’s some angst and some fluff.
Word Count: 1.6K
Your breath shook and kissed the metal of the door before you. You tapped the strap of the blaster holster fastened around your hip with the very tips of your fingers. Once, twice, three times for good luck. Armed with the luck of your blaster and a steaming bowl of soup in one your hands, you pressed an open palm to the handprint scanner stationed beside the door.
The mint green of the scanner zipped underneath your hand, casting an eerie glow through the tendons and muscles there. It beeped with satisfaction and then the door in front of you slid upwards, revealing an absolute mess of a room and an absolute mess of a man curled in the bed sitting against the far wall.
You stepped inside, blinking in the palpable must and stagnation of Poe Dameron's quarters. The Resistance's most valuable pilot had willed the fates so strongly that they had been forced to allow him to freeze time and remain here-frozen in his grief and guilt. His hands wrapped so tightly around the cord of time that he seemed to warp all the stars around him, strangling them as tightly as he did the blanket lying beside him.
You cleared your throat and moved cautiously, walking heel to toe as to not spill the steaming bowl of soup; past forgotten flightsuits, tossed machinery manuals, tired boots, and crinkled wrappers of Poe's favorite candy, Koyobursts.
The pilot did not stir in the unmade bed, his body laying so that he faced the viewport on the opposite side of the room.
You sighed, the weight of the empathy pressing devilishly on your shoulders. Sitting delicately upon the side of the bed you had left just hours ago, you gently moved the bowl of now cooling soup to his nightstand. Your eyes scanned over his form, a nurse assessing their patient's wounds, and you reached out a tender hand to touch his shoulder.
The fabric of Poe's t-shirt was worn and longing to be washed, it's fibers straining against his oily skin. You squeezed his shoulder softly, tempting him back towards yourself.
"I brought you some soup." You whispered. The words seemed to resound in the room as the shouts of a mighty chorus. You could hear them ringing in your ears and shaking through your veins.
You worried about Poe every day, of course. Worried about his hot head and his quick trigger finger and his burning heart. You worried when he kissed you hurriedly, lips squished and harsh against yours, as he ran to his X-Wing. You worried when he didn't talk to his father for more than a week. Kes's voice and sage advice always seemed to comfort and guide him when he felt that he was less than what he should be. But this, this absolute emptiness, the broken shell of a man lying in bed next to you, this worried you more than any First Order attack or close call ever had.
Poe seemed to not hear your offering of soup, or maybe he did and didn't have the energy to say he wasn't hungry. His body remained as a statue, a heavy laden stone doomed to spend eternity crumpled like this in his Resistance issued mattress.
Sitting next to Poe, his face sullen and the stars in his eyes burnt out, sent a knife through your chest; chopping and catching on every tendon of your aching heart. You softly unbuckled the belt holding your blaster and kicked off your boots, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. With as much grace as you could muster, you wriggled into the smelly sheets behind him and wrapped your arm around his middle, pulling yourself close enough to kiss the back of his neck. His skin was oily and coated your lips with a salty taste as you worked your way up his neck and to the space behind his ear.
Poe realized you were there now, one of his hands reaching up to rest upon your arm tucked around him.
"Are you hungry?" You whispered, your lips pressing again to the stubble collecting on his jawline.
The dark-haired man sighed meekly and shook his head no.
"Baby, you have to be hungry. I haven't seen you eat anything but Koyobursts in two days." You tried to reason with him as you took a piece of his oily hair and ran your fingers through it, gently pulling your fingernails across his scalp.
"I'm not." His voice was soft and filmy, the cobwebs of melancholy resting over it.
You sighed and rested your head in the crook of his neck. You moved your hand now to run over his hair, over and over again, the greasy pieces flipping up with resilience as you moved over them. "Poe, you couldn't have known what she would do. You did what you thought was right. We all did."
"Holdo died-" His voice caught as her name always did in his throat. "She died because of me. I couldn't just shut up and trust her and she died."
You tucked your lips into your mouth. "Sweetheart, you're not the one who made her stay behind. You weren't even conscious when she told Leia she would stay."
Poe's form grew rigid underneath you. You could feel his teeth gritting in his jaw. "But we would have had more time to get away," His voice was sharp and unyielding, searching for an undamaged part of his heart to scathe. "We would have been able to come up with a better plan, if I-"
Pressing your palm to the underside of his chin, you pushed against his pillow to gently move his face from the bed. "Hey." You interrupted, your voice now finding it’s legs. "Of course we would have been able to come up with a better plan if we had had more time. But we didn't. We didn't have more time and we didn't have more ships or more people. We had what we had and we did what we thought was best. So did Holdo. That's all we could have done."
Poe's eyes were swollen and red-ringed, the skin underneath them puffed up with emotion and over stimulation. His dark eyebrows, now scattered and wild from tickling a pillowcase for a few days, pushed themselves together as he looked over your face. His umber colored eyes danced across your features and his breathing picked up when he met your gaze once more. Wrenching himself out of the indention he had made in the bed, he turned to lay with his face to you.
"I've been thinking." He began.
You sighed and braced yourself.
"You should leave me." He said, his voice cracking.
Knowing Poe and knowing how he allowed his failures to creep up from behind him and whisper to him that he was nothing without their sweet devotion, you perked an eyebrow and replied. "Alright. State your case."
Poe nodded and swallowed, his conviction settling over him. "I'm- I'm a liability. I'm too hot-headed and I can't keep you safe and you would be better off with someone who hasn't gotten someone else killed recently." Your boyfriend looked out of the side of his eyes and over your face, searching for any kind of clue as to what you were feeling, searching for you to reassure him, to hold his heart even closer now that he had asked you to leave it alone.
You paused a beat and felt waves of adoration wash over you. Looking over his yearning face, you could see every time he had flashed you a smile as he hopped in his X-Wing, every time he had touched the small of your back when you stood together, every sweet whisper in your ear in the midst of a crowd. You could see his love for you hiding under the ridge of his nose and in the shadows of his eyelashes on his cheek. "Nah, you're not getting rid of me that easy, Dameron."
A soft smile crept up on Poe's face and tugged at the edges of his mouth. He let out a sigh and looked down to the intermingling of your legs with his. “You sure?”
Playfully, you reached out a hand to push against his shoulder. “Of course I’m sure.”
Poe’s dark eyes flicked back up to yours and you noticed the first embers of warmth returning to them.
"This thing is going to be over one day." You said, reaching out to tuck a particularly unruly curl behind his ear. "And it's not going to be over because Poe Dameron made one bad choice one time in one situation."
"You don't know that." He whispered, his eyes still avoiding yours.
"You can't carry the weight of the fight for every single planet all by yourself, sweetheart. Your shoulders will get too tired." Smiling gently, you moved your hand from his hair to his cheek and ran a thumb across his stubbly face.
The man before you sighed heavily and pressed a kiss to your palm. "I know that. I'm just....I’m so tired. I want it to stop." His heart rested so carefully on his tongue, teetered on the brink of collapse.
Echoing Poe’s bleeding one, the heart inside you jumped at his words, yearning to reach out and take the agony from him. To curl and squish it, until it was small enough to hide somewhere he would never find it. "It will stop one day. We just have to kick their asses first."
He chuckled. "Yeah, just that little thing first."
You smiled and scooted closer to him, tucking your head underneath his.
Poe ran a hand over the top of your head, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and rested his hands around your waist. A beat of silence passed between the two of you when he said, "Did you bring me soup?"
POE DAMERON TAGLIST: @softly-sad @itsamedeemoney
ANY/EVERYTHING TAGLIST: @mcolbz14
What did you think? I really hope you enjoyed reading my work. Just your liking / re-blogging it means a lot. If you have a moment, I would love to hear your thoughts! Tell me what you think via my ask box or a comment always warms my heart!! Thank you again for reading!
Need more reading material? You can visit my Masterlist for more Poe Dameron content, as well as my other works.
Want to be kept in the loop? Let me know so I can put your handle in my taglist form. Right now, I’m writing for Poe Dameron, Santi, Shara x Kes, and Din Djarin, but I have plans to expand my SW character list, and eventually add in my favorites from the MCU as well.
Thanks again for reading! Sending love! -hai
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Wisdom of Inner Child(ren)
“Be who you needed when you were younger.”
This was a profound lesson I learned as a volunteer in my daughter’s kindergarten classroom. I was a 39-year-old mother and wife who was beginning to understand various family dynamics that I couldn’t piece together as a child.
~
“How’s it going?” I asked, peering over the mop of tousled, dark hair.
Jed pouted as he struggled to eke out a sentence under his illustration of two people—one male and one female—who stood side by side, smiling, drawn in a style typical of kindergarten art.
It was volunteer day in my daughter, Jennifer’s, classroom. Every Tuesday morning for an hour and a half, I rolled up my sleeves and cut out materials for an upcoming art project, stapled weekly homework packets of addition facts, or worked with the children on their printing practice.
Today was a writing “assessment” day. The prompt was, “What fun things do you like to do with your family?” Naturally, as her mother, I started by Jennifer’s desk and watched her write, “I like waching moovs with my family.” I continued around the classroom to help kids sound out words like “/P/-/ar/-/k/” or directly offer more difficult-to-spell words like “bicycles.”
Nearly everyone contentedly worked on their prompts. Some meticulously printed and illustrated, coloring in between the lines. Others scribbled out words onto their lined paper alongside an abstract artwork.
But the face that caught my attention was Jed’s: so angry, so conflicted. I stooped down next to him on the side of his desk. “What do you think you’ll write for your sentence, Jed?” I prodded gently.
With his face cupped in his hands, his eyebrows furrowed, he replied with an adamant, “I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you like to do for fun with your family? Watch movies? Ride bikes?” I offered, drawing from ideas I had observed among his classmates.
Silence. Pouting.
“I like the picture you drew,” I encouraged. “They look like they’re happy here. Who are they and what are they doing?”
Jed let out a heavy, shuddered sigh. “My mom and dad don’t like each other.”
Silence—my turn this time. My heart momentarily sank.
Clearing my throat, I responded, “Well…the people in your picture are smiling. They look like they’re having fun. Who did you draw?”
Jed looked down at his illustration as though he’d forgotten it was there. “That’s me and my sister at the park. Because my mom and dad don’t get along.”
“How about we write a sentence about playing at the park with your sister? She’s part of your family and it looks like you guys have fun playing there together. The sentence can be about just the two of you.”
Jed’s eyebrows started to soften, and he suddenly sat up a little taller, a little straighter in his chair. “Yeah. Okay,” he said. His clumsy little fingers curled around the thick, yellow pencil as he looked at me and asked, “How do I spell ‘sister?’”
~
In that small moment of crisis and emotional heartbreak, I could not process the gravity of not only Jed’s words, but his world, as well as his position in it. It wasn’t until after I had hugged and kissed Jennifer at her morning snack recess—the break that signaled the end of my volunteer time—and then signed myself out at the front office and began walking to my car that I felt the weight of Jed’s statement. And it slowed the gait of my walk.
My mom and dad don’t like each other.
My heart hurt. Both it and my throat constricted—and I remembered.
I remembered feeling the powerlessness a child experiences watching and hearing the two most important people in your life shouting and yelling at each other. How, with each escalation in their tone, or bitterness in their words, it slapped you. You cringed. Your entire being shrunk into itself. “Please stop!” you’d scream from the inside. “Stop fighting!”
Even when the word-slinging stopped, the residual coldness remained in the house, and the words left unsaid lingered and haunted. As a child, it was hard to tell which was worse. Both seemed to break your carefree spirit. Both left you feeling miserably alone and scared.
I had seen Jed’s parents—once at a “Back to School” night and once more during pick-up time after school. His mother struck me as preoccupied and exasperated. Jed’s father, while quiet and resigned, appeared to be the more interactive parent with his children. I had observed them from afar without judgment.
Had I been living the perfect model of a blissful family life and marriage, I easily could have judged the pair of them. Or focused on her: What kind of mom are you, creating a setting in your children’s lives that your five-year-old son can’t write a single, positive sentence about your family?! Get it together, woman!
I sighed. Those critics certainly exist. I wasn’t hypocritical enough to be one.
As heavy as it was to remember the misery of being the child of a less-than-happy marriage, I now also bore the burden of being one-half of said marriage. I couldn’t judge Jed’s mom because I was her. At least, the distracted and aggravated part of her I superficially observed.
I was aware that I was also a parent who was setting up a dysfunctional environment for my family, because I was fighting with my husband—a lot. Whatever baggage and insecurities we were subconsciously harboring from our past, even as far back as our childhood, were being acted out in our marital dynamics.
As a child, I had taken my parents’ altercations and outbursts personally and absorbed the toxic energy as if it were my fault. Now, as an adult in the “hot seat” myself, I knew it had nothing to do with my own faultless, precious children. Mommy and Daddy have their own sh*t to process. Sadly, the kids can’t always be shielded or immune from watching and hearing it.
Life sucks like that. You can’t know then what you know now to help you process your childhood trauma and sadness.
It wouldn’t have been my place—but if I could rewind the day and put myself back in the classroom, I would tell Jed, “Your daddy and mommy not liking each other has nothing to do with you, even though it might feel like it has everything to do with you. Right now, you are the grown-up watching them throw temper tantrums. And all you can do is let them. Be the bigger boy who can go have fun with your sister at the park, with smiles on your faces and resilience in your hearts.” And I would hope to convey to him his wisdom, however green and raw, far exceeded theirs. As it did mine.
Jed’s honest connection that day drew out my inner child’s memories. She, in turn, tugged on the shirt of the mother and wife I had become to remind me:
Be present and aware. Heal what hurts so it doesn’t cycle downward. Remember what you needed to know and feel as a child to have a sense of safety in your world.
Heed the message, “Be who you needed when you were younger.”
#innerchild#healing#parenting#generationalhealing#marriage#maritalchallenges#innerchildwisdom#healingjourney#consciousparenting#presence#connection
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