blessed be the flexible for they can tie themselves into knots

besnatched:

Atticus gave a disdainful snort. It was just a tad louder and more dramatic than necessary, but he was working under extenuating circumstances here, some melodrama should be forgiven. “Of course we’re no friends,” he confirmed, “who would even believe such a stupid thing?” Another snort. “Other than my colleagues, but they don’t know any better.”

Which left, well, the bigger problem. He thought of sitting at the edge of her bed, but she might just kick him off, or throw something at him. Atticus got himself a chair instead and flopped down on it, arms crossed in front of his chest. Some measure of truth might work best here. All the best lies had some truth to them. “I’m here because I’m curious.” He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about what happened to you, and I don’t like it. I thought I would be able to learn more right from the source than by filtering through gossip and rubbish newspaper articles.”

It had to be the most honest he had been to Daisy Hookum in a good long while, Atticus thought sourly. And of course she wouldn’t appreciate it, she never did, but he could only hope she would accept this truth. Probably not. Good deeds were never rewarded, after all.

Atticus again had that look like he might sit down on the edge of her bed. He wouldn’t dare, though, she’d kicked him as hard as she could if he tried, and surely he knew that? She nodded firmly as he grabbed a chair instead, dropping into it with a sulky expression.

“Curious? she repeated tonelessly, not sure what to make of the explanation. It was probably a lie, he was a liar, but it was just callous enough to ring true. “You’re curious about what happened?” She glared at him. “What do you think happened? One of your mates kidnapped me and tortured me for three days!” Her tone had started off biting, meant to impress upon Scabior how stupid a question it was, but her voice broke somewhere in the middle.

She swallowed heavily, tugging the neck of her hospital gown higher up her throat. It was, so far at least, doing a good job of hiding the heavy bandage that covered the burn on her chest. “You should go ask whoever did it, if you’re curious,” she said bitterly. “They’ll probably tell the story much better than me.”

“They’re not my friends!” he spat, and that, at least, was the truth. It gave his indignation some extra strength and righteousness. Whoever had taken Daisy Hookum, they were unlikely to be friends of his. He had exactly three friends within the Death Eaters, maybe only two even.

Atticus took a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused on calming himself. He could do that. He could be calm. He could... oh who was he kidding. He was good at being logical, but he did have a temper, even if he could usually keep himself from acting all too much on it. “Fine, you got tortured,” he said, and then added, “and I’m sure that’s all kinds of terrible, I don’t doubt that.” His chin went up a bit. “But I didn’t do it, and there’s no point to yelling at me about it. I was just asking.”

He could even bring himself to feel justified in feeling like the injured party here, though he avoided looking too closely at the state Daisy was in. She was no Muggleborn or Muggle, she was a half-blood like him... But she’d made the wrong choices, so it was her fault for being stupid, right? But if he hadn’t befriended Evan as a boy, if he hadn’t had that in...

She folded her arms as he admitted that maybe he hadn’t told her, momentarily smug, though that faded to irritation as he started on about how smart he was. “I know you get good grades,” she told him. “Do they not do any kind of background check though? That’s really worrying.” She was more thinking aloud than actually expecting any kind of answer; she hadn’t much meant to say any of that out loud.

Which left, well, the bigger problem. He thought of sitting at the edge of her bed, but she might just kick him off, or throw something at him. Atticus got himself a chair instead and flopped down on it, arms crossed in front of his chest. Some measure of truth might work best here. All the best lies had some truth to them. “I’m here because I’m curious.” He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about what happened to you, and I don’t like it. I thought I would be able to learn more right from the source than by filtering through gossip and rubbish newspaper articles.”

A large part of him wanted to say that no… no he most definitely was not sure.  He wasn’t sure at all and this was really a very bad idea.  But he had offered.  And his Atti looked like he wanted to.  Maybe like he even needed to…

He swallowed tightly and tried to force a confident look to his face, “I’m sure…” he said.

You don’t have to if you really don’t want to… I don’t mind if we don’t… things are fine as they are…

So many ways out.  So many opportunities for him to get out of this.  He could tell his Atti that he didn’t want to do it.  He could tell him that he liked things as they were too.  He could tell him he didn’t want to talk about it anymore…

But it was his Atti.  

Licking his lips, he swallowed tightly and then forced a smile and pulled his lover’s hand up, teasing his lips along his fingers as he purred, “Things are far better than fine my Atti…” he pulled one finger into his mouth and trailed his tongue along it as he purred, “But that doesn’t mean that I’m not more than willing to… try new things…”

Heat was already starting to flood his face - as usual - and Atticus cursed himself for how easily he blushed - as usual. They had done things so much more intimate than Amycus nibbling on his wrist, it was ridiculous for him to be flustered. He hated it when his body didn’t obey logic.

But all of that didn’t change what they were really talking about, did it? He shifted, from sprawled on the couch to kneeling on it right at Amycus’s side, with his knees pressed firmly against his lover’s right thigh. A lesser man would be able to forget and let himself be carried away by the moment, but Atticus Scabior didn’t work like that. He discovered something, and dug his teeth in, and then he kept worrying at it until he was satisfied. Sometimes he hated how his mind worked.

Dark witch aesthetics - Ravenclaw

She supposed he was cross that she’d made that announcement in front of a roomful of people. But it was important that everyone know! If they were going to let him be a Healer, they needed to know that he might poison someone someday.

The Healer was speaking to her again, and Daisy blinked at her, trying to focus on her words. It proved impossible; her mind was too caught up in wondering why Scabior seemed so upset, and worrying over his very presence here. She accepted a small vial of some potion or other that the Healer gave her, drinking it quickly. And then the four green-clad Healers were sweeping out of the room and she was left alone with Atticus.

She watched as he just stood there awkwardly; it was clear that he was at a loss now that he’d gotten his way. Why had he even wanted to stay here, she wondered irritably, her crossness only increasing as Atticus made to move closer. For a moment she thought he was going to sit on the edge of her bed— the outrage! She’d kick him if he did, she vowed silently. It was almost disappointing, then, when he didn’t.

A quiet laugh escaped her when he again insisted he didn’t mean to poison her. “Sure,” she said under her breath, eying him warily. He was damn right he wasn’t going to poison her. He wasn’t going to poison her because she wasn’t eating until she got out of here and was far away from him!

He looked around for something to keep himself busy with, as he didn’t want to stand at her bedside like a dutiful house elf. There was nothing particularly interesting to the room. He went to smooth out the blankets on the other, currently vacant bed.

But Scabior was insisting that he’d told her, and with such confidence that she found herself wondering if he had mentioned it and she just forgotten. She wasn’t entirely confident in her own judgement, just now, after all. “I didn’t call you nasty names,” she protested, it not occurring to her that her words rather confirmed Atticus’s story— or at least, confirmed the fact that they’d been writing to each other. But they’d been far from friendly letters!

She nodded as the Healer told Atticus he ought to leave, her eyes widening in surprise at the swiftness of his protest. Surely he wanted to be as far away from her as she wanted to be from him? And yet he was insisting that he be allowed to stay with her. “Yes. No. I don’t know,” she stammered confusedly. She wanted answers and she couldn’t exactly get them with four strangers gawking at them, but she did want to let anyone think that they were friends, either. Also, he was probably a Death Eater.

“I heard, Scabior,” the Healer grumbled, and shoved him by the shoulder towards Daisy’s bedside. “If you want to stay then stay, and quit with your squabbling.”

Atticus huffed again, but he kept his sulking quiet until the Healers had left. Then he just stood there at Daisy’s bedside, still holding on to the stupid patient file, and felt very, very lost. He knew what he needed from her, but he didn’t know how he could go about getting it. He moved to perch himself on the edge of the bed, but thought better of it and only leaned against it slightly. “So...”

He looked around the room, but there wasn’t really anything interesting to talk about. The walls were white. There was a bed. So exciting.

Are we really back to discussing your delusions? This is getting repetitive.

My poor owl is sick of seeing you.

She was still fighting tears when Scabior’s next words registered, and they were so shocking that they shocked her out of her upset. Her mouth fell open at the blatant lies he was spouting. Friends? Friends?! How dare he!

“How dare—” she gasped, appalled beyond words. They were not friends! They had never been friends! They had been fake friends for a while, sure, but even that was months ago now. He was still talking and she shook her head, because it was very important that no one believe a word he was saying. “You’re not— you didn’t— I never—”

He finally remembered that they had an audience, and turned to the other Healers again. “She’s still upset with me, we fought the last time we talked, and she said that I would never make it as a Healer. She called me all kinds of nasty names, too,” he added as an afterthought.

Anderson put a hand on his shoulder to steer him away. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here then, Scabior, I don’t want you upsetting my patient.”

“You’re not taking off my costume!” he snapped, “I just put it on and that took forever and a day!” He caught Amycus’s hands in his own, surging in close for another firm kiss instead. “Tonight,” he breathed against his lips, then corrected himself with a smile, “later tonight. After the party. I’ll go home with you tonight.” Not that he didn’t do so often… but having spoken of love changed everything in his mind.

Somehow… somehow… his Atti loved him!!!

But then Atti was saying later tonight and kissing him again and he was using that soothing voice and he growled once more but finally allowed himself to be placated with promises of later.  He wasn’t good with ‘later’, but he could accept it well enough he supposed.  

He smiled when Atti began to speak again.  He loved listening to his Atti talk.  It wasn’t really that he understood all of what the brilliant younger boy said all the time.  Far from it in fact.  Sometimes it went straight over his head completely.  But the sound of his voice was soothing and he liked listening to the deep baritone and the way that it would grow deeper and more melodious when he got sleepy or would raise an octave when he got really excited.  And when they made love, he growled and screamed like an animal and it was so fucking hot it was like fucking a Dragon… 

He combed his fingers through Amycus’s tousled blond hair, enjoying the silken feel of it and the sheer gentleness. That they were allowed to show another such affection now. Step by step, they were getting there. “We just have to be patient,” he murmured, “time is working in our favor.” He sighed heavily. “But I don’t like to see you hurting now. Are you sure there is nothing I can do to make you better?”

He relaxed slightly when Atti sat back down with him and took his hand again, though he still kept hold of Osiris with one hand.  He listened to what his Atti was saying, and this time all of it made perfect sense to him.  All of it, every word.

And even Amycus could understand…

Licking his lips, he ignored the final parts of what Atti had said, because he too would find out who the people were who’d started all this and he’d make sure that they paid.  Meeting his boyfriend’s eyes he said, “Atti… d-do,” he clutched Osiris a little tighter but forced himself to keep his hand in Atti’s loose, “do you want to make love to me?”

Sure, the second time they’d had sex it had been Atti topping, but that had been different. It was about control, about power, about hurting another then. He’d been furious with Amycus, and Amycus had permitted him to take him since it had been part of his own power play to force Atticus into being an active participant.

But ever since, it had been Amycus taking him, and he had just accepted it as one of these hang-ups Amycus had. Pureblood wouldn’t submit to a half-blood, wouldn’t ‘play the girl’ or whatever it may be to Amycus. It was okay. He had been a little bit annoyed at first, since he did understand it as a slight, but then they got together as a real couple and he accepted it. In a relationship, both partners had to make sacrifices to accommodate the other, and this was a very minor sacrifice indeed.

Only now... “Are you sure?” he asked, unable to keep suspicion fully out of his voice. He had no reason to suspect one, he had learned Amycus’ mind didn’t even work like that - sadly - but it was still a surprise and Atticus Scabior did not like surprises. 

Her dad had been here yesterday, she remembered, probably called to the hospital the moment she’d arrived. But he wasn’t here now, and she was glad. She didn’t know how to answer his questions, didn’t have the energy to come up with lies about what had happened to her, how this had happened to her. She didn’t have the energy for it; didn’t have the energy for anything much more than staring at the ceiling.

The Healers had done a good job with her injuries. Though far from healed yet, most of their visible signs were faded— or, some of them, at least. Daisy absently tugged at the collar of her hospital gown, pulling it further up her neck to hide the heavy bandage resting over the healing wound. She was terrified it was going to scar. It was a silly and vain and stupid worry, but she couldn’t help it.

There was a quiet knock on her door, and Daisy tried to sit up a bit more as a group of Healers filed in. She’d been in such a state yesterday that she couldn’t remember much, but she thought she recognised one of them, the one now addressing her. “Good morning, Daisy,” the witch said kindly. “How are you feeling this morning?” Daisy gave a small shrug; she could hardly say she felt well, or fine, or even just okay. It would be a blatant lie.

She heard the Healer speaking in quiet tones to her colleagues again, probably updating them on her injuries. She did her best to block them out, not wanting to hear it— and then the most unpleasant voice she could possibly hear at that moment was shouting her name and then she wished she could listen to the four murmuring Healers.

She flinched in spite of herself, her nerves far too frayed to take being shouted at. If it had been just about any other person— literally any other person on the planet— she probably would have burst into tears on the spot. Yet even as— well, traumatised, Merlin but she hated that word— as she was, there was still no chance in hell that she was going to let Atticus Scabior make her cry.

He elbowed past the other healers to stand right at Daisy’s bedside, still half unable to believe that it was truly her. “I’m working here!” he snapped. He tried to cross his arms in front of his chest, at least until he remembered that he held a clipboard in his hands. Atti took a moment to turn his glower on that. “I’m an apprentice healer, I told you!”  His scowl darkened. “I bet you didn’t believe me, I must have mentioned it in at least half a dozen owls.”

“That’s nice, Scabior, but we’re not here for idle chitchat,” Healer Anderson told him briskly. She was far less nice to him than she had been to Daisy, the stupid hag.

The problem was that several of the things that his lover was saying were going right over his damned head.  There were cows full of spit not saying things to his Atti’s face and it was upsetting him and-

Wait… sex… ok… ok he was cottoning on here.  The letters were about sex.  And as he listened, the more he started to understand. The hands holding Osiris began to tighten slightly, pulling the cat closer against his chest.  He didn’t know what bad taste or specks of him lashioning (whatever that meant) were, but he knew sex.  And he knew topping.  And he knew bottoming.

And he understood… of course he understood.

So he inhaled deeply, and nodded. “Yes,” he said again, calmer now. “Sorry for snapping at you.” He was trying to be a good boyfriend here, Amycus had to see and appreciate that, right? Even in moments of frustration he was trying. Atticus Scabior didn’t do anything halfway. His lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure as he thought of the letters. “It’s none of their business, of course. What we do in the bedroom or not, that’s only our business, and I would never answer such private questions.” A sharp glance at Amycus, just to remind him of their agreement that they would not talk of it.

Private matters were private, and to be jealously guarded.