#absolute Consciousness with your understanding of how the world works. he hides behind the fact that you dont know his truth -

[abyssalpriest]

On the term: Veil of Ignorance (aka "the best way to go steal things is to walk out of the store like everyone else")

Lev gave me the term, or more so he used it quite a few times in front of me and I may or may not have picked up the same definition as he has in my head, but my definition still gets a job done. You may have seen me use it, and I'll explain the concept here, but it boils down to: The utilising and redirecting of the distance - ignorance - between you and other people's mind in order to "veil" or hide something true, mostly the self.

Lev hides in plain sight, uses the veil of ignorance, which is effectively "They don't know to look for me, they don't have the eyes to feel my energy, they don't have the knowledge to put two (my energy) and two (understanding of who that energy belongs to) together, therefore I can just sit among them and they won't know." The veil is that unknowing, unwillingness to learn, and overall, as I said, distance between his mind and the onlookers'. It's a philosophy behind a lot of his appearances where he just shows up and presumes - rightly - that no one is going to click that it's him. The ignorance is used to veil him like fabric would veil his face, where someone veiled can walk past family without even being recognised because ignorance shields recognition.

The concept extends outside this, it's complicated, but boils down to the fact that there's distance between your mind and others as said. Others don't feel your anxiety at being caught, they don't hear your thoughts, they don't know you're trying to hide something... But trying to hide something draws attention - hence, you use ignorance, not obvious forms of concealing, to be the concealment.

If you want to be open about your spiritual self online but don't want harassment, take advantage of the fact that they're ignorant of the importance of you declaring who you are - and find ways to invoke the ignorance. Your rare spiritual posts on a fandom blog draw attention, ignorance comes when you post about the same topic all the time but slip in those spiritual details you wanted hidden casually, and a little less explicitly than you may want. They just blur into the rest of the posting, no one knows which details are ones you dont want reacted to. And remember, your blog is one of many they follow. If someone's not informed that a post you're making is telling truths about you then they will treat it like one in a hoard of thousands of posts, something they may or may not read given it's just, to them, a post. If you want to be obviously x spiritual species but not have attention drawn, do it, and know you're veiled by the fact that no one knew to look out for you.

... And obviously extrapolate this to things outside of tumblr, e.g. your face as a customer is one of many the server sees in a day, they won't know you're anxious about having just cut your hair from long to short because you realised you're trans masc if you don't highlight your anxiety with it. Move with the crowd, move behind ignorance, they are ignorant to your reality until you let them into it. I'm just talking about posts for... a reason...

The key does boil down to the fact that you have to know that if they have the skills to know, they will know, so stay in ignorance. The idea itself is key in my work, where I don't care to announce to the world my relationship with Lev for example, but you will know if you can sense it. i can't hide it from you, but if you are at the skill level to know who we are you will be at the skill level to know its truths - basically... Ignorant people tend (tend, "ignorance" here is a neutral word, it's a quality we all have) to be aggressive when you tell them something they can't prove themselves, or when the truth is on a topic they just emotionally hate... naturally, thats human and indeed being-nature. But the amount of issues that come up when you walk into a room, like in Lev's case, and say "Im Leviathan, hi." The most insecure (speaking neutrally still, we are all insecure in some respects) people, the people with the least grip on their own ability to dissect truth from fiction, are naturally going to be the most scared and the most reactive. We all are like that in certain topics, because insecurity happens in all the areas we don't know much in, so when it comes to topics like spiritual existence, facts of who you are when you're someone powerful, and so on, the best thing you can do is not give the laypeople a reason to start sniffing out details in things that are going to scare them.

Diviners, oracles, (other) gods, professionals, people with keen clear senses, and other people with authority on matters you're veiling will be able to dig through your concealments, but they're less likely to start trouble if not through self-security and confidence in their ability to dissect the world, then certainly when they see and feel and know what you're hiding is a truth they can't fight... So the veil of ignorance not working so much on them is fine at the end of the day if you're strong enough to not have to veil completely, but you can always employ multiple types of concealment.

At the end of the day, it's just a low-energy - therefore very efficient - way of veiling and making yourself invisible. You want distance from yourself and others? You dont want everyone to see you face? Take advantage of the fact that no one is close to you and able to see you until you do the work to let them in, and work with that ignorance and make it work for you.

Why bother planning a heist to steal a cheeseburger at gunpoint from the clerk when you could just take it from the table of someone who went to the bathroom? Bad example obviously, that's nasty lmfao but stealing is the part in our society where we understand - even if we would never ever steal or agree with stealing - that "acting natural" is key to high odds of getting away with it, and the veil of ignorance is similar to that. Similar, but not quite the same, the difference being that the veil of ignorance being employed is not about changing your behaviour, its about being aware of whats around you and the ways in which people will presume you're not doing something they give a shit about paying attention to. It's being uninteresting so that people are uninterested in you. It's less like acting natural with the cheeseburger, and more like coming to a place where roads are being worked on and not acting natural IE wearing a high-vis vest you never would wear otherwise so you can take the traffic cones on to your truck and steal them. Where is the ignorance in others with regards to you? Play there, write there, be there. Put your work everywhere, dance in the day and night, but when the clouds pass over the moon thats when you pull out the moves you dont want anyone to see. You, to the audience, are just dancing, and the obscured movements under cloud cover are presumed to be... just dancing.

Do what you want, but don't drag others into it, and you'll find that the distance between you and others shows you that you werent as involved in their lives and brains as you thought. They're not scanning your posts for every instance you showed your secret kins or whatever, and the people that are doing that are going to look like they see something no one else does.

There's a variety of things used in it - a variety of different types of "ignorance". For me, people thinking I'm crazy and "just" psychotic is reworked into the veil. That's ignorance about who i am and what i can do, and means I can just straight up post "crazy"-seeming things about what i do and am and have people laugh me off. Problem solved. My demon and angel kin years? If I were still in them, I could find myself in the centre of huge arguments about how calling myself a demon or angel means i think im an authority and a this and a that when Im just minding my own business, but if they just think Im crazy? Sucks to be them, they'll never know, they're lost to this part of life because they refuse to find it. Likewise to accusations of insanity, accusations of being a novice when you actually have more skill, being incorrect and unable to see the truth, and so on can be reworked into the veil of ignorance. People's misinformed, malformed, negatively-intended, insulting, ignorant ways of viewing you are gaps between you and them and they are ways in which people will misunderstand you and stop caring about you. Make them do it on purpose.

And im not going to post here at the end about how this shouldn't be used for bad things, or you should take criticism instead of saying its ignorance, because honestly... That misreading of my post is the ignorance in question. I say one thing, you see what you want to see, thanks for the perfect example if you were going to say it. People will always have distance between their mind's projected idea of me and the real me, which means the real me can swim away under the surface while you argue with a projected reflection you think is the fish under the water.

[bluejayblueskies]

in the reciprocal

Words: 8.3k

Relationships: Jon & Martin (QPR)

Tags: Season 1, Scottish Safehouse, Light Angst, Queerplatonic Relationships, Gray-Aro Martin, Kiss-Averse Jon, Kiss-Averse Martin

Warnings: internalized arophobia, mild external arophobia, mild internalized homophobia, canon-typical Lonely depression and dissociation, teasing someone about a crush (in a friendly manner), mention of canon character death, Martin briefly pretending like he still has romantic feelings for Jon and participating in a romantic relationship that makes him uncomfortable (this is addressed and resolved)

Ao3 link in source

.

Martin’s relationship with romance has always been … complicated.

He has distinct memories of his early teenage years, when the major topic of conversation had shifted abruptly to who had a crush on who and who had kissed who after school and who had asked who on a date. Martin had never really participated in those conversations, though that could be owed more to the fact that he didn’t have many friends than that he wasn’t interested.

Because Martin was interested. The idea of romance had always intrigued him—a fairy-tale thing where there was somebody who would choose you and love you and never let you be alone ever again—and he wanted, more badly than he knew what to do with sometimes, to be in love.

The world, as Martin quickly learned, was not a fairy tale. No matter how much Martin tried to pretend otherwise. In fairy tales, when people got sick, they eventually got better. In fairy tales, parents always loved their children and showered them with affection. (Or were villainous and cruel, locking their children away in towers and treating them like objects to be discarded. Though Martin was never fond of those stories.) And in fairy tales, love was always easy. It wasn’t something that had to be learned or forced. It was instead like breathing—nearly effortless unless you thought about it too much—and, like breathing, it was something that everyone did.

So Martin couldn’t understand why he was so bad at it.

Just before he’d dropped out of school to work full time after his mother couldn’t anymore, he’d been asked on the first and only date of his entire life. Nino had been his friend for nearly a year and a half, and Martin loved spending time with him more than he loved most things in his life back then. School was growing more difficult as Martin had to take on a second part-time job, his mother was growing sicker and shorter with her temper, and he was quickly coming to the realization that he was … different.

After all, he’d never once felt the same kind of affection toward the girls whose names he attempted to doodle in the corners of his notebooks as he felt toward Nino.

Coming to terms with the fact that his first real crush was on his very lovely, very male best friend was … hard. But one day, Nino had bumped his shoulder against Martin’s as they sat in the library and had said something funny that Martin has long since forgotten, and he’d found himself smiling widely. His heart was a stuttering mess in his chest, his stomach twisted up into knots, and … things hadn’t been so bad, then.

Loving Nino had felt safe. Looking back, Martin is sure that Nino had been able to read all of Martin’s stutters and flushed cheeks and clumsy attempts at affection for what they were, but at the time, it had felt like a private indulgence. Just another way for Martin to spend time with the boy who was gradually becoming the most important person in his life. (Behind his mother, that is. She would always come first.)

What was funny about the whole situation, in a way that was actually not very funny at all, was that Martin was even considering asking Nino out. He liked to fantasize about what it would be like—creating clumsy scenarios in his mind where he would slip a note into Nino’s backpack before they parted ways or blurt it out on their way to the tube or whisper it quietly under his breath in the library so that nobody else could hear it but them. He imagined what it would be like if Nino said yes, his face lighting up with a smile and his hand reaching for Martin’s.

He tried to imagine what would happen after that—the date, the kissing (which he could never quite picture without grimacing and pushing the image quickly away), the hand-holding, the…

Well. He actually wasn’t quite sure what was meant to come after.

(Like breathing. It was supposed to be like breathing.)

It was funny, except it wasn’t. Because when Nino pulled Martin aside on their way home one day, face flushed slightly darker than normal, and hesitantly asked if Martin would like to go to a movie with him in a way that was very clearly meant to be a date, Martin expected to feel happy. He expected to feel relieved, that he hadn’t had to muster up the courage to ask Nino himself, or nervous, that he was finally going to be pursuing a romantic relationship with the boy he cared so much about.

Instead, he felt … stiff. Uncomfortable, like his skin was suddenly just a bit too tight. He felt the sudden urge to hide, or maybe to run, or to vanish into thin air so he didn’t have to be standing here anymore, now desperately trying to avoid the eyes of the boy who had just bared such a vulnerable part of himself to Martin.

Confused, Martin tried to look within himself for that warm, stammering affection that had been there a minute ago and found it transformed into something awkward and tense and devoid of all desire for romance. But that didn’t make any sense, he thought as he stared blankly at Nino, who was becoming increasingly nervous, shifting from foot to foot as his mouth pinched into a thin, anxious line. He remembered liking Nino. He remembered the fantasies, remembered coming up with a thousand scenarios just like this one, remembered stammering and stuttering and wanting so badly to take Nino’s hand in his own.

It was like remembering a story he’d been told. Just a fairy tale.

“You … can just say no,” Nino said finally, and Martin felt a curl of guilt in his stomach at the clear upset in Nino’s eyes. “If you have to think this long, it’s … probably not a yes. Is it.”

Yes, Martin tried to say. It’s a yes—of course it’s a yes, I’m just … surprised. Maybe things would make more sense if they actually went on a date. Maybe Martin would just … sort himself out. He was just surprised, or maybe in shock.

He loved Nino. He did; he knew he did. He just … had to figure out how to bring it back.

He didn’t get the chance. (Though, thinking back on it now, Martin knows that even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t have worked.) Nino pulled back slightly, hands going to the straps of his backpack self-consciously. “Right,” he said, sounding terribly embarrassed, and Martin felt himself mirroring the emotion. “S-sorry, I … I guess I was reading things wrong. I—I thought that you … never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Nino forced a smile then, and it lacked all the bright and shining things that Martin liked about it. “S-suppose I’ll … see you in school tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin managed to say. And then Nino was gone, and Martin walked home alone.

He dropped out a few months later. Nino said that he would call, but Martin has always been good at lying and even better at telling when somebody else is doing so. And Nino hadn’t been putting much effort into it.

That was … probably for the best. At least Martin didn’t have to feel that dizzying, sickening sensation of guilt and awkwardness every time he looked at Nino anymore.

So, there it was. The world was nothing like a fairy tale. His mother only ever got sicker, her affection for him only ever grew more a thing of the past, and love was…

Well, love clearly wasn’t for him.

That didn’t stop him from falling hopelessly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with Jonathan Sims.

.

.

.

Martin, as a rule, makes a habit of not talking about his love life. For one, because there is a distinct lack of it (a fact that he much prefers but doesn’t generally feel like explaining in detail). And for two, because Martin just knew it would turn into something like this.

Martin places his head in his hands to hide the flaming red of his cheeks. “Can we not talk about it?”

“I think we’re actually obligated to talk about it now,” Tim says with what Martin is absolutely certain is a cheeky grin. “Given that you’ve just admitted that your not-so-mysterious crush is Jonathan Sims.” He drops his voice to an exaggerated conspiratorial murmur. “Is he the one you’ve been writing poetry about then?”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Martin mumbles into the very clammy palms of his hand.

Tim, fortunately, drops the poetry topic. He unfortunately does not drop the crush topic. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “You’ve got good taste. The whole … sweater vest, ‘disgruntled professor’ vibe is attractive, and he’s funny, you know? In his own way.”

Martin lifts his head from his hands and gives Tim an exasperated look that he hopes screams can we please stop talking about this. Tim must misinterpret it as jealousy instead because he holds his hands up in the air placatingly. “Hey, no competition here. We’re just friends, and I’m not really interested in dating anyone at the moment.” A pause. “Though, I suppose if Jon asked, I wouldn’t say—you know what, that’s not helpful.”

“He is pretty hot,” Sasha pipes in from her spot on the break room couch. “I definitely get where you’re coming from.” Then, after Martin turns that same exasperated look onto her: “Just trying to show our support for the cause, Martin.”

“Yeah, well—don’t.” Martin stands, maybe a little bit too abruptly, and crosses the room to where the kettle sits on the counter. He fills it in the sink and then clicks it on, the blue light reflecting off the countertop and faintly illuminating his hands.

“Hey,” Tim says, leaning against the counter next to him and giving him a surprisingly serious look. “I’m sorry. If talking about this makes you uncomfortable, we’ll drop it.” He mimes zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key. “No questions asked.”

“I’m pretty sure talking afterward negates the ‘zipping your lips shut’ thing,” Martin says, which earns him an amused huff of laughter and a gentle elbow in the side. He finds himself smiling, if only briefly before it falls from his lips once again. “And it’s … fine. I’m not upset. It’s just…” He hesitates, considering, and settles on a suitably vague, “It’s complicated.”

Tim makes a noise of understanding. “Say no more, Marto. Consider the subject dropped.”

“Thank you.”

There are a few moments of silence between them, filled only with the gentle hum of the kettle. Martin reaches for the mugs, and as he pulls four from the cabinet, Tim says abruptly, “So wait—is that why you always bring him tea?”

Martin nearly drops the mugs. “Tim.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tim grimaces at him sheepishly. “I’m dropping it.”

Martin nods and pulls the box of tea from the cupboard. As he gets the mugs ready, however, he can feel Tim’s eyes on him, heavy and curious. Finally, it gets to be too much, and Martin sets the box down with a sigh. “I bring him tea because he never leaves his office and at least this way he’s hydrated. If you absolutely must know.”

“Caffeine is a diuretic, you know,” Sasha says from where she’s still sitting on the couch.

“Yes,” Martin says tersely, grabbing the kettle as it clicks off, “but it’s better than nothing.”

The tea isn’t related to the crush. It really isn’t. But Martin knows that the more he tries to make excuses, the more it’ll seem like he’s deflecting, which will just be counterproductive. So he prepares the tea and passes Tim and Sasha’s mugs to them. Then, fully aware that Tim and Sasha are watching, he grabs Jon’s mug and makes his way to his office.

He doesn’t knock. He found out his first week here that Jon doesn’t like it when people knock and prefers them to verbally announce themselves instead. It wasn’t because Jon had told him; Martin gets the feeling that Jon is too stubborn to admit to that sort of weakness in front of him. It was because of the subtle tension in Jon’s shoulders every time Martin opened the door after rapping three times on the doorframe; the way his voice sounded ever so slightly pinched when he asked what Martin wanted.

So Martin says, just loud enough to penetrate the thick oak door, that he’s coming in, and then, after a moment, he opens it.

Jon is sitting at his desk, mountains of papers and files stacked on either side of him. His laptop is open in front of him, and he’s currently focused intently on something on the screen, the harsh white light of the LCDs reflecting off his glasses. He doesn’t seem to notice when the door opens, but when Martin takes a few steps closer and gently clears his throat, he looks up from the screen, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the dimness of his office.

“Ah,” Jon says, his gaze landing on the mug. “Right. You can…” He looks at the disastrously cluttered surface of his desk and, after some consideration, pushes a stack of papers to the side to make a mug-sized gap in the mess. “You can place it there.”

Martin does. He doesn’t mean to linger afterward. Even though things are ... better between them now that Martin is staying in the Archives and Jon seems to have softened slightly toward him, they’re not quite at the ‘hold a casual conversation’ stage of their relationship yet. Still, Martin finds himself standing in front of Jon’s desk long enough for Jon to glance back up from his computer, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Did you … need something else from me?” he says, sounding more confused than annoyed.

No, Martin means to say. I’ll be going now.

Instead, he says, “How are you doing?”

Jon stares blankly at Martin, like he doesn’t understand the question. Martin briefly curses his complete lack of a verbal filter at the worst times and purses his lips, telling himself that frantically trying to rescind the statement will only make things worse. “I’m … fine,” Jon says with a hint of incredulity in his voice, like he can’t fathom any reason why Martin would want to inquire after his well-being.

Good, Martin opens his mouth to say. Let me know if you need anything else.

Why he says instead, “I just … noticed that you haven’t been going home lately,” he doesn’t know. He hasn’t had a crush in so long—is this what it was like the last time? God, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?

Jon still looks bewildered, though there is an edge of irritation to his voice when he says, “There is a lot to do here, Martin. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“Right, yeah.” Martin fights the urge to rub his hand along the back of his neck, settling for the inside of his wrist instead. “Just … I know I’ve taken your cot recently, and if you’re not going home at night, I—I would hate to feel like I’m making you sleep at your desk.”

“You are not making me do anything. I can make my own choices.” Jon purses his lips for a moment before saying, more gently, “Besides, you … have more need of the cot than me at the moment.”

Martin can’t help the little shudder that goes through him at the reminder of why, exactly, he is in need of the cot. “Yeah,” he concedes. Then, because it’s only been a week or so and he still feels like he hasn’t said it enough: “Thank you again, for … for letting me stay here.”

Jon’s expression softens into something almost sympathetic, just for a moment, before growing closed-off and shuttered once again. Martin’s traitorous heart thuds in his chest at the sight, just like it had when Jon had listened to his story impassively and then matter-of-factly offered him the cot like it was the only logical thing to do.

(He hadn’t understood why he’d reacted like that—pounding heart, sweaty palms, cottony mouth—until that night, staring at the dark, cracked ceiling of the Archives and running Jon’s words over and over again in his mind. But it wasn’t surprising, was it? Of course Martin would find himself attached to his prickly, no-nonsense boss who kind of hated him the first moment he showed him an ounce of kindness.)

“It’s … really no problem at all,” Jon says, sounding a bit stiff in a way that’s hopelessly endearing, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with Martin’s gratitude. Then, even more stiffly: “You’re … doing all right?”

The tentative concern in Jon’s voice is enough to bring a flush to the tips of Martin’s cheeks that he desperately hopes can’t be seen in the low light of Jon’s office. “Y-yeah. As well as I can be, I—I suppose.”

“Well,” Jon says in a businesslike voice, like he’s delivering a report, “if you need any further accommodations, please let me know. Given that this was a workplace incident and you were investigating the Vittery building on my request, the Institute and I are responsible for ensuring that you remain safe while you’re … displaced from your previous home.”

Martin has always been good at reading people. And for all that Jon wears various masks of professionalism and skepticism and authority, he’s still surprisingly easy to read. It’s easy to control an expression, to control a tone of voice, but Jon’s eyes are always so much more emotive than he probably means them to be. Right now, they’re flitting around the room, from Martin to the floor to his desk to the floor again, like they’re afraid to settle on one place for too long.

It’s easy to identify the emotion as guilt. It takes Martin a few more moments to place what, exactly, Jon is guilty for.

“It’s … not your fault, you know,” Martin says slowly. “What happened with Prentiss. You’re not … responsible for it.”

Martin expects Jon to brush him off—to tell him that he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t expect him to say, with a voice that leaves no room for argument, “I am not responsible for Jane Prentiss’ presence in the Vittery building, yes, nor for the fact that she followed you home. But I would be remiss not to acknowledge that you encountered her while following up on a statement, per my request, and that I … was not as cautious as I should have been with regards to sending you on dangerous assignments.” Jon’s eyes are sheepish now, and a touch concerned. “I will be sure to take the appropriate precautions in the future, as it would be unacceptable for you to be injured or … otherwise hurt whilst performing your duties as an archival assistant.”

It’s not a heartfelt statement by any measure. Really, it’s just common decency, and definitely what should be expected from one’s superior in a line of work that is (apparently) much more dangerous than it appears to be on paper. But Jon’s eyes when they finally turn to Martin are softer than he’s ever seen them, even as his expression remains carefully neutral and professional, and it feels like Jon has just said something profoundly kind.

Martin’s heart has some stuttering, skipping things to say about that particular fact.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently. “Th-thanks.” He considers mentioning again that Jon really isn’t at fault for sending him into a building that, for all Jon knew, contained nothing more than a few very persistent spiders. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds the little scrap of kindness he’s been given close to his chest, stammers something about getting back to work, and leaves Jon’s office before he says something embarrassing like I like it when you care or you have kind eyes or we could share the cot if you stay too late.

Tim wiggles his eyebrows at Martin as he takes a seat back at his desk, and Sasha gives him a much more subtle knowing look. Martin ignores both of them and busies himself with the statement sitting on the corner of his desk, diving back into the formatting he’s been struggling with all morning.

Jon is his boss. Jon doesn’t even really like him, when he’s not feeling guilty for almost getting Martin killed. It’s never going to work between them.

A bit of the tension bleeds out of Martin’s shoulders. His eyes drift back toward the door to Jon’s office—the golden nameplate outside it, embossed with Jon’s name, the frosted window, the old, warped wood—and he feels something light and comfortable settle in his chest.

Jon is prickly and lovely and blunt and awkwardly conscientious and completely unattainable. Jon is never going to look at Martin with affection in his eyes and ask Martin to run away with him to pursue a romantic, fairy-tale ending, and Martin is never going to feel that intense, awful discomfort that seeps into the gaps where the love once was. He can blush and stammer and imagine holding Jon’s hand and kissing the inside of his wrist and tangling his foot with Jon’s underneath a table, and nothing will change.

It’s never going to happen between them. And it’s better that way.

.

.

.

The car ride to Scotland is quiet. Jon keeps sneaking glances at Martin when he thinks Martin isn’t paying attention, as if Martin will vanish if he doesn’t keep a watchful eye on him. It should be irritating, but … maybe he’s right. Martin doesn’t feel fully here yet. He still feels empty and numb, like all of the emotion and life and things that make him him have been cut away, consumed by the salty fog that had filled his lungs and stung his throat as he inhaled.

Peter Lukas is dead. Martin had felt it happen with a sort of empty detachment—the ripples of fog as Peter disintegrated into nothing but mist and static. Jon hasn’t spoken about it since they left the Lonely, but Martin had seen the tension in his shoulders as they’d returned to their flats to pack and taken the keys to the car from Basira and made their way painstakingly through London traffic.

Martin had wanted to tell Jon that it was all right—that everything was going to be okay. But his throat refused to form the words. It took all of his energy to remain present and solid, and he just … couldn’t. So he remained silent and gripped Jon’s hand as tightly as he was able and focused on not giving in to the Loneliness that still lingered underneath the surface of his skin.

Now, both of Jon’s hands are on the wheel of the car, his fingers and elbows rigid and stiff. Generic pop music spills out of the radio, the signal distorted enough that Martin only catches about half of the song, the rest swallowed by static. Better than him, he thinks absently. Right now, he feels as if he’s only static.

He can’t remember if he was like this before the air opened wide in front of him and he was swallowed whole by the fog, the panopticon gone in an instant and replaced with nothing but endless gray. He was … close, he thinks. Every day, things grew dimmer, his own thoughts and feelings more difficult to get a handle on. It grew harder and harder to remember why he was resisting at all. What his goal was, other than to just … be alone. He thinks he would have forgotten entirely, had Jon not been three floors beneath him, alive and breathing and reminding him that he was doing this—all of this—for a reason.

It had been … lovelier than Martin ever could have imagined, falling in love with Jon. It grew within him like a garden, new flowers cropping up every day. Some were white and delicate, blooming in his lungs when he looked at Jon and felt the all-consuming need to bundle him up in a blanket and make him tea and hide him away from the things in the world that wanted to hurt him. Others were purple and angular, blossoming with every lunch they had together and story Jon told him. And some were red and thorny, roses with waxy petals that made Martin’s cheeks grow hot every time Jon said his name like it was special or treated him kindly or smiled.

So when things grew difficult—when the loneliness crept too close, when he grew too comfortable being invisible, when he had to look Jon in the eye and tell him that he didn’t want to see him—Martin retreated to the quiet garden in his soul. He ran his fingers along the petals and stems and leaves and reminded himself that he needed to do this, or he’d lose Jon again and the garden would shrivel and die.

It had been an easy decision, in the end.

There’s a soft crunching noise, and Martin breaks free from his thoughts to see that they’ve transitioned from the smooth asphalt of the motorway to an unpaved gravel road. It’s bracketed on either side by trees, and though the sun has long since set, Martin can still see the gentle swell of hills around them, outlined softly in the moonlight. He thinks, for a moment, that he sees fog, clustering around the bases of the hills and swirling around in tight eddies, but when he blinks, the image is gone.

“We’re almost there,” Jon says quietly. It’s one of the few things he’s said to Martin the entire trip. Then, after a moment: “It’s … rather nice out here.”

Martin supposes it is. The landscape around them had been a vibrant green before twilight had washed it out into deep blues, and there have been cows dotted around the fields, shaggy and brown and grazing contently. It’s a stark change from the grays and browns of central London, with buildings on all sides and people everywhere and no chance to ever really see the stars. If circumstances were different, Martin thinks he would be cooing over the cows and trying to get Jon to stop so he could take pictures and enjoying his first trip outside of England.

Instead, Martin just nods.

Jon seems to understand. He sneaks another glance at Martin—full of something soft that Martin, in his foggy state, doesn’t quite know how to parse—but remains silent for the rest of the trip. It could easily be a stiff, uncomfortable silence, but … it’s not. It feels companionable.

When did being around Jon become so easy?

Daisy’s cabin is small and squat, nestled between two hills and idyllic in a way that doesn’t match the rough-hewn, steel-eyed woman Martin had known. The inside is dusty and cold, and Jon mutters something about central heating before disappearing down the corridor and leaving Martin standing in the living room, staring at the place he’ll be living in for the foreseeable future.

The place he’ll be living in with Jon for the foreseeable future.

Martin feels something in his chest stir at that—a strange, twisting emotion that’s there and gone before he can put a name to it. He shivers, in a way he doesn’t think is from the cold, and goes to find Jon.

He … doesn’t think he should be alone right now.

They find an old, rusted radiator that miraculously still works, pumping out hot air with a groan of metal. Jon digs a set of musty sheets out of the linen closet and begins dressing the bed. Martin notes the lack of a second bedroom, and he thinks he might object to the implication that they’ll be sharing a bed if he weren’t aware of the fact that he might vanish if left alone for too long. (Or if he were himself enough to feel embarrassed. Or to feel anything.)

He doesn’t think anything shows on his face, but Jon’s always been keen, even more so now that knowledge drips into his mind like water from a leaky faucet. Jon’s hands flutter over the sheets for a moment before he says, “I … hope this is all right?”

Martin tries to find his voice to agree, but the energy required to summon it is too much, so he settles for a shallow nod. He doesn’t think it’s a sufficiently enthusiastic agreement, but Jon doesn’t question it. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then says, “And … you’re all right?”

It’s a bit of a ridiculous question, really. No, Martin isn’t all right. No, there’s nothing Jon can do about it. No, he doesn’t know when things will be better. Or if they’ll ever be better.

Martin just looks at Jon, eyebrows slightly raised. Jon lets out a small, dry laugh. “Right. I … suppose that was a silly question. I—I meant…” Jon hems and haws for a long moment before finally saying, “Do you feel … safe, here? W-with me?”

That question has a much easier answer.

When Martin nods without hesitation, Jon visibly relaxes. “Good,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “That’s … that’s good.”

They stand there for a moment longer, the silence between them thick and heavy but not uncomfortably so. Finally, Jon clears his throat and says, “Well, I—I suppose we should rest then. We can … talk tomorrow?”

Martin nods and tries to smile. He doesn’t quite manage it, but … that’s all right. For now, this is enough.

Jon retreats into the bathroom, and Martin finds himself overcome with exhaustion. He slips into the soft pajama trousers he’d absently stuffed into his duffle bag, climbs under the covers, and is asleep before the sound of running water from the other room abates.

.

.

.

Martin doesn’t remember what happened in the Lonely. Things had been foggy and disjointed, slipping through his grasp when he tried to hold onto them. He barely remembers what came after, when Jon had led him away from the sand and the fog and the waves, his palm a searing heat against Martin’s. His first few days at the safehouse are spent in a similar fog, like each muscle in his body is frozen solid and he’s slowly attempting to warm them with a matchstick flame.

His third day is … better. His fourth, better still. By the end of the first week, Martin feels more himself than he has in months, if still acutely aware of the fog that now lives in his lungs and creeps out of his throat when he thinks too hard about what’s transpired or when Jon is out of sight for too long.

Martin remembers what it’s like to be happy. He feels it when he shuffles sleepily into the kitchen on their eigth morning in the safehouse and sees Jon standing in front of the stove, hair tied up in a neat bun and eggs sizzling in a pan in front of him. He remembers what it’s like to be frightened. He feels it when he wakes at night, shivering and shaking with the lingering memory of dreams of nothing but endless fog and aching loneliness.

And he remembers what it’s like to be in love.

He remembers it just in time to lose it.

The worst thing, Martin thinks, is that he’d almost managed to convince himself that it would be different this time. He knows, logically, that it’s not that simple. He’d done a little bit of research after what happened with Nino, reading through a few web pages on aromanticism before becoming overwhelmed and closing out of every single one of them. He tentatively returned to them a few years later after realizing that this wasn’t something that he was going to grow out of or move on from.

He had difficulties settling on a label, partly because of the sheer number of them and partly because he … didn’t quite know how to categorize his feelings. How could he categorize something that he’d only felt once before? Gray-romantic seemed the safest option, so that was the one he settled on.

(Not that he ever told anyone that he was arospec. It never seemed important, even when Sasha would needle him about his crush and Tim would make too-loud suggestive comments that could surely be heard through the door to Jon’s office.

… Martin misses Tim and Sasha. He thinks, if he’d had the chance—if he’d had more time—they would have been the first people he told.)

Martin knows that his relationship with romantic attraction is complicated. Yet somehow, he’s still found it within himself to hope that this time, things will be different. This time, when he tells Jon that he’s very in love with him and has been for a while, those words will continue to be true even after they’re spoken. (He ignores the fact that the actual thought of saying them aloud makes his stomach twist and his mouth grow chalky.)

But, just like with Nino, Martin doesn’t get the chance to try. Jon beats him to the punch.

“I … I love you,” Jon says quietly. He has Martin’s hand in his, and he’s holding it so gently Martin might cry. There were things Jon said before this moment—a conversation that has led them here—but Martin is having a hard time recalling any of them. All he can think is no, no, not now, not here.

His skin crawls. His hands are clammy, and he’s sure that Jon can feel it. He has the instinctive need to get away, but he’s also frozen in place, the lump in his throat sealing away all of the words that he should be saying.

He should be saying something.

The silence stretches on between them, the vulnerability on Jon’s face slowly morphing into concern. “... Martin?”

He sounds so confused, and Martin … he can’t. He just can’t. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the moment when that confusion turns to hurt.

So Martin swallows sharply and forces his hand to squeeze Jon’s and says, “I love you too.”

And he does, in a way. He wants Jon here, by his side, eating breakfast next to him and rambling to him about whatever latest thing has piqued his interest and listening to Martin describe the cows he’s seen on his walks. The thought of Jon leaving—of losing him, the same way he lost Nino—makes his stomach twist into knots, because Martin loves him.

Just … not in the way that Jon thinks he does. Not anymore.

And Martin can’t help but feel guilty about that fact.

Jon frowns at Martin for a moment more, like he can tell that something’s wrong but he’s not entirely sure what. Martin breathes out slowly and gives Jon as genuine a smile as he can muster, trying to convey that everything is fine. That nothing’s wrong—why would anything be wrong?

It must work, because Jon exhales slowly, his expression softening into one of the gentle smiles that Martin has grown so fond of. He rubs a thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in a motion that should be comforting but only reminds Martin of the fact that Jon is doing it because he loves him.

Martin thinks that Jon is going to kiss him then—isn’t that usually what comes after things like this?—and dread coils in his stomach. But Jon doesn’t. Later, Martin will find out that Jon dislikes kisses just as much as he does (though for different reasons). For now, though, Martin can only feel relief when Jon squeezes his hand once more before letting go and standing. “I’ll go make us some tea,” he says quietly, then retreats to the kitchen.

Thinking back on it, Martin wonders if Jon knew then. That something was wrong. But for now, he just feels relieved that he has the space he needs to breathe.

.

.

.

It’s their second week at the safehouse, just a few days after Jon told Martin that he loves him, that Jon finally sits Martin down after dinner and says softly, “Martin, am I … am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Martin says, like he has no idea what Jon’s talking about. (Like a liar.) “No. What … what makes you think that?”

Jon wrings his hands together. He’s wearing one of Martin’s sweaters, and Martin doesn’t know how he feels about it. The clothes sharing is fine. The fact that Jon is clearly perceiving the clothes sharing as a romantic gesture is … less than fine.

Martin told himself that it would be okay if Jon perceived their relationship as a romantic one and Martin didn’t. He was good at pretending. And besides, how different could things be?

Very different, as it turned out. In all the ways that mattered.

Jon seemed to take any opportunity he could to touch Martin—a hand brushing against the small of his back when he passed behind him to grab a mug, an ankle nudging against his underneath the table as they ate, a head resting on his shoulder as they sat side-by-side and read. Martin had never been particularly touch-averse or touch-starved; touch was just … touch. He’d liked it when Tim had tousled his hair or when Sasha had thrown her legs across his on the breakroom couch, but he didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything on the days he went without any human contact at all.

Now, it’s all Martin can do not to flinch away from Jon’s touches, knowing that each one is delivered with love and affection that Martin can’t return. Though perhaps he hasn’t been doing as good of a job as he’d thought, judging by the concerned look Jon is giving him now.

There have been other things too—whispered I love yous in the early mornings and soft smiles that seem somehow more and little gestures that are so Jon but also so romantic—and Martin wants so badly to disappear back into the fog in those moments. But that … that wouldn’t be fair to Jon. It’s not his fault that Martin is like this, after all.

(It’s not Martin’s fault either. He knows this, logically. He’d spent a long time hating himself for what happened with Nino, for how he couldn’t just be normal and go on dates and enjoy something that the rest of society seemed to prize above all else. It had taken him years to finally come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t broken, and he couldn’t be changed. That this was just … who he was.

It doesn’t mean that sometimes, he doesn’t wish that he could be someone else. And he’s never wanted it more acutely than when he stares at Jon’s kind brown eyes and soft smile.)

So Martin lied and lied and lied. And he thought he’d been doing so successfully. But here Jon is, frowning at him, a careful distance between them, and Martin feels his chest begin to tighten.

“I just…” Jon begins, then stops. He looks down at the couch, studying the ugly floral pattern with apparent rapt fascination. Martin doesn’t know what to say, so he waits anxiously until Jon finally continues, “It doesn’t feel like you’re … happy. I know that things have been hard, a-and … it’s all right if you still need time after the Lonely, but it…” Jon swallows. “It feels like some of it may be because of me? W-when I touch you, sometimes you get … tense. And sometimes…”

“Jon?” Martin prompts after a moment, the word strangled by the growing lump in his throat.

“Sometimes,” Jon says quietly, “when you tell me that you love me, it … it feels like you’re lying.”

And the way Jon says it—tentative, with wide, hesitant eyes, like he’s the one that’s the problem—makes Martin’s desire to keep up the ruse crumble away in an instant.

It still isn’t easy to come clean. But he forces himself to do it anyway.

“It’s complicated,” he begins, then winces. Not a good start. Sure enough, Jon’s shoulders grow tense, and he shifts slightly further away, like he thinks Martin wants more space. Because he thinks he’s done something wrong. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Martin adds quickly. It’s not you, it’s me, he thinks wryly. “It’s … not your fault.”

Jon opens his mouth—to say what, Martin doesn’t know. He barrels on before Jon gets the chance to speak, his haste making his words harried and blunt.

“I’m aromantic.”

Jon blinks at him, clearly surprised by the abruptness of the statement. After a long, awkward moment, during which it becomes abundantly clear that Jon is waiting for Martin to make the next move, Martin continues, “My relationship with—well, with relationships—i-is complicated. I-it’s, um … it’s hard to explain? A-and I don’t want you to think that I—I don’t care about you. I want to be here, w-with you, just…”

“Not in a romantic capacity?” Jon finishes softly.

Martin exhales heavily, feeling a bit like a hole has been punched in his chest and he’s slowly deflating. “Yeah.”

Jon is looking at him with soft, kind eyes, and Martin doesn’t know what to do with them. So he buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice coming out muffled.

“Hey, hey.” Jon’s hand brushes against Martin’s shoulder before pulling away quickly, and that just makes Martin feel worse. “You haven’t done anything wrong either.”

“Yes, I have,” Martin says into his palms. “I lied. I let you think that I—I was still in love with you, and … Christ, that was shitty of me.”

“I … do wish you had told me sooner,” Jon concedes. “But … only because I care about you, Martin, a-and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.” He hesitates. “You … do know that I’m not mad at you, right? Th-that I wouldn’t have been mad, o-or upset, or hurt, if you told me that you didn’t feel the same way about me?”

Martin takes a deep breath, then another. “But I did,” he says raggedly. “For … for so long, I did. Ever since Jane Prentiss locked me in my flat for two weeks and you believed me when I told you about it a-and let me stay in the Archives. A-and I didn’t lie, in the Lonely. I did love you, a-all the way up until…”

Martin trails off. Jon lets the silence linger for a moment before saying gently, “If you don’t want to explain it to me, o-or if it’s hard, you don’t have to. But … if you can, I’d like to understand. For myself, a-and for you.” He wraps his hands tightly around his knees where they’re tucked against his chest. “This is important, and … I want to get this right.”

Martin exhales. He picks at a loose thread on the couch between them, focusing on it so he doesn’t have to meet Jon’s eyes and can pretend like he isn’t so extremely exposed and vulnerable right now. “I … I do want to explain. O-or I want to try. It’s … hard, though. Mostly b-because I’ve never had to explain it to anybody else? But also because … I don’t really understand why I’m like this.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know—you don’t … have to comment on that.”

Jon closes his mouth and tentatively shifts so his knee is pressing against Martin’s. Martin waits for the tingling of his skin, the pins-and-needles discomfort, but it never comes. Maybe it’s because he knows that this is an act of comfort rather than one of affection. It’s … really nice.

He presses back with a sigh, feeling a bit of the tension and nerves drain out of him. “I—I get that love is difficult for me,” he says quietly. “I’ve just … always had trouble with the fact that what makes it difficult is that I’m someone who apparently never actually wants their love … requited. And if it is, I just … can’t anymore. It all goes away, a-and I just … fall out of love?”

Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him, inquisitive and searching, but Jon doesn’t say anything. There’s a moment of silence between them, during which Martin tries and fails to collect his mess of feelings and thoughts and emotions into something that he can verbalize. Finally, Martin sighs and says, “It’s ironic, isn’t it. I’ve loved you for so long, a-and I still do, but … not in the way you love me. Not anymore. And now you’re the one who—who loves someone w-who doesn’t … who can’t…”

“Oh, no, Martin.” Jon’s hand is covering his then, and it’s warm and gentle and lovely, and Martin could cry. “I’m not…” He hesitates, squeezing Martin’s hand once. “Well. I am still in love with you. In the … romantic sense. I—I don’t want to lie to you about that. B-but I also love you in … so many other ways. Y-you’re my friend, Martin, a-and you’re someone that I can trust. You … you make me feel safe, e-even when there’s … so much in my life that’s dangerous and unpredictable, and I know that you’ll … always be there for me when I need you to be. I want to be here with you, always. I would … be happy in a romantic relationship with you, yes. But I would also be happy to just be with you. In whichever way you will have me.”

Martin’s throat feels very tight. “Oh,” he says faintly. He feels a pressure at the corner of his eyes and realizes, with a flush of embarrassment, that there are actual tears collecting there. He stares hard at the lamp just behind Jon, trying not to let any of them escape.”You, um … you really … mean that?”

“Of course,” Jon says, like there’s no question to be had about the matter. “You are … such an easy person to love, Martin. In all the ways it’s possible to love someone.”

Martin tries—he really does—to keep the tears back. But it’s just … so much, and Jon is so lovely, and this is more than Martin ever thought he was going to be able to have. So he takes a shaky breath in, and on the exhale, a few tears slip free and trail down his cheek. He brings a hand up and scrubs them away, mutters a sorry underneath his breath, but Jon just squeezes his hand tighter.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, I’m … I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” Jon hesitates. “Provided that that’s … all right with you, of course.”

Martin can’t help the shaky laugh that escapes him. “Yes, it’s all right with me. Of course it is.”

Jon smiles, and Martin aches with it. “Good.” He nudges his knee gently against Martin’s. “Because this cottage would get very dull without you in it. Who would I talk to about all of Daisy’s awful romance novels?”

Martin laughs again, and it chases away most of the lingering tension in his body. “Be careful what you wish for. I’m going to start doing dramatic readings next.”

Jon’s eyes sparkle with humor, but his voice is sincere when he says, “I look forward to it.”

True to his word, over the next week, Martin does increasingly dramatic readings of the worn, water-warped romance novels stacked haphazardly on the safehouse shelves. (Skipping the, quote, ‘unnecessarily erotic’ bits to avoid Jon’s pinched look of discomfort and his own beet-red face as he stares down at words that should really not be used in a sexual context ever.) He bakes cookies, laughing when Jon drops the cup of flour he’s holding and ends up covered in it. He spends the first three walks after their conversation wringing his hands together before finally asking, in a series of nervous stutters, if Jon would like to hold hands while they walk.

“But not in a romantic way!” he hastens to clarify. “You just have very nice hands, a-and I’ve always liked the idea of holding someone else’s hand, but—you know, th-the romantic connotations of it aren’t … great, and … you know, now that I think about it, this was a stupid question, you don’t have to—”

And then Jon takes his hand and squeezes it gently, and Martin feels a warmth spread through him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

That’s been happening a lot lately. He … doesn’t think he minds at all.

Then, a few weeks after their conversation, Jon turns over in bed to face him and says, without any preamble, “Have you ever heard of a queerplatonic relationship?”

Martin has, but only in passing, so he shakes his head. Jon explains, sounding very much like he’s reciting the wiki page for the concept, which is … more endearing than it has any right to be, probably.

“Does … does that sound like something you might be interested in?” Jon says nervously. “W-with me, of course. If that wasn’t … clear.”

Martin nods before Jon is finished speaking. “Yeah,” he says, maybe a bit too eagerly. Then, quieter: “Yeah. I’d … I’d like that.”

Jon smiles then, bright and wide and lovely, and it occurs to Martin—not for the first time, and probably not for the last—that he can have this. That he can be with Jon—maybe for the rest of his life, though that’s a … big thought that he definitely isn’t ready to look at head-on yet—without the dates and the kissing and all the other romantic gestures that Martin always thought were necessary for something like this. That they can be happy, together.

That Martin can have his fairy tale ending, and it doesn’t have to look like he’s always been told it should.

Martin smiles back at Jon, reaching across the bed to brush his fingers lightly against Jon’s. And for the first time in a long, long while, he finally feels like he’s home.

[datleggy]

Buddie prompt: aggressively pro-buddie Helena and Ramon Diaz, who are ecstatic when Eddie tells them he's dating, and then utterly befuddled when he introduces Ana. But they decide to bite their tongues about it (Buck, their future son in law, has talked to them about respecting Eddie's decisions, however dumb, after all), until Ana (unwittingly? Innocently? No matter) makes a comment about Buck, and then all bets are off.

Hope this inspires you!

Helena is so relieved that Eddie finally feels comfortable enough to come out to them, that she could cry. She feels awful that it took her so long to realize it. 

It had been on Eddie’s last visit to Texas, when he and his crew had been fighting wildfires, that Ramon--her dense as can be when it comes to matters of the heart husband of all people--had noticed that their son was in love. 

Helena still remembers saying goodbye to her son and his two teammates, remembers Ramon closing the door, waiting exactly all of five seconds before turning to her and saying, “I’m happy for him. He’s so stubborn, I didn’t know if he’d ever let himself get that close to someone again.” 

And Helena had been confused at first, and then even chuckled when Ramon had explained calmly that clearly their son was dating his coworker Buck, until she’d stopped to really give it a moment’s thought. It had hit her all at once, how obvious those two were, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since they’d started dating and why Eddie hadn’t said anything yet. 

She’s seen the photos on Instagram, Helena thinks, as their plane lands. Buck smiling next to her grandbaby after helping her son build him a skateboard he could safely ride in the park. Buck standing shoulder to shoulder with Eddie behind Tia and Christopher in that Christmas photo at the station. The selfie Eddie posted of him and Buck with the giant cast still on his leg the day of the ceremony for when he was no longer a probationary firefighter with the 118. 

Really, she should’ve figured it out months ago. 

When Eddie had called and told her he’d started dating again and that the next time they came to visit he’d make an introduction Helena had been thrilled! 

Ramon drives them from the airport to their son’s place in their rental and Helena rambles on about how she hopes Buck isn’t too nervous to see them again, now that the cat’s out of the bag. 

When they arrive Eddie greets them at the door with a big hug and ushers his parents inside and Helena is so ready to step into the living room and welcome Buck into the family with open arms, to show her son that there was nothing to be afraid of, that they love him and nothing in the world would change that--

Only to be met with....not Buck? 

“Oh,” Helena stops dead in her tracks and Ramon stands beside her looking about as confused as she feels. “Hello.” she smiles politely enough. 

The woman sitting next to Christopher on the couch stands up and she’s absolutely stunning, her curls bouncing on her shoulders when she stands up to exchange hello’s. “It’s so nice to meet you both. My name is Ana.” 

The rest of the afternoon goes by just fine, but Eddie can tell something is amiss the entire time, though he does a good job of hiding it from Ana, who’s her usual charming self through out lunch. 

She has to take a work call at some point and excuses herself to another room and that’s when Eddie turns to his parents and half-whispers. “Ok, I know those looks. What’s wrong?” 

Helena shakes her head, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, what is it? Ana is perfect. She’s incredibly smart, she’s funny, she’s got a great job, good head on her shoulders, and Christopher loves her--so again, I ask, what’s wrong?” 

Ramon follows his wife’s lead. “Mijo, really, it’s nothing. She’s great. We’re happy for you. I think we’re just a little tired from the flight, that’s all.” 

Eddie narrows his eyes slightly but decides there isn’t much sleuthing that can be done at the moment, so all he can do is take them at their word for now. “Fine, if you say so.” 

They’re in the middle of watching Nemo when Buck's name comes up.

"When the tsunami happened Buck and I sang 'just keep swimming' like Dory." Christopher grins up at his dad and Eddie ruffles the curls on his head playfully. It helps Christopher to be able to openly talk about what he went through that day, the good and the bad.

"You never told me Buck was there that day." Ana comments off handedly.

Eddie nods, "Huh, I thought I mentioned it? Buck took him to the pier that morning."

"It was scary but Buck saved me." Christopher tells his grandma, who reaches across the couch to squeeze his arm. Helena had been horrified to hear what had happened at the time; it still gives her anxiety just thinking about it.

"That's right." She says softly.

"I thought some woman you didn't know carried him to one of the tents, and that's how you two were reunited, no?" Ana asks.

"Yeah, but before that, during the initial impact Buck was with Christopher, he managed to get him up to this firetruck in the middle of everything. It was after he dove back into the water to save someone that a second wave came and swept Christopher right off and they got separated from there." Eddie recalls solemnly.

There had been blood running down the dirty wet bandage on his arm, he'd been soaked to the bone, exhausted and barely standing upright. It wasn't until Christopher had been found that Buck had allowed himself to collapse.

"Oh..." Ana frowns.

Ramon puts a hand over his heart and sighs. "It's a miracle, really."

Ana doesn't mean to say it outloud, but the words comes tumbling out of her mouth without warning. "And you're still friends with him?"

Eddie blinks. "What?"

"I'm sorry, really, it's just--I don't understand." Ana rubs her shoulder self consciously, fully aware of the fact that everyone is looking at her. "Look, Edmundo, you nearly bit my head off when Christopher got a skinned knee under my watch but you're still best friends with the man who lost your son for God only knows how long? It doesn't make any sense to me."

Ana knows how overprotective Eddie is of his son, and in fact, that's one of the reasons she likes him so much; she admires that about him and this? It doesn't track with the man she knows.

Helena wants to open her mouth and she say something in defense of Buck--he's a good man, after all. But she knows better than to get between a couple in an argument, especially given how bias she is towards her future son in law...

Instead, she clears her throat and looks at Christopher, "Honey, how about you help me and Grandpa unpack? I bought a lot of fun things from Texas for you."

Christopher doesn't want to go. His Dad looks upset. Ana looks upset. He wants to stay and help. If Ana met Buck she would understand, Christopher's sure of it. But his grandparents are already leading him down the hall and to the guest room.

Christopher hangs out with his grandparents for a few minutes before fibbing and telling them he needs to use the bathroom. They both offer to help him but he insists that he can do it himself, promising to call out if he needs them.

He sneaks the home phone into the bathroom with him and dials a number he knows by heart at this point. He waits a couple of rings before the call connects.

"Hey, what's up?" Buck's voice comes through the other end. He sounds distracted.

"Bucky? Can you come get me?" He whispers into the phone.

He hears a small commotion and then a stifled 'ow!' and then: "Chris? Are you ok? You're home, right? What's wrong? Where's Eddie?"

"I'm home. I'm ok. But--" there's a knock on the door and it startles Christopher into accidentally hanging up the phone before he can explain the situation in it's entirety.

"It was a tsunami." Eddie sighs, "It wouldn't be fair to hold something like that over his head. And look, you weren't there. You didn't see the look on his face, you don't know how many hours he spent crying out Christopher's name at the top of his lungs, injured and looking nonstop through the rubble for him--"

"Yeah, which he wouldn't have had to do if he hadn't lost him in the first place. It sounds like he was too busy playing hero for strangers to watch your son." Ana folds her arms across her chest. "I don't want to fight. Especially not with your parents here. Honestly, I'm just confused? We don't have to talk about this right now. I can go. I just want to apologize to your parents and Christopher first, before I leave, for," she sighs, embarrassed, "well, for causing a scene. This is not the way I'd pictured meeting your parents."

"You know, if you just met Buck I really think you would--"

A cacophony of knocks at the door make the both of them jump. Ana looks at Eddie. "Were you expecting anyone else?"

"Christopher!? Christopher I'm here, open up!"

Eddie gapes. "...Buck?"

"Did you...call him over?" Ana didn't even see him reach for his phone.

"What? No, of course not." Eddie starts towards the door--the knocking has gotten so boisterous he's pretty sure Buck's about to break down his door--but Ana beats him to it.

At this point Eddie's parents and Christopher are in the hallway wondering what all that racket is.

Ana lets the door swing open, and if she's being entirely honest she's not sure what she's planning on saying to the man who's essentially at the center of her first real argument with her boyfriend, but whatever it was, it goes up in smoke when she takes in the sight of him.

Buck is taller than she'd pictured but that's not what's got her speechless.

He's standing at the doorway, chest heaving, clearly having rushed out of his house, where he was very obviously in the middle of shaving, if the shaving cream still smeared on a third of his face is any indication. He's in sweatpants and a white undershirt that's got little drops of blood on the front from where he must have cut himself while shaving. There's a bright red cut running down the underside of his chin.

"Um." Ana can't do much except stare, wide eyed.

Buck blinks at her, "Uh...Ana?" He suddenly realizes all the people in the house behind her are looking at him in a kind of stupor.

She nods slowly. "Buck?"

Buck nods sheepishly, "Uh... So, I am clearly interrupting something here."

"You came!" Christopher moves past all of the adults in the corridor and throws himself at Buck's legs.

Buck lifts the kid up easily enough, crutches and all, "Yeah, about that," he gently pinches his cheek, eliciting a giggle out of Christopher, "What was that phone call all about? You nearly gave me a heart attack, bud."

Eddie groans. "Christopher, did you call Buck to come all the way over here in the middle of the day?" He walks over and uses the cuff of his shirt sleeve to wipe away the rest of the shaving cream on the side of Buck's face. The look on his face is fond as he does so. "What did this little menace say to get you over here in such a rush?"

Christopher pouts. "I just told him to come get me. I thought if Miss Ana met my Bucky she'd know how come you're still best friends." He grips at Buck's t shirt tightly. "You can't stop being friends, Dad. I love Buck. He's my friend too."

Buck frowns. "Umm..."

Eddie gives him an apologetic look. "Sorry, it's not--it's complicated. I promise to explain everything later. Right now isn't really a great time--"

Ana interrupts hesitantly. "Actually, now is probably good. I need to get home soon, it's getting pretty late, so I should get going." She turns to Helena and Ramon. "It was very nice to meet you both." She scoohches past Buck and Christopher and practically sprints to where she parked her car, aware of the fact that Eddie is calling out her name and only half a step behind her.

It's not until they're several blocks down the street that she swivels around and he nearly topples into her in his haste. "Ana, please, I don't want you to leave like this. I really didn't call him over." He reaches into his back pocket and shows her his phone. "See?"

Ana takes the phone and presses her lips together thinly. "He called you like twenty times on his way over."

Eddie frowns. His phone must have been on silent. It's no wonder Buck rushed over like he did. "He was just worried about Christopher--"

Ana sighs resignedly. "No, I know. It's obvious, how much your best friend cares about your son. I can see why he's still in your life. And I think I can also see why that means you don't really have any room for me in it..."

Eddie shakes his head. "What? Why would you say that?"

Ana looks him in the eye, intent as can be on reading him. Eddie had smiled so warmly, creating such an unintentionally intimate moment when all he'd done was swipe at the other mans face with his sleeve...

"You don't even know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"I think this is something you and Buck need to sort out yourselves. Goodbye Edmundo."

Eddie closes the door behind him as he steps inside, a little heartbroken and a lot confused.

There's noise coming from the kitchen and so Eddie follows it to the source. Ramon is telling Buck about how to sear the perfect steak by the stove while Helena and Christopher set the table.

"Is everything alright?" Helena asks, when she notices him by the entryway.

Eddie nods, lying when he says. "Yeah, all good Mom."

She gives him a knowing look but keeps her mouth shut. "Honey, take Buck here to your room, let him borrow one of your shirts. And maybe a razor?"

Buck chuckles shyly. "It's fine, really. I should probably get going too--"

Ramon shushes him. "Nonsense. Go, go, get changed and get your butt back into this kitchen. Scoot."

Eddie takes Buck by the shoulders and drags him to his room, where he finds a worn gray Henley for him. "Here."

Buck thanks him before stripping out of his white undershirt and throwing on the clean shirt.

Eddie plops himself down on his bed with a sigh. "Hey, I'm sorry about all this mess. And on your one day off, too."

Buck sits down beside him, bumping their shoulders together. "I don't really know what's going on but, are you doing ok?"

"I don't know," Eddie makes a face. "I think I got broken up with today."

Buck cringes. "Shit, I'm sorry, what happened?"

That's a good question. Eddie ponders that a moment. Ana had said it herself: she understood perfectly why Eddie didn't blame Buck for what happened during the tsunami and she had seen first hand how much Buck cares for Christopher for herself today.

So, why?

"She said that there wasn't any room for her in my life?" Eddie scratches the back of his head. "Maybe I'm just not cut out for this dating stuff anymore."

"Aw, c'mon man," Buck pats him on the back. "You fall off the bike you gotta get right back on." He turns his body all the way around so that he's facing Eddie fully. "Dude, you're a catch. You're a handsome, badass firefighter, you've got the best kid, and hey--you got me." Buck grins toothily.

Eddie rolls his eyes, though he can't help but smile. "So what I'm hearing here is that I'm stuck with you?"

"Oh yeah, for sure." Buck laughs.

Eddie leans back on his arms and looks up at his best friend, pensive. "Promise?"

Buck extends his pinky and wiggles it in front of Eddie, who smiles as he wraps his pinky around Buck's. "Promise."

.

[bxtchforstyles]

I’ll Get There.

Harry Styles X Y/N 

Y/N has been struggling with her body image ever since she was a teenager, but now that she was becoming a big time model, it had only gotten worse. 

Warnings: mentions of eating disorders, and symptoms similar to those of a panic attack. 

Word count: 2.4k+ 

gif not mine.

Y/N never realized that not everyone gets dizzy when they stand up too fast. 

She just figured that it was something that happened to everybody, especially since it had been happening to her for years. 

That’s why she was always confused when people asked what was wrong when she had to stop for a moment to gain her balance after standing up from where she was sitting. 

It was later though, when Y/N realized exactly why everyone thought she was sick when she stood. 

She had also been happily dating her boyfriend Harry for almost two years now, that’s when it got the worst. 

Growing up in the spotlight, Y/N never realized how much it took a toll on your self image. She never liked your body, or your face, or your hair, or anything really. 

And it didn’t help that her mother was a famous model for all of her teenage years, which was only ruined when she had Y/N accidentally at the age of twenty two. 

She was an amazing mother nonetheless, but Y/N had always carried this sense of guilt among her unborn self. She knew that her mother was easily one of the most sought after models of her generation, and almost everyone knew who she was. 

So when the tabloids got ahold of the fact she was pregnant, her career was basically over. 

Babies ruin your body. 

At around the age of sixteen, Y/N began to get into modeling, just like her mom, and just like the media had expected. 

 ‘She’s a natural’ 

‘She takes after her mother’ 

‘Let’s hope she doesn’t make the same mistake her mother made’ 

She had heard it all. 

But with the modeling industry, comes diets, and workouts, and healthy, green, disgusting smoothies. All of which were very bad for your mental state, by the way. 

The modeling world was a whole different work than the one Y/N had been surrounded by for the first fifteen years of her life, and now she was in this new world, she realized how much prettier everyone else around her was. 

It wasn’t bad at first, it was just a few skipped snacks, maybe a skipped meal here and there. 

It wasn’t anything serious, it was just a calorie deficit, which is what she thought she needed anyway. 

Everyone told her she looked wonderful, and that only encouraged her more. 

It slowly progressed until she was around eighteen, she was put in an overnight hospital stay once, but it was simply brushed aside, since she claimed her malnourishment was just due to stress.

She promised her mother that she would start consciously eating more again. 

She promised. 

But later that year was when she began dating Harry. It was wonderful, and she didn’t have any doubts that she was beautiful, and he made sure of that. 

But now two years later, the two of them were still going strong. 

Y/N had gotten the job of any model's dream, getting to premiere at the Victoria Secret Fashion Show. 

And it just so happened that her very own boyfriend was chosen to be the performer. 

Y/N was excited at first, finally getting the chance to be able to get on stage with her boyfriend. But that didn’t last very long when she went on twitter a little after the announcement had been posted. 

It was safe to say that most of Harry’s fans were not very pleased that she was going to be walking in the show. 

But there was one tweet that made her particularly sick to her stomach. 

It said; “It would be ten times cuter if it was Kendall walking that runway, Y/N could never compare to her” 

It had now been almost a week since she had read that tweet, and it had made her want to cry. She had definitely had her moments where she fell completely apart while in the shower, but she could never do that in front of Harry. 

She wouldn’t even know where to start. 

Y/N had always been the type of person to hide her emotions, and most of the time she did it very well, that was until the dam finally broke. 

That's when she decided to take a hot shower, thinking maybe it would relax her, and maybe even burn a few calories.  

Harry didn't even realize how long his girlfriend had been in the shower, until he went to run the dishwasher and it wouldn't start.

That meant that there was zero hot water. 

“Y/N?” He knocked on the bathroom door, hoping for a response, “are you okay?” 

He didn't get a response at all, not vocally at least. 

He heard the water turn off from inside the bathroom, figuring that his voice must have broken her out of a gaze of some sort. 

He knocked again, “baby? Are you okay? You've been in there a while.” 

His voice trailed off when he heard the door open slightly, promoting for him to open the ajar door fully. 

Harry was shocked at what he saw, closing the door behind them to give them some privacy, even though no one else lived in their apartment.

The sight of the small girl was definitely a confusing one to Harry, seeing that he had no clue what Y/n had been struggling with for the past years, but especially the past few years. 

She was curled in a ball, her arms wrapped around her legs, pulling them to her chest with her back against the wall. Sitting next to her was the digital scale that Harry frequently used to check his weight. 

He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her or make her think he was mad at her in any way. 

When he got close enough to read the number that was being shown on the scale, he was appalled. He had to hold back his gasp as he crouched in front of her in order for his eyes to be level with hers. 

“Hey,” He placed a hand on top of her knee, trying to grab her attention. “What’s the matter, love?” He was genuinely concerned for her now that he saw the fat tears rolling down her cheeks. 

The only thing that his girlfriend did though, was look back down at her hands once they dropped to her lap, the tears continued flowing. 

“You know you can tell me anything baby, I’m right here.” 

“I-” The sniffles and hiccups that still leave her small body were absolutely heartbreaking to Harry. “I just, I hate m-myself.” 

Harry didn’t even want to imagine what his facial expression looked like in that moment, because hearing his girl say that, absolutely broke him. 

“Y/N,” He finally spoke shakily, rubbing his hands up and down her thighs as her legs straightened. “W-why?” 

He never would have imagined that she was feeling like this, and that made him feel awful knowing that he maybe could have helped her sooner. She had been hurting for god knows how long and he had no idea. 

“I know that you say that you think I’m pretty, and beautiful-” She cuts herself off when another sob racks her body. “But sometimes I think you just tell me that so you don’t hurt my feelings.” 

It had taken her a while to regain her breathing at times, and Harry could see why. Her body was clearly fragile, and was working way harder than it should have to just to keep her lungs pumping. 

He walked into their bedroom that was connected to the bathroom, quickly grabbing the Gatorade that he had set on the dresser a few moments ago when he had begun knocking on the door. 

“Here, take a drink baby.” He tried to put the plastic bottle in her hand, but she wouldn’t even hold it before she was immediately pushing it away. “Y/N, you need to drink something.” 

Her tears only got stronger, her breath becoming more erratic as she shook her head no. 

Her skin was pale, and the bones of shoulder protruded from her body. She looked sick, but Harry didn’t want to admit that, even to himself. 

“I can’t, Harry, I can’t.” The breath that she exhaled was ragged, prompting him to put the hand that wasn’t holding the Gatorade bottle on her back, running it up and down. 

“Yes, you can baby. I promise, I will be here the entire time.” He nodded encouragingly, but she didn’t say a word. “Can you please just take one sip? If not you for, for me.” 

The daunting look that she gave the plastic bottle was enough to make her start hyperventilating. “You don’t get it.” 

“I know I don't,” He sighed loudly, “but I want to.” 

“Why me?” Her voice was barely audible, making so Harry didn’t even hear what she said at first. 

“What?” His large, ring-clad hand was still rubbing up and down her back in an attempt to make her breathe even out. 

Y/N took a deep breath, like she was trying to figure out what to say. “Why do you want me? You could have literally any girl you want, yet you’re still here, and I just don’t get it.” 

It probably seemed horrible when Harry stayed silent for a moment, staring blankly at her. But in all reality, he was just trying to come up with an answer that would be suitable enough to make her understand exactly how he felt about her. 

“I just- I can’t help you understand how I’m feeling, and what I’m going through until I understand. I-i really need to understand.” 

“You know that I love you so much, darling.” 

That’s when the dam finally broke, the tears starting again, and Y/N’s hands angrily slamming down on the bathroom floor. “But why? Help me understand!” She bellowed, making Harry’s eyes widen. 

“Understand what, love?” His voice was calm, and Y/N wasn;t surprised by it. He had never raised his voice at her in the slightest, and she didn’t think he was going to start. 

“Why you chose me! You have a million girls literally at your feet that are so much prettier, and skinnier, and nicer-” Harry cut her off. 

He knew exactly what she was doing. Her anxiousness always caused rambling like this where she would spill all of her feelings, and it made his heart ache that she could ever feel like this. 

“I don’t want anyone else.” He said simply, grabbing her hands. “I love you because you light up any room that you walk into. I love the way you play with your hair when you’re being impatient. I love the way you immediately run to me when I walk in the front door. I love when you attempt to cook, even though you are horrendous at it, but I know you try for me.” 

“I love every single thing about you, to the point that I don’t think I could ever look at anyone else with even remotely the same amount of admiration as I have when I look at you. You make me who I am, and no one else could ever fill my heart to the extent that you do.” 

Y/N looked up at him, watching the single tear roll down his cheek. The only thing she could think to do was lean her head forward from where she was sitting in front of him, laying her head on his chest. 

“Everybody’s mad that I’m going to be walking at the show while you’re performing. They all wanted you to be performing with Kendall.” 

Harry’s hands went under her slim arms, picking her up with ease before placing her in his lap. “I don’t want to perform for anyone unless you’re walking that runway.” 

“I love you.” 

He kissed the top of her head, “I love you too.” 

Y/N laid in his lap for a few more minutes before he stood up, wrapping his arms easily around the back of her thighs, pulling her legs to wrap around his torso. 

“Why don't we eat something, make you feel better?” At this time, Harry had completely forgotten about the image of his girlfriend crying in front of the scale. 

She shook her head as he laid her down against the comforter in their bed, “m’ not hungry.”

He knew better than that, “you haven't eaten all day, what's going on?” 

“I’m preparing for the show, Harry.” 

That’s when he definitely knew something was off, she never called him by his first name. He also saw the look on her face when he mentioned food, she looked sad, not only sad, but disgusted. 

“Did you see the same number on the scale that I did?” He didn’t want to bring it up at first, but now he felt it was necessary to lightly mention it. “If anything, you’re underweight, Y/N.” 

“The number on the scale means absolutely nothing when I still look like- like this.” She motioned down towards her body, making Harry frown. 

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, his thumb and pointer finger connecting immediately, basically overlapping them. “That is not healthy, baby. You need to eat in order to fuel your body, or else you will be so weak that you won’t even be able to make it down the runway.” 

“I can’t be fat for this show Harry, I just can’t. There is too much speculation about me already, and I can’t be known as the fat Victoria Secret model, on top of being the girl who’s dating Harry Styles.” 

“But you’re not fat, and I know that it’s hard for you to see since you’ve had to struggle with these types of things in the modeling industry for so long, but you need to eat.” She was already shaking her head, making Harry’s eyes well with tears. 

“Please, Y/N, for me. I’m not asking for you to sit down and have a full course meal, maybe just something small, healthy even. How about a little side salad, would that be okay? You don’t even have to eat the whole thing.” 

Finally, he got his girlfriend to agree, slowly nodding her head. 

He kneeled onto the bed, wrapping his arms firmly around her. “You’re so beautiful, baby. I love you so much, thank you.” 

“I love you too. A lot.” 

Harry grabbed Y/N’s cheeks in his hands, feeling her strong cheekbones against his palms. “I just want you to be healthy, you know that, right?” 

She smiled lightly, leaning her head into his hand, “I’ll get there.”

“I know you will.” 

i hope you like my very first imagine that i have posted on this account! should i do a part two of the fashion show? lmk!!

[joshstambourine]

What Friends Do Pt. 4

Word Count: 2047

Warnings: Cursing, Drug Abuse

Synopsis: Josh and Jake are surprised when an old friend stumbles back into their lives, taking their world by storm with old feelings, new feelings, and problems they never would have expected.

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader x Jake Kiszka

Taglist: @anditsmywholeheart @babydxll @gretavanfleetlove

"Thanks for coming out with us (Y/N), we definitely need to do this again sometime." Josh smiles at her, his hands in his pockets with his book tucked under his arm.

"Yeah we really do." (Y/N) agreed, holding her bag tightly despite it hanging off her shoulder, fingers tapping against the strap of her bag. She tried not to make it obvious, as her leg began rattling itself back and forth--- she was getting noticeably fidgety. 

"Sometime soon maybe?" Josh continued to suggest, "Maybe we could like... I dunno do a chill dinner or something at my place with everyone?" Josh suggests looking at Jake to get some form of confirmation.

Jake nodded a little, eyes lightly glancing to (Y/N)'s leg as it moved. They then jumped up to look at her side profile. 'Why is she shaking so much…?'

"Maybe… uh… what day is it again..." (Y/N) starts as her eyes shut a touch, beginning to rub at the back of her neck. Head leaning from side to side in thought, there was a beat of silence as she thought. “Uh.... Saturday maybe?” She suggests finally, an expression across her face  showed that she… might not have figured out what day it was in the end.

Josh is soon nodding to her, “I can make that work.” He smiles, he didn’t seem bothered by the sudden antsy movements (Y/N) had begun to make, nor the slightly vacant look in her eyes. “Text me?”

(Y/N) nods quickly, “I will!” She hums, “I better get going! I’ll see you guys later?” She continues just as swiftly.

“See you!” Josh cheers, watching as (Y/N) began to walk away from them.

“Yeah see ya…” Jake utters, unlike his twin her movements didn’t sit well with him. Quite the opposite. When (Y/N) was far enough away, Jake turned to Josh with a curious look. “...Did… did she seem off to you?” He asks with a sideways expression. 

Josh’s brows furrowed, “What do you mean by “off”, exactly?”

"I dunno… she just seemed really jittery, all of a sudden." Jake utters, he honestly just curious.

Josh began to start down the sidewalk, it took him a moment, he seemed to be deciding himself if he wanted to branch onto the matter. "She did yeah…" Josh finally responds with a small sigh, it wasn't in a nonchalant way, but Josh’s tone made it clear to Jake that he wasn’t surprised by the thought.

"...should we ask her about it?" Jake slowly inquired, his brow perking up a little.

"No we shouldn't." Josh quickly replies, picking up the pace as his hand searches his pocket for his car keys.

Jake is startled by just how quick and how loudly his twin had responded. "...uh… why not?" Jake soon inquired.

"It's none of our business." Josh says in a serious tone, which was a strange look for him. Not that Josh wasn't capable of being serious, just that he normally didn't show so much fervor in being serious.

Jake's brows furrowed a touch more. "Josh… why can't we ask her about it?" He said in an equally as serious tone.

By this point Josh was reaching to unlock his car, his gaze keeping low.

"She's your friend isn't she? If it's something important shouldn't we talk to her?" Jake continued to press, Josh gritting his teeth a little though he didn't notice.

"There's nothing wrong okay? We don't need to talk to her. She's fine." Josh quickly snapped,

"But--" Jake started,

"It’s none of your business okay Jake? So just--” Josh stopped before shaking his head, his arm now rested along the edge of his slightly opened car door. “I'm not talking about it anymore okay?" Josh finally says. "I'll see you later." He muttered a little under his breath, opening the door wide to slip behind the steering wheel.

Jake’s eyes had narrowed as his twin did this. What was he hiding? More importantly, why was he hiding it? Jake was his twin, and (Y/N) was his friend… so what was the point?

Even after Jake had moved on and left Josh behind, his twin sat in his car without making any movement to start the engine or drive off; he just stared ahead tiredly. Josh had noticed many things about (Y/N) in that brief meal. Some that made him proud… others that made him more upset than he would care to admit.

(Y/N) was her own person. She always had been. A little wild and fun when he had needed it. A little sweet and affectionate when it was important to him. (Y/N) had always been what Josh had needed despite all the bullshit in their lives. Sometimes Josh found himself wishing that he had been more like that for her… maybe she would have kept in touch with him if he had. He was still sour about that. Not that he would ever say anything to her about it, it was her choice to "lose touch" to lose touch after all.

It was becoming all consuming. That one thought; it had been there the whole time just lingering, waiting for it’s chance to spread throughout his waking consciousness. Jake's mentioning it just freed it from its cage. That bag in her purse had clearly dwindled down but the white powder was still seen and could be clearly recalled.

(Y/N) was using again. That was a certainty. The question that Josh kept wondering was; had she ever actually stopped? She… wouldn’t have lied to him about going sober… would she?

Josh slowly came to rest his forehead against the steering wheel, pinching his eyes shut. Those questions were so bitter, absolutely poisonous to his thoughts. Was he just that untrustworthy? Maybe… maybe he had been, at another point in his life. It wasn’t something Josh liked to consider, but perhaps he had lost her trust a long time ago and he had just never noticed.

The feeling of warm sun against his skin lulled him into distant memories, ones that he had tried to feign ignorance to. 

(Y/N)’s silhouette barely able to be made out. Her arms spread wide as she spun in circles. Unbothered by the fact that she was dripping from head to toe in some sort of punch. Her dress stuck to her sides as she moved, tracing every slight twist in her torso. Her laughter was what had always been unnerving to think about. How absent it was.

She was standing dead center in the middle of a party. One of those senior parties that you just couldn’t afford to miss if you were invited to. Josh could remember her hair falling but still sticking to her skin, mascara running in dark smudges across her face. Everyone in the room knew that she wasn’t there. (Y/N) was somewhere entirely else. The way she sang her own song out loud made that abundantly clear.

It was one of the first times Josh had seen her like this; lost in some other place. It wouldn’t be the last. It was the beginning of something… unhealthy.

Josh couldn’t remember what he had said to her exactly at that moment. Was it… something along the lines of “Are you stupid?” or “You’re so embarrassing!”, he couldn’t be sure. What Josh did know was that his hands were clenched on her arms tightly not long after that moment. Her eyes reflected the lights floating around the party, and something else… something deeper. (Y/N) was terrified.

Despite how far away she was on everything else… she had been with him for that moment. That moment Josh had shown more anger than he had intended. The fear would only be there for a moment, as recognition came in to replace it.

She squirmed in his grip, “L-let go of me!” She exclaimed, finally able to shake his hands off her person.  “I’m fine.” She said in a roar, despite the fact she had stumbled and now was leaning a little to her side. 

Her hands rubbing at the spots he had once held in a fanatical way. “I’m more than fine!” She continued, “This is the first time in my… in my whole life I’ve felt… free.” (Y/N) exclaimed, her eyes narrowing at him. “I know you don’t want me to be. But I do!” She sneered.

Josh always remembered her saying that; he didn’t really understand what she had meant until later on when he looked back. (Y/N) had liked him for a lot of their youth… and perhaps the way he had treated her --- always taking and never really giving back,  made her feel… suffocated or trapped? That wasn’t all of it… but he knew that certainly was a part of it.

Her arms had soon lifted not long after, “Can you not let me feel free for a little while?” She asked, gesturing out words to the room full of other classmates and other kids that attended the schools in the area. Not many had paid attention; it wasn’t the first time someone's girlfriend had a bad trip or was drunk at one of these parties, they were good at tuning it out. Teenagers tend to be good at that; being very selective in things they wanted to give their concern to.

He knew that she had lost trust in him at that moment, but what he did next only added to it. 

Seeing the few lingering looks of concern from people he knew, he felt his cheeks get red with embarrassment. He began to shake his head, “Fine… fine, you’re not my problem anyways.” Josh began to say, pursing his lips a little in annoyance at her behavior. “Be free.” He tells her, stepping back and turning on his heels.

Josh had left her alone at that party. He went off to hang out with another girl, and really didn’t think any more of that moment. He had woken up hungover and just unwilling to budge on his anger towards her for being so embarrassing.

Josh still strongly thought that maybe if he had done something more, even just… took her home? If her trust in him would have healed a little. After that point (Y/N) had become much more secretive, she wouldn’t talk to him about personal things any more like they used to. She wouldn’t tell him who she was hanging around with. Josh had… accepted it. It wasn’t like (Y/N) was his girlfriend, nor was she his property. He didn’t need to know those things, but… it was just a full 180 from where they had been before as friends.

Josh took a long breath. Lifting his head from the steering wheel slowly and glancing out the window to his side. Was Jake right? Should he ask her about it? His hand went to his pocket, tugging free his phone to look at it for a moment.

Eventually though, he tossed it to his side. ‘She wouldn’t tell me even if I did say something…’

(Y/N) sat alone on the floor in her apartment, it was so dreadfully quiet in there. Painfully quiet. The sound of the silence rang around in her ears, making her head spin. Head hitting the wall with a thud. "Fuck…" she let out in a small whine, fingers lacing into her hair.

"Oh… fu-fuck…" she continued choking a little as she shuffled quickly to throw her head out over the open toilet. Her body was revolting; it wanted to rid itself of everything it had been carrying in her stomach till this moment… and it did. 

As her body began to scramble to get itself back together, a pause came. All that she could think was, 'What a waste of a good lunch.'

Her hands came to rub at her eyes tiredly. She was so goddamn tired… but, she was in so much pain. This was the process. Every time she had ‘stumbled’ back into it again, she always promised herself it would be the last time. She would try to push through withdrawals… only to use again immediately after. 

(Y/N) would never accept the truth.

She was an addict.

//I feel like it’s been forever since I wrote for this series! I both missed it and was.... scared of it...?? Don’t get me wrong! I love this series. I think I just have a high set of expectations for myself as I continue to write it --- despite the fact that I started writing it as like just a fun side thing in my time. This chapter especially was giving me a very hard time. Always making me feel like I was stuck in a writers block situation. Think I was just wanting to write it... properly. It felt like an important chapter and I really didn’t want to fuck it up. But anyways, that’s part four guys. Let me know what y’all think!//

[spencers-renaissance]

Don’t Be Scared, I Love You

Summary: JJ is shot and Emily's world stops spinning

Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective emily, NO mcd

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau 

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Emily has always been skeptical of ‘slow motion’ disaster moments. She’s been an active government agent working in the field for over a decade — that’s to say, she’s witnessed her fair share of tragedy — and it’s never quite that dramatic. But when a bullet from an unsub’s gun embeds itself in JJ’s shoulder, for a split second, Emily is powerless to react.

She’s stuck in time: JJ falls slowly to the ground, her hair spreading behind her in a golden halo, and she barely registers the gunshot coming from Derek’s direction, the kill shot that takes down the man she hates the most in the entire world at this exact moment. Blood pounds in her ears as a sinking feeling of dread pools in her stomach, a cold kind of fear spreading through her body and freezing her joints, her muscles, her mind. There is only a singular thought circling through her head:

I can’t lose her.

It’s only when she hears JJ whimper in pain that she snaps back into action, protective instincts clicking into motion as she throws herself down at her fiance’s side, barely registering the impact the cold concrete has on her knees, only focusing on the beautiful woman fading in front of her eyes. Immediately, she lays her palm on the gunshot wound, applying deep pressure in an attempt to quell the bleeding. It’s the right thing to do, she knows it will save JJ’s life, but continuing feels almost impossible when JJ cries out in pain, her face crumpling.

“Jayje, Jayje, baby,” she says desperately, at a loss for words for a moment, “hold on for me, okay? Hold on. You’re doing so well. Oh, God, I love you so much. Hold on for me.” Vaguely, she hears Derek calling for a medic, but every iota of her attention is on JJ.

Deep blue, disney princess eyes meet hers. This is half a relief — JJ is still conscious, she can hear her, she hasn’t lost too much blood yet — and half a curse — JJ’s eyes have always been expressive. Right now they are conveying the pain of the worst agony one can inflict on another, and they are completely coloured with terror. Terror Emily has no way to diminish, no way to ease. How does one refute possibly the most rational fear there ever was?

She can feel herself crying. She vaguely hears the rest of her team around them, but right now her entire world has shrunk down to this moment, to the woman she’s going to marry next year, to the woman she longs to have children with. This is not altogether uncommon. Emily’s world frequently shrinks down to comprise only JJ: when they’re in bed together, small moments when they catch one another’s eyes across the bullpen or in a meeting, evening walks down the brightly lit streets of the city they love so dearly. It’s never as painful as this.

Derek has taken off his top and is moving Emily’s hand to place the balled material over the wound. He takes over applying pressure; Emily only notices this because it means she can focus the entirety of her attention on JJ’s face and not the profusely bleeding hole in her shoulder. The crimson blood dripping from her palm only serves as a reminder of how close she is to losing the love of her life. To being single again, a widow, a hopelessly miserable, never-to-recover, bereaved shell of a human being.

“Emily,” JJ whispers, and she’s crying, too. Her face is not hiding a single emotion raging through her, and while Emily usually finds JJ’s wobbly chin endearing, right now it’s purely agonising. “Emily, I’m scared.”

Emily has to bow her head for a moment and heave a single, shoulder-wracking sob that seems to tear though her throat with the same violence of the bullet that tore through JJ’s shoulder. She blinks the tears away and sniffs once before looking back up at JJ and offering her a watery smile, the absolute best one she can muster, and uses her clean hand to gently comb her fingers through her blonde hair, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“Don’t be scared,” she whispers tearfully, brushing her thumb over JJ’s damp cheekbone, “I love you.”

“Don’t leave me,” JJ whispers back, tears still spilling down her cheeks, as they hear the sirens of the ambulance and a medic rushing into the warehouse, the floor of which will forever bear the stain of her fiance’s blood.

“I won’t,” Emily says through sobs she can no longer contain, “I won’t, darling, I’m here.”

“Promise?” JJ asks, visibly fading just as the paramedics arrive and ask Emily and Derek to make room.

“I promise, baby,” Emily cries earnestly, moving away just enough for the EMTs to do their job, just in time for JJ to completely lose consciousness.

⭐��

The hospital waiting room is warm, but Emily feels cold.

She stares blankly at the wall in front of her, a merciful sort of numbness taking over her body, leaving her far less frantic than the emotional wreck she was in the warehouse. It’s a kind of quiet far from peaceful, but she doesn’t have the energy to care. Her hands are so cold covered in JJ’s warm blood.

Spencer desperately tries to get her to come to the bathrooms and wash it off, but Emily refuses, just in case this is the last thing she has to remember JJ by. In which case, she has revolved to forever have a stained right hand as a permanent mark of her crippling grief. She will be branded by her devotion to JJ, and by the end that devotion came to.

Her only thought is of W. H. Auden’s poem Funeral Blues. It was read at her uncle’s funeral a few years ago. What a funny thing grief is: she could grasp the concept of such emptiness and utter misery filling your life after the death of a loved one, of course she could, but she’s never tangibly understood that kind of grief. She does now, and JJ — as far as she knows — is still alive. If she does lose JJ, though, she knows for an absolute fact that her life will forever lack meaning, lack purpose, lack joy.

Pour away the ocean, indeed, she thinks. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.

Emily knows, academically, theoretically, the damage a bullet can do. The shoulder is a complex weave of nerves, muscles, bones, tendons, and arteries; really, it’s one of the most complicated pieces of human anatomy, so, naturally, a gunshot wound in that particular area is far from desirable.

Spencer tells her as they’re waiting that the amount of blood JJ lost indicates that instead of the bullet hitting the incredibly delicate network of blood vessels, which would have led her to bleed out in minutes, it instead shattered the joint. This is good news and bad news. JJ is still alive. But she will need reconstructive surgery. She may never regain full range of motion. She will need months, maybe years of physio. Emily doesn’t know if this is what she wants to hear or not, but she vaguely appreciates that Spencer is falling back on his academic knowledge of an incredibly emotional situation as a coping mechanism.

Not that anyone really doubted it, but Spencer is proved right by the doctor that comes to greet the family of Jennifer Jareau six and a half hours after they arrived.

“Ms Jareau’s humerus was shattered, and her clavicle and scapula did not get off scot free, either. Luckily, the bullet missed her large axillary vessels, which is the most consolation I can offer you at this stage,” the doctor explains kindly. “We’ve stabilised her condition through surgery in which we did our best to tidy her shoulder, but she will be needing a total shoulder replacement in the very near future. Though, I understand she resides in DC and is in well-enough condition to be transferred there for the major operation and ensuing recovery.

“I understand… Emily Prentiss is her next of kin?” she asks, consulting her clipboard.

Emily nods blankly, the reassurance that JJ is alive beginning to settle in, weaving its way into her heart.

The doctor smiles empathetically. “I can take you to see Ms Jareau now. Her sedation will be wearing off any minute.”

The world gradually stirs back into colour as Emily lays eyes on JJ, very much alive, blinking sleepily in her hospital bed. Her gown is carefully tucked around the bandage on her shoulder and the fabric sling her arm has made its home. She’s ever so pale, sweat beading on her brow from the pain, but she’s alive. Emily will not have to recite Auden in a Church built for a God she doesn’t believe in while the only person that made her believe in anything lies in a coffin. Alright, she thinks as she walks into the room and sits down next to JJ’s bed, the moon can be unpacked. The sun reassembled.

As JJ manages a smile, though, reaching her good arm out for her fiance, craving physical comfort and affection, Emily thinks that the stars don’t need to be relit. The one in front of her, broken as she might be, long as her journey to recovery is certain to take, is bright enough to put all of them to shame.

Emily can’t help but break down in tears of gasping relief as she clasps the hand JJ’s outstretched for her, gripping it tightly and bringing it to her face, kissing it gently before pressing it to her cheek as her crumpled eyes leak pitifully.

“Hey, don’t be scared,” JJ murmurs in her croaky, post-surgery voice as she echoes Emily’s words some seven hours earlier, “I love you.”

Emily can’t help but laugh happily through her relieved, messy emotion at that, leaning forward to press a warm kiss to JJ’s slightly chapped, pale lips.

“God, I love you so much,” she promises, so much sincerity behind her words that JJ tears up in response. “I’m gonna be here through every step of the journey ahead, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know that,” JJ whispers, as her face contorts, emotion twisting her throat in knots. “I never doubted it for a second.”

And, well. Doesn’t that just say everything Emily needs to hear.

Clasp me close in your warm young arms, While the pale stars shine above, And we’ll live our whole young lives away In the joys of a living love.

- I Love You, Ella Wheeler Wilcox

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

[robininthelabyrinth]

I need to know what u think of an AU where JC is the one who dies (sacrificing his life to save WWX) instead of JYL, he’s not as angry with WWX bc JYL is still alive so when he sees his brother about to get murdered he just steps in front of him while JYL and WWX see :) I don’t even know what I want u to do with this? Give me some headcanons? Is it a prompt? Idk I just want u to to see what u make of this (I promise JC is my fav but my mind likes to make me suffer :p)

1

It wasn’t a matter of conscious thought when Jiang Cheng threw himself between that cultivator’s sword and Wei Wuxian’s unguarded back, all his defenses down in the face of Jiang Yanli’s pleading, same as always; it was just instinct. Wei Wuxian was always the troublemaker, the crazy one, and Jiang Cheng always the one being dragged along; he’d long ago learned to spend all his time watching his shixiong’s back, keeping him away from dogs, away from angry shopkeepers, away from any harm. It was instinct, just as it had been the day he’d thrown himself out into the street to distract the Wens, and he’d always justified that instinct because he knew that Wei Wuxian would do the same for him.

Though – he didn’t know that anymore, not after everything that happened recently. Wei Wuxian had made him all the promises in the world, to stand by his side through wind and lightning, and he’d seemed to have no issue abandoning those promises, picking the remnants of the Wen sect over the remnants of the Jiang sect without a moment’s hesitation and not even the courtesy of an explanation.

The Yiling Patriarch was all but a stranger to him, and Jiang Cheng still didn’t understand why.

So it was probably stupid of him to react as if the person being stabbed at was Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch – stupid of him to give up his life for someone who didn’t care about him nearly as much as Jiang Cheng cared for him.

But that’s why it wasn’t a thought. It was instinct.

He heard someone scream “Jiang Cheng!” as if their heart were breaking, and he thought for a moment that it was Wei Wuxian again, the one who loved him best. Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch, who threw him to the dogs over and over again, put his sect at risk of utter destruction a second time over, just to indulge himself and his bizarre fixation on saving the Wens at the expense of everyone else. Who didn’t care about their duty to their sect, to their parents - who didn’t care about him at all.

Jiang Cheng’s heart hurt. It was probably just the sword that’d just been driven through it, though.

Hands grasped at his clothing, pulling him back; his sister’s face had lost all blood, and Wei Wuxian looked as if his world had ended – he wasn’t sure why. Jiang Yanli had her son to care for, a new life in Lanling that she refused to abandon even if Jin Zixuan was now gone; Wei Wuxian had his Wens, his new cultivation – perhaps it was some little regret, far too late, for the Jiang sect that would now come to grief, leaderless, the end of their family line and the disappointment of their ancestors. Jiang Cheng’s final and most absolute failure.

Jiang Cheng looked at them both, the ones he loved the most and who had left him without a single glance backwards, and found with his last breath that he had nothing to say to them.

He closed his eyes so they wouldn’t have to.

2

The battlefield was full of corpses, and Jiang Yanli didn’t care about a single one of them.

“Do you think he can be brought back, the way Wen Ning was?” she asked, holding the corpse in her arms as if it were still the baby brother she sang songs to as a child, the little crybaby who was so fierce on the outside and so soft on the inside. She had been able to lie to herself with Jin Zixuan’s body – he almost looked as though he were sleeping, head on the pillow beside her own – but Jiang Cheng had never slept well in his life, his brow always furrowed as if he was worrying about something even in his dreams, and the blank peace on his face was so wrong that she couldn’t bear to look at him.

She wasn’t asking Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian had only stopped the massacre when Lan Wangji, of all unlikely people, had bodily tackled him; everyone had always said that the Second Jade was like oil and water with her A-Xian, but he’d unexpectedly taken their side in this battle and was even now letting a barely-conscious Wei Wuxian sob Jiang Cheng’s name into his collar. He looked silently at her, his gaze a quiet reminder that her question was inappropriate – one Ghost General had already been enough to cause all of this tragedy, and certainly no one would ever accept another as a sect leader.

She looked steadily back at him, indicating in return that she didn’t give a damn about the standing of the Jiang sect if it meant she wouldn’t have to bury her baby brother.

Lan Wangji hesitated, looking down at Wei Wuxian. “You cannot stay at Yiling,” he finally said. “After this…”

They’d killed people from virtually every sect; no matter who had sympathized with Wei Wuxian before this or how much they felt he was wronged, they would have no choice but to raise up arms against him.

Jiang Yanli understood. They would be fugitives, condemned by all. She didn’t care. “Will you help us?”

He nodded and stood, Wei Wuxian cradled as gently in his arms as she held Jiang Cheng in hers.

“Will you come with us?” she asked. Anyone who loved her brother enough to defy his sect, to stain his untainted blade with the blood of his own kin, deserved a chance to court him properly, if she hadn’t misunderstood his intentions; she didn’t think she had, not with the expression so clear on his silent face.

“I will help you,” he said, and that wasn’t an answer, wasn’t the one she wanted, but it would have to do for now. “Let us go.”

3

It was Jin Zixuan who figured it out, oddly enough. Perhaps it was because he was an outsider, looking at the situation without affection to blur his eyes.

“You gave him your golden core,” he said, less than a week into his resurrection – Lan Wangji had been very efficient in his help, not only finding a new place to hide Jiang Yanli and the remaining Wens but also returning to Lanling to steal Jin Zixuan’s corpse and little Jin Ling before returning to his own sect at the first sign that Wei Wuxian would awaken from his coma. He hadn’t sent word since that time, whether from regret or other reasons; their only consolation was that there was no news of his death. “That’s why you couldn’t do anything other than demonic cultivation – is that right?”

Wei Wuxian looked at him through blood-red eyes. “Get lost,” he said; the phrase made up the majority of his vocabulary, these days, and because he refused to curse his shijie he mostly ended up not talking to her at all.

“Wen Qing was a famous doctor – she could have figured out a way to do it, and that would explain why you felt so indebted to them,” Jin Zixuan continued. “You never told him because you didn’t want to burden him. But instead you left him without any reason, any explanation: he must have felt that you abandoned him because you didn’t want him.”

“Get lost!”

“You broke his heart,” he said, and looked down at Jiang Cheng’s body – still perfectly preserved, but unmoving. The resurrection spell had already failed three times. “No wonder he doesn’t want to return.”

“I did it for him!” Wei Wuxian screamed, tears of blood dripping down his cheeks. “He didn’t – he wouldn’t – he has to come back!”

Jin Zixuan said nothing.

4

They ended up back in Yunmeng, rather unexpectedly; the new leadership of the Lotus Pier, a distant branch cousin who’d survived the massacre because he’d been night-hunting elsewhere, had all but begged Jiang Yanli to return. Against all odds her reputation had survived the massacre at the Nightless City; the loving wife, sister, and shijie that nearly sacrificed herself to save what lives she could and to banish the dreadful Yiling Patriarch who was never seen again from that day forth –  she was very nearly regarded as an incarnation of the goddess of mercy.

She had no idea where that ridiculous notion came from, but it did mean that she could live in Lotus Pier again, with Jin Ling by her side – she’d told Jin Guangshan to name someone else as his heir, or at minimum as regent; the Jiang sect needed her and her son more. It wouldn’t have worked if Jin Zixuan hadn’t snuck into his mother’s room to convince Madam Jin to throw her support behind it; officially he was still in his tomb, since Lan Wangji had been very subtle, but in fact he lived within shouting distance of the Lotus Pier, spending his days playing with his son.

They all did, actually, the whole lot of them resettled into a tiny adjacent water town populated largely by civilians that relied on the Jiang sect for their prosperity. As long as Wei Wuxian never did anything, which he didn’t, the illusion that he was gone for good in a cloud of self-destruction after his terrible massacre could be maintained; no one expected they could possibly be so daring as to simply go home after all of it.

Lan Wangji was in seclusion, they were eventually told; Wei Wuxian hadn’t believed it for one second, smuggling himself into Gusu to check – he’d come back unconscious, slung over Jin Zixuan’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Struck by the discipline whip,” her husband, the fierce corpse that wasn’t fierce at all, said, and didn’t comment when she instinctively reached out to touch Jiang Cheng’s body, to trace the scar he had; she often spent her days next to the bed that preserved his corpse. “Many times; his body is ruined. It will take years for him to heal – the Lan sect saying he was in seclusion was their way of saving face. Wei Wuxian wants to bring him back to the Lotus Pier to hide him.”

Jiang Yanli rubbed her face, thinking not for the first time that the world would be an easier place if only her two brothers weren’t so stubborn. One who wouldn’t wake up, his spiritual consciousness all in pieces; the other who wouldn’t give up – “The Lan sect wouldn’t accept that.”

“He wasn’t planning on asking. That’s why I knocked him out. Anyway, they’re distracted with the Xue Yang matter now – my father’s still insisting on protecting him, and the Nie sect gets angrier about it by the day; without the Jiang sect, there’s only the Lan to play peacemaker, stop there from being another war.”

Jiang Yanli, who was very nice but also very much not the goddess of mercy, tilted her head to the side; something of her mother was in her eyes. “A war would be a good cover, though, or at least the rumblings of one. If we were going to steal Lan Wangji away from his sect, that is.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll sneak into Lanling to talk to my mother, maybe see if I can follow Xue Yang and see what he’s up to. You go talk to the Nie.”

5

Jiang Yanli’s visit to the Unclean Realm turned out to be more fruitful than anyone had expected. The moment she walked into Nie Mingjue’s receiving room, her Jiang sect bell rang so hard that it shattered, which it definitely hadn’t done during the war – they both stared at it wordlessly for a while.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, averting his eyes. “You know my family history,” he offered as an explanation, embarrassment at the public revelation of his problem already turning to anger but suppressed by his strict adherence to etiquette.

“That’s no family history,” she said, bemused, as she crouched down to poke at the pieces. “The silver bell of the Jiang sect can steady focus and calm the mind, and the ones made for the family are the strongest by far; it would only shatter like this in the effort to resist a spiritual poison…how are you feeling now, Sect Leader Nie?”

He considered for a long moment, and his face grew black with rage. “Better. I feel – like my mind has been filled with fog, and a clear breeze has blown it clear.”

She smiled up at him. “Perhaps you should visit Yunmeng.”

He scowled, and she realized he must know about Wei Wuxian’s presence, though she wasn’t sure how; despite that, in the end, after a roaring argument with Nie Huaisang in another room, he agreed to go, even if the idea of staying willfully blind clearly pained him to the core.

Jiang Yanli quietly approved of his decision to put family over principle.

When they put their mind to it, the Nie sect  had an underrated talent for saying ‘I don’t know’ to just about everything. Neither brother blinked an eye at the Wen sect remnants that still teetered every time they went on a boat, very clearly not Yunmeng locals; they politely greeted Jin Zixuan as if he’d only been gone a while and not murdered; much to his older brother’s very evident irritation, Nie Huaisang even leapt over to give Wei Wuxian an enthusiastic hug while Nie Mingjue was still talking with Jin Zixuan about what it meant that Jin Guangshan had hidden away the still intact Wen Ning, who Jin Zixuan had found in a hidden part of Koi Tower during his most recent visit and immediately liberated.

“Definitely a case of spiritual poisoning,” Wei Wuxian said after a short examination, and the most reliable doctor they had left in the Jiang sect concurred. “The silver bell can help a little –” 

They’d already shattered seven of them, but Nie Mingjue had actually cracked a smile for the first time in months, to hear a sobbingly relieved Nie Huaisang tell it. 

“–but it can only help so much; that technique is really only meant for acute cases. And you really need to figure out what was doing the poisoning; there’s no point in curing you if you’re only going to get poisoned again.”

“A matter for a later time,” Nie Mingjue, who clearly had some suspicions that made him look as though he’d been stabbed in the back, said. “Now that we know it’s a poisoning, and my mind is clearer, I can take some action myself – the Nie have plenty of techniques to stabilize the spirit.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile was full of self-hatred, as it always was these days. “I don’t suppose any of those are designed to work on the dead.”

“Actually,” Nie Huaisang said. “Several are. Why do you ask?”

6

Jiang Cheng opened his eyes.

[takadasaiko]

Learn to be Patient (Superman & Lois one shot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: Lois knows she should be patient for news, but the longer Clark takes to respond to the stolen ELT, the more worried she gets. Set directly after 1.09.

---

Learn to be Patient

One of the strangest subconscious reactions to learning that Clark was really Superman had been the worry that crept in. Logically, Lois had known that his powers didn't suddenly appear or disappear with the donning of a red cape, but it had taken a while to truly accept it when he sped off into danger. To get to the place where she could either watch or report on the live news covering whatever villain he was going toe-to-toe with without the knot of fear tightening in her gut. Slowly but surely, and with more than a few missteps in between, she made it to an understanding that she held onto with everything inside of her: No matter who he faced, the man she loved would always come back to her.

Over the years it had become easier. There were moments, but there was also a steadiness, almost a rhythm that they fell into. Once she knew who he was, any explanation as to where he was going or what he was doing had to wait until he returned. He'd always let her know once the danger was dealt with. She had learned to be patient in a way that had felt impossible in the earliest days of their relationship. That patience had become a part of her.

Most days.

Not tonight, though. Tonight she was still reeling from nearly losing one son to Kryptonite poisoning of her father's own making and the other to people they knew that had somehow been brainwashed - possessed? That was still a terrifying question hanging out on the ledge of her mind - by Edge. The same people that had stolen her ELT that had sent Clark barreling up into the sky to tackle the problem head-on. She had been left with the boys to work through everything that had happened, and focusing on that had helped in its own way for a while.

Jonathan and Jordan had gone upstairs and Lois had been left alone in her damaged kitchen with no idea if it had been Kyle or Emily that had pressed that little red button or someone else entirely. The longer Clark was gone, the more she was afraid it was someone else. Someone with a better handle on their powers that might have found a way to get the upper hand with him suffering the lingering effects of the Kryptonite gas. The longer he was gone, the more the fear built and she hated that old knot twisting in her stomach that she thought she'd learned to let go of years before.

She had to be patient. She knew she had to be patient, and part of that came with keeping herself busy. She picked up some of the debris left from the fight and took a shower. She looked in on the boys who appeared to have crashed while talking about the days' events in Jordan's room and then she finally crawled into bed herself. Clark's side of the bed was painfully empty. She curled up on her side and reached out, fingers wrapping around the fabric of his pillow. "Clark," his name escaped her on a breath and she squeezed her eyes shut.

A familiar whoosh startled her and she found him standing just inside their room, fear in his eyes and cape settling behind him from the movement. "Are you alright? The boys okay?" he asked, voice more frantic than usual.

Lois managed a small nod. "Just worried. After everything and you were gone so long…" The words felt absurd and selfish as they tumbled out, but she could see the relief wash over him too.

"I had to update your dad. I should have called."

"It's okay. Do you need to-?"

"Nope. All done. I'm home."

"What happened?"

"Give me just a sec?"

Lois gave another small bob of her head and he was gone as quickly as he'd come. She heard the shower pop on for a few seconds and found herself wondering if, fast as he was, he'd given the water enough time to catch up with him to do any good. He reappeared a handful of seconds after that at the foot of the bed in a pair of pajama bottoms and he was running a towel through his damp hair. She cringed at the bruises that had faded against his chest, but hadn't disappeared. In fact…. She rocked forward to her knees, getting a closer look at the damage that had been left behind. "Are those new?"

Clark glanced down to the marks and frowned. "I think so." He tossed the towel towards the hamper, landing it in one shot, and fell back onto the bed with her. He loosed a long, tired-sounding breath and those otherworldly blue-green eyes fixed on her. "You want to wait until morning?"

He didn't, that much was evident from his tone, but he was giving her an out if she wanted to just curl up and fall asleep knowing they were both home and safe. "I won't be able to sleep until I know," she admitted softly.

"Might not be able to sleep after either," her husband grumbled and pushed himself up so that he was sitting with her. He leaned forward, elbows braced against his bent knees, and she could see more bruising along his bare back. Her fingers ghosted over the temporary damage and she could feel his muscles tense.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little," he admitted and she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. Finally, he seemed to relax just a little with that and he drew in a steadying breath. "Morgan Edge was the one that used your ELT."

"Edge himself? What, he didn't want to hide behind his super-powered army?" Clark turned to face her again and she saw a strange look in his eyes, almost haunted, and she felt the knot start to tense up as she pieced the clues together. "He has powers too, doesn't he?"

"He said he got them the same time I did."

Lois blinked hard at that statement. "What does that mean?"

"That he's Kryptonian. We were…. Evenly matched. I think he was a little stronger."

"Because of the gas?"

"I hope that's all."

"What did he want?"

Clark's shoulders sagged a little more and his gaze turned back to the far wall in front of them. "Me," he managed. "He wanted me to join him."

"I'm guessing the new bruises were his reaction to you telling him where he could shove it?" Lois tried for a tease. A quiet huff of a chuckle escaped him and she inched forward to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. He leaned into her and together they eased back against the mattress, Lois holding onto him as he nestled a little closer. She could feel the intentionally gentle way that his fingers latched onto her t-shirt and her hand moved to stroke his dark hair in a soothing motion.

"That's my people," he breathed without looking up at her. "A megalomaniac that's willing to sacrifice living human beings to be replaced with the consciousness of a race that's been all but extinct for forty years in this universe and the echoes willing to use humans as living hosts. What does that say?"

The knot in Lois' stomach moved to her chest and it felt like it might squeeze her heart until it stuttered to a stop. "They're not all like. You're not like," she managed, voice trembling and she willed her hands steady as they held him. A multitude of possibilities flickered through her mind's eye, the worst including Edge standing over Clark's broken body, unwilling to be denied yet another thing he'd demanded of this world, and their boys would be next if he ever caught wind that there were two half Kryptonians living in Smallville. "He can't have you," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I don't care if he's more powerful or if he buys up the whole damn world, this family…. he can't have us."

Clark shifted in her arms to look up at her. "I love you."

His words cut through the horrifying image, but Lois couldn't drag in the breath to answer him. So she did the next best thing as she inched down, pressing her lips against his in a desperate attempt to show him. She could taste her own tears even as he kissed her back, rolling so that he was on his back, Lois leaned over him. She broke the kiss, not able to go without air nearly as long as him, but didn't dare move far away. Instead she rested her forehead against his. "You know you're nothing like him, right?"

"Edge? Hope not. The only person I've seen you hate more is Lex Luthor."

She snorted a laugh. "I mean the other you. The one that destroyed Irons' world. You're nothing like him."

Clark loosed a sigh and Lois finally opened her eyes to find him looking at her. "I've read everything Irons left us on him and I've only found one real difference in all the articles."

"What's that?"

"He didn't have you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Neither am I."

That same steadiness that had helped her learn how to live this life with him filled the words. He would always come home to her. He would always come home to them.

Lois flashed a tired but real smile and pressed a quick kiss to his lips and rolled off of him to her side of the bed. "Glad we have that settled. I'm exhausted."

A soft chuckle echoed behind her and Lois felt her husband scoot closer until he was pressed against her back, one strong arm around her waist and she could feel his breath against the back of her neck. It had been a long, terrible day, but he was with her now, and when the sun rose, they'd face whatever Edge had to throw at them. They wouldn't let him take their family that they'd fought so hard for.

-----

End.

Notes: I stumbled across Superman & Lois after seeing a few very interesting things on social media. I don't think I've actively watched a Superman show since Lois and Clark way back in the day, so I wasn't prepared for the rabbit hole I was going to fall down. I'm absolutely obsessed with this take on a character that has been re-imagined so many times. The lens of family is what did it for me. The solid and healthy relationship Clark and Lois have (not perfect, but healthy), the complications with the twins, and all of the chaos that comes from it. It's beautifully crafted and brilliantly executed in a way I couldn't resist.

The problem is that I haven't watched any of the other DC shows in the Arrowverse very closely in years. I got through maybe 5 seasons of Arrow, a few episodes of Flash and Legends, and nothing of Supergirl or Batwoman when I started Superman & Lois. I did spot watch for episodes that Clark or Lois were in, but I think I only managed to confuse the crap out of myself with the colliding of universes that seemed to have taken place. I'm still unsure if this Clark and Lois even remember going to Argos in the other timeline or if that's faded like a dream at this point. Either way, I imagine that this Clark would feel heartbroken over the fact that the only members of his race left are acting as parasites to the planet that adopted him. The thought spiraled into my first little oneshot for the show. I do have another started to, so we'll see how that goes. Heaven knows I don't have time for fanfiction in a new fandom, but it's just too good to resist XD

[omiscurls]

all of me - sakusa kiyoomi x reader

eehee here i come with another sakusa fanfiction because I CAN and I WILL!

i know it’s bad no need to tell me

so the volleyball player to fall for today is, obviously: sakusa kiyoomi

and the word count: 3889

and the summary quote:   If you'll ever see me acting like this idiot, it'll mean the world is ending.

and let's go!

**

You were completely bored. Like, totally, one hundred percent spiritless, sitting on the stands, and noting all the line ups the Itachiyama Academy's Volleyball Team tried, as they started to practice before nationals. You were already here for three hours, and they still didn't seem to be close to finishing, even though they still had plenty of time before the contest, and plenty of condifence in their own abilities, after all, they had both the best wing spiker, and the best libero in the country. As their manager, of course you knew that.

And yet still it appeared as if they didn't. They were still working overtime, though their coach already went home, you saw all of them upset and tired, but none of the players dared to tell captain Tsukasa it was already time to go home. How long are they going to overwork themselves, you though, until someone passes out?

"'Nee-chan!" Komori yelled, and you looked up from the sheet of paper you caught yourself doodling on, instead of noting. Were you his sister? No, but a childhood friend, so he reffered to you like that ever since you could recall.

"What's up, Toya?" you asked, leaning over the security bar to hear him better. Even from over there you saw him being all sweaty and obviously tired.

"Can you bring us our drinks, please? We don't have any time to waste" he requested, and you gladly nodded and started walking towards the locker room. It was finally something else than writing down everything they might need. You entered the room, and found the box with the watter bottles already set up there, relieved you didn't need to open any of these smelly boys' lockers.

You picked it up and left the room, stopping to lock the door behind you. The box was kinda heavy, but you didn't complain, since it was your only distraction from the overwhelmingly dull training session.

"Guys, have a break already, I brought drinks!" you shouted, smiling from ear to ear at the fact that someone is finally going to talk to you after three hours of sitting there alone.

In fact, you were so happy about it, you forgot one important detail, that you were on the court and they were still practicing.

You suddenly saw someone run right in front of you, as if he wanted to cover you, but he didnt make it on time, and the ball, approaching you with killer speed, hit you right on the head. You remember it hurting briefly, and then it all went dark.

"What the hell?" your childhood friend yelled, the rest of the team shocked upon seeing such a goofball upset. He looked over at the kid who was spiking, a first year, currently standing there and scratching his neck in embarassement, as the angry libero was killing him with his look.

But turns out he wasn't the angriest person in the room.

"I'm sorry" the boy mumbled, subconsciously hiding behind Tsukasa.

"As you should be!" the black haired boy yelled, getting down to his knees.

Ah yes, your another friend, Sakusa. He was Komori's cousin, but moved here much later than the libero, and even so, you didn't see him much before you went to the same high school. Motoya always said he was kind of shy, but you never noticed. If anything, he was confident about himself and even rude sometimes.

You never knew how they got along so well, but it was probably the same case as with many childhood friends - they got so used to each other, that they couldn't imagine a life where they're not friends, even though they were like fire and water. One was always happy and it was rare to see him without a smile painting his lips, and the other, well, it was even more exceptional for him to grin.

But at that moment, both the fire and the water were at unison, glaring deadly at everyone, as they kneeled beside you.

"Nee-chan? Can you hear me?" panic raised in his voice, as he got no response from you. "Nee-chan?! Kiyoomi, why isn't she answering?"

"Because she's unconscious, you idiot" he answered, but his attention was suddenly somewhere completely else, as he felt his captain's hand on his shoulder. He shivered, as he moved away, and the older boy kneeled down to you as well to guage the situation.

"Alright, let's not create fake crowd here. The team has a moment to rest, Komori, you stay with miss manager, and Sakusa, come get the nurse with me"

"Is the nurse still in office? It's really late" he complained, but got up instantly, and followed his older collegue."

Meanwhile Komori really didn't know what to do with you, so he just sat by your side and whined as if you were dead. The captain raised his eyebrow and looked at him with pity.

"You know what, Saku? You stay there, you're more composed than him." he told his spiker in a low voice. "Komori! I changed my mind, if you want to help, then come along" Upon hearing that, Motoya was hesitant, but eventually nodded and walked up to the captain.

Normally, Sakusa would ask if he really has to be the one to deal with the situation, but this time it was concerning you, so he walked over gladly, and picked you up, one hand supporting your back, and the other near our knees.

His heart beat like it was going to jump out, and he felt the need to be left alone constantly, already tired from practice, both physically and mentally, but realized he wouldn't have it any other way but to be the one to look after you.

He sat on the bench, and put your body over it, your head resting on his thighs, so it would be higher.

He felt the urge to run his fingers through your hair in a comforting manner, or at the very least squeeze your hand, let you know he was there waiting, but a sudden wave of doubts hit him, and he decided to stay still.

When you came back to your consciousness, the first thing you saw was his worried face. You freaked out, knowing how uncomfortable it made him, being this close to anybody, and tried to lift yourself back up, but your head hurted too much. You instantly went back down, but not because of the aching on your forehead, but because something forced you to, something being a strong arm.

"Stay still for a minute, would you?" your friend asked, a bit annoyed, but also concerned, from what you could read from his expression.

"What happened?" you asked in a faint voice, so weak, actually, that upon hearing it, he frowned and looked over at you.

"That included talking" he only added, but after a minute of silence, decided to explain "You got hit on the head with a volleyball by some idiot."

Hearing Sakusa speak, some of the first years came closer to look, including the one to blame for the whole situation.

"A-are you okay Y/N-san?" he asked quietly, and you nodded, but Sakusa waved his hand as if he was whisking away an annoying fly.

"Back off, idiots, let the damn girl rest" he growled, rolling his eyes. Truth be told, he was just trying to get them away from himself, because he started to feel uncomfortable having all of them looking down at him, but conveniently, you were now his shield. "If you're all so energetic, then come back to training, we still suck at blocking with the new rotation."

Then he noticed, that all the second and third years were already back at training, so the ones that were left were only the newbies.

Maybe one or two of them will get a place in the game, one in a starting line up, some will become pinch servers, but for them, this year was just a trial run of Itachiyama's discipline, before they get to the first squad eventually, or maybe never.

"Why aren't you training then, Sakusa-san?" one of them got the courage to say, before getting absolutely slain by his irritated eyes.

"Because I don't suck at blocking" he bit back harshly, and relaxed a bit on his chair, a newly found confidenve flowing through him after the burn he just did.

They all went silent for a second, and went back to training with disappointed looks on their face, mumbling something about their ace being a douchebag.

He wasn't, though, he was always really respectful, even with his insults, but all it took was to push him just a tiny little bit over his edge, for him to get not salty, but straight up rude, as it was his defence mechanism for having his authority undermined in any way, or his personal space interrupted.

"You're an asshole" you whispered, your voice still kinda sleepy, as you were overall shaken, and your forehead kept pulsating like crazy.

"And you're mean but we don't talk about that, do we?" he replied, eyes fixed or something far in the distance, probably the holes and errors in someone's spikes, so he could later "give his honest opinion" and roast only the people who pissed him off. You laughed, but suddenly stopped, when you noticed your head hurting more. "How're you feeling?" he suddenly asked very gently and softly, his whole expression changing when he looked you in the eyes, and then quickly faced away.

"My head hurts" you complained, and he chuckled.

"Yeah, well, I figured, they all have some strenght in their arms here, you know?"

"Why show it off on my head?" you whined, and he gave you a slightly condesending look.

"Well, he was practicing, and you weren't supposed to be on the court"

"You're saying this is my fault?" you wanted to get up and show your irritation, but he shook his head with a slight smile, and pulled you back to your previous position.

"Which part of resting didn't you understand, stop moving so much. And no, of course it wasn't, if he did it like I asked him to, he wouldn't hit anything but the floor. You were on the very edge of the court, if he aimed it right, it wouldn't even come close to you"

"If he did like you asked, huh? Are you suddenly a teacher, Omi?" he faced away, feeling heat coming to his cheeks, he didn't want to risk you seeing him blush at the nickname he pretended so hard to hate.

"No, but I am considered a better spiker than him, so why wouldn't I be giving advice?"

"And to think Toya described you as shy and humble, before we met" you recalled a moment from almost five years before.

You and Komori were sitting on the bench, waiting for Sakusa to show up, because for weeks your friend was trying to get you two to meet each other.

"So how is he, Sakusa-san?" you asked, even though you've heard thousands of stories about him. From what you knew then, Sakusa was a shy teenage boy, who doesn't talk much and prefers hanging out outside, rather than inside malls or café's, is very nice and polite, and plays volleyball really well.

"I told you a million times already, are you THIS excited to meet him?"

"You wish" you said, grinning widely "I'm just curious"

"Well, if you start off by saying you heard he's good at volleyball, he'll instantly say you don't know that because you never saw him play. If you say you've heard a lot about him, he'll turn red and will want to kill me. And if you ask him to say something about himself, he'll end up talking about Lady"

"Lady?"

"His cat"

Then suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you, and turned around to see a tall thirteen-year-old, his curls everywhere around his pale face, probably in a mess because of the wind, a facemask lowered down to his chin, glaring over at Komori.

"Motoya"

"Kiyoomi! Finally! Please, meet my friend, this is Y/N."

He gave you a slight bow, or more likely a nod, smiling politely as he responded.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Sakusa Kiyoomi"

The first thing to pop into your head was obviously 'I know', but you decided not to say that, because of what your best friend had said a couple of minutes earlier.

"Y/N" you said, smiling back at him. "Nice to meet you, too. How're you?"

"Well I was just about to finish an episode, when this guy called me to come meet you two, so I'd say I'm not so great. Plus, what do you have to say about my cat, Komori?"

"So harsh, Omi"

He made a disgusted face.

"Don't call me that you idiot"

You smiled at yourself then, trying not to laugh at how different this guy was from his description, and smiled now, as you were laying in the same guy's lap, which he'd never allow to happen five years ago.

"I am humble" he responded "That's a fact, not an opinion"

"Sure" you mumbled, placing your hand over your forehead, as if you were trying to get the pain to go away. He noticed the movement, and turned back to you.

"If it's this bad then here" he said, leaning over to grab something located several seats away. Next, he put his cold water bottle against your head, and didn't even let you hold it yourself. "Does this help?"

"How should I know, it's only been like, three seconds" you responded sarcastically.

"Hey, stop being salty, I'm the one taking care of you"

"Are you, though? Or are you using me as an excuse to get out of practice?"

He was in fact, really tired, but would've keep practicing if it weren't for your condition. He had a habit of doing things till he finished, even if it meant passing out in the process, or something.

At that point, his mind was already racing in all the different directions. Were you seriously thinking he didn't care? Wasn't it obvious? Maybe no, and if someone is injured, then he must feel taken care of, but not overprotected, as his father always said, when he made him bandage his own aching wrists when he was younger.

"Alright, well, let's see if you don't have any concussion, alright?" he asked, but didn't wait for any answer. "Where are we now?"

"Itachiyama's gym?"

"What's my name?"

"Why would I forget your name?"

"Just answer, oh my god, I know what I'm doing" he sighed.

"Wakatoshi Ushijima" you laughed, and he gave you a disappointed look.

"Very funny, oh god, aren't you just the queen of humor. Is your vision blurred, or doubled?"

"No, I only see a huge jackass in front of me, is that a symptom?"

He didn't even respond, just hid his face in his hands and let out a supressed, exhausted groan.

"Alright, I see you don't have any trouble speaking either, so let's just say you don't have a concussion, and we can keep patiently waiting for the nurse"

After that, silence fell upon you two, both not knowing what to say. Here you were, laying on the thighs of your crush of four years, and even in a situation like this, you didn't know whether he wanted to keep it that way, or run off as soon as possible. You suddenly got embarassed, feeling the heat of the athletes body next to your cheeks, and were unable to say anything, at the same time desperately wanting him to maintain the conversation. He, on the other hand, was so fixed on keeping his heart rate at a reasonable pace, that he wasn't capable of doing anything more at the moment.

Because there he was, with his crush of four years,

And still didn't know what to say or do, mind still stuck at the thing you said about him only being there with you out of convenience, and at every time in that conversation that you called him a jackass, or an asshole. He really wanted to be sweet, but well, that wasn't in his nature. It wasn't like him, and even after spending all  these years with you, he still wasn't certain of anything he felt, didn't want you to feel the way Komori told him he made another girl feel, when he was nice to her all the time, and then declined when she wanted to go out with him. What if he'd say no out of nervousness and you'd get the wrong idea? It was too risky. Besides, getting this close to somebody meant going on dates, meant going somewhere public, meant showing affection, meant being there for someone at all times... all those things he had no idea how to do.

So I guess, he thought, I'd rather be the asshole.

"Hey, Omi?" you suddenly asked.

"Hm?" he mumbled in response, being pulled away from his rapid train of thoughts.

"Your undereyes are really dark, did you notice?" you said "And your hands look so red, and violet even, like if someone beat you up"

"Nobody beat me up, silly, that's how it is after practice"

"I always see you two after practice, and not once were they this color"

"Maybe you have trouble with vision, after all" he sighed, looking down on his hands, noticing they really are badly bruised. How come he didn't feel it before?

"Nationals aren't here for a long time yet. It's still four months until january, why are you already like this?" you asked quietly, but it was a different type of quiet. It was more of the 'tell me what you did now, you idiot, I'm already disappointed in you'. It must've gotten to Kiyoomi, because he avoided your sight, and clearly hid his hands behind him.

He left you without your reply for an awfully long time. Stared at the ceiling, at the practicing boys, even checked the time twice, but still didn't reply.

"Uhm, it's that, I always practice spiking when—" he couldn't finish, because there was your best friend, running through the gym, captain Tsukasa following him with an apologetic look on his face, two paramedics behind them.

"Thank god you woke up already, Nee-chan!" he yelled, almost falling to his knees when he tried to sit in front of the bench while still running. "How's your... how's your everything? How bad does it hurt?"

He was shaking your entire body, and it made your head hurt worse, but you couldn't help but smile. You looked over at Kiyoomi.

See, that's the reaction.

If you'll ever see me acting like this idiot, it'll mean the world is ending.

His expression said everything, as he helped you sit up, sitting very close to you, so you wouldn't fall if you suddenly felt dizzy.

It made him feel dizzy, though.

"Komori, pull yourself together, you called the ambulance for a reason" he reminded his cousin, tone as sharp as broken glass, and the libero only nodded, and sat on your other side.

For someone who hates hospitals as much as Sakusa does, he was very near the situation the whole time, he didn't go back to training at all, even though he technically didn't need to watch over you anymore. You wondered why, after all, he didn't care, right?

The men checked everything, and as it turned out, your forehead was already painted with all shades of purple, but there was nothing that required transporting you to a hospital right away. If you were to feel dizzy or have difficulties with walking or speaking later in the day, they made you promise to either get to the ER with your legal guardians, or call the ambulance once again, and after a ridiculous amount of checkups, they left.

It was already evening, when the boys also decided to call it a day and finish up the training. You saw how they were all exhausted and weary, and you somehow felt guilty for stressing them like that, so you wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"Hey, kid" you stopped the first year who hit you, when he was leaving the building. He turned around, his eyes puffy and red. "It was my fault. Don't worry about it" you smiled "I mean it" and turned away to go get your stuff. He ran off thanking you, and you shook your head while laughing.

Sakusa and Komori came back from the lockers a while later and decided to chat with you for a bit before going their separate ways.

"You feeling alright there, dummy?" the taller boy asked, his voice as casual as ever. You nodded, but Komori didn't find that enough of an answer.

"Do you want us to walk you home? We can surely do that, right, Omi?"

He looked confused.

"Uhm, sure we can. And don't call me that, you idiot"

"Guys, I'll be fine on my own, no worries. You're both exhausted, go and rest already" you really meant it for the both of them, but your eyes were fixed on Kiyoomi, who avoided looking directly into them as much as possible.

"Alright then. See you tommorow, remember we're doing a research paper together, so if you'll be late to class again, I will literally strangle you" Sakusa said, leaving you with your friend, turning around as soon as possible.

"Rude as always! Remember to actually rest, dickhead!" you shouted behind him.

"Don't move around too much, bitch!" he replied, waving, but not facing you, and closed the door behind him.

You laughed,  but it was bittersweet. You liked the energy and chemistry you had, the whole insulting each other thing, but you'd much rather stop being 'dickhead' and 'bitch' and start being 'honey' and 'baby' or something as sickly cheesy and annoyingly cute as that.

It was dumb, you knew that, but wouldn't it be fun to hear it from him?

Wouldn't it be... comforting?

"You know" Motoya said, smiling at the door, already closed shut. "It's not that he doesn't like you, or something"

You laughed again, and the sacrasm could be felt from a mile away.

"I know he does like me. I am one hundred percent certain he does"

I'd just like him to love me, is that too much to ask?

You left the big gym, Komori locking the door, and started walking towards your house. The sun was already halfway through setting down, your head still hurted, and you noticed you were terribly tired, to the point your eyes were half  closed, when you heard a sudden whisper from your bestfriend.

"It's not like he doesn't love you, either. I know my opinions about him aren't always accurate, but this, this I'm sure of. He's just afraid."

Afraid he'll be the asshole you call him as a joke.

Or maybe more afraid you'll be the bitch?

[kryptsune]

The Happiest Moment {Red X Frisk}

(This sketch is ancient but I still think it is really cute)

🌼Howdy, everyone! I was just telling @franstastic-ideas  about how I was writing up this wedding scene. I just... I had to. I know I am kind of the angst queen but I need fluff. I love fluff and I want my precious couple to be happy. So I wrote this. This 100% is canon to WTU. I may even elaborate on it more in the future. I hope you enjoy! 💙

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙If you want more of these just let me know! It’s the only way I can gauge interest!

The Happiest Moment

My name is Frisk.

No last name. I guess they didn’t think I needed one... 

I am in my twenties (or so I think), blue eyes, auburn hair, and about 5’5”

Frisk stared at herself in the floor-length mirror placing her hand gently on the reflective surface. She had never seen so much white before in her life and she was draped in it. It was all she could do, stare silently. A natural flush on those pale cheeks as vibrant sapphire eyes stared back at her. Never had she felt so pretty before. This girl that now stood opposite of her was so unfamiliar and yet over time she had become this girl entirely. 

Her hair had grown since that time, tumbling down in gentle auburn waves to brush her collarbone. Those soft bangs were neatly brushed as a veil lay nestled on the crown of her head. It was decorated with beading and white and gold flowers and lace. Small intricate patterns wove their way along the sheer fabric that fell just off the back of her cute angular bob of hair.

Soft and dainty gold and silver flower earrings dangled from her ears. One wrapped it’s blossoming vine up to curve up at the contour of her ear. She had refused to wear too much makeup but she had a light dusting of white and gold eyeshadow on her lids. A soft sweeping curve of eyeliner made her eyes pop even more than they naturally did.

Her dress was off the shoulder exposing the hollow of her throat where a simple golden flower necklace rested. In the center of the petals was a sapphire heart stone. It shifted to ruby from time to time being magically imbued. He had given it to her and said it was specially made only for her. The sentiment had been so sweet that she refused to take it off. 

Now her fingers gently traced the intricate metal work that looped and coiled around her neck. It was the breathtaking token of his love. Something she would never part with as that bright blue crystal faded to glow a soft ruby. It always meant that he was close by, thinking of her. His ring was fashioned in a similar way. Every time she thought of him it would glow that deep cobalt. 

The rest of her dress was decorated with white and silver beading, feathers and flowers. White feathers framed the top of her dress resting just on her shoulders. Her corseted bodice branched down into the skirt like dainty embroidered vines. Various amounts of beading sprinkled her entire dress and the fabric underneath looked as though a rain of petals was falling behind a soft curtain of chiffon. 

Her dress reached the ground but it was no normal hem. A series of floral embroidery and details grew up toward the bodice. It looked as though she had run through a field of golden flowers and they decided to grow upon the fabric. It was a stunning dress to look at from any angle. At the back, her laces had been dyed to slowly fade into a soft gold from the pristine white.     

It was a tradition for her dress to have golden flowers within it. The Dreemurr family had been associated with them for a very long time. Her father wanted her to uphold that tradition and she gladly did. Never did she think she would ever have a tradition to uphold. The feathers were supposed to represent the angel that had freed them from their life imprisonment underground. They all saw her as such, the angel of the prophecy.

This affair was not just a symbol of her finding true happiness with another but a unification. It had to be perfect even though she wasn’t sure if it had to be so elaborate. Mettaton jumped at the chance as soon as their engagement had been announced. The union of a monster and a human. It was unheard of but this was to show it was possible. That the past was in the past and a brighter future was on the horizon for both their people.

Their day had felt so impossible so long ago. They had been through Hell and back still intact after everything that had happened. Now as she stood there, turning to face those double doors as the music started to play softly play behind them, she went back in time. Thinking about all the events that led her to this point. 

---- 

They had not always seen eye to eye, in fact far from. She was a human falling into this dangerous world of monsters and he had always been different than the rest. At first, he blamed her for it all, those ruby eye lights glaring into her soul with a deep-seated rage. 

Over and over again the wheel continued to turn. One event after the other causing her to want absolutely nothing to do with him. He had hurt her in more ways than she could describe. Those that left physical scars but also invisible ones. He was a monster, true to the term. She used to have nightmares about him and the place she was now trapped over and over again. Months in Snowdin left her at a standstill. It was almost as if he was trying to get her attention and make her feel at home. She just had this drive to make it to the end. She had to keep moving. It was something that pushed her forward in the core of her soul. In the end, he was trying. He knew what he had done, how she saw him but no matter how hard he tried nothing could change that feeling. 

That is until their separation. She had always been forgiving, kind, compassionate but that did not mean she was invulnerable. Always hiding behind a cracked smile. The tears she shed that day had meant to be private. No one was supposed to know of her weakness but that was not what had happened. He had been spying on her. No doubt wanting to fetch her so they could continue their last leg of the journey into Hotland. 

Her broken form slumped over unable to contain the emotions she had been repressing ever since she had lost everything, her home, her family, and herself. There was nothing better for her and there never would be. He wouldn’t understand what he had put her through even resets did not come without their strings attached.

She remembered so clearly the look on his face when he saw tear stains carved into her soft porcelain cheeks. How his voice wavered trying to speak his own truth when his entire life had suppressed it. It started with a simple apology, something that he never did. His eyes no longer held that rage but rather hope. He wanted her to forgive him to look at him differently. So she gave him that chance.

It was hard, at first. She would joke with him and the more she learned the more a softness grew within her heart for him. He was damaged maybe even more than her. She brought out a different side of him and he just continued to strengthen her resolve. He became her best friend. Of course, the age-old story of boy sees girl, gets girl, and loses girl was all too prevalent. No more so fitting than the last leg of their quest. The Capital. 

There he stood as her final obstacle. The one he had warned her about cryptically for so long. A monster with immense power that had one task and one task only, kill her and bring her soul to their king. It felt as though a knife had been thrust into her back and plunged deeply into her soul. The remnants of her hope and trust lay shattered and scattered about her feet. This had been his plan all along. Kill her. Be free. 

Those were the only thoughts going through her mind as she collapsed to the warm sunset-colored tiles. He had lied to her. Even though the moment had passed so long ago she could still hear his shouts for her to get to her feet, to fight back. She never did. At least not at first. That was only the first time she had been in that place, hearing that bell chime as if she stood before the one person that would damn her or be her salvation. The Judge. 

She had snapped as she managed to dodge his attacks, one blast after the other. A knife glinted in her hand as the demon took over. In that small amount of time, it had finally pushed her consciousness from her, forcing her to see everything as a ghostly spectator. Chara had wanted to kill him from the first moment she met him and now she had her chance. 

But….

In the last moments as she raised the knife ready to thrust it down and dust him for good she managed to gain control. The metal collided to the floor and she began to weep more than she ever had before. She couldn’t kill him. Even with his betrayal, she couldn’t watch him die. That was the moment she knew how important he was. How losing him caused her to break down in his arms. 

He didn’t want this. He never had. It was why he had tried to keep her away for so long, trying to scare her back to Snowdin. Even offering her a place as a part of their family to keep her from this fate. One that rested squarely in his skeletal hands. He couldn’t do it or rather… he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let her go. If she did. She would die all because they wanted their freedom when they were just as much to blame for the war as the humans had been. 

He had said so himself as he held her there. It would have been nice to take his offer but she knew what had to be done. His change had proven to her that they no longer deserved to be trapped like animals. That bright blue of integrity made it her truth, her purpose, her mission. Set the monsters free. It was what she was born to do. 

----         

Her hand slowly reached for a corner of her dress so that she was able to walk easily. Even if her shoes were heels, which she was far from used to. A soft smile graced her face as she continued to drift through her memories, almost feeling his hands threaded through her own once again. 

The cream-colored walls of the chapel dissolved around her leaving her on the floor of that hall once more. 

----

Her tears had come to an end but his warmth never left her. Those skeletal hands took her own before she felt them on her cheek. Those soft warm eyes were filled with regret and pain. He knew she wouldn’t just let this go no matter how much he begged. Not a single word was exchanged. All they had to do was look at each other. It was a shared understanding. 

He later told her that was the moment he knew he loved her. No one had taken priority more than himself or his brother. He would do anything to see her happiness. Even if at the time she had not quite felt the same. A later talk about soul mates would clarify the subject more but at the time she just couldn’t lose her best friend. He deserved more and she wanted to give him that. 

She had told herself over and over that she wasn’t special. That she was just another human and that anyone could have done what she had done. She had been proven wrong. The barrier had fallen and yet she was still very much alive. It was a new time. One where the monsters were finally free and she was able to see it all. 

Boss became a world-renowned chef opening restaurants all over to great success though he stayed with them all in their little town. The restaurant was booked so far in advance that is nearly took years to get a reservation. It broke 5 stars easily with its underground dining all harking back to their old home. All sections Underworld themed. 

Red found out that running his own business was easy when you had a mind like his. That, of course, did not stop him from getting into gaming. He was a pro at retro and made a good living only growing his own business. It really suited him with all his tech knowledge. 

She would sit and watch him for hours before learning to play herself. The moment she beat him at a game she lit up in excitement. She was beating a pro and all for the sake of fun. At first she thought that he would be upset by it but instead, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. 

He never did get rid of that fluffy jacket and that sweet cinnamon smell that seemed to surround it. She remembered her cheeks flushed as he held her making sure to keep his hands modest. It was Red he was not exactly known for it. He broke away from her and cleared his throat, a red flush painted over his cheekbones. In the next few minutes he tried to play it off but that image of him lingered. 

It would take him years to finally understand that he was deserving of happiness. That his past mistakes did not determine his future. Every time he saw her that guilt would eat him alive. No more so than when she ended up comforting him during his nightmares. Her father was not so keen on her living with the brothers but she was happy among them. Her room was right down the hall. 

So when she could not sleep one night she found him tossing and turning. If you wanted to consider tossing things about the room in that way. That bright crimson glow wrapped around various objects in the room, smashing into walls, and nearly taking her head off. It was how his night terrors usually went. There were even times when he called out her name. 

In the dark of the room, she would lay by his side and hold him in her arms, gently rubbing the top of his skull to ease him back into sleep. She would lay with him curled against her. His head would be tucked under her chin as she whispered soft words to him. There were times when he would dig his skeletal fingers into her causing her to whimper but he would awaken shortly after. 

This happened over and over until one night during one of his fits he woke suddenly only to stare at her. It had been months of the same and she had gotten little sleep. He begged her to get her own rest but she refused to leave so instead he held her. She didn’t think he knew what she was doing for him most nights but he mimicked the same actions.

Of course, she had terrors of her own, rife with emotional baggage she was startled awake after a rather gruesome death. Her first death. The one that haunted her waking nightmares from just how brutal it was. As he held her he noticed the fear swirling in her eyes as they met his own only for them to come to the realization that it was only a dream.  

It was only a nightmare. Both of them, broken and finding each other. Such a strange night to dwell on but that was the moment she realized she wanted to be in his arms like this, forever. Despite their past, they were there for each other and she didn’t want to lose that comfort and warmth. Even his flirtatious attitude was affecting her more and more. 

There was no feasible way that she had romantic feelings for Red. It just did not register in her mind. He was her best friend and that was all. Right? She could not have been more wrong. Everyone seemed to notice it but her and him. Someone could cut the tension they shared with a knife according to Mettaton and Blookie. 

Boss, Red’s older brother, even mentioned something offhandedly to her one time. At first, she thought that he was in fact joking. Boss, though having lightened up over the years, did not joke about such things but it wasn’t the mention that melted her heart. 

No. That was due to what he said. That she was good for him and if she ever decided that was what she wanted, he would be proud and happy to call her true family. It was a good thing that Red had not returned home yet because it caused her to start crying at the sentiment.

She tried to see if her feelings were strong. If that was her true heartfelt desire. Everyone she ever dated never seemed to bring that smile to her face like he did. No one could make her life quite like him. It was just...special. Of course, not everyone was thrilled with her feelings. 

Her father, Asgore, was extremely overprotective. He had trusted Red as the Judge of the Underworld but did he trust his daughter to the skeleton, no. She honestly wondered if he would trust anyone when it came to her but he was not the one that loathed the idea the most. No. That title went to her non-blood brother Asriel. 

That day when he grabbed her shoulders gently and confessed how he felt left her shell-shocked. Those emerald eyes held a silent plea for her to love him in a way that she never could. She had called him brother for a reason…

“Frisk… I love you. Please. Don’t you love me? I am your best friend. I have always been by your side even when I felt such emptiness.”

“Asriel...I...I do love you…” “But?” “You are my brother and I think I lov-” “Don’t say it Frisk. Don’t you DARE say it! After everything. All the deaths. All the betrayal you still say that name. How can you even want to be near him!?” “Az please...” Her whole world had frozen in that one moment as he turned his back to her and glanced over his shoulder. That simple question that fell from his mouth as he stared her down, “Do you love him?” 

At first, she didn’t know how to answer but when she didn’t say anything at all he left her. It was the moment she had confessed to herself that she wanted more. That their friendship felt far deeper than anything she had with anyone else. She had the frightening task to accept her own deeply held feelings and no longer push them away.       

And so she did. 

Red was easy to talk to about most things but for her, this was the most difficult thing she would ever talk about. Her heart beat quickly in her chest as she sat on the couch, fingers fiddling with one another in an effort to stay calm. She almost felt as though her senses were heightened. Every nerve in her body was on edge as she sat there. 

All of this during one of his typical gaming sessions. It would be easy to say if he was semi distracted. At least that was her plan. That was not how it turned out and honestly, she should have known better. 

He set the controller down after pausing the game. She couldn’t help but keep her eyes fixated on the multi-colored flashing lights of the continue button. His voice caused her nerves to skyrocket to the point that she almost got up and left the room. He, however, was not going to let her flee as he asked her if she was ok. 

Red was always good at reading her when his understanding was there. It wasn’t always. She recalled his hand rubbing at her back thinking that she might be sick. He wasn’t too far off the mark for that assumption, “I am just a little… nervous,” she replied softly finally able to see the concerned look painting his skeletal face. Those ruby eye lights wavered softly as he stared at her as if one word from her lips would destroy him, “Red… I… We need to talk.” 

She could feel her heart lodged in her throat, unable to speak as she turned to him, picking up those skeletal hands gently. Her cheeks were flushed she was sure but she had to be honest with him and herself. “Red. You and I. We haven’t always been like this. All I ever wanted was your friendship and I gained so much more. You made me believe in myself. That I was important and not just a tool like so many treated me before. I...I would never want to lose my best friend. You have always been there for me. Always loyal. I… I can’t ask for anything more.” 

Her eyes stared into his own as hers too started to waver. She always spoke from the heart and that could not be seen any more clearly than now. Her nerves were slowly eating her alive. His hand just gently slipped from her own and rested on her cheek. A skeletal thumb brushed just under her eye. He already knew, didn’t he? The warm soft smile on his face was an indication. Just looking at that expression caused her soul to pulse within her chest. Her entire being was throbbing inside her as she tried to tell him how she felt. A few soft tears slipped down her cheeks from bottling up all this strong emotion. 

“Red. I can’t ask anything more of you. I never want to lose what we have and I am going to be selfish. It has taken me a long time to understand exactly how I feel and maybe I am just naive. You are the closest person to me and I… need...you… Red I… lo-” 

He didn’t even give her the opportunity to say it as his mouth met hers. It was almost as if every pent up emotion and feeling was spilling out of him. Every thought left her. All she could think of was him. How his mouth felt against her own and the pounding of her own heart as her eyes fluttered closed. She remembered his arms pulling her to lay against him. The sound of a controller softly falling to the carpet below. It was almost as if time had frozen. His fingers tangled in her hair deepening that already passionate kiss. He pulled back slowly nearly taking her breath with him. She half expected a chuckle or a look of confusion. Not a passionate makeout session leaving her mind foggy. 

Not that she had complained. That was the moment they had been truly honest with themselves. He had felt he didn’t deserve her and she had felt that he would never see her in that way. They had both been wrong. The pure joy she felt at that moment could not be fathomed. Indescribable.

“I love ya too Sweetheart.”    

----

The memory drifted away softly as the music began to fill the room once more. Her hands lovingly held a bouquet of bright echoflowers. She was told that they were special as they held onto memories of the soul rather than just simple words. A way to preserve this moment for all time. It was a tradition for them to be held by the bride but the groom had one in his breast pocket as well. 

She had not seen him in a while. All the clamoring of the wedding party and the dresses and the cakes. It was so much. Never in her life had she been surrounded by such extravagance. She would have preferred a small wedding. One with all her close friends and family though the distinction was difficult to make. It was not every day a Princess of an entire people gets married. 

It was so strange to even think about. A princess. None of that mattered as those double door swung open with her father smiling at her from the doorway. His hand extended out to her as she took his arm. He looked so proud that his little princess had found happiness though Red was not the one he would have picked. If anyone he would have chosen Red’s older brother, Papyrus.  

Everyone stood to turn to look at her which made her nervous, of course. There were so many monsters with their attention on her and she already felt small compared to her father. Her nerves caught in her throat but that all vanished. 

The music faded away. The eyes of everyone on her seemed to vanish. 

There, standing in a black tuxedo, his hands folded gently in front of him, eye sockets widening as his eyes met hers, was Red. She could just see that faint cherry flush on his cheekbones, eyes changing into soft ruby hearts, and smile lifting on his face. That was the moment everything else disappeared leaving just the two of them. 

They didn’t need words. All they needed was each other. 

Forever and always

---

My name is Frisk Fontaine

And this is the happiest moment of my life.

[grimecrow]

Sometimes Those Who SHOULD Be Your Greatest Allies Won’t Be But...

I’m writing this for all those LGBTQ people still hiding who they are, especially to the younger ones. Sharing my experiences with you may honestly make you more fearful of things at first but please read till the end.  So, I knew I was gay when I was ten. I didn’t know what gay was, I honestly didn’t consciously understand much if anything at all about sexuality I just knew I really liked how pretty some guys in my comics (and my class) were and never felt that way about girls.  I never acted on it, I never told anyone, I was ten it’s not like dating was a really big priority or anything. My parents were split by this time and my bigoted father must have suspected something was up when I turned down buying the new Marvel swimsuit issue thing.  He sat me down shortly there after told me the truth about my mother, she was a lesbian. He then proceeded to tell me about how homosexuality was unnatural, and it was so unnatural that nature had made a disease that will rot those nasty homos from the inside out just because they were homos and it was THAT wrong. We had just entered the 90′s at this point but my father was extra bigoted towards homosexuals because my mother had married him to be able to have a baby and live off his money. Leaving him for a fling, in such a way that everyone at his work and stuff knew.  Well needless to say I hated myself and was afraid of myself, not that I could talk to anyone about it. Not even my mother because anytime I asked about how you knew if you were gay she’d get mad and tell me I wasn’t. Weird right? A lesbian who had known since she was young that she was homosexual being so aggressive at her kid for wanting to talk about the idea of homosexuality in general? Especially given how her family had reacted to her. Her mother abused her, and sent her to an institute that touts it’s self as such a fucking ally to the LGBTQ community yet never acknowledges that they ever did anything wrong; hiding behind the fact that they were ‘just using the science of the time’. That back when my mom was a teenager being various forms of water based tortures, sleep deprivation and applied violent electricity based deterrents. Her brother helped inflict horrible things on her with his friends in an attempt to ‘fix her’.  Anyhow in the later half of the 90s, in grade 9 I was gay bashed for the first time, I hadn’t come out but people suspected and I never did anything to prove those suspicions wrong. Despite it happening on the grounds of a school and parents even encouraging their kids to join in with video evidence the cops assumed that cause it had been labelled a gay bashing I was gay and had set it up to happen for attention. ACAB, even in Canada as the department’s views on the LGBTQ community hasn’t changed no matter how much they wanna march in the parade to pretend it has all these years later. My mother was furious and though I thought I had been outed by the incident she had double downed on my straightness and this was just a horrible case of bullying. In grade 10 two of my mother’s friends convinced me that despite my fear that my mother would be supportive of her gay son. How could she not be? And it made sense when they said it out loud. So I officially came out to my mother and...she kicked me out onto the street going on about how I was fucking up her life. I was supposed to have a girl friend she could jokingly flirt with (gross) and all of that.  Well I was now homeless, with no family, a part of my mother winning custody of me the last time I was swapped was that I couldn’t go back to my dad. Which honestly was for the best as he and his wife thought an acceptable reaction to a nine year old using pins instead of sticky-tack to put up a poster was to throw them down the stairs. So...given that and my father’s history of aggressive homophobia it’s not like he would have been an option even if I could have gone back to him. 

I thought I was screwed, that was it my life was over. All my mother’s extended family that was alive was super homophobic and hated my mother cause by this point she had conned them all out of cash. 

But those two friends of my mother who had convinced me to finally come out to her without me asking gave me a couch to sleep on. They not only gave me a couch but made sure my clothes were clean and I was fed for the next short bit. They also went pretty hard at my mother, going so far as to tell the rest of the community my mother was a part of what had happened and the community came down on my mom for throwing the poor little gay out of the house just for being the way she herself was.  My mom came up with the excuse that she had kicked me out on the street in hopes of scaring me straight. After all; she knows all the terrible things an LGBTQ kid at that time would have to face so she wanted to protect me from them by...throwing me out. This didn’t make sense to anyone but my mom told me I could come home and her friends would check in with him pretty regularly for a while after that to make sure things were okay, and that I was as okay as I could be. As you probably have come to the conclusion to yourself, the excuse she gave to her friends and the community makes absolutely no sense. Years later the truth of the matter would be realized. My mother is a user, an exploiter and once I had aged enough I had two purposes left to fulfill. One being to take care of her and be her retirement plan when she grew old enough, and two the more important one give her grandchildren. Once I couldn’t give her grandchildren my overall use was over and in her anger she threw me out; as all I was at that point was just a drain on resources. She could always either scam or bet her way to another retirement plan after all.  I know I got really, really lucky. Not everyone has a community that will stand up for them like that when things get to their worse or at least it will seem to be that way. I know this all sounds really scary too. I know the fears of coming out, even when there is a potential safety net or everything in the world dictates that you will have obvious allies. I know what it is like to live in a house of violent abusers who are very active in their hatred all the while you’re secretly ‘the enemy’. (Hey I was first suicidal at the age of 12 cause it seemed to be the only escape.) The reason I am even writing all of this is to tell you. Sometimes those who SHOULD be your greatest allies won’t be but...there will be allies if you keep looking, keep trying, and keep living.  Stay safe.

[golden-deer-dear]

Love of Mine, Ch. 1/5, Claude x Byleth Fic

Summary:  They were so looking forward to the birth of the first child, but when complications arise, Byleth and Claude must face the fact that their moment of happiness could turn into a tragedy.

Notes: Yet another fic inspired by @pokemagines I was originally going to post this as a one shot, but it kind of ran away from me. I've cut it up into five chapters, and I'm hoping it doesn't get any bigger than that. But that means you guys get this first part now because I can't sit on anything for long.  So much for my break. -_-

Warnings: Pregnancy, angst, hurt/comfort

Read on AO3.

Love of Mine

It was cold when he woke. Still half asleep, Claude pulled the blankets tighter around himself, throwing the thick covers over his head and snuggling borderline aggressively into their warmth. He could not wait to return to Almyra. He had come to love Fódlan. His desire to protect the people of the Alliance had only grown to cover all of Fódlan once it was united under the war. They were his, just as the people of Almyra were his to lead and safeguard. The other students of the Golden Deer were like family to him, their place in his heart aided by the woman who had taught him to trust. So of course he loved Fódlan, he had married her ruler after all. 

He did not, however, love their winters. Almyra was warm. It made sense. Sure, the desert nights were chill, but there was no need for layers upon layers of furs. Nor did he ever have to trudge through meters of snow, save for when he was crossing the Fódlan’s Throat. Claude was not fond of being able to see his own breath upon the cold air. It always felt like something was being stolen from him.

A low huff dragged him further toward consciousness. The mattress shifted and the blankets were pulled away from him. Claude whined, reaching out for their warmth, settling when his arms wrapped around an equally warm body. That was much better. “Taking blankets from your pregnant wife. How selfish,” Byleth’s soft voice chastised him.

Still not opening his eyes, Claude nuzzled against Byleth’s neck, a happy hum in his throat as his nose brushed against the smooth skin of her shoulder. “You won’t be able to use that excuse for much longer.” A grin, open and genuine, graced his face when his hand reached Byleth’s swollen stomach. 

She still had two months to go, but the pregnancy was sitting heavy on her. His beautiful, confident, strong wife was wearing down as she was constantly ill. Her swollen joints made it hard for her to move, and her midwives were close to simply placing Byleth on bedrest altogether.

“Don’t tease me,” Byleth murmured. “I’m tired of being sick and swollen all the time. I feel like I can’t do anything myself anymore.”

Claude finally opened his eyes as Byleth placed soft kisses across his face. Her lips were warm little drops of Almyran sunshine he missed so much. He turned his head, seeking her lips with his own. “My poor wife,” Claude whispered as they broke apart. “Are you feeling ill this morning?”

“A bit nauseous, nothing more than usual,” Byleth admitted. “Nothing out of the ordinary. But I woke up with a terrible headache.”

Claude was fully awake now. His hands moved from Byleth’s stomach to the sides of her head, rubbing small circles against her temples. Byleth sighed happily, melting into his touch. “We should tell Alma the headaches are becoming more frequent.”

Byleth nodded against his hands. “I have my checkup with her and Mercedes this morning.”

“Would you like me there?”

He caught her hesitation, the brief flicker of fear that passed within her eyes. Even if her next words were not an agreement, he would have found a way to be with her anyways. Byleth’s hand came up to grasp one of his own, intertwining their fingers together. 

“Yes, but Seteth will not be happy. We have put so much on him already.”

“He will understand,” Claude countered. “He wants to make sure you and our babies are taken care of, I think more so than me at times. 

“On another note,” he continued, “think you’re up for some breakfast today?”

Byleth opened her mouth, only to close it quickly as she rolled away from him. She did not get far, only able to take a few steps from the bed before she doubled over and vomited, bile staining the tiled floor. Claude was at her side immediately, pulling her hair back and rubbing her back until Byleth’s stomach finally stopped betraying her.

A wretched groan left Byleth’s throat, and she leaned back into Claude’s embrace. He knew she felt absolutely miserable, had for the past few weeks now. It seemed it was becoming harder for her to eat, let alone keep it down.

“Claude, you are the light of my life, but did you really have to put two of them in me at once?”

More gentle caresses were laid against her stomach, his lips brushing soft reassurances against her cheek and jaw. “You two need to stop giving your mother so much grief,” he said, addressing Byleth’s stomach.

“I should have known your children would inherit your penchant for trouble.”

/

There was no hiding it. The look on Alma’s face let Byleth know that something was wrong. With the way Claude’s hand tightened around her own, she knew he had seen it as well. “What is it?”

Alma folded her large arms over her equally large chest, her face stern as she studied Byleth. Her back was bent with age, giving her the appearance of a shuffling square. Heavy wrinkles dragged at her skin. They folded over her face so much Byleth was not sure how the old woman saw. 

Claude had insisted she join them when they returned from Almyra. She had served as assistant to the midwife who oversaw Claude’s birth. Byleth saw no reason to fight him on it. For all Alma’s gruffness, her knowledge of child bearing was vast, and she had spent much of her long career applying new theories of white magic to developing methods of safer deliveries. Alma herself had complained she was too old for such trouble, all the while packing her bags.

“Mercie, grab one of those test vials,” Alma commanded. Mercedes had found herself taken under Alma’s wing, absorbing the older woman’s knowledge with such ease even Alma admitted she was impressed. For her part, Mercedes seemed overjoyed to turn her magic toward bringing life into the world.

When the glass was in Mercedes’ hands, Alma turned back to the royal couple. “Some of your symptoms are worrisome, but there is a simple test we can conduct to see if anything is actually wrong. We will need to test your urine.”

“Come on, Professor.” Mercedes offered her arm to Byleth, letting her lean into her as she was guided to the adjoining chamber. She heard Claude take a step to follow them, but Alma in turn demanded his help with some medicines, commenting he could put that knowledge to some good use for once. Byleth smiled at the banter behind her, grateful that Alma was offering Claude a distraction. 

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine, Professor,” Mercedes said, drawing Byleth’s attention away from her husband. “Alma has been teaching Marianne and I so much. We’re working on combining much of what she has taught us with our own magic.”

“Combining Almyran and Fódlan techniques?”

“Yes!” Mercedes nodded happily. “We’ve already seen some promising results.” Mercedes paused, turning away to give Byleth some privacy while she went about the business Alma had commanded of her. When she was done, Mercedes helped her back toward the bedchamber. “I’m glad you’re helping Claude with his dream,” she said in her soft voice that always seemed to set Byleth at ease. “There is a lot of work to do, but I believe the world is headed down a bright new path.”

Byleth smiled at her former student. “It’s become my dream as well. And you’re helping us make it happen as well, Mercie.”

Alma’s stern voice cut off whatever response Mercedes would have offered. “I’ll have a willow bark tea ready for you in a few minutes. I want you to drink all of it while we run our test.”

Byleth made a face but nodded. She hated the taste of the teas Alma made her drink. They were always so bitter, and she was never allowed to put any sweeteners in them. Warm arms wrapped around her, and Byleth leaned into Claude’s embrace, mumbling her displeasure against his shoulder. All Claude did was chuckle and kiss the top of her head, listening to Mercedes and Alma as they ran their test.

When Alma turned back to them, Byleth knew the woman had confirmed her suspicions. “There is something wrong.” Claude clutched her a little tighter, but for once remained silent.

“There is a high amount of protein in your urine,” Alma told them matter of factly. She may be gruff, but Byleth appreciated her no nonsense way of delivering news. “You have developed a condition known as toxemia. This is not an uncommon condition, and it is good we caught it early.”

“What can we do?” Claude asked. His cheek brushed against Byleth’s own as he pressed himself closer to her.

Alma sighed heavily. “There is not much that can be done. The condition usually resolves itself after delivery, but with how much time you have left, I cannot advise we induce labor. Especially since twins tend to come early anyways. They need as much time to grow as we can give them. Bedrest and the willow bark tea are the best treatments for now.”

Byleth groaned. She already did not feel like moving around all that often, but actually being confined to her bed was another thing altogether. 

“Your checkups will need to be daily instead of twice a week,” Alma continued as if she had not heard. “If your condition begins to worsen, we will need to discuss inducing labor even if it is still too early.”

At her back, Byleth could feel Claude’s heartbeat quicken. She took his hands in hers, holding onto him in a vain attempt to quell her own fears. “And what happens if we don’t?” Claude squeezed her hands in his own silent protest.

For the first time, Alma actually hesitated. That more than anything scared Byleth. Alma took a deep breath before she answered. “Hopefully, the condition will stay as it is now, and resolve itself when you give birth. However, should it worsen and we not induce labor, there is a high chance for you to experience seizures. If you were to reach that stage, then you and the children will be in great danger.”

‘We could die.’ Byleth would not say it out loud, not with Claude there next to her. He knew it, he was too smart not to know what Alma’s words meant. 

And she knew, if it came down to it, who Claude would choose. For once, his choice would contradict her own.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Reliving An Old Nightmare - Chapter 4

<= Chapter 3

Summary : Snatcher arrives at the manor, and he takes it very well (spoiler alert : he doesn't). Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337299/chapters/53801404

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Chapter 4:

Snatcher barely realized when the carriage stopped. He was too shocked to think clearly, and had been that way for the whole ride to the manor. She was there ! And she saw him ! A feeling of angst grew inside of him, just remembering her face, those blue eyes that met his...

He couldn’t do this. He had said this many times before, sure, but now he just knew he couldn’t handle that. He was bound to be found out ! He was incapable of keeping an impassive face just because he caught a glimpse of her ! What would it be like to stand just in front of her again ? There was no way he wasn’t going to die before night came.

The one thing that woke him up from his thoughts was when the door opened, revealing a very familiar face : the one who belonged to the butler of the manor. Snatcher’s blood ran cold at the sight of him. He had the exact same face as the one he remembered : he was a man in his late forties, with a very straight posture. Simeon, his name was Simeon. He had salt and pepper hair, which used to be brown when he was younger. The servant’s face was severe and he always had a very rigorous attitude about everything. Yet, he remained nice to the members of the royal family. He was wearing a very elaborate black uniform, just like the one from the shade’s memories. The only coloured thing in his outfit was his tie, which was red.

-“Prince Alistel ?” He asked, bewildered to see him home at this time of the year. The ghost had to grit his teeth to not react by the sound of his name. Though he really had to get used to it, this was getting ridiculous.

-“Hello there...” He replied, punching himself mentally. Way to go, completely natural ! As if this was a way for a prince to talk ! The butler remained unmoving for a few seconds, confused by the ghost’s salutation. He quickly and politely replaced his puzzlement with a concerned look :

-“The driver told me you were injured. May I help you go inside ? I’ll help you go to your bedroom, where you’ll be able to stay and rest until the doctor arrives.

-Perfect,” answered Snatcher, trying his best to play his role, “Thank you, Simeon.” He had a slight doubt : did he use to call him that way ? Or did he use a nickname of any sort ? He didn’t think so but after so many years being dead, he couldn’t be completely sure. His servant didn’t seem to react to his name, which reassured Snatcher a bit. At least, he was happy the other didn’t ask about his early return, perhaps not wanting to be rude.

-“You’re welcome, my Prince.” He held out his arm for the ghost to take and then helped him to get out of the carriage. He called out one of the maids in the manor, telling her to pay the driver while he escorted the shade to his bedroom.

If it wasn’t for the help of Simeon helping him to walk, Snatcher would simply be paralyzed in front of the manor. This place reeked evilness. He had been imprisoned here... He had died here ! He wanted nothing more just to run without ever looking back, fleeing this place that held so many horrifying memories. This place even used to haunt him as a ghost and now he had to go inside it : truly, there had to be some kind of supreme being behind all of this, making fun of his situation. This had to be a punishment for something he did, because there was absolutely no way anyone deserved this, unless they enraged a god. Which he didn’t remember doing, but a lot of things did happen after his death so he couldn’t be perfectly sure. Though, that didn’t change anything : he still didn’t want to go in there.

He stopped, feeling his breath getting stuck in his lungs. His heart started to beat fast, way too fast. He was panicking and this wasn’t good. His head began to spin and suddenly, everything became foggy around him. He heard Simeon call his name, his awful name, but it was so distant. All he could feel at that moment was his breathing becoming more and more erratic, the pounding of his heart in his chest, and the atrocious pain in his legs, which hadn’t really stopped.

How was he still standing up ? He closed his eyes for an instant and suddenly, when he reopened them, he was on the ground. His mind was cloudy and he didn’t understand what was happening around him. His chest was going up and down rapidly. Simeon’s silhouette appeared in the corner of his vision, with other people he couldn’t recognize yet. Was it normal for a human to only see blurred things ? He guessed not. His mind couldn’t think and the fear he felt inside of him grew, grew, grew. It was too much : first, waking up in a human body, learning that this body used to be his, discovering an unfrozen Subcon Village... Then meeting people who were supposed to be dead, seeing Vanessa, and now this ? He couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t, everything hurt, it was too much, too much for him to handle.

The last resisting part of his consciousness gave up and slowly, while he heard people panicking around him, he passed out.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Once someone was dead, they would remain on Earth either as a dweller or as a ghost, if their soul didn’t reach the Beyond where it was supposed to go in the first place. Though, coming back as a ghost was much more unusual. To do so, one had to feel intense emotions before dying, as if they were refusing to die. Their soul would then stay in the mortal plane for eternity, unable to reach the Other Side.

Ghosts never slept. They didn’t need to anymore, just as they lacked the need to eat. Most senses became dull, barely noticeable. Some spirits could still feel sensations, however, these tended to be linked to the way they perished.

If ghosts couldn’t sleep, therefore they didn’t dream. Snatcher hadn’t dreamed for centuries and that’s why he realized immediately that was he was seeing wasn’t reality. It felt too much... Ethereal.

He was in black void, completely empty and seemingly infinite. What struck him the most was the fact that he had regained his spectral body. He didn’t have legs and couldn’t feel them anymore, which was very reassuring. He probably was the only person in the world able to say this, but not having legs anymore was a huge relief. Though, he knew deep inside that this was only an illusion. It was fake.

Snatcher would bet his afterlife on the fact that his meat sack of a body had to be sleeping, even though he didn’t remember going to bed. Most of his memories were fuzzy and searching for his missing ones only resulted in a coming headache. Oh, no, not this again... He had much enough of that earlier.

His thoughts seemed to have influenced the progression of his dream, as the black void around him started to shift into something else. Colours appeared like paint smudges on an empty canvas. Purple was the most dominant one of them and soon, Snatcher guessed what his dream was recreating : it was Subcon Forest, the one he was familiar with as a ghost. It didn’t take long for the dream to finish reconstructing the place. The spirit could recognize every part of it, every corner of his kingdom. If Snatcher knew very well that what he was seeing wasn’t real, he couldn’t deny the enormous amount of comfort he felt thanks to that. All those trees, the spiders hanging from the trees, the nooses, the swamp, his minions running for their life...

He stopped his train of thoughts instantly : “What ?” The ghost could see his minions through the foliages of the trees. Why ? What were they fleeing ? Even though this was only a dream, an alarm sound went off in his head, as he felt the urge to go and help them. He had to find the threat that was putting every one of his subject in danger and eliminate it right away. He flew over the forest, searching for the problem. His eyes looked in every direction, fixed on each potential hiding spot for someone or something. He seldom flew this fast but this was an emergency. If he had a heart in this dream, it would be beating in a very quick rhythm, and he would be short-winded. Fortunately, he didn’t.

“Where are you ? What are you ?” He wondered with anger and a growing nervousness. Who or what could be possibly stupid enough to try and attack his kingdom ? It didn’t matter, as the cause was to die as soon as Snatcher found it.

However, just as he was about to go lower in order to inspect the forest with further attention, a gigantic smudge of white appeared in his vision. It looked like an explosion, but with no sound. It emitted a very strong light that blinded the shade. He tried to put his hand in front of his eyes to protect them, yet it remained too intense for him. The explosion was far away in the forest, though it widened in only a few seconds and it was coming right at him.

“Oh no...” He didn’t know what it was or what caused it, however he just knew that it was something bad, something dangerous, even for him. Snatcher could only be hurt in very specific situations and he was sure it was one of them. Could a ghost die again...? He didn’t even know ! What he did know, though, was that he had to flee, now.

Without losing any more seconds, he turned around, ready to fly again. He had to find his minions and bring them to safety, quickly. As he was unable to fight whatever that whitish light was, saving his minions was his top priority. He might tell to his victims that he didn’t care about them, but it was far from the truth, if he had to be completely honest.

He flew lower, just above the foliages. He looked through it, trying to find any of them, in vain. Behind him, the light was coming closer and closer. It was approaching much faster than before and soon, the ghost realized he was too slow and wouldn’t be able to flee very long at this pace. Panic grew inside of him, as the light was approaching him, no matter how hard he tried to speed up. What was happening ? What was that ?

And all of a sudden, everything around him turned white, fully white. Snatcher came to an abrupt stop, as he felt something happening to him. His fear increased as he could feel his body changing, as if parts of him were taken away from him, only to be replaced by ones that weren’t his. It all happened in a few seconds, but it lasted far, far more to Snatcher. It wasn’t painful, yet it remained extremely horrid. He looked down at himself and gasped, dread settling over him : he was back in his human body. He blinked and everything around him shifted again. New smudges of paint started to appear out of nowhere, colouring the white void that had engulfed him. This time, green and light blue were the main colours, along with tints of brown. Soon, the ghost recognized the forest once again, though it was the one he woke up in. The one from his past.

He turned his head to search for any clue. Was it a recreation of what had happened ? Was the light the one he saw before waking up as a human ? Was he seeing what he had forgotten ? There were so many questions...

However, just as he was about to fly away to explore, his body refused to move. The shade looked at himself and then it hit him. He became a human... And humans didn’t fly like ghosts could. As soon as he realized that, he felt gravity calling his body back on the ground. It was like the floor beneath his feet had just collapsed, and now he falling, falling, and falling into the trees under him. And then, everything went black again.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

His eyes opened, as he struggled to catch his breath again. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his body was hot. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Did he just have a nightmare ? Him ? He wondered for a few moments. His first dream as a human again, and it was a nightmare... He definitely never wanted to experience that again. At least, being dead had its perks, like being immune to that kind of things... Oh, how he missed being dead so much. Though, if this dream was true... Then falling on the ground like he did would certainly explain why everything hurt so bad, and why walking had been so difficult. What a great idea that was, floating above the trees... Well, at least he landed on them rather than the hard ground waiting for him. It probably saved him from death... And as much as wanted to be back as a spirit, he was sure that dying like this would only bring his soul to the Beyond, where he didn’t want it to go.

The ghost then shook his head, pulling himself together. The first thing he noticed was the fact that he was laying down on a comfortable surface, wrapped in something soft. Confusion spread on the shade’s face as he slowly looked at his surroundings, trying to understand where he was and what had happened. His heart skipped a beat the instant he recognized the room he was in : it was his old bedroom, the one he had when he lived in the manor. He was lying in his bed. Little by little, he regained his previous memories : he really had lost consciousness. Great. Now everyone knew something was going on. He clenched his teeth, annoyed at himself and at that stupid body. A frustrated sigh escaped from his lips. He skimmed the red sheets absent-mindedly with his hands, feeling the delicate texture of the fabric under his fingers. Being able to experience that kind of things again... Was nice. As much as he wanted to return to his ghostly form, he couldn’t deny how good it felt to really touch something for once.

The walls were purple, with vertical vine patterns. The bottom part of the walls was made out of carved wood.  The bedroom was beautifully decorated, which wasn’t really surprising, as Snatcher used to be a prince when he was alive. Even if Subcon Village wasn’t very big, its inhabitants respected the royal family tremendously.

On the shade’s left was hanged the painting of a beach, possibly made by a famous painter, but he didn’t linger very long on that thought. Next to it was a luxurious wardrobe, visibly made out of precious wood. In front of his bed was a window and the ghost realized that the sun was already setting. Did he remain asleep that long ? It was still in the afternoon when he had arrived to the manor !

-“Stupid fleshy body...” He muttered, clenching his fists on the bedcovers. Being alive was the worst !

As soon as that thought formed in his mind, a noise on his right startled him :

-“Mhmm...” The shade’s body froze in horror, as he turned his head very slowly towards the direction of the sound he just heard. Deep down, he knew what it was, but he just wanted to refuse this possibility. However, when his eyes met blonde hair lying next to him, he instantly felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Vanessa was kneeled besides the bed, her head lying on the mattress. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing calmly, which largely contrasted with Snatcher’s reaction. He couldn’t help but stare at her, not daring to move an inch. Was she... Sleeping ? Did she hear him ? But more importantly... Did she remember him the same as he did ?

He then noticed he was trembling. He couldn’t move, he was just... Frozen in fear. The woman who had not only locked him up but murdered him was right next to him, apparently sleeping peacefully. He suddenly felt very sick just looking at her. Bright and horrible flashbacks kept appearing in his mind, almost blinding him from the present. He was hyperventilating, absolutely terrified. There was no way he could face her. Snatcher knew what he could do and what he couldn’t. That was part of the latter category, without any doubt.

Slowly, very slowly, the ghost tried to get out of the bed from the other side. He just wanted to get away from her, now. The very idea of being in the same room as her, without any power to fight back if she tried something... Was frightening. He couldn’t take the risk.

He almost got his left foot out of the covers when he heard the bed shifting on his right. His heart sank in his chest as dread settled over him. He knew what it was, he knew it, yet he couldn’t help but pray any god ready to listen to him. He silently asked them to get him out of this awful situation. Though, his prayers remained unanswered and soon, a sweet and gentle voice greeted him :

-“Alistel ?”

He turned his head in her direction, unable to breathe as his eyes locked on hers. She was smiling warmly and before he was able to say or do anything, she pounced on him, locking him in a tight embrace. To Snatcher, it felt like a bucket full of cold water was poured on his already frozen body.

-“You came back !” She said against him, squeezing his body even more : “I missed you so much !”

The ghost remained completely still, paralysed by fear.

He was so, so going to die. Again.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

=> Chapter 5

[rogsclogs]

Some Day One Day (Brian May x Reader); part 12

I’m sorry this took a while to post, I was unhappy with how it originally turned out and had to rewrite it a couple of times. Hope you enjoy it, next part will be up very soon, hopefully by tomorrow. The series is almost over :,)

tag list: @brighter-thanthe-sky @im-a-sheerheartattack @fruityfreddie @discodeakygotmorerhythm @killer-queen-xo @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @alfinaldelarcoiriss @warren-lauren @kazzish @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @avengerraven1023 @imgonnabeyourslave

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They lived happily ever after since then.

At least, that's what I’d like to tell you, but we both know that’s not how it’s going to go, don't we?

However, things did go perfectly right for quite some time and everything in Brian and Y/N’s lives was amazing, especially their relationship. As soon as Y/N started her master course she got right into it, arriving at every lecture on time and with all her work done and ready to hand in, much to Brian’s happiness. All he wanted was to see her succeed, after all. At first he had offered to help her do her school work, but she obviously refused to let him do so, her pride taking over her rational side which told her that getting help wouldn't be such a big deal after all. Even when she did have classes with him she always rejected any help Brian offered, which kind of frustrated him, but he was even more proud of her when she got things right knowing she did everything by herself.

Then, right after school, he would drive her back to their apartment and they would spend the afternoon together, sometimes baking cookies for Emily and sometimes having sex for hours on end, depending on their mood. 

Mostly the ladder, though.

Y/N was in the second trimester of her course when something started feeling off.

She started waking up feeling something within her bugging her and she went to sleep feeling the same way.

She had been vocal about it with Brian, but even though he was keen on having a doctor visit her, she kept pushing her visit back, not wanting to cause any trouble to anyone and figuring whatever it was that made her sick would soon disappear.

knowing how easily she was affected by stress, she also figured that that could be the reason behind her sickness, after all she was still going through a hard time with her family and such, none of her relatives were particularly happy to find she was living with a man who was twice her age and had a daughter with another woman, but she couldn't be bothered to hide it either although she’d never told anyone that he was in fact her university professor, that was way too risky for anyone to be aware of. Still, most of her family were totally against it and a huge part of them had stopped talking to Y/N altogether, not that she was too sad about the loss, it was mostly just disappointment making her upset.

It could be the stress of knowing everything in your life is going great, cause that is in itself a reason to be stressed out, especially when you're used to dealing with constant chaos and people trying to mess you up.

It could be the immense love she felt for Brian moving around in her body everyday, which she often though would make her sick because she truly loved that man more than anything and anyone else.

It could be some of the things that little Emily offered her to eat when she played cook, they could absolutely be toxic for all she knew (she immediately felt silly for thinking something like that, knowing damn well how obsessed Brian was with double checking anything that came close to his daughter’s mouth to make sure it was safe).

It could be anything in the world and it was probably temporary anyway, so why would she worry the people around her? There was no need for it.

And maybe Y/N could have gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for her body giving up on her, quite literally.

It all started on a foggy winter morning, Y/N woke up feeling rather ill and couldn't bring herself to have anything for breakfast. Brian had tried to convince her over and over again, but there was no point in forcing her to get food in her system if she felt like she couldn't keep it down anyway.

She felt extremely nauseous and lightheaded, and Brian was worried knowing she was most likely not telling him just how sick she was really feeling, so he tried to convince her to stay home from school, even promising to collect all the worksheets she would need to catch up on her homework, but to no avail. Y/N was very stubborn and sometimes Brian wished she could just give into his requests when they came from a place of worry and care, but he knew it would be pointless to argue so he just forced her to take whatever medicine he had at home and got in the car with her and Emily.

The whole ride he kept an eye on the two girls in the backseat (Emily didn't like sitting by herself back there, so whenever Y/N was around she would always offer to keep her company) and soon realized Y/N seemed to be moving in slow motion, like she was too tired to react to what Em was talking to her about. Not that the little girl would notice anyway, she was rambling about something that had happened at daycare the day before and she had her usual bright smile taking over the features of her face. She was way too young to realize how pale Y/N looked and how distracted she was, especially because she tried her best to keep up with the conversation, mostly so she wouldn't worry Brian.

She even offered to walk Emily into the building where her daycare was, which Brian begged her not to do as a lot of people there knew who Emily’s mom was and he knew they wouldn't keep their stupid mouths shut.

He tried once more to convince his girl to get back home right before they got into the school parking lot.

“I can tell you're not feeling great, why do you do this to yourself? Just take a goddamn day off Y/N, you're not gonna miss that much anyway”

“Brian, you know how I feel about days off when they're not necessary”

“But right now it IS necessary! It’s basically written all over your face that you're sick, I've never seen you look this pale before and you haven't even had anything for breakfast, which is not only unhealthy but very unlike you. Please, I am begging you, just let me drive you back home, I don't care if I'm ten minutes late to my lecture, I'm sure everyone will understand”

“I’m not having this conversation with you again, Bri. I’m fine. I’ll see you in third period” was all she said before angrily stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind her, leaving Brian in his car to curse himself for pushing her too far. He should have just listened to her, if she needed something she would tell him without being forced to.

He pushed himself to get out of his vehicle and to stop thinking about Y/N, he had more important things to focus on: papers to grade, lessons to go over and his students’ questions to answer. He couldn't afford to let her distract him, no matter how much he cared for her wellbeing, after all she was a responsible adult.

They both went on with their day as normal, even though Y/N kept feeling worse by the minute. All the people who had seen her that morning could sense that something was going on, but only a few of them pointed it out to her, not wanting to seem rude. She had sighed deeply and ignored everyone’s questions, wondering if she really looked so bad that everyone in school seemed to be so interested in knowing how she was doing. 

She almost got into an argument with Joe because he too tried to convince her to go back home. After their ‘date’ at the cinema, Y/N had tried her best to distance herself from him, not only because she knew Brian didn't love the idea of them hanging out, but also because she was almost positive Joe was crushing hard on her, and she didn't want to lead him on or have to deal with any jealousy issues. Still, he tried to talk to her almost on a daily basis and didn’t seem to get the memo that she just wasn't interested, so Y/N dealt with it and stopped complaining, knowing there was not much he could do once school was over. On that day, however, he had gotten so much on her nerves that she couldn't help but slightly lash out at him, it was none of his business how she was feeling and she didn't want to admit how seriously worried she was starting to become for her own health.

So, she just isolated herself until third period eventually came, and she made a mental note to herself to apply some makeup before entering the lecture hall so that maybe Brian wouldn't be too worried about her if she didn't look sick.

However, she never actually made it to the bathroom as she felt herself slowly slip out of consciousness right as she was getting there and her body fell limp on the hard floor. 

[unapologeticallyjaylos]

jaylos prompt

Anon asked: Ik people talk about Jay having untapped magic and I always think of it coming out in melody. He's (secretly) a very good singer and has a little rhyme in Arabic that he sings to Carlos when he's getting nightmares, he always finds that when he writes songs that people are drawn to the melodies and he's very skilled at picking up instruments. When Mal witnesses one of his songs putting Carlos to sleep she's like "that's fucking magic dude" despite the fact that Jay never realized...

I absolutely loved this prompt. It turned out pretty poetic, but that seems fitting. Note: the lyrics to the song should be Arabic, but I didn’t feel confident enough to translate it properly so I kept it in English 

--------

“Sleep, baby, sleep.

I’ll be there when you wake.”

Jay didn’t remember his mother, but he did remember her songs.

Her voice, her rhymes, her melodies. They had always begun in the darkness, at the edge of those black Isle nights, lit only by the flickering of a candle on the table. Sometimes, Jay could sometimes manage to call up the image of a shadowy woman sitting by his little rug, dark hair falling like his around her shoulders. But her face was lost to history, lost to him, lost among all those lost on the island who no longer breathed the smoggy air. If not for her lullabies, she would have faded away entirely - simply dust blowing in the wind or shifting through the sea.

“Sleep, oh, precious darling, sleep

I’ll watch over till dawn’s break.”

And maybe it was better that way.

Jay didn’t have time for music or songs anymore. His stomach coiled in tight knots of hunger, and days and nights were no longer separated. They were just hours - dark or light - that he could fill with work. The more stuff he brought in, the more likely he was to sleep on that rug, under those shelves, where his mother used sing him to sleep. His father never could be satisfied with the junk, the garbage, the brokenness of the island’s offerings… along with the son who brought them home.

“Sweetest one, don’t fear the dark.

My voice will guide the way.”

As the years went on, the songs faded into the background for the most part, pushed away to the dark recesses of his mind. They only managed to appear when the walls broke down and the chains crumbled away. The melodies resurfaced when his cheek stung with his father’s fists, and his heart hurt with the words he’d never spoken, and his eyes stung with the tears he hadn’t let fall since he was small enough to have the lullabies sung to him. Then, and only then, would the soft words escape past his lips and he’d hum, gently, softly, to keep himself from shattering.

“Baby boy, you’re all I have.

I won’t let you slip away.”  

The soft crooning of a faraway mother in their beautiful language wove his self control together, kept his mind clear, cut through the pain and loneliness and frustration and anger. The silly, stupid little rhymes were - unknowingly - becoming his foundation, his center, his grounding in the face of the red-hazed storm. His father hated it. He hated the way Jay’s lips moved subconsciously when he didn’t know anyone was looking; he hated the way he caught his son whistling or humming in the late night hours on the street corner; most of all he hated the melodies, her melodies, that soared and soothed and washed over the world like honey. And so he sought to cut out every hint of that beautiful, lust-filled mistake that had ever crossed their threshold.

“There’s something fierce about your smile.

And the way you breathe beside me.”

Jay’s mother’s Arabic was nothing like his father’s. His mother’s was rich and smooth and comforting; it had spun out of her mouth like a waterfall when she was alive, sparkling like the most precious of metals that Jay had longed for then and longed for still. Jafar’s didn’t sparkle like hers did; his purr was that of a panther’s waiting to pounce, raising to a gruff shout, and always, always ending the same way. Be it words or fists, his father never ended without pain. Even the rare moments of pride were tinged with greed and lust and anger. The very same anger he sometimes felt within himself, growing and building and breaking deep, deep inside his chest;  the red hot rage boiling underneath that he tried to quell with the cool comfort of his mother’s songs.

“Don’t cry so hard, my darling boy.

Someday we’ll both be free.”

And then, one day, he blinked and his world had opened. Lying close to the places where his mother’s song touched, he now had a purple-haired fae, a blue-locked enchantress, and a little freckled genius to hide away, to protect, to save. They were his, and for some reason that his father would never understand - and maybe Jay wouldn’t either - they were more precious than gold or jewels or power. Mal, with her flashing eyes and orders and protection; Evie and her darling laugh, her terrifying hiss; and Carlos, with his eyebrows that narrowed when he focused and tongue that grazed his lips when he concentrated. His. They were his.  

“Sleep, sweetheart, sleep.

It’s time to sleep, my love.”

When Mal discovered that she had magic, something stirred deep inside Jay’s gut. Not jealousy, not anger, but fear. Shifting, turning, fear that stayed embedded under his skin and formed an itch that even he couldn’t wriggle out of. Evie had power, too, with her long, slender fingers that could mix up death in a potion stronger than her mother’s would ever be. Magic. Passed on from their parents, harnessed by their children, and formed into something stronger, something bigger, something darker.

“When morning comes, you will be strong.

With wonders you have dreamed of.”

Sometimes, on the rare occasions that he still slept on his rug, Jay would lie awake and listen to his father moving around in the dark, cursing and sputtering. The thief had heard the stories; stories about the power, the fear, the dark and wild magic that his father had wielded. And now, when he felt the rage, felt like hurting somebody, breaking something, screaming in the streets, the pit of fear in his stomach whispered to him what he already knew: anger. His magic would be rooted in anger, geared for destruction, perfectly poised to rip apart the world when he lost control. So he couldn’t lose control. And if he couldn’t lose control, and he couldn’t punch, and he couldn’t stab and he couldn’t cry and he couldn’t ever use his magic  - it left him only one other thing to do. Jay sang.

“You are my darling, you are my life.

And even when I fade.”

When the barrier opened, when they were allowed to leave, Jay faltered. Beyond the barrier, beyond the suffocating, damning wall of power that kept them all trapped on the floating chunk of rock, he could see the magic waiting for him. The magic waiting to take hold of him, to change him, to excite him into smashing apart the only life he’d ever known. The only lives any of them had ever known. And when it happened? When he became just like his father, the man everyone said he resembled in the height of his glory? The dust would settle, the rage would fade, and he’d be left just like the old grand vizier now sitting in the darkness, counting coins with no value: alone.

“Baby, I promise you, I swear it.

These moments I’ll not trade.”

They were older. They were wiser. They smiled and they laughed and they marched with a purpose, but their armor was strengthened by light, by eyes, by expectations. When the darkness set in, when the day turned to night, when the room got quiet, their chinks began to show. And the freckled genius, his Carlos, who was so bright and quick under the sun’s watchful eyes that reminded him of his mother’s, fell apart in his dreams. Sometimes, he would wake, and others, he would just cry out in that fitful state between dreams and consciousness, between nightmares and consciousness. And in that darkness, with the boy sobbing and sweating in his arms, when the words were already playing on his lips, Jay would sing - softly, gently, her words in his mouth. And the soft tune would soothe the troubled, wonderful boy in his bed back to a calmer sleep.

“Sweetest child, most wonderful boy.

Your struggles may be long.”

It became more regular than Jay would’ve liked to admit - the singing; the soft, Arabic words being spoken to another person for the first time in many, many years. The songs that had quieted his own fear, and then later his anger and frustration, calmed the boy that Jay wanted to protect, to hold, to comfort.

“But once you’re past, the clouds will break.

You’ll get there, dear; you’re strong.”  

It was a dark, winter day when Mal finally heard. The four of them gathered, huddled, safety in numbers, as the rain fell down outside. The drops slid down the windows, pounded on the roof, and soaked through the memories of rain-drenched nights on the island of their origin. It was that day that Carlos started whimpering, moving, his eyes darting behind his lids, his hands reaching out to protect his body against a mother that was not there. And without thinking, Jay had pulled him close, whispered in his ear, and sung the words that were no longer locked away in his mind, but resting beneath the surface of his skin and thoughts. Magic, Mal had said as she watched the tension drain from Carlos’ desperate body. That’s magic, Jay.

“Nothing’ll be too hard, my boy.

No pain will break your spirit.”

At those words, at that realization, the fear in Jay’s gut lifted. His magic, his power, his abilities weren’t supplied by anger. They didn’t come from his rage or his frustration, but from worry. From concern. From something else that had begun to nestle so deeply inside his soul that he worried he might never understand how to get it out. Love, Jay, Mal had whispered. It’s love.

“Because you, sweetheart, are not alone.

You’re mine, love. Don’t forget it.”

[kiwi-muses]

Empty Gold - Part 2

It took for actual ever, but I finally wrote a part two after multiple requests. Part one can be found here. 

“You mean?” Caroline nods. “You can really bring him back?”

“You can. You and Rebekah. I found a witch who wrote it all out, and Rebekah will be able to explain it to you. If you need anything, you can call me.”

Hope looks puzzled. “Where are you going?” Rebekah and Marcel come to stand beside Hope.

“I’m going to go see my girls, and a few other people. Besides, you should be the first person he sees when he wakes up. He and I will talk eventually.” Caroline turns to Rebekah. “You have my cell if you need anything.”

Rebekah reaches out to her, and gives her a rare hug. “Thank you,” she whispers. They separate, and Caroline gets in the car and drives away.

Caroline does as she says; she sees her girls. They’ve both grown up and now have families of their own, so Caroline enjoys a couple of hours with her grandbabies. She visits the school and checks in with Ric – even after all this time, he’s still the headmaster, though he’ll have to find someone else soon. As much as Caroline would love to stay and serve as headmistress, the fact that she doesn’t age will be an issue until a new generation of Mystic Falls grows up.

After checking in, Caroline takes a walk through the woods and ends up at the tree. Their tree. Even after all this time, that afternoon hasn’t left her head. She can’t stop thinking about the way their lovemaking made her feel so incredibly cherished and loved, not to mention just how mind blowing it was. She knew, even then, that if she let it happen, he’d be her forever. And that’s what was so absolutely terrifying about him. He’d made it clear he’d never hurt her, that one incident after Kol’s death aside (and to be fair, his brother had just died so, you know, emotional distress and all). Caroline never could bring herself to feel a fear of death from him, but a fear of life? That’s a whole other ball game. Being confronted with eternity at seventeen was a big pill to swallow. Being confronted with eternity with the most powerful man on Earth… well, that was practically impossible to imagine, let alone digest. Klaus had her pegged from the start; she liked being strong, ageless, fearless. She longed to see the world and to learn and explore.

Caroline sat down at the trunk of their tree. For fifteen years now, she’d been running. Running to a solution to his death, running from the unexpected and all consuming grief, running from a world without him in it. Tears started to roll down Caroline’s face. She hadn’t expected the grief to consume her as it did when he died. She had gotten to the point where she couldn’t imagine life without him, and when she thought of her future, she knew he was woven into it somewhere. However, she had ignored the grief. She’d pushed it to the side. She refused to turn off her emotions like after her mother had died. She was going to fix it, she was going to bring him back or she’d die trying because that’s what Caroline did – she was a fixer. But now, it was out of her hands, and fifteen years of grief let itself out.

Klaus hadn’t imagined the afterlife to be as it was. Surprisingly, he hadn’t ended up in a firey underworld as he’d expected. He’d ended up in a wooded area not unlike Mystic Falls, and found his brother Elijah there along with some other familiar faces. It was comforting, but overall the afterlife was quite boring. Occasionally, he’d look in on his family from the great beyond (honestly, he hadn’t expected all that trite drivel about looking down on your loved ones to be true, but here he is doing that very thing). He watches as Hope grows up happy and healthy for the most part. He sees that she misses him, and it tugs on his heart. He looks in on Rebekah, and figures out that she hasn’t taken the cure yet, which leaves him curious. He looks in on everyone, with the exception of Caroline. He looked in on her once, and it didn’t go well. She had been captured by a group of people (witches, probably) and was having an argument about them completing a spell. He wasn’t sure what, but he knew Caroline wasn’t winning the argument. She eventually got free, but Klaus decided he’d keep his check ins to a minimum – it hurt his heart too much to know he couldn’t protect her.

Over the years, Klaus had gotten used to his routine. Then, one day, he had the strange sensation of being ripped apart and stitched back together all at once. It was agony, even for someone as used to physical pain as he. Worse still, he wasn’t sure what was happening. As he lay screaming, Elijah sat next to him. Klaus couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying, but he caught pieces. Something about “bringing you back” and “say hello for me.” Klaus didn’t care, he just wanted the pain to stop. And, miraculously, after hours and hours, it did.

The first thing he recalls is feeling heavy. He drifts in and out of alertness, catching bits and pieces. “Do you think it worked?” “Why has it been so long?” “I wonder if he’s learned some manners while he’s been away.” That last one almost sounds like Rebekah, but Klaus doesn’t think that could be. However, as he slowly comes into full consciousness, he can identify Rebekah, Marcel, and Hope. He doesn’t move just yet, but listens to try and ascertain the situation.

“It’s been a long time, Aunt Rebekah,” Hope says, worry tingeing her voice. “Do you think I messed it up?”

“No,” he hears Rebekah answer. “Caroline mentioned it may take a long time due to the complexity of the magic.” Caroline? Now that’s interesting, and Klaus files that away for later.

“Still, I think Dad should be waking up by now.” Hope sniffles, holding back tears.

“Soon darling, soon.” Rebekah comforts her, her own voice thick with tears.

Klaus decides that he should make his presence known, and manages to slowly open his eyes. It’s blinding. He feels a hand in his, and he squeezes it. Suddenly, a face fills his line of sight.

“Dad?” Hope’s voice is watery and shaky, but so full of hope that he can’t help but smile.

“Hello, sweetheart.” He’s rewarded by an armful of his daughter suddenly on top of him, sobbing into his chest and clutching his neck. He puts his arms around her tightly, holding her close.

Eventually, he sits up, still holding his daughter, and sees Rebekah looking at him with tears rolling down her face. Marcel is behind her, a hand on her shoulder, smiling. Hope pulls back, wiping tears from her eyes.

“I can’t believe it worked! I’ve missed you so much, Dad.” Klaus smiles, and feels as though his heart is about to burst from being able to hold his daughter after so long.

“And I you, sweetheart. Though I must admit, I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again for centuries, if ever.” He looks at Rebekah, tears running down her face and her eyes bright. She looks as beautiful as always, and the sight of her means more to him than he ever thought possible. “Hello, sister.”

Rebekah smiles. “Hello, Nik.” Their expressions tell each other more than words ever could, and after a tender moment, Rebekah stands. “Well, now that you have successfully been raised from the dead, let’s get you some clothing.” Klaus looks down, and notices there’s only a sheet on him. A quick glance around the room tells him he’s in the Mikaelson mansion in Mystic Falls, which is somehow in livable condition. Interesting, and another fact he’ll file for later. Rebekah sets some clothes next to him, and pulls Hope up. “Come on darling, let your father get decent and then I’m sure he’ll want to know all about how we brought him back.” Everyone leaves the room, giving Klaus a moment to take it all in.

He takes a deep breath. He certainly never expected this to happen, and he’s interested to find out the details as to why. Perhaps there’s some new, massive threat plaguing the world that made it necessary to bring him back. He puts on the denims, Henley, and jacket that his sister provided. Ever the fashionista, Rebekah makes sure the clothes are exactly his style. He can hear everyone in the kitchen, and heads that direction. He walks into the room, and casually leans against the counter. Rebekah and Hope are on the other side of the island between them, and Marcel is standing at the end.

Klaus decides to just jump right into it. “So, how is it that I am back on this plane? Some new crisis, perhaps?” He smirks, trying to hide his nervousness.

“Not exactly,” Hope says. Klaus raises an eyebrow. Hope leans forward, placing her hands on the counter. “Caroline found a way to bring you back, but she didn’t elaborate on why.” Hope scrunches her eyebrows. “There are no threats that I know of.”

Rebekah huffs a small laugh. “There’s no threat for you to take care of, Nik. You’ll have to talk to Caroline specifically about why she decided to bring you back, but you should know that she started looking for a way since the second you made the decision to die.”

Klaus is floored by Rebekah’s statement. Everything in him feels tossed upside down. After a full minute, he finally says, “I don’t understand.”

Rebekah takes a deep breath. “When you decided to die, Caroline didn’t want to be there. Not because she couldn’t handle your death, but because she was trying to find a way to stop it altogether. Obviously, she couldn’t, so she decided to just find a way to bring you back to life. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how she did it, but she left everything behind to do it. She’s been working on it for the past fifteen years. We’ve helped her as we were able, but she was very secretive about it for the most part.”

Klaus is absolutely speechless. His emotions feel all over the place. He’s happy to be with his family, confused by Caroline’s actions, and cautiously optimistic that she may have stronger feelings for him than he suspected. Finally, he finds his voice.

“It seems I need to speak with Caroline. Where might I find her?”

“She said she’d be in the place where you made your promise. I assume you know where that is.”

Klaus smiles. “Yes, I believe I do.”

“Before you go, Dad, you should know something. In order to bring you back to life, the witch who gave us the spell required that your life be tied to someone else’s as part of the balance, or whatever, since you used the last of the white oak.”

His stomach knots itself, and his mind almost immediately jumps to contingency plans. “Well I assume it was successful since I have returned, though it certainly is an issue. Who is it?”

“Caroline.”

After crying herself out, Caroline spends the night at the boarding house (because full moons and vampires don’t tend to mix well) but makes sure that once daylight hits, she’s back in their spot. She doesn’t want to miss him. She thinks about what she may say to him, what it will be like to see his blue eyes staring into hers again. She’s sitting against their tree when she hears leaves crunching, and she slowly stands. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest. The footsteps come to a stop, and she turns around, and there he is. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and she feels like a piece of her heart has come back. Uncharacteristically for her, she feels vulnerable, but he’s always been able to bring out those parts of herself, and she feels tears welling up.

He’s dressed almost the same as she last saw him. As always, his stance is confident, but something in his eyes tells her he’s nervous. He smiles softly, unusual for him, but it melts her heart. “Hello, Caroline.” And before she can stop herself, she’s running and crashing into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing into his chest. He freezes for a moment, but recovers and wraps his arms around her tight, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. She smells the same and she did fifteen years ago – vanilla, with a hint of citrus to match her sunshine personality. He murmurs to her, trying to calm her hysterical crying, but it takes a few minutes. Caroline is pretty sure he thinks she’s gone certifiably crazy in the time he’s been gone as she calms her sniffles.

She pulls back from him and gives him a watery smile. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m more emotional than I thought.”

Klaus brings his hand to her face to wipe away the last of her tears and gives her a small smile. “I find myself incapable of telling you what this has meant to me. But I have a multitude of questions that need answering.”

“I figured you did.” Caroline lowers herself to the ground, pulling Klaus down with her. They sit next to each other, her with her knees pulled to her chest and he stretched out along the ground. “What do you want to know?”

Klaus smirks. “Well, the obvious, naturally. Why? I tried asking Rebekah but she said there were no terror threats and I must ask you directly.”

Caroline laughs nervously. “Just going to jump right in then? Well okay.” She takes a deep breath and rocks back and forth a bit. “When you… died… I wasn’t there. Not because I didn’t want to not be there for you, but because I was trying to stop it, and I really thought I could.” Her throat gets thick with tears, and she has to clear it. “Right after, I refused to believe that you could be gone. I mean, you’re Klaus for crying out loud,” she remarks, throwing her hands up. “You’re this unstoppable force and I just… couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.” She looks at him, and he feels as though his heart may stop for the emotion in her eyes. “I couldn’t imagine my world without you in it.” He takes a sharp breath, and makes to reach for her, but she looks away and continues. “It took a while, and a lot of digging, but I found a witch who thought there was a way.”

“And nothing stops Caroline Forbes when she has a goal, hm?” Klaus says knowingly. Caroline laughs.

“Something like that.” She reaches out to cup his cheek, and he feels his heart stutter. That damned thing will kill him again at the rate it’s going. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I want from my eternity. I took too long the first time around, and you were taken from me. I won’t make that mistake again.” His hand covers hers.

“Caroline, I never imagined I’d hear you say those words, and I find myself in a torrent of emotion that I am not used to. But are you sure? Death has not changed me – I am still the man I was, the terrible and the ugly included. I cannot promise you the life you deserve, but- ”

Caroline’s hand covers his mouth. “I’m going to stop you right there. I stand by what I said fifteen years ago – you may be the villain, but you are not the villain in my story.” Klaus takes her hand and kisses it. “If you meant what you said all those years ago, at my graduation… then you’re it for me Klaus. However long it took, you’re it for me.” Klaus’s heart nearly stops at hearing his words repeated back at him, and he can’t stop himself from sitting up, taking her lovely face in his hands, and kissing her. Her lips are soft against his, and it feels like coming home. All of his senses are alive and he feels electric.

His lips hit hers, and she feels a piece of her come alive that she thought had died long ago. She sees stars, she hears fireworks, and at the same time she feels the peace that comes with finding the one whom her soul yearns for. She’s found home.

He pulls away from her. “I never imagined I’d hear you say that, love. I recognize the gift and the trust you have given me, and I swear to you, I will never forget it. But I do have one small problem.” Caroline’s face falls. “I’m told you bound your life to mine to make this resurrection possible?”

Caroline lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Is that it?”

Klaus raises his eyebrows. “Sweetheart, I find this deeply troubling. We need to find a witch to fix this – I will not have your life at risk. It is unacceptable.”

“And here I thought you’d have more of a problem with it because people could kill you by killing me.”

Klaus fixes her with a stare that stops her heart. “Caroline, I have no intention of living in this world without you.”

Caroline is speechless, and her mind whirs with the knowledge that she has perhaps underestimated the depth of his feelings for her. She takes a deep breath before responding. “Then maybe you can understand why I don’t mind my life being bound to yours.” Klaus’s breath catches in his throat, and he isn’t sure what to say to that. At this rate, he may drop dead because Caroline is giving him more heart stopping revelations than he ever thought possible.

Caroline smiles at him, and he decides the best course of action is to kiss her again. He fully intends to remind her of the significance of the tree they’re under before it’s all said and done.

They both know this road will be difficult. They’re both not easy people, and the dangerous world they live doesn’t help that. But they crossed life and death to be together, and have found a love neither one of them felt possible. They both have suffered hurt, loss, and loneliness, feeling their hearts freeze over time. But here, now, they feel born anew like the spring, and no longer empty.