#also I could draw the rest of uncle clean for the life of me

[zzineedsleepzz]

“Marzi, you made the raggedytober challenge, and you aren’t even doing it?”

LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER

FIRST THREE DAYS💥 [not as good as all of y’all’s tho, like HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING AT DRAWING-]

[risingsoleil]

Hey its me lol. What fall activity does Linzin do with baby, carve pumpkins with baby or make/ give them a caramel apple. And what is the babys reaction-🧐🔎

This is a fun one! I think in the LOK canon universe, these kinds of activities don't exist bc it draws on various cultures across Asia/Inuit traditions. But regardless, they're still fun to HC and think about for Linzin and their baby! 🧡

With that said, here's a breakdown of what I think Linzin would do with baby:

Carve pumpkins - Tenzin attempted to cut the mf pumpkin,but didn't realize that you had to cut at an angle so that the top could rest naturally again. Thus, Lin became the designated executioner of the pumpkin. Once they can get inside and dig out the seeds, baby is helping Mommy and Daddy clean it. They get a small taste of the inside and make that 😖 face, but they give it a second chance when they try toasted pumpkin seeds. In fact, Tenzin might also use it to grind into a powder for medicine? It's Tenzin's bright idea to put the baby in the gutted pumpkin and take pictures of them bc "Look Lin, they can fit inside! They're so cute!"

Apple picking - Lin has never done this, but Tenzin did this apparently with Aang and his siblings before. But Lin enjoys this so much bc it's calming, peaceful, and most importantly, private. A few people try to make conversation with her but she doesn't really want to tell people about her personal life or family life to strangers. She lifts baby and they grab the apple, while Tenzin holds the basket for baby to drop it in. When Lin isn't looking, baby is trying to grab all the other apples and they want to stay at the orchard for the rest of the day. They throw a fit when they realize that Lin and Tenzin are taking them home, until Tenzin feeds them a few apple slices. They also leave with a few baskets bc Oogi deserves snacks, and Lin will use some apples for pie and other traditional desserts.

Mooncake Festival - This is a family-oriented holiday, so the whole Gaang is a part of it and I could do a long ass post abou this probably haha Anyway, Sokka is telling the baby stories about Yue bc he got to kiss the Moon Spirit! Lin is rolling her eyes, but baby is enthralled by Uncle Sokka's storytelling. The family is eating mooncakes together, baby is just stealing everyone's mooncakes by taking a single bite in each one 😂 They decide that the best ones are Aang's, he just has great taste.

[tngrace]

Cry, Baby

Story inspired by real life events and this song, “Cry Baby” by Mitchell Tenpenny.

I have to thank my discord babes so much for listening to me the last couple of days, and for reading over this last night when I wrote it like a madwoman that just had to get it out. There might be more stories for Spicy & Roo one day in the future; I truly loved writing them & I hope yall enjoy it. 

Discord babes: @callsign-dragonbaron @mrsjaderogers @bayisdying @biehnybaby @askmarinaandothers @mischief-siriusly-managed @cycbaby @callsignscupcake @breadsquash

Grace “Spicy” Bradshaw stared at the shower floor as tears cascaded down her cheeks. She was using the water to muffle the sounds of her sobs so they didn’t wake her husband just yet. Bradley had to be up in an hour to go to class, and she wanted to let him sleep as long as possible. She’d been so hopeful that today would bring the news they’d been hoping for, but instead it just brought the same disappointment the last year and a half has brought. She felt like she was letting Bradley down tremendously, and truthfully she wanted to tell him he deserved better.  

She should’ve known he’d come find her when she was up earlier than expected, but it still surprised her when the door opened. “Spice? Babe? You’re up early?”

She quickly wipes her eyes and clears her throat; “Yea, yea I woke up early. Decided to just go ahead and get ready. Didn’t mean to get you up so early.”

“Mind if I join?”

She sucks in a deep breath and holds it; she turns her face into the spray despite knowing her eyes will be red and puffy anyways. “Yea, come on in.”

Bradley gets in behind her and pulls her back into his chest. His chin rests on top of her head as he holds her, letting the warm spray wash over them. “Grace,” he whispers. He only uses her real name when it’s something serious, always using her nickname or some version of it. Slider had given her the nickname based on the food and spice level of it when she took over the grill at the Hard Deck ten years ago.

She sinks into his hold, biting her lip hard enough to almost draw blood. “Talk to me baby.” She shakes her head no as more tears fall down her cheeks.

“I …. Can’t. I…. I just knew this time was going to be different.”

Bradley’s arms tighten around her; he knows right then that despite thinking she’d finally gotten pregnant, she had in fact not. “We’ll just keep trying.”

“Bradley…. You….”

“Don’t say it Grace. Don’t say I deserve better.” He finally spins her, but her eyes drop to his chest and his dog tags unable to meet his eyes. He gently tips her chin up, and her eyes close, tears sneaking out around her lids. He cradles her face between both of his large hands, his thumbs gently wiping the tears away.

“Open your beautiful eyes, Spicy.”

Her breath shudders out, but her eyes slowly open to meet the chocolate brown ones she loves so much. “I love you, and only you. I want you, and only you. If this is all we have, just me and you, we will be ok. But we also still have options. We’re going to try those meds and if that doesn’t work, then we look at other possibilities. I know for a fact if we went to Dad, Uncle Ice, any of the many Uncles and Aunts in our family, we could have the help to make any option possible. This sucks, I know; I know you’re feeling crushed, and today is going to be rough and full of lots of tears. But you, my dear beautiful girl, are all I want, so don’t tell me to find anyone else.”

Spicy collapses against his chest and just cries as he holds her as tight as possible, letting the water keep them warm. Bradley holds her tight, murmuring over and over how much he loves her, how much he’s there for her, how much she can cry to him anytime. Once the water starts cooling off, he washes her hair and runs some conditioner through it before quickly scrubbing his own while she stays wrapped around him. Once they’re both clean, he wraps a towel around his waist and goes to the bedroom to get dressed, letting her have the bathroom to do what she needs. She takes a few minutes to try and compose herself, but it doesn’t work. The tears don’t seem to want to stop. She slips into a pair of shorts and one of Bradley’s t-shirts she’d grabbed on her way to the bathroom that morning.

He’s sitting on the side of the bed waiting on her. She carefully settles in his lap, facing him, with her legs around his waist. She rests her head under his chin, her fingers tangling in his dog tags. “You’re going to make the best Dad one day, and I wish I could make that happen for you, more than anything,” she whispers.

His arms rub up and down her back as he holds her close. “We’re going to get that one day, I promise you, Spicy girl.”

They stayed cuddled like that until Bradley has to get ready for class. He tucks Spicy into bed, “Text me or call me if you need anything today. And I’m sure Pen can manage just fine if you don’t want to go in tonight.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll be ok. I’m not going to cancel on her last minute. I’ll be fine once I’m distracted.”

“Promise me if you’re not, you’ll stay here or come get me.”

She gives him a soft smile and a kiss. “I promise Roo. Now go before you’re late.”

Bradley reluctantly leaves; he wants to text his dad or his uncles to go check on her later, but he also knows what it’s meant to her to keep this a secret to keep the pressure lower on them. He’s glad he doesn’t have a hop that day because his head stays with his girl all day.

Spicy spends the morning in bed, and heads into the Hard Deck around lunch. Penny can tell something is wrong, but she also doesn’t push. She texts Bradley to see what’s going on, but all he’ll tell her is to keep an eye on her. Spicy spends the majority of the day in the kitchen, and when Bradley arrives after class, waving to his uncles and dad in the back corner, he heads straight into the kitchen to check on her.

“Roo,” she smiles, leaning up for a kiss. The kitchen hasn’t been too busy that day, and Bradley can tell she’d deep cleaned everything to keep her mind busy.

“Ready for a break? Dad, Ice, Sli, Chip, Wolf and Wood have the back corner claimed.”

“Roo, I…”

“Penny says you’ve been in here all day, and the kitchen is sparkling.” Spicy sighs as she leans into Roo’s embrace.

“You’re right I’ve been hiding. But I’ve been thinking. Your insurance covered the tests and meds, and I know it’s been a lot on you not sharing with everyone.”

“Grace..”

“No, let me finish.” At Bradley’s nod she continues. “We’ve gotten lucky not having to pay for what we’ve done so far, but if this doesn’t work, we could be forking out more money than we need to on our own. We don’t know how much longer we’re going to be on this journey. You’re a very open person with your family, and I love that. And I know I’ve had you keeping this a secret, and I know there are times you’ve wished you could talk to someone about it. So maybe we should tell them.”

Bradley wraps her in his arms. “You’re just doing this for me, and I know it.”

“I do everything for you Bradley Nicholas. I’d give you the whole world if I could.”

“I’d do the same for you Grace Michelle.” Spicy leans up and kisses Bradley soundly. She lets him take her apron off and hang it up, before telling her assistant that she was done for the night. Spicy wrapped her hand in his, and let him pull her to the back corner where their family was waiting.

Spicy takes the open seat beside Mav, Bradley’s dad instantly pulling her into a side hug, while Bradley pulls up a stool on her other side. As per usual they start off by complimenting the snacks she’d sent their way, before they observe them both. Bradley is telling them about his class that day, but it’s Slider who picks up on Spicy’s quietness. It’s almost like she was still the shy girl they’d met when she’d moved there, instead of the confident outgoing girl she’d become in her ten years in San Diego. He shoots a look at Ice and then Mav before turning his attention back to her.

“B, you’re rambling,” Ice finally says, all of them catching the soft sigh he lets out.

“Yea… Yea I am.” He laces his hand with Spicy’s, giving it a squeeze, before he meets six pairs of worried eyes.

“I’ve had him keeping a secret from yall,” Spicy says, before Bradley can say anything.

“Grace…”

“No B, it’s true.” She finally looks around the table. “We’ve been trying for a baby for a year and a half now, and I didn’t want him to tell anyone because I knew it wouldn’t be easy for us to get pregnant because of me. I didn’t want anyone to get their hopes up just to be crushed over and over.”

She feels Mav’s arm sling across her shoulder and squeeze her tight to his side. He’s been like a dad to her ever since she started dating Roo and realized he was essentially Bradley’s dad too. “Oh kiddo,” he sighs, placing a kiss on her head. Bradley doesn’t let go of her hand, but doesn’t miss how she practically melts into the hug.

She takes another steadying breath and pulls herself upright once more. “My doctor ran some tests about a couple of weeks ago, and in two days I’m going to be starting meds. If after three months they haven’t helped, then we have to either look at other options or give up. This… This morning was rough and there were a lot of tears, but I’ve spent the majority of the afternoon hiding in the kitchen and cleaning and thinking. I know it’s been hard on B keeping this a secret from yall and everyone basically, so I decided we needed to confess.”

In the next instant she is pulled up off the stool into a crushing group hug from their family. Bradley is wrapped in one next, before everyone settles back into their seats. Spicy laughs as she wipes tears off her cheeks, laying her head on Bradley’s shoulder, giving his hand a squeeze. “We’re here for anything, we mean anything, you two might need. No matter how big or small.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Bradley smiles over Spicy’s head. He knew they’d be understanding, but he also understood Spicy’s fears. They spend the next hour explaining her health woes and what all her doctor has recommended. When Spicy starts falling asleep, worn out from all her cleaning and emotional turmoil, Bradley pulls her into his lap.

“Get her home son. We can talk more when you’re both ready,”  Mav promises.

“Thanks Dad.” Bradley scoops her up carefully, Ice following him to help with doors, promising to bring her car home for them. Spicy never stirs, and once home, Bradley tucks her into bed.

Three months later

Spicy is staring at the sink, not moving, not blinking, not even really breathing. The knock on the door startles her enough to cause her jump and squeak. “Spicy? You ok love?”

She opens the door, and Bradley instantly assumes she’s started, late, again. “Oh baby, we can…” but that’s as far as he gets before she’s jumping up and kissing him. He instantly catches her, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Spice?”

“Roo it finally worked,” she whispers, staring into those chocolate eyes. “It worked! Congratulations Daddy.”

“You’re serious?”

She points at the sink, where five positive pregnancy tests lay. “I’ve done one every morning for the last five days because I didn’t believe them. We’re finally having a baby.”

A week later when they finally have an ultrasound to confirm, they learn that one of the major side effects from the meds happened; they’re having twins. Two and half months pass before Spicy is comfortable telling everyone. Mav and all the uncles knew because Bradley had been way too excited not to tell them, but they’d all kept the secret like she’d asked. Now that she’s showing and well into her second trimester, the ‘86 flyboys plan a huge party at the Hard Deck to celebrate. Spicy and Roo are showered in so much love and excitement, that all the pain of trying slowly melts away. She can’t wait to see Bradley as a daddy and all their family being wrapped around the babies’ fingers.

[phoenixyfriend]

The Family Tree is... a Disaster

Takes place in the TCW Leverage AU. It does contain a few deviations, namely that the narrative ended up shifting Plo's role in Ahsoka's life, and Ventress's role overall.

This is mostly just dialogue where I outline the fuckery that is the disaster lineage family tree, not actual fic. It stemmed from my incessant need to justify "25yo Obi-Wan somehow got custody of 9yo Anakin without Shmi dying."

Warnings for: canon character death (modernized), canon violence (modernized), and references to Nazis and white supremacists (Palpatine collects WWII weaponry as a parallel to his canon display of Sith artifacts in his office as chancellor, and Ahsoka thinks it's sketchy)

----

"Okay," Cody says, setting down a glass of whiskey as he drops into the seat across the table. "What the hell is your family tree like?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, and continues cleaning off the definitely-not-stolen crystal komodo dragon he'd won in today's job. "I beg your pardon?"

"You and Skywalker," Cody says, gesturing between Obi-Wan, who is just sitting there minding his own business, and Anakin, who is across the closed-for-tonight bar and doing something inadvisable on the pool table. "You've said he was your brother, and mentioned raising him, which, sure, I'm over twenty years older than my youngest brother, people take over parenting roles all the time. But you have different last names, have mentioned stepfamilies that the other doesn't have, reference things as 'your aunt, not mine,' and I am just getting... very confused. I figured it was personal and I could leave well enough alone, but considering your older brother almost shot us today--"

"Okay, Xanatos is not my brother," Obi-Wan immediately says. "Just. I just have to stop you right there. Xanatos was a student of my father's for a time, but I promise he's not family. Nobody except maybe Komari would consider him even close, and she doesn't count since she's in prison for life and the farthest thing from stable."

Cody gestures. "That, Obi-Wan. That's what I'm talking about. I don't even know who Komari is."

Obi-Wan purses his lips in a failed attempt to not smile. "Do you actually want the explanation? It's long and unnecessarily complicated."

"So's mine," Cody snorts. Obi-Wan waits, patient and pleasant, and is rewarded when Cody sighs. "Please."

"Of course, my dear. To answer your first question, though, Anakin is my half-brother." With a smile, Obi-Wan digs a piece of paper and a pen from his briefcase. "So, center of the chain: me, my father Qui-Gon, my grandfather Yan, and my great-grandfather Yoda. With me so far?"

"Easy enough. Do you have to go back that far?"

"Great-grandfather Yoda is still alive and regularly escaping the old folks' home to terrorize younger relatives, so yes," Obi-Wan says. "Given that you may just meet a tiny, meddling relative of mine when he's bored, we do in fact have to go back that far."

"...how old is he?"

"We don't know for sure. A hundred and eight-ish is the best guess." Obi-Wan shrugs. "It's not a huge deal, mostly he likes bothering Anakin these days. Anyway, grandfather. Yan Dooku. Inherited a minory duchy from his maternal grandfather decades back. Mostly hangs around there because he's on terrorist watchlists in the States."

"Oh, lovely."

Obi-Wan grins. "Trust me, it gets worse. Anyway, grandfather never actually married, but spent most of his time with his 'best friend' Sifo Dyas, who died about a decade back."

"Gay?"

"Well, we know that now, but they got together in the seventies, and this was back when they were both working government jobs, so, you know. It happens."

"Good to know," Cody says. "So, Yoda's kid is Yan, who inherited a title and land from a maternal relative, and had a life partner but never married. With you so far."

"All of Yan's kids were adopted," Obi-Wan continues, sketching out the first branch away from the Yan/Sifo partnership. "Rael was actually grandfather's cousin, maternally, and ended up in his custody after getting orphaned at five. These days, he does most of the stewardship duties at the Serenno Duchy. His daughter Nim is teaching military history at a university in Germany."

Cody nods. "Uncle number one is named Rael, technically your dad's cousin, has a daughter. Got it."

"About a decade after Rael, they adopted my father, Qui-Gon. He and grandfather fought, frequently, but they did care for each other. My father was a botanist, did bio-engineering. We'll get back to him later, because he's where things get complicated." Obi-Wan made sure to leave room around the name. "Just a few years older than me was--is--Komari Vosa. She is... serving a life sentence. I think she fought Jango once."

"She fought my father?"

"To the best of my knowledge, they both almost died, yes," Obi-Wan says. "She's in maximum security these days. She was an assassin. I'll get a call if she breaks out, and I'll let you know along with everyone else."

"Bad news auntie, got it."

"Last adoption, sort of, is Ventress," Obi-Wan finishes off. "A few years younger than me, is technically grandfather's personal assistant and does secretarial work and the like, but we all know he's planning to leave as much of the inheritance to her as he is to the rest of us. She's aggressive and unpleasant, but she takes care of him and hasn't actually threatened to kill any of us yet, so that's fine."

"How'd she join?" Cody asks.

"Ky Narec was a friend of Qui-Gon's; Ventress was his daughter. Ky died a few years after Qui-Gon did, and Ventress was a mess, after." Obi-Wan shrugs and scratches that connection into the little sketch of a family tree as well. "Grandfather offered her a job until she got herself back together, and then she just kind of... stuck around."

"Youngest aunt, more of a cousin." Cody summarizes. "Now we go back to your father?"

"Qui-Gon Jinn was a man of many skills," Obi-Wan says drily. "Adequate birth control was not one of them."

It's almost a pity that Cody wasn't drinking anything, because going by the way he chokes, Obi-Wan's pretty sure the spit take would have been spectacular.

"I'm sorry," Cody says. "Can you repeat that?"

"I was an accident," Obi-Wan says, not even bothering to hide his smile. "So was Anakin."

"So that sounds like... a story."

"It is," Obi-Wan confirms. "My biological mother has never been in the picture. They had a fling, she wasn't sure if she'd want to abort or give me up, just that she wasn't ready to be a parent, and Qui-Gon volunteered to take full custody so she could go back to her life after the birth. I've never met her, but I kept her family name. You can consider her irrelevant beyond that."

Cody nods.

"So, when I was about a year old, Qui-Gon reconnects with an old flame, they get married two years later. Step-mother number one is Tahl. Lovely woman, I absolutely adored her, and she had a daughter, my stepsister, Bant Eerin."

"I met her, right?" Cody asks.

"Yes, she was the doctor who patched up my bullet wound a few months ago," Obi-Wan says. "With the giant glasses that make her look a little fish-eyed."

"She was nice."

"She is," Obi-Wan agrees. "At any rate, that was our family for a while, and then Tahl died when I was fourteen. Bant wanted to go to a magnet school for medical studies, and Qui-Gon's grief was... not optimal for taking care of multiple teenagers, shall we say, so Bant moved in with her paternal uncle, Kit Fisto, and Kit's son Nahdar. He's a marine biologist, incredibly friendly, and has no idea of any of the rest of my side of the family's questionable activities. If you ever meet him, you will pretend that we are a legal firm with a team of security consultants."

Cody raises a brow. Obi-Wan despairs. "Best you could do?"

"We're not that likely to run into him." Obi-Wan draws out a new line. "So, Qui-Gon deals poorly with grief. This is also around the time that Xanatos came around to ruin our lives a little. He was a very rich and unpleasant man, but he's dead as of four hours ago, so you don't have to worry about him. Or his son."

"His son?"

"Anakin handled that," Obi-Wan says. "Thoroughly. Granta Omega is no longer an issue. He's not dead, but... well. Anakin has his ways. Er--I should probably mention Feemor; he was my father's assistant at the university for a long time. Anakin and I still call him our uncle."

"Also a person to avoid mentioning criminal activity to?" Cody prompts.

"Well... no, but only because I don't think he'd care. The man is, forgive me, more of a 'walking sweatervest' than I am. He's a very bland and unassuming man. He once described himself as the background character of the soap opera that is my family's existence."

"Sounds like a charmer."

"Oh, he's very kind and clever, and witty as well. I adore him, and he really is family. He's just also very, very normal. Not boring, but..." Obi-Wan trails off and shrugs helplessly. "He's an editor for an agricultural research journal. Also not someone I anticipate us running into."

"Noted."

"Right, so, Qui-Gon dealing poorly with his grief didn't involve much drinking, but there were a few months of him trying to... lose himself in the pleasures of the flesh?" Obi-Wan tries, and then deflates at the look on Cody's face. "He was slagging around. Shmi got pregnant with Anakin, who was born when I was sixteen. Shared custody at first, Qui-Gon got him weekends and every other holiday, that sort of thing, and then they got married because they actually did like each other well enough, and it was easier on the taxes."

"So Shmi is stepmother number two."

"Shmi is stepmother number two, yes." Obi-Wan sketches in Anakin and Shmi. "About nine and a half years after Anakin was born, Shmi and Qui-Gon were in a car accident with... well, it later turned out it wasn't an accident, there was a hitman called Maul involved, he's actually Ventress's second cousin or something, I don't know. Grandfather handled most of that problem. Qui-Gon died, Shmi was in intensive care, and I got custody of Anakin as his nearest adult relative. We weren't very close before that, because I was off at university by the time he was old enough to form memories, but that changed once he started living with me. I more or less raised him as a single parent from that point."

"This is why he jokes that you're like a father to him."

"Precisely," Obi-Wan says. "Shmi took about a year to recover enough to move again, and grandfather covered the costs. She still had to live with a dedicated carer and attend daily physical therapy. At that physical therapy, she met Cliegg Lars, whose son Owen was also a patient there. They hit it off, and three years later, they married. When Anakin refers to his stepfamily he's talking about the Lars out in Nevada."

"Nevada?"

"They have a farm. A very, very normal one. We don't drag them into our activities, unless we have an at-risk person who needs a safe house." Obi-Wan pauses, and then decides this really needs to be stressed. "This is important to me and Anakin, that we don't get them involved unless there's absolutely no other choice. Shmi's been through a lot, and the Lars are busy enough running the farm."

"Works for me," Cody says. "We've got enough safe houses that it shouldn't be an issue. I'm guessing this story doesn't end there, though."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "My own love life has been... a bit of a mess."

"I already know about Kryze, at least."

There's that. "I was temporarily engaged to a friend, Siri Tachi, shortly after high school. We were in a relationship, but this was mostly something done to appease a relative of hers that was getting overbearing to the point of absurdity, and she couldn't just cut them off. We broke off the engagement after the relative passed, and we're still friends."

He notes that down, then adds the other embarrassment of his early years. "First marriage was actually a drunken joke between myself and my best friend when we were in college. We got it annulled a few months later because we just didn't have time to drop by the courthouse before then, and he's actually engaged to Asajj now."

"Asajj?" Cody asks, watching in fascination as Obi-Wan tries to mark in both his own short marriage and the newer, long-term engagement without crossing any lines. He settles for just writing the name twice and including an asterisk with 'this is the same person.'

"Ventress," Obi-Wan clarifies. "Yeah, Quinlan's a fun guy. His little sister, Aayla, treats Anakin like a beloved younger cousin."

"Are they also off-limits for criminal activity?"

"No, Aayla's the one that taught Ahsoka how to vent-crawl," Obi-Wan says. "And I'm pretty sure Quinlan has contacts in every major government branch, criminal organization, and Fortune 500 company on the planet. I reach out to them regularly."

"Resources, then."

Obi-Wan nods. "Some time later, I married Satine. We had a son; you've met Korkie. We split due to incompatibility a year and change before Qui-Gon's death. Satine doesn't engage in criminal activity, but Bo-Katan is..."

"I've met Bo-Katan. I know what she's like, Obi. You don't have to explain."

"She works with Maul sometimes."

"...the man who killed your father?"

"Yes. It's all very stupid and convoluted." Obi-Wan still writes her in. "So, that's them. Korkie goes to boarding school, and I try not to involve him in anything. Anakin and Ahsoka like to teach him self-defense and the like, but Satine is adamant that he stay unaware of my less legal dealings until he's an adult."

Cody shrugs. "Makes sense. Is that every--wait, no, Skywalker's married."

Obi-Wan grins. "Yes, and Padme's got twins on the way."

"I was there when he told us," Cody says drily. "He was very loud about it. Okay, how does Ahsoka fit in?"

"Hold on, I forgot Beru," Obi-Wan mutters. "Owen's fiancee. Same rules as the Lars. Okay, you asked about Ahsoka. Right. So. Um."

He dithers. Cody waits for him, and then Obi-Wan just gives up. "Ahsoka, dear, would you like to explain how you joined the family, so to speak?"

Ahsoka looks up from whatever she and the boys are doing--there are multiple beer glasses and straws and duct tape involved, and Obi-Wan doesn't really want to know--and then flips off the table and over to Obi-Wan and Cody. She looks over the family tree chart, and then says, "Oooh, did you tell him about the cult?"

"You were in a cult?" Cody demands.

"No, Komari was. She was head priestess or something. I dunno, it's why she's in prison and stuff."

"I did not tell him about the cult," Obi-Wan mutters, already regretting this. "The Bando Gora aren't a problem anymore. I've already gotten to explaining how you and Anakin know each other."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, steals his pen, and starts sketching in around Quinlan's name, over by Asajj since Obi-Wan's section is too crowded. "Okay, so, Quinlan's adopted. His dad is Tholme, and Tholme's dad is Plo Koon. Plo Koon is good friends with my Auntie, Shaak Ti, who raised me. They live next door to each other, out in the country, and I'd play in his yard a lot, because he had puppies, and he took me to visit his bees. Whenever Auntie needed a babysitter, she asked Quinlan or Aayla to do it since she knew and trusted them, and Aayla needed pocket money."

"This is so unnecessarily complicated," Cody mutters.

"It is!" Ahsoka chirps. Her grin is far too sharp. "So, this one time, Aayla was watching me when I was fourteen, and she was just helping me with my physics homework. BAM, the door slams open, and in stumbled Skyguy with his arm missing. I've never met him before, and my first introduction is him shortly after he's gotten an unplanned amputation."

Anakin, on the other side of the room, giggles. Obi-Wan just sighs. The Fett brothers appear to be in the land of 'horrified fascination.'

Ahsoka revels in it. "There's blood everywhere, I'm screaming, Aayla's panicking, Anakin's halfway to unconscious and insisting we can't call the hospital, and nobody can get Obi-Wan on the phone. Quinlan's in another country, and Auntie Shaak and Uncle Plo are at a movie, so they've both got their cellphones off. Tholme was faking his death at that point to get away from an incident with the Irish Mob, so we didn't even try him."

"What the actual fuck," Rex breathes.

Ahsoka continues with relish. "We get Bant to pick up, and she's there an hour later with Padme, because Padme knows how to drive the way Skyguy does, and the entire drive there is just Auntie Bant on speakerphone telling Aayla how to stop the bleeding and get him stabilized while Padme's screaming at traffic at the top of her lungs."

"I owe Aayla a fruit basket," Anakin muses aloud. "The anniversary of her saving my life is coming up, it's warranted."

"Five years, baby!" Ahsoka crows. She fist-pumps.

Obi-Wan just drops his head into his hands. "You're killing me, children."

Anakin shrugs, grinning. "You know, I think Fett Senior might have been involved in that fight."

"My shitty dad cut off your arm?" Rex demands.

"No, I think he was busy fighting the Interpol guy," Anakin says. "But he was definitely there. I think. Blood loss kinda got to me after a bit, but I'm pretty sure Jango Fett was there, and also Boba might've been hiding in the getaway car?"

"I need another glass," Cody mutters. He doesn't stand up, though.

"Wait," Rex says. "So who cut off your arm?"

Anakin shrugs with an unsure noise. "Someone tried to convince me it was Grandpa Yan, but he was in the middle of a court case in Italy for some kind of parole violation when it happened, so he had an alibi."

"...did he actually violate parole?" Cody asks, and Obi-Wan thinks he looks like he doesn't know if he actually wants an answer.

Ahsoka shrugs. So does Anakin. Obi-Wan carefully looks at a spot behind Cody, and doesn't explain anything about wine tastings used as covers for illicit arms deals.

"The arm?" Rex prompts, sounding a little desperate to get back to the question he likely thinks is the most important.

"I still say it was Skeevy Sheev," Ahsoka chimes in.

"It wasn't Palpatine," Anakin snaps.

"Your creepy older friend who took you to operas and gives you fancy gifts and knows way too much about swords who was conveniently there to talk to the police and cover for you so you didn't get arrested for getting in the middle of a gang war in the first place, yes," Ahsoka says, dropping into a chair and sighing dramatically. "The guy who definitely hasn't been trying to convince you for a year and change that your wife is cheating on you with your older brother."

"Ahsoka!"

"What? He is."

"Anakin," Rex says, "your life sounds like a trainwreck."

"I'm not going to assume a frail, elderly man cut my arm off!" Anakin protests. "Even if he wanted to, he doesn't exactly have the muscle for it!"

"Grandfather's older," Obi-Wan points out, even though he knows it won't help. "And he definitely still could."

"Ha!" Ahsoka shouts.

"He could have hired someone?" Cody suggests. "Doesn't need to do it himself, if he has enough money."

Obi-Wan has a sneaking suspicion that Cody is deliberately stirring the pot as revenge for Anakin sending him eighty-seven cat memes inside an hour during last night's dinner.

"You all suck," Anakin declares. "Also, what the hell do you mean 'knows way too much about swords,' Ahsoka? You know way too much about swords!"

"Yeah, but I'm like ninety-percent sure that his antiques are Prussian and mid-century German military officer dress uniform relics, and pairing that with the Nazi pistols he's got on display--"

"He's just a history buff! And his family's German, of course he prioritizes that region, it's not like he doesn't have Russian or French or English antiques in there too, it's all sides of the war and--"

"I'm just saying he's almost definitely sending me sketchy glances like he thinks I'm planning to steal the silver on the three occasions you've had me with you when you stop by, and I'm pretty sure it's got less to do with my criminal record and more to do with me being, you know, not white."

Anakin looks ready to blow, so Obi-Wan interrupts. "Ahsoka, you were explaining how Anakin passing out on Aayla and scaring us all half to death led to your friendship?"

Ahsoka blinks at him, and then sticks her tongue out at Anakin and turns back to the chart. "So basically, Skyguy had to recuperate in Uncle Plo's living room for a week or two, and I kept showing up to bother him because he was bored and nobody would give him a laptop for 'security reasons,' because he had to lay low and stuff. He made me help him sketch out designs for a prosthesis and do all the writing for the math he had to do for the 3D printer, and we got to chatting."

Ahsoka hops up and back onto a table, legs swinging below her. "I decided he was cool and started following him around while he was getting used to only having one hand, mostly because I was bored. He showed me how to hotwire a car, and explained the best places to put a bug if you were looking to make it sneaky, and he picked my pocket to show off so many times when he was walking around Uncle Plo's house that I made him teach me that, too. And, uh, then Aayla found out and they got into a shouting match about it and decided they both needed to teach me parkour so I could get out of any mess I got myself into, since I was obviously going to follow them into a life of crime."

"And you did," Anakin says, far too proudly. "You're the best thief in this half of the country."

"Only because Aayla moved out east."

Anakin rolls his eyes and pulls Ahsoka into his side, digging his knuckles into her skull. "Best thief! You are the best thief! Be proud of yourself!"

"Let go!"

"Never!"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. "Children, please."

"You're not my dad," Ahsoka growls out at him. "Skyguy, I'm going to bite you!"

"Good luck, the only arm you can access is the one that's going to break your teeth."

Ahsoka shrieks in outrage and stomps on Anakin's instep.

It's almost funny, for all that Obi-Wan's seen it play out a million times before, but the really interesting part is seeing Rex's look of fond dismay.

Obi-Wan thinks he might be adding a branch out to the Fetts soon. He's not actually sure if Rex is interested in Anakin or Ahsoka, and he's smack dab between them in age, so that's not a help either, but... well. The expression is familiar enough.

"Please tell me you don't match-make," Cody mutters to him.

"No, I plan to let the pieces fall where they will," Obi-Wan responds, just as low, and far more amused. "I'm simply trying to predict where those landings are to be."

Cody looks at him, and then back at the roughhousing trio, and sighs heavily. "You know, I really didn't think that you technically being minor royalty was going to be the least convoluted thing in your story, Obi-Wan."

He laughs, because it's true. "I'm first in line to inherit the title, since Rael denounced his claim. Nim isn't interested, and Qui-Gon's dead, so... I'm next."

Cody makes a face. "Delightful. I'm guessing that's not a connection we can safely make use of."

"No more than the Kryze or Naberries, I'm afraid." Obi-Wan claps him on the shoulder. "Chin up, I've plenty others in the metaphorical rolodex, all far less legitimate and far more amenable to work with our little outfit."

"Rolodex, really?" Cody snorts. "You're not that old."

Obi-Wan smiles winningly. "You don't know how old I am, Cody. All my IDs are fake."

"Anakin's twenty-four, and you're sixteen years older than him, going by the story you just told me," Cody points out. "I do know how to do basic math, Obi-Wan."

"I had to try," Obi-Wan admits. "I threw a lot of information at you all at once; I'd hoped you missed some of the ages in there."

"I have eight brothers," Cody scoffs. "And literally dozens of cousins, plus niblings, uncles, aunts, and so on. I have experience on this."

"If I asked you to list of the age of every single relative you have, you'd be able to do it?"

"Do you want me to draw a chart? I can draw a chart."

Obi-Wan can't help but laugh. "I'd be delighted, my dear."

Cody rolls his eyes, but Obi-Wan thinks--it's hard to tell in the dimmed lights of the closed bar--that there's a hint of a blush on the man's face. Obi-Wan lets himself slouch to the side, drops his head to rest on one fist, indolent debauchery in every line of his body. Cody does his best to ignore him, but Obi-Wan knows how to smile lazily and blink slowly and draw a man in.

(The whole 'indolent debauchery in every line of his body' phrasing is Anakin's, from back when he was a teenager trying to read highbrow literature to impress a cute girl... and to come up with new insults for his older brother.)

"So," Cody says, with a cough meant to somehow distract Obi-Wan from whatever's showing on the man's face. "Why, uh, why is your grandfather on terrorist watchlists?"

"Well, he didn't initially do anything," Obi-Wan says. "He was just a gay man who didn't hide it quite well enough, and had too much money and too white a face for someone to just call the cops on a faulty report. The Red Scare was technically over by that point, I think, but if a few people made suggestions that he was more loyal to the country that gave him a noble title than to the United States... he received a few warnings, of course, and it could have all blown over..."

"But?"

"But my grandfather is not a man to do things by halves, and instead decided that if the government was to list him as a threat, then he would oblige and make himself a threat," Obi-Wan finishes. "Living up to their labels, rolling with the assumptions, whatever you'd like to call it. It all irked him, and so he made some incredibly questionable decisions to make the government's lives harder. Some weren't bad, like donating to anti-war foundations that were protesting the Gulf War and the interventions in Yugoslavia, that sort of thing, and some were... nobody really looks well on gunrunning, you know."

"For fuck's sake..."

"Indeed," Obi-Wan chuckles. "Ironically, he has minimal opinion on the optimal form of economics, for all that virulent xenophobia and the remnants of anti-communism were involved in the whole mess. He just wanted to create problems for the people that were causing him problems."

Cody shakes his head. "I want to judge that, but you've met my father."

"Jango Fett is, indeed, also not a man to do things by halves," Obi-Wan agrees, attempting to nod gravely but breaking into a smile at the end. "That man is absurd."

"At least he's not dragging Boba into it anymore," Cody mutters. He drags over the fresh sheet of paper and pen that Obi-Wan offers him. "Okay, right, let's start with Jaster..."

[needleandhammer]

From Simmer to Score

Pairing: Soft!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is good with his hands. And other stuff.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit, smut, oral sex, penetration, fingering, dub con breeding, unprotected sex, breeding kink sort of, size kink, petite!reader, Curtis' fingers

Word count: 4k

A/N: This doesn't really fit the prompt i chose from @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge: "You hire a local handyman to help you with a few home projects." But the prompt still inspired this. I wanted to take the prompt somewhere more explicitly dark but once again my contribution to this challenge turned marshmallow soft. This is an au, non-apocalypse au, normal life au, idk. Just self-indulgent. Also, it was a struggle finding a gif of clean Curtis. Because he's clean in this and not living on a train, i swear.

“Try again. Very good. Let’s have you run through the exercises and then we’ll take a look at the new homework."

At your smile, the little girl nods and quickly turns to concentrate on coordinating her footwork on the pedals of your old Altenberg while reading the notes in front of her.

You back away, heading to the kitchen for some iced tea. You nearly forget your other guest who sits at the table.

This is the third time he’s accompanied Wendy for her lessons. For a man of his size, Curtis makes no sound except the faint swish of pages turning in his book. Like before, he arrived with Wendy, nodded a greeting at you, waited for your invitation to the kitchen, and then spent the entire hour silently reading.

You pull the fridge door open and pour tea into three glasses. You quietly slide one towards him. Curtis’ eyes flicker up to you, brilliantly blue, and he gives you a low murmur.

“Thanks.”

You’re about to return to Wendy when you hear your name in Curtis’ smooth baritone.

He nods to the notepad left on the table. “I, uh, noticed your reminder to call for maintenance. Something wrong?”

“Oh.” You tidy up the table, sheepish at being caught procrastinating house chores. “Just needed a second look at the water heater. The repair company came by and we tested things out when they were done, but the next day I had no hot water.”

You grimace, thinking of taking another cold shower.

“If you’re okay with it, I can grab my tool bag from my car and take a look,” he says.

You’re not prepared for the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He shakes his head, no hesitance. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t.”

“I mean. I-I would really appreciate the help.”

Your time with Wendy ends after you review practice goals with her until her next lesson.

Curtis joins you two. “Hot water is running again.”

Your jaw drops and you skip to the kitchen. Hot water pours out of your faucet. You return, unable to resist grinning widely at him.

“Thank you, Curtis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Curtis taught my dad everything about fixing houses!” Wendy chirped. He offers her a crooked smile.

“Do you have everything?” you ask your young pupil.

While Wendy thanks you and you help her pack, Curtis watches on with a faint curve to his lips.

“Edgar’s changing over to late shifts for the next couple of months. I’ll probably be driving Wendy to lessons again.”

You nod. “Sounds good. See you both then.”

After they leave, you enjoy a glorious steamy shower and then you settle onto your couch with a plate of leftover grilled veggies and fish.

Reviewing your schedule, you consider taking on one or two more students. It was years ago that you gave private lessons to help pay for college. Nearly a decade of moving between a few jobs, you are now in a quiet suburb working with a team of digital designers. The job allows you to work from home half the week, a flexibility you take great appreciation in. The professional stability encouraged you to return to music and to helping others develop their musical interests.

Wendy is your only student at the moment as you want to ease into taking on this additional responsibility. You smile, recalling your initial meeting with Wendy and her father, Edgar. Her father’s bubbly energy is such a stark contrast to Curtis. Edgar opened up quickly, sharing that he and Wendy’s mother were no longer together, that he would support whatever Wendy wanted to do. There was a perpetually youthful vigor to the room when Edgar was present.

Wendy calls Curtis, Uncle, and his adoration for her is clear. He barely said two words when he was here the first time. It doesn’t bother you. You get the impression Curtis purposely tries to not draw attention to himself, and you can empathize with that preference for tranquility.

_ _ _ _

It’s a windy day, heavy with rain clouds, the next time Wendy and Curtis are over.

“I saw your screen door was down. Planning on replacing it?” Curtis asks when you wrap up with Wendy.

“Nah. I was just going to look up what I would need and try fixing it myself.”

“It’s kind of heavy.”

His tone doesn’t imply any skepticism aimed at you and you’re not offended. You’re used to people calling you ‘small,’ though you’re not small so much as you’re short. You like to think you take up ample space. You also admit strength is not something you have in abundance. Your whole life you relied on family and friends for a lot of literal heavy lifting. But Curtis already helped you out once.

“I could fix it up.”

“I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no bother, really. I’m happy to help out.”

He promises to be quick about it. While he works, Wendy happily practices on your piano.

“I have Oreos,” you announce.

She pauses to grab a cookie. “Thank you so much for letting me practice longer.”

“Of course, dear.”

She chats a bit about her upcoming birthday plans, as children are wont to do.

Curtis pops his head in. “All set. Do you want to take a look?”

You follow him out back. Swinging the screen door on its hinges, you nodded appraisingly.

“I suppose it passes inspection.” You look up with a cheeky smile, pleased to see Curtis’ lips twitching. “Thank you. Really, Curtis. I do wish you’d let me pay you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, you’re great with Wendy. I’m grateful for that.”

You can tell he loves Wendy just as much as if he was her father. “In that case, I shall give Wendy her next lesson for free.”

He blinks at you, trailing behind as you make your way inside and calling out to Wendy.

Curtis has resigned himself to a quiet, bare life. He doesn't think he wants anything much. He has Edgar’s loyalty, a result of the brotherhood he formed in his impoverished teen years. They survived together, looked out for each other. Once Wendy came along like a little star burning in a smoggy midnight, Curtis counted himself lucky to witness the little girl growing up. A chance to help nourish one seed.

The first time he arrived with Wendy at your home, Curtis couldn’t help listening in on the entire lesson, making no progress in his book. Your clear voice, your generous encouragement. You, light on your feet moving so swiftly. You, barely reaching his shoulders yet mighty in spirit, curvy and sensuous. Curtis had an urge to lift you in his palms to be stored safely in his pocket.

_ _ _ _

And so things follow. Wendy diligently learning and Curtis primarily accompanying her, taking his place at your kitchen table. You come to enjoy his steady, grounding presence just a couple steps away from you and Wendy.

Now and then, he’ll notice some upkeep you’re doing – a leaky faucet, a box of new light bulbs on your counter – and volunteer his assistance. You are reluctant to put him to work, sure that he spends enough of his days working and doing chores in his own home and besides these are tasks you can handle even if you find them tedious. Curtis is always gentle in his offers, always obtains your permission first. As time goes by and you grow less shy about accepting his help and he grows more comfortable in your space, you realize working with his hands is second nature to Curtis.

It doesn't take long for Curtis to admit to himself he wants to be near you.

Curtis doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. He is aware you thrived on your own for a long time, just like him; and like he has Edgar and Wendy, you have a small close-knit group of friends. Lending a hand to you doesn’t count because you are like him.

Maybe this is why he lets his guard down under your roof. There is something kindred in your calm nature that his soul responds to. Under your roof, no silences need to be filled; no pretenses forced upon him. Your invitation to rest is unspoken – he hears it and almost weeps. The more time he spends with you, like two wavelengths in tune, the stronger his urge to insert himself. To fix, or in some way leave his mark on your home. Curtis doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. Lending a hand to you didn't count. Until he cannot help it. He doesn’t reach out for you, doesn’t try to prove you’ll curve perfectly within his arms; but he’ll ensure your softness can curl up in a sturdy home and delight in simple pleasures.

One evening, when Edgar works later than usual, you ask if Wendy and Curtis would join you for dinner.

“Nothing fancy. I have some noodle soup and salad. Curtis, can you call Edgar to meet us here?”

Wendy sets the table. Curtis assists with the food.

He’s quick to cup your hand in his when it's nicked with a knife. You can’t help leaning into him as he runs your finger under water, wraps it in clean paper towel. He finishes with the salad, making you sit at the table.

Edgar joins you all, tired but quickly gaining energy with food and a few sips of wine. You are full and warmed by their company. While Edgar cheers on Wendy while she practices from her book, you feel Curtis’ fingers curl over your hand. His thumb brushes over your cut. You share a smile with him.

_ _ _ _

You settle into your little Toyota only to find it won’t start. It stumps you because you never had issues with this car before. You have no experience with car maintenance and don’t know the first thing to check for an engine that won’t wake.

Calling Curtis to see if you can reschedule, he insists that he can swing by to pick you up.

He had called you, his voice almost shy. He wanted to surprise Wendy for her birthday with a piano and asked for your help.

You direct Curtis to the string instruments shop in the city’s downtown area. The two of you are greeted by a sales staff upon entry. When asked, Curtis looks to you, wordless, so you do your best to describe to the salesperson what you're looking for.

There are several options of acoustic and digital instruments. You give little demonstrations on a few pianos that you consider reasonably priced.

“Curtis, check this one out.” Your hold on his sleeve is loose and propels him towards one of the upright Baldwin pianos.

“I think any of these would suit Wendy. The sounds are clear, and they don’t take up too much space. The salesperson said this one is second-hand and it’s in really good shape.” You press a few chords, then look up at Curtis with a smile.

He looks at you, gaze gentle. “I’m not worried about price. I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

That was his general response when you asked his opinion during your time in the shop: he was up for anything you recommended. Other than that, he trailed behind you so that the salesperson assumed you were the primary purchaser. Much like in your house, Curtis seemed to try hard to not draw attention. Oddly, you didn’t think anyone in the same room with him could help noticing him. Even with the dark apparel he favored, Curtis’ reserved nature can't hide all the intensity and strength just thrumming beneath the surface of his tall imposing build.

You convince him to sit beside you on the bench. He’s never played before, but humors you and tries random combinations of thirds with you. You watch his hands – clean, wide, with thick fingers – hover and slide along the keys.

He nudges you.

“Sorry. I was just impressed your sausage fingers are quite nimble.”

A half-hearted glare. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“If I say you’re welcome, will you take a look at my car when we get back?”

He stays for dinner.

It starts raining and you have to rush out to gather hanging linens. He helps and you both run back inside. You're giddy at his eagerness to assist, resulting in damp clothing on you both.

“Oh, let’s dump it here. I’ll fold it tomorrow.” You are happy to leave the laundry in a pile on an armchair, in too good of a mood to care.

You catch him with his attention on you, a look so soft you have to look away, walk blindly a few steps. His touch is on your arm, turning you around just as you reach the piano.

He dips his head low to press chapped lips to yours, capturing your lips more, closing in to envelope you in his heat.

Curtis’ hands grip your hips with a quick jostle against the piano, prompting a slur of bright notes ringing from the keyboard that you are pressed against. And then he’s hitching you further up and firmly in his arms. His tongue licks against yours. You slant your open mouth, inviting him to taste, to devour you from the inside out. Your legs wrap around his waist like you belong there, tethered to this point in time. There’s no past or future, only Curtis, only feeling safe and real in his arms now now now.

You barely register Curtis moving, tipping you onto the couch cushions to hover over you so close. You can’t remember burning for someone like this. You can’t remember much of anything, focused on Curtis, solid and unyielding between your thighs, muscles buzzing with raw strength.

You want so badly to know more of him. Your hands wander shamelessly under his shirt, sliding up his wide back, grazing under to squeeze appreciatively at his pecs only to be called south by a narrowing of hair that leads you on until you bump his belt buckle.

You’re distracted by the tease of hot kisses he drops along your neck. There’s something sweet, vulnerable in how you allow him access to the delicate skin there. It makes Curtis bury his nose against the crook of your jaw, a long moment for him to whisper something like a prayer, before his tongue swirls and he nibbles your ear lobe. Your high pitched gasp hastens his desire. Your shirt is gone. Your bra untangled from your arms. Your breasts, oh, Curtis takes a mouthful of one fleshy breast, sucking greedily when you moan, breathless and aching now.

You claw at his shirt until it too disappears. You wriggle to help Curtis pull your pants and underwear off. Your legs want to yank him back to you, but he braces himself to allow just a bit more space between you both than before.

“Let me.” It’s almost a growl, and you want to say yes, but you want to kiss him more. You’re clinging by his neck, drinking from his soft lips, until you both part to draw breath.

His hand caresses your cheek, sliding over to slip two fingers into your slack mouth. Your tongue swipes at them, lips close to suck them in, eager to touch and taste any part of him. Jaw tight, Curtis pulls his fingers away and down. Down. His hand spans large over your curves and you hold your breath, grit your teeth. One finger saturated with saliva, sinks into your cunt. You swear you can feel more arousal dripping from you to soak his hand and he adds another finger, drawing short whimpers from you as his fingers withdraw and plunge in. God, you won’t ever tease him about his fingers again because they’re perfect. Agonizing in their quest to undo you.

His voice is husky groans, wanting so bad to feel your oh so tight cunt around his cock. Soon.

He tortures you, adds a third finger. You’re riding them, whimpering as he pumps them in you and parts the digits to stretch you. His weight slides away and you can only grasp at his hair, you’re barely glimpsing his head between your legs before you arch high when his thick wet tongue swirls and licks your folds, dialing up the white hot blooming inside you. His fingers curl just enough inside to press that patch against your pelvis that strings you tight as a bow. Pressing insistently, scratching with finger pads, until you burst and all you can do is chase more of that pulsing pleasure, humping against his face. Your hips quiver while Curtis laps at your slit.

His sucks grow gentle, thumb teasing your bud, helping you come down from the intense high.

You sigh his name.

“I’m here.”

“I want you.”

His arms wind around you, holding you tight while he kisses you. You can’t remember feeling anything better than being cradled like this as Curtis languidly kisses you.

He’s not rushed to move from you, so you cling to him and he loves you for it. Yes, he’s hard, but he wants to savor this. Already high on the sensation of your soft flesh underneath him, your thick thighs tight at his waist, your quiet hums of pleasure the evidence of his thorough work.

He ran from his past, from early years strife with despair, washing away those memories like dust and grime. He thought his life of isolation was one that moved him forward; but he has been stuck all this time.

Seeing you care for Wendy, Curtis realized he wanted that. He wanted what his friend had. He wanted you, and the precious something conceived between two souls that sing for one another. Soon. He’ll make your sweet little body his to protect, to warm through the nights.

_ _ _ _

“Thanks so much for having us for dinner,” Edgar says. He was been watching Wendy run around your humble backyard, chasing butterflies and searching for little frogs. He turns to you with a toothy grin. “And for your help with the gift. Wendy’s going to flip. I’m lucky to have you and Curtis both around.”

Your smile is just as affectionate. “Happy to have you here. Although,” your smile turns sly, “I’m a little disappointed that your special lady friend didn’t join us.”

“Curtis,” Edgar mutters under his breath. Curtis is washing dishes at the sink and pays no mind to any half-hearted curses directed at him.

Your brow arches, urging Edgar to talk as he can't help an embarassed grin.

“Well, she was traveling for work, unfortunately. But I know Wendy doesn’t mind her.”

The girl has whispered to you that Edgar’s girlfriend is beautiful and she wished she would become her new mom; this you keep to yourself, not wishing to embarrass or pressure your friend further.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Edgar’s eyes slide sideways, quiet for a moment before he jumps out of his seat and heads to the door leading to the backyard. “I’ll just…uh…” He exits, trailing off without finishing his sentence.

You sigh and take another bite of your cake, indulging in the moist chocolate flavor. Glancing up, you find Curtis watching you. His attention is singular, a warm simmer in those bright blue eyes, causing you to freeze except for your tongue that finishes sweeping over your upper lip. His gaze narrows, grew weighty, tracking your tongue as it retreats into your mouth. He pushes away from the counter, steps close until he is able to drop to his knee beside your chair. One strong yank has your seat turning so you face him.

The door creaks open again.

“Well, the sun’s getting low so I think we’ll head home and wind down.” Edgar announces with his daughter close at his side. He has a boyish grin on his face, pulling Wendy towards the front of your house. "Wendy, say good bye.”

“Isn’t Curtis leaving too?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll leave when he’s ready.”

“Have a good night, you two,” you say, walking with them to the front. Though Edgar is still cheerfully thanking you for the meal and insisting you stay inside and not see them off.

“You go on and just have a good time, both of you.” He sends a wink your way. You shake your head at him. “Curtis! You be a gentleman now.”

Quick as he can, he has Wendy secured in the car and they are on their way.

“Huh.” You lock the front door before turning to find Curtis. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes at Edgar’s antics. Instead, he closes in on you.

“Are you worried about me not being a gentleman?” he murmurs. His fingers hook under yours loosely.

You smirk. “I’m worried about you being too much of a gentleman.”

That smolder returns to his gaze. For a second, your body shivers, overwhelmed and you side step him, if only for a moment’s relief from the heat of his eyes.

You reach out. He takes your hand.

Once you’re down a layer, he grows even hotter seeing the mesh and lace number you have on. A tantalizing tease with the hard peaks of your nipples veiled in barely-there maroon. Just daring him to unwrap you. So he does.

His mouth leaves a wet trail seeking sensitive spots on your neck, you breasts, your thighs. Even as he moves, he still covers nearly all of your body, his heat and weight drowning you in want.

Your shudder has him grazing his beard up the inside of your thigh so that you arch and plea for his touch. God, all your uninhibited responses spur the blazing hunger in him. Curtis peels the mesh underwear down, impatient for a taste of you. His mouth waters, catching wafts of arousal and then he’s sucking and lapping your wet pussy. His rumbling groan is like a physical nudge that bows your back, and you remain rigid in the air at the sensation of his thick tongue pushing into you. Wide shoulders part your legs, shifting until your thighs rest on vast muscles.

You rock against him, keen at the hard sucks. Two fingers dip into, fucking you and rubbing with a dizzying rhythm that brings you over the edge.

With little effort, he holds up your hips and you feel a pillow slide under you to angle you higher. Then his muscled arms hook under your knees and he finally lines up and rocks forward. The tip of his cock parts your folds. Your breath hitches. His cock slides in, forcing your walls to stretch, to mold tightly to his girth.

“Curtis” – your hand was going point to the little bedside table with condoms.

Instead, you’re gripping a blanket. Gasping as he withdraws and your pussy tries to hold him in.

You mumble against his lips, incoherent. “The…inside..”

And then he feeds you his length again. And again, that delicious, addicting friction.

"Yes, inside," he agrees softly. "Like this."

With every pump, the spark catches and blazes higher. Curtis rises onto his knees, thrusts harder, watching your eyes flutter open and shut. He’s panting with the pretty picture of a needy you. He grips your thighs. As if his life depends on how tight he clutches you. Concentrating hard, his eyes drop low. Fuck. He can see your pussy clench, your puffy outer lips suckling his cock. Curtis swears your little body is refusing to give him up, and you’re wet but your cunt squeezes him so tight he has to drive harder into you to avoid slipping out.

You’re not even aware of your breathy moans, so turned on by his groans, the rough thrusts he gives you. There’s no grinding. Curtis can tell he’s rubbed against your g-spot and he keeps his snapping hips angled just right, one callused thumb circling your clit too lightly. And then your breaths stutter, your legs seize, your back arches. Curtis grits his teeth, keeping the exact same pace, draws out the storm of your pleasure. It’s so consuming, you lose your voice.

Just as you are able to breathe again, able to sense the physical realm around you, Curtis speeds up, bucking hard with low grunts, powering into you.

A high gasp – you feel him flood you. He drops to press his chest to you, still pumping his release into your clenching walls; and it’s too much, his cock merciless within your sensitive channel. He can’t help it, even as your legs start writhing with his unrelenting stimulation, even as he hears your hitched whimpers.

He finally stills. His lips find yours, tongue stroking deep.

Long moments later, his name is gentle, falling from your lips. “We didn’t use protection.”

Curtis nuzzles you, rubs his nose along the planes of your cheeks. Returns to suck your bottom lip. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

There’s a soft frown upon your brow that he kisses, and then scatters more kisses on your face.

“But, what if?”

“I want you. I want everything with you.”

You’re barely able to react as he nips hard at your collarbone and then rolls his hips. He’s half-hard inside you. You’re quickly losing yourself in Curtis, overwhelmed by the combination of his hungry mouth on your skin, unyielding clasp on your thigh. His thrusts persist, pins you in place, lights you up and scorches you. You’re right where he wants you, whining for more more more.

Now with each beat of his heart, Curtis has his mind’s eye on the prize. He’ll have you over and over. And you’ll grow a piece of him inside you. You are the way forward. You are his.

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

A/N: Hurrah, this one felt like it took forever. I blame Curtis. He didn't give himself up to me easily. Let me love you, ya broody boi! Thank you for reading!

[purrincesskittens]

Some pure indulgent fluff in my dragons atla universe slightly inspired by @muffinlance Scaled Over writing out how Bato comes into the possession of a little scaly Zuko still but I just had to get this fluff out first. Sorry for tagging you so often muffin you have inspired me to write again and actually finish something for once.

Zuko's scar isn't as bad over his eye it's larger though it covers more of the left side of his face and down his neck and across his shoulder. It's not as bad though it's second to third degree and will scar but not nearly as bad as it looks in canon like this but on a small child

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

Bato was drifting between wakefulness and sleep wanting to go back to sleep unsure as to what woke him. His hammock rocked with the ship he was comfortable under his furs and blankets. They were almost home and just in time to beat the late season storm coming their way. He was almost asleep again when the baby in his arms sat up on his chest. After a moment of squirming little hands patted his face gently and cautiously to wake him. Giving a yawn and stretch Bato opened his eyes to look at the little one he held.

"Sorry." The 3 year old little boy whispers so softly Bato wouldn't have heard if he hadn't been holding the little one so close. "What's wrong buddy?" Bato asks as the kid squirmed again. "Umm." The little one grabbed at his front as he squirms in a matter Bato recognizes from Sokka who had just started potty training. "Need to go?" Bato sat up holding the boy to his chest as he did before unburrying them so he could swing his legs out of the hammock and set the boy down.

He knew what woke him now. The boy had been squirming for a while before waking Bato. The child was still very cautious about everything he did which angered Bato. The boy was barely 3 and was surprisingly very good about potty breaks although he did have accidents that caused him to break down in tears. Bato would love to murder the child's father. Not only was the man responsible for the large burn that covered the left side of the child's face and down his neck and shoulder but the man didn't seem to understand children. Didn't want the child to make loud noises and apparently yelled at every little thing the boy did.

Bato wasn't even a father but he was a damn proud uncle to Hakoda's kids and understood children were noisy and messy. He didn't have a high opinion of any servants hired to care for the boy either. None seemed to have had the patience for a young child struggling to be more mature then their age while still being a toddler. Standing up he guided the kid to use the bathroom yawning as he did. The boy finished with only a slight mishap at first not a big deal, he watched Sokka for Hakoda and Kya before he knew this could happen.

The boy looked at him like he expected to be hit or yelled at. "I missed." The boy whispered looking down at his bare feet. "Sorry." Bato had to close his eyes and count to ten silently so as not to show he was upset. Not at the little one but at the man the boy calls father. Kneeling he hugs the tiny thing to him before murmuring reassuringly. "It's okay accidents happen. You'll get better with time." He stood cleaning up the mess and then cleaned the child and himself up, using a clean wet cloth to whipe the boys face after to remove snot and tears.

Scooping him up he nuzzled the child's soft black hair with his nose. "Let's get a snack and then back to bed okay?" He got a nod in response as the little one tucked his head against his neck. Hakoda intercepted them after they had grabbed a few sea prunes yawning as he ruffled the child's hair causing the boy to squeak and hide his face against Bato's skin. "Midnight snack?" He questions his friend nodding to the half eaten prune in the toddlers hand. "Bathrrom visit first then snack as a reward for doing so good now back to bed." Bato explains bouncing the child in his arms gently to reassure him.

"I missed." Came the response from the half asleep bundle in the tribesman's arms. "That's okay Sokka, my son, misses alot too. It happens." The chief reassures the tiny thing who peaks at him with sleepy gold eyes. They eventually got back to bed with Bato settling the toddler in his arms under the furs and blankets.

The next day brought them into colder waters and icebergs appeared. The child stared with wide eyes from his place at the railing of the ship under the watchful eyes of the crew. As they traveled further south the more the ice grew bigger. It was early spring so the waters were barely safe enough to traverse meaning they had to slow down and take it easy. This also meant the icebergs appeared to be closer to the ship. Almost within touching distance it would seem. Or at least it seemed so to a tiny tot who had never seen icebergs before. One second he was standing by the railing, the next he's climbed up on the railing, and the second after that a little black dragon is launching himself across the distance little wings incapable of true flight, beating the air in an attempt at keeping him alight.

The ship lurched and a large blue dragon is grabbing the baby dragon in his teeth scuffing them and hauling them back on board the ship ignoring their whines of protest despite being a limp noodle hanging from Bato's jaws as he settles back in the middle of the deck depositing the little creature in front of them caging him with his claws so the little one can't scamper off.

The rest of the day is spent with a shaky noodle hiding in Bato's parka half because he got scolded for trying to jump off the ship to touch an iceberg half because he was cold. Aake's mutter suggestion about wing breaking had been overheard and the little one was terrified of him now. Bato hadn't liked that suggestion even if Aake wasn't completely serious.

"You need a name boy." Kustaa informs the child as he changes the bandages that cover half the boys face, neck and shoulder. "He has a name." Bato comments as he holds the boy still. "But he hasn't said what it is yet now has he? If he is staying he needs a name. We can't keep calling him boy now can we?" Cool salve is applied to the burn with gentle steady hands. Bato hums in response but thinks on what the healer said.

"If you don't want to tell me your name that's fine but since your starting a new life with us how about a proper water tribe name?" Bato asks the child as he carefully runs a brush through the boys hair. The little one practically purred in his lap as he pulled the brush through his thick black hair. "What do you think of Kanut? It means white polar bear goose." The boy scrunched up his nose and shook his head. "Yeah polar bear goose doesn’t suit you does it? Hmm how about Nanook?"

A little sneeze greeted this suggestion drawing a chuckle from the man. "No? Let's see then something that would suit you." Bato ran the brush once more through the toddlers hair before tying it up in a warriors wolf tail. "I know how about Tulugaq? For your raven hair." This last name earned a bright eye look. "Tulugaq it is then." Bato chuckles wrapping his arms around the newly dubbed Tulugaq giving him a hug.

Kustaa held Tulugaq in his arms as the crew ran around getting the ship ready as they drew closer to the South Pole and their village. Once they docked the ships would be unloaded and sleds packed up with supplies to be distributed among the various tribes and villages that made up the Southern Water Tribe enough to last the tribes to the summer when the traders came. Tulugaq only liked Kustaa and Bato primarily although he was growing used to the chief. Hakoda had been spending time with Bato while the little one hide under Bato's clothes or clung to him.

Bato had been named the boys guardian and new dad in everything but name. It had been agreed upon that if his mother came looking for him and proved to be trust worthy she would be welcomed by the tribe or allowed to take her son, the boys father would never get him back and would never lay another hand on the boy. Finally Bato came over scooping his new son up into his arms. "Welcome to the Southern Water Tribe, Tulugaq."

[bokettochild]

Tired Feet and Nimble Fingers

Sooo.....

I wrote more Ravio fics. This is one of two, the second one still needs to be reread and checked for errors, but rest assured to whomever requested a fic for Ravio getting some fussing, I nearly killed the kid for you :)

Mr. Hero had nice hands.

Oh sure, they were rather thin, and a bit knobby at the knuckles, aged in a way most people their age would not understand for decades yet, but they were nimble, quick, and forever flitting from one thing to another with the easy grace of a person who’s done everything with their life except sit still and rest.

Mr. Hero’s hands were worn and aged but feather light in their touch and still impossibly firm when he’d grab Ravio by the scarf and pull him down the one inch that was between the two of them so he could glare at him for one thing or another. Honestly, he rarely really did anything questionable, but the ever irritated “Why?” that Mr. Hero always shot at him when he raised the price of an item or tacked on another fee, be it emotional repercussions charges for tending his wounds, or a petty increase when he’d been made to actually worry for someone else, or even in the rare instance when Mr. Hero managed to actually make him angry. Either way, soft or firm, Mr. Hero had nice hands, and on the rare instance Ravio had actually seen him remove his rings (Mr. Hero had complained of swelling, and had nearly had to pry them off) he always smiled at the sight of them.

Was that weird? Probably. But there was a lot you could tell about a person by their hands, and Mr. Hero’s told the story of someone who gave and fought for others since he’d been able, and even if the caring person hid behind the shadows of his bangs or the icy pain in his eyes, Ravio knew that person was still in there.

And at times like this, he got to actually see it.

“What are you doing?” The merchant shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the other end of the couch where Mr. Hero had been sitting since he’d stumbled through the door with a tired groan. He’d collapsed onto the couch not long after, drenched and covered in mud, and it had been all Ravio could do to convince him to shed his extra layers and change into something clean, at least. Sure, he’d had to actually dig through the scant wardrobe in the bedroom to find something, but once the over-sized tunic had been shoved in the veteran hero’s face, he’d agreed to strip off his wet things, and Ravio had given him the space to do so while he’d made some warm cocoa for the two of them.

He would have preferred cider, but Mr. Hero still refused to share the recipe with him.

Now, however, he’d flopped onto the couch himself, uncaring for the fact that he’d had to settle his legs in the lap of his friend. After all, if Mr. Hero minded, he would have pushed him off. As was though, the pink-haired teen was staring at his feet with no small amount of displeasure, and Ravio was half considering pulling them back to himself and resigning himself to just curling up on the couch into one corner so he could give the other boy his space.

Firm hands latched around his boot, tugging with a small grunt and surprising the merchant greatly. “Mr. Hero, I just-”

“No shoes.” The pink-haired hero huffed. “Not on the couch.”

“Says the one who trudges dirt all over my freshly cleaned floors!” Ravio huffed, trying not to wiggle too much as Mr. Hero not only pulled off his shoes but, after making a disgusted face at the smell of his feet, had also yanked his socks off, throwing them over to the pile of sopping laundry on the floor. Ravio made a note to pick that up and help wash it later.

“My floors.” Mr. Hero corrected him, tugging the towel Ravio had given him earlier off of his shoulders and wiping its wet ends over the merchant’s feet, making him stiffen. “It’s my house I’ll have you know.”

“Mr. Hero, are you- are you cleaning my feet?”

“It’s not like you ever do it, when’s the last time you bathed, you filthy bunny?”

“Two days ago.” Ravio huffed into his cocoa, savoring the taste and the thrum of warmth that bloomed in his chest both at the drink and the sensation of Mr. Hero’s nimble fingers helping to clean the grime from his, admittedly, filthy feet. “More recently than you, I daresay, Mr. Hero.”

“I just showered.” Violet eyes flitted up to meet his as Mr. Hero motioned to the door ad likely the stormy weather outside.

“That doesn’t count!”

“It does for me.”

“When did you last bathe? With soap?”

Mr. Hero didn’t answer, instead continuing to rub the dirt and dust off the bottoms of his house-mate's feet with the wet towel. Ravio hmphed. A fight for another day then, it isn’t as if he had the energy to draw a bath and push his friend into it anyways.

A delightful, rough sensation rubbed over the base of his foot, firm and still somehow incredibly relaxing, and the bunny merchant found himself torn between sinking into the cushions with a sigh as some of the pain in his limbs faded and staring down at Mr. Hero to see what had been done. In the end, he’d sunk into the cushions of the couch, lids fluttering as a heavy sigh pulled itself from his lungs. “What-”

“You’re as tight-string as my gran’s horses.” Mr. Hero drawled, and the sensation repeated itself, warm pressure sliding across the ridge of his foot. “This used to work on my uncle, relax.”

It took longer than necessary to actually realize that his friend was rubbing his feet, but Ravio was too warm and comfortable to really care, especially with how sore the appendages in question had been with scurrying here and there over the last few days tending to the shop.

Mr. Hero’s hands were miracle workers, and Ravio was hardly even awake when the veteran hero had finally stopped with his self-assigned task, pushing himself up and leaving Ravio to stretch out over the length of the couch. All the merchant could register was the increase of weight on top of him, the clinking of two empty mugs being placed in the kitchen sink, and the door creaking open.

He never felt the draft when Mr. Hero left back into the outside world to continue his quest, but when he woke the next morning, it was to find the hero’s favorite blanket spread out over the top of him and a fresh pair of fuzzy socks slipped over his clean and no longer painfully tense feet.

“Ravio, sit.” Mr. Hero groaned, leaning back on the couch and pinned in place by the sailor using his legs as a back rest. “If you don’t, I swear I’m going to have Twilight throw you at the couch!”

The merchant in question pouted, he’d been trying his best to tidy the living room, after all, Mr. Hero and his family had been quite unexpected that evening and the place was, unfortunately, a mess. One had to take inventory now and again, and the sad fact of it was that that required pulling everything off the shelves and out of storage and from around the house to count it up and figure out if he should risk attempting to return to Lorule or attempting to work Mr. Hero’s small smithy out back in order to restock his items.

He’d only counted up everything and had been working on cleaning and polishing his various items when the heroes had come knocking at the front door, and then he’d been so busy helping them warm up from the chill (they were all wearing the scarves he’d given them and it pleased him to no end) and making a meal with Mr. Hero that he’d been left unable to finish gathering the things that had been scattered across the floor. Of course, after dinner was finished, he’d set right to it, but now that everyone was settled around the fire with warm mugs in hand and fluffy scarves around their necks, Mr. Hero seemed to only be agitated by his puttering about and moving everything again.

To be fair, he hadn’t stopped moving for the last thirty minutes since the others had helped gather his things back up so they could sit, but there was so much to put away!

“Mr. Hero, I still-”

“Sit.” Mr. Hero squeaked grouchily, earning a few giggles as Mr. Rancher and Mr. Chosen Hero exchanged glances, smiles wide. “My feet hurt just from looking at you.”

Like it or not, Ravio’s ears were already pricking up at those words.

Since that first time, Mr. Hero had done him the favor of massaging his feet after a hard day many times, and as much as Ravio didn’t want to expect it of him, it was incredibly nice to have someone fuss over him, if only for a little bit, and if there was even a chance that it would happen again, well...

It was entirely intentional that he flopped onto the couch, feet resting easily in Mr. Hero’s lap as he stretched out. He could have sat down, he really could, but the fact of it was that he simply didn’t want to. Fortunately, Mr. Hero didn’t seem to mind, and too the merchants delight his friend immediately started pulling off his shoes with the same old familiar huff and wrinkling of his button nose, tossing the shoes as far away as possible to avoid having to remain in contact with them for long.

It was a practiced and much appreciated ritual that was Mr. Hero helping him relax after a long day. Just as cocoa or cider was prepared when either was having a particularly long or difficult day, or how Ravio always made sure Mr. Hero ate three meals a day and slept for at least four hours, taking care that his friend wasn’t positioned too uncomfortably wherever it was that he finally passed out. Mr. Hero touching his feet was normal, just like him playing with Mr. Hero’s hair once the other boy had settled down at last.

Perhaps though, it wasn���t all that common for the others.

“Vet?”

Mr. Hero blinked up from his work, violet eyes meeting the midnight blue of Mr. Rancher impassively.

“What in Ordonia are ya doin’?”

The veteran hero cocked a brow. “Foot massage, he won’t relax otherwise, and foot pains a-” Captain Hero Sir Jr. shot a look their way and Mr. Hero quickly amended what he’d been about to say. “Foot pain sucks.”

“You are touching feet.” Mr. Rancher wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that a bit... gross?”

“Says the man who eats bee larva.” Came the quipped reply. “I wash them first, pities sakes.”

“By my head!?!?!?” Tune started jumping up and away and shooting Mr. Hero a hurt look. “Like, yeah, sure, I help Granny on bad days too, but warn a fellow if you’re gonna be having feet by his head.”

“Don’t sit on my legs.”

Ravio chuckled, letting the noise and chatter wash over him.

Mr. Hero’s hands never failed to sooth the pains of the day.

The heroes had stumbled in time and again over the months, and Ravio had grown quite used to their presence. Time passed differently on both ends of things, but he’d since learned when abouts to expect that they'd appear, and the house was, thankfully, stocked fully for each visit.

Autumn had brought about harvest, and the heroes had darted in and out, occasionally offering help and other times only crashing wearily in the living room and Mr. Hero’s bedroom for the night before they had to return to chasing the monsters. Today was one of the longer stays, especially if how Mr. Captain Hero Sir was moving so stiffly was any indication.

“Do you need me to step on you again?” Mr. Smithy asked worriedly as Mr. Captain Hero Sir eased his way down onto the couch, earning a few looks both from the merchant and the other heroes while Sheerow flitted about the man's head, chirruping worriedly and earning a gentle word or so from the captain.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir was in quite the state, stiff as a board and moving as poorly as the old pump in the village. It made him worried, and try as he might, he couldn’t think of any of his items that would help.

Mr. Hero appeared to already have an answer though. “Tunic off, Cap, and on the couch.”

Sharp blue blinked over in confusion to where Mr. Hero was already shedding his boots and rolling up his sleeves with a purpose. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Massage. Works wonders for back pain. Hop to it or I’m rescinding my offer.”

It was one thing to be on the receiving end of matters, but another entirely to be one of those who watched. Mr. Hero put his full weight into his hands as he worked, kneading out the knots in his friend's muscles while Mr. Captain Hero Sir melted into the couch with little relieved noises.

Maybe it took the others realizing that the vet didn’t just help him, but after that it wasn’t at all uncommon for him to carry in his attempts at cider or his wonderful cocoa and see Mr. Hero standing over one of the others and putting his clever hands to work in soothing tensed muscles back into place, the heroes under his hands melting under his touch.

The first time he heard Mr. Hero humming under his breath while he worked, the other heroes had all looked incredibly surprised, but not upset in the slightest. It was a lovely tune after all, and Tune himself started playing with his baton in time the gentle music, swaying in his seat and waving the instrument while the others continued working on repairing and tending their various items and clothing articles.

There was a pattern. For Mr. Captain Hero Sir it was his back, although rather rarely, and the same went for Mr. Chosen Hero.

For Captain Hero Sir Jr. It was his neck and shoulders.

Mr. Smithy got stress headaches that seemed to ease when someone helped message his temples.

Mr. Rancher had problems with his left wrist specifically.

Ravio of course had poor feet, and while Tune and Wild seemed to be mostly left unscathed from the repetitive pains that the others did, they took every opportunity to cling to Mr. Hero with their whole bodies when they felt that they wanted pets or attention when their mentor’s/brothers were too busy.

He’d attempted to return the favor all of one time. The black eye and bloody nose he got out of it weren’t even made better with the nearly tearful apologies of his best friend as Mr. Hero had jumped to his feet and dashed outside to get some ice for the injury.

Once the blood was cleaned up, the vet had sat in shame as Ravio had joined the others in teasing him for his “killer reflexes”.

“I can’t help it! People touching my feet- It-” Mr. Hero tugged at his hair frustratedly, eyes turning to the sky hopelessly. “I’m sorry, Ravio. It was an accident, I swear.”

“I know, Mr. Hero, I know.” He’d giggled out the reassurance, but from that day on he avoided touching Mr. Hero’s feet in any way possible.

(Oddly enough though, that didn’t stop a few of the others from trying, and Mr. Hero’s sleep was interrupted many times by heroes that had been kicked in the nose or even the mouth because they’d dared each other to touch the teen’s feet while he slept. Mr. Captain Hero Sir had complained for days until his own black eye healed, and Mr. Hero hadn’t even bother apologizing, stating that the others shouldn’t have tempted fat so foolishly.)

He felt a bit guilty for not returning the favor, but he knew better than to try again where so many others had failed.

And then winter had sprung up. Winter with its harsh gales that blew in half frozen heroes that tracked ice and snow across the floor as they bundled in front of the fire, wrapped head to toe for the weather. Winter when he’d brew hot cocoa to warm them all up, letting Mr. Hero tug down blankets to wrap around their on-and-off house-mates (guests no longer applied at this point). The mugs offered were warm, and Ravio smiled as each hero offered him a word of thanks as his tray grew lighter and lighter until he only had the two mugs left.

Mr. Hero had pulled together his usual nest before the fire. His huge blanket and a few spare pillows all bundled together into a comfortable place to sit for the younger heroes in order to make up for the lack of a second couch, and the vet sat in its center, still working to arrange the cushions with stiff fingers and chattering teeth until Ravio had pulled on his friend’s tunic and urged him to sit down.

When he offered the mug though, Mr. Hero had fumbled it and nearly dropped it, a hiss of irritation whishing from between his teeth and he glared down at his stiff digits. “Blast! Din’s sake, why does the freaking cold always freaking-”

Warm hands, worn from housekeeping and smithy work, wrapped around the vet’s as Ravio gently rubbed some warmth back into the stiff fingers. Mr. Hero started slightly at the touch, but didn’t complain as the merchant continued to press his into the rises and against the bones of his friend’s gnarled hands, offering warmth and relief against the pain and the cold both for a few short minutes, and Mr. Hero melted into the touch, as he always inevitably did, letting Ravio have his way for the moment and leaning to sit back-to-back with Wild while the merchant worked.

When he’d released his housemate, it’d only been to press a mug into the vet’s hands, but then he’d been settling across from him on the blanket nest, stockinged feet coming to rest in his friend’s lap as he’d pulled his own mug close for a sip. Violet eyes offered a begrudging smile that was returned in rupee green, but no words were spoken between the two as they enjoyed their cocoa.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir however wasn’t about to let it pass. “So, hand holding now, uh? Should I be talking to Fable about a wedding day?”

Ravio was certain that the only thing keeping some very rude signs from being exchanged as the fact that Mr. Hero wasn’t willing to stress his hands further or release the warmth that he held in them. The pink-haired hero did shoot a very disappointed look towards the captain though.

[robininthelabyrinth]

lwj never really forgives his family's involvement in the siege, how does this manifest during the thirteen years?

If it had only been the pain in his back, the agony of punishment and icy chill of his family’s disappointment, Lan Wangji might have put it aside; he was accustomed to matters of discipline, and had known what he was likely bringing down on his own head when he had done what he did.

He knew his family loved him and only wanted the best for him, even if –

Even if.

But when Lan Wangji ran away from the jingshi to look for himself, finding only a small child, feverish but still capable of a little bit of babbling, still able to tell the story of what had happened – when he found the traces of blood on the ground, Wei Wuxian’s from when his power had backlashed on him – when he saw the bodies in the blood pool, already rotting –

They had kept this from him.

They had kept this from him on purpose.

They had all known.

For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji didn’t want to go home.

He knew he didn’t have a choice, of course. He had nowhere else to go, and the boy’s fever needed to be treated – but he didn’t want to go home.

“Is he all right?” a voice asked from behind him.

Lan Wangji turned, surprised: it was Jiang Cheng, who might very well rank at the top of people he didn’t want to see right now. He had led the siege against Wei Wuxian –

He looked awful.

Eyes full of broken blood vessels, with deep circles beneath them; skin sallow, even grey, as if he’d been stabbed and allowed to bleed out dry. He looked as though he was very nearly a corpse himself.

Jiang Cheng scowled when Lan Wangji didn’t respond.

“Is the boy all right, Hanguang-jun?” he asked, his voice raspy and harsh. “Is he – is he…”

His voice cracked.

“He lives, but he has a fever,” Lan Wangji said, ignoring the steadily increasing pain on his back. He had not been well when he’d escaped from the jingshi, not well at all; the doctors had estimated at least a year to recover, if he didn’t do anything to strain himself – after this outing, it would likely be three. The discipline whip was not kind. “Why do you care? Didn’t you execute the others?”

Jiang Cheng laughed, voice suddenly spiking into something high and horrible, and Lan Wangji abruptly became aware that Jiang Cheng was also, politely speaking, not well. No discipline whip for him, no, but something had gone wrong in the man’s brain – Lan Wangji might almost suspect a qi deviation, if only he hadn’t lived through a war.

If he hadn’t seen what grief could do to a man. How it could hollow them out while they still lived.

“I didn’t,” Jiang Cheng choked. “I didn’t – I told my people to gather them up, to take them back, we were going to interrogate them…at the time it happened, I was – not there.”

“Not there?”

“A coma, apparently,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “Not especially heroic, but then they do leave it out of all the stories: the great Jiang Wanyin, who took up arms against his own shixiong, then swooned like a blushing bride at the sight of – at the sight of –”

“The body.”

Jiang Cheng covered his eyes, shoulder shaking. “There wasn’t one left.”

Lan Wangji shuddered.

“Nothing to put in the memorial hall at home,” Jiang Cheng said. “Even his personal items, they fought over them like dogs, like they were trophies – someone stole Suibian, you know? I only managed to keep Chenqing because I fell on it. It rolled over to me. It was still –” He wavered, then laughed again, very nearly crossing the line between merely hysterical and actually insane. “I had to clean it.”

Lan Wangji had wished he had been there, at the siege, thinking that if he couldn’t save Wei Ying, he could at least die by his side, in his defense. He thought now, for the first time, that perhaps he was glad he wasn’t.

“Did you mean to kill him?” he asked, and Jiang Cheng shook his head mutely. “You led the armies so that you would have first rights to the spoils. To the prisoners.”

To one prisoner in particular.

“Nie Mingjue would have backed me,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “He obeys the rules of war – the largest faction leads, the leader claims the first prize. He didn’t want to be there, but I needed someone to support my claim to be the leader, I threw all those dead Nie cultivators at the Burial Mounds at him until he agreed…he cursed Sect Leader Jin to his face when he found out what they’d done with the rest of the Wens. I wish I’d done the same.”

“Your sect –”

“I wish I had done the same,” Jiang Cheng said, and there were tears dripping down his face. He didn’t notice them, didn’t bother to wipe them away; he had clearly become accustomed to the feeling. “At least then Wei Wuxian would be less burdened. He’s dead, you know.”

Lan Wangji knew.

“I think he must have died a long time ago, and I just never noticed,” Jiang Cheng said. “I was too blinded by my anger, by wanting to kill the Wens. I ignored it all. My shixiong died long ago, and in his place there was another person, the one who did all those things – I never understood why he did it, any of it. He once swore to me that he’d stay by my side, help me rebuild the sect, and then he turned his face away from me and never told me why, acted as if we were strangers, as if I meant nothing to him…and yet, when we were alone, he still talked as if he were the Wei Wuxian I knew.”

He shuddered, shaking hands reaching out to clutch at his sides as if he were suddenly cold.

“It never made any sense,” he mumbled, and maybe he really had lost his mind. “He said he’d stay by my side, but he didn’t; he said he wanted to do the right thing, but he – he killed all those people. So many people. He killed jiejie. He widowed her, then killed her, and – I don’t see how that’s doing the right thing. That couldn’t have been him, could it? Could Wei Wuxian, my Wei Wuxian, really have done all that?”

Lan Wangji didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to help – there was nothing he could do to help.

The only person who could help Jiang Cheng was already dead.

Thinking that, Lan Wangji decided to take his leave, but the barest hint of movement sent an abrupt spike of agony though his back, making him stagger; he had been standing too long, and movement was now a problem. He had promised himself he would only come for a moment, just long enough to see with his own eyes what had happened, and then he’d return – and then he’d found little A-Yuan, he’d known his time to stay was running out, he’d meant to leave, but then there was Jiang Cheng –

“Hanguang-jun? Hanguang-jun! Lan Wangji!”

The world went black before his eyes.

When he opened them again, he saw – some incredibly ugly drawings, etched into a wooden bed frame as if with a blunted dagger. He had never before seen anything quite so immediately repulsive to every aesthetic sense he possessed and yet somehow still oddly charming.

“You’re awake, then?”

Lan Wangji turned his head.

Jiang Cheng did not look noticeably better, though he had at least changed clothing; he was drinking a cup of tea with calming herbs, the uncontrollable tremor in his hand sloshing the liquid inside.

They were at the Lotus Pier.

“You brought me back?” Lan Wangji asked.

“The boy wasn’t the only one with a fever,” Jiang Cheng said. “Thirty three lashes with the discipline whip, and you went into a place as rotten as the Burial Mounds – you were almost asking to get sick.”

Lan Wangji could feel that his back had been well-bandaged, well-cared for – Jiang Cheng must have called a doctor. People would know, then, what he had done and what had been done to him in return - his reputation would be ruined, his family’s attempt to save face by claiming that he’d retreated into seclusion would be exposed for the lie it was.

He wished he was petty enough to be bitterly pleased by the thought, but all he felt was sick.

“No one will know if you don’t want them to,” Jiang Cheng said, almost as if he could hear Lan Wangji’s internal debate – he couldn’t, of course. Jiang Cheng was no Lan Xichen: he couldn’t read Lan Wangji’s expressions at all. “My Jiang sect’s Doctor Qin might as well be mute, for all he talks; he’s never said anything to anyone about anything other than medicine in the entire time I’ve known him. But he did say you shouldn’t be moved. For – a while. A long while.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t surprised; that was about what he’d resigned himself to expect. “When will my family come to pick me up?”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “The doctor didn’t say anything about you being deaf. Didn’t you hear me? You can’t be moved. You’re not going anywhere.”

Lan Wangji stared.

“No one uses this room, anyway,” Jiang Cheng continued, purposefully ignoring Lan Wangji’s incredulous gaze. “It’s off-limits to everyone, for good – sealed off. Might as well put you here, where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re not getting into trouble; I’m just across the hall.”

Across the hall –

The ugly drawings, the style suddenly breathlessly and painfully familiar.

This had been Wei Wuxian’s room.

Jiang Cheng wanted him to stay here, at the Lotus Pier, in Wei Wuxian’s room.

He shouldn’t, of course. His duty was clear: he should return home.

Lan Wangji thought about returning home – to the cold and empty jingshi, where there was nothing left that reminded him of his mother but his memories; to his uncle who loved him but did not trust him, who had helped kill the one he loved; to his brother who had all but lied directly to his face about it.

He thought about not having to return.

His fingers relaxed. He hadn’t even realized they were tense.

“How is the boy?” he asked, and some of the tension in Jiang Cheng’s shoulders released; he had been afraid that he would refuse and insist on leaving at once, Lan Wangji surmised. For some reason, Jiang Cheng wanted him to stay.

Lan Wangji thought he might know why. They had spent all those months searching together, side-by-side, those months when Wei Wuxian had disappeared – thrown into the Burial Mounds, though they didn’t know it at the time. Being side-by-side with Jiang Cheng again felt almost like being back then.

When they still had hope of finding him.

“He’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said, then frowned. “Depending on your definition of fine, anyway. He’d had a very high fever for a long time – by the time I got you both back here, he’d fallen unconscious; the doctor says he’s lost his memory.”

Lan Wangji thought about the things the boy had babbled about, the stories he’d told of the last moments of his family, the things he’d seen…“Good,” he said. “Better that way.”

“Never use two words when one will do, do you?” Jiang Cheng grumbled in a tone that had faint ambitions of sounding disgusted. “I guess I’ll just have to adjust to that…I’ve told my people that he’s yours, you know.”

Lan Wangji blinked. “Mine?”

“I couldn’t tell them he was surnamed Wen, could I? So it’s Lan Yuan, at least for now. Up to you if you’d prefer to keep your reputation intact by saying he’s a cousin, but it’d be easier if you claimed him as your own – that way no one could separate you. You visited Yunmeng during the war, I could say the mother was someone here. It wouldn’t be hard.”

Lan Wangji’s first instinct was to protest – A-Yuan was Wei Ying’s son, if anybody’s, not his own – but…no. The boy could not live at the Lotus Pier with the surname Wei.

Lan Yuan. It wasn’t a bad name.

He nodded his assent, and Jiang Cheng finished his tea in a single grim-faced swallow, standing up.

“I don’t suppose you told your family where you were going, did you?” he asked, and looked bitterly amused when Lan Wangji shook his head. “I figured as much. No one saw me bring you in, and no one ever comes here; the only ones allowed in the family quarters are my people, through and through. Unless anyone asks, I’m not answering. Let your family worry for a while; it’ll do them some good. You’re the best they have – they shouldn’t take you for granted.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t the sort of person who knew how to be pleased at other people’s misery, the type to be warmed inside by the spite of you hurt me now I’ll hurt you.

It was fine, though. Jiang Cheng would do it for him.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said, and didn’t say anything about telling his family where he’d gone. Jiang Cheng’s lips twitched in a smirk for a second. “Can you pass me the pouch I had with me?”

Jiang Cheng huffed and passed it to him. “You can’t play that thing all day and night,” he warned when Lan Wangji pulled out his guqin. “I’m just across the hall, remember?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“And…”

“I will wait until you have returned before playing Inquiry.”

“Like I even want to talk to him,” Jiang Cheng muttered under his breath, but he didn’t deny that that had been what he had been on the verge of requesting. “It’s just a nice tune, that’s all. Catchy.”

No one had ever described Inquiry as ‘catchy’ before, and Lan Wangji suspected no one ever would again.

“The boy’s still sleeping, but I’ll bring him here when he wakes,” Jiang Cheng said, changing the subject. “I’m hoping to bring Jin Ling here, once in a while – I think Sect Leader Jin will agree if I hint strongly enough that I’ll consider leaving my sect to him if he lets me. I don’t really know how to deal with babies, though.”

“We will figure it out,” Lan Wangji said, and allowed his (totally unjustified) confidence to sooth Jiang Cheng’s ruffled feathers. It wouldn’t be that easy, of course – Jiang Cheng was still walking the tightrope on the verge of insanity, Lan Wangji was nearly crippled, and his family would be frantic once they realized he wasn’t coming home. Staying here was a stupid idea. Stupid, and spiteful.

It felt good.

[weelittleweasley]

growing pains (d.m.)

prompt as requested by anon: after the war and settling down with draco, the time comes for your children to attend hogwarts.

pairing: draco malfoy x fem! reader

warnings: recollection of pregnancy, recollection of the war, crying, lots of cute fluff though :)

word count: 3.6k

a/n: i cried writing this. have fun.

Never did you think that you would have a normal life with Draco after everything that happened. The war took so much life away from you both; it showed you how truly ugly and vile the world could be. Especially Draco.

After the war, Draco refused to allow himself and his future family live in a world that was so cruel and unforgiving. Draco wanted to undo all of the wrongdoings he had done and work harder for a better future for himself, for you, and your family; it’s what you deserved, he told you. Draco wanted to give you the world and he would rest at nothing to do so.

Draco left his past behind him and moved from Malfoy Manor to settle somewhere new. A new start, a new life. You two were married immediately after the dust had settled from the war. The ceremony was very private just the two of you, professing your undying love for each other, Draco promising profusely that he would do anything and everything to keep you happy.

Life, for the first time, felt ordinary. And you thanked Godric for that. The two of you worked your jobs, supported yourselves, and were happy. And that’s all you could really ask for. You had everything you needed, a job, a roof over your head, and Draco by your side.

Although life was ordinary for the first time in years, Draco would do special things for you here and there to show you just how much he loved you and adore having you as his wife. During work, he’d send you three dozen roses to your desk, earning you strange glances as you just sat there, smiling like a school girl. Or when he knew you had an awfully long day, he’d draw you a bath and pour you a glass of wine and let you be for a few hours, letting you decompress. Or it could be something as simple as leaving you a love note on your pillow when he woke up before you. Draco was so thoughtful when it came to taking the time to appreciate all that he had. He had taken it for granted so many times in the past and with the war, it was all threatened. Draco learned quickly that he needed to recognize his blessings and take a moment each day to really show you how much he cared.

This was more than enough for you, just you and Draco living your lives together, relishing in this new life you created together. 

But soon enough, Draco started casually tossing around the idea of having children. You had been married for a year when it he started toying with the idea of having your own kids. You were in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes from that night’s dinner, Draco wiping down the table.

“(Y/N)?” he spoke from the dining room.

“Yes, my love?” you called back.

Draco walked into the kitchen, leaning on the door frame his arms folded across his chest. “Do you think we should move?” he asked, searching your face for a reaction.

Your eyes furrowed. You had been living in this house for a little over a year and you loved it. It was a symbol of your freedom away from the mess of your pasts and your renewed love and dedication to each other. Why would Draco want to leave this place you so fondly called home? You spoke your thoughts that swirled around your head, “Move? Why would we move?”

He peeled himself off the door frame and took a few steps towards you as you shut off the water and turned towards him to give him your full attention. “I think we’ve out grown this home,” he speaks. “Think about it. With my new business starting and with your promotions at work, we’ll both need a home our own offices. Not to mention, we’ll need a nursery soon and that means we’d have to covert the guest room into one, but where would your parents stay when they visit us. Besides, I want to move somewhere were my commute is shorter to work,” Draco shurgs, dancing around the fact that he just mentioned having a nursery in your home.

You stop him in his tracks, “Hold on there, lover boy,” you tease him with the nickname you’d given him back in your sixth year at Hogwarts. He smiles at the name, lightly laughing. “A nursery? Why would we need one of those?”

Draco inhales a deep breath and takes a step closer to you, placing a hand on your hip, pulling you close to him. “I love you, (Y/N). I always have. You are and will always be the most important thing to me,” he tells you as you smile, him kissing the tip of your nose. “I want to start a family together. We have more than enough money to move into a bigger house,” he refers to his hearty inheritance along with the money he’s made from his booming company, “we are both mature and ready, and don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t want a little Malfoy running around,” he teases.

You hated to admit when Draco was right. He saw the way you watched children play in the park around the corner from your home. How children giggled and played, their small feet running around, tiny voices speaking childish phrases, getting excited over new discoveries. Having a child with Draco would be a blessing. But you didn’t know if you were ready to be a mother yet. It was a large step, and one you wanted to take, it was just a matter of if you were ready for it.

Sighing, you brush your fingers through Draco’s blonde hair, a familiar feeling to the both of you. Draco lets his eyes flutter closed as he hums as you do so. “You’re right, Dray,” you admit as he smiles widely. A child. For the both of you. “But,” you interrupt, “I don’t know if I’m ready to be a mother just yet. I’m doing so well in my job and I love working. I’m not ready to give it up. This is only the beginning for me. And it’s not fair to ask you to leave your job to raise a child.”

Draco lets out a breathy laugh as he cups your cheek, rubbing it gently with his thumb as you lean into his touch. “I’m not asking you to drop everything for our child, sunshine,” he tells you. “Besides, we can always take leave from our jobs temporarily on maternity and paternity leave. When you’re ready, you go back. I run my own company, darling. My own. I call the shots. If I need to work from home to raise the child we created, so be it. I’ll enjoy every moment.”

Your heart flutters as Draco speaks. He really was perfect.

And in nine months time, you had created the most perfect thing you could have ever imagined. Celeste Frances Malfoy. Celeste...your star. A gift from the heavens. Your family was as complete as the sky; Draco, the moon, you, the sun, Celeste, your star.

Watching Celeste grow up was like watching a movie unfold before your eyes. Your beautiful baby girl held the universe in her eyes. And boy, oh boy, was she her father’s child. Identical grey eyes and silver hair, but she had your smile and laugh that made Draco’s heart swell with so much love. She had Draco’s love of mischief and often found herself in sticky situations.

Once you had found Celeste sitting quite literally in the toilet, red lipstick from your make up bag smeared across her face and chest, along with the toilet brush. You gasped as you found her and stared in shock. “Cel, what did you do?” you laughed.

She simply smiled, that mischievous smile at the age of two, and spoke, “It’s my wand! Just like mummy and daddy!” She waved the toilet brush around, making small mouth sounds that replicated those of magic and your wand. 

You laughed at the antics of your toddler. Instead of getting her out of the toilet bowl, you called out for your husband and called that he get the camera. This would be a memory you would love to keep. 

Draco ran in and saw his baby girl in this predicament and burst out laughing. “What mess did you get into, my star!” he laughed as Celeste giggled along with him. “Merlin, I need to tell your Uncle Blaise about this!” he wiped his eyes from laugher. 

The years past and Celeste grew and grew before your eyes. The more she grew up, the more she grew into her features. Her long blonde hair grew out and her eyes only grew to look more like Draco’s. But it became evident that your daughter possessed the same ruthless nature as you did. Celeste was bold and clever and wise beyond her years. She really was a perfect blend of you and Draco. 

Knowing that you could make such perfect children, that only encouraged Draco and you to have more children. Draco insisted that he wanted five children, but you stared at him with wide eyes. “Do I look like Molly Weasley?” you laughed as he chuckled to himself. “How about three?” you suggested as Draco rolled his eyes.

“I don’t like odd numbers. What if two are very close and the third one feels left out. I can’t do that to our children,” Draco pleaded as you groaned. “Four? Four and I’ll never ask for anything else!” he begs as you roll your eyes, knowing damn well that him not asking for anything else was the biggest lie. “Okay, maybe not that, but four! Four is a great number!”

And in typical Draco fashion, he got what he wanted. Four children. Celeste, your oldest, your leader, your star. Xander, your second, the jokester, the pot-stirrer, but also the empath of the family. Sage, your third, the free spirit, the humble one, Miss Independent. And last, Nicolas, your last, the baby, the soft-spoken one, but incredibly defensive of your family and its honor. Your perfect family. 

Each of your children all bore that same striking Malfoy hair, warning children to know who they were messing with. The girls looked much like their father, same hair and eyes, making your heart swell as you looked into their eyes. The boy, on the other hand, had Draco’s platinum hair, but your eyes and smile. The perfect combination.

Having such a large family meant chaos in the house. Celeste would often squeal about how Xander was bothering her while Xander tried to blame Nicolas for his pranks. Sage would quietly sit and observe before telling you the truth about what happened before going back to coloring. You laughed as Xander yelled at Sage for throwing him under the bus, but she just shrugged. The house never being silent always brought you a comfort that you never thought imaginable. The blabbering mouths of your children, the laughter, the fatherly voice of Draco booming over it all, catching your children’s attention. 

Draco was a phenomenal father. You didn’t think he could love anything as much as he loved you, but you stood corrected. Draco loved you fiercely, but Draco poured his heart and soul into the needs of his children. Each child had a different relationship with Draco but each so beautiful and lovely. Celeste, being the oldest, idolized her father and how he treated you with such love and compassion. Xander insisted he wanted to be just like his father, smart, funny, and successful. “What more do you need?” Xander would shrug as you laughed. Sage loved Draco something wild, she would draw him little pictures that he’d tape to the walls of his office, she slept with his old quidditch jumper as if it were a blanket. The sight was heart warming. And Nicolas was the baby, Draco’s baby. Nicolas was Draco’s shadow, following him room through room, staring up at him with wide eyes. Your children loved each other and that was all thanks to how you raised them.

From a young age, you told your children that family was everything. You needed to protect and love each other because if you didn’t, who else would. From then on, your children were fiercely close and loyal to each other. You remember clear as day when Xander got into a fight on the playground and word got to Celeste. Celeste then gathered the other siblings and walked up to the child and scared the living shit out of the poor kid who thought to lay a finger on Xander Malfoy.

As your children grew up, you and Draco knew very well that a Hogwarts letter would arrive in the mail soon for Celeste as she approached her eleventh birthday. Your children knew of magic and magical abilities; you wanted them to know the powers that they would posses rather than shield them so they grew to fear it. Each child had a different reaction when they found out about magic, but all fears dissipated when you showed them each your wands and old robes. (Of course, Draco revering his time as a quidditch team member, Xander immediately yelling that he would also be a Seeker like his father.)

Soon enough, the eve of Celeste’s eleventh birthday rolled around and like you expected a letter dashed through the front mailbox and landed perfectly on the breakfast table as you sat down to drink your morning coffee. The pale beige envelope was addressed to Miss Celeste Frances Malfoy. A small smile grew on  your lips as you sighed and looked towards your husband. Draco’s eyes laced together in confusion, but soon recognized the slip of paper you had in your hands. The two of you smiled at each other before Draco called out, “Cel! You have an early birthday present!”

Almost immediately footsteps sounded down the staircase before Celeste arrived in the kitchen. “What is it?” the almost eleven year old asked excitedly. You handed her the envelope with a beaming smile as she looked at you quizzically. She tore into the envelope and unfolded it to read the words scribbled onto the parchment. Soon, joy and excitement filled her eyes as she squealed out in excitement. “I’m going to Hogwarts?!” she yelled as you and Draco laughed. 

You engulfed your eldest child in a tight hug as happy tears flooded your vision. She was growing up far too fast for your liking.

----------

The start of school eventually rolled around the corner as Celeste happily pushed all of her luggage through the train stations, veering around different platforms. Draco carried Nicolas in his arms as you held Sage’s hand in yours as Celeste walked ahead with Xander, blabbing about Hogwarts, smiles on both you and Draco’s faces.

Your eldest child was about to embark on the greatest journey of her young adult life and you couldn’t be more excited for her. You had no doubt that Celeste would excel at Hogwarts, taking after both you and Draco. 

“Mum,” Celeste calls from ahead, “What house do you reckon I’ll be sorted into?” she asks.

You smile and look at your husband speaks before you, “I have my guesses, but I don’t want to influence you in any way, my star.”

Cel groans and speaks, “Come on! You reckon I’ll be a Slytherin like you?”

Draco laughs and tells his oldest child, “It doesn’t matter to me or your mother what house you’ll be sorted into. We know whatever house you are in, you’ll make us proud.”

Celeste smiles wide before looking at her surroundings realizing its come to the part she’s heard so much about. You look to Draco who nods as you sigh. Walking to Celeste, you place your hands on her shoulders. “You ready, star shine?” you ask, giving her shoulders a squeeze. Celeste gulps and looks at you, excitement and fear laced in her eyes. “We’re gonna run through together,” you aim the luggage cart at that all too familiar wall. “On the count of three,” you tell her.

Your daughter takes a deep breath in and huffs, “On three.”

“1, 2, 3,” the two of you speak before running directly at the wall, passing through with ease as another world appears before your eyes.

Multiple wizard families bustle through Platform 9 3/4, mothers calling to their children as fathers carry bags here and there. A smile forms on your face as Draco slides his hand in yours. “Looks familiar, doesn’t it?” he laughs as you roll your eyes teasingly.

You grab Celeste’s hand, “Come on, darling. Xander, push the cart for your sister. Sage, hold Daddy’s hand. She’s got a train to catch!” 

Your family starts walking to the platform where the train awaited the loading of multiple new and returning students. Draco loads Celeste’s luggage onto the train with the help of Xander as Nicolas holds onto your leg and sucks on his thumb in wonder at the scene before him.

Turning to Celeste, you see watch her anxiously bite on her lower lip as you did when you were nervous. You place a hand on your daughter’s shoulder. “Cel,” you speak as she turns towards you. “This is going to be the greatest journey ever. Enjoy every minute of it because it goes by in the blink of an eye,” you comfort her as you see tears well up in her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart,” you pull her into a hug, tears forming in your eyes. You hold onto your eldest daughter, pressing kisses onto the top of her head. “I’m so proud of you, star shine. You are going to be incredible. I have no doubt about that.”

Draco places a hand on Celeste’s back and rubs gently. “Your mother is right. When is she ever wrong?” he teases as Cel laughs and hugs Draco’s torso tight. “My star...” he gets choked up before breathing in. He squats to her level and speaks, “Have fun. Make friends. And don’t forget to write us.” Cel giggles as Draco smiles widely at his daughter. “My first born...go kick some ass.”

Cel laughs and hugs you and Draco tightly. You wished you could stay in this moment forever. It was so bittersweet. Watching your baby grow up before your own eyes, but doing everything you’ve ever wanted for her. “Okay, my star,” you pull away, letting her know it was time. “Kids, give Cel a hug goodbye.”

You smile, wiping your tears away as Draco wraps an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Your kids embrace in a tight group hug, telling each other how much they will love and miss Celeste. “I’ll be home for Christmas! I love you guys and I’ll see you soon!” Celeste waves as she climbs onto the train. 

“Come on, Cel!” a voice calls out that you recognize as Tanner, Pansy Parkinson’s eldest daughter.

She’ll be just fine. 

Celeste looks at you and Draco as you both send her a wink, letting her know she’ll be just fine. And there she goes, disappearing into the train car.

Slowly, you watch the train pull away from the station, waving at it, watching Celeste embark on the journey of her life. You turn to Draco, watching him gently wipe away the tears that escape his eyes. “Where did time go?” you whisper to him. “I remember being on that train.”

Draco smiles and looks at you, “I remember flirting with you on that train. And then you stomped on my foot and told me to piss off. Didn’t expect to be by my side years later with four children, did you?”

You roll your eyes, “You really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you, Malfoy?” you laugh. “Alright, my lovelies,” you call to your children. “Reckon we should get some ice cream to celebrate, shouldn’t we?”

Your children all cheer at the prospect of a treat as you scoop Nicolas into your arms, kissing his plump cheeks as he giggles. Sage jumps into Draco’s arms and Xander leads the way out.

With one final look back, you sigh out. This wouldn’t be the last time you did that. You still had three more children. But part of you wished it wouldn’t come as quickly as that just did. “One down, three to go, eh?” you tease Draco who laughs.

“Yeah! I’m next! One more year!” Xander exclaims as Draco tickles his sides.

“Yeah, a whole year! Don’t try and leave us too quickly,” Draco laughs as you join in. 

It was almost surreal. The life you and Draco had built with each other. A life of love and beauty; beautiful and healthy children, successful jobs, a beautiful home to call your own, and all your loved ones safe and sound. You thanked your lucky stars that you had this life and that Draco was so adamant on giving it to you.

Draco looked back at you and noticed how deep in thought you were. As you walked through the train station, Draco took one of your hands in his. “I wouldn’t want to go through any of this with anyone else. I love you,” Draco squeezes your hand.

You smile fondly at your husband, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “I love you. Forever and always, my dear,” you whisper before giving him a sweet kiss in the middle of Platform 9 3/4 just like you had done so many times before.

Times flies when you’re having fun.

[c-optimistic]

scar

Kara is not mysterious.

She’s not, though she makes a valiant attempt at it. She’s secretive and brilliant and more than talented at putting on an act, but she’s not mysterious. While there are dozens of things that don’t make sense about her, she has a refreshing habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve, consequences be damned, and even if Lena doesn’t understand what Kara does, she certainly can follow why.

Which is why the eyebrow thing is so…confusing.

(Perhaps the more accurate word is frustrating, frustrating that Lena can’t figure it out unlike some of Kara’s other idiosyncrasies.  

Understanding Kara’s preference for fatty and sugary foods was simple enough. Her Kryptonian physiology meant that fats and sugars took longer to break down, leaving her feeling full longer. Her partiality for movies with happy endings also made perfect sense—after all, who would wantto have more tragedy in their life? Even her habit of listening for Alex’s heartbeat every night before bed made sense; it had been how she’d fallen asleep when she first landed. But the eyebrowthing…)

Lena studies Kara as she settles into bed, watching her take her time to remove her glasses and run her fingers through her hair. The lamp on Lena’s side of the bed (it still leaves her a little breathless whenever she thinks things like that—whenever she notices the second toothbrush in the bathroom or nearly trips over one of Kara’s boots still laying where she kicked them off carelessly the night before) is still on, illuminating the thick file Lena’s been going through steadily for the past hour or so, waiting until Kara got back from dealing with the rogue alien causing a ruckus downtown.

“What?” Kara asks when Lena continues to stare rather than put out the lamp or put her work away. “Is there still gunk in my hair? I washed it out as best I could but—”

“—why do you do that?”

Kara blinks.

“…uh, wash my hair?” she asks, frowning as she settles back onto the pillows, looking over at Lena with playfully narrowed eyes.

“No. Why do you do that?” she asks again, this time raising her hand to press her fingertips right above her left eyebrow, attempting to demonstrate Kara’s inexplicable behavior. “You touch your scar before bed every night.”

“Do I?”

“You don’t realize you’re doing it?” Lena asks incredulously, her eyebrows rising. She puts the thick file away, shifting so that she’s more settled against the pillows and is facing Kara. “Though maybe it makes sense. I suppose someone like you wouldn’t be all that used to scars.”  

“I don’t touch it because I’m not used to scars, Lena,” Kara laughs, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Lena’s temple. She’s being annoyingly calm about it, either not realizing or not caring that this one unexplainable habit has been driving Lena nuts since she first started spending the night. “It’s just…comforting.”

“Comforting?” Lena repeats blankly, not quite sure what Kara could possibly mean. She doesn’t like drawing comparisons between herself and Kara—that’s just begging for a downward spiral, who could possibly want to be compared to Supergirl?—but in this one instance, she can’t help herself. Lena has a great deal of scars (and she allows herself a moment to be poetic as she thinks of all the metaphorical scars Lex and her parents have left on her) and she hates them all. There’s the thin white scar on her left index finger, where she accidentally cut herself while cooking, a careless moment brought on by the first news reports about Lex’s plots against Superman. There’s a darker, misshaped scar on her right knee, where she’d landed on hard concrete after a particularly brutal lesson on ‘how to be a Luthor.’ (Lillian had been horrified by the incident—by her own ability to do such a thing to a child or the very sight of bright red blood rolling down that child’s leg—and had apologized for it later, lavishing Lena with attention and care, very vigilant from that moment on to physically treat her gently, even as the emotional abuse continued.) And of course there’s the scar below her ribcage, which she doesn’t remember the exact details of, just knowing it involved tequila and bad choices. This scar she’s come to love; Kara has not once allowed the opportunity to kiss that scar go by.

Lena doesn’t like any of her scars. They only serve as a harsh reminder of who she was, and she rather likes the person she is now. But Kara’s looking at her softly and her eyes are so blue and Lena has to admit that if someone asked her right in that moment, she’d say her girlfriend was absolutely mysterious.

“Why?” she asks, even though every part of her is screaming that she can figure it out later—just like all the other things—even though a part of her believes she’s showing exactly how invested she is, just how important Kara is to her, and vulnerability is one scar Lena’s still not quite sure how to feel about. (When she’s feeling more poetic, she can admit that it’s not a scar at all, not yet. It’s a deep and still bleeding wound, and she thinks with Kara’s help it might heal into a neat thin line rather than the jagged edges for which she has a propensity.)

“On Krypton…” Kara begins slowly, reaching out to take Lena’s hand, threading their fingers together and gently running her thumb over Lena’s skin. It’s a mindless gesture, but one that has turned into a moment to latch onto—yet another simple thing that can take Lena’s breath away. “I had no powers on Krypton. I was…normal.” Kara pauses long enough to take a deep breath she doesn’t need, shuffling over enough that her entire body is pressed up against Lena’s, hand never ceasing its ministrations. “I could get hurt, bleed, become so exhausted that I wanted nothing more than my bed, any day, any time. I didn’t need kryptonite or a rogue alien to make me feel like everyone else.”

“You got the scar on Krypton,” Lena guesses, unable to help the track of her eyes. Realizing there’s not point to pretending, she reaches up with her free hand and gently runs the pad of her thumb over the scar, watching as Kara’s eyes flutter shut.

“I was young when I got it,” she all but whispers. “I’m not sure exactly how. I remember it involved my father and uncle and one of their experiments.” She laughs a little, lost in another world—a long since lost world. “My father petitioned the Science Guild to allow me to join as soon as possible, but they wanted to wait until I was a little older. So my father and uncle had me work with them in secret—my mother was furious when she found out.” She laughs again, opening her eyes and meeting Lena’s gaze steadily. “I remember her lecturing me as she cleaned me up—didn’t even allow Kelex near me. At the time, I didn’t think it was very fair. It’s funny,” she adds softly, not sounding amused at all, “I’d give anything to hear her yell at me again.”

“Kara…” Lena tries, but she doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what she cansay. How does one comfort their girlfriend over the loss of their entire planet, their family, their friends—the only life they’d ever known? She can lay here and recite as many platitudes as she’d like, nothing would take that sadness out of Kara’s eyes.

(Lena knows, she’s had her fair share of scars, understands how much pain they could still cause even though for all intents and purposes the skin had healed over, the tissue repaired itself.)

“I used to hold my mother’s necklace as I prayed to Rao every night,” Kara says suddenly, breaking through Lena’s thoughts, looking inexplicably calm and at peace. “It seemed important to do, especially when I really began coming into my powers and didn’t need sleep.”  She tightens her grip on Lena’s hand just briefly, letting out a soft sigh as she does so. “In some ways, it makes me glad I gave the necklace to Mon-El.”

“Kara, I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make sense. It was the last thing you had of your mother’s.”

“And I got it when she was putting me into a pod and saying goodbye. Carrying it around…carrying it around felt heavy. It was a constant reminder of losing my planet, of years in that pod, of nights spent crying with the Danvers…of nearly dying myself.” For the first time she looks away, apparently invested in the patterns of the curtains. “But the scar is from a moment when my uncle’s experiment went wrong and my mother cleaned me up and my father kept apologizing and snuck me a treat later.” Kara sniffs, and Lena doesn’t mention or acknowledge the tears that have rolled down her cheeks. “The scar reminds me of who I am. I like it.”

(Lena was right about one thing: Kara is not mysterious. But her notions about scars? Lena might need to rethink her stance.)

“I like it, too,” Lena says, pressing her lips to the scar above Kara’s left eyebrow in a lengthy kiss. It must be the right response—or something close to it anyway—because Kara practically sags, resting her forehead against Lena’s.

And they fall asleep just like that, heads close and hands intertwined, but not before Lena makes the mental note to never allow the opportunity to kiss Kara’s scar to go by.  

[sirtwentyofhousegoodmen]

Arcturus at Orion's birth plz

July 5th, 1929

"Papa!"

Arcturus shifted his gaze from the newspaper to the four year old girl sat on his lap, who looked up at him, beseechingly.

"What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Can you read me a story?"

Arcturus rolled his eyes heavenward, and before he could tell the little hoyden to go bother her mother for one, he was hit with the reminder that Melania was rather occupied birthing his son at the moment.

He sighed—he'd come to his study to hide from his blasted uncles, cousins and siblings, all eagerly awaiting news of the Black heir's arrival with champagne and cigars, a noticeably more jovial celebration than there was at Lucretia's birth. No wonder, as Phineas Nigellus was no longer there to scream at everyone for their shortcomings.

Knowing that Lucretia inherited his strong will, and not having the energy to send her away after being awake for the past twenty hours, he begrudgingly put down his newspaper and, with a lazy swish of his wand, plucked an old storybook out of the bookcase.

"Just this once, Lucretia Black," He warned her, "Your father hasn't the time for such nonsense—so don't get any ideas about this being a regular occurrence."

Lucretia nodded, black curls bobbing up and down with each motion, and leaned back down onto his chest, waiting for him to begin.

It was one of Melania's books that she'd left in his study—they often took lunch there together, though rather than engage in conversation, an activity neither really favored, husband and wife preffered to read in each other's companionable silence.

It seemed innocuous enough—besides, it wasn't as if he could read Lucretia the tome he'd just acquired on Egyptian blood magic.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

Arcturus raised his eyebrows at that, then nodded in approval at the statement. This was precisely the sort of thing an impressionable young girl like Lucretia should be reading.

As he continued, his voice grew softer and softer, owing to Lucretia's slowing breaths and drooping eyelids, but also to the fact that he was growing rather invested in the plot himself. He would never read this womanish dreck if Lucretia weren't here of course, but it was decently written, all in all.

The sound of the study door creaking open made Arcturus stop, but before he could look up to see who'd disturbed them, Lucretia said the last thing he wanted her to say at that moment.

"Burgie!!"

The girl in question darted into the room, a blur of black curls and white lace that Irma had trapped her in from head to toe.

Pollux's daughter was a terror. She looked innocent enough: all neat black curls and bright blue-grey eyes, but she was constantly running circles around her parents, and there wasn't an order in the world she couldn't flagrantly disobey. Unfortunately for him, Lucretia had taken to her cousin from the first—the girls were practically inseperable. In the first three years, it was often quite difficult to tell them apart—though now their faces were taking their own distinct shapes.

"Where were you, Lucy?" Walburga asked, her arms crossed and her face a mask of supreme churlishness.

"I found Papa," Lucretia said, as if the fact was a complete justification. "He's reading me a story."

Walburga turned her—far too sharp—gaze to him, and pouted. "I want to hear the story."

Arcturus's first reaction was a strong no—but then he realized that word didn't exist in Walburga's vocabulary, and if he were to introduce her to it now he'd be getting an earful from both her and her shrew of a mother.

Sighing, he ran a hand over his face. "I hate my life," he muttered to himself.

Walburga seemed to take that as a 'yes', as she climbed atop the couch and burrowed herself into his other side. Without a clue as to what to do, he just gaped at her nerve while she smiled up at him, looking damn near catlike.

"Go on, Cousin Arcturus," He narrowed his eyes at the cheeky, yet accurate form of address. The chit was good, he'll give her that. "Read!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you speak to your father that way, young lady?"

"Yes."

Arcturus blinked, then snorted. "Fair enough. But I'm not your father, so you'll take care to watch your tone when you speak to me."

She sighed, sulkily. "Yes, Cousin Arcturus."

Giving her a final stern glance, he put his focus back into the book and read until the two girls' breaths grew slow, and their eyes closed. Finally seeing they were asleep, he made to get up, then came to a crushing realization.

The bloody chits had him pinned to the infernal sofa.

Sighing, he made to lift Lucretia off of his left side but the girl had her arms firmly wrapped around his middle, and any sort of strong movement would have woken her—and in turn Walburga.

Turning to Walburga, he debated the merits of whether or not to pry her off him as well. On the one hand, she wasn't his (she'd be a damn sight less impudent if she were) and he did not want to be any more familiar than he already was . On the other hand, he was the official head of the family and he'd be damned if he was going to miss his son's birth over a sleeping hoyden.

Thankfully, the debate ended when the study door creaked open and Pollux came in, a sheen of sweat on his forehead—he'd never taken to cigars that well—and a glass of champagne in hand, beaming.

"Arcturus, it's—"

"Can you get your blasted daughter off me before you say what you have to say, Pollux?"

Pollux' seemed to take notice of his other companions and their state, as his eyes widened and he promptly put down his cigar and champagne flute on the table nearest them, and in one swift motion lifted up his daughter into his arms.

"Apologies, Arcturus," Pollux said, lightly rubbing a mildly fussy Walburga's back as she settled into her new position. "She can be a bit of a handful sometimes, our Burgie."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow in dissaproval at the look of pure adoration on his cousin's face at his daughter. First Irma, now Walburga—he was starting to get the feeling that Pollux actually liked his women impertinent.

How droll.

"Yes," he answered instead, "She certainly can. Anyhow, what is it you wanted to tell me, seeing as you've seen fit to come into my study?"

Pollux remembered himself then, and his bright smile was back. "Yes, of course—Congratulations are in order, old boy: You have a son."

Arcturus felt a wave of astonishment come over him, leaving him wide-eyed and dazed. "He's here?"

Pollux nodded. "Yes—Irma told us all that Melania's waiting for you upstairs."

Without another word in his cousin's direction he stood up, lifting Lucretia up with him, and all but ran upstairs, past all the well-wishers no doubt using his son's birth as an excuse to get plastered in the drawing room.

A son, an heir, a true heir! Ha!—Arcturus hoped that Phineas Nigellus had a good view of his triumph in hell, he wanted to see that old bastard eat his words.

The House of Black already had a male heir—Alphard's birth, though met with distinctly less fanfare since Melania's pregnancy had been announced by then, had been two months ago and his uncle Cygnus had not stopped crowing since. But this was different—Arcturus had an heir now, his own heir. A son to carry on his name and his legacy, a son to shape into a fine young man and to teach what it meant to be a proper black.

He reached the same oak door he'd gone through four years ago, and grabbing the handle, pushed it open.

Melania was on the bed, her face pale and drawn, and the healer beside her had his face set in a frown. Arcturus approached the man, the feeling of Lucretia’s hands around the back of his neck growing tighter.

“Is she alright?” He asked, without preamble.

“Ah, Mr. Black,” The rotund man took off his comically tiny, fogged-over pince-nez, cleaning them with his handkerchief. “Yes, I assure you—Mrs. Black is doing perfectly well, as is your son. The birth was rather strenuous on her, I’m afraid.”

“How strenuous?”

The man grimaced. “She’ll be perfectly fine—but I wouldn’t advise having another for at least a few years. I don’t think her body could take it.”

Arcturus furrowed his brow, shocked. “What? She did perfectly well with Lucretia.”

“The boy was larger than Lucretia,” The healer said, as if he were indulging a dim-witted child, which only served to raise his hackles. “Combined with the birth being four times longer, it’s no wonder she’s unwell. Rest assured, she’ll be perfectly fine with some bed-rest, and in a few years, if you still want another, we can certainly discuss what paths we could take on that front.”

Before Arcturus could convey his supreme outrage at being spoken to in such a way, the jolly man had the audacity to give him a pat on the back, and direct him to the crib where they’d put his son. Gingerly, he put Lucretia onto a chaise in the corner of the room, and approached the crib with trepidation.

When he caught sight of his son, he felt the breath leave him.

The boy was his mother’s spitting image—brown hair, large, owlish eyes, and pudgy red cheeks. The only feature he’d inherited from his father were those classic steely gray eyes that most Blacks were blessed with.

Carefully, he lifted him from his crib, and positioned him properly in his arms. The boy stirred, before wiggling a bit more and turning his new eyes up to peer at his father.

His son. His son.

Arcturus had never felt more proud in his life. All the tests, the trials, every single accomplishment in his life paled in comparison to this one. His son was the totality of all his efforts, the ultimate triumph.

But there was something else. Something more.

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of Melania’s stirring from the other side of the room, and, remembering himself, he approached her with their son in tow.

“Remember, Mr. Black, she’s too weak to hold him at present—I’d advise keeping a safe distance.”

Arcturus gave the man a glare, and he rightly looked cowed, excusing himself and all but running from the room. Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, he looked over at his wife, who was just beginning to wake.

“Arcturus?” She asked, her voice tired and muddled.

"I'm here, Melly," He told her, taking his free hand and using it to wipe off the sheen of sweat that had gathered on her forehead.

Melania opened her eyes, blearily, and when she looked over at him with their son, gave them both a shaky smile. "How is he?"

"Perfect," Arcturus replied, meaning it more than he'd ever meant anything in his life. "He's perfect—your spitting image."

"Really?" She peered over at his face. "I rather thought he took after you."

"He has my eyes," he told her, bringing their boy closer. "The rest is all yours."

She sighed. "Is he right? I can't have any more?"

Arcturus blinked. The healer had told him she might very well have another in a few years, but they'd told his mother the same. He didn't want to risk it—wizards had not perfected the art of childbirth and h wasn't about to take her to a muggle so he could cut her open like some fish.

The thought of Melania on the bed, like mother, covered in pustules, soft, sweet voice meant for songs gone wheezy and delirious—No. No, he wasn't going to let that happen. He couldn't let that happen.

"Yes," Arcturus said, decision made. "It's not safe for you. We won't be having anymore."

Her face turned doleful then. "Oh."

They sat in a sort of awkward silence then while Arcturus kept smiling down at their son, until it was broken by the sound of a slight sniffle.

"I'm sorry."

Arcturus started at the words, then turned to meet his wife's eyes, which had become wet with tears.

"What?" He asked, mildly annoyed at the fact he had to deal with womanish drama today of all days.

"I failed you. I can't give you more children—what kind of a wife am I?"

Melania's face seemed to be a mixture between dawning horror at the fact that she'd failed in her duties and genuine sadness that she'd never experience what it was like to hold another baby of hers in her arms again.

Arcturus moved to cut off the stream of tears before it became too much for either of them.

"You've given me an heir, and a daughter," Arcturus pointed out, voice measured. "There's nothing else expected of you."

"You should have more," She said, shaking her head, her breaths growing shorter. "I wanted more." The last sentence was spoken in a kind of hushed tone.

"More are not worth your health, Melania." Arcturus groaned, was she truly under the impression she'd failed him? Had he ever intimated he wanted a house full of little rapscallions running about? He didn't—two was more than enough.

"That's not—"

"It is, and it is the final word we will have on this subject." Arcturus sighed. "You will not die, Melania. Not for one more son, nor for ten. You, Lucretia, and the boy are all I need. You are all..." he cleared his throat, uncomfortably, "...more than I could ever deserve. I have an heir—Now, all that matters is you and the children. Nothing more."

Melania looked at him, flabbergasted at how candid he'd gotten, before nodding, still dumbstruck. "As you say."

Arcturus pretended not to notice her smile of relief, nor the overly loving way she was looking at him.

Those emotions made him...uneasy.

"Orion," Melania said, thought it came out as half a question. She elaborated at Arcturus's raised eyebrow. "I was reading a book on Black names when I went into labor. The one I liked best was Orion—I thought to bring it to you to see if you approved."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised that his slip of a wife had gathered the nerve to put forth a name herself. Orion...Yes, it was a good name. A strong name—The Hunter. One of the only good memories he had left of his father had been sitting in his study, asking him to point out all the names of the stars enchanted into the ceiling—Orion had always been his favorite.

"Orion Arcturus Black," Arcturus said, nodding in approval. "A good name, Melly. I approve."

Melania beamed—though she promptly grimaced.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" She nodded. "Not to worry—I'll find that fat old man and order him to give my wife as much pain potion as she damn well wants."

He gave her a kiss to the forehead. "She deserves it."

[creativeashproductions]

Mountains and Lessons // Luke Patterson

Summary: A bucket list item Reggie had had was to experience a white Christmas. He ended up dying before hand and his opportunity brings up. All Luke wants is music and warmth, not stuck on a stupid mountain in cold Colorado. Alex is excited to get out of Californai for once.

Warning: Swearing, death, angst, Christmas themed but not Christmas and fluff

Words: 4.9k

A/N: Breaks my heart that Reggie potentially never got to experience making snow angels, snow people and join a snowball fight. But my theme appears to be angst so there’s that as well.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

Julie had a structured routine and schedule she liked to follow in her life, not strict but definitely a guideline. Monday to Friday, like ever minor, spent the majority of the time in a classroom. After school, she would return home straight to the kitchen for a quick snack before spreading her homework on the kitchen island. The homework was typically one hour before Julie would head out to the studio for band rehearsal.

Flynn, as the band manager, had declared Friday’s to be band free just so that Julie and Flynn could hang out. Saturday’s consisted of morning band practice, the early afternoon had a songwriting session with Luke. In the late evening after an early supper, the band would head to the gig they had gotten. Sunday’s however were strictly days off from the band no matter what, the boys would go their own ways for the day as well.

Today, for the young teenager was a Friday but Flynn had strep throat confining herself to her house. No visitors and her electronics taken away to get rest. It was incredibly dull, and no one wanted to go against Flynn’s words because she could be scary.

Julie had done her homework, did her chores, revised a new song, started a new book and added more doodles to her shoes. Now she was laying on her bed staring at the ceiling with her headphones in.

“Julie?” Ray spoke from her open bedroom door. The man received no reaction with his daughter’s head in the clouds, “Julie? I need to talk to you.”

Ray walked over to his daughter to tug the bud out of her left ear bringing the girl back down to land. The teenager sat up to look at her father.

“What’s up?”

“Can you meet me in the living room?” Ray’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners from the many laughs he had shared in his lifetime. While she was confused, Julie proceeded to follow her father down to the lively decorated room.

Carlos had already been corralled to the living room couch listlessly staring in the distance with no iPad on his person. The lack of electronic was a red flag to the musician, the girl settled on the couch while Ray shifted things on the coffee table.

Once settled on the wood coffee table, he focused on his children, “We’ve always discussed big decisions in our family. We had an open discussion of retracting our initial decision to move.”

“Is this about my bed? I can clean it! I will-“

“Carlos! This isn’t about under your bed, we do need to have a conversation about that young man.” Carlos pointed one finger in Carlos’ direction before addressing the situation, “This year is the first year we’ll celebrate Christmas without…”

“Mom.” Both Carlos and Julie murmured slumping down at the stifling reminder of the loss the Molina’s had suffered.

Julie clenched her jaw, forcing the grief down as her hand crept over to hold Carlos’ hand in comfort. The glittering of his eyes and the gnawing on his lower lip dead giveaways he was losing the battle with sadness. Ever since Julie was a kid, she had always been there for Carlos, not saying they didn’t fight. Evidence as Carlos’ requesting a normal sister.

“It’s going to be different. I got offered an excellent contract by a ski resort, we could potentially renovate the bathroom.” Ray’s eyebrows came together as the touchy topic came about.

After Rose died, it had dented the Molina’s financials with the loss of income, the money didn’t matter compared to the person. When the sun shone through the dark clouds, it had affected the way the Molina’s had to live. Of course, the Molina’s had it better than most with a house over their head and food on the table.

Ray just wanted the best for his kids.

“We could build snowmen?” Carlos gleefully exclaimed beaming at the sheer image of seeing snow in person.

“That’s the thing. The ski resort hosts a handful of parties by companies and clients. The contract is photographing the events for their website. All expenses paid and it could open doors to more clients.”

The idea tore Julie in half. Not decorating the tree with her family, Tia Victoria’s tamales that changed every year and carolling with her friends. A lot of traditions wouldn’t happen that had been constant for the Molina family. New Year Eve’s movie night with Flynn wouldn’t happen; the two girls exchanged wrapped Christmas pyjamas to wear.

On the other hand, the new scenery would distract Julie from the broken Christmas holiday without Mom. Julie always wanted to experience a white Christmas for the snow angels, the snowmen, spontaneous snowball fights, sledding and hot cocoa to warm up after the cold.

In the end, it was the glee on Carlos’ face and the excitement on her father’s that had her caving.

“Let’s do it.” Julie faked her enthusiasm before excusing herself from the conversation of Carlos’ disgusting bedroom.

The young teenager shuffled her way to the studio yearning for the piano to cheer herself up. Typically discovering the guys playing music alone infuriated the girl but at the moment she just wanted to mourn the change of Christmas.

“Hey!” Reggie spoke with a bright grin at the moping teenager. At the lack of reaction, his grin faltered, “Julie?”

Luke’s guitar solo came to an abrupt halt seeing the forlorn girl slumping on the piano bench staring listlessly at the ivory keys. The melancholy aura gave the boys a sick feeling in their bellies, Luke wondered if her grades weren’t at Ray’s standard. Alex wondered if she had a fight with Flynn and Reggie just wanted to hug her.

Reggie did so. His arms wrapped around her shoulders in comfort, and he thanked whatever deity there was at finally being able to hug her. After Caleb and the weird situation, the OG Sunset Curve turned into glow sticks touch had become prevalent. Reggie had a secret handshake with Julie. When Alex got overwhelmed over his anxiety escalated, he would braid Julie’s hair and play with her fingers; when this happened, she never physically touched him unless he asked. Luke was a different story.

Luke’s love language is obviously physical affection, he would hug the living girl, gives high fives, grasp her hand to squeeze it. He’d also sit as close as possible for their legs to touch. It was a way for Luke to feel real.

“What’s wrong, Jay?” Alex asked, approaching the piano to heave himself on top of it. His concerned blue eyes on the teenager.

“This is the first Christmas without my Mom.” She revealed, the desolation drawing Luke to be closer to his friends.

If the boys’ had beating hearts, they would have stuttered and shattered, seeing the sorrow overflow in Julie���s eyes. In a short time, they had spent with her since the first night they had come to care about each other immensely.

 “I’m so sorry,” Alex spoke scootching closer to lay his hand on the limp hand resting on the piano top. The smile of thanks warming the drummer inside.

“Dad got this perfect job at a ski resort. It’s good money, and Carlos is excited. I don’t want to spend Christmas somewhere else. I want to be here; I want to go carolling with you guys. I want New Year’s Eve movie night with Flynn, I want to fight Carlos on who gets to put the star on the tree. I want to bake cookie.” Julie broke, “Sure a white Christmas would be cool, but this is home.”

 “It’s not about where you celebrate. It’s about who you celebrate with Jules.” Luke quietly spoke up physically with them but mentally elsewhere.

His mind returned to the night in December that irrevocably altered his relationship with his parents’. He had tainted Christmas for himself and his family when he stormed out never to return. He would give anything to spend a Christmas, a birthday, or even a Mother’s Day with his parents just one more time. A consolation to the guitarist was easing his parents’ pain with Unsaid Emily.

“You’ll get to build snowmen?” Reggie questioned pouting at his lifer friend who giggled at his look of betrayal, “I was going to spend Christmas at my uncle’s place in Washington before we died.”

Reggie’s words didn’t change the sombre atmosphere, but it did flip a switch in Julie’s mind. Julie could create new traditions with her new family as well.

“We’ll get to build snowmen.”

“How? We’ll be here. You’ll be wherever the resort it.” Reggie interjected with a twisted smile at Julie’s words. The young girl rolled her eyes at him, “We can’t crash your family vacation. It’s Christmas.”

“Reg, you wouldn’t be ‘crashing’ the family vacation. You three are part of my family.” Julie’s words had to be the most touching thing the boys had heard in years, both the twenty-five dead and from 1990-1995.

“I’m so excited!” Reggie beamed, “I have to go, thank Ray!”

With that, the ghostly teenager disappeared in a bright ball of light to the house where Ray was most likely accepting the job. While Luke and Reggie didn’t know boundaries, they sure could make things better for their friends.

The giggle came from the girl bundled up in layers tossed a packed ball of snow at the enemy behind the other snow fort. The sharp laugh of her opponents warming you up more than hot cocoa, well the layers were unnecessary. But, what’s winter without the bundled up outer clothing.

“Surrender!” You called out throwing the new ball high with the hope it would land on the other person. It hit the top of the wall instead.

Lucy was just about to return fire with one of her pre-made snow weapons when the resort’s main building front door opened. Backlit by the lights giving a heavenly glow was a woman of average height. Greying hair scooped up in an elegant style, and thick clothing stood Lucy’s mom.

Your heart clenched at the visible sadness on the woman’s face as her eyes found the mountain in the distance. It had been a constant in the last seven years of the year-round residents and the plaque on the property. Lucy’s family had never properly healed from the tragic event, but they also could bear to leave the place either.

Fox & Hare Ski Resort had been in the ownership of the same family for over a hundred years, a place of happiness. A place where Lucy had loved as a massive fan of skiing and wintertime, Lucy was excited for this year the most. It was Lucy’s third year of lessons with a very well respected and highly sought out trainer.

“Bye!” Lucy spoke to the now standing young adult. Her little feet dashing to the main building for supper with her parents.

Your eyes found the parking lot as a car pulled up to one the spaces reserved for staff; his looks matched the temporary photographer. With him was a young boy and a teenage girl about your own age. All bundled up for the cold climate, but you were most surprised at the sudden appearance of three males.

They had to ghosts. If the teleporting wasn’t obvious enough, it was the lack of warm clothes. For God’s sake, one of them didn’t even have sleeves.

“Hm interesting.” You hummed scrutinizing the trio following the other three aimlessly to the building. You pegged them as about your age with a very vintage style in both fashion and hairstyles.

The luggage clicked on each transition to another board on the porch ramp for accessibility a welcome sound. Just another daily occurrence that brought peace to the individual. Unable to hold yourself back, you quickly scooped up three snowballs.

The first hit the taller boy in the back of the head. When his head swivelled, he couldn’t see the person that did it. Shaking it off, he turned back to view the mountain. Sprinting to the vast sea of trees you stopped halfway to chuck the second snowball. It hit the guy in the leather jacket.

You ducked behind the tree when he loudly protested the sudden attack. With a wicked grin, you went to send the third one before you yelped.

“Nu-uh.” The sudden voice spoke clicking his tongue. Slowly turning you saw the last boy staring you down, “You should have left Reggie for last. He’s very loud, he’s a personal alarm.”

Your mouth opened as the other two appeared, “I’ve never had a snowball fight before!”

You took a guess that was Reggie.

“I’m Y/N.” You spoke holding out for hand for the three to shake. They each introduced themselves; your first hit was Alex, the second was Reggie, and the failed hit was Luke.

“What brings you to Colorado?” You asked shoving your hands in your snow pants bouncing on the heels of your feet. The crunch of snow under them unfamiliar to the trio.

“Our band member is staying here for two weeks. Her dad got a photography gig.” Alex spoke, scanning the area, “So, are you a ghost?”

“I’m a tour guide and area expert.” You beamed revealing a big smile to the three guys standing in the powdered snow.

The cheery light in your eyes, easing the ghosts in the unfamiliar landscape, each a juxtaposition to the climate. Nodding towards the rental shop, you guided them into the average-sized building for the necessary winter wear. Seasoned with your background working in the shop, you quickly grabbed items that wouldn’t be noticed for them.

“We don’t nee-“

“Gotta live the experience. I used to work in here, so I’ve taken the liberty to group your gear. Alex, you have light blue and pink. Reggie red and black leaving the dark blue for Luke.”

You wore a seafoam green ski jacket and matching snow pants paired with the trusty black boots. While the boys dressed in the clothing you chose, you collected your things as well. As soon as they finished, they turned to see you had a snowboard lilac to the dark purple-black gradient. On the top of the board in the middle had a moon with the white foam of the ocean. On the lilac background, the deep purple cut the moon in half, the deep purple background had the lilac moon half. The black had a rough outline of a circle similar to the moon on the front with BURTON in the ring.

“I had a different board.” Your smile faltered, remembering the beautiful board your parents had gotten you for your birthday.

“What happened to it?” Luke questioned scanning the room for the board.

“It snapped in half.” You stated practically skipping out the door, “C’mon! I wanna teach you how to kill it on the mountain! Have you ever done this? Skiing or snowboarding?”

“Neither,” Alex spoke glancing around the area as you led them to the Gondola lifts that brought people to the top of the mountain. This one specifically for the beginner levels perfect for the three new friends, “We’re born and bred in California, never got the opportunity to travel outside the state.

“Well, I’ll try my very best to give you a good experience on the mountain..”

Once released from the Gondola, you jogged to the side giggling at the sight of them struggling to walk in the heavy boots. Near the Gondola, the area was the shift ski patrol building with the heated bathroom. The building along with the bench had been a new addition a few years ago. It never failed to halt you to stare at it for a handful of seconds.

“Okay, so we’ll start with the basics.” You announced clapping your hands together in the thick mittens.

Alex picked up the activity naturally with confidence and calmness he couldn’t even remember last feeling. He had to focus on his movements and directions, giving him a welcomed break from his overthinking. Luke had started his angry pout with his accurate portrayal of newborn Bambi.

“I’m just going to take a break,” Luke muttered wheezing from his sudden position staring at the sky. Taking pity on the Californian boy, you pressed the release function on his boots.

“I think Reggie’s at the ski patrol building.” You called to the boy with the fringe sulking in the direction of Reggie. It left you with Alex learning new hacks to the board.

“This is fun!” Alex shouted, raising his mouth to the sky, “Ooh Willie would love yelling up here.”

“Ghost?” You asked, receiving a nod in response, taking the time to sit down with your knees raised—the board on the edge still connected to your boots.

Alex flailed as he copied you taking in the sunset, backlight the buildings slowly turning their nights one at a time. The large main building would have a fire for everyone with supplied hot cocoa. Tomorrow the mountain would be less populated with the first of many Christmas parties. The crisp air welcomed high above the buildings you felt peace.

“Is it safe to get off the mountain at night?” Alex asked, hugging his knees to his chest, tilting his head to look at your profile.

The smile was small but warm on the girls face as Alex took in her features that had a particular contentness that is hard to attain. Alex could see in Luke when he finished a song he would deem his best work before the next song. Or Reggie at a beach bonfire with the ocean crashing faintly behind Luke’s acoustic guitar.

“Yeah.” You replied smoothly removing your board from your boots to carry it to where Luke and Reggie were. You backtracked to ensure Alex released his boots; his fast learning evident when he stood with a proud smile.

Alex and you both surveyed the area for any lost items or gear you may have forgotten about, coming up clear you continued walking. Reggie and Luke were laughing with their skiis neatly put aside. Hands locked in a fierce game of rock, paper, scissors they looked childlike and untouched by life’s hard teachings.

“I’ll put my board in the Gondola. Be right back!” You called over your shoulder. Alex looked over his shoulder to reply, but the space was empty.

“She moves fast,” Alex muttered shaking it off to jog closer to the boys. He was close to sitting down on the bench when it caught his attention.

“Whoa. That’s nasty.” Alex spoke, gaining his bandmates attention to the bench they had overlooked.

The bench was made out of two snowboards in stone and wood combinations with a gorgeous design. Pieces of the snowboard made to look like a nearly finished puzzle—a plaque on a thick post behind it.

“For the girl who changed the sport for women. Fast like a fox, as graceful as a swan, may you guide lost souls to safety.” Reggie read off the plaque. Luke’s fingers went to brush the ice and snow clouding the picture above the words.

“You guys coming?” You yelled from a distance startling all three intrigued teenage ghosts. Their eyes glanced at the edge of the board in the picture that matched the bench.

“Thanks for that by the way,” Luke spoke gesturing to the area as the Gondola moved down the mountain. His eyes greener in the dimly lit enclosure that shadowed your flustered features at the sole attention.

“I’m on the mountain every day. It was fun talking with people my age.” You informed them pleased to sit in the silence. The three took in the sunset from the height with no buildings blocking the view, “If you can’t find me, I’ll be on the mountain.”

Once back on the bottom of the mountain, the four teenagers snuck the equipment in your personal shack to dry and keep hidden for future lessons. The three guys bid farewell to find Julie in the large cabin, each with beaming smiles and stories to tell the girl.

“Where’ve you guys been?” Julie asked the ghosts in the tucked-away corner near the massive fire ceasing her scribbling to look at them, “Usually I can’t shake you. I had to sit through a safety talk by the director for the mountain.”

“This wicked girl taught us how to snowboard! She’s so cool, Julie. There’s this passion in her when we got on the mountain. The passion that we all have for music!” Luke gushed, breaking his cool guy personality, “She’s so patient.”

“What’s her name?” Julie laughed, getting a first-hand look at Luke all crushed out on someone. His cheeks a rosy pink and soft eyes it amused Julie just imagining the number of love songs he would pen.

“Y/N.” Luke sighed slouching against the wall, “She’s so pretty.”

“-once more, I ask that you check every morning and afternoon for weather conditions, the local Avalanche Information Center website and be aware of our maps for potential avalanche areas. We have a live app that gives updates as well. Just a reminder that I’m Susan and you can also have the ski patrol contact me for further information. Enjoy your stay!” Susan called out gracefully cutting through the crowd to Lucy falling asleep in her chair.

”I heard some lady talking to her friends that the safety regulations and rules increased after an avalanche killed someone. I didn’t catch the name, but it took weeks before they found the bodies, they found the board in a few days.” Julie supplied with a half-smile at another reminder of death.

The three boys had a moment of clarity. They put the pieces together that the bench made of the boards was in memory of the person who died. It was a bitter moment of potentially standing where a person tragically killed with no warning.

“Anyway, I have to meet Dad and Carlos in the room. Have to video call Tía as her stressed wishes for not being home.” Julie sighed, pushing her feet into the slippers, she left the dino ones at home, she had grabbed from the room.

A few days into the Molina’s white Christmas it had been a charming morning thus far. The guys had done a songwriting session for most of the morning. Luke’s eyes continued to scan the room for you as he had since the first day. He had yet to see you inside, if the ghostly trio wasn’t on the mountain with you, then you were playing with Lucy.

 Julie and the Phantoms had retreated to the suite the Molina’s had been assigned when the weather looked questionable. Most of the tourists had either stayed in their rooms, cabins or in the main building. It led to Julie taking the session to the privacy of the suite to avoid looking like a crazy person.

“I need to stretch. Walk?” Reggie asked, gaining different sounds of agreement from the band.

The four individuals walked to the main lounging area where a crowd formed around the makeshift stage. On it was Susan shaking in her husband’s arms.

“Please, has anyone seen Lucy?” Susan sobbed, “She’s ten years old. She’s got blue eyes, ginger hair and she’s small for her age.”

Julie joined her father near the crowd, where he swiftly brought his eldest child into his arms with Carlos. Ray’s heart clenched at the thought of his kids going missing like the owner of Fox & Hare owners.

“Dad’s what’s going on?” Julie questioned viewing the blownup picture of a little girl, the perfect split of her parents.

“Susan Fox’s daughter Lucy didn’t show up for breakfast. They thought she was playing just outside the building. No one has seen her. There have been warnings of avalanches, and the mountain was closed twenty minutes ago. ” Ray told his daughter squeezing her once more cementing his gaze on the couple, “It’s devastating to them.”

“Why?” Julie questioned for the concerned ghostly trio at her side.

“A few years ago, Susan and her husband closed the resort for a few months. They completely gutted their regulations and worked closely with avalanche experts. They upgraded the area for increased safety and reworked the rules and regulations.”

 “What does it have to do with Lucy?” The Puerto Rican girl questioned furrowing her brow in the same way her mother had. Julie had scrapped back her hair into a half-up ponytail this morning.

“They did all that because they lost their daughter in a slab avalanche when Lucy was three. Slab avalanches are the most dangerous type, they make up 90% of avalanche deaths.” Ray sighed, staring up at the snow-capped looming mountain, “It took weeks to recover her body, there’s a bench on the mountain where she loved to snowboard. She was training for the Olympics actually.”

Luke’s attention faded from the conversation recalling that you would be on the mountain at dawn to watch the sunrise. In the sudden motion, Luke stumbled over his own feet heading straight for the shack. His mind is numb as he applied the gear to his body, the movements keeping him from panicking. Luke sensed rather than saw Reggie and Alex behind him.

“What are we doing?” Alex questioned, getting dressed as well.

“Going to the mountain.” Luke was very determined. Catching Reggie’s confused gaze Luke roughly gestured to the far corner, “What’s missing?”

“Y/N’s gear.” Alex and Reggie breathed physically shaking at the desolate area where a gorgeous board usually was. That lit a fire under their asses for sure, grateful for poofing they appeared on the mountain.

Scouring the white background, Alex pinpointed a speck of seafoam green running for a speck of bring pink and yellow. In the fear they had taken to sprinting in the bulky boots as if they felt something about to happen.

Your attention solely on Lucy, “Lucy, we need to leave now.”

For Lucy, the mountain was her life, it had been one of the things that her older sister lived and breathed for. All Lucy wanted to do was to be like her big sister. Lucy had the potential, her moves and posture striking to the late sister.

“This is the best trail!” Lucy stomped her black boot in the snow while her other one secured in her snowboard.

“It’s also one marked off for an avalanche.” You hissed to the little girl staring up with tear-filled eyes, “Please, go back.”

The unmistakable ‘whoomph’ sound shattered the otherwise quiet area freezing Lucy in her steps. The once stubborn ten years old turned petrified at the sheet of snow coming straight for the two girls.

“Slab avalanche.” The words covered by the snapping of trees. Your arms yanked Lucy up as you raced perpendicular to the moving snow.

Your ears couldn’t distinguish between Lucy’s screams, your screams or even the loud sound of the destructive avalanche. The alarm and terror drowning your insides, leaving no room for thoughts, only actions. Lucy’s small stature and the years you had on the location helped to dive into a safe zone.

Even in the safe zone, you raced further to collapse with Lucy’s inconsolable body quaking in absolute distress. The tears of relief fell down your face as you leaned against the bench of the memorial. Your head thumped the bench causing a puff of snow to fall on your hat.

“Holy shit.” The sob of words from Luke came before his arms wrapped around you. With being able to touch Julie, the guys didn’t get alarmed at the sight.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Alex frantically scanned the little girl before moving towards you in the same amount of fear. Reggie rendered speechless at the events.

“What the hell were you thinking!” Luke shouted, lunging away to stare you down. Tears streaking his own cheeks, “You’re also preaching the safety rules of the resort. You definitely read the reports and decided to come on the mountain?”

“Luke,” Reggie mumbled remaining the only one standing. His words went ignored, “Luke! LUKE!”

“What!?” Luke snapped resulting in the bassist flinching at the stark memory of his home life, “Sorry, Reggie. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think Y/N was ever in danger,” Reggie stated, bringing both confused boys to where he stood.

There above the bench uncovered by the snow that melted on Y/N’s thick toque was a picture. Above the quote was a picture of a girl holding the snowboard the bench was made of. Wearing a unique matching snow set was the exact replica of the girl Luke had fallen for.

“Holy shit.” Luke and Alex murmured gaping at the picture and the name of the girl who had died.

Luke recalled things you said,

“I used to work in here.”

“It snapped in half.”

“It was fun talking with people my age.”

Luke’s mind went a step further recalling the first lesson you gave the guys where you went from the bench to the Gondola in a short time. How people didn’t react to you, the ski patrol that ignored you every time on the mountain with them.

“You’re the daughter that died in the avalanche.” Luke gasped, dropping his jaw nearly to the snow-packed ground.

“Exactly seven years ago today.” You replied, keeping your eyes glued to your little sister yearning to comfort here, “Reggie, can you go in the building and press the red button? It’s a signal sender for people sheltering from the conditions.”

Nothing could meet the feeling of your parents weeping along with Lucy after the medic deemed her okay. While you wish you could join the hug, you also knew that things happened for a reason. The feeling that same with kissing Luke could never meet the level of happiness at Lucy’s safety.

I came close to killing ten year old Lucy in this but decided not to be cruel.

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Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 56)

Description: The Catalysts attempt to return to their lives as River Skye finally comes home.  tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11

Chapter 56: Not Over

Alodia

I almost can’t believe how quickly I start to feel better once the fever breaks. The pain, which had felt like some hellish demon with teeth made of red-hot iron gnawing at my lower back, begins to recede within hours. 

“That’s how it tends to go with an infection like this once we find the right antibiotic,” the doctor tells me. “You are fortunate, though. These days, a lot of bacteria have developed resistance to antibiotics. But the infection is responding well to treatment, and all your vitals and your blood work look good. And your daughter appears as healthy as a baby horse. ...I would just like to take a quick look at how you’re healing from the birth if that’s okay.” 

I nod, turning onto my back with Jake’s help as the doctor draws the curtain around the bed. Improved as I am, I know I’m not at full strength yet, because moving still hurts. I guess I must have winced, because the doctor raises an eyebrow in concern as she pulls on a pair of gloves.

“You okay there?” 

“I think so. Guess I’m still pretty sore.” 

“That’s to be expected. You probably won’t feel one-hundred percent for another week or two at least.” 

I draw my knees up and part my thighs while the doctor pulls up a stool at the foot of the bed and lifts the blanket. I keep my attention focused on Jake’s face above me and the pressure of his hand on mine as the doctor carries out her checks. Occasionally, I let my eyes wander around to the multiple bouquets and mylar balloons that have built up over the past couple days, gifts from the Catalysts, Tahira’s team, my aunt and uncle, and Jake and Diego’s parents. 

“Everything is healing beautifully. Stitches should be dissolved by next week. You’re probably going to be feeling pretty tender for a while though.” 

“Yeah, we had the whole tearing conversation with my OB in California some time ago.” 

“Good. If you have any pressing questions regarding the birth and recovery, you can of course ask me, or one of the maternity staff. We can also forward your hospital records to your regular OBGYN.” 

“How long do you think it will be before we can go home?” Jake asks. 

She pulls the blanket back down and stands, peeling off her gloves. “Well, the fact is, we want to get her and your baby out of here ASAP to lower the chances of either of them picking up a secondary infection.” She smiles at me. “Now that the fever’s gone, we’re gonna get you off the drip and onto some oral antibiotics, and we can pretty much start the discharge process immediately.” 

“So soon?” My own question surprises me, but it’s out of my mouth before I realize it’s on the end of my tongue. 

“Believe me, it’s better we get you both out of here.” 

“I know. It’s not that I want to stay here. It’s just...thinking about how we’re going to get home...how soon we can get home…” 

“That’s all taken care of, Princess. Aleister is having Castor and Pollux deep cleaned, and he and Grace are gonna put us up for a few days until Mike gets up here from Santo Domingo. Diego and Varyyn are with Estela and Quinn, and your aunt and uncle basically paid for hotel rooms for everyone else.” 

His infodump has my head reeling a little, but there was one particular tidbit I find myself fixing on. 

“Why is Mike…?” I trail off as realization crashes down on me in an icy wave. A bit of information I had nearly forgotten in my struggle to bring my baby safely into the world while fighting a fever. Jake wasn’t worrying about me for all that time from the safety of our home in California. I don’t know the details, but I have a sinking feeling that has something to do with the reason that Mike isn’t here with us now. 

Jake folds my hand between his palms, glancing at the doctor. “Hey...do you have everything you need? I’d like a few minutes alone with my wife, if that’s okay.” 

“Of course. I’ll get the ball rolling on your discharge.” 

I wait until I’m sure she’s well clear of the room before I reach to stroke Jake’s cheek. “...I know Lundgren got his filthy hands on you. ...Fiddler told me. ...I’m guessing he got a hold of Mike, too.” 

He leans into my touch. “...And Sean and Michelle. Nabbed us all as I was bringing ‘em back from the island.” 

“I don’t know if she told me that. That conversation got swallowed up in worrying about you, and then I got sick and River started coming, and…” I swallow, running my thumb along the fuzzy ridge of his cheekbone. “...Did they hurt you? Any of you?” 

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Knocked us all around a little. Michelle’s the smart one, of course, so she escaped the worst. ...Mike’s in Santo Domingo having his prosthetics repaired. Lundgren ripped them out ot torture him.” 

I shudder. “Oh, god...Oh, Jake, I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…” 

I’m crying before I realize it. And as soon as I do realize, it turns into sobbing. Jake reaches down to gather me in his arms and cradle my head against his shoulder, rocking me tenderly. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s okay. He’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. In a few days, we’ll be home with our baby.” 

“I w-wanna be home,” I hiccup. “I wanna be home with River, but I’m scared of leaving everyone again. I just wanna bring them all home with us…” 

“Well, it’s a very big house. ...On the other hand, you cram us all into the same house long term, it might start to feel less big. Plus, it would mean a brutal cross-country commute for some of them.” 

I can’t help chuckling a little bit, which makes the sobs start to die down. Jake gives me a moment to get myself under control before he speaks again. 

“...How are you feeling, Princess? Really?” 

“Physically?” I pull back gently to lie down on the pillow again. “Definitely better. My head is clearer, and I don’t hurt as much. But I’m still worn out. And by the way, you’re gonna have to make due with blow jobs for awhile, because it’s gonna be a long time before you stick that thing in me again, if ever.” 

It’s his turn to laugh, and he bends to kiss me. “Princess, I will tug it for the rest of my life as long as you’re still a part of that life.” 

“I will be a part of your life as long as the universe allows,” I promise. “...But Jake, we both know this isn’t over.” 

He sighs, and I see his forehead crease before he presses it to mine. “I know. I know you’re right. But for River’s sake--and mine--will you let the others take care of that for now? I ain’t saying don’t worry, because I know that’s impossible. But River and I need you healthy. Can you stand to let yourself be looked after for a while?” 

I feel a rueful smile tug at one corner of my mouth. “Am I to assume that arguing is pointless?” 

A tapping at the open door to the birthing suite distracts Jake from answering. We both look up to find Raj and Diego hovering in the doorway, Raj with a paper bag in his hand, and Diego with his right arm in a soft blue sling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since River was born, and I sit up a little straighter as he hesitantly steps over the threshold. 

“...Are we interrupting?” 

The baby has started fussing, and Jake eases off the edge of the bed to go pick her up. I open my arms to Diego. Just before he rushes into them, I see his face twist with anguish. And as he falls against me, his one-armed grip is surprisingly strong. 

“Goddammit, Allie,” he whispers quiveringly. “Goddammit…” 

“...Did I scare you?” 

He pulls back sharply, enough so he can look me in the face, but he keeps a grip on my shoulder. “Did you scare me?! You had me on my knees saying the Ave Maria! Do you know how long it’s been since I said the Ave Maria?!” 

There isn’t really a lot I can say to that, but I smile ruefully. “...Thanks for staying with me.” 

“What, you thought I’d bail?” 

I snort. “God, no. But I can still be grateful.” 

“...You’re really okay?” 

I nod. “I’m fine. The fever is gone, and the wound doesn’t really hurt anymore. I’m still pretty sore down there, though.” 

A smile finally starts to play cautiously around his mouth. “...Well, that part’s Jake’s problem.” 

“How about you?” I ask, gingerly touching the strap of his navy blue sling. 

“That’s nothing serious. It was dislocated, but they popped it back in. Just got to wear this for a few more days, and take it easy once we get back home. ...Raj brought food, by the way.” 

“Oh!” I pull back a little to smile at Raj. “Sorry, big guy. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” 

Raj chuckles. “We’ll blame it on the new mommy brain and leave it at that. Speaking of which…” He shoos Diego back enough that he can drag my bed table over across my lap, and sets an insulated lunch box on top. “I figured you could do with something better than hospital fruit cups and oatmeal, so I brought you a special Raj lunch. Michelle supervised its creation, and it’s full of stuff that’s supposed to be good for new moms.” 

“What is it?” 

“So glad you asked!” With a flourish, he opens the bag, and pulls out each item in turn, presenting them like a game show prize lady. “A sandwich of salmon, spinach, and poached egg on whole wheat bread with a garlic white bean spread; in case you are extra hungry, a side of gourmet trail mix made from an assortment of nuts and dried fruit; and to drink, a pineapple-orange-banana smoothie with extra protein powder, and just a few extra leaves of spinach!” 

I can’t help but be uplifted by his enthusiasm, and hold out my arms for a hug. “I must be the most spoiled new mother in the world.” 

Raj embraces me lightly over the table. “As you should be. You know in some Asian cultures, a new mother spends a whole month resting while her mother-in-law takes care of her and the baby.” 

“Oh yeah?” I look at Jake. “Think your mother would spend a month taking care of me?” 

“Honestly, I bet she would. The problem would be getting her to ease up and let you start taking care of things after the month was up.” 

“Hmm...probably best not to give her ideas then.” 

“Probably. We’ll have my folks over in few more months, when we’ve had a chance to get settled.” 

“...But…” Raj says, “in the meantime, do you think you guys will be needing any extra help? I know it’s going to be a pretty full house as it is, but Diego’s going to want to take it easy with lifting and stuff for a while, and Michelle says Mike will probably need time to recover, too. If you need a couple extra pairs of hands and someone to do the cooking, I have some downtime, and I know Lila would be happy to come along.” 

I look questioningly at Jake, who shrugs. “I don’t have anything against that. It’s a big enough house. And if Varyyn and I are gonna be the only ones at full strength for the time being, I wouldn’t say no to a couple extra pairs of hands.”

“And probably better those hands be Raj and Lila than anyone’s parents,” Diego adds. “I bet Varyyn would prefer not having to wear his disguise twenty-four-seven.” 

“Yeah. And,” Jake adds with a sigh, shifting River to rest against his shoulder, “it’s probably preferable not to involve anyone who ain’t already involved in the bigger picture. ...Like you said before, Princess, this ain’t over.” 

“But for now, we’re all safe and sound, and Allie has a lunch to eat.” Diego smiles encouragingly as he pushes the tinfoil-wrapped sandwich toward me. “Go on. Dig in.” 

Jake

I gotta admit, it does my heart good to see my wife savoring the meal Raj brought her and enjoying our friends’ company. She seems almost back to her old self as she talks and tells jokes and teases with them. Although, as I put River in her arms, I can’t help but be reminded that she’ll never be exactly like her old self again. Not now that she’s a mama. Not like I’m ever gonna be exactly like my old self again either. I’m a daddy now. That’s gonna change me forever. The thought scares me, like it has a lot over the past nine months. But just a look at that precious little face is enough to reassure me that I am never gonna regret it. 

Diego and Raj eventually leave us on our own again. After nursing and burping, River sleeps just long enough that we can fill out her birth certificate, nestled side-by-side on the bed. From there, it’s not more than an hour or two before they’re wheeling Alodia toward the hospital exit with River in her arms again while I walk at her shoulder, a baby carrier in the crook of my elbow and my arms laden with flowers and mini mylar balloons. Any staff we happen to pass on the way out smile and wave or give us their congratulations. I have a feeling that in a hospital, any chance to see a patient off happy and healthy is a cause for celebration, and that probably goes double for a new mama leaving with a baby. 

Grace is waiting in a car for us at the curb outside the hospital. One of Reggie’s old carseats is in the backseat. Grace settles the baby in the carseat while I help Alodia into the seat beside her. 

“There’s a surprise for you guys when we get to our place,” Grace informs us as I circle around the car to get in on the other side of River. 

“Nothing too strenuous, I hope,” Alodia quips. “I am not up for a party yet.” 

Grace chuckles as she starts up the car. “Oh, believe me, I realize that. No, everyone is pretty sure parties are off the table for you for the time being. ...But you do know that everyone is going to want to see you before you leave, right? You gave us a scare, and no one wants you to go before we all know you’re okay. ...Plus, everyone wants to see River.” 

“I am not opposed to visitors,” Alodia assures her. “Just...only a few at a time.” 

“Absolutely. We won’t let you get overwhelmed.” 

“River, either,” Alodia adds, stroking our sleeping daughter’s downy hair. “Poor thing is probably overwhelmed as it is, suddenly coming into all this noise and color and light.” 

“Birth is the craziest thing that ever happens to us, and none of us remember it,” I remark, letting the blade of my forefinger run gently back and forth across the soft back of River’s tiny hand. Her little fingers twitch just slightly, and the base of her pacifier rocks back and forth across her lips, but she doesn’t wake up. I don’t expect the quiet will last. 

River does sleep throughout the half hour or so it takes to drive to Aleister and Grace’s luxury Northbridge apartment. As we pull up to the curb, I realize what our surprise is. 

“Mike!” 

I must have been a little louder than I thought, because River wakes up with a cry that can only be described as irritated, but it doesn’t fully register until I have already launched myself out of the car towards Mike. He’s balancing on a walker, so I at least have the good sense not to jostle him, but I can’t hold myself back from grasping him firmly by the shoulders. He grins, carefully removing his hands from the walker one at a time to grasp me back. 

“Good to see ya, Grandpa.” 

“Shit, you too! We weren’t expecting you for another couple days! How are you feeling?” 

“Well, as you can tell,” he says, nodding at the walker, “I’m not quite ready to run a marathon yet. But my new legs are healing up nice. ...Good to see you, Goldilocks.” 

His gaze shifts over my shoulder, and I turn to look back at my wife supporting herself on Aleister’s arm while Grace bounces River in her arms. Alodia smirks at me, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“I feel like I should make a joke about you abandoning your wife and child in the car to go hang out with your buddy,” she drawls. 

I grin sheepishly as Mike carefully returns his grip to the walker. “Sorry about that. Let me make it up to you.” 

I lunge and sweep her up bridal style, and I have the pleasure of feeling her arms twine around my neck. 

“Mmm, much better. However, unlike your daughter, I am actually capable of walking.” 

“But you don’t have to. Not right now, anyway.” But I do return her to her feet after capturing her mouth in a kiss. I don’t entirely take my hands off her yet, though. After her ordeal, I don’t think she’s really that much steadier than Mike right now. Her grip as she slips her arm through mine confirms my concerns. 

I’m standing between my wife and my best friend, and neither of them are fully able to stand under their own power. I’m starting to feel that much more grateful to Raj for volunteering to help us out for a while. 

I think Mike notices Alodia’s weakness, too, because his forehead creases just a little. “You all right, Goldilocks? From what I hear, you gave everyone a real scare.” 

“It was pretty scary on my end, too. But I’m fine now. How about you?” 

Mike shrugs. “Ahh, you know. A few weeks of rehab, I’ll be a six-million dollar man again. In the meantime,” he adds wryly, stroking the frame of his walker, “it’ll be hard to call Jake ‘Grandpa’ when I’m dottering around on this thing.” 

“You just called me ‘Grandpa’ two minutes ago.” 

“And I cannot tell you how hard I internally cringed. Seriously, if you could have seen my internal expression, you’d have thought I was sucking lemons.” 

I am morally obligated to reach out and swat him for that, but before I can, Alodia abruptly steps forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. It’s an awkward embrace, encumbered by the walker and both of them still being weak, but it’s a sincere one, and Mike leans into it gratefully. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Alodia murmurs. 

“You too,” Mike says softly, reaching up to pat her shoulder with one hand. “But can we go inside? I wanna properly meet that baby you’ve been carrying around for the past nine months!” 

***

The Catalysts come by in shifts throughout the afternoon and evening, apparently having planned it all out beforehand. No one stays more than an hour at a time, which proves to be a good thing, since Alodia is clearly worn out by about eight in the evening. We’re set up in the guest room of the Rourke apartment, with River in a bassinet beside us, and Mike on the foldaway bed in the living room. 

Alodia nurses River and rocks her to sleep before lying down herself. At first, I curl up beside Alodia in bed. She’s asleep within minutes, but I’m not as quick. And after an hour, it’s pretty clear that I’m not on my way to dreamland any time soon. I don’t want to leave Alodia or River. I never want to leave Alodia’s side again. But I’m restless. Anxious. And eventually, the desire not to disturb what precious little sleep my wife might have before our daughter wakes her up again wins out over my irrational need to pace back and forth between them. I check the windows, making sure they’re locked, then I slip out of the room as quietly as I can, heading back out into the living room. 

I find Mike, Aleister, and Grace all seated in the living room. On the coffee table are four short, round glasses and a bottle of golden red liquid that I’m guessing is some kind of whiskey. 

“We were starting to wonder if you had also fallen asleep,” Aleister says. He gestures to the glasses. “We thought you might like to wet your baby’s head.” 

“Kind of a weird expression,” I remark. Nonetheless, I pick up the bottle and take a seat in an armchair to read the label. “Ooh, Irish Mist. Fancy.” 

“It is not every day that one becomes a father. The night Reginald was born, Diego, Varyyn, and I toasted his birth with Irish Mist.” 

I crack open the bottle, and lean forward to fill each of the four glasses about halfway. I set down the bottle and raise my glass, the others following suit. 

“To River Skye McKenzie, my beautiful angel. And to her mother, my better half, who is truly the best and bravest of us.” 

“Here, here!” Grace says. We clink glasses, and I take a long, deep drink, savoring the sweet notes of honey and spices riding atop the alcoholic burn of whiskey. I return my glass to the table empty and lean back in my chair. 

“When my sister and I both were born, my grandpa had my dad and the men of the neighborhood over to smoke cigars on the porch.” I chuckle a little. “Rebecca remembers helping our grandma in the kitchen, and seeing all the men outside smoking. She says what she remembers most about the day I was born was our dad coming in from outside to give her a hug, but she pushed him away and said, ‘No, Daddy! You stink!’” 

My story prompts the expected laughter. 

“I am afraid Irish Mist will have to do tonight,” Aleister says. “I did not think to buy cigars. Nor would I know enough to ensure I was purchasing a quality product. As I understand it, Cuban cigars are the best, but those are illegal.” 

Mike shudders. “Honestly, I think the smell of a Cuban would be enough to give me flashbacks. Lundgren used to smoke contraband Cubans.” 

“Same here,” I agree. “I mean...there was that one time…” 

“...That one time what?” 

I chuckle a little, rubbing the back of my head. “Okay, no one currently in this room was there when Zahra blew up MASADA…” 

“What’s that got to do with Cuban cigars?” 

I sigh, but in spite of myself, in spite of how literally everyone else in the room with me was in some kind of bad situation at the time, I feel a smile playing around my mouth at the memory. 

“Okay, so it’s me, Alodia, Sean, Quinn, Estela, Craig, and Zahra trying to find another way out of the complex after the gondola gets severed, and when we go through a control room, Zahra gets the idea to blow the whole thing up. We figure it’s worth the couple extra minutes, so we let her do it. And while she’s rigging the system, I find one of Lundgren’s Cubans somewhere on the floor. ...And I light it up. But only to spite the bastard.” 

“But did you enjoy it?” Mike asks. 

“Hell, yeah! The hype ain’t a lie, buddy. Not saying I’d do it again unless it were one of his personal stash, but that was a real good smoke. ...Still...it wouldn’t be right to celebrate River with Cuban cigars. Lundgren and Rourke did enough to taint her birth.” 

“Nothing has been tainted,” Grace says firmly. “She and Alodia both came through it well and healthy.”

“I ain’t losing sight of what’s important,” I assure her. “But I can’t let my guard down, either.  ...We all know this ain’t over.” 

Grace sighs. “...No, you’re right. It isn’t over. ...Which means...I should probably tell you what I learned in Ireland.”

Diego

I knew that the Catalysts wouldn’t have sat on their hands while any of their own were in danger, but I am surprised to learn just how busy they were during the time that Allie and I were in Arachnid’s claws. I’m even more surprised--and frankly unsettled--by some of the things they learned. Yvonne might be alive. Lundgren flew the same plane that killed Allie’s parents, even though the twisted wreckage of that plane is the property of the NTSB. The whole mess with Allie’s mom, that weird AI message from a program made by Allie’s mom. It all leaves us with a lot more questions than answers. 

I told the police everything I felt like I could safely tell them. I went so far as to tell them that I think Everett Rourke might be alive because that’s who our kidnappers claimed they were taking us to. I don’t know if they believed me. I don’t know if the future of the Vaanti is safe. A part of me hopes that they lose interest in the case since everyone who was abducted has been recovered safely. But I also know that none of us are really safe until Rourke is either back behind bars or dead. 

Aleister and Estela make all the travel arrangements for those of us going back to California, including my folks and Allie’s. Castor carries me, Allie, Jake, Varyyn, Mike, Raj, Lila, Rebecca, and River. For once, Jake and Mike aren’t going to be flying. Pollux is taking our families. A third plane, smaller but no less luxurious, takes Jake’s parents back to Louisiana. They’re reluctant to leave him. They don’t want to be apart from their son, or their daughter, or their granddaughter. He assures them they can come visit soon, but that their daughter-in-law needs some time to recover first. 

At the airport, Allie’s aunt and uncle hesitate to part from her on the tarmac. Allie stands with River in her arms, patiently enduring as Molly smoothes her hair and kisses her forehead, asking if she’s sure Allie doesn’t want her and Rob to wait at the airport in California to drive her home. When Allie insists she’s sure; that Molly and Rob should go ahead and get home so they can rest. Rob says they’ll make sure there are cars waiting for us to take us all back to the house in Laguna. 

My parents board the plane before I arrive at the airport. On board the plane, I nestle up with Varyyn on one of the double-width leather seats. I wind my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He kisses the top of my head. 

“Are you alright, my love?” he murmurs. 

“...I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I’m just...disappointed. I knew my parents weren’t ready to meet you. But I had hoped...I don’t know. I had hoped it wouldn’t be like this. Even if I knew it probably would be.” 

Varyyn sighs, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek. “They may yet come around. Or they may not. In the end, it is up to them. All I can promise is that I will love you regardless of their decision.” 

“...I love you, too.” 

“You guys all set?” Raj’s voice makes me look up. The others are boarding behind us and finding their seats. Jake helps Allie settle in and get her seatbelt on, River still cradled in her arms. 

“Are you sure a plane is really the best way to travel with a newborn?” Lila asks. 

“When the choices are between a rental car, a train, or a private plane for a cross-country trip, a private plane is hands down the best option,” Rebecca declares. “I mean, if we were on a commercial plane, I’d think twice, since those things are basically flying petri dishes. But this plane has been deep-cleaned, unlike the train. It’s more comfortable than a car, and faster than both the car or the train.” 

“Yeah, but what about her little ears? All the pressure?” 

“The doctor says that if I nurse her during take-off and landing, that should keep her comfortable. Besides...I just want to be home.” 

Home. The word washes through me in a way that comforts me even as it makes me want to cry. Images flash through my mind of the house I share with my husband, my best friend, her husband, and his best friend--and now, my little niece and goddaughter. Watching movies in the living room with Allie. Sharing dinner around the table or out on the balcony. Cuddling with Varyyn in the hot tub in the evening, letting the warm, swirling water sap the energy from my body, and then sliding into bed beside him and drifting off to sleep in his arms. At home, I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to walk on eggshells or worry about losing anyone’s love. At home, I’m safe and free. I meet my best friend’s eyes, offering her a tired smile. 

“I’m with you, Allie. Let’s get home.” 

Raj

Nothing but the best for my friends, that’s my motto. I came to the house in Laguna Beach to make sure that my friends would have the best care while they needed it, and I waste no time in getting down to business. Alodia, Diego, and Mike need space to convalesce. But with a new baby in a huge house like this, there is a lot to be done. Jake and Varyyn can’t be expected to do everything, and that’s where I and Lila come in. 

River is constantly monitored. Whenever she cries, someone is ready to come running to change her diaper, or to bring her to Alodia for feeding. I prepare meals ahead of time that can be easily heated and served, so no one goes hungry. Lila helps me cook and keep the house clean. Alodia’s aunt and uncle attempt to send cleaning and catering services to her at one point, but they end up being politely refused. Lila and I have everything under control, and none of us want strangers poking around here. 

Alodia is occasionally moody, snapping at everyone to stop fussing over her, and she can’t wait to be free of this gilded cage and go back out into the world. This is usually followed by tearful apologies, with all of us assuring her that we don’t take it personally. She just had a baby, she’s allowed to be moody. Besides, the moment someone places River in her arms, it seems like everything is right in her world, and everything is right in our world, too. 

...Except it’s not. Not entirely. 

River is happy and healthy. Alodia is getting her strength back. Diego gets rid of the sling, and Mike starts to get around without the walker again. But underneath the surface, there is still trauma. There’s still fear. 

“They’re having nightmares,” I tell Lila one morning as we’re preparing breakfast. She pauses for a moment with a knife poised above an orange before swiftly slicing it in half. 

“Is that so surprising?” she asks. She doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but concentrates on making sure the thick, white heart of the orange half in her hand is positioned properly on the cone of the juicer before she presses down and begins to twist. Bright yellow juice splashes down into the container below. 

“Well, no. But it is sad. Jake and Alodia especially should be concentrating on enjoying their new baby, not having nightmares and worrying about whether Rourke’s coming back for them.” 

Lila pulls the now-deflated orange rind off the cone of the juicer and tosses it on the countertop. Ribbons of tattered orange flesh cling to the inside of the rind. She picks up the other half. 

“...Do you ever have nightmares from Mr. Rourke?” she asks softly. 

“Of course,” I reply. “Not as much as before, but I think we all have them sometimes. After what we all went through, I think I’d be more surprised if any of us didn’t.” 

The twisting of the orange on the juicer slows just slightly. The toaster pops behind me, and I pluck four pieces of perfectly browned bread from the slots to toss onto a plate. 

“...I have nightmares, too.” 

The butter has been softening on the counter, and my knife slides easily through it. The heat from the toast softens it further, and it spreads cleanly. 

“...You want to talk about it?” 

Lila shakes her head, picking up her knife and another orange. “No. Not now. They don’t really matter anyway. They’re about things that happened in the past. I’m less scared of them than I am of what happens in the future.” 

“Do you mean Rourke’s next move?” 

“Of course that scares me. ...But more than that, I’m scared of him trying to use me against all of you again.” 

“We won’t let that happen, Lila. You’re safe with us.” 

“...But are you safe with me?” 

I pause a moment before putting down my knife. I turn to Lila, put one hand on each of her shoulders, and turn her toward me. 

“Lila...look at me. ...Has Rourke approached you at all since you’ve been with us again?” 

Her eyes widen in what looks like genuine surprise. “What? No, I...that isn’t what I meant!” 

I relax just a little. “...Okay.” I slowly take my hands away from her shoulders. “...You’d tell me if he had, wouldn’t you?” 

She nods. “Of course.” 

“Good. ...Because if he approaches you again, we can help you. We can help keep you out from under his thumb. ...We’re not gonna let him just have you back.” 

A weak smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “I believe you.” She hastily turns back to the oranges in front of her. “You should...um...finish buttering before the toast gets cold.” 

Overhead, the sharp, piercing cry of an infant rings through the air. I smile. Another morning blending into another day. It’s not perfect. We’ve got reason to worry. But for now, all is well. 

Diego

I keep my head down as I move through the halls of my high school, clutching the straps of my worn-out backpack. It’s the same shabby gray one I’ve been carrying since freshman year. I’m a junior now, and the corners near the bottom are starting to fray where the sharp corners of paper-bag covered textbooks have dug into them. 

My stomach growls. I skipped lunch again today. My parents were gone to work early again, and I didn’t leave myself enough time to make myself anything this morning. I barely had time to scarf down a banana for breakfast. I didn’t have enough cash for a cafeteria lunch, either, and besides, I preferred spending my lunch period playing on the computer in the library to sitting by myself at the end of a table filled with noisy strangers anyway. 

If I can scrape together enough change from the bottom of my pencil case, I might have enough to get a bag of chips from the vending machine before I have to go to my after school job. But for now, my hunger isn’t all that sharp, and I am heading towards English Lit, the only class I currently look forward to. 

The class is taught by Mr. Hunter. He also teaches the film-making class I want to sign up for next semester. He’s in his early fifties, and not handsome. He is tall and lanky, with gray-green eyes and a dark helmet of slicked back hair that sits atop a rectangular face. He has one of those mustaches that seemed to be popular in the 1970’s that always make a man look a little sketchy. He wears paisley shirts and slacks, and his voice reminds me of Bert from Sesame Street.

Mr. Hunter is the best teacher I’ve ever had at this school. When we studied Romeo and Juliet, he started off by giving us all a printed-off list of Shakespearean insults. When one girl tried to mumble her way through a line-reading, he shouted, “Put some feeling into it, you saucy wench!” 

Mr. Hunter is also gay, and he does not attempt to hide this. When my parents ask about my teachers and which ones I like best, I leave this fact out. If they knew, they would make me switch to another class. Mr. Hunter has a picture of himself with his boyfriend on his desk. I’ve seen it when I’ve gone up to hand in assignments. His partner is bald and ruddy-skinned. He’s not handsome, either, but he has an open, friendly smile. Sometimes, I imagine them kissing. I worry that I have a crush on Mr. Hunter. 

On the post of every classroom door is a laminated pink triangle, with a message proclaiming that this is a safe space for LGBTQ students. These triangles are mandated by the school district. Not every teacher honors them. One teacher actually tore hers down and refused to put it back up. She was fired. Last year, two girls were voted “Cutest Couple” in their senior class. I look at the triangles, prominently displayed as I walk into each classroom, and I don’t feel particularly safe. I feel safe in Mr. Hunter’s classroom. 

Inside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, two boys from the football team act out a love poem with one of them in a curly blond wig and the bottom of his shirt tucked into his collar to create a crop top. They end with a flourish, with the boy in the wig jumping into the other boy’s arms and goosing him. Everyone applauds their performance, including Mr. Hunter. 

Outside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, guys of all stripes growl “faggot” in my direction, and even the girls who are nice to me seem pitying more than anything. There’s a Pride club that meets after school two days a week, but I don’t dare join. I’m slowly realizing I can’t deny the truth anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can just announce it to the world. 

I have just enough change to buy a bag of chips after school. I put it in my backpack as I make my way toward the library where I work for a few hours each day. I see Sam Dzugan eyeing me as I pass through the main doors to the school, and feel dread so familiar that it’s almost dull. Of all the bullies at this school, Sam is the worst. He also knows where I work. If he’s bored and hungry for a power fix tonight, I’m in for a rough walk home. 

But he doesn’t follow me to work. At the library, I set to work filing back the books from the return cart. As I do, my mind wanders to the same place it always does: Alodia. 

Alodia. My ideal friend. I conjure up an image of her beside me. She would be pretty, like all the most popular girls at school. I summon a small, pale figure with blonde hair, big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. I talk with her in my head as I wander the aisles of the library with the return cart. I can picture her cheeky smile as clearly as if she were really beside me. I have spent many years getting the details of her perfect. Early incarnations of her were dark-haired. Green-eyed. Taller. I drew pictures of her. I wrote down her description in a private notebook that I kept under my mattress. But she never felt as real as when I wrote her with golden blonde hair and sapphire eyes. 

She laughs at all my jokes as I work the rest of my shift. I forgot to eat the chips I bought, and I’m hungry enough now to start feeling dizzy. ...Alodia would invite me to dinner at her house. A huge, fancy house with a pool, where a chef would have prepared a gourmet meal. 

“Don’t worry about Sam,” she would say. “If he gives you any trouble, I’ll fight him off.” ...Because Alodia would be fierce. A fighter. Alodia was a hero. A hero who loved me unconditionally. 

Alodia was never meant to be my lover. I wasn’t looking for a lover when I first dreamed Alodia into existence, which is probably why I always imagined her as a girl. I could scarcely imagine having a lover before I had a friend. That was what Alodia was to me. A friend. A friend who would always love me. A friend who I could tell my secrets to without judgment. A friend to fight for me and protect me, who saw value in me, and needed me back. 

But my friend is a fantasy. And when I leave work and Sam corners me in the encroaching darkness, Alodia vanishes…

...I wake up with a gasp, bolting upright in the darkness of my room. Beside me, Varyyn grunts in his sleep and rolls over, the moonlight reflecting off his blue skin. I stare at his sleeping form for a moment, trying to take stock of myself. I’m shaking. My pajamas are damp with sweat. I feel cold. I feel sick and empty with fear. I don’t exactly remember what I was dreaming about, but one thought keeps echoing in my mind: Allie. I have to find Allie. 

I slip out of bed as gently as I can while I’m still trembling. I don’t want to wake Varyyn. As I slip into the hall, motion-sensitive lights plugged into the sockets near the floor illuminate my path. My dream is still hazy, but bits and pieces trickle back as I shuffle down the hall with my hand on the wall. I was alone. Allie didn’t exist. It was a timeline that I have all but forgotten, and it felt entirely too real. 

I need to find her. Or at least evidence that she still exists. The door to the nursery is slightly ajar, enough that I can see the soft glow from the lamp on the bedside table. I peek through the crack in the door and relief floods through me. Allie, bundled up in her robe and slippers, sits in the rocking chair with River in her arms, gently rocking back and forth. I exhale slowly. I should go back to bed, but I am not ready to let her out of my sight yet. I start to push open the door. She gasps a little, looking up sharply. 

“Oh, Diego!” She smiles at me, settling back into her chair. “You startled me.” 

“Sorry,” I whisper back. “...Did I wake up River?” 

“No. I just fed her, so she’ll probably be out for an hour or two.” She looks up at me as I come to settle into the armchair across from her. “...What are you doing up?” 

“...Bad dream,” I admit. “...About...about you. I had to come check on you or I was never going to get back to sleep.” 

I half-expect her to joke about me being a creeper watching her while she sleeps, but instead she sighs. “...I kinda know the feeling.” 

“Yeah. I bet you do.” 

“You wanna stay up with me for awhile?” 

“Yeah. But I feel like I should be telling you to get some sleep while you can.” 

“I probably should be sleeping,” she admits. “...But I don’t really want to let her go.” 

There’s not really much I feel like I need to say to that. I understand. I don’t think there’s anyone in this house who doesn’t empathize with that feeling in one way or another. Especially now. 

“...Diego…?” 

“Yeah, Allie?” 

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, though her mouth opens and closes a couple times. Then, she swallows and takes a deep breath. 

“...I love you. I love you, and I love Jake, and Raj, and all the Catalysts…” 

“We love you, too, Allie.” 

“...When you imagined me. In that other timeline. When I didn’t come to be until the Island...did you ever imagine my future?” 

I can’t help flinching. Her words feel like a cold pinprick at the top of my spine. “...Allie...I...I don’t really remember that timeline…” 

“I know. I know. But...it happened. It existed. I was once born to be what you needed. What all the Catalysts needed. ...But now...now I have River. Someone new who needs me. She needs me more than any of my Catalysts.” 

“I...I think that’s true,” I say slowly. “...We all love you, and we want you with us. But River is your child. She’s helpless and new. She needs your love and your care and your guidance to survive.” 

“...I’m scared, Diego. I’m scared by how much I love her. I’m scared by how much she needs me.” 

My earlier fear is being replaced with concern that is entirely for my friend.  “...Allie...are you okay? Is this some kind of postpartum depression?” 

“I don’t know what this is, Diego. I know that I love River more than I ever thought I could love anyone alive. I would have torn myself apart for my Catalysts without hesitation. I gave up my existence to give my Catalysts the world. ...But I can’t consider that anymore. Because River needs her mother.” 

“Oh, Allie. That’s not a bad thing. None of us want you to tear yourself apart.” 

“I know. ...But I am afraid of what happens if the world asks for it. ...If I end up at the Threshold again, or a new Raan’losti…” She looks up at me. “...Diego...I think I have to face what’s in the pool shed.” 

I feel my blood run cold. I know what’s in the pool shed. The collection of objects that were left for us in the Crystal dimension when we went to rescue Tahira. Including…

“...Are you sure?” 

She nods. “...It was left for me to find for a reason. I have to touch the Andromeda idol again.” 

[thewildomega]

Star in the Sand Ch.23

Sitting on one of the rocks you winced as Chopper treated your injuries, letting out a deep breath as he cleaned the one slice on your shoulder. 

"...You need to be more careful Y/n..." 

Grinning slightly at the reindeer you nodded, "Yes doc." He had already checked on your baby, assuring you and Crocodile, who had not left your side that your little one's heart was still beating strongly. 

As soon as the animal doctor had finished treating his little star he had requested a word with him. While he didn't normally care if people feared him this time he tried to sound a little more reasonable so that the 'Chopper' would agree to tell him everything he needed to know about the health of his soulmate and unborn child. When he nodded his head he kissed the crown of his darling's head and looked into her eyes. "You stay right here and rest while I speak to the... doctor." he told her in a firm voice, removing his coat once again and placing it over her thinly clothed body to keep her warm. Seeing her nod tiredly he looked to Daz and Bentham. "Don't let her out of your sight." 

"Of course Mr. Zero." Bentham smiled as the ever imposing man turned away. Looking to his old co-worker he smiled even larger and clung to his arms for a moment before doing a spin, "It's it exciting Mr. One, We are going to be uncles!"

Giggling as both Daz and Croc rolled their eyes you looked down to your belly and rubbed it gently. You couldn't think to describe the weight that had been lifted from your shoulders nor the dark cloud that seemed to disappear now that you were back with your soulmate again. Your child would have their father in their life, they would have a family, looking up at the straw-hats you smiled softly to yourself, and plenty of friends as well. 

"So you are the granddaughter of Big Mom and Kaido huh?" 

Snapping your head to the side you saw none other than Law come walking over to you. Blinking you looked the man over, his voice and whole demeanor was everything you thought it would be. "So I've been told." 

"That means that the child growing inside of you is also of their bloodline. Anyone that has anything to do with Kiado is my enemy. "

Noticing that the name of your Grandparents had caused heads to turn your way you licked your lips before looking back to the warlord. "I have no ties to either of them beyond blood. As far as I'm concerned all the family I have is here with me now." 

Finishing up his conversation with the blue nosed Reindeer he turned back to see Trafalgar Law standing close by Y/n. In a flash he was materializing in front of her, staring down the man. "Do you have a problem Law?"

"He won't stop coming for you, he knows you exist now, both of them do. Sooner or later you will have to make a choice." Law spoke, continuing to address the woman behind the famous Crocodile. 

"I've already made my choice." 

Hearing this he nodded and looked o Crocodile now, "Doflamingo will no doubt be coming here himself, I would make sure she was far away by the time he gets here."  was all he said before turning around and walking away. 

Glaring at the man's back for sometime he finally turned to looked down at his woman as he stepped over to her. Stroking the side of her face with his hook he saw her smile lovingly up at him. 

"Y/n princess I cooked you some delectable food packed full of proteins and vitamins." Sanji spoke. 

"And I brewed you some lavender green tea with a hint of honey, just like you like it." Brook added, rushing over to hand the woman the steaming cup of tea. 

"Yeah well I made her favorite vegetables as a side..."

"You are trying to win her over with vegetables, Who does that?!" 

"I don't have to win her over, when it comes down to you and me there isn't even a competition."

"Yeah that's because she would pick me!"

Noticing Crocodile's lip twitch and seeing the vein in his forehead poke out you grinned slightly and grabbed his hand before he could use it to make both of your friends a pile of dust. After eating all of our food you were left even more exhausted than you were before. You had tried to stop halfway but Crocodile quickly told you to finish eating. As it came time to say goodbye you quickly gave your gator a pout and your best puppy dog eyes before he growled out and gave a small roll of his eyes. 

"Bentham. " he called out, noticing Daz shaking his head from behind the flamboyant man. "...you are coming as well, I at least know you will help keep an eye on her." he spoke and saw Daz's shoulders drop in defeat. 

"Of course Mr. Zero! I shall protect Y/n and little Croc with my life." Bentham declared with a over the top bow. 

Smiling you hugged Crocodile's waist, feeling his hand rub your back. Looking to the Straw-hats you glanced up to Croc before moving over to your friends. Standing in front of all of them you smiled, "I don't know how to thank you all, I wish I had something to give you or... or something..."

"Don't mention it Y/n. We're friends right? That means we help each other." Luffy smiled and everyone else nodded in agreement. Although you coudl always name the baby after me..."

"Not a chance in hell." Crocodile grunted as he moved over to stand by his love. 

Chuckling Luffy rubbed the back of his head. "Worth a shot." 

"Here's your bag, I put the gift from Neptune in there as well."

Nami told you, handing over the small bag with the little bit of clothes she had bought you and some other things it looked like. 

"There some other stuff as well, thought you might want something to remember us by." 

"Oh yeah..." Taking off his hat Luffy ripped off a piece of paper and handed it over to his friend. "Here's my vivre card, that way you can come see us and we can meet little Luffy."

Hearing Crocodile growl you grinned and took the card from him. "Thank you Luffy, for everything." 

Smiling he placed his hat back on his head. "Maybe next time we are together you can make that one dish as a thank you... you know the one with the meat and sauce and cheese..."

"Lasagna." you smiled.

"Yea that one." 

Nodding you looked to the captain. "It's a deal, until then though I did make you something." seeing his confusion you smiled softly and tilted your head. "It's in your locker. I didn't really have all the details but maybe it will suffice." 

Smiling he perked up. "Really?! Is it food? Is it meat?" 

Giggling you looked to him, "I guess you'll just have to see." 

"All Right! Oooo I hope it's those cookies with the nuts and..."

Watching hi run towards the ship you smiled. "Bye Luffy!" 

"See you later Y/n... you too Gator!" Luffy yelled back.

Finishing telling everyone else goodbye you were lifted up into Crocodile's arms as he carried you back to the ship. Looking at all the familiar faces you smiled softy, especially when you saw Maverick smiling largely at you. 

"Good ta 'ave ya back lass." the old man spoke in his thick accent. 

"Alright get us off this block of ice." Crocodile spoke, giving the command to set sail. Going to take his darling into the cabin he stopped when he heard a loud yell. 

""Y/N!!!" 

Turning back when he heard the Straw-hat yelling Y/n's name he watched as an arm stretched over to the railing beside them. As the boy was pulled over to his ship he watched as he instantly wrapped his arms around y/n in a hug. He was about to step over and yank the his off but stopped when he noticed the few tears rolling down his cheeks and the picture frame in his hand. Glancing to the picture inside he saw a drawing of what looked to be three young boys. 

"Thank you." Luffy said in a thick voice. 

Smiling you hugged him back "Don't mention it." you spoke, repeating his words. As he pulled back you gave him one last smile that he returned. 

"Don't you worry Y/n I'm going to take down Kaido and then Big Mom then there won't be anyone that wants to hurt you or your baby." 

Giggling you nodded. "I'll hold you to that." 

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

Standing behind her in the shower he felt his cock harden but grit his teeth, now was not the time. Watching some of the water running down her body and down the drain he noticed the slight pinkish tint and swallowed hard. He knew she was tired, both her injuries and everything else taking their toll on her. Seeing her leaning against the wall he stepped up behind her and let his eyes take her in. It had been six months since he had last seen his soulmate. She was skinnier than when they had been separated, not as thin as she was when she had first joined up with the straw-hats though according to the doctor. Noticing the light scar running down her back from shoulder to the top of her left ass cheek he furrowed his brows, that was new. Lifting his hand he gently traced the thin mark with his thumb. As if knowing what he was thinking she spoke in a quiet whisper. 

"Wouldn't hand over my locket." 

A whip then. Clenching his teeth he took a deep breath before leaning down to kiss the scar. From what Chopper had told him her shoulder and forearm had been broken while she was imprisoned, neither of them healing right which now caused her slight pain occasionally. She had been subjected to the cold for months, her body would be sensitive to the cold now for the rest of her life. Basically starved she had lost a tremendous amount of weight, both her and their child now requiring extra proteins and vitamins. The reindeer had also told him that their child would likely be born smaller than it should be, that it would be underweight for a while. Chopper had spoken to him about many things he coudl do and he planned on seeing them through. He would care for her, massage her, keep her warm and feed the best of food. She would rest, grow their child while her own body healed.

The small creature's words rung in his head, making true fear fill him. "If she was to give birth now, in the state she is, she might not live through the birth." 

He couldn't loose her, he wouldn't loose her, not again. Or their child. No he would make sure to take the very best care of them both. 

Pouring some of the shampoo into her hair he placed the bottle back up before he started washing her hair. It wasn't an easy task, not with only one hand but when she went to take over he grabbed her wrist in a gentle grip and move it back to her side. Carefully he started washing her hair that was now longer than when they had last seen each other. He made sure to get as little soap in the fresh injuries on her shoulder and palms as he next started washing her body. Turning her towards him he saw a bruise forming on the side of her face, going up her temple before disappearing into her hair. Why was it she seemed to always be hurt one way or another. How he grew tired of seeing her beautiful body littered in bruises and blood. Glancing down to her breasts and slightly swollen stomach he again felt his arousal spike but pushed it away and finished bathing her. "Go get into bed little star." he told her, placing a kiss to her forehead. 

Drying off you moved into the cabin and pulled on one of his shirts, leaving it only partially buttoned as you crawled into the large bed. Snuggling down into the comfy bed you sighed as his scent overtook you. Closing your eyes you turned your nose to the pillow and listened as he showered himself. By the time he was out you assumed you must have drifted off the movement of the bed starling you.

"It's alright." he spoke n his deep voice, moving to lay down beside her. Opening his arms for her as she moved to cuddle up to him he grinned softly, his eyes closing.

Cuddling up to him you felt his strong arms wrap around you, felt his one hand rub your back under his shirt. Hearing the sound of his heart made it all real, you were so afraid you would wake up and all of this would have been a dream, that you would still be slowly freezing and starving to death in Impale Down. As his lips softly pecked your head you nuzzled deeper into his chest, your eyes filling with tears and your lip trembling.

Hearing her sniffle and feeling the his chest become damp with her tears he continued rubbing her back while his left arm pulled her closer if it was possible. "Why are you crying little star?" he asked in a low voice.

"I'm scared your going to disappear again... that I'm going to wake up and you'll be gone." you whimpered.

"I'm not going anywhere darling." he promised her. Rubbing his hand around to her belly he stroked over the bump there. "I don't know how you did it, how you kept our child alive in that hell, how you even managed to stay alive yourself. You were there longer than I was and still.... everyday I woke up and expected to feel that emptiness take over, for you to have..." he couldn't even finish. Swallowing thickly he continued stroking her belly and side. "I am so sorry starlight..."

"Croc..."

"No, I need to say this." he told her and heard her become quiet. Taking a deep breath he started again, "I failed you yet again. It seems that is all I ever do, that I am unable to protect you. You are my soulmate, it is my responsibility to care for you... Not a day went by that I didn't think of you, that I didn't miss you. You don't know how worthless I felt knowing that the woman I love, the mother of my child was sentenced to that place."

It was strange hearing Crocodile become so emotional, something he always kept locked away but you wouldn't say a word. His hand stayed on your belly, stroking your skin softly.

Taking another breath he kissed gently at her forehead again. "When I got your letter I at first thought it was some trick, that someone was playing some cruel joke on me, I didn't want to believe it because I was so afraid of it being false but it wasn't." smiling a little he continued holding her close. "All the horrible things I've done in my life I can't imagine why fate took mercy on me but I will be forever grateful to have you in my arms again. I may very well never let you leave my side again." Feeling a light kiss to his throat he hummed. 

The both of you stayed silent for a while, just basking in one another's embrace before he spoke again. 

"Darling..." hearing her sleepy hum he continued rubbing her head and hair. "Earlier with Law, you told him you had already made your choice what did you mean by that?"

"You, I choose you Croc. I will never join Big Mom or Kaido because even though they are blood you are my family. You, me and our little Caiman." 

Feeling his lips turn up into a smile he moved his hand to turn her chin up towards him so he could press his lips to hers. It was a long, slow kiss, there was no desire to take it further they were just simply expressing how much they had missed one another, how much they loved one another. When it came time to breath he pulled away but kept her chin tilted so he coudl look into her alluring eyes that he adored so much. "You believe it's a boy then, that we will have a son?" he asked, the soft smile staying on his face. 

Nodding lightly you saw his eyes twinkle a little. Rubbing his bare chest you grinned softly and turned some to lay a bit more on your back but still enough to stay in his arms and look up at him. "A son just as handsome as his father and probably just as cunning."

Chuckling he moved his hand to unbutton the few buttons she had holding the shirt on her small frame. "A little boy with his mother's stunning eyes and temper." 

Giggling you sighed as he rubbed your belly, "I don't think this world knows what it's got coming." you told him and heard him let out a small laugh. As his hand passed over your lower abdomen you felt a strange sensation and flinched, your eyes snapping down to your belly. 

"Was tha..." another jolt hit the palm of his hand and he stared down at her stomach in awe. Grinning he rubbed his hand again slowly and felt his child kick at his hand. 

"He knows we're talking about him." you smiled. "That's the first time I've ever felt him move." 

Humming he smiled and looked back to her, "See he is already a daddy's boy."

Rolling your eyes some you smiled and reached up to stroke his jaw. You stared at his face until your eyes became to heavy to hold open. 

Feeling her hand fall against his shoulder he looked back to her and saw her sleeping peacefully, a soft smile on her face. Grinning he pulled he blanket back over them and settled down beside her, placing a kiss to her temple. "Sweet dreams little star. I love you..." Feeling another hard kick to his hand he smirked, "And you, my son." he spoke in a low deep voice before joining her in the first peaceful sleep in months. 

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

He could only grin a little as she looked around confused but he didn't say a word. Keeping her tucked close to his side he led her down the correct street, thankful it was nighttime so not many people were out. As they came up on the home he saw her brows knit a little before she again looked to him. Paying her no mind he walked up to the front door and glanced down to her before opening it and smiling softly, "Welcome home darling."

Blinking your eyes went a bit wide and you looked back towards the large home that was more like a mansion before snapping your eyes back up to him. 

Seeing shock on her face he chuckled some and led her inside, shutting the door behind them and locking it.  Removing his coat from her shoulders he hung it on the coat rack and continued watching her as she just stood there looking around but not moving. Sighing softly he took her hand and moved her throughout the place. "I settled on this island a few months ago, took over the black market position here."

"Took over?" you asked but saw him raise a brow. "Never mind I probably don't want to know." 

Humming he grinned and showed her room after room. "Truthfully there are more rooms than I know what to do with but at least now we will have a room for the baby." he said and saw her smile sweetly up at him. "You are free to decorate it however you please and anything you need you let me know and I will see you get it." 

Smiling you leaned into his side. Ever since the other night when he had felt the baby kick he had seemed rather thrilled of the idea that he was going to be a father. Daz who you had spoken to when Croc had to talk with Bon on something said that it was likely that Crocodile had feared he would never see you alive again, that he would never get o meet his child but now that the both of you were reunited he wasn't taking it for granted. 

"This is the kitchen, although I did have chiefs cook for me I was quite fond of your cooking and perhaps if you are willing and up to it we may share one of your delectable meals again." Seeing her nod quickly and smile he grinned but then thought of something. "I don't want you pushing yourself though, if you do not feel like it or you are too tired then I will get the cooks to make you whatever it is you want." 

Next he showed you the two living room, the courtyard that had soft green grass and a few trees. Croc had quickly led you to one of the small plants and pointed out that it was your apple tree that you had sprouted on the ship. He told you how you were free to garden all you wanted. After that was the spare rooms, his office that homed many books. You could only smile like a child in a candy shop as you looked over all the books, not knowing he was watching you smiling. 

At the end of the tour he led her down the hall to the large wooden door, opening it he checked it over for safety before turning on the lights and stepping to the side to allow her in. "And this is our room." 

Walking inside you looked around the large room. There was the massive canopy bed in the center of the room with a matching dresser and side table on each side. A little sitting area was in the right corner with what looked to be a private door to the courtyard behind it. On the other side of the room was two more doors, closet and on suit most likely. The bedding and chairs were all done in a grey color that complimented the dark wood. "It's beautiful, all of it." you told him, turning to face him as he came to stand beside you. 

Grinning he looked down at her, stroking her lightening bruised cheek with his knuckles. "I am glad you like it." Feeling that spark of arousal he swallowed and cleared his throat. "Come let me show you to the bathroom, I am sure you like a shower before bed." 

The bathroom was no less grand than the bedroom or rest of the house for that matter. A huge soaking tub that would fit you, croc and probably another person set in one corner with a equally large walk in shower on the other. Crocodile had quickly started the shower for you, adjusting the temperature before saying he wanted to check something, asking you if there was anything you wanted or needed before he left you to bathe. You found it strange that he seemed to always have something to do anytime you needed to be naked. That over emotional side of you kept saying it was something with the way you looked now, maybe you were no longer attractive to him. While you tried to see reason you couldn't help but be hurt a little.

Removing your clothes and then the bandages you glanced up to the mirror and looked over your body. Bruises spotted your skin along with the healing sword slash across your shoulder. Injuries were here and there and you felt your lip twitch as your eyes moved to your breasts. They were still much smaller than when you had first went into Impale Down. Looking down to your small baby bump you sighed and rubbed your abdomen. 

Taking a long shower you got out feeling much more refreshed than you had before. Drying off something caught your eye and you grinned when you noticed your silk pajama set folded on the bathroom counter. You were sure they weren't here before, he must have brought them in. Pulling on the shorts and shirt you brushed your hair and teeth before walking out to the room. Seeing Crocodile sitting in one of the chairs you moved over to him and curled up in his lap when he held his arm out. Humming you grinned and nuzzled into his neck. 

Grinning himself he wrapped his arm around her, kissing her head. "I missed this." 

"Me too." you told him, closing your eyes as his warm calloused hand rubbed your thigh. 

Closing his eyes as his hand creased her soft skin he adjusted his legs as his pants grew tighter. Damn he wanted her, he craved her, so much it was taking everything he had to keep from carrying her over to the bed and taking her like the deprived man he was. He should have made her wear the pants. Not that it would have done any good. She coudl probably be wearing a burlap bag and he would still feel as horney as a teenage boy. He had to wait though, wait until she was healed. It had been six months and his body was aching for her but he wouldn't risk hurting her or his child. No he would just have to resist. Glancing around the room he saw her bag sitting on the table and rose a brow, a distraction is what he needed. "The Straw-hat woman, Cat burglar Nami I believe her name is, she mentioned something about packing you other things she thought you might want, what s it?" 

Sitting up you smiled and grabbed the bag from the table, not realizing your dear Gator was staring at your backside, his hand trembling as he resisted grabbing it. Sitting back on his lap you felt him move your legs to rest over his other knee as you started picking out items to show him. "Pappag gave me these, well more like Nami talked him into letting them get anything they wanted." you smiled. 

Glancing over the clothes as she pulled them out of the bag he saw she had a pair of shorts, a t-shirt with a star on it and the word 'Crimin' on it along with a black two piece bathing suit with the same design on one of the cups. Humming he rose a brow and leaned back some. "And who is this Pappag?"

"Oh he's a starfish that designs clothes. He's a really big deal on Fishman Island." 

"A starfish." he asked and saw her nod. Grunting he listened as she told him about her time in Fishman Island with the Straw-hats. He had been surprised to find out that Jinbe and her father had been friends. While he didn't much care for the shark he was grateful for him helping his love send him the letter. Next he watched her show him the music box that King Neptune had gifted their child. As he listened to the soft tune he couldn't help but grin a little at the soft smile on her face as she talked about how they coudl play it to help their little Caiman go to sleep. When he saw her face light up he watched as she pulled out tangerines. 

Looking to him you grinned, "Your child seems to like fruit just as much as you." Thinking of something you tilted your head. "You know these are from a tree Nami brought on the ship with her, from Conomi Islands, your home." 

Raising both of his brows at that he looked to the fruit as she peeled it. 

Taking one of the sections into your mouth you grinned and held another to his lips. As he parted his lips you placed the piece on his tongue and saw the corner of his lip turn up as he ate it making you smile. 

"Still the best tangerines in the world." he said and saw her smile before offering him another. 

For the next few minutes the two of you sat in the chair talking and snacking on a few more tangerines. You were quick to save the seeds, hoping to grow a tree of your own. Soon however though you were covering a yawn and he was standing. 

Carrying her over to the bed he pulled back the covers and laid her down. He coudl tell she was sleepy based on how heavy her lids hung over her eyes. Tucking her in he kissed her brow before going to take a shower himself but only after making sure both the balcony door and bedroom door were locked. Getting out he glanced over to her sleeping form and sighed at the feeling. Quietly moving over to the dresser he pulled on a pair of pajama pants while staring at the neatly folded scarfs beside it. Reaching under them he grabbed the small velvet box hidden underneath and pulled it out. Flipping it open he stared down at the ring he had picked out over six months ago. It was beautifully crafted, only the best for his little star. The plan had been to give it to her that night in the hotel after they ate dinner but then she had felt ill and then that Charlotte had shown up. The whole night he had planed out had been ruined in an instant. Raising his chin he closed the box. This time everything would go right. Placing it back under the scarfs he closed the drawer, hiding it away for only a few days more. 

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-34)

Word count: 3.4K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Feels, fluff

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23​​. I love you so much, darling <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

The rest of the week was hard.

There were things you wanted to do and then things that you had to do. Unfortunately for you, the Venn diagram of those two things were two circles that did not touch.

Normally, you loved your job, you loved studying and your classes. But sitting through Sam’s class was becoming a new, different type of torture. The pretension was wearing you down. You could see it grating him, too. You rarely spoke up in his class now, trying not to draw attention, neither did he call upon you like he did with other students. 

The library was still your second home, though, thanks to the untimely desertion of the other odd shifts librarian, you were left to run double shifts. Molly was sorry about it, but she didn’t have a solution for you, not until she had a new hire. That meant you were stuck in the library all the time. The guys in the apartment were starting to miss you. Kevin came over one evening to inform you everything sucked when you weren’t around. His face had made you hug him.

As for you? Without the free evenings, you couldn’t go over to see Max. You missed him terribly and it would do no good to whine about that to Sam, since you were still unsure about how he would take your excessive attachment to his son. 

Not that you didn't have the chance to talk to Sam. After Sam put Max to bed, each night he’d call. You would sit in the alcove of the library widow and talk to him for hours- about the day, the classes and everything under the sun. Sam told you about the cases he was working on, the judges he really disliked and the girl Chase was chasing. Sam thought he was named aptly. He was also your faithful informant about Max. Apparently the playground bullies were back at it with the mean words. You blurted out loud how you wanted to punch the kids and Sam piled on top of that. Cheerful conversations about shaking kids followed.

It felt so juvenile to talk with him over the phone, like when he worked in New York and you were stuck in Lawrence, but not quite. Now, it was exciting to imagine him blushing on the other end when you accidentally said something complementary. Or if a student decided to stay in the library late night, you had to giggle in hushed voices so they wouldn’t overhear your conversations. The thrill of it was exciting. Those few hours had become the highlight of your day.

So, when Madison asked you what you were smiling about in the last lecture on Friday, you had to make up a reason. You couldn’t very well tell her that the bruise Sam was sporting on his cheek was because Max outran him on the basketball court and Sam slipped and fell.

“Just thinking of something funny.”

“Wouldn’t have to do with the green eyed hottie from Monday, would it?” Madison wiggled her eyebrows.

“Who, Dean?” You burst out laughing. “Maddie! He’s married to my sister.”

She laughed with you, face apologetic. “Dang! He’s really hot. Is it bad that I’m sorry he is married?”

“Definitely not,” you giggled. The good old Winchester genes had caused many casualties.

On the dais below, Sam collected his things.

“Ooohh, Professor Winchester is heading out. I better catch him before he leaves. You wanna come? Talk about the assignment?”

“No, you go on.” Sam had given you a run down of the assignment last night. You wanted to pout that he was right. You could have done better.

“Still awkward about the whole drowning thing, huh?”

You looked away, not wanting to remember the pool.

Madison wasn’t paying attention. “You were… I don’t know, delirious. You kept calling him by his name and…” Madison looked at you warily. She did not complete the sentence.

“Y/N saw the opportunity and took it,” said Rebecca from the next row. “I would sell my soul to be lifted like that.”

You slung your bag around your shoulders and made a move to get up. For all you cared, Rebecca could get hit by a truck. Not only were you furious at her for planning that prank with Brad, it made you feel murderous when she objectified Sam like that, reducing him to some greasy creep of a professor. It was insulting.

“Wait up now, sweetie!” She came up from behind. “Don’t act so prissy now. We all know you’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.”

“Excuse me?”

“You think I’m blind? To not see how you’re playing with all these men to get what you want? First, you have Brad panting after you, so you get the attention? Then you’re dancing with some random blue eyed man at the induction dance. The very next day you’re swaying in the arms of Chase Lincoln of all people. The moment you touch the pool water, somehow Sam Winchester is miraculously saving you… and two days later you’re crying like a damsel in distress in the arms of yet another man!” She was counting off her fingers. “And people call me slutty! I’m going to find out what your secret is, Y/N. Because I know you have one! And when I do...”

“You know what, Rebecca?” You said as calmly as you could. “Why don’t you go screw yourself.”

With that you headed straight for the library. When Madison caught up with you, her face was red. “Can’t believe I was ever friends with that hag! Gave her piece of my mind.”

“Madison, you should catch professor Winchester before he leaves. I’ll be okay.”

She assessed your words against your expression, then nodded and left.

You wanted to be by yourself. 

Thankfully, cataloging was time-consuming and tedious. It took your mind off of Rebecca’s awful words. For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why she was so mean to you. 

“Excuse me, miss, can I borrow this book?” Enquired a sweet voice. 

You dropped the marker in your hand and looked up. Max was standing beyond the desk, a huge grin on his face. You gave a little yelp of your own and hurried from behind the counter to throw your arms around him, kissing him on his cheek. 

“Gosh, I’ve been dying to meet you,” you said, pulling back to look at him. 

He was wearing a plaid shirt over a small faded t-shirt and jeans. Such a mini-Sam. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over and kiss his other cheek.

Max started blushing, looking down at his shoes.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked, leading him to one of the benches.

“Alex broke her arm last night. She couldn’t come over today. Dad’s got work. He asked me to hang out here.”

“Oh, no, is Alex okay?”

Max snickered. “Yeah. She was trying to sneak out for a party and fell out of the window.”

You pursed your lips trying not to laugh with him. “Poor girl.”

“Aunt Jody’s super-mad!” He added and you couldn’t help the giggle that burst through your lips.

“Max, is that you?” Molly asked, sticking her head from behind the shelves. “Darn kid! It’s been ages. Where did you run off to?”

“Mechanics camp!” He told her. “I know where an engine goes now. And how to hot-wire a car.”

“They taught you that at the camp?” You asked, skeptic.

“No, uncle Dean did.”

This time you laughed in earnest.

“You know Max?” Molly frowned.

You nodded. “Remember my little friend I told you about?”

“The one you were holding a bake sale for?”

“Yep, he’s the one.”

Molly put her hand to her lips. “Well, no shit! Do you know who his father is?”

You and Max immediately looked at each other, confirming your secret with a tiniest of nods. 

“He’s Sam’s boy, this cute little nugget here.” Molly pulled his cheek. To Max’s credit, he didn’t rub his cheek afterwards.

Which reminded you. “You wait right here, Max. I’ll be back in a minute.” You quickly found the stash of cookies you were saving for tonight's dinner and hurried back to him. Eating at the library wasn’t allowed, but Max was an exception to every rule. “Cookies for you. I know these are your favourite.”

Max’s entire face lit up. True to his nature, he offered you one before digging in. You watched as he took a few bites, sneaking looks to the book he was holding- Adventures of Sinbad. 

“I read one of those when I was kid. It had a monster bird that carried Sinbad away to its nest.”

“Oh, the Roc! That one’s my favorite!” Max clapped his hand and the cookies clattered to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to pick up the bag.

You stopped him with a gentle nudge. “Let me.” After cleaning the cookie crumbs from the carpet, you unwound the scarf from around your neck and used it to clean the crumbs stuck to Max’s mouth and shirt, fussing over getting it all away.

When you made him stand up to clean the hem of his pants, you noticed Sam standing behind you, arms crossed over his chest. He had a peculiar expression on his face- tender but also guarded.

“You’re not supposed to eat the library, young man!” Sam tried for stern, but ended up sounding amused.

You straightened up. “I make the rules here. Max can do whatever he wants.”

Max gave Sam a smug look, before running to him. In a motion that must have been more of less a reflex, Sam reached out and hefted Max up in his arms. 

“Look, what I found!” Max showed him the book.

Sam made a face. “Sinbad again? That sixth voyage was lame.”

“I wanna find out how it ends. There’s only one adventure left!”

“Alright, but this is the last of Arabian tales for the year. I get second hand sea-sickness just reading about it. I’m starting to miss Charlie and the chocolate factory.”

“You hated Charlie and the chocolate factory!”

Sam smirked. “You’re this close to getting my point.”

Max turned the book over. “We’re out of authors,” he told you.

The words shook you out of your quiet and you smoothened your expression. The scene before you was making your throat close up. You had never seen them together before. Max’s entire body language changed- his shoulders relaxed and he became less polite… just a bit more demanding, the way a child should be. Sam on the other hand radiated contentment. His voice changed, becoming softer, loving when he spoke to Max. You were sure you had been staring at them hungrily as if you couldn’t get enough of the interaction.

“Any suggestions?” Sam asked, tone still mild.

“T-Tolkein,” you stuttered. “You should try The Hobbit.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Elven songs. Wonderful.”

Molly came over to greet Sam and you excused yourself to go back to the desk and take a stock of the emotions coursing through you. At any point it could get too much and you didn't want either of them to see that.  

On their way out, Max waved at you. “Bye, Y/N!”

“Bye, Max.” You blew him a kiss. “You turned my day around, bud!”

There were too many people in the vicinity, so when it came to Sam, you nodded. “Professor.”

He mirrored your gesture. “Ms. Y/L/N.” And with a look full of promise of later, he walked away. You waved at Max till he was out of sight.

“Such a lovely boy,” Molly sighed. “Horrendous business what happened to him.”

“Yeah.” You cut the topic short, still unable to think of Max’s past without feeling faint. Thinking about it was so hard for you, Max had lived through it. 

Molly was in no mood to change the subject.

“Sam’s an amazing guy to give up the lawyer life and settle down here for that kid.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean?”

Molly threw out her hands, slightly embarrassed. “It’s Sam’s personal choice and all that, but he had a solid career in LA. After that Simmons affair blew up in the media, he could’ve stuck around and bagged A-list celebrities as clients. He moved out to this place for Max’s sake- so there was some normalcy and stability in his life. Then, again, Sam’s had his share of downs.”

Your back felt like ice, knowing what was coming.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it but it’s just you.” Molly leaned in closer. “Did you know his wife left him?”

She must have interpreted whatever your face showed as shock, because Molly continued. “Don’t know much about the whole thing. I heard bits and parts from the grape wine. Some girl he met in Kansas straight out of Yale. Took a plunge in a couple of months and this girl bolted not even a year into the marriage. Can you believe that? I mean, look at him… What the fuck was she looking for that he didn’t have!”

You could taste the blood by biting into your lip too hard.

“Never heard of him dating anyone since. I think he’s still in love with her.” Molly whistled. “At least they have each other- Max and Sam. That kid spends a lot of time here. You’ll keep finding reasons to feed your little friend cookies.” Molly flashed you a grin. You couldn’t quite return it.

It was past twelve when your phone rang. You’d just locked the library behind you and had given up on all hopes of the call.

You hurried to pick it up.

“Hey,” Sam breathed. “Sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s alright,” you sighed in relief at the sound of his voice. The sinking feeling in your stomach since the talk with Molly began to dissipate. 

“It’s your fault really,” Sam said. “Max liked The Hobbit too much and went to bed real late. How am I supposed to wake him in time for his class tomorrow?”

His concerns were so normal, comfortingly mundane. Sam made it sound so easy, when in fact, all this must have been so hard. One time you heard someone say a mean thing about Sam’s wife and it had you rankled. Sam must’ve lived through years of whispers, stories and ugly rumours. He must’ve had to defend his choice of staying committed so many times. Hadn’t the words shred his heart?

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Uh it’s just… it’s good to hear your voice.”

He was immediately on alert. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Weird day.”

“Where are you?”

You looked about your dark surroundings. “Crossing the playground, almost to my building.”

“Do you want to come over?” He asked, voice hopeful but unsure. “We can sit in the front lawn if you want.”

You made an impulse decision. “Yeah okay.”

Ten minutes later you were sitting on one of Max’s swings. Your tan sweater wasn’t helping much as you shivered in the chill, waiting for Sam to show up. Weird how you made it before him. He lived right there!

Noiselessly the front door opened and closed. Sam walked briskly towards you. He was dressed in dark grey sweatpants and a black full sleeve t-shirt. In his hand he carried an afghan, a thermos and two mugs.

“Here,” he handed you the afghan. It was the same one that was wrapped around you on the night of the pool party. The memory brought blood to your face.

“We don’t have adult juice around here today, but we do have hot chocolate.” Grinning impishly, he tilted the thermos in your direction. He sat on the ground in front of you, carefully filling up the two mugs with the rich, brown liquid while you wrapped yourself in the Afghan. 

Eagerly, you took a sip and moaned indecently.

“Good, isn’t it?” Sam chuckled. 

This was very close to what heaven would feel like. 

“So, what’s the deal, huh?” He asked after a few sips. 

You hesitated, not wanting to admit what the real problem was. It would be the case of a teapot crying to a boiler.

“You know you can tell me things, right?” His voice was soft, beguiling. 

“It’s something Molly said after you left.” You gave in, selfishly spilling it all. 

Sam listened to the whole story, then shook his head at you in exasperation and beckoned you with his hand. You blinked a couple of times, then gave up and went in willingly. 

What the hell, right?

 Sam tucked his arms around your shoulder once you slid on the ground next to him.

“You and I, we know what the truth is,” he said. “How does it matter what anyone else says?”

“Is that what you told yourself all these years?” You asked in a small voice, unable to meet his eyes.

Sam sighed. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Y/N?”

“You didn’t answer me.”

His fingers curled around your shoulder over the afghan. “No, I didn’t have to tell myself anything. I knew I loved you. That was enough.”

“I don’t know if I can be as strong as you.”

“That’s because you’re so much stronger,” he said. “None of those people have lived your life, they don’t know what you’ve been through. I can bet my ass, they wouldn’t have made it out of half of it in one piece. It’s easy to judge.”

“That’s not my problem,” you argued. “I don’t care what they think about me. But I can’t stand how it makes you look!”

Sam surprised you by chuckling lightly. “You’re cute when you’re indignant. Especially on my behalf.”

“Quit making this into a joke, Sam.”

“I seriously don’t know what else to do.” He put a finger under your chin, tilting your face up. “Look at me. I’m the happiest I've been in years! Do you really think I give a rats ass about what anyone’s got to say about me? My personal life has never been anyone’s concern except mine and yours. The only other person who has any say in this is Max. And that kid doesn’t shut up about you.”

Sam’s eyes were scorching, melting against the night sky.

“Molly’s wonderful, and I know she has a soft spot for me. But by the end of the day, it's just gossip. There’s no substance to it. So will you please drop it?”

At long last you nodded. 

“That’s like my Y/N.”

A rustle from the other side of Sam’s fence made you stiffen. The bushes behind the planks began to shake.

“What’s that?”

Sam shrugged. “Probably Alex sneaking out.”

You frowned at him. “Didn’t she break her arm doing exactly that?”

He snorted. “When has that stopped teenagers? It does make life a bit difficult. Jody’s grounded her. She can’t babysit Max for a while and I got work tomorrow.”

You saw Alex creeping on the sidewalk in front of the lawn. She saw the two of you huddled and froze like a deer caught in the headlight. Sam winked and waved a salute at her. After a minute she unfroze, returned the gesture and went off on her way. 

“Why don’t you drop him off at the library in the morning? I’ll keep an eye on him. I’m covering the first shift.” You worked to not sound too excited.

“Yeah, that still doesn’t fix the afternoon. I won’t be back before four.”

“Easy. I’ll wait with him here.”

Sam looked at you, hazel eyes wondrous. “You’d do that?”

“Sure. I owe him a pie anyway.”

“You’re a lifesaver!” He exhaled. “Seriously, I could kiss you right now!”

All you had to do was look up. Sam was right there.

Another crash sounded over the fence, louder than the first, followed by a muted ‘ow.’  You saw lights flare up in what must be the living room. From somewhere inside you heard Jody curse. “Jesus fucking Christ! Claire, what’re you doing on the ground.”

“Why do you always have to catch me!” Claire whined in the darkness. “Alex just left!”

“What. The. Fuck!” Jody yelled. “Get in the fucking car! We’re going to find your sister.”

That did it for you as you buried your face in Sam’s chest, smothering the giggles. His arms wrapped tightly around you. Sam himself was shaking with silent laughter over you.

Yeah, this was pretty close to heaven.

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

A/N 2: Thank you for all the support over the last week. 

Sam was right when he said-  “You and I, we know what the truth is. How does it matter what anyone else says?”

I’m going to take his advice :)

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[ladycatofwinterfell]

Raindrops, snowflakes, sunshine, part 4

Summary: Catelyn meets a northern boy in her algebra class during one of London’s many rainy days. Initially she doesn’t expect much, but this boy brings her a surprising amount of sunlight.

@leialannister and I discussed Scandinavian Starks and I realized I really wanted to write a fic so that’s what I did. Swedes depicted in media makes this Swede happy, and NedCat also makes me happy so why not combine it and publish him for everyone to see?

A sigh escaped her when she finally put the cookies in the oven. That had taken a lot longer than she had expected it to. She glanced at the clock, maybe she would have to message Ned and tell him that she would be a bit late.

“What are you baking?”

Elia came into the kitchen and opened a cupboard to take out a glass.

“Chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter” Catelyn replied.

“Any chance I can get one when they’re finished?”

“Absolutely. I made too many anyway.”

Either she was baking for a country or for one small child, she could never make anything in the right amount. That day she had apparently decided to bake for all of London. But that was good, then she could leave some at home and bring some to Ned. Taking up her phone she quickly wrote him a message about that she would be a bit late. She had planned on starting to bake earlier, but then there had been some obstacles. The obstacles were that she had promised Cersei to paint her nails and do her hair for her date. Which she didn’t regret, Cersei had looked awesome when she was done.

“Can you make too many cookies?” Elia asked.

She opened the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice.

“I can only bring so many to Ned without looking like a crazy person.”

“Who’s Ned?”

Had she never told Elia his actual name? She guessed not. He was known as the Swede in their household, Ashara and Cersei exclusively called him by that name.

“The Swede.”

“Ah, I guess your date went well, then” Elia said, smiling.

“It wasn’t a date, we’re not dating.”

“Whatever you say. Ash told me you wouldn’t talk much about it, so I figured it didn’t go well but if you’re baking for him it can’t have been too bad.”

“It wasn’t bad at all, he’s really nice. I like him.”

“So why not date him?”

Catelyn sat in a chair at the kitchen table while Elia poured her juice.

“Because I’m not interested in him in that way. He’s cute, I can admit that, but no.”

Elia just shrugged and put the juice back into the fridge before leaving the kitchen again. Catelyn wasn’t baking because she was interested in him, she had just been walking around feeling guilty about that she had nothing to give in return for him teaching her to draw. So she had decided that the least she could do was bring him some homemade cookies. It didn’t feel enough, but it was something. She started gathering up all the things she had used so that she could clean them, but just after she had filled the sink with water her phone started buzzing. She cleaned her hands and walked to take her phone, expecting it to be Ned, but instead her uncle’s name was on the screen.

“Hello, Uncle” she said.

She had been calling him twice a day all week to find out what that phone call from Edmure had been about, but he hadn’t answered her. She had almost believed he had got into an accident, but her father had assured her that Uncle Brynden was just fine. He hadn’t known what it was about though, and he hadn't known why Brynden wasn't answering his phone.

“Little Cat, good to hear your voice!”

She put the phone on speaker and picked up the dish brush, beginning to scrub away remains of cookie dough.

“You could have heard my voice much earlier if you had taken my calls” she responded.

“My phone died and I lost it, but my husband found it behind a shelf earlier today so now I could call you” Brynden said.

Catelyn had to keep herself from laughing.

“How did it end up behind a shelf?”

“Believe me, I would also like to know that.”

“Alright. Edmure said you wanted to know if I would be home for Christmas, can I ask why you wanted to know that? You know I always come home for Christmas.”

“I thought of visiting you soon if not, but now when you’re coming home for Christmas I can wait until spring.”

None of her family members had come to visit her in London, she had just gone back home. Which made sense, but she still wanted to show them her life there. She would have insisted he come before Christmas if she had not had an exam coming up. She wouldn’t have much time to spare, and if he was coming to London she actually wanted to be able to see him and do things.

“You’ll have to promise you’ll come this spring. I would love to finally get to show you how I have it here.”

“I promise. Might bring Edmure too, the boy is eager to see London.”

Edmure had never been to London. When she thought of it she didn’t think he had ever been outside of Ireland.

“You should bring Edmure. It’s about time he gets to see something different.”

“A shame it’s London and not a good city.”

She didn’t like Britain, and she hated what they had done to her country. What they had put her people through. But she had nothing against London in particular. It was a okay place to live and she had made great friends there.

“London isn’t bad, he’ll like it.”

“Of course he will, the boy has no taste.”

“He’s a child” Catelyn chuckled.

“He’ll always be like this. You're a lot like your younger self, I can still see much of little Catelyn Tully in you.”

“Well, you still call me Little Cat so I figured that.”

She stopped what she was doing when her Uncle didn’t answer her. She waited a few seconds to see if he would, but her phone was silent.

“Hello?” she called.

Then she heard Brynden’s voice. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, he clearly wasn’t talking to her. Had to be his husband, he probably had to go. She didn’t have time for a long phone call anyway, so that didn't bother her at all.

“The husband insists it’s time for dinner” he informed her. “So this is farewell for now.”

“There’s no need to talk like it’s the 18th century and you’re going on an adventure at sea, just say goodbye like a normal person.”

“Life is a lot more fun if you see it as an adventure. Therefore I’m telling you farewell for now. Until next time, Little Cat.”

A smile appeared on her face.

“Goodbye, Uncle.”

The phone clicked as Brynden ended the call. Catelyn finished the dishes in silence, listening to the music coming from the living room and Ashara and Elia’s laughter. Often she dreamed of getting her own place, but in moments like those she really liked sharing a flat. Despite that it didn’t have a balcony. She took the cookies out of the oven to let them cool before she would put some in a jar for Ned. And as expected the two other women swept in like vultures.

“Don’t touch them, you’ll burn yourselves” Catelyn warned as she turned her back on the cookies to see if she could find a jar.

She was sure if that she had at least one somewhere in the back of a cupboard. Behind all that other crap they never used. She dragged a chair over and stepped up on it to be able to reach the top shelf.

“Ouch, fuck, goddamnit!”

Catelyn didn’t have to turn around to know that Ashara was jumping around, holding her burned hand to her chest. Her first words were followed by a sentence in Arabic that Catelyn strongly suspected just consisted of more swear words. Elia was laughing and a moment later the tap was running.

“Oh my poor darling” Elia chuckled.

“Told you” Catelyn said calmly.

To her triumph she found a jar. It was ugly as sin, the psychedelic flower pattern was enough to give her a headache, but it was what she had and it was a lot better than nothing.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think they were so fucking hot!” Ashara howled.

“I just took them out of the oven, what did you expect?”

“Not this!”

She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the first time it happened and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Every time she baked either Cersei or Ashara burned a hand. No matter how many times she warned them of the heat.

“Leave the kitchen and come back in fifteen minutes when they have cooled down a bit, I promise they’ll still be here.”

“Sounds like something someone who’s planning to take the cookies away would say.”

“Just go.”

Ashara pulled a face at her before leaving the room closely followed by her girlfriend. Finally, inner peace. Half an hour later Catelyn left with half of the cookies. She had a suspicion of that the rest would be gone by the time she was back. If Cersei came home before her they would definitely be gone. But she was happy that liked what she made them. That was all she could contribute when it came to food. She didn’t even bother swearing over that the lift was still broken. She just took the stairs. It had already been dark for two hours when she stepped outside the building. She hated it. Autumn was nice, things were very pretty during autumn, but the cold and the darkness she could do without. Catelyn had been surprised when he asked if she wanted to come over to his place. They had been talking about meeting up again, and Catelyn had assumed maybe they would go for another walk or something like it. But then Ned had said that she could come to him if she wanted to, so that he could honor his promise. She was breaking a lot of safety rules when it came to meeting new people by seeing him in a private area so soon, so she hoped he wasn’t a serial killer. She had given both Cersei and Ashara his address so if she went missing they would know where to start looking. But she was very sure of that she would be fine, he was a good person. She was still nervous when she arrived at his building though, but for a completely different reason. She didn’t know what reason, but she sure was nervous. What was up with her? Why couldn’t she just go over to her friend’s place without feeling like her heart would make it’s way out of her chest. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. All of it was ridiculous. The building’s door required a code to be opened. She didn’t know the code, Ned hadn’t said anything about that. She took up her phone and texted him.

Code?

His answer came just a second later. It made her happy to know he had been waiting for her.

I’ll be down in a minute

Less than a minute later she saw him come down the stairs through the glass panels in the door.

“Hey” he said after having opened the door.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

“No need to apologize. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

They began walking up the stairs.

“The house doesn’t have a lift” Ned said. “Sucks when you have groceries.”

Catelyn couldn’t hold back a smile at that. The house had four floors, how bad could it be? She guessed it was sort of a problem if he lived on the top floor, but that was still less than what she was used to.

“What floor do you live on?”

“The third.”

“Not to belittle your struggles or anything, but I live on the sixth floor and we have a lift, but it never works. That sucks.”

“Wow, I take back everything I said.”

When they reached the third floor there were three doors. One to the left, one to the right, and one right ahead of them. He opened the right one and then gestured for her to enter before him. He held the door open for her as she walked inside and she found herself in a small hall. Only a shoe rack and a coat hanger fit in there. Past that was a small flat, consisting of only one room and door that lead to what Catelyn guessed was a bathroom. Directly to her left was a very clean kitchen, across from it, on her right was a neatly made bed. Ahead of her on the right was a couch and a TV, and across of that was a round table with five chairs around it. On almost every flat surface there was a plant, on the window sills more than one, giving life to the otherwise white and grey room. A lamp above the table was on, but apart from that the place was only dimly lit up by smaller table lamps and fairy lights. All the walls had some sort of art on them, ranging from sketches to full paintings, the only exception was where the bookshelf was. The bookshelf didn’t seem as organized as the rest of the flat, she found no pattern, and books that didn’t fit in it had been placed in piles on top of it. The scent of coffee and something sweeter filled the air. Maybe it came from one or several of the flowers, maybe it was the laundry detergent he used, maybe it was something completely different. She didn’t know, but she liked it. It wasn’t large, but it felt so much like a home. One was immediately hit with the feeling that someone had made that small area their own. She had been in homes where it was clear that the owner only used it as a place to sleep, but so was very much not the case with Ned’s home. And best of all, he had a balcony. She would have killed for a balcony.

“Welcome to my humble home” he said, closing the door behind them.

“I love it” she responded in complete honesty.

“It turned out a lot better than I initially thought, it didn’t look very nice when I moved in.”

“One has to trust the process. And that balcony can’t have made things worse.”

“It faces an alleyway, the view is terrible.”

She didn’t care what the view was, it was the balcony itself that made her happy. Though of course she wanted her future balcony to have a nice view if it wasn’t too much to ask for. She put her bag down, and took off her shoes and her coat. She liked the shoe rack, she would have to raise the question of getting one for her own home with Cersei and Ashara.

“We don’t have to draw if you don’t want to, but I thought I would at least present the option" he said when he went inside before her.

She noticed that there was a bunch of papers and pens on the table. She also noticed that Oden was sleeping underneath it. She hadn’t seen him at first, but she smiled when she did. She didn’t think she had ever smiled at a dog.

“I’m eager to learn every little thing you have to teach me.”

“Amazing, where would you like to start?”

A class where she got to make her own curriculum, how nice.

“You said you’re good at drawing people, right? Can you teach me to draw a face?”

He sat by the table and pulled out the chair on his right.

“That shouldn’t be impossible.”

Catelyn sat next to him and they began. She believed he had said that he wasn’t a very good teacher or something close to that the previous time they had met, but she heavily disagreed. With patience he guided her through everything, redid stuff half a hundred times just so she could see it and understand. After a while the table was covered in drawings of facial features and faces from different angles. It was easy to tell which ones were his and which were hers, but she wanted to believe she was improving. And Ned said she was, he came with much encouragement. But she came to a point where it didn’t feel like it. She had trouble getting lines straight, it looked very shaky.

“I can’t get it straight” she sighed in frustration when she tried for what had to be the tenth time to get a nose right.

Ned studied her drawing and her hand for a moment before answering.

“You need to relax your hand, you’re too tense. It makes you shake.”

“I am relaxing my hand!”

He put his pen down and scooted his chair closer to her. At first she didn’t understand what he was doing but then he put his left hand over hers, gently helping her adjust her hold in order to relax her hand. Maybe she should have been focused on trying to get it right, but she was mostly focused on keeping her breathing steady. He was close to her. He was very close to her. She could smell his cologne. And he was essentially holding her hand. She kept her eyes downwards, tried to do what he wanted her to do, but she was positive her heart was going to stop.

“There you go” he said. “Try now.”

“Okay” she said, hearing that her voice was a higher pitch than usual.

She hoped he didn’t notice. She tried to keep her hand steady despite that she was shaking a lot more than she had been before.

“It looks better now, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Both of them jumped in their chairs when the door opened. In stepped a man who somewhat resembled Ned, they had the same hair color and the same facial features, but he was taller. And very attractive. Catelyn had to stop herself from looking at him too much and instead turned her gaze to the dog he had with him, another German shepherd, who seemingly didn’t have Oden’s calm temper. He pulled on his leash, wanting to come over to where they sat. She hoped he would stay right where he was with that dog, she had a feeling of that she wouldn’t like it as much as she liked Oden. Oden immediately left his spot at their feet and walked to lie down in a corner of the room, clearly wanting nothing to do with the other dog. Catelyn realized that she had instinctively tensed up, so she took a deep breath and forced her shoulders down. It was just a dog. Except for that it wasn’t. It was a scary dog, and she could feel her pulse go up.

“Vad gör du här?” Ned sighed, scooting his chair away from her again.

It made a loud, scraping noise. Not like when he had came closer to her.

”Jag skrev att jag tänkte komma förbi, men du svarade inte” the man said with a shrug.

Catelyn wasn’t sure of what she was going to do, and as usual she didn’t understand a word of Swedish. She assumed he was Ned’s older brother, as they looked alike and both spoke Swedish.

“Det fanns en anledning till det” Ned said, annoyed by whatever it was that his brother had said.

But the brother didn’t seem to hear him, he instead looked at Catelyn and smiled.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again” he said.

She had never seen him before, what was he talking about?

“You must be mistaking me for someone else, we haven’t met” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed.

“I’m not mistaking you for someone else, you don’t forget hair like that. You have nice hair.”

She tried to remember when and where she could have seen him. They didn’t have class together, she would have known if she was in the same class as Ned’s brother. Had she met him at a pub? She never got drunk enough to not remember people she had met. Was he a friend of a friend? That seemed like the most plausible explanation. She would have to ask around about that.

“Thank you, I suppose, but I have to apologize, I don’t remember you.”

It was embarrassing. She didn’t believe that had ever happened to her before, she usually remembered people. Though at least she wasn’t blushing.

“Then I won’t be the one to remind you, let’s start over” he chuckled. “I’m Brandon, the better looking one. I never got your name last time so what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Men för fan, Brandon, bete dig!” Ned said firmly.

“Language, little brother” Brandon said. "And I am behaving."

She assumed Ned had told him to behave with a swearword thrown in somewhere. She didn't know which word it was though.

“He has a point, you’re being a bit of an arse. So please replace sweetheart with Catelyn next time, that’s my name.”

“That’s prettier than sweetheart anyway.”

He didn’t seem to be that sharpest knife in the drawer, it sounded like something out of a book on how to compliment women. But he was good looking, and maybe he was better after one got to know him.

“Thank you” she said once more, twirling her pen between her fingers.

“Vill du ha henne eller kan jag ta henne?” Brandon then said to Ned. “Hon är snygg.”

”Vad är det för fel på dig?” he responded in an exasperated voice. “If you didn’t want something important can you please take your dog and leave?”

“Du behöver inte bli sur” Brandon said, raising his free hand into the air.

“I’m not, but you’re being inappropriate towards my friend and Tor really upsets Oden. So can you leave and come back tomorrow?”

“Varför på engelska?”

“Because Catelyn doesn’t understand Swedish.”

“Du pratar inte med henne.”

“No, but she’s here.”

Catelyn certainly was there. She was also thoroughly confused. She had no idea about what Brandon was saying, and she had no idea about why Ned was talking about her. It almost would have been better if she didn’t understand anything at all instead of only getting bits and pieces.

“Look, I’m free tomorrow, you can come back then. Men nu skulle jag uppskatta om du lämnade oss.”

Brandon studied his brother for a moment, then he grinned.

“Absolutely. Godnatt.”

”Godnatt, Brandon.”

Brandon and his dog, who she assumed was named Tor, left and the door shut behind them. She had to do a lot of assuming as she didn't understand much. Oden stayed right where he was, his gaze fixated on the door like he was expecting Tor to break back in. She understood him.

“He’s most often not like that, I’m sorry” Ned said as he got up from his chair and walked over to sit by Oden on the floor. “I won’t excuse his behavior, but I want you to know that he can be nice.”

Oden immediately placed his head in Ned’s lap, but kept his eyes on the door.

“Mind if I sit with him for a bit?” he asked. “He gets stressed around Tor. They’re from the same litter and Tor partook in the puppy bullying that went one when they were little.”

“Puppies are so small and cute, how are they capable of bullying?” she said.

“Kids are small too, and they still bully each other.”

“I guess. Still hard to wrap your head around it. I mean I get it now, that was a scary dog, but a puppy?”

“Are you afraid of dogs?” he asked, surprised.

How could he be surprised about that? She had believed that she had clearly shown him that she was afraid of dogs.

“They have lots of sharp teeth, they make loud and sudden noises, large ones can easily kill you, it’s not really my thing. Oden is fine though, he’s very polite.”

Ned chuckled.

“More of a cat person, huh?”

Catelyn looked him dead in the eye.

“If you make one single cat pun I will get up and leave” she threatened.

“Based on the look on your face it feels like you have heard them all already.”

“I have heard them all. Multiple times. I doubt anyone can come up with a new one at this point. They aren’t worse than the fact that an ex used ‘Kitty’ as a nickname for me through.”

She had learned to accept KitKat, she would never learn to accept Kitty. She hated it, she was a grown woman and didn’t want to be referred to the same way one referred to a cute kitten. Luckily no one else had used that nickname and she thoroughly hoped it would stay that way.

“I take it you prefer just Catelyn, then?”

“Or Cat. I don’t mind Cat, it’s short and easy to spell.”

People never seemed to spell her name correctly on the first try. There were simply too many ways to spell the way her name was said. People often replaced the C with a K and threw in a couple of i’s for good measure. So sometimes it was easier to just go by Cat.

“I get it, often it’s easier to go by a shortened name.”

She snorted.

“Your name is three letters and super easy to spell, you don’t get to complain.”

Ned laughed at that.

“I always go by Ned, but it’s not actually my name. My name’s Eddard.”

So she had been right, Ned was short for something.

“It’s a nice name.”

“You said that about my dog too, so I don’t know what to believe.”

Had she? She had no memory of what she had said upon learning Oden’s name. It had been weeks since that. But he was probably right.

“You both have nice names, that’s all there is.”

“Thank you.”

She left her pen on the table and stood up.

“Do you want cookies?”

He shrugged.

“Cookies are good, but I unfortunately don’t have any. I would have got some if you had said you wanted it.”

“No worries, Eddard Stark” she said as she went to get her bag from the coat hanger. “I can supply the cookies.”

She pulled out the jar and went back to the table.

“Did you bake?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

He got up from the floor.

“I hope you don’t have any severe allergies because I really don’t want to kill you, and I also hope you like chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter because that’s what I baked.”

“Sounds amazing. Can I make you some tea to go with the cookies?”

“Absolutely.”

Catelyn sat at the table again while Ned walked to the small kitchen.

“You know you didn’t have to bake” he said as he took two mugs out of a cupboard.

“I wanted to give something back to you for inviting me into your home and trying to teach me to draw. And I’m good at baking, so I thought I would bake you something” she explained.

She picked up her pen again, once more put it to the paper and tried to get the shading on the nose right so that it didn’t look so flat. Very softly she moved the tip of the pen, and found that she managed to keep her hand steady while doing so. Maybe he had managed to get something into her head, after all.

“I really appreciate it, thank you” he said and she heard him fill a kettle with water.

“It was the least I could do.”

She stopped for a moment to look at the paper in front of her. That actually looked like a nose. It wasn’t nearly as good as what he had done, but it was the best nose she had ever managed to draw. Maybe her pride was childish, it wasn’t a big accomplishment, but she really hadn’t expected to do so well. She could feel herself smile.

“What kind of tea do you want?”

“Uhm, preferably something fruity, if you have it. I like sweet teas.”

High on the feeling of success she moved onto the eyes of the person on her paper.

“Fruity? That’s not very British of you” he responded.

“I know, it’s a conscious choice. Drives one of my flatmates mad.”

Cersei refused to drink sweet teas. She only drank black tea and Earl Grey. Nothing disgusted Catelyn more than Earl Grey. She was also sure of that Cersei only refused to drink other teas out of spite. She was a very proud Brit when it came to tea.

“Is she British?”

“Yes, a born and bred Londoner. My other flatmate is from Morocco, so the British are outnumbered in my home. She’s very strict on the tea though. We’re working on humbling her, but our attempts so far have been unsuccessful.”

“It’s very hard to humble a Brit, I’ve tried.”

“Do you have any advice for me?”

“No, because I failed in epic proportions. He’s still the same.”

She looked up at him. He stood with his back to her, pouring the hot water into the mugs. She wondered who he was talking about. She would have liked to ask, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it. Whoever it was was probably a lot like Cersei. She loved Cersei, but she sure was a handful at times. Especially when it came to her Earl Grey.

“We have a word for this in Swedish” Ned said.

“You have a word for trying to humble Brits?”

That was unreasonable and way too specific. He laughed.

“That would be ‘försöka göra en brittisk person ödmjukare’, which is a sentence and not a word, but that’s not what I meant. I meant we have a word for sitting down with someone to eat a pastry or something like it and maybe drink something.”

That mad a lot more sense.

“And what’s this word?”

“Fika. Most people do it daily. We have breaks at work for fika.”

"Is that a verb or a noun?"

"Works as both. You can fika, but you can also sit down for a fika."

“That’s brilliant, there should be an English word for that.”

“One of many things I miss from Sweden.”

She turned her gaze downwards again, but found that she didn’t have the same luck with the eyes that she had had with the nose. She tried to do what he had showed her, and she looked at everything he had drawn out for her on a different paper, but she just couldn’t get it to work.

“You’re doing very well.”

Turning her head up she found him standing right behind her, leaning forward slightly to see better. And for some reason she could once more feel her heart racing in her chest. And that time he wasn’t even touching her. What was wrong with her?

“Thank you” she said.

That time she managed to keep her voice normal, so that was always something. Ned put her mug down and sat next to her again. Catelyn opened the jar and offered him a cookie before taking one herself.

“I hope you like them.”

She raised her cookie in a cheers before taking a bite. She couldn’t know what he thought, but she was more than happy with the result. Those were some tasty cookies, if she could say so herself. And based on his reaction he seemed to like them as well.

“These are really good” he said. “Like, really, really good. Screw drawing, can you teach me to do this?”

Catelyn tried to keep herself from smiling as she had her mouth full, but found that she was unable to do so and raised a hand to hide her mouth.

“This isn’t even my best, you should taste my carrot cake. I make a killer carrot cake.”

“I love carrot cake.”

“Me too.”

He paused for a moment before smiling.

“Do you want to hear a word that’s even more brilliant, but that doesn’t exist in English?”

“Definitely, share your Swedish wisdom with me.”

“Lagom. It means just the right amount of something. Not too much and not too little. It doesn’t matter what it is, anything can be lagom.”

Her phone started buzzing and she threw a glance at it. She planned on not answering, whoever it was that demanded her attention could wait, but when she picked it up to put it on silence and saw that it was Cersei she quickly changed her mind. Cersei was out with some guy Catelyn didn’t know, and maybe something had happened or she needed an out. Helping her friend was way more important than not having a small interruption.

“I’m sorry this keeps happening, but my friend’s out and I really don’t want something to happen to her” Catelyn said before taking the phone.

“You don’t need to apologize, make sure your friend is okay.”

“Hey, is everything alright?” Catelyn said after having accepted the call.

“Yeah, it’s alright, thanks for asking. And you, are you alright?”

There was nothing in Cersei’s voice that suggested otherwise and Catelyn was instantly relieved. She was okay.

“I’m good.”

“Great, I was just wondering if you and the Swede would like to come to a Christmas party?”

“What?”

“Yeah, Robert hosts these large Christmas parties every year and he’s in the bathroom at the moment so I thought I’d call you and see if you wanted to come.”

So that was the name of her boyfriend. Robert. Catelyn would have to remember that. And if she went to the Christmas party she would get to meet him too. From nothing to both a name and an opportunity to meet him in person in a matter of just a few seconds, how nice.

“Can we talk more about it when we’re both home?” she said.

There was no need to talk about it right then, both of them had other things to do. And it wasn’t like the party would be anytime soon, there was still awhile until December, they had time to talk about it later.

“Of course, I just didn’t want to forget, you know how I am. But check with the Swede, will you?”

“I’ll check with him” Catelyn promised.

“Good, I’ll se you at home.”

“See you at home.”

Ned was quite obviously pretending not to be curious, but she saw right through it. She had noticed he wasn't very good at pretending.

“My friend’s boyfriend is having a Christmas party and she wondered if we would like to go.”

He didn’t try to hide his surprise though.

“We? As in me, too?”

“She asked for you specifically, so yeah.”

She didn’t know if it was because she wanted to meet Ned or because she didn’t want to make Catelyn feel lonely. Catelyn didn’t feel lonely. She was fine on her own and it didn’t bother her that her flat mates were in relationships.

“Unless I have something else I guess I can go.”

Catelyn smiled. Before starting to speak she realized how much she had been smiling since arriving there. He made her smile a lot, he made her feel good. She liked that about him. She liked him.

“Yay! It’ll be much more fun with you there.”

“I’m not the biggest fan of parties, and I won’t know anyone. But I can try for you.”

Oh God, he was sweet. Really really sweet. Boyfriend material. Husband material. Perhaps even father material. Catelyn wished she had been interested in him. He could try for her.

“I’m not sure I’ll know anyone either. I’ve never even met her boyfriend, and I learned his name just now. So we’ll be in it together.”

“What is his name?”

It made her think of Cersei demanding names every time Catelyn met a new person and teasing her over it. But Ned didn’t know about that, he just asked a polite question.

“Robert.”

A frown appeared on his face and that, and he turned his eyes downwards for a moment.

“Robert? Robert Baratheon?” he asked.

“I don’t know, why?”

“I used to know a Robert who hosted yearly Christmas parties, that’s all. But most likely it’s just a funny coincidence. Many people have Christmas parties, there has to be more than one Robert.”

“London is a large city and Robert is not an uncommon name, the probability of it being the same person is very small.”

She would have been able to figure out the exact probability for it being the same person if she had got a bit of time. But that was unnecessary, it wasn’t hard to understand that it was low.

“You’re the one who knows math, I’ll have to trust you.”

“It doesn’t take much math to figure that out.”

“I’ll just have to trust you in general then.”

She felt like her math skills were more trustworthy than her general knowledge on stuff, but that was unnecessary information to share.

“I hope you’re not going to regret it” she said instead.

“How nice of you.”

Ned sipped his tea and finished his cookie. Then he picked up his pen again, but instead of continuing on the drawing he had started while she did hers he took a blank paper. With an incredible speed he began moving the pen over the paper, and it left Catelyn somewhat confused as it didn't look like anything he had shown her.

“What are you drawing?” she asked curiously, stretching to see better.

He glanced up at her, his gaze focused in a way that made it seem like he was studying her. It didn’t make her wonder what he was doing any less.

“Could you be still, please?” he asked gently. “Or, well, you can move, but it would be good if you remained in the same position for a bit so that I can do a quick sketch.”

Catelyn hadn’t even reflected over how she was sitting until he said it. She had pulled her legs up and was sitting cross legged on the chair, as she always sat at home. In one hand she held her half eaten cookie, and the other was fiddling with her pen. When had she picked the pen up? None of that mattered even a little though. Because he was drawing her. And she was immensely flattered, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around why.

“Why are you drawing me?”

“I just liked the setting, and thought it would make for a good drawing” he responded casually. “Och du är vacker.”

She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she believed she had heard that last word before. And the more she thought of it, the more she grew sure of that he had said it to her before.

“You’ve said this to me before, right?”

He paused for a moment, as if he hadn’t believed she would notice that. But she had noticed. And she wanted to know what the hell it was that he was saying to her.

“Might be that I have.”

“What does it mean?” she asked, putting on her most charming smile in order to convince him to tell her.

“Nothing.”

“Then there’s no reason you can’t tell me. Come on, I thought we liked each other enough for you to translate for me.”

She couldn’t tell if he was blushing or not because of his beard, but something gave her the feeling that he was. She didn’t know exactly what that word meant, but she had somewhat of an idea about what it could be.

“If you’re flirting with me it’s okay to do so in a language we both understand.”

Not even a second after the words had left her mouth she regretted having ever been born. She shoved what remained of her cookie into her mouth before taking her mug and raising it to her lips, drinking the tea despite that it was still too hot for taking more than a little sip. She would rather burn her tongue than look at him after whatever the hell that had been. He was quiet and she wondered what was going through his mind. Did he think she was stupid? Or did he think she was flirting? Was she flirting? No, that hadn’t been flirting. She wasn’t even interested in him, he was just her friend. She liked him as a friend. And still she had heavily implied that he was flirting with her. She didn’t even know if that was what he had said. She knew no Swedish at all. Fuck.

“It means you’re beautiful” he finally said. “‘Vacker’ means ‘beautiful’.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“You probably think I’m a total weirdo right now, and I really don’t blame you, because this was very weird. And I want you to know that I would understand if you wouldn’t want to see me anymore” Ned said, and she had never heard him talk as fast as he did in that moment. “Not that we’re seeing each other in that sense, we’re not dating, och helvete, jag gör bara det här värre för mig själv, I’m so sorry.”

He had that miserable look on his face again. The same one he had had when they spilled coffee over themselves. But all Catelyn could do was laugh. Laugh at how he felt the exact same panic that she had felt just seconds earlier. Laugh at how they were both nervous wrecks pretending to be calm.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked.

“No, I’m not, I just think the whole situation is funny.”

“How nice, I just feel like an idiot.”

“Believe me, so do I.”

“Once again, I’m sorry for ruining everything.”

“You didn’t, Ned” she assured him. “Nothing‘s ruined. At least I don’t think so.”

Did he think so?

“So we’re fine?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re fine.”

He looked at her for a moment before sighing. Then he kept on drawing. And so did she. They didn’t say much more, just sat in silence except for an occasional exchange of words. And even though it had started very awkwardly Catelyn soon found that it was a quite comfortable silence. She could sit with him and be quiet.

“There” he said after a while. “It’s not my best work, the colors are a bit off, and your hands look awful, but it’s okay.”

She looked at his drawing and was left speechless, wondering what his best work was if that was just okay. Because she was looking at a drawing that was very clearly her. Sitting cross legged on a chair with half a cookie in one hand and a pen in the other, smiling. So what if the color of her hair wasn’t exactly right and her fingers looked a bit weird, it didn’t matter. It was still good. It looked good.

“What was that word you called me?” she asked.

He frowned.

“What?”

“Beautiful in Swedish.”

“Uhm, ‘vacker’, why?”

Catelyn wouldn’t have been able to pronounce that correctly if so her life had depended upon it, but she could give it a try. And she would give it a try.

“Because this drawing is vacker.”

Ned smiled at that.

“You think so?”

“Definitely, I love it.”

He slid it over the table to her.

“If that is so you can have it.”

She left not much later with the drawing in her bag, her head so full of things that she two times almost tripped and fell down the stairs because she forgot to watch where she was going. Most of all she thought about Ned. Everything about him, from the way he smiled to how he had thrown in a sentence of Swedish when he was embarrassed. She also thought about how he had called her beautiful. She hadn’t known it before, but Ned believed she was beautiful. That knowledge made her chest flutter. Maybe she was interested in him after all. Just a little bit though, it would most likely pass.