Magnus Chase Oneshots!

The Story Of Adrian (Also The Semi-Colon Project)

(I am in no way a part of the actual foundation for the Semi-colon project. I just feel like people should know about it and see what they can do to help. This story will be based off the character only mentioned once in book three of Magnus Chase, Adrian. She was kind of minor and was only talked about once, but even if you haven't read the latest book I suggest you read this story anyway. Adrian used to be Alex's friend and the only thing we know about her is that she committed suicide. The semi-colon project is about suicide prevention and helping people get help. Here is the link to there website if you would like to donate: https://projectsemicolon.com/about-project-semicolon/

It would mean a lot to me if you did. I decided to write Adrian's story because even though what I think happened is not canon, the meaning is! ;)

Alex Fierro's POV

The first time I met Adrian was at the pottery studio a couple miles from my father's house. My father didn't want me to be here, he hated my pottery, but I did it anyway. He hated me, all of me, as well. He hated the fact I was gender-fluid, he refused to say my proper pronouns, and most days kicked me out of the house. But Adrian looked a lot worse then I did when I walked into the studio. My arms were scraped and bleeding slightly, but she, she had two black eyes, with black, blue, and purple bruises.  In her hands, she held clay person she was molding at the time. She used a toothpick to give the clay person eyes, not just holes in the clay figures face, but she lightly drew the eyes. No one else was in the pottery studio but us, and I was curious about what happened to her. She looked so calm, but she must have been hurting. I walk closer to her to get her attention and she looks up at me. We make eye contact; I see the pain in her eyes. I know it's pain because it's the same way my eyes look every single day because of my stupid parents. I try to smile, for her sake. It's rare that I ever try to help someone that isn't me because I am a loner most of the time. I decided that because she was at this pottery studio I could trust her. This whole studio was just a passion project by a man who was more a father to me then my own father is. She broke the eye contact first and looked back at her clay figure.

"What's your name?" I asked her.

"Adrian," She says and starts to draw the nose of the figure onto the clay.

"I'm Alex," I said and blurted out, "What happened to you?"

"Bullies, parents, money," She said, "Pick your poison,"

I pull up a chair and sit next to her, "I know all about awful parents, both my parents absolutely loathe me,"

She looks up at me, "It's not that, my mother ran away when I was one, and my father is in the hospital,"

"Then how did you get all bruised and broken?" I asked although I knew I was pushing it a little too far.

"Bullies, I'm transgender and they thought it was wrong, so they hit me and kicked me on my way home from school," She said and began to draw the lips of the tiny figure.

I smiled wider at her, "I'm genderfluid, I know how you feel, I just got kicked out and am homeless because of it,"

From that day on us were the best of friends. We told each other everything about our lives. Her's was exceptionally rough, just like mine. At age one when her mother abandoned her, her father didn't make enough at his job to support them. They moved into a homeless shelter and that's where they stayed for the rest of there days up until he got sick. She said the symptoms started two years before we first met. First, it was just come coughing, then a lot of coughing, then coughing up blood. He was rushed to the hospital and never left. Adrian went to see her father every day when she wasn't at school. She refused treatment from doctors about the wounds the bullies gave her because she didn't want to cost him any more money. Adrian told me that he was getting worse by the minute and she came here to relax. The reason she didn't come here before now is that she was so busy. She had a tough life like I did, I understood her.

Then one winter's night I was sleeping in the pottery studio because I couldn't sleep outside. I was sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor when the lights suddenly flickered on. I got up immediately, thinking it was robbers or worse. Instead, I saw her, Adrian, standing at the door, wrists bleeding. My first thought was that she was attacked, it was late at night. But as I stood up and came close to her I realized these where self-inflicted wounds. I scrambled towards the first aid kit and she started to cry.

"You....you don't understand.......please I just came here for a peaceful death, no, please," She begged but I didn't listen.

I ran as fast as I could to get the first aid supplies. At that moment I thought I had never been so worried and scared for another individual in all my life. I dug into the first aid kit with all the strength I could till I found the bandages. I ran over to her and started to wrap the bandages around her wrists. She was crying, big, heavy, sobs, her tears flowing out of her eyes like waterfalls. After I was done one wrist I moved to the other, gingerly wrapping the bandages around her wrist. I had her blood on my hands but I didn't care, I didn't want her to die. I then finished wrapping her wrists in a bandage and hugged her tightly.

"Don't worry Adrian," I coax, "Alex's here to make sure you live through the night,"

But she didn't. I had fallen asleep after staying up about five hours trying to coax her out of her deep depression. She told me her father had died, and that there was nothing worth living for. I said that there was me, and pottery and the future to live for. She didn't believe me. I fell asleep with her in my arms but she still didn't believe me. While I slept she made me something I will never forget, a single slab of clay, painted with the words I'm sorry in italicised print. The strange colors she painted with are ones I will never forget about to this day, pink and green, they are my colors. They are my colors because they made me what I am today. Today I am a warrior, one of the millions in Valhalla. I die every day of wounds that are physical. There is nothing that could ever fix the wound in my heart from that day. Not Magnus freaking Chase, not a huge pottery studio of my own, not even all the food in the nine worlds could fix the wound Adrian made.

I miss you. I loved you as the best friend I ever had. Come back Adrain, please.

I'll see you in Hel; Adrian