#so unless anything big comes up with this last chapter and subsequent read through for coherence
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one chapter left to write
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#into the ether#a love that won’t sit still#then of course i have to reread the whole thing and figure out what needs adjusting#good news is first three chapters are pretty much set#so unless anything big comes up with this last chapter and subsequent read through for coherence#i’ll be able to post within the month#i’m so fucking excited#:00000
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Chapter 11
WC: 2077
Rated: E
Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort
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The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.
Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.
Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.
"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.
"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."
You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.
You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."
The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.
You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.
The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.
Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.
Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.
His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"
"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.
"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.
Bubble popped.
Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.
Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."
You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."
Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."
He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"
"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.
"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."
Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.
Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.
Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.
"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.
"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."
He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”
As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.
“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.
Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.
“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.
Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.
But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.
You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.
“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”
“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.
You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”
Tag list
@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams
#the interpretation of dreams#laszlo kreizler x reader#laszlo x reader#laszlo kreizler#the alienist#the alienist angel of darkness#daniel brühl#daniel bruhl#laszlo kreizler fanfic#laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl#scuttle-buttle#tw self harm#tw suicude#tw child abuse
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THE KNIGHT BUS
A/N: Wow, I hardly had any author's notes in the last two, and so far I've had really stinking long one's in every chapter of this. I love it! I'm enjoying commenting back as much as you guys seem to be reading, so here we go Guest: (sucks in deep breath even though I'm typing.)
I'm glad you like the way I do Lily. I always pictured her more fun-loving than a lot of people seem to, she married James Potter for crying out loud, she has to have some sense of humour, but she's also fiercely overreacting in protecting people. Lots of you have noted that she does seem a little too forgiving of Snape in this series, and I promise that will start wearing off real soon in this book. She was big on it in the first book, mostly due to her instinct and flashbacks of how they treated him through their school years. He didn't have much to do in the second book, so there wasn't much time to show that she really was getting sick of how he treats Harry. Mostly when she berates the Marauders, it's more of a trying to rein them in type thing, rather than outright disapproving of them.
They don't know that the person who broke out was from Azkaban. It appeared on the Muggle news, and so their first instinct really was to think it was just a muggle who shared the name.
Sirius doesn't keep track of his family; I think he states in the fifth book that he didn't even find out Regulus died until he got out of Azkaban. I certainly don't see him keeping up with him to know now. If you want other candidates, Bellatrix before she got married (and who doesn't go to prison until after the downfall of Voldemort), maybe his Dad since we know so little about him, etc. but again they were mostly joking and fixing a random name to someone they knew.
I am just as bad at math as JK, so my idiocy for not double checking dates was my fault. I will go back and fix it saying that this takes place during '80 the year Harry was actually born. The part about the Fidelius charm only lasting a week, is something I genuinely forgot but did go back and check and Fudge himself saying that the charm barely lasted a week, thank you for pointing that out, but it doesn't change my timeline of events that they go into hiding just before Harry's first birthday, but I suppose they didn't actually use the Fidelius Charm itself until the week before Halloween, why it wasn't used at once and that subsequent thing won't be touched in this particular story, or any of these books, because I've no idea honestly and the character's wouldn't either. I like Guest's idea though that Dumbledore was researching stuff about the Charm in the meantime while they were lying low.
I know in canon it says that all four past people who are present were full-time members of the Order, but I cannot see Remus or Lily just 'living' off of James and Sirius. So, since I can't decide yet what kind of 'work' any of them are doing for the Order, the only thing we really see them do in the book is guard the Prophecy, they're kind of on hold for the reading, and I might touch as I go on what they do more specifically if I come up with any good ideas. I know Remus specifically 'spies' on the werewolves on Voldemort's side, but I really can't see James and Sirius letting him do this too much, they'd throw a fit. James and Sirius together could kick up enough of a fuss he couldn't do it too often, while an after Azkaban Sirius probably isn't in any kind of good position and couldn't do as much to stop anyone from doing anything.
I'm afraid I'm still refusing to answer any and all actual question like the one Guest asked, that's as the story goes, and in the chapter below coincidentally. HAHA dang this is probably the longest A/N ever, and I'm sorry if it seemed a little rambly. It's probably a bad reflection on my writing that I couldn't just sit down and explain this in story...but oh well.
HPHPHPHP
"Honestly Harry," Lily began, shaking her head from side to side, "I'm afraid to ask, but how come you've never ran away before then?"
Harry just sighed miserably as he answered, "the Dursleys ignored me more than anything else growing up. They never sat around insulting me like she was, that's why I lost my temper. I guess I'd just never been driven that far before."
"Best thing to happen, honestly," James nodded in total agreement, "mind you, I hate what led to that, but if you never go back, that will be the happiest part of this."
"Where's he going to go though?" Remus asked in concern, stating the one thing that really could make this an awful situation very quickly. "Ron and Hermione are out of the country, and even if they weren't, would they really just let him move in like that?"
"I'm positive they'd let him live there," James scoffed, "the Weasleys let him stay most of last summer, right?"
"He could stay in the Leaky Cauldron," Sirius offered, "I ran away from home a few times and stayed there, always went back eventually but it was a good place to cool off for the weekend, especially when James did go out like this."
"But does Harry think to do that?" Remus prompted.
"Well let's find out," Lily shrugged, turning to her chapter.
It took Harry several blocks before a new emotion made him stop, panic.
"Completely understandable," James nodded.
His mind couldn't seem to find a way out of this mess. He was alone in the Muggle world, and he'd just done some of the most obvious of magic, which probably meant he was going to be kicked out of school as well.
Remus cut in, saying, "Harry, you do know now you really shouldn't be expelled for that. It was uncontrolled magic."
"Do they actually know the difference though?" Sirius asked, more puzzled than actually concerned. This crime really wasn't that bad, it certainly wasn't the worst he'd heard of. "Between wandless magic and, ah, wand magic."
"No," Lily frowned, "but once they come upon the situation, and hear Harry's side of it, there shouldn't be punishment. In fact, I'd like to think the Ministry will actually do something to get Harry out of there."
Harry remained quiet, ignoring that pull in his gut that said his Mom's words weren't ringing true. Out loud he responded to Remus' original question, "yeah, now. Back then, not so much."
Harry had just broken the law, and really wasn't sure why the Ministry hadn't yet appeared to take his wand away.
"Actually kind of hoping for that here soon," James sighed, "now that Lily's said it, it seems obvious that the Ministry's going to come and see what happened and then take Harry somewhere else."
Sirius frowned, biting at his lip and trying not to argue. He personally had little to no faith in the Ministry, and he had a really bad feeling they might just try to brush this whole thing over and simply leave Harry there again once they'd fixed this situation. The after effects of which would plague him no matter what really did happen.
Harry shivered in the cold weather as he glanced around himself, mind spinning in all directions. All he could think about now was that he was a criminal, and would be cut off from the magical world. He knew Ron and Hermione would help him out given the chance, but they were both out of the country, and he had no way to get a hold of them.
"You're starting to depress me," Lily sighed, an old now familiar pang back in place as she realized no one was really there for her boy in this moment when he needed them most.
He didn't have any Muggle money either.
"So, no one ever did tell you about the Gringotts exchange then," Remus pointed out something he'd noted back in the first book.
"Nope, no one had told me then, and even if they had I might not have anyway. Didn't want the Dursleys questioning why I suddenly had money on me." Harry reminded, frowning and suddenly wondering why he was getting a mounting feeling of apprehension. Alone on Magnolia Crescent, the night that he had been most desperate to leave the Dursleys...why did this feel so important to him. The longer he sat here, wondering if he was going to have to go on the run...did that remind him of someone.
Lily cut off his train of thought by reading.
Harry did have some wizard money in his vault, but he could never drag his stuff all the way there, unless...
"Oh please tell me you grabbed your broom," James frowned in concern.
"Yes, it was inside my trunk," Harry nodded. Remembering vividly back during the summer of his first year when he had been packing away all of his stuff and worried about how to carry his cauldron, when he realized that the trunk would magically expand to hold quite a bit of stuff, even if it was so heavy he could hardly lift it.
He glanced at his wand, and came to the conclusion that if he was already expelled,
"Please stop saying that," Sirius huffed, "you're starting to depress me now."
"Can't help it," Lily pointed out as she continued with a bit of curiosity now, wondering what cockamamie plan Harry would consider doing before the Ministry got a hold of him.
he could just continue to do more magic to get himself out of this. He'd enchant his trunk to be light enough he could rope it to his broom, throw on his invisibility cloak and fly to London to empty out of his vault, and then what? Go on the run the rest of his life?
"While it's not an awful plan," James snorted, "you're either ignorant or forgetting a very important detail."
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"The trace," Remus pointed out, "that allows the Ministry to find you until you turn seventeen. Plus, and no offense Harry, you really don't know enough magic that you could make it on your own anyways."
Harry nodded in understanding, not exactly up to arguing the point. While his thirteen-year-old self might have argued the matter, he also hadn't known about the trace back then and hadn't realized just how easy it would be for him to be found.
He did not enjoy this future, but he could hardly sit here forever lest a Muggle policeman come by and ask why Harry had luggage full of spell books and a broom.
"That would be a story," Sirius agreed light-heartedly, "though personally we never exactly stuck around long enough for them to ask any questions."
"When did any of you get a run in with Muggle police?" Lily demanded suspiciously.
Sirius went a little shifty eyed and declined answering, while James laughed with far too much unease and said, "don't be silly Lily, he was joking."
Lily snorted, they weren't even trying to hide the fact that they were kidding, but she was too curious about the book to really interrogate them now. She'd wait until later.
Plan decided, he went rummaging through his stuff to find his cloak, when he felt a tingling go up his spine. He stood up straight and glanced around himself, the lone streetlight showing no one else around.
"Well this can't be good," they all muttered at once. Harry already had an impressive track record when it came to getting into bad situations. And now, here he was, alone and feeling off again. One glance at Harry now showed they weren't wrong about being worried either; he had a frown already in place as he remembered exactly how he had been feeling at that time.
He went back to his stuff, only to stop again at once, wand now in hand as he glanced more suspiciously at the dark surroundings. He thought he caught sight of something moving between the gaps of the houses.
Lily already wanted to stop and bite at her lip in worry. Way too many horrible things could be lurking behind her boy. The boys were all thinking of their joking comments about a convict being around, and violently berating themselves as they realized their joking may have come true.
He strained his eyes in the shadows, trying to make out if it was just an animal, or something worse. He lit the tip of his wand with the spell Lumos, which shone so brightly that Harry was momentarily blinded as it shone off of the garage door, but he just had time to make out the shape of something very large, with watchful eyes.
Lily's voice was heading into outright fear now, even if it was just a stray animal she didn't like that it was scaring her son.
Harry though, was frowning in remembrance. Wasn't he supposed to have a good feeling about this? That was his first reaction, but he knew his thirteen-year-old self had acted in fear at this startling sight. He wasn't even for sure what he had seen then...
He took an automatic step back, fell over his luggage, and ended in the gutter with his wand arm thrown out to catch his fall. There was a very loud BANG from just to his right, and Harry barely had time to roll back onto the sidewalk before wheels landed where his head had just been.
The whole time Lily had been reading that, her voice had continued to edge higher in fear. She was almost quaking in terror; the book almost slipped from her grasp. She still wasn't quite back to normal after that horrid dinner scene, and Harry coming so close to death right after that caused her to want to fling her arms around her son and hold him as close as she could.
For a moment Harry was sure he'd been knocked silly as he looked up at a triple deckered bus, which was bright purple,
"Thank Merlin," Sirius breathed, his eyes lighting up at once as he recognized the description, and then he released a bark of laughter and said, "you just called that by accident."
Harry was rubbing at his head and looking marginally embarrassed as they really did give a light chuckle at that, but his mind was still on the thing he'd seen. It was a dog, but massive. Why was this so important to him? It must just be a stray, so why should he care?
Lily was the only one who still looked on edge about the matter, Harry had never said what he'd seen in the dark, but now that the Knight Bus had appeared, surely everything was going to be okay now.
with the label The Knight Bus on the side. Before he had time to process this fully, a young man was stepping off in uniform and announcing himself as Stan Shunpike, a conductor for the bus, then he saw Harry still on the ground and asked why he was down there.
"Nice of him to notice," James said lightly.
Harry got to his feet and said that he'd fallen over, and Stan asked why he did that.
"Just seemed like a fun thing to do obviously," Remus snorted.
Harry snapped back he hadn't done it on purpose.
"Wow, getting a bit snippy there Pup," Sirius laughed.
Harry suddenly jerked; he looked like he was on the verge of something really important. Back when they had told him about their decision to be Animagi, and the subsequent animals, he hadn't thought much on the matter. It did explain the random nicknames, and beyond that he'd never questioned it. Now...
Lily hadn't seemed to notice Harry wasn't paying much attention to them, she was still stuck on the fact it had yet to say what Harry had seen to startle him so badly. So for once she didn't take note of her son in the room now eyeing Sirius curiously, but instead read.
Harry then turned to look behind him, but there was nothing there where the headlights clearly shown. Stan asked what he was watching, and Harry explained that he'd seen a humongous black dog.
Now that finally struck a chord with everyone in the room. Sirius looked like he'd just been clubbed over the head. Harry was still eyeing him like he'd never seen him before, no that wasn't right. He was staring right at him like he was trying desperately to remember something...
"So, err," James began, looking from Harry to Sirius and back warily, "who wants to count the odds of this?" A guy named Black had been heard from on the news, and a giant black dog which happened to be Sirius' animagus form, had been seen around Harry.
They still didn't believe in coincidences, but none of them really knew what to make of this. Because if that was Sirius, then that meant that first of all he was still alive! That alone made their heads spin, because what force on Earth would keep him away from Harry for all of these years. Which brought up the most confusing part, had it really been him on the news? Was it Sirius who had escaped from a prison, meaning Azkaban itself? How would anyone even go about doing that? They had been kidding earlier in even suggesting it was a relative of his, since it was impossible to escape from that place. Was it simply two unrelated instances and they were just trying to over-read it?
Sirius looked likely to pass out, not finding this remotely funny anymore. The possibilities were endless and far too horrible. Lily and James were eyeing each other, unsure what to make of all this. The past few times they jumped to a conclusion, they weren't always right. Remus was beside himself; lost in questions he wasn't sure he wanted an answer to anymore.
Harry wasn't helping anyone, he hadn't spoken a word through all of this, simply sitting there watching Sirius. His mind and gut were at war with each other the longer this continued. He knew him, he had been so sure of that, and simply from the small amount of time he had interacted with him now he was convinced Sirius was as close to him as his own parents. He should be happy at the very thought of Sirius being alive, his gut told him that. So why was something very dark and bad building up inside of his mind even as he sat there? A pounding headache was forming again, not knowing what to think or even what instinct to trust.
Finally after a very long, drawn out silence where no one offered anything, Lily finally convinced herself to just read on. Coincidence or not, she had a very nasty feeling they would find out sooner rather than later.
Stan didn't seem all that impressed, he was still watching Harry and asked what was on Harry's forehead. Harry reacted by brushing his hair in the way and saying nothing while trying to cover his scar.
"Can't blame you for that," James muttered, not even slightly distracted from his best friend's odd mentioning, if it was even that at all.
Harry knew that if the Ministry was after him, he didn't want to help them along.
Sirius finally came out of his torpor to release a surprised snort, shaking himself firmly like a wet dog. He was being paranoid, they all were. So why didn't he believe that? Well Harry eyeing him every other second now wasn't helping the matter. Out loud he said, "credit for trying anyways."
Stan then asked for Harry's name, and he gave the first one that came to mind, Neville Longbottom.
"At least it wasn't Ron's, you don't exactly resemble him," Lily agreed, trying in vain for some normal mood again, though none of the boys looked remotely up to it.
Then Harry changed the subject to asking about the bus, and where it led? Stan promptly explained it would take him anywhere except underwater.
"Where would I even go underwater?" Harry asked loudly, not having meant to pitch his volume like that, but hoping to distract himself from the way his head seemed to be developing its own pulse.
"Err, guess you could go visit mermaids or something," Remus blurted, finally pulling him away from his thoughts.
He told Harry, in a very thick accent, the different prices for the ride, and extras such as hot chocolate, or a little more for a toothbrush.
James finally made a brave stab at humour again, saying, "Lily Flower, please never try and mimic that accent again. You're doing a horrible job."
Lily took a small moment to stick her tongue out at him, but didn't bother defending herself. It's not like she could skip what Stan was saying.
Harry paid his dues and loaded his stuff onto the bus, and instead of seats inside he found beds. Stan set him up right behind the driver's seat, a man named Ernie Prang at the wheel.
"Is he still driving that then?" Sirius asked, dully, and the others were slightly concerned to see that he hadn't really bounced back yet. Sirius was pretty well known for not letting things get to him for too long, so the fact that he was clearly still upset and distracted by all of these horrible implications about him wasn't boding well.
No one answered him, mostly because it was a rhetorical question anyways.
Then Stan took a seat behind the driver, and told Ernie they were good to go. There was an equally loud BANG as the one that had arrived, and Harry was tossed onto his bed with the speed of force.
That finally earned a half-hearted chuckle from them, knowing all too well the sensations of riding that bus for the first time.
Stan was still eyeing Harry curiously, but Harry asked first where they were. Stan said somewhere in Wales, and Harry asked how come the Muggles couldn't hear the bus.
Harry closed his mouth sheepishly, finally distracted from his impending thoughts and was fixing to ask that himself. Lily smiled indulgently at him before reading.
Stan just laughed, saying those Muggles never saw anything proper, while Ernie told him to go and wake a woman whose stop was coming up.
"Well that didn't really explain it," Remus said lightly.
"It's okay," Harry said quickly, "magic makes it hard to see and hear, got it."
Well Harry hadn't stayed distracted long. He was already over his curiosity at this new magical object, and the brief feeling of wanting to object why this was okay but Mr. Weasley's car was illegal, and back to wondering why he felt like this should be the most important night of his life. He still had no answers though, and so he didn't want to delay the reading much.
Harry began watching out the window as Ernie spun crazily through the streets, while cars, mailboxes, and street lights all jumped out of the way only to go right back when they'd passed.
Harry raised his brows in surprise, he did find that pretty amusing, but not enough to interrupt again.
Stan came back down the stairs with an elder woman, and the bus screeched to a stop. While Madam Marsh tottered out, slightly green from the trip, Stan tossed her luggage out after her,
"Well he's a polite one," Lily snorted.
and then they were off again. Harry spent the next while sitting on his bed, but knowing he could never sleep. He was too busy thinking about if Marge had stopped floating around the Dursleys house yet.
That gained a weak laugh from the group, happy to have something to distract them and that delightful mental image worked fine.
Then he caught sight of Stan holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, and the large image on the front was of the same man Harry had seen on the Muggle news.
"Wow, wait!" Remus said in surprise. "So the person who did escape, was a wizard?"
"But, how is that even possible?" James demanded. "No one should be able to escape from Azkaban, no one!"
Sirius looked almost mildly amused as he said, "well, props to them for being the first one to do it."
"Knock it off Sirius," Lily snapped, getting a little huffy at once at such a prospect, "it's not funny, this could be a problem."
"Quit fretting Lily," Sirius scoffed right back, "so it's weird, kind of freaky, and I'm going to insist still cool, but it's probably nothing to do with Harry."
Lily wasn't the only one who disagreed with that, Remus also had a bad feeling that trouble seemed to go out of its way to find Harry, and an escaped prisoner who shared a name with Sirius seemed almost likely by this point. Remus had met Sirius' family only once, and it had been far from a pleasant experience, one he would never wish on Harry.
James dearly wanted to side with Sirius, but he still didn't like the uneasy way his son was acting now, it didn't bode well.
Stan looked back at the front page,
Lily froze dead in her tracks as she looked down at the name, the first name, of this convict. Harry didn't even need to ask this time, one furtive look from his mom to his godfather and he knew his answer. James wasn't having it though, he tore the book away and glared down at that name like it was the worst trick in the world.
"Someone's dead," he snarled, his hands beginning to shake so hard the book was in danger of being broken all over again. "Whoever the hell framed you for whatever the bloody hell you ended up in there for, they are beyond dead!" He got to his feet and began pacing the length of the couch, continuing his violent mutterings about how his best friend had been set up for something.
Sirius said nothing, he looked almost mummified, and for a horrible moment Remus thought he'd stopped breathing. "Ah, Padfoot," Remus said gently, since James was still yelling at the top of his lungs and Lily and Harry were watching him wearily. Sirius was still losing colour, and were his lips tinged blue? Remus poked him, hard, in the ribs which only elicited the smallest of reactions that he sucked in air through his nose finally. He still wasn't reacting though, just gazing straight forward with a look of utmost horror on his face.
His friends had seen him in quite a few ways, so excited he couldn't hold still, so angry he couldn't spit out the words, and one single moment before this where he had been terrified. Then though, Sirius had done the opposite and had sat around talking almost nonstop in an effort to show how 'not afraid' he'd been. This shell-shocked display was something none of them had seen before, and it was beginning to scare them all.
"Sirius," James said loudly, finally having noticed he was the only one shouting. He waltzed over and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.
The man jumped like he'd just been electrocuted; suddenly his eyes went flying around the room like he had no idea where he was. Blinking so fast there was no way he could really be clearing his vision, he stammered "s-sorry. Zoned out there, what was that?"
"You kind of went mental there for a moment," Remus told him kindly, trying to put some warmth into his voice that Sirius didn't even register.
"Di-did I?" he muttered, and then he shook himself like a wet dog with a rabid cat on its back. When he was done doing that, he looked around again with far more sense, and his eyes landed on Harry. Sirius swallowed hard, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. What exactly he was trying to say, apologize for being absent, ask him if he knew what had happened, or anything else for that matter just wasn't getting past his lips.
Harry took pity on him and addressed both of those questions, "I'm not mad at you Sirius. I've only known you for a few days and I know you'd never do anything to get sent there." Harry very carefully avoided using the word of said prison; Sirius still looked likely to faint at any moment. "I still don't know what happened either, I just knew I remembered you. I'm not afraid of you though, and don't you think I'd be afraid of someone who I knew was a mass murderer?"
"Murderer?" Remus repeated eagerly, as Harry immediately dissolved into grimacing and rubbing at his temple as words slipped out that he had no knowledge of. Just this small little dig and he was already back to that horrid pain that sent white hot flashes through him.
Remus retracted at once, very much wanting to find out exactly what Sirius had been accused of, but unwilling to persist Harry in the matter. It was ridiculous after all, Sirius was a hot headed idiot on a good day, but he would never do something like murder. Or, well, maybe he would...
Harry cut in with another question instead, "but how did you know where I was? I didn't really think you'd ever been to the Dursleys?"
Sirius didn't really answer, he still looked like he was in a daze, and Lily answered, "the Order knows where Petunia lives, her address anyways. I've it listed under people who should be contacted if I die, which I need to fix," she added to herself with a mutter, ignoring the flinch that caused James for the suddenly very real threat. "It's how Dumbledore and McGonagall even knew where Petunia was living back in the first book. It was dangerous though," she finished with a sharp look at Sirius, "for him to still go there. Any fool who knew you would know you'd go and seek out Harry."
Still this gained no reaction from Sirius.
James was still grumbling mutinously as Lily finally convinced him to take his seat, the parents still eyeing Harry with some concern. Experience had already told them if he continued in this way, his body would rebel and he would end up crumpling to the ground in pain, so Lily was now very eager to keep going and read. James only shut himself up for now so that he could see what exactly was going on here.
where the name Sirius Black plastered across the headline.
Sirius convulsed slightly, hearing his name like that. He had been, well not content per say, but had accepted that he must have died shortly after James to have been absent so long. Now that he found out where he had been, he pondered whether he'd just as soon be dead. Then he grit his teeth and began mentally pummeling himself for that thought. He was alive, which meant that he really could get out and find Harry. It all came together very clearly in his mind now. Whatever he had been accused of doing didn't matter, how he had even gotten out didn't matter. That black dog Harry had seen, it must have been him! Which meant he would finally be able to do what he'd always swore he would, look after his godson. The why's and how's didn't even matter, so long as he could just do one simple thing and keep an eye out for him.
Stan laughed, saying he'd been all over the news, yes even the Muggle's and Harry should keep up more. He handed Harry that section of the paper, and Harry began to read,
Lily released a very shaky breath, mixed feelings twisting inside of her as she realized she very well might just find out what had happened, and almost not wanting to find out. Whatever it was, this wasn't going to be pretty, but she pressed on anyway.
about this man who had been held in Azkaban was still on the loose. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was trying to stop the public from panicking, and denied any knowledge of how the escape had even happened. Everyone had been warned to keep an eye out for this deranged man, who'd been locked away twelve years ago for killing thirteen people with one spell.
Some kind of life finally reappeared on Sirius again, but it wasn't the kind anyone wanted to see. He laughed, and it wasn't his usual jovial cheer, this already had an edge of madness tinging it as he leaned as far away from everyone as he possibly could.
Remus punched him on the shoulder, hard.
"Ouch," Sirius whined, and Remus sighed in relief to finally have gotten a normal response out of him. "What was that for?"
"Shut it," Remus snapped, "and quit acting like an idiot or I'll do it again."
"How does someone so scrawny hit so hard," Sirius muttered, slumping back down, and wondering if he could get away with listening to this on another continent.
Remus hadn't really meant to hit him that hard; he had actually been projecting his own annoyance at himself in that throw. How could he have thought something like that of his friend, even for a second? Yes, Sirius had made quite a few threats against members of his family, even Snape from time to time, but he'd never meant them! That accident when they were kids was just that, an accident. He'd forgiven Sirius for that a long time ago, so to even consider him to do something like that now felt like a betrayal.
"This is foul," James snarled, looking far more likely to rip someone's head off than Sirius himself in that moment, "how could anyone think you'd done this!"
They were all stumped. They of course knew Sirius quite well, but to the general populace he was simply a name attached to one of the pure-blood households. It really wasn't much of a stretch at all to think a Black would pull this off.
Lily wanted very much to sit around questioning how all of this had gone in trial, what kind of evidence had been used against Sirius in the matter, but since no one here actually knew the answer she didn't even touch on the question. She gave all of the boys a pitying look, but with James' almost comforting words still in mind she read out the full charge.
Harry looked at the picture again, of the man with such sunken features it was a wonder he was even breathing.
Sirius then balked and shuttered all over again, remembering Harry saying how non-human he had looked. He'd heard stories about how that place sucked the life out of you, but it was more unpleasant to picture yourself like that.
Harry had only ever seen pictures of Vampires before, but he would have put money this man looked just like one.
Remus jerked away from Sirius in surprise as he made a pitiful noise deep in his throat, and then bent towards him in concern all over again. "Sirius, I think you stopped breathing again."
"Sorry," he muttered, "just trying to picture it, and it's not much fun."
James was bouncing in place in his seat, still with that manic energy that he needed to go curse someone into oblivion for this slandering, and also dearly wanting to go sit next to Sirius now and hug the life back into him. They could hardly blame him for reacting like this, but it was still creeping them out how he had yet to regain any of his normal coloring and actually seemed to be getting paler the longer this went on.
Harry handed back the paper, Stan not even fully looking at the picture as he commented on what a creepy looking man he was. Harry was stunned as he asked that Black had really killed thirteen people at once, and Stan was nodding along, adding details that he'd been caught doing it in broad daylight, with witnesses all around.
"Bollocks," James hissed, "a big, rotten pile of steaming-"
"James," Lily sighed, "we're all mad at this, but I want to hear it anyways."
James' upper lip curled in a sneer, he didn't look like he was going to back down one bit, until Sirius finally gave an intelligible sentence again and said, "let it go James. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you find this so ridiculous, but I want to hear this too."
"Might help us figure out who really did do it," Remus added on quickly.
James huffed and crossed his arms, while Harry simply sat there nodding along with his Mom. He knew the answer to this. He had never been so sure of anything since he'd woken up here, and he dearly wanted to find out now because it felt majorly important to him. Like something bad had happened, simply because he hadn't known this information...
Ernie added on that Black had been a well-known backer of You-Know Who,
Lily couldn't read that sentence without snorting in disbelief, while the other four boys made choking noises of disgust at such a ridiculous accusation. "Where is he even getting that from? He didn't know you," Lily demanded of the book.
Sirius gave her a wan smile, pleased she seemed to find this as outrageous as anyone else. Sometimes he wondered how much she really did like him, considering how often she threatened, yelled and berated him. And now her snarky little joke from before actually seemed to have come true. Watching her now though, he no longer had a doubt in his mind.
Harry corrected Voldemort without thinking about it.
"Well this should be fun," Remus noted absently, noticing Harry still didn't seem to realize he shouldn't be spouting that name without thinking about it.
Ernie jerked the wheel of the bus so hard in shock, a whole building had to jump to the side.
"Still love that you do that so casually," Sirius said a little too loudly, obviously trying to force a devil may care attitude. The others didn't buy it, but it was a nice attempt.
Stan looked likely to faint from shock, demanding to know why Harry would say that name! Harry apologized, saying he'd forgotten people didn't like that.
"You forgot?" James laughed lightly, not anywhere near over his shock and anger that his best friend had survived, but enjoying Harry's unintentional humour all the same.
Stan wasn't buying it, still rubbing at his chest from shock, and Harry tried to change the subject by repeating that Black had been a supporter of You-Know-Who.
Sirius went so bug-eyed all of a sudden, Remus had to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing hold of him to make sure he really didn't fall over this time as Sirius nearly shouted, "oh bloody hell!"
"What?" James yelped in concern, Sirius was more than scaring him now with these awful freak out moments he kept having.
"This!" he snarled, and it finally looked like he was edging back to his normal self, except now he was truly pissed at something as he continued to nearly shout. "This is the first thing Harry hears about me! He's grown up not even knowing my name, and the first thing he ever hears about me is that I, I'm a-"
"Oh Sirius-" Lily muttered, while Remus really did look like he was fixing to hug him. Sirius was in no mood, he had built up enough steam that he was going to keep going until someone forcibly muted him.
"Don't any of you apologize! I've dealt with a lot of crap so far, but this!" He continued in this way for so long, he actually started to go hoarse, but none of them stopped him. They felt he more than deserved it.
When he finally did subside, now absentmindedly rubbing at his throat and looking far calmer and more himself, Harry was quick to cut in, "if it helps at all, I know you now."
Sirius grunted, though maybe he didn't verbally reply because his vocal cords were still coming back, but, after a quick look from James, Lily decided to keep reading now before Sirius got his voice back.
Stan agreed, telling Harry about how some of You-Know-Who's other followers had been caught right after his downfall, and had come in without much of a fight, but not Black. Others said he was his second in command, and was even going to take over for You-Know-Who.
"The fact that anyone believes that is sad," Remus sighed. "I've heard of some pretty nasty Death Eaters, and even they don't have the gall to go around saying that, they'd be killed by Voldemort himself."
"Most likely this is all rumours that happened after Sirius was framed," Lily pointed out, "details were exaggerated; the worst of it always comes after the act itself."
"Glad you two think this is so interesting," James huffed, since Sirius' indignant look clearly said he was thinking that, but he was still rubbing his throat and couldn't say it.
Remus looked slightly offended for a moment that James thought he meant it, but then he backed down when he realized it was more of a really dark joke.
Lily didn't deign them with a comment at all; she just kept going and hoped for more actual evidence than slander.
Then he told how Black had been found in a Muggle neighborhood, and that he blew up the street rather than go in, killing twelve Muggles and one wizard.
"Ah, how would someone go about making that look like me?" Sirius said in mild concern, finally getting his voice back and seeming to lose it all at once.
"There are several ways," Lily frowned, "but my main issue is then what happened to you?"
Remus snapped his fingers and said, "what if the person who did this simply made themselves look like Sirius, then the Ministry came and got him after the fact."
"Wouldn't be the first time someone blamed him for something he didn't do, because of his name." James agreed, hardly looking pleased that they might have figured this out, since he still wanted to murder the fool who had thought they could frame his best friend and get away with it.
Harry was pondering how he felt about this. For some reason, it didn't feel right. There were huge chunks missing, and the set up his family had offered wasn't quite right, but as always he just wasn't sure how to best put those pieces together.
Then he told of what Black did after the fact, he sat there and laughed. Just sitting in the streets laughing when the Ministry showed up and properly arrested him, probably because he was mad.
"Mad in the emotional sense," Sirius sniffed. "I like to think I'm a little saner than just standing around after something like that ouch-" he cried again, giving Remus the stank eye. "Why do you keep hitting me? You're supposed to be the nice one."
"You don't get to joke about this," Remus told him with one of the sternest looks anyone had ever seen. "Not this Sirius."
Sirius opened his mouth, a nasty little retort already in place, when he shut his mouth just as quickly and nodded his ascent. The joke had slipped out before he thought about it, same as most of his jokes really. Now though, looking at his friends, he recognized it was only going to make this worse.
Then to everyone's surprise, Lily spoke up, "don't be too hard on him, Remus. You know he plays off things to show how aloof he thinks he is. If making stupid jokes helps him to cope, don't beat him for it."
"My jokes aren't stupid," Sirius snapped at once, then he went bright-eyed and cooed, "aw, Lily, that's the first time you've ever defended me."
"Don't get used to it," she smirked at him.
James and Remus didn't really look happy, feeling they'd rather strangle someone who made light of this situation regarding their friend, but so long as Sirius was the one doing it they couldn't really say too much.
He'd spent the rest of his life in Azkaban, though Ernie reflected that if he wasn't mad before he went in there he most certainly was now, of course he did deserve it.
"Someone certainly deserves that place," James agreed, "but it's too good for what I owe them."
There was a big cover up from the magical community, telling how the big explosion had been some sort of gas leak, but now Black was out again, and he was the first to ever have done it, and nobody knew how.
"That is still a very good question," Sirius nodded to himself, cocking his head to the side and actually considering the matter. "Or why I didn't do it earlier, like as soon as I got there. Why now?"
"I got nothing," Remus shrugged.
"Can we not think about this," James moaned, "I really don't want to think about this anymore than I have to."
Harry frowned, he had honestly wanted to hear if his family had any theories on the matter, but his Dad now looked as ghastly as Sirius had before. His anger seemed to be subsiding, and James was starting to push past his outrage at Sirius being there, to Sirius being there. Alone in that dark, creepy place where no one would normally survive more than a few years, and Sirius had been there for twelve!
The others recognized this as well, and Lily was quick to move on.
The two elders were still talking about how terrifying that prison was, and Harry couldn't help but reflect how this conversation would go in a few weeks when word got around that Harry Potter had broken wizarding law. Would he end up in Azkaban to? Were Ernie and Stan going to be sitting around laughing then about how he'd blown up his aunt and made a run for it?
That released a startled laugh from Remus. They had just found out something major, life altering even. Nothing this bad or emotionally horrifying had come up since the first chapter of the first book, and here Harry was. Thirteen and caring nothing for his would be Uncle's state, but simply still worried about something as petty as accidental magic. It wasn't really funny, but it made him laugh anyways.
Sirius was dearly tempted to punch him then, more for payback than actually wanting him to stop, but he was already trailing off and Lily was still eager to keep going.
Harry had broken the law, just like Black.
Sirius made to open his mouth again, but this time it was Lily who cut him off and said, "don't. I do not want to hear some stupid joke about that one."
Sirius huffed, she had just defended him and now was the one stopping him from saying 'he takes after me' but on retrospect, that really was a little too dark of humor even for him.
Was inflating Marge bad enough to land him in Azkaban?
"Not even close," James shuddered in disgust, wanting to vomit all over again at Harry going anywhere near that place.
He'd never been there himself, but he'd heard nothing but terrible rumours about the place, even Hagrid, the strongest man Harry knew, had all but begged not to be sent there.
While it did keep things in perspective for Harry, Lily dearly hoped this was the last time that horrid prison would be mentioned, because now every time it was all three of her boys winced at the very thought of the place.
The trip wore on, and the scenery outside continued to change around as passengers got off. At one point Stan went to go get Harry his hot chocolate, but managed to spill it all over him at the next take off.
"What, it didn't have a lid?" Sirius asked absently.
"Not the best time to drink that anyway," James shrugged. Their light commentary still seemed to be lacking, and they were now beginning to wonder how long it would take before they could actually sit around and absorb this new information.
When Harry was the last one aboard, the Knight Bus set off for the Leaky Cauldron, daybreak beginning on the horizon.
"Wow, you were on that thing all night," Lily said in surprise.
"You said the ministry would be tracking me," Harry frowned, "how come they wouldn't have caught up by then?"
"You would have been moving around too fast," Lily shrugged when it looked like none of the boys were, "so by the time you were pinpointed, the bus would have been off again. I'm sure they'll catch up to you before you leave Diagon Alley though."
Harry frowned, not looking remotely comforted by that. The horrid news of Sirius had distracted him now, but his thirteen-year-old self was still firmly upset by the matter with Marge, and even more so if he was going to be forced back to the Dursleys for the rest of the summer. He might have been the only one thinking about this though; the others were clearly still out of it.
Harry's plan was still in place, now deciding what he would do after he got his money.
"Could go see the country," Remus joked, "might be fun for a while anyways."
Lily just ignored him, knowing full well Harry wouldn't be able to get that far.
The bus came to a stop, and Harry was getting help from Stan unloading his stuff when a voice behind called out a greeting to Harry.
"Who do you think that is?" James asked, finally an actual distraction from the fate of his best friend.
"He knew Harry by name," Lily puzzled, noting just the first name and not his full name like some awestruck person might have, "you think they sent someone who knew Harry personally?"
"Well you tell us," Remus pointed out.
Harry nearly dropped his stuff in shock as he saw the Minister of Magic.
"Say what!" The ones without the book yelped.
"Surely the Minister himself wouldn't have come after you?" James said in surprise.
"Well why not?" Remus acknowledged once the shock had worn off. "He is the famous Harry Potter after all. He might have gotten some special attention for his bit of acting out."
"I keep wanting to forget that honestly," Lily sighed, "but I guess it does make sense."
He came forward and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, while Stan was caught off guard, saying how he'd thought this was Neville. Fudge looked at him curiously as he corrected that this was Harry Potter, and Stan shouted that he'd known that all along.
"Sure he did," James scoffed, now frowning as he realized Sirius seemed to have gone quiet again. He was still obviously paying attention, but normally that would have been his line.
Fudge turned back to Harry then, inviting him inside and then asking the bartender, Tom, for a pot of tea in one of the rooms, hand still firmly holding onto Harry's shoulder.
"That's starting to annoy me," Lily frowned, "where does he get the right to hold onto you like that. He doesn't think you're going to make a run from him does he?"
Harry just shrugged; he had no idea about the Minister's motives.
Stan and Ernie were coming in from behind, carrying Harry's stuff, and Stan asked why Harry had lied, still calling him Neville.
"Is he going to keep calling you that?" Remus asked, slightly amused.
"I'm okay with this," Harry smiled weakly, "it's better than being treated like famous Harry Potter."
The Minister dismissed the pair, and Harry was led away into a private office where he was seated, and then Fudge introduced himself and his title.
"Glad you already knew that, or this would have been even more awkward," James nodded.
Harry had already known this, having once seen him in person, but as he'd been hiding under his cloak at the time, he didn't think Fudge needed to know that.
"It might have been a spot funny if you had though," Remus pointed out.
"Still glad he didn't," Lily frowned at him, "it's too odd to explain."
"Could have seen him in the papers or something couldn't he," James shrugged, still keeping an eye on Sirius who was still being far too quiet for his liking.
Then Fudge turned to telling Harry that he'd been quite worried when Harry had run away from his family's house, something terrible could have happened, he had been starting to think...but then changed the subject.
"Started to think what?" Harry asked with interest.
"I've no idea," Lily frowned, "perhaps that you were going to head out somewhere else and it would be harder for them to find you."
No one offered anything else, but they did wonder if Harry's name really was the only reason Fudge was there. What else could it be though?
Telling that they had deflated Marjorie Dursley,
"Still one of the best sentences I've heard all day," Remus muttered to Sirius, and then frowned when he only gave a weak grin back.
and that her memory had been changed so that she didn't remember a thing,
"Almost a pity," Lily sighed, "might teach her not to go spouting such crap to a child."
"I love you," James grinned at his wife, adoring that she had only beaten him by a second on saying that.
concluding that no harm had been done. He then looked over Harry with a warm smile, like an uncle watching his favourite nephew.
Which caused Remus to sniff in disdain. He, much like Lily and James, seemed to find it personally offensive when anyone compared themselves to Harry's family, only a few exceptions came to mind. It bothered him all the more when Sirius didn't even flinch at the sentence.
When Harry said nothing, Fudge did say that Harry was probably worried about the Dursleys reactions, and while they had been angry, they were willing to let Harry come back next summer,
"No," James moaned, putting his face in his hands now.
"My sentiments exactly," Harry sighed, unable to think of anything else to say to that.
"Here I thought you'd finally gotten away from those..." Lily trailed off into a few foul mutterings before clearing her throat and reading.
but Harry protested he never wanted to go back there again! Fudge was shocked, saying that he was sure Harry still loved them, erm, deep down.
"Like the pits of hell deep," Remus huffed, "where fondness equates to hatred."
"Poetic," Lily noted.
"And true," Harry agreed.
Harry in no way agreed, but didn't argue the point. Fudge then spoke about what Harry would do in the meantime, and suggested he just stay here at the Leaky Cauldron for the remainder of his vacation. Harry interrupted by pointing out, what about his punishment?
James made a funny choking noise like someone had just elbowed him in the throat. "Did you really just ask that? Harry, why on earth would you?"
"It didn't make sense," Harry shrugged, still finding this odd now as he explained, "every other time I'd done magic, I'd at least gotten a warning. Now, here I had done something really serious, and nothing."
Harry had used that word on purpose, he had been trying to elicit a reaction from Sirius like everyone else, but the man still seemed so out of it he wasn't going to bite. James and Remus exchanged very worried looks, wondering what had made him bounce back so hard when he'd been trying for a moment to come out of it, while Lily offered an explanation. "Perhaps because they went there themselves and saw what happened? No one could possibly blame you for your actions, the way they were treating you."
Harry didn't really agree, but he wasn't going to argue the point either.
Fudge gave an uneasy laugh, saying why would he do anything like that? Harry insisted that he'd been told off last summer for a house-elf doing magic in his house, and the Ministry had warned him he'd be in real trouble if it happened again.
"Are you trying to get yourself kicked out," Lily demanded of her son.
"I just wanted an explanation," Harry reminded.
"Well, they didn't know a house-elf had done that last summer," Lily reminded him, "and they say expelled as a severe warning. You still haven't done anything bad enough for that to be a real threat."
Harry nodded in acceptance.
Fudge brushed him off though, trying to say that things were a little different now, given the fact that, well- then he blurted that Harry shouldn't want to be expelled?
While most of them simply put this down to Fudge being really bad at explaining the system to Harry, none of them noticed Sirius finally reacting again, by his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Harry agreed he didn't, then Fudge declared there was no more need to talk about it. He got up and left, but Harry still couldn't believe this. Then he reflected it was odd enough that the Minister of Magic himself had even shown up here.
"I think you're reading too much into it," Lily told him lightly, "it's really not that unusual for someone to have come after you. Maybe not the Minister himself, but still."
Harry still wanted to disagree with her on that, there was something he wasn't quite remembering that would prompt said Minister's motives, but he had no clue as to what.
It really didn't add up that the Minister would come after wayward school children to deal with this. Fudge came back then, saying that Tom had a room for Harry, but then Fudge requested that while he stayed there, he shouldn't go into the Muggle world.
"Who's he to tell you that?" James scoffed, finally dragging his eyes away from Sirius to look at the book in annoyance. "It's none of his business where you go."
"I don't really blame him for this," Lily shrugged, "he is underage by all accounts, so it's not that weird for wanting to keep him in a smaller, magical community."
Harry agreed, but did ask why.
"Glad at least Harry questions it," James huffed, still rather annoyed by that.
Fudge just said that he didn't want Harry to get lost again, it was better for now, then he trailed off again.
Sirius narrowed his eyes further, taking note of that as much as Remus and James noticed him doing it. Was this really what was bothering Sirius so much, the Minister appearing? Sirius hated the Ministry, which had only increased, they were sure, because of what they had just found out, but this seemed a little odd for him to have such a dislike of someone who really hadn't done anything wrong yet.
Sirius declined telling them what was really on his mind. Which was that, like Harry, he was wondering if there wasn't something more going on right there, something to do with a supposed supporter of Voldemort suddenly breaking out.
Harry then randomly asked if there was any news on Black, and Fudge flinched in surprise.
Far from looking pleased, Sirius slumped back in his seat and grumbled something under his breath Remus didn't catch. He noted the act though, and he and James shared another look, hardly wanting to wait until the chapter was over anymore to get him to talk.
Fudge tried for a laugh that didn't work, saying that they had nothing yet and the Azkaban guards were quite angry about it all,
"Can Dementors be angry?" Lily asked, never having considered this. "I've never known them to hold an emotion really."
"They can certainly express themselves if they wish, just not the way you're thinking," Remus offered, realizing in that stretch of quiet he was expected to answer. He didn't look up to elaborating, which was odd enough for him, so Harry didn't ask what a Dementor was.
Fudge made to leave then, but Harry jumped in with one last question, reminding that as a third year he could go to Hogsmeade,
James smirked then, happy his son still had a way of distracting him from something like his best friend acting weirder as time went on. "You would ask something like this after the night you've had."
"I had to put up with all of that crap, and I still didn't get it signed," Harry shrugged, "it was worth a shot."
but no one had signed it for him. Fudge tried to stall by saying he wasn't Harry's parent or guardian of any sort.
"He's got a point," Lily frowned, hating the way this was turning out for him. "I hate to admit it, but it really doesn't look like you're not going to get to this year. You'll have to try something else with those Muggles next summer." The taste those words left in her mouth made her wish she could bite her tongue off so she'd never have to hear that again.
Harry tried to protest, pointing out his position, and that if he gave him permission,
"Too bad it doesn't work like that," James agreed absently.
but Fudge declined, saying this may be all for the best for now. Then he did leave.
Since they were watching for it this time, James and Remus noticed Sirius give an imperceptible nod at yet another action from the Minister. Remus, growing sick of trying to guess what Sirius normally would have said himself anyways, asked, "how much is there left Lily?"
She checked and told him, making them all feel a bit relieved, more than ready to take a break after this monster of emotional baggage had been dumped on them.
Harry was lead to his room, to find Hedwig inside.
"How did she know to go there?" Lily asked in surprise. "I thought she went to Ron in Egypt?"
"I've no idea," Harry beamed, more than pleased anyways.
Harry was as surprised as anyone while Tom explained that she'd just arrived a few moments after Harry, then he left. Harry sank onto his bed, staring around this room and the perspective freedom, without any Dursleys, for the next two weeks.
"No," Remus corrected himself from earlier, "that's the best sentence I've heard yet."
They all nodded in agreement with that.
He was tired though, so he slumped down onto the bed and fell asleep without even taking his glasses off.
"That's the end of the chapter," Lily declared, closing the book with a sharp snap of disgust.
Harry, who had noticed Sirius acting odd just as much as his Dad, decided he'd like to try and get a happier subject going.
"Err, so, about that police thing?" Harry asked hesitantly, since Sirius still looked a little vacant and Remus looked like he might not speak again for some time. James was shifting his weight around in so much unease he was practically bouncing in place, but decided to answer anyway. Yes Lily might get mad, but it was better than sitting around thinking about...
"Sirius and I were out doing some business for the Order when we realized we were being followed. We were on his bike, and so we hit the concrete since we were a lot bulkier in the air on it, and not ten seconds later we got the Muggles chasing after us, lights flashing. Still we gave them a chase around, hoping to lose both pursuers, when Sirius shouted back that he was going to pull over and for me to get ready. Of course I had no idea what that meant, but since he was steering I couldn't argue when he lead us into a dead end."
He glanced back over at his best friend, and while it was clear Sirius was listening, he still didn't look up to interrupting and stating his side of the story. More than concern was beginning to tighten up in James, that expression was really starting to scare him, but he finished off the story anyways. "So we were kind of cornered and being chased by two parties. The three Death Eaters who were chasing us above kept circling lower and lower, so we chatted up the cops until the Death Eaters finally lined themselves up and tried charging at us. We used the cop's cruiser as a wall, they crashed into it, and we bolted out of there before anyone recovered. Got the Ministry out there later to deal with the Memory charms and such. We didn't even get in trouble for the whole thing." He ended, sounding quite pleased with himself.*
He then turned to Lily, expecting a barrage of questions. It was clear from her expression she was annoyed she'd never heard of that before, and was going to demand to know exactly how old they had been, what they had been doing for the Order, etc. but she didn't. She remained just as quiet as everyone else. The silence dragged on into near uncomfortable levels until James finally took the book from Lily, checked his chapter, and then closed it and put it down, wondering what he could say.
HPHPHPHP
Finally! The Big Reveal! Hope I did it justice guys.
*I recognize in reading that fun little thing you can find at ( headsup. freeshell drumsticks/) that it states the boys are in their late teens, maybe just seventeen, but that means Sirius got his bike well before I said, so I went back and changed that. Hope you enjoyed the short, and started crying when you realized there's really not going to be a prequel.
More A/N, I know you guys are all sick of my words by now, but this is also something I need to address, a few people have pointed out that Snape heard the Prophecy and started this whole mess and Dumbledore immediately went to the Potter's and put them into hiding, but to that I say you really think his first thought was the Potter's? Dumbledore was running a war, and when this came to him, I like to think he had to actually look around even outside the Order to establish that only two current families fell under this threat, the Potters and the Longbottom's. Even after this, no due date is literally exact so he probably still would have waited until he was sure these two families were the ones. Even then, I still insist they wouldn't have immediately gone into hiding. If the Potter's had gone into hiding while they were still pregnant, then how on Earth did the rest of the world know Harry (and Neville) even existed if they were in hiding literally so much of the first year of their life. I don't think I'm making any sense...and I hope you all enjoyed the chapter you've been dying for so I'll stop talking/typing now.
#The LIfe that Never LIved#Harry Potter#fanfiction#James Potter#Lily Potter#Sirius Black#Remus Lupin#reading the books
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against the dying of the light, chapter one
@geraltwhumpweek
Title: against the dying of the light
Ships: Geralt/Jaskier (though not in this chapter)
Prompt Day: Day 5, Loneliness
Medium: Netflix
Warnings: Torture, Geralt is blinded very suddenly and violently. There is a lot of subsequent panic and internalized ableism about said blindness, and he's going to be very negative about it for quite a while (this chapter especially). This chapter in particular has a lot of panicked, disjointed writing/thinking so please proceed with caution.
Word Count: 2,830
Summary: When Geralt is captured by Nilfgaard and tortured for the whereabouts of his daughter, he tries to escape. Of course he does. It's in his nature. Nilfgaard comes up with a clever solution to stop him from running again. A caustic potion poured over his eyes. Time goes a bit funny after that.
Author’s Note: Chapter one of this was written for Geralt Whump Week, but this is set in the Juniper Verse. In case you haven't read that and don't feel like investing time in a long multichapter, all you need to know for this fic is that Geralt was kidnapped by Nilfgaard to protect Ciri, and that Jaskier is actually a witcher named Juniper. Chapters two and three (detailing Geralt's recovery and his and Juniper's budding relationship) will go up at some point soon-ish, but it's not really a priority for me right now, fic-wise, so don't be surprised if it takes a while.
Geralt tries to escape. Of course he does. He wasn’t made to sit quietly in a cage and let them hurt him. So as soon as he has the slightest sliver of an opportunity, he picks the locks on his chains, kills his guard with his bare hands, and sprints for the exit.
He should have waited, he thinks, when he throws open the door to the sounds of shouting and stampeding footsteps. He should have waited, he thinks, when Fringilla waves her hand and his legs lose all their strength. He should have waited, he thinks, when they drag him back to his cell and throw him on the bloodstained table. They don’t even bother to chain him down—Fringilla’s magic has left him completely motionless. Completely helpless.
He should have fucking waited.
Fringilla stalks into the room, spitting fury as her subordinates. Her magic presses down around him, heavy and oppressive. If she gets any angrier, he fears she’ll crack a rib. She stands over Geralt, grabbing his chin in her hand. Her magic is the only thing that stops him from flinching back, and shame curls in his gut, shame that he’s been reduced to beaten-animal reflex in so short a time.
“I have half a mind to keep you like this,” she snarls. “Paralyzed. On this table. Capable of nothing but hurting.”
One of her lackeys steps forward and hands her a clear jug filled with bright red liquid. Geralt expects her to force it down his throat. Expects it to be like the green potion that he’d been made to drink so many times, setting his nerves on fire without leaving a single mark on his body. Pain without the need for a healer. Convenient for his captors.
“But that would take a toll on me,” she continues, swirling the liquid around the glass. “And Nilfgaard needs me at my strongest. So this is my solution to stop you from running again, witcher. Do let me know what you think.”
She tilts her wrist and pours the red potion directly into Geralt’s eyes.
It burns.
He wants to scream, wants to thrash, wants to claw at his face and get it off,but he just lies limply on the table and stares up at the ceiling, at the face of his tormentor. And the room is cold, and gray, and dark, and getting darker.
The world is burning away from the edges of his vision and no, no, nothis can’t be happening to him, this can’t—
This can’t be the last thing he sees.
But it is.
Blackness overtakes everything and he hopes, stupidly, childishly, that he’s just fallen unconscious, except his eyes are stillon fire, shit, fuck, this isn’t real, he has to be dreaming. He hears Fringilla bark an order, feels rough hands grab at his limbs and lift. He’s dumped unceremoniously back on the ground and cold metal clicks shut around his wrists, ankles, neck.
He has motion again. A scream explodes out of his throat, animalistic, wounded, grieving a loss that he never thought he’d have to endure. He curls over himself, bringing his shackled hands up to rub frantically at his eyes. But it’s far too late. The damage is done. He’s—
He’s—
“We should have done this earlier,” he hears Fringilla say. Is she out of the room? How many people are here with him, how many people could hurt him? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know because he can’t fucking see. “I think this might be the thing that breaks him.”
Footsteps. Leaving him alone? Is he alone, or are they watching him sob, watching him wail like a child? He knows that his cell is small, but it feels very big, all of a sudden. The world is vast in its emptiness, and he thinks he might be the only person left in it. Stumbling through the void alone.
He wraps his arms around his knees and squeezes his eyes shut. As long as they’re closed, he can pretend that the blackness around him is there by his own choice.
***
For the first night, he tricks himself into thinking it might be temporary. He keeps his eyes closed for long stretches of time and tells himself that, when he opens them, he’ll be able to see again. Perhaps it will be blurry, perhaps it will be faded or colorless, but it’ll be more than endless nothing.
But he opens his eyes again. And again. And again. And every time, it’s nothing but darkness.
His own breaths are loud, loud, loud as thunder in his ears, and his heart is beating faster than it’s ever gone. Sweat covers him from head to toe and he’s shaking like an earthquake, like a small animal terrified of a thunderstorm. Is he dying? It feels like he might be dying.
He’s dying and falling and whirling away into the nothingness of the world.
No. It’s not nothingness. There is cold stone beneath his legs. A collar around his neck, chains on his limbs. Pain licking through his nerves, the aftershocks of the potion they’ve been forcing down his throat every day.
He’s here. He’s in this cell. He’s a prisoner of Nilfgaard and they’ve—
He’s not alone. That’s the point. The world hasn’t fallen away. There are still other people, lurking beyond the small cell filled with his desperate gaps. And he needs to remember that because those other people could hurt him even worse than he’s already been hurt. Want to hurt him worse, want to make him suffer.
He wonders if they’ll come back to give him the potion again, or if they’ll be content with watching him drift through the darkness, watching him cry (because he’s still crying, he can’t stop crying, it’s been hours now, and the tears still rush from him like a river) and whimper and claw at his eyes like that might lift the darkness away.
Maybe they’ll take your hearing.
He curls up even tighter.
Maybe they’ll take your tongue. Or your hands.
Tighter.
Maybe they’ll break your spine and leave you motionless and nerveless.
A sob bursts from his chest and the breaths rush from him, in and out like a runaway horse.
Maybe—
Maybe—
Maybe they weren’t content with—
His mind can dwell on a thousand different scenarios of what his torturers might do next, but it refuses to acknowledge what they’ve already done. It skates around the word, dances away from it.
They weren’t—
They want to do more than—
The breaths rush and rush, snatching control of his lungs away from him. He slumps down, shifting from a seated position to a lying one, his arms curled around his torso like that will do anything to protect him, his side pressing against the ground, his back against the wall. Anchor, anchor, anchor.
You’re on the world, you’re on the world, you’re here, you’re here, you’re just—
He uncurls his hand from his chest and presses his trembling fingers against the floor. Traces the cracks and dirt and tacky splotches he thinks are blood.
You’re here.
***
He sleeps, eventually. He doesn’t have much energy to begin with, these days, and his lungs running away from him sapped whatever was left.
When he opens his eyes, he thinks he might be dreaming at first. There is no other reason to wake to total darkness, not when his tormentors have been leaving torches burning constantly in his cell to fuck with his sleep. He’s used to opening his eyes to flames and gray stone, used to opening his eyes and seeing the fucking table that they like to strap him down on.
So. There’s no reason for this break in routine, unless he’s dreaming.
For a split second, he’s confused.
And then he remembers.
***
He cries the entire day. He thinks. Time is hard to mark when you’re—
***
Eventually he hears his cell door slamming open. He jumps at the suddenness of it, slamming his head against the wall. There’s laughter, cold and cruel, slipping into his void and crushing him from all sides. He doesn’t know who it belongs to, which guard has decided to visit him.
He almost asks.
He clenches his jaw shut. He won’t speak to them, not a single word. He promised himself that a long time ago, promised Ciri that a long time ago, and it’s not a promise he intends to break.
“Breakfast, puppy,” the man says. “Though I can see you didn’t want your dinner last night. Are we feeding you too much?”
Geralt doesn’t answer. Breakfast? But it was the evening wasn’t it? He’s been awake all day, he’s been crying for hours.
Time passes funny when you’re—
“I’ll take that as a yes,” the man laughs. Geralt hears a clatter as he sets the plate down. “I’ll pass along your message to Fringilla.”
Less food. When he can already feel his clothes hanging looser, when his hair has started to fall out, when his stomach is constantly screaming in pain.
He doesn’t answer.
“Eat up,” the man says, and the door slams shut again.
***
He needs to leave the corner.
***
He needs to leave the corner if he wants to eat now.
***
He needs to leave the corner if he doesn’t want them to cut his rations again.
***
He moves on his hands and knees, shivering the whole time. As soon as he gets a few feet—is it a few feet, is it more, is it less, is it?—away from the wall, his lungs run away from him again. He collapses in the middle of the floor, focusing all his energy on forcing his breathing steady.
In and out and in and out and in.
They must be laughing at him, the famous White Wolf reduced to hysterics at the mere act of crawling across a floor.
Is this going to be the rest of his life?
No. It can’t be. It’ll wear off, or Fringilla will get bored and remove it, or he’ll get out of here and find a mage who can fix him.
He’s not—
He’s just not.
***
He finds the food eventually. He thinks it takes him an hour. Maybe two.
Maybe more.
He eats, the raw meat already growing rancid, and steadies himself to return to his corner.
***
Time passes.
***
Time passes.
***
Time is funny when—
When—
He still can’t think the word.
***
His mind keeps circling around Ciri. Wondering where she is. Who she’s with. If she’s okay—gods please, please let her be okay. You can leave me in the darkness, but please let her be okay.
He remembers her as she was in the clearing, terrified, tears pooling in her eyes, refusing to leave him. Leaving him anyway.
It isn’t her fault. It isn’t. It isn’t. This was his choice. His and his alone. He can’t blame his child for this, he just—he can’t. If he does, he’s the kind of monster that deserves to be struck down by silver.
But he thinks of the flash of her hair as she ran, her cloak furling out behind her. And he wonders, drifting in the darkness, if that was his last sight of her.
It wasn’the tells himself, as the days go on and on and on, and the darkness refuses to lighten. It can’t have been.
***
Other potential lasts.
Roach, eyes rolling madly in her head as she was dragged away by soldiers.
Yennefer, back to him, chest heaving as she realized what he had taken from her.
Jaskier, face twisted up in pain, trying desperately not to cry as Geralt dashed his heart on the ground.
They’re all shit.
They can’t be true lasts.
***
Time passes.
And passes.
***
Eventually, Fringilla does start giving him that potion again, the one that sets every nerve alight and makes him scream until his throat gives out.
He’s almost grateful for it, at first. It’s a distraction from the nothing, nothing, nothing.
***
He stops being grateful after—
After a while. Not sure how long.
***
Time passes.
And then.
***
Jaskier’s voice. Jaskier’s hands, pressing against his face, smoothing back his hair, tracing the skin around his eyes. Geralt leans into the touch, breathes in his scent, chases the melody of his voice. It might be a dream. A hallucination brought on by too much pain and too much nothingness. But he’ll drink it in while it’s here, savor it like a fine wine, a gracious lover, a peaceful day.
“We’re getting you out,” Jaskier whispers and—
Ciri is here, sobbing in his arms, a frantic litany of apologies that tug at his heart until he thinks it might snap clean in two. He holds her close, as tightly as he can with his sapped strength, and whispers reassurances in her hair. That it’s not her fault. That he’s proud of her.
(Though he’s terrified, that she’s here, because what the fuck was Jaskier thinking, bringing his child into this hell?)
And Yen is here too, tugging him to his feet, snarking at Jaskier like this is just another monster hunt. His family, here, around him, and they’re pulling him out of the cell, pressing him on step by step by agonizing step.
He wonders, briefly, if he might have died.
And then Fringilla appears, and Ciri steps forward, and he dismisses that thought entirely as his daughter turns his torturer into a tree.
Not even death would be that strange.
***
They drag him out of the shaking, screaming castle.
He struggles, weakly, pointlessly, because there’s one member of his family missing, and he can’t leave her, he can’t lose her, not after everything.
“It’s just a stupid horse,” Yennefer mutters, but Jaskier knows better.
***
He falls against her and breathes her in.
Life. Warmth.
His first and best anchor.
You’re on the world. You’re here. You’re not flying away.
“Sorry Roach,” he says against her neck. “Sorry. Bet you want to get back on the road again, huh?”
She nickers softly, he breath whooshing slowly and steadily beneath his ear.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Me too.”
You’ll never be able to ride her again, and you know it. Not properly.
He closes his eyes. It doesn’t make a difference.
This is the first of a thousand griefs.
***
But maybe not. Maybe—
Maybe Yennefer can fix this.
Maybe you don’t have to be—
***
He doesn’t feel like he’s here with them, as they pile into Yennefer’s safe house, moving too quickly for him to track. They flutter around him like anxious birds, pressing hands against his skin, and he knows he should feel like he’s part of the world. He knows that they are trying to ground him. But he doesn’t—
He can’t—
He wants to see Jaskier’s smile, he wants to see Ciri’s excitable bounce as she reaches up to grab his hand, he wants to see Yennefer’s steady violet eyes. He wants the reminder that they’re here, and he’s here, and he wants the world to be concrete and steady and solid around him.
Yennefer puts her hands on his face.
“This won’t hurt,” she promises.
He flinches anyway, from a knowledge that might hurt more than any blow.
Please, he says to all the gods in the sky. Please please please please don’t let me be—
“I’m sorry,” Yennefer says.
***
Time shatters.
***
Nononononononononono
***
“Yennefer. Can you take Ciri out of here?”
***
NonononononononononononoNONONONO—
***
Jaskier’s arms are around him, Jaskier’s voice is around him, echoing and soothing and Geralt can’t even hear what he’s saying.
***
His lungs are running away and he’s crying and crying and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop, it’s all his eyes are fucking good for anymore AND HE CAN’T—
***
“Breathe,” Jaskier says, and he doesn’t know how to do that. “Please breathe, sweetheart, please—”
***
Time is shattered, time is shattered, time doesn’t mean anything anymore, it could be noon or midnight, and he wouldn’t know because he’s—
***
“No,” he wails. “No, no, no, no, no. I can’t do this, Jaskier, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”
Jaskier is shaking beneath him and he thinks Jaskier might be crying too, but he can’t tell, he can’t, because he’s—
***
“I’m blind,” he sobs. His mind can’t slip around the word anymore. It can’t escape it. It’s made a home in his brain, and he doesn’t think it’ll ever leave. Doesn’t think it’ll ever stop echoing, around and around and around.
“I’m blind, I’m blind, I’m blind, Jaskier, I—”
“I know,” Jaskier says. His breath stutters against Geralt’s cheek. He rocks back and forth like Geralt is a newborn babe, like simple motion is the answer to his tears. But it isn’t. Because nothing will ever fix this.
Nothing will ever bring him back to the world.
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So I recently did an AMA over on the Fair Game Effect discord server, and it was a whole mess of fun! I loved being able to get the chance to chat about the creative process that goes on behind the scenes, so I wanted to be able to share the answers with the rest of you ♥
I do tend to get kind of wordy for some of these answers, so to save your dash, find out a bit more about my writing process under the cut!
Keep in mind that there are mild SPOILERS up to the latest chapter of And The Reason Comes, if you haven’t caught up!
Question: I absolutely love the cadence of your writing, especially the slow way you unravel emotions. Was there something particular about the relationship between Qrow and Clover that you felt lends itself to this style of writing? Can you talk a bit about how you decide which emotional bits get more attention, and how you decide the depth to which you describe those emotions? That’s 2 questions, sorry.
Cart: Thankyou so much!! The biggest part of writing these two really comes from the fact that they're both adults with a lot of stuff on their plates. They've had enough experience with life along the way to know a few things here and there. They don't tend to rush into things, unless it's a good fight, and there's a lot of mutual respect for space and trust and time, so it was all about expanding on what's already there. In canon, we were always shown that there was this soft sort of trust building up between the two of them, but it was never anything in great leaps and bounds.
Qrow's shown himself not to be the sort to blindly trust without reason, and how easily that can break, so going into Reason I always kinda knew it would be a slow drag of letting him work himself out around this new force in his life. Clover himself has shown that he's this quiet but gently reassuring presence in his life, and putting them together is like a match skirting the edge of kindling. They work so well together; they recognise there's something there, so it was just a matter of letting them fall into step over the course of the fic.
As for the second question, hoo man, that's kind of a mixed bag answer! It all really depends on the brainstorming process of what plot points I want to tackle, and in what order they fall onto the page. Sometimes it's also a matter of just letting the scene play out by letting the characters say what feels 'right' at the time (which can sometimes go INCREDIBLY against what I originally had planned). There was always going to be heavier scenes versus lighter ones, so it's a bit of a balancing act to know when to let them come up for air, or when to let them linger. Not just for them, but also for the audience.
That's... probably the biggest thing I keep in mind when writing the heavier emotional scenes. It's not just the characters going through it, but whoever's reading it, too.
As to the depth part, that's... something that depends on the rhythm of what's happening. If it's a scene of heavier realisation, sometimes shorter, punchier sentences help portray that (eg: Qrow's realisation of what home is to him in the latest chapter), but other times, it takes something meatier to help feel what they're feeling (eg: that first kiss and Qrow's subsequent reaction). It's that striking-a-balance feeling again, and finding what works best for the pacing of the scene, and it's something I always have fun writing.
Question: What parts of Reason do you enjoy the most so far?
Cart: can I just say i've adored writing the whole thing jkhdfk
Man, I... really don't know how to answer this one. I've enjoyed the entire process of the fic, because it's been such a fun ride of ups and downs. I adore writing these two together, so sometimes it's the little things that really tick all my boxes.
I do get a giant kick out of writing action scenes, so the sparring match and the canyon fight with the Nevermore were pure indulgence for me to go through. I love the tender, more simple moments, like the noodle shop, or any of the time spent with the girls. Getting to see them through some heavy emotional moments, like at the lookout, or at Clover's apartment. Being able to explore some characters and have fun with them along the way; I mean, writing Winter has been an absolute blast and I never thought she'd be as fun to write as she has been.
Honestly, though, it's just a treat to be able to write a scene where Qrow is genuinely happy, because it's something that's so very rarely shown, and being able to give that to him is just so good.
Question: What is your planning process like? Reason is such a big story, how much of it was planned at the start? Did you have all the major plot points decided then, or did some big ones strike you along the way?
Cart: Kind of fifty-fifty, actually! I had a few big story beats in mind before I started putting pen to paper, but a lot of smaller, in-between scenes generally fall into place somewhat organically along the way. There were always some things that I wanted to do from the outset, for example, the sparring match, the noodle shop, Clover's breakdown, and the Nevermore fight.
Along the way, ideas will pop out of the blue while I'm doing dishes or something, or if I've been stewing about how to connect certain points. Those usually get jotted down and shuffled or reworked depending on how the story is progressing. The usual process kinda looks like this:
It's just quick little snatches of notes, but the actual scenes get WAY more fleshed out as the chapter plays out. Some things don't make the cut, depending on pacing, or if it doesn't fit the flow of where a scene goes, or if it's just going to pad out the story too much (as you can see from the last note there, it's something that never made the cut in the restaurant, but it was a fun idea to play with).
Question:
In addition to
Reason
, you also wrote a series of fics for Fair Game Week! How was writing those different than writing for something long-form like
Reason
? And which FGW was your favourite to write :)?
Cart: I actually get a real kick out of writing shorter prompts, because it really helps keep myself better in a character's head, ie seeing how they react to different situations, knowing how they'd respond to something, that sort of thing. It's a good mental break to be able to sink my teeth into something shorter, and with a concise ending, rather than a bigger, ongoing project like Reason.
As to a favourite, man, I adore Feint because getting to go over the parts and pieces of Harbinger was amazing, though I really do have a soft spot for Sinew because writing a sick floppy bird getting cared for by Clover was just fun.
Question: It’s so lovely to hear about how much you’ve enjoyed writing Reason from your answers! Have you gotten stuck on any part, and if so, how did you work through that?
Cart: Oof, I have gotten stuck quite a few times along the way. Wrapping up the restaurant scene was a big one, and definitely when Ruby, Clover and Qrow left the canyon to return to Mantle. There's an upcoming scene with Winter that I had to revisit quite a few times, because of certain subtleties in phrasings or how she was speaking very carefully with someone without either of them saying too much that would cross a line. I still find myself getting stuck with Ironwood, but mainly because I still haven't gotten his voice right in my head.
Working through them, to me, is just a matter of pushing ahead with a scene, letting characters talk to one another, or letting them get their own thoughts out, because sometimes in doing that, it helps me stumble across something that leads into another scene. Or having a goal to work towards - another scene - and just finding a different way to connect the two.
Question: What inspired you to begin writing Reason?
Cart: Honestly? It was seeing Qrow taking the first real, productive steps into healing, and finding himself working alongside this positive parallel of a person, and reacting so wonderfully to it. After Clover's introduction, it was clear that he was going to be such a healing presence to Qrow, and watching Qrow open himself up to this man little by little was something that was wonderful to see.
It was because of that I really wanted to do something with this healing process, and help the two of them connect in a more solid, in-depth manner. It's honestly why them becoming a couple took so long to come around; I wanted the focus to be on their trust and connection first, and their relationship as a couple to come afterwards.
Question: If you don’t mind me asking (feel free to ignore if this would be too spoilery!), but going forward with Reason, are you planning on including any canon scenes from the show?
Cart: It's something I've been tossing up for a while, pretty much ever since I started writing it, to be honest. It's why the fic takes place in that little handwaved time pocket between their arrival in Atlas and the elections, because it gave me enough time to play around with something if I did include canon scenes.
Going forward... I'm not too sure! If I did, then many things would certainly change, but at the current pace of things, and with the loose ending I have in mind, it might be hard to wrangle in. But hey, maybe we'll see!
Question: You navigate through a lot of different emotional beats in Reason so deftly!! Do you have any strategies you use to keep everyone in character as you write?
Cart: Thankyou! A couple of things I always try and keep in the back of my mind when writing: does this sound like something they would say in canon? And is this something that the audience is going to find enjoyable?
Obviously, the characters change a little over the course of the story, so subtle changes will be there, but for the most part, I always stick to those two loose rules when I'm putting pen to paper. As an aside, Reason wasn't actually my first foray into writing these characters! I wrote just a few simple, throwaway scenes and snatches of conversation, just to get a feel for them and their voices before I really started writing the bigger stuff.
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Constellations in your soul - C2
///Preface: this chapter has dissociation and some self deprecation in it. After releasing the first chapter I realized that some warnings might be in order so that people who are sensitive to the topic don’t suffer because of it. I hope you enjoy it and as always, comments and suggestions are welcome. :)///
Sirius sat on a toilet lid in the abandoned bathroom, holding up his arm up in an uncomfortable position while holding his shirt in his lap. Remus had spent a solid 10 minutes inspecting him to see what injuries there were before he’d even started to put Sirius back together. Remus held a grimace on his face and briefly brought his sleeved hand to his nose, like trying to wipe away a scent or a smell.
“Jeez, blood has a strong smell…” his grimace faded as he rolled up his sleeves, kneeling back to get a better look at what he was doing.
“So, remind me why we never use magic to do this?” Sirius leaned back a bit before Remus gently reminded him he needed to sit up straight for this. Haha, straight.
“Because healing spells are complicated, and while I may be smart I’m not about to rearrange your ribcage for something I could easily do with my hands.” Remus frowned as he spoke, mumbling things under his breath as he took note of them. His face scrunched up a little bit when he was concentrating, and his eyes remained focused on his target. His intense glare was one you didn’t usually want to be on the receiving end of, and it was pointed right at Sirius’ chest. Right now, he appeared to be trying to glare Sirius’ injuries out of existence. “What happened to make her this mad? I thought she doesn’t usually beat you like this unless she thought you did something?” Remus’ voice cracked when he said ‘beat’ like it caused him pain just to think about it.
Aww, you really think he cares about you Sirius. He just feels obligated to help you, you’re a burden in his life and thorn in his side.
I know…
“Uh- It wasn’t really anything bad,” Sirius shifted to prop his arm up on the water tank of the toilet, “She got upset at Regulus because he burnt the bacon, but I distracted him. At least, that’s what I told her, so she got mad at me. It’s not really that-!” Sirius growled quietly when Remus pressed on his side, pain flaring up his side and in his lungs. Shit that hurt…
“Sorry,” Remus muttered as he stood, walking over to an empty stall at the end of the row and coming back with a briefcase full of muggle first aid supplies. They’d hid it in here last year when Sirius had first explained what his family was like. Remus was very astute and had noticed Sirius consistently sleeping on his stomach and changing in the bathroom rather than the dorm, like the other boys (among other things like pained expressions and groaning in his sleep, which Sirius had no memory of doing.) Remus pulled out bruise cream and started spreading it across Sirius’ back and chest.
Sirius felt his face flush, looking up at the ceiling. “Take me on a date first, Remus.” A small, possibly awkward laugh left him, immediately replaced with a grimace as his ribs shifted slightly. Great… now he thinks I’m weird. I mean, he probably already did. I’m so fucking awkward why am I like this?
It’s because you’re worthless. Awkward? Closer to repulsive. He’s seen you beaten and bruised and broken so many times. Do you honestly think he still sees you the same way as before? Sirius’ grimace faded as he stared at the ceiling.
He cares, I know he cares. If he didn’t, he would’ve run away a long time ago.
PLEASE. You, James, and Peter are the only people who would accept him for being a werewolf. He’s got it SO much worse than you, and yet you make him take care of you. Bend to your whim.
Just shut up…
“Sirius, are you alright? “ Remus looked up at him from his crouching position at his side. Sirius looked down at him, leaning forward slightly.
“Yeah?” Remus held his eyes for a moment, studying Sirius for a moment, then offered him back his shirt.
“I finished. Your shirt might stick a little bit, but once your skin absorbs it you should be good. We’ll want to change the bandages on the cuts in a couple days.” Remus smiled slightly, offering Sirius a hand. Sirius took it, pulling himself up.
“Wait, there were cuts?” Sirius frowned slightly. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I felt any cuts… “ Remus gently touched Sirius’ back, right between his shoulder blades.
“Yeah, there were some right here, and a couple on your upper shoulder. Make sure not to move your arms too much. At least as best as you can.”
“Yes, Nurse.” Sirius sent a smirk at Remus before trying to pull his shirt on, face immediately contorting into a pained expression when his arms went over his head. Remus laughed quietly.
“Aww, do you need help getting your shirt on?” Sirius glared at him, pulling his shirt down, huffing quietly. “I’ve been reading a First Aid book published by a muggle health organization. It’s incredibly informative. I really enjoyed reading it too.” Remus let himself smile while closing, clipping, and rehiding the bag of First Aid supplies.
“You’re such a nerd, Remus. I mean, why would you read when you can climb trees or flirt.” Sirius waited until Remus was next to him to start walking back to the dorms with him.
“Because I find books much more enjoyable than people. They’re quiet, usually, and don’t require me to move very much. Pair that with the inevitable social interaction required when surrounded by other people, I tend to avoid people when I can.” Remus glanced over at Sirius as he spoke. Sirius had to tilt his head up slightly to look at Remus’ face, noticing how his hair reflected the torchlight. Well hot damn, I’m just too gay for this shit.
Sirius laughed at himself quietly, and they walked the rest of the way to the dorm in comfortable silence. Once Sirius climbed into bed, he carefully laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing through his mind as everything from How can I frustrate Professor McGonigal tomorrow to Should I leave James and Remus and Peter so they can finally have some peace?
His thoughts continued to wander as he fell asleep, pulling the blankets up another inch or two before drifting off.
While Sirius lay sleeping, Remus lay awake in his bed, trying to distract himself from the repetitive image of Sirius’ bruised and welted chest. Under different circumstances, Remus would’ve been incredibly embarrassed and flustered touching Sirius like that, but the bruises, cuts, welts, and scars had him in a significantly darker mood. Why would they hurt Sirius like that… actually, nevermind, they’re bastards with no souls. The better question is: Why does Sirius put himself in harm's way like that. He knows he’ll get it worse than Regulus, but yet he still chooses to take the blame for things, even small things. This is the worst I’ve seen him injured since second year…
Remus frowned at the memory of Sirius laying in his bed, asleep and severely injured. That day he’d traveled via firepit to Remus’ house after having almost been beaten to death by his own mother.
He could remember clearly the moment when he ran downstairs to see what had caused such a loud thump in his living room and panicked at the sight of Sirius covered in blood and bruises. It had taken quite a bit of both muggle remedies and magic to heal Sirius. They were lucky Remus’ mother knew First Aid and his father had become acquainted with healing spells through his work. He’d sat by Sirius for days, making sure he was okay, keeping him safe, getting him water and food and anything else he needed. Remus had been glaring at the wall with such fervor he’d given himself a headache. He groaned quietly, turning to his other side. He could hear Sirius breathing and chose to focus on that. The steadiness of his breath was calming, though Remus heard him occasionally heard Sirius’ breath hitch in his chest when he inhaled too deeply, heaven forbid he have a good night’s rest. I will have to invest more time in First Aid. It’s quite useful…
Remus closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, after a long time of his mind disobeying him, he started to ease into foggy rest.
A few weeks had passed since the first day of the term without much transpiring in the way of excitement. James was still preparing for his first big stunt of the year, and Sirius had been busy helping him. They hadn’t gone to bed until late the previous night due to planning what had to be their biggest, awesomest project yet, a map that would be able to track the students and teacher. One only they would be able to use.
Because of the late-night, and subsequent awful sleep, Sirius woke up at the unholy hour of 05:00 AM. He didn’t normally rise this early, but after waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare he wasn’t too eager to go back to sleep either. Slowly, he sat up and blinked slowly. His mind and body felt like they were dry and stiff, not wanting to move exactly when he needed them to, and he felt phantom pains from the dream stacked on his physical injuries. While fighting his lethargy, he got out of bed while grimacing as his rib cage shifted, then rummaged through his suitcase, yet to be unpacked, and then padded towards the bathrooms. His hair was likely a mess, but that would be fixed with a shower. And if it was still knotted, well, Remus was the only person he really let mess with his hair. James pulled too hard and hurt him, and Peter was so clumsy that the one time Sirius had let him touch his hair, it’d ended up so mangled it took Remus 3 hours to untangle. Sirius opened the doors to the bathroom, beginning to wash himself off. The water slowly woke him up enough to function, though there was still this lingering fog similar to silt covering his mind. A thought hit him in the middle of washing his hair, Today is gonna be shit… He frowned, frustratedly glaring at the wall. No, today is going to be FINE. I’m going to go to class like every morning. I’ll joke around with James, flirt with some people, and it will be good.
He stayed in the shower for another several minutes, simply because he felt like he didn’t have the energy to leave. When he finally gathered himself, he wasted more time while drying off. By the time he’d finally made it back to the boy's dorm room to put his dirty nightclothes in a basket by his bed, the other boys were up. One look at Remus told Sirius he hadn’t slept well either. They exchanged a mutual look of ‘You too, huh?’, before Remus broke eye contact to pull his sweater over his shirt. Remus had a tendency to only be semi-functional in the morning and preferred not to speak until after breakfast.
Sirius walked over to his nightstand to grab his brush, reaching out and halting when his hand closed around nothing. It’s not here… He glanced around the room and saw Remus holding it up in one hand while smiling slightly. Ah, there it is. Sirius sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Remus while James threw himself on Remus’ bed. Remus brushed out Sirius’ hair, occasionally using his fingers to untangle knots the brush wouldn’t pull through easily.
“You guys look absolutely awful. I keep forgetting you’re grouchy in the mornings.” James turned to lay on his back, watching Remus’ expression pass through 3 or 4 emotions before settling on mild dissatisfaction. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed but, well, James had been his friend for 4 years and picked up on some things. Sirius knocked on the top of James’ head, grabbing his attention.
“Well, you see, James, when two people-” Sirius had a grin on his face before Remus cut him off.
“Late night, little sleep, you’re a baby,” Remus spoke in a quiet mumble, probably still half asleep.
“Yeah, you’re one to talk James. If you don’t get your beauty sleep you’re grumpy all day! At least Remus turns functional after 3 gallons of coffee.” Sirius grinned as he spoke, though it was partially to cover up concern. He knew Remus hadn’t gotten to sleep until the small hours of the morning. I wish I could add more hours to the night, or knock him out. He might actually get some decent sleep if we drugged him… Remus poked the hairbrush over Sirius’ shoulder, catching Sirius’ eye and pulling him out of his train of thought.
“Here.” It came out barely audible as Sirius moved out of the way so that Remus could pull on his shoes. “Breakfast… Coffee… Tired… “ Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and started to trudge down the stairs. Sirius watched him leave, eyes trailing from his back to his muted and messy blond hair. He’s frickin’ adorable when he’s tired… Sirius smiled slightly, then glanced to his side where James had been only a few moments before, though now there was only an empty spot on the bed. Did he already go down to breakfast? Or did he go to flirt with Evans? Sirius stood up, walking into the common room just in time to see Lily telling off James for being a bother this early in the morning.
Sirius felt himself smile when he saw James trying to look sincere while staring at Lily with doe eyes. For some reason, James seemed to think it was hot when she was angry, though Sirius didn’t really understand it. He turned, continuing towards the Great Hall for breakfast, climbing out of the porthole and meandering down the hallway towards their normal spot for breakfast. Remus had all but claimed the spot as solely theirs. Even though he was so tired and usually the last one awake, he was also the first person to breakfast every day. Well, almost every day. Sirius glanced at the portraits on the wall, letting his thoughts drift. He knew Peter probably wouldn’t be there until the last 10 minutes, considering he wouldn’t be waking up for another 30 minutes at least. Sirius felt the smile melt from his face while looking at the portraits on the wall, a kind of quiet resignation worming its way into his brain. These wizards have all done great things. Only half of them have gone to Hogwarts but all of them have made some kind of great achievement… I’ll never make it on this wall… or into someone else’s wall, I won’t be on my own wall in my room by the time I’m old enough to move away… His body stiffened for a moment. I won’t be on my own wall… Since when did he want to be on his own bloody family tree? Since when did he want to be part of his own piece-of-shit family in his whole life? He turned, walking the rest of the way to the Great Hall. Of course, you want to be on your own wall, with the rest of your family. You’re just like them. Manipulative, hurtful, abusive. You’re so full of yourself you’re constantly playing the victim because nothing is ever your fault. How many other kids in this hall do you think have parents like yours? Probably all of them. They don’t have the kind of money your family does, they don’t have your kind of house, your parents' jobs, your siblings, the noble life. You’ve got it so much better than them and yet you think you have it bad? What kind of pathetic kid are you?
Sirius’ nails bit into his palms as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He knew the voice was right, but what could he do about it now? He’d already told Remus 2 years ago. His skin crawled at his own deceptions. I made Remus worry about me. I whined to him about my problems even though he has worse problems than any of us. Especially me. His thoughts turned and tumbled through his mind until they seemed to fade out. Like turning translucent. He watched the doors to the Great Hall pass overhead while his head grew lighter and his emotions turned into a little ball of chalk in his chest, compressed and hard and out of the way. He sat down at the table, sending a smile to Remus out of habit. Remus will worry… He didn’t talk most of breakfast, though he wasn’t incoherent. He frowned slightly when breakfast was over. I thought… I just sat down to eat. My food is gone… I guess I ate… Sirius stood up, watching his plate disappear before walking to his first class of the day, his satchel slung over his shoulder. I hope I can pay attention…
Almost an hour later he was finally able to start paying attention to his class, jotting down messy notes while flipping to a page in his Potions book. Sometimes he'd get spacey like he had earlier today, which was a pain because he had trouble focusing when he did that, and then he'd have to catch up on notes… which inevitably meant extra work. A mental groan pushed into his thoughts, along with yet another round of awful thoughts. Why won’t you just shut up for a while, huh? It’s not like I’m a COMPLETE failure. I have decent grades, at least. It’s hard to focus with all the noise in my head. He quietly growled at his papers, frustrated at his own lack of attention. Maybe I’ll just live under a bridge and join a troll. Or I’ll live as a stray dog. At least then I won’t take up unnecessary space. At least- His thoughts were interrupted by Remus touching his arm. Little bits of electricity raced around where Remus touched the fabric of Sirius’ shirt as he shifted his gaze from the parchment to Remus’ perfect face.
“Are you okay?” Remus spoke quietly, mostly mouthing the words. His touch on Sirius’ arm lightened like he was about to pull away. Sirius nodded, then shot him a winning grin.
“Ooh, Remus. It’s so nice to know you worry about me, but I’m fine.” Sirius purposefully made it sound flirty, letting his eyes close a little while pushing a small smirk. Remus arched an eyebrow at Sirius in what seemed to be suspicion or maybe just irritation. Sirius watched Remus for only a moment but felt his smirk turn into a smile, turning back to his work. “Really, I’m okay. Thank you for asking, though.” As he turned back to his work, his mind felt clearer, though he felt strangely cold once Remus retracted his hand, returning to his work. As Sirius continued taking notes and working, he felt more at peace with Remus there. He knew that Remus cared, and he knew Remus would be there if he ever needed him.
The thoughts didn’t entirely go away for the day but it got easier to ignore them, or at least make them quieter. Most of the day passed tediously slow, except the few times he got spacey again, as opposed to the first class that had passed almost in the blink of an eye. Sirius couldn’t even remember concretely if he’d actually gone to those classes, though he was sure he had because he had a nonsense compilation of notes from all the classes combined into an incomprehensible document. It wasn’t until after dinner that he realized how tired he was. He’d spent all day either on the run between classes that were on opposite ends of the castle or trying to be coherent in class while spacing out. As he started walking back to Gryffindor Tower, James smacked the back of his head as he ran past Sirius. Snapped out of his stupor, Sirius glared at him while smiling.
“You DIDN’T.” Sirius felt his smile grow wider before Remus stepped up next to him and took his bag. After a brief smile of thanks to Remus, Sirius took off after James, chasing him down the hall and dodging around people.
“Get him back for me, Sirius!” Peter called out to Sirius, cupping his hands so Sirius would hear him. Remus smiled slightly, glancing over at Peter for a moment.
“They are pretty ridiculous.” Remus shifted Sirius’ bag higher on his shoulder as he spoke. Peter let Remus have the moment before hesitantly opening his mouth to speak.
“Hey, Remus?” Peter glanced up, raising his head quite a bit to see Remus’ face, which was almost an entire head taller. “How far away until the next visit to the shack?” Remus’ face lost the smile. Their group had started referring to full-moons as ‘visits to the shack’ in an effort to normalize their conversations about it without letting everyone in a general vicinity know about Remus’ condition. Remus let out a quiet sigh, seeming to sag slightly.
“It’s two weeks away. Supposed to be on Wednesday. Though I don’t know if that’s 100% accurate.” Remus glanced out the window momentarily to look out the window onto the Hogwarts grounds. He saw the Whomping Willow in the corner of the visible grounds through the window. Remus could only stand to look at it for a moment before returning his gaze to the floor inside the castle. Peter nodded beside him, then turned down the hall towards the Gryffindor Tower.
“I have some chocolate from the house-elves. If you want some? I’d be happy to share, it’s honestly too much for me.” Remus smiled as Peter spoke. He was very sweet, and could usually see when someone needed something and acted on it frequently. That in its own right was very brave. Remus knew more people than he chose to count that rarely acted when they saw someone in any kind of pain.
“That would be wonderful, Peter. Thank you.”
By the time Remus and Peter made it up to the tower, James was sitting on the common room couch talking to some younger students about the quickest routes between different classes, and Sirius was nowhere to be found in the common room. He’s likely laying in bed, he seemed very tired earlier today… though he also seemed upset. I wonder what’s bothering him? Peter pulled a bar of chocolate out of his bag, handing it to Remus, smiling.
“Let me know if you want any more, I think I’ve got two more bars.” Peter sat down on the couch a moment later.
“Thank you, Peter. I think I’ll go to bed, though. Today has been rather tiring.” Remus gave a short wave to Peter and James, returning Peter’s smile. He unwrapped part of the chocolate bar and began to eat it as he walked up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory, trying to think of what could be bothering Sirius. Maybe someone said something about his parents? Or someone may have said something unkind about Peter or me? In all honesty, it could have been anything, I shouldn’t be worrying too much. Remus’ thoughts stopped when he saw Sirius draped over his bed. He hadn’t even bothered to get under the covers, hair a mess all over his pillow, sprawled on the bed with one hand under the pillow. God, he’s gorgeous… Remus broke from his stupor, holding the chocolate bar in his mouth, then set his bags by his bed before walking over to Sirius, pulling back his covers and spreading them over the sleeping boy. Remus sat down on the edge of his own bed and watched Sirius for a moment, wondering what had exhausted him so thoroughly. It only took him a few bites to finish the chocolate bar. He pulled out a book as he took the last bite and felt a little disappointed that it had disappeared so quickly.
He shifted back on his bed until his back was propped up against the wall, opening the book he’d been reading to the bookmark. It was a muggle book he’d borrowed from his mother, and he enjoyed the story very much. It was about a simple, calm hobbit that got pulled into an adventure he wasn’t entirely ready for, Remus related to the character a little with all of the insanity James and Sirius pulled him into. The character was relatively soft-spoken, though not to be spoken over, and very protective. Remus smiled as he curled up, enjoying a quiet evening of reading The Hobbit and listening to the sound of rain.
///Thank you for reading. I don’t know how quickly I’ll be able to get these done, But i will try my best to post every other week, they may come more often, long chapters might take a little longer. :) Have a wonderful week and take care.///
#Constellations-in-your-soul#sirius black#remus lupin#remus x sirius#sirius x remus#wolfstar#marauders#harry potter#angsty#it will have fluff eventually I promise just not right now#slowburn
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Closer, Chapter Five: Aftercare - Bonus Features
Chapter five of Closer, the first installment in Somewhere in Canada (the Terror kink AU)... is now up! And with that--this installment is finished, and I'm all up in my feelings about it. (My various inboxes are always open in case you would like to be all up in your feelings in my direction.)
For the last time--technical notes first, story notes after, line notes to finish it all up.
Alright, here we go.
Technical Considerations:
Timing: So I put a lot of thought into what I wanted to cover for the rest of the weekend. We're at Sunday afternoon now, and the conference is coming to a close. There's some stuff that happens in the afternoon while they're packing up, there's some stuff that happens at the airport, but it gets to a point where plot is just, like, events that are happening on the page, you know? The actual story is the resolution of the arcs, and Edward and Jopson can resolve their arcs perfectly fine by going to their hotel room and fucking it out. I suspect we'll get bits and pieces of the missing bits--packing up the booths, actually getting onto the plane, and all that kind of thing--through the Tozer/Irving story anyways, since I don't think Tozer's arc is properly resolved until he makes it back to London.
(One could argue (correctly, I think) that the actual resolution of their arcs was probably the ability to successfully navigate through the aftermath of the dungeon scene, having the Ross scene go well, and generally the way that Edward and Jopson have tightened their orbit around each other over the course of the weekend, but it's nice to formalize that a bit, I think, by letting them fuck and have some casual non-sex time together just to verify that, yes, it isn't just about the sex or the BDSM, they are having a nice time together hanging out otherwise as well.)
POV Structure: Please forgive me my extra Jopson POV at the end, I needed it so that we could have one more chance at appreciating Edward's muttonchops, piercings, tattoo, and sweatpants dick, because Edward himself spends zero time thinking about any of these things, and they're all such very good things.
The Full Monty: So this is the first chapter in which they're both completely naked. Edward is fairly casual about his own nudity, so it wasn't really a thing for him--after all, Jopson has already seen his dick, and as Edward would be the first to tell you, the metal is about as exciting as it gets. (Jopson would argue that, I think.) The nudity wasn't really a thing for Jopson either--his body is his body--but Edward's reaction to his body is important. When I'm deciding whose POV certain events happen in, I try to select the POV where there's more feelings happening. So that meant that Jopson was getting naked in his own POV, which gives us that whole entire face journey Edward goes on, the brief distraction of poking Jopson's bruises, and then the rest of the clothing removal, bracketed with the visual of Edward standing there with his visible hardon and his hands behind his head. Technically, the "I'm not scared" dialogue is more important to Edward--Jopson just happens into the right words there--but since we already know that's a big deal for Ned from his prior POV, we can stay in Jopson's head for that here.
Story Considerations:
Comfort Reading: I'm pretty sure that Edward has read Foundation approximately nine million times. I also think this is the second or third copy of the book that he's on, because he keeps reading them to pieces. But I think that having a familiar book that he can just sink into instead of stressing about the whole entire ~~~convention experience~~~ is probably integral to him being a "reasonable human being" and not a "grumpy bastard" (thanks for that analysis, Tozer). I didn't think too hard about this--I just thought about Edward Little for point five seconds, and what kind of books he probably liked, and I thought about the Discovery Service, and science fiction, and then went--yeah, Asimov has the right blend of classic literature and hard science, and Autumn backed me up on it, so here we are. (I also should mention, because I saw some discussion of it on twitter and went wow I don't remember that that I was, um. Maybe fourteen the last time I read Foundation? So I think this is really a comfort read for Edward in that he's been reading and rereading it since about that age as well.)
(As an addendum, I feel like Edward probably has a carefully curated book collection back at his flat of books that are nice and new and pristine and I feel like he probably keeps his battered Asimovs, like, under his bed or something where nobody can see them. (As if he has visitors, lol.) Jopson, on the other hand, probably has a place on his desk for five or six books, because the bookshelf is being used for storage of other stuff, and the desk books are constantly rotating as he swaps paperbacks back and forth with his family.)
Edward's Hands: I do feel there's a very good chance Edward isn't going to be doing up any buttons. I also feel as though just getting his sweatpants on involved some profanity. The thing about masochism, though, is that when you're presented with a new sensation, such as going into a scene bare-handed instead of wearing gloves like you regularly do, often times the new sensation feels good even if it hurts, sooooo you keep doing it, and in Edward's case, he has that extra pressure of Trying Really Hard To Impress Jopson, so, yeah. He's gonna need some time to recover from that physically, and he won't be punching anything for a bit here.
Scene Planning: So the thing that I really love here, that's really not obvious unless you squint and look at the scene sideways, is that Edward had everything perfectly planned out when they were in the dungeon. He scouted out the area in advance. He had a chair handy to put Jopson's clothes on. He talked to the DMs in advance. And then everything went according to plan.
But you put the same man into a hotel room for fucking? He can't remember if he has lube or condoms. His sex bag is nowhere near the vicinity of the place they're having sex. (They don't even make it to the bed initially--Edward is eating ass on the floor, for fuck's sake.) When they finally get onto the bed with the sex bag, the contents end up scattered across the bed, and Edward still needs to get off the bed in order to retrieve the cock ring.
In short, give a man a dungeon and a scene to plan, and everything goes perfectly. Offer to fuck a man, and all planning immediately goes out the window. I mean, they had great sex. But Edward, sweetheart.
(And if we're talking about interpretations that happen when you squint? It's entirely likely that Edward doesn't actually have a whole lot of sex, usually, and that would definitely explain why he's much smoother on the mats than he is in the bedroom.)
The Second Collar: So, the second collar, rather deliberately on Edward's part, did not make an appearance. The first collar, the heavier one, is the type of collar that's used for play. It can be worn in regular kink spaces as well, but it's heavy, and a little bulky. And it's obvious that Jopson is taking comfort from it--he's reluctant to let go of it once he's taken it off to get into the shower with Edward, and it keeps showing back up again on his neck even though it's removed a couple of times throughout the course of the evening/night. The second collar, the fancier one that won't hold up to any kind of play, will be a lot more comfortable for Jopson to wear on a regular basis, but Jopson doesn't know that it exists, and Edward doesn't offer.
It's Significant that Edward is hanging on to that second collar, and if I was going to hazard a guess, I'd guess that Edward is working on a plan to make a formal gift of it at some point in the future. Formally giving someone a collar (as opposed to a collar that's just being used for play) usually signifies an arrangement between the people involved. Kind of like, you know, formally declaring yourselves partners, or whatever it is people do these days.
(As an aside--it could be considered rude that Jopson keeps putting the collar back on when they haven't discussed a formal arrangement outside of play, but Edward clearly doesn't see it that way, so there's no reason for it to come up. It's always better to ask for clarification re: collars, because sometimes there's a lot of symbolism involved with them, but sometimes a collar is just a collar.)
Line Notes:
“Would have been faster if you hadn’t kissed me in the car park,” Edward grumbles.
Trust Edward to find a way to be grumpy about makeouts. (To be fair, I think Edward was very pleased about the makeouts, and grumpy about subsequently having to adjust his dick in the car park just to be even moderately comfortable for the rest of the packing up.)
“Got something for you, if you want it,” Edward says.
I really like deep POV, because we know damn well from Edward's POV that he's been considering how to word this for hours and regrets this particular combination of words the moment it comes out of his mouth, but since we're in Jopson's head, Edward just looks like a proper alpha dominant, and it's hilarious.
He wants to kneel right here, get Edward’s trousers undone, open his—
Tom Jopson has a marked lack of aversion to public sex, and everyone should keep this in mind for *checks watch* six months from now in-universe, when they're back for the winter convention.
“Left my dicks back in London,” Thomas says, deadpan. He’s looking at Edward when he says it, trying to gauge the look on his face.
And if we squint and tilt our head sideways, this is another hint at ways in which relationships have gone wrong for Tom Jopson, and it's that same false dominant-sadist-top / submissive-masochist-bottom dichotomy we were talking about last week with poor Nedward. It's also an indication that Jopson hadn't really planned on hooking up with anybody this weekend at all--he came with his business hat on, ready to sell all of Francis' books, and bootblack for charity, and then, you know, work himself into exhaustion and not do anything other than casually flirt with--whoa, now, who's the pierced guy?
“That’s right,” Edward says softly. “You can handle this. You can handle what I’m doing to you. What I’m going to do to you.”
There it is--the resolution of that internalized kinkshaming that Edward was fighting with on Friday, in that it's no longer something Edward is questioning. He knows that Tom is good for it.
One of the really interesting things about the way this fic worked out is that the entire fic could have gone really differently if Hickey had applied himself to his shitdisturbing in the opposite order of the order that he chose--after he derailed Edward's panel, Hickey basically stepped back to let Edward self-destruct, and focused back in on Tozer, which left a huge open space for Jopson to step right into, and lo, the joplittle happened. If Hickey had stayed focused on Edward, he could have fucked Edward's entire weekend up, and neither the joplittle nor the solving* would have happened.
*Trust me on this, I swear it's related, and we'll get to it in the Tozer/Irving fic.
Jopson’s accent has shifted. It’s rougher, now. He wonders if this is how Jopson sounds at home, if this is how Jopson sounds with his family, if this is how—
There it is! The real accent, underneath the one that he taught himself! It's there! And he's letting Edward hear it!
“Face to face,” Jopson says quietly. This time, his eyes don’t shift away from Edward’s, and Edward loves him for it. “I know it’s not very, uh—”
JUST ASK FOR WHAT YOU WANT, TOM, please, you're hurting all three of my feelings here.
“You’ll have plenty of time to look,” Edward warns as he gets back onto the bed, hard cock swaying as he moves. “Takes me a bit to get a condom on over all this.”
I learned this while I was researching cock piercings. I don't know as I would actually want to learn how to get a condom on over all that, it seems like it's finicky and takes a long time. But, that being said, I'm not convinced they're going to stick with condoms for all that long either, Jopson is clearly ready to pretend he's never heard of them.
Edward shuts his eyes, strokes his cock. Reaches between his legs, tugs on the ring in his guiche piercing, pleasure curling up his spine. “Won’t be much of a show,” he manages.
Edward's not kidding about this--one of the downsides to a Prince Albert is that apparently it generally removes the ability to come with any sort of velocity, and everything just sort of...oozes out. We don't really directly see that here, because Edward's thinking about something else while he's coming, but it's implied in the next bit when Jopson is dragging Edward's come from his stomach up to his chest, ie, it didn't get there on its own, but Jopson is creating the aesthetic that he wants to see, so good for him.
“Might have marked you a bit, there,” he admits.
Jopson's fine by the time the poutine shows up, no worries. Edward slapped him pretty hard, but Jopson doesn't mark easily, so the redness on his cheek will fade.
“I’ll pinch if I have to,” Jopson says dryly. He glances into the shower. “...you’re not just using the hotel toiletries, are you?”
Edward was not, in fact, using the hotel toiletries, but he definitely is now. The jury is out as to whether Tozer took them on purpose or by accident, and, to be honest, I don't know which way the cookie is gonna crumble on that one! It'll be an adventure of discovery.
Eating and looking at him at the same time, with absolutely no care as to how he looks.
It's a love letter to the eating-out-of-a-can scene, yes, thank you for noticing.
“Oh thank god,” Edward says. He relaxes into Jopson’s lap, turns his head and nuzzles Jopson’s bare stomach. “I’d hate to think I’d made an ass out of myself for nothing.”
Only in Edward Little's head would 'confessing your deepest feelings to someone who clearly wanted to hear the confession' be translated as 'making an ass out of yourself'. There's a lot of things to be said in there about previous relationships, but ugh, I don't want to say any of them, they're not nice.
(Also, as an aside, Jopson didn't say it back--but, then, he didn't need to. The important bit is that Edward said it when he felt like he needed to, and Jopson will say it when he feels like he needs to, and they're going to be very happy together.)
"And let us not forget that you also stole the hotel key out of my trouser pocket in order to let yourself quietly back into the room, in order to…"
Jopson is a snoop and a thief and Edward wouldn't have him any other way. I think, in a lot of ways, Edward is used to people being too intimidated by him to play...and Jopson has made it quite clear, in this way and many other ways, that he's not scared, and that he's having a fun time, and he's carving out his own enjoyment, and that's really important.
And, uh. That's it, that's the fic!
I think this is the softest thing I've ever written with the hardest kink in it, haha. I'm really pleased with how it's turned out, though--I love kink conventions, I love BDSM, and I'm really passionate about the opportunities for valuable, committed relationships that don't follow the "standard" definition of what a relationship is and what it looks like. I think the thing Edward and Tom are carving out for themselves is intense, and more than a little weird, but I also think it's exactly what both of them want, and when it gets right down to it, that's the important thing. So there you have it.
I'm going to be drafting the Tozer/Irving fic next, since it chronologically overlaps with Closer, and then I'm going to draft the Fitzier, which takes place at the winter conference (ie, six in-universe months from Closer). Unfortunately, since I want to release them in the opposite order (Fitzier first, Solving second), there's probably going to be a bit of dead air for a while here.
The good news, though, is that Little and Jopson are living their best lives and don't have any major plot-related incidents over the next six months, so I'm free to release little one-shots of the various things they're up to while I'm drafting more longfics.
If you have any questions or anything, or you just wanna yell at me, I'm around! My inboxes are open! I spend more time on Twitter than I do on anything else, but I check my tumblr a couple times a day too.
Thank you for joining me on this journey. Closer (and the kink verse in general) are very near and dear to my heart, and I'm so happy that it's been warmly received.
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love lessons
lou x reader (fluff, college!au, tiny tiny bit of angst)
a/n: this was requested and got way out of hand. thanks to @dearbeommie for keeping me sane. uwu.
You’re not a bad student. On the contrary, you’ve always done very well in your classes — unless it comes to learning new languages.
You’ve tried it all. Journals, YouTube tutorials, hardcore studying. You just can’t seem to grasp a new language well enough to actually speak it to anyone, and that’s what’s starting to become an issue. Enough of an issue that you’re now sitting awkwardly across from your Korean professor in their office, with her regarding you with just enough pity to make you squirm. You don’t want her to pity you, you want her to like you and be impressed by you, because she’s one of your coolest professors on campus.
“So, Y/N,” she starts, and you attempt to straighten your posture as you look up to meet her gaze. “Have you ever considered a tutor?” Your throat suddenly feels dry. Tutoring? Tutors might be helpful, but that means money you can’t really afford to spend—
“We have a Korean student who’s studying here for the semester. I’m his advisor for that time, and he’s also working with me as an assistant as part of a work award with his university. I think he’d be a good resource for you.”
There’s a pause, and your professor leans back in her seat and chuckles,
“It’s free, since he works through the school. Would you like his email address?” You feel some of the tension leave your body, like helium from a week-old balloon.
“Yes, please,” you respond, smiling.
That evening, before you settle heavily into studying, you send an email to the address you’d been given with a little explanation and your usual schedule.
You have a response by the time your head hits the pillow: Saturday, 11am, in the library. You’re oddly nervous.
Two days later, on Saturday, you realize why you’re so nervous: first, you have no idea what this guy looks like; second, you’re about to embarrass yourself in front of someone your age. You glance around the library, looking for anyone sitting alone with a familiar textbook—
“Y/N L/N?” A deep voice says from behind you, sending a slight shiver down your spine. You turn, nose almost brushing against the chest of this person; hastily, you tilt your chin up and clear your throat.
“Kim Hosung?” The boy’s lip twitches into a smile for a moment, and you can’t help but find him both extremely attractive and horribly intimidating — lucky for you, the slight roundness of his cheeks and somewhat large ears help to soften his features, although you’re still extremely nervous when he opens his mouth to speak.
“Just call me Lou,” he replies, not unkindly, “Should we find a place to sit?” You nod curtly, following him to a booth. Despite the length of his stride, he seems to be conscientious of your own walking pace. You take a moment to catch your breath and take him in while he’s unable to see your face.
First and foremost, he’s tall — tall and slender, except for his broad shoulders, with a slightly long but round face. His ears, like you noticed before, are a little big but covered partly by his dark, fluffily styled hair, but now you also notice the small black studs in them.
To put it simply, he’s gorgeous and cute somehow, which is totally unfair. You suddenly wish you’d put more effort into your appearance. Lou chooses a booth in the back corner, and you take a seat across from him and immediately start digging all your materials out of your backpack.
“So, Y/N,” Lou says, and you hate how much you like the sound of your name in his voice. “What is it you need help with, exactly?” You sigh, resting your chin in your palm and looking at him pitifully.
“Everything,” you reply, and Lou chuckles and raises an eyebrow. “I can read Hangul pretty well, but I’m terrible when it comes to speaking or constructing more complex sentences. I just get choked up and forget everything.” You pick up and pen and fiddle with it, avoiding his gaze.
“That would explain why Professor Lee mentioned your comprehension being good,” he muses, and you nod.
“I just want to be able to communicate without looking like an idiot.” You glance up at him through your lashes and find him smiling at you, one side of his mouth lifted higher than the other.
“Well, Y/N,” he starts, and you look up. Lou is full-on smiling now, “You’ve come to the right person.” You return his smile, albeit more shyly, as he begins to take out his own study materials.
You have a feeling this might just work.
Lou is an incredible tutor.
Not only is his Korean understandably good, but his English is impeccable. You’ve been tempted on more than one occasion to ask about it, but after only a couple study sessions you aren’t sure you qualify as anything more than an acquaintance he smiles at in passing. It startles you how your curiosity keeps growing the longer you know him — every time you have a session, you clam up about anything but your class and assignments.
One day, after Professor Lee had handed back your first ‘A’ assignment in her class, you drop by the cafe before your study session and make the decision to order two iced americanos. You have no clue how Lou likes his coffee, so you stuff a couple sugar packets in your backpack and make your way to the library.
One advantage to Lou: he’s tall and extremely easy to spot in a crowd, even sitting down. There’s a smile growing on your face as you approach him, and with his earbuds in he noticed the coffee you slide into his line of sight before he notices you.
Lou smiles crookedly, an eyebrow raised, and you take a sip of your coffee.
“What?” You ask, feigning innocence. He chuckles.
“What’s this for?” You can feel yourself beaming.
“Just think of it as a token of my gratitude,” you reply, shrugging and fiddling with your straw. “I got an A on Lee’s assignment.”
“Ah,” he says, leaning back. He crosses his arms and seems almost smug, “So that’s why you’re in a good mood.”
“I’m always in a good mood!” You huff, although you know that’s most definitely not true — really, you just like being playful around Lou. It almost makes it feel like you’re friends, and you definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that. Or more.
“Sure,” he chuckles, and you roll your eyes. Lou starts to take out his materials, and you falter for a moment as you do the same. Maybe it’s because you’re in a good mood, or maybe you’re riding the high of this banger you two have, but you’re just itching to ask him—
“Hey, Lou,” you start. “Can I ask you something?” He glances up, looking confused, but nods at you.
“How'd you get so good at English?” You ask, and then, immediately, begin backpedaling. You cover your face with your hands. “Sorry, that sounds kind of offensive, doesn’t it? I just — your grammar might be even better than mine and I know English is a hard language— that doesn’t sound any better— just, just forget—“
You’re interrupted by Lou’s good-natured chuckling once again, and peek out from between your fingers to assess the situation.
“I’ll take the compliment,” he says. “My family and I lived in Atlanta when I was little, if that helps clear it up.”
“Oh,” is all you can manage to say, still embarrassed by your question and subsequent overreaction. Lou just smirks at you and takes a sip of his americano before getting down to business.
“So, looks like you’ll be working with chapter 5 this week...”
You let your eyes linger on him for a moment too long before flipping to the correct page in your book. You decide you’re going to make Lou your friend by the end of this semester.
Making Lou your friend is actually not as hard as you thought it would be, especially considering he’s as relaxed as he is. He’s also easy to spot on campus, so all it takes on your part is to walk a little faster across the quad between classes and soon you’re seeing him on almost a daily basis. Although you don’t have classes together, your path converges more with Lou’s, your schedules beginning to sync. He’ll sometimes wait around for you when he knows you two can walk together, and the two of you take turns paying for coffee when you go to the cafe together.
The only downside to making Lou your friend is that he becomes significantly more charming once you get past his somewhat aloof, intimidating exterior. Not that he had ever seemed particularly cold to you, more that he just seemed unapproachably cool for someone like you.
Which isn’t true. He’s a dork, in probably the purest possible sense. He just happens to be a handsome dork.
The next week at tutoring, you can feel yourself getting nervous. It’s the last session you have before your midterm, which is going to seriously affect your grade; Lou knows this, and he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned, meanwhile you can’t stop chewing on you straw just to have something to do. Your distress must be extremely palpable however, because Lou sighs and pokes your forehead so that your face moves away from your straw. He keeps the pad of his index finger pressed gently against your skin as his dark eyes meet yours.
“Alright, Y/N, you’re clearly having trouble focusing,” he starts, and you blush. “So I’m going to strike a deal with you. If you get above a B- on this midterm, I’ll take you out for Korean barbecue, okay?”
Well, you think, who are you to say no to free Korean barbecue with your very attractive tutor-turned-friend? You find yourself grinning at his offer.
“Deal!” You chirp, and Lou chuckles as he lets his hand fall away from your face.
“Time to get studying then, Y/N.”
And, well, who are you to say no to that, either?
You waltz into your next study session with Lou feeling as though you’re walking on air. He smiles at the bright look on your face, gazing up at you expectantly as you approach the table where he’s seated.
“Guess who got an A,” you sing, plopping leaning over the table. Lou laughs and, surprisingly, stands up.
“Well done.” You give him a questioning look as he slips his backpack on his back, and for the first time you realize he’s had no study materials out all this time.
“What?” He asks, laughing. “It’s time to eat.” You cock your head to the side as you slowly follow him out.
“But... but what about our session?” You ask, and he turns back to look at you with an almost devilish smile.
“Consider today a real-world test, Y/N. You’re gonna order our food.” You pout and let out a huff, which leads him to ruffle your hair as you pass by him through the doorway.
“Fine.”
The two of you spend the bus ride in relative silence, except for when you nervously ask Lou questions about ordering food and proper etiquette. He answers all your questions good-naturedly, patting your shoulder to reassure you you’ll be fine. He leaves his arm around you, but you hardly even notice because you’re too busy rehearsing the basics of how to order food politely. It feels like grade school all over again, like you’re rereading your assigned passage before your turn comes up so you don’t stutter.
When you get off the bus, it’s colder than you thought it would be. The sun has already begun setting and you hadn’t expected an outing tonight, though you feel a little foolish for not thinking of it. You’re interrupted in the midst of scolding yourself by Lou tapping your shoulder, and when you turn you nearly get hit in the face with the hoodie he’s been wearing over an unbuttoned flannel and a t-shirt.
“Thanks,” you murmur, feeling a little embarrassed as you let him help you into his hoodie. He chuckles at the way the sleeves fall past your fingers, and you swing your arms back and forth slightly to showcase it even more, joining him in laughing. Eventually, Lou takes the initiative to head to the restaurant, and the nervousness you had all but forgotten comes back with a vengeance as the establishment comes into sight. Probably sensing your nerves, Lou greets the hostess for both of you; you hear him say his own name, and once you’re both seated you look curiously at him.
“Did you make a reservation?” You swear you see the tips of his ears turn red, even as he shrugs nonchalantly.
“I knew you’d do well. Besides, once I mentioned barbecue I decided I had to get some either way.” As always, he acts cool, but you feel yourself grinning at his little act of kindness. You have no doubt he would have brought you regardless of how you did, but it’s nice to know he had faith in you.
After a few minutes of perusing the menu, you test your pronunciation on Lou.
“Bul-go-gi,” he says, slowly, and you repeat it after him in the same manner. “Bulgogi.”
“Bulgogi,” you say, confidently. He smiles at your improved pronunciation.
“And tteok-bokki,” he continues, slowly once again. You repeat carefully, and then take a slow breath in and out to prepare for the waitress coming over. Evidently, you do well enough ordering that the waitress doesn’t look confused or disgusted by your pronunciation, and so you take a much-needed sip of water with a smile on your face. You’re interrupted by Lou’s gentle laughter, and you fix him with a glare.
“What?” You ask, barely pulling away from your drink. His eyes seem to sparkle when he looks at you and shrugs.
“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says, like he’s talking about the weather, and you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest. How can he say that so casually?
“Thanks,” you mutter, taking another sip of your water in an attempt to cool yourself down.
Dinner passes without a hitch after that, except for the few times Lou steals food from your plate and it becomes something of a competition as to who can more stealthily snag a bite.
By the time the two of you leave, hours have passed and you feel fit to burst — and you just might, if Lou keeps telling you stories about the guys he lives with back in South Korea. On the bus, he shows you one video of his roommate, Ayno, walking on all fours in a crowded airport with slides on his hands. You attempt to stifle your laughter in the sleeves of Lou’s oversized sweater, but end up snorting instead. You bury your face in his shoulder as you continue to laugh, attempting to hide your embarrassment.
The bus hits a bump in the road, and Lou’s arm slips around you so you don’t bounce off the seat. You’re too busy laughing to really notice.
Lou walks you back to your dorm’s entrance, where you turn and flash him a playful grin.
“So, how’d I do on my test?” You ask, and Lou laughs, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Good.” You bite down on your lower lip, but can’t keep yourself from beaming.
“Thanks, Lou,” you say, looking up at him earnestly. The stars frame him beautifully, and you wonder if he even has a bad angle with the way you have to look up at him. “For everything. The tutoring, the food... all of it. I’m glad Lee sent me to you.” You nudge him playfully with your elbow as you say it, and he lets out a laugh that sounds more breathy than usual.
“You’re welcome, Y/N.”
The way he smiles down at you makes you feel flustered, and so you look down at the ground for a moment before wishing him a goodnight. Lou steps away as you reach into your bag for your ID, but he calls to you just as you get the door open. You turn to find him smiling broadly at you, just a little ways down the sidewalk.
“Goodnight!” You feel a goofy grin break across your face and can’t help but laugh.
“Goodnight, Lou!” You call back, and with one last beaming grin and wave he turns away and starts walking back to his dorm.
It isn’t until you get inside and go to hide your burning cheeks that you realize you’re still wearing his hoodie. And you couldn’t be happier.
Monday rolls around, and you’re shocked to find Lou outside your dorm before your first class, a coffee carrier with two americanos in one hand and his phone in the other. He has his earbuds in, and you hear him rapping under his breath as you approach. The sound of his voice, the perfect rhythm, brings a smile to your face as you quietly make your way towards him. You tap him on the shoulder, biting your lip. He looks up, his eyes widening before his expression becomes a grin.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” you reply, giving him a cheeky grin. “I didn’t know you could rap.” He laughs and promptly puts his earbuds away, passing you a coffee.
“Just a hobby,” he replies, tossing the coffee carrier away. “Ready for your quiz today?” You raise an eyebrow.
“How do you know about my quiz?”
“Professor Lee keeps me up to date,” he says.
“Oh.” You feel slightly embarrassed by that, but shrug it off as you take a sip of your coffee. “Well, I feel as ready as I’ll ever be.” Lou laughs at your response tossing an arm around your shoulders as the both of you approach the building your Korean class is held in. He tugs you towards him, pulling you into a gentle hug by the doors.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his low voice rumbling close to your ear. “You’ll do well. You have me as your tutor, after all.” You scoff and push him away, reaching up to mess up his hair.
“So humble,” you say waving him off. Before he strays too far, you raise your voice, “Thanks for the coffee!” He gives you a thumbs up in response before disappearing into the crowd of students heading to class, and you can’t help but smile as you clutch the coffee a little closer to your chest.
You refuse to say it, but you know that the espresso isn’t the reason your heart is pounding as you enter the building.
When you receive yet another ‘A’ on your Korean assignment, you feel like you’re walking on air. And it’s with that confidence boost that you find yourself suggesting to Lou that the two of you go ‘study’ at a bubble tea shop a short bus ride from campus. Lou, for as serious as he seemed when you first met him, has absolutely no problem with your idea and follows you gladly to the bus stop.
The bus ride itself is filled with relatively mindless chatter from the both of you, but neither of you seem to mind. Your eyes keep drifting out the window, to the clear blue sky and the sunlight winking through the trees.
“I can’t believe it’s almost summer,” you remark, and Lou hums in agreement.
“Yeah. The semester’s almost over.” You turn back to him.
“Are you excited to go back to Korea?” His expression clouds for a moment, but soon he’s back to his normal, half-smiling self. He lets out a short laugh and shrugs his shoulders.
“Excited is one word for it.” You think back to what he’s told you about his group of friends and their overly-dramatic send-off for him, and snicker, nudging him with your elbow.
“Come on, this is our stop.” You think nothing of it as you grab his wrist to get him out of his seat, and you miss the redness of his ears when you do so.
Once inside the shop, the two of you bicker about the superior bubble tea flavor and you rush to pay before he can. As you wait for your drinks, your phone lights up on the table with a new message from one of your group chats.
party Saturday night @ Kina’s house. plus ones encouraged ;)
When Lou returns to the table, two cups in his hands, you glance up at him thoughtfully.
“Hey, Lou,” you start, and he raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his drink. “What do you say to going to a party with me on Saturday?” He leans back in his seat with a smile.
“I’m in.” Your heart stutters in your chest for a beat, but you push the thought of it away, returning his grin as you sip on your own drink.
You’re starting to think inviting Lou along was a bad idea, because it’s been over an hour and you’re still nursing your first drink. Every spare second you’ve had, you’ve been swarmed by people wanting to be introduced to the tall boy at your side. While he doesn’t seem to notice all the attempts to flirt with him, all the obvious heart eyes people are flashing in his direction, you definitely do, and you’re getting more annoyed by the minute. As the most recent group of people wanders away, their eyes lingering on Lou, you can’t help but sigh.
“I think you’re the most popular guy here now,” you joke, taking a long sip of your drink. Lou laughs at that and casually slings an arm around your shoulders.
“Jealous?” He teases, and you shrug him off with a roll of your eyes. You open your mouth to make some witty retort, but are interrupted by someone calling out both of your names.
“Come play Truth or Dare with us!” Kina exclaims, waving you over. You glance at Lou to gauge his reaction, but he only shrugs with that mysterious half-grin on his face, tugging you towards the living room. Kina has pushed most of the furniture to the edges of the room, and the circle of players sitting on the floor expands slightly to make room for you and Lou to sit down. You watch as Kina chugs down half a bottle of beer before setting the bottle down in the center of the circle and giving it a spin.
The game is, for the most part, uneventful. Kina dares a guy to take his shirt off, said guy obliges (quite happily, you might note, which seems counterintuitive for the game) and then gets one of his buddies to reveal their most embarrassing drunken escapade. Said story actually gets you to set your own drink aside, suddenly not in the mood for alcohol any longer. The spin lands on a girl you think you had some class with freshman year, and after she completes her dare (do a keg stand, which she nails and is actually pretty impressive and terrifying) the bottle suddenly lands on Lou. There’s a glimmer in the girl’s eyes as she stares him down, and you realize that she’s one of many people you introduced Lou to tonight.
“Truth or dare,” she asks, smirking. You feel as though your stomach is twisting into knots, and you don’t know why. Lou, cool as ever, quickly responds:
“Dare.” Her grin stretches wider and you feel extremely uncomfortable, wondering if this night is going to have to end with you apologizing to Lou for ruining his semester abroad because of some weird, drunk girl.
“Okay, Lou,” she says, almost purring, “I dare you to kiss the most attractive person in this room. Right now.” You glance at him for a moment before looking back around the circle. Most people seem to be eagerly awaiting his next move, but the tightness you felt in your stomach has now spread to your chest. You’re curious yourself, to be honest, but you also can’t help but feel uncomfortable on his behalf. While you’re sitting, debating whether you should stop this game for the sake of the boy beside you or just let it run its course, Lou has already made his decision. You hear his jeans scuff against the carpet and you turn your head to face him, brows furrowed in concern.
And yet, Lou doesn’t look even a fraction as upset as you had worried he would be, although he does look nervous. You open your mouth to ask him if he’s sure he’s okay with this, but then you realize something truly startling.
Lou isn’t standing up, not even trying to. Instead, he’s turned his body to face yours and is slowly leaning closer. You tense up, confused, your heart skidding to a stop for a moment as his dark eyes lock with yours. With a strange rush of blood to your head you realize he’s being completely serious as he closes the distance between the two of you—
He presses a kiss to your forehead, then leans back and resumes his former position, reaching out to spin the bottle. You can feel your face burning, and can’t hear anything but your runaway heartbeat in your ears. You swallow thickly, unable to take your eyes off him, and yet all he offers you after he gives someone a very simple dare is a glance and another enigmatic smile, placing his hand over yours as the game continues to unfold.
The rest of the night passes in a bit of a blur, but you’re suddenly very aware of Lou’s hands on you; his arm around your shoulders, the back of his hand brushing your own, even just his broad chest behind your back. It’s more like you’re hyper-aware of him and the fact that he’s taking every possible opportunity to touch you, even if it’s just for a moment. By the time you’re about to leave the party, the house feels far too hot and crowded, and you think you’ve got your cardio in for the month; the second your feet hit the pavement, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Lou lets out a gentle laugh from beside you and, unbidden, drapes his hoodie across your shoulders. You glance up at him, biting the inside of your cheek as you regard him; under the yellow streetlights his skin and hair look unbelievably soft, and his eyes seem to sparkle just for you.
“Thanks,” you murmur, unable to raise your voice above a whisper. He doesn’t say a word in response, but the back of his hand brushes yours again and you feel your heart rate spike once more. You come to a halt in the middle of the quiet sidewalk, and Lou stops just a few steps ahead of you, looking back curiously. You pull his jacket tighter around you even though you don’t feel cold and clear your throat, which suddenly feels inexplicably dry.
“About earlier,” you start, lamely. “Did you mean it?” Lou blinks at you, his expression unreadable.
“Why do you ask?” You feel your face heating up again even as you shrug, attempting to be nonchalant.
“Well, I mean— it was a forehead kiss— and you didn’t really know anyone else, so I wasn’t sure…” At some point during your poorly constructed sentence, your gaze had drifted down to the pavement in some attempt to hide your embarrassment. You hear Lou move, and suddenly you can see his shoes almost toe-to-toe with yours. Your breath catches when he gently tilts your chin up to look at him, his eyes bright and mirthful.
“I wasn’t just going to kiss you without permission in a room full of people,” he says, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Why? Did you want me to?” Although his tone is playful, you see that same earnestness in his gaze that you had during the game, and it feels as though the world falls still. Without meaning to, your gaze flicks down to his lips for a moment, and you have a sudden, strange burst of confidence when you look back into his eyes.
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” you reply. Lou laughs at that and then leans in, closing the gap between the two of you once more and pressing his lips to yours.
And the world starts to turn again.
Lou doesn’t really ask you to be his girlfriend because he doesn’t have to; the two of you just kind of slip into a romantic relationship, which really just means adding more physical contact to your usual conversations and maybe some heart emojis here and there. Being Lou’s girlfriend means constantly getting treated to coffee and being given the best hugs — means being allowed to listen to songs off is mixtape before they get officially posted — means getting to play with his hair when he takes a nap with his head on your lap, or you watch a drama together in what Lou claims is an attempt to better your Korean.
It means your heart fluttering at even the smallest gestures, and it means feeling heartbroken when Professor Lee reminds all of you that your final is in one week.
You haven’t really talked to Lou about his going back to Korea since you asked him about it on the bus that day, and it’s partly because you don’t know what you want him to do about it. On the one hand, you’ve never been in a long distance relationship that’s that long distance, but on the other you’ve never had a relationship that feels as seamless and right as the one you have with Lou. You keep telling yourself you both need to focus on finals, that you can’t put the pressure on him right now, but you know the truth of the matter is that you’re too scared to face the reality of the situation just then.
Your tutoring sessions have moved out of the library and into Lou’s dorm room, because his roommate is almost never around. According to Lou, he spends most of his time with his girlfriend in her apartment, so Lou has only seen him a few times. It’s reading day for your school, and you’ve decided to take over Lou’s room as he helps you prep for your Korean final the next day.
“When’s your last final again?” He asks, nonchalantly, shuffling your index cards.
“Thursday,” you reply, without thinking for a moment of what this conversation could turn into, too focused on the task at hand.
“I leave Wednesday,” Lou says, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach, weighing you down. “I’m taking an Uber from the school at 2. We should have lunch together.” Your throat feels inexplicably dry, but you manage to nod your head. Lou smiles at you, then hold up the first flashcard. You try not to think about it.
If someone were to ask you which superpower you wish you had, it would be to freeze time, because you really don’t want Lou to leave. You close your eyes, leaning your head against his shoulder. A light breeze passes over both of you as you sit on the bench waiting for his Uber, and Lou gently runs his fingers through your hair.
He doesn’t seem upset, but you think maybe it’s for your sake. You didn’t expect to feel so emotional about all of this, considering you haven’t even been together that long, but the bond you have with Lou feels inexplicably strong. He had told you at lunch he wanted to continue this if you did, and you burst into tears in the middle of taking a bite of your pizza — needless to say, it’s been a long day.
“Hey,” he says, softly. You open your eyes to look up at him. “Don’t be too sad, okay? I promise we won’t be apart for long.” You don’t know how he can promise that, but you’re left with no choice but to trust him as his Uber pulls up to the curb.
The driver is blessedly patient with the both of you as you cry into Lou’s arms for the last time, apologizing for all your blubbering while he presses a soothing kiss to your forehead. Eventually, you calm down enough to kiss him properly, then press your forehead to his.
“Lou?” You prod, gently. He hums. “I love you.” For the first time, you think you hear his voice crack,
“I love you, too.”
As the Uber pulls away, you receive an AirDrop request to an unlisted YouTube video on Lou’s channel. The title of the track makes you cry even more.
사랑해.
After listening to Lou’s unreleased song for you for days on end, you make a decision. You would call it rash if it hadn’t taken you so long to translate the message to send over Facebook, but it certainly feels crazy fast approaching when you buy your plane tickets after receiving a one-word response from Mrs. Kim: “드디어!”
You fall asleep on the plane listening to Lou’s voice through your earbuds, and wake up more excited than ever to land. Mrs.Kim has been active on Facebook since you woke up, and has been excitedly messaging you updates about Lou. You can’t help but laugh when she tells you he’s been moping about having to go pick up her mystery friend from the airport — apparently your boyfriend thinks he’s being treated more like a pack mule than a son. After some light banter, she tells you where they’ll be waiting for you as your plane begins its initial descent.
Deplaning takes forever and the airport is a nightmare to navigate but it’s all so worth it when you see the look on your boyfriend’s face when he spots you.
“Y/N?” Lou asks, shocked, as you make your way towards him. You feel yourself tearing up, but in the best possible way.
“Surprise!” You reply, trying to keep your voice from cracking. Lou pulls you into his arms, and he laughs gently as he holds you close; you swear you hear a tremble in it and wonder if he’s feeling as emotional as you are. His heart seems to be beating just as fast, anyways.
“How? My mom told me we were picking up her friend…”
“Well, you taught me enough Korean that I managed to get an A in class and send a passable message to your mom on Facebook…” You pull back to look into his eyes, your arms still looped around his neck. “So, here I am! All yours for a month.” Lou smiles and his eyes turn to crescents. He shakes his head in disbelief before leaning down to press a kiss against your lips, chuckling softly when he pulls away to press his forehead to yours.
“What?” You ask, running a thumb along his cheekbone. He gently shakes his head.
“I didn’t think I’d get to see you again for at least a year… I’ve been thinking about you nonstop, and now here you are.” You open your mouth to reply, but a sudden call of your name interrupts you. You peer around Lou to see his mother approaching, a wide smile split across her face and a carrier of iced coffees in her hands. She shoves said drinks into Lou’s hands in order to greet you, her Korean spoken so fast you can barely understand it all — but her eyes and the smile on her face tell you enough. She holds both your hands in hers, and shoots a wink at her son that makes his ears turn red, and warmth explodes in your chest as you all leave the airport.
You can feel somewhere deep inside, this is going to be the best two weeks of your life.
#vav fanfiction#vav imagines#vav scenarios#vav texts#vav lou#lou fanfiction#lou au#lou imagines#lou scenarios#lou texts#My writing#kpop fanfiction#kpop writing#kpop scenarios#kpop texts#kpop imagines
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Myth reads The Riddle, Chapter 1
Alrighty, folks. I can’t to a direct book-to-book comparison (there are seven ToG novels not including The Assassin’s Blade, which is a collection of five prequel novellas, and only five Pellinor books including the prequel novel) so I made a spreadsheet to figure out what should be read with what. The Riddle gets to be compared to Crown of Midnight, Heir of Fire, and a not insignificant amount of Queen of Shadows. The Crow gets the rest of Queen of Shadows, the entirety of Empire of Storms (Hem doesn’t deserve that but them’s the breaks), and a good chunk of Tower of Dawn. The Singing has the rest of Tower of Dawn and all of Kingdom of Ash, for which it has my sincere apologies.
The Bone Queen is going to be compared to The Assassin’s Blade on the premise that they are both prequels and that at some point I could use a break from doing anywhere from 40-90 pages at a time of ToG. I may do those two directly after The Riddle so I can have the aforementioned break.
I COULD, of course, read two books for every Pellinor book except the Bone Queen, which would still be read only with The Assassin’s Blade, but a, I didn’t think of that until I was already done with my spreadsheet, and b, that would involve reading exactly 1.628 pages (Tower of Dawn and Kingdom of Ash) with The Singing, which is 444 pages. As various friends correctly pointed out, that sounds torturous (and comes out to about 4 pages of ToG for 1 page of The Singing). After that discussion, I decided my spreadsheet should not be in vain.
Here we go.
The Riddle, being the second of the Books of Pellinor
Chapter 1
The Riddle
Do not twine garlands of myrtle for my forehead
Nor pluck sweet roses to adorn me
Make me a crown of somber violets
For I am dying
The sweet lips of the maidens of Busk
And the flashing feet of dancing goatherds
Will never again quicken my desire
For I am dying
Come to me merciful Meripon
In your ebony chariot drawn by swallows
From the dim halls beyond the Gates
For I am dying
I kiss the peaks of Lamedon with my eyes
And the white arms of the passionate sea
Which loves this beautiful island that I love
For I am dying
Thus begins the first chapter of the first section of The Riddle, called Thorold.
Yikes.
Maerad has a dream vision of a lot of armies marching through a desert, and not even a cool natural desert. Something about it feels bad and poisoned. She freaks out and falls…
Maerad woke, gasping for breath, and sat bolt upright. This was an unwise thing to do, as she was sleeping in a hammock slung below the deck of a small fishing smack called the White Owl. The hammock swung dangerously and then, as she flailed for balance in the pitch dark, tipped her out onto the floor. Still trapped in her dream, Maerad screamed, putting out her hands to break her fall, and hit the wooden floorboards.
Cadvan of course rushes to check on her. Maerad says she had a bad dream and apologizes if she cried out. Cadvan jokes that it sounded like there was a hull on the boat and asks if it was a regular nightmare or a foredream. Maerad says definitely foredream, definitely horrible, also she is not a fan of boats because she gets seasick.
Foredreams, in Maerad’s experience, we always horrible.
Cadvan, when Maerad tells him about it, says it definitely sounds like the place the Nameless One started out from when he marshalled his armies to bring about the Great Silence. Maerad asks hopefully if maybe she’s just seeing the past, and Cadvan says there’s always the possibility but he doesn’t think so in this case, because Cadvan is a negative nancy.
Maerad gives us some ‘last time on’ info while she and Cadvan consider the implications, including that Turbansk, Saliman’s Bard school and where he and Hem went, are going to have it rough.
“...even that vast force is only one piece in the great strategem the Nameless One is now unleashing. And you, Maerad, are as significant to him as that huge army. Maybe more so. Everything turns on you.”
Maerad bowed her head, oppressed beyond measure by Cadvan’s words. On me? she thought bitterly. And yet she knew it was true.
Cadvan, I don’t mean to criticize, but you seem to forget a lot that Maerad is a teenager who was pretty recently yoinked from slavery. Maybe, like. Chill for a second on the whole ‘the fate of the world is on Your Shoulders Alone’ thing? (It’s a different matter from how I feel that in ToG the books have forgotten that Celaena is a teenager pretty recently yoinked from slavery. If I fail to mention this in the comparison yell at me in the notes and I’ll talk about it)
More ‘last time on’ but I don’t mean it as a criticism: it manages to be couched into Maerad’s thoughts about Cadvan and her Foretold-ness, and honestly I feel like more books should have some ‘last time on’ thoughts when they’re sequels. If nothing else it would remind the authors themselves what happened in the last book.
Naming no names, re: sequel consistency (oh we’ll get to that)
They’re two days out from Busk, and Maerad, at a loss for anything else to do, offers to keep watch so Owan or Cadvan can nap, since they’re the only two who really know how to sail. They would have taught Maerad, but Cadvan has a magic wind still going, which makes teaching difficult, and when it’s not going he’s asleep and Owan is busy actually, you know. Sailing.
Maerad had already witnessed Cadvan’s powers of endurance, but his stubborn will impressed her anew: his face was haggard and his mouth grim, but he moved the with alertness of a well-rested man.
So many jokes I could make. I will refrain.
Maerad sees something in the water and alerts the other two. Cadvan tries to make them go faster but whatever it is keeps up.
It’s an ondril, which are usually pretty benign sea serpents. This one is big, they’ve already gotten out of whatever territory onril would normally defend, and they can’t see to outrun it.
Welp, says Cadvan (lightly paraphrased), guess we’re gonna have to fight. Let’s charge it.
Owan cocked his head and thought briefly. “Aye, easily enough, if you put more breeze in the sails,” he said. “Think you that’s a good idea?”
“I don’t,” Maerad said. “I think it’s mad.”
“We may be able to wrest the initiative,” said Cadvan. He looked at Maerad and smiled with a sudden sweetness that illuminated and transformed his somber face. “Come, Maerad. It is far better to put away fear than to be driven by it. You know that.”
Yes, I know that, Maerad thought sardonically. But I’m tired of having to be brave when really I’m so terrified I scarce know what to do.
He lets his wind die, has Owan turn them around, and whips of an opposite direction wind to charge the ondril. Maerad isn’t pleased but readies her sword and magic. Cadvan magically fastens Owan to the boat so he won’t get thrown out and gives age-old fighting advice: go for the eyes.
They do.
Anyway they have a battle, Maerad hits it with fire (some of which glances off), they run, the ondril pursues, both Maerad and Cadvan go for the remaining eye when it catches up, and they finally manage to escape. The men congratulate each other and Maerad.
Maerad looked away over the sea, feeling nothing but a vast emptiness. She had no sense of triumph, nor even relief. All she felt was a returning wisp of nausea. The only good thing about being frightened half to death, she thought, is that it makes me forget all about being seasick.
End chapter.
Throne of Glass
Are y’all ready for Crown of Midnight? I bet you aren’t!
Confession: this is the one I remember least, so we’re going on a journey together basically. I hope that comforts you as it has failed to comfort me. Anyway. Chapters 1-6 (and the first 51 pages) of CoM, here we come. (I also have to remind people that if I didn’t enjoy this on some level I wouldn’t be doing it: no one is forcing me. I’m just being dramatic)
Also can we discuss how I actually LIKE Crown of Midnight as a title, even if it’s pretty irrelevant to this book? Just saying.
We start with part 1, titled ‘The King’s Champion’ which is a departure from the first book, which was separated only by chapters. All subsequent books follow this format for reasons I don’t entirely understand, but we can talk about that in the comparison section, probably in more than one of these chapter/section comparisons.
Chapter 1!
Celaena sneaks into a house in a storm with many s words describing movement. She’s concealed in a black mask and hood, which is not a good way not to attract notice. Human-shaped splotches of solid black aren’t exactly blending in with the shadows (you’d want lots of different shades of brown and grey and black and yes even red, especially if there’s a lot of brick around. Fun fact: red is one of the first colors to register as grey to human eyes in the dark) and not exactly great for blending in with the crowd (unless that’s a new fashion in Rifthold?). She might have done better to disguise herself as a servant once she was in the house, or even to get in the house.
To give Celaena her due, she is trying to make An Impression on the dude she’s supposed to assassinate so he’ll take her seriously. To harp on my own pet peeve, making everyone around him less competent to make Celaena seem more badass is not the way to make a badass character (“the [servant] girl hadn’t noticed [Celaena’s] wet footprints on the floorboards,” really? She has to clean those floors. That girl is going to notice when they’re dirty).
We are two paragraphs into this book.
Anyway. I might also have to start counting uses of the word ‘wraith’.
Celaena notes that Lord Nirall’s wife is pretty and wonders what these nobles have done for the king to want them dead. Remind me to talk about Celaena’s weird compassion for high ranking Adarlan citizens vs everyone else in the world in the comparison.
She crept to the edge of the bed. It wasn’t her place to ask questions. Her job was to obey. Her freedom depended on it. With each step toward Lord Nirall, she ran through the plan again.
Her sword slid out of its sheath with barely a whine. She took a shuddering breath, bracing herself for what would come next.
Lord Nirall’s eyes flew open just as the King’s Champion raised her sword over her head.
Chapter 2!
Celaena’s walking down the hall to the king’s council chamber. I personally would have my assassin report to me in my study barring some really specific circumstances but I am but a young girl unschooled in the ways of politics and murder.
Also Rifthold is spelled Rift-hold for some reason. I assume it’s just a formatting error or typo.
Celaena bows to the king, notes Chaol and Dorian, and removes her hood when the king tells her to rise, which just makes these guards even more incompetent. You’re letting a hooded chick with a bloody sack just walk into the council chamber?
Wait why does the council chamber have the glass throne. Does the king just have multiple glass thrones? The glass throne has been mentioned all of once and it already has more impact in the book NOT named after it. Anyway.
Celaena produces a head (mauled unrecognizably) and seal ring, and then when the king asks about the guy’s wife she hauls a “slender, pale hand” wearing a wedding ring from the sack, saying that the wife is chained to the remains of her husband at the bottom of the sea. Dorian looks sick and Celaena decides she should give him credit for not throwing up.
The king says fine, and tells her that her next assignment is to root out and get rid of a growing rebel movement.
“There are several people on my list of suspected traitors, but I will only give you one name at a time. This castle is crawling with spies.”
Well that’s stupid on a scale rarely seen. You aren’t going to hand her a physical list, after all, that would be -
Chaol stiffened at [the comment about spies], but the king waved his hand and the captain approached her, his face still blank as he extended a piece of paper to Celaena.
- exactly what you’re doing. Okay.
Keeping her features neutral, she looked at the paper. On it was a single name: Archer Finn.
Celaena actually knows him - he trained for a bit with her, because he’s a courtesan and needed to be able to defend himself from his clients’ jealous husbands, apparently. No gay people in Rifthold, no siree. Celaena had a crush on him back in the day and she hasn’t seen him in several years.
“...she’d never thought him capable of something like this. He’d been handsome and kind and jovial, not a traitor to the crown so dangerous that the king would want him dead.”
Sounds like a perfect spy tbh.
Somehow despite Archer being a famous and highly sought-after courtesan, the king thinks it’s salacious that Celaena might know who he is. Then the king gives her a month to kill Archer or he’ll reconsider her position. When she’s killed Archer she’ll get the next name on the list.
Surely there isn’t an actual physical list somewhere of everyone the king considers a traitor. Surely he at least has it in code. Surely his spymaster has different bits of info kept different places or with different people. Surely he has a spymaster?
Leave me my hopes and dreams.
She had avoided the politics of the kingdoms - especially their rebel forces - for so many years, and now she was in the thick of it. Wonderful.
Ah. Sorry to mention this, but…
“We kill corrupt officials and adulterous spouses; we make it quick and clean…”
Maas, Sarah J.. The Assassin's Blade: The Throne of Glass Novellas (Throne Of Glass Series) (p. 41). Bloomsbury Publishing. Kindle Edition.
Killing corrupt politicians is not avoiding politics. I’m just saying.
The king tells her that her payment for killing Nirall is in her chambers. She pulls a salary and gets bonuses? Sweet gig. Aside from, you know, the murder.
She leaves the throne room, keeping the piece of paper with Archer’s name on it because this is Celaena we’re talking about, and we swap to Dorian’s PoV.
He’s worried because Celaena is killing people and not dressing up anymore and starts to think that maybe she just manipulated him into getting her the position of King’s Champion, which would make sense except for the fact that he pulled her out of the salt mines having never knowingly met her (and she doesn’t know they’ve met either: it’s a prequel thing) for the express purpose of making her King’s Champion, no seduction required.
Also, she’s an assassin who kills people for money. I am always surprised at how characters, knowing that fact, are surprised when she talks about killing people for money.
Dorian couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. He’d visit her - tomorrow, perhaps. Just to see if there was a chance he was wrong.
But he couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever meant anything to Celaena at all.
Back to Celaena’s PoV!
She goes to the sewers to dump the body parts and Chaol follows her. She wonders why everyone seems shocked that she’s willing to murder people, which is the first and possibly only time Celaena considers that as far as I can recall.
Chaol gets mad at her for being unwilling to share her murder details because for some reason that links in to missing her? I guess bonding over working for the apparently murderous conquering dictator is one way to strengthen a relationship.
They hug because she realizes he was worried about her and we are reminded that Celaena is warm for Chaol’s form. He says she smells really bad. She complains that she wasn’t allowed to shower before going to see the king, which I will acknowledge is a fair thing to be peeved about.
Chaol walks her to her room and agrees to come back for dinner, after which Celaena gets fussed over by Philippa in summary and then ruminates on how she hadn’t actually killed Niral and his unnamed wife or the named first target (Sir Carlin). Apparently there are sick-houses that dump lots of bodies, so Celaena stole a couple that looked like the victims and slashed them up a little. Celaena thinks about how the pale and slender hand had come from a girl “barely past her first bleed” which marks the beginning of the interesting relationship these books have with menstrual cycles and somehow knowing if someone has them or not.
She tries to think of how she can fake Archer’s death and draws a blank because he’s so well-known (but somehow it was surprising that she knew who he was back in the throne room?), then that she still can’t believe he’s a rebel, then that she can’t think of what else the king could conquer unless he’s looking at the other continents.
There were other continents, of course. Other continents with wealthy kingdoms - like Wendlyn, that faraway land across the sea.
Celaena’s mother was literally from Wendlyn. It irks me that the book pretends she has no idea about the country.
Celaena thinks that if the king finds out what she’s up to he’ll destroy her.
Chapter 3!
Celaena has a nightmare where Cain and the ridderak chase her through the secret tunnels. Cain almost catches her and…
He whispered her name, her true name, and she screamed as he -
When the book acknowledges Celaena’s Super Secret Long Lost Heritage and when it doesn’t has never quite made sense to me, but here we are.
She wakes up, cuddles her dog, and goes back to sleep.
The next morning Celaena and Nehemia play fetch with Fleetfoot the dog who hates everyone and everything but Celaena per the text. Celaena considers that Nehemia is a spy but the king definitely can’t know about her or he wouldn’t trust Celaena to be his Champion.
Fleetfoot is apparently abnormally large, as a sidenote.
Nehemia wants Celaena to tell her anything Celaena figures out about the king’s plans, because Nehemia is a reasonably competent spy in enemy territory using every advantage. Celaena promises to do so but thinks that she won’t, actually, because the king promised if she worked against him he would murder Chaol, Nehemia, and Nehemia’s family one by one in that order, which is really the wrong order to go in if you’re an evil king bent on bending a mostly morally incompetent assassin to your will. You kill somebody just close enough to prove you’re serious first. You don’t give up your hostage grown princess or loyal captain of the guard until other options have exhausted themselves. The hostage crown princess keeps an entire country at bay. The loyal captain of the guard is a, loyal, and b, captain of the guard. Those are the people you get rid of when you’re just Over It. You won’t have anybody left to bargain with after you kill the people Celaena actually cares about.
Look if you’re going to write evil, calculating characters, make them evil and calculating. Moving on.
If Nehemia talked more about the rebels, [Celaena] didn’t know how much more of it she could take. Yes, she wanted to be free of the king - both as his Champion and as a child of a conquered nation - but she wanted nothing to do with whatever plots were brewing in Rifthold, and whatever desperate hope the rebels still savored. To stand against the king would be nothing but folly. They’d all be destroyed.
Nehemia talks about Calaculla, which is supposed to be a work camp even harsher than Endovier and reserved almost entirely for citizens of Eyllwe, and says that the king won’t meet with her to discuss the conditions there.
“Apparently, he’s too busy finding people for you to kill.”
Get her.
Nehemia calls Celaena Elentiya, which if you have forgotten means ‘spirit that could not be broken’ in the language of Eyllwe and which you might have REPRESSED that Nehemia gave to Celaena, possibly in a fairytale hope that if you name something you influence the nature of it.
Sorry, Nehemia. You tried.
Anyway she does that while demanding when they can actually act.
But when Celaena said nothing, when she promised nothing, just as she always did when Nehemia spoke about these things, the princess dropped the stick on the ground quietly and walked back to the castle.
Celaena thinks about how she has to go meet Chaol for a run in a few minutes and she’s going to go hang out in Rifthold afterwards.
After all, the king had given her a month, and despite her own questions for Archer, she wanted to get off the castle grounds for a bit. She had blood money to burn.
Chapter 4!
We start with Chaol’s PoV. He and Celaena are doing their morning run and it’s cold. He looks over at her.
Noticing his stare, she flashed him a grin, those stunning turquoise eyes filled with light.
I just wanted it noted for the record exactly how noticeable her family eyes (from her Wendlyn side) storied in song and legend are.
They tease each other and run faster. Chaol thinks about Cain and how he killed him and asks Celaena how often she thinks about the people she’s killed. She drags him to a stop and says he shouldn’t pass judgment on her before breakfast. In the book it’s not bantery, it just sounds that way in summary.
Chaol assures her he wasn’t judging, and when she asks if this is about Cain he says yes. Celaena launches into a speech about never forgetting the people she’s killed, which would be a lot more moving if we knew anything about the people she killed or if she actually, like, remembered them in her PoV. we don’t even know who the guy she killed when she was in the single digits (mentioned in ToG) was. This is what I mean by these books telling instead of showing. We’re in Celaena’s head for most of these books. We should know more things.
Celaena assures Chaol that what he did wasn’t dishonorable and that she’ll never forget he saved her. Chaol reflects silently that he doesn’t know who he’d chose if it came down to Celaena vs the king, which, uh. Really dude?
They run some more.
Celaena’s PoV!
They’re walking back to the palace through the gardens. It’s still really cold.There are lots of women out to ogle Chaol as he removes all his layers but his shirt. Celaena is irritated. Chaol offers to help her with surveillance on Archer, she says she doesn’t need help, and they run into Dorian and a blond young man.
Blond dude is Roland. He makes Celaena nervous, which I’m not actually going to make fun of. Sometimes dudes just give off unspecified Bad Vibes. Dorian introduces them.
They still used her alias whenever she couldn’t avoid running into members of the court, though most everyone knew to some degree that she was not in the palace for administrative nonsense or politics.
Administrative.
Nonsense.
Fine whatever.
Roland didn’t expect the King’s Champion to be so lovely, apparently. He’s here to take a position on the king’s council. Chaol gets grouchy. Roland ogles Celaena. Dorian breaks up the party.
Dorian’s PoV!
Roland comments that Celaena/Lillian is an unexpected choice even with the competition. Dorian hates him and remembers that time Chaol punched Roland in the face and knocked Roland unconscious. He says Roland deserved it but does not explain why, though apparently he deserved it enough that the entire court took Chaol’s side.
Roland asks some more questions. Dorian gives no answers and thinks about how Meah (where Roland is from) is a prosperous coastal city with no army and no political power, which makes me question everything. Also I wish the throwaway comment early about Celaena ‘killing’ a dude in Meah linked into Roland somehow, but that would mean this was a different book.
Celaena’s PoV!
Her salary as King’s Champion was considerable, and Celaena spent every last copper of it.
Where does all your money come from later if you spend it all? I guess we’ll talk more about that in Queen of Shadows.
She returns to her room to find Dorian waiting for her. They banter, mentioning Dorian’s flocks of ladies.
Actually, the thought of Dorian with other women made her want to shatter a window, but it wouldn’t be fair to let him know that.
Yikes.
Celaena says she has to head back out into Rifthold.
Dorian took a step closer, exposing his palms to her. “Do you want me to fight for you? Is that it?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I just want you to leave me alone.”
His eyes flickered with the words left unsaid. Celaena stared at him, unmoving, until he silently left.
Alone in the foyer, Celaena clenched and unclenched her fists, suddenly disgusted with all of the pretty packages on the table.
In a weird way, I think this might be one of the most telling passages about Celaena. When Nehemia tries to talk about helping people, Celaena goes shopping. When she reiterates to Dorian that she doesn’t want to date him, that is when she can’t stomach shopping.
It’s just interesting to me, is all.
Chapter 5!
Up on a rooftop reindeer paw, down jumps good old Celaena Sardothien.
Ahem.
On a rooftop in a very fashionable and respectable part of Rifthold, Celaena crouched in the shadow of a chimney and frowned into the chill wind gusting off the Avery.
She’s waiting for Archer to leave his current appointment. She remembers Sam Cortland and vague events from the prequel novellas, but not in any helpful manner. When Archer exits (apparently after two hours instead of the one his previous appointments took).
While she was in no hurry to seek out the truth behind her own capture and Sam’s death, and while she was fairly certain the king had to be wrong about Archer, part of her wondered whether whatever truth she uncovered about this rebel movement and the king’s plans would destroy her, too.
And not just destroy her - but also everything she’d grown to care about.
Later, Celaena and Chaol are chilling in his room (she notes that it’s one room with a bathroom, not the suite that she has). Celaena is studying Archer info. Chaol is presumably doing captain of the guard business, which should involve a lot of writing and accounting so at least that’s happening. Good for you, book.
Celaena learns that Wesley (Arobynn’s bodyguard) killed the crime lord who killed Sam. Arobynn apparently killed Wesley right afterwards.
Celaena ruminates on how Arobynn betrayed her and…
How much she’d make him suffer - and bleed for it.
Chaol asks why she cares, and she explains about Sam and being captured.
“I failed him,” she said. “In every way that counted, I failed him.”
Another long silence, then a sigh. “Not in one way,” Chaol said. “I bet he would have wanted you to survive - to live. So you didn’t fail him, not in that regard.”
I feel like it’s moments like these where my extreme disgust and disappointment in the way Celaena is handled as a character gets in the way. This would normally be a sentiment I’d be down with. It’s not terribly written. I just can’t make myself believe that Celaena really gave a damn about Sam.
It’s a problem.
Chaol opens up about his own romantic past, in which Roland stole his ladylove away and whisked her off to Meah, never to be seen again. I want to be clear that it wasn’t a kidnapping, it was Roland sleeping with Chaol’s girlfriend.
Look. Not to be all ‘ladies can’t make their own choices’ but I gotta say if the cousin of the current murderous dictatorial king was like ‘sleep with me’ I probably would out of fear for my own safety. The situation might not have been like that, but it kinda seems like that.
They banter. Chaol goes to walk Celaena back to her rooms and she asks if he’d do the same for Dorian or if he only does it for women. He doesn’t reeeaaally answer and walks her back.
Celaena tells him that if Lithaen (a wink and a nod towards Celaena’s secret identity in Queen of Glass) chose Roland over Chaol then Lithaen is ‘the greatest fool who ever lived.’
Please see above, re: consent being debateable.
Celaena is also grateful that Lithaen is gone.
Midnight! Celaena heads for the library, being unable to sleep. She plans to grab a book and hightail it back to her room unless there are still some fires lit in the library and I’d ask why she wasn’t reading one of the eighty zillion books she apparently bought earlier but I have been in the frame of mind where nothing you have works for your brain. It’s like with some people and clothes? But with books.
With the chill tonight, it was no surprise to see someone completely concealed by a black cloak, hood drawn over the face. But something about the figure standing between the open library doors made some ancient, primal part of her send a warning pulse so strong that she didn’t take another step.
It’s a librarian come to keep her away from the books. They know what’s going to happen when she brings her dog into the library and they know about those times when she was a kid and they figure out that she’s easily spooked by people in black cloaks.
I’m kidding. It’s creepy and evil and the Eye of Elena starts glowing to ward it off. Celaena closes her eyes.
When she opened her eyes, the amulet was dark, and the hooded creature was gone.
Not a trace, not even the sound of footsteps.
Celaena didn’t go into the library. Oh, no. She just walked quickly back to her rooms with as much dignity as she could muster. Though she kept telling herself that she had imagined it all, that it was some hallucination from too many hours awake, Celaena couldn’t stop hearing that cursed word again and again.
Plans.
Honestly I feel like that chapter should have just ended on ‘Celaena didn’t go into the library.’ It’s kind of funny but still conveys that the creature freaked her out.
Chapter 6!
Celaena is still walking back to her rooms in this chapter. I feel like that could have been better worded last chapter. She’s trying to rationalize still: reading is out of fashion, so maybe somebody was indulging in the middle of the night so nobody made fun of them.
Also it’s a lunar eclipse tonight.
Celaena decides to go see Elena in her tomb and sets off down the secret passageway. Celaena has scars from the Ridderak bite (“a ring of white scars punctured her palm and encircled her thumb”) that I don’t believe were mentioned before or are ever mentioned again. I could be wrong.
She reaches to open the door to the tomb and a bronze doorknocker shaped like a skull asks her if she’s going to knock. She freaks out and says the door knocker can’t really be talking because that would mean magic.
It was impossible - it should be impossible. Magic was gone, vanished from the land ten years ago, before it had even been outlawed by the king.
“Everything in the world is magic. Thank you ever so kindly for stating the obvious.”
She calmed her reeling mind long enough to say, “But magic doesn’t work anymore.”
“New magic doesn’t. But the king cannot erase old spells made with older powers - like the Wyrdmarks. Those ancient spells still hold; especially ones that imbue life.”
What the fuck ever, y’all. I give up on figuring out the magic vanished from the world stuff. Really it only vanished from this particular continent, too, you learn later. Does that mean it’s really only a forcefield? Does that mean water stops magic? Does the amount matter? Would a river stop magic? If you’re on a boat in Erilea, can you do spells?
No answer. Well, I live in hope, as the priest said to the princess (thank you Tamora Pierce for that saying, which I have used since I was seven)
The door knocker is annoying. Celaena is annoying. Their banter is annoying. I think reading 50 pages of this at a time is messing with whatever objectivity I was clinging to. Moving on.
Apparently King Brannon (first king of Terrasen, Elena’s father, hot fae dude with fire powers) put the door knocker there to watch Elena’s tomb. I have to ask what the door knocker’s powers are aside from speech, but I know I will receive no answer.
The door knocker (whose name we have now learned is Mort) says that her name is the funniest thing he’s heard in centuries.
Apparently Elena is recharging after helping Celaena and won’t be back for a while. Mort says he has a message from her to Celaena though. Celaena decides to put that off and examines the tomb more thoroughly.
There’s a sword of truth, wyrdmarks on the walls, and Gavin Havilliard’s armor but no sign of Elena’s. The lunar eclipse puts the tomb almost entirely in darkness and Celaena agrees to hear what Elena has to say.
Mort cleared his throat, and then said in a voice that sounded eerily like the queen’s, “ ‘If I could leave you in peace, I would. But you have lived your life aware that you will never escape certain burdens. Whether you like it or not, you are bound to the fate of this world. As the King’s Champion, you are now in a position of power, and you can make a difference in the lives of many.’ ” Celaena’s stomach turned over.
“Cain and the ridderak were just the beginning of the threat to Erilea,” Mort said, the words echoing around the tomb. “There is a far deadlier power poised to devour the world.”
“And I have to find it, I suppose?”
“Yes. There will be clues to lead you to it. Signs you must follow. Refusing to kill the king’s targets is only the first and smallest step.”
Celaena has the usual ‘why should I bother helping other people because my life sucked’ discussion with Mort, who does the wise old mentor parts right down to “you don’t mean that.”
Mort just glowered at her. “You’re that selfish? That cowardly? Why did you come down here tonight, Celaena? To help us all? Or just to help yourself? Elena told me about you—about your past.”
“Shut your rutting face,” she snapped, and stormed up the stairs.
End chapter 6.
Comparison
Accidental parallels ahoy! Neither Maerad nor Celaena want their destinies. Both are told the fate of the world hinges on them.
Of course, The Riddle has Maerad keep it on the down low and ponder things herself even as she keeps moving forward because she has had a crappy life, and she doesn’t want other people to have a crappy life. We also know who Maerad is and why she’s important to the grand scheme of things, while ToG is taking its sweet time confirming what seemed to me on first read incredibly obvious. I remember being confused when it was a reveal and flipping back through. That’s just the kind of book ToG is. Of course she’s a long lost princess. Of course she is.
I just wish the book didn’t pretend it was going to be a surprise.
We also have Maerad remembering the last book and some key points and having an action scene almost right off the bat. Celaena, the action murder heroine, has yet to have a fight six chapters in.If you took away Maerad’s experiences, she wouldn’t be the same character. If you took away Celaena’s, she would still be doing exactly what the plot says she should be doing, because nothing has formed or been formed by Celaena.
If that makes sense.
Stats
The Riddle
Pages: 18
Fragments: 14
Em-Dashes: 14
Ellipses: 6
ToG
Pages: 51
Fragments: 110
Em-Dashes: 116
Ellipses: 48
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Et in omnibus quæ fecit nos Chapter Two
Read on AO3 here | First chapter
Characters: Todoroki Natsuo, Todoroki Fuyumi, Todoroki Shouto
Summary: Now that Natsuo's made the decision to become a hero, he needs to start brainstorming ways to actually achieve that.
A/N: okay! this is a little later than I planned but I was busy so... sorry about that. I know the first chap was probably a bit boring but this is where the action really starts! this is also Shouto's first official appearance in the story so look forward to that. Next chapter will be the exam itself and it's going to be a lot of action which I don't particularly have any experience writing so it could take some time and also be a shorter chap then this one but I'll try my best don't worry.
uh, so I don't have a job or anything atm so if you like my writing it would be great if you would consider supporting me on Ko-Fi!
“Do you all have someplace in mind for high school?” The teacher asked as she walked around the classroom handing out highschool preference sheets. “It may not seem like it right now but this is an important decision that could have a big impact on the rest of your life.”
She hands out the last note and makes her way back to the desk at the front of the room as some of the students start writing schools down already. Natsuo is among that group because he’s had his eyes on one place for the past nearly two years since Touya’s been gone. UA highschool’s hero course. Of course, he’s not gonna announce that publicly. He gets enough crap from the other students as-is for being quirkless he doesn’t need the roaring laughter that would surely come from saying he’s gonna be a hero as a quirkless kid as well.
So when the teacher asks with interest, “Does anyone think they’re going to try for a hero course?” and nearly the whole class raises their hands with whoops and shouts of glee, Natsuo burrows further into his seat and tries not to catch anyone’s eye.
The teacher chuckles at her students, “Alright then, I suppose that was a silly question. Does anyone think they’re going to try to get into UA?”
The number of hands drops significantly but there are still a few brave souls who leave their hands up and set their faces in a look of determination. Natsuo is still the son of Endeavor whether either of them likes it or not so his school is still more prestigious than most and is more likely to have students who try for UA.
Prestigious or not Natsuo knows he’s got something none of these other kids has.
__________________
He’s been preparing for this ever since Touya left. He added martial arts to his moderate list of extracurricular activities, takes regular morning runs, and, thanks to Fuyumi being in charge of Shouto’s food, eats a diet fit for even the top heroes. He’s discovered over this time that he actually does have something he can thank his father for: his ability to put on muscle. No matter how hard Touya worked or how much he ate, he always seemed on the verge of underweight. His quirk just burnt through all of his bodies resources. Shouto doesn’t seem like he’s going to be the super bulky type either, he was a pretty chubby baby and- if you asked Natsuo- still had traces of baby fat even though he was probably more physical then Natsuo.
But none of that is his real advantage. UA’s Entrance exam is well known for being difficult so Endeavor- who, as an ex-student, is well aware of said exam- deemed it plenty good enough for training his children in heroics. This means that Natsuo- a notorious eavesdropper- has a pretty good idea of what will be required by him. He has narrowed it down to two major obstacles that he must overcome, one: how to beat the robots- something he doesn’t think any amount of martial arts will help him do- and two: how to do so quickly- the whole point of the exam is to beat as many robots as possible so speed is just as key as strength.
His real advantage is knowing. Knowing and subsequently being able to prepare accordingly. Sure it might be a little underhanded but Natsuo’s already at a disadvantage being quirkless, underhanded is the only trick he’s got up his sleeve.
Natsuo knows that the bots aren’t as strong as they seem and with all the training he’s been doing he’s pretty strong for his age so he’s confident that a good hard swing from a metal baseball bat will be enough to take them down. As for how to get around quickly… he’s still not quite sure but he needs to figure it out soon. Some method of transportation would be ideal but he hasn’t been able to come up with anything feasible that wouldn’t occupy his hands- which he needs for the bat.
He decides that Fuyumi might have an idea. At the moment she’s the only one who knows anything about his plans. He doesn’t think he could lie to his big sis even if he tried. Besides, he knows she’s way smarter than he’ll ever be so it’s wise to have her as a collaborator, maybe she can even help him out when he’s an actual pro hero! She could be like, the man on the mic who advises Natsuo on what to do in the field, or well, the girl on the mic. Either way, it would be nice to have her there with him.
He finds her in the kitchen. Taking care of dinner is one of the many chores that were heaped onto Fuyumi when mum left, Natsuo tries to help her out as much as he can but dinner is something that’s best to leave up to her.
“Hey Fuyu, can I pick your brain about something?” he props himself up against one of the benches.
Fuyumi is stirring a pot of noodles on the stove, “Sure Natsuo, What’s up?”
Natsuo looks around before leaning in a bit and speaking in a quieter tone, “I’ve got an idea for how to take down the bots in UA’s entrance exam but I still haven’t figured out how to get around the area quickly. I can’t think of anything that would leave me use of my hands.”
Fuyumi goes stiff at her spot at the stove, wooden spoon sitting useless in the boiling water before she comes back to herself and starts stirring again, albeit, a little more aggressive than before.
“Gee Natsuo, I don’t know if I’m really the right person to talk to about this.” She lowers her voice as well now.
Natsuo resists the urge to sigh. When it comes to things like this Fuyumi always gets so nervous. He thinks she’s super smart and should have more confidence in her ideas.
“It’s not like I can talk to anyone else Fuyu,” he grumbles, “besides, I think you’re plenty the right person. You’re like, the smartest person in the family. If anyone’s going to have an idea for me, it's you.”
He thinks Fuyumi might be blushing but it could just be the heat from the cooking. “I-I don’t know Natsu… This is starting to sound more and more dangerous with each new idea, are you really sure you want to go through with this?”
This time Natsuo can’t resist the urge and lets out a deep sigh. They’ve had this conversation a lot since he told Fuyumi about his plan. She doesn’t want to actively try and stop him so she just keeps hoping that he’ll magically decide not to go through with it on his own. But Natsuo’s never been more sure about anything, he’s been sure about going through with this for nearly two years now.
“I have to do it Fuyumi. Not just for myself or even just for Touya. I have to do this for all of us.”
Fuyumi’s stirring slows again. She sighs and puts a lid on the pot, leaving it to boil, before turning to Natsuo, “I don’t know how this is going to help Natsuo but if it’s something you truly aspire to do-” She looks away, biting her lip- “Then as your older sister you have as much of my support as I can give.”
It stings a little to hear she doesn’t think this will help but he knows he’ll show her when he’s a real pro and it means a lot to him that she’s willing to give her support even if she has her doubts. He gives her a soft smile in response.
She smiles back, “I have some old roller skates in my bedroom that may solve your speed problem.”
Natsuo’s eyes go wide, that’s perfect! With roller skates, he’ll be able to move quickly while still keeping his hands free! He feels stupid now for not even thinking of them earlier.
“But-” Natsuo hangs his head. Of course there’s a but- “I expect to see you practising as much as possible from now until the exam. Roller skates can be very dangerous and I don’t want you doing that exam unless you are 100% stable with them, ok?”
He perks back up. The only prerequisite is that he’s gotta practise hard? “Aye aye, captain. I think that’s one request I can manage to live up to.” He gives Fuyumi a grin and a wink.
Fuyumi just sighs and shakes her head at him. “I still think this is a crazy plan but… if anyone can pull this off, Natsuo, it’s you.”
His heart sings at her words and he feels the prickling of tears at his eyes. It means the world to hear that his big sister has some measure of faith in him. It just makes him want to be a hero that much more, if only so that more people can rely on him like that. No more will he be the useless, quirkless, waste of space.
He jumps up and gives Fuyumi a bone-crushing hug that squeezes the air out of her with a squeaking sound. “Thanks big sis. I won’t let you down.” He lets go of her and sprints towards her room to find the roller skates.
________________
Now that he’s worked out the raw details of his plan to get into UA, Natsuo actually needs to put it into action. Sure it’s one thing to say he’s gonna take a baseball bat and roller skate around the exam beating up bots but actually doing something like that is probably going to take a lot of skills. This brings up another question of how is he going to simulate something like roller-skating around hitting bots with a baseball bat for training purposes. It’s not like they’ve just got some bots lying around (although they could probably afford it- actually he’s surprised the old man hasn’t thought of this yet)
Okay, let’s break it down to what he needs: 1 ) something to hit with his bat, and 2 ) somewhere he can skate around enough to do so in a quick and epic way.
He has somewhere in mind that might have enough space but it’s not really pleasant to think about. There’s an area of the house’s grounds where dad used to have Touya train with his quirk- to avoid burning down the house, of course- and because of how powerful Touya’s quirk is all the nature in that particular area is completely scorched… and consequently, could be flat enough to make a decent skating area. Not perfect but it also has the bonus of being far enough away from the house that he probably won’t be noticed by dad.
With the location ticked off the list that just leaves him needing a target for his activities. He doesn’t think he could get away with taking any of the training dummies from the house, that’s too close to dad’s area of attention for comfort. If he can’t get something that can actually take the hit from a baseball bat then he’ll also need to consider how he’s going to replenish his targets once they’re broken.
He gets his answer from one of his old school hero movies. The underdog who is training to become a hero with his sensei uses training dummies with watermelons for heads. Thankfully, Fuyumi is in charge of groceries so it shouldn’t be any trouble for Natsuo to get a lot of them. They’re not as hard as a robot would be but they are a good target size and, if nothing else, they’re satisfying to smash.
Fuyumi looks at him a bit funny when he asks her to add ten full watermelons to the grocery list but she concedes once he explains what he wants to do with them. He also gives her one of dad’s spare credit cards that he nabbed from the old man a long time ago and tells her to buy some new roller skates and something nice for herself.
Once that particular shopping trip is over and done with, everything will finally be ready for him to start training. Fuyumi always does the shopping on Sundays which leaves Natsuo practically vibrating in class for the entire week.
________________
Come Sunday Natsuo spends his day being a pain in Fuyumi’s butt as he continuously asks her when she’s going to the shops.
“I’ll go when I go Natsuo, now can you please stop bothering me? I’m sure you have some homework or something to do, training to be a hero does not exempt you from school work.”
Natsuo rolls his eyes. “I know Fuyumi. That’s why I did all my homework yesterday! So I could focus completely on training today!”
Fuyumi looks at him with her mouth open in surprise. “Of course you did-” she sighs -” just let me finish what I’m doing then I’ll go to the shops, okay?”
Natsuo only cheers in response and it’s Fuyumi’s turn to roll her eyes at him.
Even after Fuyumi leaves for the shops it feels like Natsuo is waiting forever! Did Fuyumi’s shopping trips always feel this long? He doesn’t think so. He tries to preoccupy himself for a little while with sketching potential costume designs, but that only lasts him so long seeing as he’s no master artist and there’s only so much he can do. The second Fuyumi that Fuyumi opens the door, Natsuo is there and practically crash tackles her in his excitement.
“Gee, really feeling the love here Natsu. You know a thank you wouldn’t be remiss before physically attacking me.” Fuyumi sounds frustrated but Natsuo knows it’s in a good-natured way.
He grabs by the shoulders and gives her the biggest sloppiest kiss he can manage, “Thank you Fuyumi, your the bestest, most amazing possible big sis anyone could ask for!”
She blushes at his praise, “Well there’s no need to announce it to the entire neighbourhood. Now, here are your bags, you better get going now before dad gets home.”
“Thank you again Fuyumi, I promise I’ll make this worth your while!”
In the hustle and bustle of Fuyumi’s return, neither of them notice the small figure watching them from one of the nearby hallways- one that Fuyumi and Natsuo were not allowed to go down- taking an interest in their conversation.
______________
Finally…
Finally…. The time had come.
It is time to begin his training.
It takes a bit of time to get things set up. Natsuo decides to clear up the area he’s going to be using as much possible, getting rid of any rocks or twigs that have somehow found their way into the scorched area over time. He also needs to set up the watermelons, which he ends up doing by setting them on top of boxes that have been stacked at different heights- he thinks it might make for an extra challenge if he has to hit the watermelons without knocking down the towers of boxes.
It takes a bit of time but he is finally here, brand new roller skates on and his spirit ablaze with determination. If… no… when he becomes a hero, this will be one of the moments he talks about. He will talk about how he feels in this moment and hopefully inspire others to rise up as he will.
The skates haven’t been worn in yet so they’re a bit stiff at the moment. He does a quick skate around his training area to try and get a feel for them and the surface he’s using, it’s not as smooth as he’d like but he thinks he’ll be able to get away with it. It’s hard not to think about Touya given the scorched earth but he’s hoping that his memories will serve to motivate him even more.
After a couple of short laps, Natsuo moves back to where he’d placed his stuff and picks up the bat. He readies himself like he’s professional baseball player gearing up to make the hit of the game, that’s certainly how serious the moment feels to him at least. it’s not actually a very good position to start in but he’s feeling a little dramatic right now so he thinks it’s okay just this once.
He remembers father yelling at Shouto once that heroes aren’t told when to go so Natsuo thinks it’s reasonable to assume that there’ll be no verbal cue for the start of the UA exam. He gives himself a moment of dramatic tension before he jets off, heading towards the closest watermelon he spies as fast as he can…
Before falling flat on his face in the hardened dirt.
Laying there, Natsuo thinks he’ll leave this part out of the triumphant stories he’ll tell in the future. He knows it’s not realistic to expect himself to be perfect at this straight away but he was still hoping for a little better than to completely stack it on his first try. At least making it to the watermelon would have been nice. Okay, he thinks he’s been lying in the dirt for too long now. Time to get back to it, he supposes.
Since “jetting off at top speed” doesn’t seem to be a card on the table at the moment, he decides this time he’ll take it a bit slower and build up speed later once he’s got the basic technique down. He makes it to the watermelon this time and gears up to take a big swing at his target…
Then falls flat on his ass in the hardened dirt.
Natsuo’s starting to get a picture of exactly how many bruises he’s gonna come out of this with. The momentum of his movement plus the swinging of the bat was all too much and he lost his balance. Maybe for the next Sunday shopping trip he should ask Fuyumi for some protective padding. He didn’t think he’d need it since he isn’t training on concrete but this burnt dirt is starting to hurt more than just his pride. Well, he wouldn’t be much of a hero in training if he just gave up after two failed attempts. This certainly isn’t enough to turn him off the path to his dream but he is coming to the realisation of just how long that path is going to be.
He gets up, gingerly rubbing at his sore butt when suddenly he’s hit by a wave of shame. Touya and Shouto have both gone through much worse pain then this, at much younger ages, at the hands of their father and Natsuo’s getting frustrated by a simple bump on his rear. Touya spent most of his childhood in the hospital! He’s better than this dammit! He has to be better than this if he’s ever going to stand up to the likes of Endeavor.
He tries again, making the same mistake as before and falling over when he goes to swing at the watermelon.
He tries again, trying to be more controlled in his swinging this time. He hits the watermelon but it doesn’t break and he falls over from the force of the hit.
He tries again, he falls over.
He tries again.
He tries again.
He tries again…
Eventually, it gets dark and Fuyumi comes out to tell him that dinners ready and he should come in for the night or else dad will get suspicious. She looks concerned in a way that makes Natsuo think she was watching him from a distance. Watching him fall and fall and fall… He shakes his head. It’s no use spiralling down such a train of thought. This was his first training session after all and he’s still got a year until the entrance exam. He can still get better.
“Natsuo? Are you coming?”
He jolts, he got so caught up in his thoughts that he forgot Fuyumi was there.
“Sorry Fuyu, I was just thinking. I’m coming now.”
She gives him another concerned look but doesn’t say anything. They both start the moderate trek back to the house. Today may not have been an absolute success but that doesn’t mean the planned is doomed yet. He’ll just have to try harder in his next session, UA’s all about going beyond Plus Ultra right?
_____________
After that first fateful session the rest of the year passes by in a blur that can only be measured by the bruises he collects through his training. Looking back now, it’s hard to distinguish between his early attempts as they almost entirely consisted of falling on his ass over and over again but once he got a few months in Natsuo really felt like he was starting to see progress. Even Fuyumi seemed satisfied with the diminishing amount of wounds she was having to patch up on him.
If he wasn’t training at home he was either at school or after school clubs- which mostly consisted of sports and martial arts so it was still training of a kind- and all that time was well spent seeing as now Natsuo can make his way through his makeshift watermelon course almost flawlessly. Although, the big idea that had brought everything together actually came from Fuyumi. She had been watching him fall over continuously from the house and suggested that he should try to use his speed as the driving momentum for his swings instead of creating an opposing momentum with his arms. It took a while to get the hang of what she was trying to say but once he got the hang of it everything was pretty much gold from there.
Now the UA entrance exam is tomorrow and Natsuo’s feeling the pressure. It always seemed like a thing that would always be in the future so he never really got worked up about it but now that the moment is actually upon him Natsuo is struggling to ignore the writhing snake feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’s at his “training area” trying to get through as many runs of his course as he can before his body quits for the day. He wants these actions to be muscle memory by tomorrow but a nasty voice in his head that sounds a lot like his father keeps saying that when the moment comes he won’t remember anything and just freeze.
Natsuo is mulling over these nervous thoughts as he’s having a quick drink break when someone suddenly tugs on his shirt. He whirls around and is surprised to see the face of his little brother staring up at him with that glare that he’d been cultivating ever since Touya left. Natsuo pretty much never gets to talk to Shouto so he’s not really sure what to say now. Shouto isn’t being very forthcoming either so they just stare at each other for a minute or so.
Finally, Natsuo can’t take it anymore, “Do you need something, Shouto?”
More silence. More staring. Given the very limited time they’ve spent together, Natsuo isn’t sure if this is normal or not but then…
“Are you training for the UA Entrance Exam?” Natsuo is surprised at how deadpan Shouto’s tone is and also very unsure of how to answer.
He had absolutely planned to tell Shouto about his dream to become a hero, eventually. Part of his reason for doing it in the first place was to be able to help him. However, given how much time he’s forced to spend with dad and how young he is, Natsuo wanted to wait until a point when dad wouldn’t be able to stop him just in case Shouto accidentally told. He didn’t plan for Shouto to figure it out himself, or to be so blunt about it.
“Uhh… umm.. Ahhh…” Natsuo looks around as if he’s going to find a convenient excuse just laying around in their backyard. As expected, there’s nothing to help him and Fuyumi is making dinner so she isn’t paying attention to them right now.
He sighs in defeat, “Yeah, I’m training for the UA Entrance Exam.”
Shouto doesn’t outwardly react to the statement just blinking slowly like a cat, or maybe he’s still processing. Natsuo wonders if his little brother has always been this… weird.
“Are you gonna be a hero like father?” Again, a simple question with very little to no trace of emotion.
It seems fairly straight forward, their father legally works as a professional hero so it makes sense that Shouto would make the comparison, but Natsuo knows enough to read between the lines. He can’t help but feel that Shouto is worried that him becoming a hero means he will become like Endeavor.
Natsuo kneels down to better talk to his little brother, “No Shouto. I’m not gonna be anything like our old man. I want to be a hero that inspires people and fills them with the confidence to stand up for themselves. I want to be a hero that fights against people like our father.”
Natsuo’s gathered by this point in the conversation that Shouto doesn’t really express himself much outwardly but he still thinks he sees a glimmer of something in his eyes that he prays to all manner of deities is hope. That small spark and the potential that it holds renews the fire in his soul that’s been pushing him all year and makes all the bumps and bruises he’s gotten seem totally worth it.
“I’ve been watching you train.”
“Oh yeah? What do you think?”
Shouto scrunches his face slightly and seems hesitant to continue, “I think you look pretty cool,” he says quietly.
Natsuo can’t help the wide grin that spreads on his face, “Really? Well I’d sure hope so! That’s what all this training is for after all!”
Shouto grins a little bit and Natsuo’s heart sings. Maybe there’s still hope for his little brother after all.
The grin falls away quickly and Shouto looks back up to the house, “I should go back to the house before dad gets home.”
Natsuo’s face falls as the reality that they’re not supposed to talk to each other sinks in again. If nothing else comes from his dream Natsuo hopes that he will at least get the chance to bond with his little brother one day. As he watches Shouto retreat to the house he wonders if this desire to protect, this burning in his soul that’s keeping him motivated, is how Touya felt about him once upon a time. He thinks this conversation’s given him a glimpse into the pressures of being a big brother.
___________
Fuyumi makes him a special meal of his favourites that night to show her support for the exam tomorrow. Natsuo smiles fondly as she lectures him about how important it is that he goes to be early and gets a good night's rest in order to perform at his best tomorrow. He agrees that sleep is important but he also can’t help but feel he’s going to be way too keyed up on nerves and excitement to be able to get any deep rest.
As he’s lying in bed that night, Natsuo tries to process that tomorrow really is the day. No matter what he tells himself it just doesn’t seem real. He’s miles from where he started when he decided to pursue this path but at the same time he barely feels like anything’s changed. As well as these thoughts, Natsuo’s mind is also starting to wonder about the other students he’ll have to face tomorrow, about the quirks they’ll undoubtedly have. He’s worked so hard to be anything other then the “waste of space” his father thinks he is but now- faced with the challenge of going up against all those other hero hopefuls- those words seem to be weighing on him more than ever.
These thoughts all seem to swirl around in his mind like a black hole inevitably sucking him until eventually the late time sends him drifting into a light sleep. He continues to drift in his dreams seemingly from one nightmare scenario to the next until eventually he is pulled out of the pool of failure filling his head by the sound of his alarm beeping aggressively.
He sits up in bed groggily. Today is the day.
#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#bnha#mha#todoroki natsuo#Todoroki Fuyumi#Todoroki Shouto#the words of me#fanfiction#writing#NaNoWriMo
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i’m nobody’s but yours
Chapter 21/25 - Chloe
Summary: Beca is straight as an arrow. 100%, totally, completely straight. Except for one problem that 100%, totally, completely changes everything: Chloe Beale.
Title borrowed from Calum Scott’s “If Our Love Is Wrong.”
Word Count: 3.5k
Rating: M (for dark themes, homophobia, masturbation, and eventual smut in later chapters)
AO3, FFN, and below.
Chloe stares at her laptop screen in shock.
Everything around her fades away; the music from the playlist Beca made for her, the occasional evening traffic sounds from outside, and even the muted voices of the Bellas downstairs. At this moment, the only thing that matters in the entire world is the email she received ten minutes ago.
Dear Ms. Beale:
Congratulations! Please consider this your formal acceptance to the Brooklyn Animal Care Veterinary Internship program!
We were impressed by your attention to detail in your application, as well as your optimistic attitude and record of community service. What most made you stand apart from other applicants was your impressive amount of leadership experience; we believe this experience makes you uniquely qualified for a potential Intern Manager position with our staff during the duration of your time here.
Though your training will not begin until September 1st, we had several other highly-qualified candidates and would appreciate notice of your acceptance or denial of our offer no later than August 8th.
Please don’t hesitate to reach out should you have any questions about the position or the hiring process.
Sincerely,
Brooklyn Animal Care Staff
She’s read it end-to-end seven times, the meaning sinking in slowly. She glances at the date in the corner of her laptop screen: August 4th. That gives her four days to decide.
It’s not like she really has to consider other offers. Though she’d applied all over the country, the Brooklyn program had been her top choice; their program is the best of those she applied to, and the idea of living in New York sends a thrill of excitement shooting through her. It’s novel and ensnaring and something she’s wanted for herself for a while.
The only thing that’s keeping her from immediately accepting is Beca. Or, more exactly, the relationship she has with Beca and how much it means to her.
Beca has heard back from exactly one of her many job applications so far. Two days ago, a music producer based in Houston, Texas, offered her a position with an acceptance deadline of August 10th.
How far away is Houston from New York? A thousand miles? More?
Chloe pulls up Maps online; the distance from Brooklyn to the center of Houston is 1,419 miles.
It’s too far.
Chloe pulls her lower lip between her teeth and opens a new internet tab: veterinary internships Houston TX. There are more than 60 results. She could do it. She could fill out an application right now.
Her hands twitch on the laptop keyboard, and for an instant, she seriously considers it. It wouldn't take long. She just has to copy and paste a lot of the information from her other applications.
Chloe leans forward with a groan to rest her head in her hands.
It would never work. Even with her application materials prepared, there’s no way she could complete multiple applications, the subsequent phone interviews, and hear back from them in the span of the four days she has to either accept or decline the position in Brooklyn.
Chloe groans again, frustrated. She’s fully aware that the rational thing to do in this situation is for her and Beca both to accept their offers, as long as no one else contacts either of them in the next few days. They need jobs, and their lease is about to end. The “adult” thing to do would be to say yes to the offers.
And yet.
They do still have some time before they have to decide, and it’s possible that they might actually manage to get offers from within the same city. Maybe. If the aca-gods are in their favor.
Chloe’s eyes prickle and sting. It’s not fair. They should have all the time in the world to be together, rather than potentially having to live across the country from one another. Chloe knows that in reality, Beca’s job prospects are much more limited than hers; every city needs veterinarians, and those veterinarians need internships. Big-name music production jobs are much less common. If she really doesn’t want to live apart from Beca, then it makes the most sense to follow Beca to wherever she goes.
It’s just. Brooklyn’s program is really the best, and Chloe knows Beca would want her to follow her dreams and go there.
They haven’t been dating long, but already, Chloe can’t imagine a future without Beca. She thinks it might have to do with how long they’ve known each other, or maybe even that she’d stayed at Barden all this time to be with Beca. Either way, she’d never liked the thought of leaving Beca, and now that Beca has made her into the happiest person in the world, the thought of separating from her is borderline unendurable.
The words “Beca” and “forever” are linked in her mind, no matter how impractical that may be this early in their dating relationship. Chloe knows it should probably scare her – being this dedicated to someone so soon – but it doesn’t.
It has all become alarmingly simple.
Chloe and Beca, Beca and Chloe, Chloe and Beca, Beca and Chloe.
***************
Telling Aubrey is probably the worst part about not graduating the second time.
“What do you mean you ‘failed again?’” Aubrey practically screams over Skype.
“It’s fine,” Chloe says, trying not to wince at Aubrey’s volume; if Aubrey senses weakness, she’ll pounce. “I’ll just try again next year.”
Aubrey groans, the computer mic distorting her voice and making it crackle. “Chloe. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
“I don’t –”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” Aubrey insists, looking at Chloe seriously through the camera. “You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re too smart to have actually failed anything, much less – what was it?”
“Russian Lit,” Chloe mumbles guiltily.
“Russian Lit?!” Aubrey repeats loudly. “Chloe, seriously? I know for a fact you have Anna Karenina almost memorized. Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I mean, Dr. Zhivago is really a hard novel to analyze –”
“You’ve read it three times,” Aubrey says, sounding exasperated. “Be honest. It’s the same reason as last year, isn’t it? The Bellas?”
“They’re my family, Bree,” admits Chloe, dropping all pretense. “I don’t want to leave her – them. Them,” she says firmly, kicking herself a little and hoping Aubrey won’t notice the slip-up.
Unfortunately, Aubrey always has been too astute; even through Skype, Chloe can see her eyebrows lift and expression turn satisfied.
“Mhmm. So how is the little goblin?”
“I’ve asked you not to call her that,” Chloe snaps, more defensively than she’d meant to.
It makes Aubrey’s sly grin widen, and Chloe knows she’s given herself away.
“But you still know who I mean, even when I call her things like that,” Aubrey replies with a dismissive shrug. “Does she know you’re purposely failing to stay with her?”
Chloe feels herself flush, and stutters out, “That’s not – I don’t – you’re –”
“Why don’t you move on, Chloe?” Aubrey interrupts, shifting at her desk to lean closer to her laptop. “She’s still with Jesse and – unless you haven’t told me something – she’s still straight.”
Chloe looks away from the screen, stung. She doesn’t need Aubrey to tell her these things. She already knows them, painfully well.
“I – you never know, okay?” she manages after a moment, still unable to look back at Aubrey.
“Chloe,” Aubrey sighs after a moment, her tone softening so that Chloe’s able to look at her again. “I – I’m sorry, but... you have to know how unhealthy this is. You do see that, right?” she speaks delicately, as if worried Chloe’s going to start yelling at her.
Chloe’s stomach plummets and she looks away again.
“I mean… you just… Chloe, if she’s straight, there’s no point in continuing to feel like this. It’s a little – well, it’s unfair to both of you, really.”
Chloe swallows hard, Aubrey’s unspoken words screaming in her ears. She can read between the lines. She knows Aubrey is calling her creepy and obsessive.
On Skype, Aubrey starts to backtrack. “Okay, maybe unhealthy was a little –”
“Let’s talk about something else,” interrupts Chloe, not really listening. “Have you heard anything from your dad?”
Aubrey stares at her disapprovingly at the blatant subject change but doesn’t comment on it. Chloe breathes a little sigh of relief when Aubrey goes along with it, albeit reluctantly, and starts detailing some of the last postcard she’d gotten from her father concerning probably confidential military operations.
As she half-listens, nodding and smiling in all the right places, Chloe tries very hard to ignore the faint stirring of guilt in her stomach.
Aubrey doesn’t need to know she’s already planning on graduating with Beca. She’d probably think that was totally crazy.
***************
Beca and Chloe forever. At least, that’s how Chloe sees it.
In a few days, though, separation might be their new reality.
A light knock on her door breaks her concentration. It’s okay, though; she can tell by the knock it’s Beca. Smile already spreading over her face, Chloe calls, “Come in!” As she does, though, she minimizes her email, not wanting to ruin Beca’s mood by bringing that whole mess up. She’ll tell Beca, just, not yet, at least if she can avoid it.
The door opens and Beca slips in, leaving it cracked open behind her. Chloe relaxes at the familiar sight of Beca’s crooked grin and giggles at the dramatic way she throws herself on Chloe’s bed, bouncing against the mattress before sitting upright.
“Hey,” Beca says, “you busy?”
“Not really,” Chloe shrugs, careful to keep her tone light and casual. “What’s up?”
“Not a lot. Just got off the phone with my dad,” Beca answers, rolling her eyes, but without menace. “He’s been taking every chance he gets to ask about you and – and us,” she adds, suddenly looking nervous.
“How’s that going?” Chloe asks tentatively.
Beca shrugs, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s… not bad,” she says slowly. “I mean, we’ve been talking for a little bit, since your parents came over, and he’s kinda getting it?” Beca says, her voice rising like it’s a question.
“That’s good, though, right?”
“Yeah. It’s – he’s been slowly getting better about it. He didn’t say anything totally offensive this time, anyway,” Beca huffs.
“That’s good. Uh, and…?” Chloe trails off, uncertain.
“Sheila?” Beca asks, and Chloe nods. A corner of Beca’s mouth lifts contemplatively. “I mean, she’s – radio silence,” she says grimly. “It’s like my dad said – she’s just kinda like that, and I’m not sure she’ll change. He’s trying to talk to her, though, a little at a time. We’ll see,” Beca finishes in a tone that tells Chloe she’s done talking about it.
“Okay,” Chloe says. “So, we’ll, uh, we’ll work with that.”
“Yep,” Beca says, tracing her fingers over Chloe’s bedspread. Chloe has to suppress a smile and ignore the natural swoop in her stomach at seeing Beca on her bed; Beca’s been spending most nights in her bed lately.
“But, anyway,” Beca clears her throat, and Chloe hauls her mind out of the gutter so she can listen. “Was also wondering if you wanted to come shopping with me,” Beca asks. “Just to the mall or something, maybe.”
“Did you have something in mind?” Chloe asks, pushing away from her desk and moving to sit next to Beca at the end of her bed. It’s not often that Beca willingly goes to a place involving large amounts of other people.
“Well,” Beca tilts her head and reclines back to an elbow, her torso twisted toward Chloe. “Mostly I want to check out what they have for, like, uh, parting gifts? I guess? For the Bellas.”
“... Oh my god.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
Chloe can’t stop the huge smile she feels spreading over her face. Chloe wants more than anything to tease Beca (and mercilessly) for being such a softie but decides to take pity on her pinkened cheeks and stubbornly set jaw.
“We can do that,” she says. “It’s a great idea. Did you have anything in mind?”
“Nah, I just want to see what they had, you know?”
“Oh, uh, okay, yeah, we can probably –”
“Are you okay?” Beca interrupts, leaning forward, her eyebrows drawing together in concern.
“Hmm?” Chloe feigns innocence while panicking internally.
Beca’s frown deepens and her eyes flick between both of Chloe’s intently. “You seem a little… I don’t know. Not quite here, I guess. Just kinda off.”
“I mean, it’s nothing.”
Beca shrugs. “If you don’t want to talk, it’s okay, I just want to make sure everything is, you know, chill, or whatever.”
“Oh, it’s okay, I just, um…” Chloe hesitates. She hadn’t planned on telling Beca quite like this, but she doesn’t like the idea of keeping anything a secret from her. “I’m… I was accepted to the Brooklyn internship,” she finally expels in a rush.
Beca’s eyes fly wide and her mouth pops open in what Chloe knows is excitement. “Dude, you got in!” she exclaims, bolting upright.
“Yeah,” Chloe says and grins despite herself.
“Dude! That’s awesome, congrats!”
Beca lunges forward, reaching for Chloe’s face, and pulls her into an excited and somewhat sloppy kiss. Through it, Chloe can tell Beca is genuinely happy for her, and that both invigorates and saddens her. It makes her decision that much harder.
Beca pulls back first, her hands still cupping Chloe’s cheeks.
“I’m so proud of you, Chlo,” she says sincerely.
“Thanks, it’s really… I’m excited,” Chloe says, then winces internally at the obvious strain in her tone.
Beca’s smile falls slowly and she pulls away, dropping her hands from Chloe’s face to she can study her more closely.
“Are you?” Beca asks, softly this time. “Excited, I mean?”
“Yeah, it’s just…” Chloe half-shrugs, and looks away from Beca and toward her desk, where her open laptop almost seems to mock her. “It’s kinda far from Houston.”
Beca stills next to her, and Chloe glances over to see her looking down at the bedspread between them.
“Why does that matter?” she asks carefully.
“Beca, you know why it matters,” Chloe says.
Beca’s hands twitch in her lap.
“I mean… it – yeah. Brooklyn kinda is far away from Houston, yeah,” Beca agrees after a second.
“I could turn it down, maybe try for something closer,” Chloe’s quick to say, but Beca’s already shaking her head seriously.
“No way, Chloe,” she says firmly. “No way. I thought you’d always wanted to go to that program, right? You said it has a super high vet school acceptance rate.”
“Yeah, it – it does…” Chloe admits slowly, grateful Beca had remembered that detail about her program search.
“Okay, so you should go there, right? So you can get into vet school later?”
“Beca –”
“Look,” Beca cuts her off gently, “Chlo, I don’t want to be that couple that holds each other back from doing what they really want to do.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Baby, I’m worried I would,” Beca says, staring down at her lap. “You’ve been talking about their program for a while. Isn’t it what you want?”
“Yeah, but I want you, too.”
“You can have both, Chlo.”
“Beca –”
“What if we were switched?” Beca asks suddenly, looking back up. “What if I had wanted to go to LA and gotten an offer there?”
Chloe refuses to look at her. “That’s not the same,” she says.
“Yes, it is.”
“I…” Chloe sighs and rubs a hand over her face. She knows exactly what Beca’s doing, and she knows she’s right. “I’d tell you to go,” she finally concedes.
“Yeah,” Beca nods, reaching for Chloe’s hand to pull into her lap. “So this is me, telling you that you should follow what you’ve been working for.”
Chloe pulls her lower lip into her mouth, worrying at it with her teeth. When she doesn’t say anything, Beca runs her thumb over the back of her hand.
“What is it?” she asks softly.
“I just...” Chloe starts, then has to pause to swallow the lump in her throat before she can continue. “It’s not fair.”
She knows it’s childish – life isn’t fair to anyone – but she wants to complain, at least a little bit.
“What isn’t fair?”
“This!” Chloe exclaims, finally looking up at Beca. “This whole stupid thing! We just got together and now we might be pulled apart! It’s not fair!” she finishes, her voice cracking.
Beca stares at her for a long moment, eyes wide. “I – yeah, I know,” she finally starts, and Chloe watches as determination take over her features. “It’s not fair. But, listen – having a long-distance relationship is not the end of the world.”
“I didn’t –”
“I know it’s not ideal, but it’s not the end of the world,” Beca repeats, speaking louder. “We don’t have to end just because we’re not living together, okay? There’s – there’s text, and calls, and Skype, and – we have options,” Beca says. “And, you know, lots of people make it work. We can too, okay, if we have to. And it won’t be forever.”
Chloe shrugs, then nods slowly. A trickle of hope moves into her chest.
“And,” Beca continues, “I still haven’t heard back from, like, a ton of jobs. I’m not gonna go to Houston if I can help it, okay?”
“Okay,” Chloe whispers, squeezing Beca’s hand.
She’s right. If anyone can do it, it’s them. It’s not ideal, but it wouldn’t be forever.
“Besides,” Beca adds a second later, her tone lighter as she nudges their shoulders together playfully, “Houston gets, like, super hot in the summer, and you know I don’t do well in the heat.”
Chloe snorts at that, and a small smile grows on Beca’s face. Chloe doesn’t say anything, but Beca’s still watching her, her expression tender.
Reaching forward to push a strand of Chloe’s hair behind her ear, Beca says, “And, um, if you’re really not sure… think on it for a bit, maybe, and we’ll go from there? I might even hear back from some places by… when do you have to tell them?”
“The 8th.”
Beca’s eyebrows lift, but then her expression arranges itself into something more neutral.
“Okay, so, the 8th,” she says, and Chloe can tell she’s forcing her casual tone. “That’s… yeah. I still think you should do it, though, because it’s what you’ve been wanting for a while.”
It sounds so simple coming from her mouth. Chloe knows Beca is just as terrified by the looming moves as she is, but she sounds so confident and assured in that moment that Chloe instantly relaxes.
“Sounds good,” she breathes, some of the tension lifting from her chest.
“Good,” Beca says, then stands from the bed, still tugging on Chloe’s hand. “And, in the meantime, would you like to dance with me?”
“What?” Chloe blinks up at her, surprised.
Beca’s grin only widens. “We need to celebrate this, and I don’t have any cake with me, so… dance?”
“You’re so weird,” Chloe says, but then she allows Beca to pull her to her feet and into a quick kiss. Beca’s lips move languidly against her own, their familiar taste reminding Chloe of crackling campfires and warm movie nights and exhilarating performances and home.
After a moment, Chloe has to pull back, slightly breathless. “Do you have music?” she asks.
Beca tilts her head, mock offended. “Duh, who do you think I am?” she asks incredulously.
Chloe smiles as Beca waggles her eyebrows overdramatically and pulls her phone from her pocket. She scrolls for a second, then taps on the screen, turns up the volume, and La Roux’s “Bulletproof” fills the room.
Chloe’s lips lift at song choice – even though at one time, it had nearly torn the Bellas apart – and Beca sets down her phone face-down on Chloe’s desk so that the music can full the room. Beca takes both of Chloe’s hands in her own, and with one more crooked grin, Beca starts dancing.
She leads them in a kind of jerky swing dance that doesn’t really match the song, but Chloe doesn’t mind; all she can think about is Beca’s hands in hers, guiding her back and forth and side to side in the middle of the bedroom.
They take turns spinning each other, Chloe’s eyes following the trails Beca’s whirling hair makes in the air. Beca backs her into her bed once, and Chloe wobbles dangerously, but Beca tugs her back with a glint in her eye that tells Chloe it might not have been an accident, but an excuse to pull their bodies closer together. As the music ends, Chloe spins Beca one final time and tugs her close to rest their foreheads together, breath mingling and hearts beating in tandem. Beca’s hands slide up her arms to loop around her shoulders, and Chloe rests her hands around Beca’s waist.
Even though the music is over, they revolve slowly on the spot, Chloe’s mind calming and heart racing. Beca nudges forward to brush her lips against Chloe’s, even that barest touch between them sending sparks cascading through Chloe’s entire body. She hums into the kiss, pressing forward just enough to add pressure before easing away again.
“Say yes to New York, Chloe.”
It’s quiet, whispered against her lips, but it still shakes Chloe’s world.
“I’ll need a roommate,” she breathes back.
“Ask the group chat.”
It’s a smart idea. Most of their futures are so up in the air that one of the Bellas is bound to be willing to move to New York with her.
(She wishes it could be Beca. More than anything, she wants it to be Beca.)
But she has to think practically.
“Okay,” Chloe agrees. “I’ll ask them.”
“Okay,” Beca smiles, then pecks Chloe’s lips again. “So… about that shopping trip?”
“You got it,” Chloe whispers, and she lifts a hand to trace her thumb along Beca’s cheekbone before she (reluctantly) pulls from Beca’s arms to text the group chat and find her purse.
#bechloe#bechloe fic#my writing#beca mitchell#chloe beale#pitch perfect fanftic#i'm nobody's but yours#chapter twenty-one#we're so close to the end!!!#also this is being posted later today than usual sorry!
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Criminal Minds- The Good Ol’ Days
Tagging: @marvelfanlife, @itsmeedee, @cynbx, @jaqren, @gabriellewritermua, @princesswagger15, @screaminginbi, @tleighstone12, @cosmicmelaninflower
A collaboration fic with @princesswagger15.
Chapter 8-The Mystery Gang
Garcia was still shaken up by the message sent to her yesterday. Who gave her the message? Who was the person referring “they” to? And why were they targeting her and her friends? As she continued to walk to class, she felt a gentle touch on the shoulder.
“Uh-what the Luke!” She gasped. “Oh oh uh Luke.”
“Hey sorry, did I scare you?”
“N-n-no.” She shook her head and kept walking, trying to avoid eye contact with him.
“Hey wait up! I haven’t talked to since morning the day after the party.”
“Ah…….that’s interesting.”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “Interesting?……You okay? You seem a bit…off.”
“I’m fine, I really am. Just…..let me be…..” She hastily walked away, much to his dismay. As she walks to the classroom, she suddenly noticed a large group of people crowding near the entrance.
“What the hell?” She then looks over to JJ. “JJ, what’s going on?
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.” She looked over to see Luke walking by. “Luke, do you know what’s happening?”
“Nope, I just got here.”
Suddenly, they heard the sound of a familiar voice screaming inside the classroom. When they heard it, Luke and Garcia pushed through the crowd to see that students had gathered around the door of Rossi’s vandalized classroom.
“Oh my goodness!” Garcia shrieks.
“Wh- Oh holy shit, what the hell happened?!” Luke yelled as he walked slowly inside Rossi’s classroom.
Papers were thrown everywhere, files had been thrown to the ground and stomped on, Rossi’s desk was flipped on its side, and the desks and chairs had been thrown across the room and flipped over. As Garcia and Luke looked on in horror, a realization had hit Garcia. What if the message on her computer had been to warn her and the the others about this, and Where’s Rossi? Did someone hurt him? Was he safe? Just then, Hotch and the rest of the gang, burst in when they overheard what happened.
“Hey guys what’s going-woah.”
“Oh goddammit!” Derek screamed.
“Who could’ve done such a cruel act?” Ashley asked as she and the gang looked around to see the room all a mess. They all looked back to see the crowd spreading out as Barnes, Strauss and a couple of security guards walked into the room, mortified as they saw the scene.
“My god….the hell is all this?” Strauss gasped. She and Barnes looked down at the twelve students standing inside. Before they could say anything, Barnes gestured to two of the security guards.
“Get these students out of here.” The guards nod, escorting the gang out of the classroom, much their dismay. Emily and Elle continue to peek from outside till Barnes decides to shut the doors closed. As the students all clamor, she whistled, prompting them to stop as she makes an announcement.
“Attention everyone. Based on the discovery found in this room, all subsequent classes of Intro to Criminology will be put on hold until further notice. We do not know who the culprit of this was and why they did it. However, this is a violation of the code of conduct and should the person be caught……...not only will they be expelled but also arrested. If anyone has any questions, contact either me, Strauss or any staff nearby. We apologize for the inconvenience. You’re all free to go.”
As the students all scatter with mummers of disappointment and some with joy, the team wonders where their teacher is.
--------------------------------------------------------
At the lounge, the gang gather around as they trying to wrap their heads around what just happened.
“I can’t believe it.” JJ thought. “I wonder how professor Rossi is gonna take this when he finds out?”
“If he ever will.” Elle says as the team sends her death glares. “What, I’m just saying. He’s usually there before anyone and now he’s not here to see his classroom get fucking wrecked.”
JJ looked over to Hotch. “What do you think, Hotchner?”
“I don’t know, but from the looks of the scene, it looked personal.”
“I don’t know about it being personal. It could be just a cruel prank.” Derek suggests.
“No, no, no, no, no. There’s no way that it was just a prank.” Tara responds.
“Well we don’t exactly know anyone who’d want to do this.”
“We know, but even so, this looks pretty brutal for it to be a measly prank.”
As the gang argues over on who could have been responsible for vandalizing Rossi’s classroom, Garcia couldn’t help but think of the cryptic message she received yesterday.
“Uhhh guys, there is something i need to tell you all.”
“What is it Garcia?” Emily asked.
“Last night, i got this weird cryptic message on my computer that basically says, uuhhhhhhhh………………...I think it’s better if I show you.” She then pulls out her laptop as the rest of the gang gather around her. Once everyone has settled down and looked to see no one else watching them, she took a deep breath and showed them the message. As they read through the message, there was a mixture of shock, fear and worryness among the students.
“Watch out…………” Hotch whispered the last words of the message as it stops playing. Once Garcia closed her laptop, they all looked at each other, terrified of the content that was found.
“Garcia, what the absolute hell??!”
“Look, I just found this on my email yesterday? I didn’t mean to scare you guys, okay? I don’t even know if this was a joke or not, but it’s pretty clear that it’s not.”
“So is there anyway we know who this came from?”
“Well I tried tracking the IP address but to no avail. Whoever did this was pretty skilled than I am.” Garcia responds.
“There’s no other way than to track him? Like maybe the DMS address? Maybe if we find the DMS address, we can find him from there?” Tara said.
“I don’t know, maybe, if we can outrun this person.”
“I’m scared.” Ashley whimpered. “You don’t think something bad is gonna happen to any of us, right?”
“No, no, no. Let’s not jump into conclusions.”
“Come on Luke, that message said that someone is targeting us. Who knows what they’re capable of.”
“But who should we be worried of, the person targeting us? Or whoever sent Garcia the email? We don’t even know who the sender is, how could we fear the person targeting us if we don’t know who the sender is?” Kate asked.
“Look, all I know is that something big is happening, and if Rossi doesn’t show up anytime soon, we need to take measures in our own hands.” Emily suggested.
“Our own hands? Look at us, we’re just a bunch of college students.” Reid says as he throws his hands up.
“You’re right Reid.” Elle stood up. “We are just students…..but this seems more……..high level. You know?”
“What do you mean, Greenaway?”
“I don’t know, but I guess now that we and Rossi are targets, considering Rossi is an FBI agent, or a retired one, how do we know that this isn't for revenge and now we’re in the crossfire?”
“She’s got a point.” Matt thought. “Wait a second…...what if all this and Professor Gideon’s death are all connected with one another?” The gang all looked at him. “Think about it…..he’s friend with Rossi and Rossi happens to be an FBI agent. When you’re working in the line of duty, you have a tendency to make enemies and maybe one of his enemies broke loose and is out for revenge. Maybe the reason Gideon died was because he was trying to protect his friend, our professor. Now that he’s gone, Rossi has no other choice but to leave the campus, cause the only other people that he’s just as close to as Gideon are-”
“Us.” JJ gasped. “And now, whoever is after are are using us to find Rossi.”
“There’s just one thing, how were they able to find us, let alone know us?” Emily asked.
“Maybe whoever this is has connections in the FBI or law enforcement? Maybe somehow on our little trip they saw us and Rossi and ran ID on us and now we’re sitting ducks.” Reid points out.
“This is just great.” Derek groaned. “How could this happen to us? All I wanted was to relax and get my degree and now we’re all a bunch of sitting ducks targeted by who knows what that’s got beef with our professor.”
Suddenly the group is cut off by a buzzing of a phone. The group looks at Ashley curiously as she pulls out her phone to check her messages. She reads her message and starts to pack up her things.
“Crap, um I’ll meet up with you guys later but i have to go, it’s an emergency.”
“Uh, Ashley, you okay?” Kate asked.
“Uhh of course yeah! I’ll just need to catch up later.” Ashley says as she starts to walk off.
“And Ashley.”
“Yes, Hotch?”
“Be careful, and stay alert. Someone might be following us, we don’t know who. It could be anyone.”
“I will.” Once she left the room, everyone else turned to Hotch.
“So what now?”
“Well my guess would be we lay low and act like we don’t know what’s happening but we need to keep and eye out for Rossi. If any of us can get to him, we contact the group and we fill him in.”
“I also suggest that we keep this between us. No one can ever know about this but us, not Barnes, not anyone.”
“Why not?” Garcia asked. “What if they could help us?”
“Even if that’s the case, we risk dragging more people in this and the greater chance we’ll get found out.”
“Kate’s right. The more people involved, the more that could get hurt. We can’t risk it.”
“So….that’s it? We’re gonna do nothing and let this stranger come after us and do who knows what?”
“Well unless you know them or have a better plan, we should be moving along with our day until further notice.” Elle says as she gets up from the table. Everyone decides to go their separate ways as Hotch sighs in dismay. As everyone leave the room, they could not help but ponder over the message, with them being targeted over being close to Rossi.
------------------------------------------------------------------
During Calculus, the professor was presenting a lecture for the next test. Reid looked down on his notebook, twirling his pencil while scribbling it every five minutes. Marissa couldn’t help but noticed something, as she saw that he was constantly tapping his foot. There was something on Reid’s mind, and she was determined to know what it was.
“Alright everyone, class dismissed.” The professor shouts.
Reid quietly gathered his belongings as he attempted to keep his gaze to the floor. He then noticed a pair of footsteps approach him. He looks up behind him to see Marissa almost jogging to keep up with him.
“Hey! Wait up, jeez.”
“Oh…...hi Marissa.” He continued to finish packing up, zipping his backpack before getting up and walking away.
“Hey! What’s wrong? You’re not talking to me, and you’re not spitting out random ass facts. What the hell is wrong?”
“N-nothing. I just had a long day, especially since my Criminology class got shafted.”
“Oh my, what happened? Do you know?”
“Well, his classroom got vandalized.”
“OH MY GOD! Is he okay?? Is your friends okay? Are YOU okay? Did anyone get hurt? D-”
“N-no, no one got hurt. But whoever did this is at large and is going to be in big trouble when they get caught.”
“You don’t know who did it? Don’t classrooms have cameras around the doors and inside the rooms?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out but it’s not really coming along very well.” Reid said with a somewhat irritated expression. He stomps hastily as his girlfriend tries to catch up with him.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“You okay? You seem a bit...distracted.”
“I-I’m fine. W-we can talk about this later.” He attempts to walk away, only for Marissa to grab him on his shoulder.
“Hey, i know something isn’t right here okay? Can you just tell me what’s going on?”
“I can’t, it’s hard to explain.”
“I’m willing to listen.”
“I don’t know. I think it’s better if I don’t tell you.”
“Why? I-Is it me? Did i do something wrong?”
“No, it’s not you.”
“Then what is it? Tell me what's going on babe, please?”
“I-I-”
“Please?”
Reid took a deep breath and looked around, pulling himself and Marissa to a corner.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone?”
She nods. “I swear on my soul.”
“Okay. But first, let’s go somewhere private.”
Marissa nods and the two head to the campus fountain, which was considered to be one of the quietest places in the campus.
“Okay, so what is it? Cause now I’m starting to get worried.”
“Alright…..” Reid rubbed his head. “About my professor’s classroom, it seems like whoever trashed it, is after him.”
“After him? For what? He couldn’t have done anything that bad to anyone, he’s just a college professor.”
“That he’s…”
“He’s?”
“I-I I can’t, maybe we can talk about this anothe-”
“Come on Reid, what is your professor really like?”
“He-was an agent, for the FBI.”
“FBI? You’re telling me that you professor worked in the FBI?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay….. Okaaay, um so um, when did this all start?”
“My uh friends went to his cabin, and we found some things.”
“What?! What do you mean? What things?”
“Well uuhh for one, we found his badge and gun along with his journal.”
“Oh my. What else happened?”
“Well, considering that he was an FBI agent and was friends with Professor Gideon before he died, we think that someone is out there for revenge. That’s why he left, to avenge Gideon.”
“But that’s not all, is it.”
“Garcia, she got a message, and it said that we’re all targets and to basically watch our backs and to trust no one.”
“Wait, that means…”
“Yes Marissa, we’re in great danger. My friends and I. Now you know why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Shut up Reid, ill be fine. Its you and your team I’m worried about.”
“Don’t worry about us Marissa, my friends and I will be fine. We just need to figure out who’s behind all this.”
“How far have y'all gotten to figuring this out?”
“To tell you the truth, not much.”
“Any clues on ANY suspects?”
“Uh…………..no”
“No? So you guys have nothing.”
“Whoever this person is, they hide their tracks very well.”
“What makes you think its one person?”
“I don’t know, it’s just an assumption.”
“It has to be a team, how do think they could get to Gideon or Rossi? They know the campus, and its security. It has to be a team.”
“Hmmm, I assumed that it was a possibility, then I guess that makes it even more difficult.”
“So we could be looking at any possible team ups?”
“Possibly, though that means whoever is after Rossi is getting assistance from someone at the college. But who?”
“I'm thinking whoever they are, 1. They have one hell of a bone to pick with Rossi, and 2. They work either in the office or in security.”
“Yeah…..” He looked at Marissa. “We should stop….I think I told you too much. Someone might be watching us.”
“How about we meet up with the team in a couple days so we can share our theory. Otherwise, lay low and don't talk to or trust anyone. We’ll meet in a couple days, i'll pick the place.”
“Just promise me that you’ll be careful and don’t try to do anything rash. My heart won’t bear it should something happen to yo-”
“Don’t worry about me. Just do as i say and tell your team the same, I'll let you know the place and time tomorrow.”
“Okay.” The two kiss before leaving the fountain, looking back and forth to make sure no one was watching.
Elsewhere, Matt was heading to the boys locker room, fetching his gym clothes in his bag when he heard a couple of footsteps approach him. He turned around to Derek and Luke approach him with a troubled expressions.
“Jeez-Derek, I uh didn’t see you there. What brings you here?”
“Well actually, me and Luke need to talk to you about something.”
Matt turned around to see Luke standing from the other side before walking past him and standing next to Derek.
“Uhh sure, what is it?”
“We saw you with Mrs. Barnes yesterday.”
“Ohhh umm I-”
“Matt, do you want to tell us what’s going on?”
“Okay she walked up to me and says was she looking for me and said had to talk about something important.”
“And what was it about?”
Matt took a step back, scratching the back of his head and avoiding eye contact.
“Matt…. What’s going on?”
“I-I don’t know how to explain thi-”
“Just tell us goddammit!” Derek snapped.
“OKAY! Jeez. Well when she pulled me into her office, she t-tried to convince m-me to s-spy on the team….”
“Wait, Barnes told you to do what?” Luke asked.
“She tried to convince me to spy on the team.”
“W-why, why would she tell you to do such thing?”
“I don’t know, all she said was ‘I need you to spy on the team and report everything back to me’.”
“You’re not thinking of going along with it, are you?”
“No, of course not! But now that I think about it, what if i go back to her and say i'll do it to get info. It could be our chance to get some suspects.”
“And how do we know that you’re being genuine about this and not complying with Barnes? How do we know you’re only trying to gain our trust so that you can get dirt on us?”
“Okay really guys?!?!? This is ME we’re talking about! I’d NEVER do that to ANYONE!” Both Luke and Derek looked at him with uncertainty, much to his dismay. “Come on guys, I’m serious. You’re my friends, you and everyone else from Rossi’s class. I would never do anything to break that trust. If you want, I’ll prove it to you.”
“Hmmmm, well there is one thing.” Derek thought.
“What is it?”
“Put on a blindfold.”
“Why?”
“We’re gonna play dodgeball.”
They cover his eyes with a blindfold and drag him out of the locker room.
“Stand right here.”
“Okay?.......Guys, what’s going o-”
Matt toppled over in pain he felt a dodgeball hit his jaw.
“Guys what the hell-”
He felt a dodgeball hit him in the stomach.
“Ow.” He stumbled onto his knees, unable to see and move without feeling another ball hit him. He helplessly curls up as Derek continues to throw dodgeballs at him.
“How long are we gonna have to do this?” Luke looked at his roommate.
“Ehhhhhh………… 5 minutes.”
“You sure about this? He already looks like he’s in pain.”
“LET HIM PROVE HIS LOYALTY.” He then swings another dodgeball, causing Matt to fall over as it hits him on the head.
“I meann….. I feel kiiiinda fucked up for this…” Luke hesitates.
“Come on man, you can do it! It’s not like we’re causing TOO much pain.”
“Okay, fine.” Luke then throws his ball at full force, hitting Matt in the face. He scrunched his nose, looking away while his friend wails in pain as he lays down on the floor.
“Alright Matt.” Derek shouts. “Seems like you had enough for tonight.”
“Oh thank the sweet mother of god.” Matt whispers to himself. He groans as he attempts to movie while Luke grabs his arm, helping him up.
“It’s okay, I got you. Come on.”
“H-Have I proved my u-undying loyalty now?”
Luke nods and glares at Derek. “What do you think, Derek?”
“He’s good, sorry man but we can’t take no chances.”
“I-I understand.”
“Go take him to the locker room, I’ll go clean up.”
“Got it, come on man.” Luke accompanies Matt to the locker room while Derek picks up the remaining dodgeballs on the floor.
A few minutes later, Luke left the locker room and came back with an ice pack, tossing it over to Matt as he leaves to help Derek put the dodgeballs away. Once they were done, he returns to the locker room to see Matt still there with the ice pack on his chin.
“Uhhh hey man,im so sorry, i didn’t mean to hit you straight in the face.”
“It’s whatever.” He waved his arm. “Gotta take whatever hit I got if it means proving that I’m loyal to you guys.”
“Well whatever, its done now, but we do need to meet up with the team later on to see what kind of plan we should have in play.”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, you good to stand? I can help you around if you want.”
“No need, I got this.” He hands him the ice pack as he got up from the stool. Luke then looked on as his friend limped away.
The three exit the gym together before parting ways, though Luke still felt remorseful for throwing the ball at Matt.
---------------------------------------
Elsewhere, Courtney was in her dorm sketching, only to be startled by the sound of Garcia slamming the door shut.
“Woah Garcia, what the hell?”
“SHUT IT! I need to think.” She looked to see her roommate wander around, muttering something to herself under her breath.
“Jeez, my bad.” Courtney mumbles to herself. She sat down on her bed as Garcia continues to mumble under her breath. Just then, she rushed down next to her and grabs her hands.
“Im sorry Courtney, but there’s been a lot of things going on. Things that i need to tell youj, but you CAN’T tell ANYONE.”
She crossed her fingers. “I promise.”
“Okay, so basically, me and my team are being stalked and something is going on with my Criminology teacher.”
“Oh my god.” She gasped. “You and your friends, you mean the ones that were on the trip with you and your professor?”
“Yeah.”
“W-why would they go after you, your friends and your professor?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know who it could be?”
“Again, I don’t know.”
“B-but why would you be telling me this?”
Garcia quivered her lips, leaning close to Courtney. “To tell you the truth, I’m not supposed to tell anyone outside me and my friends, but you happen to know about the trip and our meeting with Barnes. So it makes sense that you need to know about this as well.”
“The trip…..Barnes…..wait a sec. About you and your friend being stalked…..does that include me? Is this person after me as well?”
“I don’t know, but that’s why we’re not supposed to say anything to anyone else. Because number one, that person could be the one we’re trying to catch. And two, we don’t want to get anyone else into this mess. We don’t even have suspects yet.”
“My god...I-I can’t.” She stood up from the bed, covering her head with her hands, overwhelmed by Garcia’s confession.
“I'm so so so sorry to have brought this on you but, you needed to know.”
“Give me one reason why you see me as a friend, cause it feels like I’m being dragged in a situation that I have no control of cause of something you, your friends and your professor are involved in and I can’t do anything about it. It seems like you only come to me for whatever problems you’re going through and I-I can’t handle it anymore, I just can’t.”
“Its true that I don’t come to you as often as I’d like and its always for something crappy, but this has been going on ever since that damn trip and I’m so so sorry.”
“W-well, how is this gonna make up for everything?”
“Its not, but i SWEAR to you, when this is all over ill make it up to you in every way you want! I promise!”
“I hope so……” Courtney couldn’t help but blink everytime she sees Garcia. Even though she was upset, it was hard to be completely mad at her, let alone her own roommate. “You know, it’s hard for me to stay mad at someone like you, and not just cause you’re my roommate.”
“You’re not at me?”
“............Not completely.”
“Doess that mean you’re not gonna murder me in my sleep?”
“No. Just because I’m upset doesn’t mean that I’m a psychopath.”
“Haha good, otherwise I would’ve asked my friends to stay in their dorm for a few days.”
Courtney sighs and gently taps her on the shoulder. “Just know that this is gonna take some time for me to process this.”
“I understand, but if you’d like, you can come with me to my friends while we come up with theories for this.”
“That’s nice of you to offer that…...but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Why not?
“I-I don’t think I'm mentally stable enough to be around that stuff yet.”
“But my friends can help you. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“I’m sorry Garcia, I think it’s best if I keep a low profile, besides I’m only an artist, not a ‘profiler’. Plus I still need time to wrap my head around this. I hope you’d understand.”
“Of course, I’m here if you need my help with ANYTHING, okay?”
“Okay.” She then arched her eyebrows when Garcia decides to spread her arms open. “Uh, Garcia? What are you doing?”
“I thought you might need a hug, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah sure!” The two slowly hug it out, which is what the best Garcia can do. Hopefully, she finds a way to patch things up with Courtney.
Outside the campus, Elle was standing in line at an In and Out Burger place. While waiting in line, she sees a familiar face from around the campus. She continues to stare at the particular brunette woman while she uses her phone when a cashier yells at her.
“Excuse me miss.”
“Wha-huh, yes?” She hastily turned.
The cashier nodded as Elle noticed the large space between her and the counter. She hastily walks up to the register.
“May I take your order?”
“Uh yeah, I-I’l take a double bacon wrapped steak burger with fries and a strawberry shake.”
“To stay or to go?”
“To go thank you.”
“Okay, that will be $18.75.” Elle hands the cashier some money and steps back as she waits for her meal. While waiting, she sees the woman take order her meal. Just then, she tilt her head as the sound of her voice was familiar, though she did not know how. She closed her eyes and squint her eyebrows, trying to recall when she heard it.
“Hello David? Yeah, I got everything.”
She opened her eyes, remembering everything: The parking lot, the night at Meadows’s party. She was the same woman she followed the night at Meadows’s party. There were so many questions: Who was the David she was talking to? Why she was at the parking lot late at night? What was in the luggage she was carrying and where was she taking it to? Before she could get any answers, she was suddenly startled by an employee that was holding her meal and shake.
“Excuse me miss! Miss!”
“Huh-what?!”
The guy gently shook the paper bag. “Your order. It’s ready.”
“Oh uh, right.” She grabs her meal. “Sorry about that.”
“Had a long day?”
“Yeah, I guess you can say that.” She nods and walks away with her meal. Just as she was about to reach the door, she decides to grab some ketchup and napkins and walks towards the condiments stand, only to nearly bump into a woman.
“Oh uh, sorry.”
“Its fine, I’m in a rush and wasn’t paying attention.”
“Aren’t we all.” She awkwardly chuckles.
“Hey, I think I’ve seen you before. Are you a student at Quantico University?”
“Uh yeah, wait, how do you know?”
“I’m a professor there, what’s your name if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Uhhh, no offense, but is this really necessary?”
“No it’s not, i'm sorry for asking. But if you just so happen to need help with anything, my name is Professor Alex Blake.”
“Oh uh, nice to meet you, Ms Blake.”
“Same to you hun, I'll see you around, have a nice night!” Elle looked on as Blake exits the place.
Back at the campus, Garcia decides to leave her dorm to get some fresh air after a tense conversation with her roommate. Knowing how Courtney felt after the ordeal, she was right to be upset. Now that she knows about the trip, she’s bound to be involved with whatever situation that’s affecting Garcia and her friends. Still, Garcia was just as unwilling as she is and just wanna patch things up with her. She just needs some time off to clear her head, some personal space by taking a stroll outside the main campus. Just then, she was looking down at the ground while walking and suddenly bumped into something hard. She then felt someone put their arms around her to keep her from hitting the ground.
“Woah.” Garcia gasped, struggling to stand as her legs wobble. It didn’t help that she decided to put on her usual pink and yellow wedge heels outside.
“It’s okay, I got you.” Garcia looked up to see Luke standing there helping her.
“Oh, uhh h-hi Luke.”
“Hi.”
Garcia then pulled herself away, walking past him, only for Luke to follow her.
“Hey, are you okay? What’s going on?”
“N-nothing, just taking a walk, getting some fresh air.” She kept marching, avoiding eye contact with him.
“Hey, i was wondering if you wanted company? I mean we haven’t talked in a while.”
“Does it matter? And no, I don’t need anyone, especially you.”
“Jeez, what did i do to you?”
“You know what you did, don’t try to fool me.”
“What are you even talking about Garcia?”
“N-nothing, just forget it heathen, okay?”
“Nononoonono no. Tell me what’s wrong, right now.” He placed his hands on her arms.
“N-no, I can’t.” She continue to walk away.
“Garcia, I know something is up. I know that you’ve been avoiding me lately, can you at least tell me why?”
“Y-you remember that morning after the party and i was in your dorm?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Well i woke up in your b-bed and i was half naked……..why?”
“You….don’t remember?”
“No, what are saying?! We didn’t, we couldn’t have……..no!”
“Wha-wha…..oh.” Luke paused. “Did you assume that we had sex? The night at Meadows’s party?”
“Isn’t that what happened? I mean, I was half-naked, and you came out from the shower.”
“No that's not what happened! You were half naked because i took off your clothes to wash them, you were covered in vomit.”
“Yeah right, I know guys like you like to fool innocent girls like me so you could just dispose us in the gutter and replace me with a prettier, more ditzy chick.”
“What the hell are you talking about! I’d never do that! EVER. I was just trying to be a good friend and help you out but I guess you didn’t want to be helped.”
“Oh…...sorry.”
“Its fine, is that why you didn't talk to me for a while?”
She nodded. “Yeah, didn’t want things to feel awkward between us.”
“Well at least you know the truth now so that things can be normal.”
“Yeah, guess so.” Just as they continue walking, they overheard Kyle talking on the phone. Curious, they walk by the nearest tree as they try to listen in to Kyle’s conversation.
“What do you think he’s arguing about?”
“I don’t know, let’s listen.” The two look on as Kyle continues to march around.
“Look, I just had a long day, okay? My patience in wearing thi-no, NO you listen to me. If anything, you should be the one thanking me, okay? I did all the dirty work, don’t I deserve something a little more rewarding.”
“It sounds like he’s getting into an argument, maybe an ex?” Garcia whispered.
“Probably.” They continued to listen.
“Alright, I’m sorry. Well, I’m trying to find some info on them but, it seems like they don’t know anything yet. H-how the hell do I know, I just do. Chill okay, just go easy on me. I did what you asked me to do."
“He asked to do what?.....”
"Yeah I made sure I wasn’t followed. No, I wasn’t-well when i was finished trashing Rossi's classroom, one of them almost caught me, but I got away. Relax, he doesn’t know what I did…..so what if he’s a nerd, he’s not smart enough to know what I did, him or any of his dumb idiotic friends do. It wouldn’t matter, cause all they’re do is kissing their poor man Rossi’s saggy ass."
“What the?” Both Luke and Garcia looked at each other, angered by this.
“So he’s the one who wrecked Rossi’s classroom, that little shi-” Before Garcia can finish her sentence, Luke walked out from the tree as Garcia followed.
“Yeah, what a piece of sh-” Kyle suddenly gasped as Luke slams him against the wall.
“Hey Luke, what gives?”
“What in the absolute FUCK KYLE???? WHY ARE YOU MESSING WITH US!!?? WHY ARE YOU MESSING WITH ROSSI DAMMIT??!!?!?!”
“Wha-oh oh......that nothing, just a little argument with my bo-”
“THATS A DAMN LIE, TELL US WHATS GOING ON YOU BABYDICK ASS COWARD!”
“Wow.....you've got quite the mouth there big boy, is that how your momma raised you?”
“Listen to me, you can suck my left nut. But you better tell me why you're doing this to my team and me or will strangle you and pull your spine out through your chest!!!”
He rearranged his jacket. “What I do is none of your concern.”
“It is when you hurt our family dammit! What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On.”
“Ooooo, feisty one, no one asked for your opinion, although we can talk about it more over ribs.” He eyes Garcia from her legs to her chest and face before giving her a wink, much to her dismay.
“HEY! YOU DON'T TALK TO HER LIKE THAT DAMMIT! ANSWER ME!” Luke then bangs Kyle's head against the tree, prompting him to start laughing. “Son of a bitch! I should fucking murder you for hurting my team!”
“Go on, do it, you and your bitches are bound to be off this campus.”
“Not if we find your accomplices.”
“Oh you gullible piece of shit, you don't know shit.”
“You're the piece of shit, and you know what? I’m done, me and my family are smarter than you and your shitty accomplices. We'll find you, and them, and you'll get what coming to you. Garcia, honey, let's go.” He then releases Kyle as he continues to laugh. He then grabs Garcia’s arm as the two walk away.
“So what now?” Garcia asked.
“Well, now we know that Kyle is the one responsible for vandalizing Rossi’s classroom. We just need to know how and why he did it and who else he could be working for.”
“Don’t worry, I can trace his phone history.”
“You can? How?”
“You’re talking to a tech genius here.”
“I see.” He chuckled.
“You know, you didn’t have to defend me like that back there.”
“I know, but I want to, I’m not letting some dude like Kyle Hodges talk down on you.”
“Well….thanks.” The two continue to walk away before parting ways to their respective dorms.
Somewhere, a red range rover pulls up near a bridge near the woods as Kyle emerged from the door. He then locked his car as he looked around, seeing nothing but the shadows of the woods cast from the headlights of his car.
“Hello? Anyone out there?” There was no answer but the sounds of crickets chirping and leaves rustling. “Come on…..I did what you told me to do…...I’m here………….” A few minutes later and still nothing. He then slapped his hips. “That’s it, I’m leaving…..such a waste of time.” Just as he was about to back to his car, he suddenly heard a couple of footsteps in the distance.
“Who’s there?”He then followed the sounds to the bridge and froze when he sees an unknown figure in a black hoodie in the middle of the bridge, turning towards his direction.
“What th-”
#penelope garcia#luke alvez#jennifer jareau#aaron hotchner#derek morgan#ashley seaver#tara lewis#emily prentiss#matt simmons#elle greenaway#spencer reid#kate callahan#alex blake#david rossi#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds au#the good ol days
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the big Terra Ignota pitch
the Terra Ignota series are some of the most exciting books i have read since graduating college. i love these books so much that i am constantly trying to convince everyone around me to read them, so that i can blather about them in great detail. (so far i have convinced four humans to read the first book!)
i have done this *so much*, in fact, that i've got my (uh, somewhat lengthy) pitch basically memorized. i figured maybe i should write it down so i don't have to repeat myself so often. and also MAYBE I COULD CONVINCE MORE HUMANS TO READ IT, please read it, it's so so good
PITCH PART ONE: FUTURE POLITICS
Terra Ignota is set somewhere in the year 2400ish, and we've basically solved the problem of "fast cheap transportation." there's a fleet of universally-accessible self-piloting flying cars, and you can get literally anywhere on the planet in two hours or less.
one might naturally ask: in a world where i can go *literally wherever* in under two hours, do nation-state boundaries really have as much meaning anymore?
well.
turns out, in the 2000s, there was a huge world war called the Church War that was extra-brutal and extra-terrible. about halfway through the war, some dude gave a fancy speech, saying he doesn't even understand *why* we have to fight over these stupid patches of soil that no one chose to be born in, and he officially Secedes From All Nations. a bunch of other people took some flying cars to go hang out with him in No-Nation Land. eventually, so many people just seceded from their nation states that they sorta ran out of people to kill each other, and the war ended.
the effects of this are long-lasting: the world of Terra Ignota is organized into "hives" rather than countries. you can join any hive you want when you become an adult, and you can leave your hive at any time (there's a world police who's full-time job is "making sure people can leave when they want to"). each hive has a capitol city, but, you can live wherever you want to, and little enclaves of your hive-mates are scattered all over the world. there has not been a war since the Church War; this system has given us centuries of peace.
so what are hives *like*?
well, for one example: there's a hive called the Utopians, who are basically Team Elon Musk. they want to go to Mars. they do not give a shit about literally anything other than going to Mars. the other hives engage in soft-power political nonsense from time to time, but the Utopians just dump all their resources into Going To Mars and Not Giving A Fuck. also their capital city is on the moon; they've already terraformed the shit out of that.
there's also a hive that's just the Roman empire cosplayers. they think Rome is really cool and they want to talk Latin to each other all the time and they want an absolute emperor with absolute power. (though, interestingly, if the Emperor is especially tyrannical or jerkish, they can just bail and go to some other hive whenever they want—so the emperor has a strong incentive to be Actually Good At His Job.)
or you can join *no hive at all*, that's cool too. the choice is yours!
i have occasionally described this book as "political science fiction", as in, both [political science] and [science fiction], because a *lot* of the fun of the plot is how the different Hive governance structures work, how inter-Hive competition works, what forms of soft power are valuable in this universe, and so on. there is Lots of Super Well-Written Political Intrigue.
PITCH PART TWO: RELIGION AND MIRACLES OH MY
remember how i said there was a Church War?
the war was religiously-based, and thus afterwards everyone decided that Religion Was A Mistake. outside of a few very tiny enclaves (removed from all other Hives—think like, e.g., the Amish), it's forbidden to publicly discuss religion, to proselytize, and so on.
but obviously people still have thoughts about old religious texts, and existence, and all of that—so how *do* people discuss things?
basically, whenever you have weird religious feelings, you call up a sensayer—basically a hybrid priest/therapist/psychiatrist—who's trained in all the major religions, and you can tell him your thoughts on God, and he can do some Socratic-style dialogue with you, or discuss the religions in more detail, and all that. all your sensayer sessions are absolutely confidential and it's extremely common to see your sensayer every week, or every other week, or whatnot.
so, in the very opening chapter of the book, we see a sensayer visiting a house—he's been called to meet a new client—and he opens the door too soon, and stumbles on the sight of an eleven-year-old-ish boy with a bunch of toy soldiers—except, when he touches the toy soldiers, they *literally come to life*.
it is established fairly quickly in the subsequent (confidential, because this is a sensayer) dialogue that this kid is a *literal* miracle child and *he can create literally anything by touching it*. the toy soldiers is just the start of it. for instance, suppose you would like a cure for cancer. this kid can draw a picture of a bottle, label it "CURE FOR CANCER", and touch the picture: a bottle filled with CURE FOR CANCER will in fact appear.
so you have a sensayer, who is "officially" religiously neutral (except, you know, most people don't sign up to be basically-a-priest unless they have some religious feelings themselves), witness an actual bona fide miracle. in a world that cannot talk about religion, and in particular, a world *he personally* can't talk about this thing due to confidentiality laws.
you can imagine the fun places the plot goes from here.
APPENDIX
these are some miscellaneous things that are not part of my main pitch, but i mention them if the person seems like they'd be into it:
the narrator is ridiculously endearing, and also really into Enlightenment philosophy. (did i mention the author of this book is a professor of renaissance history at U of Chicago?). he is *so* into the Enlightenment that he writes the whole thing in the *style* of a 1700s novel—i.e., there's a lot of direct appeals to the reader, e.g. stuff to the effect of, "gentle reader, pray let me go on a bit further in this vein" and "ah! i know thou canst not believe me, but i swear by everything that this is real," and so on. so you're sitting there in the 2000s, reading a book set in the 2400s, and he's writing it like it's the goddamn 1700s. also he has extensive discursions on Voltaire, de Sade, etc. it is weird but fun and it totally *works*.
there's also a literal doomsday prophecy in the form of an economic model which made me laugh my ass off.
IN CONCLUSION
terra ignota is very good, here's where you can buy it, if you read it please send me a note telling me your hive xoxo
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AN: Okay, first of all, if any of you are still reading this, I believe I owe you an apology bigger than I can even begin to write. I know I've apologized for not updating so many times before and I don't know at what point it becomes repetitive but I know I crossed that line a while ago so I just wanted to say I am truly sorry for as long as it's taken me to write this and get it out there. A big part of it had to do with what the show did when it returned. I don't think there was ever a worse season for Spoby than 7B. We had to go through a lot. Watching Toby be there, present, at another girl's bedside and not Spencer's. Having to watch Toby marry another girl. Having to watch Spencer behave in OOC ways and screw around with a random cop, for no apparent reason. Having to watch Toby grieve for another girl, as if she were the love of his life. Having to literally see the only two scenes we got that displayed a real romantic connection between our ship turn out to be a random twin we never knew about. I know the reason the writers held off on Spoby for the entirety of the timejump was so they could do the twin storyline but, honestly, I don't see how that was a necessity, unless they were sooo hung up on raping Toby twice, and I don't think the storyline was worth it, I'm sorry.
But the truth is, there was something that happened in 7B that directly changed how I felt about writing this fic. I'm going to try to keep writing it, but after 7B, I'm warning you, there is gonna be a plot-twist in this story that'll probably leave you all hating me, but it is essential to what this fic is about. It is part of the core of this fic and if I were to take it out, I probably wouldn't continue writing this story. I know none of that makes sense now but in hindsight, hopefully, it will.
Anyway, enough of the depressing and enough excuses hahaha. Thank you for reading this, even after all the times I've let you all down by promising to update and then not following through. I probably would have never decided to finish this chapter if it wasn't for the out-pour of reviews I've received since I last posted and the people who have messaged and tweeted me. Thank you to everyone.
Oh and look at that coincidence. Me updating on Spoby’s anniversary. It’s almost poetic.
(:
It was strange how time could pass and yet, in certain moments, moments of clarity, it was almost as if nothing were different.
There was a certain euphoria that overcame her whenever she was with the one man who she loved with every atom of her body. A euphoria that appeared when they were close, both physically and emotionally. When they were so connected, it felt like there was nothing in this life that could ever seep between them again.
It was moments like those that she was the most honest, the most uncensored, the most emotionally naked.
"You wanna know something fucked up," she murmured, her voice husky and quiet and honest as she gazed tranquilly into his eyes.
"What?"
"A part of me-a bigger part than I even want to say-was almost a little happy in the hospital. When my parents were constantly there," she owned. The cop's expression was so understanding, so insightful, grasping exactly what she meant without her even having to vocalize it. Even still though, she wanted to. "It's terrible and bizarre and really, really unnerving because of the reasons I was there but… I liked the fact that I mattered for once to them. I was finally was the center of their lives. They were there, every second they could be, worrying about me and not Melissa." She paused to chuckle humorlessly to herself, finally breaking eye contact and subsequently looking downwards, at the sheets they were tangled up in. "It's really fucked up that I feel like that, isn't it?"
"No." He laughed and shook his head, his eyes offering her only complete understanding. Too much to just be sympathizing with her. Enough that he had to be emphasizing. He took a small breath before opening up as well, their love making also bringing him a tranquility that brought on a new level of honesty. "I used to have this really awful fantasy about telling my dad what Jenna was doing to me," he admitted. "I would imagine him flying off the handle and telling my step-mom and flipping out on Jenna and. . . and, I guess, protecting me." The sensitive cop paused for a second, shutting his eyes and taking in a small breath before lamenting, "At first, I just did it so I could imagine it ending. As a coping mechanism to get through it. But then, I still sometimes imagine it, even now. Just so I can picture my dad actually knowing and knowing that I wasn't the culprit and that I'm not the screw-up he still believes I am. It's all a daydream but it's nice to pretend that he would actually take my side. That he would turn on Jenna if he knew what she'd done to me."
At his admission, the brunette stared at him, at loss for words. "Toby," she whispered, her eyes glued to his face. She wracked her brain for something to say but all that came out was, "I never knew that. You've never told me that before."
He offered her a somewhat forlorn half smile. "I've never told anyone that before."
She bit her lip and felt her body physically sag, feeling the same as she always did whenever the topic of Jenna and his sexual abuse came up. Powerless.
Probably, she realized, akin to how he felt much of the time when he had to watch her be tortured ceaselessly. "I'm never going to let her touch you again," she promised definitively.
He chuckled, leaning in closer to press a kiss to her soft cheek. "My knight and shinning armor."
She cracked then and wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling into his throat as he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him.
The subject of Jenna dredged up an even worse taste in her mouth than usual, her stomach twisting into knots at even the sound of the vile girl's name.
Desperate to rid herself of this feeling, desperate to bring back the sensation, the ecstasy, the euphoria and, more than anything, desperate to give the boy holding her tightly to his chest a million memories of making love to her to replace the traumatizing, humiliating recollections of being raped by his step-sister, she vigorously leaned in and pressed her lips to his throat, down his neck, onto his chest underneath her's, his weakest spot.
That was all it took for him to follow her lead.
X.
"I'm so scared," she whispered, minutes after they were finished, cuddled together, her legs between both of his, her head on his chest.
"Scared?" He prompted, his voice as loud as a breath.
"That this will change me. Forever." She bit her lip, digging deep inside, to the ugliest and most vulnerable parts of her. "After what happened in high school, I did pretty much anything and everything I could to, I guess revert back to who I once was. Who I thought I was supposed to be. And we both know that didn't work but…" She paused to look up at him, shrugging slightly. "At least I was able to get back some semblance of who I once was. I don't even know if that's possible now."
His large, gentle hands rubbed her back slowly and softly. "But I thought you didn't want to go back to who you used to be?" He questioned, confused. "That's what you said. That you wouldn't want to go back to the person you used to be, that you just wanted to be happy."
She was nodding before he was even finished. "I know," she admitted. "I know I said that but, after the dollhouse, everything was different. Everything was so dark and haunted and blurry and it took me more than a year to realize that… it wasn't anything but me. I was the one who was different and I just wanted everything to go back to the way it once was. When everything was easy and simple and I was in control. I just couldn't be the person I was when I entered that bunker."
He accepted her admission, allowing it to sink in. "Why did we never talk about this?" He finally asked, nearly inaudible.
To his surprise, she already knew the answer to that without having to think. "You weren't there," she explained. "You weren't there with me and I needed you. You grounded me, better than any drug or pill and without you physically there I had to find a way to cope. I guess I ended up shutting you out in the process."
She felt his Adam's apple bob against her head. "Why didn't you ever tell me that?"
She leaned upwards, peering into his eyes now, his sad, miserable blue eyes, offering him nothing but the small, knowing gleam in her irises. "Why didn't you come to Georgetown with me?"
It was her turn to be taken aback by the fact that he needed no time to think her question over either. "I thought I was doing what was best for you," he confessed. "I thought you wanted space. You always complained that you were too dependent on me and that you needed to learn to cope on your own. I wanted to help you so badly but-"
"I pushed you away," she finished for him, sighing as she laid her head back on his chest. "I made you think I didn't want you there."
"I just thought I was getting your way. I thought if I gave you space, I could save us." He paused, running his fingers through her hair, before musing dejectedly. "Somehow I ended up losing you anyway."
She smiled humorlessly against him. "For the record," she declared sincerely, "I'll always want you with me. You're my safe place to land. There hasn't been a time that I haven't wished you were there with me, by my side, since the day you kissed me in this parking lot."
"For the record," he repeated, a grin finding its way across his face, "there hasn't been a time that I haven't been completely in love with you, since the day I kissed you in this parking lot."
She smirked against his chest, pressing a kiss to his bare skin. "Good," she remarked lightly, running her hand down his stomach once again.
"Actually," he amended suddenly. "I should probably correct that. There hasn't been a time that I haven't been completely in love with you, since the day I woke up to you spooning me, in room 214."
She flew upwards, her eyes wide as he'd ever seen them. There was a slight twinge of embarrassment hiding underneath her shock. "You knew that?"
"Of course." He snickered not-so-subtly, pulling her back into the circle of his arms.
She squirmed, pouting bluntly. "You let me think you slept through all that," she mumbled.
The cop chuckled now, leaning down to press a kiss to the stitches in her forehead, brushing her bangs back. "You were so cute, trying to pretend you hadn't been cuddling me the whole night."
"Oh, yeah, coming from the guy who innocently asked if I had slept at all?" She shot back and was rewarded with a wide, abashed smile.
"Okay, you're right," he agreed, his hand tracing circles on her hip. "We're both liars."
She smirked up at him, suddenly liking the term that she'd been identified as for the last seven years, when it was partnered with him.
"What is it?" He asked, noting the look beneath her eyes.
"Huh?"
"Something else is on your mind," he insisted, completely positive of his assessment.
She caved easily, still finding it incomprehensible how he always just knew every inner working of her brain. It was something she never would get used to but was no longer marveling at. "I'm just worried, that's all."
"About not being able to put this behind you? Because, Spe-"
"No," she cut off, a faraway look taking over the gaze in her eyes now. "It's not that."
He waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he gently pressed, "Then what about?"
"Becoming too different from the girls." She rolled her tongue around the side of her cheek, realizing how juvenile all this sounded. But this was Toby. He'd adamantly told her once she could tell him anything. That she was his, that he'd never think she was ridiculous or overly emotional or redundant. She didn't believe it at the time or maybe she just couldn't comprehend the idea that someone loved her that much, but either way, she held a ludicrous amount of confidence when she was in his arms and before she had time to contemplate it in her brain, her mouth was pouring out words that she'd only ever thought to herself. "When we were in high school and our lives were complete chaos, we were so connected, it was weird. I got to college and everyone was almost glad to be rid of their high school friends but I had such a hard time letting anyone new in. You remember that. The girls used to be like my family. When we were in high school, all we really had was each other. But now," she trailed off for a moment. "Now we're so separate and it's strange. I don't rely on them like I used to. I rely on you. But then I remember that I always did and it's just, this whole thing makes me feel so different from them. Like they can't relate and they don't understand me anymore and like they're trying but suddenly I'm an outsider, looking in, at the people who I used to know inside and out."
"Babe," was the first word that slipped out of his mouth, his voice tender. His soft eyes searched her's, understanding why she felt this way but feeling his heart break for her anyway. He wracked his brain for a response, but all that came to mind was the blatant reality staring them dead in the face. "Honestly, Spencer? You might. You might grow completely away from them. We don't know the future. We don't know what might happen. But what I do know is those girls love you, more than anything. Even Ali. Alright, they will always be your family and they'll always be there for you if you need them. Trust me, I know it."
She nodded, absorbing his words. She'd always trusted his assessment of people even more than her own. To the point it was almost unhealthy.
Even when she was so far gone inside of her own head, whether it be to drugs or trauma, he was the one who showed her right from wrong. He was her voice of reason. Her conscience. The one thing she could trust, above everything else, when her world was falling apart and there wasn't a soul in sight to rely on.
The true definition of her safe place to land.
With that thought playing through her head, on repeat, she leaned upwards and connected their lips one more time, slipping her tongue into his mouth.
Her safe place to land.
Her fairy-tale, once upon a time.
Her entire heart.
Her everything.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, his eyes falling shut. His words were no louder than a breath and had she been deep in thought, she knew she would have missed his apology altogether.
"For what?" The brunette instantly perked up, moving upwards from her position against his chest.
"For not fighting harder on staying here today." He offered her a heartbreaking, dejected smile, the guilt in his water blue eyes growing more prominent by the second.
"Toby," she murmured, staring up at him, both perplexed and baffled. "What're you talking about? You did try to get us to stay in."
"Not hard enough," he disagreed, his voice beginning to shake.
"Babe," she sighed, dangerously close to rolling her eyes. She fought the action, knowing what he was feeling was real, genuine guilt and her exasperation would not help. She worked to change her tone to an even level. "You had no way of knowing what was going to happen," she assured.
"I had an awful feeling about going there," he maintained still. "I felt like something would go wrong."
"But it didn't," she pointed out, a small, ironic laugh ejecting itself from her throat. "It didn't go wrong at all. Not in the end. Me and you are closer than ever. That's a good thing, isn't it?" To emphasize her point, she leaned down and placed a kiss onto the base of his neck, curling back up against him.
To her astonishment, her kisses didn't work. Not in the way they usually did. They were such a physical couple. They expressed their love in actions more so than words. Until recently, their I love you's only came in rapid succession when they were geographically apart. Whenever they were together, they both found their love language in affection.
Her mouth being unable to provide him comfort meant that this was something really weighing on him.
"I still should have known," he whispered after a second, his voice diminishing in volume once again.
She sat up, meeting his eyes with a defiant, discerning look in her's. "Why?"
"Because I love you," he stated, as if it were obvious. In his mind, it probably should have been. "Because no one knows you like I do. Because I learned to trust my instincts a long time ago. When it came to you and in life in general."
"Yeah, well, I knew that you thought it was a bad idea to go and I still chose to, so I should share in this guilt you have decided to take all for yourself," she declared, her tone light. She traced her fingers in circles around his chest, attempting to relax him, even just a little.
He offered her a cheerless smile, dismissing her statement. "You didn't think it would end that bad though. I did."
Her face changed, morphing into a somewhat dismayed expression. "Actually, I did."
His head snapped towards her. "What?"
She swallowed, adverting her eyes before coming clean. "I thought about the possibility of it ending badly too. I just wouldn't let myself really consider it happening though. Not once I saw that you did."
It was his turn to look at her with quiet shock. "What do you mean?"
"I wanted to prove to you that you didn't have to worry about me," she admitted, feeling the same guilt he'd been displaying moments before. "I was determined to show you I was alright. That I was getting better."
His reaction caught her off-guard. He slowly shut his eyes, bringing up one arm to cover his face, groaning exhaustedly.
"Tobes?" She called softly, after moment.
"Promise me, Spencer, that you will never think like that again," he stipulated, clearly frustrated. But still, his tone was so calm and his eyes were so loving and it was all verging on the edge of an oxymoron but it was still so Toby and somehow she still felt so safe and so loved. Before she could defend her reasoning for why she did what she did, he continued. "There is no limit in my mind to what I think you can do. I don't get apprehensive about things because I think you're weak or unstable. But if there really is something that we both think could go wrong, don't decide to do it in defiance, because you think you need to prove you can."
"Don't you get it?" She pressed, attempting to get him to see things from her eyes. "That's what I do. That's what I've always done. I have always pushed myself through any obstacle in my way to show anyone who doubts me that I'm strong enough-"
"Spencer," he cut off, his voice even softer now. "I'm not your family. I'm not trying to challenge you or bring you down. And I know, baby, I know, that this is not easy to grasp because of how you were raised, but I would never do anything to try to make you prove yourself or challenge you. Okay, you don't have to prove yourself to me. We could be cooped up in this hotel room for the next ten years and you would still be enough to me. You are everything to me. And all I want is for you to be okay."
She shut her eyes to hold in the saltwater threatening to pour out, as he hit nearly every insecurity in her mind. "I'm sorry," she choked out, her already raspy voice hitting a new level of guttural. "I'm sorry," she repeated as she threw herself back against his chest with reckless abandon.
"I'm not mad," he promised, wrapping his arms around her the second she was against him. "I just don't want you thinking that you have anything to prove. Not to me."
"I know," she whispered, trying to calm her emotions once again as she felt herself getting choked up.
He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead and she knew it was a lost cause as the tears began to fall.
"Toby," she murmured hoarsely, as he rubbed her back.
"Hmmm?"
"If you had such a bad feeling, then why'd you even agree to come today?" She peered up at him, her eyes genuinely curious.
He gave her a look, as if it were obvious. "Because, Spence, no matter what happens, it's still your choice. It'll always be your choice. I'd give up a limb if it helped you but I'm not the one in control. And I don't want to be." He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You're still alpha. You'll always be my alpha."
She shut her eyes, his words eliciting a smirk now. "Yeah?" She prompted, her mood rising.
"Yeah." He nodded, returning her smile.
"Good," she quipped, her smirk growing wider as she climbed on top of his chest, pressing their bodies together suggestively. "I like being alpha."
His smile turned right into a smirk then too. Leaning up to kiss her, he whispered coyly, "trust me, I know."
"Tobes, can you get the door?" Spencer asked through clenched teeth.
He slowly got up from his chair, leaving her miserably sitting on top of the table, nursing her headache.
It was barely short of being a migraine, she concluded to herself, the pain too strong to be bothered to share her realization out loud.
She had woken up that morning with a pounding tension headache that relentlessly wouldn't let her go back to sleep. Laying there, passively, cuddled up to Toby hadn't forced the pain away and it hadn't helped with the ache circulating through the rest of her body either, as she was due for another over-the-counter painkiller.
She'd gone as far as to wake up her boyfriend and tried to kiss her headache away, but when the throbbing hadn't let up, she had to break off the kiss and resign herself to the misery.
The cop returned only seconds later, speaking in a gentle tone, as if her pain was caused by a loud noise. "Em's here to see you," he murmured quietly.
"I can see," she retorted flatly.
Her tone had little effect on him, aware that her irritability was solely about her headache. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, sweetly before sitting back down in his chair.
The brunette made her way over to her friend, not even bothering to hide her wretched expression, dragging her feet as she walked.
"Rough night?" The tan girl inquired when she was close enough, leaning in for a hug.
"Rough morning," Spencer corrected, her voice muffed by her friend's shirt.
"How are you?" Emily's eyes were filled with anxiety, clearly asking about more than the headache.
"Fine." The brunette nodded, her eyes shooting to Toby across the room, yesterday's events playing through her mind, everything he'd done for her flickering back to the forefront of her brain. She didn't quite understand how she ended up with such a selfless, compassionate, loving man, but she didn't care. He was her's and he was all she'd ever want.
"It's okay if you're not okay, Spence," her friend assured. "I can't even imagine how you must feel-"
"I'm fine," she insisted, realizing then that the last time her friend saw her, she was in hysterics, begging to be taken away. Working to liven up her tone, she attempted to force the frustrating ache in her head out of her expression. "Really, Em. I'm better."
The dark haired girl studied her for a hot second. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah." Spencer chucked slightly, sitting on the edge of the motel bed.
Emily took a seat next to her. "Does Toby have anything to do with your well-being?" She looked over her shoulder, peering back to the cop who was currently searching something on his laptop.
"Yes." The brunette nodded, smiling now in spite of herself. "Of course, he does."
Her friend returned the gesture. "He loves you a lot," she mused.
"I know. And I so don't deserve it."
Emily's expression turned south. "Spence," she nearly rebuked and for less than a second, it was reminiscent of Spencer's childhood nanny. "You, of all people, deserve to have someone who loves you unconditionally."
Spencer's smile turned into a grimace and her headache had nothing to do with it now. "I'm not so sure about that," she disagreed, almost inaudibly.
Seeing the brunette's stubborn streak beginning to resurface, Emily changed the subject without a segue. "Have you spoken to Aria?"
Spencer stared her, perplexed. "No? Should I have?"
"Oh." The raven haired girl's eyebrows pulled together. "No, I just thought she'd check in on you, at least."
The bruised girl still wasn't comprehending–and that was a foreign concept to her. "What's that mean?"
Emily looked like she wished she'd never even asked now. "Aria just got really upset after you left," she disclosed hesitantly, like she was telling her something she shouldn't.
Spencer blinked once, twice, three times, four. By the time she got to five, she pressed, "Aria got upset how?"
"She flipped out and started yelling at all of us, in front of what was left of that crowd. Said we were all at fault for what was happening to you. That if we hadn't always relied on you, maybe you wouldn't have been chosen to be kidnapped."
The brunette just stared at her for a solid minute on end, her mouth opening slightly. "What? W-why? What made her snap?"
Emily chose her words very carefully. "Aria had never seen you have one of your attacks before…"
The tan girl, quite obviously was trying to avoid upsetting her but somehow the words still managed to cut through her like a knife. Her stomach dropped before her brain could even catch up and it took her a minute to realize that it was culpability that was disturbing her. It was the fact that the girls who she even now still considered closer to her than her actual family, were falling apart along with her.
She felt like a drop of poison, slowly but steadily seeping into every single person she cared about's life and killing them, little by little. She felt like an awful friend, even if this was so beyond her own control. She felt like a terrible person for not even checking in on the girls, acting entitled enough that she expected them to come to her. She felt like a disaster for not even being able to keep her own thought process straight anymore, a feat that only had slipped away from her a number of times before in her life.
She felt like a murderer.
Emily interrupted her train of self-hatred. "I just came here to make sure everything was alright with you after yesterday. I was here last night too," she amended, glancing at the cop a few feet back, appearing seemingly oblivious to the girls' conversation. "But Toby said you were exhausted and passed out."
"I was," Spencer confirmed, as if she needed to prove that she wasn't avoiding her friends. Looking around, as if noticing for the first time the absence, the brunette asked, "Where's Hanna?"
"With Caleb, I think. I don't know really. I spent the night at Ali's. Hanna wasn't really in a great mood after Aria's tirade." Emily paused for a second before elaborating. "Aria sort of went off on Hanna especially. She said that if Hanna hadn't told you to date Caleb, we all would have been more focused on -A instead of relationship drama and you may have not been kidnapped."
Spencer bit her lip, knowing in that area, at least, she was guiltier than Hanna. "I'm really sorry," she whispered, her eyes falling into her lap. Shame overtook her body, almost overshadowing her headache.
The darker girl looked at her adamantly. "Spence, none of this is your fault. You're the one that we should be apologizing to-"
"No, Em, that's not true," the brunette cut off. "It's my drama and I have no business involving all you in it."
She meant it. This was her nightmare and her nightmare alone. She may not understand why she was chosen to be the one in the massacre, it may be a complete mystery what happened that night and, if she were being honest, a part of her didn't feel like she was going to get through this in one piece, but it was evident that her trauma was tearing her friends apart.
And she couldn't live with herself if she hurt them.
No matter what happened, no matter how isolated from them she may feel, she would never, in her right mind, allow herself to bring them down with her.
In the back of her mind, she couldn't believe she was really allowing Toby to suffer alongside her either, but she also knew, selfishly, that if he wasn't there, she would completely lose her grip on reality.
He was her lifeline, her light at the end of the tunnel, her fairytale and her safe haven. She didn't even know anymore where she ended and he began.
He was like her silver lining in this entire mess. The one thing that was still pulling her back when she felt like she was about to fly off the edge. The thing that still motivated her to get up in the morning, not matter what pain, physical or mental, undoubtedly awaited her that day,
"You should leave," the brunette murmured and she wasn't sure if it was the headache or the sudden insight of how many lives she was wrecking, but her stomach was cramping up and her neck felt hot and her vision was blurring and for the tenth time, she wondered if she didn't belong in a mental ward, more than Mona, more than Cece, more than Bethany Young.
"Spence," Emily called, her expression shifting to one of distress. Her head whipped around, searching for Toby in an instant.
He was already rushing over to them, not even meeting their friend's terrified eyes. "Spencer," he murmured, his tone even. Without an ounce of hesitation, he dropped to his knees in front of her, meeting her at eye level. "Breathe, Spence," he instructed, already knowing what was wrong.
When she didn't comply, he placed his hands on either side of her face. "Baby," he whispered, his breath hitting her pale skin. "Shut your eyes and breathe."
Somehow, peering only into his deep oceanic blues and nothing else, the wheels in her head turned and her brain kicked started back to life. Her eyes fell shut and she felt oxygen enter her lungs once again. Unconsciously, her body relaxed under her boyfriend's touch, as he ran his hands down her arms and back.
The first words out of her mouth weren't, surprisingly, to the man she loved and felt connected to with every ounce of her soul. They were to her best friend.
"This is what I was talking about, Em," she stated before her eyes were even open. Her tone now had gained a level of rasp that it didn't contain before.
The tan girl struggled to respond. "Spence-"
"I'm a disaster," the brunette stated, point blank, just as her eyes reopened, with a fierier gaze than even before. "I'm a ticking time bomb."
"Spence," Toby murmured, wounded by his girlfriend's words and the level of conviction in them.
She ignored him, knowing that if she let him seep in, if she acknowledged his tender words and his unhindered faith in her, she may never get what she needed to say out. "I'm going to blow up one day and I can't have you or any of the others standing too close. Go," she demanded, gesturing towards the motel room door. "Get out. Stop worrying about me, and take care of yourself. Tell the others to do the same thing. No, better yet, make the others do the same thing."
Now it was Emily's turn to speak, as there was nothing left for Spencer to say. But when she opened her mouth, it was obvious that words escaped her. "Spencer," the baffled girl whispered, her tone almost as dejected and insistent as Toby's. "I'm not going to do that. None of us are. We're going to all get through this. Together."
"Em!" Spencer snapped now, only stopping to catch her breath once again when Toby rubbed her shoulder gently. "You're not listening to me. I said-"
"Spencer, I don't think you're listening to me," Emily cut off and strangely, in the back of her mind, Spencer noted that it pleased her that her strong-willed friend still wasn't afraid to fight with her, just as intensely as she always had. Same as it brought her relief when her parents took Melissa's side back in the hospital.
Old habits die hard.
Old habits, even the most unhealthy ones, bring relief to the deepest pits of your soul.
"We're your friends and we're not going to leave you, no matter how self destructive you may feel," Emily insisted, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Her voice, dying down as the throb in her head began growing stronger, dully croaked out, "You have no idea what you're saying."
She met Toby's eyes just as the words landed on Emily and her chest hurt, at the unconcealed pain in his eyes. He hurt, seeing her like this, knowing this is what she truly believed was best, that her friends shouldn't be dragged down by her burdens too. He hurt, knowing what she was trying to do was to protect those she loved and yet, knowing that it would kill her if they actually did listen.
Before either of the girls could speak again, Toby was actually the one to end the conversation. "I think you should leave, Em," he suggested and his voice was not unkind. He sent Emily a sympathetic look and for a second Spencer wondered if she wasn't being entirely irrational, if he wasn't grasping their friend's point of view better than her's.
His hand rubbing her thigh alleviated her insecurity a little and stopped her from feeling betrayed, knowing that he was always on her side, against anything. Even if he didn't see things the same or understand where she was coming from.
"Toby," Emily gaped. "No, that's-"
"I'm not saying don't ever come back," he quickly modified and relief filtered into the tanner girl's expression. Somehow when Toby told her to do something, it held more merit than it would coming from anyone else.
Evidently, it wasn't just Spencer who trusted the cop to show her right from wrong, to guide her to good decisions versus the bad, self-destructive ones she was naturally attracted to. Evidently, it wasn't just her who trusted Toby, like a guardian angel, without reservations, without doubts or questions or fears.
He deserved to have so many more people look at him and see him as he was. A kind hearted, good natured, dedicated, protective, forgiving boy, who loved with every ounce of his being.
He deserved a hundred times better than her.
"I'm saying," Toby's voice pulled her back to reality, "this argument isn't helping anyone right now. Give it time and cool off and come back. Neither of you need a blowout fight right now."
Emily nodded, clearly persuaded by the cop. She stood up from her seat on the bed, next to Spencer. "I'll call you later, alright," she swore as she headed towards the door.
"Okay," was all Spencer offered in return, a small, abashed smile working its way onto her face.
It was a strange thing, to dread and fear pushing those you love most away, and yet, still actively do it. To have an unkindness inside you, an unkindness towards yourself, that lashes out towards those in your vision, towards those who want to help you, towards those you think you're protecting. It was a strange thing to love your friends and still, at times, wish they never saw you again, knowing that the less they did, the less chance there was of you hurting them. That every moment you were surrounded by people, was a moment you could ruin them. Your tragedies could drag them down, rip them apart, away from each other, show them every dark and disturbing thing lingering underneath your skin, show them exactly who they could be if pushed hard enough, show them exactly what they have been afraid of for all these years.
It was even stranger to know that there was someone out there, who loved her more than words or rationale or life itself. Someone who could look into her eyes and see every dark thought she'd ever had, and still call her their angel. Someone who loved her beyond reason and morals and truth.
Someone who would give up everything in their life to be with her, in spite of who she was. In spite of all she could turn out to be.
She was like a gun, spinning round and round in a circle, the trigger so close to being pulled, the kick just moments away. And whoever was in her path became her target.
Once again, her thoughts were interrupted by the boy with sandy brown hair, who was still kneeling in front of her. As their friend exited the motel, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, before pressing another an inch away.
"You know, I wasn't saying you were irrational?" He asked against her silky soft skin.
"I know." She swallowed visibly.
"I never want you to think that I'm insinuating anything." He pulled back to lock their eyes together, pressing his forehead to her's. "I just didn't want to see one more thing cause you pain. Especially after what you said this morning, about the girls-"
"Baby, I know," she reassured, her voice barely a whisper. "I know."
Her arms encircled his neck, burrowing her face in her shoulder, and she was surprised when she felt him pick her up.
He carried her, as if she weighed absolutely nothing, over to the chair by his laptop, sitting down with her arms still around his neck. "Does your head still hurt?" He asked attentively, moving one hand from around her narrow waist to massage her temple.
"Yeah," she confirmed, no point in even denying it. It was obvious from her still unhappy expression and tense body language that she was experiencing discomfort.
"Do you have any idea what could be causing it?" He inquired, his lips softly pressing against the stitches in her forehead.
"Brain tumor?"
"Spencer."
"I'm sorry," she sighed, giving him a small grimace. "Just trying to lighten the mood."
"Why do you look like that?"
"Look like what?"
"Ashamed," he murmured, his voice gaining an edge.
She shrugged, leaning her head against his shoulder, her ears throbbing and her neck growing tired and the ache spreading to her teeth. "I don't know."
"You have nothing to be ashamed of. Just because you're not exactly the person you were before doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. Emily knows that, Hanna knows that, Aria knows that. Even Alison knows that. No one expects you to be perfect right now, so stop expecting yourself to be miraculously better overnight."
She stared at him, his tirade catching her off guard. "They're snapping at each other because of me," she stated after a minute, though she knew that information was completely irrelevant to anyone but her. "Aria freaked out on all of them and they're not even speaking to each other now. They blame themselves for what's happening to me."
"That isn't your fault," he reaffirmed. "I get why Aria snapped at the others. I really do. But that doesn't mean it's up to you to fix it. It isn't up to you to still be their backbone right now."
Spencer snorted, closing her eyes against his shirt. "I'll always be their backbone." Before he could argue, before he could say anything else, she continued. "Just like you'll always be my safe place to land."
Smiling in spite of everything, the twenty-four year old whispered, leaning down to press his lips against her's. "Always."
"Babe," Spencer murmured quietly, soothed by the feeling of her boyfriend's hand massaging her scalp. Her headache remained persistent but he refused to give up. "Your phone's vibrating."
Shifting his leg from under her to pull his cell from his pocket, he causally took the call. "Hello?" There was a short pause before Toby's eyes widen faintly with recognition. "Oh hi, Martin," he greeted now, his voice only a little awkward.
Spencer couldn't help but smirk in spite of her pain. She loved him in every aspect, in every facet of life and in any situation, but she couldn't help finding him cute when he was forced to be, in any way, outgoing.
Already knowing this, already been teased about this a thousand times over more than half a decade, Toby didn't even look at her as he pinched her hip gently, upon seeing her grin out of the corner of his eye.
Before she could say anything or even wipe the smirk off her face, Toby's expression changed. "Thank you!" He murmured, his voice uncharacteristically extroverted. "I appreciate you calling me, sir."
As soon as he hung up, Spencer, still situated across his lap, deadpanned, "Sir?"
He gave her a look. "He's nearly double my age, Spence. I think sir is appropriate."
"Mmhmm," she hummed, pinching the bridge of her nose, hoping to end the throbbing in her head. "You're cute when you talk on the phone," she teased quietly.
Now it was his turn to deadpan. "Do you want to make fun of me or do you want to know why Martin called?"
Her muddled mind didn't make the connection until then. "Wait, is this about the apartment? Can we not move in now? The tenets changed their minds, didn't they? I swear, my luck is just–"
"Spencer," Toby interrupted, wrapping both his arms around her waist, pulling her tighter to him. Their noses brushed up against each other suggestively. "The apartment is ours. We can move in next week."
There was a beat of silence for approximately three seconds before the cop's throat was being strangled, his breath being cut off in her chokehold. She ejected something akin to a squeal, which seconds after was followed by a groan as the agonizing ache in her head intensified.
"Maybe we should get you to a doctor," he murmured softly, taking in his girlfriend's predicament for the hundredth time that day.
"I'm fine," she objected, but the ache did bring down some of her excitement. "Tobes?"
"Yeah?"
She opened her mouth before the words even formed on her lips, pondering for a moment. "Why are they letting us move in so soon?"
Toby blinked once before, very noticeably, masking some sort of expression. "People move into apartments quickly all the time."
She narrowed her eyes into slits, sitting up straighter now to peer over him. "I can tell when you're lying, Tobias."
He flushed slightly at his full name. "Alright, fine," he relented. "I don't know why the tenets are letting us move in so soon."
"Martin said at the open house it was going to be weeks, at least."
"I know." He nodded evenly. "But I really don't want to push our luck."
"Yeah, I guess," she agreed after a moment.
Already seeing where her mind was going, he disputed, "Spencer, you're not their charity case."
"Are you kidding me–"
"You're not," he promised, his eyes gaining a fiery adamancy she loved from the deepest part of her soul.
She rolled her eyes, her headache ripping a lot of the usual fight out of her. "If you're so sure, then call and ask why they're letting us in so quick."
Spencer knew in the back of her mind that really, when it came down to it, what truly bothered her about the idea of being someone's charity case, is the fact that it was a entirely foreign concept for her. She'd never really experienced people feeling pity towards her. Outside of the weeks following her abduction to the dollhouse, there wasn't a time she could recall when people weren't intimidated by her. She was Spencer Hastings. She was the bred to always be the best and the brightest, and when it really came down to it, as much as she hated to own it, as much as she prided herself on never being her sister, as much as she loved to claim she choked on the silver spoon, she had always been known as part of one of the richest families in town and that came with a certain confidence.
Even if she was the black sheep of said family.
She knew it made her self-righteous. She knew in a lot of ways, she hadn't entirely escaped the person her parents molded her to be. She was used to being powerful and sharp and bold and having that stripped away, having that taken from her in any capacity, no matter how much she tried to fight it, was a hard pill to swallow.
She could care less about the amount of money in her bank account. She had Toby and she had everyone she loved still breathing-at least, for the moment. Money didn't buy happiness, she knew.
But, in a lot of ways, it did buy confidence. It did create an aurora around her that she had barely realized, barely seen, as it had always been there. The way people regarded Peter and Veronica Hastings' second born, the way people saw the youngest Hastings daughter, the way people viewed her, had always been impacted by the rich and powerful family she was born into.
Even her friends realized it. Even the people she had lived through some of the worst moments of her entire life with said it, whispering in hushed tones under their breath, snickering and rolling their eyes while snapping back and forth witty retorts about the bottomless, Hastings bank account, all while fully realizing she was trailing right behind them.
"Well, it's the Hastings, so I'm guessing it costs more than your car."
"Not all of us have a Daddy that can write a check to make the boogeyman go away."
"You've never had to be charming. You get to act like a total snot-rag, 'cause Mommy and Daddy have a safety-net of cash to catch your fall."
"I told Yvonne that I was Green Acres and you were Park Avenue."
The last one, the freshest memory, the one of Toby and her and a girl who had invaded the sandy haired cop's pure heart, standing in the middle of the street, making small talk, snapped something inside of her. The memory stung her in ways she couldn't even articulate, especially now. Somehow the memory of that day, that specific moment in time, threw her stomach into tighter knots now, as she sat on Toby's lap, than it did as it was actually happening.
She never knew exactly what he meant by that quip. Whatever the meaning, it felt like a sharp stab in the gut and cracked Yvonne up like no other.
She remembered the words, "he's just kidding", which left Spencer with the impression that he wasn't just kidding and that the dark skinned girl worried as an afterthought that she would take offense to the phrase, and "we watch a lot of retro TV", which still made no sense to the brunette, whatsoever.
She'd never asked though and not even out of fear or embarrassment but because she literally hadn't even remembered it until this moment.
It felt like a different life, if she was being honest. But then again, five years ago in Rosewood also felt like another life.
Something about the memory shook her to the core. She'd been fine for all of four minutes-not counting the pounding, unrelenting headache-and now, she could feel herself slipping away all over again.
She supposed she should be happy because no memory from the massacre had come back yet today and at this point, after days upon days of repeated flashbacks, she should be counting her fucking blessings.
She wasn't. Because suddenly a memory of the boy she loved with every fractured piece of her heart, was forcing her neck to grow hot and her stomach to violently clench with a dread she couldn't will away and suddenly she felt an antsy trepidation, a harrowing scream buried inside of her, a fight or flight instinct yelling at her to choose.
"Babe, do you want to order in for dinner?" Toby asked gently, noticing instantly the change in her.
"No," she answered, her response quick and inattentive.
"Spence?" The cop murmured again, his concern rapidly mounting.
She refused eye contact, still trying to reconcile her confusion and the blind ache the comment sent through her with every single tender, loving interaction they'd shared since she woke up in the hospital.
It was ridiculous, she rationalized to herself, as she stood up from his embrace. It was ridiculous to feel so stung and so mortified and so self-conscious about an interaction that had occurred weeks ago, that was essentially null and void now, after everything that had happened since, after all they had been through again, after all that had been said and done.
Of course, if she were really thinking back to that day on the street, Spencer realized, with all consuming guilt and exhaustion, Toby had just been told the girl he still loved to his very core, was now officially with his best and nearly only friend.
Of course he had been angry. Of course he had been hurt. Of course he had been upset. He had every right in the world to be.
Maybe when you break up, you no longer owe each other anything. You don't have to be decent to each other. You don't have think of the other's feelings.
That all sounds so good on paper. But the truth is, how can you not owe anything to the person you said was your safest haven in this world? How can you not think of the feelings of the person who was your sole source of hope and understanding for years upon years on end? How can you not still try to do right by the person, who pulled you out of the deepest and darkest part of your life, who held you like a lifeline, who gave up everything for you to be alright, who showed you what it meant to love and be loved, unlike any other person in your life?
How could she really date his best friend and not realize the irreparable damage she was doing to their relationship? Whether they were platonic or romantic, how she not understand the repercussions of her own actions? Wasn't she Spencer Hastings? Didn't she meticulously plan out every detail of her life? Didn't she turn herself inside out for the people she loved most in this world? Didn't the pain she had inflicted, not only on Hanna, but also on the man she still loved with a stronger fervor than she could have ever conjured up for Caleb, ever drive home to her exactly what she was risking? Didn't it occur to her that her blonde best friend wasn't the only one she owed consideration to? More than a strangled apology–to which he'd instantly rebuffed–but a sincere heartfelt conversation?
She knew she would never have done that, under any circumstances under the sun. Because had she told him what she was about to do, had she ever sat down and talked to him about her feelings, had they ever discussed how it made them feel to see the other one move on, she never would gotten with Caleb Rivers. She never would have started the hurricane that threatened to rip apart everything. She never would have pushed Hanna to throw herself in the line of fire, the permanent wedge never would have been driven between the two girls, the fight at the party may have never happened.
And she may never have been kidnapped that night.
Handfuls of people wouldn't have lost their lives.
She wouldn't be a natural disaster, waiting to rain havoc everywhere in sight.
And all of this started with her.
Her and her, alone.
"Is it your head?" Toby asked, his concern for his girlfriend increasing by the second. "Is your headache getting worse?"
"Its fine, Toby," she assured, though her voice was flat. She hadn't looked him in the eye in nearly three hours, lying now in bed, with her back facing him.
"I don't believe you," he stated, his voice still kind, even when calling her on her bluff.
And she didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve to have someone like him love her.
And she didn't deserve to feel hurt or angry or betrayed, to hold him accountable for anything he thought or said while she was with his best friend.
But a small part of her couldn't completely let it go, couldn't entirely rationalize the hurt away and she didn't know if that made her angry with him or angry with herself.
"Let me give you a back massage," Toby offered desperately, being unable to see her suffering, feeling powerless, the same way he'd always had.
"Toby," Spencer murmured, her voice growing more and more stern by the second, only half focused on what she was saying to him. "I'm just tired."
"I can give you another painkiller," he insisted, his chair scooting across the carpet, already moving towards the pill bottle on the counter. "It's been a couple hours since-"
"I don't want one," she insisted.
"What about if we went for a drive?"
"I just want to stay in bed."
"I could run you a bath?"
"Toby-"
"I could-"
"I said I didn't want to!"
Silence filled the air, as her scream, her aggravated, furious, vulnerable scream, hung between them.
She hadn't yelled at him like that in years.
She had barely yelled at him like that in their first relationship. The notion that something was driving itself between them, that there was a gap forming in between their unbreakable bond, was both terrifying and heart-wrenching to both of them. It nearly brought the cop to his knees, she knew, to feel this wedge squeezing the oxygen out of the love that had sustained them through so much.
That was why he'd always ran away. That was why he'd always skipped town when they were about to hit the jagged, unforgiving rocks.
But, now, standing in the motel room with her, the notion that something was very, very wrong inside the girl he loved was even stronger, and it outweighed any other thing in his mind.
"Can I hold you?" He whispered after a minute of dead quiet, his voice inexplicably raw.
"Just leave me alone," she whispered, barely even looking over her shoulder to say the words.
She knew she was making it worse, cutting him deeper, selfishly causing him pain just because she hurt.
But after coming to the realization that all roads, roads that left almost everyone she'd ever cared about, heartbroken or shell-shocked, roads that got perfectly innocent strangers killed or kidnapped, led back to her, forced all other thoughts in her head to pale in comparison.
After remembering that day on the street, the singular thought that ignited all of this, Spencer just wanted to scream into her pillow and fall into a slumber in which she never had to wake up.
She realized then she was holding her breath and let out a violent exhalation, noting the lack of noise now coming from her boyfriend behind her. She heard him take his seat again before his laptop, but his eyes never left her back and she didn't dare to look at him now, knowing she had just driven a knife so deep into his stomach, driven a distance between them at record speed, destroyed probably any sort of trust he had in their relationship.
She knew if she looked at him, she would crumble. To pieces, bit by bit. Suddenly and all at once.
But when his eyes didn't leave her back, when she could feel his concern for her and his unyielding love and unconditional understanding, she could feel herself wavering, deep down wanting nothing more than to crawl back into his arms and tell him exactly what was going on in her head. To kiss him senseless, despite her headache–which was increasingly getting worse–and to make love like there's no tomorrow and they're the only people on this Earth and like a rapid fire explosion couldn't touch them as long as they were together, as one.
But she refused to allow herself to do that, to allow herself that reprieve, almost as if she didn't deserve it, didn't deserve to be happy when all she could feel inside was appalling and horrified and selfish and liable.
Almost as a distraction, acting entirely on autopilot, she grabbed her phone off her nightstand and yanked it off the charger.
She hurriedly fumbled to type into her search bar, Green Acres Park Avenue.
Instantly, the World Wide Web met her with several million results.
Green Acres Theme.
Green Acres Lyrics.
Green Acres! - Review of 1049 Park Avenue, New York City, NY - Trip Advisor.
Green Acres is about Oliver Wendell Douglas (Eddie Albert), an erudite New York City attorney, acting on his dream to be a farmer, and Lisa Douglas (Eva Gabor), his glamorous Hungarian wife, who is dragged unwillingly from an upscale Manhattan penthouse apartment and the city life she adores to a ramshackle farm.
The last entry, the one speaking on the premise of the show, clarified all of the brunette's questions and dug the pit even deeper in her stomach.
It didn't take much to put two and two together on the street that day, it didn't take a genius to figure out him referring to himself Green Acres and her Park Avenue together probably meant he was calling her a snob. He was taking a swipe at her. He, for a split second in time, took on the opinion shared with everyone else in town.
It shouldn't have been such a big deal. It shouldn't have dug so deep inside her. It shouldn't have made her chest ache as badly as her head and her throat throb, the way it always did when she suppressed tears, like she had to physically swallow them down.
But it did.
The second the first sob fell out of her mouth, Toby was already halfway across the room, done with asking permission to console her.
Both his arms wrapped around her and instinct took over as she flung herself entirely into his embrace, molding her body around his.
He pressed his lips to the side of her neck, his face lingering there as another sob fell out of her mouth, her chest heaving violently.
This wasn't about the joke anymore, Spencer knew. It couldn't be. A stupid, petty inside joke couldn't wrack her to the core this way.
No, this was about everything surrounding that joke. About everything she'd done that led to that moment, standing there, with the man she loved and another girl who loved him. About the choices she made out of stubborn pride, that took her down a path that led to isolating Toby, that led to damaging her relationship with Hanna forever, that led to completely annihilating her once only male friendship. About the days that led up to the massacre.
About how if she'd done just anything differently, she may have never been kidnapped.
And if she'd never been kidnapped, she wouldn't be on the brink of insanity right now.
And all those people would still be alive and well. Half wouldn't be deceased, half wouldn't be assumed dead.
Toby was still holding her to him, rocking her back and forth as if his life depended on it. His fingers sifted through her messy curls absentmindedly, as he whispered in her ear, "It's okay, baby. It's okay."
But none of it was okay. Everything that had unraveled in their lives, every awful sensation they were experiencing, came directly back to her.
She may not have killed all those people but she was responsible for it. She could have stopped it. She could have changed it.
She could have saved them.
She could have saved that boy, lying on the ground, bleeding out in front of her. The nameless stranger that she was too afraid to acknowledge, too afraid that someone might know him if she told anyone besides Toby. Too afraid that knowing who he was might force her to come to terms with the fact that he'll never grow up into he was meant to be. He'll never get another chance to fulfill his dreams or right his mistakes or give his loved ones two more minutes.
All the things she still had, that she was still selfishly taking for granted.
She could have saved Eddie Lamb. The male nurse, that had been her only confident when she was lost to everything and everyone. Including the boy now cuddling her like no tomorrow.
Eddie had been one of the only people who consistently looked out for her mental wellbeing. Who cared to always ask how she was doing. Who cared to look her over and make sure she wasn't on her way back to the funny farm.
He had maintained being the sole male in power who refused to make a romantic advance, who refused to see her as less than a person who needed help, instead of a girl who's barely legal body was warm and soft and inviting and more than anything, as everyone had made clear as day in the past, easy.
"All the pain and disappointment and loss, because you were stubborn."
Mona had spoken the words, almost six years ago, not even realizing how true they'd one day be.
"Baby," Toby whispered into her hair after twenty minutes, when she still had made no move to let go of him, to explain what was so wrong with her now, to even wipe her face.
Pulling back a little, she felt her mouth contort into a soft, barely there smile as her boyfriend wiped underneath one of her eyes gently with his thumb.
She swallowed hard, rubbing her nose, with uncharacteristic haste.
When she still refused to meet his eyes, the cop spoke again, his voice still as gentle as ever, though his patience was starting to dissipate. "Spence, talk to me," he implored. "What's going on?"
She shook her head, at loss at how exactly to explain this. That one memory of him and his almost fiancé, triggered a mounting of self-hatred? That she suddenly realized the repercussions of dating his best friend? That she was a mess and felt like she was falling apart at the seams, and part of her, a tiny part that she pretended didn't exist, was screaming out in her head that she was losing it entirely. She wasn't sure how long she could keep going, how much longer she could last before she gave up or completely snapped or blacked out all over again.
She tried to remind herself that she was drugged the night of the massacre. She knew that now. She didn't just black out. Her memory didn't disappear and it wasn't playing hide and seek in her brain.
It was stolen from her, in one of the most violent ways imaginable, and now it was playing peek-a-boo whenever she, even for a split second, thought she could be alright.
"Spence, you can tell me anything," Toby whispered, alerting her out of her own thoughts. "If there's something new that came back and somehow I missed it, tell me. Tell me and I'll do anything you need, anything it takes-"
"Toby," she cut off, shaking her head. With everything inside of her, she wanted to reassure him that nothing was truly wrong.
He thought something traumatic and harrowing had come back. He was in his own personal hell, assuming the very worst, powerlessly watching the person he loved most fall to pieces one more time.
Wasn't he sick of this? Wasn't he done yet? How could he sit there and still love her with every atom of his body, without being utterly exhausted from all the drama she attracted? How could he not be seething with resentment for upturning his entire life, once again?
Did she ever even ask him how he felt? He wasn't a robot and he wasn't made to love her. He was a person, who deserved better than a half crazed girl, barely clinging to the sideline of sanity.
He deserved Yvonne, who was kind and sweet and pleasant and brilliant and had a family who loved and adored him, as if he was their own. Who didn't bring him down, who could be the loving, devoted girlfriend he needed. Who wasn't jaded or moody or nearly insane.
The brunette took several deep breaths, the thought of the dark skinned, raving beauty, almost forcing her stomach to upchuck all over the bed.
Yvonne always put a bad taste in her mouth now, and she didn't like to acknowledge it, even to herself. How could she be so jealous that she couldn't even bear the thought of another girl her boyfriend loved without feeling physically ill?
What was wrong with her?
Before she had the opportunity to say anything else, her cell saved her, ringing at the most opportune time.
Toby sighed before reaching for it, glancing at the caller ID. "It's your mom," he stated, clearly discontented with the abrupt ending to their conversation.
Taking the phone, caught completely off-guard by the call, she answered in an unsure tone. "Hello?"
"Honey," Veronica breathed, sounding like she wasn't sure if Spencer was alright before hearing her voice.
"Mom?" Spencer narrowed her eyes in confusion, peering at Toby who was as mystified as her. "What's wrong?"
There was silence on the other end and the brunette felt her stomach do a flip, anticipation churning inside her violently.
"Spencer, I heard about what happened. Both at that apartment and in town," Veronica finally stated, her voice now collected and level, though her daughter could feel something brewing underneath.
The twenty-three-year old bit her lip, unsure how to answer the elder woman. "Yes?" She finally offered, attempting to hold back the feeling of defiance building up inside her.
"That was one of the most irresponsible things you could have done," the woman scolded, sounding downright livid now. "What the hell were you thinking? The doctor told you to avoid big crowds and what did you do? Go seek them out-"
Spencer couldn't take it. Not now, not today. Not any day as of late. She couldn't handle being scolded and berated, for simply attempting to live. She went out into public twice. Only two attempts to do anything closely resembling a normal event and both had blown up miserably. Both had caused havoc and something deep inside of her shouted, through all the overwhelming emotions, through both the old and new scars, the pain and the anger and the resentment, something deep inside of her cried out that this wasn't fair.
She didn't deserve to be admonished because she chose to not hide out in a hotel room like a recluse.
She didn't deserve to be kicked out of society, for things she couldn't control. For PTSD she couldn't understand and that she didn't ask for.
And she didn't deserve to have to listen to this phone call, she decided.
Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it was downright selfish and compassionless. But she felt no regrets as she tapped the End Call button on her phone, cutting her mother off mid-sentence.
Witnessing the entire thing and sitting just close enough that he heard majority of it, Toby sighed deeply and reached to pull her closer.
"Are you still mad at me?" He asked as he wrapped his arms around her thin body, swaying her slightly.
Her earlier distress fled to the forefront of her brain at once. Swallowing hard, she murmured erratically, "I was never mad at you."
"Yes, you were," he corrected but his voice remained gentle. "I know when you're mad at me, Spence."
It was her turn to sigh now, willing herself not to get emotional. "It's stupid," she whispered as she pulled back.
"Nothing that upsets you could be stupid. To me, at least," he insisted but he could tell just by her eyes she wished he'd drop it.
"I know." She nodded, her eyes dropping to the bed underneath them.
There was a long silence that dragged on, straddling the line between awkward and uncomfortable and just downright unnatural.
Before either of them worked up the courage to break it, Toby's phone went off obnoxiously, screaming in contrast with the noiseless room.
Standing up clumsily, the cop narrowed his eyes as he took in name across his screen, just as Spencer had a few minutes prior. "Hello, Mrs. Hastings," he greeted, turning back around to face the brunette.
The second he said her mother's name, she was climbing to the edge of the bed, straining her ears to catch any of the conversation.
When she couldn't hear a thing, from the less than two feet distance between her and her boyfriend, Spencer's suspicions were peaked.
Since when couldn't she hear a phone that was barely two feet away?
Sensing her frustrations, Toby glanced at her and instantly obligated when she mouth 'speakerphone'.
". . .got to be rational about this, Toby. She isn't getting better. She's getting worse," her mother was saying and Spencer had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.
It went deeper than just irritation at the fact that her mom believed so adamantly that she still belonged in the hospital. It was the fact that her mom heard everything secondhand and didn't even ask Spencer what had happened, from her own point of view.
The brunette had little doubts that it was her friends at the country club, possibly the same people who had actually been at Fiona's to witness her meltdown, that had filled Veronica in.
But how could her mother actually take their word at face value and not even ask Spencer why she went there? Why she was so tirelessly trying to suction her life back together? Didn't her mom care that she was searching for some semblance of normal? Or did the woman only care if Spencer made a public spectacle of herself?
Maybe she was being too harsh. Maybe she was on edge, for a million and twenty four different reasons. But whatever the motive, she felt like she was about to explode when Veronica kept talking.
"You need to get her to a therapist," the senator said. "A good one, that comes highly recommended." Toby glanced at Spencer, searching her face for her reaction. "Search for one in the area-"
"Mom," Spencer cut in. "I'm not going to a damn shrink."
"Toby, I called you," the woman reprimanded, her tone nearly one of betrayal, clearly taken aback to hear her daughter's voice.
"And you really thought you could have a private conversation with him, without my knowing? You overestimated the size of motel rooms," the brunette quipped, her voice without humor.
"Spencer-"
But she didn't give her mother a chance to finish. "You really thought you could go over my head? Tell my boyfriend to send me to a therapist, as if that'll solve all my problems? Is this your next step, after trying to keep me locked up in a hospital?" When her question, which was rhetorical, to be fair, was met with nothing but utter silence, she exchanged a confused glance with Toby. "Mom?"
"I think she hung up," the cop offered after another beat of silence.
"That's never good," she mumbled, too insulted to worry why the usually overly confrontational senator would end the call.
Toby's clear blue eyes watched her as she rolled onto her stomach again, burying her face inside one of the motel provided pillows.
Neither of them really knew where they stood at the moment. They hadn't had a fight—that almost would have been easier—but something went wrong and they still had yet to solve it.
Spencer sighed into the thin cushion, realizing none of her behavior had been fair to him and wishing more than anything she could shut off her brain for one day. Not receive any more flashbacks, not have self-deprecating thoughts that cause rifts between her and the man she loves most in this world, not have to deal with anything unpleasant. For once in her life she wanted to be happy and stay happy.
She didn't want to bring Toby down with her. She didn't want to hurt him or cause him this kind of duress any longer. She just wanted this to all be over and done with.
"I've had monsters under my bed for so long, that now that they're not there, I feel like I have to create them."
What she'd said to Alison still rang true and she wished more than anything she could change for Toby's sake, if for nothing else. She couldn't handle losing him again and she couldn't stand the hurt she was causing him.
She was so unfocused that she didn't even notice Toby had joined her on the bed until his hand began massaging the back of her head.
Groaning loudly, she peered up at him. "You should turn off your phone so my mom can't call back."
He gave her a look. "Spencer."
"If she can go days without checking in and then only bother after listening to a bunch of crap gossip about me, I don't think we're obligated to take her calls. Especially when she's acting like I'm insane and you need to get me under control."
"She's just trying to help," he murmured, sympathy for her mom leaking through. His hand found its way up her shirt and began massaging her bare back soothingly. "I know she sucks at showing it sometimes but she is trying her best-"
"Don't defend her," Spencer cut off, her voice not at all harsh. "Please, Tobes. Don't defend her right now."
"Okay," he said amicably, appreciating her softer tone after spending hours with her on edge. He leaned down to kiss her lower back before resuming the rubbing. "I love you. More than anything," he uttered after a moment. "You know that right?"
She chuckled indistinctly, thinking how ironic it was he was saying this even with no knowledge of why she was upset all afternoon. "I know," she whispered a moment later, because she did know. She knew that he must love her, a lot more than she'd ever truly been able to reconcile, in order to literally risk his life by running into that building, just to save her.
Just as it seemed he was about to say more, a knock interrupted them, much like the phone calls had too.
"Who is bothering us now?" Spencer complained through gritted teeth, as Toby peered out the peep hole.
A strange, almost comical, look cross his face before he turned back to look at her. "Your mother."
Before she could even process his words, there was another, more impatient knock, and acting completely on instinct, Spencer flung herself out of bed and tossed the door open.
"Mother," she greeted, looking at her, almost as if she were measuring her up for size.
Apparently the senator wasn't in the mood for greetings. "What is going on with you?" Veronica admonished as she moved her way into the room, as if she were entitled to their space.
"Excuse me?" Spencer shot back as Toby, in very much contrast with the two alpha females, shut the door quietly. "What's wrong with me? You haven't checked in on me once since I've been released and suddenly you think you have the right to scold me, like I'm six, for things I couldn't control?"
Guilt flashed across the senator's face for a split second before her eyes grew hard. "I had a lot of work to catch up on, Spencer. You, of all people, should understand that. You're in politics too. And your dad said he told you to call me."
"Dad told Toby that, not me, and last I checked, passing messages around secondhand doesn't count as caring."
"Of course I care, Spencer," the elder woman snapped, emphasizing the word like her daughter had become an imbecile overnight. "That's not the point-"
"What is your point here, then? To lecture me for having attacks in public? Is-"
"No," Veronica cut off sharply, and this time, her daughter waited for her to finish. "I'm here because clearly I'm not getting through to you over the phone and you need to see someone. Someone who can help you figure out this entire thing. Get the attacks under control. Help you get on with a normal, productive life."
There was a stretch of silence, where both Toby and her mother waited for her to say something, have some sort of reaction, relent or refute the suggestion but either way, do something.
Neither of them expected her to roll her eyes to the back of her head and mumble under her breath, "'get under control'", before breezing past both of them and heading towards the sink.
"Spence," Toby called as his eyes followed her movements. "What are you doing?"
"You were right, I need some fucking pills right now."
The senator's eyes widened with alarm and the cop couldn't amend her statement fast enough. "She's talking about over the counter painkillers for her headaches."
"She's having headaches?" Veronica repeated, somewhat baffled.
"She had them in the hospital too," Toby reminded, his voice reminiscent of Spencer's when she was talking down to someone. And then it become obvious she was starting to rub off on him when he couldn't resist adding, "Don't you remember?"
"Of course I remember, Toby," the elder woman quickly declared, shutting her eyes. "I just didn't know they were still occurring." Turning to look at the brunette, her movements slower now, Veronica stated, "This is even more of a reason you need to see someone."
Spencer took a deep breath before speaking. "Why?" She asked simply. "Because it would really do me any good or because you don't want the neighbors to talk about me anymore?"
"That is not the reason," her mother insisted sharply.
"Well I don't believe you really think it's going to improve my mental health or else you would have said it when I was in the hospital!" Spencer exclaimed, literally throwing her hands up. She may not have always had the best relationship with either of her parents but the one thing that had always been-and evidently still was-true, was the fact that she knew when they were lying. She knew when something wasn't right or when they had an ulterior motive behind their eyes. She knew that if her mom thought seeing a therapist was best for her, she would have thought of it a long time ago. "Mom, what aren't you telling me?"
"Fine," Veronica relented, her face still callous. "To put it blankly? If the cops come at you with any sort of allegations, it's not going to help your case that you have been a public spectacle and have reached out for zero help from any psychologist."
She knew it, she told herself. She knew that her mom wasn't pushing her to get help out of the kindness of her heart or out of motherly concern but for legal reasons. She knew it from the very moment the words left her mother's mouth.
But somehow it still stung and Spencer pretended to scratch at one of the cuts surrounding her eyes in order to hide the moisture, threatening to leak out.
Toby, though, recognized the cover up and moved right by her mother without a second thought. "Spence," he murmured, too quiet for Veronica to hear.
"I'm fine," she assured, her tone too quiet and too sugary to even begin to convince him.
Her mom didn't quite realize the depth of her daughter's emotions-then again, Toby's the only person who had ever realized Spencer's sensitivity-but still, her voice became considerably milder. "Honey, I told you once that most verdicts are decided in living rooms. I'm just thinking strategically. Take a preemptive strike. Avoid public places for a little while and see a therapist, and eventually we'll be able to put all this behind us."
"Us?" Spencer picked, her volume rising. "What do you mean, us?"
The senator looked taken aback by the inquiry. "I mean, all of us. You, me, Toby, your father and sister."
Somehow her frustration outweighed her self-preservation and she didn't try hiding any longer the crack in her voice or the wetness of her eyes. "We aren't going through this, mom. I am. You were not kidnapped and you have not been forced to live through flashes of that night. You're sanity isn't in question and last I checked, the cops aren't accusing you of anything, so don't act like we're all in this together, because we're not."
"Spencer-"
"I'm not going to see an effing therapist. Especially not to prove anything to the cops. So if that's all you came here for, the door is right there."
It was clear by the look on her face that Veronica wasn't used to being vetoed. For as long as Spencer could remember, what her mother said is what they did. Even with her lack of presence, she still controlled and dictated majority of things in both her daughters' lives.
Looking beyond her daughter, she eyed the cop standing behind her, somewhat warily. "You know, Doctor Barnes said it was your job to determine what was right for Spencer. Has the concept of therapy never crossed your mind, Toby?"
To both women's surprise, his response came out quick and even. "Not like this. I've never considered pressuring her into seeing someone to make her look better to a bunch of strangers. And I've never considered forcing her to do it unwillingly."
"Even if it were what's best for her?" Veronica pressed, her voice harder now.
"Do you know what's best for her?" Toby responded, his voice still just as gentle as before. It almost made it more difficult for the elder woman to swallow. Having a twenty-four-year old disagree with her and still keep his cool. "Honestly? Do you know what's best for Spencer or what's best for her case? Because I can promise you, forcing her to do something she adamantly doesn't want to do is the last thing that'll help her."
Oddly enough, as much as it baffled Veronica to hear him stand his ground, his words baffled Spencer more. How did he understand her better than her own mother? Neither Aria or Hanna could relate to this, as it was a no brainer that both Ashley and Ella understood them better than their respective guys. And that was fine. In fact, that was considered normal.
Males just don't get us, girls said all the time. No one understands me like my mom.
Somehow with Spencer, it was the exact opposite. And, for some reason, she felt lucky. There had been countless times in the past that she'd wished her mother was different. Countless times that she'd wanted to have the same level of connection and bond her friends all shared with their moms. Countless times she'd been overcome with jealousy when witnessing the relationship between her mother and Melissa.
How did Toby make up for everything she'd ever been deprived of, tenfold? How did he always manage to make everything feel alright, even just for a minute, even when she was so terrible to him? Even when she iced him out and punished him for things he didn't mean, for things he shouldn't be held responsible for?
How could someone love her so much when she felt like nothing short of an atomic bomb nearly every minute of the day?
"No one can guide us through this thing except Spencer," Toby was saying. "She is the one who this happened to. We have to trust her judgment. If we don't then she might as well still be locked up in that hospital."
She wanted to smack herself upside the head for snapping at him for defending her mom. He didn't deserve her irritation when all he'd tried to do was make things easier for her.
Apparently, Veronica had heard enough. "Alright, fine, Spencer." She shook her head, bordering on appalled. "You're an adult. You do whatever you like. If you say this isn't my mess, then I won't worry about it."
The moment her mom spoke, dread filled Spencer's stomach all over again and she suddenly didn't know how to feel.
How do you feel when your parent says they've thrown their hands up?
How do you feel when you essentially asked them to?
How do you feel when you realize that your own mother cannot figure out how to support you without controlling you?
How do you feel when you realize that the fault lines had been thrown around so many times, you don't even know who is to blame for how you got here?
She'd never been the ideal mother, Spencer reminded herself. Nannies had a large part in her upbringing and the only sort of affection she got was when she either was falling apart at the seams or when she proved herself worthy.
But at the hospital, after their heart to heart moment, she thought it might be different. She thought after everything, things might change. That maybe this tragedy would shift her mother's perspective a little.
It clearly had been in vain and as much as she would adamantly deny it aloud, Spencer couldn't help but realize that what she felt was crushed hope. She'd unconsciously let her guard down and hoped for once that things could change in a positive way.
She wanted to kick herself for allowing even an ounce of optimism to even form inside her.
As if he were a sign, Spencer felt a large hand come into contact with the small of her back, just as the door shut, signaling her mother's exit, and unconsciously she reached for him.
He easily lifted her up, pulling her tighter as her arms and legs both coiled around him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered as she buried her face into his neck.
"Spencer," he breathed, a slightly confused edge finding its way into his voice. "For what?"
"For taking you for granted. For not treating you the way you deserve." She allowed a couple of tears, more out of stress than anything else, to make their ways down her face and into the shoulder of his shirt.
"Oh, Spence," he chuckled, much to her surprise. His hand began rubbing from the middle of her back down to her thighs. "You don't get to apologize for anything right now. Not with the kind of stress you're under. I can't even imagine what this is like for you. I can't believe what you're going through and yet, you're still so strong. I am in complete awe of you, all day, every day. Okay, don't think that you need to ever apologize for having feelings."
It was her turn to laugh now. "I love you," she murmured, pulling back to look at his face. "You know that, right? You make me the luckiest girl alive."
And with her words, a light filled his eyes that led her to believe he knew what she meant. That he knew what it meant to feel that kind of love that changed even the bleakest circumstances for the better. That he loved her, just as hopelessly and selflessly and tragically as she loved him. That she was just as much as a part of him as he was her.
That he would love her no matter what else happened. No matter what the future held. No matter what else came to light.
No matter what she did.
#spoby#pll#pretty little liars#spencer hastings#Toby Cavanaugh#spobyy#fanfiction#spoby fanfiction#my writing#spoby fics#fics#stories#spoby story#spoby stories#story#fanfic#fic#writing
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Part of the Narrative (5/17)
Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.
Rated E. Story warnings: sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.
Chapter warnings: It gets porny. And a surprise shows up.
Time to smut it up! And just know that your comments and likes and kudos and reblogs have been cherished and squealed over. Thank you to all the wonderful peeps at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first chapter, which you can check out here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better.
[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4]
Chapter 5
Emma and Killian go on their first date, and Emma reflects on the connection between them. A surprise visitor shows up, but what do they want?
Emma
Emma took a deep breath as she surveyed herself in the mirror. She knew she looked good, and for the price of her red Herve Leger bandage dress, she’d better. She had left her hair down, curling around her shoulders in a way she knew was fetching.
And she needed it. Needed every bit of confidence she could summon. Killian Jones was...a lot. In a good way, and she was excited, but...she was also nervous.
He was good-looking, intelligent, and talented. All of it made him feel a little out of her league, her recent successes notwithstanding. She knew she was smart, talented, and attractive, too. But part of her--a large part of her--would probably always feel like the orphan she was. A lost girl. Unwanted. Alone.
Then it turned out that the connection she’d felt with Killian was based on more than just pure lust or attraction. He was...he was like her. He’d had a brother, sure, but he’d lost him too.
After their first meeting, she had done her homework on him. She’d found out about the accident, about Milah, about everything that was available to the public. In a way, it had humanized him. Plus, Ruby had told her he’d holed up at Granny’s for days waiting for a chance to speak to her. His professionalism and hard work over the subsequent weeks had further softened her enough that by the time they met so she could hand over her initial materials, she was ready to be friendly. It had felt easy.
And then he sent that damn email.
She had already decided a friendship with him was something she wanted, but to see how very much they had in common--well, it changed things. He clearly understood where she was coming from, and his concern over whether he was crossing a line had been endearing. She hadn’t been able to respond right away, lost in her own emotions. Emma had had a restless night of tossing and turning as she tried to figure out how she wanted to reply. As dawn approached, she finally acknowledged to herself how attracted she was to him. That, on top of everything else they had in common, she wanted to explore what was or could be there, if given the chance.
Whatever was between them, Emma hadn’t felt anything like it for the better part of a decade. And even then, it was different from what it had been like with Neal.
Neal. Emma fought the urge to push away thoughts of him as she had for the past eleven years. Killian’s email to her had been bold, vulnerable. He deserved the same kind of honesty in return. If he wanted to be involved with her, maybe she should share...no, she decided with a shake of her head, it wasn’t time.
She felt the uncertainty of a first date rising in her chest. It had been so long since she’d done this, and the last time had been a disaster. And that had been without any feelings of any kind, at least on her end.
How did people do this? Date? Tell others about their lives, about what mattered to them? What was in their hearts? The best way Emma had to express herself was through her books. Writing it down, it made it easier. Sharing her past, her life, was hard. When she had time to mull over what she was saying, though, and how to say it, when she didn’t have to look the person in the eye as they found out what a mess she was--that was easier.
And with as rough a start as she and Killian had gotten off to, it was probably better to play it cool, let him see some of the best of her. Hell, he’d already figured out she had been in the system, she didn’t need to tell him all the dirty details of what had gone down when she was seventeen. At least not for now.
Giving herself a final approving look and tugging on her dress, Emma buzzed Killian up. She took a deep breath and smiled, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.
&&&
Emma opened the door to Killian’s smiling face. “Hello, Swan.”
“Killian,” she began, pausing when she saw his attire. Jesus H. Christ. His usual trousers and button ups were hot, but this...the tight jeans, the leather vest and jacket over a dark button-up...it did things to her.
His nervous grin morphed into a smirk. “I know.” He held out a single red rose to her.
She rolled her eyes as she took the it from him, teasing him lightly. “So modest.”
“Well, it behooves a man to be self-aware,” he said.
She smiled and stepped back, dropping the rose into one of the little milk glass vases she had out on the console table in the hallway. When she turned back around, Killian was still smiling at her. He shook his head.
“Emma...if I forget to say it the rest of the evening, it’s only because I’m too gobsmacked. You look stunning.”
Her lips curved gently. “Thanks. You ready to go? What’s the plan?”
His eyes trailed down her form, lingering on the way the dress clung to her curves. “Give me a minute to appreciate this dress,” he said, reaching out to her, “and then we’ll head to dinner. I made us reservations at one of my favorite places.”
Emma snorted at his ill-disguised lust. “Cool it, Tiger.”
He met her eyes and feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, right,” she said, taking the arm he offered her.
They made their way outside, and Emma tried to ignore how hyper-aware she was of the way his jacket brushed against her bare arm, the heady scent of the cologne he wore, and, really, just how overwhelming Killian himself was.
She started to head toward the T, but he led her to a black Town Car instead. “This way, Swan.”
“Ooh, fancy. Bringing out the big guns, huh?”
“It was no trouble, and you deserve it. Also, the T smells.” He smiled and winked at her.
She couldn’t help it, she laughed happily as she slipped into the car, Killian sliding in next to her as she moved over. “Okay, it totally does. But it’s really not a big deal most of the time.”
“Is that how you get around the city? I’d think you’d want a vehicle of your own.”
Jeez, was her independent streak that visible to the naked eye?
“Oh, I have a car. My old ‘73 Bug,” she said, hoping the nostalgia and melancholy weren’t completely written on her face. “I’ve put a lot of work into that car, but honestly? Walking or taking the T is easier most of the time.”
“I get that. It runs fairly smoothly, even if it isn’t quite at the level of the Tube.”
She bumped his shoulder where he sat next to her. “Hey, don’t mock Boston. It might not be London, but it has a lot to offer.”
His eyes softened as he gazed at her. “That it does.”
Emma blushed. “Anyway, where are we headed?”
“I read excellent things about SRV. Do you know it?”
“I’ve heard of it too, but haven’t been. Shit, am I overdressed?”
“You look perfect. Just dressed enough, in fact,” he said, winking salaciously.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
He leaned into her space. “Cute, am I? Not dashingly handsome, or a rakish rapscallion?”
She gave him an evaluating once-over. “You may have a whole pirate thing going--”
“Ah! The whole Captain Hook imagery, aye?” Killian asked, holding up his prosthetic hand.
“--but just so you know, I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date,” she said, ignoring his interruption.
His answering grin was nothing short of wolfish. “That’s because you haven’t been out with me.”
“Getting cocky, aren’t you?” She pressed two fingers into his shoulder, prodding him back to his side of the car. “No, don’t even go there, Captain Innuendo.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Low-hanging fruit and all, you know,” he drawled, but his eyes were crinkled in amusement and he was clearly fighting off a smirk.
She just shook her head at him and faced forward.
&&&
Once they arrived, Killian helped her out of the car and into the restaurant. He’d clearly requested one of the quieter tables toward the back, and Emma appreciated the relative privacy.
“This is lovely, Killian. Thank you.”
“I told you I know how to plan a date, Swan.”
“So you do,” she said, smirking at him. “Lots of practice, huh?”
He scratched behind his ear nervously. “I won’t deny that I did back in the day, but not much since I lost my love, or before that, my hand.”
“Oh god, I’m so sorry. Foot in mouth disease is definitely a problem of mine. Just...ignore me.”
“No, Emma, it’s fine, really. A lot of people seem to know about Milah and what happened, I just don’t always know who. And I don’t mind speaking of it as much now, unless it bothers you.”
She met his eyes, the earnest look in them making her smile turn a little melancholy and wistful. She knew the whos and whats of the story, but not the feelings behind it. “You must have loved her very much.”
“Aye. And part of me always will. I just...I never dreamed I’d be capable of moving on. Not until very recently.”
Equal parts nerves and excitement rose in her at what she thought he was implying, what he might mean. “Recently, huh?”
He reached across the table for her hand and intertwined their fingers. “Well, I won’t deny that a certain fiery lass with a penchant for writing bestsellers has had something do it. But it--you--helped me see that maybe I’m not the only one suffering. I had been rather self-involved in my grief.”
She nodded in understanding, her nervousness abating. “I know what you mean. In the thick of it, it’s hard to remember that other people are just out there living their lives, some of which are filled with just as much pain and shit as your own.”
“Indeed.”
Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “So...you figured out I was in the system.”
“Like calls to like,” he said, dipping his head in acknowledgment and rubbing his thumb along hers.
“I was in it from the time I was a baby. I was found on the side of the road, and while I was almost adopted a couple of times, it never panned out. I stayed until I was about sixteen, when...I just left.”
His eyes softened. “I can’t imagine being in it that long. It must have been....”
“Yeah,” she said, glancing away from the table.
“Well,” He squeezed her hand and she turned back to him. ”If you don’t mind my saying so, you turned out remarkably well.”
Emma shook her head at him. “Is this the part where you get all flirtatious again?”
“I can if you’d like, but I meant it. Lasting that long in the system has clearly made you very resilient.”
She flushed and shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks. I mean, you obviously know how it goes.”
“Differences between our two countries notwithstanding, yes.” He looked thoughtful, his eyes distant even as they remained on her.
A not entirely awkward silence fell between them and the server came by for their orders. Sipping at her wine--a delightful red from a Tuscan vineyard she couldn't pronounce--Emma cocked her head at Killian. “So what brought you here? London is a pretty hopping town for publishing. Not that I'm not glad you're here…”
A flash of something like discomfort crossed his face, but he replied, “Ah, after Milah passed away, I needed a change. I knew August, and things just...fell together.”
His reply felt a little off, but Emma didn't get the sense he was exactly lying to her. Well, if he was leaving something out, that was his business. She wasn't exactly scrambling to tell him the most painful things in her life either, so she ignored the twinge in her gut and smiled at him.
“Well, I'm glad you’re here.”
“As am I, lass. Oh bugger it, Emma. Sorry.”
She laughed at him. “It’s fine, honestly. It’s different now that it’s not so--I don’t know, we know each other a little better now.”
“And I’d like to know you better still.”
She grinned. “Smooth, Jones, smooth.”
He grinned back at her, eyes twinkling. “I try.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” she muttered to herself.
He lifted her hand to his lips and she drew in a breath as he pressed the lightest of kisses to her knuckles.
“It’s interesting, you know? Being successful, fairly happy, in a place like this...with someone like you,” she said, gesturing toward him.
He smirked, cockiness evident in the way he leaned further across the table.
Emma continued, “I mean it. Like, I was always poor, barely scraping by. All the other kids seemed to look down on me. And now I’m here. That little bit of luck, the support of Granny and Ruby, and some hard work. I don’t know, it’s just odd.” She gave a small shrug. “In a good way.”
That indefinable something crossed his face again, but he nodded. “I think I know what you mean. ‘There but for the grace of God, go I’ and all that.”
“Yeah.”
“So, you and Ruby are close then?”
She snorted. “Figured that one out from that visit, did you?”
Killian tried winking at her, a pitiful attempt that was somehow endearing. “Aye, I might have.”
“Yeah, I started working for Granny when I was eighteen…” she said, slipping easily into the story of how she’d come to know the Lucases, and how much they meant to her.
Their food came, and the conversation didn’t slow. Emma was amazed by how at ease she felt around him. She hated that the evening would eventually have to come to an end.
&&&
Hours later, once their meal had ended and they had taken a walk along the Charles River, he flagged a cab for them to take her back to her apartment building. He walked her to the building’s entry, holding her hand the entire time.
Her stomach fluttered the entire walk to the door and she struggled to identify the emotions swirling around her. Giddy. That’s what this feeling was.
“I had a lovely time, Emma,” he said as let go of her hand and pulled the door open for her.
“I did too.” She smiled and took his hand again as she passed. “If you wanted to do this again…”
“I do. Definitely,” he said quickly.
When they reached the elevator, he stopped, looking nervous as he bit at his lower lip. He glanced down at her, seeming indecisive as his gaze drifted to her own lips.
Emma made up her mind for them, and tangled her hand in the open collar of his shirt, pulling him close for a kiss. It started out feverishly intense, and as his tongue met hers, she felt want rising in her. When oxygen became an issue, she pulled back, trailing her fingernails down through the chest hair on display. He shivered, and she took a moment to enjoy how unsteady he looked.
“Do you want to come upstairs for...coffee?”
His eyes darkened and he drew in a shuddering breath. “Aye.”
Killian followed her into her apartment, glancing around at the rather spartan environs as she moved him toward the living room. His eyes fell on her beloved chair, almost as if he recognized it, and he nodded approvingly, seeming ready to comment on it when Emma pulled him onto the couch.
Judging by his silence and the bobbing of his throat, she didn’t think he was about to say anything about the texture of the upholstery. She widened her grin and swung her leg over him so that she was straddling his lap. He gulped as she dragged her lips along his jawline and she hesitated, his seeming reticence making her wonder if he wanted this, if he was ready for it.
(God, she was. Almost embarrassingly so.)
Then the indecision left his expression, and he settled his prosthetic around her waist while he cupped the back of her head with his other hand, pulling her closer to him. Their lips met, and all rational thought flew right out the window.
He kissed her fiercely, hungrily, and she gave as good as she got. He traced his tongue along her lips, and she opened to him. His arms tightened around her as she pulled away and nipped at his bottom lip before throwing herself back into their kiss.
Killian moaned into it, and Emma couldn’t help herself. She rocked her hips against his, the beginnings of his arousal pressing into her and turning her on even more. Normally, this would be the part where she demanded they take off their clothes and get on with it, but this...she didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. Killian would still be there tomorrow, still be part of her life. It was equal parts comforting and thrilling, and she channeled her nerves into further deepening their kiss. She used it to fuel the desperation and passion as she moved against him.
Her dress had ridden up around her hips, and Killian ran his hand down her bare thigh, even as moved away from her lips to trail his mouth along her neck. He nipped at the soft skin, then soothing it with his tongue before moving on. She could feel him straining against her, his erection pressing hard against her core as he thrust up against her.
Just a few layers of fabric, Emma thought a little frantically, and we’d be...She forced the thought to fade, determined to make this last, to enjoy the moment.
She realized that while she had definitely enjoyed his attentions, she had been neglecting exploration of her own. And damn did she want to explore. She shifted in Killian’s lap, and he groaned loudly at her movements.
She shifted and pushed him back so he was lying down on the couch, and she leaned over him, nipping at his ear, tracing its pointed tip with her tongue. His hand tightened around her hip before drifting to her ass. He squeezed lightly, and Emma giggled in his ear before gently biting his stubbled chin.
“God, Emma, you’re a marvel…”
“Mmm…”
Emma was making her way down his neck, pressing lingering kisses to his throat as she drifted down to his exposed collarbones. She had never been more grateful for such an apparent hatred of buttons as she was now, and she sucked a mark into the hollow between his collarbone and shoulder. He hoarsely voiced his enthusiastic approval.
She didn’t stop rubbing herself against him, and he continued to thrust up against her. She shuddered as he did, fairly certain this would be the first time since she was a teenager that she was going to come from dry humping. She was beyond caring at the moment though, because if Killian was this good now, she could only imagine later, when they’d be naked in her bed…
She shuddered in his arms at the thought, pleasure starting to fog her brain as the ridge of his erection pressed along her clit. Then he pulled down the straps of her dress, one at a time. She had to take a breath as the cool air of her apartment hit her breasts.
“Christ, love,” he moaned, his fingers hovering at where the edge of dress hung at her ribs. “You were naked under this dress the whole night?”
She hummed, shifting against him, hoping to encourage him to touch her. “Well, I’m wearing underwear, but yeah.” She had to stop herself from rambling, knowing it would just lead to the mood being killed. And she was so close...
Killian was still staring at her exposed breasts. He looked positively gobsmacked, but Emma wanted--no, needed--more. “You gonna stare all day or actually going to do something about it?”
His eyes snapped up to hers, and he grinned. “Patience, Swan. I like to take my time…” He began a series of light kisses starting at the corner of her mouth, down the center of her chest. “...savor the best things,” he said, nosing along the curve of her breast, his breath warm on her skin, “and make sure we both get what we want.” At that, he closed his mouth over her nipple, biting lightly as he reached up to caress the other with his hand.
She couldn’t hold in her loud moan. Desire for him consumed her, sweeping through her as she clenched her thighs around his hips. “Mmm, Killian, I need…”
“You’re so lovely, Emma. You feel so good. Tell me what you need.”
Instead of answering him in words, she pulled away and made quick work of his vest. She started on his shirt, her movements hampered by the attention he was still lavishing on her chest. She had just succeeded in removing his shirt when a loud knock sounded at the door.
Emma stilled, and Killian pulled back, taking a deep breath. “Swan?”
“I don’t know. If we’re really quiet, maybe they’ll go away,” she whispered.
He chuckled quietly and shook his head against her chest, pressing another kiss to the inside of her breast.
Another loud knock sounded, and she let out frustrated breath as she pulled up the top of her dress, tugging it back to decency before sliding off his lap. Killian sighed, pulling on his shirt and placing one of the couch’s throw pillows in his lap to hide his very obvious erection.
Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long, Emma thought desperately, straightening out her skirt as she walked toward the door.
She looked through the peephole, surprised to see a young boy at the door. He looked oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Knowing her tone was a little rude (but hey, it was late and holy interruption hell), she opened the door and gritted out, “Yes?”
“Are you Emma Swan?”
“I am,” she said cautiously, glancing back at Killian. Who the hell was this kid? A fan? He seemed a little young...
“I’m Henry Mills, and I’m pretty sure I’m the kid you gave up for adoption eleven years ago.”
#cs ff#csbb#captain swan#cs mc ff#cs au#cs crew#amber writes#part of the narrative#i hope you all enjoy this chapter!#if you did please come scream at/with me
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To Be Favored (Part 3)
The first month went by without incident. The third week of school there was a sale, put on by the Metalworking club (which I had thought to be an odd club to exist, but it all makes sense now). They sold iron rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings and even piercings (not done by the school itself of course). It had seemed like the school had encouraged it, seeing as most, if not all the professors, were offering a bit of extra credit if the students showed proof of purchase, and the jewelry was unrealistically cheap. The club set up tents, and some of the pieces were beautifully crafted. Some were plain, others inlaid with (probably fake) gems, turquoise and diamonds. I went with Vector and I bought a few rings, studded with small pieces of ruby, and a necklace of iron chain that a clear crystal hung from.
When I asked Azriel why she hadn’t bought any, she explained that she much preferred gold over iron, and that it looked better on her anyway.
——
The first student was Taken in my second month of university.
He had been in my Intro to Environmental Engineering class. He hadn’t shown up for a few days, but I assumed he was simply sick. I hadn’t known him that well. The teacher would call his name and subsequently mark him absent, for the first few days. Then, after a week and a half, when it came time to call his name, he would pause for a moment before completely skipping it. At the time, I figured he had run away, or just dropped out. There was no bulletin for him, no announcement of death or speech by the Dean. It was as if he had stopped existing altogether. People had said he was killed, attacked by an animal, that his mother had died and he had to return home, even that he had decided to do porn instead of school (he had been very attractive, but come on).
He had gone by Michael, which I assume was his real name. Knowing what I know now, he was not one of the Smart Ones.
——
I hadn’t believed it at first, as I’m sure many hadn’t. In Them. The Gentry. The Fair Folk. But slowly, I had seen things that faded my disbelief.
For example, I had never been able to study in my room- and so I went somewhere I shouldn’t have. The Library. But, I was cautious- I took the trek in full daylight, arms pressed to my chest as I approached the drowsy building. I hadn’t come near it since my initial meeting with it, three months ago. As I stepped near its pillars I felt myself grow heavy, and I caught the quivering shadow behind the windowpanes of the door once again. I was too scared to go in until a boy walked out of the building, carrying a few books in his arms. He seemed completely unaffected by whatever I thought existed behind that door. He walked away unharmed. I pushed away whatever fears I had and walked towards the door, clinging to the handle for a moment before I swung it open.
I was faced with a completely normal library. Low lighting, maybe, but it smelled and looked familiar. There weren’t many people at the desks yet, but there was a librarian busily tidying books behind the desk. It was all so very mundane. I rolled my eyes at myself, and continued on my path through the stacks.
Time had passed so…oddly, in the library. I had found a desk in a fairly secluded area, and set up with my textbooks. The first hour had been fine, but time after that didn’t seem to flow as it normally did. After an hour and a half I had become so tired it was hard to focus-and I had made sure to drink plenty of caffeine beforehand. But, sleep never came. I flipped page after page, scribbling down notes with half-lidded eyes, until I had gone through 8 chapters of the textbook. My exam had only been over the first 4. Upon noticing this, I pulled my phone from my bag to check the time- surely to go through 8 relatively dense chapters would have taken hours. Time must have slipped by me. But it was dead. It had been on full charge when I had left my room.
I took a deep breath and furrowed my brows before slowly packing my things away. I had realized I had no idea what time it was- no clue as to how much time had passed or how exactly I had gone through 8 chapters. As I passed by the desk, I saw the librarian again, still sorting through books.
“Excuse me,” I had asked. I cleared my voice- my mouth was dry and my throat was drier. I had become suddenly aware of my intense thirst. “Can you tell me what time it is?”
She looked up at me. Her eyes were a shade of green I had never seen before. She was maybe mid-30’s, jet black hair tied in a bun. Her lips were thin, and the outside corners of her ears seemed sharper than normal.
“The time, please.” I repeated, voice croaking.
She sighed visibly and took irritated steps to a computer that sat at the desk. “You students should know the rules of the library by now. Either get an adjusted Iron-Watch from Cat-Eyes or run the risk of opening the door to a world you weren’t in before.” She said the words as she typed furiously on the computer, eyes trained on the screen.
“…Excuse me?” I asked, completely dumbfounded. She stopped her typing for a moment, darting her eyes at me.
“You’re a freshman, aren’t you?” She had asked.
“Uh-yes. I am.”
Her face had softened a little, and for a moment I thought I had seen her eyes flicker to a bright golden color. Then I blinked, and they were back to normal.
“Here. Take this.” She said, pulling out a pamphlet from the desk and holding it out in the air in front of her. I was a few steps away from her, and in my groggy state it took a moment for me to process what she wanted. She shook the paper at me, a non-verbal “hurry up” and I took a few quick steps towards her, taking the rather thick pamphlet. It was dark blue and titled “Library Services at Elsewhere University: A Guide and Compendium.” She went back to typing.
“Don’t read it now, but know that time is never promised here. Quick things though: avoid the seventh floor unless you are willing to risk the consequences. If a book is overdue, you can pay by cash, check, or by having blood drawn at the monthly blood donations. We don’t take credit cards. Keep your iron on you. Don’t write your name in any of the borrowing ledgers you might see. We don’t actually own any ledger books, all of our borrowing records are digital, so if you do, whatever happens is on you. If you hear singing, don’t follow it. If you hear a group of people far away, speaking in whispers in a language that sounds like Swedish, don’t follow it. If you hear a voice whispering your name, follow it if you wish, but no that we do not take liability for items, belongings, limbs, or personalities that are lost as a result. It will be easy to lose track of time in the languages section. The Slavic language section is particularly ruthless.” She was still typing as she spoke, and continued to do so after she finished, for at least five minutes more. I wanted to ask what anything she had said meant, but I was so tired. I just wanted to know the time.
“Is it… is it hard to find the time on that computer?”
“Calculations must be made accordingly.” She said matter-of-factly. After a few more moments and final flourishing click, she smiled softly. “Lucky for you, we’re still in the same day. Can’t say that happens for everyone. The time is 2:37 pm. Have a nice day.” With that, she stood and walked back to her books.
I thought for a moment. I had left my dorm at 2 pm sharp. How had I gone through eight chapters in 30 minutes? I stood considering it for a few more moments and walked away, slowly.
When I stepped into the sun, my lethargy dissipated. I was ravenous though, as if it truly had been hours since my last meal, instead of only 30 minutes. My stomach growled audibly.
I needed to go home.
——
Vector and I began to talk about the “Fair Folk” on campus that we had been hearing about. They called them other things- Fae, The Gentry, The Court. She was a stern disbeliever, and laughed at it all. I wish I had been as stubborn as her.
——
The first One I met was Jimothy. His gentle nature had been a blessing.
It had been almost dusk, and I was leaving the engineering building from a group project. I took a path I don’t usually take, but one that was still in the full light of the setting sun. It took me past a small courtyard populated by small trees that casted sparse shadows on the ground. Usually, there weren’t many people there, so I didn’t pay it much mind. But this time, there was a crowd of people in one of the corners of the courtyard. I stopped my hurried strides to look at what the commotion was about.
Something dark was in the corner, something large and black. There were students around it, laughing. They seemed happy. Curious, I took a few steps closer, until I was on the outside ring of people.
Once I had seen it clearly, I was much too frozen to scream.
It was a monster, is all I could call it back then. Now I know that while Jimothy may appear terrifying, he’s the farthest thing from a monster. Many humans are more monstrous than he is. But I didn’t know these things at the time.
He was big. And his spine was exactly that- jet black bones set in a sickening curve, held together by who-knows-what. The spine led to a pair of monstrously large things that seemed to be hooves. It’s body looked like it was made of stretched leather, a clear imprint of ribs where it’s chest should have been. It stood on all fours, it’s hooves and two long, thin arms that spindled into even thinner claws. It had a neck that was impossibly curved, and it led to a bald head that was completely devoid of eyes. It did have a mouth though, a yawning gaping maw that housed, from what I could see then, several rows of glistening, white canines. Even with all this, the most curious thing I saw was an abundance of what looked to beads that hung from his neck and around his claw-hands.
I saw a kid at the front hang some beads in front of the creature’s face. How the thing saw it, I didn’t know, but slowly, it raised one of its claws and plucked the beads from the student’s outstretched hands. It seemed to inspect them for a moment before it lifted them above its head and let it drop around neck, along with the others. It then reached inside of its own mouth and plucked away a tooth with the utmost ease, handing it to the kid who had given the beads.
“Thanks Jim!” The student had said, content. I stayed long enough to watch the process happen twice more, disbelief in my eyes, fear written in my throat. Then, with one quick movement, I turned and ran, all the way back to my dorm. I did not stop to breathe, or think, or talk.
I didn’t even stop long enough to see the three crows perched in a tree of the courtyard.
————–
“You saw one of them, didn’t you.” I heard Azriel’s voice say. I had returned to an empty room and pushed myself to my bed, face in the pillow, and hadn’t moved since. She had come into a dark room and hadn’t bothered to turn the lights back on.
I didn’t respond.
“Was it Jimothy? Big black thing, sharp teeth? Loves beads? He’s one of the only ones I can think of that would come out in such broad daylight.”
I lifted my head slightly to look at her. I looked a mess- hair tangled in front of my face, eyes red from the tears I had cried, shaking. “You know about them? They’re real?”
I saw her nod slowly.
“How?”
“I uh, had a brother that went here. He was Involved. More than he should have been. He taught me a lot.”
“In-involved? In what? Like, clubs?”
She smiled slightly, and I her eyes changed colors for a long time. I hadn’t doubted myself that time. I knew what I had seen. I didn’t bring it up though.
“Áurea, we have a lot to talk about.”
——
Halfway into the semester, I knew the Gentry. By then, I had mustered up the courage and traded beads with Jimothy. I had stumbled upon and subsequently avoided Anna Monday. I knew about the creature underneath the condemned building. I carried salt and sweets on my body at all times, and though I hadn’t had a reason to use it, I kept my iron on at all times. I was determined to not become Involved. Azriel and I had grown closer since that night- and I knew there was something off about her. Something not right. Something Else. I felt safe, though.
That would not be so for long.
-Oliver Scales
#aurea#azriel#the crows#to be favored#the library#jimothy my sweet child!#oliver scales#stories#submission
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