#gestures wildly! i am so wildly like. messed up but in denial about it because in my mind i have nothing to fucking show for it despite

[yellowhearther0]

i love constantly being in A State (tm) because i can never tell whether my judgement calls r absolutely bullshit or actually somewhat right

[novasheadcanons]

The Brothers with a MC who’s presence is calming their sin

TW: None :3    SFW   Fluff

Lucifer

-One word: Denial.

- He was always proud. And he found new pride in being the Avatar he is. He would never allow anything else to happen.

- But you wormed your way almost to easy into the eldest heart.

- You started bringing him tea and a snack in the evening, when the others were getting ready for bed and you knew he was still working. The amount of paperwork seemingly endless.

- He scroffed the first time you did this. He didn’t need a weak human to take care of him.

- He will absolutly deny how quickly he was looking forward to seeing you in the evening, a gentle smile your lips and delicious tea and his favourite cake in your hands.

- You humbled him. Soft whispers of comfort in the night when he was overworked, stressed and trying to ingnore painful memories. He allowes you to care for him when he previously would have strangled anyone who saw him like this. Now he’s questioning what he did to deserve you.

- He leans into your touch and reaches out for you in return.

- What was previously limited to when you two were alone starts to seep into his daily life with the brothers as well.

- He recrognizes his shortcomings and flaws more, but still struggles to act on it. But he becomes more forgiving. His brothers were sure he was deadly ill the first time they noticed.

- Lucifer will always be the embodyment of pride, but he becomes softer around the edges.

- He like to pull you on his lap and stroke over your cheek. It never fails to make him smile when you look at him with so much adoration.

- “You know I can’t let you go just yet, right?”

 Mammon

-He thinks he’s dying. No joke. He has been googling his ‘symtoms’ 6 time now. - But ‘Help I’m the Avatar of Greed but I feel weird!’ doesn’t really bring forth anything useful.

- Mammon’s greed is something he never had any control over, and he still doesn’t. At least no concious control.

- It starts when you two are out and about. He made a new money making sheme and dragged you along, as usual, but now you two were sitting at this fountain for two hours already and he forgot why he dragged you in the first place.

- Mammon watched you laugh over something he said, but it was a nice laugh. A laugh that didn’t sting. You weren’t laughing about him. This was nice. He wanted more of this.

- When he actually managed to make money and he found himself looking for something for you instead of him, it dawned on him. This dork came home with 4 gifts for you and only one cool pair of shades for himself. Pff, he wanted nothing else anyway, why are you looking at him so surprised?

- He still gets the sticky fingers when he sees something he could sell to make money, but more often than not he placed it back after thinking about how you would not like him stealing and getting in trouble again.

- The Avatar of Greed is still well...greedy. But it changes. Mammon feels so fuzzy inside when you're happy, laughing, reaching out towards him. He finally noticed how much more he wants of this. No amount of grimm could outshine your smile when you look at him. You filled the emptiness he tried to stuff with grimm, clothes and jewelry.

- He hugged you close one night, not knowing you were still awake. You had been watching a movie together and decided that you would be sleeping here, to tired to go back to your room.

- He whispers quietly in your hair while pulling you even closer to his chest. “Ya are the biggest tressure I ever held...”

 Leviathan

-absolutly oblivious to it. Like, this man does not notice at all.

- It also took a long time. His envy isn’t just jealousy. It is self-deprecation. It is comparing himself to anyone else and always comming to the conclusion that the other person is better.

- It only started when he accepted (for the most part) that you truly were his friend. That you didn’t secretly were planning a long-term joke on him.

- He had been ranting about a new fascination of his for a while now, while you were watching him being so in his element. He looked... happy maybe even a little confident? When he noticed how long he had been talking again he apologized but he didn’t look ashamed like he usually looked. More bashfull, but still smiling. And it didn’t take much convincing to have him continue.

- It was a lot of these little things. But more and more his envy lost it’s sharp edge that used to stab him in the back everytime he so much as thought about being proud of something he achived.

- You helped him becomming more at ease with himself. Your presence reminded him about all the things that were good in this life. Things others didn’t have.

- He realised this when he was complaining about how unfair something was when he looked at you. Patiently sitting there and holding his hand. With this loving look in your eyes.

- The widest smile you’ve ever seen from him streched across his face, lighting up his eyes and he squeezed your hand.

- “What am I doing? How could I complain about something so trivial when I have you by my side?”

- Cue both of you blushing and looking surprised. You couldn’t help but laugh a little when he hid his face in your shoulder when you hugged him. A blushing, blabbering mess

- He may be making progress but he would always be your Levi.

- There will be time where he falls back into his old harmfull thoughts but he knows you will be there to hold his hand. Just like Henry does for the Lord of Shadows!

 Satan

-He caught on the quickest and welcomed it the slowest.

- Every since you moved in with them he felt weird when you were in the room. Probably because he was so sensitive. Satan picked up on everything in a room, so every little thing could set him off if he hadn’t learned how to quickly escape and rage in the safety of his room.

- But the more time he spend in a room, close to you, the calmer his mind became. He still picked up on everything but when he glanced at you, or when you softly touched his hand because you noticed his eyes tighten a little, a wave of calm washed over him.

- He did not trust it. At all. Were you influencing him with magic? Were you doing it on purpose? But if you were so powerful that you could calm the Avatar of Wrath with a single touch why were you always so close to dying??

- As usual for Satan he spend days researching, trying to find anything. Without success.

- He barged into your room, agitated by the lack of success. Satan had nearly kicked your door open. And froze when he saw you.

- You were laying your back, your legs streched out and propped up on the wall. Your D.D.D making contact with your face when he had barged in. He couldn’d help but to laugh a little. His previous anger forgotten

- Calmly he closed the door and joining you on the bed, where you had just set up and were rubbing your forehead. “The fuck, Satan?”

- He smiled softly, taking your hand in his so he could give the red spot on your forehead a little peck. “Let me make it better.”

- Maybe it wasn’t so important why and how. You calmed his wrath finally making place for something else.

- When his brothers catched on they would practially dump you on top of Satan whenever he worked himself into a rage. Works like a charm.

-He never said anything to you, but you knew. The look in his eyes told you everything.

 Asmodeus

-For him the transission was so smothly he didn’t notices it for a while. He started complimenting you, without complimenting himself while doing it. He didn’t praise his outer beauty with nearly every single breath anymore. Still alot (Have you seen him?) but less desperatly. Asmo forgot to post his morning selfies twice in a row because he lazed around in bed with you.

- It irretated him to no end for weeks now. Something felt off and he had no clue what it was. It was driving him absolutly insane and his brothers were acting like they knew why, but noone would tell him anything!

- It was the third week now he didn’t feel like going partying to get praised, get eye-fucked by every passing person...

- Instead you two were in his room, wearing soft pjs and laying on his bed, shoulders pressed together

- You had grapped his hand while talking, gestureing wildly exited about something.

- It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy you talking, or wasn’t interessted but he was to mesmerised by your face, eyes shining with joy.

- Suddenly it just...clicked.

- “It’s you...!”

- He was sitting up, pulling you up with him. You rearly witnessed the Avatar of Lust looking at you so...seriously.

- “Asmo...is everything alright? Did I-“

- He had pulled you on his lap, arm tight around you, just holding you as close as possibly to him. You were all he ever wanted but tried so hard to deny. You loved him. Not the Avatar of Lust, but him!

- “I...I love you more than I love myself.”

-You calmed his desprate desire to be loved. To be seen.

 Beelzebub

-It started after you made the pact with him, probably because you were spending more time with him now.

- probably the most noticable change out of the brothers.

- It also started of slow. A few less snacks in between classes, not 12 plates of food at breakfeast but 10

- The brothers noticed immediatly but he brushed it off. He was feeling fine. Better than fine actually. Beely felt this warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach. Smiling happily he took another bite, enjoying the taste more than usually before gulfing down more.

- The first time you two fell asleep in a bed together, you had made yourself comftable on top of him, he gently brushed some strands of hair out of your face. You had fallen asleep ontop of him. He was kind of hungry but you looked so blissfully happy...

- In the end he fell asleep, too. And he sleept through the night.

- Imagine his shock when he woke up before you, now really feeling hungry expecting it to be around midnight, as usual, but instead it was time for breakfest... When was the last time he didn’t get up in the night to eat?

- He is still eating an absolutly ungodly amount of food but he doesn’t feel like he is starving nearly every seconds of the day anymore. When he realised it was because of you, he picked you up in a bear-hug. Just holding you close and pressing his face into your neck. You swear you feel your neck getting a bit wet...

- “Thank you...Thank you so much...”

 Belphegor

-after being freed from the attic he finally joined the ‘normal’ life in the House of Lamentation again

- the others had already spend a lot of time with you. So they figured it out by now already but they agreed not to tell Belphie for two reasons:

- 1. Nobody wanted him to be dissapointed should it turn out that it doesn’t happen for him.

- 2. They wanted it to be a surprise should it work.

- Belphie felt insecure for a while since all his brothers were already so close to you and he well... He wasn’t exactly starting of a clean plate here...

- So he occupied your time a lot for a while

- He didn’t notices his brothers small changes for that reason

- It started off by being more awake around you when you two had cuddle & nap sessions together. He shrugged it of to just wanting to get to know you more.

- Your presence made him being able to be awake for longer periods of time in the beginning, then when you forced him to participate in activities with Beel and you his energy didn’t drain as quickly as he was used to. When he slept, he didn’t sleep quiet as long but felt so much better after waking up.

- It made him suspicious. So he started watching his brothers more.

- After two month he confronted you at breakfeast.

- “What are you doing to me?” Okay, rude...

- Why were his brothers ginning so stupidly?

- After you spend a while explaining what you and the others figured out he leaned back, taken aback. A soft smile taking over his lips that he could not surpress fast enough.

- Later that night he made himself comtable on top of you, his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. He didn’t know what to do, but your lovingly petting his hair made him realise he didn’t need to.

- He still sleeps a lot, often and in the weirdest places, he will always be the Avatar of Sloth but this might not be so bad after all.

__________________________________________________________

Please reblog and like if you liked this! I would love to know what you think of this, so consider leaving a comment. This is my first try on HC for anything :3 My requests are open!

[lonelyghosts-stuff]

Peppermint and Pinewood

Peppermint and Pinewood (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Premise:

Draco Malfoy x muggleborn, Slytherin! Reader

Although the time setting isn’t too important, I envisioned it taking place somewhere in the fifth year.

Warnings: none really? I mean, I guess bullying, mild angst, and fluff lol. I dunno if Draco goes a little off-canon character wise here but I tried to make his personality as close to the source material as possible.

Word count: 4,581

Note: This is my first ever fan fiction I’ve ever written so yea.

Read it on wattpad too:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/244556691-peppermint-and-pinewood

It was another bad day. After getting yet another berating from Snape due to putting one too many dried lavender flowers in the Calming Draught potion and subsequently losing five house points from Slytherin, y/n found herself once again the target of insults and sneers. As if being a muggle born placed in Slytherin wasn't bad enough, it seems like every single mistake made, no matter how simple or innocent it may have been, was held against her as if it was the highest insult to the wizarding world.

Following a long walk down the hallway to her next class, a cold and judgmental presence drew near. With his steely gray eyes, Draco Malfoy looked down upon y/n.

"Well well... looks like the mudblood lost us even more points! As if it wasn't enough of a plague upon wizard kind and the Slytherin House to have a mudblood part of it..." Draco leaned in towards y/n towering over her by at least 15cm (about 6 inches rounded up) and continued "we have to further suffer your utter lack of any practical skills in class. I mean, bloody hell y/l/n! We've been learning the calming draught for what, the past three days? And you still managed to screw that up. If it was up to me, your kind wouldn't even be allowed in the magical world much less Hogwarts; as pathetic as this school is."

After the cacophony of insults and belittlement, Draco continued onward, gesturing his cronies to follow...

Only, they didn't follow right away. Crabbe and Goyle decided that it was their time to shine and decided to push y/n around, knowing full well she wouldn't do anything to stop them. With some rude comments and pathetic chittering of a laugh, Crabbe gave y/n one final shove sending her onto the ground and spilling out her supplies including books, quills, and a jar of ink. Despite the squawking coming from Crabbe and Goyle, Draco looked more bemused than anything. While he should be laughing at a lowly mud blood getting what they deserved, he felt empty. He almost pitied y/l/n.

"Crabbe, Goyle, hurry up or we'll be late to D.A.D.A. and I sure as hell am not losing any house points because of you buffoons." Draco demanded, leaving y/n on the ground, scurrying to clean up the mess.

Eventually one Slytherin classmate and their Hufflepuff friend spotted y/n and helped her clean up.

"Scourgify! There you go! All better now!" The Hufflepuff chirped as the Slytherin handed y/n the last of her things.

"Are you sure you simply tripped and fell?" The Slytherin doubted y/n's story. "I mean, you aren't the most popular nor liked in Slytherin."

"Oh uh yea. I know where you're coming from but I promise it was just a little trip. Just me being clumsy is all!" Y/n fumbled through her response. "But thanks for the concern Mallory!"

Mallory was one of the few Slytherins who didn't despise y/n for her blood status. Coming from a home where her dad is a wizard and her mom's a muggle, not even muggle born, she found herself sympathizing with y/n.

"Hey y/n, promise us you'll come for help if you really need it, okay?" Susan Bones the Hufflepuff, a caring and hardworking witch who, while maybe initially coming across as weak and a pushover, is not one who is past fighting someone in order to defend her friends.

"Yea yea I promise I promise." Y/n chuckled. If only Mallory was in y/n's dorm room. Things would be a lot better for sure.

After a couple more minutes of reassuring Mallory and Susan that she was alright, y/n begrudgingly made her way to her next class with her fellow housemates of the same year, Defense Against the Dark Arts. While not her particular favorite due to the inconsistency of the instructors, y/n found herself enjoying D.A.D.A. more than most classes due to not only the wide variety of skills and spells learned, but the hands on approach of applying said new skills in practical situations. It was certainly a sight to behold when she transformed her boggart from Voldemort to a mere Pansy Parkinson, shackled by her ankles no doubt by Filch. Of course this only earned y/n more nasty comments hurled her way as well as an unappreciated "gift" from an owl left on her bed, but y/n felt that the site was worth it nonetheless.

D.A.D.A. was unfortunately highly uneventful that day as the class merely reviewed the basic defensive and combative spells from previous years (a shocking amount of students performed poorly on the review exam and thus the whole class had to suffer). On her way out of the class, y/n was met by another Slytherin, none other than the she-devil herself, Pansy Parkinson. As if on cue, the moment y/n stepped out of the classroom and was out of sight of any faculty, y/n was roughly pulled by the hand and pushed into the neighboring, empty classroom by Pany who promptly closed the door behind her, holding it shut.

"Hey let me out of here! Pansy you downright insufferable git!" Y/n burst out, an uncommon instance that was released due to pent up rage from days of harassment.

"Nuh uh! Maybe when you learn your lesson that Draco is mine and you'll neeeveeer be more than a pathetic, weak, and intolerable mudblood!" Pansy chortled in a sing-songy voice.

"Pansy I swear to Merlin..." y/n started before stopping themself to recompose and calm down. "Pansy, I'm asking nicely... please, open the door. I have no clue what you are talking about with Draco, but you don't need to worry. I want nothing to do with that cocky, rude, hair-gelling bastard, okay?!"

"Augh?! You think that pathetic excuse for an apology is gonna cut it? Nuh uh! Maybe you need some more time alone to think about your actions, y/l/n. Colloportus!" And with that, y/n heard the doors click locked, Pansy mumble the anti-alohomora charm, and the ever fading footsteps of Pansy proudly striding away.

Feeling all of her built up emotion come to a boil, y/n allowed herself to blow some steam off while she was alone. Casting one destructive spell after another, the classroom suffered greatly from the y/n’s rage.

"BOMBARDA! STUPEFY! DIFFINDO! INCENDIO!" Y/n proclaimed with much fervor before stepping back in fear.

The last spell carelessly cast quickly caught the ratted tapestry curtains over the windows, sending them ablaze. In the panic, y/n stumbled back to the door before pounding on it wildly for help. Fortunately for her, her absence in her next class and last class of the day was reported and McGonagall was passing by to look for her. Quickly reversing the rushed anti-alohomora charm on the door and then following up by unlocking it, the door swung open as y/n fell through, almost onto the ground before catching herself.

After extinguishing the fire with a quick flick of her wand and a mutter of 'aguamenti' and long winded conversation filled with explanations, denial, and intense pleading, McGonagall decided it was in the best interest to remove 100 points from Slytherin for the utter lack of safety and human decency.

Of course this didn't go well for y/n. That evening she found herself locked out of her own dorm room as her roommates found the blame for the points lost resting solely on y/n. Making her way to the empty common room, y/n sat on one of the couches in front of the green, crackling fire. Equipped with nothing outside of her button up, vest, and pants, y/n used her robe as a blanket and cuddled up on the couch.

At that moment, y/n's bottled up emotion overflowed and she sobbed into the couch cushion. Feeling more like a burden than a human, y/n repeated in her head the insults she's heard many times. "Hinderance. Pathetic. Weak. Worthless..." she choked out between sobs. "Filthy... little... mudblood."

Before y/n could even get one wink of sleep, a door creaked open revealing the prince of Slytherin himself, Draco. Only, unlike most other times, Draco was sans henchmen. Presumably, Draco snuck out for one reason or another and was only returning about now. As Draco stepped into the light, he noticed a covered figure on the couch. Draco glimpsed at y/n h/l h/c hair, quickly deducing it was y/n.

"What are you doing out here this late, y/l/n?" Interrogated Draco. "Shouldn't you be in your room?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Wandering about this late at night, you could lose us house points or worse depending on what suspicious activities you are into." Y/n mumbled as she tried to tune out the excess noise, not caring anymore about how she responded to Draco.

"Harsh, but fair." Draco let out a rare chuckle.

For some reason, hearing Draco chuckle sent warm tingles throughout her body from one hand to another. This is just barely a fraction of a side of Draco she wished she could see all the time. Before getting too caught up in daydreams, y/n remembered it was Draco's fault in the first place that she's even locked out of her room at all.

"Well, to put it short, I'm still a, as you say, a filthy mudblood and it would appear as if torturing me and locking me in an abandoned classroom wasn't enough for them so they decided to lock me out of our own room." Y/n vented with both a sense of exasperated relief as Draco stood silently, stiff as a board, as if he was shocked as to what he was hearing.

Draco took a moment to drink in y/n. Her e/c eyes, red and glossy from tormented crying. Even in this state she was still breathtaking. Wait, what? Breathtaking? Draco suddenly forgot how to speak as his mind raced from his sudden observation. She's not pretty, right? She's just a muggle born, a disgrace to the wizarding world! Is that all she is though? And only a muggle born, not a mudblood? Draco panicked internally for a brief moment before finally recollecting himself and regaining his composure.

"Oh." Was all Draco could manage at the moment. Appearing deep in thought, Draco organized a response. "As much as I would love to hear more of your life problems, I have a room to go back to. So... um... good night..."

Draco awkwardly turned around and shuffled towards his room, pausing only for a brief moment and throwing a quick glance over his shoulder as if he was contemplating something. He quickly shook off any feeling of turning back and entered his room for the night.

The school year progressed without much of anything significant happening outside of the common bullying and stress of the holidays approaching. It was almost winter break and, as usual, y/n would be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. Her parents always took a long vacation over Christmas break and figured they would save money by leaving y/n at school where she would still get food and housing without them having to pay for an extra plane ticket. Y/n didn't mind too much. She had always been pretty independent from her parents, but she loved them nonetheless. They all loved each other but they weren't very affectionate about it, a factor that probably contributed to her apathetic approach to most things. While always hopeful to be invited to one of her parents annual holidays, y/n also looked forward to the more or less peace and quiet of having the common room and school mostly to herself with the exception of the other few students who also remained for the holidays.

Unbeknownst to y/n, ever since their interaction at night in the common room, Draco has been secretly watching her. While seeing her in such a devastated state should logically make him happy as she is only a muggle born, Draco felt anything but happy. It was almost like looking into a mirror for him, seeing her broken. It reminded him of his many nights of anxiety and depression after getting an earful from his father about how he wasn't "good enough" or constantly feeling inadequate compared to the "chosen one", Potter. From that moment on, Draco avoided y/n. Y/n didn't really think anything of it except that she appreciated the extended periods of peace and silence between the other students' insults. This of course only prompted Crabbe and Goyle to try to make up for their ring leader's apparent avoidance and growing distaste of picking on y/n. Fortunately for y/n however, Crabbe and Goyle were quite dim witted and easy to outsmart or avoid. Another development for y/n was that, after her time in the abandoned classroom allowing her to let off some steam, followed by her mini rant to Draco, she found herself able to stand up for herself a bit more, much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson. Now when Pansy strode up to y/n with a cocky and mischievous smirk plastered on her face, y/n simply looked on with a strong and unavoidable expression of mere annoyance and anticipation of disappointment. Pansy would try to insult y/n only for y/n to retort with a simple motion of dismissal or a clever comeback.

"Well if it isn't the local mudblood of Slytherin!" Pansy would shout with falsely placed pride.

"Well if it isn't the local tramp of Slytherin!" Y/n would respond with a mock curtsy. "What an absolute honor to be in your presence. Oh, and of course the presence of all the guys you try to hook up with."

Pansy would only stare on, gobsmacked and dumbfounded. She would walk away trying to act as if y/n's responses meant nothing to her, but her embarrassment would be evident with the bright red burning at her cheeks. Y/n would always take a silent pride in herself when she managed to hold her composure and deliver lines to Pansy that would shut her up without the need to stoop down the Pansy's level herself.

The days progressed even more until it was eventually the last day before the Christmas holiday. As the other students were packing their things and saying their goodbyes, y/n spent her time in the library or in the Slytherin common room, sitting next to one of the many windows looking out under the Black Lake. Y/n would often sit by the windows and look at the fish and grindylows swim by, almost entranced by the aquatic life that resides within the lake. Y/n always hoped to spot the giant squid someday, but outside of the rare silhouette of a tentacle, she was disappointed. Of course her biggest achievement of her many nights of lake gazing was when she spotted a mermaid right outside the window. The mermaid smiled a soft and ethereal smile before singing a peaceful song, lulling y/n to a restful sleep. Y/n would constantly be on the lookout for that same mermaid each night, even more so than the giant squid, but was unfortunately commonly met with mere fish or the occasional grindylow that would give her a wicked smile. At the end of the day, students began to turn in for the night in preparation for leaving bright and early in the morning to go home or wherever for their Christmas vacations. Y/n, on the other hand, stayed up, sitting on the couch and watching the green flames dance and in the fireplace. A wave of contentment washed over her as she looked forward to a peaceful break. She had just been told by Mallory that, while she was leaving for the holiday, Susan Bones would be staying as her she had no family to return to (her family having been killed personally by Voldemort in the First Wizarding War) outside of her aunt Amelia Bones who was attending to business all holiday. Y/n looked forward to spending some time with Susan, especially knowing how hard the holidays are for her due to her family's past. She has already planned on taking her to Hogsmeade for some quality time as a “girls’ day” together and to make sure that, despite her circumstances, she would still have the best Christmas possible.

As y/n sat alone, mesmerized by the fire and picturing her plans to hang out with Susan, none other than Draco Malfoy once again stepped into the picture. He didn't directly approach y/n, more or less standing off to the side and looking outward at the lake. Y/n eventually directed her attention away from the fire and noticed Draco staring out at the lake. He seemed a lot more fidgety than usual, almost as if he was nervous or dreading something. 'It couldn't possibly be he's not looking forward to going home, could it?' Y/n thought to herself as she observed Draco's body language. After a brief minute, Draco turned around as if to head to bed only to notice y/n staring at him.

"Ah! W-what are you doing here y/l/n?" Draco jumped slightly, caught off guard.

Y/n quickly looked away, feeling her cheeks burn in embarrassment from being caught. "I, uh, well..." she calmed down and recomposed herself, "if you don't remember, despite yours and most everyone else's wishes, I'm still in Slytherin so I have just as much of a right to be here as you!"

"Oh. Yea. I mean, that's not what I meant." Draco fumbled through his sentences, his nervousness becoming more and more obvious. "I meant, what are you doing here, here. Shouldn't you be in bed so you'll be ready for the holidays?"

Once again, y/n found herself saying, "I could ask you the same thing." Y/n gave a playful yet unconfident smirk.

Defying anyone's best guess, a faint pink rose to Draco's cheeks, completely catching y/n off guard. He quickly tried to laugh it off before continuing to uncharacteristically stumble his way through the conversation. "Uh, yea. My bad, sorry."

Once again, y/n was caught completely off guard. 'Did the Draco Malfoy just say, "sorry"?' Draco didn't even seem phased by the absurdity of what he just said.

Quickly moving on from what just happened, y/n spoke up, "Well, to answer your question. No. I'm not leaving for the holidays. I'll be here all Christmas break."

Almost as if without a second thought, Draco made his way over to the couch area, sitting on the chai directly across from y/n. His previous nervousness seemed to fade away as he responded, "So, why are you staying here? How come you're not going home or traveling somewhere?"

"Well, my parents like to go on big fancy trips for the holidays and they figure that they can save money by leaving me here."

"Oh. Does that bother you at all? That they just leave you behind while they go and have a great time?"

Y/n shrugged, trying to ignore how weird this whole situation is. "Not really. It's always been like this. They never really went on vacations outside of an occasional camping trip with me when I was still living at home and they wanted to take advantage of the situation of me being at a school away from home to go on a nice trip while I was being cared for. We still go camping over the summertime though, so that's fun."

Draco was amazed, listening intently to every word that came out of y/n's mouth. The concept of needing to save money was pretty foreign to him, but he found himself able to relate to her situation of not having the most affectionate family.

"So, what about you, Draco? Why aren't you in bed? No doubt your family has some extravagant plans for the holiday." Y/n asked, turning the tables on Draco.

As soon as she asked this, the previously present nervousness and dread returned to Draco's face. "Oh, uh, not tired yet. A lot on my mind..."

"Well, surely your family has something exciting planned. I mean, you are a Malfoy after all."

As if she just pushed a button, Draco seemed to flinch away at the mention of his family name. For a brief moment, his nervousness was overcome with an irritated, defensiveness as he snapped, "Well it's not all perfect like you so clearly think!"

Y/n flinched back as he shouted this, confused by the sudden change in attitude. Draco noticed her almost immediately shut down, losing any joy that previously graced her face.

"I-I'm... sorry... I didn't mean to shout." Draco sighed. "It's just that-"

"No, I'm sorry." Y/n interrupted. "I saw you were clearly uncomfortable at the first mention of your family and I shouldn't have asked again... you don't have to say anything you don't want to."

"Thank you." Draco simply said. He began to stand up to head to bed before y/n got to say one last thing

"Draco. I-", y/n cut herself off, questioning if she should really finish her sentence. "I'm... always here if you need anything. Okay? I may not know of your family's background or yours, but I'm no stranger to hardships. I'm always here if you need help with something or even just someone to talk to."

Draco looked at her with a face full of mixed emotions. Uncertainty, confusion, fear of letting someone in, fear of pushing her away, and more. He was quiet for about a whole minute as he stood there, looking at y/n.

"But, why? Would you care about me? I've been nothing but cruel and rude to you. Why would you care how I feel?" Draco suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

"Just because you may not be the most pleasant person in the world to be around doesn't mean you don't have your own battles and issues in life, nor does it mean your issues are any less valid than anyone else's. You're still a human and... I care about you just like anyone else...", y/n looked down at the floor as she quietly said the last part.

Draco stood there, silent and uncertain about how to respond. Another minute of silence passed and, without a second thought, Draco turned around and walked to his room. Y/n kept looking down, berating herself in her head. 'You went too far you idiot! You just had to push it and make him feel uncomfortable...'. Y/n lied down onto the couch and closed her eyes as she tried to fall asleep.

As Draco walked away, he stopped for a second and whispered under his breath, "Thank you... y/n. Merry Christmas."

The night was rough for Draco; he couldn't sleep as he replayed the conversation in his head over and over again. When the time reached 1:30 am, Draco decided to get up and go for a brief walk to clear his head. He opened the door from his dorm room and quietly snuck out so as to not awake his roommates. Making his way down into the common room, he spotted y/n still there, only asleep on the couch. He quickly deduced she must have been locked out of her room again and that was another reason she wasn't in bed yet when he first came across her. He quietly walked over to her and looked at her. Despite her messy hair and unconventional sleeping position, she had a peaceful look on her face as she slumbered. As he turned away to continue his short walk, he heard a noise come from y/n. When he turned around, he noticed her shivering in her sleep. The fire had died down since he was last here and y/n was without a blanket or anything else to keep her warm. He wanted to relight the fireplace but he also didn't want to risk the sudden light waking her up. He eventually turned back to head to his room as y/n laid there.

The next morning, Draco and his friends were getting ready to leave the school and board the trains. A smirk was plastered on Draco's face, one which did not go unnoticed by Pansy.

"Hey Drayyyy!" Pansy cooed in a sickeningly sweet tone of voice. "What's got you so happy this be-a-utiful morning?"

Even Pansy's annoying presence couldn't dampen Draco's mood. "Oh it's nothing. Just looking forward to leaving this joke of a school is all." Draco proudly lied, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Despite many more attempts of learning what the truth was from Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle, Draco remained silent on the truth.

Back in the Slytherin common room, y/n began stirring awake. Surprisingly, she slept through the commotion of the other students leaving for Christmas. Stretching and yawning, y/n stood up off the couch, accidentally dropping the jumper that was draped across her onto the ground. Without hesitation she picked up the sweater and slid it on, quickly leaving to brush her hair and get ready for the day to take Susan to Hogsmeade.

Once in Hogsmeade, y/n lead Susan to Honeydukes to pick out an assortment of sweets.

"Thank you so much for all of this, y/n. I really appreciate it." Susan beamed as she grabbed a chocolate frog with one hand as her other held a box of treacle fudge.

"Of course. It's my pleasure and it's a nice change of pace from a normal school schedule. And one never needs an excuse to go to Honeydukes!" Y/n responded gleefully.

After they made their way back to Hogwarts with their bounty of sweets and a few items from Zonko's, Susan led y/n to the Hufflepuff common room so they could indulge themselves.

After taking a big bite from a liquorice wand, Susan spoke out, "oh I've been meaning to ask you, when did you get that jumper? It's been cold all winter but I haven't seen you wear it all!"

Y/n looked down at the jumper. It was green and silver in the Slytherin colors with a big, snake S in the center. "You know what? I don't know... I just woke up this morning and it was draped over me. I'm not sure how I got it."

"Weird. Maybe you made an impulse purchase and completely forgot?"

"No, I don't think that's it. It's a little big for me too. Maybe Mallory bought it for me and left it as a surprise? I know she's a bit bigger than me so that would explain it."

"No that can't be. She got you a new scarf and matching mittens for Christm-shoot!"

"Susan!!!" Y/n burst out laughing.

"Oh no I'm so so so sorry!!! Please don't tell Mallory I told you! She's been planning this for a week! Please act surprised when you get it! Aghhhh I'm so dumb!" Susan panicked as her face flushed from embarrassment.

"Don't worry don't worry!" Y/n chuckled loudly. "I'll act surprised I promise!"

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you!" Susan cried out as she stuffed her mouth with a pumpkin pasty.

The rest of the Christmas holiday was full of fun and funny times like this. For the first time in a while, y/n looked forward to getting up in the morning and seeing people. She would always wake up bright and early, brush her hair and her teeth, and slip on the mysterious oversized jumper. While it still bugged her and Susan as the jumper's origin remained a mystery, y/n was grateful to have it nonetheless on these cold, winter days.

It also had a pleasant scent of peppermint and pinewood cologne too.

[kiru-da-ho-beeeech]

Sugar Daddy AU - Mista

Warning: NSFW, degradation, death threat, choking, spanking, hair-pulling, implied murder, I wrote and post in mobile so I can't put this under the cut, read the warnings please

Did I really just write a 2k word fic because Mista called himself Daddy? Yes. Yes, I did.

It was the garterbelt and stockings that did him in, you knew.

Amazement and lust shone clear in his eyes as you slid off your long coat, revealing the lingerie set that had been gifted to you last week. Your Daddy sat in his office chair, a leg atop his knee and his bottom lip trapped between white teeth as one hand lowered and put out a half-burned cigarette in an ashtray. His eyes burned holes in your body, travelling up and down, especially lingering at your stocking-clad legs. You rubbed your thighs together. He took a deep breath.

You giggled at his reaction. He really made it too easy.

"Care to tell me why you're here wearing that, baby?" He asked after a few minutes of staring.

You strode to him, crossing the distance from the door to his desk, and sat on the cold mahogany surface. Ass facing him, of course. He let out a slow breath at how the globes looked, soft and perfectly squished.

"I went to Paris." You began, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers.

"Cool. How was it?"

You made a drawn and disinterested 'eh' sound as your palm began moving up and down your thigh. His ebony eyes followed it like a hawk watching a mouse. 

"It was fun. I ate raw oysters. Got new clothes, shoes, perfume…" you stretched a hand out to him, wrist up, "Wanna smell?"

You knew he knew what you were playing at. He wasn't the Don for nothing. Yet, he still leaned down, encircling your wrist in a gentle grip and bringing it up to his nose to take a whiff. Though the rule of the business was to not get attracted to your benefactor, the way his nose flared as his eyes closed did some things to you. He's just so damnably handsome and obliviously sexy that you can't help the way your gut wrenched nor the way your cunt flooded with moistness. Once he opened his eyes to look at you, they were half-lidded and burning with desire.

He grinned, dimples dipping so deep it made your mouth water. You wanted nothing more in that moment than to lick them, "Smells good, baby. Delicious."

Distract yourself, your conscious screamed, you came here with a mission to complete. Your eyes scanned his desk and found a mug. You reached for it, taking back your hand from him. You picked up the mug and drank from it absent-mindedly, surprised at what you tasted on your tongue.

"M-Milk?"

He chuckled, "Oh, yeah. I ate something too spicy earlier. Which reminds me--"

He patted his knee, a signal for you to come sit on Daddy's lap. You complied, putting the mug back down. You removed yourself from the desk and rounded it, spreading your legs and straddling him-- his crotch in particular-- then wrapped your arms loosely around his neck. You could already feel his semi-hard length pressing against you, teasing you with promises of a good time and a sore body.

"-- My tongue still hurts like shit. I need something sweet." His hands firmly gripped your thighs, "To balance it out, you know?"

The way he ogled at your breasts told you it wasn't food he's talking about.

Despite your determination not to give in, you ground your hips to his.

He released a shaky sigh, burying his head at the crook of your neck and gripping your sides harder. You did it again, firmer this time, which earned a low rumble from him.

"Baby girl, what is it that you need?" His voice weakly asked. God, he's so easy to tease you almost feel bad.

Almost.

"Daddy, I had so much fun in Paris… Thank you for sending me there and giving me an allowance~" He just grunted as a response so you continued, "but I've used them all up and my bills are due next week."

He lifted his head to look at you. Smirking, he held the side of your face. His hands were warm and rough, and you leaned into it instinctively.

"That so?" His thumb stroked your cheek, swiping lower and massaging your bottom lip, "But baby, our condition says I'll only give you your allowance once a month. We can't breach the contract now, can we?"

You whined. It was too good to be true. He may act silly and friendly, but he was still the Don. The most powerful person in the gang. He won't give in so easily.

He took your arm off his neck, guiding your hands down his belt. With a seductive smile, he said, "If you want more, you'll have to work for it dolcezza."

Ah, of course. This was a transaction of gestures. And you were all too eager to participate in the exchange if it meant seeing six digits in your bank account.

You removed yourself from his lap while he stood. Kneeling in front of him, you unbuckled his belt and undid his pants, letting his member spring out. You were just about to put him in your mouth when he stopped you, guiding you to bend down on his desk. You thought it was going to be one of those days where he had to fuck you quickly because he's in a rush. Maybe an appointment in thirty minutes or so?

You released a startled cry when his palm connected with your behind rather harshly.

"You think you can just come in here unannounced?" His voice was dark and gravelly, tickling your core like a feather and making you even wetter. He stroked the abused spot lightly, the skin already feeling like it's on fire. The sting felt so splendid, so dirty. You never even thought you were into pain until you met him. Only he knew how to deliver it in ways that had you craving for more. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, "I'm the Don, puttana. You have no right to do as you wish, and you do not disrespect me like that, am I clear?"

A whimper escaped your throat, "Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"Very good. I like you, (Y/N). I'd hate it if you have to go for being too much of a little brat." That wasn't a threat, as you've learned. In the world he lived in, it was a warning. There was a cold edge to his words and it made your heart beat erratically to the rush of both fear and excitement. He was truly dangerous, the only man who could kill you and wipe your existence from the planet as though you've never existed in the first place. Being his sugar baby meant being the devil's plaything. L'incarnazione del diavolo, that's what he's called. The devil's incarnation. He was the plague inside Pandora's box: cruel, merciless, inhuman-- a chaotic package wrapped up in delightful curly black hair, broad shoulders, and reddish bronze-skin.

Your attention snapped back to the moment when he ripped your flimsy panties off. The sheer power he showed made your core gush as you imagined him using that force to pound into you. The cold air hit your uncovered pussy, but not for long. His warm fingers were immediately shoved inside your needy cunt. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, but soon was reduced to a moaning mess as he began pumping his digits, a thumb joining the others as it rubbed on your clit in the same rhythm. He landed another slap to your ass, the added pleasure from the pain driving your mind into a complete haywire.

"Tsk. I haven't even put my cock in you yet and you're already gone. Don't cum without my permission, or I'll really be angry." His voice was almost drowned out by your sounds. You nodded, but shrieked when he slapped your ass again.

"Answer." He commanded.

"Yes, Daddy!" You all but screamed.

He petted the soreness on your skin, "Good, bambina."

He withdrew his fingers with a wet squelch. You had to quell the protest down your throat. Acting bratty now would just make him delay your orgasm further. You felt him press his length to your slit, teasingly moving the head up and down. You were panting, exhilarated by what he'd do next. To your disappointment, he slid his cock lower, settling in trapping it in between your folds and creating a back and forth motion that sent delicious friction to your clit. His hands came up and slid your bra off, cupping and squeezing your breasts. He flicked at your nipples, rolling the buds and twisting them, making you writhe wildly. You could feel yourself approaching the edge. Your hips began to jerk, meeting his as your ass bounced against his pelvis.

"Daddy! Daddy, please! Please let me cum, please, please, please, please!" You begged, voice cracking with overuse.

He only answered with a breathless 'No' before drawing away.

"Daddy!" Your tone was irritated as you called him, but you could care less. If you didn't die by his hands for acting out of place, then you most definitely would through orgasm denial. At this moment, you'd prefer to perish through the former rather than the latter.

He growled at your attitude, bending down to lay his torso flat against your back as a hand came to slither and clasp around your neck with delectable force. 

"You dare to use that tone on me?!"

You wailed when he plunged his entire shaft inside you-- harshly, no warnings, up to the hilt. 

"I don't think you understand your situation so let me make it clear, cara--" he began thrusting, deep and with so much force that you saw stars whenever his dick dragged along your insides, hitting your G-spot  over and over, "-- I have the power to kill you and make it seem like an accident. I can take everything away from you and make you wish I'd killed you instead. I can strip you naked and let each of my men fuck you. Do not test me again, you hear?"

Though you were lost in delirious bliss, you answered, "Y-Yes, Daddy! I'll be a good girl! I won't make you mad again! I promise! Please, please, please, let me cum!"

He groaned as you began bucking against him, "Not yet."

He increased his pace. He was fucking you so hard that the edgr of the desk dug into your flesh. You were about to go insane. Your thoughts empty aside from the tingling inside you that grew more and more intense. Your senses dulled, mouth dripping with spit, and eyes crossing with how incredibly overstimulated you are. His grip on your neck tightened and he roared.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm close! Touch yourself and come with me, baby!" He panted.

You eagerly obeyed, hand slipping down. Your fingers pressed steady circling motions to the bundle of nerves. Your vision was beginning to darken due to the lack of air, but you could only think of chasing your completion.

"Shit, I'm cumming! I'm cumming! Baby-- fuck, cum for me! Now!" He yelled.

You didn't need to be told. Everything blurred, then exploded. Pure, white, hot rapture tore through you as you screamed your lungs out and shook from the orgasm that crashed down on you. You've flung yourself off the cliff, and you relished in the feeling of absolute release. Your insides milked him, contracting and pulling him in even more that he came tumbling after you. You could only faintly recognize the feel of him spilling himself. He came so much that it had nowhere else to go inside you and began spurting out, dribbling down your thighs.

He removed his hand from your neck, scooping you up gently and planting you on his lap as you both collapsed back into his chair. Your vision slowly returned, unfocused eyes affixed to the ceiling. Your chest hurt from breathing--actually, everything hurt, but it was the kind of pain that you loved. The kind that meant you just got your brains fucked to high heavens.

After the both of you had calmed down, he began weaving his hands through your hair.

"Sorry, principessa. It was a bad day." He whispered softly, "Don't worry, I'll have the money deposited to your account before the day ends."

You made a small sound to acknowledge what he said, too tired to do anything else. This was the part where you always fell asleep. Tendrils of drowsiness creeped around your conscious, you were too weary to fight them off. You felt his lips at the crown of your head before succumbing to sleep, lulled by the sound of his steady breathing.

[pollylynn]

Practice, Chapter 2—A Season 2 Caskett Two-Shot (Now Complete)

Title: Practice, Chapter 2 WC: 1600

A/N: Still ridiculous. First chapter was posted yesterday. Set around the time of Den of Thieves (2 x 21)

He is confined to a name for the duration. The hushed E sound at the end of it is still dying away when all eyes except, regrettably, Lanie’s swivel toward the front of the room. Lanie’s eyes linger on him just long enough to convey the very important message If you try to run, I will murder you. I will dismember you. I will collaborate with Beckett to mess with the evidence and construct and solve a murder mystery so wild that we will both become wildly famous, all while making sure that your disappearance slips from the pathetic few headlines it ever appeared in within twenty-four hours.

Then Lanie’s eyes swivel front. It seems prudent for his to follow, though what they land on when they do is not heartening to say the least. 

A man has taken up his obviously accustomed spot, front and center. He unrolls his mat with one smooth motion and regards his sea of soon-to-be Warriors with a gaze that sweeps right, left, and back again.

The women stand ready, each centered at the foot of her own mat. Castle scurries to take up a similar position, tripping as he goes, largely because he’s trying to get a look at this guy. It’s not easy. There’s no dais or anything, so he has to lean from one side to the other and go up on tiptoe to see much more than decidedly not slouchy yoga shorts, a head full of flowing grey hair, and arms that are  not at all bulky, yet looks like they’ve been twisted together out of the steel cables that hold up the Brooklyn Bridge. 

He senses Lanie sensing him as he fidgets around. He notes a certain familiar drop to one shoulder that universally precedes her delivery of some devastating blow, nearly universally at his expense. He manages, in the fraction of an instant the fates allow him, to still himself and school his posture so that when her chin swivels to fix him with an over-the-shoulder glare, she finds him very much the picture of someone ready to begin his journey. 

He sees the flash of a quick gesture from the man at the front, and the room fills with a high, whining note—a tone that’s well outside any musical scale his own ear is used to. He’s still shaking his head against the onslaught when he realizes that everyone, to a woman, has swept her arms overhead and is following her fingertips backward until something like fifty-five pairs of upside down eyes are turned on him in the back corner that is clearly going to provide no cover. 

One pair out of the fifty-five sends further instructions that require his immediate attention. Get moving. Now. Or I will murder you. I will dismember you, etc., etc. 

So he does his best. His shoulders protest immediately at the jerky swing of his arms. His spine weighs in, not to be out done, as he tries to bend backwards and can hardly fix his eyes on the ceiling, let alone the wall behind him, as instructed. 

His failure at this first and most basic of poses is a preview of things to come. The music that seems to guide every other body in the room is utterly disorienting to him. He is behind, he is ahead, he is never, ever on the beat. 

The asanas—poses, as he figures out very late in the game and then feels like the most basic of idiots—come fast and furious. in the three or four seconds over the next hour when he is not actually, actively, right this moment dying, he happily concludes that Detective Schlemming’s failure here—his humiliation—would be total.  

The instruction, to him, is absolutely minimal, but then again it’s clear that these women, Lanie included, are hard-core regulars. They’re serious about the practice. When the instructor commences roaming through the field of bodies about a third of the way through the class, they are fiercely proud when he praises their form, immensely gratified when he offers a correction. 

When the man arrives alongside his mat—when he models the pose and offers a few adjustments, then a crisp nod of encouragement, Castle gets it. He feels like he’s just run the New York Marathon in under three hours while finishing Naked Heat. He never, ever under pain of death, dismemberment and fading into absolute anonymity wants to do this again, but he gets the appeal. He will never apologize to the entirely fictional, obviously nonexistent Detective Schlemming for anything, but he might have to send yoga a sheepish card. 

“Well?” 

Lanie looms over him as his eyes fly open. He may have fallen asleep and/or briefly shuffled off this mortal coil during his final savasana. Her question booms around the room, suggesting it’s empty or close to it. His death or nap may have been not-so-brief. 

“Help,” he says simply, which wins him a kick that might actually be a fairly gentle prod with her bare foot. “Roll on to your belly,” she coaches. “Work your way up to hands and knees. Take it slow.”  

He makes it to his feet, and she takes pity on him. She stoops to roll up his mat and stuff it in his fancy bag. He watches gratefully. Pity is good now. Detective Schlemming might not deserve it, but he certainly does.

“What—what now?” He hangs his head as she hands the bag to him. Spiritual Warrior, he knows without a doubt, is just Phase 1 of his punishment. 

“Now,” she says as she sizes him up. “Drinks.” 

“Drinks?” He feels the blood drain from his face and keep on draining until all of it is somewhere around his ankles. He sways a little. 

“Drink for me.” She catches his elbow. “Water for you. And maybe some crackers. You’re buying.” 

He tries to nod, but his neck isn’t working. He tries to lift his hand and only succeeds in releasing a wave of stench from his armpit. “I’m gross.” 

“Yeah you are,” she shoots back, and she’s not talking about the stench. He hangs his head again, non-working neck and all, and she relents a little. “Rooftop bar,” she lifts her chin. “Yoga and drinks. Everybody’s gross. It’s a thing.” 

“Lead the way.” 

*************************************

The sun is bright and cruel. The gentle spring breeze is like knives scraping his skin, and his hair hurts—his body hair hurts. But it’s a pretty nice rooftop bar, at least during the three-minute grace period Lanie affords him while they’re ordering drinks—a Bloody Mary for her, water, the tiniest glass of juice possible, and bread service for him. 

“So,” Lanie begins the minute the waitress is even arguably out of earshot. “You know your girl is not going to be working out in a place like this, right?” 

“My—“ he sputters. The slow-whirring gears of his mind work on the terrible substance of her words. “My girl?” 

“Don’t play with me Castle.” She casually unrolls the thick cloth napkin and lets fork and knife clatter on to the metal cafe table for emphasis. “I know this is about Beckett. So, what? I know you can just be dropping in to every yoga studio in Manhattan. You better not be staking out her place.” 

“Her place!” He silent movie gasps. “Staking out! No! No!” 

The drinks arrive at that precise moment, as though Lanie has willed it. She keeps her eyes locked on him as he struggles to keep silent until they’re clear of the waitress, who suddenly wants to list every single possible thing they might want her to bring them. 

“I am not staking anything—anyone—out,” he hisses as soon as it’s safe. Lanie slides the tall, stemmed glass toward herself and takes a sip epic enough to signal that she fully intends to wait him out. He caves. “It’s . . . it was supposed to be research.” 

He’s mumbling by the end, but that’s not what has Lanie shooting him a puzzled frown. “Research. For Rook?” 

He shakes his head. He sips at the juice, but it burns his tongue. His tongue hurts, too, he notes miserably. He must have bit it a hundred times while trying to haul his stupid body from one pose to another. 

“Another Detective.” He pokes unenthusiastically at the artisanal butter that comes with brown, heavy-looking bread that is almost certainly harboring nasty, fugitive raisins. He tears off a piece anyway and comes across a raisin immediately upon popping it into his mouth. “A creep.”

“Demming,” Lanie says quietly. Pityingly, and that’s not so good at the moment. 

“So you think he’s a creep, too?” He tries for a grin, tries to make a joke of it, but Lanie’s not laughing.

“Beckett doesn’t.” She shakes her head in a mixture of frustration, amusement, and yet more pity. “You like her.” 

He thinks about denying. Denial rises swiftly to the end of his bitten, juice-abused tongue, but there’s no point. It’s Lanie, and there’s no point. 

“I like her,” he says, eyes on the city stretching out below them. 

“Damn, Castle.” Lanie takes another pull on her Bloody Mary. “Think you should’ve said something about that, like, a year ago?” 

He thinks about denying that, too. Or pushing back at least, saying he didn’t even know until just now—until Demming. But there’s no point in that, either. “Yeah.” He sighs. He takes a sip of water. “Probably. Probably should’ve.”  A/N: Lanie ships. This is dumb. That is all. 

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch30 (V x Reader)

Chapter 30 Family Ties

______________________________________________________________

“Nero is your son, dipshit!” Dante stares at him, grinning happily as he delivers the metaphysical sucker punch excitedly.

The world grinds to a halt and for a solid thirty seconds, V’s mind is completely blank. He is numb, his body rigid and mouth agape as static fills his short-circuited brain. Even Griffon is rendered speechless from the sheer shock of Dante’s words. He can’t think, can’t breathe as he feverishly gathers his wits at long last. Emotion returns simultaneously with conscious thought, a tsunami of feeling he was not at all prepared to endure.

Disbelief.

Dante’s lying, that’s impossible. I would’ve known somehow, would have felt it in some way. I’ve spent so much time around Nero, I would have seen some likeness or similarity but there’s nothing!

Denial.

I could never, not even Vergil could have done such a thing, to leave a woman behind to raise his child alone. Even he wasn’t that monstrous… right?

Fury.

How dare Dante even say such madness! He has no right! Nero’s more likely his son than mine, with his tendencies! Yet again, I take the blame for his misconduct! Some things never change.

Confusion.

What is he hoping to gain from this absurdity? He can’t possibly believe Nero’s my… son. I don’t understand his motives; this makes no sense!

Doubt.

Unless it’s true; then it makes perfect sense. What if he’s right, what if I am… what if Vergil was… what if it’s true?

He mentally compares Nero’s face with his own, his original face. There are definite similarities, but he adamantly refuses to acknowledge the truth to himself even as his heart proclaims it’s agreement with Dante in a powerful surge of familial recognition.

I’ve already failed in so many ways, so many times. Fatherhood is not one of them.

You sure about that, Shakespeare?

Absolutely.

Would it be so terrible if it were true?

Most definitely.

Why?

Because… I wasn’t there. Nero grew up without parents, just as Dante and I did after the attack. He’s endured so much pain and suffering, to know that I was partially to blame for it…

You mean Vergil was to blame.

I… don’t know. It’s complicated, you know that.

Griffon sends him the equivalent of an eye roll, a short purr following soon after as Shadow voices her agreement with the sentiment. The enigmatic golem stays silent, but he can sense its amusement. Or was that anger?

It’s pretty simple, actually. You’re only half of Vergil, so you can only really be responsible for half the shitty things that dick did.

Griffon mentally preens, pleased with his assessment and giving off an aura of “so there” in V’s conflicted mind.

“Hey, buddy! You there? Hello?” Dante’s insistent voice juts in suddenly, his hands waving before V’s unfocused eyes in an attempt to bring him back from his hiding place in his mind. His emerald eyes meet his brother’s pale gaze and he forces himself to remain expressionless.

“You’re wrong. Nero is not my son,” his flat voice responds finally. Dante rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Yes, he is, and you know it,” the younger Sparda twin insists. V harshly subdues his urge to childishly respond with a no, the familiar structure of their spats already taking shape as Dante lets his emotions rule him and V refuses to rise to the bait. Dante huffs in frustration as he doesn’t respond, his calm façade ironclad.

I think he’s right.

Another purr sounds Shadow’s agreement, and this time Nightmare deigns to respond with a long rumble of assent.

Then you’re all as foolish as he is.

“It is impossible,” V tells his brother quietly.

“It is NOT impossible, you idiot! Just LOOK at him and you can see it!” Dante shouts, his arms waving in a gesture of emphasis as he loses his patience at last with a snarl of irritation.

______________________________________________________________

As V and Dante distance themselves from you and Nero, the young man chuckles again and shakes his head.

“I can’t believe you actually punched him, that was amazing,” he comments dryly. You smirk and try to ignore the painful throbbing in your knuckles where they struck the man in red, the area already red and irritated. It had been necessary; calling you cute was crossing the line. And then he’d had the nerve to compare you to a puppy!

How dare he.

“How’s V holding up? He doesn’t look too good,” Nero interjects, your thoughts shattering like glass under gunfire. You can’t help but sigh before answering, trying to find the right words to describe the poet’s decline. You look at the floor, vision sweeping across the strange texture as you speak.

“He’s hanging on, but I can’t tell if what we’re doing is going to help in the end. It’s honestly a crapshoot, but it’s all we’ve got, so…” you shrug, melancholy acceptance settling over your eyes as Nero scratches the back of his neck thoughtfully. He grimaces, obviously troubled.

“I can’t imagine… if it was Kyrie, I… I don’t know how you keep going sometimes, Y/N,” he murmurs with a sympathetic smile. You nod, grateful for his friendship as always.

“It is NOT impossible, you idiot! Just LOOK at him and you can see it!” Dante suddenly shouts across the area, his arms gesticulating wildly as he argues with V. The poet is rigid, unmoving and silently facing away from you and Nero. Dante’s features are twisted with his frustration and a tinge of anger and you instantly start running over to the two men in alarm.

You can hear V’s soft mumble as you skid to a stop a few feet away.

“It cannot be… more likely he’s yours,” he utters robotically. When his face finally comes into view, his expression is flat, whatever he’s feeling hidden so deeply within that even you can’t discern it. His emerald eyes are locked on something directly ahead of him, his fingers grasping his cane tightly as he resolutely conceals his feelings. You shift your gaze to Dante, your confusion and worry blatantly obvious in your pleading eyes. The gruff man looks completely at the end of his rope, his brows drawn together and lips a firm line of annoyance.

“Dante… what the hell?” you manage to ask him. He puts his hands on his hips and stares upward with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes to think before he speaks.

That alone sets off alarm bells in your mind. You barely know Dante, but he doesn’t use caution or forethought often.

This must be serious.

Dante’s eyes meet yours briefly; a glance of apology before he addresses the lean poet. You follow his gaze, watching V’s face carefully for any flicker of emotion.

“Either you tell them, or I will, but this is too important to hold back,” he informs the obsidian haired wall of motionless restraint. His emerald eyes blink once, twice before he focuses on his brother’s irritated face with a look of dawning apprehension. He licks his lips, opening his mouth to speak but no words come out. His knuckles are white in his death grip on his cane, his jaw clenching as he forces a single syllable out.

“Don’t,” he gasps desperately. You wrap your hands over his on his cane, trying to reach him underneath the ocean of new knowledge as Nero trots up to join the strange conversation.

“You guys okay?” Nero asks with a scratch at the back of his neck. His eyes can’t seem to decide who he should be looking at, shifting between each of his three friends in concern as he takes in the strained expressions. Dante crosses his arms, his signature Sparda stubbornness coloring his tone with resolve.

“You have five seconds, brother,” he growls, tapping his foot to keep count.

One.

V’s eyes widen in panic, his eyes darting around seeking an escape route. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously, sweat breaking out on his face.

Two.

You rub the poet’s back soothingly, offering him your support as best you can. He flinches at your first touch defensively, the circumstances overwhelming his senses.

Three.

His eyes are dilated so widely you can’t see the green ring around his pupils. He’s shaking slightly as his eyes settle on Nero.

Four.

Nero meets his eyes unflinchingly, his uneasy worry prevalent in his expressive features. The poet’s eyes light up as if he’s seeing Nero for the first time and some facet of the young man seems to hit him with the same force as one of Griffon’s lightning strikes.

Five.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” Dante demands. V closes his eyes and grits his teeth before turning to face his brother, steely-eyed.

“Abundance of stupidity,” he recites, turning back to face Nero before he continues with all the caution you’d expect from someone diffusing a bomb.

“Dante believes that Vergil fathered you, Nero,” he announces hesitantly, reluctance dripping from every word. Nero’s lips pop open, eyes shifting to match the circular shape his mouth makes. He staggers as the words sink in and he turns to Dante.

“What the hell? Where do you get off, making jokes like that?” the young warrior chokes out.

Your own confusion rolls through you as you struggle to figure out whether there is truth in Dante’s assessment. From what little you know of Vergil, it’s possible but extremely unlikely. Plus, Nero has so much in common with Dante it’s almost like he’s the older man’s twin.

So it’s not true, right?

Right?

“Let me explain,” Dante pipes up, and all three of you turn to glare at him. He raises his hands in a gesture of submission, guarding his face from any possible attacks.

“Please do,” Nero growls, his hands balled up at his sides but remaining low.

The red leather of Dante’s coat ripples as he lowers his hands with a sheepish grin, realizing that no one is planning on throwing any punches.

Yet.

“I knew you were a Sparda the first time we met, Nero. The hair is a dead giveaway. Wasn’t sure how we were related, but the Yamato bonding with you like it did convinced me you were family. Now, as much as I mess around, I don’t actually sleep around. The few people I do sleep with are still friends, I know for a fact I have no children. Plus, the timeline didn’t fit at all; I wasn’t seeing anyone around the time you were born,” Dante begins carefully, mainly addressing Nero as his voice grows steadier with each word.

You glance at V to see him glaring at the floor behind his hair, stubbornly refusing to listen to Dante’s rationale. You stroke his back again even as you listen and wrestle with your own feelings on the subject, shoving them away until there’s a calm moment to face them.

I can deal with my own issues later.

“So, you were either a long lost brother or a cousin or something, or Vergil… you know. I don’t know of any aunts or uncles in the family, and dear old dad died when we were just kids. And, according to V, there was a lady in Vergil’s life around that time. So, uh, welcome to the family?” Dante concludes lamely with an apologetic grin.

Holy shit.

Dante’s right.

Holy shit.

Nero’s face shifts rapidly, cycling through several possible reactions before settling on bewildered acceptance. A weight lifts from your shoulders as your friend smiles lightly at the man you love, his hand scratching his neck again in his signature move of discomfort. Dante relaxes slightly too as Nero lets out a long breath and chuckles.

“Well, damn… that’s uh… wow,” he begins, his shock stealing his words. A look of realization crosses his face suddenly and he looks back at Dante. “That makes you my uncle, huh?”

Dante barks out a laugh and jokingly reaches out to shake his nephew’s hand. “Good to meet ya, kid,” he glibly states. Nero cracks a smirk of his own as he takes his uncle’s hand; they look so alike that it becomes glaringly obvious to you that they’re related.

How could none of us have known? How could V have not figured it out?

“Kyrie’s going to flip,” Nero adds, and V’s shoulders shake under your hand. For a heartbeat you think he’s laughing, but then he turns away and lets out a shaky breath, a single silent tear rolling down his cheek as he tries to hide it. You shoot a glance at the two other men and they take the hint easily, walking away and leaving you alone with V.

______________________________________________________________

V

No, no, no… it can’t be true.

Can it?

A single tear falls from his eye as he distantly watches Nero and Dante shake hands, their faces arranged into the same smirk of amusement he recognizes from when it would all too rarely cross Vergil’s face.

There’s no point denying it anymore. Nero’s your son. Which also means Y/N is banging the father of one of her best friends!

V sends Griffon an image of himself plucking every last feather from his body, using them to make a new pillow, and the blue bird instantly fades away as their connection weakens. He hears Dante’s banter with Nero echoing somewhere nearby, the use of familial nicknames driving home their newly redefined relationship. A surge of envy pulses through him at the ease with which they connect as they walk away, still chatting amiably.

“V… are you alright?” your soft voice asks.

He takes a deep breath, grappling his jealousy into submission and burying it.

What does she think of all this? I have a son. Nero is my son…

Even to think the words sends a frenetic shiver up his limbs, like insects crawling on his skin. He resists the urge to brush at his flesh, meeting your eyes to answer you instead.

“I… I am coming to terms. Are you alright?” he probes you. You look away and anxiety tugs at him harshly, imagining all the ways his previous self’s action may have disturbed you. All the reasons you have to walk away and never look back. Sorrow hitches his breath in his throat as his heart reminds him what it feels like to be alone.

“I’m not sure. It’s definitely weird, and it makes me sick to imagine you with someone else. But it wasn’t you, was it? It was Vergil. Whoever he was, you aren’t that person anymore,” you thoughtfully reply, continuing after a pause. “Do you remember his mother well? Nero might like to hear about her, he doesn’t remember anything.”

Unbidden and half-forgotten images rise to taunt him with his foolishness. A flash of red fabric, a half-hidden smile. The brevity of his time with her.

V forces his memory elsewhere as he remembers the sounds she had made, the feeling of it. Vergil’s thrilled fascination as he experienced what so many people were motivated by throughout their lives.

“I remember enough to be ashamed,” V faintly comments. You nod and take his hand, pulling it from his cane where it had been clenched for far too long. You massage his palm gently and bring his knuckles to your lips for a kiss and your tenderness makes him ache with appreciation. He smiles lovingly down at you and you wrap your arms around him in a comforting hug. With your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and his nose in your hair to enjoy the scent he so adores… all his worries dissipate like fog in sunlight.

“I’ll tell him what is appropriate,” he murmurs, and he can feel you giggle in his arms.

“How very fatherly of you,” you tease him with a sly smirk, turning your face to meet his in a soft kiss.

______________________________________________________________

June 15th, 1:13 pm

V

The group finally sets off again, progressing through a series of massive caverns downward to face Urizen at last. Going together had been wise – each area holds an enormous number of demons, swarms that V isn’t sure he would have been able to clear alone. He can feel himself growing weaker by the minute and his irritation mounts every time he is forced to let his brother and his son do most of the work. It becomes a vicious cycle; he notices his weakness, can’t help but focus on it for a moment, and ends up repressing his self-loathing in order to move forward. In turn, this makes him weaker still, assuming your theory is correct. Coming to that realization makes him feel guilty, and then he represses his guilt, once again making himself weaker as a consequence of his own idiocy.

After yet another fight during which he felt close to useless, the group leaps down yet another hole and lands to see the path forward illuminated with a faint orange glow, throwing the brutally huge spikes curving overheard into stark relief.

“Looks like we’ve still got a long way to go,” Dante remarks ruefully. All four of you step forward together just as the surface underfoot disintegrates.

V reacts instantly, his arm twitching as Griffon materializes in a tornado of black shards. Luckily, he already had your hand in his when the area collapsed, and he easily grips you tighter as Griffon wraps his talons over his still-extended arm overhead.

His wings heave powerfully, keeping the two of you from being impaled on the sharp rocks below, yet despite his best efforts Griffon tires quickly.

“I can't carry you anymore! I gotta put you down! I gotta put you down...” the demonic bird gasps out, panting as he does his best to lessen the fall before he drops you and V the last dozen feet to land unglamorously. Griffon himself collapses on the rocky floor, his chest moving rapidly as V pulls him back within his body to rest.

“Damn, just a little longer. Come on... we must... go...” V pants as he pulls himself to his feet once again. You rise beside him, dusting off your clothes halfheartedly and helping V do the same. Taking his hand in yours, you set out slowly, making sure he can keep up.

He once again dwells on his own weakness, restarting the cycle of torment with a vengeance as he scolds himself for not preventing the fall entirely. Griffon’s exhausted caw pipes up within him, even his thoughts echoing his weariness.

You really aren’t doing yourself any favors, Shakespeare.

I’m aware.

He grits his teeth as his feathery friend points out his stupidity. It’s hard enough trying to break the cycle without his “help”. Not to mention pushing through the slight twinges of pain every time he tries to stifle his emotions…

Here, maybe this’ll help?

Griffon sends him a series of images; the look of frenzied victory on your face after you killed your first Empusa with a frying pan, the feel of your fingers stroking his hair as he leaned over to allow your touch, the warmth and friendship within the first hug he had ever received.

The weakness fades slightly, allowing him a brief respite from his hunched over posture. He pauses to stretch, his lower back complaining at the mistreatment.

“V? Are you alright?” your worried voice inquires as he halts suddenly.

I can’t let her see my weakness.

Are you seriously that dumb? You aren’t weak; you’re dying. And if you don’t let yourself feel this shit, we’re all gonna die too! You don’t wanna murder us, do ya pal?

Not yet…

Griffon quiets, but V can still sense his concern and his frustration in the back of his mind through their bond. Echoes of the sentiment filter through from Shadow and Nightmare too, and he lets out a small sigh of surrender.

…fine.

“I’m weakening quickly now, Y/N. I’m… scared.” V tells you slowly, the last word almost a whisper as he forces it through his reluctant lips with a grimace.

You frown tightly at his words, gently tugging him to sit on a nearby ledge. It takes him longer than he likes to limp his way over, but once he’s seated, you take his hand and study it thoroughly. He follows your troubled gaze to see his skin, once perfectly smooth under his dark tattoos, now wrinkled and cracked like the floor of a desert. He frowns deeply, not having noticed the progression of his… condition.

His heart aches painfully as your fingers caress the damaged flesh and you let out a deep sigh.

“I’m scared too, my poet. In fact, I’m terrified,” you begin, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m terrified that I’m going to lose you, that I’ll lose… this.”

You hold up your joined hands and he nods his understanding. He pulls your hand to his lips, planting a light kiss on your palm. A pit forms in his stomach with your words, a weight descending upon his shoulders to join so many others.

He can see now that he has an unhealthy tendency to take on responsibility when he shouldn’t. His mother’s death, his father’s disappearance, all manner of unspeakable things he did during his time as Nelo Angelo. Nero and his mother. And of course, the release of Urizen and formation of the Qlipoth. His list of misdeeds is long and growing, the weight on his shoulders steadily increasing until he’s crushed by it. Even as he objectively recognizes the flaw, he struggles to overcome it.

I doubt I’d even be able to identify the habit if not for Y/N.

Your words echo in his mind. “You are not Vergil. You are V. Just because you came from him doesn’t mean you have to share his fate.”

“Is there anything that helps? Any patterns you’ve noticed?” you probe him quietly, almost desperately. His lips twist upwards as Griffon sends him an image of your smile.

“Griffon has been sending me memories occasionally. Images of my better moments,” he responds thoughtfully, “They seem to help, at least a little. It’s… far too easy to slip back into despair.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you respond, “Tell Griffon he needs to send you more good stuff anytime you start getting mopey.”

Aye aye, Captain Nurse! I don’t want to die either.

“He agrees. None of them want to die either,” V answers back for the blue demon with a smirk. He’d have to keep that nickname in mind; it had potential.

Your hand clenches around his at his words; perhaps you hadn’t realized that the three demonic creatures would die with him?

An image of your hair sparkling in sunlight.

Thank you, Griffon.

The feeling of snide dismissal; a rude salute. He coughs out a laugh.

“V… when I face… when I face Urizen. You need to have Griffon send you everything he’s got. Any memory, no matter how small. Have him start cataloguing them, testing them to see what gets the best response. You need to maximize everything as much as possible at that moment,” you instruct him hesitantly.

He mentally cringes as Griffon whoops with laughter, his excitement to browse V’s most innermost feelings clear within his mind. Shadow growls at the obnoxious bird and he settles somewhat, but his glee still seeps through.

“He’s… excited to begin,” V translates. You beam with approval and stand, holding a hand out to help him rise alongside you. He doesn’t drop it as you trek onward into the darkened passage ahead.

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Winning Myself

“Remind me again why Luna invited the Malfoys?” Harry asked Ginny as he tried not to be blatant with his staring.

“Malfoy is her friend, and she wanted to include him in the wedding party.” Ginny shrugged once, showing that she didn’t understand her fiance’s decision any more than Harry did.

The cluster of people outside of the burrow were preventing Harry from hearing what Malfoy and his father were arguing about, and they were definitely arguing. Malfoy was gesturing wildly with his hands, face red, and anger prominent in his eyes. Lucius was the opposite, the same calm exterior as always, the only hint that the older Malfoy was angry was the hand clenched around the snakehead of his wand.

“Has Malfoy always been so…” Harry trailed off when Malfoy narrowed his eyes, anger heightening.

“Dramatic?” Ginny supplied. “Definitely.”

“I was going to say striking, but yeah, that’s accurate too.”

“But he makes dramatic look good.”

Harry nodded in agreement, wishing that wasn’t the case. Encountering Malfoy in the Ministry was trying enough on his firm denial of any kind of attraction, but seeing him outside of work was causing Harry’s resolve to crack—fissures obvious the more emotion Malfoy released.

“What do you suppose they are arguing about?”

When Ginny didn’t answer, Harry looked at her curiously. There was an uneasy edge to her stance and it concerned him.

“I don’t know, Harry. They’ve been arguing since they got here, and they were late too.”

This wasn’t news to Harry, but he thought he was the only one to notice—or really the only one watching so closely. When he arched his brows in amusement, silently conveying his question, he had to sidestep a playful slap to his arm.

“Hey, it wasn’t anything untoward. Luna has been busy telling the officiant her side of the knot tying vows. She’s being secretive about them, and I’ve had mine done for months. I’m bored, and there isn’t anything else here worth watching.” Ginny paused to grin wickedly.

“Unless you count Ron trying to dance, and that’s an embarrassment that I can only stomach once.”

Harry smiled softly, happy that Ginny found the love that she deserved. She truly was one of his best friends, and he couldn’t wait to watch her and Luna get married tomorrow. He looked around the rehearsal tent, amused when he took notice of Ron trying to dance with Hermione. Despite it being clumsy, they both were having fun, and that was what mattered.

The bustling people that had been between Harry, Ginny and the Malfoys began to thin. With each person moving towards the tables in the centre, the raised voices began to drift over.

“If you would just cease this foolishness, Draco, things would be smoother with the papers.”

Malfoy scoffed harshly, the sound reverberating around the quiet corner. If Harry concentrated, he could still make out the music from the rest of the party.

“The papers? That’s what you are worried about? Fuck the papers. Fuck the public opinion. They think we are trash anyway, what does it matter what I do with my life?”

Harry exchanged an uncomfortable look with Ginny. It had been easier to observe when it was just silence, but now they would overhear things that weren’t their business.

“We are watched always,” Lucius pressed, a hint of desperation tinging his tone. “You aren’t making this easier.”

“Easier for who?” Malfoy returned, hands raising up to pull at his hair in frustration. “For you? You act as if this hasn’t been me my whole life. I’ve gone so long repressing who I am, and I won’t continue to do so just for you.”

“We should go,” Ginny whispered, tugging at Harry’s sleeve.

“If we leave now, they could notice us.”

“I don’t want to be found here listening to this,” Ginny argued.

“Repressing?” Lucius scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic. Your words suggest I have wronged you.”

“That’s rich,” Malfoy snarled taking a step back. “My whole life you have told me that who I was wasn’t good enough. ‘Stop slouching, Draco, Malfoys have to be regal. Stop playing, Draco, Malfoys have to be serious. Stop making friends, Draco, Malfoys only look after themselves.’ Every action I took wasn’t befitting of a proper Malfoy. You took everything that made who I am and shoved it into a mould of your own beliefs. I don’t know who I am anymore.”  

The last sentence was raw and cracked. Harry shook his head, allowing Ginny to pull him away. This wasn’t a conversation they should be hearing. Malfoy would be furious to know they were listening.

Even several tables over they could still hear the argument and Harry wasn’t sure where else they could go.

“Draco,” Lucius stopped when Malfoy jerked away from his raised hand.

“No,” Malfoy said, taking steps towards the direction Harry and Ginny were. “I won’t continue to listen to this.”

“All I want is what is best for you.”

“Then stop trying to control me,” Malfoy begged. “Stop ignoring the parts of me that you don’t agree with. I’m bisexual, father, not dying. I don’t know why that’s so hard for you to grasp.”

Harry shared a startled look with Ginny. That hadn’t been what he thought their argument was about. He looked around the tent, debating on whether they should just escape into the house, and forget the tent completely.

“If you are bisexual, then you can still marry into a respectable family.”

“Yeah, as long as it’s with a woman, right father? That’s what you mean. You say you accept my sexuality, but really it’s only as long as it’s metaphorical. I can watch men from afar—never allowed to touch. Because to you, a Malfoy is only good if they have an heir.”

Malfoy clenched his fists before his shoulders drooped. “There is a tiny part of me that wishes I could be spiteful and tell you that I will never marry a woman, but I would be lying to myself. I could very well end up married to a woman and be the son you want to be proud of. But I could also fall in love with a man and be the disappointment that you shove under the rug.”

Every word Malfoy spoke was filled with emotion, and Harry knew that it resonated with Ginny just as much as it did with him. All of them had been there, questioning who they were and finding themselves. Listening to Malfoy be so open was choking Harry up far more than he thought it would.

“I used to think that if I could just ignore parts of me, that I would gain your acceptance, but in doing so, I lost myself along the way,” Malfoy whispered, voice filled with something Harry couldn’t identify with.

“It’s taken me so long to appreciate just what makes me, me. And I like who I am, father. I am proud of me, even if you won’t ever be. Because no matter what I do, you will never see me for who I am. You will never be proud of me. I knew that as a child and tried to pretend that if I just worked harder that one day you would. I lied to myself then, but I refuse to do that now.”

“What are you saying?”

Harry moved a few more tables, the music getting louder but not enough to drown out the continued conversation.

Malfoy sucked in a breath, a flat humourless laugh escaping. “I’m letting you go. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fighting when there is no resolution. I won’t ever stop being who I am, and I get that you don’t understand. But I don’t need you to understand. All I wanted was for you to be the father that I never had. I realize that is asking too much of you, and for that, we can go our separate ways.”

“Draco,” Lucius closed his eyes, before shaking his head rapidly, over and over. “I just—the fighting gets to me too. I don’t want to alienate you, I don’t. I just need time to understand and get used to this.”

“Take your time,” said Malfoy, breathless but firm. “But do it away from me. Because I can’t be the son you want anymore. I need to be myself in a healthy environment, and that’s not near you.”

“You are the son I need and want.”

Harry blinked rapidly, eyes stinging. He knew weddings brought out the best and worst in people, but he didn’t think he would have ever seen this.

“Then prove it,” Malfoy begged. “Take the time to come back and be the father I need. Because right now it’s neither a want or a need.”

Malfoy’s words had Lucius flinching, but the man nodded regardless.

Harry looked away when Lucius disapparated, the noise more than just a sound, it was an end to something, and Harry felt for Malfoy.

When Harry looked to Ginny, he noticed she was wiping her eyes. Something Harry could relate to. Merlin.

Movement had Harry snapping his head up, eyes widening when Malfoy walked over to their table and collapsed in a chair.

“I need a drink, or five, or the whole bottle,” Malfoy mumbled before raising his head and shaking it. “No, forget that. I’m not numbing this victory in alcohol.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Was he supposed to own up to listening? Was it rude to pretend they hadn’t heard part of the fight?

“I don’t know if you are aware of this,” Malfoy began, a small smile taking over the weary expression that had previously been there. “But I just won.”

“Won what?” Ginny asked quietly.

“Myself. Everything. I stood up for myself and it may not work out how I want, but I did it. And I won.”

Harry bit his lip, unsure if what was in his head was wise to voice. “This may not mean much coming from me, but I’m proud of you.”

How could he not? Listening to the fight and hearing Malfoy’s words could only lead to understanding. How could he not be proud of Malfoy?

Malfoy closed his eyes, shaky breath rattling out.

Harry’s heart ached at the realization that that might be the first time Malfoy had someone say that to him.

When Malfoy’s eyes opened, Harry could see the gratitude that wouldn’t get voiced, but that was alright. He didn’t need the words to see the truth.

A silence settled around them, not exactly stifling but still a tad uncomfortable. Harry leaned forward, head resting on his hand. “Do you want to dance?”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes before looking to the rest of the guests dancing. “Are you sure you want that? I’m kind of a mess.”

Harry knew that Malfoy was looking at the act as more than just a dance. Nothing was ever simple with them, but it was what Harry wanted.

“I’ve got baggage too,” Harry pointed out, not really wanting to say that, but it was only fair since he overheard way too much as it was.

“And what?” Malfoy asked, smile widening. “You want to argue over whose baggage is worse?”

Harry stood up, hand outstretched and teasing smirk in place. “Maybe I do. I can’t let you have one over me.”

“I think I’ll let you win that one,” Malfoy said before placing his hand on Harry’s and letting himself be pulled up.

“Oh no,” Harry argued. “You can’t concede already. This argument could last awhile.”

“Awhile, huh?” Malfoy asked, hand tightening around Harry’s. “I can do that.”

Ginny watched them walk away with a warm smile on her face.

“I love weddings.”

-------------------------------------

Anon, I am so with you. I was screaming to @rmh8402 for a bit about bisexual Draco. Sorry for this being in my inbox so long. I need more bisexual Draco in my life. I do think this went more emotional than I wanted to. Ah well. 

I hope you enjoyed this! 

[bumblingbrujo]

Los Tres Hermanos || Lilo + Miguel + Iann || Chatzy Log

Iann and Miguel have a surprise for Lilo. 

@ianncardero @lilo-el-lobo

Iann "So? Did you call him?" Iann asked, as he barged into Miguel's place. Well he knocked first, but then just tried the front door and it opened for him, as Miguel was expecting him. And if they were going to be brothers or whatever, Iann figured barging in without waiting was par the course. As was, Iann belatedly realized, leaving the front door unlocked. Iann came over to the side window, peering through as if he could catch a glimpse of Lilo living his life. Iann had no issues with being a peeping tom. "Is he coming over? You realize this is going to be fucking nuts, right? If he reacts worse than I did, don't be surprised. Or upset."

Miguel made a small surprised gurgle noise and jumped a little as Iann opened the front door wide. "Yes, yes I called him. He seemed a little confused but he said he'd come over. I said it was neighbor stuff... that's not a lie right?" Miguel had nervously cleaned the whole house. The idea of telling someone you were long lost siblings going badly didn't occur to him until Iann had done it - but now it was all he could think about and he was worried. "Why would he take it worse?" Miguel asked sadly. "Of course I'll be upset if it goes badly. I like Lilo. I was devastated when I thought you didn't want to be my brother." He pouted a little, playing up the little brother thing just a bit. Though... he was the middle child. Technically. Of the three of them. Of the three brothers. Wow three brothers. It was so new and exciting and Miguel didn't know why everyone was taking it so badly.

Iann "No not a lie," Iann said with a slight smile at the smaller man. He did appreciate that at least, that Miguel wanted to let Lopez know as soon as possible. No lies from him, and he never felt upset about Miguel taking a while to come tell him either. Particularly as Iann didn't take it very well at all. He shrugged at Miguel's question. "Everyone's got their reasons, Miguel. Especially when it concerns family issues. You don't know what his life was like." None of them really knew what their lives were like, and yet here they were, thrown together by genetics and one horny fucker. He did note the pout though, and clapped Miguel's shoulder. "Place looks clean, smells like Pine Sol."

"I just want everything to be... okay, it doesn't have to be perfect, just not bad." At the clean comment Miguel scoffed. "What am I? A gringo? It smells like Fabuloso, not Pine Sol," he said 'Pine Sol' in the most white nasal American accent he could do. "I know where to get it in Washington even." Might as well start deflecting his feelings with humor. He stopped joking when he heard Lilo walking up the front steps. "Okay okay, be nice," he said pointedly at Iann.

"Fabulosooo," Iann sighed, chucking a fist into his open palm. "I knew it smelled familiar." Of course Miguel managed to find it here - but then when they heard the door, Iann held his hands up in deference. "I'll be super nice. So nice, I'll let you do all the talking, hm? I'll just stand behind you and glower."

Lilo walked up to the front door of his neighbor. Not suspecting anything life changing he has some makeshift Tupperware in hand. Had he suspected more for tonight he may have noticed the shifting body of Iann trying to get a look at him before, or Miguel's strange caginess. Lilo tried the door, unlocked of course, opening it more gently as he called out. "Oye! Amigo, we made some soup and had extra? You want soup? It's got kale and meat in it and stuff... soup stuff..." Lilo sniffed the air and blinked in confusion before even laying eyes on the other men there to greet him. "Sooo... neighbor stuff?"

Miguel glared quickly at Iann. "No. Glowering." Before he walked toward the door to greet Lilo. "Hey, amigo. Soup sounds great thank you." Cassie and Lilo had been spoiling him with leftovers, especially when they knew he was on call for the ER, which made his life so much easier. He loved his neighbors and he really didn't want to upset Lilo. "Yes well... a little more than neighbor stuff... magical neighbor stuff." He glanced again at Iann, he could expect no help from the gruff older man. "You might want to sit down for this. I mean it's not bad, but it's a lot to take in and... I don't want to upset you."

If only because Iann knew something that Lopez didn't, instead of glowering the human couldn't help smirking, just a bit smugly. He folded his arms, and sat on the armrest of the couch, and stared at the werewolf. "Hey pal," Iann said, not intending his greeting to sound like a taunt but...he really couldn't help himself.

Lilo frowned. Iann was looking smug, and if there was one thing he hated it was a smug Iann. The man was already too clever then he had a right to be and Lilo hated that it looked like the human knew something he didn't. "Okay..." To preserve the peace Lilo handed off the tub of still warm soup. He sat down on the couch, gently as if there might be something hiding in it that would bite at him. "Uhuh, hey," He eyed Iann, the pulling his face to one side. "So what kind of magical neighbor nonsense did you get the nice town doctor into anyway? And why's it involve all of us here?"

Miguel couldn't bring himself to sit on the couch with them.... with his brothers. Instead he stood in front of Lilo and wrung his hands. "Well, Iann didn't get me into it so much as, I got him into it. Or we're all in it and I just... figured it out uhm." He needed to stop stalling and just spit it out. So he closed his eyes tight and let it fly out of his mouth. "We're half brothers!  All of us. The three of us. We have the same dad. I found out with magic."

Iann was grinning so tightly his jaw was flexing and twitching, teeth clenched as he watched Lilo react to this. To add an extra measure, Iann unfolded his arms and spread his hands out. "This isn't a joke, no prank. Unless Miguel's lying or something - I haven't found a way to verify this claim, and he's the doctor and the witch, so. Hermano."

Lilo went to open his mouth, eyes darting from the grinning Iann to the hand wringing Miguel, then closed it and thought better of it. He sat for a while, letting the sudden shattering revelation settle in. He stared forward and shook his head. "I... I mean. No. That's" He shook his head, laughter spilling out in breathy awkward bursts. They said it wasn't a joke, but Lilo just couldn't manage to take it seriously. "Seriously? Guys? You call me over here, to what feels like a very weird and sad intervention at first with just two guys here. And tell me this?" He laughed again, head shaking as he moved to stand. "Okay, sure sure. Hermano, that I don't believe."

Lilo didn't believe them... and Miguel didn't know if that was better or worse than taking it badly. Maybe denial was a form of taking it badly. "No, Lilo. En serio." He sighed. "I started to suspect some things when a magical tome that's attuned to my family accepted Iann as one of its owners. I asked a blood witch to do a spell to let me find blood relatives and it said you two, and Addie of course, but less for her. And even then I wasn't sure, I thought the other witch might have messed up the strength and it was just showing me the closest Chicanos but... then I did a paternity test spell from my abuela." He put down the glass that Lilo had used the night he was drunk and talking about his feelings in Miguel's house. "I used my blood and your spit," he explained. "We're brothers. All of us."

Lilo shook his head, standing but shifting back and forth from his prosthetic. "Okay, hermano. I believe you." He looked at Miguel, taking his words more seriously. The doctor seemed adamant and animated as he spoke, and it was hard arguing against that kind of energy. "You, I can understand. Miguel. I can wrap my head around you and me, long lost finding each other here sure. But Iann?" His laughter pitched higher. "This guy?" His thumb gestured back to the couch. "I know this guy, known him for years. There's no way. I mean we can't be. I would have... I feel like I would have picked up on something. I mean look at him! He's gigantic! So tall" His hands gestured up and down wildly, as if measuring his fellow chicano in the air. "How is he related to us shorties, huh? Is his mother huge?"

Iann "You haven't known me for years, stop being dramatic," Iann said, standing up and scoffing at Lilo. "....okay you do kind of know me for a couple years, I guess, but not well, Not since - well - that time - you know what I mean," Iann waved a hand in the air, simultaneously calling up the past and dismissing it in one fell motion. Iann was so far highly amused at all of Lilo's confusion, and ironically he also agreed that yes - Miguel made sense for Iann too. But Lilo Lopez?? Then Lilo had to go talk smack about Mala and Iann's face got an immediate mottled red. "My mother was perfect!!" he hollered. "I can't help it if I got all the good genes."

Lilo threw up his hands, shoulders following suit. "I'm not saying anything bad about your Mama. I was just wondering if she was also six foot maybe."

Iann pointed a finger. "You just watch it Lopez or you'll get six feet up your ass."

Miguel had thought that Lilo and Iann got along. But apparently that wasn't super correct. He glanced between the two of them and had a selfish thought about how it would probably be okay if they both liked him but didn't get along with each other. He sighed and shook his head. "Already fighting like siblings I see," he tried to force the mood to be light, even though they looked ready to pitch two fits. "I would have been tall if I was cis," he mumbled softly, more to himself than to Lilo, but the wolf would hear him. "Okay okay okay," Miguel said as he put his hands up too, but he put his hands up between the other two. "Stop."

Lilo jutted up his chin just a bit, an ingrained reaction to Iann's tone. "You just try it culero. Try it. I would like to see." He was prepared to stare Iann down, but Miguel was being much more practical and calm. It shamed Lilo into backing down slightly, head nodding in agreement to stop. Picking up partly on Miguel's admission. He looked more thoughtful, a look that belied his concern but not that it was more directly related to being the shortest cis-man in the group of brothers than anything else. Concerns could be petty.

"Okay we're all brothers and I think it's great and I like you both a lot. I'd like it if you'd get along with each other but I'd settle for you not fighting until you get out of my house,” Miguel warned them. 

Iann was all smiles and terse cheer when Miguel intervened, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Who's fighting? We're just having a nice talk," Iann stated, giving Lilo a wink over Miguel's head. "So what do we do now? Have a beer and...make it official?"

Lilo settled down, wanting to sit. It was actually starting to sink in that he had more brothers, of course he did, but- "Oooh wow. This is real? This is really real, huh?" He breathed out, eyes widened, head shaking. He took a long look at Miguel. No longer using his easy irritation at Iann distract him. "We're related? We are like that joke, about chicanos not being all related but now are all related and oooh wow. This is exciting? It feels exciting? But also maybe making me a little dizzy-sick. Sick and dizzy" His eyes darted to Iann, stomach threatening to flip.

Miguel chuckled a little. Lilo was so sweet, and relief was washing through him, making him a little giddy. "You sit, Lilo. I'll get you a water. Iann and I can have the beer." He bumped Iann's shoulder on the way to the kitchen.

Iann "That's a joke?" Iann piped up, looking to Miguel for confirmation. If it was, it certainly wasn't one Iann had heard, oddly enough...but not really that oddly. Iann lived a large part of his life white-passing and code-switching depending on the company. "Why don't you take a seat, guey. Before you upchuck kale meat soup all over Miguel's nice clean floor."

Lilo first reaction was to glare at Iann's suggestiong, and stay standing just to spite him. Some part of this announcement felt like it flung him back into childhood, when he was a lonely moody teen just finding his standing and dealing with his mom having more kids with a step-dad he hated. Lilo hated this feeling, but not upchucking kale soup was good advice. He sat. "Ay, thanks Miguel. A big water if you got it..."

Miguel just laughed some more, grinning even, two brothers and they were all joking and grumbly but they were there, with Miguel. "I mean, you know how we joked about the gringos mistaking us for each other just because we're chicano? Kind of like that I'm assuming." Miguel shrugged. "Just cleaned," he said with a nod. "With fabuloso," he added with a smirk. He got the water for Lilo (a big water) first and handed it to him.

Iann returned to the couch armrest, watching as Miguel returned. The grin on the witch's face, Iann had no idea what to do with it. Granted, at least Lilo handled the news better than Iann did...so far anyway. Iann guessed that Lopez would have his meltdown later, once it all sunk in. For now the werewolf would just keep face. "Ah, I gotcha. Gringos," Iann said, taking the beer. He didn't drink immediately, and just fiddled with the label, thinking about Miguel so tastefully saying 'the other witch' when he explained the spell. Ciara, of course - Miguel told Iann, but maybe Lilo had never met Ciara. Why would he. But Iann's thoughts were digressing. "So...what now?" he asked, looking up between the two of them, suddenly serious and grim.

Miguel opened his own beer. He glanced at Iann and took a deep breath. "I have no idea."

Lilo shrugged, water in hand and threatening to spill on the freshly fabulos-ed floor. "I mean what now? What are we supposed to do? Go on a brother vacation? A brother journey to discover lost treasure? What should we do..." He paused to take a couple gulps of water. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "I mean... anybody actually know our dad. What he's like besides the fact that he gets around a lot..."

Iann "Who cares," Iann dismissed the dad question brusquely, then got up to look out one of Miguel's windows at the birds in the back yard. He took a swig of beer. "I guess we just go back to normal life. You tell Pegs, I tell...Bellamy, well. I've already told Bellamy. And Miguel - you tell that kid of yours at the University? Then that's that. What more is there for us to do, I don't - I don't think we need to find out more. " Iann glanced over at them both, then back out the window. "At least, I don't want to, personally."

Miguel pursed his lips. He already knew how Iann felt about it, but it sounded like Lilo was a little more on his page, a little more curious. It was odd, and Miguel wanted to know why it had played out the way it had. He was also a little surprised by how close Iann thought he was to Hawthorn, they may have been in the same coven but the only reason they were getting along was because the kid had a concussion and needed coven help, at least that was what Miguel had assumed. The idea was enough to send him into a spiral. He didn't have a fiancee or a best friend even, he had a coven member. There wasn't a way to tell Lilo that they could talk about it after Iann left, at least not a polite way. "We don't need to, but..."

"But it might be nice to know." Lilo finished for Miguel. Stopping to take another drink of water. "You can't tell me you are not at least a little bit curious. C'mon Iann! You're the human out of us. Aren't you worried about heart disease or baldness. Horrible things like that." He shrugged, unaware of Miguel's spiraling or the source of Iann's tetchiness about their shared father. "It's a fucking mystery. Three guys, all different, all in the same town. How does all of these coincidences not worry you?"

"Nope," Iann said firmly, but with that forced chipperness. He didn't want the beer anymore, but he dutifully chugged it so it wouldn't go to waste, and then went to Miguel's kitchen, seeking and finding the recycle bin. He returned, dry washing his hands. "Well, I'm going now. Surprise over. You two can sort whatever else you want, hm? I'll see you both around, I gotta, ah, I have things --" Iann looked at his watch (thank god he remembered to put it on this morning or he'd look pretty dumb looking at his wrist). "-- things I have to do, goodbye." Iann nodded at Miguel and headed out.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

It’s All a Farce, Right?

Title: It’s All a Farce, Right? - Kidge Week 2017 Day 4 Prompt Fill Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Keidge Summary:Lance has too much faith in his teammates. Pidge and Keith are oblivious to their own feelings. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more. AN: Had other obligations that from prevented me from getting this out on the right day. I should be able to get day 5 and 6 uploaded tomorrow though.

“Oh, I am so on to both of you,”

His answer didn’t come in a frantic, embarrassed denial like he had been sort of hoping; but, rather, a quirked eyebrow and annoyed scowl. “What are you talking about, Lance?” Pidge asked bluntly before returning her attention to the calculations she’d been working out on her computer. His ambush had come out of nowhere and she – having been awake all night finishing up the last bit of repairs on Red and starting the diagnosis on Yellow – wasn’t really in the mood for his strange games.

“You and Keith! How you two are all… You know,” He said, gesturing wildly about him, as if that would articulate his point better than words.

“We’re all what? What are you trying to say?” She asked incredulously.

Lance huffed indignantly, shook his head, and then shifted to hold his hands up in her face. He had folded his fingers over his thumb on both hands, the way one might hide their hand when making a sock puppet to entertain a toddler. “Mweh mweh mweh,” He said in an almost sing-song tone, bringing up the pitch of his to a poor attempt at a falsetto, flapping the fingers of his left hand to imitate talking.

He then shifted the right hand closer to the left. “Mweh. Mweh mweh mweh,” He said, repeating the action with his right hand but dropping the volume of his voice this time. He then opened his fingers to represent open mouths, then slammed his hands together and made aggressive kissing noises.

Pidge blinked once, slowly, and then wrinkled her nose a bit at the whole display. “I… Sorry, but I’m still not following,” She said bluntly.

“You’ve got to be messing with me! No one is that oblivious! Are you just trying to make me look stupid?” Lance wailed in distress.

“Don’t answer that; it’s a trick question,” Keith suddenly chimed in as he walked into the room. He was carrying a small plate and glass of milk as he approached, wearing a small smirk at the angry flush creeping up along Lance’s cheeks. He then set the plate and glass down on Pidge’s work table while peering over her shoulder. “Did Red give you any trouble last night?”

She perked up and hummed vaguely, picking up the bagel-like object with some kind of neon green spread atop it from the plate. With Hunk’s impressive palate and culinary skills, he had started figuring out ways to combine ingredients they found from the planets they visited to recreate some Earth cuisine. One of the best things he’d discovered was how to make breads, bagels, croissants and cinnamon rolls. It didn’t taste completely right – and all bread-based items typically tended up with a dark blue coloration to it – but it was close enough to help ward off the homesickness they all occasionally dealt with.

Hunk had even figured out how to make a pseudo-peanut butter too.

“Red was surprisingly well-behaved, despite you not being around to coerce her to be good,” Pidge said, her tone light and playful before she took a bite of the bagel. She then took a sip of the milk and smiled. “And thanks for the food; you even remembered which topping I like.” She mused lightly.

“Well, since I didn’t end up staying up late to help you keep Red in line and I know you tend to space on this kind of stuff, I figured it was the least I could do,” He said with a small shrug. He then grinned and nudged her chair with his hip. “Besides, if I had put anything else on the bagel, you probably would have just thrown it in my face.”

“Hey now! If anyone it liable to throwing a fit over the treatment of food, it’s Hunk and you know it!” She said with a teasing grin.

Lance covered his face with his hands and let out a long, annoyed groan, causing Pidge and Keith to turn their attention back to him.

“What’s his problem?” Keith asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the table of her desk.

She snorted and shrugged, taking another bite of her bagel. “I have no idea. He tried to articulate it using his hands,” She said, setting her bagel down to imitate what Lance had done with his hands. Keith glanced blandly from her hands to her face, his brow slowly raising. “Yeah I have no idea.” She snorted before picking her bagel back up and resuming eating.

“You two are seriously just playing with my head! You can’t pretend you don’t get it!” He snapped angrily.

“Don’t get what?” Keith asked bluntly.

“You two! You’re, like, totally a thing! You guys have a thing going on and you can’t fool me!”

“A thing? What ‘thing’ do you mean?” Keith asked, using air quotes.

“Now you’ve given him an excuse to bother us further, you fool,” Pidge said flatly around a mouthful of bagel.

“You two are totally crushing on each other! Don’t deny it; I’m a master of all things romance!” He snapped, pointing a finger between them each accusingly. He then held up one hand and started ticking off his points. “Constantly hang out with each other-!”

“Gee, it’s almost like we have similar interests or something,” Pidge snorted.

Lance opted to ignore her. “You’re always whispering and giggling with each other!”

“Only because Shiro said that we shouldn’t be talking smack where everyone could hear us,” Keith cut in.

“And you’re always doing stuff like this for each other! Pidge always fixes Red up before she even does diagnosis on any of the other Lions, she always does upgrades for your bayard before the rest of us, and other stuff! And then you, Keith,” He huffed, pointing from Pidge to the darker haired male, “You’re always taking extra time to help Pidge with her physical fighting skills, sitting in here with her when she’s working, and bringing her snacks and drinks and whatever! You can’t tell me that you don’t have a crush on each other!” He blurted out frantically.

Pidge and Keith slowly looked at each other and started laughing outright. “You’re kidding, right? We’re teammates! That’s what you’re supposed to do!” Keith snickered

Pidge nodded through her giggles. “Hell, everything you said can be easily waved off if you apply logic to it! I repair Red Lion first because Red usually takes the most damage in battle; and, even more than that, if we get attacked before I can fix all the others, Red is the fastest so she could do the most damage quickly if we needed to escape. I do upgrades for Keith’s bayard first because he’s usually still up when I’m ready to start making them, so it’s a matter of convenience,” She explained, still grinning at Lance in that mocking way of hers.

“She pretty much hit the nail on the head. Pidge isn’t outright awful at hand-to-hand combat, but her technique can be a bit sloppy, so it makes more sense that I just help her clean it up. I hang out with her in here because it’s usually calm and peaceful, and she’s a workaholic. If someone didn’t bring her food, she’d probably die,” Keith pointed out as his own laughing fit started to die down.

“Oh, please. I can take care of myself, you know,” Pidge said with a small laugh.

“I’m well aware, but just because you can doesn’t mean that you will,” He responded calmly.

“Hmm. You know me too well, Mr. Kogane,” She hummed in amusement before turning her attention back to her work.

Lance watched the exchange than threw his hands up. “You know what? Fine! Go on ahead and keep pretending like I’m wrong! You’re gonna feel real stupid when you eventually end up dating!” He snapped before storming out. Most likely to find Hunk and whine about how Keith and Pidge were being ridiculous and trying to deny the logical conclusions of his expert investigation.

“What a spazz,” Pidge said without looking up.

Keith snorted and nodded. “Understatement of the century there,” He agreed while staring at the hanger doors. Though neither of them saw it, they were both now spotting a bit of a blush and working over the same thought.

How the Hell did Lance figure out how I feel?

[fireteamcatastrophe]

The Red War, “Where Did The Party Go?”

((Continuing on from “Hard Time,” this is Henry Gordon’s take on the Red War. As far as canonicity goes, amongst the three members of Fireteam Catastrophe, Henry is “The Guardian” that everyone talks about. The other two are fairly noteworthy in that some of the things are attributed primarily to one of the other two (ex: Breaker-77 is the one who was responsible for killing Crota while Henry has credit for Atheon. Other things, but I have to write that out somewhere. >> Anyhow, let’s get to Henry Gordon’s spin on the Red War kicking off. It’s... Gonna be almost thirteen times as bad as Breaker’s.))

Fire. So much fire. Only a portion of it was from Henry’s Light, and that nudged something deep inside his chest. It was refusing to give, though. His Light topped out, flaring brightly into the hazy night as various spells were shouted with all forms of words. From song lyrics to legitimate arcane wording, the Warlock met the Cabal on the top of the Tower. He’d come back from a run around the Cosmodrome, searching for stores of old Golden Age music. Ironically, he’d found a few servers his Ghost had managed to download. It was a herculean effort, but one that paid off.

“This world can’t take on me, I won’t let go!”

A surge of Solar Light stuck to the Centurion that leaped above his platform, and the ensuing explosion was eclipsed by his leap beyond it, where a Nova Bomb followed suit. He was struck down upon landing, leaping from the death in a blaze of glory. As the music blared into his helmet, he relayed the lyrics out to the world. Giving it all he had to give, the Cabal undoubtedly felt his fury. It burned with the fire of Sol, and it was cold like the Void he drew from. The battered Tower would remain strong, because of the power of Henry Gordon. He would ensure it.

After all, this was just another Tuesday.

Henry knew his home was under siege, he began to gather that this occupying force would be moderately successful, but as he ripped the hordes apart he knew that their victory would be short lived at best. He hoped.

No, he knew the Light would prevail. He had his music, he had his power, nothing would stop that. Tonight, he felt alive.

“The Red Legion have never known defeat!” Ikora Rey shouted. It echoed in his helmet, bouncing around his skull and sticking to his vision as if it were a filter of despair. Henry had never known defeat either: not when the Vex tried to erase him, not when Breaker-77 led him into the pit and Ir-Yut sang death unto him (he sang louder!), not when Alice got him roped into helping Variks and the Queen, and defiantly not when Oryx arrived. Aksis didn’t stand a chance, either. The SIVA Crisis was nothing in comparison to Henry’s sheer determination, his willpower, and his enthusiasm.

Henry shook the burden of fear from his shoulders: he would rise, fall, and rise again until the world stopped. It’s the only way he knew, and the only way he’d follow. Drawing a custom-forged blade, “Bada Bing! Wit’ A Pipe,” he found himself at the Tower Plaza. Zavala held the line with him, saying very little more than tactical chatter that was drowned out in Henry’s singing. There was a brief moment, however, when Henry realized something.

Zavala was in cover.

The Titan of all Titans was hiding in cover, firing out with occasional pot-shots, rather than charging headlong into the fray.

“Henry! Go! Secure the Speaker with Ikora! I will see to the evacuation of the civilians!”

Henry let out a hearty laugh, “Will do, Zavala! Good to be on the front lines, right?”

“This is serious, Warlock!” Zavala sounded angry. Did... No. Zavala didn’t doubt that they would prevail. He was just angry that Henry was having fun. Though, as Henry saw the City burn below, he realized that ‘fun’ wasn’t a word to use.

Henry sprinted, mapping out a series of rifts that he could blink through to leap to the Speaker. There was always conduits of Light he was able to finagle into tunnels, things that would let him blink around and enjoy the Tower on his various errands. Now, though, the Light was... Warped. The tunnels were rebellious, refusing to hold steady and making minor changes that required constant adjustment. As Henry landed where the Speaker used to study his lore, Henry realized that he was standing above a smoking crater.

Ikora screamed, and she flew from a similar rift to drop a Nova Bomb on the first Cabal ship to approach. Henry could only float there, stunned by his mentor breaking her outward appearance of calm and collected to express true, unending fury. The Voidwalker epitomized, Ikora did something Henry could only hope to ever do: she surfed the Cabal ship into the city below.

“I’ll find the Speaker! Henry! Go!”

Henry heard Cabal blasting a wall apart, the one to the market square, and he was so shocked he couldn’t even feel the fire required to ignite the sky, nor did he have the spells to conjure the Void ready. He did however have the cold of his shock to draw upon, and so he drew it out with an exhale. The Arc Light poured from his fingers, and he glided through the Cabal battalion with a calm, collected ease. As the storm poured out unto the foes, vaporizing them with the grace of a hurricane viewed from orbit, Henry could only find his trance deepen at the trauma of what was happening.

The City burned, the Speaker gone, Zavala scared, and Ikora furious.

Henry held it all together until the Arc Light was depleted, and then he couldn’t take it any further: his eyes began to water. The first was denial, then it was bargaining. Henry took his helmet off for a moment, and ran his fingers through his hair. The scent was thick with smoke, the world was burning. Earth could be entirely on fire, Henry wouldn’t know the difference. What would he draw on? What would encourage him to continue fighting? This was everything he ever knew!

“Henry,” his Ghost asked, “Are you... You’re not alright.”

“No, Hank. I’m not. Look at this! This mess!” Henry’s arms gestured wildly, sweeping fingers across rooftops and addressing a building that had been blown apart to expose a small apartment. The apartment had a couch, a bedroom, things most peaceful homes would always have. “What am I supposed to do!? I sing, I throw magic, and I hurt bad guys. I don’t...”

“You don’t finish that sentence, is what!” the Ghost was forceful now, “You are Henry Gordon. The only Warlock I’ve ever known to walk into Vex architecture and make the entire structure rattle in fear! There might be others who did, but generally they are only afraid of Titans. You defy their simulation so thoroughly that you make them shudder at your approach! You danced with Ir-Yut, moshing to her Deathsong! You helped Alice put down Skolas not once but twice! Henry Gordon, you-”

“I’m not even Henry, Hank! I’m just some nobody that poor kid caught a ride with. We were hitchhikers!”

“But you know what you did?! You saw someone who wanted a better life, and decided to live it for them. They wanted to be a hero, a savior, someone who would see this and be only steadfast! A real-deal badass, to use a phrase you told me! You can’t have this breakdown right now, the City needs you!”

“No, they ne-”

“You shut your mouth! I don’t care what your name was before I found you, and I doubly don’t care about how you feel conflicted about every little thing that’s gone wrong, from your inexplicable cynicism toward working relationships to your strange obsession with eating pizza and plaid clothing, you are the hero that the City needs!”

There was a moment of silence, and Henry stood up from his knees. He looked up, and saw a Cabal Centurion entering the plaza. It pounded its chest, laughing at Henry’s plight. Raising its weapon, a massive shotgun-looking device, Henry could feel the Light surge. He chased forward, in a move that was too fast for the Centurion to keep up with. The shot went wide, Henry’s twisting torso making an easy dodge, and the flames of every bitter moment for three years went through the Centurion’s body. Its torso cooked, and the entire creature turned to ash. Henry drew a shotgun, and worked his way through the rest of the Cabal squad in a similar blur.

“Zavala, I found that Guardian you won’t shut up about,” Amanda Holliday spoke on a frequency Henry only barely heard.

“Get Henry aboard that command ship! Whoever is leading this, he is the only Guardian I can find in all this! Breaker-77 is with me, we’re getting these civilians out of the City!“

“You all do that! I’m out here, OW OW OW, oh, hey, it’s Cayde, Alice is on my six! Yea, I’m good never mind! We’re going to try taking out some of the command structure, maybe knock out some of the people who could pick up after you deal with the big guy!”

Henry Gordon’s mind blurred through the rest of the day. As the night dragged on, he could only think in lyrics. His fire needed to engulf the Cabal leader, and he needed to do so with as much gusto as possible. That would break the morale of the Cabal forces, and set up the Tower for a much easier clean-up. This was just a minor thing, after all! The Warlock took heart, singing out the lyrics that could only make him happy. A warcry as much as a lifeline, the music was played through his Ghost but lyrics came from his own throat. He made a mosh pit in every part of the ship, and worked his way to the command deck after exploding several pieces of valuable equipment and using the chunks as improvised weapons. He ran out through doors, and found himself on a flight deck. Staring at the Traveler, he saw a strange device attach itself to the sleeping wonder.

“How do we get rid of that?” Henry asked, panting from his lyrics.

“You don’t.”

Henry turned, looking toward a massive Cabal and two Centurions exiting from the doors he’d just used.

“Welcome to a world, without Light.”

The machine pulsed. Henry’s entire body felt as if it were pulled by a black hole, every muscle screaming at once. Henry tried to conjure up a spell, something to keep himself up. Nothing came to his hands, and his Ghost sputtered something as it fell. Henry dropped to his knees, and fumbled after Hank. Dragging the small machine toward him, Henry heard Ghaul’s approach. If Hank stayed alive, so would Henry. He prayed that the strange machine hadn’t totally cut him off from the Light, but a part of him knew that was exactly what had happened.

“Weak! Undisciplined! You’ve forgotten the fear of Death. Allow me to reacquaint you.” Henry felt an impact in his chest, and he flew to the edge of the ship. He clutched Ghost tightly, struggling to breathe. He couldn’t even right himself before he was punted again, this time losing grasp on Hank. He reached ineffectually after his Ghost, eyes watering in pain as the massive Cabal monologued.

“I’ve watched you. You are undisciplined in the extreme. You follow no code, no tactics, no order, you simply exist in combat. You are shamefully boastful, counting on your ostentatious tactics to win you the day. Your Light is all that allows you to succeed. But not against me, for I am Ghaul. And now, your Light is mine.”

Henry leaned on his feet, staring straight up at the Cabal that called itself Ghaul. A massive boot lifted up from the deck and pressed to Henry’s face. With a nudge, Henry fell. He subconsciously tried to fight the gravity, kept trying to use his magic to keep him afloat, but it all became worthless posturing after a few seconds. Before Henry passed out from the shock, he saw the roofs of the City.

Upon landing, he barely even recognized the difference. He blacked out for hours, only waking up to the sound of his Ghost.

“Hen... Ry?” the Ghost’s voice was weak, feeble, but Henry needed to get up. He willed himself out of the ground, crawling towards the voice, desperate. He found Hank, and the small machine healed him. They walked, having discovered that the City was being evacuated. The Tower fell, and the Traveler was lost.

Henry walked the streets, too injured and meek to even warrant the Cabal’s attention for longer than it took to notice him, and could only feel the despair build to insurmountable levels. People hid in the streets, cowering. They looked to Henry for help, pleading that he do something. But he couldn’t even meet their glances. The most he did was nod forward, hoping they understood his inability.

Ghaul’s words rang true, and as he staggered the mountains of Old Russia, he began to believe them.