#all of the gentle words and reminders until someday maybe she can dream of him opening up bit by bit

[zorkaya-moved]

“  don’t you understand? i love you. and nothing you’ve done, no matter how much of a monster you think you are, is gonna change that.  ” from :) kaveh :)

@avaere

It feels like this is something that happened before, but there is dissatisfaction with his words. She does not deny her logical viewpoint of herself from the point of view of a normal citizen of Teyvat, but it’s not something she thought Kaveh would speak of. He is acutely aware of her hidden sides, but she is doing her best to open up because she promised to him to be more honest. He asked to be let in and she does so, bit by bit by trying to open up, expose sides others will never be privy to. He does not see the faux happiness and sunshine she represents before the scholars and citizens of Sumeru or the public of Teyvat. She is known as a sunflower, as a woman with a stubborn streak, bright mind and even brighter potential to help others without asking much in return. Sumeru knows her as the light, as the guiding star, as someone who keeps their happiness and their future bright. A reputation built over more than ten years, hearts won over by lives saved and help offered when it was needed so much as if she knew where issues would start. Beloved silver flower of Sumeru who may show her thorns if someone disturbs or insults her experiments, her job, and the passions she clearly showcases in public. 

But Kaveh is allowed to see what happens behind closed doors. He is allowed to step into the house that is her internal world, he is allowed to catch glimpses of reality that is not so bright and sunshine-like. He now sees the sharpness of her tongue, the subtle cold and analytical looks, he knows of her ability to read people and her ability to turn the conversation favorably for herself. The architect is allowed to hear more honest words about those they are surrounded by, the way she may rationally explain why the present rule of Sumeru is not exactly beneficial for the current generation and how she denies being a Sage solely because it will limit her opportunities as a scholar. Kaveh is allowed to see past comedy, he is allowed to learn and know the truth behind Zarina Sokolova. 

And yet, as much as he is allowed and let in, slowly studying everything that she is… The words spoken by Kaveh suddenly strike her as odd. The internal denial of her natural skills in reading people makes the metaphorical cup of concern spill, exposing the growing concerns that continue to be ignored to ensure that Kaveh himself will open up. As love meant trusting the other person with everything you are, the learning slope was supposed to be tough, but Sokolova slowly started to notice more and more about her beloved that started to concern her. The switch of topics, the denial of care, the mentions of injuries she hasn’t heard of from Kaveh himself, and more instances that caused her to start thinking on how to properly approach this topic with her beloved as to not push him into anything. 

However, the gentleness she usually would attempt to use to approach certain sensitive subjects would be gone for this very moment. Perhaps, the word ‘monster’ caught her attention or perhaps her speaking with several people prior to their meeting today caused her to finally allow herself just a tinge of analysis. Not like she never analyzed Kaveh before, on the contrary: she learned his behavior, she studied his expressions, she memorized his body language, and she knew exactly when he’d wish to be left alone or when he’d need her by his side. Reading him now wasn’t hard, but solely because of that she did not allow herself anything more… breaching. As she did not have the same emotional output as the architect did, she approached his mental and emotional state with more caution because of care. Not that he was fragile, but certain topics may be fragile to him while not being to her. It was a natural deduction, but sadly… Her straightforwardness won today. 

“I am well-aware but I’m having doubts you understand that it’s a two-way street, Kaveh,” she tilts her head to the side, not hiding away her confusion. There is no gentleness in her gaze nor is there the tenderness she usually gazes upon him when she tries to gently offer him a listening ear. Zarina doesn’t enjoy arguments with the architect, knowing full well that he sees the world differently from her and vice versa. It does take time to understand his point of view, but when she lacks information, it becomes harder to comprehend. Manipulation is easy because there is no care, but genuine attempts to understand his point of view clashes too hard with her survival of the fittest mindset. “It’s not all about one person, it’s about us learning more about each other, relying on each other, and supporting each other. However, it seems you…”

Suddenly, she snaps out of her deductive state, signing out and closing her eyes to massage her temple for a second. The silverette understands he must have his reasons, but she hopes to at least hear about his well-being in an honest manner. At least, that. Ranting, venting, screaming, crying. It doesn’t matter how negative, but he does and should and must not always show her the positive, he must let her see the negatives as well. Just as she tries, step by step. It’s not something she ever wishes to push him into or force him into, which is why Zarina finds herself letting out a soft groan while trying to word what she means in a better way instead of coldly analytical. 

Kaveh said it to be supportive, but that is very much the issue as she comes to a crashing understanding. He doesn’t seem to care enough about himself as he cares about her, and it makes her think she does the same without yet knowing just how indulgent and selfish she is. He gets glimpses, the richness of alcohol, the outfits, the people who speak with her, the accessories, the parties, the attention she obviously basks in now that he had the time to learn of her extravagant behavior for the sake of entertainment. He learns, but will she ever learn more about him? What will he let her see?

Another sigh, Sokolova opens her eyes to study her lover’s face. It makes her wonder if he worries he’ll burden her. Such kind-hearted souls like him always worry about that. But the difference is that others do not matter, but he does. She’s always been told that love is a two-way street where love persists despite, but there is a flicker of concern in those golden orbs while looking at the architect. So now, Zarina reaches out to take his hand in hers. A physical contact to prove she is here and she is not going away, but also to keep him here. (Don’t run away from me.)

“Do you understand that I, too, will love you no matter what, Kaveh?” Her voice adapts that gentle note as well, gaze returning to soften the molten gold and cool it off so it won’t be so brightly shining. “Do you think I expect you to be perfect? I do not, you can't be perfect. There is no perfect human in Teyvat. Anyone who seems perfect is simply good at hiding their negative traits, but we all possess them because we are humans.”

Kaveh seems to never listen to others when they show worry. Not only that, she rarely hears from him where he got his bruises or cuts until she points it out. Why not tell something so important she so obviously can assist with, monitor and check in? His girlfriend is a doctor, but she also does not wish to pressure him which now starts to make her relook at her approach. Perhaps, she was incorrect in ignoring her own deductions and studies. The architect is the only one who knows how he feels and what his pain points are. Maybe being too cautious might actually harm them in the long run, but she still approaches with clear concern and love for him. 

“I think you are good at hiding what truly hurts you or worries you,” she confesses, not looking away from his face to see what subtle expression changes will appear. “I think you have things you fear telling me because there is worry that my perception of you will change in a negative way.”

Another silence to linger, to study, to wait out a moment to let those words sit there and become another weight to her attempts at showing him it’s alright… to someday open up. Not even today, but someday. To try. At least, to try. Nothing more. He doesn’t need to do more. An attempt, a try, a wish to try.

“If you will love me even if I might see myself as a monster, why do you act like I will not love you if you do the same to yourself? Perhaps, not a monster, but still something negative,” she does not continue her train of thought, thinking it’s not needed and it’s better left unsaid. Her hands keep his in her tight hold, but also can be easily broken if he pulls away. “I’ve seen the worst in people, Kaveh. And there is nothing you feel, experience, or have gone through that will make me see you in a different light. I only wish to learn more about you, to understand you better, to hopefully offer a listening ear, to be there for you. Because I love you.”

Because I want to be your support where others will never be. “You don’t need to keep this honeymoon phase going, Kaveh. I’m not here to only love your good sides, I won’t leave you no matter what,” her thumb caresses the back of his hand. Does he understand she means every single word? “I want to love you for everything you are. As you are willing to do for me. Can I ask you… to try? To try and trust that I will never, ever see you differently or love you less when you let me in?” It’s simply impossible, it’s impossible to not love him for her. “Not today, not tomorrow. Maybe not this week or this month, but… someday. Because... No matter, I’ll wait for you. I'll wait until you're ready. Because nothing can make me love you less, nothing can make me see you differently.”

There is nothing more she wishes than to give him anything he wishes for. She just wishes for him to show some selfishness, something he wants only for himself. The only time she heard that he said he wanted something was on his birthday when he said he wanted her, out of all things he could ask for, he asked for her. Thus, he'll have her and she'll wait while loving him eternally.

[btsxmalereaders]

'Cause I Like You

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x male reader.

Prompt: "H-how long have you been standing there?" / "Long enough."

Word Count: 1,5k

Fluff | Requested

Masterlist

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"Well, it's not like I haven't dated before." Changbin says as he plops down in the sofa, without taking his eyes off his phone screen. "So it doesn't feel any different."

"Now you have to be extra careful if you don't want it to be public, though." Chan intervenes. "Or at least you have the freedom to announce it whenever you and your partner decide."

As they keep talking about dating and how some other rules of the company, Jeongin seems to be more interested on the conversation he's having with you over the phone.

He chuckles from time to time, typing as soon as he receives a message from you. Your conversations for now consisted on sending each other memes and funny videos you found, and Jeongin always found that refreshing when he needed a break from his schedule. He also appreciated how you always are there from him, listening to whatever he needed to let out and to advising him when he was troubling. You were best friends for many reasons, but the fact that Jeongin would always find comfort and understanding in you, was priceless.

"Uh, Earth calling Innie, can you hear us?"

"Jeongin!" Chan finally makes him take his eyes off his phone by raising his voice a little. "How much are you doing on the phone? Ever since you came in you're smiling and texting."

"The dating ban just finished a couple of days ago and you've already found a partner? You really don't waste your time, do you?" Changbin laughs, making the younger blush.

"Shut up, I'm just texting Y/N."

"That's the only thing you've been doing lately, you finally gathered up the courage to confess to him your feelings?" Changbin casually comments, making Chris laugh as well.

"What? I don't- I-"

"Please," He cuts off. "We weren't born yesterday. It's quite obvious at this point and denying it is really useless."

Jeongin looks at Chan, wanting him to defend him and say that Changbin is wrong, but he simply shrugs. "What do you want me to say?"

"You're the worst." He simply states and continues typing, this time with trembling hands and reddened cheeks as he tries to hide the growing smile on his face.

So what if he has a crush on you, anyways? Jeongin never thought of confessing before as you two have a great friendship that you deeply cared about and has been really meaningful since you were kids; plus, as oblivious as it sounds, he hasn't noted any interest from you, so he is at least thankful he can have you as a friend.

"It'd be no surprise to see people confessing to you sometime soon, you know?" Chan says and pats his shoulder, now changing the tone of his voice to sound a bit more sweet. "Our Innie has always been so cute."

"You're embarrassing him." Changbin chuckles.

"I know, it's my duty as his hyung." He jokes and stands up. "Don't be shy around us about this stuff. You don't have to hide how you feel."

Before Jeongin can say anything about it, Chan exits the room with a smile and a small and careful movement to ruffle his hair.

Y/N - 04:48 p.m.

let's meet up later? :)

He nervously types his answer and sends it, trying to ignore how Changbin is repeating how cute he looks blushed just to tease him.

He may do something about his feelings, but not until he knew for sure you felt the same way.

To his own surprise, the words addressed to him a few hours ago by his leader came true. As he was leaving the building to meet you, a girl of his age whom he knew quite well and with whom he had started a good friendship walked towards him shyly, her cheeks so red and her hands trembling behind her back as she was holding a small box with chocolates.

Jeongin smiles and greets her as usual, not knowing her intentions and just listening carefully to her stumbling as she tries to calm down and properly confess her feelings for him.

In that precise moment, you walk to the building, not expecting to find that scene as soon as you step in. Your hands grip tighter the small bouquet of sunflowers you just bought and turn on your heels immediately, making your way back to whatever place you find empty to take a deep breath and maybe vent out. Of course, not being aware that Jeongin saw you from the corner of his eye and with the intentions to find you as soon as he could.

Jeongin was moved, for sure. But he didn’t feel that way about her. He tried to be as careful and considered with her feelings, but had to tell her that, even though he was flattered, he couldn’t reciprocate those feelings. He didn’t say it out loud, but for a moment he wished it was you saying those words instead of her.

She understood it right away, and with a shy smile, apologies from him and a hug, she walked away. Jeongin rushed to the exit and almost ran in the direction where you walked too, making quick stops at the front of restaurants and shops, hoping he'd find you there.

His heart is beating fast, and he spends a few more minutes walking and running from side to side, earning stares from the people around him but he doesn't seem to give up on finding you.

He walks to a nearby park and just as he is about to pick up his phone and call you, he sees you sitting on one of the park benches, and gets closer from behind you when he realizes you are talking out loud.

It's easy for him to tell you were feeling down; the way your voice sounds already gives away that you were trying not to cry.

"...'i really like you'? And then what? What was I expecting? Of course he only sees me as a friend." You groan, covering your face with your hands out of frustration. "Now I have to pretend that him dating another person doesn't hurt me... If I were only a few seconds early... Would it have changed a thing?"

"If it makes you feel better, you weren't late." He simply says, walking around the bench to stand right in front of you.

The expression on your face was a poem as soon as you realized he was there; had he heard you complaining? Why was he even there, in the first place?

"Jeongin," You hesitated, feeling embarrassed. "H-how long have you been standing there?"

He sweetly smiles at you, "Long enough."

"Oh, uhm-"

"Can you say it again, please?" He pleads, and you immediately know what he's talking about.

Your whole feelings for him could be better explained in a lot of words, but right now all you need to say is simple. "Jeongin, I really like you."

Jeongin's smile becomes bigger, and you swear your heartbeats could be heard by him now. He extends his hand for you to take it, so you do, standing up and being closer to him. His hands carefully travel from your wrists to your shoulders, and he takes another small step so that you can feel his fresh breath against the skin of your lips, longing for a sweet kiss. "Y/N, I really like you too."

Finally, you hear those words you've been dreaming with for a while. You put your hands on his waist and get a few millimeters closer, feeling like you're on cloud 9 while being on his arms.

You're barely a few centimeters apart but Jeongin still asks: "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," You nod. "Please."

Now with your eyes closed, he makes that last movement it was needed to make for your lips to finally meet. It's sweet; the velvety and tickling feeling making you feel butterflies in your stomach.

Jeongin is careful, subtly sliding his hands to the back of your neck and his lips slightly parting in an attempt to deepen the kiss. You quickly keep up with him, still slow and gentle.

You both pull apart as the seconds pass, recovering from the dizziness in your heads as you two experienced something you've been yearning, so intimate and significant. Your smiles adorn your flushed faces and the tips of your noses brush against each other.

Jeongin moves his hands to embrace you and leave more kisses on your cheeks, losing all sorrow and just letting the happiness act for him.

"Oh." He murmurs and you separate from him. "You got those for me?"

You turn on your feet to look at the abandoned sunflowers on the bench and you chuckle, picking them up and extending them out for him. "I did. You like them?"

Jeongin takes them with another shy smile, "I love them. Thank you."

"You used to say that if someone were to ask you out someday, you'd want them to give you sunflowers, so... I had to."

"That was years ago, how did you even remember that?"

"I set that as a reminder for the time I gathered up the courage to ask you out," You simply say and take his free hand. "So now I am taking you out. Shall we?"

Jeongin giggles and leaves a quick kiss on your lips. "Yes, let's do that."

[harryhandstan]

where we belong

Yeah so..it’s been a year. A long and very frustrating year since one of the worst days of my life. This is just a continuation of You Bring Me Home and Harry helping me through the grief process of my aunt’s death. That was one of the first pieces of writing I ever shared and it was so incredibly personal to me. Thankful again to @bfharry​ for letting me include that in her fic event happening at the time. It was so good for me just to release that grief both then and now!

I also just owe a huge thank you to anyone else who has listened when I’ve talked about this or offered any sort of comfort. Your kindness in such a dark phase of my life means the world to me!!

This idea was born of the very strange urge I had to watch the movie I was watching with my sister that night we found out. I still haven’t been brave enough to watch it, but maybe someday.

Thank you to Miss Jill and Oliva (@havethetimeofyourstyles​, @bfharry​) for reading over this for me :) I appreciate you so much you’re the best!

//

“Linds? You home?”

He knows he’s later getting home than he said he’d be. But things on set don’t always go as planned so it had taken him longer than he imagined. He had tried to call to let you know, but when you didn’t answer his texts and your phone went through to voicemail for the third time, he assumed you were either out or gone to bed.

He drops his keys into the small bowl on the wooden table in the entryway, hears the clink of your set of keys against his and breathes a sigh of relief; you were here, safe. Not that you couldn’t venture out without him when he was busy, but he always feared the worst until you were back under the roof of your shared space.

He makes his way down the hallway into the kitchen, depositing the few grocery bags on the counter. When there’s still no sign of you, he works quickly to put away the few things you’d asked him to pick up on his way home, eager to be near you again. He notices a small round cake when he opens the refrigerator, and suddenly runs through the list of significant dates the two of you had accumulated over the past couple of years you’d spent together. Had he forgotten one? An anniversary of something that was important to you? Were you upset with him for forgetting, waiting somewhere for him to remember and apologize?

His hands work faster now, and when he goes to put away the grocery bags, he takes time to observe the casserole dish on the stove. He lifts the foil, sees the food untouched, and recovers it before moving through the rest of the house to find you. The open layout of the kitchen and living room allows him to quickly eliminate the couch as your hiding spot. He peeks down to see the door to the bedroom ajar, the light off but a slight flicker from the TV flashes across the walls and the tension in his chest continues to unravel the closer he gets. The box fan you insisted you couldn’t sleep without was silent, so either you hadn’t heard him call earlier, or again, you’d fallen asleep while waiting for him.

He pushes aside the guilt for being late, tries to rid himself of the thought the second it appears. He doesn’t know how many times you’d reminded him of your love and pride for him and his work. It was a mantra he repeated in his head when he was away and missing you. Your voice repeating I love you, I’m proud of you, come home to me soon no matter the length of time or distance you would be apart.

He stops before entering the bedroom, removing his shoes and making his movements as quiet as possible so he doesn’t disturb you. He glances quickly into the room, hears the faint murmurs of voices from the TV. It wasn’t an unusual sight, you hated falling asleep without him and so you often found a movie or show to try to lull yourself to sleep when the fan and other things just wouldn’t do the trick. Though the noise of a movie could never be a replacement for him, it was often enough for you to rest until he returned.

What comes next absolutely terrifies him, chills him to the bone worse than the bitter cold of the December air outside. A sob, echoing through the silence he had already adjusted to. He’s by your side in a second, almost leaping to meet you. He throws the blanket back that’s covering you, no real logic behind the action other than you must be physically hurt somehow. From the cry, he expects to see blood, an open wound, some clear injury. When all he finds is you, in his faded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he questions again if you were sleeping, if it’s a bad dream that caused what he had heard.

But your eyes are too wide to have been resting, your face wet with fresh tears, new ones still streaming rapidly out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks. His heart is racing, fear laced in his voice when he kneels next to you, “S’a matter? Are you hurt?”

All you can do is wrap yourself around him, arms clinging to his neck. He tries to loosen your grip, pull you back so he can study your face, but you only clutch tighter. The panic is evident when he speaks again, “Lovie, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

You do your best to calm yourself, finally able to form words through shaky breaths, “It’s been a year, Harry.”

He frantically searches his thoughts again. A year? He tries to remember what tragic anniversary would have you this upset. That’s when he tunes in to the movie behind him, strains his ears to hear and tries to determine when he heard it last and how it could relate. It’s faintly familiar, but the tone is too light to be the only reason you’re this unsettled. 

Suddenly it hits him. How could he have abandoned a date from his head this important to you? He silently curses himself for even thinking of leaving you alone for a second today. Hates himself for ignoring the signs of your grief from the past week; the restless nights, your unusually quiet moods around him, the way you had melted into any sort of touch he offered. It was your way of seeking comfort without verbally requesting it. 

You’ve relaxed your arms enough now that he can create some space between you, just enough that he can visualize the sorrow set upon your normally joyful spirit. His voice is mixed with his own agony when he tells you, “I’m sorry. Love you so much, baby. Should’ve never left you today.”

You shush him, a gentle sign you’re not upset with him for overlooking the importance of this day. He can’t help but embrace you firmer, wishing he could absorb even a fraction of your painful heartache. He would take it all from you in an instant if he could.

The cake (which he now recalls was her favorite), the movie (he now realizes the two of you were watching the very same night a year before), this date. All reminders of what would always be one of the darkest days of your existence. 

The day your aunt had left the world too soon. The day you found out you would never see her beaming smile or hear her laugh or share a meal or create another cherished memory with her.

//

“Did you talk to your family today?”

“Yeah, FaceTimed my sister for a bit. Called my mom too, and my Nanna and Aunt Donna. It was nice to talk to them about her, share some stories.” He’s laying with you now, you curled against his side. The movie is still playing, set on a low volume, neither one of you paying much attention to it.

His eyes are closed but you know he’s still awake and listening by the way his hand rests on your back, occasionally working over that spot to soothe you as you talk, “But then I was alone and started thinking about that cake that she always loved. You were gone so I just walked to the bakery on the corner, not really expecting them to have it, but they did. Only one left and I started crying when I saw it in the case. Scared the poor cashier, but she was so sweet to me when I told her it reminded me of my aunt.”

“Then I came home and started thinking about that night I found out, how I was here with you and the movie we were watching. I don’t know if she had ever even seen it but..I wanted to connect with her somehow. It just made me more sad though, pulled me right back to that moment a year ago when I found out.”

“You could’ve waited for me. I would’ve watched it with you so you didn’t have to do it alone. Would’ve sent someone to pick up the cake too so you didn’t have to. Or sent a car to pick you up and bring you to set with me, s’always nice to have you there.” 

“I know. I just didn’t want to be a downer on your day. I wanted to be strong enough to get through by myself until you came home.” Tears are falling again, but you’re more in control of them now, they pool underneath where your cheek is smushed against his chest, “I miss her so much, Harry. It’s too much some days and I don’t know if it’ll ever get easier.”

“You could never be a downer to me, angel. Just because today was a little harder doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. It will get easier. You’ll always miss her, but it won’t always hurt so bad. It’ll take time to heal enough to find that balance between grief and happiness for the things that remind you of her. You’ll get to a point where you smile when you see her favorite things,” You press your face into his side, the fabric of his shirt is soft and comforting on your face, which you’re sure is red by now from crying so much throughout the day, “Will you look at me, please, love?”

When you do, he reaches to pull your hair back away from your face so that he can see it more clearly. He swipes a thumb along the top of your cheek, doing what he can to smooth away tears that have collected there, “I know how hard this year has been for you, but I also know without a doubt that she would be so proud of you, just like I am.”

“I wouldn’t have made it through a second of it without you, H. I’m only so strong because I had you to help me.”

“Maybe, but I won’t take credit for all of it, I can’t.” Your lips are dry and rough against his soft ones, but he doesn’t care, traps them gently to his once before gracing your cheek with another one.

“Saw you made dinner earlier. You weren’t hungry?”

“Not really, just needed something to keep me busy for the evening. I got too upset once I got it all done though.” You’re tracing patterns on the inside of the hand he’s offered you, knowing it’s one of your comforts, “Made that pasta you like, with garlic bread from the bakery.”

“Mhm, sounds good. With that homemade sauce you make?”

You snort, followed by a laugh at his adorably confused expression, “I’m flattered you like it so much, but it’s clearly not homemade, babe.”

“Really? This whole time you let me believe it was your own recipe?” 

“I thought you knew! You’ve literally been at the store with me when I’ve bought it. Several times, in fact. Probably even paid for it a few of those times too.”

“I feel so betrayed.” His bottom lip pokes out, a charmingly cute expression of disappointment. 

“I’m sorry. Think you can forgive me?” You're sitting up now, looking down at him. His hand is still settled in yours, and you squeeze his fingers, prompting him to look at you.

“Maybe. Definitely helps you got my favorite bread t’go with it.”

All the talk of food has your appetite returning quickly, and by the low grumble your stomach makes, it’s back in full force. If it were anyone else but Harry you were with, your cheeks would have flushed pink, but instead you just giggle.

“S’nice to hear that again, love. The laugh. Missed it, and the smile too. S’one of my favorite sights, seeing you so happy.”

“I’d be happier if we were eating pasta and garlic bread.”

“Me too.” 

The food is long cold by now, but the two of you work together to reheat everything. The smell envelops you both, chasing away the frosty chill December seemed to always bring. Harry’s already seated as you make your way to the table with your plate, and he shakes his head when you reach to pull the chair out to sit next to him. He takes your plate and sits it beside his own, tugging your wrist to guide you into his lap.

It’s the most normal, natural thing to him, to have you so close. He loops an arm behind your back to hold you securely there, “Saved you a seat with me instead, baby.”

You don’t suppress the blush now, can’t stop it from blooming scarlet across your face. He lifts his fork, gathering a bite you expect him to fill his own mouth with. Instead he brings it to yours, a beaming grin when you bend to accept it.

“What are you doing? Harry, I can feed myself. I’m not a child.” You drape one arm around his shoulders to steady yourself.

“‘Course you can, just missed you today. Wanna make it up to you that we spent the day apart,” He stuffs the second bite into his mouth before pointing his fork at you, “And y’coming with me tomorrow, won’t have m’girl sitting here bored and alone in this cold house. I’ll treat ya to dinner at that little Mexican place you love. Or if you’d rather have somethin’ else..”

You wrap your arms around him for the second time that evening, surprising him, making his fork clatter to his plate when he drops it to wrap his other arm around you, temporarily forgetting the meal to hug you back. You’re content to just let him hold you for a minute, relaxing your body to conform to his. Your chin rests on his shoulder and you finally turn your head to kiss his neck before letting go to cup his face with both of your hands. 

You kiss him..once, twice, and on the third one he’s smiling, an amused smirk crossing his face before he asks, “What s’all this for, lovie?”

“I love you, Harry, more than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you too, peach.”

Maybe there was a wound, not visible, that may never fully heal, but made significantly smaller by this man who you’re certain loved you more than anyone ever had. The man who kissed you a fourth time before feeding you a bite of garlic bread and reluctantly letting you transfer yourself from his lap to the chair next to him. He doesn’t even flinch when you prop your feet in his lap, just grins down at the mismatched socks covering your feet. 

The grin widens when he realizes they’re his socks keeping your toes warm. Loves that after a year of grief and distress, you remember exactly where you belong.

[ohscorbus]

I had a thought while watching one cc show that when Scorpius first got back he accidentally slipped and called Draco “sir” instead of “Dad” and then he has to tell Draco everything about who he was in the dark timeline - do you think that could happen?

Oh I think this is exactly how it happens. I’ve actually had this headcanon for a while. Scorpius stands in McGonagall’s office and tells them what happened because he has to, but he skillfully skims over the details about Draco. He does it to protect his dad. To spare him the judgment from others, save him from his own, and partly because saying it out loud makes it real in this world too. No, Scorpius is going to bury it because that’s what is best. Except Draco can tell when he’s holding something back. He always has. But Draco decides not to call him out on it in front of an audience. He’ll ask him about it later on. Except there is no later on. Scorpius goes missing again and Draco fears his own failings have finally caused him to lose his boy. 

Between their return, recovery, and classes, this specific issue doesn’t rear its ugly head again until the summer. Despite the reveal of Delphi’s true identity and intentions, McGonagall still enforces their cancelled Christmas and Easter is spent catching up on missed classes, so Scorpius doesn’t get back home until June. It’s been months since the events of October and so he’s been lulled into a false sense of security. But that first night home brings back the nightmares tenfold. He thinks it’s just because this is the first time he’s been separated from Albus since… since that place. And so he writes a letter the very next day and makes sure to place a photo of the two of them together on his bedside table. He goes to bed that night hopeful but wakes up in a cold sweat and a silent scream on his lips. This goes on for a week until that scream finally escapes his throat and Draco rushes in, wand raised ready with a lumos. But in the murkiness of sleep and the confusion between dreams and reality, Scorpius is blinded by wand light and then struck by fear of the loose blond hair behind it. He doesn’t register his dad’s mirrored horror, just of what could possibly be following it. He violently flinches back and gets out a ‘sorry sir’ before he’s even realised what he’s done. Draco is silent. All that can be heard is Scorpius trying to catch his breath between barely suppressed sobs. Then suddenly the lights are on and Draco slowly approaches, wand out of sight and hands where Scorpius can see them. Draco has no idea what’s happening but as he looks from his son’s trembling body to the letters and photos scattered on the bed beside him, it all falls into place. 

“Scorpius… it’s me. Do you need me to get Albus? I don’t care what time it is, I’ll make sure Potter sends him through.” 

That makes Scorpius choke out a laugh. He can just see his dad arguing with Harry through the Floo as Ginny ignores them both and tries to wake Albus up because she knows like mums always know. And as nice as it would be, to have the confirmation he’s okay, Scorpius doesn’t need that right now. Albus is safe at home with his dad. So why did he just now feel like he wasn’t safe at home with his? That’s when the guilt sets in and those words start to playback in his head. He must look like he’s going to be sick because Draco moves as quick as he can, clearly trying not to startle Scorpius again, but needing to reach the small bin by his desk for Scorpius to throw up into. He makes it just in time, but the gentle hand rubbing the back of his neck only sets off his tears again. He’s not afraid anymore, just ashamed of ever thinking his dad could hurt him. So he confesses it all. Sat there in his sweat soaked pajamas and smelling of sick. Scorpius can’t look at his dad as he spills their worst fear. But as he feels Draco start to retreat into himself, Scorpius looks up and fiercely tells him he’s not that person. He speaks with as much passion as Astoria would whenever she told him he was a good man and the kind of dad Scorpius deserved. The best. They know they need to talk about this again someday but for now, it’s enough. Draco vanishes the sick and freshens Scorpius’s pajamas and asks again about fetching Albus. Scorpius properly laughs this time. He says no and waits a beat before nervously asking if he’ll stay instead. Just until he’s fallen asleep. Draco gets on the bed beside him and lowers the lights. He pulls out a photo of Albus and Scorpius from underneath his back and asks Scorpius when it was taken. It’s exactly the right thing to do. Scorpius is smiling before he’s even launched into the tale of Albus chasing his last chocolate frog around the empty common room on Christmas day. He falls asleep with a smile still on his face and Draco stays long after it’s faded. He turns his head and looks across at the photo of Astoria also on the bedside table. He feels all the love and loss and failure and progress he’s experienced in the last hour alone and can’t stop the few tears that escape.

The next morning he’s awoken by a kick to his shins and Draco is taken back to Scorpius’s toddler years. He sits up and looks down at Scorpius still fast asleep and makes a decision. He quietly gets up and heads straight to the Floo. He manages to catch Harry as he’s eating breakfast, already dressed in his robes ready for work. He gets straight to the point. Scorpius had a bad night and while he’s better now, he knows he’d really appreciate a visit from Albus today. He knows Harry doesn’t want him at the Manor but he asks, father to father, if he’d put aside their history again for the sake of their sons. Harry must see the desperation in his eyes and as much as he hates that, it’s worth it when Harry finally promises to send Albus through as soon as he’s awake, if he wants to go. That makes Draco laugh. “I’ll see him shortly then. And thank you.”

When Scorpius comes down later on, it’s to find his dad and Albus sat at the table together. He doesn’t know who to run at and hug first. Luckily Albus is up and moving towards him before he has to make a decision, but once he’s over the initial shock of Albus finally visiting his home, he turns to his dad and gives him an equally bone crushing hug. 

“Thank you. For Albus and you know, for last night.” 

Draco lovingly pats down his son’s messy bed hair because there’s nothing to say. Scorpius should never need to thank him for that. He’s still learning, but he knows that’s what dads do and Draco, ever the Malfoy, is going for gold. So he pushes him back towards Albus who’s clearly itching for a tour. He’d just been telling him how Scorpius would use the ladders in their library to play hide and seek fearlessly up on the shelves. The image of a seven year old Scorpius hiding amongst the books had him laughing. He knows he can’t wait to tease him about it. So Draco ushers them out of the kitchen with the promise he’ll let them know once breakfast is ready. As the door shuts behind them, Draco stands there for a second and just listens to them talking and laughing as they catch up. The sound erases any reminding doubt that they can’t get through this. Toddler or teenager, Scorpius will always bounce back. Just like Astoria said. And if she’s right about that, then maybe they’re both right about him being a good man too.

------------------------------------------

(I often wonder if Draco would ever cut his hair or at least offer to after Scorpius’s strong reaction to it loose. But the more I think about it, the less likely I think he would. I’m sure he’d do it in a heartbeat if Scorpius asked or if it was a persistent issue. But it’s not. It was just that once. Plus, I personally think his long hair is a link to Astoria. He may have initially grown it out because he’s a Malfoy, but I think he keeps it like that because Astoria liked it. I imagine her reaction the first time he got it trimmed when they started dating told him so. Ever since then he’s always kept it long for her. I think Scorpius knows this too. I’m sure she often told him she loved his hair as much as she loved his dad's. So even if Draco does offer, he’d tell him no. His mum loved his long hair and he refuses to let that world tarnish that memory. Draco would agree, but he’d also keep it strictly tied back afterwards. It stays like that until the following summer when Scorpius cheekily uses a quick charm to undo the ribbon and laughs as his hair falls in front of his face, covering the pages of the book he’s reading. He doesn’t do it to prove he can cope, that doesn’t even cross his mind, he does it because his dad promised him a trip to Flourish and Blotts and he’s given up waiting patiently for him to finish his chapter. Draco threatens to cut his book allowance but they both know he doesn’t mean it, especially not when Draco realises Scorpius didn’t react just now. From that day forward, Draco doesn’t always bother to tie it back in the mornings or at all on days when it’s just the two of them. But it takes another couple of weeks for Scorpius to realise his dad is wearing it down again. He immediately gives him a hug in silent thank you.)

[mageofcole]

(ONE SHOT) I’ll try to explain the infinite  DC COMICS

A03

In another world, The Flash dies a hero, saving the world. He sacrifices himself so that others may live, and he’s remembered as a figure larger than life; everyone mourns The Flash as a saint, a paragon of justice and kindness, but no one remembers Barry. No one remembers the mild and gentle forensic scientist who was at the core of who the Scarlet Speedster was. No one but the man he raised, and the man who had loved him.

In another world, The Flash dies at the hands of Professor Zoom. He dies, and his wife is dragged through time, never to see her friends and family again. He dies as he’s dragged into the Speedforce, and he becomes just another speedster trapped outside of time and space as the world goes on without him. In this world, no one knows that the Flash that follows him is a different hero entirely, they don’t know that the child their hero had raised and trained would have to grow up too fast after the loss of another set of parents. In this world, people mourn Barry Allen, the good, kind man with a heart of gold who died in a tragic accident alongside his wife.

In both these worlds, Hal hadn’t known he’d loved his best friend, or maybe he had known but had never worked up the courage to admit it until he was looking down at that plain tombstone and he realized he’d never have the chance. In both these worlds, Hal keeps losing, and losing, and  losing  until he has nothing left, and yet people still ask for  more  . In the end, he stands with nothing but hate and fear in his heart and a burning desire to make it  right again. In both these worlds, Hal buries his best friend and loses half of himself at the same time. In both these worlds, Hal loses until he breaks, and he breaks others in return. He doesn’t die a saint, he doesn’t die a hero; instead Hal becomes the villain, and dies knowing he had destroyed any and all of his morals.

But  this isn’t those worlds.

Here, when Professor Zoom appears, he targets Iris first. Here, he doesn’t drag her into the Speedforce, or into the future. Instead, he leaves the body of the fiery, gentle reporter where Barry can find it, bloodied and fully recognizable as the lovely woman Iris West Allen used to be. Here, Hal comes to the small house in Central, following the distress beacon his best friend had activated, to find Barry cradling his wife’s body, looking blank and numb, blood splattered across the room like some sort of morbid piece of art, and another body only identifiable by the yellow costume left slumped in the corner. He stands beside Barry as the truth comes out, stands beside Barry in the face of Superman’s disappointment and the loss of Batman’s friendship.

In this world, Barry kills Zoom first. In this world, Barry puts the costume away and steps down from the Justice League to make way for a younger generation. In this world, Wally becomes the Flash, but he still has a mentor to turn to when he needs help. Here, Hal refuses to be pushed away and stays beside Barry, and the reveal of his feelings comes naturally as they come together in more than one way. Here, it’s Barry who confesses first, who puts what they are into words and asks for more.

In this world, there’s someone to put him back together when Hal breaks. He has something to keep himself partially grounded when Coast City is reduced to rubble, something to help him lessen the weight on his shoulder and push away the demands placed unfairly on him. Here, he has a reason not to give in fully to the whispers in his ears, the desire for revenge, and the fear in his heart.

He still has a family to return to, so when the young Torchbearer comes to him, to ask him to let go of his fear, Hal takes his hand. He lets Kyle talk him down from the extremes, returns the rings he stole, and lets go of the illusion he’s built, because Kyle reminds him of what he still has, what he can still hold onto.

This time, when Hal dies, he has someone to mourn him, and when he returns, he has someone to welcome him. It’s not perfect, Hal still has a voice in his head, urging him to go further and further, to do more and more damage, but he also has arms to hold him back, and a warm, loving voice to talk him down.

He still has hopeful, wonderful Barry, who, in another world, would have just been a cold statue and a modest grave. He still has his children, who, in that other time, would have never existed. He has things to fight for, people to return to. Reasons to hide his bloodied hands so that he can protect them.

When he lands in the private backyard of the house he lives in with Barry and their family, he always lets the form of The Spectre melt away. He lets go of justice and retribution, lets go of wrath and redemption, to let himself be Hal again. He embraces life again, as gray melts away to tan, and green dissolves to the ever-familiar warmth of his father’s old jacket, and Hal choses  this  to anything Parallax or The Spectre can offer him.

“Papa!” A young voice shouts in excitement, and it’s only years of working with Barry that gives Hal enough time to brace himself for the super-speed missile that collides with his stomach. Nora Jordan-Allen beams up at him, all chubby cheeks and childish innocence. She’s always happy to see him, doesn’t understand what Hal had become, and loves him regardless of everything.

Hal laughs, scooping his daughter into his arms, kissing wind-swept brown hair as the four year old wraps her thin arms around his neck and kisses his cheek, “Hey there, roadrunner.” He rumbles, feeling that jumbled, hateful part of himself smooth out into something less painful. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, little lady?”

Nora pouts, and Hal can never keep up the mask of parental disappointment in the face of the big blue eyes she’s inherited from Barry, “Was waitin’ for you.” She whines, pressing her face into his neck.

Huffing fondly, Hal hefts the kid up just a little higher, resting her on his hip as he makes his way up the porch and into the house. It’s quiet, like it usually is this late in the day, when Jason and Jenny have been put down to sleep, and the sun is only a stretch of orange light streaming in through the windows as it sets and the moon takes its place in the sky. It’s peaceful, and it muffles the unending pounding of fear in his chest because Hal knows he’s safe here, in the little pocket of the world he and Barry had created for themselves. There’s memories in every corner, love in the walls, and the shadows don’t hold nightmares here.

They bought this place together, back when they’d learned that their family would be growing. Hal’s apartment in Coast City had been home for a long time, and Barry had made it warmer when he’d moved in, but it had been too small for the addition of a baby. Blue Valley had been a change from the coastal cities and beaches Hal was used to, a small, quiet midwestern town that suits them both just fine. It’s not like the big cities they’re both used to, and that helps.

It’s a new start, and Hal will always be grateful that Barry and Nora had been here instead of Coast City when it had been reduced to rubble. They’d been safe, in the little life they had been building, away from the dangers of their lives. He’s glad his enemies hadn’t known about them.

Nora whines a little when Hal puts her to bed, pouts, but he passes her her Green Lantern bear and kisses her on the forehead as he tucks her in. He knows the grumpiness is an act by the heaviness of her eyes, by how quickly she falls asleep, and for a long moment, Hal just stands there and stares. He watches her breathe, snuggled up under her covers as she clings to the bear Kyle had bought her as a gag but she had loved anyways. She’s alive, and healthy, and so many things all at once that it makes Hal feel weak in the knees.

A weakness, a part of him whispers,  something for others to exploit until you’re ruined again. Hal would burn the world to protect his family, would destroy everything to keep them safe and happy. If anyone tried to use them against him, they wouldn’t live long enough to touch a hair on their heads because Hal would make them  burn.

Gently, almost afraid that he’s taint her, Hal reaches forward to gently brush her hair away from her face, tucking the brown strands behind her ear to hopefully save it from getting chewed or drooled on, and he just sort of stands there, fingers barely brushing the shell of her ear. If they’d been in Coast City - Hal doesn’t know if even Barry would have been able to get them out on time, and it would have been  his fault, because Mongul had chosen Coast City to send a message, knowing the Green Lantern that lived there, one of the Justice League’s heaviest hitters hadn’t been planetside.

The city has since been rebuilt, and survivors had returned, but Hal hadn’t been able to bring himself to go back.  This is his home now; the small home he and Barry had bought together with the fenced-in backyard that might be a little on the small side, but private enough for Nora, and now Jenny and Jason, to play in without anyone seeing them use their powers. They decorated it together, filled it with photos of their families and enough love that Hal’s dreams are peaceful.

A peaceful enough life, a happy family, a nice house - things Hal never would have imagined for himself, but something he has regardless. He’s a bartender now, nothing like the pilot he had once dreamed of being, and there’s no adrenaline to chase, but he’s happy. He still flies, as Spectre, and he keeps his license, because someday he wants to take his kids up into the air and give them that piece of himself and his life. The sky is still a part of him, it’s in his blood, but maybe he can understand now, why his father had tried to tell him that there was more to life than just the thrill.

“How did it go?” The gentle voice in the doorway pulls Hal from his thoughts, pulls his eyes from Nora’s sleeping face, to see Barry in the doorway. His blue eyes are soft, arms crossed over his chest, and he’s leaning against the doorframe, a gentle smile on his face.

“Well.” Hal murmurs, stepping back from Nora with one last loving look. Barry opens his arms for him as Hal approaches, letting the other man slump into his arms and bury his head in his shoulder. “I missed you.” He says. It’s hard, keeping track of time in the world between life and death, and sometimes Hal finds himself away for far longer than he thought he had been, or not as long as he had believed. It’s hard to tell which until he’s back and can look at the date.

“Missed you too, glitter-glow.” Barry’s smooth midwestern drawl washes over him, taking with it the lingering tension still in his shoulders, and Hal wraps his arms around the speedster’s waist.

This is home, Hal knows.

(In most worlds, The Flash dies a hero and Green Lantern loses everything. But in this world, Barry Allen lives, and this saves Hal Jordan.)

[no-whump-on-main]

Apartment 307-6 (Harmful Healing)

start here last chapter

requested by anon

TW: Death threats made in this chapter

Morning came, and for the first time since her capture, Elora wasn’t up anxiously waiting for the man to return. She was fast asleep when he strolled in; her body was weakened and exhausted from the day prior, the perfect storm for her to rest deeply, and for a long time.

Her pleasant dreams and hours of rest shattered, though, when she awoke to a rough hand grabbing and shaking her shoulder. She blinked tiredly for a few seconds before registering that it was his hand grabbing her, and at that point, she flinched, pushing back against the wall as she tried to scramble out of his grip. His hand didn’t release her, though, and her eyes were bright and fearful as she looked up at him, her whole body shaking just the slightest bit.

He huffed. “So flinchy. You’re going to have to learn that you’re mine somehow, someday. Don’t forget that.”

Elora said nothing, keeping her fear and anger and disgust to herself. Please be looking for me, mom. Please.

He pulled away, finally, standing up straight. She knew from when he attacked her that he was a couple inches shorter than her, but when she was chained down, forced to stare up at him, he felt immeasurably tall, immeasurably powerful.

She could still feel his hand on her shoulder like it had been made of acid, still seeping and burning into her skin. It might as well have been. She’d always enjoyed affection, gentle little touches here and there from people who loved her-but every time the man touched her, it felt wrong. Awful. Like fire against her skin.

He coughed, as if to gain her attention, like he didn’t already have it, every bit of his presence keeping her on edge.

“Since you’ve decided you don’t want anything to do with the plant, we’re going to try something else I know you can do.”

Elora’s expression darkened, her mind filling with all the terrible possibilities of whatever the hell that could mean. What else did he know?

Without warning, he pulled out his pocket knife and slashed it along her thigh, dangerously close to the large, sloppily-stitched wound from the first day. In one slice, another hole was torn in her pants, and a small, bloodied red line formed. Elora whimpered, but didn’t have much else of a reaction; he had given her much worse pain so far. She didn’t understand the purpose of this, here and now, when she’d had so much worse. The pain was sharp, but minimal, stinging as her blood started to coagulate in the air.

“Heal it,” the man instructed.

Her heart sank.

He knew that, too?

“I-” the girl started, before Clyde grasped her chin and dug his dirty fingernails into her skin.

“You know what happens when you don’t listen. You know. It’s not that fucking hard, Elora.”

She swallowed, hard. She could feel her heart thumping in her throat, rhythmically, like an instrument. Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump-

In a way, he was right. It wouldn’t be hard to give in. In all honesty, it would be easy.

The lines were beginning to blur between what resistance was beneficial to her psyche, and what would be better for her to just let go.

But this, she knew she wanted to resist. Needed to.

Her healing was only ever meant to help others. Never herself. She’d tried, several times, to heal her own body, and the results were always horrifically painful. Whenever she used her magic to heal, she absorbed the pain of the individual that she was healing; it was a simple transfer of energy. She took away the wound, closed up the edges, and bore just the pain, not the physical injury, briefly, just how brief depending on the severity of the wound. She never took much joy in it, but for situations that called for her help- emergencies, hurt kids, severe bleeding or head injuries, and the like-she’d do it. After all, she bore the pain for a much shorter amount of time than those who had been hurt in the first place. It felt like her duty to help, when it would be so much easier for her to take the pain temporarily than for the one who attained it in the first place to hold onto it for days, weeks, months, even.

But that blessing, the ability to transfer another’s pain to herself, to give mercy, became a curse, when turned on herself. Instead of experiencing just her own, usual level of pain, it reverberated like an echo chamber, intensifying every second until it was explosive, muchmore than she could handle. She phantom-experienced her own pain twice over initially, and then quadrupled and so on, going on and on, growing exponentially from there, leading to an amplified misery like no other. Even healing a tiny bruise off of her own skin felt like healing a bullet wound.

And the man was making cuts. Big ones.

“I c-can’t do that,” she stammered.

He tilted her chin up with the blade of the knife, forcing her to tilt her head back in order to escape the sharp point.

“Yes you can,” he growled.

She looked over at him, cold fear in her eyes.

“Y-you don’t understand,” she continued. “I can’t.”

“Elora.”

The man’s voice was eerily calm. He didn’t have to say another word; that tone, and the glare, were enough to make her skin crawl.

“Y-you’re right about the healing,” she stammered, “but that’s just for others. I c-can’t do it to myself, it doesn’t work like that. Don’t you-don’t you think I would’ve healed myself and run away from here a-already, if I could?”

He sighed heavily, standing up straight and spinning the knife around casually.

“You can,” he said. “You just don’t want to. It hurts you, I know. But what’s a little pain, in comparison to your life, my lark? I’m being gentle, light with this knife. But just as easily, I could dig it deep into your throat, cut you ear to ear. You’d be gone within minutes. Is that what you want? If I were you, I’d choose a little pain, no?”

There he was with those nicknames again. Elora swallowed, staring ahead at the wall in silence, her eyes blurring in and out of focus as she looked at the white tiles. She still didn’t know him very well, but he didn’t seem to be lying. No, he seemed impulsive, impulsive enough to kill her simply for noncompliance.

And she didn’t want to die.

“Okay,” she whispered.

She placed her hands on either edge of the cut on her thigh, inhaling deeply before closing her eyes, focusing deeply on directing her magic to the wound.

She wasn’t watching it, but she could feel it as it started to close, the pain going from a small throb to a roaring wave in just a few moments.

Clyde stood there, watching in pure awe. He didn’t pay much attention to her agony, too focused on staring at the healing wound in amazement. That was quite the trick, and a useful one, too. Imagine how much you could punish her, over and over, simply by making her heal herself up only to repeat the same torture.

It didn’t take much longer than ten or fifteen seconds, but by the end, she was writhing in agony, sucking in breaths sharply through her teeth. When she finally did open her eyes, she saw her skin, perfectly clear and in tact, like the man had never cut her.

“Do it again,” he instructed.

Elora let out a shaky breath. “Please,” she started. “You know it-”

“Did I ask you if you wanted to? No, I told you to do it again.”

Elora looked down, biting her lip. Do it, or he’ll kill you.

“Where?” She asked. “You just-you only cut me once, just now.”

He huffed. “I suggest you choose another spot yourself. You’re covered in plenty of cuts. Unless you’d like me to slash you again, hmm?”

She shook her head immediately, pausing for a moment to think. What would hurt the least to heal?

The cuts on her arm from yesterday. They had already started to close up, and they were small. Just one wouldn’t take her very long. She moved her hand and covered one cut with her fingers, taking a moment to focus and breathe before she began.

The man smiled. “Ambitious, aren’t you? Go on then, since you chose your arm. Fix them all.”

Her heart dropped. “N-no! You said one more! I didn’t mean-”

He cut her off again. “Right, and now I said them all. Go on. Do I need to remind you of the consequences your actions can bring?”

He’ll kill you. He will.

She shook her head, trying to be calm. She would-she had to try.

She whimpered as soon as her magic made contact with the first cut. Her fingers on the hand of the arm being healed curled up and grabbed a fistful of her shirt, trying to brace herself against the pain. It didn’t do much. The dread was almost as bad as the pain, cold fear seeping into her every time she looked at her arm. It was cut up and down-there were at least thirty of them, maybe more.

Worse than anything else was the man’s glare. He was staring at her, with an amused sense of wonder. Every time she looked up, she saw him smiling.

She tried to do as he told her. She did. She knew he would kill her. But after cut six or seven-she had a hard time keeping track, especially because they disappeared without a scar-she let her healing arm drop, her fingers twitching slightly. She couldn’t do it anymore. The pain that had grown was excruciating, worse than anything that had happened before, and her energy was near completely depleted.

“Why the hell did you stop?” the man shouted at her. She looked away from him. She was so exhausted, it was hard to focus. She’d just woken up, but she wanted to curl up and sleep. Using that much magic, in a way she was never supposed to, felt like it sucked the life force out of her just like a leech.

“I-I can only do so much,” she explained. “O-only have so much in me.” Her body was starting to droop, just about ready to give in to sleep.

Clyde didn’t like that answer. He grabbed her arm roughly and returned it to the cuts, but even he could feel that she was becoming loose and limp, from what he assumed was pure exhaustion. When he let her arm down and nothing happened besides a quiet groan from the girl, he gave up.

“That was hardly anything. God, you’re useless. We’ll have to work on that, and your...disregard of my authority. You know, I think I know exactly what to do. Perhaps we’ll take a little trip away from the bathtub tomorrow.”

With that, he turned and left the bathroom. Moments later, Elora turned on her side and slept, left without the time awake to wonder what he meant by that.

@exploringspaceinpyjamas @badthingshappenbingo

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[summahsunlight]

All For You, Part 6

Rating: T

Word Count: 2k+

Pairing: Poe Dameron X Pilot!Reader

Summary: Your life in the Resistance was not easy, being married to Commander Poe Dameron and a skilled pilot yourself. When you unexpectedly get pregnant, your life is forever changed. Raising a child on base is hard, but never having parents of your own as a child, you are determined to love your little girl and give her the best life. Poe is equally as devoted to you and your daughter, vowing to keep you both safe from the impending threat of the First Order.

Taglist: @thescarletknight2014​, @elmoakepoke​, @xxidontwikeitxx​, @liadamerondjarin​, @marvelofwitch​, @blushingwueen​, @april-14-blog​, @softly-sad, @agents-assemble, @paintballkid711​

Taglist is still open! Just let me know if you want to be added!

As the weeks flew by, turning into months since you announced you were pregnant--your belly grew--along with the threat of war.  

With this threat, Poe was handed more missions. You hated to see him go each time fearful that he wouldn’t return.  Each time he left he made sure to promise you he’d come back for you and for your baby girl. When he was on base, he made sure to talk to your belly every morning before getting up and every night before falling asleep. It was rather sweet. 

Some nights you woke up to Poe talking to your baby when he arrived back from a mission. Tonight was one of those nights--you had been in a fitful sleep and then you heard his voice, his lips brushing a soft kiss across your tummy. 

“Hi baby girl,” Poe whispered. “Did you miss me? I missed you.”

“She did; she hasn’t stopped moving since you left,” you murmured.

Poe pressed a kiss to your cheek and then settled down next to you, wrapping his arms around you and his hands caressing your baby bump. “And now?”

You smiled, feeling content and safe in his arms. “She’s settled down. I know that it’s silly, but I think she knows when you’re gone, Poe. And I think she hates it as much as I do.”

He sighed, heavily, like he was carrying the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. “I know.” I do it for you, he added silently.  Poe tightened his hold on you, the baby moved slightly underneath his fingers, and he smiled. “Hey baby girl, settle down so mama can sleep. I’m home for now.”

Almost immediately the baby stopped moving. You weren’t sure if it was coincidence or if the baby really was listening to her father--either way the beaming look in Poe’s eyes was worth it enough to keep your doubts to yourself. Force did he love that little baby and he had yet to even hold her. It made your heart burst with so many different emotions. “She’s so lucky to have you. I wish I’d had a daddy like you when I was a baby. Mine just left me.”

“I’ll never leave her, sweetheart.”

“I know. Even when you’re gone, you haven't truly left her.”

Poe pressed soft kisses to your shoulder and gently stroked your tummy. “She’s my world, just like you are. I wish I could give her the galaxy.”

You chuckled and wiped at the tears in your eyes. “Somehow... I think you might just pull that off. You’re stubborn and determined enough.”

He laughed, softly and tenderly kissed you. “I may not be able to give her the galaxy, sweetheart, but I promise you, I will give her a good home. And when this whole thing with the First Order is over and we can go home, I can’t wait to explore Yavin with her.”

The image of your daughter, laughing and exploring with Poe, made your heart flutter. You had been to Yavin only a handful of times--the first time when Poe had introduced you to his father.  Life in the military kept you and Poe from visiting more often.  Many times Kes would travel to wherever the Navy had stationed you to visit.  Since you had joined the Resistanfce the only contact with Kes you’d had was occasional holomessages. “Some times I wish we were there right now--that there was no such thing as the First Order.”

“Someday, sweetheart.”

“It’s a nice dream, Poe...”

“For now--eventually it will be reality.”

“How can you be so hopeful, all the time?”

Poe smiled, lovingly. “One of us in this relationship has to be.”

Breathlessly you laughed. “I suppose.” Sleepily you yawned.  Poe kissed you softly and urged you to go back to sleep. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

He hummed, low in his throat. “Yes. Leia promised that Black Squadron can have a few days off to rest. So, you have me at least for a little while.”

You felt a sense of calm wash over you like a gentle wave. When Poe was away your anxiety went through the roof--worrying about him, worrying about the baby, worrying about the safety of the galaxy. Everything just piled on you and somedays you just felt like breaking. Until he came home and pulled you into his arms and talked to your unborn daughter. Feeling that safety and contentment now, you fell back to sleep.

When you woke up early the next morning Poe was snoring softly next to you, his curls falling across his forehead. You smiled, wondering if and hoping that your little girl would have those same curls.  Giving him a soft kiss, you squirmed and wiggled your way out of bed. 

As much as you would have loved sleeping in and snuggling with your husband--your baby was demanding that you eat. Quickly you showered and got dressed, your olive button down shirt just barely fitting over your belly. Pulling your damp hair back, you made your way to the mess hall for breakfast.

It was the first time in a while that you saw the other members of Black Squadron gathered for a meal.

“Whoa,” Snap said with a grin when he saw how big your belly had gotten, “are you sure there’s only one baby in there?”

“Very funny,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Putting your tray down on the table, you attempted to swing one leg over the bench to sit but realized you had finally gotten so big that it was nearly impossible to do this alone. 

Snap looked at you innocently. “Do you need some help?”

Grinding your teeth. “No.” 

It took several seconds, and some intense maneuvering, but you finally managed to sit down at the table. As you began to eat your breakfast you noticed that the others were all watching you, closely. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jess said, quickly adverting her eyes.

“Sorry, we just... we didn’t realize how big you’d gotten,” Karé said.

“I’m carrying a baby,” you reminded them. 

“Yeah...but how many more weeks to go?”

“Eight.”

“But the baby could come any time now right?”

You cocked an eyebrow towards them. What was going on here? “Yes,” you replied, slowly, “Doctor Kalonia said that there’s a chance the baby could come early but most women go beyond their due date with the first baby. Why are you so interested on when the baby might arrive?”

Poe sleepily sat down next to you and laughed, softly. “Because they’re placing bets.”

Snap feigned being offended. “Why can’t we just be interested?”

“I overheard you making the bet the other day.”

“You spy.”

“Don’t talk so loud on the flight pad.”

The baby shifted and you rolled your eyes. “I agree with you baby girl--it was much quieter around here with them all off on some mission.”

Poe laughed and leaned over giving you a kiss on the cheek and then ran his hand across your tummy. “Yeah, but you missed us, admit it.”

He was right of course; you did miss them when they were away from base. You almost hated the quiet as much as you hated the thought of Black Squadron out on dangerous missions. It broke your heart just thinking about losing any one of them. They were the only family that you had since you didn’t have one of your own. “Maybe I missed you, but I’m not so sure the baby missed all the noise.”

You felt his hand gently caress your stomach. “Last night you told me she missed me,” Poe teased, smiling at you with one of his charming grins.

“In my defense I was half-asleep; I’ll say anything.”

“What? We’ve had some great late night talks!”

“Honey, I love you, but sometimes I do that to shut you up.”

Black Squadron burst out laughing, while Poe frowned. Finishing up your breakfast, you leaned over and kissed his cheek. You were going to say something to soften the blow, but a sharp pain shot up your abdomen and you winced.  This caused all of Black Squadron to stop and stare at you, Poe immediately hovering and asking if you were alright.

You pushed him back a little, needing some air and space. “I’m fine,” you said with a little shake of your head. “Just some back pain.” But even as you said this, another pain shot up your body and this time you gasped.

Poe stood up, helping you to your feet. “That’s it, we’re going to see the doctor.” He knew something had to be wrong when you didn’t argue with him. On the inside he was screaming and panicking, but on the outside he needed to stay calm for you and the baby. 

“She can’t come now!” you gasped. “It’s too soon!”

“It’s not too soon,” Poe assured you. “She’ll be fine.”

“But we haven’t even put the crib together!”

“Baby, we’ll figure that out later. Let’s just get you to the doctor.”

------

Poe had been requested to stay outside in the waiting area.  This made him panic even more; if Kalonia thought the baby was arriving at this very moment whey wouldn’t she left him come back to the examination room with you? 

Running his hands over his face, Poe tried to take a deep, calming breath. He had been telling himself for the last twenty minutes that nothing was wrong, that you and the baby were going to be fine. The truth was he was terrified that he was about to lose either one of you--or worse yet--both of you.

“Commander?” a voice said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Is my wife okay?” Poe asked, jumping to his feet.

Kalonia gave him a soft smile. “Both mother and baby are fine; the pain your wife was experiencing was due to the placenta beginning to tear away from the  uterine wall.”

Poe wasn’t a doctor but he was sure what he had just been wasn’t good. “So... she isn’t going into labor?”

She shook her head. “No. But she will have to be on bed rest until the baby comes; staying off her feet and less stress will slow the tearing of the placenta--it might not stop it, but at least the damage will be minimal. It means things are little riskier now.”

He nodded. If you had to stay off your feet until the baby arrived--he was going to make sure it happened. But riskier? His heart stopped beating thinking about it. “What...what do you mean by that?”

“The tear could make labor and delivery more complicated,” Kalonia answered him, honestly. “It just means my staff and I will have to keep a closer eye on her.” 

“Complicated?” Poe repeated, his voice edgy. “Are they...are they going to be alright?”

“Women who are considered high-risk give birth to healthy babies all the time, Commander,” Kalonia assured him. “Your wife will be no different.”

“But there...there could be the chance...” he stammered, unable to bring himself to even say the words. Just thought of losing you and the baby tore him up. He felt Kalonia gently place her hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. Poe took a deep breath knowing that he had to calm down for your sake. “I’m sorry, doctor.”

Kalonia shook her head. “Don’t be sorry, Commander. You have every right to be anxious. As long as your wife follows doctor’s orders, I’m sure everything will go smoothly once the baby arrives.”

Poe chuckled. It was going to be difficult getting you to follow her orders. “Looks like BeeBee-Ate just got a new job, making sure she stays in bed when I’m not around.” He thanked the doctor and proceeded to head back into the med bay to find you and to bring you back to your quarters, immediately. 

You were just finishing up putting your boots back on when Poe stepped into the room. “I suppose Doctor Kalonia told you I have to be off my feet until the baby comes.”

He nodded calmly. “She did. It’s gonna be fine, sweetheart.”

Chewing on your lower lip, you sighed, “How am I going to do my job? The Resistance is too important for me to just lay around! And the baby? What if she isn’t okay because I pushed myself so hard?”

“Let’s get you to bed, then we’ll figure that out, okay?”

“Why are you so calm?”

“Because everything is going to work out, baby. Promise.”

Even as terrified as you were, you somehow believed him--everything was going be fine

[sweetmemories2606]

Gruvia Day 2020: Perfect Beginning

Morning, everyone!

Let us all celebrate the glory of today. A day which does not happen often, but is so special and beautiful.

I'm talking about Gruvia Day, of course. It is time to shower our ship with love and perhaps a little angst too.

Here's the info about the story: 

Title: Perfect Beginning 

Summary: Gray and Juvia's first date went perfectly, reminding her of a time when she had thought that a romance like this only existed in books. Finding herself happier than she had been in a long time, she wondered if perhaps their story could have a happy ending after all. 

Word Count: 2K

Genre: Fluff and (minor) Angst

Warnings: This one-shot is set on Ch 4 of Answers, thus I'd advise you to read at least the 1st chapter because there are MAJOR SPOILERS for the story.

Happy reading!

                                    __________________

                                    Perfect Beginning

                                        July 5th, X791

"This place is beautiful" Juvia looked around the field of sunflowers with a serene smile. They were just outside of Crocus, though this place was so quiet it felt like the city was far away.

“I’m glad you like it.” Gray watched her with a soft smile while he set the flowery blanket on the grass then put the basket filled with sweets which Mira had prepared on top of it.

After they had decided to get together the day before, he had asked her on a date to which she had enthusiastically agreed. Panicking because he had no idea what to do, Gray had come to Erza and Mirajane for help in the planning. 

Listening to their ideas, he hadn't been so sure until Alzack and Bisca, who had been listening to them, suggested that Gray take Juvia on a picnic. The couple noted how this is what they had done for their first date. Judging by how they were now happily married with a daughter, Gray sensed it was a good idea.

"So, who gave you the idea for a picnic?" Juvia asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

He raised a brow. "You don't believe I came up with this myself?"

She chuckled and shook her head. "Nope. I know you're not much of a romantic." 

He feigned disbelief and hurt. "Hey, I can be very romantic." Standing up and closing the distance between them, he snaked his arms around her waist. 

"Oh, yeah?" Juvia asked while her arms encircled his neck. They leaned in for a passionate kiss, then another. 

Everything felt so perfect, like a fairy tale. Juvia remembered a time when she had wondered if a romance like this existed outside of books.  

                                 __________________

                                    Many years ago….

"What are still you doing up, child?" Irene came into her room for the daily check up. Instead of being asleep like she was supposed to, Juvia had been reading a book. Immersed in the experience, she hadn't heard the older woman until now. 

"Sorry, Irene," The young girl whispered, putting the book on her bedside table. "I'll go to sleep now."

The Scarlet Queen glanced at the object, focusing on the title, before frowning. "Beauty and the Beast again? Aren't you tired of reading this one?"

Juvia shrugged. "It's my favourite." 

Curious, the older woman sat on the red chair beside the bed. "Why is that?" 

"Well…." The young girl was thoughtful for a moment. "Belle loves reading, just like me." 

"That is true," Irene smiled softly. "But what else?"

"I like that Beast lets her go even though he knows that she could break the curse." Juvia noted once a similar smile adorned her face. "It's like my mamma used to say, true love means putting someone else first."

The former suddenly seemed nostalgic and melancholic. "She was right." 

"Are you okay?" The latter was concerned.

"I'm alright," Reassured the older woman, but her sniffle betrayed this statement. 

Silence fell upon them as Irene was lost in thought and Juvia watched her curiously. Once she felt enough time had passed, the young girl posed a rather complicated but not surprising question. "Irene…do you believe that true love exists?"

It took the Scarlet Queen a while to respond. "I do."

Thoughtful again, Juvia followed up with "Then how do I find it?"

Irene shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know, child." Setting the book back on the bedside table, she stood and approached the bed. 

Glancing at the now frowning child, she offered a reassuring smile. "But I'm sure you will find it someday." 

Juvia's frown gave way to a hopeful look. "You are?" 

"I am," Irene nodded before leaning down to press a gentle kiss atop the girl's forehead. Then the older woman urged her to lie down against the pillow and placed the blanket over her. 

Once the child was comfortably settled, Irene stepped back and glanced at her softly. "Your parents..." Juvia's sleepy eyes immediately became alert. "What they had was true love, so I'm sure that you can have it too." 

                                   __________________

Thinking about her parents, Juvia pulled away from the kiss. Noticing her sadness, Gray immediately became concerned. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," She reassured, but the tears that began falling suggested otherwise. He wiped them away gently, keeping one arm around her, holding her close.

Grateful for his support, she tried to compose herself in order not to ruin their date. This wasn't the time to think about her parents or how much she missed them. This was a day for her and Gray to enjoy themselves and explore the new direction which their relationship was taking.

Taking deep breaths, Juvia soon managed to stop crying and offered an apology. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologise," He assured while wiping away the last remaining tears. "I understand." 

"Thank you," Able to smile again, she briefly glanced at the picnic basket then back at him. "Now, how about we really begin our date?"

Gray watched her for a moment. "Are you sure? Because if you want to talk about..."

Juvia shook her head. "Not now." Noticing his uncertain expression, she put on a brighter smile. "Right now..." She took his hand. "...I would like to enjoy the wonderful picnic that my boyfriend so kindly prepared."

He nodded. "Okay, then." After squeezing her hand, he led her to sit down on the blanket before grabbing the picnic basket. "You know, it feels weird to hear you call me your boyfriend." 

"Yeah, it does." Juvia agreed. Despite having fantasised for so long that they would get together, the term 'boyfriend' felt out of place.

There was a moment of silence while he took out the strawberry cake and cut up two large pieces. Accepting the plate he had offered, she added. "I won't do it again." 

Unexpectedly, Gray smiled. "Nah, it's okay. I guess I just need more time to get used to it, that's all." 

"That makes sense." Juvia nodded before diving into the cake. While enjoying the sweet, her mind replayed the wonderful moments that they had shared in the last 24 hours, specially their first kiss. 

                                   __________________

                                     One day before

"What's wrong, darling?" Juvia watched as Gray nervously ran his hands through his hair.

He had asked her to come with him outside the infirmary so that they could talk, yet he had said nothing.

"I need… I need to tell you something." He finally looked her in the eyes.

"What is it?" Heart hammering inside her chest; she hoped this was the long awaited moment of his confession.

"Well, I…You see..." Gray stumbled with his words.

"Perhaps we can talk later?" Juvia suggested, gently.

"No." He firmly denied. "I have to do this now."

She waited again. Nothing. "Maybe you could show me what you mean?"

During the time she had known him, it had become clear that he was more a man of action than words.

His eyes widened before nervousness morphed into determination. He moved quickly but cautiously. An arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer while watching her reaction.

Juvia smiled, arms instinctively encircling his neck. Then, his free hand reached for her cheek and softly stroked it for a moment.

Gray started leaning in. "Juvia, can I…."

She didn't let him finish. "Yes."

Their first kiss was passionate and even though it didn't happen the way Juvia had been dreaming of, she loved it nonetheless.

(Scene taken from Answers, Chapter 1)

                                   __________________

"What are you thinking about?" Gray asked after a few minutes, setting his empty plate aside. 

"I was just remembering when you kissed me the first time." Juvia chose to be honest. 

"Oh." A slight blush coloured his cheeks. "That was rather...embarrassing."

"It was very sweet," She softly remarked. 

"Thanks." Still blushing, Gray searched into the picnic basket for two caramade franks. 

Her eyes widened. "Where did you get those?"

"Gajeel found a store 2 days ago, so he told me about it last night," He explained while offering one to her. 

Accepting it, Juvia was genuinely surprised. "Gajeel...helped you with this?"

Gray chuckled at her reaction. "Yeah. He really cares about you, so I guess that's why he helped me make this date as perfect as possible." 

Taking a bite of the caramade frank, she reminded herself to thank Gajeel later for truly being her best friend. "That's good. I was hoping you two could get along." 

The ice mage smiled. "I know this is important to you, so I'll try." 

She returned it. "Thank you." 

                                   __________________

The rest of their date went smoothly and both had an enjoyable time. They got to know each other better, learning the most basic and trivial details such as their favourite colours. 

"I do love blue." She expectedly answered, making him laugh. "I figured." 

"What about yours?" Juvia questioned a moment later. 

Having finished eating,Gray moved closer to sit by her side. "Well, actually mine is silver."

"Really?" She stared at him in surprise. "May I ask why?"

Gray's expression turned melancholic once he answered. "It was my father's name."

This led into a conversation which they hadn't been eager for, but it was important nonetheless. He shared details about his parents, Ur and Deliora. 

Juvia was aware of most of his backstory, but there was new information such as the scarf which Ur had put around him and Lyon; it was the reason why he always wore one in the winter despite not feeling cold. The water mage also learned about his favourite childhood toy, a polar bear which had been gifted on his 1st birthday; as far as he remembered.

Gray even told her about the year before he joined Fairy Tail and the adventures he had. For once in his life, he opened up about everything, no reservations nor secrets. He trusted her fully. 

Alternatively, Juvia had to hide many details when they shifted the conversation to her childhood and family life. Trained to know how to lie and manipulate, she made her stories about growing up in an orphanage without anyone to call a friend sound sincere. 

It weighed on her conscience to be lying to him after he had been so honest, but there was no alternative. The truth needed to stay hidden, for both of their sakes. 

                                   __________________

Concealing her guilt was hard, but luckily Gray mistook this for sadness and held her in a tight embrace. His attempt to comfort her soon led to a make-out session and she found herself lying beneath him on of the flowery blanket. 

It was the perfect distraction from the complications of her life, so it's not like she was complaining. In fact, she was hoping their moment wouldn't have to end, but unfortunately their need for air eventually surpassed their desire for closeness. 

Gray got off from her and moved to lay by her side. Sweaty and breathless, they glanced at each other with mirroring smiles. "Wow. That was..."

 "I know." Juvia brought a hand to his cheek, stroking it gently. "Thank you."

"Of course." He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, recalling that Lyon did that all the time and most women seemed to find it charming. 

Juvia smiled even brighter at this. "I really didn't expect you to be so..." 

He raised a brow in expectation. "What?"

She leaned in for a soft kiss. "Romantic."

Gray smirked. "I told you. I can be very romantic if I want to." 

"So you've never wanted to before?" She inquired, recalling their friends telling her how he was the least romantic person they knew. 

He fixed her with an adoring look. "I hadn't found someone worth being romantic for." 

It was the sweetest declaration, so she couldn't help it but to enthusiastically kiss him, to which he eagerly returned.

Even though he hadn't said those three words yet, Juvia knew that he was in love as much as she was. This made her heart swell with joy and reminded her of the first time she had watched two people fall in love.

                                   __________________

                                    Many years ago...

Juvia sat beside a great oak tree in the gardens, watching the couple embrace. Ajeel Rahmal, a young prince who had recently joined the Spriggan 12, held his now girlfriend, Nadia, tightly. Both seemed immensely glad and relieved after having confessed their feeling. It was the most heartwarming sight. 

"They look so happy," Juvia observed, smiling softly. 

"They do." Turning to her right, she found that Irene had returned from her brief chat with the emperor. The older woman seemed happy too once her eyes found the couple. 

Noticing them kiss, Juvia couldn't help but wonder. "Irene, do you think they will get married?"

Irene stared at her in surprise before raising a brow. "What makes you think that?" 

"Well, according to the books I've read, when two people love each other they get married," The young girl  innocently replied.

"Oh, yes." Irene nodded. "They always end like that, don't they?" She seemed lost in thought for a moment before sighing. "It's a shame that real life doesn't work that way." 

"What do you mean?" Juvia was confused, but also curious. 

The older woman was clearly trying to hide her bitterness, but it still showed. "Just that there isn't always a happy ending."

"I know," The young girl frowned. "My parents...They didn't get one." 

For some reason, Irene looked guilty for a moment. However, her expression soon returned to sorrowful. "They didn't." 

With the mood now heavy and gloomy, they fell silent. Their attention returned to the couple and both felt envious at their happiness. Then, once the silence was becoming unbearable, Irene offered the young girl an assuring smile. "But that doesn't mean that you can't have one." 

"So you think I can be happy..." Juvia glanced at the couple just as they laughed at something Ajeel had said. "...like them?"

"I'm sure you can." Irene knelt down to her level, placing both hands on the young girl's shoulder. "You're beautiful, kind and brave." She brushed back a strand of blue hair. "Just like your mother." 

"Thank you." Juvia blushed at the compliments. 

"I wouldn't be surprised if, someday, you found someone who will love you as much as your father loved her." Irene told her, genuinely. 

"And then we'll get married?" The young girl asked, hopeful. 

The older woman chuckled, then nodded. "Yes. Maybe you'll get a happy ending just like in your books."

[helahades]

By the Water Fountain

(Natasha Romanova x Black!Fem!Reader)

A/N: This is my entry into @fanfictionaries trope challenge! I sort of completely twisted the prompt up. Mine was Best Friend’s Brother.

This fic doubles as a songfic for Water Fountain by Alec Benjamin.

I recommend listening to that song before reading. ( on youtube // on spotify )

Warnings: Red Room like abuse. Codependency. Trauma. Angst. Rejection. Seriously, abuse. Everyone is abused. Injury. Dissociation. Trauma.

Word Count: 3.4k

—

Under a blended peach sky, and during the in between that hangs both the sun and moon, a pretty girl is thinking about her soft and unshakable love for you.

Practice is over, and you’re smiling, looking out across the courtyard from where you sit with Natasha on the fountain’s edge.

“Do’ya ever want to get married, Natalia?”

When you say her name, it’s tangy and sharp, the Russian way, with a hint of Spanish, but gentle all the same. A drip of nectarine streams over your lip and down your chin, and you don’t even catch and cover it like you might if you weren’t high on dreams.

This dance academy seems like forever sometimes—its been years of your life since they demanded your recruitment—but you always take time to dream. If you don’t, Nat won’t, and her unspoken appreciation of your hope keeps the both of you warm.

At first, because she can’t help it, she thinks about marrying you, as if that’s what you meant.

“Maybe someday, I guess,” comes a thoughtful monotone that only Nat can conjure, “Why—you thinking about marrying Alec?”

“God no,” you huff, cuddling into her shoulder as the fruit goes bitter. She opens up to you physically in a minute way, receiving your warmth and closeness despite the neutrality of the coming breeze.

“Well...I just don’t know actually,” you continue, “The two of us fell in love way too young, you know… And I needed him then, so maybe it was more like dependence.”

Shifting on the cool stone of the fountain's edge, you are suddenly aware of the way the tights sit on the skin of your thighs, stretching with each movement.

It becomes hard not to think about the love shell you’re trapped in. Everyone at the academy has found a different way to cope, and for some, including the you of the past, that meant lying with someone just to remember intimacy.

That was before. Before you knew the meaning of the word, and before after dance practice naps in your little haven turned into kissing and heat and softness.

Some days, swaddled up and tangled with the other, you would press kisses under Nat’s jaw, where she smelled like cinnamon and flowers and fabric softener, and she would giggle like the world never gave any weight to feeling. She would dance her fingers along your spine when the peach stretched into moonlight, and the darkness would stun her into remembering you’re promised to another. Her brother.

“Sometimes, Nat…I think I love you instead, and that kinda scares me.”

You look at her, you squeeze the sour fruit.

She says nothing.

Her rejection is acid to your soul.

—

Shadows and blown glass and dried petals and the wood of your apartment at sunset.

It all runs through Natasha’s mind in a haze when she begins to think about the energy here and why she loves it, and why it feels so secret. She doesn’t go this far, but it all feels like sapphic poetry that a man might try to capture, but would never understand if he barged in here. It’s a secret world made for fond hearts.

When the both of you are here, you can pretend that your instructor doesn’t make you repeat across the floor routines til you bleed, or that you haven’t been criticized to the point of tears and vice. You shed the day together, so that when the masks go on in the morning, they aren’t shoved away by the bends of emotion. You touch and whisper and still yourselves passionately, being at one with dancing dust and ticking clocks.

Some days, you can’t explain, but she always understands, it’s easier to lie still and it feels like autonomy after a day of being forced to move. You can’t stop stretching your ankles and marking routines, and some nights you wake sobbing when the transition of a routine leaves you. But she’s here, like she always is, as you are for her.

You remind her to eat, when to stop, and when to put on clothes when the AC chill rattles too bitingly. You dream for her, until she can do it alone, and her soft grins grow into beaming cheesy smiles.

When you kiss her, she’s sweet. Her lips are plump and hydrated (because you can only stop dancing to drink water) and she makes soft sweet sounds against you that run down your throat and into your heart.

When she kisses you, she’s breathless, and she remembers all the ways you taught her to dream. She likes to hold your hand and kiss you languidly or sharply, like you have all the time, or none of it. Hands pushing up tank tops, thighs between each other, collarbone kisses, then Alec. He comes to take Nat home, to tell her it’s time to go, and he kisses you hard and scratchy before slamming the door, stealing your peace, and shattering your haven.

—

It’s not that you don’t like Alec. You did at one point, even feel in love with him. His energy is as strong as his body, and he seems to comically be everything Natasha isn’t. He fills rooms with overwhelming charm, his dancing is sharp, agile, cutting through the air like licks of flame.

You prefer to see Natasha dance in her tortured grace, she can be quick, but when allowed, her grace is slow like a bloom and moves outward from her form.

Natasha and Alec both have learned how to play this system. They’re both clever and witty, but Natasha is the best because of natural skill, while Alec is exceptional because he still runs the sibling rival race that Natasha dropped from years ago.

Alec plays everything to win, he is outwardly passionate, and to be the focus of his attentions is a life secured in… something. You love him in the way that you must love someone that is good enough, that can get you out of here.

If Natasha would say the word, you would leave him. She doesn’t hesitate because of some familial loyalty. Her brother isn’t a jerk, necessarily, just oblivious to the finer things. Nothing about the unique circumstances they’ve survived together brought them closer together as siblings. Natasha didn’t know that hurt people could heal from two into one. She didn’t know people should have someone to confide in, and you don’t really either.

Alec is just… a pleaser. A source of abject power in social circles. He rides the line of knowing how to deliver performance, but knowing which one will get the right results. He controls. And he is incredibly hedonistic. It’s hard not to compare this with how you and your best friend only try to pleasure the other. She lives for your smiles, even if they’re just chemical, and even if she has to squint for them in the moonlight.

There’s just something about having someone who knows hurt in the same way as you without explanation. You scratch a line in the baseboard by your door when one of you sprains or breaks an ankle again from the incessant repetitions forced upon you at the academy. You’re both fucked up enough to laugh about it.

You roll frozen water bottles over knots and stretch through the resistance of scar tissue. When the sky falls into the time of buttery peach, she falls into you, warm like sunset and lovers’ candles. You like to kiss between her thighs, where she smells sweet like sugar cane, even like bubbly hand soap, and you kiss the moons where her nails dug into her thighs too hard when she tried not to let the instructor make her cry. In the soft tissue of your underarms, when you fold over her, sometimes you feel the gentle drag of her body’s scattered hairs. And it’s intimate in ways unspeakable.

She’s pink everywhere. In her cheeks, in the reflection of her hair on the walls, between her thighs, and her lips. She feels vulnerable with you. It’s enjoyable in a way she resists some days. Reminds her of getting tickled. She hates it just like she hates not being able to pull the thread back that unwinds from her heart, and the way she opens when you smile at her.

It’s intimate and innocent the way you learn how another woman’s body can be different. The rounds of your nipples are wider, darker, softer in their edges. The curls of the hair on your mound roll into you, framing you, while Natasha’s aim down, straight, the way rain points down windows. Your eyes are honeyed caramel, Natasha’s are the splashes from the water fountain. You could look at each other forever. But you don't. You have class in the morning.

A frigid and grating rap of knuckles lets you know Alec is here. Shooting up, it’s a flurry of sweatpants and tossed scrunchies, a routine you and your best friend know too well. When you come to the door, he pushes in like he does, kisses you with the sharp grating of his newly shaved face. He groans into it, pulling you in with a scoop of a muscled arm. When he pulls away, your head drops. You can’t see her cat eyes, her firey hair, her composed face wearing its mask before she really should.

“Nat. Walk yourself alone, tonight,” Alec commands into the night, eyeing you with the calm and cool intent of predation, freezing the wax of your candles. The crickets seem too hush outside.

Nat makes for the door, with a face that reads as stoic to anyone who can’t read the slight upward curl of her lips. She pulls the ends up like strings, lest they melt into a grimace in front of this man made of fire.

“Are you sure”—

You knew it was futile before you began. He raises an eyebrow like you’re crazy, and she’s looking back, just for a second, eyes like oceans, before she picks up her bag and is out the door, walking brusquely across the quad.

You wish the chill had swallowed you instead. That you had slammed the door.

Motions happen.

You pull off your shirt, because he never knows how, he carries you to your little bed. His belt buckle hits the floor like a gunshot, and when he crawls over you, you stare at the ceiling.

—

“Baby,” he nudges.

When he touches you, you leap out of the fog, sleep leaving in a gasp.

He knows.

When he passed out without learning to perfectly spot during fouettés, they dumped buckets of ice water on his bare back. Poked him in the ribs for not improving his cambré. Made him balance relevé in the snow, naked, for falling out of it on an off day. You know why he’s the best. And it’s not because he wants to be.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, accent tumbling. He rolls closer to where you sit, hands pulling your waist til you’re close enough to gather in his arms. He tugs you to lie with him. It’s comfortable enough.

“Baby,” he starts again, massaging a welt on your shoulder, “we need to get out of here.”

You want to scream at how obvious it is. You think about how you’ve cried it on your bathroom floor. How Natasha would say “One day.”

“And baby,” he whispers again, soft like he can’t stop, always, every night, “we’re doing it together.”

He presses a ring into your hand. It might not fit, it’s most likely stolen. But that’s not the point.

“I love you.”

The innocence has left.

—

The sun has risen, the sky is white like it’s running off a dandelion, and you’re in class.

Rose. Roza. You’re the rose, the pretty flower, paired with fire for a man.

You’re in the middle of a showcase—new dancers, new victims watching your display, sitting in a line against the mirrors, watching your demonstration with Alec before they themselves will go on and show their best.

It’s controlled—always. Each turnout and disengagement from the floor matches a single piano note. You face away from each other, the idea being that you can only trust yourself to be on time, and that your partner must know you won’t fail. There is a lift at the end, that depends on this synchronization, and if you fall before Alec comes ready from his pirouette, you’ll surely be injured. He’s always ready, it’s hardly a worry.

Launching out of your plié, you spin like leaves in the wind, like the flower they named you. Catching his eye as he plants after the pirouette, he catches you by the hips, raising you with a press of his shoulders. A gentle wrist, pointed toes, arched back, and the silence of your peers. Nobody claps. Claps are for the surprised.

When Alec lets you down, slowly and controlled, at least fifteen seconds after the final note, you catch a red bun when your vision levels. Mask sealed.

—

“Did you get home safe?”

“We don’t have homes.”

“Clearly not,” you spit, burning with her rejection.

Her face says nothing. You can only hear the spouting, rushing water.

“Does it not matter to you, Natalia,” you question, voice breaking slowly.

Her voice never comes.

“We’re getting married—Alec and I…”

You say it carefully. Like a threat. Hoping she’ll care.

“I remember the you that couldn’t imagine that.”

“I remember the you that didn’t make me want to.”

She looks bored. Like she’s waiting through the tantrum of a child. Your heart swells. Irritated with anger. Mask cracking.

You turn the ring in your pocket, upset with letting her win. Upset with knowing this is how it ends, and that your one day isn’t together. Upset with spending endless nights growing into her, just for her to watch you leave with indifference.

Pulling out a coin, the one that matches hers, the ones that you found before the fountain, you watch where she sits. You watch until she looks at you, and slide it closer to the water. You don’t push it in.

“He says he loves me. Who knows if he means it. But he said it...and you didn’t. I can’t be here forever, Nat.”

She blinks, willing words to come, and as you walk away, they still haven’t.

The sky turns sour.

—

Porcelain. Smooth, painted baby angel porcelain. You twirl like you’re in a music box, like a spring propels you. You dance until the days blend together, and you perform for Americans. You dance until they want to take you.

The rose and the flame.

—

Your American pointes are stiff. They expect you to break in new ones. When the sky turns peach, you’re under fluorescents, twirling like the wind. Twirling for hours.

“I heard Americans smell like wet dogs.”

He doesn’t bother to be quiet, and he’s smiling with the promise of intertwined futures. It also helps that no one practices as late as you, lovers more in love with a journey to come.

“I heard they have a lot of money.”

“That, they do, Roza,” his tongue rolls Russian, and he crosses to kiss the tips of your fingers. He’s so sweet in the nights.

His hands are unwrapped, his regular shoes are on the floor. Your eyes flicker to them, disapproving, before looking at him. Regular shoes scuff the dance floor.

“What will they do?”

He pulls your arms out of third, pulls your hands into his, stroking your locked up knuckles, undoing the forced curves of your hands. He’s telling you to come with him. To rest your overworked body. There will be plenty of time to practice in America.

It’s a sweet moment, soured only by being the wrong ending, and your unfinished business.

“Come with me. It’s our last night in this stupid place. Let’s celebrate.”

You let him pull you close. You kiss him and you mean it.

“I just have one thing to do.”

—

Knocking on Nat’s door, you realize it’s the first time you’ve done so and been unsure if she would answer. It’s 2am, after all, and the words you spoke before were very final.

When the door swings open, not enough time passes for a wait. She hadn’t been sleeping. There aren’t many words. There doesn’t have to be. What would you even say, really?

You go for a hug, but closing the distance, it morphs into a kiss. A gentle one. A sweet meet of the lips. A goodbye. Then, both of you are crying. Neither of you knows enough about America, enough about life without the other...but too much about saying goodbye.

There aren’t any words because they’re the kind of words you’ve already said to other people. The words that you hate to hear, that have been wrung too many times from the back of your throat to cover the spaces between that no language can. There aren’t words to say how this sucks.

Your lover, your confidante, your supporter. You try not to think about that strange fight. You try not to think about how she couldn’t say she loves you. You both know she does. Only she knows that her love won’t save you from this place. If you leave and have a boring life with Alec in some city or countryside, at least no one will beat you again. No more broken ankles, and no more bad jokes about them.

Some place squeezes in the back of your throat, pulling at the wells of your eyelids. When she pulls out your coin, the one you left behind, she presses it into your hand, watery tears on her pink cheeks, and she looks like a peach sky. Standing together with silent tears, it’s a moment before you calm them, breathing together like you would when tears meant harder hits.

You put the coin in your bra, giggling, because there’s nowhere else for it to go. She giggles too, and it’s a stupid thing, but the thing you find, because something needs to do. Something needs to be tallied in the baseboards.

“He’s waiting for me,” you whisper in your watery voice.

It’s always like this. Someone always has to start it with a timer.

You come closer because she’s so warm.

She strokes your face, pushing back some fly away hairs.

“You’ll do amazing. Don’t mess it up there. Don’t doubt yourself. Don’t be afraid of them…”

She pauses, conducting the waves that threaten her composure.

“Don’t forget me...I won’t forget you.”

And that is the most she can give. That is her love, in different words, and that is the most she can say without you deciding to stay. You’d tough it all out with her, but it wouldn’t be right. She will make it out. You need to believe it.

You kiss her again. You hold her hands, and you walk away before more tears fall.

—

When you wake up, your back and legs ache, but the sunlight is in your bones, and your soul is light with new beginnings, and mourning like you’re already gone.

Alec made love to you last night, and you enjoyed it. Maybe… maybe there’s some understanding. Maybe life won’t be bad.

When you’re walked to the car that will take you to the plane, you pass the water fountain. The sky is blinding and empty. So is the seat that Nat usually takes. You taste nectarines.

Alec squeezes your shoulder, and you’re back in the moment. He tells you he loves you, the wind twirling around like a blessing. It feels unearned.

It’s an easy car ride, and as time clicks by on the digital clock, you recoil at the car freshener blowing into your nose with the biting freeze of the air conditioner. You can’t stop watching that clock. You take moments when you know Natasha’s alarm is ringing on her floor, when class starts, when lunch begins.

You think about what the American schedule will be like all the way to the plane. You wonder where you’ll go when the sky turns peach.

Soaring over cities, you see water. You see the glimmer of Nat’s tears, and you wonder if she’ll see the same sea when she makes it out.

You wonder if she’ll think of you too.

—

(reblogs appreciated!)

tags: @xbuchananbarnes (ty honey) @invisibleanonymousmonsters (ily) @threeminutesoflife @honeychicanawrites @sapphirescrolls @tropicalcap @mariahthelioness29 @avintagekiss24 @allaboardthereadingrailroad @venusbarnes @hurricanerin

[ohmyprodigalson]

Idk what. Just Malcolm/reader fluff. Thanks!!!

I was a little influenced by one of my previous fics, I hope that’s ok!

There are no trigger warnings 😊

Word Count: 1,851

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It was bitterly cold outside and (Y/N) was happy to be enveloped by the warmth of the cafe. Ainsley wanted to meet up and hang out with (Y/N), and she recommended this new place that she heard about from her coworkers. After looking around for a minute, she found Ainsley sitting at a table up against the wall. (Y/N) ordered her latte and sat down across from her with a greeting.

"How are you? It's been a while since we've hung out like this."

Ainsley smiled back at (Y/N). "It has! I've been doing really well. You?"

"Pretty good. Work has been really busy."

They talked and caught up with each other's lives, laughing and smiling the whole time. But Ainsley had an ulterior motive for being there. She tried to be smooth about it, but there is no way to be smooth about something like this.

"Do you like rings?"

What an odd question. (Y/N) looked down at the two rings she was wearing. "I do, actually. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. I always thought rings could say a lot about a person. White gold vs yellow gold, the stones, the cut... There are just so many options." Ainsley paused before continuing. "What do you like?"

(Y/N) thought for a moment. Was Ainsley asking this because of Malcolm? It would be very sweet of him, but (Y/N) didn’t want to make assumptions. "I don't care for yellow gold. White or rose gold is nice. And I like nearly all stones. Sorry to be vague, I just like a wide variety of rings." She wasn't lying. If a ring was pretty, she liked it. There wasn't a specific type that she liked.

(Y/N)'s answer wasn't terribly helpful. Maybe she needed a little push? But Ainsley had to try and keep everything non-assuming. "Well, if someone wanted to get you a ring, and it could be anything you want, what would it look like?"

So Malcolm was going to get (Y/N) a ring after all. Thinking about it this way, (Y/N)'s answer warped into something else. "If someone wanted to get a ring for me, I actually would want it to be something that they like. Yes, I would prefer white or rose gold, but everything else is something I would want to be decided on by the person getting the ring. I don't know why, but I kind of want the ring to be a reminder of the person that gave it to me, so I want some of the design to be their choice."

Ainsley was a little taken aback. She didn't expect such a deep and thoughtful answer, when it would be so easy to describe a perfect ring. But as she thought about (Y/N)'s answer, Aisnley became less and less surprised. It is exactly the kind of thing (Y/N) would say. A smile spread across her face. "That's lovely, (Y/N)." (Y/N) smiled back at her as she started to push the conversation out of her mind. She didn't want to be mistaken about Malcolm getting a ring for her. And if he did, she wanted it to be a surprise.

Later that afternoon Malcolm found himself standing inside a jewelry store. He didn’t quite know where to start because jewelry was such a foreign concept for him. Ainsley had told him what (Y/N) said about rings, and not only did he find her thoughts touching, but he was secretly grateful she didn't have a bunch of preferences he wouldn't even understand. He let out a sigh and took a step towards the counter with rings on display.

A worker at the store asked Malcolm if he would like any help. "I'm looking to buy an engagement ring, but I would like to take a look around for a minute, please."

The worker smiled brightly at him. "Oh, how wonderful! Well, just let me know if you need help."

Malcolm started looking at all of the rings before him. There were endless choices when picking out a ring, weren't there? He spent quite a bit of time scouring the display for the perfect qualities. When he finally made his decision, he called the worker back over and asked to design the ring himself. The worker was delighted and helped him visualize what it would look like. When Malcolm finished and left the store, there was a pep in his step. He just finished the first task needed to ask (Y/N) to be his wife.

It took a few weeks for the ring to be made, but when he picked it up from the store, he thought it was perfect. Holding it in his hand made him consider the actual proposal. What should he do? He wanted it to be everything (Y/N) ever dreamed of, but what would that be? Could he get Ainsley to talk to her about it? Malcolm decided to ask Ainsley to help him, thinking that would be the best.

(Y/N) and Ainsley were walking together as they talked instead of sitting in another cafe. They talked about the usual things until there was a pause in the conversation. No time like the present, Ainsley decided to ask the important questions.

"Have you ever thought about getting married? Just in general. You know, like when you were a little girl?"

"I'm sure we all have thought about getting married at some point. And I've always had a soft spot for wedding TV shows..." (Y/N) followed her last words with nervous laughter about her guilty pleasure. "How about you? Is there anything special you would like someday?"

"I always get hung up on the proposal. How romantic it will be. I would actually go so far as to tell their friends what I would like." Ainsley smiled. Maybe she will make it out of the conversation without ruining the surprise.

"Oh, I'm the complete opposite."

Ainsley's eyes grew wide with surprise but she kept her smile. "Really?"(Y/N) had a small smile as she looked up above her at the leaves, changing color. "I want it to be a complete surprise; the surprise of my life. I only have one requirement."

"Which is?"

"I don't want other people to be around. I don't want it to he done in front of strangers in a restaurant or in front of our friends and family. I want to have it be a moment just for us." (Y/N) looked back down and at Ainsley, still with a small smile playing across her lips.

Ainsley looked at the ground with a small smile of her own before returning (Y/N)'s gaze. "So that's your only requirement? Is there anything else you would want?"

(Y/N) thought for a moment. "Not really. I've always viewed a proposal as being about the person doing the proposing. It's their declaration of love, not mine. My declaration comes later when I accept the proposal."

Her answer was just as surprising as the one she gave when asked about rings. How could she be so incredibly vague? She really didn't want anything? Ainsley believed her though. (Y/N) was the kind of person that would speak her mind.

(Y/N), for some reason, hadn't thought about Malcolm possibly asking Ainsley to get this information from her. She obviously thought about him, and what it might be like, but it hadn't occurred to her that it might be happening sooner rather than later.

After Ainsley left (Y/N), she called Malcolm. He was just as surprised as she was at (Y/N)'s lack of wishes, but found it endearing. This show of love was supposed to be more than that; it was supposed to be a confirmation of how much they love each other. The only problem was that the only thing he had to start with was 'no people.' Everything else was up to him.

It took him weeks to make the decisions. He tried to keep in mind what she would like while thinking about what he would like, too. In the end, he tried to keep it simple. Yes, this was a huge deal, but it didn't need to be the event of the season.

Malcolm waited until it was a clear night with a bright, full moon. He had told her they were going out to dinner, but when walking past her favorite park, he asked to take a small detour.

They walked close together, her right arm looped around his left. He held her close to him, with his hand over hers on his arm. They laughed and talked until they approached a quaint stone bridge, the reason why she loved the park so much. It started to snow just as they approached the bridge, and (Y/N) looked up into the air and smiled. She loved the snow, and it made tonight even more perfect.

He led her over the bridge and stopped on it's center. Malcolm pulled away from her to stand in front of her, holding both her hands in his. He looked down at their hands and started to talk in a low and gentle voice. He was too nervous to look her in the eye just yet.

"(Y/N), this time I have spent with you has been the happiest of my life. Before I met you, I was haunted every moment by my father, my memories, my night terrors... And looking back now, I wasn't really living. You soothed that pain within me and helped me start living a true, and fruitful life."

Malcolm finally looked up to meet her gaze. He found love in her eyes. She had an inkling of what was happening, but wanted to savor his words. He continued to speak.

"You saved me. I don't know if I can ever repay you, but I can try." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I will protect you and love you the way you have done for me. And I promise to try and make you happy every day, because you make me happy. But I want to ask..."

Malcolm bent down onto one knee. "Will you make me the happiest man alive? (Y/N), will you marry me?"

(Y/N) fought back her tears as she beamed at him. Her voice was high pitched because of her joy. "Of course I will, Malcolm!" She took her hands out of his and cupped his face as she kissed him. He stood up and reached into his suit.

The small box in his hands opened to reveal a beautiful ring. It was dainty, and made of white gold with filigree engraved on the sides. The center stone was a square-cut diamond flanked on both sides by two small emeralds.

Malcolm pulled the ring from it's box and gently slid it onto (Y/N)'s finger. It fit perfectly and shown bright in the moonlight.

He had lied about dinner to get her to the park. Instead of going out to eat, they returned to his apartment where her parents, his mother and sister, and their friends were waiting. They celebrated the engagement all night, and were the happiest couple in all of New York.

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 26

Read along on AO3 Here

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This time: Un’hee tires of keeping secrets.

Next Time: Ar’alani, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, and Eli’van’to finally have the talk.

-/

Un'hee fidgeted beside Ezra. Across from them, Karyn Faro - who, despite the Chiss's attempts otherwise, retained both first and last names - updated Ezra on the situation. He knew whatever Faro shared would be expanded upon by Thrawn, but he did try his best to be attentive. The Navigator, however, squirmed in discomfort, as if she were being held against her will. She was even more difficult to feel in the Force today, murky and hiding, as if trying curling her aura into a ball.

"I know this is scary," Commander Faro said, trying to console her. She was good with most Navigators, but what she knew of Un’hee’s experiences before Thrawn and Ar’alani had found her definitely disqualified her from fitting under that umbrella. "Nothing will happen to you. They gave Captain Thrawn an antidote, so you have nothing to worry about."

Ezra patted her back gently. "Faro's right. Everything is going to be okay."

The girl hummed something noncommittal in reply and drew her knees up to her chest. "Okay," She replied listlessly, mostly just so they'd stop talking to her. Her red eyes closed almost entirely, but she didn't fight Ezra, who kept rubbing her back. "Will Captain Mitth'raw'nuruodo come back soon?"

"He will," Commander Faro confirmed. "We'll no doubt meet him later."

Un'hee hummed and turned her face downward, chin pressed to her knees. Ezra exchanged a glance with Faro, but there was nothing they could say or do to console her.

By the time the captains arrived at the officer’s lounge they’d posted up in, the girl had fully withdrawn, her morose red eyes sliding the length of the room and back before she let them fall closed. “Feeling okay, Navigator?” Ivant asked her quietly, crouching down to eye level.

She hummed, but didn’t expand upon her feelings. There was a silent conversation there, had with only their eyes, and completed with a gentle caress of the Navigator's head.

Ivant stood. “Ezra, do you think you could walk her back to the Navigator’s section?” His wood-brown gaze met the young Jedi’s, then swiveled to Thrawn for a brief, pointed moment, then he added, “If it’s alright with Captain Thrawn, of course. Given the current situation, I do not want any of the Navigators alone outside of their section. I’d walk her back myself, but I need to speak with the admiral about something else. Faro, you’re welcome to join me.”

“Do I want to?” She asked dryly.

“Probably not,” He said. “I’d suspect she’d rather you go back to the bridge.”

“Sounds like enough of an order for me.” Faro rose, considering squeezing Un’hee’s shoulder in a show of support, but decided against it. The little Navigator seemed like she’d jerk at the slightest stimulus, and Faro had no desire to upset her further.

Ezra blinked up at Thrawn. “Is that-”

“That is acceptable,” Thrawn agreed.

The human captain nodded, patting Un’hee’s head. “Call for me if you need to, okay?”

Un'hee hummed. "I will, Eli," She murmured.

Ivant proceeded to nod to Thrawn, then Ezra, and finally saw himself out. Faro was already long gone. Un'hee followed her human commanding officer’s movements with her eyes, remaining on the couch after the door closed automatically behind him.

In the silence that followed, Ezra stood. "I should take you back," He said. "Do you-"

"I need to speak with Mitth'raw'nuruodo," She blurted. Un'hee looked from Ezra to Thrawn. She wrung her hands in her lap nervously, then realized what she was doing, inhaled deeply, and turned the full weight of her gaze on Ezra as she stilled. "Alone."

Ezra's eyebrows crawled upward, and again he sought Thrawn's guidance.

The Chiss spoke slowly. "Navigator-"

Un'hee stood and whirled around on Thrawn. Her eyes were hard, yet glossy with the promise that she'd resort to tears if she had to. "Please, Captain Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

Thrawn considered. Then, he nodded his assent to Ezra. "Wait outside."

"Could you walk me back, instead?"

At the evolving request, Thrawn's eyes narrowed. "I believe the goal is to have a human with you, Navigator Un'hee, considering our perilous circumstances."

"I have confidence in your ability to protect me, and vice versa," She said, and meant it despite Thrawn's deepening frown. She was certain he had no qualms about his own ability to protect her - with his life, if need be - but what she could do probably seemed rather limited, considering. She pushed her argument with a forced cheerful, "Besides, the Navigators' Section is practically around the corner."

-/

Truly, Un’hee didn’t mind if Ezra heard them. She doubted much stayed a secret between Ezra and Thrawn, specifically when it came to matters like these. This might, for all Un’hee knew, pertain to him as well. After all, he had abilities somewhat like hers and Vah’nya’s, like most of the other Navigators. She wondered if someday the Chiss could be like Jedi, but not like the Jedi were now. Like the old texts mentioned them: warriors of sound mind and pure heart who fought for peace and justice.

That seemed like a far-away dream, but a lovely one nonetheless. She thought about it from time to time, usually until Vah’nya reminded her she should be studying or Eli tapped her nose or patted her on the head and asked if she’d grown bored of keeping him company in the stillness of his office.

At her side, and much, much taller, Thrawn slowed his naturally longer gait to match hers, so that two of her steps was the equivalent of one of his. It was yet another reminder that he was kind, even if it remained hidden beneath that serious exterior. “As you said, Navigator, your section is truly around the corner. If there is something you wish to say-”

Un’hee exhaled slowly, controlling her breath as she focused. She looked first with her feelings, trying to see if anyone remained nearby, then followed up with a very obvious look around to confirm what her mind’s eye had not seen. She wanted to trust her gut - she did, really - but she had to take every precaution.

“It’s- about what happened aboard the Compass,” She began, trying to choose her words carefully. “With Commander Wes’lash’andi,” She continued. Was he curious that she didn’t sound fearful or nervous anymore? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if things had continued the way they were, she probably would have been afraid to say the name of Thrawn’s assailant aloud.

He did look down at her. She craned her neck up to peer up at him in turn. “What about it?”

“There is something you should know about what happened. Something I think the admiral is afraid to tell you.”

A door thrown open down the corridor made them both look up, the hydraulic hiss-click almost like an exclamation followed by the sharp cry of, “Un’hee!”

“Hello Senior Navigator,” Thrawn said, looking between the girls. Vah’nya crossed her arms over her chest, and Un’hee raised her eyebrows. “I was just dropping Navigator Un’hee off before returning to my duties.”

“Thank you,” Vah’nya replied, never once taking her eyes off the younger Navigator. “You cannot be serious,” She said to Un’hee. Neither Navigator broke eye contact. “I should have known you’d manipulate things. I told Eli-”

“We have to tell him,” Un’hee interrupted. “If we don’t, things will only get worse.” She looked up to Thrawn. “He deserves to know. And we’re the only ones who can.”

Unwilling to bear witness to their squabbling, Thrawn’s lips parted and he began to intervene.

It had not been necessary though, because Vah’nya sagged as if defeated, her shoulders losing a bit of tension. “You’re right,” Vah’nya admitted softly before Thrawn could utter a word. “Captain, Navigator, please.” She slapped her palm to the door toggle for her office. “Come in. I’ll make some tea.”

Vah’nya seemed to have more trouble with whatever was going on than Un’hee did. The younger navigator noticed Thrawn’s confusion, the way it overlapped with concern in the silence of the office suite until Vah’nya rejoined them. Un’hee sat to Thrawn’s right, ankles crossed and tucked against the support running between the chair legs. She felt only resolved, while Vah’nya was more resigned.

“If it bothers you so much, you can leave, and pretend you don’t know what I’m doing,” Un’hee murmured.

“You know I can’t,” Vah’nya said. She set wintermint tea in front of them both before sitting behind her desk with her own mug held between her hands to warm her. It was a junior officer’s quarters, repurposed to fit the eldest navigator’s tastes. Star charts were given ample space to project upon the wall to Thrawn’s left, and a music player - vintage, by the look of it - sat in the corner inconspicuously. After a moment, she opened a drawer and pulled out a jamming device, laying it between them. “I’d rather this be done safely,” She said. “And frankly,” She pushed her long blue-black hair over her shoulder so that it could tumble straight down her back. With it tucked behind her ears, she looked younger. Or at least, she did, until she looked up into Thrawn’s eyes. “I agree with you, Un’hee. Thrawn deserves to know.”

Thrawn waited patiently, not outwardly staring at either of them until they’d initiated it. “Navigators, what exactly is going on?” He asked, blinking down at the device and back to Vah’nya, then finally Un’hee.

“There is no antidote,” Un’hee said. “For the Grysk’s ‘Blue Death.’ They’re working on it, but…” The younger girl trailed off.

“That is impossible.” Thrawn considered them both, as if perhaps their expressions would be capable of giving him additional information either for or against the young Navigator’s statement. “I would be dead.”

Vah’nya watched Thrawn as he addressed Un’hee. His posture was tense. Un’hee cocked her head, ready to fight back- “You know that isn’t true,” Vah’nya interrupted this tim. The Senior Navigator smiled softly. "It's hardly impossible."

“Unfortunately, Senior Navigator, I don’t-”

“When Karyn Faro brought back the kidnapped Navigators, months ago” Vah’nya pressed, voice soft but serious, “You were watching me.”

The Captain looked at the holoprojection of their current system, cast in blue and orange upon the wall beside him, though he didn’t truly see it. He was revisiting his memory of the day Vah’nya mentioned. His bright eyes narrowed and he looked up at her sharply, the motion jerky. “The medics treated them.”

“I healed the Navigator’s face while you watched,” Vah’nya revised. “I have never seen Eli or Ar’alani so furious with me for deviating from the plan.”

“You said you hadn’t done that on purpose!” Un’hee squeaked, indignant.

Vah’nya shrugged, lifting the tea to her lips and taking a long sip before she continued to address the Steadfast's first officer, “I had hoped you would have caught on and come to me, but a rational mind will supplement reason and logic to bridge certain unfathomable gaps. The Admiral believed me to be clinically insane until I proved it to her,” She sniffed, "So I hardly blame you for your skepticism or disbelief."

Thrawn steepled his fingers in front of him, elbows resting on the armrests of his chair as leaned forward. “Navigator Vah’nya,” He began slowly, and it was obvious he didn’t entirely believe her, but he would not completely discount her without gathering enough information, “You mean to tell me you were able to save my life from certain death with these abilities?”

“Not Vah’nya,” Un’hee said. She turned entirely in her chair, as to face him. There was no pride in her tone, only conviction. “I did.”

He slumped back in his chair, and that single uncharacteristic movement was telling enough. Some part of him believed them. “How?”

Un’hee and Vah’nya exchanged a glance. “We forget ourselves, Mitth’raw’nurodo,” Vah’nya began. “We have forgotten what it means to be a warrior. We do not need weapons or ships to boost our ego and bolster our pride. A warrior’s duty is to protect. And a Navigator’s calling is to protect the warriors of the Chiss Ascendancy, to guide them through the battles yet to come.”

“This is the goal of Project Compass,” Thrawn said. Such secrecy would make sense, if it were true... “You are cultivating new abilities for the Navigators.”

“Yes,” Vah’nya agreed. “As such, Un’hee’s abilities manifested to save you,” She added. “We believe that moments of great strife create opportunities for Navigators to embrace their abilities. It’s different for each of us.”

Thrawn looked back to Un’hee. “If what she is saying is true, I owe you a great debt, Navigator Un’hee.”

“You saved me from the Scratchlings when we met. It is a debt repaid,” Un’hee smiled. “More than that, though, I wanted to protect you.”

Thrawn’s curt nod seemed to be accompanied almost by relief, though neither Navigator commented on such a thing. The Captain thought it over carefully. “Your moment of great strife,” He began, each word heavy, articulated carefully. Of course he’d put together the reason for Vah’nya’s title, he was one of the most brilliant minds the Ascendancy had ever encountered. “It-”

The door slid open and both Navigators froze. In the doorway stood Captain Ivant. His eyes were dark. “What is the meaning of this?” He asked, voice pinched. He knew, with barely a second’s glance into the room what had already begun to transpire. “The Admiral gave you specific orders,” He said to Vah’nya. “You are not-”

“We made the decision to tell him,” Un’hee admitted. She did not look guilty or fearful. “You are not a Chiss. You would have been punished. This way-”

“She’ll likely punish us all, Chiss or not.” Ivant’s eyes were wild yet glazed, as if sifting through his brain for some calculation he could run to salvage things. “I can’t protect you from this.”

“You don’t have to,” Vah’nya added to Un’hee’s earlier statement. “I don’t care what she thinks-”

“You’re the one who had the vision of the Grysks exploiting him for information,” Eli yelled, his drawl bleeding ever so slightly into his Chuenh. “Or did you forget that, Senior Navigator?”

“Vision?” Thrawn queried, though Un’hee wrapped her tiny, cold fingers around his wrist to get his attention and gave a subtle shake of her head, an indication to wait.

Vah’nya rose in fury, gesturing to Thrawn, who watched the back and forth of their argument with cool interest. “And I told her in my vision that he found out on his own. We had to tell him. He deserved to hear it from us. Aren’t you the one who-”

“I know,” Eli relented. “I know he does.” He sighed, stress and exhaustion palpable in the way he held himself. “But you should have asked her.”

“You’ve asked her for permission enough times for us all.” Vah’nya gestured to her chair, willing to give it up to him, even as he declined. Un’hee waited for Eli to approach to let him pick her up and situate her on his lap instead. Vah’nya returned to her chair with a final, “I respect her, I would die for her and our crew, but you are my commanding officer, Eli.”

“And she is mine.”

“Not when it comes to Project Compass. Not really.” Vah’nya's eyes flashed with some unspoken secret or agreement. “Technically, for the greater good of the Ascendancy, she gave you complete autonomy.”

Eli hummed dismissively, aware of Thrawn’s piercing gaze upon him at her insinuation. It was highly improbable within the CDF, and nearly impossible for such status to be given to a human. Still, he asked them, “You two are confident your actions will make all the difference?”

Both Navigators nodded.

Thrawn looked Eli in the eye when the latter turned to face him all the way, holding his gaze for a long moment. It was almost so long that the rest of the room felt like it didn’t exist. Neither Navigator interrupted, both girls patiently waiting. Their wordless exchange was a challenge, an appraisal, an unspoken test. Perhaps Eli was trying to ascertain Thrawn’s goodness or affinity for honesty, Un’hee thought, then considered whom she was talking about. If Eli were doing anything, she suspected it was actually trying to gauge how Thrawn was reacting to what he’d learned. He might pretend to be like a Chiss, but Un’hee knew better. Kindness was in his nature, even more so when it came down to someone he cared about. And Un’hee knew he cared for Thrawn most of all.

“Alright,” Eli said finally. He took a deep breath to brace himself. His eyes warmed. Un’hee released Thrawn’s wrist to pat Eli’s arm, which held her securely on his lap, a show of support that he’d come around. “So where’d you leave off?”

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

FICS: PROPOSTE INDECENTI + AMO GIA’ IL FINALE

I posted these on AO3 back in January. And I really wanted to have something brand new for today, but I am trying as hard as I can to have the fairy tale AU finished by tomorrow, so... Hope you’ll like them! They are BOTH IN ENGLISH ;) !!

PROPOSTE INDECENTI Seconds  

10 - 9

The longest ten seconds of his whole fucking life. Maybe Niccolò really is considering turning it down, given the time and setting.

3 a.m. McDonald's. Sitting on plastic chairs. Lazily eating cold fries and a hamburger that tastes like cardboard with one hand, stroking each other's thumbs with the other. Feeling like the last men on Earth, in a deserted place that would normally be buzzing with life in the daytime.

He should have sticked to his plan, given him his scripted speech this Sunday at the Bioparco. But he didn't, and now...

 8-7

… now he's screwed, isn't he? He fucked it up, and Niccolò is going to carry on and pretend this has been nothing but a bad dream.

He couldn't help it, though. Not when Niccolò was glowing with pride and elation as he showed Martino his first - published, finally!! - illustrated book.

The one Nico had lovingly renamed 'our baby' - and damn if Marti's heart didn't skip a beat at that -  even though all he didn't do much but offer his moral support.

How was he supposed to resist?

 6-5

He looked more beautiful than ever, in an old tracksuit and with a ridiculous headband holding his wild curls at bay. Buzzing with enthusiasm, while he told Marti about how Naima the giraffe who had her head too high in the clouds learnt from Mabel the red panda that she shouldn't fear what's in her heart. That her feelings are never too much, like so many others have been telling her.

Niccolò had always been very secretive about the plot, saying 'It's a surprise' with a mischievous glint in his eyes whenever Martino asked for more details… and right in that very moment he could see why.

"Children emotions tends to be heightened, and therefore often dismissed. I hope this can tell them that they matter, you know? That they're gonna find someone willing to listen, someday. Just like I found you."

It was their story. Edited, tweaked but still the same at its core. Shared to offer some hope to whoever might need it.

How could he not stop Niccolò right there and fumble for the box in his bag?

 4-3

Flinging it into his hands and dropping on one knee felt too predictable and cheap, however.

"I… I think I'm gonna get a milkshake. Would you like me to get you anything? An ice-cream cone? A Flurry?" Then, raising a voice a couple of octaves to make it sound childlike he adds "A Happy Meal?"

"Ahah. You're so funny, have you ever considered a career as a stand-up comedian? Get me a Happy Meal, you ass." And he would have sucked on that raised middle finger, without any shame, had it been a night like any other.

But it wasn't.

 2

Niccolò kept on gloating, until he opened the Happy Meal. His face fell, indeed, when he found the giraffe and red panda wooden figurines connected through a red silk thread and carrying a ring.

Ebony black, like his hair. Adorned with amber and aventurine, which both reminded Martino of his eyes.

Eyes which were now boring into him with a mixture of confusion and… disappointment?

Not exactly the reaction he had been wishing for. The silence between them felt a bit uncomfortable, for the first time in maybe ever, but Martino forced himself to speak.

"I know that I told you, so many times and in so many ways, that nobody knows a fucking thing about what's gonna happen tomorrow but... I am certain about ONE thing and ONE thing only: that I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, as your HUSBAND. Don't you wanna spend the rest of your life with me?"

"That's two things, Marti. Maybe even three. I believe so… but let me just have ten seconds to think it through, okay?"

 1

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. " He finally says. Each yes said before a kiss, his smile getting brighter and brighter as they both start crying. Tears they brush away with gentle fingertips, with soft lips.

"A thousand times yes, Marti." Niccolò reiterates, resting his forehead against his fiancé's. Not an old fashioned to say 'boyfriend' when you significant one is not exactly a boy anymore, but the real deal now.

Fiancé. Betrothed. Soon to be husband. He can't wait to refer to Martino using those term with friends, colleagues, guests, relatives. With all those random people he ends up talking to while queuing up at the post office - on the bus, on the train, on the subway. The whole world needs to know, and he is certain that Marti feels like the same.

"Once is more than enough."

-----------

   Minutes  

It still doesn’t feel real, even though he has had some minutes to let it sink in. Despite the weight of the ring dangling from his necklace - "how very Frodo of you…" "Are you calling your future husband a fucking hobbit, Mr Rametta?" - and his proposal still echoing in his ears, he fears he might wake up any minute now. Alone.

He has to take refuge in Marti’s arms, grounding himself in his warm and tight embrace. Nothing can touch him, when he’s there. Nothing can reach him, apart from Martino’s smell and the palpable solidity of his body.

"I can take it back, if you’d like." Marti mumbles, against his helix piercing.

"Don’t you dare!" Niccolò protests, first jabbing his ribs with his forefinger and then flicking his nose.

"I mean… you don't sound positively thrilled about it…" He points out, puzzled to hear Niccolò chuckle.

"Well, we're talking about spending the rest of my life with the most boring gay I've ever met…" Nico sighs dramatically, but then he gets dreadfully serious. He is so overjoyed, so full of love he could burst, and Martino better not end up thinking otherwise. "I couldn't be happier… You know that, right? I simply wanted to be the one to propose."

"Well, maybe you still can. Fifteen or twenty years from now, when we'll feel like renewing our vows or some shit…" Martino suggests, standing up and cleaning their table. They must go now, if they want to have some time left to spare to celebrate home before heading out again to work.

"Sounds lovely. You have such a way with words, Marti." Niccolò shoves him playfully, but files that piece of information into a secured corner of his brain. Might come in handy, in the future. "And how do you know about renewals, anyway? Don't tell me you've been bingewatching 'Say Yes To The Dress' on RealTime!"

"Whaaat? Me? Nope. Never. Must have heard something from Filo. Or was it Edo?"

*************

AMO GIA’ IL FINALE

Hours  

Hours have gone by. It took them twice longer than usual to reach their flat, unable to walk more than a few steps without stopping for a quick peck. Or a full on make out session against a couple of closed, sturdy, doors.

Clothes were discarded on the floor as soon as they stepped inside, and they had made love until dawn. Exhausted, by then, they had fallen asleep.

Fear has had time to come knocking, and with it the painful reminder that people always leave. Or get sick of each other, and stay together only to keep up appearances.

No. That's not gonna happen. Not to them. Not when they are perfectly aware that gonna have to make a promise to each other not only on that day… but every second, every minute, every hour they spend together. Or apart.

Not necessarily with words. Which little gestures, too. Cherish their love. Never take it for granted.

"I promise you that we can make it. From now, to infinity." Martino says, softly, as he lays a kiss on Niccolò chest. Right where his heart is, just like Nico did so many years before under those red lights.

"To infinity and beyond."

"Don't start quoting Toy Story when I'm trying to be deep, Ni."

"It doesn't suit you. Now, up up up. Put something on and come with me... I don't want to miss watching the sunrise and cuddling with my betrothed on my cozy balcony."

"You are unbelievable."

"And you love that."

"I sure do, don't I?"

   Imagination  

This is absolutely not what Niccolò or Martino had in mind.

The unnecessary opulence, the stifling atmosphere in spite of the marvelous outdoor venue.

"It's not like you had a clear picture of what you wanted, anyway." Anyone would argue, and they would be right.

It had been easy enough to picture it back in Milan, where having a wedding in their birthday suits had sounded like the coolest idea he had ever had… But now Nico can't really see how that would go down, can't imagine it wouldn't be a complete catastrophe.

Like any other scenario they came up with. Some are too over the top, and would make Martino feel uncomfortable. Some are too dull, and would be an ill match to Niccolò's eccentricity.

Someone had to take the matter into their hands, and it wasn't like Silvia had done a bad job with the very little input she had from the grooms.

Maybe they could settle for this?

***************

   Instinct  

Or maybe not.

Martino refused to make this day, their day, about anyone else but themselves.

His in-laws were probably going to hate him for this, as firm believers of a time and a place for spontaneity, and their own friends were surely going to hold it against them for the next fifty years or so… but who cared?

Not him. Not when he was witnessing the first real smile of the week from Niccolò, merely by showing up on his old bike.

"Get on." It took him some fumbling, since a tight fitting tuxedo wasn't really the best attire for riding a bike, but eventually he managed to sit comfortably behind Martino.

"Where are we going?" He asked, presuming to be filled in about Marti's plan for the next few hours.

"Wherever the fuck we want." Martino said, instead, refusing to tell Niccolò anything concerning their destination. Or what they would do, once they reached it.

It didn't take too long to get to a church that Niccolò knew all too well. He had often joked about getting married in its crypt, surrounded by skulls and chandeliers made of human bones. Too bad it was hardly ever opened to the public, and totally unavailable for any kind of celebration.

"And how exactly are you planning to get in?" He inquired, walking over to the locked door.

"I might have asked Filippo to make me a copy of the key, when he got one for his photography project. Off the record." Because he knew Niccolò would love to stroll through the building undisturbed. Taking in its macabre allure, appreciating the fleeting nature of his own existence.

"Uh… Martino Rametta breaking the law by owning something he's not supposed to? A man after my own heart, I must say."

"I thought I already had it. Your heart, I mean." He commented, offhandedly, as he cursed and kicked against the rusty old door. "Oh, come on! Jesus! You were working just fine last time!"

"And this wonderful hint of blasphemy, right in front of a church. Wow." Niccolò reached out for him, then, pinning his open palm onto his own chest. "You're not mistaken, by the way. This has been yours for years."

"Same here." Marti turned to take his hand, and l let him feel how fast his heart was beating.

And then, as Marti was leaning in for a kiss, Nico moved back and brazenly snatched the keys.

"You know I've got the magic touch. Don't know whether it's in the fingers on in the wrists…"

"You better leave those innuendo at the door, Ni."

"Or what? You'll punish me, Father? You'll drag me into one of the confessionals and…"

… and he might had been tempted to do that, to drop on his knees and worship this man… Before he was basically challenged to reign in his wildest fantasies. Oh, he knew Niccolò wouldn't even try to play fair but still… He was so going to win this.

******

   Memory  

"... and then?" The kids asked, trying to get Mr. David's attention.

"Mh?" He had been distracted by an old lady coming to congratulate him on finally tying the knot a couple of weeks before. Shoelaces were a challenge for anyone, indeed, so it made sense he got praised for achieving that goal… Even though it took him so many years.

And that hadn't been the only interruption. For same weird reason their parents kept butting in to tell them shouldn't bother Mr. Fares. Or his 'partner'. They don't say 'husband', for some reason. Despite it being the word David uses for Michelangelo.

Grown up are so, so dumb.

"You ran away from your own wedding, got to a spooky church… and then? What happened?"

"Did you find a body and have to solve a murder?"

"I'm afraid not. We walked inside, and I read him my vows. He gave me his. I can show them to you, if you'd like? I always carry them in my pocket." Most didn't quite understand what was so great about two stick figures on a badly drawn giraffe, but the words written on the side sounded nice. Especially the closing line.

 Per quanta strada abbiam fatto, e per quanta  ancora ce n'è da fare… Amo già il finale.

"Booooring! I bet you went back to the ranch for the actual ceremony, after that?"

"Wrong. Remember that I started telling you all about this day because Meni asked what was the biggest prank I've ever pulled on my friends and family… That's it: making them all believe they would see US getting married and then have two other people saying 'I do' that afternoon. And this day I'm still quite proud I could pull that off. And so is my husband. I mean, our old folks were THIS close to believe we had been kidnapped."

Impressive. Kind of. Perhaps grown up can be cool, once in a blue moon?

"Ni? Nico? Earth to Niccolò Fares?" Not fair! He was a grown up! Why was he getting sweets before dinner?

"Yeah yeah, I can hear you loud and clear Marti." He gulped down his candies in a heartbeat.  And then gave him a quick kiss, saying "Thanks, love."

Huh? Nico? Marti? Then why their moms - and a couple of their dads - referred to him as Michelangelo's David?

Grown ups are so, so weird.

[joyfulsongbird]

If you need prompts can I ask for a sequel to the bar fic?

Yes. You. Can.

this can be read as a sequel to the bar fic i read, or as “eurydice got into a fight and orpheus is helping her” fic

This turned out way different than I thought, and kind of started me on a road to giving Eurydice more backstory.

So suck it: this is angsty and fluffy,

also some warnings: mentions of past abuse (take care of yourself, do what’s best for you and your mental health)

***

Orpheus holds her gingery, like one holds a child, afraid to hurt something so fragile. She’s still giggling against his neck when they near the house, but she sobers more quickly now. Her silence is deafening against the hum of the night, the chirping of crickets, the soft brush of grass in the calm breeze. When he glances down at her head for a quick second, his eyes have to search for a moment to find her face, her hair has fallen to cover from the nose down, blending with the night. Her breathing is gentle, in and out with a never ending pattern, in and out with the simple up and down rhythm that reminds Orpheus that she’s right there. That somewhere near him, her heart beats in time with that breath. Maybe an off beat here and there but somewhere, someday it’ll beat in time together again and they’ll both feel it. Hearts beating as one. Breathing together at last.

“Eurydice,” Orpheus whispers as he unlocks the door. “c’mon, we’ve got to clean you up before going to bed.”

She makes a displeased noise in her throat. “I’m tired.”

“I know.” he murmurs. “just a little bit longer.”

he closes the door behind him, striding as evenly as he can to the bathroom, setting Eurydice gently to sit on the edge of their bathtub, before lighting a few candles to illuminate the room enough to see. In their impoverished town, there is no electricity like there is in Hadestown. When sun goes down, so do they. Or they read by the light of candles, or dance before fireplaces.

He leaves her alone for just a few moments that he takes to grab an extra pair of clothes for her, searching in her top drawer of the dresser that they share until he comes up with a t-shirt, one of his old ones, and cotton shorts for warmer days when the nights aren’t freezing. He isn’t sure if he should grab underclothes so he goes back to ask her.

When he gets back to bathroom though, that’s the last of his priorities.

She stands in front of the mirror, gripping the sides of the sink below it so hard that her knuckles turn white. She stares at herself with tears sliding down her cheeks. Slow, steady tears that have no sobs that go with them, that just fall and keep falling until they drip off the edge of her chin onto the surface below. She doesn’t often cry like this, or cry at all, and some section of his mind fills in that it must be because of the emotional high she’s running on and the fact that she hit her head on the long fall to the ground. Her emotions all jumbled up and adrenaline still running, but coursing out of her veins, leaving her trying to fill that space; this time with tears.

he drops the clothes onto the floor, rushing to tug her face away from the mirror, “hey, what’s- what’s wrong? what’s going on?”

she pushes away his hands, turning back to mirror. he holds his breath, awaiting her answer. she takes both of her hands, dragging the tips of her fingers around the shape of her face, over her cheeks, until they meet at the end of her chin.

“my mother used to say...” she licks her lips, and at that same moment, Orpheus’ heart drops in his chest. Eurydice doesn’t often talk about her life before they met, or a long time before they met. They talk about it, sometimes, but what they both agree on is that this new life that they have is one that doesn’t concern old habits or memories. It’s theirs for new memories, and new love. but he listens to when she talks about it, and he does now, though his heart beats loudly in between his ribs.

“my mother used to say that no one would love me when I kept coming home... looking like this. All beaten up and bloody. so I didn’t.” she gulps down her tears, creating room for more words. “I got into fights but I never came home like that again. But then... when my father got- got angry and... she didn’t know. And she said that she wouldn’t love me anymore if I kept coming home like that, and I couldn’t stop it, so I- so-”

Orpheus sits down on the floor, leaning against the bathtub, pulling her down to sit on his lap. He wraps his arms tightly around her, gripping her waist with one arm and continually running his hands through her hair, which always seems to soothe her. she lets one hiccup loose out of her, before she falls silent, allowing the tears to once again silently drip from her eyes to soak into Orpheus shirt. he doesn’t mind. he holds her closer, if anything.

“I love you.” he reminds her. she nods. “I’m sorry this whole thing reminded you of... that. I’m sorry I ever put you into a situation that reminded you of such a horrible thing.”

“not your fault.” she says adamantly. “not ever your fault, Orpheus. I volunteered, I knew what I was getting myself into and I chose to do it.”

“tell me, next time.” he says earnestly. “I always want to help you, no matter what it is. Always.”

“okay.” she whispers. she allows her head to tip forward and brush her forehead against the top of his head. he peppers gentle, feather light kisses across her shoulder. staring to hold her closer, when he starts to feel that she’s shivering, her body succumbing to whatever memory persists in her head. her head shifts to sit in the crook of his neck, her breathing shaky and slow.

“I’m tired.” she murmurs finally. “can’t we go to sleep?”

“soon.” he promises. “we just need to wash that scratch and get you changed and then you get to sleep for as long as you wish.”

she sits up, wiping away her tears swiftly, as if they were never there. Blinking against the new angle of light, she pulls herself to stand, closely followed by Orpheus. He holds her arm steady, as if he’s afraid she’ll crumple to the ground. Which really isn’t so far fetched. Eurydice sits down on the edge of the bathtub, steadying herself with both hands, watching Orpheus from below with careful eyes. Waiting for some reaction from him, a fear deep in his eyes, a disgust she’s so used to seeing. All she sees is caring. And love.

He wets the washcloth, with clean water that’ll keep infection away. When he begins to wipe away what is left of the dried blood on her cheeks that wasn’t washed away by her tears, he keeps his eyes on hers. Checking and double checking to see if there are any more tears to fall, so that if they do fall, he can wipe them away quickly. Kiss that spot and continue on. Repeat until she’s out of tears to cry.

When he’s done cleaning her face, he throws the towel in the sink to be washed later, grabbing the clothes that were dropped on the floor in the same motion.

she grips the hem of her dress, attempting to pull it over her head with the pain in what spread all over her body when she forces her arms up in that position. In way of assistance, Orpheus covers her hands for a moment before gently prying her fingers away. she allows him to slip the dress up off of her body and drop to the floor in a silken heep, she’s able to get the black bottoms off herself without help. she slips on the large shirt, peering up at him, with the sleeve slipping over her shoulder. Sadness in her eyes and cheeks pink with leftover tear residue. she’s still infinitely beautiful, always has been and always will be. there won’t be a moment in both of their lives where Orpheus ever thinks she isn’t beautiful. even in death, she is goddess-like. even now, she is the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

she takes a step forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, her nose buried deep in his shoulder.

“I love you.”

It means even more now than ever, somehow, even though he’s heard the phrase countless times fall off of her tongue.

trying not to get choked up, he lifts her up, securing an arm around her waist before quickly blowing the candles in the bathroom out. Eurydice wraps her legs around his torso and doesn’t loosen her grip until they are both lying in their bed, the covers pulled up past their chins.

she’s asleep faster than him, for the first time in a long time.

he takes the time to watch her like this, calm and vulnerable. Her chest rising and falling, up and down, in and out. every so often, her eyelashes twitch or her lips tip up and he knows she’s dreaming. about him, maybe. Or maybe about a time when she was happier, maybe sunflowers or carnations or summer breeze. Maybe ice skating in the winter, or waiting for the train by the station in the springtime. But all he knows is that she is dreaming a good thing, and that’s all he needs to know.

[detroitbydark]

Moonbeams and Ridinghoods Chp 3

Pairing: werewolf!Haz/reader

Summary: first dates are great...until they’re not

Warnings: None

Words: 2800+

A/N: someday my laptop will be fixed and I’ll be able to make a cut and quite jamming up your feeds. Until than I’m impatient. Thank you to my favorite child @aossi for putting up with me while I write this. Also thanks again to @sandersonosterfield for the mood board.

Harrison texts you daily and it becomes the highlight of your day opening each message to see what he has sent. He’s totally random and you’re on board for every minute of it.

On Monday you get a picture of a burger around noon and a picture of his roommates feet at dinner. When you question the feet he explains that his roommate, Tom, had the grossest feet imaginable and he had to share the horror with someone else. He segways into telling you about his other roommate, Emily, and their friends that spent an inordinate amount of time at their place.

The surgeon making rounds through the department gives you a raised eyebrow and asks about the smile your sporting. You merely shrug and school your features. When you get home you call him and he asks about your day. He sits quietly, makes all the right agreeable sounds as you recount funny stories from the day. When you whine dramatically about needing to have some fun he teases lightly.

“Well lucky you, is already scheduled for a coffee date with yours truly.”

He’s really too cute for words and you reinforce that, yes coffee with him was a thing that would be happening. You can hear his grin through the phone.

You send him a pic of your sad cafeteria sandwich on your lunch break Tuesday. The turkey and cheese looks rather anemic and you find you just have to share it. He sends a gym selfie that makes you feel all kinds of ways when you ask what he’s up to. Sweat clings to his brow in the mirrors reflection. His shirt is soaked and his hands are taped as if he’s just gone a couple rounds. A smooth smile is plastered across his face as a curly mopped brunette poses up behind him. You get a topless one after that. The view down his pecs and over abs is truly obscene. He shoots back a cursory ‘LOL’ when you remind him you’re not supposed to be looking at porn on hospital hours. When you get back to your apartment you strip out of your scrubs and change into your own gym clothes. He seems to like the spandex shorts and tank top you’re sporting if the howling wolf emojis are anything to go by.

By the time Wednesday rolls around you are so primed to see him you’re absolutely vibrating. Picking up your phone half a dozen times, you have to remind yourself that it’s not cool to look too excited but you can’t help it. You craved more than text messages and phone calls were giving you.

A chill is in the air so you opt for jeans and a trusty pair of combat boots you’d picked up at a yard sale years ago. You layer a loose cream knit sweater over a black tank. The collar hangs loosely off your left shoulder as you look at yourself over in the mirror one last time. Neither of you had said this was a date but you’re treating it like one. It had been so long since you had genuinely been excited to meet up with a guy that you refuse to call it anything but.

You give the taxi driver the address Harrison had sent you earlier in the day. You watch the scenery change from tightly packed apartment buildings to manicured sidewalks and decadent older homes. You’re not familiar with the area at all but it doesn’t stop you from taking in the sights. You begin to wonder if you’re under dressed as the driver pulls up to a stop in front of a cozy looking cafe. You slide him a wad of bills and a smile before your eyes are catching on the man you’d come to see. He’s worth openly drooling over, dressed in dark slacks and a button up with the first pair of buttons undone. His dirty blonde locks have been tamed and gelled into place and he’s wearing a pair of glasses that only add to his handsome appearance.

His eyes dance over you and you soak up the attention. He pulls you in for a quick side hug.

“Really glad you came out.” He says opening the door for you. You can’t help but ducking your head. You can hear him chuckling behind you, “don’t go getting shy on me now, darling.” He teases and you turn your smile up at his unspoken challenge.

“Atta girl.” He mumbles, his hand rests across your lower back as he guides you to a table near the window. The sun is shining in, chasing away the bit of cold you’d felt between the cab and the cafe. You move to sit but he steps in a pulls your chair out for you. You’d thought maybe that was something that only happened in movies and romance novels. You whisper a soft ‘thank you’ as you sit down and he slides it back in. You must look confused because he cocks his head as he sits.

“What?” He questions, leaning back languidly in his seat.

You spin the bracelet on your wrist, an old nervous habit. You watch the beads shimmer as the light travels over them with each twirl around your wrist.

“Nothing. Just trying to figure you out.”

Harrison leans forward, forearms pressing into the table, “how much time have you got?”

He flashes that smile that made your stomach flip when you’d first met and, like a trained animal, it does it again.

The smug bastard has got to know what the grin does. There’s no way he hasn’t used it before.

The server comes over and deposits some menus and dutifully reads off the days specials.You watch Harrison’s polite smile and well practiced manners put on display. Somewhere along the line someone had drilled them into his head and you appreciate their effort.

You roll your eyes playfully as his attention comes back to you and the conversation at hand.

“What can I say? I know I’ve got layers.” He says with a lazy shrug.

“Like an onion?”

His laugh is a low rumble. “Just like an onion.”

You order a short time later, you get a coffee and a danish while Harrison order his drink and turkey and Swiss on a croissant.

When it comes out you wish you’d have ordered it. It looks amazing.

“Not quite what they’re serving at the hospital.” He laughs, offering you a bite.

“I couldn’t, that’s your lunch.” You mutter with a bit of embarrassment.

“Ah, come on now. I insist.” He slides the plate over to you and watches intently as you take a bite. Your eyes close and you hum happily. It may be one of the single best bites of food you’ve ever had.

“Good, right?” He laughs. You nod while you chew. “My friend, Em...the roommate I told you about? Well, this is her place.”

You rest your coffee cup between your hands, sipping contentedly. “You’ll have to give her my compliments. Are you close?” You question. The way he spoke about his friends was unlike anyone else you’d ever heard.

“Well, yeah, we’re like… I guess the best explanation is we’re like family.” You see him choosing his words carefully.

“That has to be nice.”

“It is, I mean I’m close with my parents and sister too but to have the boys and Emily in my life day in and day out...I’m sure you're probably thinking it’s odd…”

You shake your head quickly, “No not at all! I mean, I think it sounds really nice. To know there’s always someone there? Isn’t that kind of the dream?”

Harrison’s look is assessing, like you’ve quickly become the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “What about you? It has to be hard being away from everyone, your family and friends?”

Looking down into your cup you watch the brown liquid swirl with the gentle tip of your hands. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you think.

“I can see the gears turning.” He says collecting your attention again. “Why?”

“Just trying to figure out if I should lay the tragic backstory out?”

“Tragic backstory? We all have them don’t we? Tell me.” It’s not a question. You’ve noticed that Harrison did that a lot. He didn’t so much as ask questions as he made gentle demands of you. You shrug, letting your eyes skip out the window and onto the street. Dead leaves, crisp and dry, are blowing down the sidewalk, skittering into view than back out again.

“It was always just me and my Mom growing up. My dad...wasn’t ready to be a father.” She can hear that line in her mother’s voice. A truth she’d been told since she’d been old enough to ask about him. “She got remarried the year before I graduated.” Harrison nods for you to continue as your eyes drift back over to him. “I guess it was kind of her second chance at a family. I’ve got a pair of twin sisters now. They’re three. I’m not really close with them though.”

His fingers brush against yours when you set your cup down.

“Why’s that?”

“I just kind of feel like I don’t belong there? Maybe it doesn’t make sense. We love each other but it just…” You end with a shrug. “And friends? Life happened and we moved away and grew apart.” It’s not the full story but it’s all your willing to divulge. He’s got a small frown marring his features when you look back up and you feel a flush of embarrassment for oversharing.

“Haz!” A bright voice interrupts any apology you might offer as a brunette in an apron walks over. Harrison’s eyes light up as she gets closer and he stands to wrap her in a hug. He turns to you after a moment, arm still wrapped around her waist, as he introduces you.

“Y/n, this is Emily, the brilliant woman I was telling you about.” The casual affection between the two is apparent.

Emily rolls her eyes at the obvious flattery.

“Oh hush, Haz. Who’ve you brought by?” She questions him not looking away from you.

“Em, this is y/n.”

You’d wondered if the knowing look in her eyes had meant anything but when she claps once excitedly you realize that Harrison must have mentioned you to her.

“I’m so glad to meet you.” She enthuses dropping in a chair next to you. You offer your hand politely and she takes it and pulls you in for a hug. You glance at Harrison awkwardly. He’s smothering a laugh, dropping back into his own seat as Emily lets you go.

“This prat has talked about you nonstop I hope you know.” You spare him a glance and he simply shrugs, his blue eyes dancing merrily.

“I’m so glad you brought her!” Emily says glancing at her friend. “What did you get? The danish” She makes a tsking sound and glares at Harrison.

“Why didn’t you get her something good. The danish are rubbish on good days.“ she explains. “Not my best work but a work in progress…”

You smother your own smile. Emily seems to have enough energy to power the better part of London and it’s very easy to see why Harrison had spoken highly of her. If all his friends were like this you really did have to envy him for it.

“Boss?” A tall server shyly interrupts the brunette and she glances over quickly giving a studying look. “We’ve got an issue with the oven.”

Em huffs quietly, “If it’s not one thing it’s always another.” She glances back at the pair of you as she waves the server off.

“Haz, you need to bring her by the house.” She scolds lightly and Harrison gives a sage nod. “And y/n, get my number from the div here and call me, we’ll do lunch.”

Before you can do as much as concur she’s up and moving through the small dining room and into the back.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes, “Is she always like that?” You question.

“Mostly. She has her down days but with Emily, what you see is what you get.” The two of you relax back into conversation. Refills come for your drinks without asking and a takeout container full of goodies miraculously appears as Harrison pays the tab.

“That means she likes you.” He says gesturing to full styrofoam container.

“She doesn’t even know me?” You mumble a little embarrassed by the show of generosity.

“She’s a good judge of character. So am I.”

He’s got you in the passenger seat of his car again. He thought you looked good there, like you were meant to be there. Harrison tries to shake off the feeling. Too much. Too fast.

“Why’d Emily call you Haz” You ask as he focuses on the road.

“All my friend do, really. Just a nickname.” He explains. You sit quietly for a moment.

“Haz…” you try the name out. The soft way you say it makes something inside him burn bright. He wouldn’t mind hearing you say it in another situation. He tamps back those thoughts as he reaches your place and parks.

You’re biting your lip again and he has the urge to lean over and kiss you, to soothe the swollen skin with his own. As you unbuckle he shuts the car off. Your questioning look makes him chuckle.

“It’s not a date if I don’t walk you to your door, yeah?” He enjoys your shy smile.

“So this is a date.” You mumble. “Good”.

“Very.” He adds getting out and moving around the front of the car to open your door for you. You readily lace your fingers between his as he helps you out and you don’t let go as you make your way up the steps.

“You’re going to spoil me with all this attention.” You sound serious as you reach your door and he uses your joined hands to tip your chin up to look at him.

“It’s my job to spoil pretty girls.” He explains softly. Your lips part delicately and he watches with fascination as your tongue wets your lips.

“Do you do it often? Spoil pretty girls?”

“No, it’s been a while since I’ve seen one.” You take a small step closer to him and he pulls your hand up, brushing a gentle kiss along your knuckles. This close, he can hear your heart pounding in your chest. He can feel the soft rush of breath from your lungs.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He warns and you nod, rising up in your toes to meet him as his lips smooth over yours. It’s tentative, a chaste kiss that’s over too soon as he pulls back, enjoying the way your eyes flutter open. But then something changes and you’ve let go of his hand, moving to fist his shirt and pull him back down. He doesn’t fight it, not when your teeth clack together or even when you lose your balance and his hands fall to your hips to steady you. He gives back every ounce of want you pour into him, growling lowly when your teeth nip his lower lip and quickly regaining control, pressing his tongue against the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You open for him and he luxuriates in the feel of you, the taste of coffee and sweets left on your tongue, the soft whine you make when his tongue strokes against yours. The wolf inside him all but howls with delight. The beast, usually so quiet and docile, wants you. It wants Harrison to lay claim to you for their own. It’s a first. The sudden clarity of it is like a pail of cold water splashed over him. He nearly stumbles back, trying to hide the sudden shock he knows is written across his face. Your lips are swollen from his kiss and you have a nearly drunk look on your face that quickly turns to confusion. Harrison feels so many things in that moment and they are all far more serious than the passing fancy he’d known he’d had for you.

“I had a great time today, Haz.” You say softly, your eyes not meeting his. You pull away from him his hands releasing your hips suddenly, only then realizing how tightly he’d been holding you, hoping he hadn’t hurt you, hadn’t left any marks. You rise up to him one more time and he’s nearly trembling as you press a soft kiss to his cheek, his arms limply at his sides. You disappear into your flat before he can say anything and he’s left staring at your closed door. His hand runs roughly through his hair before he turns and heads back to the car.

He stares straight ahead out the window, the engine growling softly. That other part of him, the wolf had never made himself known like it had tonight. It leaves him feeling unsure and at a loss.

“Fuck.”

[banesapothecary]

you took the time to memorize me (my fears, my hopes, and dreams)

read on ao3

“When I get home from work, we’re gonna play...Sharks and Minnows!” Alec says, earning a delighted smile and enthusiastic nod from Madzie. Magnus can’t help but watch them with a fond warmth curling in his chest, and from the corner of his eye, he can see Catarina doing the same.

“He’s a natural with kids,” Cat comments quietly as Alec and Madzie disappear into the kitchen in search of treats. Magnus hums. He’s known this, of course. He’s seen Alexander with Madzie before, and with his little brother Max. There had never been a doubt in his mind that Alexander Lightwood would make a wonderful father. The thought pokes at his heart, a sharp jab of possibility.

“Thank you again,” Cat says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It means a lot, to me and to Madzie.”

Magnus shakes his head, smiling softly. “There’s nothing to thank. Alexander and I both love spending time with Sweet Pea.”

Cat’s eyes search his, and it’s not a feeling he’s unused to after centuries of her caring friendship, but he has to fight the urge not to squirm away from her gaze. “I know you say you’re fine, but I’m worried about you,” she sighs after a moment.

Magnus waves a hand, eager to wave off the concern and the topic altogether. “I promise you, Cat. I’m okay.” He pauses, seeing the concern and underlying doubt in her eyes. “Or, at least,” he adds honestly, “I will be.”

Her gaze softens and she leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek and pulling him into a hug. “I hope so. You deserve to happy, Magnus.” Cat pulls away from the embrace, hearing Madzie’s laugh at something Alec’s said as they reenter the room. “Don’t let yourself hurt alone,” Cat says lowly, so only he can hear. She nods slightly at Alec. “Let him in. He loves you.”

Madzie bounds over and wraps herself around Cat’s legs, let down from her perch in Alec’s arms. “Have a good trip, Mommy. I love you.” Alec’s hand finds the small of his back as they watch Cat crouch down to hug the little girl. Magnus turns his head, sees the gleam in his boyfriend’s eyes, the warmth in his gaze. He presses a small kiss to Alec’s cheek, not missing the way his smile widens just as it did earlier when Magnus had kissed his jawline.

It strikes him, for a moment, just how far Alexander has come from the man who couldn’t even sit on the couch next to him to the man who can’t help but smile and gain a rosy flush when Magnus touched him. It’s a transformation he is beyond grateful to have had the opportunity to witness.

“I love you, too, Madzie. I’ll be home soon. Be good for Uncle Magnus and Uncle Alec, okay?” Cat says, eyes meeting Magnus’s.

“I will!” Madzie promises.

“Alright, Buttercup,” Alec says after Cat has left and it’s just the three of them. “Why don’t you go put your stuff in your room?” He means the guest room, but they’d added a few touches specifically for Madzie after the first time Cat had asked them to babysit. Her face lights up and she grabs her bag from where it’s been left behind on the floor and disappears down the hallway. Alec chuckles at her eagerness.

Magnus follows Alec into the kitchen, watching as he starts a pot of coffee. Alec glances at the clock above the stove and sighs. “I have to go soon,” he says, and the words feel like ice. Magnus doesn’t know how to explain it. Doesn’t know how to explain the sudden fear wrapping his heart in a vise. Alec’s forehead scrunches in concern, and Magnus knows his expression must betray the ice in his veins. “What’s wrong?”

His mouth opens and closes mechanically, like his body remembers how to speak but his vocal cords can’t quite create the sounds. He takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself. Cat’s words from only a few moments ago echo in his mind. Don’t let yourself hurt alone. Let him in. And the most important thing of all:  He loves you. “I know that work is important,” he begins, voice quiet. “And you need to be there, but…” Magnus trails off, unsure how to voice the overwhelming emotion building inside him. Or maybe he’s unable to voice it, doesn’t want to voice it, to be vulnerable and bare his fears to the world. Saying things out loud always makes them more real, he thinks.

“Do you want me to stay?” Alec asks simply, as if Magnus wasn’t asking the world of him. As if it was the easiest thing in the world. Magnus can’t bring himself to look up, to meet his eyes. “Hey,” Alec whispers, fingers ghosting over Magnus’s jawline. Magnus didn’t know when he’d moved from the other side of the kitchen to his side. “Look at me, please.”

Magnus finds strength in his eyes, finds an unwavering support, and some of that overwhelming fear subsides, just a bit. Just enough. “I need you,” he whispers. Alec’s fingers move from his jaw to cup his cheek, his thumb moving in soft, soothing strokes. “I don’t--I don’t know what I’m doing by myself with Madzie, I don’t have much experience with kids, and I don’t have my…” He trails off again. He can’t bring himself to say it, to speak of the loss. There’s an understanding in Alec’s eyes, though, and he feels relief. Alec knows. He doesn’t have to say it, doesn’t have to give it that spoken reality that can’t be taken back. “If something were to happen…” Magnus takes another breath. “I’m scared.”

Maybe saying things out loud doesn’t make them more real, Magnus thinks, because the ice hasn’t spread. Its thawing instead, he realizes, and relief and awe and hope replaces it. Saying it out loud feels like freedom.

“Then I’ll stay,” Alec says. Magnus wants to protest, doesn’t want to take Alec away from his work, from the Institute, even if he’s terrified of getting through today alone. But there’s a surety in Alec’s eyes, a determination and, most importantly, love. His thumb strokes along Magnus’s cheek again. “I’m not going anywhere.” He’s said those exact words before, with the same heart wrenching reverence, the same determined honesty. It takes Magnus’s breath away and he quietly thanks any and every divinity that had any part in sending Alexander Lightwood his way.

“Uncle Magnus, Uncle Alec, can we have pancakes?” Madzie’s joyful voice pulls them out of the moment, and any remaining fear in Magnus’s chest vanishes at the sound.

“Thank you,” Magnus whispers before Alec pulls away. Alec’s eyes search his for another second, and he darts in quickly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, before he turns to answer Madzie’s question.

“I think pancakes are a great idea,” Alec says, his hand finding Magnus’s and squeezing gently.

Madzie pulls herself up onto one of the stools at the counter. “Don’t you have to go to work?” she pouts.

Alec grins and shakes his head. “I decided I’d much rather spend the day with both of you.” His gaze falls on Magnus as Madzie lets out an excited “yay!” Their hands are still interlocked, and he raises Magnus’s to his lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

Later, after they’ve spent the day playing and reading and watching as many Disney movies as Madzie could think of, the three of them lay together on the couch, Madzie curled into Magnus’s chest, and Magnus curled into Alec’s. Madzie’s soft snores fill the room and Magnus chuckles softly.

“She snores just like you,” he whispers. He feels Alec’s intake of breath, his mock-affronted gasp.

“I do not snore,” Alec insists. Magnus hums in disagreement, earning a gentle swat to his arm. He laughs quietly, not wanting to wake Madzie.

“You were wrong earlier,” Alec says after a moment.

“About what?”

“When you said you don’t know what you’re doing with kids,” Alec says softly. “You were wrong. You’re great with kids.”

Magnus smiles at the assessment, the insecurity fading away just a bit as he presses himself closer to Alec. “You’re great with kids, too,” he whispers.

“Have you ever...have you ever thought about having kids?” Alec asks, his question hesitant and quiet and so easily making Magnus’s heart beat a little harder in his chest.

“Yes, but...I never thought it would be something I’d get to have,” Magnus answers slowly. “I never thought I’d get to have a family like that. At least,” he adds, hesitance creeping into his own words. “At least, not until I met you.”

Alec hums and Magnus feels a kiss pressed into the top of his head. “I never thought I would get to have that, either.” He pauses. “Well, no, I thought maybe I’d have kids, but with some Shadowhunter, with a woman I could never love. A family, but not...not the way I always wanted.” He laughs a little, nervous and flat at the memory of what his life almost became. “But then I met you, and you turned my life completely upside down.” His voice is more serious, more quiet when he asks, “Would you...Would you want kids? With me? When all of this is over, I mean. When the world is at least a little bit calmer and we’re both ready? Someday?”

Magnus cranes his head back to look at him, sees the nervous hope in Alec’s eyes. “There’s nothing else I could want more, Alexander,” he whispers.

“Your magic,” Alec whispers, and the reminder hurts, but he understands.

Magnus shakes his head. He needs Alec to understand this. “Alexander, I would give up my magic a thousand times if it meant I got a lifetime of happiness with you.” Alec opens his mouth, but Magnus continues. “I’m not saying the loss doesn’t hurt, because it does and I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time or how to be okay right now. But I know that I will be, someday. I know I’ll adjust and I’ll heal.”

“Magnus—”

“Alexander, if I was asked to choose between my magic and you, the answer would always be you.” He doesn’t know if Alec accepts the words for what they are--the truth--but he feels Alec exhale and press another kiss into his hair.

“We’re gonna get through this,” Alec says after a minute.

“We’re gonna get through this,” Magnus repeats, the words a confirmation and a prayer and a wish. “And then,” he adds. “Someday.”

He feels Alec’s grin, feels the way he hides it into the back of Magnus’s head. “Someday,” he mumbles back, his voice muffled by Magnus’s hair and full of a quiet happiness that melts away any of the ice remaining inside of him from that morning and replacing it with the warmth of a thousand suns.

[abbacchiosbelt]

Portraits of Home

A commission for @ciaossu-daphs about her OC, Elisa Joestar, returning home to her brother Jonathan Joestar and her new stepbrother, Dio Brando.

Rating - SFW, T

Elisa Joestar plucks at her dress nervously as she stares out the window of the train taking her home, green hills and blue skies as far as the eyes can see. It wasn’t that she was upset about finally returning home after Catholic school – no, it was because there’d been an unexpected addition to her family. Jonathan, her beloved older brother, had written her a letter about Dio Brando’s arrival into the Joestar family.

She knew her brother well, and though he used nothing but positive words to describe their new stepbrother, she read between the lines and saw that Dio was going to be more trouble than he was worth. But a proper lady aught not think such things about a gentleman, so she had steeled herself to meet him without judgement.

Still, she couldn’t help but to fiddle with her dress (a habit she’d been hit on the knuckles for one too many times) and wonder how much things had changed since she’d last been home. Elisa had missed her father and brother terribly, but the change of scenery and lack of silly boys had allowed her to focus on her studies like she always dreamed of. She was more than excited to share her new knowledge with Jonathan, who’d always encouraged her inquisitive side.

And oh, how she hoped she’d get to see Erina! She’d known her brother was sweet on Erina since the second he met her – and Elisa had always hoped that perhaps she’d gain the lovely girl as a sister someday. By the time Elisa was done reminiscing about all she hoped to do, the train had pulled into the station.

With a curtsy and a thanks, Elisa was off the train with her luggage clutched in her hands, searching the crowds for Jonathan’s messy blue hair. It didn’t take long to spot him in the crowd – oh my, had he grown even taller? Jonathan waved enthusiastically and Elisa ran to him without second thought, jumping into his arms and laughing like she was a little girl again.

“Jojo!” Elisa squeals, hugging him around the neck and holding on tight until he set her down.

“Elisa, I’m so happy to see you again.” Jonathan hugs her again – oh my, he really was much taller – and ruffles her hair, mussing the curls she had set just that morning. “You look so tall!”

 “Not as tall as you, Jojo.” Elisa has to crane her neck to look up at Jonathan. She had missed his eighteenth birthday and him her sixteenth, but they had promised to make up for it when she returned home. Elisa’s thoughts were buzzing with excitement.

“Oh, I have so much to tell you! You won’t believe what I got to study, oh…” Elisa trails off and almost starts babbling until Jonathan laughs and takes her luggage, breaking her out of her ramble.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that, dear sister. Let’s get you home so you can rest first, hm?” Jonathan didn’t ever use a harsh tone with Elisa, but his gentle suggestion was enough to have her nodding and following next to him with a smile. Before they climb in the car, Jonathan stops to give her a look she can’t quite place on his normally happy face.

“Elisa, about Dio…” Jonathan starts, shifting on his feet. But before Jonathan can finish, Elisa shakes her head.

“You remember what mother always said about first impressions? That we should meet someone for ourselves first?” Jonathan sighs at her words and pushes his free hand thorough his messy locks.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Father and Dio will be joining us for dinner tonight, they’re out attending to Dio’s schooling arrangements at the moment.” Jonathan offers an unusual half-smile before he steps forward and opens the door, offering a hand to help Elisa climb in before the driver takes her luggage, leaving Jonathan to climb in the back with her.

The ride home is silent minus the soft sound of Elisa’s steady breaths. Five minutes into the ride she had fallen asleep, head on Jonathan’s warm and broad arm.

Despite Dio’s presence, Jonathan was delighted to have his sister back at home. The anxiety that had been plaguing him dissipated as soon as he saw her again – she was sharp, she always had been. Dio wouldn’t be able to hurt her, not like he had slowly been hurting everyone in Jonathan’s life.

Still, as Jonathan looked at his sleeping sister’s form – almost feeling like they were children again, sleeping in the orchard – he vowed to protect her at any cost.

-

Elisa awoke slowly, trailing her hands over the soft material below her – wait, she hadn’t remembered coming in… She sat up and peered at the clock to find that two hours had passed since the car ride. Jonathan must have carried her to her room. With a yawn, she stands up and stretches, muscles stiff from the car ride and position she fell asleep in.

On her dresser lay a note in Jonathan’s familiar messy handwriting. Elisa picks it up to read, smiling at the tiny doodle Jonathan had drawn in lieu of a signature.

‘Father said that we won’t have dinner until you awaken, so come down whenever you’re ready. Dio is here as well, so please prepare to meet him. Erina would like to see you tomorrow – I’d love to take my ladies out for lunch. Rest well.’

Elisa couldn’t help but grin at his mention of Erina – she was so excited to catch up and perhaps gossip just a smidgen. The girls at her school had been so wound-tight… well, Elisa was in the mood for some innocent mischief. That could wait for later, though.

She felt her stomach rumble impatiently and found herself agreeing with its insistence on eating. It’d been hours since she’d had a warm meal. Setting the note down, Elisa opens her closet to pick out one of her nicer dresses. Minutes later, new outfit along with her hair and face touched up, she leaves her room to head to the parlor room.

Even though she’d only been gone for a few short years, being back in the mansion made Elisa feel warm in a way she couldn’t quite describe. Everything felt so familiar and comforting – the sound of the floor beneath her shoes, the smell of the fireplace and the light floral scent the maids always used, the way that the sun shone in through the delicate glass windows… It sent a pleasant shiver up her spine.

Descending the staircase, Elisa peers into the living room and sees her father sitting in his favorite chair, pipe in one hand as he looks through a novel with the other. In her excitement to rush down and greet her father, the young man with blonde hair on the opposing chair doesn’t even register in her mind.

“Father!” She cries, eagerly leaning around his chair to place a kiss on his salt and pepper hair. He stands after safely putting aside his pipe and pulls Elisa into a hug, familiar cologne reminding her of his good night hugs.

“My dear Elisa, I’m so sorry we missed your return. You look well, but I’m happy to have you back.” George pulls back from his daughter to rest his hands on her shoulders and smiles. She looked so much like Mary, though she had the same determined look as Jonathan. “You nap was refreshing, I take it?”

“Oh, that’s okay Father, I understand. It did, I have so much to tell you and Jonathan! Well, you just won’t believe some of the things I studied…” Catching herself trailing off again, Elisa brings a hand to her mouth and giggles. George’s face breaks into a smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners like they had since she was a little girl.

Someone clears their throat lowly, making Elisa spin around.

Oh my.

Standing before her was one of the most handsome young men she’d ever seen – though she hadn’t seen many lately because of her schooling, whoever this was still stood out. His blonde hair was unruly but looked soft as silk, contrasting against his milky pale skin and blood red eyes. She could have sworn there was the slightest sharp edge to his smile, but perhaps it was just the light playing a trick on her eyes. And oh, he had a body that was clearly well sculpted even under his thick clothes.

Elisa felt her face turn pink – she shouldn’t be thinking things like this about her father’s guest! With a nervous smile, Elisa steps forward and curtsies, nodding in the stranger’s direction.

“Elisa Joestar. It’s so lovely to meet you.” The man tilts his head and smiles curiously before extending his hand. Cautiously, Elisa reaches out and places hers in his much larger one.

“Dio Brando.” The stranger practically purrs – and Elisa feels herself stiffen. This was her new stepbrother? He brings her hand up to his lips and brushes a chaste kiss upon it before gingerly lowering it, placing his hands back behind his body.

“Well then, I suppose there’s no need for me to introduce you two over dinner. How about you two go find Jonathan and spend some time together before we eat. And Elisa, dear, don’t worry, Dio knows the mansion well already.” George was already back in his chair, book in one hand and pipe in the other.

Elisa was more than confused – her father was acting so… distant. Perhaps he was stressed. Yes, that must be it, Elisa thought. Therefore, she’d do her best to push down her anxious thoughts and behave well instead.

“Dio,” she says, doing her best to give her stepbrother a smile, though she blushes when she meets his eyes. Gazing at the ground, Elisa bites her lip before speaking again. “Let’s find Jojo. I’m sure he’s outside.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re correct.” Dio says, but before they can set off, he extends his arm for Elisa to hook hers through. “Sister?”

Hearing Dio call her ‘sister’ didn’t settle right in her gut, but oh, maybe it’s just because he was so handsome. She’d very soon see him as she saw Jonathan – a handsome and brave brother. This would be a good start, though her heart was pounding and there were butterflies making themselves known in her stomach.

Elisa links her arm through his and watches him smile lowly before swiftly escorting her outside. It doesn’t take long to find Jonathan. He’s situated atop the hill that overlooks the town, laid on his back with some sort of archelogy book in hand.

“Jojo!” Elisa calls. Jonathan looks up and smiles, but she doesn’t miss the brief fall of his face when he sees Dio next to her. He stands quickly and meets them halfway. Dio smirks at Jonathan out of Elisa’s sight before relaxing his face again.

“Jojo, I’m glad to have finally met the fairer half of your family.” Dio says, chuckling airily. Elisa giggles nervously and feels her face turn red once again. Although there was something off – to Elisa, Dio’s laugh sounded a bit too much like the businessmen that tried to talk to her father during their Christmas parties.

“Yes, Elisa is the shining star here.” Elisa giggles sincerely at Jonathan’s words and crinkles her nose when he playfully ruffles her hair again. Dio watches with a sharp eye – Jonathan knows the man is already calculating, trying to figure out Elisa’s weakness. A foolish endeavor, thought Jonathan.

Dio starts when Elisa unlinks herself from his arm and plops down into the grass flat on her back, closing her eyes and breathing in the fresh air. Without hesitation, Jonathan flops down next to her. They’d often spend time gazing at the clouds like this as children – it was one of their favorite pastimes.

“It feels good to be home. The nuns would have been horrified had I laid in the grass like this.” Elisa says, giggling. For a moment she feels as if it’s just her and Jonathan again, escaping the world after the death of their mother. When they were together, it felt like they could accomplish anything.

“Well, I’d hardly blame them. A woman as beautiful as you doesn’t belong in the dirt.” Elisa feels her face burn red – this time from embarrassment. She’d forgotten how easy it was to let her manners lapse around Jonathan. She begins to get up before Dio speaks again.

“Oh, don’t get up on my behalf. I was just teasing, you know.” Dio takes a step forward and leans down to pull her chin close. His hands are cold against her burning skin – no man had ever held her this close. Dio smiles. “You don’t have to take me so seriously.”

Elisa stammers before Jonathan pries Dio’s arm away, his jaw clenched shut.

“Dio, Elisa doesn’t like to be teased like that.” Jonathan states. His voice has a tone that Elisa has never heard from her dear brother – contempt and anger. Dio chuckles and plucks his arm out of Jonathan’s grasp before stepping back.

“Come off it, Jojo. I’ve only just met my new sister. I’m her brother too. I’ll keep an eye on her.” Dio doesn’t even bother waiting for Jonathan to reply before turning back towards Elisa. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Hm?”

“N-no.” Elisa says, gazing at the grass below. She’d just die if her face got any redder – she was already fighting the conflicting feelings that arose from Dio’s touch on her skin. Dio lets out a pleased hum and goes to lean against a nearby tree, his eyes trained on the view over the hill.

Jonathan puts a comforting hand on Elisa’s shoulder and gives her a gentle smile when she looks up.

“He’s a bit ornery,” Jonathan whispers. “Tell me if he makes you uncomfortable, please.”

Elisa nods. Jonathan always knew best, and even though he never tried to make her decisions for her, she found that following his advice usually turned out well.

“And please try not to end up alone with him.” Jonathan pauses, and leans in even closer. “There’s things you don’t know about him, terrible things he’s done that I’ve seen.”

Elisa holds her neutral expression, but her mind is racing. She trusted Jonathan implicitly, she did, but why would father bring someone so dangerous to their home? Swallowing, she nods, though the pit in her stomach wonders if Jonathan is just… jealous? It was too much to think about at the moment.

“Jojo, I think I might lay down again. I’m still feeling a bit faint from the train.” Elisa says – and it’s not a complete lie, she was starting to feel nervous and hot, but it was because of the two men next to her.

Jonathan and Dio escort Elisa up to her room and leave her be, the two of them informing George that Elisa is too sick to attend dinner tonight. She feels guilty when her father comes to check on her, pulling up a chair to read to her like he always did after her mother died.

Elisa falls asleep to the sound of his soothing voice, Dio forgotten for the time being.

-

With each passing day, Elisa starts to fall back into her normal routine. It’s not without some change, though. She finds that Dio is just as willing to listen and discuss her studies with her as Jonathan is. And oh, she’d never want to hurt Jonathan by telling him, but Dio offers a way of looking at things that would never even occur to Jonathan. Jonathan was incredibly smart, yes, but Dio was too – they saw the world in such different ways.

Elisa worries, though, when Dio holds onto her arm a touch too long or remarks how lovely she looks in the dresses she dons for dinner. His touch doesn’t have the same familial touch that Jonathan’s does – when Jonathan hugs her or offers a hand to help her, his hands are warm just like they always have been. Dio’s touches, though, are possessive and cold. She tries to give him the benefit of the doubt – he’s never had siblings. Still, if Jonathan isn’t around, Dio’s touch on her waist lingers and the slide of his fingers against her neck feel anything but what a gentleman should be doing to anyone he wasn’t courting.

It comes to a head one morning when the three of them are gathered in the study after breakfast. Jonathan is working on a paper for his archeology class, whilst Dio is perched next to Elisa while she shows him a passage from one of her schoolbooks. He’d been getting steadily closer, until his leg was brushed up against hers and his face was close enough that it was almost pressed upon hers.

Elisa shifts nervously. She didn’t like this – the feelings she had for Dio had long since dissipated into the same brotherly affection she felt for Jonathan – or at least, they should have. Dio’s mixed signals had her mind frazzled. What would father say, if he knew? Oh, he’d be so disappointed, and yet she couldn’t help but wish Dio was only a guest and not her stepbrother.

Still… Jonathan had warned her. Elisa had struggled with it, wondering that if Dio cared about her, would he be doing this? Was what Jonathan said about his dangerous side true? He’d been by Dio’s side for longer than she had.

With a sigh, Elisa tries to scoot away from Dio, and loudly yelps when he wraps an arm around her waist.

“D-dio, what are you doing?” Elisa murmurs, frozen in place. His lips are practically brushing her cheek, and she can feel his breath on her blazing skin. He breathes out a laugh.

“Just staying close to you, Eli. It’s cold, don’t you think?” Dio squeezes her waist and Elisa lets out a nervous giggle. Before Elisa can respond, she hears the sound of a chair falling over and Jonathan’s loud voice.

“Dio, get your hands off her this instant!” Elisa had never heard Jonathan sound so angry, and Dio hisses, actually hisses, in protest of her brother’s words. Jonathan stomps over and rips Dio away, the blonde grimacing and standing from the couch.

“You’re unbearable, Jojo.” Dio says, brushing off his shirt and shooting a look at Jonathan. “What exactly are you protecting our sister from?”

Jonathan looks to Elisa and back to Dio. Elisa notices Jonathan take a breath, and then another, in the same pattern Erina had taught them to calm down one day after someone had been bullying Elisa.

Elisa puts a hand on Jonathan’s arm and gives it a gentle pat. “I’m okay. I promise, Jonathan.”

Jonathan seems to be lost – he takes a step forward towards Dio and then freezes. Stiffening, he stands straight up and nods.

“Okay. I believe you.” Elisa doesn’t see the low look Jonathan shoots Dio, nor the one Dio sends back. The rest of the morning proceeds without incident, though the tension in the air could be cut by a knife.

-

That same evening, Elisa hears a soft knock on her door that can only be Jonathan. She slides on her slippers and heads to her door, opening it to find her brother as she suspected.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, but could we talk?” Jonathan asks. He was so broad and grown now, but to Elisa, he only looked small hunched nervously in his pajamas. She notices the stuffed dog clutched in his hands; one their mother had gifted him so long ago. Oh, poor Jonathan. She nods and beckons him in, quietly shutting the door behind him.

“You never need to ask Jojo. Now sit, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Elisa says, patting the corner of her bed. When they were younger the two of them often lay side by side, taking turns reading until they both fell asleep.

Sitting next to Jonathan reminded Elisa of just how much he always managed to warm up a room. His enthusiasm was infectious, but now, he seemed troubled.

“What’s wrong?” Jonathan flops back on the pillows and holds the dog plushie to his chest. Elisa had teased him for it before – Jonathan was always a bit dramatic when he was upset, often sneaking chocolate bars and eating them when he’d had a bad day.

“I know I sound like a mad man at this point, but it’s Dio. I’ve tried to trust him, Elisa. I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t deserve it. He’s been acting more strange than usual. I don’t like how he’s treating you. It’s not right. I know you can take care of yourself.” Jonathan pauses and turns his head towards her. “I told myself I’d protect you, though. I’m worried I’ve done a terrible job.”

“Jojo,” Elisa murmurs, drawing her knees to her chest. “You’ve never once failed me. You haven’t now, either.”

Jonathan sighs and rolls towards her. He was so tall that his feet hung off the end of her bed, and though she wanted to giggle at the sight, Elisa held it in.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I love you, Jonathan. You’ve always been a great big brother.”

“I love you too, Elisa. And you’ve always been a great little sister.” Jonathan smiles and ruffles her hair, the gesture making Elisa huff in fake annoyance. The two of them enjoy the comfortable silence for a moment, until Elisa looks back over at Jonathan.

This time when Elisa glances towards the end of the bed she can’t stifle the giggles that start to fall out of her mouth. Jonathan widens his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” He says, sounding a little hurt.

“Jojo,” she says between laughs. “You make this bed look like it belongs in a dollhouse.”

Elisa keeps giggling and eventually Jonathan joins in, laughing so hard that the bed rumbles a little. The two of them start to laugh so hard that tears stream down their faces and their hands are clutching at their stomachs, not caring that the whole household could probably hear them. Eventually they fade, leaving the two staring at each other and trying not to burst out in laughter again.

“I haven’t laughed like that since you left.” Jonathan says, smiling gently at Elisa. “You’ve always been so funny.”

Elisa snorts. “Jojo, I’m not really that funny. You’re just too soft on me.”

“Maybe, but I still think it’s true.” He says, rolling back to stare at the ceiling. He gasps and makes Elisa jump. “I’ve just thought of something that slipped my mind!”

“And that is?” Elisa raised an eyebrow at her brother – he’d never been the forgetful type.

“It’s going to be a bit in the future, but I’d like you to come with me to shop for an engagement ring.” Jonathan gives Elisa a sneaky smile, watching as her face lights up.

“Oh, Jojo, really? Erina told me she thought you might propose soon! I’m so excited for you two, how wonderful! I can’t believe I’ll finally have a sister!”

“Oh, not excited your brother is proposing? Just about that?” Jonathan fakes offense and the two fall into laughter again, earning a harsh knock on their door from one of the staff members.

“Sorry!” Jonathan calls, stifling his laughter with his large hand while he looks as Elisa trying to do the same. Eventually they go quiet again, laying in comfortable silence.

“Would you like to read to each other how we used to?” Elisa prompts. Jonathan smiles and nods eagerly. She gets off the bed to walk over to her beloved bookshelf, carefully browsing her books until she finds one both of them can enjoy. It’s for a bit of a younger audience, but they’d loved it for so long and read it so many times that Elisa couldn’t bare to remove it from her collection.

Sitting back down, Elisa nestles into her pillow before she cracks the book open, clearing her throat before she begins reading the familiar passage.

“High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince…”

As the two took turns reading, their eyes grew heavy. It wasn’t long before Jonathan was fast asleep with his beloved dog plush clutched tight in his hands. Elisa fell asleep shortly after, Jonathan’s presence offering a comfort she hadn’t felt in so long.

When they awoke, both of them felt that the anxiety they had been carrying around was gone.

-

That night, though, Elisa could only scream as she saw her father fall to the floor and Dio laugh coldly as he snatched the stone mask from where it was held on the parlor wall. Jonathan held her back as best he could, anguish painting his face.

When he told her to run to Erina she hesitated only a moment, short enough for Dio to turn his sights on her with a wicked grin. Jonathan begged her to run, to get out – and Dio commanded her to stay with a sultry voice, promising a place by his side.

Jonathan was begging her to run, telling her that he’d be okay and that he loved her.

“I’ll see you soon, I promise. I won’t leave you behind. Please go, Elisa!”

Elisa didn’t hesitate again – turning on her heel, she ran as fast as she could towards Erina’s home where Jonathan had pleaded with her to flee.

After all, Jonathan was always right.

Elisa could only hope he’d be right this time, too.