#i just hope I’m about to stop the bouts of paralysis | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

toosicktoocare · 4 years

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prompt: Idk if you're taking prompts and I've literally never done this before, but I think you're great! I've been looking for witcher fics online, specifically jaskier whump, and I've noticed there's nothing about paralysis, maybe you could do something where jaskier eats a poisonous plant and gets paralysed (temporary)or maybe even infected with some poison or something then geralt has to carry him around and take care of him? You don't have to if u don't want to lol ☺️

Love this! Nice and fresh idea! (Also, I’ve never written paralysis before, and I’m not a doctor, so bear with me, lol)

Brief mentions of the no no berry fic! Also, while this fic is a stand-alone prompt, it’s also falling in line with my “a witcher in need, perhaps it’s destiny” series on ao3 where Jaskier and Geralt are navigating through their complicated relationship.

Jaskier should have learned, he should have etched the lesson of his previous mistake to heart, but hunger’s a devil that toys with his mind and grabs at his stomach. It warps his surroundings, his vision growing too large and round to too small and curved, blurry images. Hunger has him feeling faint, walking across a rope bridge swaying over a canyon, and it brings forth hot desperation that he voices to Geralt over and over.

“Geralt, I’m famished,” Jaskier whines, voice dragging out each word as slow as his heavy footfalls, and Geralt, who’s been keeping a considerately slow pace only a few steps ahead of him, stops, turning with a tender frown that brings a furrow to his brow.

“I know,” he mutters softly, and Jaskier shuffles up to his side, groaning lowly deep within his throat when Geralt places a large hand to the small of his back. He pulls his focus to the steady warmth that radiates a hint of power through touch alone.

“We’ll stop soon,” Geralt reassures, eyes struggling to move from Jaskier’s thin, pale complexion to the forest surrounding them, to the tall, towering trees that hide the danger that doesn’t wish to be seen. “This spot isn’t safe.” He slides his hand up from Jaskier’s back to his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “Do you think you can manage a little while more?”

Jaskier nods, the small tilt of his head bringing with it an unwanted bout of dizziness that has one hand curling around his stomach while the other blindly reaches for Geralt’s tunic, fingers clutching at the fabric, and Geralt’s growls his name, concern colored in his gruff tone.

“Jaskier,” his hand tightens around Jaskier’s shoulder, keeping him grounded. “Maybe you should ride Roach...”

“And suffer a head injury when I topple off of her?” Jaskier questions, swallowing around a dull ache of nausea. He breathes through his swimming vision until it steadies where he can bring a weary gaze toward Roach. “I don’t think so.” He’s slow to bring his eyes to Geralt’s narrow ones, and they speak silently for an endless moment, faded, tired blue eyes trying to hold their own against burning amber ones.

“If you’re sure,” Geralt finally says, and he starts forward, keeping closer to Jaskier, walking only two steps ahead of him, and he listens only to the staggering footsteps behind him, making sure they continue, looking back when they falter, until they reach a small clearing that he deems will have to be safe enough since he’s not sure how much longer Jaskier can remain upright. He’s quick to get Roach settled, and he only stops briefly before leaving in search of food to stare hard at Jaskier, who’s standing in the middle of the clearing, eyes distant, heavy, and glued to a tree.

“Jaskier?” Geralt starts toward him, one hand reaching out to him. “Why don’t you sit down?” He snakes an arm around Jaskier’s waist, guiding him to a tree he can lean against. “I won’t be gone long,” he promises, and Jaskier’s struggling to focus, only seeing Geralt’s lips moving.

He watches Geralt almost run into the forest, and he then he’s alone, and his hunger talks to him, a familiar dark voice in his ear, one that’s previously urged him to eat a poisonous berry. He tries to shake it away, but it’s louder than the wind around him, louder than the birds above him, and he moves to his feet without control, eyes falling to a bush a few steps across from him.

There are deep purple leaves littering the bush, but in his eyes, he sees plump, juicy grapes, and he stumbles to the bush, heavy bricks at his feet. He plucks one from the bush, and brings it to his lips, hesitating only for a moment as the blurred memories of cramps, dehydration, and a burning fever run through his mind, but then the voice is in his ear again, and he drops the leaf into his mouth.

Slowly, he chews the leaf, entire body rigid and on edge, but the leaf is faintly sweet, definitely no grape but still fighting off his hunger effectively. He plucks another, and another, crunching through a handful, lips curling into a smile with each one.

After his seventh one, he’s satisfied for now, able to wait for the meat Geralt will bring back. He turns on his heel, takes two steps back toward the tree he’s been leaning on, and then stops when icy tingles burn up and down his arms and legs. He shakes his arms out, hops from foot to foot, but the tingling grows until it suddenly fades to a piercing numbness that has his knees shaking. He tries to lift one hand but finds that he can’t, and then his knees give out and he crumples to the ground, arms and legs twisted abnormally.

Panic’s heavy against him as he tries desperately to move to no avail, and it’s the hot panic that has him screaming at the top of his lungs for Geralt, voice cracking, rough, but then Geralt’s breaking through the woods, dropping to his knees beside him.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s hands are hovering over Jaskier’s body, eyes flicking across his listless limbs, falling to the tinge of purple coloring the tips of his fingers. “What did you eat?” He growls, fear morphing with anger as he drags Jaskier’s hand to his eyes.

“The bush,” Jaskier chatters, desperate fear bringing an uncomfortable chill to his dead limbs. He makes to point, but his arm refuses, and he swallows thickly, eyes following as Geralt moves toward the bush and plucks a single leaf off, bringing it in front of his eyes.

“Dark Willow,” Geralt groans, the leaf slipping from his finger as he slowly turns back to Jaskier. “Infamously known as the Purple Dead Limb.”

Jaskier wants to vomit. His stomach lurches, and he pushes his face into the ground and tries desperately to move, to arch his body upward, but he can’t.

“It temporarily seizes your body’s movements,” Geralt explains, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Temporarily?” Jaskier asks, clinging to the single word with hope that burns in his chest. “It’s temporary?”

“Yes,” Geralt sighs, crouching beside Jaskier. He wants to scold Jaskier for his continuous recklessness, but there’s dark pain coloring Jaskier’s normally bright eyes, so he bites back any comments that may darken that gripping pain.

“There’s a town a few hours away,” he glances toward Roach, who’s tired after hours of walking, then back to Jaskier, who can do nothing but move his head. “You can’t support yourself on Roach, and she’s too tired to carry both of us.” He fights back the urge to sigh once more. “Are you in pain?”

“I can’t feel anything,” Jaskier whispers, and saying the words aloud bring hot tears to his eyes. Temporary or not, he’s terrified all the way to his core.

“I’m going to lift you,” Geralt explains, and he’s careful when he slips his hands under Jaskier, moving slowly, frown deepening at the dead weight. It takes long, cautious maneuvering until he’s got Jaskier on his back. He’s supporting Jaskier’s legs, and he’s managed to swing Jaskier’s arms over his shoulders. Jaskier’s forehead is pressed against his neck, and he can feel the warm tears.

“Jaskier, you will be alright,” Geralt says, and Jaskier sniffles behind him, holding to the hope that’s thick in Geralt’s voice.

“I’m scared,” he mutters, voice cracking, and Geralt only quickens his steps, mumbling a soft “I know” as he starts toward the town.

The walk is long, more so because they’ve been travelling in unsettling silence, Jaskier far too quiet at his back. He tries to spark a conversation, but Jaskier’s replies are short, lacking any heart, so he gives up after a while, focusing instead on the unsteady breaths against his neck.

He’s thankful when they reach the town, but he’s forced to clench his teeth at the snide remarks that pass them by as they enter the inn.

“One room,” he requests, struggling to reach into his pocket for his coins. He ignores the arched brows the inn-keep flashes his way as she twirls an old key around her finger.

“Be easy on your pet,” she laughs, handing over the key as Geralt slides a small satchel of coins her way, and Geralt growls low in his throat, glaring to the woman before he starts up the steps to the room.

He carefully drops Jaskier onto the bed, moving to undo his shoes. “Can I get you anything?” He asks quietly, fingers working through the laces of Jaskier’s boots.

“No,” Jaskier mumbles. “I think I’ll just sleep--”

“--Jaskier,” Geralt tries when Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. He finds Jaskier’s hand, cups it with his larger one, and sighs when Jaskier doesn’t react because he still can’t feel it. “Jaskier, open your eyes.”

Jaskier does, and a single tear slips down his cheek. Geralt leans over him, thumbing the tear away with a touch Jaskier can feel. “I told you that you will be alright, so why are you crying?”

“I just...” Jaskier sniffles lightly, wishing to will away the flood pooling in his eyes. “I just want to sleep,” he whispers, not saying that he’s sorry for being an imbecile, that he’s sorry for worrying Geralt, that he’s sorry for not learning from his past mistakes, and that he’s sorry for always being a nuisance to Geralt. He would just rather sleep because if he’s asleep, he can’t feel the fear and guilt swirling into a pit in stomach. His eyes slip closed, and he can feel Geralt watching him for minutes before he sighs and slips off the bed, bringing the blanket to Jaskier’s chin before exiting the room.

Geralt leaves to get Roach settled in a stable and purchase food to bring back to the room, and when he returns, Jaskier’s actually asleep, a deep rise and fall of his chest a clear indication. He unlaces his own boots, pulls his shirt over his head, and climbs into the bed, muscles practically screaming their thanks from a too-long journey with a partiuclar bard on his back.

He rolls to his side, eyes growing heavy as they watch Jaskier’s chest swell and deflate in a steady rhythm until he slips into a deep sleep.

*****

Jaskier comes to slowly, and he brings a hand to his face to rub at his blurry eyes, hand freezing inches before his face as his eyes shoot open. Slowly, he wiggles his fingers with ease, and then he wiggles his toes, feeling the tips brush against the soft blanket covering him. Relief is a heavy pressure in his chest, and he puffs out a sigh he’s been unconsciously holding in as he carefully slips from the bed, eager to work his fingers against the strings of his lute.

He’s a little shaky on his legs, feeling almost as if a new born deer running through a vast, open field for the first time, as he snags his lute. He quietly slips back into the bed, back pressed against the tall, wooden headboard, and he starts plucking at the strings, a somber, soft melody that seems to play itself at the touch of his fingers.

“How I wish to say how I truly feel. Oh, I’m sorry to my Witcher. I should call my leave, no longer in need.. Oh, I’m sorry to my Witcher.”

“I miss that,” Geralt mutters, voice thick with sleep, and Jaskier’s fingers freeze, gaze whipping toward Geralt.

“Though, I could do with different lyrics.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier starts, sighing around the name, “I’m--”

“--No,” Geralt interrupts, pushing up on one elbow. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I keep letting it slip my mind that your body cannot handle what mine can.”

“Because I’m weak--”

“--Because you’re human,” Geralt growls, sitting up fully. He cups Jaskier’s cheek, leaning in close until his lips gently brush against Jaskier’s. “You are not weak.” He mutters around the kiss, slowly pulling away. “Any man would have completely unraveled today, but you held it together, and that’s admirable.”

“I cried,” Jaskier reminds him, a small arch to his brow, and Geralt shrugs.

“But you came back from it.”

Jaskier turns back to his lute, and he starts strumming a faster melody, one that’s a little unsteady, but one that brings a smile to Geralt’s lips as he falls back against his pillow.

“Make this one about you,” he says, a half-smile pulling at his lips when Jaskier tilts his head at him. “A song about how you will never ever eat any berries or plants or anything you don’t know about again.”

#the witcher #netflix the witcher #geraskier #whump #whumpfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my writing #my witcher writing #geralt/jaskier #temporary paralysis #when you make up a plant and a song for one fic #hurt/comfort #fanfic #fanfiction #sickfic

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thorne93 · 4 years

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The Stars Made Us (Part 30)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 3007

Warnings: angst and language throughout, fear, violence

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

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Charles found the closest parking he could and ran as fast as he could to the door of the sanctum. He tried to let himself in but it was locked. He pounded on the door.

"Strange! Open the door!" he ordered loudly, not caring who stared at him on the street.

A moment later, the door wrenched open.

"Hi, I'm sorry, do I know you?" Stephen asked.

"You Stephen Strange?" he asked.

"Depends on who's asking."

"I'm Charles Xavier. Heard of me?" he questioned.

"Charles? Yes. Why?"

"Is Y/N here with you?" Charles asked as he pushed past him to go into the sanctum.

"What? Y/N? No, why?" he asked as he turned to face him, closing the door.

"Then she's missing."

"Missing? Wait. What happened?"

"I don't know. I got home from work and she wasn't there. Our house looks like we had a break in, but she's nowhere to be found." He ran his hand through his hair as he paced in thought, trying to think who might've taken you.

Stephen was silent, his eyes slowly casting down the ground, shifting left and right in thought.

"And she didn't just leave?"

Charles frowned at Stephen as he stopped pacing. "I'm not 100% sure how she acted while she was with you, but she's never made a habit of wrecking my home and disappearing. Correct me if I'm wrong on that."

"No," Stephen muttered. "Quite the contrary. She leaves a place cleaner than it was when she walked in."

Charles nodded, biting his lip in thought, his hands on his hips. "You can say that again. Fuck! I don't know where the fuck she could be. I don't know who would've taken her. Maybe Erik but he's not the hostage type."

"Erik?"

"Old colleague who hates me, but we haven't had contact for a few years," he dismissed.

As Charles paced, running his hand through his hair, he felt something on his wrist. He looked down and tore his sleeve back.

It was your name and an address he didn’t recognize.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Okay, we gotta go,” he said urgently, starting to make his way out the door.

“No,” Stephen suddenly said from behind him, not moving a muscle.

Charles turned around. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked, clearly irate as he walked back towards him.

“I said no,” Stephen responded, a little firmly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” he responded, nodding before he cocked his arm back and threw a closed fist at Stephen’s jaw.

Stephen stumbled a bit from the blow.

"Jesus!" he cried out. "The hell is the matter with you?"

"Me? She is your soulmate for Christ's sake! Whatever happened between you two is in the past. She is in trouble, we have no idea who took her or how many of them there are. She might be fighting for her life and you and I are arguing about going to save her!"

"She isn't mine. This isn't my problem."

Charles shook his head. "What? Because you can't have her all to yourself? Are you a child? She isn't a toy that you can play with when you want and cast aside when someone else wants her. You bloody asshole." He glared at him. "You broke her heart twice and you don't have the goddamn decency to save her life? Forget the fact that you used to be a fucking doctor. She's your soulmate. You can't bullshit me all you want but I know you love her."

"Yeah well that doesn't change the fact that she chose you."

"She chose both of us, you bloody fucking idiot," Charles retorted. "You were just too consumed by your goddamn ego to see that. You had to have her all to yourself. It was either all or nothing."

"What? Because I want monogamy with my soulmate? Sue me."

"This isn't a normal situation, Strange! If you can't accept the fact that she loves both of us and she should be able to have both of us then you don't understand or respect her at all. I love her with all my heart, and I know she loves me back. She's proven it time and time again, it's why I didn't keep her chained to her and encouraged her to find you. She's destined for both of us but you're too shortsighted and selfish to see that."

Stephen didn't respond.

Charles shook his head. "Jesus. Fuck this. I'm leaving. She needs help and I'm going, with or without you."

Charles turned and made his way for the door. Muttering obscenities under his breath. He didn't have the time or the patience to convince him to come with him. You were out there somewhere, possibly hurt or worse and he didn't have the time to waste.

"Wait," Stephen suddenly called out. "I'm coming with you."

He stopped for a moment, letting Stephen catch up before they got out of the sanctum and into Charles's car, driving as quickly as they could to where you were. The GPS said it would take three hours to get there.

This was going to be a long drive.

Stephen and Charles drove on the interstate in a tense silence. Stephen didn't like the uncomfortable atmosphere so he decided to break the ice a bit.

"So what's your plan?" he asked, a bit of condescending in his tone.

"Plan? What plan? I came home to a ransacked house and the love of my life missing. Hank called the police and I came to find you. I don't have a plan other than to find her and make sure she's alright."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Fantastic. Just go in guns blazing."

"Oh, I'm sorry, this is my first rescue mission. Sorry I don't have a plan. Let's hear all your bright ideas."

"First of all, what can you do?"

"As in...?" Charles prompted, annoyed.

He sighed. "As in powers. Can you do anything? I happen to be a Master of the Mystic Arts so we have that going for us."

"You're going to be Master of getting your ass kicked if you keep up the ego and the attitude," Charles muttered.

Stephen stared at him, clearly angry. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to save her. I'm trying to be proactive here and get a strategy going. "

A sigh left him. "Fine. Yeah, okay. I'm a telepath. I'm supposing Y/N never told you."

Stephen shook his head. "No, she didn't. What does that mean?"

"It means I can read minds, stop time, make myself or others invisible to others, I can put others to sleep, make others do things, take away memories, restore memories, cause pain and paralysis, and if push comes to shove, I can kill someone, it's called a mind bolt. I take all my psychic energy and shut down their brain."

For the first time, Stephen was actually scared of someone other than Kaecillius. Quite the feat, as he'd never truly known fear in his life, except for failure.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Stephen asked, scoffing a bit.

“I know you are,” Charles said with a smirk.

This made Stephen uncomfortable. He didn’t think he could hear his thoughts like that, just, at a whim.

“Oh, come now, I’m not going to kill you,” Charles responded with a smile as he glanced at Stephen. “Not while Y/N needs saved at least. I’ll use you for your powers and then I’ll kill you.”

Stephen nodded. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“Speaking of which, what are your powers?” he asked curiously.

“Why don’t you just probe my mind and look?” he asked, a bit sarcastically.

"Because I'm going to try very hard not to get into that mind of yours, even though I desperately want to. To find out why you're the worlds biggest ass."

He gave a dismissive nod before perching his eyebrow up. "I'm not exactly sure how to describe it. I use magic and sorcery to conjure objects, weapons, and shield. I can create a mirror dimension which means I can go into a world that mirrors our own but nothing bad can happen to the outside world. Very useful for destructive fighting."

"So we may have a chance after all between the two of us."

"We should, but Y/N can handle her own."

"Yes, I know, which is why it bothers me she was taken. I think I saw gunshots in my walls. From what I gathered of her time with you at that temple she knows martial arts and the sorcery, and yet they still took her."

"Can you not just use your mind to reach her? To figure out what's going on?"

"It doesn't work that way. I have to be relatively close to them. I do have a device that can project my powers but it's back at the house. Ultimately I don't think it'll help. Seeing where she's at or who she's with won't help too much."

Stephen nodded in response.

Several more minutes went by without a word from either one.

"Can I just know why?" Charles asked.

"Why what?"

"Why you won't share her?"

"Is it really not obvious? I want all of her. I don't want her time divided between me, you, and work, and other social obligations. You and I both know that relationships are hard enough without adding another romantic interest in the mix. Seeing each other, making enough time for each other..."

"Actually, I don't really know. I've never really dated anyone."

"Never?"

He smiled, a bit amused and proud. "Never. I had a girlfriend in highschool for a small bout, but I've never dated anyone outside of Y/N, not seriously."

"Interesting."

"So you think that just because she can't devote 100% of her attention to you she'll somehow prove as an unworthy mate?"

"No, I just don't want to have to fight for her attention and affection. That's all. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Does what bother me?" he asked, entirely confused.

"When she left to see me. When she was with me for six months at Kamar-Taj. I know you missed her because you two had a couple of fights about it. So it had to have bothered you."

"No, if she was away on a business trip it would've bothered me. It had nothing to do with you."

"Why not?"

"Because she isn't property. She is free to love who she loves. She chooses to come back to me time and time again because we know we love each other equally, above all else. I trust her, and whether she loves you or not, or anyone else, doesn't change any of that."

"I don't see how you're okay with this."

"I know it's unconventional, but whether she loved you, me, or someone else, she's going to go where her heart takes her. She always has. So, instead of standing in her way and making it difficult on her, I decided very easily to let her have both of us. If my options are to have her and share her, or not at all, I'm going to pick whatever option gives me her. I can't bear to be without her. I did it once and I never intend on letting it happen again."

Stephen's eyes cast down for a second. "She is amazing. I'm not trying to make it appear as if I don't want her. In my mind it's not so much have part of her or none of her, I just don't see how it could all work with her running between the two of us and her work. I don't see how it's fair to any of us. If I'm having a shitty day but she's with you, then I don't have the right to pull her away."

Charles pursed his lips. "I can see why you might think it's that way."

"Or if if we're lying in each other's arms, is she wishing she was with you? Or does she wish she was making you dinner instead of me?"

He hummed in response. "All fair questions to have."

"Well, you can read her mind, what does she think?"

"I never read her mind. Some things slip through the cracks that I can't help, but I never intentionally read her mind."

"Oh."

"But I don't have to have that ability to know that's not who she is. She was fated for both of us. She gives 100% to who she is with in the moment, and then, if time allows, she goes back to the other. I mean, you saw how she was with you. She tended to you night and day, but still managed to call me. The moment she didn't need you there constantly, she made more time for me. Now that we're both better from our ailments, I don't see any reason it shouldn't work. She doesn't have to feel torn between us if we don't make her that way."

"But wouldn't it hurt you if you two were having dinner one night and she suddenly said she wanted to see me? She wanted to leave your presence and see someone else?"

"Why would it? It doesn't bother me if she wants to see friends or go out for drinks with Hank." He shook his head. "Stephen, you need to stop thinking in this all or nothing mentality. She loves both of us, at the same time, as a duality. We both complete her in different ways. When you want to spend time with friends, does that mean you detest her presence? Does it mean you love her less? No. So why is it any different for her?"

"Maybe I'm being selfish. You got ten years with her, uninterrupted. Then you got eight months, of nothing but her attention and love. I'd just like the same."

Charles laughed. "You did get the same. She didn't see me face to face for months. She only called a handful of times. And we also had ten years of being pen pals, it's vastly different than being in the same home together. You and I have had roughly the same face to face time with her."

"Yes, but yours wasn't a tug of war with another man."

"Neither was yours. She was adamant about staying with you." He took a deep breath. "I don't think it's the idea of sharing me at all. I think it's the same fear I had when she was with you at the temple. When I got the call she was going to Nepal with you."

"Yeah, and what's that?" Stephen asked, sounding uninterested.

"You're afraid that if you do have all of her, that one day she'll want me back and you'll lose her. So to avoid the pain of her abandoning you, you just pushed her away."

"Is that the mind reading or the psychoanalyzing?" Stephen inquired.

"It's having a brain and a heart and going through the exact same insecurities. When she said she was leaving with you, I suddenly worried about us. I worried I wasn't good enough. That she'd love you more. That she'd never come back."

Stephen nodded slowly, waiting for him to explain how he got over that fear.

"So... what did you do about it?"

"Well, other than fighting with her like an ass about it like I'd done a few times, I finally realized that worrying about her leaving wasn't going to convince her to stay. If she did love you more or leave me or whatever the case may be, my concern for that wouldn't change her decision. So, I let go of all my fears, insecurities, and doubts. As I said, I love her and I trust her. I know she loves me back very much so all I can do is hope she doesn't leave. It is a lot better than stewing over possibly losing her and a lot better than losing her altogether when I could simply share her."

Stephen nodded, quiet in thought now.

"We're almost there," Charles informed once they were ten minutes away.

"Strategy?" Stephen asked.

"I'll scan the area for minds, and determine what they're thinking. Once we know that, we can go in."

Stephen nodded and just a few minutes later, they pulled into what looked like an abandoned lot. Charles stopped the car and closed his eyes, focusing on minds. He heard Stephen's mind, but nobody else's.

"I don't hear anything," he informed, shaking his head.

"What? But the address sent us here," Stephen responded, confused, his eyes narrowing as he looked around.

"I know," he agreed, feeling something was off.

The two of them got out of the car and looked around. It was an empty bit of property except for a metal structure sticking up out of the ground that looked like it led to an underground bunker. It was small, almost like a bomb shelter.

"Wanna try that?" Stephen asked.

"Can't hurt," Charles said.

"Well, arm your mind lightning or whatever it is you can do," he responded.

"Mind bolt," he corrected. "Get ready with your impressive light show," he shot right back with a tiny grin.

The two men walked over to the bunker and opened it up. It stepped inside to a small room that only had an elevator in it. Stephen looked to Charles for confirmation to push the button, he shrugged in response, and Stephen pressed it. The elevator showed up after a few moments and the men stepped in.

"Do you have anything yet?"

"No," Charles responded. "Just you."

The men looked at each other worried, and also frustrated. How much time did they have? Were they already too late?

They hit the only button that was on the elevator and rode down, getting more anxious with every ticking second. Finally, the elevator that seemed old and rickety opened into what appeared to be a crisp, white, state of the art facility. They walked forward, the only way they could go.

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Charles Xavier

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TSMU

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@halfofwhatisayismeaningless

#the stars made us #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier fic #charles xavier #stephen strange #stephen strange fic #stephen strange x reader

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thelibranarchives · 4 years

Text

For @giucorreias Flufftober prompts. Day 1- Touch.

'Bellatrix Lestrange,' Harry Potter said, voice so toneless and flat that Draco Malfoy shuddered suddenly with the goosebumps that cropped up. He didn't dare lift his eyes from the ground, though. Not that he could, with the blue-black bruise over his left eye. The entirety of the nearly twenty foot great hall was silent, half of them ashamed at being admonished and the other half, listening with rapt attention to the saviour of the wizarding world.

'I'm pretty sure,' Potter went on, 'that with the exception of the first years, a majority of the rest have had first hand experiences with her.'

A few voices in the back made mumbling noises as though protesting. Potter looked sharply at them.

'Or wasn't that your excuse to start physically and verbally abusing the Slytherins?' Weasley snarled in their direction, hands on his hips.

More voices rose and Draco swept a quick look around the hall. The students at the four tables were now standing up and starting to talk over each other while those at the fifth table that housed the eighth years were fuming silently. Blaise, Pansy, Millie and Daphne were standing next to him, all of them holding hands like a group of five year olds about to cross a road.

Draco knew they had brought this upon themselves and the students were, at least slightly justified in their actions. Their attitude wasn't really shocking. It was Potter's stance that was surprising everyone. Just like it did four months ago when all three of the Golden Trio testified for Draco and his mother.

Potter had smiled at him after he had been acquitted, a smile Draco had trouble fathoming even months later. Draco had thought it felt like a truce that day. He didn't know how to define what was happening now.

'Since many of you seem to have trouble recalling Bellatrix even though we have on record that she visited our school on the weekends,' Potter said loudly, quieting the hall once again, 'how about someone who I know is still in your nightmares?'

Granger whipped her head around to Potter at that, eyes widening in realisation. Draco closed his eyes, grunting in pain and squeezing Blaise's fingers into paralysis.

'Fenrir Greyback!' Potter said and everyone flinched before they were aware of what they gave away.

'That was who Draco stood against and lied to. A dangerously powerful Legilimens and a frightening werewolf.'

'He bullied you. He bullied us. They all did!' A sixth year Hufflepuff screamed.

'Malfoy was the reason the Death Eaters could enter Hogwarts,' another chorused.

'And what makes you think he didn't suffer like you?' Granger snapped, turning back to them. 'Would a pensieve memory of Draco shrieking under a Cruciatus be enough or would you like to go back in time and watch it happen yourself?'

'Draco,' a soft, lilting voice called that Draco found himself unknowingly turning towards. 'I haven't ever thanked you for healing my injuries, have I?'

Luna Lovegood walked down the aisle between the tables to stand before him. 'Thank you,' she smiled, engulfing him in a hug.

Draco saw more than heard the gasps that followed. His grip on Blaise's hand loosened momentarily.

'If we stood beside each other, how many do you think will mistake us for siblings?' Lovegood pulled back and went on, either truly oblivious to the bulging eyes or deliberately choosing to ignore them.

'Quite a lot, I'd say,' Ginevra Weasley said, coming up behind her and wrapping a hand around her shoulders. She scrunched her face, looking from Lovegood to Draco and back again, nodding as if she found the similarities already.

'Are none of you hungry?' Longbottom asked from the eighth year table.

'We'll be right there, Neville,' Ginevra replied, steering Lovegood away. She stopped when she reached Daphne.

'Oh Daphne,' she said conversationally, 'did all the first years you helped escape make it?'

'They did,' Millie nodded. 'We uh, we diverted the Dea- the Dea- we diverted them elsewhere when they came for us.'

'That's what I heard,' Ginevra nodded back. 'Don't you like plum cake? That's our dessert today,' she continued, looping her other hand around Daphne's neck, signalling Millie and walking off.

'You heard her,' Weasley said, looking at Blaise and Pansy, 'the food's going to go cold.' He motioned them both to join him.

Blaise, Pansy and Draco exchanged looks and started to move when Potter grabbed Draco's wrist and held him back, his expression inscrutable. Potter stared at him for a long time before he tightened his hold and turned back to face the room.

'Voldemort,' he started, uncaring of the wince the name induced in the others, 'causelessly believed that purebloods and Slytherins were better than muggleborns and mobilised an army of like minded people to take over the world. If you were any better than him, you wouldn't judge someone on the basis of their blood or house affiliation.'

Draco idly thought Potter had grown into quite the person, drilling silence into others. A wandering part of his brain also wondered if defeating Voldemort gave one such powers.

'He was your worst enemy!' A boy from Ravenclaw shrieked.

'Voldemort was my worst enemy. Draco was only my opponent at school and we've made our peace with each other,' Potter snapped. 'If this is only about him, then why are the other younger year Slytherins also taking a trip to the Infirmary twice a day? Have they bullied you or insulted you? Did you know that none of the Slytherins here killed anyone?'

'They tortured us.' This time it was a Gryffindor. 'Last year. You don't know what it was like. You weren't here.'

Potter rolled his eyes. 'Yes, I was pole dancing in France.'

Draco couldn't help the snort but covered it up with a cough just as Potter became serious again. 'You all were threatened to torture each other by the Carrows. Either point your fingers in the right direction or don't point at all. This alienation of Slytherins and blaming them for everything that happened is no different than Voldemort ostracising muggle borns. No one is asking you to befriend them but this kind of behaviour will not be tolerated further.'

Potter didn't wait for their response. He turned to Draco, took his chin in his hand and lifted his wand to Draco's swollen and bloody face. He locked eyes with Draco once before whispering, 'Episkey.'

Draco's injuries healed with a crack and snap as Potter slithered his arm around his shoulders and walked them to the eighth year table. He forced Draco down in between himself and Finnigan and piled his plate with food before pushing it towards him.

'Eat. You look like you are starving,' he said, pouring some soup into his own bowl.

'Thank you,' Draco whispered, shocked into gratitude and something that felt like affection.

Potter smiled wider at that and in another absolutely astonishing gesture, knocked their heads together. 'No problem, now eat.'

Down the table, Ginevra Weasley and Lovegood were in a conversation with Daphne and Millie. On his right, Blaise, Longbottom and Weasley were chatting about the new single from the Weird Sisters. Opposite him, Pansy and Granger were being painfully awkward until finally they both snickered when they reached for steak at the same time. Potter was complaining about his Transfiguration essay to Dean Thomas on his left and Headmistress McGonagall had moved to the podium and announced that she was scrapping the system of house tables from the great hall, informing everyone that they had to mingle or else.

Deputy Headmaster Flitwick had deducted fifty points each from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and Hagrid and Firenze toasted to Potter. Draco was, however, deaf to it all. He was stuck in that timeless moment when Potter smiled at him.

He now knew how to define it. Change. That was what this was.

In the occasional bouts of lucidity he had the past year, when he was not obsessing about the result of the war, Draco had found himself obsessing about the aftermath. The changes that would be brought forth seemed to range from working for the Ministry brewing illegal potions and teaching Dark Arts at Hogwarts if Voldemort won to either grovelling in poverty, famished, desolate and lost or locked up in Azkaban for life if the Light side won. Therefore to Draco, this outcome of the war was unexpected to say the least.

The touch of change had always carried with it a sensation of dread in the past. But now it appeared to contain an inexplicable elation that whispered of hope. If the post war atmosphere included Lovegood, Granger, Longbottom and the Weasleys backing him and Potter leaning into Draco as he unconsciously ran his fingers through the mess at the nape of Potter's neck, then change definitely wasn't something to be feared.

Since he was completely lost in experiencing the new touch, only Blaise noticed that Draco's wrist was still in Potter's grip.

There will be more fluff in the coming days. This was onlymeant to lay the foundation for it.

#oneshots #hogwarts #eighth year #drarry #harry x draco #harry/draco #harry potter #fluff

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closer-stars · 4 years

Text

Precious - Seonghwa (2)

Member: Seonghwa Genre: Drama and Horror for the most part Word Count: 7.3k Requested: Yes Content: Seonghwa finds out what the fuck goes on. Slightly inspired by the fact they went to Spain. A lot of weird things happen. Mentions of body horror, food (it’s not a Stars work if there’s no food involved). Religious references. San is Protective of Seonghwa. Eden knows something that we don’t. Note: Okay so Part 2 of Precious is here. I had to read about various Biblical references from academic papers, YA books I’ve grown up reading and some classic literature books I’ve had to read at one point. Some architecture readings, some history readings because I have a short attention span that wants to know everything. Things might not be accurate, history/biblical mythology wise but an Attempt was made.

Part 1

The plans of going abroad to record their next album was a surprise for them, even more that this time it’s not going to be in the US. For the majority of the boys, this plan was met with excitement and curiosity. New places, new experiences and most importantly new food. Only Seonghwa met this idea with hesitance. Something about it didn’t sit right with him but did he really have a say in this? San noted his uneasiness at the news. “Hyung, is everything okay?” He asked in the midst of excited murmuring around them. The older’s eyes gaze over the other members and he found it better to keep his peace so he nods.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Once we get back to our dorm we need to start packing.” He returned. “Also, don’t get lazy packing this time please? The last time you did, you forgot your toothbrush and toothpaste at home and we were already in America.” This was met with a small whine from the younger.

“Okay okay! I’ll get started on it tonight.” San doesn’t press on his hyung’s discomfort. One way or another he does come clean about it. It was better to wait, he supposed.

-------

Fast forward to a week later. They’re now in Spain. They’ve been assigned into their rooms. Instead of having Hongjoong or Yeosang as his roommate this time, it was San. Not that he didn’t mind it but it was a nice change, even if the younger teases him to no end. Since it’s their first day and everyone’s still clearly jet-lagged, their staff let the boys free for the first two days to get used to the change.

The first day was quiet, as quiet as it can be with eight boys in a new city. Most of the time was spent getting their body clocks to fall in sync with the city’s life. Some of them went out on their own with some of their staff, exploring the shops. Others went and explored the restaurants, wondering where to eat for their next meal. Seonghwa opted to go and quiet down in a coffee shop, the spacious and antique interiors are complete opposite to the ones he knows back home. It’s a rare occurrence too to have San accompany him into a coffee shop, knowing him he usually opted to go around and buy clothes or trinkets to remember the trip.

“Coffee? I thought you didn’t like coffee.”

“I don’t like Americanos, San. My coffee’s just the usual mocha.” The older reasons with a pout. The younger giggling softly at the sight.

“Alright, alright. I’ll just get the Americano and we can just split the strawberry cake you’ve been eyeing since we arrived.”

The rest of their stay in the shop goes by smoothly, his mind distracted by the food in front of him and San excitedly gushing over the planning of their next album. “I wonder what Eden-hyung and Hongjoong-hyung have. I mean we know what this next one’s supposed to mean but song wise and choreo wise? Ugh, Hyung, I want to get back on stage soon.” San confesses and it makes Seonghwa wonder if his energy was from his itch to perform or from the coffee. Instead of saying anything, Seonghwa nods in empathy. He misses the stage too and he hopes that they’d be able to get back on it soon.

It’s when the others found a quaint restaurant a few blocks away from their hotel that they realize that dinner was rolling in soon for them. San notices the message and the time. “Should we get going?” He asks, as he finishes the last of his coffee. Their cake long gone.

The older male nods his head as he takes a few sips of his water. “Let’s go. We don’t know how long it would take the others to get back and knowing Wooyoung and Yeosang, those two get distracted along the way easily.”

------

Seonghwa’s sleep for the night wasn’t terrifying but it wasn’t peaceful either. Every few hours he’d wake up disoriented, the images in his dreams nonsensical but at least he didn’t have any bout of sleep paralysis. It only takes a few minutes for him to get back to sleep but every time he does, he sees weird things.

Colorful flames dance in front of his eyes, feathers of various birds falling into the flame, some unharmed, some turning into a crisp. It’s the first time he’s seen a flame so intensely blue that leaves some of the feathers safe from the damaging heat. He swears he could hear someone call his name somewhere, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the damaged feathers, too entranced by how it burns red, ashes of what was falling from the body until all that was left was a charred crisp of ashes. His name continues to be called, it’s when he feels a jolt that he’s pulled back into the waking world.

“Seonghwa-hyung!”

His eyes shoot open, immediately shutting them again from the glare of the morning sun.

“Hyung, it’s 8AM. The breakfast is open for two more hours only.” San says as he fixes himself infront of the mirror.

His hand roams across the expanse of his bed until he finds his phone. 7:45 AM. “Dammit, San. It’s only fifteen minutes before eight... “ He lies back in bed, rubbing his eyes as he tries to remember what he had just seen minutes before. “Wait, you’re awake before I am.”

San looks back at his hyung, hand on his hip. Mingi’s been rubbing off on him. “Glad you noticed! Mingi kept calling my phone to wake me up. We’re going around the city today while Hongjoong-hyung, Jongho and Eden-hyung finalize the guides.”

A whine nearly slips from his lips, wanting to rather sleep in and do nothing all day. Another side of him reminds him that it was rare to get such an opportunity to just live and so he thinks. When he reaches for the phone, San asks what he’s doing.

“Room service. By the time I finish showering, the food’s going to be here.”

San stares at him for a few moments before groaning and throwing himself on the bed.

“Why didn’t I think of that… I could’ve gotten a few more minutes of sleep…”

-----

It was Yunho’s suggestion that they look around the city, see the history and the like. Considering that their leader, their maknae and Eden were in the studio, not too far from the hotel, it results in Seonghwa and Yunho being the heads of the group along with one manager as the rest of them sightsee.

“There’s this really cool park we saw yesterday but we didn’t get to go inside. There’s so many pretty stuff in there too!” Yunho explains, already looking at their map and leading the rest of the group.

------

They arrive just outside the park. One that seems to be well known for having locals and tourists flock to for the history and scenery. Some of the boys try to read the name of where they were but San was the closest to the actual pronunciation. A quick translation: The Park of Pleasant Retreat. Seonghwa could see why from where they stood. People lounged around the greenery, taking in the warmth of the sun as they mingled with their loved ones. If Seonghwa squints a bit, he could even see a few people playing music under the shaded refuge of the trees. There even seems to be a body of water where people rowed small boats around, some lingering by the steps aged by natural forces and people who have come before them.

The boys have already learned that if they act like they should be hidden, they’ll be noticed by the public. It’s because of Wooyoung that they decide to go and explore through this path. A part of him thinks back to Jongho who would’ve loved to see this place and take photos. Even if Seonghwa didn’t know the history that this park holds down to the details, he knew that it seems to hold a large piece of the country’s history judging by the architecture. Grandiose pillars, crowned at the top with designs that curled inwards, though the temple-like pathway looks pristine, it has definitely been colored and worn through time. His eyes take in the scenery, occasionally stopping to take a few photos. It was a good change of scenery he thought, away from the chaos of his daily life, everything felt serene and calming. He could see why people flock to this park. He notices that his members had slowed to a stop and their manager was about to get in between them and the stranger that has made their presence known to them.

She looks like a local judging by her clothes and how she just seemed in her element. Seonghwa’s eyes study her features from where he stands: high cheekbones, pink lips that were adorned by a dainty cupid’s bow. Her almond shaped eyes were revealed after she rests her shades atop her head. Her skin, unblemished and unmarked, tanned by constant hours under the sun. She carries herself with so much poise, the male would’ve thought she was some sort of local celebrity. It was when she started to speak in Korean that they somewhat relaxed. “Hey, I’m just a local, I promise. My name’s Kayla. You guys just seemed like you would prefer getting the rundown of what this place is.” She explains as she brings out an ID to show to their manager and to the rest of them. “Also, I work as a local tour guide in my free time so…” She trails off with a shrug. The boys look to each other and under their breath they ask.

“Should we?” Yunho mumbles as he eyes everyone.

“I mean we only have this day…” Yeosang points out, brushing through his hair that's starting to become a nuisance to his eyes.

“If she’s shady, we can just make an excuse and go.” Wooyoung adds.

“So yes?”

They looked at each other one more time and figured: nothing to lose. They turn to their manager who has told them of their rules since Day 1: Don’t do anything stupid. To everyone, it wasn’t. To San and Seonghwa, it was bordering on stupid.

So the rest of the boys agree, the minority: San and Seonghwa just letting them be and trailing behind the group.

“Hyung, are you okay?”

Seonghwa doesn’t register the younger’s question. Since the group was so busy discussing the opportunity, the male had been stuck in his thoughts. Those features were familiar but he couldn’t put a finger on it. Did he see her online somewhere? Hell, who was she even? It was impossible for him to have seen her in his dreams, he barely remembers what he dreams about nowadays. He should’ve taken a peek at the ID when he had the chance earlier.

“Hyung.” San calls out again, bumping his elbow to the older and this brings him out of his reverie.

“Huh? Yeah, sorry what? I was spacing out again, I think.”

This time San lets out an exasperated sigh, much similar to the ones Seonghwa lets out when they act up. “I’m worried. You’ve been on edge since you heard we were going to come here for work.” He was right. The days leading up to this trip, he hasn’t been calm. His nights consisted of tossing and turning as he tries to get some peace. If none of those movements bring him that rest, he ends up doing the same home workout routines he sees San do until he feels exhaustion and considering that he’s an idol, it takes a long while until his body gives in to the comfort of his bed. So the older one lets out a soft groan, making sure no one hears it.

“I don’t know. Something just doesn’t feel right.” He mumbles, opting to use dialect just to make sure she didn’t understand. How sure was he even that she wouldn’t understand him? “I had a nightmare… a few weeks or months prior to this and it’s just really weird.” He continues as the walk through the wide paths. For a moment, everyone gets distracted by a couple walking dogs they’ve never seen before. While he smiles at the sight of his members finding glee in the furry companions, he catches sight of the couple’s eyes and his blood runs cold: icy blue. It’s not like the eyes he had seen in his nightmare but these two carry a weight that made him think: it was better to stay in his side. He looks away immediately and opts to fix his attention to what the woman explains.

“This park’s been known for their architecture. This park was commissioned roughly in the 1630s, constantly being expanded and improved upon by the Spanish monarchy. It was open to the public by the second half of 1800s and what you see people doing today, it was the same back then. I guess you can say not much has changed since then. Countless monuments and buildings have been made here over the centuries which you can see by the change in architectural and artistic design.” She explains. She gestures to a glass structure some meters ahead of them. “That over there was used as a winter garden for flowers that weren’t usually found in Spain, nowadays it’s for exhibitions and the like. Insanely pretty isn’t it?” She muses as some of the boys take a few shots as they get closer. A few moments of silence pass over them until she speaks up again. “Actually, there’s this monument I’d like you boys to see. No other place in the world has something like this. By any chance, is any of you easily scared?”

That prompts the boys to gesture at Mingi, which he accepts with grace. “I’m not good with scary.” He explains with a bashful grin. He takes this cue to hold onto their manager, thus earning him a soft chuckle from the woman. As she sweeps her gaze across all of them, lingering for a moment or two at one particular man, she smiles. “I assure you that this isn’t too scary but it might be a little unnerving.” With a turn of heel, she leads them through another path, slowing down as they are greeted by a tall monument.

At the foot of the monument are eight faces of beings no one can quite tell spouting out water from its respective orifices. The beings, so ambiguous, so odd it’s hard to look away from were unnerving upon a closer look. Seonghwa looked up at the top of the monument and he immediately knew: they needed to leave. At the top of the monument rests a statue, twisted in turmoil as he falls backwards. The fall clearly did not look like something the subject wished. The wings of the statue are somehow still outstretched, in a feeble attempt to protect the owner from further pain. While he couldn’t see the statue’s details closely, he could note that there were things that wrapped around its wrist and ankle. He could only guess that those were snakes or reptiles that looked just like the ones at the foot of the monument.

“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce to you the Fountain of the Fallen Angel.” She starts as she gestures to the anguished being on top. “It’s rather an oddly proud moment for us to be the only ones with a public monument dedicated to the Fallen Angel-- as far as I know that is. To start, this was inspired by John Milton’s book Paradise Lost. Nothing has been definite as to whether or not this fallen angel is Lucifer the Morningstar himself, falling from grace or just any other angel that has fallen but some do like to believe it is the Lucifer being depicted up there.”

At the mention of the word star, Wooyoung teases Seonghwa. “Heh, don’t you call yourself a star too?”

Yeosang raises his hand, just like an obedient boy in class. “Wait, why did he fall?”

Before she could answer, San beats her to it. “Because of his pride isn’t it? That guy up there wanted to be as great as God and tried to make other angels rebel with him.”

This pleases her. The way her lips curve into one of pride has Seonghwa’s skin crawl with discomfort. “That’s correct. Did you also know that this statue stands 666 feet above sea level?” She asks, only to further explain the math of where they stand, how tall the pillar this monument stands on, and how tall the statue is. It was a reasonable guess and considering what the statue was, the connection just seemed right.

“On our eye level,” she continues. “We see eight different types of demons and other symbolisms related to the Bible.” she gestures to the eight different phases at the bottom. “This statue has seen a lot of things throughout history that if you have perfect eyesight, you can actually see some bullet holes on the body and wings. Those being remnants of the wars this land has experienced.”

Everything about the statue made Seonghwa want to run, run far away from this place and head back home. The adrenaline starts to make his head pound, that he holds onto San’s forearm.

“Hyung, are you-”

“I’m fine. I just got lightheaded.” He mutters as he breathes in through his nose and out his mouth. The air didn’t seem as cooling as it did earlier anymore. No one takes pictures of this monument, the history surrounding it and the context behind the figure makes it too unsettling for any of them to hold a little piece of memory.

As they walk away from that work of art, Wooyoung asks her. “Miss, are you religious? I hope I don’t come off as rude..” he mumbles a little embarrassed.

“Dear, what makes you think of such?”

“You just seemed like you knew a lot about that statue and its context…”

So she hums in thoughts. “Your friend earlier, the one that answered your friend’s question. Is he also religious?”

“He used to be.”

“A wise decision.” She nods. “To answer your question, is being knowledgeable in one belief equivalent to being religious?”

Seonghwa wishes he didn’t hear that.

Wooyoung purses his lips, “I suppose not.. To be honest, you sounded like you believed in the stories.”

Oh how Seonghwa wishes he could tell Yunho to make Wooyoung shut up.

“Now tell me dear, Why should I believe in beings I have not seen in their flesh? The farthest we have seen of these beings are through art and the stories passed onto us.”

It unnerves San how she talks in such riddles all of a sudden.

Seonghwa’s phone rings all of a sudden and he has never felt more relief when he finds out it was Hongjoong. Everyone’s phones seem to ring at the same time. A group chat message.

Yunho’s the first to read the message and his face falls for a moment only for an apologetic smile to quickly replace his pout. He turns to the lady, as he keeps his phone. “We’re really sorry but we have to go. Work’s calling for us.” He explains simply.

“Oh? You guys are already working? But you look so young..” She notes, her eyes studying each of their features closely.

“It’s okay we like what we’re doing anyways.” San says in return, his arm around Seonghwa was the only thing keeping the male steady as he tries his best to appear nonchalant.

The lady’s bottom lip juts out at the abrupt ending to the tour. “Mhm, I suppose that’s more important isn’t it? Happiness.” No one knows if she’s talking to them or to herself so they take the cue to bid her goodbye. “Very well! I hope to see you boys soon, good luck with your work.” She gestures at the direction they came from just so they don’t get lost along the way.

It’s only when they arrive at the same place where they started earlier that Seonghwa speaks up. “Let’s just make our way to the hotel then head to Hongjoong.”

The guides were finished and all that was left was for them to record the songs.

-------

For the next few days of their stay, all they’ve done is practice and record the songs until Hongjoong and Eden were satisfied with the quality. Even with the troubles of the new equipment that came along the way, it was a relief to everyone to have finally finished the songs. All that was left was to decide on when the shooting and promotions will be. Seonghwa pats their leader’s back lightly. “You did well, Hongjoong.” He mumbles, throat a little worn from having pushed himself to reach a few notes that weren’t in his usual range. Hongjoong on the other hand hums in response. There was only so much he could do with what they have but if time allows, he would definitely ask for them to re-do some of their lines, maybe not here but back home.

Eden tells everyone to call it a night after such a tiring and intense week, even forcing Hongjoong to not touch his music software for the night. Even with those words, they know better: Hongjoong would stop when he’s done solidifying all the ideas in his head.

------

The entire week of recording and practicing had made Seonghwa forget about their tour guide and his sleep problems. The past few nights just being pure dreamless sleep, that or he forgets what his dreams were within the first few seconds of waking consciousness. Now that the week is over, he still hopes he could get the same dreamless sleep that wasn’t plagued by the stress of his work.

His eyes were closed by the time he throws his body onto his bed.

He doesn’t feel the heavy weight on his chest this time, but he still can’t get his body to move. He hoped it wasn’t the same being that visits him now, he wasn’t sure if he should hope for a different being either. While on his side, he looks around, San’s sleeping body just a few feet away from him. It’s only when he looks by the door that he notices the being. Human looking just like the first one but with an air that carries pain masked by regality.

“How has your stay been in our humble abode, Sir?” He asks, tone gravelly, as if his throat has been abused by cigars, alcohol and more. Seonghwa could barely make out the rest of his features from where he lays. He wants to answer but he doubts his own throat could do the same effort as the being that leans against the wall. “Oh don’t worry, you can speak around me. I suppose my sister had been rough on you the first few visits?” The stranger adds. He steps further into their room. Though spotless, the bottles of soda and packs of instant noodles are enough to tell him that these boys were not too far into their adulthood.

At his words, Seonghwa opens his mouth. “How did you get into our room?” He mumbles, there’s still a restriction in his throat but better than the first time. Did all of whatever they are have the same sort of power?

“Oh please, the sleep paralysis thing we do isn’t everyone’s. Just my family’s.” The unnamed male returns, reading Seonghwa’s mind. “Call me El, I’m sure you’ve met my sister, Kea. My bloodline is besides the point, I’ve come to visit to see how my people have treated you and your hm, group?”

People? Seonghwa looks at the man once more, unsure of what he means, and fears if he were to explain any further.

“What the fuck?”

Seonghwa’s eyes dart to his roommate, already sitting up on his bed. At his words, El looks at him and with a shit eating grin, he manages to stride across their room and out the window. A grandeur exit. While Seonghwa wasn’t able to see the male unfurl his wings, if he was indeed telling the truth, he wouldn’t be surprised if his wings looked anything like his aforementioned sister.

He regains the feeling and control in his body and sits up from his bed, San already contacting someone about what had happened. “So you saw what I saw?” Seonghwa asks, as San tries to contact someone in his phone.

San uncharacteristically shushes the older once the recipient of the call picks up. “They’re here. One of them visited our room and talked to Seonghwa.” A few more minutes pass and San hangs up. “Hyung, I’ll explain later but we need to get everyone to wake up and head to the studio. Go get ready, I’ll wake up the others.” It’s rare to see San so steely and dark. Besides him, San was the next scariest person when angry so he does as he’s told. He kicks off the sheets and gets his clothes ready for what could be a long day.

---------

“We need to go back.” Eden says, as he finally saves all their work into the hard drive.

This shocks everyone, at least those who haven’t known what happened. Those being anyone that wasn’t Seonghwa and San.

“We just got here, what’s wrong?” Yunho asks, sitting up from his spot on the couch. Hongjoong already had an idea of what was going on thanks to Eden, if his dark look is anything to go by. No other words were shared by the rest of the boys, but upon seeing Seonghwa, San and Hongjoong pack up their things from the studio without a word, they figured something was up. Hongjoong shoots them a look that tells them to start moving, any explanations will be done when they’re on the way back.

They move back into the van, and even then nothing has been said. The air is stiff with tension, worry and confusion. Seonghwa’s face was unmoving but the lines of fear appear on his features. He looks out of the window, watching aged buildings blur past them. He wonders if any of these buildings house these odd beings as well. They might have, just not in the buildings he supposes. Wooyoung’s persistent nature of wanting to know what’s happening nearly has Hongjoong snap at the younger. It’s not until San places his hand on the leader’s shoulder that tells him to cut them slack. They don’t know, not yet at least. Seonghwa glances at the two share a conversation with loaded gazes. “Quit it, all of you. Once everything quiets down, I’ll explain.” he mumbles as he rubs his forehead, a weak attempt to smoothen out the stress that hasn’t left him since they’ve stepped foot into this country.

It’s rare to have Seonghwa speak up like that. It’s all it takes for everyone to behave.

They arrive in their hotel and immediately make their way to their respective rooms. San and Seonghwa speed to their room, packing everything they’ve brought out from their luggages and back inside. It only takes three hours, considering that they haven’t stayed too long in the country yet, to get everything back in.

The older male is too busy in his head, making sure he hasn’t forgotten anything: passport, charger, wallet, among other valuables. It’s when San calls his name and tosses him his hat that he remembers that he’s going to need to keep his sight limited to what’s directly in front of him to keep him from losing his sanity. “We’ll get back safely.” San promises him. His luggage was already strapped and ready, much like his. It’s only then that he releases the breath he’s been holding since they were in the studio.

“I hope so. I don’t think I can bear to see any of you in danger just because of me.” He says under his breath. They take one final look around their room and seeing that everything’s clean, they make their way out. The pair’s greeted by the other members already making their way towards the elevator. While the others only have hats or sunglasses covering their features, Seonghwa had to take both for safety.

Eden was already at the reception, waiting for everyone. He looks at his phone, counting the hours from where they are to the airport, alone with their flight back. He needs to explain to Seonghwa especially what’s been happening to him. But to that, he wants to make sure there are no ears on the walls. The producer’s greeted by everyone and he already nods towards the doors. “Our rides are already waiting for us outside.”

“Rides?” Seonghwa repeats, the idea of splitting up didn’t feel right but at this point he wasn’t sure if these feelings are of paranoia or gut.

Eden glances over at the covered boy and a bit of his heart twists, he could only imagine the stress this boy was going through and being separated from the rest of his members probably was making it worse for him. “We’re too many plus our luggage but I made sure we’re with people we can trust so let’s go.” He doesn’t expound anymore as he strides out.

The ride to the airport is quiet, and it’s the one of the rare times Seonghwa’s sleep was peaceful. His body slouched over, leaning against the younger. Throughout the entire stay in Spain, San hasn’t left the eldest’s side and it’s from there that the others figured that San knew something they didn’t know.

Hongjoong’s the first one to speak up. “San-ah. What’s been happening?” His voice quiet to make sure he doesn’t disrupt his sleep. He should’ve noticed the bags under his eyes since they arrived. The younger looks over at the exhausted member and tries to find the right words at least for this moment.

“There’s been something that’s been bothering him. It only got worse when we came here. We’ll explain when we’re back in Korea.” Who knew being knowledgeable in all those religious stories would be useful to him?

The rest of the ride is quiet but no one else falls asleep. San gently rouses him awake. “Wake up, we’re here.” The older one groans at how his peace has slipped away and he’s greeted by the sight of his members jumping out of the car, to be greeted by their managers and staff who also had their luggages. San couldn’t help but chuckle softly as the other curses in discomfort as he stumbles out, rubbing the sleep off his eyes.

It doesn’t take long until everyone’s by the boarding gate. Everything feels like a blur to Seonghwa. The nap in the car made him realize just how his body ached for some peace. As they fall into lines to get into the airplane, Seonghwa leans against the back of his manager, resting his forehead against his back. He craves for sleep, for an escape from all of this and to be frank, he doubted he’d be able to escape this hell he’s in.

By the time he’s in his designated seat in the aircraft, he’s knocked out once more. He only manages to wake up when the stewardesses serve their meals. He doesn’t even bother with the fact all of them are in business class. He’s sandwiched by San and their manager and while he can probably talk about what’s been bothering him, he doesn’t trust anyone else. While his thoughts run amok, his eyelids feel heavy. His physical body needed rest but his mind wouldn’t let up, with a disgruntled huff he puts in one earphone, letting music be a distraction from his paranoia. It’s clockwork for the entire flight, sleep, eat, worry, sleep, repeat, until they land back in their motherland.

It was a miracle nothing had happened during the flight. Seonghwa doubts he’d be able to forgive himself if anyone became a victim to his misery. The ride back home was quiet as well, no one expected their sudden return after the chaotic entrance into the airport a few days back.

By the time they arrive at their agency, it was mid-day. Everyone feels the exhaustion slowly steep into their bodies but their need to understand what’s going on somehow keeps them awake.

The eight boys file into the conference room, Eden following them into the room shortly after. “I’ll make this quick and bearable since you boys need to catch up on rest for the time being.” He starts. The producer’s eyes studies each boy, and can’t find it in himself to put them through another hectic meeting, not now at least. “Seonghwa’s been considered a hot topic among the fallen angels which I assume is what has been disturbing his sleep for who knows how long.” All eyes were on him now as he sighs.

“San explained bits and pieces to me before I told all of you to pack up.” He doesn’t go into detail unless someone asks, out of pity over their exhausted conditions. “Simply put, someone, i’m presuming one of the fallen in Spain ended up finding out we were there too.” Eight pairs of eyes gaze at him, most of which were heavy in need of rest, one had fear and confusion mixed in their gaze, but everyone carried the question of ‘Why?’. So he sighs, “I wish I knew why but for now, I need all of you to be careful and keep an eye on each other.” He hands Seonghwa a gold necklace with a pendant that seemed to depict a holy figure, judging by the round band over their head. “You guys need to get rest first. Seonghwa, while I’m not sure of what we’re dealing with exactly, just wear that first for protection.”

“Since when were you religious?” Seonghwa asks, as he studies the pendants. As far as he remembers, the producer was far from a man of faith.

“I’m not but because we’re dealing with fallen angels, we might as well make sure we’re on equal ground.” The adult reasons with a shake of his head.

This cues him to look at the male, keeping the necklace in his pocket. “You know they exist but you don’t believe in them?”

“Seonghwa, I know there’s a more powerful being above all of us. Even them, but I don’t know if they are really the God that they talk about.”

There’s too many questions but Seonghwa shakes his head free of them. “We’ll get going, get some rest too, Hyung.” He reminds as he opens the door, letting everyone out first before him.

-------

The feeling of being home doesn’t bring him as much comfort as it should and he’s not sure of how to process that. He didn’t want to sleep yet, even if he’s exhausted from the trip and stress, so he lets the other members wash up first before he does. As he waits, his fingers fiddle with the golden chain of his new necklace. He’s back trapped in his own thoughts with no answers to his questions. When he feels like he’s got some sort of direction, it splits into several directions trapping him in a web of ideas that make no sense.

Mingi’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, telling him that everyone else was finished.

The hot water manages to calm him down even for a bit. The water beating against his back and shoulders softening all the knots that have formed over the past few months. Once he’s finished cleaning himself up, he finds himself able to breathe a little better with the loose clothing of his sleepwear.

When he feels his body land against the worn comforter, he blacks out. The necklace laid underneath his pillow just for safekeeping. It’s worth a shot even if he doesn’t believe.

When he opens his eyes, he feels the same weight again on his body. He’s gone past the point of scared, he’s tired. He just wants sleep, peace, a clear head to juggle his work and his personal life. He knows what’s next. Another of those fallen angels is somewhere in his room. His eyes dart from various points of the room, looking for the presence.

There she is.

The same being from the first time. The same lady, only she looks like she finally knows what she was looking for.

Once Seonghwa gets a better look, he realizes it’s the same lady when they were in Spain. Even in his inability to move, he wants to lunge and fight her. While he isn’t one to raise his hand on anyone, he was willing to throw that rule of his to the wind just to deal with her. Alas, he’s constricted to the bed.

“How was your stay in Spain, dear Seonghwa?” she muses, knowing full well that he won’t be able to answer. “I see that you have people around you that know of what’s been happening.” she continues as she saunters to the unmoving male.

He despises how his body feels so numb.

“Who knew that what we would be looking for wasn’t an object?” Seonghwa stares at her, anger burning in his orbs. Not like he knew what she was on about, he didn’t even know how they existed or how they live. He feels her pointed nail drag across his skin, just below his neck. “You’d be useful to us, sweetheart.” Her voice felt like it was laced with honey, tempting him to submit to her. “Do you want fame, my star?” The endearment makes his skin crawl. “You’re a well known artist aren’t you? Wouldn’t you want the immortality of your name? I can guarantee that as well.” her nails dig into his skin as she speaks. “Or would you rather build an immense following? That’s something we can do for you too.”

We?

She stands up, smiling upon him. “Oh of course, you can’t speak.” She grabs his face, handling him roughly as she makes him look at him. “Dear, I know you’re powerless under my presence so I’ll offer you this until we meet again. Everything you want is yours, just as long as you submit to us.” Her nails dig into his skin once more and this time it’s starting to hurt. Her free hand trails down his back. “You won’t need the wings you’ve seen, you’ll have the throne right next to our leader.” With others, she leaves her mark, to prove that her visitation was no mere dream but a reality. That her words and promises were true to their ears, and that they’ve sworn an oath. As she was about to leave three parallel lines down his back, she feels her back burn.

The same burn that she felt when she fell.

So she lets out a pained shriek, letting go of the unmoving male and he lands back on his comforter like a discarded toy. He stares at her, questioning what had just happened.

He sees what causes her pain.

The feathers on her wings are singed. The feathers were slowly burning to a crisp until it reached the main body of her wings. The part of her wings that are closest to her skin are raw. As if someone had decided to peel off the top layer of skin in a swift manner. Her skin looked terrible, none of the horror films his members watch prepared him for such a scene. He doubted any film maker could come up with something so graphic and merciless. This is something beyond human comprehension.

The painful screams are so raw, so real, it sends chills down his bones. While he’s aware of how capable the throat is in creating sounds that thrust the listener into the deepest emotions, the screams carried years, if not centuries, of pain and anger.

Of all things that made him believe that there was something stronger out there, it was a fallen writhing in indescribable pain in front of his numb body. He didn’t know how she’s able to still stand, how she’s still conscious but all those are discarded when he meets her eyes.

It’s how she shoots icy daggers at him that makes him feel some sort of fear.

Primal fear.

“Just as powerful as the first bearer’s.” she hisses through pained sobs. That’s when he realizes she was indeed crying. Instead of transparent water that humans produce, her tears looked thicker, darker.

It looked like blood.

The two of them hear someone banging on his door, trying to budge it open. The lady-- the fallen takes her cue to escape.

“Mark my words, Star. We will find a way, know that your peace is temporary.” With that, she slips through the same window.

Somehow, Seonghwa believes those words. He worries how short lived his peace will be.

As she leaves, he regains control of his body. San and Hongjoong manage to barge into the room, greeted by the sight of a pale Seonghwa.

“What happened? We heard loud noises.” Hongjoong asks, then he spots the open window. “San, tell Eden we need to get this place reinforced.” The leader orders, as he shuts the window and locks it.

The eldest sits up from his bed and for the first time in the months of disturbed sleep, paranoia and confusion, he weeps. He weeps the pressure and pain he’s kept to himself over the past few months. The two couldn’t do anything, too surprised to see him break down all of a sudden. The anger has ebbed away and given away for him to feel the other emotions that he has suppressed.

No one knows how long it takes until Seonghwa manages to speak up. The other boys have woken up by the time he regains a bit of his composure. “The tour guide we had back in Spain, she’s one of them. The one who made me go for nights without sleep and anxiety.” He mumbles. He then recounts the first meeting, Hongjoong who was there but unaware wonders how they’re able to keep themselves from the eyes of others. The same question that Seonghwa poses for all of them. The way she manages to appear wherever she pleases, how he goes through sleep paralysis when she’s in the room as he sleeps. He tells them of her attempt to mark him, maybe as a warning to those who were in close proximity of him but just as he was about to feel the pain, she backs away, body twisting in pain.

It’s San’s turn to pale at his recounting. “I’m going to ask if my dad’s free. I’m not letting him drive here but a call with Eden-hyung would do soon.” He brings out his phone again, already typing up a message for his father.

“What for?” As far as everyone knew, his dad was just a pastor.

“Besides Eden-hyung, he knows what we’re dealing with. I think he might know what got her acting like that too.” San explains, waiting for the small number 1 to disappear from his message.

“Do you know?” Seonghwa stares at San. Following that logic, he does know his fair share of religious practices and the like.

“I think you got a mark. The name slips from my mind but it’s a strong mark and if I remember anything else, these fallen have a plan that they’ve been dealing with since their fall..” San trails off, keeping his phone for now, keeping his eyes trained on him.

“What does that even have to do with me?” He knows he’s got some sort of connection but the details are nonexistent in his mind.

“Hyung, I’m starting to think you’re going to be a vital piece to the safety of this world.”

#my writings #seonghwa scenarios #ateez scenarios #this is not an ateez x reader fic #also if you can catch some symbolisms then hehe #im not sure if i'll make this into a series as a i have other reqs to deal with #but if you want to talk about this fic then hmu #ateez fanfiction #slightly proof read #will proof read tomorrow

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manage-mischief · 4 years

Text

Picture Prefect

Read on AO3 here.

Author’s Note: So, I’m not really sure I ship Dramione. At least, not in an endgame type of way. But, this idea came to me while rereading Harry Potter for the umpteenth time. I think there definitely could have been more to Draco’s character than was in the books/movies. I felt like it would be interesting to understand Hermione’s relationship to him, and that there was likely a bit of romantic tension/pining that may have been behind some of Draco’s actions/motivations. You know what they say about little boys and pulling girls’ pigtails on the schoolyard. Anyways, this takes place during OoTP, before Dumbledore leaves. This is also my first FF, so I’m still learning. I’ve just always thought about writing something but have been too nervous before now. Any kindfeedback or reviews would be appreciated. Thanks in advance :)

Disclaimer: I’m not J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

Summary: Hermione goes on evening patrol with Draco Malfoy and things progress quite differently than expected. Secrets, lies, and broom cupboards may be involved.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we,” she sighed as she descended the stairs and laid eyes upon her patrol partner for the evening.

He gave a noncommittal grunt in return. Uncharacteristically pleasant this evening, she noted. Without a word, the pair set off past the Great Hall and got to work.

When Hermione had first discovered she was going to be a prefect for Gryffindor House last summer, she had been thrilled, but not surprised. She had top marks in all of her classes, and a (mostly) clean disciplinary record. Sure, she, Harry, and Ron had had a few run-ins with the wrong side of the law. Still, there was, at least in her humble opinion, no one more qualified for the job. When she found out that Ron would have the job alongside her, she had been that much happier. During the celebration held at Grimmauld Place, she had never felt prouder. Yes, she was an intelligent girl. Yes, she had even scored a date to the Yule Ball with internationally-renowned quidditch seeker Viktor Krum (and had especially enjoyed the look of jealousy and disbelief on Pansy Parkinson’s face, she might add), but this accomplishment somehow carried more weight for her.

Being muggle-born, she knew that there were some who viewed her as unworthy of Hogwarts. Some would even go to unspeakable lengths to try and force her out of the wizarding world—as she had learned the hard way during her bout of paralysis-via-basilisk during her second year. But, here she was: the top of her class, muggle-born prefect. The prefect title meant something. Anyone in her world could understand the accomplishment, and no one could deny her the honor that the title bestowed.

Ok, maybe she was a bit over-enthusiastic about the role. It did seem that, most of the time, she was nothing more than a glorified hall-monitor. Yet, she wore her badge with honor. And, as she and Ron strode towards the Prefects Compartment on the Hogwarts Express on her first day she felt that nothing could have lowered her spirits. That is, however, until she saw him. Her new colleague, leaning against a table with his usual, haughty, I’m-better-than-you-because-I’m-pureblood air, his blond hair standing out in stark contrast with his dark robes with emerald green accents. Draco Malfoy.

And so, this is how she ended up on evening patrol on this otherwise wonderful night with a boy who was, in her opinion, one of the rottenest snakes to ever roam the halls of Hogwarts.

The first time she had met Draco had been on the Hogwarts Express during her first year. Bright-eyed and bushy-haired as ever, Hermione had hugged her parents goodbye and wandered onto the magical locomotive, anxious yet elated. She had been thrown into the magical world so fast. One minute, she had been running from bullies in the park by her house as they called her a freak. The next, she was meeting with a stern-but-kindly witch who explained to her that she was talented and special. Hermione was determined to learn as much as she could about her knew world as fast as she could, so she would be able to prove herself at school. Once she set her mind on something, nothing could stop her.

Armed with countless wizarding books and a new bank of knowledge, she confidently strutted into a train compartment and took a seat. She cheerfully introduced herself to the three other young wizards already occupying the space. The others followed suit. Two large, intimidating boys introduced themselves as Crabbe and Goyle. She was pretty sure those were last names, but had a feeling that prying for more information would be futile, seeing as they had both grunted out one-word answers to her questions and then looked away. They did not seem very bright. The third boy had brilliant blond hair and smiled in a way that made her blush slightly in spite of herself. “I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy. It’s a pleasure,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

Draco had been overly friendly to respond, and all too eager to converse with Hermione. They asked each other about their wands, their favorite shops in Diagon Alley, and the classes they were most excited to take. “I can’t wait for Transfiguration. I know it’s one of the more difficult branches of magic, but it seems quite fascinating,” Hermione blabbered on cheerfully. She had been very proud of herself for holding her own during this conversation. Her reading and preparation had paid off! Draco seemed to have no idea she hadn’t grown up in a wizarding household.

He smiled at her. “Well, I hope we’re sorted into the same house. It’ll be a shame if I can’t spend any more time with you in the future.” Hermione again blushed. She kind of liked Draco’s cockiness and confidence. “So,” he continued, “where d’you want to be sorted? I know where I’ll be…Slytherin. My family has been in Slytherin for generations,” he remarked, haughtily.

“Oh, I’m not sure I have a strong preference. Although, Gryffindor seems like it would be a good fit. Or Ravenclaw. I guess we’ll see,” Hermione said.

“Where were your parents when they were here?” Draco asked, eagerly.

“Oh…well…they didn’t go to Hogwarts,” Hermione replied. She didn’t know why she didn’t reveal that her parents were Muggles. She wasn’t the least bit ashamed. But, something about the boy’s mention of his Slytherin family heritage made her wary. Hadn’t she read somewhere that Slytherins were obsessed with blood purity? Surely that was ancient history. It couldn’t mean this boy believed that only pureblood witches and wizards were worthy of magical education, right? After all, with such a small portion of the population having magical blood, there must be hardly any purebloods left!

“Oh, so they went somewhere else? Ilvermorny? Durmstrang? My father wanted to send me there, says Hogwarts’ Headmaster is an old crackpot…”

“No, no. They didn’t go to any magical school. They’re muggles,” Hermione interrupted. Immediately, the tone of the conversation took a sharp turn. Crabbe and Goyle both stared at her as if she had grown an extra head. Draco sat up straighter in his seat, and where before there had been a playful look in his eyes, there was now only wide-eyed fear and accusing. “So, tell me, what makes you think you’re worthy to be here, talking about magic to me and my new friends, when your parents are so backward they probably can’t even tell a wand from a stick in the mud?” Draco sneered at her. His two cronies sniggered. Hermione knew she was not welcome anymore. She shot out of her seat, determined not to cry, and stormed out of the compartment. She could hear Draco’s voice in the distance as she quickly scampered away, fuming. “Well, boys, glad we got rid of her, eh?”

Of course, leaving that compartment was the for the best. She had met Neville and, not long after, her future best friends, Harry and Ron. Luckily, not all wizards were as closed-minded as Malfoy had been. She had not let him get to her, and since then, had outperformed him in every class. Still, she always found it strange to reflect back on the one pleasant conversation she had had with him and relate that cute, smiling boy to the absolute toe-rag she knew today.

Speaking of today, it was getting late, and Hermione was becoming fed up, fast. Her and Malfoy had only been patrolling for half-an-hour, yet it felt as if it had been an eternity. They walked in silence, keeping at least a foot’s distance in between them at all times. The corridor was silent. It was shaping up to be a long, dreadfully boring night.

They reached the first-floor bathrooms around 11 o’clock. “I’ll check the girls and you check the boys,” Hermione broke the silence. Malfoy rolled his eyes and sarcastically replied, “no really Granger? What an ingenious idea.” She simply shook her head and went to check for students out of bed. The bathroom was empty.

“Nothing in there.” She saw Malfoy emerge from the boys’ loo across the hall. “Same here.” On they went.

Half of their shift had now passed, and all they had seen was a sleepwalking Ravenclaw first-year, who Hermione had gently guided back to bed. They were passing by the statue of George the Smarmy when suddenly, she heard footsteps. She paused and cocked her head.

“C’mon Granger,” Malfoy sighed. “It’s probably Filtch and Mrs. Norris.”

“Hush!” Hermione hissed. It most certainly was not Filtch. The footsteps clicked, making it clear their owner was wearing high heels. They were approaching fast. She couldn’t ignore her gut feeling that something was amiss. But, what was it? Why did the footsteps sound so familiar to her? “Have you lost your marbles? Let’s go! It’s a professor or someone! Nothing we have to worry about!”

Aha. It was a professor. Of course. That’s why Hermione recognized the footsteps immediately. She could hear in them the haughty sense of purpose that made her loathe Defense Against the Darks Arts classes daily. Umbridge. Just as she could hear the toad-like professor approach their corridor, another pair of footsteps sounded in the distance. Umbridge must have been meeting someone. But who, at this hour?

She didn’t know why she did it. Perhaps it was because she was on edge from all of the secrecy surrounding the DA. Perhaps it was because of the wrenching feeling in her gut that Umbridge was up to more than she let on here at Hogwarts. But, no matter the reason, before she knew it, she was grabbing Malfoy by the front of his robes and pulling him into the nearest broom closet.

“What the bloody hell, Granger?!?” he hissed indignantly. At least he had the sense not to shout. Otherwise, their cover would have been blown. “What’re you playing at?”

“Be quiet,” she shushed him promptly. Quickly, she pulled out the pair of extendable ears she kept hidden in her pockets. As much as she hated to admit it, Fred and George had really hit the mark with their creation. She always kept a pair with her, and had found them to come in handy on many occasions. As she fiddled with the device, Malfoy continued to look at her, wide-eyed. “What the hell are those?!”

“Extendable ears, now, HUSH!” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Extendable what?” “Ears. They let you listen in on other peoples’ conversations without getting caught. Now please kindly shut up so I can hear what’s going on!”

“…in this time of night. I wanted to do this privately. Most students use this corridor to snog without getting caught, so I thought it would do the trick.”

Umbridge’s girly voice echoed. Malfoy was still staring at her with a look of pure confusion.

A private meeting. But with who?

“Of course, Dolores. Do you have any updates?”

The second voice belonged to a man. She knew she had heard it before. But…it couldn’t be…

“Oh my god,” Malfoy whispered, now seemingly as invested in the conversation as Hermione had been. “What’s Fudge doing here?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Fudge. The Minister of Magic. She was sure glad she had had the sense to hide in the cupboard, even if she was a little too close to Malfoy for comfort. She couldn’t have had him running away and blowing her cover.

The pair of them remained quiet, now both eager to hear what was going on.

“Well, Cornelius. I’m afraid matters at Hogwarts are far worse than we feared.”

“How so?”

“Well first of all, there’s the Potter boy. He and his little friends seem determined to undermine my authority at every turn! He has no respect for the Ministry. Always going on about You-Know-Who despite my countless warnings and punishments!”

There was heavy silence for a moment before Fudge spoke again.

“And do the other students believe him?”

“Some do. Others think he’s gone mad. Most don’t know what to think, and it has been hard for me to convince them to take our side, despite our efforts to disparage him in the Prophet.”

“Surely these students have more sense than to believe the word of a 15-year-old boy over the Ministry and the Prophet! Why are we having such difficulty keeping this under control? I thought I could trust you to handle this, Dolores.”

“I…I am doing all that can be done! But that’s the thing. It isn’t just Potter who has been proclaiming the story that You-Know-Who has returned. It’s Dumbledore, as well. It is not so easy to discredit the Headmaster in the Prophet. He is too well known and well respected. Students love him. Which is why I am proposing that we focus our efforts on a new plan.”

“Yes?”

“Removing Dumbledore from this school, and making me Headmistress.”

“That is quite easier said than done, Dolores. You said it yourself, Dumbledore has the respect of the student body, as well as most of the parents, I might add. Implicating him in illicit activity to remove him from Hogwarts will be extremely difficult.”

“We almost got Potter, this summer.”

“Yes, and the fact that those Dementors even showed up in Little Whinging was a happy accident! How can we expect something like that to happen again? And at Hogwarts, no less?”

“Yes…a happy accident…well. I shall keep my eyes open for any ‘accidents’ that will allow us to relieve Albus from his post. In the meantime, you’d best be heading back to London. It is getting late. But I promise you this, Cornelius. Come hell or high water, I shall make sure Albus Dumbledore never sets foot in this school again. You can count on me.”

“We’ll see, Dolores. Have a good evening.”

Their footsteps echoed down the halls and disappeared into the night.

“I can’t believe it,” Hermione exclaimed. “That conniving little…”

“Blimey Granger. I thought you were intelligent!” Malfoy rolled his eyes. She glared daggers at him, daring him to continue insulting her. He sighed, “Of course the Ministry’s trying to oust Dumbledore! Fudge is scared of him. He thinks Dumbledore’s going to take his job.”

Hermione was taken aback at his words. She had known this information, of course, thanks to her months of living with the Order. Still, she was surprised that Malfoy knew this information, and that he had been so willing to admit it. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Draco couldn’t have come across this information by himself. What was his shifty father telling him?

“Like you even care,” Hermione tersely responded. “You and your father have been trying to get rid of Dumbledore since the day you arrived here! And probably before! You’d just love old Umbridge to become Headmistress and become her little pet.” Ok. Tirade over. Yelling at Malfoy, while satisfying, wasn’t going to do her any good. Hermione knew they should be continuing their patrol. Plus, she wanted to return to the Common Room and fill Harry and Ron in on the evening’s events. Hopefully they’d still be awake…

“You always think you know me, but you don’t.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione whipped her head towards him just before she was about to exit their cramped hiding spot. Had she heard correctly?

Malfoy gave a sad sort of grunt. He hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether or not he should continue. Hermione continued staring at him intently. She was mystified.

“You and your little Potter Protection Squad. You all always think you know me, know my story, know my life. ‘Oh, Malfoy hates everything good. He’s always out to ruin things for us. He’s a jerk. He’s the enemy. He’s evil,’” he mimicked her in a high-pitched voice. Hermione couldn’t speak, still baffled. He continued.

“For your information, I detest Umbridge just as much as you do. I just know how to be subtle about it. And I know my place. I know what happens to me if I don’t get on her good side. You wouldn’t understand. You’re from a muggle family.”

“You know what, Malfoy? I am absolutely sick and tired of you bringing up my parentage. I have as much of a right to be here as you! And I understand plenty, thank you very much! I am top of our class and work hard to prove myself to intolerant people like you and your family every single day! Don’t you forget you were impressed by me when we met on the Hogwarts Express first year! Impressed by more than just my knowledge of the wizarding world, I might add!” She spit back, her breath labored from the force of her outburst. She could feel her cheeks flushing. It had been an unspoken agreement between them to never mention their first encounter. She could see his face tint red as well.

He stared at her for a moment. Then, without warning, grabbed her by both of her arms and turned her so they were face to face, which was quite cramped due to their inopportune hiding place. His gesture was not threatening, however. He looked sad.

“You don’t understand. I…I sometimes envy that you’re from…well…your background.” He huffed. “I mean being a Malfoy is an honor. People envy me.” His voiced switched back to the shaky timbre it had been. “But…there’s certain…expectations. My family is one of the greatest pureblood lines in wizard history. Malfoy and Black. We have a reputation to uphold. My father reminds me of that every chance he gets.” His face darkened. “I have to hate Dumbledore. I have to be friends with people like Crabbe and Goyle. I have to suck up to Umbridge and support her for headmistress. You don’t understand what happens if I don’t.”

Hermione continued to stare at him. She blinked, trying to understand why and how Draco was capable of showing such vulnerability with her. He searched her face, almost desperately, for a reaction. Hermione softened her face. Perhaps there was more to him than she thought. Maybe he just needed someone to listen. When he realized her receptiveness, he spoke once again.

“Everyone in my family expects me to be like my father. Become a…” he stopped himself. But she knew what he would have said. “Well, become like him,” he carefully worded. “No one has ever asked me what I want to do. And I can’t tell them. I can’t tell my family to shove it…that I don’t want to be part of their circle! That I’m terrified of what’s coming and of what I’ll have to do!” Draco’s voice broke. Hermione remained silent, entranced. Without thinking, she took his hand gently. They both looked down at their hands, now touching. When he spoke again, he refused to meet her gaze.

“My parents were part of an arranged marriage. Even their lives weren’t their own. Everything…every bloody thing that’s ever happened in my life and before has been about blood purity. About money, and power, and respect. They expect me to uphold that tradition. I’ll marry a pureblood girl. I can’t object. I’ll be disowned. Banished. Burned off of the family tree for even thinking about, as they call it, ‘tainting the bloodline.’” He sighed once more. He finally brought his eyes back to meet hers. His stare was intense and a bit frantic. Hermione felt her heart pounding in her chest and her cheeks growing hot. Who was this boy, and what had he done with the tosser Draco Malfoy? At least she knew how to deal with him when he was being a jerk. But this? This vulnerable Draco standing before her? Her brain could not figure him out.

His voiced softened further. “I’m sorry I’ve called you names. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I truly am.” And then, it rose once more, “But don’t you understand? I have to act this way! You terrify me, Hermione. And…that just…can’t happen. I…I don’t have a choice.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The pressure in her chest was too much to bear.

“Draco. Everyone has a choice,” she whispered, softly, her eyes still locked on his.

He swallowed. Then, he leaned forward, slowly. She could feel her own body move towards his in response. Her heart pounded and her mind went blank as she felt his strong arms wrapping around her and pulling her into a kiss. She pressed into him, her body moving with his in a passionate dance. He ran his hands through her hair. She could feel her pulse rising, heat surging through her body. The pair continued hungrily for a few more moments. Then, as if on a timer, they both regained composure and pulled back from each other, panting. Hermione smoothed out her hair. Draco fussed with his now-disheveled robes. They regarded each other once again, neither sure what to say to the other.

Hermione blinked in a vain attempt to regain focus. She couldn’t deny that had been the most passionate kiss she’d ever received, including those from Viktor—who had more than once professed his love for her. But, she thought to herself, that will never excuse his behavior. He had humiliated and degraded her, time and time again. The names he had called her were almost unforgivable. Had he changed? She couldn’t be sure. But, one late-night encounter in a broom closet was far from enough proof for Hermione. After a few moments of silence, she realized he was waiting for her to speak. To say something about what just happened. Her mind was still racing too fast to latch onto a single thought.

“I’m sorry about your family Draco. That sounds very hard.”

Oh, if she could have kicked herself in the moment! Sorry about your family?!? That sounds hard?!? She felt like a proper wanker! What an idiotic response to what had just happened!

“I wish things were different,” he replied. This shocked her.

“Are you saying you want to be with me?” She inquired.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, almost inaudibly, sheepishly running his hands through his hair.

“Draco,” she sighed. This was all too much information for Hermione to handle. “I’m not sure, either. Thank you for apologizing for calling me those awful names…but…I’m not sure that’s enough. You just said it yourself. Your family life is complicated. I’m sorry. If you ever want to change, to escape, I will be here for you. And, I may even want…this…too. But, I won’t be the girl who you degrade in public and then snog in a broom closet when no one is watching. I don’t deserve that.”

Draco simply stared back at her for a long time. She could tell he was thinking. Would he really say he wanted her? Would he really change? Would she really want to be with him, even if he did? Ugh, Harry always said girls were confusing, but she was beginning to think that boys that were really the ones who were bonkers!

Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke once again, “I’m sorry. I just…” he shook his head. He glanced towards the door. “We had better finish patrol and then head to our dorms.” Under his breath, Hermione heard him mutter, “I have a lot to think about.”

Unable to form any intelligible words, she just nodded her head. The pair emerged from their cupboard and set off back down the corridor, as silent as before. When they finally parted for their respective common rooms, they met each other’s gaze once again. Draco smiled softly, “Goodnight, Hermione.”

She gave a tentative smile in return. “Goodnight, Draco.”

As she entered the Gryffindor Common Room, she was deep in thought.

“Oi, Hermione! You’re back late,” Ron shouted to her from the table in the corner, on which Harry and him had stacked piles of books and essays. In the back of her mind, she mentally rolled her eyes. Of course, they hadn’t finished their homework.

“Was patrol with Malfoy as awful as we thought?” She gave a noncommittal sigh which Harry took for annoyance. “That bad, huh? What a git,” he shook his head. He and Ron then launched into a conversation about how much they hated Draco Malfoy. Hermione did not listen. She was still deep in thought, her thoughts swimming as if she were looking at them from the surface of a pensive: slippery and liquid and not quite fully formed.

“You alright, Hermione?” Ron asked, snapping her back to reality.

“Fine,” she answered half-heartedly. “Just dead tired. I think I’m going to head to bed.”

She climbed the stairs to the 5th year girls’ dormitory, and told herself she would tell the boys about Umbridge’s conversation in the morning. Right now, she was too preoccupied with thoughts of a certain Slytherin prefect to think about anything else. As she crawled into bed and closed the curtains of her four-poster, she found herself clinging to a small bit of naive hope. It did seem like Draco was serious when he kissed her. Maybe, just maybe, people could change for the better, even people as entrenched in the pureblood movement as Draco Malfoy.

She should have known it was silly to hope for such things.

#harry potter #hp fanfic #hp #dramione #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #hermione #hermione granger #being prefects #order of the phoenix #hp ootp #ootp #can pretty much be inserted into canon without changing much of anything #please be niceeee #my writing

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ithurtsbutithelps · 4 years

Text

so i've been having awful sleep for a couple months now i guess, can't keep track of time because i'm doing nothing every day

anyway

when i had my last big chronic depressive episode i slept in my car just about every other day, slept probably 15hrs a day most days, because i was exhausted and trying wasn't good enough and nothing mattered. that was winter 2018, and case knew i was sleeping in my car and was worried about it (for mental health reasons, it was concerning -- can't remember if that's why he was worried, or if it was the "pomona is a bad neighborhood" classist bullshit that everyone gets fed, that i can't blame him for, truly, hardly more than a kid when he came out here all alone) so he made me a key to his apartment and i started sleeping there instead. there was no judgement.

i always feel safe in my car because i'm safer on my own than i am anywhere else. but his apartment was safer than safe. and it didn't even come with guilt, like all other safeties do. i would sleep and wake up to him getting out of class, receive gentle kisses as i came groggily back into the world, and drove home.

and i started new meds, and was a dick, but he took it with a fair amount of grace. (went from SSRIs to SNRIs, then. which is going up a level in the scale of how fucked up your psych meds are. this time, whatever this is now, i've added antipsychotics. and ain't that a riot?)

anyway

takes a while for them to work. they kick in within an hour, and i sleep, sure. but it's beginning to look like i've gotta build up a bit of a reserve for them to work. not every day, but at least every other. maybe i just haven't had em long enough to tell.

anyway.

had my first physically fucked up dream since taking them. theres three glaring things wrong with my sleep. four maybe.

1. sleep paralysis

i'm able to open my eyes. look around. alter my breathing as i wish. (in the beginning, i'd make myself hyperventilate in an attempt to make enough noise that someone'd come shake me awake. didn't work. didn't stop me from trying.) i know it's just sleep paralysis, there's nothing i can do, so i go back to sleep, hoping i'll wake up normally eventually. or i tire myself out trying to wake myself up and fall asleep from exhaustion. when that happens i try and fight of the sleep, too, because i know what's coming next. so i sleep for a while. can never tell how long. but i wake up again, and do the whole process over. it's always two or three or ten times. never just one. sometimes i know time has passed from the light in the room. sometimes i think i'll have to do this twenty more times before i can escape, and i wish i wouldn't wake up at all, instead. it's hit or miss.

2. cataplexy

i wake up. i can move, but just barely. i'm Exhausted, bone deep exhausted. i ache everywhere. my muscles are so weak i can barley lift them. i try, desperately, to the point i want to cry but i can't, to get out of bed so i don't fall asleep again. sometimes i manage to sit up. sometimes i manage to get a leg over. but i always fail. i try not to sleep, i try to keep awake because i don't want to do this it's so tiring i'm so tired i just want it to stop, but i always fall asleep again. this process keeps me awake longer than the sleep paralysis does. i do this in bouts of hours. so, just by the merit of not being home alone all day, i usually only do this once or twice.

3. night terrors

i wake myself up by yelling. i try this for sleep paralysis too, never works. i usually try to hurt myself - thrashing as hard as i can. if i can trigger pain receptors my body will wake itself up. it works in dreams, and i yell when i wake up because in my dream i'm screaming myself hoarse as i flail around or whatever. anyway, this is the most manageable one. i wake up, and i'm fine. i know what's happened. i'm not scared. if anything i'm relieved. but exhausted. these all are exhausting.

4. exhaustion

i'm tired. i'm tired constantly. sometimes, in the dead of night, like now, i can't fall asleep, because i'm thinking too much, but i AM tired. i just know that sleep won't help. i've got probably a 50/50 shot of it making it worse.

sometimes i'm scared to sleep. it's so tiring. i'm already so tired. i don't want to do it again. but i know i don't have a choice. and i'll get yelled at if i sleep past noon. so i force myself to sleep at 5, if i'm still up. usually i'm not! usually i'm out around 1. but i still sleep until 11. especially if it's good sleep. if it's good sleep, i wish i could sleep forever. it rarely is.

anyway.

i had my first bad sleep episode since starting the antipsychotics we're calling sleeping pills.

guess who it starred.

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rplinkhoward · 4 years

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Headcanon: Link gets sleep paralysis sometimes but he's never really freaked out bc he sort of knows what's going on and just focuses on trying to move. Meanwhile his sleep paralysis demon is sitting on his chest like "Hey bitch, imma kill u" and Links like :/

(Yesss so much yes

Now imagine the time Allen found out that Link sometimes had sleep paralysis (since they room together and all that ladi da thanks Leverrier bull shit). Link has never really been freaked out about sleep paralysis but all thanks to Allen now he is. He’s more freaked out about waking up and having it with the other in the room than actually having it though.

Link still has nightmares about the sinister smile that went across Allen’s face when he figured out Link couldn’t move.

I mean, in the beginning, Allen was confused. Their alarm went off and usually Link snaps up to attention, so it was unusual to see the blonde still laying in bed as stiff as a board. Was he sick? Well, of course Allen got out of bed and knelt down by Link to investigate. The blonde’s eyes were wide open, but he made no move to get up. Strange.

“Uhhh Link? Aren’t you going to get up?” Allen asked innocently.

Link moved the only part that was cooperative at the moment, which was his eyes, to glare at Allen as if to say “Jee, I sure wish I could but I’m in a bit of a bind right now.”

Link watched as Allen stared back with a blank look. He could see the gears slowly turning in his head, which was miraculous considering Allen had just woken up a few moments ago. Usually, the white-haired teen would be stumbling around, almost running into walls as he got ready for his day.

Then those silver eyes widened as Allen fully understood the situation.

“Oh! You have sleep paralysis! My master had it a couple of times before! It means you can’t move huh?” Allen blurted out before that horrific, sinister grin made it’s appearance.

Then Link watched as Allen reached over to grab a marker and moved so that he was laying on Link’s chest, his legs swinging back and forth playfully.

“Ya know usually I like to draw on people’s faces when they're asleep. I never tried it when the person is actually awake though. Tell me Link, how would you feel about having a flower drawn on your face?”

A flower!? God knows with your terrible drawing skills it will come out to anything but a flower, Link thought to himself, but he was still unable to move or shout at Allen to stop his foolish behavior.

“No comment? Okay then,” Allen chirped before he uncapped the marker with a soft click and began to draw on Link’s face.

Link could only lay there, his skin burning in anger at being taken advantage of in a moment of weakness. He hoped Allen knew that his pathetic little life was going to end the moment Link’s body finally woke up enough to move. Well, okay, he wouldn’t actually kill Allen, as that was not in his job description. Unless Allen turned into the 14th Link couldn’t actually attempt to kill Allen, so this was all just a figure of speech. Still, Link was very pissed off.

Allen meanwhile was humming away, his head propped up on one hand as he doodles horrific scribbles all over Link’s face. He knew he had to act fast as sleep paralysis didn’t last too long, to begin with and he knew any moment Link could regain his body movement once again. Even though his master had bouts of sleep paralysis, Allen didn’t dare touch him or mess with him, for he knew that man could end his puny little life as if he was crushing a bug under his foot. As for Link….Allen knew he was strong, but he also knew how dedicated he was to follow the rules of his assignment. He knew he could get away with it.

What felt like an eternity, Allen finally pulled away from the blonde and capped his marker, looking over his handiwork with satisfaction. Then the white-haired fiend looked down at his marker and fake shock washed over him.

“Uh oh…looks like I grabbed the wrong marker by accident,” Allen responded as he flipped the marker over to show Link that what he had been using to draw on his face was, in fact, permanent marker.

Allen’s face split into an impish smile as he saw those red eyes narrow even further, blazing in anger, “Oh well, guess I should get ready for breakfast, I’m starving. Have fun trying to wash that off of your face Link!”

With that, the little imp walked off and in just the right time for Link had just regained his movement. He could’ve grabbed the man’s ankle, but his body was still sluggish and he was far too slow. Allen Walker was going to be a dead man later on today when it became mid-afternoon and he craved sweets. Usually, he begged Link to make him something, but not today Walker. Not today. You get to go hungry.

#dgm #link howard #sleep paralysis #link headcanons

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remedialpotions · 5 years

Text

and I will hold on to you

A/N: I wasn’t intending on writing anything for the Battle of Hogwarts anniversary this year. But then I started feeling very... idk, melancholy and downtrodden today and I started writing on my lunch break and this is what happened. So since it’s still May 2 in my slice of the globe, I’m posting it. It’s angsty and I hope you like it!

Words: 1141

Rating: K+

Warnings: Mentions of funerals and death.

(Title from “New Year’s Day” by Taylor Swift, which I am newly obsessed with, and the vibe of which I hope is captured in this fic.)

***

He’s just so tired. Everyone’s coping with it differently - over the past five days, and as many funerals, he’s seen everything from wracking sobs to stoic silences to bouts of rage to drinking in excess - and for him, his grief and doubt and aimlessness have somehow drained the life from his bones until the smallest things have required herculean efforts from him.

Each day since they returned to the Burrow has been the same. Ron drags himself from the confines of his childhood bed and trudges down several flights of stairs to fix breakfast. Using magic requires an energy and a concentration that he can’t muster, so he cracks eggs and whisks them by hand, lays rashers in a pan and watches through bleary eyes as they sizzle in their own fat. His food is passable - at the very least, no one’s been sick since he’s taken over cooking for the family, so he counts that as a win. When everyone else is done, he sits at the battered wooden table and eats, mechanically, hardly tasting it. For all that he spent six months in a tent eating rubbery mushrooms and praying for a home-cooked meal, this isn’t how he wanted it to happen.

The days are filled with funerals. He has watched as Remus, Tonks, Colin Creevey, and Lavender Brown were laid to rest. And he has watched, with a weight so heavy on his shoulders that he half-expected to sink into the rain-damp earth, as Fred’s body was buried at the edge of the apple orchard bordering the Burrow, as quiet tears streamed down his father’s cheeks, as Harry trembled beside him. He has watched his family crumble the way Hogwarts had just days ago, and he has tried, with all the strength he’s ever had, to hold them together.

And the exhaustion never stops.

A week after the battle, he tries to shake it off by pretending it’s not even there. He grabs his broom from the shed (the Death Eaters that ransacked the place over the Easter hols were been kind enough to leave the Weasley family’s stock of brooms intact) and starts walking out to the orchard, to the opposite end from Fred’s grave.

He only gets as far as the garden, however, when he catches sight of a lone figure perched atop the low stone wall that borders it. A lone figure, he notes as his stomach flips, with a small frame and bushy brown hair and an orange cat gamboling about in the grass below her feet.

It’s not that he’s avoiding her; he’s actually spent more time with her than anyone else since they all got back. She held his hand tight all through Fred’s funeral and cried into his shoulder at Lupin’s, and they’ve done the washing up together every night, shoulder-to-shoulder. But every time they’re alone together, he’s flooded with a low-grade panic from the stark realization that he has no idea what to do. He’s never been here before, teetering on the precipice of something with someone who means so much, and he’s worried himself into a sort of paralysis.

But she must have heard his shoes on the grass, because she looks over her shoulder and locks eyes with him, and then he’s walking toward her, irresistibly drawn toward her.

He seats himself on the wall next to her and lets his broom drop onto the grass. She looks at him, and then back out to the field where Crookshanks is chasing after a gnome.

“How long have you been out here?” he asks.

Now he thinks about it, he doesn’t recall seeing her after dinner, but he had discovered a massive pile of laundry on the scullery floor when he’d gone to put away the salt shakers, and had settled down to folding.

“For a bit.” Her eyes cast up to the sky, which is streaked in purple and pink and gold. “I just thought… I don’t know. It’s nothing.”

For as long as he’s known her, she’s always said what’s on her mind. “No, what is it?”

“I said it’s nothing-”

“It’s not nothing to me-“

“I just thought that you’d want to be alone.”

Something in her voice makes him turn, and his heart sinks when he sees the look on her face. Whatever he had expected to see, the hurt and confusion in her eyes isn’t it.

“What - no - why would I-“

“It’s okay,” she adds, voice brittle. “I - I’ll understand, you know, if you don’t - if you aren’t-“ She gives a shuddering breath. “It’s okay if I was wrong, is what I’m saying.”

Something thuds into place inside his weary brain, and the past week flashes through his mind with startling clarity. He’s been trying not to ruin it, and he’s done exactly that in the process.

“Hermione, I’m sorry,” he blurts out anxiously, “I’m so, so sorry, I’ve bungled this all up-“

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she says, and her words crack and break as she speaks them, “you don’t owe me anything-“

“No, no, please listen to me.” He wants to take her hands, which are twisting together on her lap, but he’s not sure he should yet. “Whenever I used to think about the end of the war, and - and you, and - and us,” he says softly, watching the light change in her eyes, “I never thought it’d be like this. But everything’s such a mess right now, and - and I’m such a mess, and I thought you deserved better than that.”

Her eyes fix curiously on him. “Better than what?”

“Than all of this.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the house. “You deserve someone who - who’s not falling apart trying to keep everything else together-“

“No,” she interrupts, and for how quiet her voice is, her intensity is arresting. “I don’t only want you when things are good, and easy, I - why do you think I do the washing up with you? And if I wasn’t such a miserable cook, I’d help you with that too, I’m just trying to be there for you however I can.”

The words wash over him, sinking in one by one. “You… want me?”

She nods. “No matter what.”

Her face is tilted up toward him, the setting sun lighting up caramel streaks in her hair. And it’s the easiest thing he’s done all week, leaning toward her, a hand landing on her thigh as he brings his lips gently to hers. It feels like relief, finally, to stop closing himself off from what - and who - he’s always needed.

Hermione pulls away, her cheeks pink. “Were you…” She’s a little breathless. “Were you going out flying?”

“Was gonna,” says Ron, seeking out her hands with his and watching their fingers interlock. “Don’t really need to anymore.”

He feels lighter already.

#romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione fanfic #battle of hogwarts #my writing #this is sad and weird I’m sorry #but I’m not sorry for always writing rhr second kiss fics #I’ll never get sick of them

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therealfluke · 4 years

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hello hello ! wld j like to say that if ur already following me and ur like “why” it is because. this is may. i j reserved from my rph so the alias it went under was lucky. which actually,, so fitting w this theme (goes by a name that means an unlikely coincidence, last name is associated with luck, etc.). in addition, if “lucky” by britney spears immediately got stuck in ur head... that was the ultimate goal. also listen,,,, u r not the only one who hates my url. and finally! i saved the old posts on here and j made them private for posterity (obviously) and also,, my sanity.

‹ OLIVER JACKSON-COHEN, HE/HIM, CIS MAN, BISEXUAL. › levi “fluke” fisher is the twenty-seven year old from salem, massachussets / new york city, new york. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said, ❝ IT FEELS LIKE I’VE BEEN HERE BEFORE. ❞ they claim final destination is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would form an alliance with the murderer, then annoy the murderer into killing him by asking too many questions. their fears include rats, isolation and living the rest of his life without muse d, and they don’t know we know, but… in spite of a promise he made to his family, friends and self, he has a baggie of heroin on him at all times so he can prove to himself he’s strong (which is a lie – it’s really for a ‘just in case’ situation) . hope they enjoy their stay. ‹ MUSE C from OTHERSIDE penned by, LUCKY, 20, EST. ›

QUICK FACTS:

full name: levi “fluke” james fisher

hometown: salem, ma // moved to new york city, new york at twenty-two

date of birth: march 10, 1992*

*does not perfectly reflect the below Big Three Zodiac Chart™ because that’s so much math

zodiac big three: pisces sun, scorpio moon, pisces rising (he is!! so ruled by his emotions!!)

gender & pronouns: cis man & he/him

sexual orientation: bisexual

occupation: museum night guard ( fired ) / leech off of his older siblings

mbti: infp

enneagram: 4w5

the song i listen to on repeat while i write the intro: “stars” - nina simone ( cover )

BACKGROUND INFO:

triggers: death (under mysterious circumstances, but officially dubbed murder), night terrors / hallucinations?, drug abuse / addiction ( oxy, heroin ), accidental overdose, death by overdose

it began with josephine (“jo”), levi, charlotte (“lottie”), and christopher (“chris”) – in that order. or, perhaps, that reverse order – see: chris was the oldest.

they were all born to very kind and lovely parents. the majority of levi’s memories with his parents take place in a large house they were intending to flip. given its size and the price it would sell for, they spent more than their fair share of time in there. that being said, because their parents were often busy flipping and marketing the house, they all relied on each other for fun, even in spite of the sizable age difference between himself (and jo, who i have forgotten to mention is his “younger” twin) and christopher.

the longer they spent there, however, the more uneasy they grew. i mean, it was basically its own version of the manor – it was also guillermo del toro’s wet dream. levi could’ve sworn he’d had some run-ins with spooks, but no confirmation was ever, nor could ever be, offered. so the manor feels... very normal.

anyway, when levi was eight, his mother and father met an untimely demise. a break-in gone wrong while the kids were with their grandparents, they were told. at the time, levi... was eight and, therefore, had no doubts. now, however, he mulls over the many possibilities – it was a big house, the likelihood that they really could’ve been in that wrong of a place at that wrong of a time felt very unlikely. some form of suicide? something otherworldly? they seemed about as likely. he’s pretty sure lottie and chris know the truth, but...

after that, they were sent to live with their grandparents. while not particularly ideal, they recognized that it was far better than the foster care system. however, these recurring spooks didn’t just stop when he moved. his grandparents and older siblings blamed it on childhood night terrors, jo believed him.

as they continued into his teen years, they claimed it was sleep paralysis. he confided in jo, in secret, that they weren’t strictly at night. he knew very well that, if he shared that with his grandparents or older siblings, they would think he really needed help. maybe he did, he never truly learned.

when chris moved out to go to college, and when lottie followed just a few years after, levi found it was just jo and himself. their grandparents were beginning to go past old age and reach senility. they had bouts of forgetting.

levi chose not to go to college, but insisted jo, who’d always wanted to go, go without him. she went to new york city, he stayed behind with his grandparents in salem up until their death when he was twenty-two. it was early in his eyes, but for, say, his brother, it was pretty record-breaking.

when he was twenty-one, after the death of his grandparents, he left salem and all of its reminders of childhood terrors and lies. he found jo in new york and began living with her and working as a night guard at one of the many museums.

but a mere one (1) year later, jo, usually straight-edge, decided she would finally go to her first college party in celebration of being so close to graduating. yeehaw. levi was invited to go with her, but had been warned far too recently that, if he missed one more shift, he’d be fired.

on the topic of his night shifts, his terrors seemed to go away when he moved to new york. it seemed as though he’d left them all in salem, but there were definitely moments in a huge and empty museum that he could’ve sworn he’d seen something. anyway, back to the main point:

jo didn’t return until the next morning and, when she did, she expressed the excellency she had experienced the night before. she wasn’t afraid of telling him she’d tried drugs for the first time – no, that night, it’d just been weed. he’d tried weed in high school, trying to figure out if it would help with his terrors. for a hot second, it did... which is what led to his own demise.

(OK! so from here on out, i’ll be talking about the other muses in the subplot. i’m gonna do my best to leave their story and keep their drug of choice vague! anyway!)

jo began falling deeper into the drug world after meeting and beginning to date muse b and eventually fell into harder tingz™. she never tried to pressure fluke into trying anything, but he witnessed the reaction to it. between that and having looked up to his younger sister ( by, like, two minutes ) for nearly the entirety of his life, he decided to try whatever she did.

however, unlike her, he quickly escalated to heroin.

he started out smoking it... then snorting it... then began shooting it. he liked shooting it the best – not only because he reached the high quicker, but also because it required more of a ritual. as a fan of ritualistic behavior, the lead-up was almost as enjoyable as the high itself. unfortunately, it did leave him with many trackmarks and an even higher risk of reliance and overdose.

he didn’t go out to many parties after that. he preferred shooting in the company of the few, not the many. if his sister and friends did, that was their prerogative, but it was just... more peaceful...

suddenly, he didn’t ever think about the terrors or the lies or the shadows in the museum. he was eventually fired, yes, and had to start ‘earning’ money via asking his other siblings.

when the topic came up between himself and his little group of friends on whether or not they should quit, he had no answer.

in 2018, at twenty-six, his usual dealer had cut him off due to the money he was no longer good for. finding a much cheaper one, he took the same dose, but the amount of other chemicals it was cut with sent him to the hospital. given plenty of naloxone, he came out of it alive and clean and, due to the nature of it all, was deemed a fluke.

he didn’t take to that at first. he was lucky, yes, but a fluke ? it couldn’t have been that unlikely... especially when he fell back into it after finding another dealer and being totally fine. however, when he heard jo had overdosed and actually died ?

yes, he was a fluke.

he was so blinded with rage at muse a at first for leading his absolute crutch to her death, he was so blinded with rage at muse b for first introducing her to a world of harder drugs, he was so blinded with rage at himself for being the one who survived when she was the one who actually could’ve done something with her life.

so he embraced the word ‘fluke’ – he acknowledged that he was one during her eulogy, he told his other siblings he’d been the fluke at her wake. when he began saying it enough times, it caught on, whether he meant for it to or not.

he’s no longer so angry at muse a and muse b for what they did. muse b wanted to get sober, after all, and muse a , much like himself, was simply an addict. they couldn’t help not being prepared to give it up. he’s still furious at himself.

now that they've all gone clean, however, fluke is somewhat more pleased. he’s fairly certain he’ll never not be in mourning. quite frankly, he’s fairly certain he’ll eventually relapse. even worse, in spite of the group promise, he’s brought contraband with him to “prove his strength” ( see: that’s what he tells himself ).

riffing off of that, in the manor, his terrors have begun returning and he’s unable to nail if it’s because of the similarities between it and the home he remembers so well or if it’s because he’s now sober of it it’s because... it’s just the manor itself.

he’s still certain it’s all real.

TL;DR:

basically lived in a replica of the manor when he was a kid with his loving parents and three other siblings. is pretty sure he saw some paranormal stuff goin on. parents were “murdered” but he suspects something else. moved in with grandparents and continued seeing some paranormal stuff. only his twin sister, muse d (jo), believed that it wasn’t just night terrors. jo went to college, he stayed behind. grandparents died rip. he went to nyc where jo was and eventually met muse a and muse b when they all fell into hard drug use. almost died because of poorly cut heroin. jo died some months later. hates himself. rip. alexa, play “my heart will go on” but the recorder version.

PERSONALITY INFO:

sad boi energy

if u read thru this and didn’t think “why does she keep basing her characters off of characters from thohh” then,,, u should go watch thohh bc,,, it’s so obvious (we even over here picturing victoria pedretti as jo unless someone applies for her at some point afhsljk) hlfajdsa

has a terrible tendency to find someone to feed off of – someone to be codependent off of. without jo, he’s floundering.

is very * eyes emoji * at,,, many things. the explanation for his parents’ death? * eyes emoji * the spooks that almost everyone came up with excuses for? * eyes emoji * staying sober? * eyes emoji *

didn’t mean to start going by fluke, but started using the word to describe himself so much, it just happened organically.

i have stated before. that im bad at these sections. so feel free to j consult the zodiac / mbti / enneagram above haofuwdlijk

not rly personality but lil hc is that he goes back to that huge victorian house all the time and uses a ouija board to see if he can contact ANYONE :\ the ultimate eeyore :\

another lil hc is that he’s actually a v talented pianist. his mother sort of taught him the basics and he went on to learn classical through sheet music and schooling, then songs from rock bands/artists who incorporated keys in their music. brought the 7-octave keyboard his grandparents bought him... apparently doesn’t need it because there’s a huge piano hajfdkls

if u want 2 hear abt some of my paranormal hcs lmk i wld put them here but?? some r actually creepy (and/or involve blood) which we luv for me!!

FEARS:

rats: when he was living in that big house™, there were plenty of rat infestations. he often got those mixed up with his spooks™. there were also a lot of rats at his grandparents’ house and at his and jo’s apartment. it’s more of a general fear, but. (also... rat poison? drug abuse? symbolism.)

isolation: for an introvert, he’s really bad at being alone. for one things, he gets lonely which is very detrimental to his already fragile mental state, especially considering he’s pretty sure he’ll relapse. in addition, he’s much worse at dealing with any spooks™ that come his way when he’s completely alone. when someone else is in the room, even if he isn’t actively talking to them, at least there’s the comfort of not being alone in it all.

living the rest of his life without muse d: even if she was the one who began their drug journey, she was the only person who ever believed anything fluke said – she was the only person he ever felt actually listened to him and cared about him with no ‘if’ or ‘but’ attached. he also always found her much wiser than himself and could’ve sworn she would’ve gone to rehab after getting well with muse a one last time. she was the one who was going somewhere and she was the one who loved him unconditionally. no wonder he’s got sad boi energy :\

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

his other brother and sister! i’ll probs send in wcs for them to the main, but if you think they wld sound cool, lmk. luv that. (update!! take one of them you cowards.)

the dealer who actually dealt him quality heroin

the dealer who dealt him heroin cut with god-knows-what

someone he accidentally starts to sink with himself

exes

fwb

ons

enemies (not super great at making them, but is still able to)

the new person he’s decided to latch onto

childhood friends (if there are other salem (or at least massachussetts) characters!)

idk!! we can also look at urs and/or brainstorm!!

ok ! like this or hmu if you’d like to plot !

#manor.talk #(there's a tl;dr btw ahlfsj)

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fxngsfxgarty · 5 years

Text

though i am bruised

Inspired by a prompt from @alicethething

“You said something about swangs prompts? Bc idk bout you but I think there was plenty opportunity for some comfort after the ghoulfools dropped Fangs off a fucking stairwell :)”

Title from Cut My Lip by Twenty One Pilots.

Also available on AO3 here.

Fangs should be dead. He knows that much.

He would be dead, too, if not for his friends. For Jughead, who ran to catch him when Kurtz dropped him over the balcony, and for Sweet Pea, who was right at Jughead’s side. For the Serpents, the only ones he has left, the family he’ll have when Fogarty blood is spilled and drained and washed away, and he’s alone in the world again. No Serpent stands alone, no Serpent is left for dead. In unity, there is strength. All that’s left of all he knows lies with the two friends that remain.

Jughead is long gone now, picking up the pieces, chasing down assailants and probably exacting revenge on Fangs’ behalf. Sweet Pea, who bore the brunt of Fangs’ weight as he fell, is still here, though, lying still in the early evening light inside their tent - asleep, perhaps, or just keeping his eyes closed so Fangs can’t see he’s in pain. It could be either. Usually, Fangs would expect the latter, but these days, he’s not so sure of anything. But he needs to know, so he grits his teeth and rolls onto his side, wincing as his back kicks up another complaint, hot and sharp and stiffening by the minute. It could be worse, he reminds himself, it could be a broken neck, a damaged spine, paralysis. Even death.

“Pea.”

“Mm?” Sweet Pea opens his eyes almost immediately; he sounds sleepy, but not asleep, so Fangs doesn’t feel too bad about disturbing him.

“Jus’ wanted to make sure you weren’t dead,” Fangs admits. “We’re good.” But instead of falling onto his back again, he carries on turning. In the small space inside the tent, he’s almost immediately resting against Sweet Pea, head on his chest, nose buried in a crease in the faded flannel he’s wearing. It smells like motor oil, and the lingering smoke from their nightly campfires. Soothing, almost. Fangs remembers how that same smell had enveloped him when he hit the hallway floor, and how he’d been convinced that that was heaven, just eternity of Sweet Pea Sweet Pea Sweet Pea, like sleeping curled close to him forever. And then his brain had caught up with his body and his body fucking hurt and the little dream was over.

He still hurts. Not like getting shot, but a different kind of hurt, a full-body feeling of something-is-wrong even when he doesn’t move. When he does move, he’s hit with an unpleasant reminder that he probably shouldn’t, that seeing a doctor or going to urgent care might be a good idea, but they don’t have that kind of money and he’s pretty sure he couldn’t get on a bike or in a car right now. He doesn’t remember getting back from school, but he thinks maybe somebody carried him to a borrowed backseat, and there’s a vague memory of Jughead and Sweet Pea lowering him down to his bedroll, and Sweet Pea’s face blurring in and out of focus above him as he layered his shivering body in blankets.

He’s still shaky now, not cold, just freaking out a little bit over the fact that, y’know, he’s had yet another brush with death. His best friend must notice, because there’s a slight shift in the warm body beneath him, and then Sweet Pea’s arms are firmly around him, one over his waist and the other slipped under his neck for support. Soothing fingers are brushing through his hair, and he shuts his eyes tight, hoping that’ll be enough to keep the hot tears at bay. He briefly hears a weird choking noise, and wonders what it might be, but before he can ask, Sweet Pea is gently shushing him.

“Don’t cry, Fangs, c’mon,” he murmurs, and Fangs realises the noises are muffled sobs and they’re coming from him.

“I don’t wanna die, man,” he forces out, trying to get closer to his friend even though they’re already pressed up so close in a tent barely meant for two. “I’m not a damn cat, I don’t got nine lives and I already used up two. Maybe three if you count halves, like initiation night, and the Poisons in Pop’s parking lot.” He still has butterfly stitches across his brow and the lingering headache from the night the girls ambushed them. There’ll be scars, mental if not physical. It’s crazy how things build up and up and up until it all comes crashing down around his ears.

“You’re not gonna die while I’m around,” Sweet Pea sighs, his hold on Fangs tightening just a little. “We’re still sworn to protect each other. I’m not gonna give up on you… Someday, you’re gonna be okay.”

That only makes Fangs cry harder, and for a few minutes, neither of them says another word. Fangs grips Sweet Pea’s shirt until his knuckles turn white, like he’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. Sweet Pea rubs circles into Fangs’ back, his touch light and caring; he knows Fangs’ pain goes far beyond the physical one, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to forget about it. He comforts him until his shoulders stop shuddering at every choking, badly-hidden sob, until he can feel hot tears soaking through his shirt, until Fangs is quiet and breathing almost evenly.

“I’m with you,” he says softly, so quietly Fangs isn’t quite sure he’s not imagining it. “I have been since we met, and I will be til the end. It’s more than oaths and laws when it comes to me and you.” Fangs nods. He’d protect any Serpent with knives and fists and curses, but Sweet Pea is all of that and more.

The taller boy just keeps on talking. “You’re gonna be okay. This hurt, it’ll pass like all the others. You always come out on top. You’re the strongest person I ever met. If bullets can’t stop you, neither can some greasy, junkie freak with a god complex.”

Fangs exhales, almost a laugh, complete with a shaky smile as he nuzzles Sweet Pea. “Shut up,” he murmurs. “I’m not all you talk me up to me.” “Sure you are.” Sweet Pea shrugs the shoulder Fangs isn’t leaning on, so he doesn’t jostle him too much. “You’re incredible. You’re something else.”

Fangs pauses before speaking his mind. “You’re kinda all I got… You’re my everything. Love you.”

Sweet Pea presses a kiss to his forehead. Again, it’s so soft Fangs fancies that he’s imagining it, but he knows he’ll remember it in the morning regardless.

Outside, the rapidly-darkening evening bursts into a soft orange glow - someone’s lit the campfire.

“You wanna go outside?” Sweet Pea asks quietly.

Fangs shakes his head. “Don’t want them right now. Just wanna stay with you.”

He gazes up at the thin blue fabric of their tent, imagines the night sky beyond and the stars coming out like the way the firelight reflects in Sweet Pea’s eyes. He doesn’t need a fire to keep warm when he gets to drift to sleep in his embrace.

#riverdale #riverdale fanfic #swangs #sweet pea #fangs fogarty #sweet pea x fangs #angst #hurt/comfort #cuddling #soft boys #fogarpea #is that a tag #it is now although i prefer swangs

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alleiradayne · 5 years

Photo

The Prophecy

Summary: Sam wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of Natalie’s screams. Warnings/Tags: Angst, fluff, night terrors, sleep paralysis, implied sex Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester x OFC (Natalie) Word Count: 1241 A/N: For @myinconnelly1‘s 400 follower challenge, I chose the phrase “Just breath. It’s gonna be okay.”

For the third time that week, Sam awoke in the middle of the night. For the third time in as many nights, Natalie screamed in her sleep, and it was then that Sam understood. He threw the sheets aside and rolled from his bed. A glance at the clock showed 3:33 AM, the same time as the previous two nights. Great. Three hours of sleep. That was fine. He’d functioned on less before.

The cold marble floor of his bedroom met the soles of his feet with a clarifying shock of awareness. He stood and crossed his room, not bothering with his gun or Ruby’s knife like he had the previous two nights. Ultimately, Natalie was fine. She did not feel that way, not in the moment in which she awoke. But she would be. With his help, she would be okay.

Through his door and into the hallway, Sam took a left and rounded the corner for Natalie’s room. Another shriek met him at her door as he pushed through, not bothering to knock. Natalie wouldn’t be able to answer anyway. Not in her state.

Light from the hallway angled across her bed and revealed Natalie’s rigid form as she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Behind him, Sam shut the door, plunging the room into darkness once more. He shuffled to her bed and sat beside her as he flipped on the beside lamp. Her bright blue eyes flicked to his, the only part of her body able to move. God, how awful, to wake and be completely paralyzed. To be so consciously aware of your existence but restrained against your will.

After last night, Sam had learned the only thing he could do was comfort her through the paralysis. So, he lay beside her, curled in close on his side and flush with her body. Sweat coated her forehead, her hair plastered to her skin as Sam cupped her cheek. With her rapid, shallow breaths, Natalie succumbed to the depths of her nightmare, and another scream escaped her gritted teeth.

“Breathe, Talie. Please. Just breathe. It’s gonna be okay.”

He said it for himself as much as he said it for her. The sensation of her rigid body against his sickened him. He wished he could make it stop, help her through the paralysis faster, anything to ease her suffering. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing but lay beside her and comfort her.

The minutes stretched, each one marked by a whimper or a muted cry as Natalie struggled against her body. Time slowed as Sam clung to her, desperate as she for her freedom from the nightmare in which she floundered. God, but it hurt. The constriction in his chest tightened as he watched the abject terror in her eyes, silently pleading for release from her waking nightmare.

“It’ll be okay,” Sam whispered as he curled against her body and smoothed the hair atop her head. “I promise, you’ll make it through this. I love you.”

He hoped it helped. Though his words felt like empty promises, Sam knew she felt him beside her as he guided her through the horror. Heavy lids threatened him with sleep, and he fought each bout if exhaustion with all his willpower. But as the hour dragged on, he dozed and eventually succumbed to the darkness. In his own dreams he witnessed the milieu of nightmares, death and worse tormenting him.

Nothing compared to the nightmare in which he lived.

“Sam.”

The visions faded and the dim lamplight of Natalie’s room bled through his eyelids.

“Hey,” Natalie said as she smoothed a hand over his shirt. “Wake up, Samwise. It’s over.”

Sam blinked the sleep from his vision, the restless slumber relentlessly pulling him back into its depths. Natalie lay on her side next to him, one leg draped between his and an arm across his chest as she stroked his cheek. “There you are. Did you sleep much more?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “What time is it?”

“Little after ten,” she replied as she leaned for her clock.

Great. Why did he feel as if he’d gotten no sleep at all when he’d actually slept seven hours? “I guess I did, but I don’t feel like it.”

Natalie frowned as she smoothed his shirt. “I’m sorry this keeps happening.”

Sam shifted up onto one elbow as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “Don’t, Natalie. Don’t ever be sorry for this, it’s out of your control. I’m here for you, always.”

Guilt reduced her blue stare to the grey of turbulent waters as she searched his face. “What are you going to do when—”

“Stop. It’s not going to. Your vision is what might happen if we don’t do anything about it,” he insisted. “We’re going to face it eventually and we’ll do it together.”

“Sam, I can’t ask you to do that—”

“You’re not. And even if you did, I’d help you without a second thought,” he explained. “I love you. So do Liz and Dean. Whenever it happens, we’ll be ready, and we’ll stop it. I’m just glad we have more than a five minute notice.”

Red rimmed her eyes as they welled with tears. “It just sucks that you’re involved. Nobody should have to deal with my shit,” she said with a sigh.

“Talie,” Sam started, “nobody is dealing with your shit. We are helping you, willingly, through something nobody should ever go through alone. How many times do I have to say it? I love you. I’d do anything to protect you. Just like you’d do anything for me.”

She wiped at her tear stained cheeks as she sniffled. A long moment lingered in silence before she settled her head on his shoulder and curled into him. “I love you, too, Sam. Thank you.”

There they lay together for a few quiet moments, Sam grateful for the respite. How fortunate for him then to know the true sensation of Natalie clinging to him, breath steady and strong. She ended their silent gratitude when she lifted her head and said, “What will we tell Dean?”

He curled a stray lock of her black hair behind her ear. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

A coy smirk hooked the corner of her full lips. “That we were up all night fucking each other’s brains out and had to sleep in?”

With an exaggerated groan, Sam pushed her away before she even finished speaking. Despite his stinging cheeks, her laughter eased the lingering tension in his chest, and he laughed with her. “Okay, fine. But you have to tell him.”

Her wicked grin spread across her lips as she followed him from her bed. At her door she held the handle as she eyed him head to toe, then said, “You know what makes for a convincing lie?”

When she tugged at the drawstring of his sweatpants, a wave of arousal rushed between his thighs. His own devious grin crooked his lips as he grasped her hips and pinned her flush to his chest. “A bit of the truth.”

Natalie sighed as she rose up on her tip toes and asked, “Wanna make some of that truth right now?”

His grasp tightened as it slipped to her ass, and Natalie whimpered against his lips as they pressed to hers. When he had worked her up to clawing at his shoulders and gasping for breath, he replied.

“Strip.”

Tags: @atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl

#alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #survivalparty400 #sam winchester x ofc

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mlovesstories · 6 years

Text

Her Husband′s New Habits HDF Part 13

Summary- Jensen and Jared’s families try to help them work through their struggles post-accident.

AN- Jared has said that people can help you and want what’s best for you, but you have to love and help yourself first. That is the view I am taking here with the boys. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Language, anxiety/depression, frustrated families, physical violence (sort of?), all the feels

Addy age 15

JJ age 3

Twins age 5 1/2 months

Fiz ferapy - physical therapy

Early May 2017

“Hey, Mom,” Addy said as she walked down the stairs.

“Hi, baby. You ok? You look upset,” Danneel looked toward her daughter.

“Dad’s being rude, so I was rude back” Addy picked up on the way Jensen had been acting, but she had just experienced his attitude for the first time. “I didn’t even do anything. I just asked if he wanted some water, that’s all.”

“He has been tough lately.” Danneel agreed with Addy. “I’m going to put the babies down for a nap. I don’t have to be at Jared and Gen’s to get JJ until 5. Do you want to get out of the house?” Mother and daughter both smiled.

“Sure, but who will watch the babies? Dad isn’t...” the oldest daughter trailed off.

“I know. I’ll call Grandma and see if she can come over.”

“You’re the best, Mom.”

Addy went to tell her dad that they were going out after her grandma had arrived. She walked to her parents’ room, opened the door slowly, and asked if Jensen wanted anything, but he just stared at the TV.

“Okay. Bye, Dad. “ Addy closed the door softly.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know he isn’t himself right now. Let’s get outta here and have some girl time,” Danneel said as she wrapped her arm around her oldest and descended the stairs.

“Mom, it’s been six weeks. He hasn’t improved. Maybe we could have the Padaleckis over? Jared and Dad haven’t really seen each other.”

“That might be an option. I’ll think about it, sweetheart.” Danneel drove to their favorite store.

“He just... he isn’t himself. He’s been so mean. I mean, I get it. But he is never like that. He gets mad sometimes, but it’s been when I’ve messed up,”

“I understand baby, he just needs some extra grace right now,” her mom faintly smiled at her daughter as they pulled into the shopping center. The girls enjoyed time together, but they had to go pick up JJ and then go home.

“Hey, Dad. I brought you dinner.” Addy had made Jensen’s favorite. She put the tray over his lap as he looked at her.

This is improvement. He is looking at me.

Jensen knocked over the food with the back of his hand, the bowl and its contents flying toward the wall.

“DAD!” Addy watched the bowl smash into small pieces. She looked back at him after she saw the food splattered on her clothes.

“Get out. Now. Just walk away from me.”

“But Dad, You gotta eat. Let me clean this up, and I’ll bring you more. Please.” She was holding back tears as she realized she was scared of him for the first time in her life.

“No.” He rolled over facing away from his daughter.

“I’m gonna clean up the glass. It’s sharp, Dad,” she quickly picked it all up and exited, bagging it up to throw away.

When she entered her room her legs gave out, and Addy landed on the carpet. Danneel heard the noise, so she left the three younger Ackles kids with their grandma before running up the stairs. She was going toward her room when she saw Addy on the floor, rocking herself to calm down. s

“What did he do?” Danneel crouched down to help her daughter sit up. As Addy straightened, she saw the food all over her daughter’s clothes and the bag of broken bowl glass. “He threw the food?” All Addy could do was nod, she was too weak to use her voice. “Oh, Addy. I’m so sorry. I got you.” Danneel enveloped Addy into a hug on the carpet. After she quieted, her mom suggested Addy go take a relaxing bath before dinner.

“Are you sure you won’t need it? I know all the babies’ bath and diaper stuff is in there.”

“No, we won’t. Go get cleaned up. Enjoy the quiet. Don’t worry about the food on the floor, it will get cleaned up later.”

“Thanks, Mommy.”

She only calls me that when she’s hurt.

Tom and Shep were playing on the floor when Jared rolled himself into the living room.

“Daddy!” Tom stood up and reached for his dad.

“Hey, buddy. I can’t hold you right now, dude. My arms are tired.

“Did you go to fiz ferapy?” Shep joined in on the conversation with his toddler voice.

“Why yes, I did. I gotta get strong like you guys!” Jared made them laugh.

“You alwedy ‘trong, Daddy!” Tom giggled.

“Aww, thanks.”

Gen called everyone for dinner with Odette on her shoulder.

“How was therapy?” Gen started to pass the food around the table.

“Fine, I am just really tired.” Jared knew he should have gone earlier. “Are you going to be able to take me to get my cast off next week? I forgot to tell you the doctor cleared me yesterday.”

“Oh wow. That’s amazing. If it’s when the boys are at school, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Daddy, are you getting all better?” Tom asked Jared.

“Yes, I am. Slowly but surely.” Jared was so happy that Tom noticed.

“What ‘bout Unca Jensen?” Shep asked about his uncle.

“I am not sure. We’ve both had to get better by ourselves. Hopefully we can see them soon.”

“YES!” The Padalecki boys cheered.

Addy avoided Jensen. She was scared of him. She did not deliver food to him or check on him like she had previously. She couldn’t bring herself to interact with him, and Danneel wouldn’t let her. While Danneel was at the babies’ doctor’s appointment, JJ was in her playroom coloring. She exited to go show Addy her drawing, but she saw Jensen’s door open.

“Hi, Daddy.” JJ walked in.

Jensen stared off, but turned when JJ said hello.

“Hi.” There was no emotion on his face. JJ climbed up on the bed and tried to cuddle with him, but he immediately pulled away.

“NO! GET OFF ME!”

JJ’s eyes teared up as she recovered from his arm shoving her away. Instantly, she ran out as Addy entered, trying to find her sister.

“HOW DARE YOU HURT HER! You are such a bitch!” Addy couldn’t take it anymore. Jensen expressed shock for the first time in weeks. “You will not touch her, you understand me? Why do you think I have been ignoring you, Sen?” Addy let it all out. She took a breath.

“My name is Dad to you, Addison.”

“Really? That’s funny, cuz I thought you had to be a dad in order to be called that. You’re just like the guy who left me and Mom. When you’re ready to act like a dad, tell us. I’m done.” Addy was about to leave the room when she heard him shift in the bed.

“What?” Jensen didn’t like his daughter’s disrespect.

“I’m done being scared around you. You like my sass, right? Well, I’ll give you some! It’s your choice whether you deal with the accident or not. Not ours. If I have anything to do with it, you will not go near JJ or the twins until you are better. You will not hurt them like you hurt me. You taught me that people don’t treat other people the way you just hurt JJ. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take care of YOUR daughter because of what YOU did. Excuse me.” With that, she exited the room, found JJ, and calmed her.

Jared was cleared by the doctors to resume normal activities since he had gotten his arm and leg casts off and his other physical injuries had healed. He was in contact consistently with his psychologist and doing breathing exercises when anxious. Jensen had taken his phone call the previous week, but hung up on Jared when Jensen felt threatened.

Danneel begged Jared to come over. Jensen needed someone who had been there. Both families agreed to meet at the Ackles’ home for dinner. The Padaleckis arrived and the kids were off to run around. Gen and Addy helped Danneel set the table while Jared ascended the stairs to the master bedroom.

Jared didn’t knock. He didn’t give Jensen a chance to ignore Jared’s presence.

“Hey, dude.” Jared entered the room with a steady, calm voice.

“Go away, Jared. Did Danneel put you up to this? I’m gonna tell her to stop inviting people over!”

“Hate to break it to you pal, but you haven’t been doing much of anything,” Jared cut him off. “I doubt you’ll make good on that promise.”

“Why are you here? Go live your life. You’ve recovered. Good for you,” Jensen angrily responded.

“I’m here because my kids have missed your kids. And Gen and Danneel wanted to hang out. It was an excuse to get out of the house, “ Jared replied. “Looks like you haven’t left the room. Why don’t you get out, see the munchkins?”

“They don’t need me. I can’t do anything right.”

“Dude, get over yourself.” Jared knew this was a rough approach, but he thought Jensen needed it.

“Huh?” Jensen glared at Jared. “Get over myself? I almost died. I still have breathing issues, my memory hasn’t improved-”

“Those last few sentences were all about you. Did you notice that?”

“Don’t give me the psychology crap, Jared.”

“You have a lot to offer others, even if you are hurting. You don’t think I have never experienced what you are feeling right now? How did I get better?”

“Friends.”

“And?”

“Putting yourself above others until you were better, but I feel like shit, Jared. I don’t want to face the world. No thanks.”

“Yes, exactly. You FEEL like shit. YOU are not shit. You just feel like it. Don’t trust your feelings right now, pal. You can’t. I love you as a brother, but you have to love you too. You have a choice, make it. No more analysis paralysis for you. You choose. Do you want to wither away in a bedroom and watch your kids be scared of you? Or do you want them to see you as their hero? If you want to be alone, go ahead! Just tell Danneel so she and the kids can move on. If you want to live, truly live, you gotta fight. And fight hard. We are here for you, but it’s up to you.

“Get out of here!” Jensen sat up.

“When did you shower last?”

“Don’t, Jared.”

“Just answer the question. No judgement, just an honest question.”

“Five days ago.”

“Let’s go.” Jared walked closer to Jensen, grabbed his arm and yanked him off the bed.

“What? No! Jared! You aren’t the boss of me.” Jensen, acting like a child, was not happy with Jared dragging him toward the bathroom.

“Do you want me out of here?”

“Yes!” Jensen was almost tossed into the bathroom.

“Then shower like an adult. Here,” he grabbed a towel and washcloth and threw them at Jensen. “You have five minutes. Go.”

At the one minute mark, Jared heard a crash. He walked into the bathroom. Jensen was slouching in the tub, fully clothed with the showerhead spraying water on his face. Jensen’s eyes were red and puffy. Jared took a beat to collect himself as he took in the scene before him.

“I feel again. I feel so bad that I put my family through this. Help me?”

“Sure, buddy. Of course. Stand up.” Jared assisted Jensen in getting out of the tub. “Get cleaned up, and then we’ll fix it.”

“Okay,” Jensen huffed a sigh of relief and watched Jared exit.

After Jensen took his shower, he met Jared in the bedroom. Jensen expressed how he hadn’t been himself, and he told Jared about his meanness toward his girls. Jared listened, and he guided Jensen through what steps to take next. He asked that Jared go get Danneel.

“I’m so sorry, babe. I’m so sorry,” Jensen cried as Danneel entered their room.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I haven’t treated you well. I love you. Please know that. Thank you for sticking with me. I promise I’ll try harder.” He stood from the bed and gave her a bear hug. ‘I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“Oh, Jay. Come back to me? Please?” Danneel whimpered into his chest.

“Absolutely. You and me, always.”

Hope you liked it! Tell me what you think! We will be moving on from this time stamp now! I know the last three (I think) chapters have been one storyline, but we shall go forward! Thanks for all the likes and reblogs!

.@luci-in-trenchcoats .@katymacsupernatural .@unicornblood4ever .@ellie-andthemachine .@fangirl-moment-x .@empirialwolf .@winchesters-favorite-girl .@super100012 .@waywardnewcomer .@percywinchester27 .@waywardsuns .@supernatural-jackles .@mcallmestiles .@mandyreese .@sdavid09 .@kingandrear .@bellero @rosie-winchester @iliketowrite02 @seality @blogsnowflakeme

#supernatural #supernatural rpf #jensen x danneel #jensen x daughter #danneel x daughter #padackles #jared x jensen #jared padalecki #gen padalecki #jj ackles

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shootwinterfest · 7 years

Text

Who (What) is More Important to You

From @poideejay

Shaw was cleaning her Nano when the door to her apartment opened. She picked up the .45 she kept loaded while cleaning any and all of her weapons and turned toward the door. As she raised the 1911 toward the intruder, she recognized the intruder and reluctantly lowered the gun after a brief internal argument.

“Root.”

The tall hacker swung through the door and into the living room. Her left arm hung at an odd angle indicating this wasn’t a social visit. The Machine’s Analog Interface had a strained smile on her face, her eyes flashed with pain.

“Hi Sameen, think you could reset this shoulder? Oh, and while you’re at it, I think there’s a bullet wound right above where I dislocated it. Through and through, but I could use a stitch or two.”

Shaw tilted her head at the bathroom.

“Get in there and take off your blouse, I’ll be in as soon as I reassemble this piece.”

“Jeez Sam, you could buy me dinner, or at least a drink first.”

Root’s smirk, coupled with her words caused the former ISA killer to roll her eyes. A thought from her childhood slipped unbidden into her mind.

Shaw’s mother catches little Sameen crossing her eyes and making faces in the bathroom mirror.

“You know Sameen, if you do that enough, your eyes could get stuck like that.”

Was it possible for my eyes to get stuck in a permanent ‘roll’? If she stays around long enough, I may just find out.

“Just get in the bathroom, nerd, I’ll be in in a minute to repair the damage.”

Five minutes later, Shaw was scrubbing her hands while Root sat shirtless on the toilet.

“Sam, do you think we’ll be doing this in ten years?”

“You keep at this for ten years Root, you’re going to be in a nursing home. You can’t survive the pace nor the collateral damage. In fact, if you don’t ease up, you’ll be dead in five years or less.”

“She needs me Sam… I’m the only one who will do whatever she asks without question.”

Shaw, taken by surprise at the anger that boiled up within her upon hearing Root’s words, turned on her in anger.

“So where does that leave us? What do I do when the day comes and you walk out of here on a mission for your AI goddess and never come back. You say you’ll do what she asks without question…. what happens when she asks you to sacrifice yourself?

“You think you can just waltz in here every couple of weeks, have me patch you up, stay a few days and then disappear to who knows where doing who knows what and have me not dread the day when you don’t come back?”

Root stared up at the Persian firecracker, eyes wide.

“Careful Shaw, someone might think you cared.”

Shaw shook her head.

“Well, it’s obvious you don’t.”

The hacker looked at her like she’d been slapped. Tears shone in the tall brunette’s eyes but she refused to let them fall. She shook her head slowly, then looked down at the floor.

The next twenty minutes were spent in uncomfortable silence as Shaw disinfected, stitched and bandaged the bullet wound, then took Root’s left hand in both of hers.

“This is going to hurt- and not in a good way.”

Without further warning, the former doctor pulled the hacker’s arm until pain caused searing white flashes of pain to explode in the left shoulder of the Analog Interface. Obviously stung by the conversation, Root wouldn’t give the satisfaction of a scream or even a moan of pain, she only hissed briefly.

Then, as the shoulder popped back into place, the hacker sighed with relief. As they stared at each other in uncomfortable silence, Root smiled, stretched and reached for her shirt. As she slipped into it, the former ISA assassin walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen where she grabbed two beers out of the fridge.

She approached the hacker as she came out of the bathroom and extended her hand, the unopened green bottle the only peace offering she was offering that evening.

Root wasn’t having any. She shook her head sadly and headed for the door.

“Thanks for the patch up doc, I’ll be going now. I hope I don’t have to bother you again for awhile.”

Shaw frowned, confused.

“Root, where….”

The door to the apartment closed as the hacker headed down the hall, down the stairs and into the night.

….

Six weeks later, Shaw still hadn’t seen nor heard from Root. The Analogue Interface might have dropped of the face of the earth for all any on the team knew. Finch was off in Europe, running around with Grace, Reese and Fusco were stopping crime officially and unofficially while Shaw dealt with a daily stream of irrelevant numbers.

The weeks of Rootlessness had slowly turned Shaw into a snarling, combative operative that both Fusco and Reese avoided rather than face her biting tongue. No matter the innocent question or statement, the Persian turned it into an excuse to unleash sarcasm, vitriol and anger on anyone who happened to be in the general area.

Finally, Reese had had enough.

“OK, smiley, you and I are going to the gym and I’m going to beat your ass bloody.”

“In your dreams, brother.”

One hour later everyone who happened to be at Jeremy’s Gym were standing around the center ring watching as Shaw and Reese pummeled each other. The entire crowd was cheering as blow after blow reigned down from the two fighters gloved fists. Both were bloodied but neither would surrender as exhaustion began to creep up on them, robbing them first of their defensive speed.

Poetically, each unconsciously dropped their left hand slightly as they were simultaneously throwing right crosses. The impact came sickeningly and with one sound as each landed their punch, then crumpled under the power of the blows.

As each lay twitching on the canvas, stunned almost to the point of paralysis, a trainer jumped into the ring and declared the bout over. He reached down and helped first Shaw, then Reese to their feet, then directed each to hit the showers.

Reese looked over at the retreating form of the former ISA agent and shook his head.

Hope that helped or I may have gotten my ribs broken for nothing.

….

The pair rode back to the subway in silence. Finally, Reese looked over at Shaw and asked.

“Do you want to talk about it? You realize since she’s been gone you’ve been gradually turning into someone even we don’t want to be around. Your team building skills have always sucked, Shaw, but this is taking things to an extreme.

“What the hell is going on?”

Shaw was silent for so long Reese thought he wasn’t going to get an answer. Finally she looked over at him with such sadness and confusion he thought he was looking at another person.

“A few weeks ago, she came to my apartment all beat up again as usual. I came as close as I’ve ever come to telling her I cared for her. I did it in my own way since it’s the only way I know how to do things.

“She blew it off like I was just being my normal self and when she said ‘someone might think you care’ I lost it. I said ‘it’s obvious you don’t’ and she left, and I haven’t seen her since. I was ready to tell her how much I care for her, but she’s so devoted to that infernal Machine of hers, she won’t even listen to me when I try to tell her to be careful.

“I still thought it’d be OK, but when I grabbed two beers she refused to take the one I offered her and walked out, only saying she hoped she wouldn’t have to bother me again for awhile. I haven’t seen nor heard from her since.

“I don’t know what to do, Reese. Things have to change or I’m going to lose it. She says she cares for me, but since we defeated Samaritan, all she does is follow her goddess around wherever she instructs.

“She doesn’t care about me, not really. I guess I’m tired and finished with being second fiddle to an Artificial Intelligence that holds her in the palm of its hand. I would have been willing to be an equal part of this weird menage a trois except I’ll always be second fiddle to her infatuation with a bunch of transistors and code. And that’s unacceptable.”

Reese stared at the Persian firecracker. His eyes were a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“We’re going back to the subway and you’re going to learn a thing or two about your on again off again girlfriend.”

Shaw’s response was instantaneous and automatic.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Reese snorted.

“We’ll see.”

….

The pair walked into the deserted subway station and walked over to the car that housed several monitors and some communications equipment. Reese sat down and started punching commands into the keyboard.

Shaw was smirking.

“Be careful, you don’t want to start a war or anything.”

Reese only raised an eyebrow.

“I know a thing or two about this. Come over here.”

Shaw approached the monitors and stood next to her teammate.

“You think she always puts you second, well I think you need to see something. I guess neither Finch nor I ever had the feeling you needed to see this, but now… well watch.”

Reese keyed a command and the monitor lit up. As Shaw saw the footage on the screen she gasped.

“Root, what the hell?”

The scene on the screen was the roof of a high-rise building. Root was looking into the camera and as the picture started she spoke.

Root looked directly into the camera. “When you told me to stop looking for Shaw I did. But now I need you to help me. I can’t do this alone…” Root climbed onto the ledge wearing her high-heeled boots.

“Harold taught you Blackjack and Chess,” she continued, “I wonder if he ever taught you how to play chicken… I’m going to walk across this ledge with my eyes closed until A, you help me find Sameen, or B I fall tragically to my death.”

Shaw’s heart was in her throat as she watched Root take a step, then another, falter then…

“You’ve calculated the wind speed so you know how treacherous this is…You have to ask yourself what’s worse- the two of us working together or me, taking this next step alone.”

A brief pause, then Root looks directly into the camera.

“Thanks for playing.” She hopped down to the roof.

Shaw looked up at Reese, not seeing him.

“Son of a bitch Root! What were you thinking?”

Reese reached for her hand.

“Not what, Shaw, who. She was thinking of you. And it’s been like that since Wall Street. But don’t forget, you never told her if you felt anything because, in your words, ‘I don’t do feelings.’

“Well Root does them, and maybe her running around throwing herself in harm’s way is just her way of dealing with feelings for a certain person she thinks aren’t reciprocated.”

Shaw turned back from Reese and stared into the monitor.

“Where is she?”

The monitor stayed black.

“Tell me or I’ll start shooting your servers. Eventually I’ll find one you need and it will begin to hurt.”

She pulled her Nano and put a bullet in the monitor.

“I am not fucking around!”

One of the other monitors flickered to life. As the former ISA assassin turned toward it, coordinates appeared on the screen. Shaw pulled her phone and inputted the coordinates in her maps app.

Seconds later she looked up at Reese.

“She’s in a hotel six blocks from here.

“What room?”

Seconds later she got to her feet.

“I’m going. Don’t know when I’ll be back”

She started out of the subway car, then hesitated, turning back to Reese.

“And John…. thanks.”

Reese nodded at her back.

….

Room 609 was the first room on the right when Shaw stepped out of the elevator. She took the key card the front desk had so graciously provided (either I get the key or I’ll have DEA in her by the time you guys leave for dinner and I’ll tell management you ratted them out. Now give me the key and go back to setting up your little drug deals.) and slipped it into the lock.

When the door opened, she couldn’t see anything at first. The blackout curtains were closed and all the lights were off. As Shaw stepped quietly into the room she heard a weak, but familiar voice.

“I think you broke into the wrong room asshole. There’s a 9mm pointed at your head.”

“Root?”

The lights clicked on. The hacker was lying in one of the beds, gun pointed at Shaw. Her face reflected confusion and exhaustion as she stared at the Persian.

“Shaw? What are you doing here?”

As the hacker lowered her gun, Shaw turned and closed the door, then approached the bed. She noted the state of the other bed, bloodied and disheveled, then looked over at the Machine’s Analog Interface.

“She almost got you killed this time, didn’t she? And you came here to try to nurse yourself back to health? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Shaw pulled back the sheet covering the hacker and looked away. Root’s body was a landscape of bruises in yellow, blue, purple and black. Three wounds, two of which looked like bullet wounds had been stitched awkwardly and showed signs of infection. Then there was the overall appearance of the hacker, who had lost ten pounds minimum that she couldn’t afford to lose.

Root watched silently as Shaw examined her. When she shook her head and gazed into the hacker’s eyes, her own pain was obvious.

“We need to get you out of this shit hole and someplace where I can properly patch you up. Do you have any clothes we can get on you?”

Root’s eyes filled with tears.

“You can just go, Shaw. I told you I wasn’t going to bother you for awhile. I can take care of myself.”

“You obviously can’t based on the way you are right now. Let’s get you to my place.”

“No thanks, I told you I can take care….”

Shaw slammed her hand down on the nightstand.

“No you can’t! Dammit Root, you’re seriously injured, your presenting infection and possible sepsis. You’re emaciated and if you don’t get some antibiotics then some proper nutrition you could die.”

“Then you won’t have to patch me up anymore, Shaw. I don’t want to be a pain in your ass, so why don’t you just leave me alone.”

The former ISA assassin walked around to the empty side of the bed and sat down. She stared at Root for a long, uncomfortable time, then looked toward the blacked out windows. When she looked back at the hacker, Root almost gasped.

There were tears in Shaw’s eyes.

“I didn’t want to have this conversation until you felt better, but I guess it’s now or never. This morning, Reese showed me security footage of you and Finch on the roof of a high rise somewhere in Manhattan. It opened my eyes to a few things.

“I was wrong, Root. I thought you cared so much for your AI goddess that you’d never consider us. Yes that’s right us- you and me. I believed that you racing in and out, always on some errand for “Her”, meant that there was no place for me except as a convenient distraction to be visited when the need arose.

“The insane and reckless stunt you pulled on that roof showed me you at least cared, and my place in whatever this is between us is more than I believed.”

Shaw wiped almost angrily at her eyes.

“You said the last time I saw you, ‘be careful Shaw, someone might think you cared.’

“Well I do care, more than I ever have, more than I ever wanted to have. I don’t know how to describe this, but the emptiness when you’re not around sucks. The last six weeks have been bad, Root… I’ve not only missed you and your obnoxious flirting, I’ve regretted what I’ve said every day since you walked out.

“And when I said to you that it was obvious you didn’t care, I didn’t mean it. It was something I just said trying to hurt you because of the hurt I was experiencing. And it’s a hurt I’ve never felt before so I don’t know how to process it.

“I said I don’t do feelings, but you’ve caused me more feelings than anyone ever. I don’t know what to do with them, I don’t know how to deal with them and I don’t know how to reciprocate them.

“I do know this- when you’re not around, my world is emptier than when you’re here. I know that when you’re gone I feel like part of me is missing. I know that when I see you, not like this of course, I feel good inside, like when I’ve eaten a particularly good meal. Sorry if that’s a bad analogy.”

Root interjected, her own eyes leaking.

“It’s a perfect analogy- for you, at least.”

“Anyway, I care Root, more than I ever cared about someone since I lost my father. I care and want us to be something, anything that’s not like the last six weeks have been. I was angry with you for not caring about me, but the scene on the roof showed me how stupid and petty I was acting.

“If you’ll forgive me and let me take you home and patch you up, we can start to figure out what this is and what it might be down the road.

“Do you think we could?”

Root smiled up at the Persian firecracker, tears still wet on her cheeks. She reached for Shaw’s hand, then winced as the pain hit her. Shaw’s eyes widened as she reached out her own hand to still the hacker’s movement.

Root’s smile reappeared.

“Take me home Sameen.”

#shootsecretsanta #root x shaw #person of interest

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