#'well mother what the war did to my legs and to my tongue' pretty self explanatory

[heterophobicnico]

Thinking about mama by mcr and nico...

[aquilaofarkham]

title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought. 

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️  Thank you so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity. 

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.” 

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

--

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician. 

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

 “I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough. 

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.

[ibijau]

Futures past pt1 / On AO3

Nie Huaisang, sitting cross legged on his bed, tilted his head. It was a rather warm early evening in spring, and he had been getting ready for bed, so he was wearing only his inner clothes, and his hair was done in quick and messy braids so they wouldn’t get tangled during the night. Since he hadn’t been expecting anyone save perhaps his brother, if Nie Mingjue felt in the mood to shout at him for skipping practice again, his room was an awful mess, the floor covered in copies of some prints he’d bought recently. Tasteful prints, at least, not that it would have shocked his visitor too much if it had been porn, he guessed.

“I think I should scream,” Nie Huaisang said without conviction.

“But you won’t because you’re too curious,” Nie Huaisang retorted.

At least, Nie Huaisang thought that was himself. The man who had suddenly appeared in the middle of his room had his eyes, his nose, his lips, his general shape of face, even if his jaw was much sharper. He dressed well, in the sort of ornate styles Nie Huaisang absolutely would do if his brother weren’t forcing him to be reasonable, had a gorgeous fan in his hand, and wore an elaborate guan in his hair, the perfect picture of a rich and refined scholar. He didn’t even bother carrying a sabre, which Nie Huaisang found very satisfying for some reason.

“I don’t have time to play games,” the older man announced, opening his fan with an elegant yet disdainful gesture that his younger self hoped to reproduce someday. He supposed he would, in time. “I am you, from the future. A little over twenty years, if you must know, and it is not a pretty sight here. Some people are going to make a mess of things and while I’ve done what was needed to right every wrong, I don’t see why I shouldn’t try to prevent those wrongs.”

Nie Huaisang hunched up, one elbow on his leg, his chin resting in the palm of his hand.

“I don’t think you’re me. I wouldn’t ever put that much effort into anything. Good try on the disguise though. It’s a bit rude you didn’t make me taller, but it is a good detail, it really sells it.”

The man threw him a disgusted look. “Sometimes, I understand why da-ge ended up like this,” he muttered. “I really was insufferable. Listen up. When you were seven, you stole da-ge’s favourite robes, the set he always wore to go to conferences. You thought they were the prettiest thing you’d ever seen, and you wanted to try them on and pretend you were, against all evidence, as great as da-ge. You wore them for less than an incense stick’s time before dropping ink on them. They were completely ruined, in spite of your efforts, so you just burned them.”

Nie Huaisang startled so badly he half fell on his side, before scrambling toward the back of his bed, suddenly terrified. That incident happened years before, and he’d never told anyone. Nie Mingjue had been furious for weeks. To that day, Nie Huaisang still didn’t know how he hadn’t been discovered… but it was something only he knew, something he’d never shared with anyone.

He stared at this cold, distant man in front of him, with his venomous eyes and disdainful air, and didn’t like what he saw. How could that be his future?

Guessing his thoughts, the man smiled.

“Da-ge dies in a few years,” he announced, startling Nie Huaisang again. “It’s tragic, and cruel, and we’re going to do everything we can to avoid it. You’re going to help, of course.”

So shocked he couldn’t breathe, Nie Huaisang weakly nodded.

It seemed impossible that his brother could ever die, least of all that he might die in the twenty years to come. He would have said the same of his father once, certainly, but his father was well into his sixties already, and anyway he was murdered so it was not the same.

Nie Huaisang gasped and grabbed his pillow, hugging it tight against his body for comfort, as if he weren’t already fifteen and far too old for that.

“When you say da-ge dies, you mean… he’s going to be killed by someone,” Nie Huaisang guessed, curling up on himself, hoping to be wrong.

The expression on the face of that man he would become softened.

“Maybe you’re not hopeless,” he said. “Maybe all I needed was a chance to do a little more… Yes, he’s going to be murdered. Or he would be murdered. We won’t let it happen. You won’t let it happen. I’m only here for a little time, it’s not easy to come here, but I’m hoping to return in a few months if all goes well.”

Something relaxed in Nie Huaisang’s shoulders. It seemed his brother’s death wasn’t something that would happen in the very near future then. That was a relief, when Nie Huaisang was about to leave home and go study for a year in the Cloud Recesses. From all the way down south, it would have been difficult to protect Nie Mingjue.

“So, what am I supposed to do then?” Nie Huaisang asked, still clutching his pillow. “You’d know I’m not much good at anything, so why aren’t you trying to warn da-ge directly? Oh, or am I the only one who can see you?”

“I’m… not sure if others can see me,” the man admitted, hiding behind his fan at that admission, exactly as Nie Huaisang did when embarrassed. “And I don’t have enough time to experiment. Besides, da-ge is so stubborn, he wouldn’t trust a stranger so easily. He can’t be blackmailed over a burned robe.”

“Rude!”

“That’s what you get for calling me short. Now come over here, grab something to write. I don’t want you to forget any of this, and I know how your memory is. Hurry!”

Nie Huaisang reluctantly let go of his pillow, and hopped down from the bed, grumbling the whole time. What was the point of being sent to the Cloud Recesses if he ended up becoming a man with such dreadful manners?

He grabbed a brush, hastily prepared some ink, and sat on the floor before looking up at his future self, waiting for instruction like a sullen child forced to listen in class.

“The first thing you need to know,” the man before him said, “is that there’s going to be a war with Qishan Wen.”

“Duh,” Nie Huaisang retorted, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t the brightest person in the world, but even he could guess as much. “Is that how da-ge dies?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. As if even Wen Ruohan could do anything to him!” his older self said, with a mix of disdain and pride. “Da-ge becomes a war hero, of course. But that war is what will eventually cause his death. Not that it matters yet, you have about two years and a half before the war starts, so…”

Nie Huaisang dropped his brush with a gasp, splattering ink over his sheet of paper.

“Two years? The war is in just two years?”

His older self clicked his tongue impatiently.

“Focus! This is irrelevant right now! What matters is taking measure so certain things don’t happen during that war. Now, the most important would be…”

He paused, looking down at Nie Huaisang. The longer he stared, the more annoyed the older man appeared. That look of frustration was one Nie Huaisang was quite used to, especially coming from his elders, but also sometimes from people of his own generation. He usually didn’t mind, though just a week before one kid half his age had looked at him like that over his posture during sabre practice, and that had stung a little, to be honest.

More often than not, people would accompany that exasperated stare with a ‘what will we do with you?’ and though his older self didn’t say the words, he was clearly thinking them.

“There’s a boy, living in Yunping City, named Meng Yao,” the man announced, before giving a number of details about that boy, such as the name of his mother, the address where he might be found, his age, his looks, and plenty other things. Nie Huaisang wrote it all down, and even doodled a very quick portrait based on that description, to which his older self nodded, looking nearly approving for a moment. Before Nie Huaisang could enjoy that, the man turned grim again. “You have to find this boy, and make sure he doesn’t join Lanling Jin. Do you understand? No matter what, Meng Yao cannot join Lanling Jin. If he does, there will be great risk to da-ge.”

There was an odd inflection on that cannot. Or at least, it was odd to hear it coming from himself, because it was the tone of voice people had when saying it’d be a shame if Wen Ruohan choked on his next meal, or if Jin Guangshan’s dick got chopped off by a demon on a Night Hunt.

But that Meng Yao was just a boy, just a few months older than Nie Huaisang himself. Even if he became a danger in later times, for now there was no way he could harm anyone. And even if he couldn’t join the Jin, there might be other sects, if he was so determined to be a cultivator. Maybe he could even be brought into Qinghe Nie, if he had real talent. Nie Mingjue didn’t care much what people’s origins were as long as they worked hard, though it was an opinion not everyone in the clan shared. It’d be a great way to kill two birds with one stone.

“Is he going to be a problem soon?” Nie Huaisang asked. “Only, it’s not like I can travel on my own, and Yunping City is pretty far from Gusu anyway, and…”

“A few weeks after your arrive, Jiang zongzhu invites Lan Qiren and his nephews to help him with a creature that causes problems near Yunping City,” his older self announced, lazily fanning himself. “I didn’t go, personally, but I’m sure you could find a way to go along. You’ll have to, it’s your best chance. Speaking of which…” he closed his fan with a sharp gesture and pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. “You have to get Lan Xichen to trust you in the future, so take this year in Gusu as a chance and become the best friend he’s ever had.”

Nie Huaisang nearly dropped his brush again and grimaced.

“Oh. Do I really have to? I mean, he’s so…”

He made a vague hand gesture, words failing him to describe Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen wasn’t a bad person. That wasn’t it. He was, in fact, very good, everyone said so. He was smart, and polite, and well educated, and amazing with cultivation, and with martial arts, and… and he was just so boring. He was, without a doubt, the most boring person Nie Huaisang had ever met. He was always too careful when speaking, too serious, too perfect, too much exactly how grown ups thought boys their age should act. He was an old man’s idea of a young man. He was really, really boring and while Nie Huaisang was very glad his brother had at least one friend, he was very judgmental toward Nie Mingjue for having chosen such a person for a companion.

If his older self’s dark expression was anything to go by, Lan Xichen’s personality didn’t look like it improved much in the future.

“I wouldn’t do this if there was another choice,” the man said. “But if da-ge couldn’t properly burn bridges with san-ge, then it’s pointless to try driving him away from er-ge, they’re too close. So you’ll have to do what’s needed to save da-ge, and become friends with Lan Xichen. It is vital. We’re going to do what we can so da-ge doesn’t die, but if it still comes to pass, you’ll need allies and I suppose that’s at least one thing he might be good for. Let’s see if he really meant what he said that time,” Nie Huaisang’s future self muttered somberly. “I don’t expect anything to come of this, but it can’t hurt.”

“But I don’t want to be friends with him,” Nie Huaisang grumbled.

“Good, because he won’t be your friend,” the man retorted coldly. “Don’t get attached to him, he’s not worth it. But make sure to become someone he’ll fully trust. Make yourself dearer to him than even da-ge is. Nothing less than that will do.”

That sounded even more difficult and boring than actually becoming friends with Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang thought. He pouted at the perspective of such a daunting task, wondering if he really loved his brother enough to put so much effort into saving him.

“I don’t even know how to become close to Lan gongzi!” he whined. “He doesn’t like anything interesting, he’s the most boring person in the world! How do I…”

“Figure it out!” his older self snapped. “Do you think I’d be here if I knew how to deal with him? Besides, I’m running out of time already. I’ll try to return to you a month after Qingming, when the spell has recharged. It should be before the Night Hunt in Yunping City, but you’ll need to have made progress with Lan Xichen already. Remember that we’re doing this for da-ge!”

Before Nie Huaisang could protest, the man standing before him suddenly disappeared, leaving no trace of his presence. It would have been easy to think it nothing but a dream, if not for that detailed list of information about that Meng Yao from Yunping City. Even like that, it really was unsettling, and Nie Huaisang stayed frozen in place for a long while, kneeling on the floor, staring at a list about a boy he was maybe supposed to kill. It seemed like complete madness, and maybe he should have ran to his brother, explained everything to him, except…

Except there had been such pain in his older self’s voice every time he spoke of Nie Mingjue, and his anger at having failed to protect their brother in his own life had been obvious. Something had happened there. Something he hadn’t even explained, Nie Huaisang suddenly realised. His older self hadn’t told him how their brother died, and how could he convince Nie Mingjue that he might be in danger when he didn’t even know who would strike him, or when?

It might be better to wait then. After all, Nie Huaisang’s older self had said that Nie Mingjue would be a great hero in a future war, and that war wouldn’t start for over two more years. Until then, Nie Huaisang might as well try to meet that Meng Yao when he had the chance, and he would also (he shivered in distaste) try to see what could be done about Lan Xichen. Having come to that conclusion, Nie Huaisang carefully folded the sheet of paper containing his notes about Meng Yao, and put it away. He then cleaned his brush, put some order around him, and finally went to sleep.

His last thought was that next time, when his older self returned, he would definitely ask more details about Nie Mingjue’s death.

-

In the days that followed that encounter with his future self, Nie Huaisang made efforts to be a better brother. He still wasn’t sure how much he believed about that encounter he’d had, but it certainly made him quite sentimental to realise that Nie Mingjue would die someday. It was clear that there would be a war soon after all, whether it happened when his future self said it would or not, and people certainly tended to die during conflicts.

So as he finished preparing for his rapidly approaching stay in Gusu, Nie Huaisang tried to fully enjoy his brother’s company and commit every moment spent together to memory, in case something happened.

A very noble sentiment, except his brother was a complete pain in the ass.

If Nie Huaisang hugged him, Nie Mingjue asked him what he’d broken this time, or what favour he was about to request. If Nie Huaisang suggested they spent more time together, Nie Mingjue just took him to the training grounds and forced him to practice the sabre, or even worse tried to spar with him, which was cruel and barbaric.

Nie Mingjue was the absolute worst person in the entire world, and while Nie Huaisang was still going to try his best to keep him alive, he wasn’t sure why.

Because Nie Mingjue was so unbearable and annoying and unable to appreciate his brother’s immense kindness, Nie Huaisang found it a relief of sorts when he finally left for the Cloud Recesses.

The trip itself was nothing memorable. Nie Huaisang spent most of it wishing he had a golden core so he could fly his sabre and go faster than this carriage, or trying to figure out how he was supposed to befriend the oh-so-boring Lan Xichen. By the time he and the disciple accompanying him reached Gusu, he still hadn’t found an answer to that problem. He would have to figure it out on the fly then.

The carriage was left at the foot of the mountain where the Cloud Recesses laid, and the long trek by foot started. Nie Huaisang, adverse to any unnecessary physical effort, found that he didn’t actually mind too much going up the mountain. The landscape was so exquisite there, every turn of the path revealing something worth painting. On the few occasions he’d been there before to accompany his brother at conferences, he’d always admired how Gusu Lan had found such an amazing place to live in, and promised himself he’d make the best of things if he ever got to come study there. He would have forgotten to bring his sabre if Nie Mingjue hadn’t packed it for him, but his luggage was full of paper of the highest quality, and it wouldn’t be used to take notes.

At the gate of the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang and his brother’s disciple had to wait to be brought in. Because he was a somewhat more important guest than some of the other visiting disciples, Nie Huaisang was greeted by Lan Qiren in person, his eldest nephew in tow.

While Lan Qiren guided him inside and explained a number of rules he didn’t intend to follow, Nie Huaisang couldn’t help observing Lan Xichen with more attention than he’d ever done before. He was somewhat handsome, if you liked that sort. A little tall and gangly, though it was less jarring when he wasn’t hanging out with Nie Mingjue who was older and had fully finished growing. Nie Huaisang figured that hanging out with him would at least give him something nice to look at, even if he didn’t expect the two of them to ever find much to talk about.

“And this is where you will be staying,” Lan Qiren announced when they arrived in front of a small house. “We will let you get settled and rest from your trip. If you have any requests…”

“I’d love a tour of the Cloud Recesses!” Nie Huaisang said without thinking, then turned to look at Lan Xichen. “Lan gongzi, would you please give me a tour? I’m sure there’s no one who could do it better than you.”

Since they had never spoken much before, Nie Huaisang had of course expected that Lan Xichen would be a little surprised over such a request. But Lan Xichen wasn’t just surprised, he was shocked, his eyes opening wide and his face growing pale, as if Nie Huaisang had just grown a second head and announced he’d be feeding on the blood of infants. Lan Xichen’s polite smile even dropped for a moment, though of course it quickly returned. In a moment, he had regained perfect control of himself, but Nie Huaisang was still puzzled and entertained by that extreme reaction.

“I’m glad Nie gongzi thinks well of me,” Lan Xichen said calmly. “But I am sure I can find someone better suited to give you a tour.”

“But I want it to be you,” Nie Huaisang insisted, pretending not to notice the other Nie disciples glaring at him for already causing problems on his first day. “It’d be nice if it were you. Da-ge always says you’re so clever and knows so many things, so I really want you to be my guide.”

Lan Xichen appeared to hesitate. Nie Huaisang braced himself for rejection. He hadn’t expected to have his caprice granted anyway, and just wanted to throw it out there that he was going to be pestering Lan Xichen in the future. Then, to his surprise, the older boy nodded.

“Very well. I will give you a tour this afternoon, Nie gongzi,” Lan Xichen said. “I have no urgent obligations, and it is the least I can do for a friend’s relative. Unless shufu has objections?”

Lan Qiren had none. The Nie were left to settle down, promised lunch would be brought to them soon, and then Lan Xichen would come in the early afternoon to show Nie Huaisang around, while someone else would do the same for the other Nie disciples. It was a great plan, a great occasion for Nie Huaisang to gain Lan Xichen’s favour as instructed… and it sounded impossibly boring.

All too soon, the time for that tour came. Nie Huaisang, unhappy with their too simple accomodations and the unappealing meal they had been served, was not in a great mood when Lan Xichen knocked on the door. He had been in the Cloud Recesses less than half a day, and already the place disappointed him.

To his credit, Lan Xichen wasn’t a bad guide. He made sure to match his pace to Nie Huaisang’s as they walked, he had something to explain about nearly every building, and patiently repeated the most important rules of life in the Cloud Recesses which Nie Huaisang had ignored when Lan Qiren gave them. It was easier to listen to Lan Xichen than to Lan Qiren anyway, there was a certain warmth to his voice that his uncle simply lacked. Lan Xichen could probably have made a lecture sound like a conversation. It would have been a very lovely time, if Nie Huaisang had cared about any of that, which he didn’t. Everything in the Cloud Recesses was about cultivation and rules, which was nearly as boring as the Unclean Realm where everything was about cultivation and martial arts.

“And what do you do for fun here?” Nie Huaisang desperately asked after a while when Lan Xichen explained that a certain building was meant to enhance the effects of meditation.

“The library is that way,” Lan Xichen announced.

“Does it have anything fun, or is it only cultivation treaties?”

“We collect poetry and history treaties as well,” Lan Xichen said. “And music sheets, of course,” he added after a moment, looking uncomfortable. “I… are you much interested in music, Nie gongzi?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “No, but I guess it’s better than cultivation, as far as fun things go. I’m supposed to learn the guqin at some point, but it’s hard to find the time, and da-ge prefers that I focus on the sabre.”

“Qinghe Nie has traditionally been more focused on martial arts,” Lan Xichen noted. “Though since you are here, perhaps you might enjoy trying different things. You are here to learn after all.”

Nie Huaisang stared at the older boy with surprise. Up until then, Lan Xichen had never seemed to care what Nie Huaisang did or didn’t do, and he never contradicted Nie Mingjue whenever his friend complained about having a lazy little brother who wasn’t interested in the things he ought to have been interested in. Without being sure, Nie Huaisang suspected that Lan Xichen thought him a little stupid, and just not very skilled in general.

“Maybe it’s worth a try,” Nie Huaisang mused. “I do like music a lot. My father used to say I have a good ear for it. Not like da-ge. He wouldn’t know one melody from another even if his life depended on it!”

“Is that so,” Lan Xichen weakly replied, turning very pale, as if he might faint.

“Lan gongzi, are you unwell?”

“It’s nothing important,” Lan Xichen said, smiling again in that annoying manner of his. “Let’s continue walking. I think you really might like the library, and then… it wouldn’t be part of a normal tour, but would you like me to show you the way to the back hills if we have time? I remember your brother mentioning that you like birds, and there are many to be seen there.”

“That would be lovely,” Nie Huaisang agreed, surprised and delighted by that offer. It was likely that Nie Mingjue had just been complaining about that particular hobby of his, as he so often did, but if Lan Xichen had translated that into something positive, Nie Huaisang was glad. “Do you like birds as well, Lan gongzi?”

“I’ve never paid them much attention,” Lan Xichen admitted. “I suppose they are fine creatures.”

That, clearly, was all he had to say on the subject. It was a very boring answer, Nie Huaisang thought. But then, Lan Xichen really was a boring person, so that was no surprise. Nie Huaisang thus dropped the topic, and forced himself to pay some degree of attention as Lan Xichen resumed talking about the history of the Cloud Recesses.

At least, the library really did seem quite interesting, aside from all the cultivation texts. And since they actually managed to check the back hills for a little bit before dinner, Nie Huaisang had the pleasant surprise to find that there were a great many birds there, as well as plenty of spaces to explore, and quite a few vistas to paint.

Getting along with Lan Xichen was going to be so boring, but at least the rest of his stay could be turned into something quite fun.

[ronnie-azumane]

Flower Rings

Hello everyone! I'm here with another Anisylum collab! This is the first time writing for my OG anime husband, so please go easy on me. But yeah! I hope y'all enjoy and check out the other works from the other creators participating!

CW: Abuse/beating, fluffy hurt/comfort, ATTACK ON TITAN MANGA SPOILERS, mentions of trauma, suicide, and death.

Life in the ghetto wasn’t a walk in the park. Sure, life could be worse, (Y/N) could be going hungry at night, slowly turning into skin and bones. (Y/N) could be shivering the night away in a flimsy tent with a single blanket to keep warm.

Although it’s a little hard to be grateful for what you have when it feels like the oppressor is always watching your every move.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the lack of justice in these ghettos provided by the Marleyan regime, however, young (Y/N) didn’t pay attention to her oppressors as much, they’re only a child after all. Why would they even want to be concerned about politics when the neighbors are playing a game of kickball?

Almost like clockwork, every week at precisely 5pm, the children born in the ghetto would gather in a courtyard and play kickball, with the ball being an old ball accidentally thrown over the fence years ago and the bases marked by old linens.

Kids of all ages gathered as usual at the court yard to divide out the teams and begin their game of ball. (Y/N) wasn’t the youngest there, but at seven years old, they were still young and scrawny, so it was no surprise that (Y/N) was one of the last ones picked.

(Y/N) sighed in relief, however, when they saw that Reiner was on their team. Reiner was three years older than (Y/N), and pretty much tied to their hip. Since both their mothers were friends growing up, they always had playdates together, playing with various figures and creating these elaborate plots to go along with them.

“We’re on the same team? Yes!” Reiner celebrates, jumping around excitedly as any ten year old would.

“You’re only celebrating because you’re too chicken to face me,” (Y/N) teased, sticking their tongue out.

A succession of ‘am not’s and ‘am to’s was promptly stopped when one of the older kids shouted that the game was about to start. Team Black would be kicking first while Team White would pitch.

(Y/N)’s favorite part of the game was kicking, so finding out that the Black Team was kicking first was music to their ears. They ran to the line, getting as close to the front as they could. Reiner held back, as he preferred catching the ball and running fast to get someone out.

(Y/N) was finally up to kick. Team Black had an out and kids on second and third base. If they scored, their team would get their first point.

The ball bounced a slight bit as it made its way toward (Y/N). (Y/N) wound back their leg and hit the ball back, aiming in between the second and third base. The ball flew and (Y/N) sprinted to first base.

What (Y/N) failed to realize was that Jameson, the eight year old boy that had a personal goal of making every day miserable for (Y/N), was waiting by first base.

As they ran toward the base, Jameson positioned himself to where his foot would ‘accidently’ get in the way of (Y/N)’s footing. Sure enough, (Y/N) stepped on his foot, causing them to lose their balance and fall to the ground before hitting the base.

“What the hell, (Y/N), you stepped on my foot!” Jameson shouted, landing a kick in (Y/N)’s side. (Y/N) yelped in pain as they curled into themself.

“You put your foot there on purpose,” (Y/N) sniffled as pain-filled tears leaked from their eyes.

“So what if I did? You still should have avoided it,” Jameson landed another kick to their side.

Reiner, who was zoned out looking at a bee buzzing around, snapped back to reality when he heard (Y/N) yelp in pain in the distance. Before he could think, he found himself running over to the two and punching Jameson square in the face.

Before Jameson could retaliate, Reiner picked up (Y/N) from the ground and ran away from the game, carrying them on his back. Deciding it was not worth the effort, Jameson let them run off as he got back to his game, but not before the team captain of the day switched him to outfield as punishment.

With (Y/N) on his back, Reiner ran to their self proclaimed happy place, if you could call anywhere in the ghetto happy. Near the entrance gate, there was a patch of grass where wildflowers grow, giving them a taste of the natural world that was unknown to them within the walls of the ghetto. He set them down and plopped next to their shuttering frame.

“How are you feeling, (Y/N), are you hurt? Do we need to go to the doctor?” Reiner asked.

“I’m hurt, but I don’t want to go to the doctor.”

“Are you still afraid that the doctor is going to give you a shot?” Reiner teased.

“Shut up! Needles are scary!” (Y/N) whined, causing Reiner to giggle.

Soon enough, the pain in (Y/N)’s side began to fade, and they focused themselves on making a flower crown while Reiner watched the Marleyan soldiers outside the gate train.

“My mama wants me to be a warrior, but I’m not too sure that's what I want to do,” Reiner sighed, lying all the way back on his back.

“How come? Isn’t becoming a warrior one of the best things an Eldian can do for Marley?” (Y/N) asked.

“Yeah, but that would mean I would have to work really hard, while buttheads like Jameson would get to play and make fun of you. It wouldn’t be fair!”

“Why are boys like Jameson so mean anyway? My mommy told me that it just meant that he liked me, but why would someone be mean to someone they liked?” (Y/N) asked.

“Is that a thing?” Reiner asks.

“That’s what mommy says,” (Y/N) finished their flower crown and unceremoniously flopped it onto Reiner’s head, earning a giggle from him. “I wouldn’t want to marry a guy like Jameson, I would want to marry a guy like you, Reiner, who’s nice to me.”

“Then how about we make a promise?” Reiner asked.

“A promise?”

“Yeah, like, we promise to marry each other now, and once we get big we actually do it?” Reiner’s cheeks were now bright red.

“Yeah! I like that! I promise to marry you, Reiner,” (Y/N) extended a pinky out.

Reiner crudely plucked a flower from the ground and tied the stem around (Y/N)’s finger. Reiner’s fingers were chubby and unskilled, so the flower ring didn’t turn out as pretty as the crown, yet (Y/N) still stared at it.

“And I promise to marry you, (Y/N).”

XXX

Reiner ended up joining the Warriors a few years later, to the dismay of (Y/N). The flower ring had since shriveled up beyond repair, but (Y/N) refused to let go of their promise, thinking that if the flower stayed in their possession, it would guarantee Reiner’s safe return home.

However, the mission that was estimated to take the four warriors a year or two to complete turned into a major failure with rumors stating that only one of them was making it home. However, (Y/N) didn’t have the time to mourn her lost friend, Marley was still causing conflict in both the battle front and the home front.

It wouldn’t be until after the Rumbling ended when (Y/N) would meet up with Reiner again. He was in the area negotiating peace with some other nations, and decided a late lunch and catch-up session with his childhood friend was in order.

“So, how was going through puberty like on an island without modern medicine?” (Y/N) asked shamelessly.

“What happened to hello?” Reiner asked, causing (Y/N) to erupt in laughter.

“I’m just sad I didn’t get to witness voice-crack Reiner,” (Y/N) wiped a tear from their eye, causing Reiner to groan.

They then began to catch up, retelling all their experiences from the past thirteen years. Reiner went into detail as to what it was like training with the man who almost killed all of humanity, his trauma, and even his suicide attempt while (Y/N) retold moments of agony in the ghetto, their dad getting drafted for one of the countless wars, and even confessed that they and Jameson dated at one point.

“You! And him!” Reiner stuttered.

“Apparently my mom was right, Jameson pretended he hated me because he couldn’t decipher his own feelings. Dumped his ass a while ago though, he started spending all his money on alcohol.”

“So I’m assuming you’re not seeing anyone?” Reiner asked.

“Not at the moment, why do you ask?”

“Well, (Y/N), I may have had ulterior motives to this lunch,” Reiner pulled out a small box from his pocket and set it on the table, inviting (Y/N) to open it up. Inside was a ring, with the centerpiece shaped as the flower that he tied onto (Y/N)’s finger all those years ago.

“What is this?” (Y/N) stuttered.

“You probably don’t remember, but one day, I gave you a flower ring with a promise. I’m sure it’s long gone by now.”

“Yeah, lost it in the rumbling. Are you really proposing to me right now?”

“No no no! This is just a reminder of that promise we made that afternoon. That promise helped me push through all the hardships I faced,” Reiner flailed his arms a bit, getting slightly flustered.

“So, a promise ring?”

“I promised I’d marry you, didn’t I?” Reiner asked as he pulled out his pinky. Smiling, (Y/N) slipped on the ring and interlocked their pinky with his.

“You did, Reiner, you did.”

[random-imagines-blog]

Empty Walls {Sirius Back x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2380 Summary: A lot of the order is pretty untrusting of any Slytherins joining their midst - but there is one person who accepts you. Warnings: Mentions of character death.

Molly Weasley shoved a plate of food in front of you, so harshly that little puddles of gravy spilt onto the table, making a small mess. You thanked her regardless of her hostility, and cleaned up the gravy with your own napkin, embroidered with your initials. She was a wonderfully sweet woman most of the time - but you just so happened to be a Malfoy. Despite your loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix, many of its members still didn’t trust you yet, because of your surname. It was more about that than the fact that you had been in Slytherin, while everyone else around here seemed either to be a Gryffindor or even a Hufflepuff. You tied your blonde hair out of your face and started to eat self-consciously, knowing that there were eyes on you no matter what. Sirius Black’s to be specific. He always seemed to be watching.

The room filled with the sound of eating as everyone dug into Molly’s delicious food. You were the first done, vacating your seat quickly and washed the dish - by hand - in the sink. You had grown up completely spoiled, with the house elves doing all of the cooking and cleaning, so earning your place here had been difficult at first. You didn’t mean to be spoiled. You just couldn’t help how you were raised.

Grimmauld Place. It was dark and it was dingy, but there was one place in this house in particular that you were drawn to. The wall with the family portraits - your own included. All of the little faces of your family, and then the burned out one of Mr. Sirius Black. Your eyes went to your brother and you smirked to yourself. He was painted in that little hat. He always hated that picture, which made you love it even more. You then saw your parents, Lucius and Narcissa. They both looked a little snooty, which was how they tended to appear to the world. But they were never like that when it was just the family together. Your fingers graced your mother’s face. You missed her, a lot. She still sent you owls, and your father would always add his own little notes. They loved you, despite the fact that most of their friends saw you as a traitor. That your actions nearly put a bounty on their own heads, like the rest of the order.

But you were going to help take him down before he could try to collect.

“Do you really like staring at your own face that much?” A deep voice came from behind you. You didn’t turn around. It was Mr. Black himself. He always seemed to be following you around. He was probably the most mistrustful of the lot. You just ignored him, and put your fingers over your father. You missed him as well. His opinion was the one that you had been most scared of - but you were doing what he was too cowardly to do. You were making the right choice.

You didn’t even pay attention to your little portrait. You knew what you looked like. You didn’t give into the vanity that the rest of the Malfoys seemed to have. You preferred knowledge over looks.

“It’s not that bad of a picture. Mine was awful. They made me cut my hair for it, so I looked like some dapper gentleman,” Sirius said. He had come and stood right behind you. You didn’t realize how close he was until then. If you took even one step backwards, you would have bumped into him.

“So it’s a good thing that your place is burnt out then?” You asked.

“I like to think of it more as an empty space,” Sirius said. “I’ll probably paint over the whole damn thing one of these days. Most of these people, I don’t feel like I’m that related to anyway. Like you.”

“We’re  hardly related. It’s like ... many branches away,” You said with a shrug. He may be some sort of cousin but it never felt that way to you either. When you looked at him, you saw ... well, a handsome man, even with all of that hair and those tattoos. You had seen photos of him when he was younger and you had some pretty obscene thoughts one should not be having over family members. He’d been, to put it roughly, a hunk. “Why haven’t you painted over it by now?”

“The room needed some sort of decor,” Sirius shrugged. “I don’t know what I’d do with an empty wall.”

“Well, knowing you, I’m sure you’d hang a very flattering portrait of yourself,” You mused, clicking your tongue. “Dorian Gray style.”

“What?” Sirius asked. You laughed then, remembering that someone like him probably hasn’t picked up a book since his time at Hogwarts, let alone one written by a muggle.

“Nothing,” You said, shaking your head. “So what can I help you with? Does Molly need help with something?”

“Why would Molly need help with anything?” Sirius asked, taking a seat in one of his favorite chairs in the bedroom.

“I don’t know - you all seem to think that housework is female only work-” You started but Sirius cut you off.

“Not at all,” He said, shaking his head, those unruly waves flying around him. “I actually wanted to talk to you myself. And it’s really not about housework.”

“Well, talk away,” You said, settling into a chair of your own, facing away from those painted walls.

“I’ve been keeping my eye on you for a while now. I knew your father back in school and-”

“Yes, I’ve heard some of the stories,” You interrupted, crossing your legs. “There’s no need to go into a lot of backstory. I know you don’t trust me and that’s what you want to talk about, isn’t it?”

“Do you always go around making up all of these assumptions?” Sirius asked, curiously. “I don’t distrust you, I actually wanted to tell you that I think you’re doing an amazing job. Especially for someone so young.”

Your mouth went dry at the unexpected praise that he was bestowing on you. “Well, thanks. That actually means a lot to me. It’s been hard, since I had to give up everything but saving the world seems pretty worth it. Wanna tell Molly what you think, because that woman has had it out for me since day one.”

“She’ll come around. She’s just mistrustful of Slytherins, that’s all.”

You were quiet for a couple of minutes there, thinking about all of the times that you had tried to proven yourself to the Order. You had gone out on dangerous missions without hesitation. You had fought people who had once been dear family friends. You were trying to protect the world, which seemed bigger than just one family.

“Guess I just have to give it time - and hope that we have enough of it,” You sighed, realizing there wasn’t much in this situation that you could do. “You’re not so bad yourself, Black. Even if you come from a family of, well, us. Snakes and all.”

“Thanks,” He chuckled. “I’ll take that to heart.”

-

Since you had already graduated from Hogwarts, you spent a lot of time among the rest of the adults. Molly was finally warming up to you just a little, if only because she had no children to keep her busy now that they were all back at school. You were one of the youngest in the Order, having just left school the year before, and so she doted on you. Or, at the very least, she didn’t make a mess of your food anymore.

“Fancy taking me for a walk?” Sirius asked you one day, leash in hand. You laughed, knowing exactly what he had meant. It was the only way that he could leave this house. Being disguised as Snuffles, the big black dog. And the only way not to get Animal Control called on him was to have someone walk him around.

You nodded, also feeling the need to get out of the stifling nature of the house. Get away from the screams of the portrait and the gloominess that clung around every corer despite you and Molly’s attempt to cheer the place up a bit. Sirius turned into his dog form, and you put the leash and collar on him - which always felt weird, no matter how many times you did it. His tongue lolled out as he grew excited for the fresh air and it was enough to make you laugh.

These walks became more and more frequent - especially because sometimes, when you were in a more isolated part of town, Sirius would turn back into his human self and you would have a coffee and sit in a park, enjoying the early fall nature. You ended up having some really long conversations. About everything. You told him some stories about his godson, Harry, and his friends at school - they were rather infamous and it seemed like you knew a lot about them despite not being in their house. And your brother’s complaints, of course.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were falling for this much older man, despite the age gap and the fact that he had been in Azkaban for years, and that this was hardly the time for love, given the fact that there was a war that was growing in importance more and more each day.

-

“To the ones that we have lost,” Arthur Weasley said, raising his glass in toast over his head.

It was  not a happy occasion that you were celebrating here tonight, back at Grimmauld Place. “To the ones that we have lost,” you toasted back in return. And then you drank deeply from your flask - Firewhiskey having become a solace these days.

Sirius was taking things particularly hard - the war may be over, but the cost of that victory was entirely too high. He was tearing himself apart about it, but you couldn’t blame him. He lost his only other best friend. And the Weasleys had lost two sons - one to death, and one to the attack of a werewolf, though Bill was pulling through swimmingly.

You stood up slowly, which garnered the attention of the rest of the people around you. “I can’t be here,” You admitted, finding it too hard to be around loved ones, when they weren’t exactly the ones that you wanted.

You went down the hallway into the room with the family portrait on it, your wand in your hand as you closed the door, but you did not lock it. “What have you done to be remembered for?” You asked the portrait of yourself, and of your parents.

“I think this is a long time coming,” Sirius said, staggering into the room. “Patat Pingere.”

“What are you doing?” You asked, as the paint started to peel off of the walls, and then dissolve into nothing, leaving only the bare baseboards that they must have been before the family tree. You watched as you, your parents and the rest of them just seemed to disappear, like you never existed.

“You deserve to be remembered,” Sirius said, leaning against the doorframe, taking in the sight of all of that white. “So we’ll repaint you now, as you are. And... and Remus. And Tonks. And Fred... the others...”

You nodded, looking at the potential of it now. All of the noble house of Black had disappeared, and most of them were better off being remembered - entirely unlike everyone that you had just lost, and whose death was still pulling at your heart.

“And yours,” You said, looking over at Sirius. You were surprised to see that his head was down, and a sob racked through his entire body, and he was barely keeping himself upright.

You rushed to his side and took his weight upon your shoulder, half-dragging and half-carrying him to his favorite chair and helped to lower him into it. He didn’t let you go, so you had no choice but to sit with him. You curled up in his lap like a kitten, and he held you while sobbing into the shoulder of your robes.

You were through with crying - you’ve made yourself dehydrated with it and nothing ever seemed to get better, but seeing Sirius like this was still draining nonetheless. “You’re not completely alone Sirius - you have me.”

That seemed to help somewhat, for his shoulders stopped shaking as much, but he did continue to hold onto you tightly, making sure that you could not leave, even if you had wanted to. You didn’t want to, you wanted to stay and make sure that he knew - that he knew that you would not leave him.

“I love you.”

You weren’t expecting that from him, especially not at this time, but you began to run your fingers through the dirty, straggly hair.

“I love you too.”

“Don’t just say that if you don’t mean it. I can’t take anything more, I just-”

You’ve never seen him so vulnerable before. Even when he was in the middle of a fight, with spells going around him, narrowly missing him, he usually had some excitement showing on his face. But this was a defeated man, who seemed ready to break at the slightest negativity.

“I mean it, with every bit of me. I really, truly do,” You told him, detangling a few knots with your fingers, your wand having dropped on the floor when it seemed like he was falling. “I love you, Sirius Black.”

“Can we fix this - these empty walls?” Sirius’s head rose just a little.

You nodded, looking into his dark eyes, which had the same expression as a dog that had just been kicked. “Yes, I think we can. I know we can. Let’s start tomorrow.”

[ashes-and-ashes]

"fuck you" , "fuck me yourself, you coward" with wolfstar please?

Slytherin!Sirius au.

~

He finds Sirius in the hallway, all jet black hair and haughty eyes and that emerald tie slung casually around his neck like some goddamn medal of honour. The curtains were thrown back from the windows, the silvery light from the almost-full moon illuminating everything in narrow slats, streaks of stardust on the blocks of stone.

Remus curses - his ribs still ache from the Changing, pain stabbing through him every time he took a breath. He’s pretty sure the bandages on his back had slipped down as well, the cuts on his skin stinging with every step he took.

“Fuck,” he breathes, softly. The only other way to Gryffindor Tower was using the main staircase - a solid 10 flights of stairs in a dizzying spiral. He imagines it in his head - dragging himself up nearly a hundred flights of stairs, the throbbing in his ribs intensifying with every step, his shoulders aching and back screaming -

Remus grits his teeth, tries not to think about it. With a grimace he turns around, preparing himself for the long hike back up and praying Sirius didn’t see him.

Then again, when were his prayers ever answered? He barely made it five steps before he heard the rustle of fabric and Remus knew Sirius saw him.

Sirius Black, the Slytherin Heir to the Black fortune. He was about as big of a prick as his title would suggest - all cocky arrogance and careless swagger, the type of person who let secrets drop like rain. He remembers first year, eleven years old, walking into the Great Hall and hearing Sirius’ cold voice, the sniggers of his fellow classmates. He’s obviously Muggle born. No pureblood wizard would look that deformed.

Six years. Six years of taunting, of getting shoved into walls and laughed at. Mudblood.

He’s heard stories, of course, all the ones about how he’d mastered the curriculum at eleven and was the youngest and best member on the Slytherin Quidditch team, the long list of conquests he’s had over the six years at Hogwarts.

He’s heard the other stories, too; the ones about the scars on his back and the nights he spent missing from Slytherin dorms.

Remus grits his teeth, hoping Sirius wouldn’t say anything. He stares at the end of the hallway with a sigh - it seemed to stretch out forever, an impossible trek considering the boy in front of him.

He’s not even looking at Sirius but he can still hear the smirk on his voice, that insufferable smirk that made him want to punch him in that perfect face -

“What are you doing so late?”

Remus stiffens, tries to keep the exhaustion off his face. “I could ask you the same question.” He winces - his voice is hoarse from a night of screaming, the metallic tang of blood coating his tongue. Gingerly, he probes at the mess of chewed flesh on his cheek; he must have bitten through when he was Shifting.

Sirius laughs. Even that sounded practiced, Remus thinks - too easy, too smooth.

“I asked first,” Sirius says casually. He’s sitting on the floor against the wall, one leg stretched out in front of him. The moonlight sharpened his features - all high cheekbones and dark hair and the edge of his jaw, the pale skin of his neck disappearing into his robes. Remus’s eyes follow the smooth skin, catching on the edge of a silvery scar curling behind his ear.

Sirius’ smile sharpens. “Seeing something you like, Lupin?”

Remus shoots him a flat look - the same one he gave anyone who asked about his scars. “Are you asking out of genuine interest?”

Sirius doesn’t respond. He stretches out on the floor, arms braced on the wall behind him. Remus sways slightly on his feet; one of the bandages has definitely come loose, the torn edges of his broken skin screaming in protest.

“I should go,” he says. “I need to get to the tower.”

Sirius’ eyebrows fly up, his silver eyes glinting in the moonlight. “You still haven’t told me why you’re up this late.”

Remus doesn’t bother to mask his expression into anything but the annoyance he felt, turning an irratated glare on Sirius’ smirking face. “Well, you haven’t told me shit either. Call it a night and let me sleep, okay?”

“Ah,” Sirius says. He grins, the shadows and the light combining to give an eerie look of a Cheshire Cat. “See, I’m self-destructive - everyone knows that. So it really shouldn’t matter why I’m out so late. You on the other hand - I guess it’s more interesting why Saint Lupin is breaking curfew than why poor old me is.”

“I’m not a saint,” Remus says. Sirius’ grin widens.

“You’re certainly not a devil.”

“Like you?” Remus says, mockingly.

“Now you get it.”

“Please.” Remus rolls his eyes. He’d never been able to have a conversation with Sirius for longer than 5 minutes without getting some sort of blinding headache. “Spare your melodramatic bullshit.”

“Melodramatic - “ Sirius cuts himself off, the humor disappearing from his face so fast Remus glances over his shoulder. “What - “

“You’re hurt,” Sirius says. It wasn’t a question.

“I’m not - “ Remus starts but Siruus ignores him. He pushes himself up off the ground - his hand is on Remus’ shoulder, thumb digging into the tear there and Remus just barely manages to swallow down his scream.

“Fuck,” he hisses - Sirius face is curiously blank. “What the fuck was that for - “

Sirius’ hand is at his robes in an instant and Remus wasn’t fast enough to stop him from yanking the soft fabric off his shoulders, the cool night air washing over his skin. He’s wearing his shirt underneath (Thank God, he thinks) but he can tell from the dampness on his spine that a lot of blood must have leaked through.

Sirius’ hand brushes over the deepest of the gashes on his front and this time Remus can’t stop the choked noise he makes. Sirius’ face is still empty; Remus stares at the purpling bruises on his arms and tries to get his pounding heart under control.

He bends to retrieve his fallen cloak and regrets it - the movement makes the wounds on his back tear even more and he muffles his groan with his hand. Sirius is there in a heartbeat, his knuckles white where he gripped the fabric, hard enough that Remus thought it might tear, one hand still pressed against the cut on Remus’ stomach.

“Who did this?” Sirius asks, his tone deadly calm. Remus notices the slight tremble in his hands and forces himself to step backwards away from Sirius’ warm touch.

“None of your business,” he replies shortly.

Sirius lets out a startled laugh, cracking at the edges. “None of my - “ he begins, then cuts himself off. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not, actually.”

Sirius traces the lines of blood spreading across Remus’ back, his eyes hollow and so far away. “Tell me,” he says, his voice soft.

Remus swallows. Irrational anger surges through him, at Sirius, acting like a goddamn saint as if he wasn’t a fucking asshole -

“What do you care?” he says, voice cutting.

Sirius blinks, and Remus can practically see the walls snapping down in his eyes. “Do I need to have a reason?”

Remus grits his teeth. “Who hurt you, Sirius?”

Sirius flinches back as if Remus had physically struck him, a mixture of shock and terror and anger warring over his face. The emotion is gone in an instant; Sirius’ face goes dead, as if he had shoved his feelings deep inside of him, something slicing and cutting up his insides.

“How did you know?” he asks.

Remus forces a bitter laugh. “I’ve seen scars. Yours are intentional. Someone’s out too much effort into making them hurt.”

“No one - “

Remus scoffs. “Straight lines and smooth edges? Perfectly round burn scars?”

“When have you seen - “

“We’ve both been here six years, Sirius. Guess we’re both deformed after all.”

Sirius blinks. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself, coward,” Remus spits.

Sirius just smirks. “Maybe I will.”

“I’m sure your mother will be proud of you.”

Sirius flinches back, and somewhere Remus winces at how easy it was to hurt him. He can’t bring himself to care - he’s tired and in pain and full of burning, irrational rage.

“Let me go,” he says, snatching his ribs from Sirius’ shaking hands, turning and limping down the corridor.

It’s only when he’s in bed later that night does he realize that he’s never met another person as scarred as he was.

[lumoshyperion]

Literally no one asked, but I’m gonna talk about the regency Drastoria AU anyway 🥰 Its tentative placeholder title is “half agony, half hope”.

The AU is pretty shamelessly playing off various period drama tropes, and especially the familiar trappings of Jane Austen’s works. Pride and Prejudice in particular feels so ripe for the picking, when you look at Draco and Astoria and how they might have met and courted each other. In the AU, they meet when they’re children. Astoria is out riding and finds Draco after he fell from his horse and twisted his ankle. He’s abrupt and rude, and he seems to think she’s a girl from the village based on her clothing, so she just laughs at him. It’s a terrible first impression and something Astoria teases him about, constantly. 

He had sleek blonde hair that was tied back in a dark green band. His clothes were beautifully made, with silver trim around the waistcoat and embroidery on the cuffs. But he was covered in mud, probably having fallen from a horse which was nowhere in sight.

When she dismounted her pony and cleared her throat, the boy turned around and scowled at her. “What do you want?” He snapped.

Astoria was so taken aback by the boy with mud smeared across his face speaking to her with such self importance, that she started laughing.

But this only vexed him even more. “Shut up! Stop it!”

“I’m sorry, but you - you look ridiculous and -” She spluttered, struggling to stop laughing long enough to finish a sentence. “Where is your horse?”

“I don’t know! He ran off!” The boy replied, raising his hands in exasperation. “Will you help me or not, girl?”

Astoria raised an eyebrow. If her father were around, he would have commented on how much she looked like her mother. “Girl? Hmm. I’m not sure that I will. I don’t think my mistress would want me talking to strangers I found lying in the woods.”

She started to walk away and the boy’s eyes widened with desperation. “No! Wait.” Astoria stopped and looked back at him. He was trying to sit up properly, but winced. “If you help me, my father will pay you handsomely.”

Astoria scoffed and crossed her arms. He was probably visiting for the ball the Parkinsons were hosting in a few days. He seemed a lot like one of their daughters and Astoria was already finding him incredibly tiresome. But she couldn’t leave him alone. So she stepped into the clearing and offered him her hand.

The boy grimaced at her callouses from riding and the paint on her fingertips from spending the morning with her sister. Seeing his expression, Astoria tilted her head towards his mud stained coat and ruined trousers, until he relented and took her hand.

[...]

“You could have broken my leg!” Draco shouted, as other guests turned and watched his outburst with interest and annoyance. “And how was I supposed to know who you were - you came out of the woods like a wild animal and started laughing at me!”

“Well, you’re one to talk! I found you ass deep and cursing in the mud and the first thing you did was scowl at me!” She replied, Daphne giggling next to her.

“Astoria!” Her mother admonished, clutching her by the arm. “That’s quite enough!”

Draco tilted his chin up and glared at her. Astoria, held back by her mother, crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out at him. And that was how Astoria Greengrass met the son and heir of the Malfoy fortune.

In the place of the Malfoy’s reputation around their acts during the Wizarding War, I thought instead I could have them lose their fortune? I haven’t decided by what means, but Lucius is central to it somehow, and Draco is the one who has to rebuild their fortune and find them a new home after they lost the manor. At this point, he’s still a source of gossip in a lot of circles. He’s invited to events and weddings, but most people still avoid him. Except Astoria.

They slowly develop a mutual respect and care for each other - Astoria realising that he’s grown from the boy she met in the woods, and Draco almost immediately enamored with her. They say “the Greengrass sisters are too wild to woo peaceably”, but Draco was never one to listen to idle gossip.

After that I’m delving into spoiler territory, and I’m also still building the plot for the fic, so you’ll just have to wait and see! I’m so excited to share this one 🥰

[language-of-love]

For the intimacy prompts: 3. Touching foreheads and/or 51. Slow dancing

For some reason, this sparked a little high school AU idea, so I hope you enjoy it! Read on AO3.

❅ ❆ ❅ ❆ ❅

Spreading his fingers wide inside his mittens, he tries to soak up as much heat as possible from the roaring bonfire as wisps of snowflakes mix with the embers shooting up towards the stars. It’s too cold to be out here and there’s a million reasons why he should have gone home hours ago, but the one reason he’s stayed is inching ever closer. 

And he just can’t help but wonder. 

The music coming from the open windows of Twyla’s hatchback changes to a soft guitar intro that’s familiar, but his memory of it is too far out of reach as his mind is so focused on the proximity of Patrick Brewer as he hums along beside him under his breath.

David doesn’t usually come to these high school parties, but Patrick had asked him if he’d be here as they’d put a final coat of black paint on the chairs for Cabaret and David had found himself so tongue tied that he’d somehow mumbled that he'd “maybe make an appearance”. Patrick’s smile had been immediate, wide and welcoming before he’d quickly tucked it back away with reddened cheeks and David knew he had to show up. To see. To put himself in the path of a possibility. 

“What song is this?” he asks, needing to break the silence with something.

“The Civil Wars and Taylor Swift. I can’t remember the name of it though.”

“It’s pretty.”

Pretty. That’s the best he can come up with? Patrick’s the best musician at their school and…

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Oh. Okay.

“Where did everybody go?” Patrick asks.

When David lifts his arms to tug his beanie down over his ears, his elbow rustles Patrick’s coat and swirls of anxious anticipation erupt in his belly at the unescapable knowledge that Patrick is choosing to stand very, very close to him right now. Ten minutes ago, he was standing on the other side of the bonfire. He’s not now.

“I heard something about a beer run and I think some of the couples have retreated to their cars. I’d steer clear of Jake’s truck by the barn unless you’re into that sort of party.”

Patrick’s chuckle is deep and rumbly and the breath he expels creates a cloud that mixes with David’s before disappearing up into the smoke. 

“Nah, I’m good here…” Patrick’s words trail off into the cold air and David conjures some courage to look over at him, finding him staring back with a look so full of questions David feels a bit uneasy at the multitude of possible answers. “...with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah. Is that…? Is that okay?”

David’s face gives away his answer as his mouth curls up into a half smile that he can’t seem to stop, even as he chews at the inside of his cheek. God, he just likes Patrick so much and he’s wondered, for a while, if he was picking up hints. But Patrick’s always been with Rachel. Until a few months ago. So...David just wasn’t sure of his preferences. 

Stevie had chastised him just last week about that though, spread out on her bedspread as she puffed smoke from her joint towards the ceiling. “David, you’re not going to learn his preferences hanging out every night with me.”

Fuck, she’s going to be unbearable if she learns she was right all along.

The music gets louder suddenly and David shifts his attention to Twyla’s car, spying her through the window holding up her thumb in a silent show of encouragement and oh god, does everybody know? How mortifying. Looking back over at Patrick, he has to catch his breath at the smile he sees there, waiting, patiently for whatever is supposed to happen next. 

“Do you want to dance?” he hears himself ask.

When Patrick’s eyes go wide, David regrets that impulse immediately and tries to conjure up something to say so he can take it back.

“Um, I’ve never,” Patrick says, his voice quiet as he speaks towards the frozen leaves at his feet. “With a guy, I mean.”

“Oh, okay.”

Patrick’s fingertips from where they are poking out of his fingerless gloves are bright pink as he tentatively reaches out for David’s arm, and David lets his body move in the direction he’s being lightly tugged until he finds himself face to face with a very flushed, very nervous, Patrick Brewer.

“But I’d like to.”

“The song’s almost over though,” David hedges, suddenly overcome with a wave of insecurity.

“David.”

“What?”

Patrick’s hands are on his waist now, pulling him forward and David, well, he takes a deep breath in and lets the cold air shock his system into action.

“Come here.”

He does. 

His arms anchor into the thick padded shoulders of Patrick’s brown corduroy jacket and his eyes dance everywhere except Patrick’s face for a good ten seconds as he lets himself acclimate to this new, dreamlike reality he’s found himself in. When he does force himself to meet Patrick’s gaze, he almost stumbles in surprise at the warmth reflecting from the fire in Patrick’s whiskey colored eyes and the soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Too strange?”

Why did he ask that? God, he needs to stop self sabotaging himself all the time.

“What?”

“Dancing with a guy.”

Patrick’s hand at the waist of his entirely weather inappropriate leather jacket clenches a little and David’s afraid he’s about to let go, but instead, he slides that hand inside the open jacket and spreads his fingers wide along David’s back and David’s unsure of what to do next. But something he’s heard his mother say many times as she’s prepared for another role pops into his head and maybe for the first time in his life, he heeds her advice. 

He leans in. 

And so does Patrick.

Their foreheads are thankfully warm from the fire as they meet and David waits with bated breath for Patrick to answer the question he probably shouldn’t have asked. But now that he has, the answer has somehow taken on monumental importance.

“It feels right.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

Before he can respond, the song ends and there’s a jarring shift to a driving beat, but things go silent and David chuckles softly as he pictures Twyla in her car, frantically searching for another slow song on her drugstore brand MP3 player. He could let go of Patrick’s shoulders while they wait, but he doesn’t, and neither does Patrick. They just keep shuffling their feet and smiling down at their shoes crunching the dead leaves and the thin layer of snow.

When the first few notes of Christina Perri’s “Arms” comes on though, he huffs and can’t stop himself from turning towards Twyla’s car and shouting “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“But David, it’s so romantic!” 

She gives her horn a little honk and David gives her the finger, but he’s grinning from ear to ear as Patrick’s arm winds its way into his jacket to join the other one to draw him in closer. 

“David,” Patrick says, so soft, practically a whisper, drawing David’s attention back where it belongs, back to where Patrick’s eyes are darting new questions straight at his mouth.

Okay. 

So, this is happening.

His cashmere mitten gets snagged a little in the short hairs at the back of Patrick’s neck as he tips his chin and draws him in and their lips are a little chapped from the cold, but the tiny pant of breath Patrick expels the second their mouths touch spreads like fire all over David’s skin. Patrick leans into it, just lets himself be kissed, smiling sweetly into the firelight when David pulls back too soon to let him, both of them, take stock of what’s just transpired. Patrick doesn’t say anything, but his fingers are pushing tenderly into David’s plush sweater and he’s keeping the tip of his nose close so it’s brushing David’s as he takes a few uneven breaths, so David just waits. He wants Patrick to make the next move.

Thankfully, he does.

“Wanna go warm up in my car?”

“Did you fix the heater?”

He can’t help it. The last time he was in Patrick’s car it was an icebox.

“Yeah. I watched a YouTube tutorial.”

“That does not dispel confidence, Patrick.”

“Fine, you wanna stay here and makeout in front of Twyla and whoever else is watching us from their cars right now?”

David’s jaw drops open at the return of the overly confident Patrick Brewer he’s been crushing on for weeks and he just shakes his head and lets himself be led through the parked cars, many with windows scandalously fogged, to the passenger side door of Patrick’s little silver sedan. Away from the prying eyes of their classmates and past the unknown of their first, Patrick doesn’t hesitate, not even for a moment, from initiating their second kiss. He presses David up against the car and with fingers so cold David can’t help but flinch, he holds David’s face steady as he kisses all the breath from David’s lungs. His stocky frame is warm and pulled tight as he settles his weight between David’s legs and it’s not long before the back door is opened and they scramble into the back seat in an uncoordinated tangle. 

Through laughs and demands, he manages to wrestle the car keys from Patrick’s pocket and climbs over his lap so he can reach up into the front and turn the car on and get the heat going. The radio station is set to some sports talk show and he’s about to start turning the dial to find something more appropriate for the mood, but Patrick’s hands are on his hips dragging him back and he abandons that task for the prospect of more kissing. 

Patrick’s thighs are thick and wide and a perfect perch as he settles himself onto his lap and smiles down at flush pinked cheeks and lips wet from his kisses and he honestly can’t believe that all of this is real. Pulling off his mittens, he finally gets his hands on Patrick’s skin as he wraps his hands around his neck and lowers himself down to his waiting mouth, shivering at the eagerness of Patrick’s lips and hands welcoming him back. Patrick’s ineffective tune-up of his heater is no match for the stamina of teenage hormones and it eventually sputters out, but they’ve done a pretty good job of warming themselves all on their own at that point anyway. 

Their drive back home is spent with fingers clasped, shivering, and smiling from ear to ear as Patrick’s death trap of a car trudges slowly along the back country roads with fogged up windows and young love blooming warm in their hearts. 

He hears it from his mother the next day at dress rehearsal when Patrick’s neck is covered with hickeys and the makeup team can’t seem to cover them up. He can’t help it if Patrick was already wearing the lightest shade.

From the look on Patrick’s face as he smiles over at him from center stage, he can honestly say that neither of them have any regrets. Not a single one.

[terrainofheartfelt]

"It's you, it couldn't be awful"

A Playlist For Dair Appreciation Week, Day 7 - Fave Quotes & Lyrics

I haven’t the faintest idea how to make gifs (seriously I think all of you are witches) so I made this playlist, because there is nothing I love more than scrolling through my spotify library and just projecting all over it.

Track listings and links with opinions & lyrics under the cut, because this thing is long, because I have no restraint.

(Note: I intentionally left off all tswift bc if I didn’t, we’d be here all day)

Section 1: The Bops

Little of Your Love - HAIM

A bop that embodies the energy of the 4b arc, and an energy of “Oh for crying out loud, Humphrey”

You’re just another recovering heart / I wasn’t even gonna try / you wouldn’t even give the time

Stop runnin’ your mouth like that / ‘cause you know I’m gonna give it right back

Hate That You Know Me - Bleachers

It’s “You owe me ten / You owe me twenty!” & “I was hoping it would go away / I was humiliated” & basically all of While You Weren’t Sleeping, tbh

Some days I, I wish that I wasn't myself / No luck! / And I hate that you know me so well

I Like Me Better - Lauv

Heavily featured in all y’all’s gifsets—and rightfully so!!! It’s also like the perfect counter to the previous song.

To not know who I am but still know that I'm good long as you're here with me

Sweet Talk - Saint Motel

It’s about Blair roasting Dan for filth and him being completely charmed by it.

when you laugh / I forget that it's about me / But it's alright / Yeah, cause being your punchline / Still is something

No Reason to Run - Cold War Kids

In the perfect version of the show that lives in my head, this is the end credits song that plays as the two of them frolic in Rome.

I have evolved like a fish growing legs / Woke like a lightbulb clicked in my brain

You Make Lovin' Fun - Fleetwood Mac

The song for the couple that fucked in an elevator. Bless the work.

Sweet wonderful you / You make me happy with the things you do

No Matter What You Do - covered by Jakob Dylan and Regina Spektor

The energy is “I have a lot of affection for you but you are so annoying.” And this is the obligatory post-breakup s6 song.

No matter what in the world you do / Hey, I'll always be in love with you

Don't Take the Money - Bleachers

I see so much love for tswift on this website (valid) but I feel like the world as a whole sleeps on her collaborator Jack Antonoff bc he is brilliant and his act Bleachers has some of my favorite songs ever. Like this one. Antonoff has said before that the title phrase is more metaphorical than literal, like an idiom that means don’t take the easy way and give this up, because it’s genuine. Real “I want to have a sleepover with you” vibes.

Somebody broke me once / Love was a currency / A shimmering balance act / I think that I laughed at that

In the Morning - Nina Simone

It’s about the domesticity! And the “Our relationship is our world”! And the “we’re young and still have so much life to live so everything’s gonna be okay.” did i title a smut fic with lyrics from this song maybeso.gif

Please be patient with your life / It's only morning and you're still to live your day

This Must Be the Place - Talking Heads

This is a canon dair song bc @mysteriesofloves titled a fic after this song, them’s the rules. But for real, this is such a good one. The lyrics are intentionally scattered, a little bewildered, like “how did we get here? how did this happen? who found whom?” and finally “who cares? we found a home in each other.”

The less we say about it, the better / We'll make it up as we go along

Cleopatra in Brooklyn - Frank Turner

Chosen for the title obviously, but the lyrics capture the royal/5b arc pretty well, I think. The narrator carries this tongue-and-cheek comparison of the woman he’s singing to to Cleopatra through the whole song, comparing himself to Marc Antony, and ending with this really earnest kind of declaration. I’m obsessed with this songwriter he’s a genius please give him a listen.

These people are adjectives to your proper noun

I'll come find you when your fortunes fail you / I'll die with you when the gods desert you

Morphing into Section 2: Pure Vibes

Walking on a Dream - covered by Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness

The original is by Empire of the Sun (and omigod I just realized the coincidence), but I first heard it covered by McMahon, and he’s one of my favorite musicians of ever so I just love his rendition. And this song is sort of like...about finally deciding that the reality of love with someone is so much better than the idea of it.

Thought I’d never see / The love you found in me / Now it’s changing all the time

Wake Me - Bleachers

Jack coming for my life yet again. This song is so romantic but also so melancholy? Which is such a Daniel Humphrey Vibe.

And I'd rather be sad with you / Than anywhere away from you

All I Want - Joni Mitchell

I’m a white girl with a mother who grew up in the 60s, so I love Joni. And this song is so bubbly and joyful, but it’s also about a relationship between two imperfect people and wanting it to work anyway. Big “Despicable B” vibes!

All I really want our love to do / Is to bring out the best in me / And in you, too.

Dust to Dust - The Civil Wars

A friend in undergrad got me into the Civil Wars by showing me their live videos, and they have such incredible musical chemistry - like, the synchronicity of their ensemble is so good that it even comes through on their studio recordings and it makes these simple lyrics hit SO HARD.

You're just lonely / You've been lonely too long

NFWMB - Hozier

Ok, this had to be like the first ask I ever sent @bisexualdanhumphrey bc they wrote this fantastic meta post about Hozier and Derena but I said: “consider: NFWMB is a Dair song.” And they said, “You right.” I stand by it, and that’s why this song is on this list.

If I was born as a blackthorn tree / I'd wanna be felled by you / Held by you / Fuel the pyre of your enemies

Friday I'm in Love - covered by Phoebe Bridgers

This song - especially this cover - gives such Secret Friendship Arc vibes a la the end of 4x16...the inherent romance of eating pizza and falling asleep on the couch together

Always take a big bite / It’s such a gorgeous sight / To see you eat in the middle of the night

A Case of You - Joni Mitchell

Queen Joni again. Like! I am a lonely painter / I live in a box of paints. & The “You’re the star of Dan’s book” of it all in these lyrics!

I remember that time you told me / You said “Love is touching souls” / Surely you touched mine / ‘cause part of you pours out of me / In these lines from time to time.

Longing to Belong - Eddie Vedder

This is my thinly veiled attempt to tell more people about this: a song written and performed by Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder on ukulele, that is actually the softest love song in the history of western music.

All my time is spent here / Longing to belong to you

Bones - Josh Record

Okay, so, that Moment on the Couch at the end of 5x02? That’s this song.

And darling, when your feet are cold / Wait up, I'm coming home / And all of you I will hold / My love will clothe your bones

Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Rey

The song for when you reach the end of plausible deniability - One all consuming paralyzing thought & You need to go back to Brooklyn - and it scares the heck out of you.

There's things I wanna say to you, but I'll just let you live / Like if you hold me without hurting me / You'll be the first who ever did

You and Me - You + Me

You can be flawed enough but perfect for a person

Section 3: Songs for Dancing in the Kitchen with Your Lover at 1 am

Cigarettes and Coffee - Otis Redding

The “Dan and I have a real connection song.” It’s about the romance of commonplace things when they’re with the right person.

But it seemed so natural, darling / That you and I are here

I'd Be Waiting - Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats

It’s “I just want to spend the day with you” but in like, slow-dance, sexy harmonies format.

If you ever get lonely if you never did

Never My Love - covered by Jakob Dylan and Norah Jones

The “Words of Affirmation” love song they deserve, and an underrated love song from Laurel Canyon, imho

What makes you think love will end? / When you know that my whole life depends / On you

Dancing in the Dark - covered by Morgan James

Okay so these lyrics are such Dan lyrics to me, it’s charmingly self-aware and self-deprecating. And this cover by Morgan James turns this staple rock song into something ~sexy~

I'm dying for some action / I'm sick of sittin' round here trying to write this book / I need a love reaction / Come on, gimme just one look

Oh Me Oh My (I'm a Fool for You) - Aretha Franklin

They’re literally always making each other laugh! It’s about feeling safe enough to be uninhibited and unselfconscious in your joy.

To make you laugh / I would be a fool for you

I Fall in Love Too Easily - as done by Chet Baker

No one, but no one sounds as sweet or as smooth as Chet. I know it, you know it, Hozier knows it. And this song and it’s titular thesis is so Them, it’s such a central part of their respective characters, and one of the things that makes them compatible.

My heart should be well schooled / 'Cause I've been fooled in the past

For Me Formidable - Charles Aznavour

Due entirely to this fic (Part II of a god tier s4 au) This is the end credits song for their full feature length Nora Ephron romcom.

NSFW Honorable Mention: Dinner & Diatribes - Hozier

it’s the definitive “men get pegged” representation, iykyk

[thewildomega]

Second Chance ch.3

Sitting at the table you held your now cold tea cup in your hands, not moving or making a sound as Edward finished his story. Blinking a few times you opened your mouth a few times, thinking about what to say. 

Seeing her so stiff he swallowed down the last bit of his tea and looked to her. "I know this is all probably a bit much to comprehend lass.... eh ah... do you have any questions?"

Lifting your cup you took a sip of your tea and sighed. "Just want to clarify a few things..." you said and saw him nod. "You died in this war but somehow ended up here?" 

"Yes." 

"You are this Emperor of the sea, which there are...four of?" 

"Yes, well I suppose I was. Since I did die in my world someone else will most likely take that position." he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Okay and lastly you are seventy-two years old." 

"Correct."

Clicking your tongue you nodded slowly, "Well you...aged well, congratulations." you said, standing from the table and moving to start clearing the table. 

He continued sitting in his seat for some time, watching her. She kept her back to him mostly, her eyes never lifting to his as she cleaned up from the small supper she had made them. He supposed it was a bit much to take in, if someone had come to him spouting such a story he would have a hard time believing them as well. Taking a deep breath he stood from the small table and carried his cup over to her. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you lass. Truth is I don't much understand why I was sent here either? I was ready to join my fallen sons in the afterlife."

Sighing you took the cup when he held it out for you and glanced up to his eyes. Such strange colored yellow eyes, never before had you ever seen anyone with his color eyes, well not unless they were wearing contacts. All the same though, you could have sworn you had seen them somewhere before. They were very warm looking, no ill intent hidden in them. The whole time he had been telling you his story you had been searching his eyes for any lie, to your surprise though, there was none. Everything he had told you had been the truth, you could feel it. "So what is it you plan to do now?" you asked, continuing to wash the dishes.

Leaning back against the counter he crossed his arms over his chest. "Haven't quite figured that out yet. I went to that lake today, looked around. Didn't see any signs on how to get back home. What were you doing there last night when you found me?"

"Swimming." you answered simply.

"Swimming? Mighty late to be going swimming lass, cool as well." he said with furrowed brows. When she said nothing he let out a little hum. 

Looking back down you let out the water and stacked the dishes in the drying rack as you thought. Biting your lip you dried your hands and tossed the rag to the counter. "Well how about we figure this out in the morning? I have a spare room you can stay in, bed might be a bit small but it's either that or the couch." you told him, crossing your arms and looking up to him. 

A little shocked he looked down at her with his brows raised. "You are offering me a place to stay?"

"Sure, I mean I am the one that found you so I guess that makes you my problem for the time being right?" you asked with a small grin. When he smirked you raised a brow, "Not unless you prefer to sleep outside?"

Chuckling he smiled, "Thank you darling. I will try to be as little of a problem as possible." 

Smiling you turned towards the living room, "I'll hold you to that." Turning off the lights you showed him to the guest room that was down the hall from your own room. "Here you go, there's a bathroom across the hall, if you want a shower, there are towels under the sink. 

Looking into the room he saw it minimal like the rest of the home, a bed in the center of the room with a small dresser across from it. The bed it's self would be a tight fit but he would make it work, maybe sleep sideways... Looking to his host he smiled. "Thank you y/n." he said with a small bow of his head. 

Flashing him a quick smile you nodded. "No problem." Turning towards your room you yawned. "Goodnight Edward." you said as you closed the door to your room. 

"Goodnight Y/n." he said softy, watching her walk into her own room.

...............................

Walking out of the room the next morning he ran his fingers through his hair. His locks had always been a part of his appearance that he liked, when he had lost them it had been a sharp sign of how his age and health was was taking their tole on him. Now though, with his seemingly second chance he had them back again and found himself slightly enthusiastic to run his fingers through the curly golden strands again. Noticing Y/n's bedroom door open he guessed she was awake already and walked out into the living area to see if she was there. Finding the rest of the small home empty of the woman he knit his brows a little and walked to the kitchen when he saw something sitting on the dining table. Looking down at the plate of breakfast he rose a brow, was this for him? A fork and butter knife set beside the plate along with a napkin and an empty glass. Glancing around again for her he didn't see or hear anything. Even the small pin where that bear cub had been was empty. Walking around the table some he saw a near empty mug of what looked to be coffee on the counter. Touching his knuckle to the side of the cup he felt it still warm, she hadn't been gone long, where ever she was. When something caught his eye out of the window he looked up to see something that made the corners of his lips lift up. There she was, his savior, sitting out in the grass with the bear cub attempting to wrestle her to the ground. Her hair was down again today, hanging wild and free around her. She looked to be wearing a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Seeing the small grin on her face as the cub gnawed at her arm he chuckled. Taking a deep breath he moved to eat the breakfast she had made. 

It wasn't long after he had finished his food that she had came back inside, the cub following it's all in all mother closely. Rinsing the plate from where he had washed it he placed it in the drying rack and dried his hands on his pants. "Good morning there lass." he said with a grin. 

Still smiling from where Nook had rammed into the back of your legs you snapped your eyes up when you heard his deep voice. Brushing your hair back out of your face you grinned at him, "Good morning." Closing the door behind Nook you looked back up and saw he had cleaned up after himself. "Was everything alright? I wasn't really sure what you liked to eat..." 

Smiling he looked to the woman, "It was great, thank you kindly. I'm not a picky eater, really anything will do me just fine." he chuckled lightly. 

Grinning softly you moved over to put Nook up, giving him a rub as you stood and took a deep breath. You had been thinking about this all night and then again all morning. "So I thought about it last night and I... well you are welcome to stay here until we can figure out a way to get you back home to your sons." you told him. Glancing around to your small abode you bit the inside of your lip. "It isn't really much to offer but it's somewhere." you told him. You knew your small cabin wasn't some grand place but you just couldn't see putting him out with nothing. Even if you had just met him there was something about him that made you want to help him, need to help him. 

Crossing his arms over his chest he looked down to the small woman, "That is very generous of you y/n but I don't want to impose on you." he spoke and saw her smile a little. 

Shrugging you grinned and flicked your eyebrows, "I'm not really here that much anyways so you won't be imposing. I mostly just come here to eat and sleep.... but it's your decision." 

Feeling a warming in his chest at her kindness he smiled softly. Walking the few steps over to her he looked down at her and saw her e/c eyes raise to look into his. He had gotten pretty good at reading people in his long years, most of the time he could tell a person's character just by looking into their eyes, 'the windows to the soul' they were so commonly called and it was true. This woman, y/n, had one of the purest souls he had ever come across and in a way he couldn't explain, it felt like it was calling to him. "I don't know how to thank you lass, if there is something you need or something I could do to help you, you just let me know."

Smiling softly you looked up at the large man, "Just clean up after yourself and we'll get along fine." you told him and saw him nod. 

"Yes ma'am." he grinned.

"Well then now that that's settled how about we go get you some clothes and whatever else it is that... men... need." you told him with a wave of your hand. 

Looking down at his outfit he furrowed his brows. "What's wrong with these?"

"That shirt, that I don't recall you having when I checked you out of the hospital, doesn't even fit you, your pants have holes in them and blood soaked into them . And, you need more than just one outfit." 

Seeing her standing there with her arms crossed over her chest and a look on her face that said she wasn't going to back down from this he sighed. "Very well. Lead the way." Noting her smile victoriously he couldn't help but grin as he followed her out other truck. Riding to where ever it was that people got clothes from here he looked out the window at the land around them before moving his eyes back to her. "How old are you lass?" 

Driving down the road you kept your eyes on the road, "Twenty-three." 

So he was practically fifty years her senior. If he took a guess based on his looks he would say he was probably back around her own age, maybe twenty-five. He still didn't understand why exactly he was suddenly younger or why he had been sent here but he was content on letting things play out. "What do you do for a living?" 

"I work at the bar." you said as you turned off the interstate. 

Humming he thought back to last night and realized it made more sense on why the man had been so drunk. "Are you from this town?" he questioned, curious about the woman who was helping to take care of him. 

Taking a deep breath you kept a straight face. "No." you answered honestly. Feeling like he was going to ask more questions that you wouldn't want to go into or even think about you licked your lips and decided to quickly change the subject from you to him. "You said you had sons and daughters, how many?" 

"Many." Seeing her raise a brow he tilted his head, "Over a hundred." 

Blinking you opened and closed your mouth, thinking of what to say... "Wow.. um... are you married?"

Laughing he leaned back in the seat, knowing where her mind was going by the light blush on her cheeks. "No, no lass I'm not married, never have been. To answer that question floating through your head, They aren't mine by blood." he said with a small grin. "All my children are just simply those of my crew, people I took in, most of which didn't have anyone else to call family." 

Listening to him explain it all to you you smiled softly as you drove. "That is very kind of you." you told him and heard him hum deeply. 

"What about you darling, where's your fam..."

Quickly pulling into a spot you parked the truck and unbuckled your seatbelt. "We're here." you spoke, cutting him off.

Stopping mid sentence he furrowed his brows, watching her get out of the truck. Not saying anything for now he followed her lead and got out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind him and looking up to a large building. "This is all for clothes?" he asked. 

"Well no, there is a whole bunch of other stuff too. It's a mall." you told him, dropping your keys into your purse. and pulling the bag onto your shoulder. "Ready?' you asked him and saw him nod. 

Walking with her through the mall he saw many people walking around and going into the many different shops and such. Everything caught his attention and y/n was very patient with him, walking slowly and explaining things to him. Although he was much, much shorter here he still seemed to be taller than most and noticed a few people staring at him, something he was rather used to so it didn't bother him. When Y/n had noticed it he had quickly brushed her off. "It doesn't bother me darling. Trust me it's much worse back in my world."

"Why? Were you taller there or were other people shorter?" you asked.

Laughing he looked down to her, "Well a little of both I suppose you could say." Seeing her still a bit confused he grinned and leaned down to talk closer to her, holding out his hand. "Back in my world, I could hold you in the palm of my hand." seeing her look to him in disbelief he smiled and gave her a look telling her he wasn't joking, watching her look between his eyes and his open hand. 

Taking him into a store that sold big and tall clothes you told him to look around and find some things he liked. 

"Mind helping me out there lass?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head and looking across the many racks of clothes. He didn't exactly like the idea of her buying him clothes, didn't want to burden her.

Walking over to a shelf with pants you glanced again to him, trying to guess what size he wore. Finding a pair of black pants and a lighter pair of jeans you held them out for him to hold. Going over to the shirts you looked them over for a moment before pulling out a blue button up and holding it out for him to look over. When he grinned you hung it on one hand while you picked out another long sleeve shirt and then grabbed a few plain black t-shirts before moving on to other items. 

At the end of the shopping trip he had been mortified when he saw the amount she had spent on him. He had never had anyone buy him things like that before. Normally it was him buying things for himself and others. Once they had arrived back at her home he had been surprised when she had helped him take the things inside and then move over to feed nook before she was again moving to leave. Learning she had to work that night he furrowed his brows but said nothing. 

"There is food in the fridge an cabinets, I'm sure you can figure out something to make yourself. Make yourself at home and don't give Nook any more food, no matter how much he wines." you told him, giving your bear cub a look and noticing him fighting with the stuffed animal in the pin. "I won't be back until late tonight but he's good until then. Here is the TV remote, there are tons of channels and stuff to watch it you want and plenty of books." Turning on the TV you showed him how to flip through the channels and stuff before handing it to him. "Just please don't order anything. Other than that, you're good. If you need me, you know where the bar is." 

Nodding along with everything he sighed as she left and then looked down to the bear cub. "Just me and you then." he said and heard the cub let out a growl of sorts before falling over into the blankets.

............................................

 She hadn't been exaggerating when she told him that she wasn't here much. A week he had been living here with her and in that time he barely saw her. He had quickly found out that she worked long hours almost everyday. Most mornings he woke to find her already gone, breakfast made and waiting at the table for him. During the day he had a hard time keeping busy, he read some on the book that had caught his attention on her shelf. He would watch some of the TV she had showed him. He played with Nook and went for walks in the woods surrounding her house but overall he was beginning to grow bored. It had been so many years since he had been on his own, since he had decided to start his own crew, his family and now that none of them were here he didn't know what to do. Y/n didn't seem to come home till late at night, most of the time around midnight or so. Even then she didn't exactly come home. Hearing her tuck door shut one night he woke up and sat up in bed, listening to her enter the house. She moved around only a little bit, she was always quiet, before he would hear the back door open and close softly. growing curious one night he decided to follow her. Following the light from her lantern he walked behind her through the forest trail and down to the lake. Standing back in the trees he observed as she placed down the lantern and the towel that he had just noticed wrapped around her. Seeing the woman in nothing but a two piece bathing suit he swallowed hard, trying to convinced himself to look away but failing. He couldn't help from trailing his eyes over her moonlit skin and cursed himself, here he was some old man peeking at this young, attractive woman. Ashamed, he ought to be ashamed of himself but... he wasn't an old man... or at least he wasn't anymore. 

Watching the beautiful woman walk out into the no doubt cold water he furrowed his brows, damn woman was going to freeze. What the hell was she thinking, swimming in this weather. Seeing her walk out waist deep before starting to swim he sighed. He couldn't very well say anything, then she would know he was following her, peeking at her. The thought alone of being caught made him blush a little. When he heard a splash he looked out to see her dive under the water. For a good minute she didn't come back up and he felt his nerves picking up. After another minute had passed he started to get worried, what if something had happened, had something grabbed her, was she drowning and he was just standing there watching? He couldn't swim in his world and he doubt he could in this one but damn if he was just going to let her die. Taking a step towards the water he heard movement and looked out to see her far out on the lake, her head coming up before she was going back under. Staring out wide eyed he blinked. She had held her breath that long? She had swam that far out? Maybe... were mermaids a race here? Or fishmen? She didn't look like either. Continuing to watch her he saw her get out to the middle of the lake and just float there, her eyes looking up at the night's sky. Sighing he felt that strange pulling in his chest again and furrowed his brows. 

Deciding to leave her to her swim he walked back to the house and to his bedroom, closing the door and moving to lay in the bed. Staring up at the ceiling with his arm behind his head he thought about everything yet again. He wondered how his children were doing, how his world was making out since his 'death'. Hearing the back door close and lock softly he turned his head and saw her shadow go by under the door and blinked slowly. Listening to her enter her room, the door closing and then the sound of her shower turning on his mind drifted to the image of her in her bathing suit. Feeling heat pool to his lower abdomen and the twitch in his pants he closed his eyes tight, No, no. While he had never grown tired of seeing pretty women, even in his old age, his health had kept him from acting on those thoughts for the past few years. Now though it seemed his body was ready to get back at it. Still though it felt wrong, she wasn't some random woman, she was helping him, had opened her home to him, he couldn't. Hearing water hitting the floor he closed his eyes and grit his teeth at the knowledge of her being naked on the other side of the wall. As his pants grew incredibly tight he rubbed his face and rolled over, grumbling to himself as he tried to force himself to sleep. 

When he woke up the next morning he was surprised to see her in the kitchen making breakfast, she was always gone when he woke up. "Well aren't you a pleasant surprise this morning lass. Figured you would already be gone for work."

Turning to look at him you gave him a small smile. "Good morning Edward. I actually have the day off today." you told him. 

Moving towards her he saw her cooking bacon and eggs. Grabbing a glass he moved to the fridge to make himself a glass of water and taking the vitamins she had gotten him when he had kind of let it slip how he had been sick before. Since he had gotten here he had cut back on drinking substantially. He wouldn't lie though, he was really really craving some good sake but she had none. Swallowing the vitamin he sighed and then chuckled. 

"What's so funny?' you asked, making his plate. 

"Oh nothing just thinking about my son Marco, he's a medic and if he knew how you had gotten me to take these here vitamins without a fuss he'd probably hug you." he told her, moving to take his seat at the table. 

"I take it you were a stubborn patient?" you asked with a grin as you place the plate of food in front of him, moving to grab his toast. 

"A little." he admitted and heard her giggle. "Thank you darling." he said when she handed him his toast and fork. Watching her move to make her coffee before sitting down in front of him and doing something on her phone he furrowed his brows when he noticed her not eating as well. "Aren't you going to eat as well?"

Shaking your head you typed up the message to the wildlife officer that you were to meet with today. "No, I don't eat breakfast." you told him simply.

Frowning he looked down to his food and then up to her. Everyday he woke up to find she had made him breakfast and he had just assumed that she had eaten before work but know he knew that was not true. All this time she had been making him food. Come to think of it he had only seen her eat a handful of times since he had been her. No wonder the damn woman was small. Standing from his seat he saw her look up to him with furrowed brows but said nothing. Grabbing her a plate from the cabinet he walked back over to his own plate and move one of the two eggs and a few slices of bacon onto the plate before placing it in front of her along with a fork. Sitting back down he saw her looking at him with a brow raised. "Eat." he said, lifting his own fork. 

"Edward I'm fine, I really don't want..."

"I will not just sit here and continue eating your food while you go hungry..." seeing her go to speak he looked at her sternly, "Eat." he said again in the voice he used with his crew, the one meaning he meant business.

Huffing out you cut off a piece of egg and placed it in your mouth, "Happy?" you asked. 

"Once you finish all of that." he told her, pointing his fork to her plate and seeing her shoulders drop. Stubborn woman. After making sure she ate all her food he helped her clean up. "So what are you planning on doing on your day off?"

"Well I actually took off because today is the day I have to take Nook to his new home." you said sadly.

Hearing this he looked to her and saw the bittersweet look on her face. "His new home?" he asked and saw her nod. 

"Yea, he's finally in good enough shape that we are hoping we can introduce him to a foster mom." you explained. "She is a very friendly bear who has raised plenty cubs of her own so the idea is she will take him in and he will be able to have a normal life." 

Humming he tilted his head, "Where is it you have to take him to?" 

Letting out the dirty water you wiped off your hands and turned to him. "Glacier national park. It's more north, a good five hour drive from here."

"That's a long drive to make by yourself darling." he said, watching her move over to put on her boots and purse. 

"It's worth it though, there's no hunting allowed in the park so he will be safe." 

"How about some company then?" he asked and saw her smile. 

"I'd like that." 

[ill-skillsgard]

I can't tell you how legitimately excited I am for more Faust x Faith. I am dying for him to meet her parents. I swear this is like my new crack!

Oh, boy, it’s been a long time coming! This is pretty long, but I hope all you fans of the frosty boy enjoy it!

Previous imagines here (x)

Warning: 18+ smut, first-times, teasing, possessive, slight anal-play, anti-religious themes etc.

Faith gave it until the end of August to tell her parents she was seeing someone. She wanted to be free and clear of living under their roof before she broke the news, for her father already had his suspicions, and was sure to grill her about the boy she'd been concealing all Summer long.

The first strike against Faust occurred before he had set foot in the family home. Faith told her father that her new boyfriend was older than her by a few years, the admission followed by a long lecture about how older men couldn't be trusted off the bat. What kind of fellow had eyes for his young daughter, he asked. Faith came prepared to argue and told her fretting mother and disgruntled father that Faust was a gentleman and kept his hands to himself. It was a partial truth, but not so much a lie that Faith lost sleep. She hated lying to her parents — they were good people, and she loved them, despite their restrictions. She knew they only had her best interest at heart. If it hadn't been for their need to stay as a tightknit family, they wouldn't have moved to the city where her university was, and she wouldn't have met Faust.

She begged her parents not to get angry for keeping him a secret, then had to convince Faust to dress nicely for dinner at their house when they finally agreed she was old enough to live on her own, therefore old enough to have a romantic interest. It was an intricate plan with sensitive strings she had to pull in just the right order.

Faith had no idea Faust had already prepared for the occasion. He had a pair of fitted black dress pants tucked away somewhere, and a plain black shirt in place of the endless supply of band t-shirts he owned. He'd be the perfect boyfriend, or try his very best this once to make peace with her parents. Faust dreamt of the day he stood face-to-face with the man responsible for siring his pretty little Faith. Courting her had been such prolonged, sweet torture, and he was finally ready to give her what she wanted. He just had to set a few plans in motion.

His first goal was to show up on the preacher's doorstep, holding his daughter's hand, to see the look on his face when he realized his precious girl had fallen in love with a metalhead, and to assure there was nothing he could do to change her mind. The box checked off when they greeted her mom and dad in the foyer of their cheerful two-storey house on the ordinary suburban street.

The preacher recognized everything wrong with Faust upon first glance, their eyes clashing, already at war.  Faust had seen the look before: tight lips, a heavy brow, stony, disapproving eyes, stiffened back. He smirked, and so did the preacher.

Faith's dad challenged him with a fatherly handshake to which he accepted. He shook the man's hand, pale green eyes boring into the preacher with promises and warnings of the adulterous things he would have his daughter doing by the end of the night. 

"Name's Stan. This is my wife, Reneta. Boy, Faith didn't say you'd be this tall."

Faust smirked again, revealing the boyish looks Faith had fallen prey to. "No?"

"Not at all. Faith hasn't told us much about you at all, young man. How old are you?"

"Twenty-four," Faust replied.

"And how did you meet our Faith?"

"We have a mutual friend."

Faith detected the pressure in the room rising and beckoned a hug from her father to distract him from the six-foot-something degenerate standing in the hallway amongst the ceramic cherubs and framed family portraits.

Faust's second goal was to get Faith's mother on his side. He did that with calculated smiles, and exercising his manners whenever the woman of the house addressed him. By dinnertime, she'd asked how he kept his hair so shiny and if he needed any of Stan's old shirts to spruce up his monochromatic wardrobe. Faust could tell that one bothered Stan. He politely declined her offer, turning to his girlfriend with the most charming smile Faith had ever seen on his lips. It pleased her to see him trying, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, sighing as they awaited their meal.

"Faith, why don't you help your mother bring in dinner? She spent all afternoon cooking, I'm sure she could use a hand," said Stan once he grew tired of watching his daughter making love-struck eyes at the stranger in his home.

"Sure, Daddy."

Faust watched her leave for the kitchen, his stare on her backside. Once she turned the corner, Stan tensed his jaw, ready to pummel the boy with a few personal questions framed as a benevolent curiosity. He waited until the girls joined, and dinner arrived on the table. They said grace, Stan noting Faust refused to close his eyes or add to the chorus of "amens" and struck.

"So, Faust. What do you do for a living?"

"I play in a band," Faust answered without tripping.

"Is that right? Anything I've heard?"

Faust chewed a wad of roast beef, simpering while Faith's eyes implored him not to cross the line. "I doubt it."

"What do you play? Guitar?"

"Drums."

"Ah, I see. How exactly do you make money that way? I can't imagine drummers making a whole lot. Unless you're Neil Peart."

The dark-haired man did not flinch. He stabbed another piece of meat with the prongs of his fork, poked it into his mouth, and continued.

"I'm a classically-trained percussionist. I don't struggle to find work. If the band isn't doing well, I get in the studio as a session musician. But the band always does well, so..."

"Classical training? My, that is impressive!" Reneta beamed. 

Stan assaulted his cut of meat, the serrated knife screeching against the faultless dinner plate. Faust revealed his top row of teeth.

"He's terrific, Daddy. He even taught me how to play a beat," Faith remarked.

"I'd like to know where you found all this time between work and Jessica to find yourself a boyfriend and learn how to play drums."

Faith's grin disappeared while Faust's quivered. The lie hung about their heads, and Faust inhaled every bit of it with feral delight.

A dappling of red crawled up Stan's neck. The two men held each other in a suspended glare. Faust told the man everything he didn't want to know with a raise of his eyebrows.

The third goal was to get Faith alone in her old bedroom after dinner. When her mother mentioned she left some clothes and a few odds and ends behind, Faust offered to take them down for her. He needed only her guidance upstairs to find the room. This was a farce. Faust knew damn well where her room was, as he'd waited down the street for her to sneak out the window many times over the months. Now that Summer was winding down, and Faith had a dorm far away from her dad's watchful eye, the bedroom seemed even more forbidden.

"Here, this must be what my mom was talking about," Faith went to the foot of her twin bed where a taped box waited.

When she turned around, Faust was inches away from her, and a breathy gasp leapt from her mouth. "Oh my goodness, Faust, you spooked me! You really have to make more noise when you... When you..."

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the front of his dress pants just as he leaned in to force his way into her mouth. Her eyes bulged, the firmness she felt between his legs and his probing tongue halting her pulse for a double-beat.

"Faust!" She hissed. "What are you doing?"

"I want you. Right now," he said.

"Now? We can't! My dad's just in the other room."

"I thought you wanted my cock?"

Faith hushed him by pressing her fingers to his lips; terrified someone might hear his deep, resonant voice through the walls. "Why do you choose now to want this suddenly?"

"It's not sudden. I told you I'd fuck you after I met your parents."

"Yeah, but not here!"

"Why not?"

Faith attempted to pull away from him but loathed missing the chance to feel his manhood growing in her palm for the first time. She spent many nights trying her best to brush up against his groin to get a feel for what lay beneath his boxer shorts. Even going so far as to wake up before him, hoping she'd catch a glimpse of morning wood, but always coming up with nothing. Faust's self-control was unshakeable. But now...

With her palm pressed hard against his groin, Faust let out a dull growl, the guttural sound awakening the heavy longing Faith had tried so hard to resist.

"Faith!" Stan called from the bottom of the stairs.

She tried to snatch her hand away, but Faust's hold was iron. He kept her anchored to him, biting his lip as the sound of footsteps on the staircase warned them of her dad's approach.

"Let go," she hissed, unable to stifle the intrigue dimpling her cheeks. "Faust!"

"This is what you wanted," Faust told her.

Stan reached the landing, a mere seven-feet from the open bedroom door. Faust leaned in, let his bottom lip pop out from under the assault of his teeth and made sure she felt him twitch in her hand. Faith tugged again, but Faust held tight.

"Would you?— Faust, let me go!"

At the last second, before Stan entered the room, Faust released her arm and turned toward the box. He lifted it from the bed and held it in front of his hips to conceal the half-mast erection in his pants. Stan analyzed the scene with a critical eye and lingered on Faust while Faith failed to look innocent. She wrang her wrist and fiddled with her daughter's pride ring, bounding away from her boyfriend and into her father's arms.

"Thanks for everything tonight, daddy. I'm so glad we could have dinner and tell mom—"

"You all right, sweetheart?" Stan asked, throwing Faust a warning shot with his eyes.

"What? Of course, I'm all right, daddy."

"Just checking. You need any help?"

Faust's mouth twisted. "All good, boss. I'll take care of her."

His assurance did nothing to placate the preacher. He looked at his daughter as if to implore her to reconsider her choice of male company. Faust knew the moment he was out of ear-shot, and Stan had a minute to speak with his daughter, he'd beg her to think of the future he'd never be able to provide. But he knew Faith — knew she adored him with every mote of her being, and her father trying to shoo him off the porch would only intensify her lust.

Faust loaded his girlfriend's belongings into the trunk of his roommate's car he borrowed for the night while she said her goodbyes to her mother on the front porch. Stan took the opportunity to approach the younger man before Faith had a chance to intervene.

"I don't know what your intentions are with my little girl, son, but let me make myself clear: if I catch wind of any mucking around, or if she comes to me with tears in her eyes because of something you did, our conversation will not be a pleasant one."

Faust slammed the trunk shut. "I love her, and I don't plan on hurting her."

Stan sneered. "I've seen you and your group around town. Do you think a pair of dress pants and a fake smile will fool me? News travels in this place. I've heard all about what your circle is known for, and frankly, it'd please me if you left her to concentrate on her schooling. That's why we moved here. She doesn't need any distractions."

"Which is why I'm taking her straight back to her dorm."

Before the conversation went further South, Faith skipped down the walkway and wedged herself between the two men. She hugged her father and bid him farewell before joining Faust at his side. The drummer smirked as he wrapped his arm around Faith's shoulders and led her to the passenger side of the car, opening the door for her while maintaining eye contact with Stan.

Her parents waited on the porch for them to drive away, but Faust stalled under the pretense of answering some text messages. Before starting the car, he turned to his girlfriend, grabbed her jaw and pulled her in for a long, heated kiss. Faith giggled, attempted to pull back, but met resistance. Faust wasn't finished kissing her. Not until he was certain Stan and Reneta saw. Faust traced her gold necklace, thumbing the tiny crucifix as he pulled back, lips glistening from their passionate touching.

"Faust, come on, my parents are watching. Let's go."

"Your dad hates me."

"What? No, he doesn't. He just needs a chance to get to know you."

Faust shook his head. "No. I like this. I want him to lie awake all night thinking about the shit I'm gonna make you do when we get home."

Faith blushed. He started the car and pulled out of the driveway, an evil grin plastered to his face. There was one last thing left on his to-do list, and it sat next to him, toying with the fringe of her dress, crossing and uncrossing her legs to stave off the pulsing heat of anticipation.

When they entered the elevator, Faust lifted Faith's dress and pulled her panties down to her knees. He swiped two fingers over her lips, moaning when they came away slick. The tall man backed her into the corner as her underwear fell around her ankles. Lifting her leg, he crushed her against the cold metal wall and sucked at her neck like he meant to draw blood.

"You sure you still want to fuck?" He whispered.

"Yes. God, yes, I want to so bad."

"But your pussy's so small, and my cock is so fucking big. You can hardly stand it when I finger you."

"I don't care," she panted. "I want it, Faust. Please. Don't tease me anymore."

The lift came to a shuddering halt. Faust lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, panties hanging off one ankle. It was a fair walk to the end of the hall, and Faith worried somebody might open their door and see Faust palming her ass as he carried her to his apartment. The sound of blast-beats and squealing guitars filtered out from the apartment, greeting them like a wall when Faust opened the door. 

His roommate blinked, alarmed but not entirely shocked to see Faust toting Faith to his bedroom. Her lacy underwear fell to the floor, but neither of them noticed as they devoured each other's mouths on their way.

Once he deposited Faith on the bed and shut the door, she wrestled her dress off and waited. All night, Faust wanted to get out of his clothes, but his foresight convinced him otherwise. He wanted to watch her squirm and beg until she was so wet he could taste it in the air. He approached the bed, and Faith climbed to her knees, set on pulling him on top of her, but he resisted.

"Well, aren't you going to fuck me?"

Faust scoffed. "You think I'm gonna just stuff you that easily? Fuck no."

"Please, Faust. I've waited so long for you."

"Yes, you have. So waiting a little longer should be easy, right?"

Faith whimpered.

"Come here," he beckoned. Faith crawled until she was an inch away from his groin. "Closer."

She stared up at him, bright eyes wide with confusion. He repeated himself. Faith pressed her cheek to his groin, gasping when she felt his cock hardening. He raked his fingers through her hair, grinding her face into his pelvis until she fussed.

"All you fucking think about is cock. All day, every day, you sit there in your cute outfits, dreaming about having that tiny little pussy filled up with my dick. You look so innocent, but I know that not so deep down, under all that lace and gold, you're just as filthy as any other slut, aren't you?"

"Only for you, Faust," she replied, nuzzling into his groin.

"When you're at church with your parents, you're not praying. You're imagining what it'll feel like having my cock inside you."

She giggled and nipped at the erection trapped beneath his trousers. He scratched her scalp until she purred, the perfect kitten pawing for milk. 

"Your dad wants me to leave you alone. But how can I ignore such a pretty girl when I know every time she looks at me, all she thinks about is getting her cunt pounded?"

"That's not all I think about," said Faith. "I think about sucking your dick, too."

"Yeah, you're not so innocent. You just want your daddy to think you are. But he doesn't know you're in my bed, getting wet from the thought of taking my cock."

Faust pushed her away from his groin, stripping his clothes off and climbing onto the bed. He sat with his back against the postered wall, spreading his legs so Faith could crawl between them. She couldn't take her eyes off his hard-on, especially not when he began stroking it in front of her. She still wasn't used to seeing him naked. Her pulse quickened, eyes travelling his hand's trajectory up and down the engorged shaft, thick with blood and veins.

He made her turn around, facing away from him with her ass up and her knees spread as he jerked his cock. Faith sweltered under the heat of his stare, mewling when he finally reached out to goad her entrance with a careful swipe of his thumb. She dropped her hips, hoping to achieve some level of penetration, but he smacked her ass with disapproval.

"Don't you dare try to fuck yourself on my fingers while I'm admiring the view. That is not how this is going down. You just stay right there and do as I say."

"Faust," she whined. "Please. I want you so bad."

"Turn around. On your back. Spread those legs."

She obeyed, and flipped over, splaying her knees. Faust pulled her closer until she rested her thighs over his in a relaxed leg-lock. He continued stroking himself, though her pussy ached and glistened a mere foot away from the tip of his cock. Pushing down on his member, he angled it toward her and laughed when she whimpered.

"It's so close."

"Please, fuck me."

"No. Play with yourself. Rub that clit for me."

Her hand shot down, finding a frantic rhythm of stimulation for his amusement. The motion of her fingers toying with herself made him shudder. He had never been so hard in his life. When he showed her the pre-cum emerging from the tip, she screwed her eyes shut and pressed her spine into the bed, frustrated. 

"Come a little closer. I want to tease that fucking pussyhole."

Tease her, he did. The smooth head glided up and down, parting her lips but only just enough to reveal the pink inside her. Faust let out a long, steady breath, preparing himself for the pressure he was about to encounter.

"It's right there, baby, it's so close. You're so close to having your pussy full. You sure you wanna keep going?"

"Yes!" she cried. "I want it bad, Faust."

"Come and get it then, if you want it that bad. Just scoot down a little more and... Oh, fuck."

His swollen head disappeared beyond the confines of her sex, swallowed and held so close his eyes widened. She was tighter than he feared. It pained him to hear her gasping. Faust retracted, sights far-flung with concern.

"You okay, baby?" He asked.

She nodded, but her words scrabbled to the back of her throat. 

"I'm sorry. I told you, I'm huge, and it's not gonna be easy. Maybe just keep playing with your clit for a little while."

"No, I want you."

"I don't wanna hurt you, Faith."

She clamped her legs around his waist, but before she took him again, he pressed down on her hips, stilling her on the mattress. Maneuvering out from under her thighs, he crawled between them and retraced her opening with his cock, mixing his pre-cum with her wetness. He drew back for a second and deposited a warm wad of spit on the head of his cock before driving it inside with a shallow dip.

"Fuck," he groaned. "I might need to get us some lube. It doesn't matter how wet you are. I don't think you're built to take a cock this big."

"I can do it. I practiced. Please, don't stop, Faust. I'm so wet. I want it so bad."

Faust leaned over her, taking her breasts in his hands, eclipsing them and squeezing until they moaned in unison. He flicked her nipples and dove in to take one in his mouth as a distraction from the lack of promised penetration.

"Fuck, I love these perfect tits. I wanna fuck these too," Faust's voice bordered on a desperate note. "Might just make you wait, though."

"Don't say that! Please! Please, please, please—"

He clamped her mouth beneath his palm. She smelled her own wetness on his fingers and bucked her hips up to grind into his. Rolling his cock between their bodies, it was a fight to see who would overpower the other. Faust wrestled her into full-body submission, pinning her frame under his torso, his legs locking her in place while he held her mouth.

Long weeks of sexual backlog was a sobriety Faust never thought possible to attain. It imbued him with a sense of burning concentration. In the studio, his takes were flawless, his head completely in tune with his body for the first time. The purge left his gut empty, so when the time came, and he couldn't deny Faith any longer, the indulgence was ever the purer. Faith had come along at a time when he viewed any girl hanging around his circle as a pest. He'd had them all, in the very bed he laid her down in, but he never liked the taste of those girls. Faith was a dish far too immaculate for his palette, and yet she was his, and it baffled him.

"Wait, what do you mean you practiced?" He asked, sniffing the hair behind her ear as he kissed her neck.

She stopped struggling, and he let up on her so she could speak. 

"I made myself ready... Because I knew you'd be afraid of hurting me."

"Oh, yeah?" He snickered. "And how'd you do that?"

Faith bit the side of her lip, adjusting beneath him to assert her chest forward, spine curving to press against his warm abdomen and chest. "I went back to the sex shop... Without you."

"Did you?" He murmured, drawing up to look her in the eyes. Thousands of invisible needles pierced his skin all at once, his heart tripping on an undetectable wire. Faust shivered, cracked his jaw, and rose to his knees. Faith remained on her back, staring up at him, trembling. "What did you buy?"

She deliberated between a fib and a fact, choosing the latter. Faust hadn't lied to her about anything, and she wouldn't twist the truth either.  "I... I bought a toy that I thought might be as big as you."

Faust swallowed the dryness in his throat, but it came back the second he took another breath. "You didn't know how big I was until yesterday."

"I guessed," she admitted.

He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his cock and gave it a few tugs to restore lost blood. In a moment, he stood rock-solid again, and Faith drooled over the thickness of his manhood. 

"Did you guess right?"

"Um... No."

"Didn't fucking think so," he growled. "I don't like the thought of anything but me inside you."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"I just wanted to be ready, baby. I've wanted you for so long. Please, you promised after you met my dad, you'd have sex with me. Don't you want to?"

"Don't ever fuck yourself without my permission. Your pussy is mine. I'll take care of it when I want to, and when I don't want to, it's off-limits. If you wanna touch yourself, you ask. Understand me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"What's that?"

"Yes! I'm sorry. I promise I won't ever do it again. I was just going crazy thinking about you. You turn me on so much; I can't help myself."

"That was the fucking point. I wanted to make you wait so that when I finally do fuck you, you'll never forget the feeling."

Faith scoffed, then lifted her legs and made sure Faust saw the parting between them, glistening and aching to be filled. "I don't think I could ever forget the boy who made me wait three months before he'd fuck me."

"That's right," Faust nodded.

He eased his way inside of her, little by little, inch by thick inch until his balls pressed against the swells of her ass. They both let out long streams of air, adjusting to the feverish incursion before Faust kissed her to absorb her already panting breath.

"Feels so fucking good, baby," Faust said, finishing with a deep moan that sent shivers through her body. His voice tingled against her neck, the low crunch of his vocal cords a sound she only ever heard muffled between her legs. Faith had listened to him moaning from pleasing her, but never the other way around. His audible bliss stroked her just as well as his fingers did when they found her clit, working in slow circles around it while he began to rock against her gently. 

The first time he slipped out, she gasped, and every peak of her body swelled with blood. Her nipples hardened, and skin crawled with delight while he eased back in, refilling the persistent little slit that had to stretch to accommodate him. Faith jolted back but settled once he picked her up, suspending her using his hands to lace under her ass like a swing. In that position, she could fret against him while he stayed buried inside, bathing in soft, liquid arousal. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like she needed to draw the breath from his lungs. 

"Fuck, I want to be inside this pussy forever. God, baby, it feels even better than I thought. You're so fucking tight around me. I don't know how much longer I can hold back. I need to fucking destroy you."

"Do it, you bad, bad boy. Use me. Fuck me hard like I know you want to."

He cut off her demanding mouth, answering her lip by touching the hole neighbouring the one his cock was inside. Faith squealed from the odd sensation, but Faust was determined to make her melt by toying with her hole the same way he had just stimulated her clit.

"Yeah, every hole in your body belongs to me. Even this precious little asshole."

He dared to press his fingertip between her cheeks to drive home his point, and she hopped against him like an animal trying to escape his arms. It only made him tighten his hold on her. 

"I bet your dad would fucking lynch me if he knew I had his sweet girl here with all her holes stuffed. He thinks you're back at your dorm doing homework and making something of yourself when really you're here, begging for my cock... Mm, just aching for this cum."

"Faust," she whined. It was all she could muster as he let her slide down his body. 

He scooped her off the mattress and placed her on the lowboy dresser next to the bed. Splitting her thighs, he didn't take the time to ease into her as he had the first couple of times. If Faith wanted the challenge and claimed she could take him, he would let her rise to the occasion. But she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders when his cock met a tight ring of resistance. He'd found her cervix, and the sensation shot through her pelvis like a blinding cramp.

"Oh! Faust! Oh my god, that h— that's..."

"Were you going to say it hurts?"

"No! I want it. Please don't stop."

"I won't stop, baby. Not until your cunt is dripping with my cum. Or maybe I'll pull out and shoot it all over your face. Or between your ass cheeks. Who knows?"

The dresser knocked against the wall, rolling a pair of his drumsticks to the floor with a clatter. Faith was happy Faust's roommate played music loud enough to drown out the sounds of her moaning and mewling for him to take her harder.

After a while, they ended up back on the bed; Faith mounted on his pelvis so he could take a break and enjoy the view of her riding him. He couldn't take the look on her face, the pained, lip-biting expression. It was almost enough to make him feel guilty. But this was what she wanted, and what he wanted, despite his insistence it was all for her.

He succumbed to the sensations holding his dick hostage. It happened after he worked Faith up to an orgasm, using his thumb to tease her clit until she shuddered and came, squeezing around him so hard Faust thought he might pass out before having the pleasure of emptying a load inside her.

"Oh my god, Faust, I'm coming," she squeaked. "Don't stop, don't stop."

"I won't, baby. Keep going. Keep coming all over me. That's what I like to see. Fuck, I'm gonna come, too if you keep clenching like that."

The contractions swallowing his cock were too violent for him to resist. The trembling of her thighs, the way she bit her bottom lip and squeezed her arms around her breasts, needing something to hold onto while she orgasmed sent him over the edge. At the last second, Faust slipped out and spilled months of mental-edging and self-inflicted teasing onto her hot skin. A few ropes slung over her tummy, and one even reached her chest. The rest dribbled into a pool around her navel. Using his swollen, wet head, he stroked her clit a few times, luxuriating in her snivelling shivers and the wetter sounds of her pussy lips.

Faust hopped off the bed and took a towel off the hook on his bedroom door. He returned with it, dabbing the mess he'd made on her. He draped the towel over the bedpost and looked down at his cock hanging spent between his legs. 

Faith recovered from her climax and giggled. "Next time, I want to start by going down on you."

"Oh, is that right?" He asked, shimmying back into bed next to her and pulling her close. "Now that you've had a taste, you can't get enough?"

"If that's what I've been missing... Well, I hope you're ready for my non-stop horniness."

"Pretty sure I'm used to it by now," he chuckled.

She snuggled into him, blotting his collarbone and chest with gentle kisses. "That was worth the wait."

"Yeah. I'm glad we did. Made it so much better to tease you."

"You're so evil sometimes," Faith murmured. "But, you're the best."

Faust tilted her chin up, kissed her, then ran his thumb over her cheek a few times before taking in a deep, preparatory breath. "Yeah... Well... I love you."

Heat pierced her tear ducts, but she screwed her eyes shut before any liquid escaped. She shoved her face into his neck, clinging to him with all her might. Faust couldn't see her cry, not after she fought so hard to prove herself to him. 

"I love you too," she finally whispered. "Like so much, I think I'm gonna—"

She hiccoughed as the tears flowed. Faust melted and pulled her even closer. "You're such a baby. I love it. Sweet girl."

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xvii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xvii: what the wolves taught me

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6.9k  

Rating: Explicit.

Warnings: mentions of gore and blood, like a LOT of mentions of blood, mentions of self-harm, shower sex without Reasonable Protection, also like kind of dubious if you squint because John is tripping, bad decisions are made as well as some questionable dirty talk (John really likes that she beat a man to death). Elliot kind of has like one (1) tiny power trip. Idk man just like proceed with caution??

Notes: A little bit of an interlude chapter, this one! Last chap was a bit intense, so this one's more of a transition--not a lot happens in terms of plot movement, so everyone can go ahead and catch your breath. ♡ As always, a big and huge thank you to everyone who reads and comments, has come and said hi to me on my tumblr. This fandom has been so incredibly lovely and welcoming and just understanding of my general chaos and my inability to bend to canon at all. I'm just so grateful to each and every one of you! Thank you thank you thank you!

Big thank you to @shallow-gravy for lending me their eyeballs and for making me this GORGEOUS moodboard for Elliot. When I say that I like died inside when I saw it, it's because my life became complete and I was ready to ascend. Thank you so much!!

And of course my angel @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife, who proofreads all my garbage even though she doesn’t even go here but she goes here for me! ILY ♡

As always, I hope you enjoy and thank you again!  ♡

John felt pretty good, all things considered.

Yeah, he was probably going to feel like shit when came off of his high; yeah, kissing Elliot did smear blood all over his mouth, but when he spotted the two of them in the reflection of the truck’s dark windows, Elliot’s face and hair splattered in crimson and the very obvious incrimination on his mouth, he thought, well, don’t we make quite a pair?

Everything blurred and pulsed pleasantly around him now as he sat in the passenger seat of the truck. The crash of the drug wasn’t really much of a crash at all—idly, John wondered how it was they got the downturn to be so easy, so slow, so mild. Each time he took in a breath it felt like the car expanded with him. There wasn’t anything the world, in that moment, that wasn’t for him, not a single thing that didn’t sway and pulse and beat in time with the rhythm of his own heart.

Except for Elliot. When he looked at her, red sparked off of her in violent waves to their own metronome, mimicking the dashes of crimson on her face and in her hair; the bruises welled red and blue along the pillar of her throat, her jaw, one on the corner of her mouth. She looked wild; her eyes moved with a sharp clarity that had him wondering how long that Wrath had really been sitting inside of her.

Not a good girl, he thought, watching Elliot drag her thumb from one end of her mouth to the other, wiping the blood their liplock had smeared around. He could still taste it in his mouth. Not anymore.

You couldn’t be good and bash a man’s skull in, could you? And it was bashed in—John had gotten one single good, long look at Kian’s face, and there was nothing of it left except bloody mush and two battered eyeballs barely stuffed into his skull. Gruesome. Well past the point of killing him.

“They attacked the compound,” Jacob was saying from the driver’s seat, pulling out onto the highway with a not-so-kind lurch as they hit pavement. “About an hour after you took off. I bet they were waiting. Fucking cockroaches.”

John glanced into the rearview mirror. He meant to look and see if he could catch any movement in the trees—anything that wasn’t Eden’s Gate—but he just looked at Elliot. Sharp-eyed, bloodied, fingers knotted into Boomer’s fur as the dog lay with his head in her lap. It wouldn’t have done any good, looking back there; everything was moving. Everything was breathing.

“Drugged me,” he offered helpfully, his tongue feeling a little too big for his mouth. Jacob looked at him through the sides of his eyes and hit the cruise button. “Got a radio back, too. I tried calling you guys, but—”

“But not Elliot,” Jacob said, less a question and more a confirmation of what he believed to be true. John shrugged idly.

His eldest brother glanced back at Elliot then, but she was silent for two heartbeats longer than what it should have taken for her to answer before she replied, “Wouldn’t have been fun for him if I was.”

“Yeah, well,” the redhead muttered. “You sure made...” His voice trailed off, and his eyes fixed on the road again. “... Work of him, didn’t you, deputy?”

Elliot sighed. That Jacob said you made work instead of you made quick work made John painfully, delightfully aware of how many times and how much effort it must have taken for Elliot to cave Kian’s face in, and that knowledge writhed pleasant and desirous in his stomach.

But Jacob didn’t sound pleased. John supposed that he wouldn’t be, all things considered. Kian was dead, sure, but the rest of the Family had almost certainly scattered like rats to whatever corner of Hope County they could reach. They would be a problem. By now, they were all supposed to be hunkering down in the bunker to outlast the End Days, and instead, they were contesting with an entirely different pest.

Maybe Elliot was right; maybe without Ase and Kian, they would just leave. Go and kill some other tiny town of people. Get their skin melted off by the nuclear war.

In fact, if John really thought about it—and it did take work—he didn’t think that the Family was much of a problem at all anymore. The only thing that remained questionable, and up in the air, was Elliot herself.

My wife, he thought, his brain ticking and idling like an engine cooling down, wading through the neck-high water of his thoughts. Each leap from one thread to the next felt sugary-slow. Little killer, aren’t you?

He didn’t think that she would be content with hunkering down in a bunker. That would take some time to warm up to, probably—and, John reasoned, he would have to first broach the subject of their legal binding. But that was another problem, for another time, and right now all John wanted to think about was getting home and enjoying his high while he had it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Elliot was very young, she remembered coming across a snake coiled on the hot pavement of the path up to their front door. It had been after school; her mother had had the windows of the kitchen open, playing an old song, something about a dream, and she could hear it from all the way down at the road. The snake was basking—drinking in the sunlight, mottled in shades of brown and copper, flecks of white highlighting the prettiest parts of it. The snake had been a dream to a girl who ran wild and barefoot through every inch of the Hope County wilderness she could reach; the speckled pattern begging for a touch, it’s elegant coil beckoning for attention.

The window to the kitchen had been open, and the second her mother had seen her staring at the snake, she’d come sprinting out the front door. Her mother had never liked any kind of animal that didn’t have four legs and wouldn’t fall under the “fluffy retriever” category, so at first, she had thought it was just her mother’s aversion to the scaly members of the animal kingdom; but after her mother’s insistent shrieking that she give the rattler a wide berth on the way up to the front steps, she’d thought maybe it was actual danger worrying her mother.

Of course, Scarlet had called the sheriff’s office and immediately demanded someone come and get rid of the snake (even though you weren’t supposed to call the sheriff’s office for that kind of thing, there was animal control) while she made herself a vodka soda.

“He’s pretty, mama,” Elliot had said, staring out the window at the snake. “Did you see his spots?”

“Pretty.” Scarlet had never sounded more displeased. She squeezed her lime into her drink, muttering furiously. “All those spots mean that ugly thing would kill you with one bite, bunny. Do you hear me? Venomous. Stay away from it.”

Now, sitting in the back seat of an Eden’s Gate truck, her face mottled with a dead man’s arterial spray, she felt like that prairie rattler, her spots belying a poison and vicious bite.

Pretty, she thought tiredly, combing her fingers through Boomer’s fur. Pretty venomous.

Her gaze drifted absently, away from the landscape blurring past them as Jacob cruised back to the compound and instead onto the occupants of the car. John was leaned back in his seat, eyes fluttering shut occasionally like he couldn’t keep them open very well, and Jacob had a tight grip on the steering wheel. A pack of cigarettes sat in one of the cupholders in the center console, and she reached for them on autopilot.

Jacob’s gaze flickered down to her hand snaking between them. For a second, he looked like he’d been about to grab her hand, like maybe he thought she was trying something—but his fingers stayed on the steering wheel, and he said, “Probably a lighter in the console.”

Elliot snagged the cigarettes and then fished around in the console until she found the lighter. The cotton fabric of Ase’s high-necked dress felt sticky on her skin, like she was in the middle of a summer storm; chill seeped down into her bones, and her skin bloomed feverish, and she thought this is when the crash happens, but it didn’t hit. She lit a cigarette and rolled the window down before she took a drag and felt the tiredness pull at the corners of her vision.

The song from her memory played on a gentle loop in her head. Leisurely, lulling. So dream, when the day is new; dream, and they might come true. Her mother had listened to that song so many times, growing up. She wondered, briefly, if her mother was alright. If she’d gotten out. If she’d gone with the resistance and fled, or if she was still here somewhere, or if she was dead.

“Anyone get hurt?” she asked after a minute. “At the compound?”

“A few,” Jacob replied. His eyes narrowed. “None dead, though.”

Elliot exhaled smoke out the window. She thought she would have felt dirty, now, sticky with Kian’s breath and his fingers and his mouth against her skin—but she didn’t, not right away. She just felt—

“Sure that’s disappointing for you,” Jacob continued.

—tired.

“Eat shit, Jacob,” she muttered. “I just solved your biggest problem.”

“No, you didn’t,” he snapped back. “Not by a long fucking mile, deputy.”

The redhead eyed her through the mirror, but she didn’t say anything to that—and for the rest of the ride back to the compound, it was blissful, empty silence.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John thought he must have certainly fallen asleep in the car, because one second he was blinking through Jacob talking about how the compound had been attacked, and the next they were parking.

The compound looked a little worse for wear, but it was quiet; if not for the bullet holes in the walls of buildings, and the occasional blood spray dried nearly black with time, he wouldn’t have known anything was amiss at all. He would have thought it was a regular evening—but was far from it.

At the very least, John felt a little clearer now. His high was slowly cruising down, and he’d probably feel all of his bruises once he sobered up, but for now he buzzed.

Jacob climbed out of the driver’s seat beside him, and his body operated on autopilot to do the same. He saw Boomer drop from the truck and stick his nose to the ground instantly, eyes wary and waiting to see if any danger still lurked. When Elliot’s feet touched the ground, the Heeler did a single loop around her legs and then nosed her hand.

“John,” his brother said, his voice clipped. “Chapel.”

“Right,” John replied. He glanced over his shoulder and then looked at Elliot; she took in a little breath and waved her hand.

“Gonna shower,” she told him. “I’m good.”

John reached for her, fingers itching; Elliot caught his wrist before his hand could land on her shoulder, or her face, but she used it to pull him closer, and then she kissed him—leaned up and pressed her mouth, tasting like wild copper and a little like ash, against his. John’s brain fizzed white static and he sighed against her kiss, and he was reminded of how electric she had felt back there in the forest with the buzz of her kill still sitting under her skin.

“John,” Jacob insisted, louder this time, “now.”

“Okay,” John said, but he said it into the kiss, sliding his hand from Elliot’s grasp. “Okay, I’m—”

And like that she had pulled away from him; she whistled for Boomer and set off across the yard for the bunkhouse, and he turned and forced his legs to move towards the chapel. I’m good, she’d said. What did she mean? What did “good” constitute?

His brain felt too muggy for him to contemplate whether or not he was spiraling on a thought because it had some other meaning or because he was high, so he just pushed aside as he walked into the chapel, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Joseph was there, sitting beside Faith; their heads bowed in silence, only disturbed when the sound of his and Jacob’s footsteps echoed in the quiet.

“You’re safe,” Joseph said, sounding relieved. As John came closer, his older brother lifted an arm; beckoning him, and he went instantly. Joseph’s hand cradled the back of his head and pressed their foreheads together in an embrace that was far softer than anything that had occurred between them as of late. It felt like John’s entire body sighed in relief. “We were so worried, John.”

“And high as shit,” Jacob replied as they neared. “Tripping fuckin' balls, aren’t you, Johnny?”

“It’s fine,” John insisted, though he could hear the words slur a little even as he tried very hard to punctuate them on their way out of his mouth. “Not so bad.”

“You look awful,” Faith murmured. “What happened?”

“Um,” he said.

“Kian’s dead,” Jacob explained helpfully.

Joseph blinked. His expression was guarded, but hopeful. “Good news, then.”

“Deputy Honeysett bashed his skull in with a shotgun.”

Faith said, “Oh.”

A moment of silence stretched between them. Jacob paced to the front of the chapel; Joseph absently scratched at his cheek, his hand having withdrawn from John as he took in this news from his brothers. John tried not to shift too much, but the silence was killing him—he didn’t know how Joseph was going to feel about that. If he would still want Elliot with them.

“Was she?” Joseph asked after a minute. “Drugged?”

“No,” John said. “Not—I mean, she said she wasn't.”

“So she did it on her own,” he continued, “without being influenced by anything that could arguably… Cause a hallucination which would make her do that.”

“I—” John’s brain struggled to keep up with Joseph’s train of thought. “I—guess—”

“This is good news, then.” Joseph’s voice bloomed with warmth. “Don’t you see? There is no person more in need of us,” he continued, “than someone who has nowhere left to go.”

“And where would she go,” Jacob muttered, “that wouldn’t commit her to a psychiatric ward.”

Joseph nodded. His hand returned to the back of John’s neck and gripped there, firm and steadfast.

“You’ve done so well, John,” he said, “but our time is running out. You know that, don’t you? We are borrowing it now, from God himself, and I don’t intend to go into the next phase of our lives with a debt to pay.”

John blinked through the fog in his brain and swallowed thickly. He thought he knew what it was that Joseph was telling him—but before he could think too hard on it, Jacob interjected, “John hasn’t told the deputy about their blissful union.”

“What?” Faith asked, head snapping to look at him.

“Well,” John began.

“Actually,” Jacob continued, “he lied about it.”

“Well,” John tried again, irritably, “it had already been done, and she didn’t remember it thanks to Faith’s handiwork, and at the moment in time I thought—maybe—it would be worse off to tell her rather than…”

He fumbled for the words he wanted to say; the truth was that there were no good excuses. He just didn’t trust Elliot not to go absolutely feral when she found out, because she certainly didn’t remember it which meant she certainly was going to have feelings about it. And that was a problem.

But a problem for another time. Right?

“You’re gonna stick us in a bunker with her,” Jacob snapped, “and let her lose her shit on us while we’re trapped.”

“I won’t,” John insisted.

Joseph exhaled softly. “John—”

“I’ll—I’ve got it under control!” he exclaimed, looking at Joseph. “I know Elliot better than any of you, and I’ll find the right way to tell her, and it’ll be fine. I know.”

His older brother watched him with a pensive gaze. For a moment, John thought he saw regret flash across Joseph’s face—maybe for praising him too fast, maybe for entrusting this to him at all in the first place. But if he let someone down, that wasn’t his fault, right? This shit was so far beyond the plan of attack—so far beyond what they had anticipated, that there was a margin for error.

No, John thought, no, there isn’t. I know better. I’m better. I know.

“Borrowed time, John,” Joseph cautioned at last. “We’ve got to get rid of these locusts, and then we will be retreating for the End. You understand?”

John steadied the breath that tried to slip out of him. I don’t want to go into the next phase of our lives with a debt to pay.

“Yes, Joseph,” he replied. “I understand.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The stinging shower water ran pink to the drain. Elliot dunked her head under the water and passed her hands over her face; she stood there for a moment letting the water pool in the cups of her hands until her lungs ached and she had to let it go, spilling over her neck and shoulders. The dark dress, wretched thing, had been discarded and tossed into the trash; she thought if she had to look at herself in it for one more second she was going to come fucking undone, and that just wouldn't do.

The door clicked open; a brief moment of hesitation sounded before she heard footsteps coming inside. “El?”

She turned in the shower, wiping water from her eyes before tugging the curtain back. John regarded her with eyes only half-intoxicated, more clarity about them now than there had been in the truck.

Elliot watched him for a moment as she considered. The chill hadn't left her bones, even in the scalding hot water.

“Are you getting in?” she asked, watching his gaze flicker absently before landing back on her.

“Are you inviting me?”

Elliot pulled back from the curtain and ducked back under the water. “I’ve never known you to need an invite.”

“Fair enough, I won't disappoint.”

There was the gentle rustle of fabric, the push of the curtain, and then she wasn’t alone in the shower anymore; but it was fine, because she didn’t want to be alone anymore, because it felt like her entire body was vibrating and she couldn’t get it to stop. Unlike John, who she guessed was cruising down the same gentle crash that she had felt when the Family had drugged her with their weird shit, there was nothing inhibiting her body now. Only the quick, sharp, violent buzzing of blood on her mind, under her fingernails, between her teeth.

It felt good, too. An adrenaline high; the fall, right before impact.

John’s hands slid along her hips. The calloused pads of his fingers—fingers meant to hurt, to twist and coerce—skimmed the scars along her abdomen, sloping across her hip bones; she didn’t have to glance down to see that’s what he was doing. You’ll tell me, he’d said that morning. Eventually.

“I did them,” she said around the dull roaring in her ears. The words tasted strange on her tongue. A verbal admittance was very different from scribbling it into a journal. But the catharsis had begun; with Kian’s collapsed skull imprinted into her mind forever, it felt as though a tension had released in her, pulled taut and sharp and finally ripped free.

“Did what?” he asked, nosing past wet hair to glide his mouth along the pillar of her throat.

“The scars,” Elliot murmured. “I did them.” To feel real, she wanted to say, I did them so I could know that I was still real, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe they didn’t need to.

John’s thumb swept along the one that stretched over her hip bone. He hummed, low and hungry, into her skin. He might have been coming down from his high, but it didn’t seem to be pushing him into sleep; he was enjoying it, the gentle careening to sobriety.

And maybe tomorrow she would regret telling him. Maybe tomorrow she would feel dirty for the way that she killed Kian, instead of intoxicated with her own magic. Maybe, maybe, maybe—but that was a thing to think about when the time came, and just like she had done everything else about herself that she hadn't liked, she would strangle it and move on.

John turned her around so that he could pull her against him. He said, “I thought so,” like he had recognized it in her, and she thought about that dream. Just like me, holding her blood-covered hands in his. You’re just like me.

Lifting her arms, Elliot carded her fingers through his hair and then gripped, pulling him in to press her mouth against his. She kissed him the way that she wanted to; no time for shyness now, she thought, no room for hesitation. John had watched her cave a man’s face in, and he was still here and hungry, so she kissed him hard—dug her teeth into his lip and revelled in the way that he moaned and leaned into her.

He’d kissed her frantically, too, back in the clearing and with Kian’s body just a foot away from them. Kissed her with blood in her mouth, greedy and insatiable, and frenzied, like he’d wanted her right then and there and wasn’t willing to let her go until he absolutely had to.

The raised skin of his Sloth scar dragged under her fingers. She dug her nails into the soft expanse of his shoulder, and he made a low, delicious noise against her mouth. I could give him more, she thought, dizzied at the idea of it, at this sudden humming, heady power she felt had become hers. This something that had become unlocked inside of her. I could give him more, and he’d thank me for it.

“Elliot,” John began, hands gripping her hips as he nudged her back against the shower wall. But he didn’t follow it up with anything; he just kept her there, skin on skin, heat bleeding out from every inch of him. His hand drifted up above her head, fumbling at the window, trying to push it open. “Fuck, it’s so fucking—hot in here—”

I want to be yours. I want a home with you.

Briefly, she wondered if that dream had been as wishful as she’d thought. John had been exactly what she wanted him to be—just the color, just the shape, everything in him built to lure her and keep her there like the most perfect predator. It was easy to forget that she had never known that she wanted a man whose hair was dark and his eyes a little cruel until she had looked at John Seed. But now it was impossible to ignore; she pressed to him, craved him, this delicious anchor of hers.

He could be cruel, if he wanted—he’d considered drowning her to death. He’d been greedy to mark her skin forever with her sin. He’d littered his body with markings and scars, testaments to his devotion, just like he had done every other conversion.

Yes, she thought absently, against the stifling heat of the stinging shower and John’s own radiating warmth, feverish from the hallucinogen seeping out of him. He is cruel. But maybe I—

And then he murmured, against her ear, “Want you,” hazy and buzzing and warm. His fingers slid down between them, gliding along the curve of where she most wanted his attention, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. He buried his face into her neck and sighed, pressing into her and eliciting in her a spark that traveled straight down her spine; and then, almost as though he wasn’t thinking too hard about it: “Would’ve—back in the forest—”

He cut himself off and his movements stilled, just for a second. Elliot tilted her head to look at him through her eyelashes and canted her hips to gain some friction against the heel of his palm; she wasn't bothering anymore to stifle the stuttered, half-breath-half-whimper that came out of her as slick pleasure pooled in her stomach, the feeling of his fingers dragging a delicious, heady burn through her. 

Elliot heard him swallow back a sound over the white noise of the shower. It was a wicked kind of thing, this watching John as she leaned down into him; watching the muscle in his jaw tense and flex just before he beckoned his fingers against her and bit out a swear between his teeth when her body tensed and arched prettily into his touch. Needy and wanting; just the way that he liked, she was sure.

“Would’ve what?” she prompted breathlessly. John’s lashes, long and darker still from the shower spray, flickered. He seemed to be weighing it in his head, the pros and cons of what he had been going to say, but Elliot was no longer in a place of wanting to wobble. No floating, no drifting between ethereal and corporeal—she didn’t want to have to wonder, to have to piece together what it was he was thinking with the crumbling threads she could scoop up.

He didn't answer her; instead, he dragged his mouth along the slope of her neck, teeth digging against her pulse point. Elliot moaned, choking the noise halfway out of her spitefully, because she wanted him to earn it, and he did it again—harder this time, less like he was testing and more like he knew that she wanted it. The sting rippled heady anticipation straight to her brain, sparking through that hazy fog in her mind.

She sighed, "John," just as he dragged his fingers out slowly, torturously slowly, not enough to give her even half the friction she wanted and not so little that it didn’t make her suffer in the best sort of way. As soon as they didn’t return, but rather traveled the expanse of her abdomen, a quiet complaint slipped out of her; John kissed her, his tongue gliding against hers, his teeth nipping and biting as he dragged her leg up around his hip.

Everything felt like it was happening between breaths, between heartbeats, her pulse moving so sluggishly it was lava spreading through her body. Stifling, so hot, too hot, too much, but John’s mouth over hers pushed and pulled the breath out of her, guided the currents of her like the moon. Elliot tried again, giving the words more punch on their way out, “You would’ve what?”

She thought that she knew what he was going to say, and she wanted to hear him say it, that he would’ve—

“Fucked you,” John managed out hoarsely, just as he rocked into her. “God, I—”

Yes, she thought; the word left her mouth in something close to an exhale, and she didn’t know if she was responding to what he’d said or to the way it felt like he’d set a wildfire going racing along her skeleton the second they connected. He managed out a half-moaned swear and shifted into a slower, more leisurely paced as he sighed, “I would’ve, El— fuck , you’re so tight— ”

Pleasure wrenched in her stomach and writhed, hot and wicked. John’s pace was halting; he was trying not to go too fast or too hard even though he wanted to, but then he said things like how he wanted to fuck her while she was covered in blood and—

And she felt seen, and wanted, and she thought this must have been how they did it: took all of the grit and gore of someone and worshipped it, like something holy.

Biggest fucking Peggy-killer this side of Hope County, he’d spat at her that day they’d found Waylon’s body. But now? Now, it was all, so tight, El, want you, would’ve fucked you right there.

His hands grazed the bruises on her body before stopping at her hips again. He pulled back to get a good look at her, and then reached up, cradling her jaw with his left hand and dragging the pad of his thumb across her lip. A thrill crawled up her spine, hot and searing and latching onto her; she thought, this magic is mine now, too, and she parted her lips obediently to drag him into her mouth just so she could watch John just about come unglued.

And never before had she felt like this, wicked with John’s eyes blown wide and dark with want as his gaze fixed on her mouth and moaned, “God, Elliot—”

She wanted to forget about Kian’s hands on her body, his mouth on her skin, his words ringing in her head. So she did; she indulged in the feeling of John’s breath trembling as her tongue flickered against the pad of his thumb and the way he hissed as his pace changed. 

“Should have,” Elliot managed out when his thumb slipped from her mouth so that he could press his hand against the wall by her head. She said it between dizzying, radiating pleasure dragging through her body, devouring her, dragging her further and further toward the edge. “Should have—fucked me then, John, I—”

“F-Fuck.” The swear left his mouth wrecked, his movements stuttering. “Fuck, that’s so— filthy.”

He stopped tempering himself. If he was doing it because he was worried about whatever injuries she’d sustained, she was glad that he’d stopped—each haphazard, frenzied connection of their bodies sent her rapidly hurtling towards her finish, his fingers digging and dragging against the parts of her that craved him the most. It wasn’t fair, really, that John could rumble a few dirty things about wanting to fuck her in the woods and get her so close: but he did, and she was, and that was the end of it.

She breathed out, “Close, John—I’m—”

“Liked that, did you?” He sounded awfully pleased with himself, even as each of his breaths were punctuated with a desirous sound. “Liked me telling you how badly I wanted to push that dress up and fuck you right there? You get s-so —fucking tight when I say that—c’mon, El, let me hear those pretty noises—”

“Yes,” Elliot moaned, hazy with want, desperate and still trying to swallow some of it back, so close so close so close. “Yes, yes, I— John—”

John said something into her mouth; she couldn’t have said what it was, because all of the blood went rushing through her head the second her climax hit. There was a strange, suspended moment of nothing before it ripped straight through her, every neuron firing off rapidly as she buried her face into John’s neck and dug her nails in hard while the wave washed over her, wicked-hot and nearly too much.

Nearly, but not quite. John’s teeth on her lip dragged her back, and he moaned, “Holy shit, fuck yes —fuck, El, I’m gonna—let me—”

He couldn’t quite get out what he was trying to say, but Elliot thought she knew; it wasn’t hard to guess, anyway, considering the way he was gripping her like he’d fucking disappear if he didn’t. And she felt a little wild, a little wicked, only a vicious desire left before she hit empty, so she managed out, “Beg.”

John pulled back a little and let his gaze rake over her. His movements slowed, just enough that she could tell that he was pacing himself, holding back the same way he had that first time when she’d dragged him through his own climax. Though his eyes were blown nearly black, the clarity about them made her want to squirm—that she knew he wasn’t quite so high as he was before, that he was going to remember this.

“Wh—” The brunette swallowed thickly; his hands skimmed absently across her skin, like he didn’t need to really think about it to do it anymore, but that they did it of their own volition. “What?”

With that same kind of recklessness, Elliot knotted her fingers in his hair and said, “ Beg to finish inside me.”

A short, breathless laugh barked out of him. He said, “Fuck you. I’m not—I don’t—”

Elliot squirmed, pulling on his hair until his lashes fluttered and he was leaning back into her on instinct. “You do now,” she replied silkily against his mouth. And then, in an attempt at graciousness: “Didn’t you want me to be loud, John? To hear me?”

He groaned. “Y—Yes—”

“So beg me,” she bit out, canting her hips against him and feeling his breath stutter and hitch, “and I’ll be as loud—”

“Fuck—”

“—as you want—”

“— yes —”

“—tell you how much I want it—”

“ Please,” John moaned as he slotted his hips against hers, unable to hold still any longer. He made a low, wrecked sound, and by the time the adrenaline rush from hearing John Seed say please to her had hit her brain he was foregoing all pretense. “Please, El, let me finish inside you, I’ll—fuck—make you feel so good, baby, make you mine—”

Elliot kissed him, hard and punishing, and moaned “Yes—yes, John, so good ,” against his mouth until he was driving into her like a man incensed, frenzied, each desperate dig of his fingers against the bruises in her skin delivering a different kind of delicious pain; and when he came, panting, yes, fuck yes, don’t stop, El, please, fuck, she held onto him tighter.

Anything to feel whole. Anything to feel safe. Anything to forget, even for a moment.

“Don’t move,” John managed out unsteadily. “Don’t—Jesus, fuck, it’s so fucking hot in here.”

“Don’t know where I’d go,” she replied in a murmur. Her brain felt foggy now, delicious sliding down from her high, remembering the surge of delight she’d felt when John had said please, El. The water had since gone lukewarm, and she wasn’t sure she even got all of the blood out of her hair, but it didn’t matter; pleasant after-currents rippled through her, and all she could think about was how little of her brain was being spent on churning around the Family.

John’s mouth traced a bruise on her neck—either from him, or Kian; she didn’t know—and his breath slid across her skin.

“Viper,” he murmured huskily, admiringly. “Aren’t you?”

“You said it yourself,” she replied tiredly, eyes fluttering as the desperate need for sleep finally registered in her brain; no more adrenaline to keep pushing it away. “More devil than woman.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was the second time waking up next to John, and the second time of having to try and brace herself for some kind of impact after.

That is to say, Elliot thought that maybe fucking John Seed felt a little bit like throwing herself off of a cliff, and so every time it happened—she thought, as though it had been more than twice—it was the same sensation of falling. The feeling prevailed over any other logic in her brain: upon waking, she thought very little of the sensation of his arm draped over her waist or his face buried into her hair and only of the sheer blast of panic that raced through her.

I smell, I feel, I hear, she thought, closing her eyes tight, but when she did, she saw Kian—blood streaming down his face, gripping her jaw, will you feel guilty about this too? And the panic shifted into dread, knotting tight and hard in her stomach.

She forced her eyes open. Sheer exhaustion had pushed her through a dreamless night, but that didn’t mean that her nightmares were confined to sleeping hours only.

When Elliot shifted, John stirred; his fingers skimmed up the back of her shirt, palm flattening at the spot between her shoulder blades, and she winced. Everything hurt. Everything ached. She wondered what was worse; nightmares, or this?

Definitely the nightmares, she thought, each breath a labor of her bruised and battered body. Right? Has to be the nightmares.

“Stop moving,” John muttered against her head.

“I don’t know why you don’t get the concept of a twin bed,” she snapped. “Fuck, my body hurts—”

“Well.” He was clearly trying not to sound smug, and failing; she could feel his grin into her hair. “I do recall you spurring me on—”

Oh, she thought, reminded of their shared shower. That.

A problem.

“Not from that, fuckhead.” She squirmed back from him, back pressing against the wall. “Feels like someone tried to curb stomp my ribs eighty times.”

“Probably did,” he replied. John tilted his head, wincing a little, and then nudged the blankets back from her body. His gaze was admiring. “Christ, you bruise easy, huh?”

“A fucking van t-boned us in a truck that spit out pitiful, half-functioning airbags, ” she bit out, “and then I got tossed around like a ragdoll, so—yeah, I guess if you consider battery and assault “easy”, then—”

John’s hands came up to her face and he kissed her. It lacked the same kind of urgency that it’d had last night; this was John taking his time, savoring her, parting his lips against hers and sighing into the kiss as he carded his fingers through her hair. The gesture itself was so unexpected that Elliot could do nothing but reciprocate, and the breath hitched in her throat as he tugged her back against him—part in pain and part because of the way he did it, like he just couldn’t get enough of her.

“So ungrateful,” he said against her mouth, “after I gave you what you wanted so badly last night.”

“I’m not the one who begged,”   Elliot replied sharply, “am I?”

John’s hand skimmed the slope of her hip, and he made a low noise, thumb digging past the top of her underwear to press lightly into a bruise that she thought his fingers had left. She sucked in a sharp breath as a familiar heat sprinted down her spine and squirmed.

“Worth it,” he replied after a moment, teeth catching her lip, “to have you say how much you wanted me in you.”

He flashed that half-cocked, shit-eating grin that she could feel against her mouth, and she swatted his hand away from her hip. There was, perhaps, a part of her that regretted goading him like that—that regretted spurring him on—but there was no point in lingering on it now. As much as John might want to. As much as, when he looked at her with those too-blue eyes, she might want to.

Elliot opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, there was a soft, quick knock at the door. Boomer, curled up on one of her sweaters by the door, immediately pricked his ears and barked at the intrusion.

“Elliot?” It was Faith’s voice. She felt her stomach somersault, plunged into—well, it wasn’t quite shame, but maybe a little bit of embarrassment, in the way that it was to have the little sister of the man you were currently entangled with knock on your door while you were still in bed.

“I’m—” Elliot sat up, slapping a hand over John’s mouth when she saw him start to say something. “I’m getting dressed, what is it?”

“Joseph wants to talk to you,” Faith called back, pausing. And then, perhaps with a bit more slyness than Elliot liked: “And John.”

Fuck fuck fuck. The last thing she wanted was for Joseph to know . There was probably a ninety-eight percent chance that Joseph was going to be flashing that psychotic smile the second she walked in, knowing that she and John were—

“W—I’m coming,” she said, as John gripped her forearm and pressed his mouth to the pulse point on her wrist, letting his teeth drag there. She yanked her arm out of his grip and hissed, “Stop , you fucker, or I’ll pick my teeth with your fucking bones.”

“Okay,” came Faith’s light-hearted reply. “See you soon!”

As soon as she heard the footsteps receding, she turned to John. “What the fuck does your brother want with me, John?”

John shrugged. “Contrary to what you may believe about me, I am not entirely all-knowing.”

“As usual, you are stunningly unhelpful,” she muttered crossly, sliding out of the bed and over to her bag of clothes. Now, she really felt it—each impact had been dulled by the adrenaline at the time, but as she shimmied into her jeans, every inch of her body screamed in pain and her vision fuzzed around the edges.

John had gotten out of bed as well, but he departed to the bathroom and returned with a bottle of aspirin, which he shook two pills out of and held in his palm for her.

“You might consider something with a higher neck,” he suggested lightly.

Elliot snatched the aspirin out of his hand and swallowed them dry. “My teeth,” she said, jabbing a finger into his chest, “your bones.”

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“Suggestion box is closed,” Elliot snapped. “Now—”

Her eyes flickered over him. It was very easy to disassociate John’s personality from his physical body, but harder when he was half-stripped-down in front of her, scars and tattoos on display and reminding her how intimately familiar she was becoming with them.

“Now put your clothes on,” she finally said, somehow managing to keep her voice mostly steady. “I want to get this done as fast as possible.”

The brunette flashed her a cheeky smile and gave her a two-finger salute that rang sardonic at best.

“Anything you want, baby.”

[char10]

Of Cake Wars and Firewhisky

Read on AO3

From my ao3, many days after it was posted (for James Potter’s birthday) because I am not on top of things and I forgot :)

It's James' eighteenth birthday, the last one of his Hogwarts years, and he knows immediately that he needs to make the most of it. Various Marauders antics ensue, among them a food fight. Also, Jily.

“Is he awake?”

“Shut up, Peter, you’ll ruin the surprise. You whisper about as quiet as a bloody lion.”

James smiled to himself, listening to his friends’ bickering. “You’re not so quiet yourself, Pads,” he said.

Sirius yelped in surprise as James sat up, rubbing his eyes and fumbling on his bedside table for his glasses so that he could see the look of shock on his friend’s face. When he had managed to get them on, Sirius looked like a deer -- ha -- caught in headlights. Was he using that right? Lily had taught him Muggle idioms, but he couldn’t remember what exactly headlights were. Were those the ones Muggles wore on their heads to see at night? Really, he couldn’t imagine life without magic. How could he possibly sneak up on Snivellus without his Invisibility Cloak? And what if he’d have to make his bed by hand? James shuddered. Best not to think about it.

Remus was eyeing Sirius with an odd mixture of disdain, amusement, and that lovey-dovey feeling that James was seeing far too frequently on the faces of his two closest friends (really, he was happy for them, but he didn’t think it was too much to ask for one Transfiguration class without them eye-fucking the whole damn time, thanks).

“Surprise?” Peter squeaked out, glancing nervously between James and Sirius, who quickly recovered from his surprise and was grinning his trademark grin (which James had heard far too much about from Remus).

“Happy birthday, mate!” Sirius exclaimed, pouncing on James’ bed with his surprisingly -- and quite painfully -- sharp knees directly digging into James’ thighs.

“Oi!” he said, moving himself out of the way of what he could only assume were actual rocks in Sirius’ legs -- he couldn’t be missing out on his final Quidditch season because someone had snapped his femurs -- but grinned at his best mate and let himself be wrapped in a hug.

Remus and Peter, more peacefully, sat down on James’ bed without crushing him -- for which he was grateful -- and, somewhat awkwardly, joined in on the hug from either side.

“Alright,” James said after a moment, having been thoroughly convinced that at least four of his ribs were broken -- was this why Lily claimed he was dramatic? Probably. But really she was just as bad, and far more devious -- and he wasn’t sure of the last time Peter brushed his teeth, but judging from the smell it had not been recently.

Slowly, they let go of him and James pushed himself out of bed. It was just his luck that his birthday fell on a Monday of all days, but he intended to enjoy his morning before Potions began. Then again, he was eighteen now, and eighteen-year-olds really didn’t have to go to little things like Potions lessons, right? Right. It wasn’t as if he was pursuing a career in anything remotely related to Potions in any case, so it really didn’t matter. And besides, he’d never exactly needed an excuse to skip a class before -- especially if that class was Potions -- and he didn’t fancy starting now.

“We’ve got cake in your Common Room,” Remus said, once they had all disentangled themselves and were standing upright. James was wearing some stupid deer pyjamas that Sirius had got him as a joke at Christmas, but that were quite possibly the most comfortable thing he’d ever worn, so despite the embarrassment that came with the knowledge that he was fairly certain Sirius had bought them from a Muggle store for a six-year-old and enlarged them, it was entirely worth it. Besides, Sirius probably wouldn’t mention it today. It was his birthday.

Sirius raised his eyebrows, scanning James’ body. “I didn’t think you actually wore those bloody things, mate. They’re for little kids, you know. You look like a seven-year-old.”

Well. He probably should have seen that coming. James shoved Sirius’ shoulder. “They’re really bloody comfy,” he mumbled, feeling his face go red.

Sirius chuckled. “Alright, Prongs. Alright.”

Remus cleared his throat. “Cake,” he repeated. “In your Common Room.”

Oh, how James enjoyed having his own Common Room. Well, it wasn’t technically his own. But he shared it with Lily Evans, of all people, and he would never, ever, in a million billion trillion years, complain about that particular fact. It was, without a doubt, the best part of being Head Boy. When he’d gotten that shocking piece of parchment along with his list of school supplies he’d been…well, shocked . As had his parents -- that one had hurt a little, though he’d never admit it, and really they had every reason to, so he didn’t know exactly why it had hurt, but it had. As had Sirius. Oh boy. Sirius had howled , literally howled, with laughter for pretty much the entire day, once he’d gotten past his shock, and confirmed that it was not, in fact, all an elaborate prank set up by Dumbledore to...do something that Sirius had never gotten around to deciding on. Did Dumbledore even play pranks? Probably not. James laughed at the mental image.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “What are you laughing at?”

James shook his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

That stopped Remus in his tracks, where he’d been walking to the door of James’ dormitory. “James,” he said. “What are you laughing at?”

James sighed. “Well,” he said. “It’s just…I mean, Dumbledore was our age once, right?”

“Yes,” Remus said slowly, “That’s generally the way aging works.”

James rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Moony. What I meant was…well, what d’you think Dumbledore was like when he was at Hogwarts? Like, did Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore ever play a prank? Did he have a girlfriend? Or a Snivellus?”

“You-Know-Who was his Snivellus,” Peter piped up.

Sirius sighed, exasperated. “Dumbledore and You-Know-Who didn’t go to Hogwarts at the same time, Wormy. They’re like, fifty years apart or something. I dunno. But Dumbledore’s way older.”

“ Anyway ,” Remus put in. “School-aged Dumbledore aside, there is, for the last time , cake waiting in the Common Room.”

James grinned. “Right,” he said, stepping past Remus and opening the door to the staircase that led down to the Common Room that he shared with the most beautiful, smart, perfect, wonderful, brilliant, impressive person in the entire world: Lily Evans.

“Never thought I’d practically have to drag James bloody Potter of all people down the stairs to birthday cake,” Remus muttered behind him.

Sirius snorted. “It’s actually James Fleamont Potter.”

“Oi!” James shouted, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he’d gotten to the bottom of the staircase, and Lily was sitting on the couch, holding a cake in the shape of a snitch, and he felt his face split into what was probably the largest, most genuine grin in the history of the world.

“Happy birthday,” Lily said, grinning to match his own. She set the cake down on the coffee table and made her way over to where he was standing, planting a kiss on his lips.

Lily tasted like strawberries and sugar and goodness, and he found himself inexplicably grateful that she, unlike Peter, had recently brushed her teeth. He deepened the kiss, wrapping a hand around her waist as she wrapped hers around his neck, pulling him closer and James felt himself smiling against her lips and --

“Hey! We’re trying to get through here!”

James groaned. The perfect human that was Lily Evans had caused him to forget about the far more imperfect humans that were his best mates, lined up in the stairwell behind him. “Like you and Remus aren’t like this practically every day,” he retorted, because it was true, and, as happy as he was for his friends, it was sort of getting in the way of things like, you know, walking down what was apparently their favourite snogging corridor: the one directly in front of the Great Hall. The one that he, and every other bloody student at Hogwarts, walked though at least three times a day.

“If you two are all done,” Lily began, looking between James and Sirius, amused, “Then --”

“We’re not,” Sirius interrupted.

Lily glared at him. “It was rhetorical , Black.”

“Well, you asked!” Sirius exclaimed, at the same time James said:

“Bold of you to assume Sirius knows what ‘rhetorical’ means.”

Sirius glared at him, shoving his shoulder, but there was no real mirth in his face.

Lily rolled her eyes. “ Anyway ,” she said. “James --” she gestured to the cake on the table “-- cake? Your idiot friends have bribed the house elves into bringing you a feast, so you’ve probably got an incredibly unhealthy amount of biscuits on their way up here.”

James grinned. He certainly enjoyed unhealthy amounts of biscuits. His mum had learnt in his first year that sending James biscuits was not a motivation to get him to write home more often, and in fact only served to cause further detentions as a result of increased sugar in his already far too energetic eleven-year-old self. Needless to say, the biscuits had stopped coming. So naturally, he’d gotten very familiar with the fine art of bribery, especially in regard to house elves and their ability to procure biscuits for him and his friends.

As long as his mother never -- never -- found out that he was eating birthday cake and biscuits for breakfast, everything would be fine. With his luck, she probably would. Somehow. But he’d just cross that bridge when, and if, he came to it.

And in the meantime, he very much intended on enjoying said birthday cake, biscuits, the company of his wonderful, perfect girlfriend who he still couldn’t really believe was his girlfriend, and the company of his less wonderful, very imperfect mates (but really, James loved them more than he could possibly hope to express).

Lily had the now sliced cake floating around the room (“like the Snitch!” she’d said, which James found endearing, as it was quite obvious), which James had enjoyed until one piece had smacked directly into the back of his head, which had him sputtering and coughing on his piece of cake, while the rest of his so-called friends laughing uproariously like the traitors they all were.

James had, naturally, plucked a piece of cake out of the air and smashed it into Sirius’ face in response.

“Oi!” Sirius said, spitting golden frosting out of his mouth and pointing at James. “I’ll get you for that! I, unlike somebody , actually put very hard work into my hair; I can’t have bloody Quidditch-themed birthday cake messing it up!”

“Lily likes my hair!” James said, looking to his girlfriend, who had , on numerous occasions (some of the more…intimate occasions Sirius had, unfortunately and, James hoped, by accident, been present for) voiced her appreciation for the hair that was unnervingly impossible to tame.

Lily shrugged. “It’s alright, I suppose,” she said.

James gasped dramatically in mock betrayal, while Sirius cackled and grinned triumphantly.

“Oh, you’ll pay for this, Potter,” Sirius said, reaching for his wand off the coffee table and accio-ing a piece of cake before shoving it at James’ face.

James, thanking his brilliant Chaser reflexes for what was probably the millionth time, ducked and yelped, tumbling over the back of the couch. “It’s my bloody birthday , you prat!” he yelled, as the piece of cake Sirius had thrown at him hit the wall behind the couch.

Despite his protests, though, James had never been one to turn down a fight of any kind, especially if it was a fight involving food. Extra especially if said food was cake. So he summoned a piece of cake and threw it over the couch. Without looking. Which…turned out to be a mistake.

There was the distinct smack of cake hitting a face. Followed by…silence. And then:

“James,” Remus said.

James cringed.

“Do you maybe want to…look at where you’re throwing your cake next time?”

Well shit. “Did I…hit you?” James asked.

“No,” Remus said. Very sarcastically. “You didn’t.”

“Sorry?” James poked his head above the top of the couch.

Which was another mistake.

A piece of cake that James could only assume was from Remus -- based on the flash that he took the signify magical involvement that would never have come from Sirius, who preferred brute physical force -- filled his field of vision, and he was knocked back, thanking Merlin for his glasses which had at least somewhat protected his eyes.

But also, he could no longer see. There was cake and frosting coating his specs, but he could hear Lily’s beautiful, ringing laughter from where she was sitting, untouched by their cake war, and despite the mess that was his face, he smiled.

And readily summoned more cake to throw at his friends.

Thirty minutes, and a lot more splattered cake later, Lily stood up.

“Protego!” she yelled, throwing up a shield just as a piece of cake Sirius had sent at James nearly collided with her. She had joined in their fight after Remus -- Remus of all people -- had hit her with a large chunk of what had been part of the wing of the Snitch. Their Common Room was a mess.

The poor house elves had appeared a few minutes into The Great Cake War of 1978 (as it was later to be deemed), and there had been a momentary pause in the battle while they had each grabbed as many biscuits as they could carry before returning to their various positions and resuming their food fight.

All flinging of cake stopped at Lily’s shield charm, and the attention of the room turned to her.

She grinned at each of them, eyes lingering on James. “I declare myself the victor,” she said. “And none of you are to argue, seeing as I made that cake, which I’m only now realising, we unfortunately have thrown all over our Common Room, and eaten almost none of.”

“That’s not a reason for victory, Evans,” Sirius pointed out. “I reckon I won, because I’ve kept track --” James found this doubtful, given Sirius’ track record with “keeping track” of things “-- and I do believe I’ve dealt the most damage.”

“If anyone’s won,” James cut in, “it’s me. I’m the birthday boy, in case you’ve forgotten?”

There was a minute of silence, before shrugs and a smattering of begrudging acquiescence. James grinned triumphantly. He’d bathe in cake batter if it meant winning something. There was also a possibility that he’d bathe in cake batter just for the fun of it because now that he thought about it, that did sound pretty cool.

“Scourgify,” Remus -- ever practical -- muttered, pointing his wand at himself, then repeating the charm on Peter, Lily, James -- notably not Sirius, who glared at him and performed the charm himself -- and the more batter-covered surfaces in their Common Room before tucking his wand into his robes and clearing his throat. “Well,” he said, glancing at his watch, “as enjoyable as that was, we’ve all got a Potions lesson to be off to, so…”

He made for the door, but paused upon realising that no one had followed him. “Or…” he began, raising an eyebrow, “do we not?”

James grinned. “It’s our final year, Moony! Lighten up a bit, let’s have some fun. It’s been ages since we’ve missed Potions, and frankly, I can’t be held responsible for my actions if I’m forced to listen to Slughorn drone on about the bloody healing properties of Asphodel for an hour.”

“As if you’re ever held responsible for your actions,” Remus muttered.

Which, true, but James didn’t need it pointed out. “Oi!” he said. “I am! All those detentions, remember? School records and what not?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “ Anyways , if we’re not going to Potions -- which I maintain is especially irresponsible given that our NEWTs, you know, the most important exams we will ever take are coming up -- then what exactly are we doing?”

James shrugged. “I was thinking Hogsmeade, I’ve been meaning to go to Zonko’s, we need more Dungbombs --”

“ Need is a strong word,” Lily cut in.

“We need more Dungbombs,” James continued, “and to your point, Remus, it’s not really as if our NEWTs matter much at this point, do they?”

They were all going to be working with Dumbledore and whatever organisation he was putting together to fight Voldemort after Hogwarts. James’ parents had given him a Look when he’d come home at Christmas break announcing his plans for his future. He’d come prepared with a long list of arguments as to why they should support his decision, expecting them to put up a fight and convince him and Sirius to pursue a less dangerous option.

Looking back on it, he should have known better. His parents had looked at him with an odd mixture of pride and fear and sadness, but they’d just hugged him tightly and told him how proud they were; that they loved him and they were so so scared for him. And of course they were. He’d been stupid to think his parents would do or say anything else.

He felt both terrified and excited for what came after graduation. As soon as Dumbledore had told them about his organisation his mind had been made. There was no other option for him after that, and he’d spent every second since wanting to fight, wanting to do something, more than what he could do within the walls of Hogwarts. His school had never felt so suffocating.

But on the plus side, NEWTs were pretty irrelevant for him. Remus and Lily, the nerds, still insisted on actually studying for the bloody things, which James would never understand.

“James,” Lily said, in that annoying condescendingly patient tone of hers that James had a very conflicting love/hate relationship with, “we’ve been over this. Just because we’re not going to be needing our NEWTs immediately after Hogwarts does not mean that they’re not important.”

He stuck out his tongue because, as Lily often reminded him, he was an actual five-year-old. Then he frowned. “You’re not going to Potions, though, right?”

His trip to Hogsmeade would be significantly less enjoyable if Lily wasn’t accompanying them.

Her face softened. “It’s your birthday, James. Of course I’ll skip Potions for you. And besides,” she grinned, “I’d very much like to see this ‘Marauder’s Map’ that’s caused such an inordinate amount of trouble for me over the years.”

James felt a smile return to his face. “That…can be arranged.”

Lily came over from where she was standing a few paces away to wrap her arms around his head. “Good,” she whispered. “We’ll need it for some alone time later, yeah?”

Aaaaand he couldn’t breathe. Merlin, she was incredible. Somehow, he nodded weakly. “Yup. Yes. Definitely.”

Lily smiled and stood up on her toes to catch his lips in a kiss.

Behind them, Sirius gagged dramatically and Remus cleared his throat.

James flushed as Lily stepped back, winking at him, flipping his mates the bird.

“You’re intolerable, the both of you,” Sirius muttered once he had finished pretending to vomit.

Peter was looking anywhere but James and Lily, his face red, and Remus’ eyebrows were raised, exasperation clear on his face. James wasn’t sure if it was meant to be directed at him and Lily or at Sirius’ antics, but had a long-standing rule of when in doubt, blame Sirius. Well, technically, the rule was when in doubt, blame Snivellus, but somehow he was pretty sure the greasy git could escape blame for Remus’ exasperation this time. So Sirius it was.

“Honestly, Padfoot? As if you’re not twice as bad. So dramatic,” he said, shaking his head.

Sirius laughed. “ I’m the dramatic one?” he asked, looking around the room in disbelief.

“Hey!” James said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that --”

“If we’re going to be skipping Potions could we at least get to it?” Remus interrupted, glaring at James and Sirius in turn. “I’d rather not miss Transfiguration as well.”

James straightened at that, a grin on his face. “D’you think Minnie will remember it’s my birthday?”

Remus fixed him with a stare. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t.”

James frowned. “And why not? I’m clearly her favourite student.”

“I don’t think Professor McGonagall is one to give out birthday wishes, James.”

“I’ll prove you wrong,” James said, “mark my words.”

Remus rolled his eyes and turned to his boyfriend. “Sirius, have you got the Map?”

“Always,” was Sirius’ immediate answer, and he reached into a pocket of his robes to procure the most genius awesome piece of parchment Hogwarts had ever seen. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Lily let out a snort. “That’s what you’ve chosen?” she asked. “ I solemnly swear that I am up to no good ? Really?”

James frowned. “What’s wrong with it?” He thought it was a rather clever name, himself. Maybe that was because he’d come up with it, maybe not. Regardless, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, and he wasn’t entirely sure why Lily seemed to be insinuating that there was.

“It just sounds funny, is all,” she said, leaning over Sirius’ shoulder to look at the Map. Her eyebrows shot up. “It is…extensive, though. I can see how this might have been…useful in your trouble-making.”

James took a bow. “Thank you,” he said proudly. “It was entirely my idea.”

Lily pecked his cheek. “Of course it was,” she said sweetly.

James frowned, but didn’t have time to come up with a retort before Sirius had the Map on the table and was showing Lily its various functions.

“Here,” he said, pointing to a…familiar broom closet on the fifth floor. “Is where you and James go to snog every time one of you has rounds up there, but I suppose you knew that already.”

Lily flushed, as did James, and he reached over to point to a different spot on the Map, his favoured route to Hogsmeade, “and here ,” he said, “is how we’re getting to Hogsmeade.”

Lily’s brows furrowed as she looked it over in wonder. “How on Earth did you discover all of these?”

James shrugged nonchalantly, trying not to show just how proud he was of the Map (it had taken so much work). “We’re just clever like that.”

“Oh, are you now?” Lily teased.

“Well, maybe just Remus then.”

“That’s better,” Lily said, laughing. Remus blushed.

James tapped the Map with his wand. “Mischief managed,” he muttered, and it became an ordinary piece of parchment, which he tucked into his pocket. “I’ll be just a mo,” he said. “I’ve got to grab the Cloak.”

The others nodded, and James raced back up the stairs to his room, grabbing the Cloak from where it was strewn on the floor  -- one of the many joys of having his own dormitory was that there was no one to steal his things if he left them lying about -- before heading back down to where the others were waiting.

The Cloak, of course, was nowhere near large enough to fit all five of them under it, but Sirius, James, and Peter could squeeze under while Lily and Remus -- who they all figured would never be suspected of wrongdoing, being the perfect students that they were -- remained on the outside.

It was…uncomfortable to slide into the underground passageway with five people, and perhaps even more uncomfortable to walk through the cold, damp earth, but there was also the thrill that James still got from breaking the rules, and Lily -- despite begging him to obey the rules -- had a bit of a wicked streak, herself, and James could tell that she was enjoying it.

They walked together behind the rest of the group.

“Romantic, eh?” James said, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

Lily chuckled. “It’s not so bad.” She took his hand and squeezed it.

James smiled to himself and squeezed back, relishing her touch for the rest of their now less miserable hike.

Honeydukes was everything that the dark tunnel was not. James grinned, Invisibility Cloak in his extendable robe pocket, as they entered the store. There was no need for it, really, not when he was on the terms that he was with the Flumes.

James and the Flumes had a simple arrangement: he paid extra for excessive amounts of sweets which he frequently distributed at parties in Gryffindor Tower, and in return for his loyal business, the Flumes chose to look past his shopping in their store instead of attending, say, Potions classes.

So he simply waved at Ambrosius, who was re-stocking the Chocolate Frog cards.

“James, my boy!” he exclaimed, putting the box he’d been holding on a display table. “What can I do for you?” His eyes scanned over James’ companions, settling on Lily. “And who’s joining us today?”

The Marauders rarely did anything without their friends, so naturally James’ relationship with the Flumes extended to his friends as well.

Lily, who had unsurprisingly never skipped a Potions class to sneak into Hogsmeade for candy, did not.

“This is Lily,” James said, grinning. “My girlfriend.”

Ambrosius’ interest seemed to have peaked. “Not Lily Evans?”

James blushed. He’d never exactly hidden the fact that he massively fancied Lily Evans from anyone. Including Ambrosius, who’d asked if he had a ‘special someone’ after James had bought two dozen packages of Honeydukes Best Chocolate and Pumpkin Pasties the day before Valentines Day. James had not, at the time, had a special someone, as he informed Ambrosius, but he’d very confidently -- over confidently, as he’d later learn -- stated that he would the next day. The next day he’d come in and bought himself an absurd amount of pity chocolate, and Ambrosius had patted his shoulder lightly and told him that he’d get there one day.

Lily looked at James, a smile on her face. “That would be me,” she said.

Ambrosius smiled warmly, coming over to shake her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, my dear. You’ve finally said yes, then?”

Lily laughed, nudging James in the side. “I have.”

James was fairly certain that there was a dragon in the room, because his face was quite possibly on fire. Sirius would never let him hear the end of this, if the gleeful look on his face was anything to go by, which, unfortunately for James’ dignity, it most definitely was.

“Right,” James said, scratching the back of his neck before the conversation could go any further. “I was thinking…Fizzing Whizbees?”

Ambrosius nodded eagerly. “We’ve just had a fresh batch.”

“And Exploding Bonbons?” Sirius asked.

“Chocoballs,” Remus added.

“Jelly slugs, too!” Peter squeaked. James would never understand his obsession with jelly slugs.

Ambrosius simply nodded, more than used to their lack of restraint when it came to sweets. “Anything for you, Lily dear?” he asked, smiling at her.

Lily, who looked amused and not the least bit surprised at the insane amount of candy they were purchasing, shook her head. “I think what these lads have gotten will be more than enough for us.”

James rolled his eyes. “Some treacle fudge, too, for her.”

Lily turned to him. “Should I be concerned about the amount of sugar we’re going to be consuming?”

James laughed. “Nah,” he said. “You’ll be fine. Maybe we can run from Filch to finish the adventure off, get some of our energy out like that, yeah?”

She shoved his shoulder. “I hope you’re joking.”

He wasn’t really, but it was fine. Running from Filch was a time-honoured Marauders tradition. No escapade was fully complete without the thrill of almost getting caught, and Filch wasn’t much of a real threat in any case.

Ambrosius, who’d left to find the massive amount of sweets they’d ordered, returned with Remus’ extendable bag, filled to its metaphorical brim. “What’s the occasion?” he asked as James fished around in his pockets for the galleons.

Lily grinned. “It’s James’ birthday!”

“Oh!” Ambrosius exclaimed excitedly. “Happy birthday, my boy! It’s eighteen now, right?”

James nodded.

“That’s a big one in the Muggle world, you know,” he said, leaning back with a wistful smile. “I remember my eighteenth birthday. Summer after I graduated Hogwarts, spent it right here in this store making Crystallised Pineapples. I was quite fond of them at the time. Here,” he said. “I’ll get you some. On the house, it’s your birthday, enjoy it.”

“There’s really no need --” James began, but both Ambrosius and Sirius shushed him, so he shrugged and accepted the bag the shop owner placed in his arms. “Well, thank you,” he said. “And we’ll be back soon. I’m planning on crushing Hufflepuff next week, so I’ll be stopping by for the party materials in a few days.” He grinned.

“So arrogant,” Sirius muttered as they walked out of the door into the chilly late March air.

James looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t think we’re going to lose to the Puffs, do you?” he asked, his voice full of mock concern.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Shall we sit over here?” he gestured towards a patch of grass just beyond the Hog’s Head.

Peter frowned. “On the grass there?”

“Well, I was going to conjure up a picnic blanket, but you’re welcome to sit on the grass if you’d like, Peter,” Sirius said.

Peter flushed. “Blanket’s good,” he muttered, following Sirius to the patch of grass.

The ground was cold and damp, even through the blanket, but with the absurd amount of candy that they’d purchased and were now eating, it was easy to forget about.

“Better than Potions?” James asked, looking pointedly at Remus, who was lying on his back enjoying his chocolate.

Remus sat up and smiled. “Maybe a little bit,” he said.

“Lily?”

She sighed. “It is a nice day,” she said. “And you know Professor Slughorn loves me too much to stay mad at me for much of anything.”

“Not after Francis,” James said, grinning at her. “I’m fairly sure Slughorn would retire if you asked him to after you got him Francis.”

“Sorry,” Sirius asked, brows furrowing. “Who exactly is Francis?”

Lily’s grin grew wider.

James laughed. “Oh boy,” he said.

“Francis,” Lily began, shushing James, “is a fish.”

“A fish?” Sirius asked, deadpan. “You bought Professor Slughorn a bloody fish ?”

“Let me finish ,” Lily said, “Francis is a fish whom I transfigured from the petal of a lily and gave to Professor Slughorn as a gift because I am his favourite, and best, student of all time.”

Sirius stared at her for a moment. “So you’re how that fish got to his classroom?”

“I am,” Lily confirmed, beaming with pride.

“Well,” Sirius said. “We got a Slughorn a different gift, and personally I think it’s much better than yours.”

Lily looked wary. “Do I want to hear this story?”

“Yes,” James said, smiling at the memory, just as Remus said:

“Probably not.”

“That’s a yes,” Sirius said, glaring pointedly at Remus, “so --” he turned to face Lily and set down his Exploding Bonbon “-- you know how Slughorn’s oddly obsessed with these?”

He held up a crystallised pineapple and Lily nodded.

“I’ve given him some,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius said, “he was being a right git to Peter one day, and naturally we all needed to get back at him for that, so we came down here, bought some crystallised pineapples and then went back up to the castle. Now he’d been awful to Peter, just for yawning in class -- absolutely ridiculous that man, we’re bloody students, we get tired sometimes, you know? -- so we coated them in a Sleeping Draught and then had Peter give them to him the next class as an ‘apology for being tired in class.’ Peter said he’d made them himself and wanted to know what Slughorn thought of them, so the stupid man tried some right then and there, which was of course all part of the plan, and he was out in, what, five minutes? Ten minutes? What was it, James?”

“I’d say ten,” James said, smiling broadly.

“He deserved it,” Remus said.

“Of course he deserved it,” James replied. “You’d never have let us prank a professor if they didn’t deserve it, Moony.”

Lily shook her head. “Would I be correct in assuming you wormed your way out of detention for that one?” she asked.

“We don’t worm our way out of anything,” Sirius said. “We’re just very strategic. After Slughorn was out, we switched the bag of drugged pineapples out for some normal ones. He cast all sorts of diagnostics on the bloody stuff to see if we’d done anything, but found nothing. We only get detention when we’re sloppy.” He paused, “Well, when we’re sloppy and before we had the Map.”

Lily sighed. “I do pity our professors for having to deal with you.”

“What about me?” James asked, mock hurt.

Lily leaned over and planted a kiss on his mouth, then pulled back to whisper, “Especially you.”

James blushed, Lily laughed, and they spent the remainder of the morning on the blanket eating a stupid amount of sweets and telling stories.

But, like all good things, it came to an end when Remus insisted they get back to the castle for their Transfiguration lesson.

“D’you think she’ll remember my birthday?” James asked for what was probably the hundredth time as they made their way to Transfiguration.

Remus, who had long since stopped responding, only sighed and exchanged an exasperated look with Lily.

The only thing Professor McGonagall said when they walked in, five minutes late was:

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, Professor,” James started. “We got stopped by some firsties, you see, who wanted to talk to me because today, as I’m sure you know, is…”

He waited for her to finish the sentence.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is what, Mr. Potter?”

“My birthday,” he mumbled dejectedly. “Today is my birthday.”

McGonagall sighed. “Take your seat, Potter,” she said, but James could’ve sworn he saw the slightest hint of a smile on her face, so he smiled and sat next to Lily.

“Did you see that?” he asked her. “She smiled at me! Professor McGonagall smiled at me .”

Lily pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sure she did.”

“She did!” James whispered furiously. “I swear it!”

Lily nodded. “Yes, love.”

James sat back in his chair and sighed. “You’re the worst.”

“But you love me.”

James froze. They…had not said that. It was true, of course, but they hadn’t said it. She knows, he thought. Sheknowssheknowssheknowssheknowssheknows.

“--ames? James?” Lily was whispering frantically. “James? I didn’t -- if you don’t --”

He shook his head. “Yeah,” he said, his throat suddenly dry. “Yeah I do.”

She stared at him. “You do?”

He forced himself to nod. “I love you.”

Lily’s face was about five centimetres away from his own, filled with wonder and awe and hope. He could smell the cake and frosting from the morning’s battle, the treacle fudge and chocolate from Honeydukes, even a trace of the sweet smell of her shampoo that he couldn’t quite place a finger on. “I love you too,” she murmured.

Now it was James’ turn to stare. He’d loved Lily for an embarrassingly long time. Or, it should have been embarrassing, but it truthfully wasn’t because nothing about loving her could ever, ever be even a little bit embarrassing. Loving her wasn’t something he did , exactly, it had just happened, not that he’d minded, because even though years of rejection had hurt, he’d do it all -- maybe less of the whole part where she’d called him an arrogant toe-rag and he’d deserved it, but the rest of it -- a thousand times over if it meant loving her. He’d loved Lily for so long, but he’d really never imagined her loving him. If fifteen-year-old James could hear her now…well James actually preferred not to think about what fifteen-year-old James would have done. Probably something that would make her take it back. But eighteen-year-old James was better than that. Eighteen-year-old James stared at her in disbelief and felt a bit like crying. “You do?”

“I do,” she said. “So much. I love you so much.”

He felt his face shifting from wonder and disbelief to a wide smile. “I love you so much, too,” he said and he wanted to kiss her so badly. So very badly. So he did his best to forget they were in the middle of a Transfiguration lesson -- and it looked like Lily was doing the same thing because how could they not kiss now? It was the perfect moment, if you took out McGonagall lecturing about the dangers of human transfiguration (disappearing limbs, misshapen bodies, and, in severe cases, death, James’ stupid transfiguration-oriented brain provided for him) -- and leaned forward, both of them smiling broadly as their lips met. It was everything James needed, and he felt a warmth spreading throughout his body and --

“Mr. Potter! Miss. Evans!” McGonagall’s voice cut through the moment and James and Lily snapped apart. “Absolutely unacceptable! From our Head Students! Wait outside, the both of you, I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

James and Lily happily -- and not very shame-faced -- stood up, holding hands and made for the door to the classroom. James could see Peter looking at the ceiling, Remus shaking his head, which was in his hands, and Sirius barely containing laughter.

McGonagall seemed to realise that, perhaps, sending the lovebirds to the corridor by themselves was not the best punishment. “Just a moment!” she called out. “I’ll actually be moving your seats. Potter, you’re next to Vance now; Evans next to Fletcher.”

And Transfiguration was thus ruined.

James spent the remainder of the lesson attempting to transfigure himself into Mundungus Fletcher so that he and Lily could sit together, but after he nearly cut his arm off -- they were learning about human transfiguration, so really, he felt like he was justified in his practising -- McGonagall saw what he was doing and confiscated his wand for the rest of the lesson. So he did the only thing left to do: sulk. But really, there wasn’t much to sulk about. Lily Evans loved him! She said she loved him! He had snorted with happy laughter at one point and Emma Vance had looked at him like he’d just proclaimed his love for Divination.

After he’d done it a second time, she put down the quill she’d been attempting to transfigure into a toad and looked at him. “What in the name of Merlin is so funny, Potter?”

“She loves me!” he’d said, practically whooping with joy. “She said she loves me!”

Vance had looked supremely unimpressed, and had only raised an eyebrow before turning back to her quill. James didn’t care. He didn’t care much about anything other than Lily’s voice, ringing in his ears: I love you. So much. I love you so much .

Those words were probably the only things that got him through the bloody Transfiguration lesson. All he’d wanted to do was kiss her, and hug her, and spin her around and never let go. Just live in that moment, where she’d said it forever.

When McGonagall finally released them, with a withering glance at James, who’d spent much of the lesson with a dopey grin on his face, James had made a beeline for Lily, bypassing his mates who wanted to know why exactly he and Lily had been going for a snog in the middle of Transfiguration.

“I love you,” he said, kissing her the very moment they were out of the classroom. “I love you, I love you.”

She pulled them off to the side, out of the doorway. “I love you too,” she said, kissing him again.

People were probably looking at them, snogging in the middle of the Transfiguration corridor did tend to draw attention, but neither of them cared.

“Alright,” Remus said after a few minutes.

James hadn’t known that his mates had stuck around, and whipped around. “Hi,” he said breathlessly, grinning.

“That’s enough,” Sirius said. “Now, do you two care to tell us exactly what happened in there?”

Lily and James looked at each other, wearing matching lovesick grins.

“We said it!” James said, practically squealed, really.

Sirius looked taken aback at James’... odd tone. “Said what ?”

“Love,” James said dramatically, waving a hand through around. “Is in the air.”

“Oh my God,” Remus muttered.

“It’s all around us,” James continued, “between us, within us. It’s --”

“Sweet Merlin,” Sirius said. “Enough of whatever in the everlasting bloody hell that was. Are we meant to guess that this means you two officially love each other now?”

Lily nodded. “We do,” she said sweetly, looking at James, who smiled back at her.

“We do,” he repeated. “Very much.”

“So I suppose you’ll be even more intolerable after this, won’t you?”

“We’re never intolerable,” Lily said.

James nodded. “We’re adorable, sure, but never intolerable.”

Sirius snorted, but then his face softened. “I’m happy for you, mate,” he said, walking over to James and wrapping his arms around him.

James hugged Sirius back. As much as they ragged each other, at the end of the day, they were brothers and there truly wasn’t a person in the world James was closer to than Sirius. His mum had told them that she worried they were too codependent, but James could never really see the issue with their codependency. There was no denying that it existed, but they never planned on spending much time apart, and as long as they didn’t, there was no problem. They enjoyed each other’s company, and worked well together. They were each other’s best friends, brothers, inseparable partners in crime, and James never wanted it to change.

“I’m happy for you, too,” James said.

Sirius frowned. “Why’re you happy for me?”

James shrugged. “You’re happy, yeah?”

Sirius smiled. “Yeah.”

“Then I’m happy.”

“James, quit stealing my boyfriend,” Remus said.

James gasped dramatically and Sirius shoved his shoulder, walking to Remus and pecking him on the cheek.

“Am I the only single person here?” Peter chirped.

“Reckon so, Pete,” Sirius said, wrapping an arm around him. “You’ll get there one day.”

“Hope so,” Peter said glumly.

James wrapped an arm around Lily, still feeling giddy, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He didn’t say anything, just enjoyed her steady touch at his side as he listened to his idiot mates bickering about anything and everything. He smiled.

*********

“Knock knock,” came a soft voice from the outside of James’ door.

They’d just gotten back from dinner, where he’d gleefully opened the presents his friends and parents had gotten him. Most of it, unsurprisingly, had been bought at Honeydukes and Zonko’s, but James would never complain about anything from a candy store or a joke shop. Lily had gotten him a personalised broom cleaning kit, along with a Muggle antler that he could put on his head. He’d liked it far too much. His parents had gotten him a new broom, which he was most definitely going to spend all of the next day flying around on (he’d read so much about it, and hadn’t exactly been surprised to unwrap it, but thrilled all the same). Now, he was sitting in his room writing a very nice letter to his parents to thank them for the broom and excitedly tell his mother about the important development in his and Lily’s relationship.

“Yeah?” he called back.

“Can I come in?”

James smiled. “Always.”

Lily entered and sat next to him on his bed. “Nice day, yeah?”

He leaned against her and smiled contentedly. “Perfect,” he hummed.

They were quiet for a few moments, simply sitting in silence, happy to enjoy each other’s company.

“Go for a walk?” Lily asked. “I want to see the stars.”

James stood up, offering a hand to Lily before picking up his Invisibility Cloak. “Have you ever known me to turn down a late night escapade, Lily Evans?”

She smiled at him. “No I have not, James Potter.”

“Well, come on then,” he said, holding the door open for her, then grabbing a bottle of Firewhisky -- yet another perk of being Head Boy: it was far easier to smuggle in substances otherwise not permitted. Breaking the rules was really much easier when he was the one meant to be enforcing them -- and following her down the stairs to the entrance of their Common Room. He slung the Cloak over the two of them, enjoying their close proximity. “Astronomy Tower?”

She nodded and James could smell the minty toothpaste on her breath under the enclosed space of the Cloak. “Best place to see the stars, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “I’ve always liked the top of Gryffindor Tower, personally.”

Lily stared at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

James grinned. “Only sort of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “Well, I’ve flown up there a few times at night, because it really is incredible, but then McGonagall confiscated my broom except for practices and games, and that was before we had the Map, so it was damn near impossible to get it.” He paused, frowning. “I guess I haven’t really thought of it since we made the Map. I’ve got my broom upstairs if you’re interested.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” James said. “Why not?”

Lily grinned at him. “Sounds like a pretty nice way to close out the evening.”

So, fifteen minutes later, they found themselves sitting on one of the edges of Gryffindor Tower, looking at the vast night sky above them.

It was clear, and the moon was a crescent -- which James had known even before he looked up and saw it, because what sort of friend would he be if he didn’t keep track of the lunar cycle with Remus? -- so it was the optimal time for looking at the stars.

“There’s Sirius,” James said, pointing to the brightest star in the sky.

“The dog star,” Lily said, chuckling a bit.

“The dog star,” James agreed, he opened the bottle of firewhisky with a hollow pop and took a drink before passing it to Lily.

It was cold out, being nearly midnight in the Scottish Highlands in late March, and the alcohol burned in the best way as it went down his throat.

“James,” Lily said, setting the bottle down between them.

“Hmm?”

“What do you think happens when we die?”

James startled, a bit surprised by the heavy question. “What do I think happens when we die?” he repeated dumbly.

“Yeah,” Lily said. “Like, I dunno, d’you think there’s an afterlife or something. Mum and Dad took me to church when I was a kid, but I haven’t really been since Hogwarts. I know religion in the wizarding world is…different. But…I dunno. Hard not to think about death these days.”

He silently squeezed her hand. “I don’t know what to think,” he said softly. “Mum and Dad…well, we’ve never really done…religion or whatever. I’d like to think that we all go live with all our departed loved ones in some utopia, but I really don’t know.” They were quiet for another few moments. “What do you think?”

Lily shrugged. “I don’t think I really know either. Logically, my brain would tell me we die and then there’s just --” she waved a hand vaguely through the air, taking another gulp of whisky, “-- nothing. But logically, my brain would tell me magic isn’t real, so I really don’t know.”

James hummed. “Are you scared to find out?”

She looked at him. “Is this you asking me if I’m afraid of dying?”

He shrugged.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Alright then.” She paused, considering. “I don’t think I’m scared of dying ,” she said slowly, “I’m scared of not living enough. I’m scared of not making whatever life I’ve got left count. I’m scared that when I do go, I won’t make it count. I suppose I’m scared of what comes after, too. But dying? I dunno. It’s pretty inevitable, right?”

“Fairly,” James said, his lips twitching up. “Fairly inevitable, yeah.”

“Right,” Lily said, managing a small smile. “If I…” she hesitated, “If I die, then I want it to mean something. My life, my death, I want it to do something. For someone. Something. I need it to have meaning, you know? I think that’s a lot of the reason why I want to fight. Obviously because it’s the right thing to do; something that affects me personally a great deal, too, but also because I’m so scared of not making it count; of dying, being killed, whatever, without making it count, make sense?”

James nodded, looking into her beautiful emerald eyes, shining in the dim light produced by the moon and stars. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Perfect sense.”

“Are you scared?” Lily asked. “Of dying?”

He shook his head. “You’ve said it perfectly,” he told her. “Far more eloquently than I would have, I’m sure,” he smiled at her, and she returned it. “We shouldn’t have to fight this war,” he said after another minute or so of comfortable silence, his voice barely a whisper. “But we do. And I want you to know that no matter where we are, no matter how far apart, I’m with you.” He took the hand that was holding hers and he put it over his chest. “We’re in this together, Evans. And I don’t bloody well intend on letting some blood supremacist arsehole rip us apart.”

She smiled at him, putting her head on his chest. “Neither do I, Potter.”

He smiled, looking at Sirius shining brightly above him. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, toe rag,” she returned affectionately.

James had to laugh at that, running his fingers through her hair. He didn’t know how much longer they’d have together. Days? Weeks? Months? Years? Hours? The world was changing, and they along with it. And in that changing world, James knew nothing but her calm breathing on his chest, his heart beating against her head, their love, winding around them, above them, within them.

He didn’t know how long that love would have, but he’d take every second that this horrible, twisted universe would give them.

[stormhawksplanb]

Plan B: A Storm Hawks Fanfic!

A/N: As perusal here’s a master list! For those on mobile check my Plan B hashtag for all of the chapters! This chapter is painfully short- but I had no choice ^u^

https://myhushhushdarling.tumblr.com/PlanB

------------Chapter 6

The wait became almost grueling. I spent the last 15 minutes of the two hours on the condor and I felt about ready to explode. The original plan was to take a long nap in the movie room, and after everything that happened over the last two days, it was much needed. Crashing a skimmer', running around looking for gear, getting kidnapped, then rescued, it was exhausting. Even still I couldn't find it in me to rest. Gear herself was pretty hyper and was running around. I watched her race around for a couple more minutes before finally getting off the sofa and walking towards the cockpit, hoping to find something better to pass time.

Everyone seemed to be in a bit of a buzz over the contest as well. Piper was going on about the detailed crystals that had been done with watercolors. Finn was whining about not being able to buy a statue that vaguely looked like him. Junko and Aerrow seemed to be laying back on the railings and stork seemed uninterested.

"Hey guys..." Immediately everyone's faces turned towards me, either in anticipation or to greet my presence.

"If anyone is thinking I have news on the winners, it's only been 20 minutes."

Everyone simultaneously groaned, and I couldn't help but chuckle. Piper shook her head and walked over to me. Then she guided me to sit down at the round table.

"I don't know about you, but the wait is absolutely killing me." Her hand shot up to her chest, and for a second it felt like we were all just young kids, with little to nothing to worry about. Then I remembered something I wanted to ask them.

"Actually Piper, my mind's been pretty foggy after all the excitement. I've been thinking about something else that's been kind of important..."

"oh yeah? Well what is it?"

I held my breath for a few short seconds before releasing it.

"Ravess."

The weight around us grew heavier as the moment past. Piper and Aerrow started sharing glances with each other, and I could see stork giving me a disapproving glare from the steering wheel of the Condor. Piper looked back at me as soon as she got the nod of approval from Aerrow.

"Ravess is... Was A Talon General for Master Cyclonis. The last time we saw her she helped us find a way to a door to the other side of Atmos. We haven't seen her since then..."

A heavy sigh left my lips. Something wasn't right. No one was telling me anything. Or at the very least, being dishonest. My skin jumped when I heard sirens outside go off.

"What's that!?"

Before I knew it everyone was rushing over to the exit, Aerrow leading the way, beckoning me to follow.

"It's a warning siren. We're about to go under attack!"

Attack? Was he for real? Even so I followed then out, and the whole Terra seemed unfamiliar. There was dark clouds blocking the night sky, and the air seemed cold. All I was able to process was a loud 'NOVA DUCK!' before hitting the ground, blacking out. A gag that I really wish would stop happening.

I'm not sure how long went by before seeing the sun rising in the distance. my head throbbing, and I winced at it. All around me there was destruction. My heart sank and I stood up, feel gears light paws climbing up my legs and back, perching herself on my shoulder.

We really were under attack that night. And I just wanted a break. I wanted to cry if I'm honest, but my mind went for something else entirely. The condor and the storm hawks were nowhere to be seen. In fact no one was. I hardly realized it but I was buried under rubble. I looked down at my leg after a shooting pain went through it. I tried to take another step but my ankle felt sprained as well. My groan caught Gear's Attention, and she tried to lick away the pain away.

A hardy chuckle came out before I fell back down to the ground, about ready to scream. I've been through so much already. The loss of my home Terra, my own family having to leave me behind, and just when I was in a place of peace and happiness, we were attacked. My mind raced to when I was younger.

My home Terra was always so beautiful. And it was under so much cloud coverage, most people didn't know we even existed. That was until one day, a neighboring Terra sent out a warning to our communication towers, warning us about a Cyclonian attack. I can barely remember it but, the feeling still existed. Our Terra was scared. Not just for our sake but for the Nova crystal's sake. If any of our crystals got into Cyclonian hands Atmos could be in such great danger. We tried to push for our Sky knight to protect us but the night he promised to do so, he fled. I watched him fly off from the Terra, to scared and in shock to call out for him. That's when it all happened.

Crystal charges dropped from the skies, above the reddened clouds. They destroyed everything, and you could hear a booming voice come from the ships, demanding us to give in or we would suffer the consequences. Yet somehow among all the fear and pain our Terra felt, we didn't back down. For once in my life I saw a whole Terra protect itself. It was just a shame that it was only a front. A distraction, for the sister to the sky knight, my mother, was told to hand over the rights of the Terra to the only existing child. Me. The Argonians all fled, leaving me behind with what renamed of the crystals.

It didn't stop there. A few days later they returned. Our once gorgeous and lush fields and crops were turned into nothing but coal and dirt. They made sure that there was no survivors. They forced me to hideaway in a secret cavern craved into the side of the Terra. I stayed there for days, not eating, and hardly sleeping. When I finally got the guts to resurface everything changed. It was like my home wasn't my home. It was a giant pit of nothing. And so from there on out I was forced to make due with the scraps of my Terra. My home.

I shook from that memory and I lost it, finding my bag and taking out my crystal, I remembered a few stalls where there might be some other crystals leftover from the attack, anything to get a signal out. My only issue was, I'm extremely 'self taught' everything a sky knight needs to know. And when your whole Terra is laid to waste, that's not much. Finding a crystal that vaguely reminded me of a lightening crystal, I found a pipe and a few other bits of metal and I did what I could to make a safe conductor for my crystals. I aimed my DIY project to the sky and triggered it. A few moments went by, and I heard the sounds of skimmers off behind me.

At once I looked behind me, and as soon as I did Piper had slid up to me on her heliscooter. She seemed extremely concerned for me. Between the tears drenching my face, and my shaking body, I don't blame her.

"Nova! We've been looking for you forever! Are you okay? Is anything broken!?"

"No. I'm fine... My ankles sprained but that's it."

Even with my attempt at acting ok, it didn't seem to fool her in the bit. Either way she offered me a ride back to the Condor. The rest of the squad was sitting at a round table of the cockpit. I was forced to sit next to stork who grimaced at my bruised and dirty appearance, slightly scooting away from me. I gave a quick grunt out loud as I shifted my foot. The others were probably staring at me, but Piper quickly explained that I wasn't in need of any major medical attention. And Aerrow continued the meeting.

"As we all know, Ravess had been gathering the Cyclonian talons that were left behind after we defeated Master Cyclonis herself. This attack wasn't on her list of Terras to destroy though. Which means she had to track us down..."

I looked up at Aerrow, trying not to look sore. He met my eyes with a grown.

"Junko and Radarr went looking for anything she could have used to track us... We found a tracker attached to your Nova crystal. She didn't care about the crystal itself, but she did use you as bait. And that's our fault..."

I tilted my head to the side, not fully understanding him.

"I hate to ask this, but why isn't it my fault? I messed with her carrier ship, er- tried too, and you guys had to come save me... Wait..."

He gave me a sympathetic smile.

"She must have known that you were hanging out around us and used you to find us. We don't have the best track record with Ravess. She even warned us that we weren't exactly on the same side when she helped us hunt down master Cyclonis."

I ran my hands down my face out of frustration. Not wanting to know what we were gonna do but still:

"So what are we going to do?"

This is where things got kind of sensitive. No one wanted to make eye contact with me, in fact they all looked extremely guilty of anything. I heard a tongue click come from my side. I turned towards stork and he was the one to break the ice

"Not we, but us. You are getting dropped off at the nearest Terra. That way you don't get in the way-"

I crinkled my nose in anger and before I could say anything Piper spoke over me.

"What he means, is we can't afford you getting hurt. No offense but, you don't seem like the fighting type. Your just a civilian.

Something in me snapped and I stood up as quick as I could and I walked away from the table, my hands going numb as I clenched them. All I remember saying to then next was something I never thought I'd tell anyone.

"This was my war way before it was yours. I'm not just gonna stand and twirl my thumbs."

[jmeelee]

Derek’s not sure what’s more alarming: that he never heard footsteps on the rickety, rusted-out fire escape, or that Stiles Stilinski is lurking in his bedroom in the middle of the night.

His eyes snap open, focusing with pinpoint precision on the intruder, who reaches long, slender fingers toward the vase of drooping daffodils on his nightstand.

“What are you doing?” Derek croaks as Stiles’ hand grazes a soft yellow petal.

He whips the wandering appendage back like he’s been burned, locking startled, bloodshot brown eyes on Derek’s prone form.

“I…” Stiles stops, glances around, eyes falling back to the small, wilting bouquet, the only spot of cheery color in the dark, sparse room. “Really, dude? Flowers? You realize a few blooms won’t cover up the fact that this loft is a shithole?”

Derek sits up, cotton sheet pooling around his waist. Stiles’ eyes rake down his bare chest, a phantom caress leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Did you break in just to insult my apartment?”

“Whoa, rude. Pot, meet kettle.” Stiles shrugs one shoulder. “Besides, your window was wide open. You’re lucky it was only me.”

Derek scrubs a hand down his face. He may not know Stiles well, but he can tell when he’s stalling. “Stiles, what do you want?”

Stiles continues as if Derek never spoke. “I never pictured you as a flower guy. Did a girlfriend give you these? My mom loved daffodils. There used to be a flower sale when I was in elementary school, right around Mother’s Day, and my dad would give me money to buy her a few. I always used the spare change to buy an extra ice cream at lunch. Hate to break it to you man, but fresh air isn’t going to do these suckers any good. They’re past their prime.”

He flicks a cup-shaped corona, spraying a fine sheen of pollen into the balmy night air, and Derek lets loose a low, menacing growl. Stiles’ outstretched hand trembles slightly with his quickening heartbeat, but one deep breath pulls a blanket of composure over his fear. He turns toward the window, shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t… I… Screw this. I’m leaving.”

A hand snaps out, encircling Stiles’ wrist before he can take a step. “What’s wrong?”

The question Derek should ask is what isn’t wrong. In the past few months they’ve faced off against a darach and a nogitsune. And before that, it was a kanima and a homicidal rouge alpha. They’ve all stared hell in the face, but Derek wagers none more so than Stiles. Weakened after his split from the fox demon, Stiles is a shadow of his former frantic self. Dark circles stain the translucent skin under his eyes, and his already-skinny frame is emaciated.

Stiles’ gaze sticks fast to the vase, steady beat of his heart thumping against the pad of Derek’s thumb. “I can’t sleep. I haven’t been sleeping since…” He looks toward Derek, blinking fast. “Everytime I close my eyes, I see Allison’s face.”

Derek speaks many languages, but they all fail him in the face of Stiles’ pain. So he waits for Stiles to inevitably fill the silence, poorly attempting to convey empathy via his eyebrows. His sisters, both living and dead, always told him the expression made him look constipated, but it’s all he knows.

“I can’t go to Scott with this,” Stiles continues, as Derek knew he would. “I don’t want to hurt him—hurt anyone—more than I already have. Lydia is grieving for Aiden, Danny misses Ethan and Jackson, and Malia is… complicated. My father is worried sick and the last thing I want to do is burden him with a crazy son. Again. I don’t…” He shudders on an inhale. “It was stupid to come here, but I have nowhere else to go.”

Silence stretches between them, woeful and taut. Derek wishes, for the hundredth time in a span of seconds, that he’d inherited his mother’s soft, soothing solace, or his father’s confident gestures of comfort. At the rogue thought of his dad, Derek waves toward the sagging daffodils.  

“My father was a florist.” Yeah, Derek sucks at this.

Stiles scrunches his nose. “Uh. Okay?”

He marches on. In for a penny, in for a pound. “It’s how he and my mother met. He was a human florist. Ran a shop outside of town. Floriography was his passion, and she’d heard about him, sought him out when her pack needed help with medicinal herbs. They fell in love and she turned him.”

Stiles is soaking up Derek’s tale like a dehydrated man in the desert, so he charges on. “My father had this book my mother gave him called Le Langage des Fleurs.” The French slides off Derek’s tongue like silk. “We used to read it together, but it burned up in the fire.” The with everything and everyone else remains loudly unspoken. “Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings.”

He slips from the bed, sheet falling to the floor. Thank goodness he wore boxers to bed. Gently, he moves aside the yellow flowers to reveal violet and crimson sweet pea. “These mean thankfulness. It’s a bouquet I arranged after Cora returned. There’s a bunch on her nightstand, too.”

Stiles delicately fingers the petals again. “Why are you telling me this?”

Growing up, his father had filled every room in the house with flowers. On the bad nights, when vivid nightmares rip him from sleep, he swears he can still smell petals burning. “Because, despite everything that’s happened, they help me,” Derek explains. “Flowers make me feel closer to my family, let me express what I’m feeling.”

“I have noticed you’re really bad at that, dude.”

Derek glares. “The point is, you’ve got to find what helps you.” Derek realizes he’s still loosely holding Stiles’ wrist, and quickly drops his hand. Luckily, the awkwardness is broken by the sudden loud complaint of Stiles’ empty stomach.

Stiles laughs, and Derek’s heart breaks a little when he realizes it’s been months since he’s heard the sound. He wraps it around himself like a garland. “Food would help,” Stiles declares.

Derek bends down, grabs a pair of sweatpants off the floor. Stiles mummers something about underwear models under his breath, and Derek flips him off over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s raid the fridge. Cora just went grocery shopping.”

----------

“Derek. Care to explain why I found Stilinski in our pantry this morning, eating Nutella straight from the jar?” Cora crosses her arms over her chest, menacing despite her striped pajamas and bed head.

Derek scowls, bracing for a fight. “He’s struggling, Cora. He didn’t want to be alone, so I told him he could crash on the couch last night. I’ll buy you a new jar next time I’m at Costco.”

She hums, crossing her ankles on top of the coffee table, painted toes almost touching a vase of stargazer lilies. “This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?”

“No.” Derek nips the insinuation in the bud.

It totally becomes a thing.

———-

Derek stills when he enters his room and finds Stiles sitting cross-legged on his bed. He can feel his hackles instinctively rise at the invasion of his personal space, Stiles’ scent already seeping into the mattress. His gym bag thumps to the hardwood floor.

“What do these mean?” Stiles questions, pointing to the fresh purple and white flowers.

“Lavender has lots of meanings, but it’s a healing plant. People have used it for centuries; it calms you down and helps you sleep.” Derek points first to the purple florets on the long, skinny stem, then to the white flowers on the thick green stalks. “And Heather is for luck, protection and making wishes come true.”

“Heather,” Stiles whispers, small smile quickly overtaken by a frown carving deep lines around his generous mouth. He shakes his head like a wet dog, dislodging whatever morose memories have tried to take hold. “So, want to watch a movie or something?”

Derek whips off his white tank top and tosses it in the general direction of the hamper. Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Sure, but I’ve got to shower first. Here,” he chucks his cellphone into Stiles’ lap. “Order us some pizzas, I’m starving.” He heads for the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Get me ham and pineapple.”

“Gross dude!” Stiles yells at his retreating back.

———-

Week three brings horehound and azalea, and a trial run of Claudia Stilinski’s chocolate chip cookie recipe. Derek, Stiles and Cora eat twenty-four cookies between them.

Week four is gardenia, morning glory and blue salvia, and Cora’s thoughtful, “He’s better, more rested. He’s thriving. Don’t you think?”

———

“What was that book called? The one your dad read to you?” Stiles is contemplating camellia, eyebrows drawn.

“Le Langage des Fleurs. The Language of Flowers. He had a first edition from 1819, and handled it like he was holding a newborn.” Derek chuckles, remembering his father’s gentle hands, the memory crisp and sweet as an apple blossom in his mind. “He was ridiculous.”

Two weeks later Derek comes home to hydrangeas, the fading scent of Stiles, and a copy of Le Langage des Fleurs lying on his desk. He picks it up, runs a finger down the spine, and his father bursts into technicolor life before his eyes. It’s not a first edition, but to Derek, it’s priceless.

———

A war rages between Derek’s head and heart, as Stiles peacefully sleeps, belting out an occasional snore and drooling on Derek’s favorite pillow.

It’s your own damn bed. Get in.

You can’t. Not without his permission. Wake him up and tell him to get his ass to the couch.

It’s only sleeping. He won’t mind.

His father might be wondering where he is. Don’t worry the Sheriff or you’ll end up arrested. Again.

“Damnit,” Derek whispers, and crawls into bed, lying down next to Stiles on top of the blankets. As far as truces go, it’s pretty weak.

The movement, though careful, wakes Stiles, and he rolls toward Derek, blinking. “You’re warm,” Stiles mumbles. “Stay.”

Derek does.

_______

“I’m planning on visiting the cemetery Saturday morning,” Derek broaches. “I usually bring some flowers for the graves.” A pregnant pause. “I could gather some for you to take, if you want to come along.”

———

They stop first at Derek’s family plot, and Stiles helps him tend to the zinnias Derek planted around the graves when he first returned to Beacon Hills.

“Ready?” Derek squints in the bright morning light at Stiles’ shadowed face.

A sigh. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Allison’s tombstone is shiny and summer-warm, and Stiles tenderly lays a spray of willow, asphodel lily and wormwood at the base. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Tears track down Stiles’ cheeks, but he doesn’t swipe them away, letting them evaporate in the sun, leaving behind a tang of salt Derek can taste in the air. “I’m so sorry.”

An entirely different Stiles walks back to the Camaro, a familiar one. The effortless, supernatural confidence of the nogitsune and the quiet, sad stillness of grieving are shed with each step, a much-needed abscission. Rosy cheeks replace a pallid parlor, and fidgety fingers dance along the tops of headstones they pass. The return to normalcy rattles loose a content noise from Derek’s chest.

“What is it, big guy?”   

“You’re kind of like a flower, ya know,” Derek replies, before he can internally talk himself out of the confession.

The corners of Stiles’ mouth gradually rise. “If you mean I’m beautiful and smell fantastic, yes, I did know.”

Derek punches him lightly in the arm, and Stiles reels away with a dramatic flailing of limbs. “Some flowers come back year after year, after being buried under snow and ice, and they’re stronger than ever. Take a lotus, for example. It grows in the darkness and mud, but when it reaches the light…” Derek finishes his statement in reverent hush. “It becomes something exquisite.”

“So you’re saying I’m resilient?” Stiles playfully rubs the spot where Derek hit him, but his gaze is shy and tender. Derek refuses to cultivate the seeds that look plants inside his heart, desperately pruning the roots already wrapping around his ribs. “A rose grown in a concrete garden?”

“I’m saying you’re a weed and I can’t get rid of you.”

In slow motion, Stiles reaches out, twines their fingers together like creeping vines, and squeezes once. “I don’t think you want to get rid of me, Derek Hale.”

His mother raised him not to lie, so Derek keeps his mouth shut.

———

He’s roused by the creaking of his bedroom door and Stiles’ shuffling feet. They’d given him a key three weeks ago, when the midnight visits petered off and Stiles started knocking on the front door—in the daylight—like a normal person.

“What time is it?” Derek slurs, fumbling for his phone.

“Three a.m.,” Stiles whispers.

The return to nocturnal visits can’t mean anything good. Derek sits up. “Nightmares?”

Stiles stands at the foot of the bed, worrying the hem of his Lacrosse sweatshirt. “No,” he answers, voice husky. “I haven’t had a nightmare in weeks.”

“Okay. Good.” Stiles shuffles from foot to foot. “Is something… What do you need?” Honeysuckle, wisteria and coriander tickle Derek’s nose.

“You.”

Derek doesn’t hesitate, lifting up the sheets in invitation. “Come on in.”

“Yeah, no.” Stiles shakes his head, eyes bambi-wide. “See, I’m not looking for comfort tonight.”

Derek’s heartbeat trips over itself. He clears his throat, never lowering the blankets. “Well, you’re in luck. I’m shit at comfort anyway.”

“Liar liar, pants on fire,” Stiles whispers, and climbs into bed. Then, “Oh! Look at that. You’re not wearing any pants.”

———-

The doorbell rings at dinnertime, and Derek yells for Stiles to enter, but he remains planted on the hallway doormat, galloping heartbeat beckoning Derek like a siren song.

Derek slides the loft door along the track. “You can come in. You have a key for god’s s—”

The bouquet is bigger than Stiles’ head, bursting with red tulips and yarrow, jonquil and plumeria. Smack in the center is a monstrous sunflower.

“I read the book—well, an English version—before I gave it to you. I hope I didn’t screw this up.” He holds the flowers out to Derek.

Derek accepts them, cradling them to his chest. He plucks out a butter-yellow jonquil, gently offering it back to Stiles with his right hand.

To an outsider, Stiles’ rampant ramblings and Derek’s severe allergy to words would render them incompatible, but Stiles’ smile is so bright it could sustain an entire garden, and Derek knows they’re finally speaking the same language.

“I’m just as much of a mess as you are, Stiles,” Derek warns. “You need healthy soil to grow, and we’re both still healing. Maybe we’ll always be healing. Trees don’t bear fruit on demand.”

Stiles rubs at the back of his neck. “True. But, think about it. All we can do is create the best possible conditions, feed and water the right seeds. I trust nature to take care of the rest. But the parts we have control over? We’ll work on those together.”

Derek grins, and the future unfurls before them, full of potential. He steps back, and Stiles crosses the threshold.

“Together,” Derek agrees. Together.

[tylergparker]

{ self para; 001 }

There was a certain instinct that had kicked in several years ago, Tyler realized...

Evidently being pregnant and taking care of herself and her unborn child all those years ago - even just a child herself - had given her some motherly instinct that she hadn’t fully expected. It hurt her a lot of the time, feeling that way, thinking certain ways. Between the way her own mother had dropped the ball enough that it set an example of what not to be like - to be what she wanted - and her own momentary fantasies of raising a child while she had been pregnant, Tyler had a fairly solid idea of how to react to certain situations when they involved kids.

Like when one was sitting alone outside the boogie board rental shack sniffling.

The girl had had every intention of renting a board herself, hitting the water, burning off some energy, but that shifted quickly. A look of concern creased her brow, twitched her lips down in a subtle frown as she stepped around the corner of the small building where the child sat by herself.

“Hey, honey, you okay?” Tyler asked gently.

The little girl looked up at, one hand lifting to rub at a damp eye. “My brother went to play with the bigger kids and left me.”

Teeth chewing at the inside of her lower lip, Tyler slowly squatted down to the child’s level. It was out of her presented character, and she realized that if anyone who recognized her happened to witness what was going on, there were bound to be questions. She didn’t care, though, that wasn’t important. This was where her focus was.

“Where’s your mom?” Tyler asked.

“At the grown ups pool with my daddy.” The little girl whined.

Tyler nodded sympathetically. “Do you want me to take you there to find them?”

Unsurprisingly, the child looked apprehensive through the budding tears in her eyes. Tyler had to give it to her; at least she knew about stranger danger, even in a moment of distress.

“My name is Tyler,” She tried, offering her a small smile. “What’s your name?”

“L-Lily..” Was a wobbled answer as the child began crying a little more notable.

“Lily, that’s a very pretty name, did you know that? It’s so nice to meet you.” Tyler murmured, settling fully onto her knees in front of the girl instead of simply squatting.

She wasn’t sure how long she was going to be here for, given the distress the child was under. Realistically, Tyler should have found a member of resort staff, informed them of the situation. She shouldn’t have taken it upon herself to help the little girl. Some part of her couldn’t help it, however. And it was definitely a part of her that would hurt later, she knew it. Her consciousness was warring in her brain - knowing that helping this little girl, bonding with her, was going to make her feel things and think about things that she worked so hard to keep behind a tightly shut door, but also feeling completely unable to trust anyone else to take care of the little girl who needed her help. That was all she was doing, after all, helping.

Knowing enough about kids from various church events - a whole other damn life ago - she knew how to speak to them well enough, how to soothe them if needed.

“How old are you, Lily? Do you think I could guess?” Tyler asked, a barely there edge of playfulness creeping into her tone.

Lily sniffled but otherwise shook her head. Bingo, she was engaging. That was going to be key to helping her calm down and get where she needed to be.

“You don’t think I can guess?” Tyler clarified, lifting her brows and smiling a little wider. “I don’t know, I think I could probably guess. Are you... four?”

Lily’s brow creased downward as she frowned and sharply shook her head. Tyler breathed out a light laugh.

“You’re not four? Oh no, I thought I really had it. How aboooout,” She made a purposeful show of tilting her head one way and then the next. “Three years old?”

She was playing with the girl on purpose, hoping to get the little bit of crying Lily was still doing to fully subside. It was hard not being able to soothe the little girl by way of a hug, admittedly, it was an instinct for Tyler - one that most more than likely didn’t expect. Once again the older of the two girls found herself letting out a gentle laugh at the displeased scrunch of Lily’s features.

“No, bigger.” She specified.

“Oh, bigger, okay, I’m so sorry.” Tyler apologized and brought her hand up to her chin as if she were thinking for a long moment. “Are youuuu.... six years old?”

Lily’s eyes blew a little wider and the beginnings of a smile appeared as she nodded her head a couple quick times.

Something about the knowledge of the girl’s age turned in Tyler’s stomach, tightened in her chest. She knew even in approaching the child that there was no way she was older than eight, but the irony of her being the exact age of her own daughter was a painful one. Still, she managed to stick with her intentions, to not to crumble in on herself just yet.

That could wait until later.

“Six, wow, you’re right, that’s so big. You’re almost as old as I am.” Tyler grinned faintly.

Lily wiped at one of her eyes and let out a gentle laugh. “No it’s not, ‘cause you’re a grown up.”

An instinctive ‘debatable’ echoed in the back of Tyler’s mind, lingered on the tip of her tongue. It would have been a common retort to any one of her friends, an expected one even on a normal occurrence. This wasn’t exactly one of those, however.

“You know what, you’re right, I am a grown up, which means I can definitely get into the grown ups pool, huh?” Tyler lifted a brow. “Do you want to come with me and see if we see your mommy and daddy?”

Once again Lily seemed to be a little apprehensive at first, sniffling one more time as she blinked wet lashes at the older girl. Finally the little girl gave a nod of her blonde haired head. Tyler gave a nod and a reassuring smile back to her before standing up from the sand and holding her hand out.

Some other, opposite instinct very nearly had her jerking her hand back once again from the small hand that fell against her own palm. Fight or flight, maybe? Her subconscious trying to give her one last out of this ‘no good, very bad, super terrible idea’ that had a whole lot of potential to leave her in a not great position later on? She managed not to greatly confuse the child, however, keeping her hold on her hand and beginning to lead the way around the back of the board rental shack to head back from the private beach to the hotel’s pool areas.

It was ten minutes. Ten minutes tops that she walked hand in hand with Lily, going to the adult pool to find her parents. Ten minutes of talking about first grade. Ten minutes of hearing about a ‘mean big brother.’ Ten minutes of playfully guessing each other’s favorite colors - both red. Ten minutes of Tyler realizing she was going to be absolutely fucked later.

Lily’s parents were confused by the appearance of a random twenty-three year old coming into the adult area with their six year old daughter. However, after getting the story about what happened, the woman thanked Tyler, even went so far as to apologize to her for having to take time out of her vacation. Tyler reassured that it was no problem. She was happy to help. She’d kind of checked out a little at that point, though.

Somewhere between a goodbye to Lily where the six year old flung herself in a hug around Tyler’s legs for ‘being nice to her’ and going back down to the beach to fetch her shorts again, Tyler had lost track of what she was doing. How else had she ended up locked in a bathroom with her back pressed against the door, head tilted backward, eyes squeezed shut? How else had she gotten to a point of counting down from one hundred, taking careful, slow breaths, because her heart was suddenly beating so fast?

She managed to calm down enough to fish her phone out of the back pocket of the shorts she hadn’t actually put back on yet. Her teeth had a firm pinch on her lower lip as she opened up her text messages, scrolling down far enough to one from nearly a month ago.

Texting with Dylan wasn’t frequent. It wasn’t casual or friendly - nothing like it ever was years ago. They were kind of a go-between at this point. If Rick and Shannon sent either or the other of them any pictures of Sophia, they had the decency to check with one another to make sure that they both got them. Most times Tyler made it a habit of just sending them without asking - if he’d already gotten them anyway what did it matter, he’d just have them a second time? Dylan, however, had a habit of asking her if she wanted them. It had taken her a while to realize what his reasoning for that was. But it was because even after all the time and all the distance in between, he still fucking knew her well enough to know how emotional she could get. He was looking out for her.

A month ago Rick and Shannon had taken Sophia to the Grand Canyon over Spring Break. At the time, when Dylan had asked her just like he always did if she wanted the pictures that they had sent to him from their trip, Tyler hadn’t answered. That was always answer enough for Dylan. He never asked a second time, he never called her to check and see if she had gotten his message. He asked once, and Tyler didn’t answer, that was the end of it. She tapped into that message now, though, blinking a quick few, hard times.

Can you send me one of those pictures?

Her thumb hovered over the little blue arrow that would send her message. She wasn’t sure what stopped her still. The echoing pulse in her ears, maybe? The lump lodged in her throat? The ever-present reminder that she didn’t need to do this to herself all the time? Rolling her lips tightly together, she erased the typed out messaged and closed her messages entirely. Instead she thumbed into her phone. It wasn’t a surprise to find her two most recent calls were to her two best friends - they were living together for the week, and she liked to drag them out to do things, so she called them enough to know what they were up to, sue her.

Ry, Jay, Ry, Jay, Ry, Jay.

Her gaze flicked back and forth between the two recent calls, reciting the contact names in her head on a loop. God, she was certifiably crazy. This was why kids needed more than a school counselor to talk to after emotional trauma thanks mom. Tyler opted out of calling either of the boys. She was sure that if they realized she was having an unprecedented meltdown over something that they would drop what they were doing to come talk her down, there was no doubt about that. It was more that she realized this wasn’t the time or the place. They were in fucking Hawaii, they were on a fucking vacation. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and she wasn’t going to be the asshole to soil that for anyone else, especially not them. If she didn’t get it the fuck together, she was going to wreck the rest of it for herself.

Taking in a slow deep breath through her nose, Tyler closed her phone app, bringing up her home screen. The picture of Sophia with her face painted with a butterfly mask - from when Shannon and Rick had taken her to the Orange County Fair over the past summer - looked back at her. For a moment, several pictures of herself when she was little crossed her mind. The one and only time Dylan had ever said more than asking if she wanted the pictures was when he had mentioned how much Sophia looked like her. She was missing one of her front teeth in the picture, smiling wide all the same, so proud of the pretty pinks and purples and shimmery white and silver glitters that made a butterfly on her perfect, perfect little face.

“Fuck.” Tyler huffed out to herself, squeezing her eyes shut tightly for a brief moment.

Blindly locking her phone, the girl stuffed it back into her shorts and then finally yanked them back up her legs. Then she approached the bathroom mirror, looking pointedly at her reflection as her hands held at either side of the cool sink edge.

“Look, T. Let’s get it the fuck together, alright?” She was alone in the bathroom so it wasn’t like anyone could see or hear how crazy she was, talking to her own reflection. “Be sad later, on your own time, not on Hawaii time. When we get back to Chicago? Cry all you fucking want, but not right now. Take a deep breath, go get another maitai or six,” She jerked her shoulder up then down in a sharp shrug. “Find a nice looking stranger to fuck, go get a massage, jump in the ocean, I don’t fucking know, but you don’t get to do this right now.”

Crazy as she seemed, Tyler was unfortunately all too familiar with the backwards pep talks that she had to give herself. The verbal way she had to push down her own thoughts and feelings to keep them buried like always. It was something she had perfected several years ago, burying and burying. It had gotten her this far.

Hopefully it continued to get her farther.