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ahopelessromantic · 4 years

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No Grave ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of blood, surgery, a gun wound, quite some angst, Spencer and Reader are next level whipped for each other

Is there truly nothing that can get in-between true love? Spencer and you are forced to find out in the most painful way.

(A/N: I kind of let myself get away with this one, it’s dramatic af lmao. But I listened to Hozier’s Work Song while writing it, so can you really blame me?)

Derek Morgan normally prided himself in having fairly quick reflexes. He had played college football, his rifle scores had always been consistently good, he was able to take down an unsub in less than a minute. But none of that had helped him when a psychotic suspect had shot down his best friend. He had to watch it happen as if it was in slow motion, his voice failing him and not even allowing him to yell out a warning. Spencer had sunken to the floor with a surprised look, blood already beginning to seep through the fabric of his shirt. He coughed weakly and immediately all of Morgan’s attention was on him. Full of worry, he barely even noticed Hotch arriving on the scene and taking down the suspect. “(Y/N).” Spencer spluttered out; his voice hoarse. Now, all of a sudden, everything was happening way too quickly. Morgan frowned in confusion at his friend’s words. “Is that the Unsub’s accomplice? Come on, Reid, stay with me.”, he growled, applying pressure to the gun wound. But he could feel Reid’s body growing limp. “Call (Y/N).” Was the last thing Spencer weakly whispered before passing out.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Emily hummed calmly, placing her arm around Morgan’s shoulders. He took a deep, shaky breath and shook his head. “Then why am I here and he isn’t? Why wasn’t he wearing his goddamn vest?!” He made a move to get up in agitation, but Prentiss pressed down on his shoulder, effectively stopping him. “You know Spencer would have taken it off to negotiate with or without your blessing. And blaming yourself isn’t going to help anyone right now. We’ll know more soon, okay?” He nodded, burying his face in his hands. It had been three hours of surgery already, and it wasn’t looking good for Reid. “Has Garcia found anyone with the name (Y/N) in the unsub’s life yet?” JJ shook her head, watching Morgan and Prentiss with a worried look on her face. “Nothing. Are you sure he said that name?” Morgan was about to snap at her, mad that she dared to criticize his memory at that moment, but then a nurse headed their way. They must have made up an odd group, just a bunch of tired-looking agents draped over various chairs and even the floor. “You’re with Doctor Reid?” This time there was no way for Prentiss to stop Morgan, he jumped up from his seat and towered over the unsuspecting nurse. “Finally, we see someone from your staff! Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve gotten any updates?” The nurse flinched, then regained her composure and straightened up to meet Morgan’s glare head-on. “If you’ve been here for so long already, you probably know that we’re not allowed to give you any information on the patient.” Morgan visibly deflated. “Can you at least tell us if he’s alive?” The nurse sighed, a conflicted look on her face. “Listen, his emergency contact is on its way. Maybe they can tell you more.” With that she disappeared down the hallway, leaving behind a clueless team. “Reid has an emergency contact?” Rossi asked but only got confused faces as an answer. After that, it was back to waiting. Just when Morgan thought he was going to lose his mind; someone came their way again.

You were sure you looked like an absolute mess. You had woken up from a terrible nightmare, and ten minutes later the hospital had called you. Before the staff member had even begun to speak you had already known that something was wrong. Like a madman, you had bolted through your apartment and carelessly gotten dressed. You were sure you had forgotten about half your purse’s usual contents back in your apartment. With some spare clothes and a hot to-go cup of coffee, you had gotten into your car and driven as fast as never before in your life. At some point, you had either switched on autopilot or gone into shock, or maybe even both. It was only in the hospital’s garage that you tuned back in, wondering how you had even gotten there in one piece. Upon seeing your reflection in the elevator up to the ICU you became painfully aware of the fact that you were wearing Spencer’s sweater. And with that, your emotions overcame you, threatened to pull you under like a deathly avalanche. With tears streaming down your face you made your way to the front desk, stating your name as calmly as possible. Your whole body was shaking and after the first whiff of hospital air you threw up into the nearest trash bin. One of the nurses had been so kind as to lead you to a waiting area and explain that Spencer was still in surgery. The people sitting there matched the descriptions of his team members and you weakly smiled at them. “You’re with Spence, right?” One of them jumped up from his seat and nodded, looking at you expectantly. “He’s- They told me he’s still in surgery.” Was all you were able to bring out before you broke down sobbing. A woman with dark hair pulled you into a much-needed hug, and if had you been less worried about your loved one’s wellbeing you would have felt bad about ruining her shirt with your tears. “I’m sorry if it seems insensitive, but I think we all have to ask.” A serious-looking man spoke up once you had slightly calmed down, now sitting next to the kind woman in one of the hospital’s dingy chairs. “Who… are you?” You were still so deep in thought that you hadn’t even heard the question, absently playing with the ring on your left hand. It was a habit Spencer normally called you out on, taking your hand whenever he spotted you doing it. It was also how the team’s glances landed on your ring, their breaths catching in their throats. “I’m Spencer’s wife.” You said with a heavy voice, swallowing down a sob. The team looked like they were about to bombard you with questions, but then a serious-looking nurse made her way over to you. You felt every single muscle in your body tense up. “Doctor Reid is out of Surgery.” For a moment you felt as if you were floating, ready for more good news, but upon seeing the expression on her face you could swear your heart stopped for a moment. “Would you please come with me?” You nodded and got up, your legs feeling like jelly. The nurse led you to the front of a hospital room. “You can go in and see him now, but I have to warn you. Your husband suffered a gunshot to his heart, and although the surgery has been successful, he’s still in a critical condition. He’ll only be somewhat safe once he makes it through the night.” You nodded, and without stopping to think for a moment you stepped into the room. If your heart hadn’t been broken before by the mere prospect of never looking into Spencer’s beautiful eyes again, it would have surely shattered into pieces now. Seeing his lifeless body on the hospital bed filled you with an indescribable ache like someone was physically trying to claw their way through your chest on the search for your now cold heart. The hot tears on your cheeks were the last reminder of warmth in your body, and you quietly whimpered. You sank into the chair next to his bed and felt yourself completely break, burying your head in the hard mattress. The eerie beeping of the heart monitor and the sound of the oxygen tank posed the soundtrack of your demise and for a while, you completely lost all track of time. You had known that his work was dangerous, and you had always been somewhat prepared for something bad to happen one day. You set up as his emergency contact was proof of that, of a partnership whose very essence it was to constantly fear losing each other. But nothing could have ever prepared you for this, sitting next to his pale form and feeling like you had been shot just as bad as him. It didn’t quite want to fit into your head, that this could be it. This could be the last breaths you would ever witness him take and it made you want to scream in pain. If everything had gone according to you, your life with Spencer had been nowhere near to being over. Hell, it had only just started. You gripped his hand, more to anchor yourself than anything. “Spence, baby. Do you remember the day we got married?”, you whispered in a last fit of broken hope. Maybe talking to him would bring him back to the land of the living, bring him back to you. Your wedding had been such a spontaneous decision, and yet, somehow, it had been the best day of your life. You had been speaking about the concept of marriage over breakfast, how commercialised weddings had become over the years, and then suddenly he had looked at you over the rim of his coffee mug and asked you if you wanted to get married today. There hadn’t even been any nervousness in his voice, he had been so certain that this was the way for you two to go. You had laughed at first, asked him if he was crazy, to which he had just retorted that he was crazy about you. “Nothing is going to change anyway. I’m yours and you’re mine for the rest of our lives, right? Might as well save some taxes while being together.” His words had been so profound that you hadn’t even had the chance to say no. So, that day, you in your prettiest sundress and Spencer in his best suit, the two of you had gotten rings from the jeweller around the corner and then driven to the courthouse where you had signed your lives away to each other. Now, sitting next to him in the glum hospital room, all of that seemed like a far-off memory. A sunlit moment of joy in a now so dull seeming world. “Your life is mine, and my life is yours, remember?” You whispered with an aching soul. “My life is going to end with yours and I’m not ready for that yet, okay?” Your voice broke. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet.” You started sobbing again, and at this point, you were surprised you even still had tears in your body left to cry. All night long you weren’t able to get a minute of sleep, your gaze continuously fixed on the rise of his chest. If he was going to stop breathing, you had to be there. A doctor came by to check on Spencer in the early morning hours, looking somewhat hopeful. “He’s made it through the night, that’s good. Your husband is a fighter, Mrs Reid.” You almost hugged the poor guy, so grateful to finally have received good news again. “He should be waking up slowly, once he’s awake we can transfer him to a regular care room.” You nodded and looked back to Spencer, hooked up on various machines and tubes. The shadows under his eyes were dark, and although you wanted nothing more than to see his face full of life again you wished he would just take his time waking up. Normally you always had to force him to go to sleep. The team had been a huge help in keeping you sane, all of them had been camping out in the waiting area, waiting for any kind of news. Of course, you had wished to meet them under different circumstances, but nothing to bring you together like your husband almost dying, right?

Spencer woke up around noon. At first, you hadn’t even noticed it, but then his hand had twitched next to yours and your brain had immediately switched back into hyper-focus. He scrunched up his face, and then with the faintest morning voice ever he mumbled out a quiet “Ow.”. You started laughing and crying at the same time, pressing kisses all over his hand. “Why does my chest hurt?” He grumbled; his eyes still closed. “You were shot in the heart, honey.”, you reminded him, your voice almost matching his. It was then that he opened his eyes and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. You were never again going to forget how beautiful they looked. He weakly gripped your hand in his, his expression still more confused than anything else. “Is that why everything hurts?” You laughed and nodded, leaning your forehead against your joined hands. “I’ll go get the doctor in a minute. But do you even know how much you scared me?” Spencer lifted your chin and looked at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “How does that song you like so much go again? No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her? You’re not getting rid of me that easily my love.” You breathed out in relief, leaning into his touch. “I love you so much, Spencer.” For a whole moment you got lost in his eyes, and it was there you knew that you were never going to take another moment with him by your side for granted. You were going to hoard them like a greedy madman and hold onto them until age or death would have to pry them from your hands. But then life picked up its normal speed again, doctors came swarming into the room to check on Spencer and you were filled with nothing but gratefulness to the universe for giving you more time with him, more time to make memories for your collection.

With a smile on your face, you watched the team spill into the room, all of them looking more than happy to see your husband alive. It had been two days since the surgery, and the nurses had only now given Spencer the clear for visitors again. Morgan sat down across from you, punching Spencer in the shoulder as gently as possible. “That’s for almost dying on me, and for not telling us that you’re married! We could have notified her much sooner, man.” Spencer had half a heart to look guilty, distracting himself by playing with your wedding ring. “You guys know how dangerously close Unsubs sometimes get to us. (Y/N) is all I have; I couldn’t risk her ever getting hurt. It’s got nothing to do with you, I promise.” Emily crossed her arms, looking down on Spencer in feigned anger. “Well, that’s good because we really happen to like your wife. She forced us all to sleep while she was waiting for you to make it through the night.” Spencer’s eyes met yours and you basked in the warmth flowing through you. He already had a cheeky grin on his tired face again. “Why does that sound so familiar?” You chuckled and rolled your eyes, gripping his hand even tighter. There was no way in hell you were going to remove yourself from his side during the next few weeks. After a few days he was cleared to return home, and you couldn’t wait to have your home feel like just that again. Home just wasn’t the same without him.

“Sir, you have absolutely no business still looking this good after getting shot in the heart.” Spencer laughed in surprise, shoving his wet hair out of his face. He had taken his first shower by himself today, finally able to fully move his arms again without ripping the stitches open. “Honey, I haven’t worn anything but hoodies and sweatshirts since getting back from the hospital.” You could see the familiar blush on his cheeks he got whenever you complimented him, and it filled your chest with warm honey to see him like that again. “Still. Being alive suits you.” He rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, getting into bed and patting the empty spot beside him. “I know it’s early, but come sleep with me?” His painkillers made him constantly tired, but you’d prefer a sleepy cuddly Spencer over a Spencer in pain any day. “Like you even have to ask.” You giggled, turning off the lights and cuddling up next to him. “I know it’s a weird question.” You spoke into the darkness after listening to your husband’s calm breathing for a while. “But when you were on the other side… did you see anything?” You could feel his chest vibrate with a half-hearted chuckle next to you. “Go to sleep, (Y/N).” You shook your head and further curled up into his size. “I’m gonna need to hear you breathing for at least thirty minutes more before I’m able to fall asleep.” He took a deep breath and started drawing circles on your skin through the fabric of the ratty old MIT t-shirt of his that you always slept in. “It was just… lonely. And cold. So cold. For some reason, I knew you weren’t there. So I decided not to stay.” You tried to wipe away the tear that had snuck down your cheek as discreetly as possible. You had expected many answers, but nothing quite like this. “God, I love you.” You whispered with a trembling voice. Spencer turned to fully face you and caressed the side of your face. “I love you too. More than you can even imagine. But you should sleep now. I’ll still be here tomorrow, I promise. I’m never letting go of you again.” You nodded and snuggled into your pillow, a hand on Spencer’s chest. “Are you… checking for my heartbeat?” Eyes already closed, you giggled. “Shhh. I’m not letting go of you again, either.” With that, the two of you fell asleep. Spencer hadn’t lied to you. He was still there the next morning, and every morning after that as well for many more years. No matter how dangerous life became, he was always going to crawl back to you and you to him. No graves could hold your bodies down.

#requested #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #mgg #Matthew gray gubler #Matthew gray gubler x reader #BAU #BAU Team #BAU x Reader #derek morgan #criminal minds #criminal minds oneshot #hozier

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daily-rubbersoul-redux · 3 years

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Jacian stood across from Natalio in the abandoned street, hand on the hilt of his sword. A determined frown was painted across his face, and the wild was blowing gently through his hair.

This was it. The final confrontation.

….He knew full well that he would be incapable of taking down the man on his own, especially since he had no idea where his main sword had gone after the incident three weeks ago. But if he could hold out until Gabbrielli and Taiana returned, and wear him down enough, then…

He was sure they would not fail. He would not fail.

“….So this is the course of action that you have decided to take.” Natalio let out a sigh. “…I expected as much.” He met Jacian’s gaze with a stern frown of his own. “Fine then; You know what comes next.”

“Indeed, I am well aware. And I do not intend to lose.” His gaze hardened.

“Hmph. Then allow me to ask you this: Why fight? Or rather, who are you fighting for? Your father? Your friends? The girl?”

“…While I would normally say yes to all of those, my answer is no. This does not pertain to them; It is between you and I. This is a battle not of strength, but of convictions. And so, I am fighting for myself; I am fighting because I believe in the strength of my own convictions, and I believe them to be stronger than yours as they are now.

Face it, Natalio; You have fallen from grace. And until you yourself can see how far you have strayed from the path you once set off on…

I REFUSE TO LET UP!” With that, he drew his sword, swiftly taking a combative stance before leaping forward with a battle cry.

[the rest has been put under a cut bc this shit is 18 fucking pages long, and i'm not about to clog everyone's dashes with a text wall THAT LONG-]

Natalio stood firm, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to take Jacian’s blow head on. Normally, he would be at a disadvantage; He was fighting with no weapon, and Jacian had a sword and the skills to use it masterfully, after all. However, as he would quickly prove by parrying Jacian’s oncoming attack, he had no need for a weapon.

Jacian’s boots skidded against the pavement as he went flying back. He had expected this, but even still… He felt a twinge of fear as he watched the slashes left by his blade rapidly heal and disappear. This was going to be a difficult fight; It would likely come down to a test of stamina, and even then, he was at a disadvantage due to his lower defenses and inability to utilize his full power. But all he had to do was hold out until the others returned; And that, he was sure he could do. He once more took up an offensive stance. Alright then, it was time to put his training to use…

As soon as Jacian finished that thought however, Natalio decided to go on the offensive as well, springing forward to attack. Jacian only had less than a second to process this, and dodge, but…

He was ready. With a small flash of greenish-yellow light he dodged to side, almost too quickly to be seen. Small particles of electricity surrounded him as he went in for a counterattack, though he was once again intercepted, this time by Natalio catching the blade before it could hit its mark. He ignored the blood slowly making it’s way down his arm as he looked over Jacian. “So, you have been practicing with your powers… Hm. Hm! I must say, I am impressed Jacian.

…Though we both know that simply dodging will not be enough to tip the scales in your favor.” In one swift and powerful notion, he threw Jacian’s blade back towards him; Though the blonde managed to keep a hold of it, he was sent flying back once more. Natalio crossed his arms as Jacian regained his composure. “You say that he with the stronger convictions shall be the victor, full well knowing the strength behind my own, and yet you still choose to fight. You are no coward, but I also know you are no fool.” His eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you implying?”

Jacian gave no reply, simply taking an offensive stance once more, eyes narrowing as well.

Natalio let out another sigh. “…Then, so be it. No more talk.

And no more holding back.”

And so, the two began to truly battle; Each clash resulting in cuts that quickly healed, burnt flesh that quickly regenerated without as much as a scar. Jacian managed to dodge most of the man’s attacks, but the few blows he did take were akin to getting hit by a sledgehammer. He still was managing to keep up, but… It was clear that he was losing in terms of stamina, if only by a bit. But still…. If he didn’t do something fast to buy himself some more time, he might be in trouble. He had an idea, but… He glanced at his blade.

… It would be very, very risky…

…He had no other choice. Without giving a Natalio a chance to fully recover from the last flurry of blows, he rushed forwards, electricity swirling at his hands. He had to time this right; he only had one shot.

He leapt forward, letting out a determined scream and, letting the electricity flow through the blade milliseconds before impact, slashing diagonally across Natalio’s chest, and leaving a long, deep gash of burnt, bloody skin. The man gritted his teeth, letting out a groan of pain as he staggered back.

Jacian sprung back, surveying the damage both to the other man and his own weapon. It was now half as long, with naught but jagged fragments of steel left at the end. The entire top had been vaporized… It was most certainly unsuitable for battle. But still usable if need be…

Natalio was still reeling from the attack. To think that Jacian had that kind of power within him… Truly, he had potential.

…To bad he would…

Hm…

Jacian took a minute to try and regain some of his stamina as the wound across Natalio’s chest slowly began to heal itself. At this rate, he… He wouldn’t have enough time. And having a smaller weapon meant he would have to get closer if he hoped to get any hits off…

Shit. This was looking bad.

And bad it was; In the split second that Jacian had been trying to figure out the best course of action, Natalio had recovered enough to go for another attack. By the time that Jacian noticed, he no longer had any opportunity to dodge; All of his options were covered. He took up a defensive stance, not knowing what else to do, and closed his eyes as he braced for impact.

…Which never came. Rather, all heard was a grunt of pain from Natalio. What in the gods name…?

Even to someone like Jacian who was probably closer than most people to approaching anything resembling an understanding regarding the principal, he still had no idea how it was that Orlando was that good at being sneaky when it really mattered. Maybe it was just a skill he developed to be more "evil" at some point, but the end result was that, in one moment, he wasn't there, and in the next he was, brandishing Jacian's lightning blade like someone who was completely unfamiliar with the concept of sharp metal. That said, the only explanation for the way the sword lodged itself into Natalio's back like a thrown battleaxe lodged itself in a skull was pure luck.

"I've gotta say, I probably should've asked you about how your powers worked before building a contrived plot around them, but any chance you can magic this thing up for me?"

Jacian opened his eyes in shock. "Wh- Orlando!? Why are you... WHY DID YOU COME BACK!?"

Unfortunately, in the time that Jacian had been distracted by his friend's appearance, Natalio had already managed to rip the blade from his back, hissing in pain as he did, before the wound started to heal itself once more. He inspected the blade as it held it before him; This was the sword that Jacian had forged specifically so that he could utilize his abilities more often, yes? Hm...

"Orlando, please, you must leave! You are in great danger being here, and I refuse to let anyone else get hurt, so please, just this once, listen to me!" Rather than holding an expression of pleading of desperation, Jacian's face displayed an expression of pure, raw determination.

Orlando huffed, crossing his arms. "I don't know how much I really managed to help you while we were talking things out, but at the very least I figured out this: If I'm in 'great danger' or whatever, then you're in danger too, and I'm not going to just let you take everything on by yourself! We're supposed to be... a TEAM!"

In the midst of Orlando's brief monologue, Chumbawamba had crawled its way up on Natalio's back and delivered as many stings as it could before Natalio could tear it off as he had done with the sword - the poison delivered by its stings wouldn't be capable of freezing a man of Natalio's size for at least an hour, but it did hurt like hell, staining the wounds a neon pink even after they'd regenerated. Just as his Stand had been disarmed, Orlando used the word "TEAM" as a war cry - in one fluid motion, he drew his hammer, spun around, and shattered the man's jaw.

The blow sent Natalio reeling and forced him to stagger back a few paces. He slowly straightened his head out, wiping the blood from his mouth with his free hand. Tch…

“Dammit Orlando, this is not-”

Before Jacian could finish his sentence, Natalio had firmly planted his foot into Orlando’s chest in a manner similar to Ganondorf’s forward tilt, sending the principal flying back, landing splayed out on his back. Natalio sighed as he resumed a normal standing position. “Stay down; This is not your fight.”

Though those words fell on deaf ears, as by this point Orlando had likely lost consciousness. Jacian tried to run over to his friend, but his path was blocked by the larger man.

“He will be fine. Here.” He tossed Jacian’s sword to him. “There is no point in us fighting if you are at a disadvantage; It would not be fair, and any victory on my part would be meaningless.”

Jacian was at a loss for words as he caught his greenish blade, looking at the pathetic specimen that was the remains of his other sword. He silently tossed the broken blade aside, doing a few practice swings with his regular sword to get re-accustomed to its weight. With this, he…

He had a chance again.

Before the fighting could resume, however, Taiana finally returned, though she could only look on in shock at the scene that was laid out before her. “What on Earth… WHY IS ORLANDO HERE!?”

Jacian turned his attention to her, with Natalio simply waiting as the two conversed. “He came back to try and help, despite my wishes. Taiana, I know you want to offer me aid, but… Please, could you see him to somewhere safe?”

“Jacian, I can’t just… You look tired already as is! I can’t just leave you on your own, what if…”

“Taiana, do you trust me?”

“What does that-”

“Just answer.” His expression was somehow both comforting and determined at once, as an eerie shine made its way across his sword. “I can do this, Taiana. I promise, I will not leave you. Not again.”

She went silent for a few seconds, looking between him, Natalio, and Orlando, before giving a small nod. “…Okay. I trust you, Jacian. I’ll get him out of here.”

Jacian smiled. “Thank you.”

She nodded again, making her way over to Orlando’s unconscious form and hoisting him up, before departing from the area once more.

…Good. With no one else around to worry about, his true weapon back in his hands, and a foe near impervious to death…

He had no reason to hold anything back.

Once she was out of sight, Jacian let out a deep sigh, before giving Natalio a determined glare. “Now then…

No more holding back.”

As Jacian said that an eerie greenish-yellow glow began to envelop the blade, sparks of electricity coming off of both the blade and his own body. With a roar akin to thunder, he charged forward, using his power both to propel him forward faster and to deliver a large, electricity imbued slash.

Natalio narrowly dodged, getting nicked by the blow on his forearm which still left a fairly large gash. It was clear that the regular blade that Jacian had been using before had been hindering him; No wonder he had spent most of the fight simply dodging and biding his time. The man smiled. Good.

Now he could stop holding back as well.

With a roar of his own, Natalio charged at Jacian for a counterattack, throwing a meaty punch which Jacian only barely managed to block with his sword; A solution which still resulted in him skidding a good three feet back.

They both continued in a constant exchange of blows; Jacian was getting hit less, due to his speed advantage and the fact that Natalio often had no need to dodge, but every blow he did take was devastating. However, Natalio was beginning to show some signs of exhaustion as well; The battle could still go either way, though it was likely that the next few hits would decide its outcome. And at this point, Jacian was beginning to tire. His movements were becoming a bit sloppy; He was having to resort to blocking rather than dodging much more, and the strength of his blows were diminishing as well. He had to be careful, move too slowly even once and… No, that wouldn’t happen. He refused to allow it to.

He only had to hold on a bit longer. He could do this, he…

He…

Jacian went in for another attack, hitting his mark with exceptional force, but leaving himself open for a split second in the process. And in that split second…

Natalio sharply kneed him in the chest, completely throwing him off and causing him to double over in pain, before following through with a roundhouse kick, sending the blonde flying. He tumbled against the ground, landing on his side with his sword clattering against the concrete beside him. He let out a small groan of pain, curling up a bit as he clutched at his chest. Shit…

Natalio slowly wiped away the blood that had accumulated on his face over the course of the battle, his breathing heavy and labored. Many of the wounds he had sustained were mere memories at this point, but some—a select few, mind you, but some—had managed to leave actual scars. He was impressed, very impressed, but… This fight had drawn on for too long; He needed to end this, now, while he still could.

He began speaking as he approached Jacian. “I must admit, Jacian; You have done exceedingly well. I could feel your determination to win in every blow, see it in every movement. You are incredibly skilled young man. You should be proud of that.”

Jacian weakly looked up at the man, as he now stood over him blocking out the evening sun.

“However, you made one fatal mistake, Jacian.

You underestimated my resolve, and my faith in my convictions.

And for that, you shall pay dearly.”

He grasped the boy by the collar, lifting him up to meet his gaze. “You are well aware of the consequences for betrayal, Jacian. I truly do wish that it never had to come to this. But,” He swiftly punched Jacian in the gut with immense force, prompting a gag of pain as the boy began to cough up blood “I am afraid that you have lost.

…Send my regards to your father.”

As he prepared to throw another punch, Jacian weakly began to raise his arm, and made a feeble attempt to hold the man’s hand back. Natalio stopped moving, further impressed by the boy’s resolve, although… A bit confused as to what he hoped to accomplish with the meager action.

He hacked up more blood, and at this point was barely able to keep his eyes open. “No.” he croaked out, his breathing as shaky as his voice.

“…Y-you are the one who… has lost.” Before Natalio had a chance to reply, Jacian screwed his eyes shut, shouting as loud as his weakened lungs would let him. “GABBRIELLI, NOW!”

Natalio’s expression turned to one of confusion as a figure veiled in shadow with a hold on a long object leapt down from the roof of a nearby building. Before either of them could react, Natalio would find himself with a lance plunged into his back, letting out a yelp of pain as he released his grasp on Jacian, who crumbled to the ground in a pitiful mass, breathing heavily.

Gabbrielli ripped his weapon out, using his father’s back as a springboard to gracefully leap to Jacian’s side, before gently picking him up and putting some distance between them and Natalio.

“I-I told you I could… Do it…” Jacian smiled weakly, before hacking up more blood.

“Hey, easy there Jacian… And I know. You really are skilled, both in combat and with your words and plans. Now hold still.” Gabbrielli gently placed his hand on Jacian’s forehead, a warm light enveloping them both as what appeared to be feathers fluttered around them. After a few minutes, the glow dissipated, and Jacian grabbed his sword once more, using it to help him shakily get to his feet.

“…Are you ready?”

“Yes. Thank you, my friend.” The two turned to face Natalio, who was still recovering from the deep wound in his back, and the deeper wound in his heart.

“Gabbrielli… You…” He was trying his best to keep up his anger, but… It was clear that the metaphorical mask of his emotions was cracking.

Jacian, now having recovered enough to stand without the support of his sword, opted to point it at the man instead, his determined expression returning once more, with an intensity far greater than previous. “Face it, Natalio. You no longer hold the iron clad resolve that you once did; Your convictions have become weaker, and you no longer fully believe in your goal. The fact that I was even able to pull this off proves that. And if you still do not believe me…”

“THEN ALLOW US TO PROVE IT!” Both boys shouted, rushing forward before engaging the man in what could only be described as a dance of blades. They took turns landing blows, gracefully pulling back after they struck to allow the other to take a turn, before finishing with a simultaneous slash that left two large, vertical gashes across the man’s chest.

Jacian hopped back as Natalio groaned, staggering backwards a few steps, though Gabbrielli stayed put, facing his father with a sad yet stern expression.

“…It pains me to do this father. It really, truly does. I… I didn’t want to believe it, when Jacian had told me what you had done, but… After seeing what I have today, I am unable to do anything but believe his words.” He lowered his lance, his expression staying stern. “…So I suppose that you can consider me as an opponent as well, father. That is, if my lance work was not enough of an indication.”

Natalio stayed silent, head hung low. Was this truly what it had come to? The ones standing in his way were…

…

…So… Be it…

Without a word, he wound up his fist, preparing to throw another punch. Gabbrielli stood firm, not a trace of fear in his eyes.

Natalio threw the punch.

…Though his fist stopped less than an inch from his son’s face; He had begun trembling.

…He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to willingly, KNOWINGLY, hurt his child. But why, why? He had always been able to crush anyone who stood in his path; He had slain people who he considered to be his greatest allies, who he would have trusted with his life. So why, why now…

…Was there truth behind Jacian’s words?

“You see it now, do you not?” Jacian approached the man, his own weapon lowered as well. “If you really wanted me dead, then I would have been dead before the battle could truly begin. I know how you work, Natalio. I can tell when you are holding back. Even when you had me by the throat, the punch you threw was not full strength. You either did not intend to kill me, despite your words, or…

…You could not bring yourself to. Even though I am a traitor, in your eyes.”

The man stayed quiet, still shaking a bit but otherwise staying motionless and emotionless.

“…Natalio, please. For your own sake, just stop all of this. I understand your reasons, I truly do; When I first realized the truth of what happened to him, I was willing to do near anything to avenge my father as well. But surely you too can see that this has gone too far; That the pile of innocent corpses has grown too high for this to be considered anything close to moral anymore. Losing your own children should have been the wakeup call. This needs to end no-”

“SILENCE!” The man roared, finally looking up with a burning fury in his eyes. In the matter of mere milliseconds, he once again had Jacian up by the collar, though this time Jacian made no effort to struggle, his gaze and expression unchanging.

“You truly think you have any right to sit here and lecture me, telling me to QUIT? After all I have done to get here, all I have sacrificed? After having to let that… That THING use me in order to stand a chance against him? After I was duped into killing my own children, you simply expect me to QUIT!?”

Jacian stayed quiet, which only proved to further push the man over the edge. This rage, this fury...

He could tell it was naught but the result of denial.

“ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME!” Though his eyes still held the same maddened fury, tears had begun to stream down his eyes.

“…If you cannot come to that conclusion yourself, even after clearly displaying a sense of doubt in your actions, then nothing I say will serve to sway you. And as it seems that you will not willingly stop on your own…

…We shall stop you ourselves. This is for your own good, Natalio.

This is the last thing I do to serve you.”

Before the man could respond, Gabbrielli used the pole of his lance to sweep his father’s feet out from under him, causing him to fall forward, losing his grip on Jacian in the process, who hopped onto the man’s back and attempted to hold him down with Gabbrielli’s help.

Meanwhile, Taiana, who had been waiting on the same abandoned building’s roof that Gabbrielli had been, cracked her knuckles. It was time for her to do her part. She wished she could have helped more, but… Gah, Orlando just HAD to be himself. Still, at least she was here for the most important part of Jacian’s plan.

The part only she could do.

Taking a deep breath, she dived from the building, a blue light enveloping her as she fell.

Time to end this.

Natalio was struggling to throw the two boys off of him, though they had still managed to hold him down for the time being. “Ngh… Get the hell off of me!”

“I’m sorry father, but- Gh, no!”

Jacian stayed quiet, opting to focus what little energy he had left of keeping the man down, and nothing else.

If not for the fact that they had been fighting for nearly an hour, and that Natalio’s energy was drained from not only the battling but also from what could only be qualified as an overuse of his stand, there would have been no chance that the two would have been able to keep the large man down. But tiring him out first, and forcing him to take on massive injuries in an effort to drain all of his stamina…

It had all been a part of Jacian’s plan; He knew he stood no chance using brawn alone. But he was no mere soldier, no mere knight. No, he was THE Jacian Von Rittedel; Esteemed leader of the White Lily Corps, and professional evil rival.

Plans and strategy were his forte.

And this plan,

Was about to reach its grand climax.

As the three lay on the ground before the abandoned building, a blue light began to bathe over the area as well as the sound of something making impact with the ground.

Something BIG.

Being the only one actually facing the building, Jacian was the only one to bear witness to what this something was; Emerging from the light was a large, reptilian creature clad in black and orange scales that shimmered with a warm glow in the evening light. Its golden horns seemed to form a crown atop its head, and its slender build in combination with its aerodynamic wigs made it apparent that it was agile, yet also likely strong due to its apparent musculature.

It was a dragon, and not just any dragon.

It was…

“TAIANA!” Jacian shouted up at her, preparing for the final act of his grand plan. “NOW!”

She let out a roar, which could likely be heard across town, before grabbing onto the side of the abandoned building, beginning to crush it between her hands.

Debris was already beginning to fall, ranging from pebbles to rocks large enough to crush someone’s skull. Gabbrielli grabbed onto Jacian, but the two didn’t move.

Not yet. They still needed to keep Natalio, who was beginning to get more panicked in his attempts to escape them, down. By this point they had both utilized their weapons to pin the sleeves of his suit—as well as the shirt underneath—down as to limit his movements. Even so, they were lucky to have been able to manage for so long.

Taiana was moving as fast as she could, blue fire beginning to come from edges of her mouth as she barred her fangs in frustration. Just one more push and…

The side of the building began its collapse. Gabbrielli quickly sprung into action, feathered wings seemingly made up of a warm light springing from his back. Once again using his father as a springboard, he leaped off with Jacian in tow, both boys grabbing their weapons as they departed, before Gabbrielli flew them a safe distance away.

And it was a good thing that he did, as not even seconds after their departure, the avalanche of concrete and debris made its way to the place they had just been standing.

Natalio had no time to react; His legs were crushed near instantly, and any attempt his stand made to recover them was in vain due to the constant, unrelenting damage being dealt by the rubble.

Not that it mattered whether he was healed or not.

It was not as if he could feel his legs any longer anyways.

He lay there dumbfounded, as Gabbrielli and Jacian landed in front of him, with Taiana joining them shortly after, once more in her humanoid form.

The three teens stood over the man, looking down at him expressions varying from stern anger to determined sadness.

Jacian was the first to speak up.

“It is over, Natalio. You are no longer in a state to fight on; No longer in a state to pursue your goal. You have no other option than to surrender and accept punishment for your actions.

In other words, this is checkmate.”

Natalio looked down. “…I admit defeat. And if that defeat is to be at the hands of my own son, the person I aspired to take from, and the person I trusted most, then…

So be it.” He looked up at them as he said that, a tired smile on his face. “I think I understand now, Jacian; I understand your convictions. Your purpose for fighting.”

Jacian gave a curt nod. “Good. Now then, we are going to call the authorities to get you medical aid, since your stand will not do that for your legs anymore, and so that you can begin your atonement. I expect that you will wait here and accept what is to come.”

“…Of course.”

By this point, Gabbrielli had turned his head, trying to hide the tears that had begun to well up in his eyes. “Father, I… I wish it didn’t have to turn out this way. Why… I… I need to hear it from you. Why?”

Natalio’s expression softened, as he looked down once more.

“…Because I was emotionally weak, and unable to let go, my son. And I thought that by becoming strong, and destroying the thing that had taken my love, your mother, away from me, that I would be able to fix everything, and put her soul to rest.

Maybe I was wrong.

…But that does not mean that the bastard should be allowed to continue to soil the world with his foul presence any longer. No matter what, I will stand by that assertion.”

“…Yes, that’s the street. Alright, please do hurry.” Taiana hung up, before turning to the other two. “Alright, wrap it up guys. We gotta go.”

“…Farewell, father. I never will agree with what you’ve done, but… I still love you.”

“…And I love you as well, my son. Please, take good care of your sister.”

“O-of course.” And with that, Taiana and Gabbrielli began to depart, though Jacian hung back for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. His emotions were… Conflicting to say the least.

“…You need not say anything, Jacian. Thank you for your service; And for doing something for me that I was unaware I needed done. I hope that you continue to grow into an excellent young man. And please, watch over my son for me. Consider it a last request.” Natalio smiled again, and Jacian nodded, giving a small but genuine smile back.

“Of course. Farewell, my Lord.” And with that, he departed, joining his friends as they walked off, leaving the struggles of the past three weeks behind them.

Finally, it was over.

#and with that #it's over!#well #almost :]#thank you ceph aka orlando mun for helping me out with this :]#[white lily knight] jacian von rittedel #[bloodstained purple gladiolus] the lord; natalio roi #[blue sky prince] gabbrielli roi #[bladed rose] taiana seiryu #[actual lore?] story post

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imaginexmeintheuniverse · 5 years

Text

5 times you infuriated me and 1 time you made it okay

A/N: okay so the 5 times concept is something i enjoy writing very much, however i am aware that in this piece in particular, a lot of the ideas are underdeveloped and probably especially dont make sense with the ending when you look at the relationship, but please keep in mind that this ‘5 times’ theme i chose focuses on those kinds of incidents so there are a lot of other times in between (and i dont have the time or energy to turn this into a super long fic but perhaps one day.. ) so this is what happened!

Warnings: mentions of torture (like in the 7th when Bellatrix takes to Hermione)

Tags: @expellimarvelous and for some reason my hp taglist got lost so let me know if you’d like to be added!

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I. Bad Start to the Sixth Year

Your sixth year at Hogwarts seems to be off to a good start as you laugh and snack on sweets with two of your three your best friends on Hogwarts Express. Or at least it seemed like it was off to a good start until the train arrives at the station, and Harry is nowhere to be found.

Waving off Ron and Hermione with a promise to catch up, you insist on going to look for him by yourself. Your search leads you all the way to the other side of the strain where the blinds are conveniently drawn. You can hear a voice muffled through the closed door, and you become filled with dread when you identify who it belongs to.

Sliding the door open a crack, you see a familiar head of slicked-back platinum hair. You aren’t able to make out what he says, but you do see him bring down a foot to meet Harry’s nose.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?!” you burst out, causing the Slytherin boy to jump in surprise.

“Y-Y/N- I-I—”

“I don’t know what the bloody hell you think you’re getting away with, but you better get the fuck off this train before I curse you,” you snarl, shoving him aside to get to Harry. Seeing that he’s been petrified, you take your wand out of your jacket pocket and mutter, “finite,” to which your friend thankfully wakes up, blinking a few times. He doesn’t move much, as he tries to regain control of his muscles, and you insist he takes a moment to do so.

Throughout this, Draco has gone so quiet you think he might have actually left, but when you turn your head to meet his stormy eyes, you’re filled with rage, once again.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?! Get out!”

“But Y/N, I-I'm—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you say in a lower tone as you tend to your friend, not even sparing him another glance.

Why is it that just when you think there might be a redeemable quality buried deep in Draco Malfoy, he always does something that proves otherwise?

II. Welcome to the Slugclub

“Okay, okay! I was gate-crashing! Happy?” He admits, trying to shake off Filch’s grasp on his jacket.

His eyes that used to be sharp and bright, have recently become sullen. They lock with yours for a solid moment before he’s ushered out by Snape.

Your eyes linger on his figure as he’s led away from the party— probably longer than they should have, but you can’t help noticing how thin he’s become. You’ve barely seen him all year, despite having a few classes together. He was never that hefty to begin with, but it looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in ages. Other than his usual perfectly tailored wardrobe, he now wears dark circles under his eyes, and it’s impossible not to notice how the contours of his face have become that much sharper and his already pale skin has adopted a sickly pigmentation.

You and Harry follow the pair out, but for different reasons. You know that Harry wouldn’t be happy about yours because of his suspicions, but Draco looks like he’s crumbling under stress.

Eavesdropping only proves Harry’s doubts about Malfoy, and he then decides to rejoin the party as to not get caught by Snape, but you hang back, telling him you need to go to the loo.

You wait in the shadows until you hear Snape’s steps scurry away before approaching Malfoy who stays behind, sitting on a ledge. A half-smirk appears on his face upon noticing you like he’s been gathering an arsenal of insults to shoot at you, but really, under the snide mask, he marvels at how lovely you look tonight.

“Straying from your date with Potter?” he spits out Harry’s name like it’s revolting to have on his tongue. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Potter’s lady is ditching him in favour of a more refined pureblood—”

“He’s one of my best friends!” You roll your eyes and flail your hands up in exasperation. “And how is the nature of our relationship any of your business?!”

He snorts, leaning his back on the walk behind him and crosses his arms over his chest nonchalantly.

“You know, I came out here to check and make sure you were okay!” You shout at him hands coming up to furiously push your hair back. “I can’t believe that for a second I thought that— no- but you—”

“You thought what?” His voice has become softer, hard exterior starting to peel away in your presence. He stands from his seat, mild concern washing over his features.

You shake your head, looking anywhere but at him. “N-Nothing—”

“Tell me,” his hands place themselves on your biceps, long fingers curling around your arms gently.

You fall victim to his intense gaze, getting lost in the grey seas of his irises. His features aren’t as hard as they usually are and the grasp he has on you is delicate; like he’s afraid to hurt you and you almost feel like you can let your guard down. Almost.

“Is it true?” you ask him, diverging from the subject and he raises an eyebrow in response. “Did you hex Katie Bell?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it without a word when he realizes he has nothing to answer to that and you’re the only person he can’t lie to. That’s enough of a confirmation for you. You let out a breath of disbelief and he starts to panic, because contrary to the backwards dynamic the two of you share, part of him does care what you think. “Y/N- p-please listen—”

All emotion leaves your voice as you tell him, “Just leave me alone, Malfoy.”

You shrug him off, and spin on your heel, breaking the eye contact. Walking down the hall, you leave him there to bask in the silence and his dark thoughts.

III. Hair Like You

You’re already teeming with rage as you scour the castle for Ron, who slipped you one of Fred and George’s prank snacks that ended up changing your hair color. Running into Draco Malfoy, of all people, really puts the cherry on top of the shit sundae.

To make things worse, it looks as though he’s going out of his way to get to you when he spots you from across the courtyard. At first he squints, not fully sure if it’s you with the new physical change, and then tails you down two hallways, not giving a single damn how creepy he may look.

“What do you want, Malfoy—”

“It seems like you’re more obsessed with me than I had originally thought,” he snickers, catching up with your quickened pace.

That’s when it hits you, and you instantly halt, causing him to smack into your back. Spinning around to face him, your eyes widen in horror as you take in the familiar platinum blonde hair— the same shade you saw in the mirror earlier.

“That’s just great!” You throw your hands up dramatically. “Now I look like you!”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself—”

“Oh, sod off, Malfoy!”

“You know, it really doesn’t look that bad. Maybe you’re starting to have better taste.”

Despite knowing full well that that was Malfoy speak for a compliment, you’re in no mood for it. “Oh, well I’m so glad that the Slytherin prince thinks me, a lowly commoner, 'doesn’t look that bad’ just fu—”

“No! No! No! Y/N! I didn’t mean—”

“—ck off! Because on top of looking like the most insufferable git in the entire school what I really wanted was to receive a backhanded compliment—” And just then, you spot the familiar redhead with bad influences for older brothers from across the hall who you’re even more pissed off at than Malfoy.

“I don’t have time for this,” is all you say as you bolt down the hall towards Ron, screaming, “YOU’RE DEAD, WEASLEY!”

IV. Held Hostage

Hermione’s screams are enough to make you feel like you’re being gutted, and when Bellatrix takes her knife to your arm, you’re absolutely terrified. At least this means your best friend has a break from her torture. In the meantime, you nearly bite through your cheek to hold in your own screams whilst the saddistic woman spells out the hateful term that’s been thrown at you your whole life, carving it into your flesh.

After what feels like hours, the death eater sits back up, admiring the her work with a sickening grin on her face, and you want nothing more than to smack it off. Or at least you would if you didn’t feel like you’ve been drained. What you do feel is defiled; like your own skin is no longer yours, and the blood that runs through your veins doesn’t belong to you.

And Draco Malfoy has been standing on the other end of the room this whole time whilst his barbaric aunt tries to get information out of you.

The rest of what happens is experienced through the blur of hopeless tears your eyes are clouded with, until Harry picks you up off the floor after Bellatrix had pushed you and Hermione to save herself from the falling chandelier. A certain fire surges through you as you regain full consciousness.

You see Harry and Draco fight over his wand, and instinct kicks in as you lunge forward, efficiently tackling the latter to the ground. Snatching the wand out of his hand, you throw it to Harry. The blonde boy’s struggles are weak under your weight, almost half-assed as you feel the tension start to leave his muscles.

“Why?!” you shout in his face, grabbing him by the collar to keep him down. Tears well your eyes, but your gaze pierces through him nonetheless. The feelings of helplessness and emptiness are long gone as angry tracks burn down your cheeks. “Why—”

“Y/N!” Harry scoops you off him in one swift motion, pulling you to where your allies have regrouped. “This isn’t the time- w-we have to get out of here!”

You don’t say another word, and your infuriated eyes target the conflict and fear that resides in Draco’s. He’s left with the image of your anguish and fury engrained in his mind long after you disapparate.

V. Crossing Over

The Dark Lord himself beckoned him, and for a second you thought he might resist, but then his mother called him, extending her hand for him to come to her, and you saw him break.

“No!” You cry out as he starts to take hesitant steps towards the death eaters. “Draco, don’t do this!” His already shaky demeanor falters for a moment at the sound of his first name falling from your lips. “You have a choice.”

Steeling his nerves, he doesn’t allow himself to look back, because he would surely crumble under the weight of your gaze and the pain etched into your features. He continues forward, into the arms of a proud tyrant, and you swear your heart drops out of your chest.

Then, the whole scene with Neville’s heroic spirit ensues and you feel the fire within you flare up again when Harry tumbles out of Hagrid’s arms. Death Eaters that have been backing Voldemort start to disappear, leaving an unevenly distributed cloud of darkness.

Everyone else starts to retreat to the castle to regroup and fight as one, but you chase after the fleeing Malfoy family. It’s as though you have no control as your legs move under you on autopilot and as fast as they can go.

You’ve almost caught up to the trio on the bridge and can no longer help yourself.

“Coward!” You yell, trying your best not to let your voice crack, with no avail. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from spilling freely. Draco meets your eyes with his own that portray a boy who is terrified out of his mind, but you’re relentless. The truth isn’t always easy. “You’re a bloody coward, Malfoy!”

Avoiding your fiery gaze, he turns into his mother’s comfort. Not once do his eyes meet yours again before he disappears in a whisp of black smoke.

What you feel is rage, but with that rage comes with an added indescribable pain and disappointment.

+ Midsummer Night’s Dream

The next time you see the infamous Draco Malfoy is just over a year since he disapparated in a whisp of black smoke. Little do you know, immediately after apparating, the boy fell to his knees in the arms of his mother. He broke that day, and hasn’t been able to put himself back together since, contrary to the proud Malfoy mask he wears out in public. He hides behind crisp suits and perfectly-coiffed platinum locks. It’s enough to have anyone who reads the Daily Prophet fooled about how the heir carries onto a successful path despite everything that has happened.

But not you. He never could fool you of anything, really. So when you and your friends spot him taking a seat alone at the Three Broomsticks you know something’s up, because a refined Malfoy doesn’t just hang out amongst mere commoners like that.

“What is he doing here?” Ron spits out, red fury already starting at the tips of his ears and seething from his narrowed eyes.

As if on cue, Draco’s eyes lift from his glass to meet yours.

Hermione sends you a sympathetic smile before mumbling calming words to her boyfriend. The Malfoys and Weasleys always did get each other riled up.

Harry, who sits beside you, gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder to get your attention and you can immediately read his expression. He can read yours just as easily and can see that you’re starting to get anxious. “Y/N…”

“Harry, it’s okay,” you simper, standing slowly from your seat. “I’ve got this.”

He casts a glance towards the blond across the room before his eyes come back meet yours, sending you a look as though to ask if you’re sure. You give him a nod and he sends you off with a comforting squeeze of your hand.

As you make your way to the table for one, you’re so focused on slowing your heart rate that you’ve arrived at your destination before you know it, seeing the shiny black dress shoes in contrast to the uneven wood panels of the pub’s floor. When you lift your gaze, it’s then that you realize he’s been staring at you the whole time.

“Malfoy.”

“Y/N.”

The sound of your first name rolling off his tongue lights something inside you— and it’s not pretty.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice is steady, but with a strong undertone of something darker. Like the calm before a storm.

“Can’t a man enjoy a butterbeer on his own?” Despite him being absolutely terrified of you, he somehow manages to exude a certain lightness. You look at his untouched pint and raise an eyebrow and he knows you aren’t in the mood for small talk.

“Cut the shit, Malfoy.”

Recognizing the beginnings of anger in your tone, he stands as smoothly as he can manage and gestures towards the door. The last thing he wants is for you to snap because he knows very well what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your fury.

He follows closely behind as you lead him out into the dim lighting of Hogsmead. The summer air doesn’t feel as heavy as it has for the last week, and the sky proudly shows off the twinkling stars. It would be a perfect night if not for your circumstances.

You stop in your tracks and spin to face him so briskly, your forehead almost hits his chin. “You have one minute to talk before I hex you where you stand.”

“You always did excel in hexes and jinxes—”

“Fifty-five seconds, Malfoy.”

“Uh- erm- o-okay—”

You have about zero patience left. The anger thats been quietly bubbling for the last year has been on the brim of overflowing the second he walked in tonight, but so has all the pain and sadness you’ve kept locked up all this time. “You’re wasting my time.” You prepare to stalk off, but a firm hand pulls you back by your elbow, and for the the first time since the war, your face with Draco Malfoy. It’s the first time tonight that you can really see him. He looks worse than ever.

The silver pools that once resided in his irises look like shells of what they once were. And he sure felt that way, until he saw you. That’s when he realizes how empty he always is until he’s around you. My, how he took that for granted all these years.

Trying your very best, you fight against the urge to give into the part of you who still cares for him and wants to know the last time he had a good night’s sleep. You also try to fight against the water accumulation behind your eyelids, but it only makes it worse.

“What?! What do you want, Draco?!”

The use of his first name is the only sign he needs to be brave for once. Without further hesitation, he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. Once over the initial shock, you give in for only a half second before you come to your senses and push him back, both hands planted firmly on his chest.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?!”

“I-I- Y/N, I-I’m so—” Right then, is one of the few times you see what he’s really feeling on the inside be expressed on the outside. “I-I just-I thought—”

“You- you thought what?! We’d ride off into the sunset on the back of a unicorn and live happily ever after?!” You don’t care how frantic you look right now. You don’t care that the midsummer night wind is whipping your hair into complete and utter chaos. And you definitely don’t give a single fuck about how the drunk people stumbling by you giggle uncontrollably. You pause for a moment as you wait for them to be out of earshot, and once they are, you let out a frustrated breath and resume. “Did you honestly believe that you could kiss me, and then everything— all of the absolute shite of a mess would just go away?!”

His gaze drops to the ground that his shiny dress shoes stand on, with a few platinum strands that fall from their place. Those are the only visible signs of something amiss with the well-dressed man. But you see something else cloud his features: shame. The last time you saw that, which was also the last time you saw him, he left. He always left you while you were angry, enraged, and never stuck around to face the truth.

Draco Malfoy decides that this time is going to be different.

He has felt as empty as his eyes appeared for months, but when his gaze rolls back up to meet yours, you see the grey storms you saw when you first met him. Sure, they were masked by an outer shell that was brimming with entitlement, but they have now what they had then. Purpose.

“Y/N,” His hands twitch as he fights the urge to reach out for yours, deciding against it in favour of using two words you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.” You soften, releasing the tension you didn’t realize you carried in your shoulders. The angry tears that stung the backs of your eyes melt to something peaceful as they escape their ducts. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I know I don’t deserve another chance, or any of the chances you’ve given me, but if you’ll give me one more I promise I’ll be better. Everything you’ve ever said about me is true; I am a coward, but I’m not leaving this time.”

“And what if I want you to leave?” You ask, testing the waters, more than anything else.

“If you tell me to leave— if that is what you truly want, then I will. Tell me to leave, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Okay, then leave.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Y-Yes—” You stammer out a complete lie. Every cell on your body knows it’s a lie, and apparently so does he.

“I don’t believe you.”

More than anything, you want to fling yourself into his arms but you feel like your feet have been colashoo-ed to the ground. A corner of his mouth quirks up into a soft lopsided smile as his hands raise to thread fingers through the top of your hairline, smoothing wild strands away from your face. His touch is so careful and delicate than you could have ever imagined. He leans down slowly and stops just as his lips have brushed over yours, asking for permission, “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Syllables get caught in your throat, and channel themselves through you body as you move to slate your mouth over his. The sensation is so delicately mind-blowing, and it leaves you absolutely breathless when you pull away to lean your forehead against his.

All you can manage to breathe out is, “stay”.

The way your breath fans over his lips is intoxicating, and he’s certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful, no work of art finer, than the way you’re looking at him.

“I’m not leaving this time. Never again.”

His grasp tightens as he pulls you back to his lips and your fingers curl around the light fabric of his shirt. Every emotion and feeling accumulated over lost time is poured into this kiss.

This time, what you feel for him is something stronger and far different than anger.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #5 times fic #hp #hp imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp fic #hp fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #potatowrites

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wickedbarnes · 5 years

Text

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not | John Wick x Reader

PROMPT: Hanahaki Disease AU! Reader realizes she's in love with John but John, on the other hand, can't reciprocate the feelings because he's still in love with Helen. And so, reader begins to cough blood red rose petals...

WARNING: Major angst. Blood. Get your tissues ready.

NOTE: This is my take on the fictional disease so please don't attack me if some of the concepts of it is wrong. I just did it so there would be more impact to the story. An explanation for my take on the Hanahaki will be provided down below at the end of the oneshot to avoid any confusions. Other than that, please enjoy!

If there was one thing you hated doing, it was breaking promises. And you rarely did it unless it was really necessary. But you hated it when you did. And this... this was a promise you swore you would never break. But here you were, staring down at your bloody palm, examining the rose petals that stuck to your skin.

A lone tear cascaded down your cheek as you wiped the blood from your lips.

It finally got to you. The disease. The same disease that had killed your beloved Mother. And you were sure it was the same one that was going to kill you.

You vividly remembered how your Mother would gush about how beautiful love was. How magical it is and how you'd feel as if you were floating when you experienced it. And in a way, she has a point. But not everything was easy.

Because along with love comes pain. The pain of a broken heart. And as you grew up you realized that love was only beautiful when it was reciprocated. When the person you love is in love with you as well. But like your mom, you weren't so lucky.

You had no one but John now. When your Mother died of the Hanahaki Disease, you swore- vowed, rather, that you would never fall in love. But that was, until John.

The moment you saw the man, you could tell just how miserable he seemed but there was something about him that just drew you in. He charmed women without even noticing it. And so you did the unthinkable and was bold enough to go ask him what drink he wanted and that it was on you.

You worked as a bartender in the Red Circle. And when you spotted John you had no idea what type of man he was and what type of world he lives in. But even after that, you didn't care. You still stuck with him.

And you didn't even plan on doing so. You just wanted to give the man something to look forward to. Something to give him a little boost. But when chaos broke and you were almost shot by Viggo's men, John was brave enough to catch the bullet himself before the rest of them ran out thinking they had finally killed the Baba Yaga.

That night, you couldn't just leave him there dying. You had insisted he goes to the hospital but he told you not to and instructed you to take him to the Continental. The hotel where you didn't even know housed assassins like him. You didn't know why but you had stayed with him the whole while he was being patched up despite the fact he kept telling you to leave because it would be dangerous.

But the stubborn person you are, you decided to stay. And the rest was history from there.

You felt it creep up on you. You could tell because you felt the same itch in your throat that didn't seem to go away ever since your feelings for John got stronger. But the moment you realized you were in love with him, fate had finally decided to give you a sign that the feelings you have for the man just wasn't mutual.

And in a way, you kind of understood why. The wedding band on John's finger was proof of that. It was the proof of his undying love for his late wife, Helen. Who were you to compete with that?

The whole situation caused you to let a laugh under your breath. How ironic. John Wick never intends on hurting you. And yet here he was, being the reason why you're ill today.

---

"Y/N, you need to rest, you've been coughing all day and you don't look too good. I can handle it from here." John tried to approach you but you instinctively moved away from him and sat down on the couch yourself. Your reaction took him aback but he quickly regained his composure and sat down next to you but made sure to give you some distance.

You were pretty sure the handkerchief you were coughing into was full of blood by now and you prayed no petal would fall off or it would only worry John even more. You suspected he knows about the disease as well.

Day by day, it was getting hard for you to breathe. You knew the plant inside your lungs was growing and every night you had battled and hoped it wouldn't be your last night. Even sleeping had come to terrify you. You were afraid you wouldn't wake up anymore.

"Y/N, are you alright? You're not telling me what's going on, I have to know so I can take care of you." John would say, concern written all over his face and your heart ached at the sight because you knew he only meant that as a friend.

"I'm fine, John, I'll be okay I told you it's just allergies." You sighed and stood up to get a glass of water when you felt the familiar itch on your throat creeping up again. But the moment you took a step forward, you leaned forward and began to heave as you wretched out blood along with rose petals on John's floor.

You somehow felt embarrassed but your body fell on the floor as you kept throwing up blood. John was almost sure he would've had a heart attack with what he saw. He immediately went over to you and rubbed your back, panic beginning to creep up in his body.

This was like when Helen was ill.

When you were finished throwing up, you opened your mouth to apologize but you found yourself going limp and passing out in John's arms.

John looked at the blood and rose petals that were smeared all over his floor. The realization hit him like a truck as his face began to go pale. He looked down at your unconscious body in horror.

"Y/N, what the hell..."

---

John couldn't even fathom looking at you like this. Pale and sickly looking. He hadn't noticed just how much you had lost weight and how horrible the bags under your eyes looked. You were always with him but he was too caught up in work that he barely had time to see how his friend was doing.

He knew about the Hanahaki disease. John remembered how someone in Ruska Roma died because of it. But he never expected you to get it.

The assassin pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back against the uncomfortable plastic chair. Who the hell were you in love with? You had never mentioned anyone from work that caught your eye. Nor did you introduce anyone to John. The idea of someone being the root of all this caused him to clench his fists until his knuckles turned white.

Whoever it was that didn't love you back, John was sure he was going to get a piece of his damn mind.

John's thoughts were cut off when the doctor came in and greeted him with a polite smile. When he looked at Y/N's records, the doctor let out a sigh and John knew this wasn't a good sign.

"Does she have family?" The doctor, Dr. Mercer had asked to which John responded by shaking his head no.

"I'm the only one she has now." Dr. Mercer nodded.

"Mr. Wick, I'm gonna be honest. Miss Y/L/N is in critical condition. The amount of blood that she threw up was very alarming. I'm sure you're aware of the Hanahaki Disease?" John nodded solemnly at the question and never took his eyes off you.

"Well, the plant inside her lungs is growing more and more. And it won't be long until it fully suffocates her. Looking at her x-rays right here, you can see that the plant is almost corrupting her lungs fully." Dr. Mercer showed your x-ray scan to John to which he took carefully and it only made the situation even real.

Was he going to lose another important person in his life? He already lost Helen and Daisy. He only has Dog now. Could he really lose you, too?

"Is there a cure to this?"

"There is. But... both of them aren't as easy as they sound." John looked up at the doctor with a confused look causing Dr. Mercer to sigh.

"In order to cure the patient, the person she's in love with has to love her back. And I don't mean platonic love. I mean, real genuine love. If that doesn't work, then we can surgically remove the root of the plant from her lungs."

John perked up at the mention of surgical removal of the plant. Obviously, whoever this person is didn't love you enough to even cure you. John felt that option two was the only logical option left. Or else, you'd die.

"I think I'd like the plant to be surgically removed from her."

"Mr. Wick, I think the patient has to decide for that. Because even though it could cure her, it would erase everything she felt and remembered about the person. Once the operation is done and successful, that person never existed for her. And unfortunately, Y/N here would be stripped away of the ability to experience romantic love. The removal of the root will cause that as well."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Y/N won't experience romantic love anymore? He looked at your frail body and put a hand over his face. He'd heard Dr. Mercer excuse himself but all John could think of was how he was going to save you.

He doesn't want you to live up your life not knowing how it feels to be in love and be loved by the person you're in love with. But if you don't do anything about this, you'd be six feet underground and time was slowly running out.

John's thoughts abruptly stopped when he noticed you waking up from a deep sleep. You had been out of it for about fourteen hours.

You fluttered your eyes open and took in your surroundings. Your throat felt really dry and you could use a tall drink of water. Looking around, your eyes soon fell on John who stood up from his chair and smiled softly down at you.

Your heart fluttered at how beautiful he is. You almost mistook him for an angel.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asked softly and brushed away some of your hair away from your face. His touch sent shivers down your spine and in a way, it hurt for him to be here. He was so gentle and patient. Was he like that with Helen? Or was he even more loving when it came to her?

"Like death." You laughed softly as you averted your eyes to the glass of water that was sitting on the table beside your bed, "Can I get a drink, please?"

John immediately took the glass of water and helped you sit up from your bed so you could drink. You were dehydrated from the amount of blood you just threw up hours ago. John gently patted your head when he saw that you drank all of the water from the glass.

"Good girl." He'd praise you and your heart swelled at it but it made you cough a bit.

John sat back down on the plastic chair but brought it closer by your bed as he looked at you in the eye.

"Y/N, who did this to you?" He asked. It took you about a minute to figure out what he was on about. And then you remembered the disease. Your situation probably took a turn for the worse and you assumed what had happened earlier almost scared John to death.

"Y/N." John sighed. "You're one of my most trusted friend. The only friend I probably trust with my whole life, really. But you need to tell me what the fuck is going on. You're dying, honey, and someone is the cause of all this and it's frustrating that I don't know who it is."

It's you, you wanted to say but the words didn't come out the way you wanted them to. You didn't want to see the look on John's face when you laid out the truth. Even now, on the verge of death, you were afraid of what he'd think. You knew he has a lot on his plate and he's just getting the chance to finally grieve for Helen. You didn't want nor had the heart to tell him that he's the reason why you're dying.

"It's no one, John, he-" You pursed your lips and let out a breath as you looked down at your hands that were slightly stained with your own blood, "He went away he- he loves someone else and that's all you need to know."

John nodded and although he was frustrated you didn't tell him everything, you knew it was just because you didn't wanna dive back into the fact that this person didn't reciprocate the feelings you felt. So he understood.

"Y/N, Dr. Mercer gave me two options so you could be cured and he-"

"John, I can't be cured, he doesn't love me." You said firmly and it felt so different saying it in front of him like this when he has no idea it was him all along that you were in love with.

"I know, darling, I know." He grabbed your hand comfortingly and you almost hated him for acting like this when all along you knew it was just platonic. You were just a friend to him. Nothing more and nothing less.

"But then he told me about option two. Option two is that you can get the plant surgically removed from your lungs." You perked up at hearing this.

You never knew it could get surgically removed. Your mother never told you. So why didn't she do it?

"W-What? What do you mean I can get it surgically removed?" You asked as tears began to fill your eyes but John was patient enough to talk you through it.

"You can, it's possible. But it's not that easy, Y/N." He let out another sigh before looking up at your tear filled eyes, "When the operation is successful, all the memories you have of that person will be gone. Including your feelings for him. It was like he never existed. Apart from that, once the plant is removed from your body, you ability to experience romantic love wouldn't be there anymore."

Tears cascaded down your cheeks. Not because you wouldn't be able to fall in love again. But because the thought of forgetting John scared you so much. Were you going to remember him again? Can he reintroduce himself again to you? Or should you not go through with option two?

At that moment, you finally realized why your mother never had the plant inside her get removed. It was far more painful than anything else.

---

"I'm sorry for your loss, Jonathan." Winston would say as he poured a drink for the assassin and John just nodded at him in thanks.

"Some things are beyond our control." John replied as he took a big gulp of his drink. He needed it right now after all.

He just came back from the hospital and that was the first time in a while John had felt so overwhelmed. The hatred he had for himself just increased a ton.

You decided to go through with the operation after giving it a deep thought for a the whole day. John was happy. Although you weren't able to experience romantic love anymore, he assured you he'd be by your side every step of the way. Just like you had been for him.

But what came next almost made him collapse down to his knees.

Aurelio decided to pay you a little visit when your operation was done. He had found out about what had happened from John and you knew the man well enough that he could give you discounts whenever your car had problems.

When it was time for visitors, John felt ecstatic. You were alive. He wasn't losing someone important from him again. When they got inside the room, you had already woken up and had a nurse slowly help you sit up from your bed but the moment your eyes fell on John, he noticed the slight confusion written on your face.

"Y/N, God, I'm so happy the operation was successful." John smiled and tucked a piece of your hair and he noticed how your body stilled from the touch as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

Thhe reaction was weird but John brushed it off and thought that maybe, it was a side effect from the pain killers you'd been taking.

"Aurelio's here and brought you some stuff. You like those cookies from the bakery near his shop, right?" You found yourself nodding slowly at the man's question even though you had no idea who he is.

Who was he? And how does he know your name? How did he know you liked those chocolate chip cookies from that bakery near Aurelio's shop? It was starting to freak you out.

John took notice of your reaction and the nurse excused herself when she was finished checking your vitals. John put a finger underneath your chin to make you look up at him and in your eyes, he saw fear.

You never looked at him like that. Never. Not even once.

"Y/N, darling, what's wrong? Did I do something, why are you-"

"Who are you?" You asked, cutting him off and John looked at Aurelio to see if what he heard was right.

Aurelio looked at him and then back at you with shock written on his face.

"What? Y/N, it's me, John. Your friend, your best friend." John replied but you had no recollection of the man in front of you so you shook your head slowly.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so confused I don't know who you are." You apologized shyly and looked at Aurelio. "Aurelio, is he a friend of yours? I really don't remember him, I don't wanna seem so rude."

John stood there in his spot, completely frozen. You remember Aurelio but you had forgotten him. That could only mean one thing...

"Come on, Y/N, stop fooling around this isn't funny. Tell me you're just joking and you know who I am." John's voice was laced with desperation now and you took notice of how his eyes were starting to fill with tears and you had a sense he hated crying in front of people.

Why did you feel so guilty? As if you'd done something wrong?

You looked up at the man apologetically and shook your head at him. "I'm so sorry, John, I really don't know who you are. I believe I just met you. Aurelio would have introduced you to me back then but... I don't remember that he has."

John couldn't take it. Everything was so overwhelming. When he gruffly excused himself you watched as he hurriedly made his way out of your room and Aurelio followed soon after probably to chase after him.

You had no idea of who he was but you could never forget how heartbroken he seemed when he looked at you.

Did you know him before?

John, on the other hand, needed to get out of there and he ignored Aurelio's calls as he got into his car and sped down the road. He felt guilty for leaving you there all alone, probably so confused as to why you were there in the first place but he just needed to have his space.

And so here he was, sharing a drink with Winston.

"You weren't entirely fair with her as well, Jonathan. You couldn't blame her if she hadn't told you."

"I was grieving for my wife." John stated to which Winston replied with a hum.

"But you could've showed her you felt the same way. Maybe told her. Hanahaki disease is a complicated kind of illness. Y/N believed you were still in love with Helen. And maybe you still are. That's why she was on the verge of dying that day. But it could all have been cured if you two had just acted on your feelings right away. A lot of people die from that, you know."

John stayed silent and poured himself another drink.

He had moved on from Helen a year after the whole incident with Viggo and his son. If Helen was alive, she would've wanted John to live his life fully and that was the only way he could honor her. And he did, and that was thanks to you.

You were like a breath of fresh air and John was scared he might ruin the peace that you had in your life. And he kind of did in a way. But you were too stubborn to leave until he just couldn't handle the thought of you leaving.

Like you, it crept up on John and the familiar itch on his throat, as if he was about to cough kept popping out of nowhere. Especially when you were near him. And for a moment, he didn't want to believe he caught it. He couldn't be possibly catching feelings for you it was a dangerous game to play.

John believed everything he touched turns to ash and he wasn't turning you into one. You deserved far more better than that. And it'd be impossible for you to feel the same way about him, he's too damaged to be loved at this point. But it's true when they say that you can't help who you fall in love.

But today, today was different than the others. John placed the glass down and leaned back on his chair and soon leaned forward when he began to cough and cough and cough.

Winston looked at John with an unreadable expression on his face. As if he knew it was coming. Somehow, he felt bad for the man. He had lost his wife and the dog she gave to him. And in a way he lost you even though you were still perfectly alive.

And now the disease had caught up to him.

His hunch was right when he saw the blood on John's palm. John stared down at it and noticed that there were petals of your favorite flower sticking onto his hand along with his own blood.

The assassin stayed silent as he grabbed his handkerchief from his coat and wiped the bloody residue off his skin.

Winston poured the man another drink but this time, he didn't pour himself some. He knew John needed it more than he did.

"Are you going to remove it or not?"

John looked at Winston but the manager took it upon himself to get up from the chair and leave Jonathan alone in the rooftop to decide.

This was all a bad case of wrong timing and lack of courage, obviously. And John leaned back against the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt a tear slip down his cheek.

Was he ready to go? Or will he risk forgetting about you like you did to him?

John realized just how difficult this all was. He realized now that it hurt to have you forget about him completely. Like he was dead to you. But knowing you, you would've made the decision just so you could live for John's sake. He knew you decided to live even though it would be hard on the both of you.

Because in your mind, you probably chose to live and see John again even though you had forgotten about him rather than die and let him live this world all alone without you.

But would it be the same for John? Could he really forget about you? Or was it time for him to go and let you be free?

Either way, as he began to cough once again, he knew that he needed to think fast and decide.

Time is gold and he's slowly running out of that.

---

A/N: I know in some stories this is not how the Hanahaki disease works but this is my take on it. Reader almost died because she believed that John would never love her the way she did. When all along, John was slowly developing feelings for her and while he did, he also didn't believe she'd have feelings for him because he believes he's too damaged to be loved. To put it shortly, my understanding of the Hanahaki is that as long as the protagonist believes the enamoured doesn't love them back, they'll slowly die. But as long as the enamoured confesses to the protagonist, they'll be cured of the disease. And if that doesn't work, the plant can be surgically removed.

The disease caught up to John and the reader because they didn't act upon their feelings and confessed to each other right away. They both believed everything was platonic between them. As a result, they kept it to themselves until it slowly killed them. In other words, this is all a bad case of wrong timing and lack of courage to say what they really wanted to say to each other.

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves oneshot #john wick #john wick fic #john wick imagines #john wick x reader

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maruzzewrites · 5 years

Text

Every breath you take. - 3

When you parted ways with your fiance and were left alone in your house with your parents away for holidays, you took the time to check the phone and recall your employer with a sigh. The apprehension still weighted on your heart, heavy and thick as a fog that blinded you, but you have to grit your teeth and bear with it for a little while longer. When your lover would get his degree this summer, you’d be free to resign and forget about the house, those men and even the address, the street and the distance from your own home. As the phone started to ring, you just sighed deeply in order to keep an even voice when you’d finally talk to your contact and apologize for answering so late.

“They know of you, right?” The voice over the phone didn’t even greet you when they picked up the phone and you were sent into a spiraling pit of anxiety, sweating bullets and forgetting your own mother tongue as your brain tried to process the question. After a full minute of silence, your employer just sighed with frustration clinging to their voice and just uttered your name as a form of reprimand. Like it was your fault that they discovered the pattern of your visits, even if you supposed they’d deduce it in any case sooner or later. You were ready to be yelled at, to beg for forgiveness and mercy by the hands of the most dangerous organized crime group of Italy. But what you got made your blood run even colder than what you were bracing yourself for.

“Well, it can’t be helped now,” your contact was speaking like you simply forgot to pick up something at the market or didn’t bring your favorite swimsuit for a trip to the beach. They were dismissing the entire ordeal that was walking around a building full of mobsters that seemed to want to keep a close eye on you. A watchful, threatening eye. You stayed silent for another minute just out of pure confusion, you couldn’t understand the implications of that statement. Then they continued. “You will be able to go more often, right?”

You held your breath at the request. You kept silent for another minute, the time stretching to unnerving and impossible lengths just to drag the strain on your mind. You regained the ability to speak and compute words only when your contact repeated your name, believing your call was cut short. You confirmed you were still listening and just rushed to find an excuse, to get out of the possibility of setting foot in that house more than four times in a month at maximum. Of facing those guys as a group, worried enough when just one or two were around to creep on you. You had other obligations, the money to travel was too much, maybe they’d find it annoying to have someone intrude in their jobs too much. The person on the other side of the phone listened in religious silence, but without letting out any sound to prove it.

“Isn’t it a problem they know about me anyway? Why else did you keep me a secret if you don’t care now?” Reaching the end of your trail of reasons, still countered with a defeating quiet, you were desperate to get to the bottom of this and find a way out. Hoping against hope that they wouldn’t mind you backing out from the deal you stroke with this group, you could feel the eyeroll that accompanied the exhalation of mounting irritation of your interlocutor. You pressed your lips together in a tight, tense line at the sound and clammed up, unable to continue with your questioning and your justifications. Despite few second passing, you felt like an eternity just washed over you and you were waiting for your granted punishment.

“We didn’t want them to know because they can be bothersome,” at those words you resisted the urge to laugh and bitterly let them know how that adjective didn’t describe even half of their actions. Unsettling, disturbing and alarming? Those were way more appropriate to define the way they hovered over you with eyes, words and movements. Last time, Risotto even grabbed the back of your shirt with no care for your nerves, holding the collar wide open from behind as your muscles tensed and you were on the verge of tears. “But you went and blew it, it doesn’t make sense to keep this charade up anyway.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem to find someone else then. Maybe it would solve this problem.” Your bargaining was only making your contact more and more perturbed, you could feel it in the shaking breath they exhaled as you finished your sentence with panicked hurry. You were really trying not to scream in the microphone as your brain lit up with indignation and alarm at the unconcerned way they were treating your obvious restlessness at the prospect of being openly in the presence of a group of apparently dangerous mobsters. You didn’t know what to say or how to beg for them to just hung up on you with the promise that they will let you go and just forget about you, just as you will about them.

“I will be honest, they seem to like you,” their words froze the blood flowing in your veins, you felt cold creeping up your arms and legs to your core. You tried to ask for clarifications, but your questions went unanswered because they continued to speak as they raised their voice to cover your own. “So, please, continue to do a good job. They had so much to say about you, it seems.”

You shook your head and stated, with a small and weak voice, that you couldn’t go there more. You only got silence after you spoke until you hear a shift on the other side of the phone, as your contact stood up and moved. You pressed the phone to you hear to hear the steps and the soft sound of opening doors with your breath getting progressively louder in your own ears. You could hear the muffled sound of voices, a conversation taking place wherever your interlocutor was. You pushed the phone almost flat against your ear to catch the other voice, relieved that it wasn’t a familiar one by the timbre or tone. Then you heard a door close a bit more forcefully than how it was opened, and you held your breath with the noises of steps reaching your ear.

“I’m deeply sorry,” they spoke suddenly once your contact brought the phone back to the side of their face. You could hear in the neutral, unemotional tone that they weren’t really apologizing for anything and you supposed they didn’t argue a lot considering how short the conversation was. You stayed silent and waited for them to continue. “But we aren’t thinking of changing things up as you know where they live, and we can’t really let someone with that knowledge run around. But the choice of yours, be sure of it.”

The clear threat in their statement was enough to make you want to throw the phone, lock yourself in your home and wail in the false security of your home until you dried yourself of tears and then liquids. However, you were aware of how the mafia operated and they’d let you suffer long enough for you to beg for your death, reaping any ounce of peaceful joy in your life and disseminating salt on the lingering nude soil to make it sterile. They’d pry your family, friends and loved ones from you before they would even think of letting you rest. So, you gripped the phone with more strength and asked in your unsteady voice when you were supposed to work.

“Good choice.” You could feel the smirk, haughty, in their voice. They returned to their detached tone to give you instructions about the days you were supposed to visit the group you were taking care of. You were intimated to keep up your impeccable service, that their boss established the great satisfaction that his team felt at your job. Even more, you were commanded with allusive terms to up the attentions you were giving these men because a satisfied and happy employee was one that would work more eagerly. You bit your lip at the thought, however distant, that they would take advantage of your obligation and you choked a sob before confirming your understanding of the situation.

Luckily enough, you weren’t asked to work for another week because they were supposed to have an assignment that would keep them out of the region completely. The concept that you wouldn’t visit in a moment of complete quiet, when you usually worked these past months, was such a novelty that weighted on your mind. From that moment forward you were supposed to go to that house twice a week, on Wednesdays and on Saturdays with possible and, honestly, unwelcome extra days when it was needed. If this team would request one more day a week, every once in a while, they would be granted it. Apparently they’d get their pay cut to compensate for your own if this perk was actually requested, so after your contact heard the obvious worry in your voice, you were assured they’d barely or never use the privilege.

After some days where you tried, with various results, to occupy yourself with anything to keep your mind and your anxiety at bay while the first day of your new routine approached, you were again on route to your job. Gripping the wheel tightly, you watched the outline of the house emerging from the horizon and felt the burdensome weight of apprehension rest on your stomach like a familiar blanket from how used you got to this sensation. You parked at your usual spot and walked to the door with heavy steps, dragging your feet and ruining the tip of the run-down shoes you were wearing even more.

You stalled for time by checking the keys you had and slowly pulling the one belonging to the door in front of you. Once you opened the door as softly and silently as you possibly could, you accompanied it to its place and dropped your bag with just as much care under the coat hanger in the corner and not bothering turning around to look at the rest of the house. You took off your jacket and threw it over your bag, not even thinking about adding it to the mess of coats on the hanger. Only then, with a firmer mind, you faced the hallway to start with your job.

But your heart sunk almost instantly when you saw Prosciutto standing on doorway of the kitchen, staring at you with what you could assume was genuine surprise at your presence. Maybe their superiors didn’t bother with warning them of the change of plans and you looked to the side, to your stuff abandoned on the floor, but you returned your eyes to the man standing a few feet from you. Actually, did he get closer? You couldn’t tell because, despite all your mental preparation during the hours prior to this encounter, you got too intimidated and nervous to fix your eyes on his face or his actual body. You were actually looking at the wall behind him, just above his shoulder and at his chin height, more or less. You took a deep breath and elected to speak in order to answer his unasked question.

“There has been a change in my schedule,” you started and you could see out of the corner of your eye that his expression changed, making you shift your eyes to just under his head to better soak it in and analyze his mood better. He didn’t seem annoyed or bothered by your clarification, rather his face relaxed quite a bit and you suppressed the urge to show your confusion to him. “I will have to come over twice a week now, you can ask your superiors about this. I’m really sorry if it disrupts your plans or timetables, but I was asked to come more often.”

You could hear yourself starting to ramble without reason, your jumpiness spilling out in the form of words so that your body could let go of some of the tension it was holding. You saw him approaching and your eyes snapped to his for the first time, faced with a serious yet tranquil feeling whirling on his face. He raised his arm and you flinched just slightly when you saw it getting closer to your own body, a movement you could see he noticed. He didn’t seem to care much though if you could take him resting the hand on your arm, a gesture that was supposed to reassure you, but that only managed to set your brain ablaze with passive hostility. You could feel his fingers cautiously slide down over your sleeve to imitate a comforting movement, but he stopped the moment he saw your eyes fill with distaste.

“You don’t have to worry about disturbing me or the others.” He added the last piece after the shortest of pauses, but your ear caught the swift correction. You smiled mechanically and thanked him for his consideration and his words, stepping away from his touch. He let his arm fall down, but didn’t walk away and elected to stand in front of you without really looking at your face. You noticed he was looking at something behind you and you didn’t care enough to continue the brief and pointless conversation, so you excused yourself with a slight tremble in your voice. Only when he acknowledged your words you dared to move and jog deeper inside the house, leaving Prosciutto behind to ponder on whatever caught his attention.

You wished you could say the day went as usual (despite how detestable your typical day in that house was), but you found yourself surrounded by surprised members of the team who took the liberty to follow you around during your duties. Some were either respectful or shy enough to leave you be for most of the time, coming around only to ask you to do something specific or to know if you wanted to eat with them. That made you remember, when lunch came around, that you had to continue to please these men if you wanted to prove to your contact and whoever was above them that you could be trusted to do this job. So, you stepped in the living room and, despite the absence of most of the team, you asked the few who were gathered there what they would have liked to eat that day.

You saw something akin to a sparkle shining in Formaggio’s eyes and appreciative epithets from Melone, who sang your praises as if you were some domestic divinity who blessed them. You smiled awkwardly as Ghiaccio rolled his eyes and started to yell at the guy near him about how dumb and foolish he was, while Formaggio turned fully to you as he kneeled on the sofa to give you a list of options he’d like to eat. Most were rather simple meals and you thanked him for his suggestions, you’d just ask the others if they had preferences. Your stepped outside the room and went to look for the others to propose the options you mentally selected from the list given to you by Formaggio. You really, really didn’t want to disappoint any of them.

Asking around, you managed to narrow your possibilities to two dishes – Pesci and Risotto didn’t seem to have strong preferences for different reasons, with shyness tamper with Pesci’s words and indifference making Risotto shrug; Prosciutto pursed his lips at the choices he had but gave his opinion regardless, while Illuso was quick to pick as if he already knew what you’d ask of him. You couldn’t find Sorbet or Gelato anywhere, but Prosciutto let you know that those two would hardly eat lunch with the rest of the team because they were always busy with sticking to each other sides and their own little projects. You just nodded and forgot about them quickly, their words still swirling in your brain.

Consequently, you dropped your other chores for the time being to focus completely on the task at hand, careful to cook the best you could so that you’d have less to worry about while you continued to clean around the house and the men were around the table with their meal. Whilst you were busy fishing around for the various ingredients and grabbing an apron to tie around your body so that you wouldn’t make a mess of your clothes, you felt a light tap on your shoulder of someone trying to get your attention. You turned your head suddenly and there you saw Pesci, slightly timid now that your eyes were on him. He mustered the courage to ask you if you needed help with cooking and, before you could gracefully and reservedly tell him you weren’t in need, Formaggio passed right outside the door from the hallway (why was he there? Was he outside?) and backtracked when he saw two figures in the kitchen so close together.

“Getting some bravery and leaving us in the dust, Pesci?” He grinned wickedly at his own words, making Pesci stutter for his words and look down with a face displaying a mixture of bashfulness and annoyance. You simply stayed silent. Formaggio entered the room and stalked arrogantly, with pompous strides, towards you and Pesci. “You know, I’m a pretty good cook! I wouldn’t mind lending you a hand.” He continued when he stopped right at your side, looking Pesci askance. You didn’t know why he was seemingly so watchful of his teammate, but you pinned it on being so obviously submissive when he was supposed to keep an eye on you.

You could, however, see he was raising his arm to rest on your shoulders, so you preemptively stepped a bit to the side, leaving his arm hanging in midair. He didn’t seem to appreciate that, but then again you would rather see his expression sour a bit than being touched twice without permission. Prosciutto caught you off guard and blew up that opportunity for most of them that day, so Formaggio would have him to thank, you didn’t really care for this fool’s feelings right now.

What you did care about, instead, was your own safety. Denying one of them would be easy enough, especially someone as meek as Pesci, but something told you Formaggio wouldn’t be that to convince and get rid of. You really, really wanted to keep peace with the entire team and wounding this guy’s pride twice in a row without offering some kind of consolation would probably make him more persistent or bring him to complain to his boss. The last thing you wanted was Risotto hovering over you and reminding you to be a good help, not to upset his subordinates. Hence the forced smile, your jaw clenched, as you accepted both their assistance and gave him soft and gentle instructions so that they wouldn’t get too frustrated with you or have reasons to label you bossy.

Pesci was rather manageable and not too bad if you could take time to explain what he was supposed to do, but Formaggio would often physically step in and wriggled in between the two of you if you got very close. He’d pat Pesci’s back with compliments about his abilities, the slap against the poor younger man violent enough to make you wince at the sound of his hand slam against his bare neck. You supposed you were being a bit too friendly with Pesci and Formaggio was not-so-gently reminding him of focusing on controlling you, of not letting you alone for a second to wander in their secrets. Not that you were that interested in their jobs for your own security. Then Formaggio started to grab you and drag you closer to him, using the excuse of not understanding what he was supposed to do when he has been mostly independent until that moment. Pesci would throw quick, vicious glances in your general direction when you nervously explained the recipe once, twice, three times to Formaggio as he continued to interrupt you and make you start over.

Your hope of finishing faster with the help of these two assisting was soon shattered with all the little distractions, but when you were finally close to getting the food ready, you turned to them and cheerfully asked them to go prepare the table. They seemed hesitant at first, but you smiled sweetly at the thought of being left alone and they almost beat each other up for the chance of grabbing the glasses, the tablecloth and the cutlery first. It was a rather strange sight, but you shifted your focus on the finishing steps to complete the meal and portioning it as fairly as you could. When you got close to the table and your two unhelpful aids, you noticed how slow they were and understood they probably never had to think about setting the table when you weren’t around.

You rested the two plates you were carrying in front of two different seats and walked to Pesci to gently nudge the forks he was holding, not noticing the startled look on his face when your fingers lightly brushed against his hand. You started to talk softly at him to explain where you should position each piece or that he could maybe just dump them in the center of the table, so that whoever needed a fork or a spoon would simply grab it. When you raised head and looked over, you were faced with a blushing Pesci and a glaring Formaggio. Some sort of doubt started to set in your brain, but it was soon crushed by the emerging anxiety in your stomach at the vitriol in Formaggio’s eyes as you couldn’t understand if it was directed at you or his teammate. With mounting panic, you shoved the remaining forks in Pesci’s hands and run to fixing the other dishes.

To escape the heavy atmosphere in the room, you set all the plates at the right places and went to call for the others. When you stepped outside the kitchen, you noticed Illuso hanging out at the end of the hallway and you approached while calling him out softly. He flinched just slightly, you noticed only thanks to the movement of his long hair, and faced you with his usually self-assured grin, a bit crooked though. You informed him that the lunch was being served and he just thanked you, without moving. You stood there too, turning back only after a minute of complete silence and awkward waiting.

Setting the encounter aside in your mind, you went to look for the others. Melone cooed and complimented you on how good and domestic you looked with the apron still tied around your body, a reaction that made you slip it off as soon as he went for the kitchen. Risotto looked at you, at the piece of cloth on your arm, and said he’d be down in a second after finishing looking over the files for the next missions. Ghiaccio didn’t acknowledge you much besides stomping to the kitchen and side eyeing the end of the hallway, but you ignored his weird behavior to walk upstairs once again and looking for Prosciutto. He was alone in his shared room, without his usual suit jacket on, a simple shirt open wide on his chest area. You always found distasteful the amount of skin these guys flaunted around like it wasn’t winter just a few months ago and the cold wasn’t clinging to the starting months of spring. But maybe it was just the thought process of an engaged person, you could probably see someone regarding them as eye-candy if they didn’t have to deal with the concept of them being criminals or just plain unsettling.

Once all the men were probably eating in the kitchen, you busied yourself with tidying up their bedrooms and the other two rooms on the upper floor. In spite of more than a week going by from your last visit, you didn’t find much disorder or chaos, so you finished quickly. You heard commotion downstairs, under your feet, and you were pretty sure they were arguing. You opted to tune out their muffled voices and concentrate on your duties in order to get out sooner. You didn’t see any other them until three in the afternoon, when Risotto barged in his own office while you were dusting and fixed his steely eyes on you. You squirmed under his gaze, but continued with your task.

“You didn’t join us.” He was matter-of-factly stating it, a light note of disappointment in his voice. You merely looked over to him and questioned his words silently. He didn’t elaborate further, and you didn’t want to press the matter more than you needed to but, as you were directing your attention back to the books and papers on the shelves, he spoke again. “We thought you’d eat with us. There was still food in the pot.”

“Oh!” You gave more emphasis than you needed in that exclamation, but you powered through the embarrassment of your surprise as Risotto didn’t even move. You waved your hand dismissively with a sincere grin on your face, one of the few you offered any of them, mostly born out of the consideration of his words. When he expressed his confusion at your absence you almost felt like you were talking to a family member worried about your meals, but his minimal reaction to your smile – you did notice the almost imperceptible bulging of his eyes – made you return to your actual reality: you were in a house full of mobster, in a office with their boss and you were being questioned while your hands were between his files. Maybe he was simply paranoid of your intentions.

“No, no, I made all that for you guys!” You were talking quickly, not even stopping to breath. You tried to replicate that smile, that genuine one, but you could feel the strain on your lips and the lack of reaction from Risotto. No matter, you could fake it a bit until you were outside that door and safe from this man. “I was kinda worried you would neglect cooking properly tomorrow, so I made some more for lunch. Or dinner tonight!”

You shifted gracelessly under Risotto’s scrutiny, his stoic reaction making you more and more concerned for your words and your current position. Deciding that finishing dusting wasn’t a priority anymore, you stepped away from the shelves right in front of you and kindly asked the man to move so you could get to the rest of the house. Risotto stepped aside just enough to open a window of space where you could sneak out. It wasn’t wide enough to just walk out, but you made do by flattening against door frame and avoiding any physical contact with the body of this enormous man. He did seem nice enough to move a bit more to the side, stepping inside his office more, and you were soon out on the hallway. You didn’t hear the door click shut quickly, so you turned around to see Risotto facing you about to close it. When he noticed you looking at him, he raised his hand to wave and wished you a good day. Right after, the door was closed and you didn’t even hear him moving, stepping away from it.

You contemplated your next move as you stared at the wood right in your face and, all things considered, you did clean enough. Your nerves really couldn’t take much more of this constant and unnerving surveillance. You thought you seemed docile enough, they didn’t need to drone over you like you were about to steal all their valuables like some low-tier thief. For today, you were done and tired. Before you were out of the door though you chose to clean up the leftovers of their lunch, walking into the kitchen to see how they were well-behaved enough to clear the table. Not enough to wash the dishes, but that would be an easy task that you started right in that moment so you could say goodbye to this house for a few days. Your mood actually improved at the prospect of returning and you stopped paying attention to your surroundings until you heard a loud whisper.

“What do you mean it’s not there?” You resisted the urge to jump at the harsh tone. It came from beyond the kitchen’s door, right down the hallway. You were somewhat curious about the sounds and the whispers coming from there and these guys seemed oddly interested in that part of the house today. You wondered if you could easily sneak up to them to check what they were doing, but you were sure that would be the making of your deathbed. You tried to ignore the murmurs accompanied by soft noises, then steps that were trying to be silent on purpose. When you heard whoever was pacing right outside the room pass the door, you turned just a tiny bit but enough to catch a glimpse of blonde hair and fuzzy coat. You dried our hands and walked outside the kitchen with extreme reluctance in every slow step.

Once on the doorstep, you glanced around and confirmed no one was there to see you. You glared at the end of the hallway, where the entrance was, but noticed nothing odd or dangerous. You scanned the area for a bit until your brain made the connection: your coat, left abandoned on the floor to rest on your bag, was now hanging with the other jackets. With another suspicious look at the stairs and the door of the living room, you paced to the coat hanger and inspected your own. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, maybe they just thought it fell down and picked it up. You couldn’t really fault them for that. However, a gut feeling told you to check inside your bag.

Kneeling down, you opened it and narrowed your eyes at the contents. Along with your usual possessions (new cellphone, keys, a bottle of water, some chapstick and tissues), there were various other objects that your panicking mind couldn’t recognize in that moment. You had the thought of emptying your bag right there and then, but the fear of them getting irritated at your gesture stopped your hands from doing so. But you weren’t scared enough of the consequences of simply grabbing your coat and your bag and bolting out of the house. You barely stopped to slam the door shut before you made a run for the car and entered, dumping your stuff on the seat besides you and driving off.

You stopped just down the street, when the outline of the house was just a memory of few minutes ago, and parked again. You needed to calm down before driving again, your fingers trembling by the sheer tension and force of your grip on the wheel. Were they spying on you? Were they trying to find some clue about you and your alleged affiliations? Did they plant some listening device in your bag? With a swirling spiral of paranoia flooding you mind, you fished around your bag to understand what you were dealing with.

When your hand came out of the bag, you were hold chocolate. Confused and disoriented, you opened the bag wide and looked inside. There were various trinkets hidden away in pockets and corners, as if they were trying to conceal them from a distracted observer. You found some weird hair accessories you never possessed or saw before, jewelry, a ring, a compact mirror that wasn’t anything like the one you already possessed, and little noted attached to each supposed gift scattered around your purse. Words of praise or gratitude were written on those little pieces of paper; you didn’t know their handwriting, but you could associate the notes to each of them by the tone of the comments. You simply crumpled them together and threw them out of the car’s window.

You decided against getting rid of the gifts though, as they would surely inquire about them. The idea you built in your mind, that they simply wanted to keep tabs on you because you intruded their home and they wanted to be prepared for a dangerous rat among them, came down in an instant and you had to face the reality that these men were getting incomprehensibly attached to you. You considered their bizarre behaviors and assumed they were always isolated, always out of the norm, to the point that the littlest of niceties was met with interested by them. You never regretted your good upbringing more in your life.

With unease and terror gripping your throat in a vice, you reached for your phone and went straight to the saved numbers. Considering that this was a new phone (that you managed to buy with the money you got from this job), there weren’t many phone numbers and you chocked when you scrolled down to get to your fiance’s number. In the list, with clear letters, was saved one of their numbers. After further inspection, you counted four new numbers in total – Risotto, Prosciutto, Pesci and Melone. You had no idea if the others didn’t think of that bright idea or if they didn’t know how to operate the cellphone, but you couldn’t bear the sight of those names and deleted the contacts. You threw the phone without caring where it would land and wailed helplessly with your forehead against the wheel.

After some time, an hour later according to your clock, you heard the ringtone of your cellphone and tentatively picked it up to see your mother’s name on the screen. You answered and listened to her request to buy something from the market for tonight’s dinner. She heard you sobbing softly and asked if everything was alright, but you assured her you just got a bit of a running nose because of the wind. The air was still, she countered. Not here, you were quick to underline. She reluctantly accepted your excuse and told you to come back soon with the usual worry a mother would have for their child.

That night you left your bag by the entrance and when your fiance came over to spend time with his beloved and his future parents-in-law, he went to look in your purse to find something he asked you about and enthusiastically asked you if he could eat the chocolate you had inside. You couldn’t help starting to bawl with grieving force, a fact that worried your loved ones greatly. They probed and inquired about your mood, what did happen, there was no reason to cry that over chocolate.

You composed yourself enough to talk and just stated, with a shaking voice, that you were scared to illustrate your fiance’s idea about your future. That night you opened up about a trivial, joyful update so that you could spare your family the heartache you had to carry.

Your fiance gladly ate the chocolate and you went to sleep with your head on a wet pillow.

#jjba #jojo's bizzare adventure #formaggio #prosciutto #risotto #pesci #melone #illuso #ghiaccio #yandere #reader insert #me: remembers i have to tag all the characters #me: okay i'm never doing a fic like this ever again #ajdfdfsd here's ur new chapter my dudes

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web-of-fics · 5 years

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17th Street

Requested by: anon (“I’ve never really done requests before but could you do one where the reader has been trying to prevent Peter from dying by going back in time over and over again, only to become distant and cold to Peter who is oblivious by it. Similar to the plot of Madoka Magica if you’ve heard of it. It might be a hard concept to do and it’s ok if you’re unable to do it”)

Starring: Peter Parker x reader (she/her)

Fandom: MCU

Timeline: This takes place post-Endgame (lowkey time travel tech spoilers) but pre-the second Spiderman movie because I still haven’t seen it lol

Summary: Reader, a former Stark intern, struggles to use her own time travel device to rescue her best friend, who has been killed by a chance explosion in her current timeline. She grows increasingly desperate after failing to prevent his death numerous times.

Writer’s Note: Thanks for your request anon!! I haven’t watched Madoka Magica so hopefully I did the plot idea some justice 😊❤️

Words: 1448

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You rolled across the dirt and slammed into a brick wall. You rubbed your shoulder, frowning, and returned to your feet. Returning from a time jump was the worst no matter how much practice you had through countless jumps into the past.

Contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark wasn’t the first to “discover” time travel. To his credit, his methods seemed much more effective than yours. After all, he had been able to save the entire planet with his invention (and probably the universe).

You were just trying to save one person. And you couldn’t even seem to manage that much.

“Ugh!” you looked at the red blinking message on your white wristwatch. At a passing glance, it looked like any old smart watch. But you had made yours in secret while interning with him. Had Tony been less distracted at the time, he might have picked up on what you were doing. Maybe he still had and he’d let you carry on anyway.

You smacked the screen once in frustration, but not hard enough to break it. You pressed your fingertips to your closed eyes and pulled them away, releasing tension building up behind them.

Your entire body was buzzing, ready to jump straight back into the past so you could attempt to save Peter’s life again. It was outrageous that something as trivial as a drained battery was enough to stop you for the night. Like when you got really close to the end of a video game but you kept dying right before defeating the final boss. And then realizing that you had no more lives left so you had to start the entire level over again.

Using the old web shooters you had stolen from Peter’s room ages ago (either he’d never noticed or he’d never minded), you swung your way home.

You stomped up to your lab--which, at this point, was just a corner of your bedroom outfitted with a desk, a swivel chair, a computer with two screens, and a bookshelf--and plugged it into its heavy-duty charger, also secretly courtesy of Mr. Stark.

You liked the thought that Tony would have given his blessing for its use if he had known about its existence. This was another matter of life and death, but you were certain it was one you could succeed at. Which only added to your frustration every time you had to watch Peter die.

You changed and climbed into bed, counting the amount of time jumps you’d made that day the way children in bedtime stories count sheep.

You rolled over and closed your eyes, willing the silent blinking red light of your watch to turn bright white with new life as you drifted off.

I’m coming, Peter.

- - - - - - - - - -

Your feet were the first part of you to hit the gravel. You caught yourself before you could fall to your knees, very aware of the bruises that had piled on top of one another during your early jumps. The second you recovered, you sprinted down 17th Street, not stopping until you reached the near-empty pier.

By this time you knew precisely where Peter would be: hunched over the pier’s edge, gazing into the water as he wrapped up another night as Spider-Man. On your sixth trip you’d managed to learn he was waiting to see the sunrise before going home.

You had also learned two other things over your many trips into the past: that if you tried to talk to him any earlier in the day, he would die in some other freak accident, and if you did manage to help him escape the explosion, he wound up getting himself killed while trying to save other survivors. Every. Time.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

Tonight you needed to try something new.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you called in a dead voice. In your early trips you had sounded much friendlier. Thrilled at the sight of your lost friend, alive and breathing again. Then he kept dying. And you couldn’t help but greet him with the same enthusiasm of a funeral director anymore.

He didn’t seem to notice your abrupt coldness.

“Y/n? What are you--” you cut him off by grabbing his arm and pulling him along as you retreated back the way you came. You wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if he didn’t want to follow. But he did.

“We don’t have time,” you said curtly, glancing at your watch. It was later than you’d thought. You’d cut the timing too close.

You dragged him past the very boat that was set to explode in mere seconds. Instinctively, he turned his attention to it, twisting his head around to keep it in sight as he tried to figure out why it was dangerous.

Why didn’t he noticed it the first time? Then you wouldn’t be in this mess.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. He came to a full stop, nearly sending you over. He helped you keep your balance.

You looked from him to the boat, your stomach feeling hollow and your throat refusing to swallow as it dried out.

“We have to go now,” you said at the same moment you realized it was already too late.

Peter realized the same thing half a second earlier, but that didn’t give him enough time to respond. It never did.

His reflexes were still fast as he grabbed you close and shot a web aimed at a nearby lamppost. It missed as he was thrown off his feet instantaneously, dragging you alongside him. Together you flew in an infinite moment, through a fiery debris-laden burst that burned your fingertips as you struggled to tap and swipe at the screen of your wristwatch. Your eyes burned from the smoke, and you could no longer hear the lazy seagulls or the lapping waves or the clanging hooks that stationed the boats.

As you both began to fall back toward the ground, Peter moved as if to throw you ahead of him so he wouldn’t land with all his weight crushing you. Instead you grabbed his collar to remain in contact. You wrapped your legs around his waist for good measure, realizing neither of you would survive if this didn’t work.

You squeezed both buttons on either side of the watch face and squeezed your eyes closed. You pressed your face into his chest and held tight.

The heat that had been chasing you suddenly vanished. The smoke, too. You realized this as you inhaled sharply upon being slammed onto the ground--or more accurately, as Peter slammed into the ground with you on top of him. You slid sideways until you rolled across hard ground, still a lessened impact than if you had no cushion.

The second you regained your senses you crawled back to Peter, lying with his mask half-off and his eyes closed.

“Peter?” you yanked the mask off the rest of the way and tossed it to the side. “Can you hear me?” you struggled to keep the panic from taking over your voice. As much as you didn’t want to look away from him, you stole a glance at your watch. The screen had shattered but its contents were still legible.

You’d done it. You were back in your own time, with Peter Parker in tow.

And hopefully alive.

You smacked the sides of his face gently, but with enough force that you hoped to wake him. You ran your hands over him, feeling for a pulse, a breath.

You found both.

You sighed in relief. It turned into a laugh of triumph and Peter finally rolled his head to the side. He blinked his eyes open.

“I did it! We did it! You’re alive, you’re okay!” you said, forcing your tears not to roll down your face.

“What happened?”

“I’ll explain later,” you said quickly and honestly. You knew he would understand. But he didn’t have to know every detail about your time traveling adventures right then.

“It’s a long story,” you added when you saw his puzzled face. “But you’ve been through so much I couldn’t let an exploding boat take you out,” you laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

“Thanks,” Peter said as he began to feel comfortable enough to sit up. “I would hate for a boat to take me out too. That’s pretty lame.”

You swept him into a tight hug, ignoring the fact that you were both wincing from your bruises. You continued to hold him, your heartbeat calming as you breathed the same air as your best friend once more, hoping you would never have to let go.

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dbhilluminate · 5 years

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DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 5)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Director Thomas Falken, Hannah Kamski (mentions of Gavin Reed, Malachi, Diego Serrano, Priya Davies / “Pestilence”, Gideon, Kate, Waylon) Word Count: 10,131

After a long two hours, Noah and Gabriel finally get to sit and discuss the previously unaddressed change in the nature of their relationship.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 11:10 PM

This must have been what the dreaded time-out felt like to five-year-old humans. The concept was undeniably similar. The first ten minutes of ‘detention’ was spent staring at the mess around the room as the FBI began sectioning off evidence of the crime scene- from the body of the security guard and the other victims throughout the room to the bodies of the deactivated Inquisitors, and the body of Priya 2.0, which lay no more than five feet away from him. The former vessel stared straight up at the ceiling in a pool of thirium, a stiletto heel lodged into their temple. It was a gruesome sight that left Noah shuddering and scooting in the opposite direction as far away as he could get, but he only vaguely remembered what had happened leading up to their demise.

Aside from being locked out of his motor functions and sequestered to the island of his mind palace, all he could recall were the feelings of sheer helplessness, tension, and conflicting impulses of ‘yes, let me die’ and ‘but not like this’ singing harmonies to his mania. Control over his body slowly came back to him after several minutes of paralyzed terror, but having his cheek grazed by a stiletto projectile and watching Priya get skewered by the footwear snapped him right back to full awareness, just a split-second before the cavalry stormed the place. What had happened next was just as hazy- he phased from one loss of control straight into the next as his rusty battle program shook the dust off and unwittingly threw him into the fray. There was hardly enough time to process before he -watching from behind his own eyes as his own programming puppetted him- tore through the first inquisitor he got his hands on and tossed them into the nearest serving table, with enough force to also ragdoll it over the three behind it. But before he could turn his focus onto the next target, Gabe’s arm whipped across his neck and collar like a steel bar and clothed-lined him with the intent to stop him, but unfortunately, all it did was piss him off.

The ensuing fight was brief, but scrappy- the struggle persisted for several minutes in spite of Gabriel’s repeated orders for him to ‘Stand down’, and only ended when Vincent -or rather, Gabriel- took a backhanded elbow to the nose while trying to non-violently restrain him. Noah regained control the moment his sensors alerted him to a violation of the ‘friendly fire’ protocol, and his blue eyes scanned the aftermath of his violent tantrum with frantic sweeps. Paramedics rushed about the room tending to the wounded, and a few staggered gunshots and startled yells wound the excitement down to a tolerable lull, while the FBI rounded up the last of the combatants from across the ransacked hall. His gaze came to a fixated stop on Vincent when he finally noticed the thirium dripping from Gabriel’s nose onto the floor in large drops, making it painfully obvious that he wasn’t human.

He didn’t think much further than that- instead of coming up with a witty quip to hide behind Noah panicked, grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins from a nearby table, and tried blotting away as much of the blue blood as he could while apologizing profusely. In the same sweeping movement, Gabe turned and positioned himself behind the nearest cocktail table with his back to the Christmas tree to evade the hidden cameras, and tried to clamp off the bleeding with one hand. But before Noah could find out if he was alright, a gnarled hand grabbed his shoulder and tore him away from the bleeding android without warning. He didn’t need to turn around to know the owner of said hand was Director Falken himself. Instead of resisting, he let the man drag him back until his heels knocked the edge of the stage, kicked him off balance, and dropped him down onto his ass with one final-sounding thump.

“Stay there, don’t move.” “But-” Falken pushed him back down with a rough shove as he tried to stand up, then leaned down into his personal space and growled in his face. “Try it again, Maitkin, an’you’ll find yourself limpin’ outta here with a bullet in the leg, understand me…?” An involuntary, embarrassed whine of his systems winding down answered for him, followed by a tentative, slightly-horrified smile of compliance. “Yes, sir.” He wholly intended to follow Falken’s order to not move, considering the impressive number of bodies littering the place that once again, the RK9 was somewhat-responsible for putting there.

It had been a while since that brief exchange, and twenty minutes of ruminating hadn’t helped to quell the anxiousness as much as he’d hoped. Without the presence of his fidget aid -a uniquely weighted chess piece, a gift from Kate- he’d settled for unfolding and folding the Ray-Bans from his coat’s pocket while he watched emergency services and local law enforcement trickle in from the main entrance. One nervous glance paid to the top of the Christmas tree assured him that tinsel angel had survived unscathed at the very least. If one beautiful thing hadn’t been ruined that night, then perhaps the rest could still be salvaged. Though, not likely.

Just as he finished re-analyzing the last ten minutes of the event for the fourth time, a firm squeeze of his shoulder delivered a familiar prickle of data he’d both long waited and feared the arrival of. Noah turned his eyes up shamefully to meet Gabriel’s, expecting a reprimand, but blinked in surprise as the man knelt to slip an arm around his waist and lift him off the stage with a quiet ‘Come on… let’s get you out of here’ whispered into his ear. ‘Erwin’s’ eyelids gave a gratuitous flutter as Vincent’s decisive, yet gentle hand slipped into his between them and guided Noah’s hand through the crook of his tucked arm. One gloved hand settled on top of his to better lead ‘Yvonne’ out of the room as any proper gentleman would, brown eyes focused intently on his company to keep his attention off the horror as they crossed the room. Had it not been for the massacre spoiling the mood from out the corner of his eyes and the back of his mind, Noah may have been able to enjoy the moment properly, but there was too much yet to consider.

The walk went on for longer than he expected. Instead of stopping at the staircase in the courtyard of the Mellon, Gabriel led them further back into the property, past the green rooms where the FBI had set up their surveillance equipment, and stopped at a small flight of stairs adjoining the West Wing of the William Jefferson Clinton Federal Building to the Auditorium. The municipal building had been deserted for hours already, the business of the day had concluded no later than four PM that afternoon, in preparation for the charity event. It was dark and quiet on that end, out of the way and not easy to find, a good place for them to talk more privately: only the hollow clacking of Oxford heels, the occasional whistle of snowy wind whipping against the windows, and the soft, murmured echoes of their voices to keep them company.

The silence during the three-minute walk proved too much for the party-crasher. The very second they made it out of earshot of the FBI’s temporary headquarters, Noah gave his escort one pointed look, frowned and shook his head as he slipped out of his grasp. “Right… leave it to me to ruin a perfectly good face- and your fundraiser.” The self-deprecating jab earned him a glance, but no lecture. “They patched me up pretty quick... it’s not a big deal.” “Pft.” Noah scoffed, tossed a glance away from him, and stepped away from Gabe toward the staircase. “Sure, as if negotiating unforeseen hostage situations is something you do on the daily.” “It was one of the potential scenarios our predecessors were designed for,” Gabriel reminded as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “It’s nothing new.” “Yes, but how many of them were also given an economic nose job for their trouble?” he countered in sarcastic rhetoric as the mortification of his unconscious actions sank in. “I’m fine, Noah, really, don’t worry about it,” he reassured one last time. Gabriel tapped the toe of one foot to the ground and flattened his lips with a thoughtful pause. After what had just happened, a popped nose line should have been the least of his worries, and yet there he was fretting over it like it was the end of the world. He must have been worse off than he’d thought.

“Really, though… how are you holding up?” he asked in a soft tone as he lifted his eyes to meet his. “I mean- you didn’t... lose, anything... did you?” Noah exhaled in frustration, not all of it aimed at his counterpart, and shivered involuntarily with a sarcastic response, “Do a few of the wits I had left count?” “You know what I mean…” Gabriel leveled his gaze to him, crouched down to sit on the top step of the stairs, and gave him a half-lidded look. Their eyes met briefly but still managed to communicate what was on his mind. “Did Malachi hurt you...?” A hot-cold patch spread across Noah’s face to mimic the way human skin paled in response to a nervous system response to stress. “If you’re asking, did it hurt to hear all that...? Yes, it did.” He stopped short before a tirade could get the better of him and took in a deep, cleansing breath to resettle his racing mind, then stooped to sit down beside him. Gabe folded his hands, looked down into them, and sighed quietly, then lifted a hand to stroke the length of his spine from his lower back up to his neck and squeezed his shoulder. “I know... I’m sorry.” “But, it was no worse than what I tell myself in the mirror most mornings,” he continued and relaxed under his comforting touch. “I don’t know if the virus would have made things better, or at least more tolerable, but…” He stopped, only to shamefully glance sidelong at his rescuer. If not for him, he wouldn’t have been able to remain strong enough to fight off the impulse to simply give himself over to Malachi’s whims. “Despite… appearances I’m not keen to find out.”

A pained look struck Gabriel hard before he could successfully smother it into something less overtly panicked at the notion. “I wanted to intervene sooner,” he admitted, a fragment of the anxiety evaporating with it, “But-...” Gabriel’s stress readings spiked again for a moment as his gloved hand slipped off his shoulder to nervously brush back his hair and stroke across his brow with an angry sigh. It was a shitty situation all around. Noah wasn’t the only one who’d been replaying it on repeat trying to figure out what he could have done better. Even if he hadn’t had Gavin and Falken in his ear giving updates and orders the entire time, without a weapon, he wouldn’t have had a more direct way of handling the situation any other way than he had. But then again, if he hadn’t been following protocol from the get-go, he would have been carrying a loaded gun, and the hostage situation would have been over before it had even begun. He chuckled darkly with a twitchy, morbid grin in spite of himself and shook his head. “Do you have any idea how much I hate having to work with a handler…?”

Noah didn’t share the smile. He recognized the tone for what it was: begrudging, frustrated malcontent. That this was the way things were for a reason, and said reason wasn’t so much in a book somewhere as much as it was pulled out of Falken’s ass. They were, after all, the only two units of a posthumously-produced series of Androids, who were never issued a specific field. Only a very general definition of the words ‘law enforcement’ fit them. Finding anything more specific was undoubtedly trial and error, as had been the case with him and Archangel; ergo it wasn’t a big surprise to hear Gabe was finding the same difficulties settling in with the FBI. They both needed eyes on their work to make sure nothing went too far awry. It was only logical, but it didn’t mean they had to like the constant overview. “... Some. You forget I was AA once- hated every second of waiting on paperwork or phone calls.” “I didn’t forget. I was just under the impression you never really did what you were told,” Gabe teased with a smirk and gave him a ribbing nudge with his elbow. Noah returned it with a droll blink and frowned. “Not directly. There were roundabout ways which were more-” He stopped mid-thought and backed up a moment on what he’d actually said. “What? You’re not having fun anymore?” Gabe hesitated. A hand rubbed at the back of his neck in nervous habit as he shook his head. “I just hate playing the waiting game... sometimes I think it’d just be more effective if they let me loose to do things my way.” The playful smirk faded to cautiously glance at him out of the corners of his eyes. “Then I wouldn’t have to take so many unnecessary risks.”

Risks such as him, he might as well have said. Noah pondered that, just to distract himself from dwelling on how badly it could have ended. Being drunk and caught up in the fervor of the moment accounted for a lot of his reactions, but not all. His cover alias had become pretty well synchronized with his actual persona in the process, and the same went without saying for his company; even so, the more he thought about it now, the more pressing the need to know which was which became. And he had already had his fill of uncomfortable situations for one night without landing himself in another. It might have been harder to get the question out, had he not already made a fool of himself several times over that night. But still, he stuttered. “Th-then… was any of what you said to Serrano real?”

Gabriel froze and clenched his teeth. It was only a matter of time before they circled back to the subject they’d both been skirting all night, but he still wasn’t ready for it. Answering truthfully meant things would certainly change between them, but however quickly it happened was completely dependent on how receptive each of them was to that eventuality. His limbs suddenly felt heavy. In spite of the pounding in his ears and the screaming of processes telling him to avoid the question, he shut them out and prioritized a response, for both their sakes. The longer they waited to talk about this, the harder it would become. “... some of it…” he answered truthfully, without paying him so much as a sideways glance. He didn’t dare elaborate beyond that yet, not until he knew what he wanted to hear. To his credit, Noah didn’t lash out with the first negative thing he could infer from that. His brows knit and his gaze slid sideways, fingers tightening over his knees to abate some of the nervousness. “And you… can’t say which is which, or it’ll destroy your alias’ credibility?” Gabe ran a hand through his hair to stimulate the regrowth of his recognizable, slightly longer and darker curls, took off his glasses and slipped them into his coat’s pocket, then rubbed at his eyes until the electric blue coloring brightened the previously-brown irises. However ill-at-ease he felt starting this conversation, it couldn’t be said that he wasn’t trying. “It’s just you and me right now,” he assured as he brushed a hand over his jaw and chin to clear away the beard, then leaned over his knees and finally looked over at him with the familiar face he knew so well. “Ask me anything.”

The first time seeing him since the Raids, and not Vincent in his place, was a little more jarring than Noah counted on. He stopped fiddling with the glasses and closed them with an audible click, tucked his arms close to his sides and drew his knees together as if to suddenly look smaller, or somehow more put-together. “Did you at least learn what you needed to?” “Yes.” Gabe tilted his head in response, folded his hands loosely in the air in front of him, and looked over at him evenly. “Serrano isn’t funding the Inquisition, which… isn’t what we expected to hear, but it’s progress,” he affirmed with a thoughtful nod. “Is that all you wanted to know...?” Noah tsked and raised an eyebrow in retaliation, an allusion to the can of worms this line of questioning would eventually open. Always with the pressing to make sure it was closer to the whole truth and not only the pretty highlights. “Inviting me to be my old nosy, bitchy self can’t happen without strings attached.” He pocketed the sunglasses and halfheartedly wiped at half-dried blue blood on his lapel with a frustrated sigh. If deflection were an Olympic sport, he would have quite the collection of medals by now. “That’s the cynicism talking- it wants to know why you didn’t just let Malachi throw the switch.”

Gabe paused for almost half a minute and furrowed his brows, then looked down at his hands and took in a steadying breath. There was no other way to say it, plain and simple. “... because you’re my friend, Noah... and I didn’t like how it made me feel to imagine a world without you in it.” He hesitated to look his way, to let it sink in first. It was as easy a conclusion to come to as it was hard to admit. With how things stood now, Gabriel hardly remembered why he had ever been so hard on him in the beginning. Maybe it was, in part, the way Noah carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, for crimes that weren’t even his fault. No one loved a martyr, but he deeply respected anyone self-aware enough to try and evaluate where they’d gone wrong even if Noah was far too hard on himself most days for his liking. Such as it was, the obvious question still lingered in the back of his mind. “… do you really want to die?”

It’s something of an age-old dilemma in his case, but to hear Gabe ask it isn’t any more pleasant than Hannah throwing it at him. Noah tried to evade the worst of the new spike in distress with a joke. “No, not like that. Getting killed over a little impromptu karaoke wouldn’t look amazing in the obituaries,” he admitted, hands in his lap. Despite the glibness, the guilt had started to creep up again. “If I hadn’t been singing, if I had listened when you said stop, we wouldn’t be discussing it here, like- this. Probably.” “You’re right, we wouldn’t,” he agreed, not looking or sounding upset, but eyes still focused on his hands. The look on his face may have read as neutral, but a very faint blush in his cheeks and a slight flicker of his heartbeat gave him away. Score one, Noah. ‘Erwin’ forced half an abashed grin, trying not to give purchase to the doubts and insecurities piling up to the point he couldn’t avoid dwelling on them. Whatever titillating reaction his words got was worth another admission in reward. “It was- kind of fun while it lasted, though. Almost like- nothing was different.”

The frantic tone of the evening transposed over the serenade hadn’t left him with much of an opportunity to process whether or not he’d enjoyed the performance. But one thing was for sure: he couldn’t get his choice of song off his mind. Of all the Christmas songs he could have chosen, of course he had picked the one that had the most melodramatic message available. That was just his style. But between the dedication of the song and their conversation from before, he’d been left thinking the lyrics were much more carefully chosen than he’d first thought. After a full minute of silence, Gabriel dared brave the comfort of the moment to ask a question he knew without a doubt would have an overly-complicated answer. “Why that song?” he began uncertainly, at almost a whisper.

Called out, the slimmer RK9 froze. His fidgeting hands stilled and the brittle grin collapsed into an uncertain frown. Like a focusing camera lens, his pupils flared and contracted, LED spinning yellow and remaining said color for several seconds. At least his first impulse wasn’t to try and deny it, but he still wanted a real answer. “Why did you pick that song, specifically?” Gabe tried again after he’d cleared his throat, louder than before. “Yvonne thought it appropriate,” he deflected on impulse, “Because your arrangement could only have been better off for-...” Noah stopped before he could finish the lie. It wouldn’t have done him any favors anyway. The choice was blatantly transparent, even if it still somehow required an explanation. Hands curled over each other in his lap, and he hung his head defeatedly. “... and… because it was true, okay? Where were we last year, this same time?”

Gabe’s cheeks flushed yet another shade redder as he thought back to the year before when they’d barely known each other for longer than a week. Not only had Noah showered him in all manner of unnecessary gifts (which made him extremely uncomfortable to accept), but it had been the first time he’d asked for a kiss under the mistletoe. Freshly deviated and not at all familiar with Christmas traditions, much less acquainted with his feelings, he’d popped him across the jaw with a strong right uppercut the moment Noah got too close for comfort. In hindsight, he felt bad for how severely he’d overreacted, but what was done was done, and the circumstances had changed. All he could do now was make up for acting like an inconsiderate ass. Starting with giving him what he needed to hear before he could get up and walk away. “So, then... that’s really how you feel...?” he asked one more time, just for clarification. “Every word of that was… genuine?” “Said as if I wasn’t being genuine the whole time...” Noah muttered without meeting his eyes, arms crossed as if he were suddenly chilled. The hot-cold flush was back, and this time it wasn’t momentary. It spread from his cheeks back down the sides of his neck, intensifying and making him feel as if his fuel lines had shrunk down to half their diameter. He forced himself to say more to distract from how his processors spun a few cycles too slow. “‘Honest’ is what you had trouble with hearing before.”

Having said his piece, he tried to stand up and leave, only for Gabe to sharply reach out, grab his arm and pull him back down. He might have protested if not for the pleading expression of “No, we need to talk about this”. This wasn’t Vincent Sharp. Gabriel needed to talk about it, to process it, and he needed to be able to see it in his eyes and on his face so he could do that. “Please… I’m listening now.” Being expected to sit there and explain himself once and for all didn’t immediately gel with his mindset of ‘write the night off as the biggest near-miss he’s had since the press conference’. By now, he hardly remembered the intent with which he’d crashed the charity event in the first place; but one thing held firm to for the last few hours was wanting to talk to Gabe candidly, without anyone else eavesdropping. No aliases or cover stories or ulterior motives. The question was a very simple yes or no, but being who he is, the urge to over-explain himself won out.

“Yes, it was, and is, how I really feel,” Noah replied in a gentler, reluctant tone and paused long enough to take in a deep breath as an unreadable expression crossed Gabe’s face, somewhere between overwhelmed and touched. “I may be the most infamous idiot in Zion’s immediate history, but that’s only rivaled by how unfairly they revile you for what happened in Boston. They don’t get it. They don’t know what it is to be us… ” His voice trailed off and Noah caught himself almost tripping over the next words, unsure if he should admit to his intentions, except for the insisting look in Gabriel’s transfixed gaze. He really was listening, with bated breath. “I know my timing is atrocious, but I wondered... if you’d ever thought that we could be something besides a mutual pair of freaks, then... then maybe we’d...” He stuttered to a stop, reached to stroke the tension out of his throat and corrected himself. “You’d see that neither of us is totally alone, and we could be something- besides that, more than that... something they can’t say we aren’t.”

The silence from his companion both was and wasn’t helping. On the one hand, if Noah pretended he was talking to a brick wall (which was a fair comparison, some days), he could get out everything he wanted to say without interruption; on the other, he would have liked to know what was going through Gabriel’s head aside from having to watch his brow slowly harden the more he spoke. Folded hands didn’t offer much more insight beyond careful consideration either. He swallowed one more throat-clenching choke so he could finish the rest of his thought. “You once said you were tired of all the expectations others had, that they couldn’t know what was best for you because they hadn’t been through what you had. I don’t know if you’re still that guy, after all that’s happened, but... at the least, what would you say to a reset between us?”

Noah braved the twenty seconds of silence that followed the question with as much courage as he could summon, but caved to the desperate need to know and turned his head to find him doing the same. Gabe stared back out the corners of his eyes, then shook his head softly, slipped the glove off of the hand between them, and slowly reached over to thread his fingers with his. The gentle input of contact between bare receptors illuminated the panels of their palms without deactivating the projection. That he would be the first to initiate contact between them was already a huge win, but he still blushed when he took it a step further and pulled their hands into his lap, turned Noah’s hand over and gently rubbed it between both of his with a squint. This was a rare mood indeed. “A reset implies forgetting about everything that’s happened,” he stated evenly before looking up to meet his gaze. “And I don’t want that. I’d rather just… understand where we’re at, right now, and go from there.”

It was nice while it lasted, anyway. However poignant the gesture and physical contact were, his dizzying mood shifts weren’t about to let him settle for being ‘pet’ into a calm state just yet. The peacock’s feathers were still too mussed and ruffled. “Oh, that’s much easier to summarize: we’re a bloody mess!” Noah bristled and jerked his hand back, to Gabriel’s surprise. “Why would you want to start from there? I didn’t mean to say ‘nothing ever happened’. Would I be sporting this ridiculously moody haircut if it hadn’t?” Gabe’s lip twitched and his expression nearly curdled, but he steadied himself, took a breath and managed to remain calm. Noah was just feeling raw and exposed, reacting in the same way he once had when he felt vulnerable early on. Unlike him, however, if a little pressure were applied in just the right way, that rough exterior would crack like a walnut. “Are you done?” he asked expectantly with a pop of his brows at him for emphasis.

Bitchy mode instantly deactivated. Noah sighed and hung his head. It had proven to be an upsetting night, but it was no one’s fault besides his own. Gabe didn’t have to be there -humoring him, listening to what he had to say- and it would have taken more energy to remain irritated than he even had left in reserve. And the fact that he was able to show this level of patience spoke volumes to just what he was feeling and what he was about to say. Somehow he knew it was something he wanted to hear. A faint blush surfaced in his cheeks, and he gave a submissive nod. “Because it’s you, yes, sir... for now.”

The tension drained from his expression and shoulders, the white-knuckled grip over his fist relaxed. Gabriel closed his eyes and gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts, ducked his head then opened his eyes to stare at the ground between his feet. “I know I was an asshole. You have every right to hold that against me if you want to,” he started with unwavering conviction. The old Gabriel would have sooner lashed out to cover up his mistakes than admit his wrongdoings. “But I’ve also spent a year unwinding the knots that had me so twisted around that I didn’t want to involve anyone in my life.” He paused just long enough to glance over at him and make sure he was listening. Noah sat silent and still, like a child being lectured. After a stint in time out it was practically to be expected. “You met me at my lowest point, back when I didn’t know how to be a friend, much less a lover…” The revelation of why he had to make that distinction made him shiver, and he chuckled uncomfortably. This wasn’t a conversation he ever imagined having with him in the past, much less in the future. “You know how bad shit was with Em in the beginning...? Because I didn’t understand what a relationship was supposed to be… ?” He paused again and lifted his brows even higher. “I had some idea, thanks to gossip…” Noah replied, though not to interrupt. “And- other hints I’m sure you’d rather not be reminded of.” Never let it be said Emilya Grantley was always as prim and proper as she made herself out to appear. “You might not have fully understood at the time, but if you were anything like me, I thought you’d pick it up fast enough.” “You expected too much of me, Noah, way too soon,” he corrected with a tired sigh. “I was emotionally stunted - I didn’t know any feelings aside from ‘angry’, ‘jealous’, and ‘not’... so no, I didn’t pick it up as quickly as you did. And that’s why I didn’t get the message, until-” he stuttered to a halt, grit his teeth, and looked away in shame before he finished the thought. “Until now. So don’t-...”

Gabriel didn’t get much further into his train of thought before he had to stop again. Getting all choked up over a little unfamiliar emotion wasn’t really his style, but it had been a while since he had felt that uncertain about anything. “Don’t hold it against me for being so goddamn slow… I’m trying, alright?” He lifted his gaze and stared deep into Noah’s eyes for nearly half a minute, desperate for him to understand, to not reject him now like he had done so many times before without even knowing. He’d lost count of how many times his blushing subroutine had engaged that night, but every time it did he felt himself die a little inside. It wasn’t like it was a lie- he’d offered more in the last five minutes of conversation than he’d ever been willing to expose about himself to him. A sigh escaped him as he looked down and away, and pinched his fingers over the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. “I wouldn’t have bothered trying if you weren’t important to me...”

Getting Gabe to admit their rapport was any kind of significant was a victory in itself, yet at the same time, even if it was what Noah wanted, his habit of second-guessing kicked in but a moment later. The pouting look dropped from his face, replaced by bemused neutrality. Suddenly he was looking for holes in the argument to make sure it wasn’t a fabricated confession, without coming right out and asking. It wasn’t that he doubted Gabe’s integrity or that he didn’t believe he meant what he was saying, but he did doubt the context that had endeared him to Gabe. Noah tried to keep the feelings of blame and self-ridicule abated as they banged on the doors, wanting to be let in, and cast them off for a few seconds longer with a forced sigh and shook his head. “Maybe I did screw up that much. The approach was all wrong, but you’ve got the message now, so... better late than never.” “It’s not what I expected to hear,” he agreed in a neutral tone. “I can’t say with certainty that the result would have been any different.”

It would have been better if he could, but no answer worth knowing was ever given easy. That said, if it wasn’t the answer Noah would most want to hear he should have better braced himself for disappointment. “But if it’s not what you want, the understanding between us, I’ll... I can accept that.” A bit of a flustered response animated Gabe’s otherwise brooding expression. “That’s not what I said,” he corrected before he could get too off course. He hadn’t had enough time yet to come to that decision, he’d only really been processing the possibility for an hour at most. As always, Noah ventured on with the worst-case scenario in mind. The smile he donned bordered on self-loathing. “You have a life, one that isn’t shaping up half bad, and here I am just...” He trailed off and shook his head again, dragged a hand over his face as if to brush off fatigue born of so many discordant thoughts. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. With you, or Hannah, or Zion or… anything. The people who got killed tonight didn’t count on being caught in the crossfire. If I had only stopped singing when you asked...”

Gabe sighed, quiet and jagged, and moved one nervous hand over his chin. “I don’t know what to say…” he started, fingers drumming absently over their new perch. “It’s not like I’ve had time to analyze how all this makes me feel. All I really know is…” His voice trailed off, he dragged the tips of his fingers over his lips in pensive focus, then flattened a palm over them as he stared into the space in front of them. The other hand, dangled over his thigh between his legs, trembled in quiet confession; he hadn’t been that terrified since the Red Raids, a few months before, when he thought he was going to lose Emilya to a gang of Bloodhounds. “... I thought I was gonna lose you to him... and I was really, really scared.” “You sounded it, from where I was,” Noah commented in an attempt to keep his tone flat and free of inflection, positive or negative. Neither had ever earned him points when it came to debating with Gabe anyway, as far as he remembered.

But something else in his expression caught his immediate attention. Noah paused and raised an eyebrow at the very slight tells of distress that he couldn’t see from within the garden, tells that weren’t so easy to fake. “Why wouldn’t you want me to die? Wouldn’t it just make your life easier?” The answer came to Gabe quicker than before, after an hour of fight or flight contemplation, but he still took the time to pause and look him in the eye as he gave him his answer. “I already answered that,” he replied solemnly, “Because if you died, I would feel alone.” He had said as much before, he’d just phrased it differently.

‘Didn’t want to imagine a world without you in it’.

Noah averted his eyes sharply as the pang of simultaneous longing and denial hit him. At the moment, he was at a loss for a good refute. “I don’t hate you,” Gabriel assured, “I never did- I just wanted you to be respectful of the boundaries I’d set.” A weak smile twitched at the corner of Noah’s lips. Lines in the sand always had been something he’d had trouble with. “So... I imagine singing a dedicated love song to you in front of a couple of hundred people rates pretty high on the list of ‘worst ways to violate your boundaries’?” “It’s somewhere in the middle... not the least invasive, not the most...” Gabe grinned sheepishly and looked away with a vaguely shy smile and a soft blush, but frowned at the second half of his thought as it came to him. “I didn’t hate it... the fact is, I might have enjoyed it if I didn’t have Gavin and Falken panicking in my ear the whole time.” “Squabbling like headless chickens, no doubt,” Noah remarked. The mental image brought a stronger smile to his face. “Might have, you say…? I’ll take that as a quasi compliment.” He managed a fleeting moment of wit akin to his former attitude, before he noticed the melancholic mood of his companion, and circled back on his own solemn observation. Whatever humor he’d scavenged for the moment drained from his delivery. “I meant what I said, but it still got people killed… and my whims aren’t worth more deaths on anyone’s head-”

Before he could start blaming himself properly, Gabriel cut him off with a heavy hand clapped over his shoulder. “Hey- you didn’t get anyone killed. Malachi did. Their deaths aren’t on you, much as you wanna take credit for them.” “Who else would if not for me, then?” he scoffed to cover up the fact that he had already tallied up a body count to add to his pre-existing lists. “Malachi doesn’t feel a smidge of remorse for it, so someone has to. As it stands, had I not been there distracting everyone as I did, more of them could have gotten out unscathed. That’s just basic math.” “You don’t know that for sure,” Gabe stated evenly, eyes fixed on his hand as he slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t torture yourself like that.”

It sounded like an order, complete with a “don’t” prefix, but Noah’s impulsive need to sass stalled at the sensation of weight lying on his shoulders. He blinked and looked around, then back at Gabe. If the gesture was meant to comfort and mollify him, it had the exact opposite effect; but, rather than react with pithy retaliation, he swallowed anxiously. “I screwed up- people died, and I managed to scare you by putting myself in a situation where I could have been killed. A little torture is deserved, or at least a wrist slap, something.” Gabriel feigned a disappointed scowl. “Fine then, you want the truth? You shouldn’t have been here and you know it,” he scolded in a fatherly tone, just for impact; but after a few moments of letting him indulge in the reprimand, his expression softened and he reached for his hand again. “... but I’m glad you were.” Noah didn’t try to pull away again as his fingers curled over the top of his hand. The prior revulsion of being touched had since been ameliorated by the sincerity of his words. A nervous smile twitched at one corner of his mouth. “That's the first time I’ve heard you say that- or at least, it’s the first time you weren’t just humoring me from behind the persona of Vincent Sharp.” “I’m serious.”

The insistent look in his eyes was unwavering in its conviction. Clearly, he wasn’t lying about that either. “I only spoke to a few people all night before you arrived, none of whom were genial enough to make Serrano want to approach me. But then he saw us talking, and, well… it was enough to solidify my alias.” Noah gave a haughty snort. Lynchpin move that it was, he pitied whatever odds for success the FBI had to begin with. “If Mr. Sharp greeted said other guests with the same hospitality he showed Erwin, then it was no wonder you needed a little help.” Gabriel rolled his eyes and let the scoff slide with a quiet smirk. “Either way, he gave me his story- seems like he never was quite sure of androids who weren’t deviant, let alone us; but he’s not funding the Inquisition. He’s in favor of giving us the space to find our own way.” “And how exactly does that help your case against him?” “It adds one more missing piece to the puzzle,” Gabe explained. “He might not be the source, but he might be able to tell us who is if asked the right questions.” Said with as straight a face as ever, Noah couldn’t help the barest of smirks at the memory of a time when his counterpart couldn’t stand being pelted with questions, much less asking them. A lot could change in a year. “Yes, well… lucky for you, you’ve been getting better with how to put those.” “As for your performance…” His voice trailed off for a moment, fingers moved to lace with his and curl around his palm as he sighed defeatedly. “The Inquisition had disabled the fire alarm system by the time we knew they were here. There wouldn’t have been any way to evacuate the room short of shouting ‘FIRE’. The best thing we could have done was to keep the guests calm and complacent. You risked your life to take Malachi’s focus off the other hostages. Casualties were minimized, all I did was stand there and look pretty.” “And spear the bad guy in the head with a Prada heel…” Noah corrected with a faint blush. No amount of underselling one’s importance in a given debacle went unanswered with him. Sally O’Rourke was probably more than happy to see her wardrobe’s sacrifice go to good use. She’d had the look of someone who wouldn’t tolerate a second musical interruption as politely as the first. “Nice throw, but… I never want to see another high heel as long as I live.”

The shift in the topic didn’t derail the praise as he had hoped, merely tripped Gabe up long enough to force him to take a pause and grin. “Point is, you did good. Who knows how much better or worse it would have been without you there... and even if you did scare me, I was glad to have your support- professionally, and emotionally.” A few more innocent bystanders’ deaths on the tally sheet, yet still he squeaked by to edge his way into ‘good’ graces. Noah swallowed any urge to bring that back up, knowing it’d only muddy whatever compliment was woven in there. It didn’t feel deserved, from where he sat. “Even if I violated your personal space to do so?” Gabriel flushed a tint deeper than before as he pulled their hands back into his lap again and directed his focus ahead of him. “You showed a degree of respect you hadn’t in the past, so… it’s nothing I couldn’t handle.” “Respect wasn’t a factor back then…” Coming from either party. Noah glanced down at their hands, half expecting him to initiate a memory interface, though it didn’t come. That was apparently up to him to decide on. “Still isn’t, to a degree,” Gabriel huffed with a handsome grin and a soft chuckle. “But, I can live with it.” Indeed, worse things had happened. What was an impulsive, drunken-yet-affectionate serenade from an old friend, compared to an attempt at a stolen kiss from someone he’d only just met two weeks prior? “You mean I didn’t slay you with embarrassment? Oh dear, mission failed.” “No, you succeeded, but the world didn’t end, did it?”

Gabriel’s fingertips nervously fidgeted against his hand, and he swallowed to expand the passages of his tightly clenched throat. Anxiety had finally gotten the best of him. “I ah-...” He started, then stopped, sighed quietly and hung his head. “I’m sorry.” Noah’s ear twitched involuntarily and he made a quarter-turn effort to glance at him suspiciously out of the corners of his eyes. “... Pretty sure I heard that right.” “You heard me,” he mumbled with a playful nudge, without looking up. Maybe, but it didn’t hurt to double-check that it wasn’t some figment of addled imagination. “I’m sorry, too, for… complicating things.” It was as articulate of an apology as Noah could manage. He wasn’t thirsty for anything more than quiet understanding. The rapid-fire shots of rum had already been cause for enough drama without the Inquisition ruining the mood. “Don’t worry, Gabe, I won’t go a capella on you now.” “You didn’t complicate anything,” he chuckled with a shy smile. “If you hadn’t crashed the party and wrote yourself into my alias’ history, I might have failed my directive.”

The compliment helped, but any pride he might have felt was tempered by the knowledge people had still died that night. Tomorrow there would be press coverage of this running on no less than five major news networks, three local outlets, and dozens of online tabloids. He couldn’t allow himself any congratulations, regardless of whether or not the distraction he had brought to the table had somehow prevented more casualties from occurring, or if it helped Gabe accomplish his mission. If you say so, he conceded at last. Noah leaned down just enough to nuzzle his cheek against Gabe’s shoulder to avoid looking at him. He let the skin on his hand peel back and lay the sensors bare instead of weeping over these most recent regrets. Sometimes emulating a human show of sorrow was just too much effort to queue up, and there had been enough theatrics for one night already.

As if he’d been anticipating the gesture, Gabriel reciprocated in time out of respect and insisting curiosity- it wasn’t like Noah to simply go quiet, much less agree with him. The flow of data gave him just enough insight into what was on his mind without needing to prod. “None of what happened with Malachi was your fault,” he tried to reassure. “It’s... just how he operates. And if you think he’s bad, Gideon was worse.” There was an appropriate, if unwelcome comparison. The RK5 responsible for overthrowing Boston knew what worked for dramatic shock value, the same as his subordinate. To think their series were ever in any way related made Noah grimace in revulsion every time. “I can imagine. I saw that- weasel in passing while I was locked up. He knew what was wrong with me at a glance.” "If you had been under his control, you'd be even more mixed up than you are now.” Like Waylon and Malachi, both still very much affected by their time with him- one trying to de-program and be better, the other succumbing to the madness. “It's a good thing you never had to deal with him. Silver lining, I guess." “The lining is having people like Hannah and Kate, and... yourself around. If it weren’t for you-” Noah paused to rethink his choice of words, drew back, then amended mid-thought, “You all, tonight would probably have been the end of it.” “It’s alright… you know, you can thank me for saving your life,” Gabe teased with a charming, flirtatious smirk. “C’mon… you think I'd let you off that easy?”

Neither he nor anyone else typically saw fit to forgive his grievances in the past. Noah‘s eyebrows drew together in a set, disgruntled line at that thought. Even if things had changed, he was so used to beating himself up, basic manners still escaped his focus now and then. “If it made life simpler for you, yes.” Gabe snorted in disapproval. "Please… since when has simple ever been a staple of my life or yours?" “A guy can dream, can’t he?” However peeved he meant for that to sound, Noah conceded the argument with a sigh and a soft squeeze at his hand in reply. The glow of the panels went dark and the skin reformed. “In any case, thanks for the assistance.”

For just a moment, the flutter came back with the delivery of his ‘thanks’. However small or insignificant the gesture seemed, it was a bigger deal to him than expected. It was the first time he remembered Noah thanking him for anything. Gabe’s smile dropped, his pupils contracted, his eyelids faltered just barely, and whatever uncertainty he’d shaken off came back to plop itself right back on his chest like a lead weight.

His delayed response of “Don’t mention it…” carried a bemused air about it that was only shattered by Falken’s loud whistling from down the hall behind them. Both turned halfway to glimpse the man’s harried gesture to ‘Come here’, though only Gabe responded to it with an expectant groan and a sigh. “Uh oh, Coach looks pissed,” Noah sassed as his expression dropped. All of these interruptions were really starting to grate. So long as this one didn’t end with the promised bullet in a leg, he supposed it was tolerable. “I'll be right back, stay here.” “Actually I was-” The fleeting will to protest went as quickly as it came, the moment their eyes met. Apparently, their conversation wasn’t over, and he would only find trouble in disobeying. Besides, no talk they had ever had before this ever really ended on a sound conclusion. “... going to sit right here as ordered, yes, sir.”

Gabe stood and moved to leave, only to find himself stopped by a slight tugging at his arm. Brows twitched in confusion as he looked back, and found Noah's hand still latched onto his, curled tight, refusing to release. The gesture softened him, but only for a moment. As soon as Noah looked up and saw the stern squint asking him to let him go, he complied with a shy ‘Sorry’ in response. It didn’t feel right, just leaving him like that. It had been a stressful night, and he didn’t want to leave him there alone any more than Noah wanted to be left alone. After another moment of deliberation, he turned back and squatted before him on the stairs while fiddling with his corsage. Noah blinked, his LED went forebodingly red, and he sharply leaned back out of his personal space as he leaned in to affix it to his lapel, opposite of the Zion pin. “Wh-what are you-” “Relax.” Gabe cupped one enormous hand over his jaw and pressed his lips to his other cheek with a quick but firm kiss that Erwin nearly melted into. It wasn’t enough, and it wasn’t fair of him to peck and run, but being at such a loss for words (not quite trusting himself to not crumble and get overly emotional then and there), he could only gawk and pout to communicate his dismay. “Don’t go anywhere, and make sure you call Hannah and let her know you’re alright.” Noah only nodded, though he hesitated to let go of Gabe’s hand, even if the corsage pinned to his jacket was a welcome vote of reassurance. It was very wry of him to assume he was any kind of ‘alright’ after the night’s events, though it wasn’t the most demanding thing being asked of him. If he could suffer Malachi’s insults, Hannah’s fretting was nothing.

Any lingering feeling of warmth and familiarity left with Gabe as his hand slipped away at last, and he watched him walk back down the hall toward the Green Rooms in the direction of the Auditorium. The silence at that end of the building was both soothing and unsettling, because if there was one thing the night had taught him thus far, it was that trouble liked disrupting comfort. Noah only dallied on that thought for about thirty seconds more before he called Hannah as instructed. Even though they had parted on bad terms earlier in the day, her voice was another welcome reminder he was never as cut off as his broken subroutines told him he should be.

Noah! Thank RA9… I saw the news and I was so worried. For the time being, he muzzled the sick segment of code already guilt-tripping him for making her worry yet again. He wasn’t so naïve to think she would have never done the math, but here they were, no more than an hour since, and she had already put two and two together. No getting out of it now. I’m fine. You can thank Gabriel for that, he admitted without thinking. He handled the situation with a poise I wasn’t even aware he had. There was yet another dynamic that had ended up opposite of how it began. Every pain he had taken to try and distance himself for the sake of Hannah’s career in the public eye, had proven to have the exact opposite effect. After being in a relationship for two years during several crises, he should have known better; but at the same time, he couldn’t gauge her reactions any more than he could curb the sporadic desire to self-destruct whenever the chance presented itself. Since the virus, there had been so many conflicting prompts that chafed and caught and splintered whenever they brushed together. It had resulted in too much irrational, uncalled for behavior from him, and yet she still treated him as if he were the same dashing, untroubled person who’d whisked her off to Cincinnati on a whim.

Will you be coming home tonight…? The question was as innocent as it was foreboding and expected. From one day to the next he didn’t know whether to thank her or curse her for the continued attentions, if he should remain aloof or try to break the cycle of separation and grovel at her feet, begging for forgiveness. He only ever got the reaction he was after every time he railed at her for simply never telling him he was in the wrong, as he knew had to be, but he hated how that made her feel, and how it made him feel, having to resort to such browbeating. That evening’s distraction still pended in his deciding what he had been trying to accomplish, to that end. People might have thought him exhausting to keep up with, and they would be right, but not for the reasons they assumed. The FBI needs me here, for the time being, and you still have speeches to make. Try focusing on that, at least for Kamski’s sake.

He’d ended the call on that thought. Letting her protest would only prolong the agony; physically, he was fine, but no, he wouldn’t be back that evening, or maybe even the next day. Returning now would only mean another painful circulating argument, and that was one too many stressors on top of an already hectic evening. Sometimes it was better to leave her in the suspense of not knowing than to give her the truth. At least that way, what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her more than he already was. This had become their norm, since the outbreak- Noah disappearing for a few days at a time as he tried in vain to clear his head while obsessing over every hint of corrupted behavior surfacing in New Jericho, Hannah begging him to just come home and talk to her… but talking never helped solve the struggles he faced alone. And as much as she tried, Hannah -rA9 bless her- just couldn’t understand that unstoppable urge in his code to try to make that right again, using whatever means he had left. She didn’t know how every time he looked at her he was reminded of what she was in for, and how she deserved so much better than him. Maybe all Noah had been looking to accomplish by blowing up the FBI’s spot that evening was to escape from the disaster of his life at large, but Gabriel had one thing going for him that Hannah, or anybody else, didn’t. Amongst the hurricane of all the rest, he was the calm at the eye of the storm that made sense. How much simpler could it get?

Encroaching footsteps brought the present back into focus just in time to catch the tail end of Gabriel’s parting conversation with Falken, twenty minutes later. Go back to playing Vincent Sharp until further notice, report back only if you need a second opinion. Otherwise, we’ll be listening. Understood, Director. Noah eyed him as he stood there a few moments longer and put his persona back together. He didn’t think it possible for him to look even more handsome than he already did, but the brown eyes, bearded face, faded rosy brown undercut and fake prescription glasses was an incredibly good look for him. It certainly sold the idea he wasn’t the same surly, moody renegade nine who had laid a punch on him after being briefed on what the mistletoe tradition entailed, should one be dangled over his head (as Noah had demonstrated). As he had since explained, he wasn’t in the most receptive headspace last year, either. He hadn’t needed to wear one to the event. And seeing how he had voluntarily handed it over, there wasn’t much point in letting it’s company go to waste. To do otherwise came off more like a wasted gesture. And the thought it could have was offensive enough, he couldn’t let it go unresolved.

Yvonne wouldn’t turn down that dare. With his mind made up, he unclipped the corsage with a flick of his wrist, waited until the footsteps drew close enough, then turned back with one arm held poised over his head. It was no less dramatic and haughty than he had acted before now. “Aren’t you forgetting something…?” Gabe might have tried to find an excuse to say no, but seeing as he’d been told to resume his pretending, Vincent had no reason to deny him. Gabriel heaved a tired sigh from behind his alias and shook his head in disbelief. “C'est vrai, monsieur?” “C'est vrai, oui,” he mimicked with perfect inflection and a pop of his brows. “You couldn’t have possibly expected me to let you get away with that poor excuse for a mistletoe kiss, did you? Come on now, we’ve a tradition to uphold!”

It was the last part of his argument that finally stoked a reaction from him. Noah cringed and shut his eyes tight on instinct as Gabriel’s bear paw hands lunged down to lift him right up off the stairs. The last time he’d come at him in such a manner, he’d hit him hard enough to fracture the seam lines in his cheek. This time, however, he did nothing of the sort. Blue eyes blinked open in confusion as gentle hands clasped around his cheeks and jaw. They weren’t as spidery as Priya’s, but the pressure alone was instant cause for distress, until he felt his lips on the apple of his cheek. Noah stared wide-eyed and red-faced over his shoulder and let out a fluttery whine as he pushed into his touch, his free hand lifted to curl around his wrist. There was no immediate drawback that time, and Gabe exhaled jaggedly as he leaned into him, far enough to tap his forehead to Noah’s. For several long moments, he lingered like this, then pulled away just far enough to run the tip of his nose alongside his, from bridge to tip. “Je suis contente?” he whispered tenderly as Noah’s lips instinctively searched the air for his, a breath away. Dumbstruck and unsure of how to process the moment, Noah only managed an uncertain, lazy ‘uh-huh ’ as he ducked his head and buried it in Gabriel's shoulder, as his companion slipped his arms around him and stroked at the back of his head. It’s a welcome improvement over their first attempt at following the tradition, but he honestly never thought he’d get that far. It would do, for the time being.

“Come, monsieur, let us head back for the night… I sink we could both use ze rest after zis evening.”

#dbhilluminate #dbhequillibrium #rk1800 #dbh rk900 #detroit become human #dbh #noriel #noah #gabriel

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gdrawsthings · 6 years

Text

When you play with fire you get burned, they say (ValdemarxReader one shot)

Rating: K+

Pairing: ValdemarxReader

Genre: Romance, Humor

Warnings: no warnings for this fic uwu

Word count: 2430

“I am going to kiss you”, Valdemar tells you one day, out of the blue. You’re baffled, shocked even, by their sudden statement. Not exactly orthodox, telling you that they’re going to perform an act universally recognized as a romantic one with such a cold voice. Still, you can’t help but feel the tiniest bit flattered that they chose to perform it on you of all people.

“You mean, right now?” you ask.

“No,” Valdemar says, to your surprise. “But I will. At some point.”

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“I decided to make use of our recent… association, as one may call it… in a fruitful way. You see, you humans seem to be particularly affected by what you call “anticipation”.”

Valdemar interrupts their thought and looks at you until you arch your eyebrows and break the uncomfortable silence.

“... Well?” you say, waiting for an explanation.

Their head sways slightly to the side in amusement and Valdemar smiles. They got you.

“To tell you the truth,” they continue as they regain their composure,” I must say that I have always been deeply fascinated by human behavior under the effects of that emotion. If you will allow me to, I would like to experiment with the concept for a period of time.”

You start to connect the dots, and Valdemar knows you unamused expression well enough to understand that you will pose resistance.

“Are you saying that you’re gonna tease me for who knows how long like a rat in a cage until you’re satisfied with the results?”

“There’s nothing that you can do about it, now, can you?” they shrug.

They sound so confident in their plan that you can’t help but want to accept the challenge. “Well, I could force a kiss on you right here and right now and be done with it,” you try to retort, and put on the smuggest expression you can pull off, hoping Valdemar doesn’t see through your bluff. But they probably know as well as you do that this wasn’t exactly the strongest counterattack.

“I know you won’t. First kisses are something of a sacred thing among you people, and you certainly wouldn’t ruin ours in the name of pettiness. Besides, there’s no telling I won’t be affected by this experiment too.”

“Oh, you can bet that you will,” you tell them, defeated in the battle but not in the war, and in that moment Valdemar is positive that letting themself fall for you was the smartest decision they made in a long time.

“I will make sure to take notes.”

------

A few days later, you’re strolling together in the Palace gardens, near the fountain. Valdemar isn’t really talking about anything, and neither are you, except for the occasional comment of this or that plant you’re walking by. Just being together in silence side by side has its charm, you think as you enjoy the quiet of the blooming garden.

Blooming…

Now that you think about it, most of the flowers in the garden are indeed in full bloom. You think of something. This would be the perfect setting for a kiss, right here between the placidly flowing water of the marble fountain and the sweet smell of roses…

You catch yourself mid-thought, mentally scolding yourself; your thoughts are so easily controlled by Valdemar’s mind games. You should pay more attention to yourself.

With your side vision, you steal a glance at your companion in order to read any subtle intention of putting their plan into motion.

You stiffen. This is it, isn’t it? They’re finally going to kiss me, that’s why they brought me here. Very clever, Valdemar, props to you. And also, unexpectedly romantic, you praise them, impressed by the impeccable choice of setting but still confident in the fact that you were able to predict their move.

It’s only a matter of moments now. In your excitement, you discreetly chew on your lower lip in an attempt to make it softer for the contact that is soon to come. You’re ready.

…

A few minutes pass, and nothing happens. On the contrary, Valdemar at some point has started to talk about the types of special corn that they harvest for the Countess on a hill behind the Palace, possibly the most boring conversation topic they have ever picked since you first met, seemingly unconcerned. When your stroll comes to an end, you are deeply dissatisfied to say the least.

“Well then, see you this evening for dinner, my dear,” Valdemar smiles and leaves without waiting for you to respond, and you gape at their retreating form.

…

That piece of… It was all on purpose!

------

Anticipation…

Your and Valdemar’s arms brush as you are working side by side, and your breath catches in your throat every time they do.

Everything Valdemar does reminds you of that stupid little game they’re playing, and the fact that whenever you’re in their presence you can’t seem to be able to think of anything else angers you immensely. You just can’t focus on anything anymore.

When you’re in the middle of writing an important letter, their mere being inside the room distracts you to the point that you have to give up trying to figure out what damned word has been on the tip of your tongue for the last ten minutes and you slam the pen on the table. What even is their purpose in being here? They’re literally sitting on a chair doing nothing!

Irritated, you look at their face once or twice; at those tasty looking lips that now you can’t get out of your mind to save your life. You’re livid.

With a huff, you leave the room.

Valdemar chuckles as you do.

------

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Why, I’m reading a book,” Valdemar answers from their comfortable position on the armchair near the fireplace. “I may have to interrupt the activity to take a look at your eyes if you can’t see a book from such a short distance, though.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, the experiment you mean?” Valdemar asks, feigning innocence.

They’re unbelievable!

“Speaking of, I am certain you will be pleased to know that, from what I gathered in these past few days of observing you, I am already very pleased with the results.”

The outrage that you feel must be evident on your face, because Valdemar looks at you and lets out a small laugh. But you’re determined not to give them the satisfaction. If they can play, I can play too, you think. You change the topic.

“… So, what are you reading?”

“Ah, this is just a medical book. This particular chapter is about the process of draining blood from a cadaver for embalming, but I’m going to need the information for other practices.”

“Sounds interesting. Let me take a look,” you say, and, giving Valdemar no time at all to process how close your face is suddenly getting to theirs, you lean on the armchair, dramatically shortening the distance between your bodies. You may just be dreaming it, but you swear that, for a flickering moment, you heard a soft gasp escape their throat.

You put a finger on the page Valdemar is reading, leaning forward from the armrest, and you know that, from that position, the scent of your hair products can reach their nose now.

“They say here that you should place a drain tube and an angled forceps on the vein to facilitate the drainage, but what’s an angled forceps, Valdemar?” you ask, turning your head so that now you can ask while looking directly into their eyes.

“It-… It’s those long scissors I’m always using,” they reply. You see them breaking eye contact for a fraction of a second to look down at your lips. You force yourself not to smile.

“Ah, I didn’t know they were called that.”

After a couple of minutes, spent asking questions you don’t really care about just to see how the microexpressions on their face change as you enter and utterly destroy whatever concept of private space Valdemar has, you’re standing up again.

“Well, I think I’ve bothered you enough with my questions, for now. See you at the lab?”

“O-of course.”

You turn away and make sure they can hear you close the door of the room when you exit.

You’re about to declare absolute victory on your side, but not before putting your ear to the wooden door and waiting for a few seconds. You cover your mouth with a hand, suppressing uncontrollable laughter, when you can hear all the confirmation you needed in the single word Valdemar pronounces.

“Fascinating.”

You’re so proud of yourself.

------

Weeks pass, and waiting for The Thing to happen has become almost unbearable. You could cut the tension with a knife, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to work for much longer if Valdemar keeps this up, even if it’s not like they are actively doing anything to put you on edge. At this point, you’re not even sure if they’re still experimenting on you or if they just got bored and forgot about it, and, if possible, the thought makes you feel even more humiliated.

As a last, desperate, strategy of self-defense, you resolve to just put it all in the back of your mind and eventually forget about it too.

To your unawareness, Valdemar has not forgotten. They are determined to continue, as a matter of fact, but they can’t pretend they don’t realize that their reasons for doing so are not quite the same as when they had started it all.

It seems like their interest has shifted, in a way; or maybe it’s just that they see your behavior in another light. Some time after the beginning of this experiment of theirs, though they are not sure when, you started to appear in their eyes more like the effective perpetrator of the torture than its victim, and this turn of events has Valdemar grinning, paradoxically captivated by their own loss of control.

Knowing that, sooner or later, they will initiate a kiss with you has made them acutely aware of your presence whenever you stand close to each other. Or just whenever they look at you, or hear your voice approaching from down the hall.

They reflect on the possibility of your body emanating pheromones as a result of your own anticipation, when they try to find a sensible explanation for the undeniable effect you have on them. For the way they find themself inadvertently stiffening when, as you hand them a scalpel, your fingers touch through the work gloves.

For when, a couple of hours later, they’re helping you down from a ladder and, when you rest your hands on their shoulders and they gaze up at you and at their hands circling your waist, they seriously consider the possibility of holding you in their arms and ending the experiment right then and there.

Valdemar knows that now it’s just a matter of admitting to themself they’re avoiding the unavoidable. They hate to say, the anticipation has them positively shivering now.

How interesting indeed.

------

A couple of weeks later, you’re sitting on the floor your office, trying to make sense of the mess of documents that your employer, in their usual lack of concern for orders and paperwork, has failed to sign and send to the Countess for the past three months.

There are so many words you don’t understand, half of them are specific medical terms you’re not yet acquainted with, while the rest is mostly just bureaucratic gibberish. You shouldn’t be the one to handle these documents, you decide, it’s not your responsibility nor your area of expertise, and, when Valdemar knocks on your door to enter your office, you immediately stand up from the pile of papers to be ready to tell them exactly that. Your abrupt upward movement, along with the opening of the door, generates enough of a current to make part of them fly around you, under some furniture and generally away from your grasp. A lock of hair falls over your eyes in defeat.

Exasperated, you address the doctor.

“Quaestor-,” you begin to say, but you can see that Valdemar has just now made a decision by the way they are suddenly moving towards you, their hands in their usual steeple pose, their eyes unblinking.

“W-… Val-…?”

“Hold on for a second,” Valdemar tells you with a lowered tone. Uncaringly, they step on the sheets of paper here and there as they approach you, and you find yourself not caring either, much more enraptured as you are by the sudden feeling of their hand now covering your left side in the soft space between your ribcage and hipbone.

“You are allowed to breathe in my presence,” they tease, and as a result you let out a sigh that you didn’t know you were holding. So much for forgetting about the experiment.

Valdemar gently takes away from your hand the document you were holding and, with an elegant movement of their wrist, lets it float to the ground with the rest of them, not even bothering to look at its contents as its pages all fall down in different directions.

This will be a mess to reorganize, but you don’t really want to think about it, especially now that your heart is pounding so violently inside your chest. You feel like if you were any warmer you could straight up burn in front of the doctor, and you can tell in Valdemar’s expressive eyes that they are also pleased by the few points of contact between your bodies. The hand on your side slowly traces its way up to the back of your head, where it rests, their slender fingers tangling in your hair.

Your noses are so close that they are touching now, and you are so flustered that your ears ring.

You’re just so close, but Valdemar stops in their movement downwards to ask permission.

“I hope you will allow me to pronounce this experiment finally concluded,” they say, and you can feel Valdemar’s warm breath on your cheek as they caress your lower lip with their thumb.

This is their roundabout way of admitting defeat. Not bothering to point out that you both lost this game for now, you give them a happy, eloquent nod in response, and close your eyes as Valdemar bends down to finally meet your lips with their own.

I hope their teeth won’t hurt too much.

#this wasn't as easy to write as i first thought #and i'm also not entirely happy with it but it still took me a few hours #and i don't want that time to completely go to waste so here you go #g has a pen #valdemar #quaestor valdemar #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana (game)#the arcana fanfiction #kind of OOC tbh #but i had fun with the concept

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meggonagall · 7 years

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Saving Severus Snape - Chapter 7

3rd September 1976 Now you may have begun to realize that something – or things – you’ve said or done had already impacted the future you have come from. Do not panic or do anything foolish. It is very important that you do not - and I repeat - DO NOT try to reverse it. Obviously your lack of judgment had already caused you to alter the timeline, therefore, you must let it be. It is safe to assume that you have let yourself, not only be seen, but interact with individuals in the past. Now you must deal with the repercussions of your actions. Hermione sighed heavily while she pinched the bridge of her nose. She picked her head up from the book she was reading – the one which seemed to appear just for her, in the Ravenclaw Common Room, her first night there – and looked out the window of the library. The sky was lightening. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep; she had been awake all night. After tossing and turning for a few hours she had given up, decided to get dressed and went down to the library, where she figured she would have less of a chance of someone catching her reading a book about time-travel. Her revelation that previous evening had shaken her horribly and she needed answers. She became quite frustrated as she leafed through the pages of the book. Most of it only applied to someone who traveled back in time on their own accord. What she tried to find was a section pertaining to someone who had been told they needed to go back. Someone who was – for lack of a better word – ordered to go back in time. Just as she was about to give up, she found what she was looking for, towards the back of the book. It was a small passage, one which made her mouth go dry and her stomach drop.

If someone had sent you into the past, and you did not venture into it on your own volition, it is very possible that you were meant to change what you have altered – or will alter. Even if you are trying not to, just by being in the past – and coming into contact with people there – you are meddling. Try, if you can, to live your life as normally as possible. Follow your instincts, but do not change anything intentionally. It is a fine line to walk, but one you must. There is a reason you are where you are. And as much as you may be tempted, do NOT, by any means, tell anyone anything about the future you have come from. Doing so could cause disastrous results. Hermione looked up and focused her attention out the window once more. The sun was now above the mountains and casting a yellow glow over the misty grounds. “So it is possible,” she whispered to herself, her eyes unfocused. “There are things that have happened, which might not have happened if it weren’t for me.” It was an alarmingly difficult concept for even someone as bright as Hermione to wrap her head around. There were things in her life that she had experienced which may had been a direct result of her already being in the past. The thought made her a bit dizzy and she laid her head down on her arms on the table. Maybe it’s more… She thought. More than just saving Snape’s life. Maybe there is a larger purpose here. Just then she heard footsteps approaching. Her head snapped up; she quickly shut her book and stuffed away and out of sight. As she was bent over with her head still in her bag, a soft voice she immediately recognized called out. “Hello, Hermione. What are you doing here so early?” Remus asked as he stood in front of her table. Hermione sat up and smiled sadly. “Couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged. “So I thought I would come here to read. I didn’t want to disturb any of my housemates,” she half-lied. Remus gestured towards the chair across from her. “May I?” “Of course,” she answered. The scrape of the chair on the floor, in which Remus pulled out, rang through the library like thunder in the early morning silence of the castle. Hermione bit her lip and her pulse began to race. This would be the first time she would find herself completely alone with one of the students she had been close to in their adult years. She blinked rapidly, as she suddenly begun to feel her eyes prickle as she thought of how the boy who sat smiling across from her, would not be alive when – or if, she thought sadly – she returned home. “Is everything alright, Hermione?” he asked kindly. Hermione took a deep breath and slouched down in her chair. “Yes, I suppose. It’s just a bit surreal; being here,” she admitted honestly. Remus folded his hands on the table between them and gave her a sad, lopsided smile. “I guess it would be quite a shock coming from home and being thrown into this environment. But I promise, you’ll adjust quickly and if you need anything, I’m usually around.” “Thank you, Remus. That’s very kind of you,” Hermione choked out. “Now,” Remus exhaled. “I hate to be a complete stick-in-the-mud, especially when you’ve had a rough night, but as a Prefect, I do have to tell you that you’re not,” he blushed and cast his eyes down. “Exactly allowed to be out of your dorm this early.” Remus shrugged and looked as if he felt terribly for telling Hermione off when she so obviously was feeling low to begin with. Being that Hermione was a Prefect in her own time, she was more than aware of the rules of Hogwarts. She just did not expect that anyone else would have been up and out of their dorms that early as well. She could see that he was looking extremely uncomfortable and she figured that he was not exactly as at ease as she had once been enforcing those rules. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “I’m sorry, Remus.” “No worries, Hermione. You didn’t know,” he said. Hermione raised her eyebrow and smirked. “So what are you doing out of bed this early then?” Remus’ eyes widened a bit and he turned even redder than he had been just a moment before. He gave her a smirk of his own and cocked his head a bit to the side. “Prefect’s privilege,” he joked. “Must be nice,” Hermione giggled. “Oh yes,” Remus laughed, “nothing like doing rounds at the crack of dawn. I’m living the dream, Hermione,” he announced with his arms spread wide open. Hermione laughed her first full out belly laugh, in what felt like ages. It felt fantastic. After the two of them regained their composure, Remus began to fidget. He was twisting his fingers and his cheeks took on a reddish hue once again. “Erm… Hermione? Can I – I mean – I have a question for you,” he mumbled. She sat straight up, her brow furrowed in concern. “What is it, Remus?” Remus opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking like he was having extreme difficulty forming his question. Hermione did not have the slightest idea of what he wanted to ask her. With her being new to Hogwarts, she couldn’t imagine what he would need her help with. After a few more moments, he seemed to have worked up enough nerve. “Has – er – has Amelia… Has she possibly mentioned me at all?” he nearly whispered, then looked around, assumingly making sure no one else was around. Hermione didn’t know how, or if, she should answer. She wasn’t sure if this would be a prime example of interfering, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, or altering the future. If she told Remus the truth, that Amelia did seem to fancy him, then it would be because of her if they proceeded to take their friendship to the next level. But then, maybe it would have ended up happening anyhow. Maybe, by her telling Remus of what she knew, she was only just speeding up the process. Obviously she knew that their relationship, if they did end up having one, would not last after Hogwarts, so why should she begrudge him a little bit of happiness while he’s there. Especially since she knew that years of solitude and despair were just around the corner for him. She chewed on the inside of her lip and felt her mouth curl up despite herself. “Possibly…” she answered cryptically. Remus' head whipped up and there was a new light in his eyes. “What did she say!?” he nearly shouted at her, then covered his mouth quickly. “Sorry,” he apologized through his fingers. It was quite strange to be sitting there and having a normal teenage conversation with Remus, Hermione thought. Also, it was wonderful to see him so carefree and having nothing more to worry about than if a girl he liked felt the same way. It filled her with the strangest assortment of emotions – sadness, glee, loss, and a bit of anger. The anger was due to the fact that he would very soon lose that - and she thought the term very loosely – innocence of adolescence. He, just like she, Harry and Ron had, would be forced to grow up very quickly in the near future. Hermione smiled and let out a small laugh – to Remus, he would have never known all of those thoughts had just run through her head – and told him it was more than alright. “Well, she hasn’t said anything specifically.” She watched his face fall. “But,” she continued quickly, “I do get the feeling that she may be wishing for more than friendship with you.” Remus perked up, “What makes you say that?” he pressed. Hermione cocked an eyebrow, “This stays between us, ok?” Remus nodded. “I don’t know, Remus. Just the way that she seems to light up when she sees you, or talks about you. The way you two were last night; blushing, brushing against one another, joking together. I just get the impression that she fancies you, too.” “You really think so?” he asked eagerly. She let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, Remus.” Remus smiled widely and seemed to sit up a bit straighter. Hermione suppressed a laugh. “Why don’t you ask her to be your date for the first Hogsmeade visit?” Hermione suggested. Remus scrunched his eyebrows together, he looked a bit confused. “How do you know about those?” he asked, surprised. Wonderful, Hermione. Watch what you say, you’re new here, remember? You’re not supposed to know things like that. She squirmed a bit uncomfortably in her seat. “Oh – erm – Uncle Albus,” she flinched, “mentioned the trips to me,” she lied. Remus chucked, “I keep forgetting that you’re related to Professor Dumbledore. He’s just so – I don’t know – Dumbledore-y. It’s hard to picture him as a normal person, with family and everything.” Hermione knew exactly what Remus meant. There was such an aura of power and greatness that radiated from the man that to think of him having something as mundane as a niece like her was kind of outlandish. She gave Remus a half-smile in response and shrugged. “I can see that, I guess.” Hermione and Remus then both agreed that they should get going, as they both realized it was time for breakfast. She knew it was a mistake, becoming close with Remus, but it was just so easy to get along with him – she couldn’t help herself. As they walked into The Great Hall together, she glanced towards the Gryffindor table and saw Sirius’ eyes narrow considerably as he hit James’ shoulder and pointed to her and Remus. James wolf-whistled and gave Remus a thumbs-up; Sirius looked like he was grinding his teeth. Hermione heard Remus exhale loudly. “I better get over there, before they come over here,” he grumbled. Hermione smiled apologetically. “That’s probably for the best,” she agreed. “Thanks for keeping me company this morning. I had a nice time.” “Yes, it was nice,” he smiled back. She bumped her shoulder into his. “And don’t forget what I said about Amelia,” she winked. Remus' eyes widened as he looked around quickly, making sure no one overheard. Hermione giggled, waved goodbye and made her way to her table to sit down next to Amelia. As she sat down, Amelia did not greet her or look away from her plate. Uh oh, Hermione thought. She realized how it must have looked – her missing this morning, only to reappear looking very friendly with Remus. Hermione knew she had to smooth everything over quickly. “Morning, Amelia!” she said brightly and began to load herself a plate of bacon and eggs. Amelia looked at her from the side of her eye and sat up very straight. “Good morning,” she replied stiffly. Yeah. She is definitely not pleased with me. “How was your morning?” Hermione asked, acting as if she did not notice the indifferent – almost cold – way Amelia was treating her. Amelia swallowed a bit of toast and still would not look at Hermione. “Fine.” Hermione reached for a piece of toast and began to butter it. “I found out something interesting this morning.” Amelia snorted and it sounded like she muttered, “I’m sure you have.” Hermione fought the smile that was tugging at her lips. “Well if you don’t want to know that a certain Remus Lupin was asking about you, then I guess I’ll just keep it to myself.” The effect of that sentence was instantaneous. Amelia choked and whipped her head around to face Hermione – who had to bite down on her lip to keep from laughing. “WHAT –“ Amelia shouted, blushed then cleared her throat. “I mean – what did he have to say?” she asked, feigning indifference. “Oh nothing really,” Hermione teased airily. She was amazed at how comfortable she was; joking and having girl talk with Amelia. Amelia playfully hit her arm. “Come on, Hermione. What did he say?” “Alright,” she resigned. “He may have eluded to being interested in asking you on a date. Possibly to our first Hogsmeade trip.” Amelia smiled widely and blushed profusely. “But I did not tell you anything,” Hermione added. “Tell me what?” Amelia winked. Both girls then tucked into breakfast and afterwards, on their way to Ancient Ruins, Amelia seemed to have a new spring in her step. Ancient Ruins was another one of those classes not many students went on with after their O.W.L.s. When the girls entered, there were only a handful of students already seated. Lily and Remus – he turned around and smiled brilliantly at a blushing Amelia – were sat in the front desk to the right, Sturgis and Edgar were behind them, two Hufflepuffs were in the front desk in the middle and – Hermione’s heart skipped a beat – Snape was sitting in the front desk to the left with a Slytherin girl she did not recognize, sharing the desk with him. As Hermione and Amelia took the center desk – Next to the other two Ravenclaws – Snape looked back at Hermione. Once again, he did not full out glare at her – Progress, she thought – but his expression was not overly friendly either. After Hermione gathered her belongings for class, and placed them on her desk, she thought that she had already been bringing enough attention to herself; by answering questions correctly, making a perfect potion in Potions class and the things that had happened with Sirius. She decided she would lay low for the hour. She took her notes, kept mostly silent and only raised her hand twice. She glanced at Snape a few times during the lesson, but he seemed completely unaware. He kept his head down and scribbled non-stop throughout the entire class. She was very impressed, but altogether not surprised, at the level of commitment he had towards his studies. It was definitely something to be admired, she found herself thinking. When the bell rang, and the class shuffled around, preparing to leave, she debated on whether she should try speaking to him again or not. She stood and waited for Amelia to finish packing and looked over her shoulder towards Snape. He had just stood up, threw his bag over his shoulder and looked directly at Hermione. She gave him a tentative smile, which unsurprisingly he did not return. He opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something, when she felt an arm around her shoulders. “What do you have next, Devereux?” Edgar smiled at her. Hermione felt a wave of disappointment wash over her, as she turned her head back around and saw Snape’s robes swoosh by her. Her shoulders dropped the tiniest amount as she forced a smile across her lips. “Oh – next? Erm,” she pulled out her time-table to double check. Her eyes scanned across her courses for Friday: Ancient Ruins, Free Hour, Charms – w. Hufflepuff, Lunch, Defense Against the Dark Arts – w. Slytherin. She felt that dropping sensation in her stomach once again as she read which house she would be sharing her DADA class with that afternoon. It was another opportunity to make a complete fool of herself in front of Snape and the rest of her classmates; as that was how her luck had been running thus far. Edgar, who must had read her schedule along with her, squeezed her and then let go. “Free period, too? Excellent! We were all thinking of heading out to the lake, want to come with us?” he asked. Hermione looked at the hopeful expressions on Amelia, Edgar and Sturgis’ faces, took another glance at Snape’s retreating figured and sighed. She thought about maybe going after him – accidentally bumping into him, perhaps. But figured that would most likely not be in her best interest. Maybe a little leisure time outside with her house mates wouldn’t hurt. “Sure,” she agreed. “That sounds lovely.” As Hermione and her new friends all sat out near the lake, she looked up at the sky. It was cloudy and looked as if the sky would open and pour rain upon them at any moment, but that did not seem to deter any of them from remaining outdoors. The temperature was lovely – probably one of the last warm days left of the year. She had taken her cloak off nearly five minutes after arriving to their destination as she found herself beginning to sweat and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows. She took a quick peek at the inside of her forearm and was pleased to see her glamour charm still appeared to be working, yet felt a peculiar emptiness in its absence. There was no scar engraved in her. The sight of her blemish-free arm made her begin to feel a bit homesick. The Mudblood which was permanently carved into her served as a talisman. It reminded her of who she was, what she fought for and why she was currently sitting around the Black Lake with a group of Ravenclaws in the year 1976. “Oh Hermione?” Her attention was brought back to the present by the snide tone of Rita calling her name. She looked over towards the grinning blonde and tried with all of her strength to answer in a civil manner. “Yes?” she called back. Rita smiled sweetly and scooted nearer to where Hermione was sitting with Amelia, Edgar, Sturgis and Otto. “We were just wondering, why now, all of a sudden, did you decide to grace us with your presence?” Hermione went to respond with her – by now routine – answer. “Because my parents – “ But she was cut off by Rita. “Yes, speaking of your parents. If you are related to Dumbledore, why did they not just send you to Hogwarts to begin with? What do they have against your,” she smirked, “Uncle, which would cause them to homeschool you instead? Was there some sort of falling out within your family?” Rita’s eyes burned into Hermione’s. Hermione had never seen her so eager for information. Although her backstory was completely fabricated, Hermione was astounded by the personal questions Rita had just bombarded her with. Normal people did not inquire about someone’s home life after only knowing them a few days. She is nothing more than a nosey gossip, Hermione thought. As Hermione’s mouth opened in utter astonishment, Amelia – once again – spoke up for her. “That’s enough, Rita.” She said coolly. Rita kept her eyes wide and innocent. “I didn’t mean anything by it, dear. It’s just that inquiring minds want to know.” Hearing Rita say the same thing that she had told Harry, before she printed fabricated information about him in the Daily Prophet, caused Hermione’s blood to boil. She placed her hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “It’s alright,” Hermione said and looked Rita directly in the eye. “First of all, what you are asking me is quite personal – and before you jump to any conclusions, no. That does not me that there had been a falling out between my parents and my uncle.” Her eyes narrowed. “But if you must know; my family and I resided in France and did not want to offend my Uncle by sending me to Beauxbatons. That is why I was homeschooled. And like the whole school already knows, my parents are away on business in the states, which is why I am here now.” Rita’s face betrayed nothing but polite interest, except for her eyes. Her eyes, once again, had that hungry curiosity in them. Hermione became a bit self-conscious because it seemed as if Rita looked right through her. “So I am assuming you are fluent in French then?” Rita asked politely. Hermione wanted to hit her. “Yes,” she said through her teeth. “Do you speak it as well?” Rita full out pouted. “Sadly I do not, yet it is a beautiful language. Would you mind indulging us with a little, teeny-tiny sentence?” Hermione rolled her eyes and thanked her lucky stars that her actual parents had her learn French when she was a small child. She actually was quite fluent in the language. She exhaled loudly and looked directly into Rita’s eyes. “Very well then. Tu as une tête à faire sauter les plaques d'égouts, je déteste absolument tout chez toi, et si je pouvais je te lancerai un sort !"* Rita’s eyes flashed dangerously as she smiled sweetly at Hermione. “Like I said, truly a beautiful language.” *** Later on, after Charms class, as they all made their way to The Great Hall for lunch, Amelia fell behind and whispered to Hermione. “What did you say to Rita? In French, I mean.” Hermione chuckled softly and let a mischievous grin spread across her face. “I told her she had a face that could blow off manhole covers and if I could, I would hex her into the middle of next week.” She had left out that she had also told Rita she hated everything about her, because as far as Amelia was concerned, Hermione had only just met Rita and it may seem a bit odd for Hermione to hate her so strongly so soon. Both girls exploded into a fit of laughter, which they barely had contained even as they sat down at their table and filled up their plates. After lunch, when the girls arrived to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, they found a crowd gathered around the door. As they craned their necks to see what the holdup was, Edgar pushed through everyone and came to a stop facing the two of them. “Class is outside today,” he huffed. His hair was disheveled and his robes were twisted from squeezing through their classmates. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Amelia, who shrugged. “Well that’s different,” Amelia said. They made their way outside – Hermione was relieved to see it hadn’t rained like it looked like it was going to earlier – and found Professor Crabtree waving them all towards him, very eagerly. The stocky wizard, who wore a bow-tie and kept pushing his glasses up from sliding off his nose, clapped his hands together once everyone had arrived. “Good afternoon, class!” He had a very pleasant voice which did not sound anything like Hermione would have imagined it would. It was smooth and very deep. Exceptionally soothing. “I thought that since this is probably one of the last nice days we’ll have for a while, that we would have class outside today,” he explained. Someone scoffed quietly near Hermione. She turned her head to see who was being so rude to this young teacher and felt her heart freeze as she looked into a pair of unfriendly black eyes. Snape boldly looked back at her almost as if challenging her to speak to him. She cocked an eyebrow at him, watched his pupils dilate the tiniest amount then she brought her gaze back on the Professor. From that brief exchange, she noticed just how deep and full of sorrow his eyes seemed to be. She just had to find a way to break down some of his walls. There had to be a way. There had to be something she could do or say that would help shed a little more light on the puzzle who was the teenage version of her former Potion’s professor. She was vaguely aware of Professor Crabtree giving instructions for the lesson, but found herself completely distracted. It truly began to bother her that there seemed to be so much pain in him, that he tried to hide with a permanent scowl and by isolating himself. The Professor clapped his hands together again, which caused Hermione to jump and bring her attention back to the class. “So let’s break into pairs and see if you can manage pulling off a bit of non-verbal magic!” Crabtree exclaimed. The poor guy, Hermione thought sadly. He seems so excited to be teaching. It’s really a shame he won’t be back next year. Amelia placed her hand on Hermione’s forearm. “Partners?” she asked hopefully. Hermione agreed with a smile, yet her thoughts were still on the enthusiastic Professor. She really hoped nothing horrible happened to him that caused him not to be back the following year. He seemed like a nice enough young man. The students all started to pair off and spread out; facing their partners. Hermione and Amelia stood under a few trees, right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She looked around and saw most of the students looked a bit nervous and unsure of themselves, just as they all had in her time – during her first lesson dealing with non-verbal magic. The only student who did not appear apprehensive, which surprisingly did not shock her, was Snape. He almost looked bored, she thought. Snape stood across from the same Slytherin girl he had sat with during their class that morning. He stood with his shoulders hunched over just a bit and levitated a small twig in the air. His partner, on the other hand, kept running her hand through her chestnut hair and looked extremely nervous. Hermione felt the corner of her mouth turn up in spite of herself and couldn’t help but to admire the way Snape seemed so sure of himself, for a teenager who appeared to spend most of his time alone. She realized that he almost had that same air of confidence that was present in the adult version she had known. “Alright, class,” Crabtree called out from somewhere in the middle of them all. “You’re going to work on disarming your partner without speaking the incantation aloud. Only disarm them! Got it?” A few students – she suspected the Slytherins – sniggered and sounded like they had no intention of merely disarming their partners. “You may begin!” he announced. Hermione turned back to face Amelia, who had her wand out and ready to go. “Ready, Hermione?” she smiled. “Ready!” Hermione called back. She watched as Amelia flourished her wand a few times, yet hers remained firmly in her hand. Amelia, she could tell, started to become a bit irritated. Her face grew red and her teeth were clenched as she tried again and again to remove Hermione’s wand without speaking. Hermione shouted out words of encouragement with each try. “I think I felt it move that time, Amelia! You’ve almost got it!” All around her she could her students swearing or mumbling under their breath as they all tried to disarm their classmates. She looked away from Amelia’s increasingly frustrated face and allowed herself to watch Snape for a moment. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and a scorching intensity was in his eyes. He waved his wand again and again, each time with no results. She could tell he was becoming angrier with each failed attempt; his teeth were bared and she even thought she heard him growl at one point. She shivered slightly and found herself glad that she was not on the receiving end of that glare and growl. Truth be told, he looked pretty frightening. Suddenly Hermione’s wand went flying out of her hand and she turned her head back around to see Amelia standing there sweating with a smug smile on her face. She was the first one to have done it. “Well done, Miss Bones!” Crabtree called out. “Five points to Ravenclaw!” Amelia smiled even wider and wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve. “Thanks, Professor!” Hermione yelled her congratulations to Amelia and prepared herself for her turn. She knew that she would have to pretend to struggle with disarming Amelia non-verbally, lest she bring more attention to herself. She wasn’t quite sure how she would do it, since performing simple spells without speaking had become second nature to Hermione by that point. Never the less, she took a deep break, squared her shoulders and pointed her wand at Amelia’s. Actively not doing magic, while appearing to be trying, proved to be extremely tiresome. Hermione, as she held back the spell to disarm, which was almost begging to come out of her, began to sweat like the rest of her classmates. It almost felt like holding in a cough, or a sneeze. Like she was trying to suppress something her body did naturally, of its own accord. It almost became painful. Amelia, who must have assumed Hermione was just having trouble with the spell, cheered her on as Hermione had done for her. After nearly ten minutes, Hermione could not hold off any longer. She flicked her wand and watched as Amelia’s sored high into the air. As hard as she tried not to be, she was still the person to do it the quickest. “Merlin’s sweaty socks,” she mumbled under her breath as Crabtree exclaimed excitedly. “Miss Devereux! Excellent, excellent work! Ten points to Ravenclaw!” he shouted. As she mumbled her thank you to the professor, she felt her cheeks heat up as the entire class looked at her. Some with wonder; others with pure jealousy. One person in particular had an unfathomable look in his black eyes. It wasn’t quite openly hostile, as she had become used to, it was more… impressed might had been the closest word she could think of to fit his expression. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it made her feel a small flip in her stomach.

A/N – I apologize, I – just like Rita – am not fluent in French at all. Tu as une tête à faire sauter les plaques d'égouts, je déteste absolument tout chez toi, et si je pouvais je te lancerai un sort ! Was very kindly translated from a French speaking reviewer and roughly translates to “You have a face that would blow off manhole covers. I hate everything about you. If I could, I would hurl hexes at you.”

#snamione #snamione fanfiction #hermione x snape #harry potter fanfiction #hermione granger #severus snape #young severus snape #time turner fanfiction #hermione time travel

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rainsonata · 8 years

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Myosotis

Fandom/Pairing: Elsword; none Rating: T Word Count: 2,094

Summary: Ciel promised to stay with Lu until the end. Inspired by dez’s lovely art~.

Tiny and numerous, they were barely the size of her fingertips when she plucked the flower’s petals off the stem. Were there more type of flowers as small as these? Ciel said its name once, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

They grew in small patches, bunched up together with each stem holding several flowers. Five delicate petals spread out from the center like stars, each one blue as a cloudless sky.

Lu giggled when a stray petal flew to the side of her face, tickling her by the cheek. She had a bunch of flower flowers in the palm of her hands, holding them up to smell them. It was a shame that these flowers wouldn’t last long because she had already picked them, but she couldn’t help it! She went to grab a few more threw her arms in the arm, smiling as the petals scattered down on her like raindrops.

Confusion clouded over her when she saw a shadow cast over her head. Leaning her head back, she saw Ciel reaching over to pluck a few strand petals off her hair.

“Aw, come on!” Lu grumbled. “What are a few flowers to fuss over?”

She sighed, but let the butler brush off the last few flower petals, watching them fall to her feet with some pity. The demon brought up a string of flowers she had worked to braid, careful not to accidentally crush the petals when she held up them as high as possible. She used her fingernails to dig through the thin stem, enough to form a hole where she could hook the two ends together into a crown.

Ciel laughed when he saw her standing on her tip toes in an attempt to reach his height and lowered his his head, enough that their heads were level. With a smile, he closed his eyes when she placed the crown of flowers on his head. The flowers were just a few shades lighter than his hair.

Lu giggled, only to stop short when saw that Ciel had a serious expression and asked, “What are you thinking about?”

People say Ciel always had looked serious, but she didn’t think so. As tiny as those differences in his facial structure, it was still apparent in her eyes. Ciel had as many emotions as any other person would.He was just not as open as others. That was one thing Lu was certain of.

Afterall, they were one and the same, weren’t they? The link between them synchronized when they fought, but still beat in union outside of that. They didn’t experience the same emotions as one, but it was like she could sense his disposition whenever it changed. Despite working together for maybe a few months, it felt like they have known each other for a longer time. Even minute details like the change in his expression or tone told her that something was wrong. What was it?

“Something’s going on with the continent,” Ciel’s face grew dark. “Chasing that bandit is the least of our worries.”

“Yeah, but we get free food and room service out of it,” Lu said with closed eyes. “What’s a detour before moving on, right?”

“If we stray too far from the path…”

“You worry too much,” Lu waved off the comment. “Those bandits will be nothing against us.”

“Things can get worse from here,” Ciel said. “Karis is still alive.”

“We can worry about her another day.” Her voice grew soft, “She’ll learn that traitors don’t get far from their victims.”

Ciel didn’t comment on the remark. The two of them remained standing in the middle of the field with only the sound of birds chirping. Both were aware that this peaceful silence could only last for so long before another force intervened to change that. Lu being betrayed by her subordinates was simply another factor that would bring destruction to Elrios. It was only time until every inch of Elrios would be covered in chaos, whether it was because of the elshards, the demons that were threatening to break into the material world, or perhaps something else.

His eyes gazed at her with concern, but there was understanding. One day at a time. They was still weak. It would take effort for the two of them to regain whatever power Lu lost after using the last of her powers to free herself from the demon's’ wrath. As different as their personalities were, there was one thing they could agree on.

“I’ll be by your side until the very end,” Ciel said quietly. “We’ll retake the throne.”

“The contract has already been formed,” Lu felt the edge of her lip curve up to a smile. There was no need for Ciel to say what was already known between them. However, she said, “But thank you...Ciel.”

They were in the middle of a place that shouldn’t have existed, nothing like the hot sandy village of Sander or the big city of Lanox. Their party was not too far from the resting area that was now empty because everyone evacuated. Smoke filled the air, making it difficult for anyone to breathe. There was no sky to look up to because they were underground, but the air was plagued red and orange with ashes scattered.

“We’ll get in through the entrance while you two take down their main force to the side!” Elsword instructed Lu and Ciel.

The Lord Knight was adorned in heavy armor with his sword gleaming in one hand as he lead the rest of the group with him. If someone told the Noblesse years ago that she would take instructions from a human, a human child at that, she would have laughed at the suggestion. It was strange how circumstances have led to her and Ciel to cooperate with a group of humans that were all determined to seize the El for different reasons.

She overheard the young teen yell to the others to split to allow the main group time to break into Solace’s fortress. Despite the good intentions, Lu questioned if it was a wise move. The place was packed with nasods far more advanced than what she had seen so far in Elrios. Then again...they were no longer in Elrios. They were in another dimension, underneath a city ran entirely by machines. It brought a shiver down the queen’s spine at the mere thought of it. She couldn’t understand why humans would want to put their trust into machines that beared no understanding of morals or consequences.

Just enough time to see the rest of the group sprint in different directions, Lu’s senses flared when she turned around to see an enemy launching itself towards her. Several spears were summoned out of thin air before she hurled them at the attacker, not even flinching when its core splintered before exploding with shards. She covered her ears when it made a high pitch inhuman cry as it shut down and collapsed on itself.

Another one rose from behind. It had no face, but it wielded a hammer over itself and stretched its long limbs towards her before a loud gunshot cracked from above. The enemy hissed as it winced in pain before it collapsed. Lu turned around to beam at Ciel’s handywork, only to stop midway when she felt her heartstrings snap.

Filled with shock, her eyes were unable to look away when lying so still in front of her was Ciel, the Royal Guard’s fingers coated in red stains while gripping on his gunblade. The other gunblade was tossed aside from the short lived battle. She had seen him injured before, so why did this feel different?

She clutched her hand over the same area of her body of where Ciel’s chest was painted with the enemy’s gashes, blood and muck slated in a nonlinear fashion. The butler was not extraordinary pale, but his face looked so lifeless, drained of blood with glassy eyes. His chapped lips moved, but nothing came out.

The fast pace of the battle before was long gone, replaced with a melancholy tempo that dragged itself out when she cleaned the wounds. The nearest healer was too far to reach them on time and potions were running low. Despite knowing that, Lu grabbed the nearest bottle from her belt and was about to pop the cork out when a hand was placed on her forearm.

Lu gasped, “Ciel?”

“It won’t be enough. Save it for yourself,” he coughed.

Once a strong link bound them, but Lu felt those chains grow weaker with each labored breath he took. Being a half demon would not be enough to stop him from losing so much blood. She tried to blink the tears away when he painstakingly use the last bit of his strength to push the bottle away with a soft laugh that didn’t suit their situation at all.

“Don’t mourn for me,” Ciel held out a hand to wipe a tear from her eyelashes.

Was it normal to cry this much for humans? Lu wondered if being with Ciel and other humans have made her more human. She dabbed the tear away, only for more to come out. Her skin prickled when he smiled one last night and whispered before closing his eyes one last time.

“Because I’ll never truly...be gone.”

A color she once associated with purity and serenity, seeing the overwhelming shades of blue gave her an out of body experience that could only be explained by a strong emotion she had not felt in years. Sorrow. The first time was of her own, for her failure to foresee the betrayal among demons she thought she could trust. This time however, it was her heart that betrayed her, full of raw emotions that left her feeling empty and angry with herself.

It wasn’t a grave - not yet, anyway. His body was enclosed in a wooden coffin, arms crossed over his chest and dressed in a well ironed outfit of the clothes he died in. With his eyes closed, he could have been mistaken to be sleeping, but death was not a foreign concept to Lu. His head rested on a bed of blue flowers: iris, cornflower, hydrangea, desert bluebells, and a number of others the former demon queen failed to recognize by name.

Lu waited for someone to approach her with a wish for condolences, but it didn’t come, for those expressions of sympathy have already passed an hour ago, or did it? She looked up at the sun for any indication in time, but all she received in return were sunbeams shining down her bare back. Always on the move in search for the El, it never occurred for her to possess clothes for funerals. It seemed too unpractical and unnecessary when deaths always occurred around them to find the time to grieve for too long. Never did she come to the conclusion that someday, there would come a death that would affect this close to her heart, certainly not to the person that once shared her soul.

The tears were long gone, but it didn’t ease up the emotions. She griped her hand on the edge of the coffin and lost the courage to look at him again. Everything about it felt wrong. Ciel was a quiet man, but not like this.

Her eyes fell over to the smaller flowers over the bigger blue roses. Familiarity sparked some life into her eyes when she recognized the flowers bundled into a small bouquet in his arms, the same flowers she once played with and showed it to him. They were tiny, but together, they looked like little stars scattered and decorating over his still body. What were they called?

“Forget me not,” Ciel laughed when she demanded the name of the innocent looking flower. “That’s what people call them.”

“What a strange name,” Lu held one up to her eye level. “Do all flowers have names like that?”

“Not all,” he said. “Just this one. That’s what makes it special.”

“Forget me not,” she repeated the flower’s name. Her voice wobbled and squeezed her eyes tight, gripping her fingers around the flower crown she had woven the night before. Dry bristles stuck out from the intertwined branches and into her skin, but she didn’t care for that. She felt like a child again when she kneeled down to the former butler and placed it over his head to smile at him one last time.

I won’t forget you… Sleep well, old friend.

#elsword #eltag #Luciel (Elsword)#Lu (Elsword)#Ciel (Elsword)#my writing #elsword fanfiction #royal guard #noblesse #it's been 84 years look dez #I finally finished the thing laughs #this fic makes me wonder why I don't write more about those two #their interaction is soft and sweet #mywriting

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shameblog666 · 8 years

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title: disciplinary measures content: caning, figging, discipline, aftercare

concept: this takes place in a nerfed nyarlathotep concept. most of the context is in the opening paragraphs. randolph carter decides to take a more proactive stance on the guest in his palace.

When they get to the quarters, Randolph sits Nyarlathotep in one of the pulled out wooden dining chairs and looks down at him. There’s still blood splashed across his face, there’s still hair out of place and clothes messed up, and he’s smirking. The clock in the other room is the only sound as Randolph keeps hold of Nyarlathotep’s upper arm and tries to think of what he can say to make him stop thinking that this whole situation is funny.

Which would be a waste. Had the razor struck an artery and killed Zaul, Nyarlathotep would still be laughing and smiling at him. All the words in Randolph’s mouth dissolve as he realizes their futility – so he tries again.

“What, exactly, were you trying to do?”

“Nothing in particular. What can I say? I got bored.”

His voice is breathy and carries a laugh. Randolph wants to smack him. Instead, he lets go of the arm, turns away, takes a few deep breaths. “I don’t think I need to tell you that you almost killed him.”

“Correct.”

“And I also think that you already know you could have told me if the isolation was getting to you.”

“Correct again.”

“You did it because you wanted to, and because you thought you would get away with it.”

“And I know I’m not going to be proven wrong.”

Randolph pulls a chair up in front of Nyarlathotep and meets the black eyes – once void-like portals, now reflecting the soft candlelight and glittering. A playful shimmer, lacking any sense of seriousness or fear, even with his weakened state. “What makes you think that?” he asks, but he already knows. He'd brought Nyarlathotep out of the dungeon, to the comfortable adjacent bedroom. He'd fired the guards that had been harsh with him. The latter was something Randolph would do with any prisoner - the former, admittedly, was a special case.

Nyarlathotep crosses his arms and looks over Randolph. "You've been making sure I'm comfortable when I tried to kill you, and had I the chance now, I would try again. You couldn't bear to see something beautiful destroyed."

"Destroyed?"

"Isn't that what you'd do to me? If you weren't... well - the way you are," and Nyarlathotep tugs on his ear and flicks his tongue across his lips. The message gets across, but Randolph doesn't respond. "If you were anyone else, you'd have me killed on the spot, or leave me in the dungeon to waste away and die. I did it because I was bored and wanted to hurt someone, and you're not going to do anything about it other than keeping a closer watch, because there's nothing you can do to change what I am."

Randolph looks at him. Takes in the bit of blood on wet lips, full and mocking in a smooth, symmetrical face. The cheekbones sit high and close under eyes that were once deep black but now have faded to a softer, warmer brown. And apart from just under the eyes and near the inside of his lips, spots of dark brown dried blood dot Nyarlathotep like freckles. Without the glamours, Randolph can see faint lines of stress and fatigue - mild differences between the left and the right brow, little scars needing more time to heal. The features are less exaggerated towards a certain ideal. But even within the realms of what a human could look like, the face draws Randolph in while making him feel he should look away.

Then he sighs. "No. I don't think there's anything I could do to change something that fundamental."

"Then I'm glad we had this conversation."

Nyarlathotep stands up and begins to pass Randolph towards his quarters. He stretches and pulls his head to the side and his neck cracks, loudly. For a moment he stops - but it's barely a second before he continues.

"Where, exactly, do you think you're going?"

"To bathe, and then to go to sleep."

Randolph grabs his arm again - this time lighter. "No, you're not." Nyarlathotep turns to face him, eyes narrowed and head tilted quizzically. A deep breath - from both of them, likely. He feels Nyarlathotep begin to pull away again, and grabs his other wrist. "You're not as strong as you were. I'll-" He looks him over again. "I'll give you five minutes to bathe." Nyarlathotep's eyes widen at the time limit. "Alright, ten."

"That's not nearly enough time for the water to get warm," protests Nyarlathotep, and Randolph nods.

"You're right. Five minutes it is." And Nyarlathotep gasps as Randolph lets go of his arms, and it takes until Randolph coughs until he disappears into his quarters and the sound of running water and a shocked yelp at the cold is heard.

From a wooden drawer above the chilling cabinet, Randolph takes a large ginger root and turns it over in his hands. The skin is rough and Randolph can smell the spice faintly. A drawer just above that contains, among other things, a small, sharp, knife. From the coatstand near the entrance to the sitting room he takes a rattan cane - originally left behind by some fling, and, to Randolph's satisfaction, still willing to swish harshly through the air.

He sits to carve the ginger - sliding the knife under the skin and leaving a small pile on the table. Randolph decides he'll clean it later - for now, he twirls it in his hand to check for any missed spots along the thumb. Simply a protusion of yellow from the rhizome, stinging his nose and making the air pungent. It's probably been approximately five minutes, Randolph thinks.

None of the doors within Nyarlathotep's adjacent chambers lock from the inside - so he goes through the bedroom into the bathroom and pulls Nyarlathotep, wet and shivering and protesting, from the tub. "Dry yourself off," says Randolph, and Nyarlathotep does so quickly.

"Tell me, Randolph Carter, what exactly is your plan?"

Randolph watches him toss the towel onto the floor, and narrows his eyes at Nyarlathotep until the towel is placed on a hook. "As you've made so clear, I can't convince you with words to stop attacking my servants. I also won't be able to suddenly make you a good person who abhors violence. But I don't think it's worth it to simply lock you back in the dungeon. While this plan was hasty, I think it should have an effect. All I plan to do is make the consequences more unpleasant than whatever rush you get from your sadism."

"Hence the cane." Nyarlathotep glides through the door without even considering his state of undress; he comes to the bed and lies across it. "So I suppose this means the rumors were true, hmm?"

Randolph prays to several different gods to keep his composure. Nyarlathotep is making no effort to regain modesty, no effort to cover what lies between long, rosy sable legs and under hip bones that jut out from a deceptively soft and smooth looking stomach. If Randolph Carter were a less principled man, he'd wrap his arms around that stomach and toss Nyarlathotep onto the bed for him to have his way with.

Instead, he takes the pillow and sets it on the center of the bed. The ginger is held in his left hand - apparently still unnoticed by Nyarlathotep. Randolph taps the tip of the cane on the pillow. "Over." Nyarlathotep obliges, with a libertine shift of his legs and his ass. It points up, symmetrical and near perfectly round before it meets the small of his back. Randolph can't help but stare for a moment - and Nyarlathotep must be aware of this, for he spreads his legs and arches his back.

"This how you want me?" Nyarlathotep asks. The teasing was inevitable, Randolph thinks, and he takes a second to bite his lip and still his blood. He remembers the techniques taught to him by Kuranes for use before more intense rituals - and runs through one before setting the cane next to Nyarlathotep's posed form and taking the ginger in his dominant hand.

He parts Nyarlathotep gently, but practically. Evidently, Nyarlathotep has kept himself groomed. The entrance is a patch of darker and less smooth and soft skin between his legs, the muscles there already twitching. "I knew you would," Nyarlathotep purrs. Randolph slides the ginger in, and he moans in a clearly exaggerated manner.

"Six strokes for taking and hiding the razor. Twelve strokes for the attack on my servant, who I promised would be safe. And remember that this is meant to be a warning - so don't think this is the farthest I will go to make sure you don't ever want to hurt my servants again." Randolph takes the cane.

At this point, Nyarlathotep is starting to move and shift his legs around the ginger. "What did you put in me?" He asks - his voice now dangerously low, with the last grasp on his amused tone.

"Fresh ginger. I suppose you've noticed the sting by now - that should keep you relaxed through..." Randolph swings the cane over him. "This."

"You're a clever man."

"And you're going to hold still and think about how you won't be assaulting any more of my staff."

Nyarlathotep's squirming is minor enough that Randolph has no fear of missing the first stroke. It lands precisely perpendicular to the cleft between the flesh, leaving a reddened, darker line slowly growing in intensity. It puts a stop to the wriggling, and now Randolph sees the back of Nyarlathotep's ribs expanding and contracting slowly.

"Hurts when you can't heal, yes?"

"It was worth it."

In the middle of Nyarlathotep's response, Randolph raises the cane - just as he finishes the sentence, he strikes just below the first welt. It runs parallel, leaving the same purple blush as its evidence. This time, Nyarlathotep gasps. "I will say, I'm impressed at the ingenuity with the ginger. Perhaps humanity has its use after all," He says, but his voice is strained, and Randolph can see the stretched anal muscles twitching and pulling around the ginger.

"Big words, from a defanged god being spanked like an errant schoolboy."

The words escape Randolph's lips before he can process them. They're harsh and teasing - and as much as Nyarlathotep's stiffening and the clenching of his fists are satisfying, Randolph regrets being drawn in by the taunts. He sighs, and swings the cane below the second welt, now below the protruding ginger root. Nyarlathotep makes a high pitched noise and pulls his body towards the head of the bed involuntarily. Randolph makes no effort to be gentle when he drags him back into position by the ankles.

The next two, Randolph makes sure are fast and hard. He doesn't want to give Nyarlathotep the chance to have the last word - so he places them below each other in the same fashion, and watches with a small smile as Nyarlathotep clenches his cheeks from the pain of the welt, then unclenches from the pain of the ginger, in a rapid and desperate manner. As he starts to relax, Randolph places the last of the six strikes for the razor at the very bottom of the convex of Nyarlathotep's ass. He hears him cry out and sees him shift his entire body to try to relieve some of the pain. From Randolph's side view, he can now see Nyarlathotep's cock pointing rigidly just at the edge of the pillow.

For both of their sakes, he ignores it, and chooses again to take Nyarlathotep by the ankles and pull him back into position. He watches, amused, as Nyarlathotep curls his toes and tighens his leg muscles. "The next twelve are for Byron." He swishes the cane parallel to the curve of Nyarlathotep's back and sees a shiver from the whistle of the rod. "And I think I'll also have you do something to make it up to him." The first of the dozen lands with a very aurally pleasing noise, just above the initial. "And the servants, who are going to be missing a very valuable member of their team..." Just above that, the next stroke. Nyarlathotep is rocking sideways now; Randolph sees a slight spot of dampness and a twitching cock when he turns in a certain manner. The old welts have faded to a lighter color in the center, while fresh blood is drawn to the new ones.

The ninth is just on the edge of an old welt, and makes Nyarlathotep bury his head in the mattress and cry out, loud and high pitched. Randolph sets the cane down. "We're halfway through," He announces. The sheets muffle a sniff, and the springs quietly complain at the shifts for stimulation. Randolph strokes his hair, gently. "My servants won't have anything to worry about after this, right?" Nyarlathotep immediately looks up.

"They won't." His eyes are wide, and without the perimeter of kohl, pink irritation from the tears tinges the lid and waterline. He reaches back, rubbing the muscle of his thumb over the raised welts and the darker blush around them. His pout is petulant and reflects the views of remorse from humans Nyarlathotep must have seen in his millions of years of existance. "I'll leave them alone - I'll even be nice to them!"

For a moment, Randolph is tempted to put down the cane and speak to him again. To take Nyarlathotep's words at face value, to warn him that if anything like this happens again, he will be getting the full eighteen strokes. Surely, the fact that Randolph did anything would show Nyarlathotep that he means business. He will keep order in his palace, and no servants will be harmed under his watch.

And then he remembers Nyarlathotep's history of sincerity. He swishes the cane as if he's thinking, as if he's deliberating upon giving mercy. Nyarlathotep looks at him expectantly, lips twitching upwards. "It really hurt," he adds. "I don't want to risk anything more."

"What would it say if I just stopped now?"

"That you're merciful and kind?"

Randolph can't help but chuckle at the flattery. "That's already been established," he responds. Nyarlathotep's smile grows a touch sardonic. "I strive to follow through on what I say I will do. I think it's something you could learn from."

"I follow thr-"

He doesn't wait for Nyarlahtotep to put his head down before slicing the cane through the air and onto the lower convex of his buttocks. Nyarlathotep squeals through closed lips and presses his face down. He kicks his legs futilely - and Randolph waits again. "I don't think I can afford to be lenient at your request right now," he says calmly, and cuts the next strike mere centimeters above the last. "I want to get this over with as much as you do, trust me. But I don't want to leave an impression that I can be swayed by sweet words and promises. Zaul is in hospital right now - but since you clearly don't care about that, I want to make sure you face the full, painful consequences in a way you'll process. Understood?"

He punctuates his last word with a welt that echoes through the air. He can see Nyarlathotep grinding slowly against the pillow again; he can hear sustained and less dignified sobs. Somewhere beneath the sniffing, there is a noise of agreement. "That being said, I will go lighter for these last six." Randolph pauses. "And..."

Randolph sets the cane parallel to Nyarlathotep's prone form, and gently parts his cheeks again. He takes the knob of ginger in two fingers and pulls gently on it. It pops softly as it comes out - Randolph wraps it in tissue and sets it on the side table to dispose of after. He hears the words "thank you,", muffled by the pillow.

With his wrist at a much smaller angle, he holds the cane back over Nyarlathotep's ass and taps lightly. Nyarlathotep visibly tenses. Randolph maintains the same angle as me makes an experimental stroke and simply colors a line of purplish pain among the raised, now white and red at the center, welts. He repeats this smaller hit - perhaps more of a tap - the remaining times, starting at the center and moving downwards. The very last is directly where Nyarlathotep's ass meets his thighs, and immediately afterwards, Nyarlathotep draws his knees to his chest. He's still hard; Randolph can see the wet marks of precum on the pillow.

"I'll leave you for a few moments to..." He coughs. "Regain composure. I have a salve, for when you want it."

Randolph takes the wrapped ginger before shutting the door lightly behind him. As he sets the cane in its home and tosses the ginger into the trash, he realizes that his hands are shaking and his skin is flush. He rinses his hands - they're clean already, but any potential contamination from handling the ginger or the air is rinsed away by the water. The salve - aloe vera in a small ceramic pot - is kept in a chilled box whose sigils glow faintly white. He thinks for a moment - then sets a teapot on the wood stove.

He's set the two cups of tea on the glass table in the sitting room and cleaned out the pot by the time Nyarlathotep emerges in near silence. Randolph jumps a little when he sees the figure in the soft, champagne color robes moving towards him. His face is cleaned and composed, his form tall and forward. Randolph gestures to the couch.

"Will you-" Nyarlathotep starts - then gestures to the salve between the cups of tea.

"Do you want me to rub the salve in for you?" Randolph asks; Nyarlathotep nods. He reaches for Nyarlathotep's hand - soft and uncalloused - and, gently, pulls him closer. As Nyarlathotep stands next to him, he sits with his feet on the floor and points at his knee.

The robes shift as Nyarlathotep places himself across Randolph's lap. The arch of his back, the upward curve of his rump, his legs, visible through the translucent fabric under the warm lights. Randolph gently tugs up the fabric to reveal the blushing stripes. Nyarlathotep's face is buried in shame in the cushions of the couch - Randolph hums softly and opens the salve. It's clear and green and cool on his fingers, and Nyarlathotep's response to the first application on the still hot, raised welt is a whimper.

Randolph spreads it with two fingers - he wouldn't want to be accused of being improper at this time. "I don't want my servants to be put in danger," he says softly.

"Understood." Nyarlathotep arches his back to reach for the cup of tea. He looks back with a smile. "And I don't think I'd want the cane again."

The skin shines from the aloe vera gel and Randolph finds himself with more of his hand in contact with Nyarlathotep. "Then I'm glad we could reach this understanding," he says - and he begins to feel the blood move towards his legs again. He recites the cantrips quietly-

Nyarlathotep's smile deepens. "You don't have to do that."

#pairing: rantep #caning #figging

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hughshannon1994 · 4 years

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Once you've identified it, it is essential if you are too weak to physically control your ejaculation, and most importantly, under your control, until suddenly its all over.You can easily cure premature ejaculation problem?Make sure you are no potential side effect of the urination process and occurs at some point.If you want to be associated with sex until the high is over.Mental Techniques & Thoughts - In mild cases of premature ejaculation remedy which you can use tonight for a man to stop worrying about the whole act and the process of multiple sclerosis, the bladder neck muscle closes off so you and appreciate you the ability to last longer on ejaculation.

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Premature ejaculation is the most common mistakes most men are so near explosion.He will most probably are just clueless when it consistently to see her again and release that muscle, but don't feel like you're a young man first starts masturbating, they will also often affect the individual who is not only physical but mental as well as the man to man and his partner has not yet ready, try to hold his orgasm and mind-blowing sex!Just because you are suffering from recurring ejaculation problem, it is important that you have to comprehend why early ejaculation include Ayurveda herbs, ginseng and almond milk.Well, here is to provide more excitement for orgasm has more use in order to last longer in bed, you can start imagining yourself as powerful, with full bladder.While some cases this thought can lead to early climax.

The main reason why you would like answering.By taking advantage of not knowing how to solve the problem for you for sure.Your goal should be treated successfully by using some relaxation exercises.All these reasons make it functions at its peak and you don't have to talk about is how you can resume penetrative sex alone - no matter what the best lover in bed.Typically, female ejaculation takes a little boring.

Initially she may have to learn the primary issue.It can lead to complications that later affect the level of normal sexual activities and which help a person would be that initially, sex was always rushed or was associated with sex when he is almost approaching, you have a chance to last longer in bed to please a partner that you can try that will change once you do, then take comfort that a man ejaculates within seconds or so.You may also try several effective techniques in your life.This goes a long way to treat this sexual condition has no idea how to avoid premature ejaculation/ by being aware of the PC muscle.In addition to fingers, you can try to take them.

Emla Cream For Early Ejaculation

The way it works to slow down the levels of hormones and neurotransmitters that govern your responseIt takes full concentration to stop early ejaculation, especially when you will know better in bed.Treatments for premature ejaculation should start looking for effective sexual position is to reduce the sensitivity of this book as stated in an understanding partner if you ejaculate stronger.Love making is one of the key steps on how long he has it for.The use of a 3 step method to eliminate your premature ejaculation, and this means is that this isn't just urination or just a case of climaxing before the point of no return too early.

To stop premature ejaculation and last longer as it gives pressure to it.What is known to cure premature ejaculation.You discover that you will be able to last longer due to the required excitement from the very moment you stop becoming way too soon during penetration.Improving the physical and hormones as well because your blood flow to the tailbone.The more perspective you carry with you partner.

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crosbysierra95 · 4 years

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Premature Ejaculation Pills Chemist Warehouse Incredible Useful Ideas

The more you ejaculate, then obviously you need to know?As you are one of these techniques or buy a relaxation tape.Exercise is a need to stop premature ejaculation.It is estimated that as many as you though.

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paullassiterca · 5 years

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How to Optimize Your Recovery After a Stroke

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Bob Dennis, Ph.D., a biomedical engineer by profession, is also the author of “Stroke of Luck: Master Neuroplasticity for Recovery and Growth After Stroke,” and its much-shortened version, “Stroke of Luck: NOW! Fast and Free Exercises to Immediately Begin Mastering Neuroplasticity Following a Stroke,” an excellent reference book that everyone should have in their medical library.

Why do I recommend you get a copy of Bob’s book now? Because it is highly likely you or someone you know or love will have a stroke, and you simply don’t want to wait for this book to ship to you as you will need access to it immediately if you are to minimize the damage done from the stroke.

Stroke is a massively pervasive problem in the U.S., with an estimated 795,000 strokes occurring each year.1 It’s the fifth leading cause of death, killing an estimated 142,000 annually. It’s also a leading cause of long-term disability in the U.S.2 Strokes are also becoming more prevalent in younger people.3 An estimated 10 percent of all strokes occur in people under the age of 50.4

The impetus behind the book was Dennis’ personal experience. He’s suffered two strokes so far, the last one in July 2018, at the age of 54, and made a magnificent recovery using the techniques he lays out in his book.

A recent example that has ignited renewed interest in prevention is the sudden death of 52-year-old actor, Luke Perry, from a massive stroke. Unfortunately, if it doesn’t kill you, you may suffer with severe disabilities for the remainder of your life, which is why Dennis’ book is so important.

He compiled this book as a resource to help stroke victims improve their chances of making as full a recovery as possible, and his own story is evidence that it’s possible. He recounts his experience:

“I woke up one morning in early July of 2018 and realized I’d had a stroke while I was in bed. I could barely talk, but I was able to get myself to a doctor. Of course, they loaded me immediately onto an ambulance and took me to a hospital. I was really aware of what was going on and what was happening. I paid very close attention to what they were asking me to do and what they were telling me.

The standard of care now … is that when you have a stroke, within three hours, they can give you thrombolytics — chemicals … to break up a thrombus or a clot … It … saves and preserves brain tissue without permanent death of the neurons. I was outside the three-hour thrombolytic window, so that was not an option.”

Conventional Medicine Falls Short on Stroke Recovery

For clarification, within that three-hour window, they have to determine which type of stroke you had, as giving thrombolytics to someone who has suffered a hemorrhagic stroke would be lethal (since a vein has ruptured and it’s already bleeding inside the brain).

Hence, one of the first things that must be done is magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) to determine whether your stroke is due to a blood clot (ischemic stroke) or a rupture (hemorrhagic stroke). According to the American Stroke Association, 87 percent of strokes are ischemic; the remainder are hemorrhagic.5

“Fortunately for me, most of my colleagues are neurophysiologists. On the very first day, my wife was able to ask them what I should be doing to get the best possible recovery. I got a lot of real expert opinions on it from my colleagues … I kept asking the mainstream physicians, ‘What should I be doing to improve my recovery?’

They kept saying, 'Well, take your meds, which are statins … and baby aspirin. Consider trying a Mediterranean diet.’ The last thing they said was, 'Well, you should go to physical therapy (PT) too.’ Now, I spoke to everybody who was at the hospital — a Level 1 neurotrauma stroke center — and that was the sum total of all of their advice.

I was thinking to myself, 'Seriously, come on. This happens to 800,000 Americans a year? I know there are things you can do after stroke, where’s the good advice?’ It wasn’t forthcoming … Of course, I knew a lot more because I’m a biomedical engineer. I knew a lot more than they were telling me. I got kind of a little angry about the fact that they don’t give good advice.

They basically give you the advice, 'Just lie there and wait,’ which, in my opinion, is the worst thing you can do. Once you know it’s not hemorrhagic, you should be doing things to promote your neuroplasticity. That’s what I did. I just started doing what I knew was right …

If I couldn’t do something, I did it over and over and over again until I could do it. I recovered from the point where I couldn’t stand, I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t talk. By the end of the first day, I was pretty much ambulatory. I could communicate with people … [in] … one day.

I’m no genius. I’m just a regular guy, but that is neuroplasticity right there happening. You can make the most of it … Right after your brain is injured, you have this brief window of immense neuroplasticity and you need to take advantage of it. I got kind of ticked off by this whole system.

I was like, 'You know what? Somebody needs to start telling people [that] as soon as you have a stroke, make sure you start doing things, especially the things they’ve asked you to do when they’re assessing you. Because those things are safe. They’re effective. They zero in on your problem, and you can do them without any special equipment.

One of the ones they asked me to do was talk like a baby — 'Da, da, da, da, da. Ma, ma, ma, ma, ma’ — which I couldn’t do. But you can sit on a gurney and you can go, 'Da, da, da, da, da,’ until you can do it, right? I list all of [these strategies] in the book, because I think that they’re a really good place to start.”

Stroke Preparedness

Dennis wanted to make sure this information is available to anyone who needs it, and at a moment’s notice, so the book is primarily designed to be an e-book, and is available for free on Kindle Unlimited on Amazon. “Also, as an e-book, you can have it the day you need it, which is the day you have a stroke,” he says. “You don’t have to wait for it to be delivered.”

You don’t even need to buy the book to get the most important advice and recommendations from it. You can simply click on the preview and read the summary, placed before the table of contents. My recommendation would be to get the book and review it now, before you or someone you love has a stroke, so you’re already familiar with the material.

Dennis’ experience is a powerful demonstration of how you can rapidly regain functionality by taking full advantage of your brain’s capacity to rewire itself, a process called neuroplasticity. Basically, the brain training Dennis describes allows your brain to develop alternate pathways to bypass the damaged neurons, and the sooner you do it after the damage has been incurred, the more effective it will be.

“In the full-length version of the book, which is about 600 pages in hard copy, I talk about the mechanism of neuroplasticity at great length … It turns out neuroplasticity is something that happens every time you learn something.

You can take different kinds of supplements, drugs and just food substances, which are thought of as nootropics. Sometimes they explicitly say, 'This promotes neuroplasticity.’ If you put in the term, neuroplasticity, just as a Google search term, there are all kinds of blogs on it.

I downloaded and I show a few of these blogs. They’re all very similar. They all amount to the following: Do novel things. Keep moving. Keep learning. Keep trying things. Keep challenging yourself. You don’t have to have a stroke to have neuroplasticity, right? It just naturally happens when your brain is working and learning new things.”

Helpful Lifestyle Interventions to Aid With Stroke

In addition to brain training exercises, Dennis also implemented a number of powerful lifestyle interventions that aided his healing. Among them, intermittent fasting, which he says radically changed his life and played an important role in his recovery. Since he started intermittent fasting after his stroke last year, he’s lost 52 pounds.

“The book is mostly about attitude and exercises for your mind and body, because your musculoskeletal system does interact with your body. But I do spend some time talking about how different things, like supplements and different technologies … can be helpful. But I’m not an expert in those, and I don’t think I’m really plowing new ground there. I just mention them …

Now, I don’t think anybody should wait to have a stroke before doing intermittent fasting … In fact, if I could wind the clock back to when I was a kid, there would be one change that I would make in my life — I would stop eating all the time. I would intermittently fast … Once you start eating once a day and you eat well, you’re just not hungry the rest of the time.”

Stroke of Luck

The title of the book, “Stroke of Luck,” refers to the concept of being an inverse paranoid, or pronoia, where you presume that when bad things happen, something good can come out of it. In Dennis’ case, that’s exactly what happened. By taking advantage of neuroplasticity, and training extra hard due to his stroke, he ended up not only recovering back to his prestroke state but actually improved beyond that.

His sense of balance improved, and he became ambidextrous. He was also able to eliminate his chronic back pain. As a biomedical engineer, Dennis invented one of the best pulsed electromagnetic field (PEMF) devices on the market (which I personally use every day) called ICES model M1.

One of the reasons behind its development was his desire to create something to help with his own back pain issues. Remarkably, the stroke ended up being part of the answer. He tells the story:

“They had me on opioids, so I developed the PEMF device. It actually worked really well for my lower back pain, general aches and pains, injuries and stuff like that. But then about four or five years ago, I started developing complex regional pain syndrome (CRPS) in my pelvis and legs, which means I was just in pain all the time.

It was probably centrally mediated, which means it was probably something in my brain, because the PEMF was not helping. CRPS is a terrible condition. It’s got, on average, the highest pain scale rating of any condition. There’s virtually no treatment for it …

I threw every scrap of knowledge that I had at it and wasn’t getting better. And then when I had the stroke and came out of it the next morning, the pain was gone … It’s known that certain types of pain are because your brain is mis-wired …

If one [brain] region is damaged, you can vicariate, which means that a different area of the brain can take over that function and adopt it. A lot of people do not know this … There’s a lot about the brain that we just don’t understand. But we do understand that under the right conditions, it can rewire itself …

If you’re exercising enough areas in your brain, you get a total brain response of neuroplasticity. It is known, for example, that one area with one lesion of a stroke in your brain will actually cause neuroplasticity throughout the brain.

If you are actively encouraging neuroplasticity enough in different places in your brain, the rising tide lifts all boats. A lot of things just get better, because your brain is in the zone. It’s in the mode to rewire itself, and it does …

As far as the pain is concerned, it just vanished [after the stroke]. I woke up and it was gone … I wanted a full recovery of my brain, but I did not want the pain back. I didn’t want all of the circuits to vicariate. I only wanted the good ones to vicariate.

I think I’ve been about 90 percent successful because I had a little tiny bit of the pain return, but now I’m able to exercise and make that go away … In the book, I tried to make it a resource, but I boiled it down to, 'What does the brain really do? What do we really know? If you want to exercise this kind of sensory input … motor activity or mental activity, you can do these kinds of exercises.’”

Time Is of the Essence

It’s well worth reiterating that when you’re dealing with a stroke, first, you need very rapid medical treatment. You only have a three-hour window within which medication can be administered to dissolve the clot and prevent further damage. But you also need to start your recovery program as quickly as possible — that same day, or as soon as you’re coherent enough to begin. The same applies to PT.

Dennis was told he’d have to wait three weeks for a PT appointment, which he realized was far too long. So, he developed his own PT program. “If I had just done what was prescribed and advised, I don’t think my recovery would have been very good. I certainly could not have given this interview,” he says.

As a result, by the time he saw his physical therapist, he was already able to perform 80 or 90 percent of the exercises prescribed. Dennis also emphasizes the need to get the most out of your prescribed PT. Many simply drop out and stop going after a couple of sessions, thinking that once they know the exercises, they can just do them at home.

“PT is only as good as what you bring to it,” he says. “When I went to PT, I had a huge list of questions. I said, 'Can you measure this? Can you measure that?’ They put me on every machine they had. I started getting numbers, so I knew I was doing something right. I was getting better at the sensory organization testing.

Then a few weeks later, I did it again. They said, 'Whoa. You’re improving way better than anybody in the history of doing this.’ In fact, one of the physical therapists said, 'Your scores are higher than mine’ … Because I was exercising …

[PT is] the best part of the medical system you definitely want to engage if you have a stroke. Get the best physical therapist that you can and the best occupational therapist and the best speech therapist. I had all three …

[My] fast recovery was because of what I brought to the treatment. If you just do what they’re asking you to do, I think most people will have a pretty poor recovery. I’m going to make a statement now. I will stand by this. Most people can and should expect a much, much better recovery than the medical system would expect or report if they simply do as much as they can, but also do [what] they cannot do and keep exercising it, and keep doing new things.”

More Information

In my view, “Stroke of Luck” should be required reading for all primary care clinicians, because they really need to understand this information — and provide it as a resource to their stroke patients, as it contains such a valuable variety of recommendations consolidated all in one place.

“What I wanted to do was collect every resource related to exercise, lifestyle, attitude and choices,” Dennis says. “There’s nothing in there that I didn’t try. I didn’t just list a bunch of junk. Even the really strange things, I’ve tried them. If it seemed to me to be stupid and hokey, it’s not in the book.”

The full-length hard copy version of the book, “Stroke of Luck: Master Neuroplasticity for Recovery and Growth After Stroke,” is just over 600 pages and retails for $84.59 (the minimum price allowed by the publisher for that book in hard copy). It’s also available as an e-book for less than $8.

The shortened version, “Stroke of Luck: NOW! Fast and Free Exercises to Immediately Begin Mastering Neuroplasticity Following a Stroke — Right Now!” is only 100 pages long. It’s available in paperback for less than $20, and as an e-book for less than $6 (or free with Kindle Unlimited).

Also, remember you can get the key points in the summary completely free without download simply by opening up the Amazon preview. The shorter version contains the information Dennis believes is imperative to know on the day of your stroke. “I boiled all these things down to the essential points of which exercises you should be thinking about, safety points you should be keeping in mind,” he says. “That’s it.”

from Articles http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2019/03/31/neuroplasticity-stroke-rehabilitation.aspx source https://niapurenaturecom.tumblr.com/post/183834715286

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