#and in my mind she jumped from the window of the nursery knowing the halls will be filled with the kings men and leave little chance for-

[dirtytransmasc]

self indulgent got concept.

Ned brings Jon home, Cat hates the boy, everything stays the same... until Robert Baratheon is charging through the halls of Winterfell looking for the babe, ready to butcher the poor thing where he lay helpless in his cradle.

in a matter of moments Catelyn learns three things:

The babe was never a bastard, Ned had only lied to her to protect Jon, and that she would die before she let Robert lay a finger on the babe she'd previously wished death upon.

cue Catelyn Stark snatching Jon from his cradle, holding him, protecting him, loving him as she would her own son, risking it all to keep him safe, all care for herself thrown to the wind.

like they say, what a mother's love holds no bounds, and what it makes her capable of had no limits.

[icefire149]

Tearing Apart At The Seams

(Read on Ao3 | Story warning: temporary major character death)

Overwhelmed was an understatement. Despite spending the car ride with her stare glued out the window in silence, Mary felt like an exposed nerve that had been thrashed with steel wool. If she closed her eyes she could still see things as she knew it: a house with a yard, laughter bouncing off the walls, toy cars on stair steps, hope in the mirror reflection. Her life wasn’t perfect, but it was hers.

Everything was wrong. The last thing she remembered was running into Sam’s nursery, but now, here she was standing in 2016 because God’s sister said so. Her chest felt incredibly tight. The man behind the steering wheel – no, Dean. She had to keep reminding herself – was peeking at her out of the corner of his eye every so many minutes.

She still didn’t know what to make of him. He knew the right stories. He was the right age. But….how could she swap the Dean she tucked into bed hours ago for this hardened stranger?

“It won’t be long,” Dean said, breaking the silence. “We should only be about a day behind Sam and Cas.”

Mary nodded, feeling chilled. The thought of seeing what became of her baby was horrifying. He wasn’t even a toddler yet, and now…..

Her arms ached for her baby, but she couldn’t break now. It wasn’t safe yet. Turning to look at Dean, she asked an unexpected question. “Who’s Cas?”

Dean didn’t take his eyes off the road, but his expression softened. He laughed, “He’s….Cas. He’s my best friend.”

“Oh.”

His shoulders relaxed as he leaned back more comfortably in his seat. “He lives at the bunker with me and Sammy. That’s where we’re going. It’s home.”

“The….bunker?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s tone was fond. “It’s a long story.”

“So it’s an actual bunker?”

Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yup.”

The rest of the drive went by without another word. Mary honestly didn’t know what to say. For the most part she just wanted to sleep and hopefully wake back up in 1983.

“Home sweet home,” Dean mumbled as they parked in the garage.

Mary was stunned by the collection of cars there. She actually felt a spark of excitement at the possibility of taking one of them out for a spin.

Slowly, she followed Dean inside. He nearly bounced down the steps, he was eager to get to where ever he was heading.

“Sammy!” Dean called. “Cas!”

Dean only took a few steps into the main room before whipping around on his heels. "Something's wrong," he said pulling his gun out. "Stay put."

He quickly disappeared down a hallway at the other end of the room. Mary didn't stray too far. What she could see was enough. Books and papers were scattered on the floor. There were drops of blood near the tables. The toe of her boot connected with an odd silver blade.

She picked it up, studying and turning it over in her hands. It wasn't cold like metal usually was. There was a warmth that felt like something more than what was left from whoever held it last. It was strange, but Mary wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Dean hadn't trusted her with a weapon, but fate did. Her fingers curled around the hilt; she wasn't letting go until Dean gave the all clear.

When she turned around, one of the walls had some kind of sigil drawn in blood. She shivered, already assuming the worst.

Home was supposed to be safe. This was supposed to be a home. The memory of blood twisted her gut. She lost her parents at home. She lost John....her babies..…

A voice deep down in her core screamed at her to run. She caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Spinning, she saw a man stalking towards her.

"Is he still here?" His voice boomed, and Mary couldn't stop her eyes from instinctually glancing at the door Dean went through.

She didn’t know enough about this place to form a strategic plan. How many exits, if any, were down that hallway? Was Dean on his way back? Could he hear her if she ran or screamed?

Catching herself, Mary glued her stare onto the man. His steps slowed, but his piercing blue eyes were fixed on her as well. The way he moved, she realized, he was aiming to go past her around the tables. Mary started side stepping slowly to meet him step for step until there was only a large table between them.

She could tell that his mouth was moving, but all Mary could hear was her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. The longer she looked at him, the more convinced she was that he wasn't human at all.

Swallowing, her own spit went down like a rock. The air in the room started to crackle like it was electrifying. The man-shaped thing slammed his hands on the table, and she jumped. Her eyes darted again towards the doorway.

The image of her Dean with chocolate smeared cheeks blended into the stranger who tapped his fingers on the steering wheel hours ago while he quietly sang along to the radio under his breath. Stepping backwards, the heel of her boot alarmingly slid an inch. She didn't need to look down to know it was blood. Her lungs refused to take another breath. She could practically see Sammy swaddled in his baby blanket and his chubby, pink cheeks. The tightness in her chest felt like it was moments away from popping like a balloon.

The creature's mouth was still moving. He leaned forward. Hands still on the table. His eyes glowed an unnatural blue, and all Mary could see was the moment her dad’s eyes flashed yellow. She threw the blade.

It hit, burying deep into his abdomen and knocking him staggering backwards. The creature ripped it out, blood running down his hand like ribbons tying around his fingers. His hand shook, sending the blade clattering to the floor.

Mary stepped around the table, eyeing the thing cautiously. She could see that he held a hand against his stomach, but there was also a blue-white glow emanating from the wound. A shiver crawled up her spine, making the hair on her arms stand up. There was not a single monster that she could think of that bled both blood and light.

The creature fell to a shaky knee. A sheen of sweat on his forehead was visible in the light as he tilted his head up. He made no move to pick up the blade, but his eyes bore into her challengingly.

She couldn’t understand him. Mary’s eyebrows pushed together, studying him. He was going to let her kill him. Whether it was a trick or not, she couldn’t risk wasting this opportunity. Mary snatched the blade up, and drove it deep into his chest.

The only fight he gave back was the hard push he gave her, sending her flying across the room. Mary couldn’t see him from where she landed because of the table, but the room filled with that blue-white light. It was blinding, and the air felt like it was being completely sucked out of the room.

Mary opened her eyes to see scattered papers lightly floating down to the floor. The air had settled and she gasped for a deep breath. The strange light was finally gone. She got herself up, and hesitantly crossed the room.

Her hip cracked painfully into the table the moment she realized what she was seeing burned around the body: wings. “Dean!”

The word left her lips before her brain even caught up that she just called for her son. The next thing Mary knew, she was standing in the doorway Dean left through. Her hands trembled, but her mind kept circling around the fact that she called out to her four year old for help.

“Mom?” A rough voice called out far away. On coming footsteps echoed down the hall. “Mom!”

Her heart sank. Of course it was the Dean who walked away with a gun aimed high. “There’s….there’s a body in here,” Mary’s voice shook.

Dean sprinted down the hallway with eyes wide with fear. “Where is it?” he demanded.

Mary nodded in the direction of the table, and Dean pushed past her. His gun hit the floor with a loud crack. He froze in place half way to the body.

“Dean?” Mary stepped forward to see his jaw hanging open. Dean’s bottom lip trembled, and tears started running down his cheeks. She suddenly felt painfully cold.

Dean surged forward, dropping to the ground next to the body. Carefully, he pulled the blade out and tossed it aside.

Mary came closer, but at the same time continued to keep her distance. Her hands clutched the lip of the table.

“You stupid, son of a bitch,” Dean muttered quietly. He placed a shaky hand on the creature’s chest, closing his eyes like he was still trying to feel for a heartbeat. A sob tore through him. His fingers curled in the drying blood and the fabric of the white button up shirt. “I could go with you… you dumb bastard. You didn’t even fight back, did you?”

Dean pulled the body into his lap, cradling him. Gently, he brushed some of the hair sticking to the creature’s forehead back. Dean’s hand pressed the creature’s head into the crook of his neck. Tears started pouring, and his whole expression crumbled in silent despair.

Finally, Mary could see traces of the son she rocked for hours during his earaches and colds. She could see crystal clear the day Dean’s little hand slipped from hers at the supermarket. Not once was she willing to admit it, but she never knew how much time had passed before she realized that her hand was hot and clammy only from the warm day. When she found him, he was sitting with the potted plants bawling his eyes out. That night he’d confessed that he thought he’d never see her ever again.

Here Dean was decades later, but Mary recognized the way his face was falling apart. It was no different.

“Dean, who is that?”

Like he just realized that she was there, Dean’s eyes snapped over to her. His mouth quivered. “He’s my…..” His grip on the creature tightened.

“He’s not human,” the words slipped from her lips. She was still finding it hard not to focus on the massive wings burned into the floor.

“He’s an angel,” Dean snapped forcefully. “Castiel….”

"Oh." The word punctured her chest. "He's Cas."

Her knees tried to buckle, but Mary's knuckles were white from holding onto the table so tightly. She'd only been here for a day, and she did this.

She couldn't look away. Dean rocked like he did the day he tore his knee open in the street. He clutched onto the angel for dear life like she did when she held John's lifeless body.

An icy feeling crept up her spine. The glazed look in his eyes never left her. As much as they disagreed and marched in different directions, her hand always ached for his. It throbbed now like it was seeking a lifeline that it was never going to find again. Especially now with angel blood crusting under her nails.

She needed space. Air. Something. Mary’s legs wobbled under her, but she pushed on ahead keeping a hand on the wall when she disappeared down the hall way. She needed the images cycling through her head to stop.

Mary breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the kitchen. The air felt cooler and less stifling. The hum of the refrigerator was familiar enough she could close her eyes a moment, leaning against the counter. She needed to get her head screwed on right.

There was nothing she could do for…...now, and if he wasn’t responsible for the mess and Sam’s disappearance, who was? Where did he go? Dean needed a clear head.

First things first, she needed to scrub her hands. The blood wasn’t too stained into her fingertips yet. A deep exhale left her slowly as the water ran clear down the drain. Glancing around, she spotted a pale yellow hand towel in reach. She dried her hands, stopping only to get a better look at the bee embroidered to the bottom of the towel. It was unexpected, but well made.

Tossing it aside on the counter, Mary turned the water back on. She leaned forward, ducking her head into the sink and taking a long drink. Once she felt more alert, she realized that Dean, like it or not, he was going to need some water.

Her hand shook carrying the glass while she retraced her steps. Mary wasn’t sure what she would find when she made it back. Holding her breath, she found Dean in the same spot. His eyes were squeezed shut, but his mouth was moving silently.

“Are you….praying?” Her head crooked to the side as she stopped with in reach of him. She felt antsy to be standing this close to the wings.

Dean opened his eyes. “Chuck’s put him back together before,” his voice croaked. She held the glass out, but he shook his head. “I don’t know why he’s taking so damn long to answer. I don’t know where he went with Amara.”

Mary placed the glass on the table. She heard that name before. “Amara’s the one that brought me back, right?”

“Yeah.”

Nodding, Mary crossed her arms. “How do we find Sammy?”

Dean’s mouth curled into a snarl. “I’ll find them, and they’ll pay for this.” His knees cracked and shook, but Dean stood up. He refused to let go of Cas.

Mary shot forward to help him, but the look in Dean’s eyes made her freeze. She watched him hobble out of the room. With one last look at the wings burned into the floor, she followed after him.

Gently, Dean laid the body down on a bed in what looked like an infirmary. He brushed some stray hairs presumably back into place and hesitated there, like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a quiet melody of music started playing.

Dean dug his hands into Cas’ jacket pockets until he found a small rectangular device. He stared at it forlornly. “No. No No….” His voice fell to a pained whisper as his eyes darted back to the body.

“What’s wrong?”

“The kid’s calling,” Dean’s voice broke. “H-how do I tell her….no.” He tapped something on the screen and pocketed the device. Rubbing his neck, he argued, “I’m not going to upset her when he’ll be back….He’ll be back.”

“He has a child?” Mary’s voice was practically non existent.

“It’s complicated.”

Silently, they walked back the way they came and Mary didn’t fail to notice the way Dean refused to look in the direction of the wings. He pulled out a chair and sat.

Every muscle in Mary’s body felt twitchy. Closing her eyes, she didn’t move from where she stood in the room. She longed for home.

Why was she even here? For what purpose? From the very moment she laid eyes on this...Dean, nothing felt right. And that made her feel worse. She loved John, and Sammy, and Dean. Looking at this man made her feel like she was about to combust.

And that’s not his fault. She knew that, but Mary also knew that she literally was plucked from 1983. This was wrong. It didn’t matter how much this Dean wanted her here. She needed to go home.

Opening her eyes, she saw Dean leaning an elbow on the table. Sternly, his eyes were coldly fixed into space. Another one of those odd rectangles, she assumed now was a phone, he had it pressed against his ear.

“Crowley,” his pain was masked well. “I-Yeah, I know. Not dead. Long story. Get Rowena and meet me at the bunker now.” He hit the screen and let the phone slide a ways on the table.

Mary eyed him carefully. Dean hid his face in his hands, leaning over the table. “So….” She felt utterly useless while Dean lowered a hand to meet her stare. “What now?”

“Just give it a-”

And suddenly, there were two new people in the room. Mary stared at them in shock while the woman smacked the man’s arm with her bag.

“There better be a bloody good reason-” The woman growled until she finally turned to see Dean at the table. “How are you alive?” She rushed forward and placed a hand on his chest. “Where’s the bomb? I did not mess that up. My work is impeccable.”

Dean slapped her hand away, and she rolled her eyes before focusing her attention on Mary. The man did too, but his mouth twisted into a sickening smile.

He turned his attention to Dean. “Now how on Earth did you manage to bring dear old mummy back?”

“Amara,” Dean answered. He pointed his thumb in the woman’s direction. “The bomb’s gone. Chuck and her worked their crap out. Then-” His eyes turned to Mary. “-she decided to leave me a gift and they left.”

The man took a few steps towards Mary. Observing her far too closely. “So…why are we here? Celebration perhaps? I’m afraid to tell you that we already dug into the booze shortly after we last saw you.”

The woman didn’t move from where she stood, but she did take in every detail of the room that she could see. Her posture stiffened. “Where’s Samuel?”

“That’s why I called-”

“We don’t know,” Mary answered, surprising herself. “We got here and….” She gestured at the room around them. “It appears that something happened. Sam’s gone.”

The man rolled his eyes. “So why are you moping around? Who else did you manage to piss off recently?” He made his way over to the shelves where he knew there would still be some bottles stashed. “You wouldn’t suppose Lucifer limped his way back from where ever Amara threw him?”

Dean shot out of his chair. His pleading gaze locked onto the woman. “Can you track Sam?”

“I suppose,” the woman started. She crossed her arms. “I don’t understand why you needed me for something that simple. I’m not an on call service, and Fergus can work a spell that elementary.”

The man didn’t even look at the bottle he plucked off the shelf, and he took a big swig. Glaring, he turned on his heels. “Mother dearest, my day to day schedule is a teensy bit busy. Remember? Being a King is a full time job!”

Mary couldn’t handle another word. Her head felt like it was spinning. “Dean, who are these people? How did they just...appear in the room with us?”

“Oh, sorry sweetie. I’m Rowena.” The woman stepped forward with a smile Mary didn’t trust for a second. “And...that’s Fergus.”

“Crowley,” he barked. “I’m the King of Hell, and that’s my rotten, bitch of a mother.” His eyes flashed red. “It’s lovely to finally make your acquaintance. Dean and I go way back. We-”

Dean’s phone clocked Crowley right in the temple. The phone clattered into the floor and Crowley looked mildly annoyed, rubbing the side of his head. “I get that your Moose is missing, but what the hell was that?”

He started crossing the room towards Dean, but the toe of his shoe stepped on something that rolled under it. He looked down, and his cool demeanor cracked. “Where’s Castiel?”

Dean turned to Rowena. “Can magic resurrect an angel?”

Several emotions – confusion, grief, fear, and curiosity – flashed across her face. “I don’t think anyone’s ever had reason to try.”

“But can you swing that kind of mojo?”

She reached forward and lightly patted Dean’s cheek. “My dear, I can swing anything, but it’d be new magic. Old magic, new technique…..something that’s never been done before. It’ll take time.”

Dean waved towards the bookshelves. “The bunker’s resources are yours.”

Rowena’s eyes lit up, and she gave Dean another pat. “I like you so much more when you and your brother aren’t trying to shackle me, or kill me.”

She bounced off towards the shelves, but stopped the moment her eye caught the wings. Rowena frowned, “He really was a pretty bird. It would have been nice to see his wings….in another circumstance.”

Ignoring that, Dean pointed at Crowley. “Spell. Now.”

After that, Mary could only hear static. It wasn’t until she saw Cas, bloody and dead, in the infirmary that she even knew that she left the room.

"It's horrible, isn't it?"

Startled, Mary flung around on her heels ready for combat, but the room was still empty. Goosebumps broke out across her skin. "Who's there?"

There was a click of a tongue behind her. "You Winchesters can't ever just let yourselves be happy?"

Mary saw a woman in the room with her now, standing next to the bed where Cas laid. Worried lines creased her forehead. Slowly, her eyes met Mary's.

"The name's Billie."

"What are you?" Mary could feel the skin on the back of her neck prickle.

"A reaper."

A small, pained laugh escaped Mary. Of course. Another monster.

Ever since she could remember, her parents prepared her for the world. Nothing was glossed over or simplified. The ways of hunting were straightforward. You save people. Mothers. Fathers. Daughters. Sons. Friends. Loved ones. They needed protection from the things that disrupted the natural order. It was a line drawn in the sand, and one she couldn't afford to touch.

And yet, she never planned on giving her boys that lesson. Any of it. She feared to ask that question burning in her gut: when did that change?

Her mind circled back to the strange mother son duo. And why were her boys involved with demons, and witches, and......angels?

The reaper's stern expression softened. Almost pitiful. "You don't belong here."

Mary crossed her arms, discretely eyeing the room for possible weapons. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to put out the fires. Someone has to try, at least."

"I don't understand."

"You," Billie answered simply. "Amara made a mistake."

Her heartbeat quickened. From fear or hope, she wasn't entirely sure. "Could you send me home to my boys?"

Billie frowned.

"I don't understand," said a different voice. And then a brunette woman materialized.

Mary took a step back. Mentally, she wasn't sure how far she could run before she could reach help.

Billie held her head up high. "Amara."

The woman looked at Billie strangely. "Why are you interfering with my gift? I wasn't expecting to over hear this when I was checking in."

"It was a poorly thought out gift." Billie pointed at Mary. "You can't steal a soul from Heaven and expect the world to continue down the same path. There are consequences."

There was all hot wave and then all bitter tang on Mary's tongue. She thinks she bit it. Billie's words were echoing in her head. Dean looked at her the way he did because........she never saw past 1983, didn't she?

"A small price to pay for a gift this sweet," Amara answered simply. "Losing her tore a hole in Dean that he has never been able to mend. He can now."

"He can't," Mary whispered. Her whole body was shaking. It took all her focus to keep hearing Billie and Amara's voices.

Amara's eyebrows pinched together. "I'm still learning to understand humans. I need more to follow."

"I'm not a mender." The words rolled off her tongue. "I was raised to hunt, and kill, and hide...." Her gaze fell to her hands. She could still feel the blood under her nails, weighing her down. "I tried to be different. To be normal, but I can't stop destroying, and losing, and failing everyone I love."

The look on Amara's face softened. She sighed, "The world is far different now I'm told. I did this for both of you. A second chance. Don't you want to know your son?"

"I know my Dean," Mary snapped. Her hands curled into fists as tears beaded in her eyes. "He's 4 years old with freckles on his arms. He likes to spin in circles while he sings. And he cries when he can't find the birds he can hear chirping outside his bedroom window."

There was a quiet pause while Mary took several deep breaths. The thump of her heart made her chest ache. She sniffled. "I know....I know across this bunker is.......he's a stranger. He's been through hell and back and I badly just want to run the other way when I see him. I want my boys. I want to go home."

"Do you understand, yet?" Billie spoke to Amara. "Humans aren't your toys. They're unpredictable. Complicated."

"I think I'm starting to understand," Amara said like she was only partially considering it. She crossed over to the bed. Her head tilted, and she frowned. "What happened to the angel? Dean's attachment to him was immeasurable. Terrifyingly powerful." Her lip twitched.

"Like I said," Billie answered. "There are consequences. It wasn't his time, and yet, he's gone." Her gaze slid over to Mary. "Her time ended decades ago, and yet, she breathes."

Amara looked at Mary carefully. "Why?"

"I didn't know what he was. I acted on instinct."

"And now your son is going to do something cosmically stupid to fix this."

Mary blinked. "He's gonna try, but it's not like he's gonna get anywhere. His plan A was prayer."

Billie's stare rolled over to Amara. "Consequences."

“Can’t either of you bring him back? Then no drastic measures would be taken,” she argued. Mary’s eyes rested on Cas. He might even know where to find Sammy.

Billie raised an eyebrow. “And that’s how we got here in the first place. Tearing holes in the natural order of things.”

“It would soothe things,” Amara said. “Get us past this snag.”

“No.” Billie’s gaze moved between the two women. “This goes far beyond poisoned gifts.”

A chill settled into Mary’s bones. “Yellow eyes. Bringing John back so I wouldn’t be alone.”

Billie smiled. “Precisely, and since then your family has torn hole after hole.”

Mary’s jaw clenched. “No.” The flash of yellow burned into her memory made her stomach revolt.

Sympathetic, Billie sighed. “You’re not the only one who made deals, and-”

“Let me be the last.”

“How so?” Amara asked, curious.

“I...I think I understand what you were trying to do,” Mary began. “But, I’ve only caused more pain being here. I can’t make him happy. I….I-” Her mouth trembled, trying to find the right words. “I’m barely holding myself together. From the moment you put me here….I…” She looked at Billie. “You’re right. I don’t belong here. I want to go home.”

Billie crossed the room, stopping directly in front of Mary. She held her eye. “There’s no home to go back to. Only memories. If you stay, this is it. This is home with the men your boys became.”

Mary’s breath got stuck in her throat. “Then my decision is made for me.” I can never go home. “Fix what I broke, please.” Her gaze moved to Amara. “Give Dean back his heart.” And then it slid back to Billie. “And I’ll go with you. Let things continue the way they were meant to.”

“And what stops your boys from tearing more holes in the future?”

Mary sighed, trying to understand the angel her son carefully laid in this room. She couldn’t imagine how they found each other, and how her son came to care about him so completely. Hopefully, he could forgive her one day. Both of them. “Tell Dean, that if him or his brother decide to play god and mess with the fabric of things again…..the price will be to kill the person they love most. The price will be blood.”

Billie arched her eyebrows. “Your boys are good at surprising me, but I think that’ll suffice.”

Frowning, Amara stepped forward. “Are you sure? Dean will be upset.”

“His feelings will pass, but my discomfort won’t if I stay. I’ll never stop wanting to claw my way back to my boys. And that’s not fair….to the men that they are now.” She hung her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “And he’ll never forgive me for killing….”

“I’m sorry,” Amara said, and she sounded like she meant it. “Would it be alright if I visited your Heaven one day? I’d like to understand, and...I’d like to meet your boys.”

She wasn’t exactly sure what Amara meant by ‘your Heaven’ but she nodded.

Amara smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

“Are you ready?” Billie asked resting a hand on her arm.

Exhaling, Mary nodded. Surprisingly, the reaper’s touch was grounding. This was the calmest her mind felt in years. “Let’s go,” she said, closing her eyes.

Behind her, Mary heard a baby’s cry. Turning around, she was in her kitchen. The afternoon sun warmed her hair and her son stared at her from his highchair. Her mouth curled into a smile. “Sammy, there you are.”

[bondsmagii]

same person who asked about spelunking (sorry i binge your blog every now and then and keep finding things i wanna hear about this time!) But you mentioned one of your most terrifying experiences involved dolls, I'd love to hear about it if youre comfortable :>?

oh it's fine, don't worry! I can always appreciate a good old fashioned bit of curiosity. I suppose it's only fair that with all the creepy experiences I take from other people, I finally give a statement of my own. buckle up, though, because this one is a long one.

So, this all happened in 2011-2012, and it began in Belfast, Ireland. A friend of mine, Caoimhe, had started studying at Queen’s University, and she had moved in to student accommodation in the student district nearby. I was studying in Scotland at the time, but thankfully the summer and winter holidays provided me with three months off each, so I would frequently return back to Ireland and catch up with the people who’d stayed there. Caoimhe’s place, being situated in the city and in a university district, was obviously the place to hang out and party, but before I even arrived Caoimhe warned me that the place was… odd. Now, as anyone who’s ever met me knows, I absolutely love creepy stuff and I have a tendency to bring it out in places and in people; naturally I asked for details, but Caoimhe said she wanted to see what I thought when I got there. Considering I was going to be there that evening, I was able to have a modicum of patience.

I get there in the late afternoon. It’s summer and everything is still bright and lively, and the street looks normal. Parking is only on one side of the street; on the other side is a row of buildings, three floors high. Most of them are split into houses, but there are a few businesses there, too – a nursery school, a hairdresser’s, that kind of thing. I get out of the car and go and knock on Caoimhe’s door, which is between two businesses. She opens the door, and immediately tells me she cannot wait to hear what I think of the place. I have no idea what to expect, because Caoimhe was always the sceptical one and it takes a lot to get her even remotely excited about anything spooky, but I realised what she meant within about five minutes of being in the house.

It was the weirdest layout of any house I have ever seen.

Upon entering, I was in a small porch area. Going through the interior door brought me to the bottom of a set of stairs; to the right was a short hallway, containing a bedroom and, at the end of it, a spacious kitchen. Going up the stairs, I came to a small bathroom on the half-landing; turning and ascending the second flight brought me to a small landing area and, directly opposite, a colossal living room. Turning up yet another flight of stairs and there was a larger bathroom on the half-landing, practically industrial – like a large school changing room. There were about eight showers all lined up in cubicles, toilets lined up in other cubicles, and a row of old, almost Victorian-looking sinks. There was no door to the bathroom, either. Just an open archway leading to tiles that looked as though they should be on a factory floor in the early twentieth century. After this, there was another flight of stairs and then a small landing, this time with nothing ahead of it but, to my left, a long hallway. I mean, a long hallway. The longest hallway I’ve ever seen in any residential building, ever, in my life. It went on, and on, and on. From beginning to end, at a normal walking pace, it took about two minutes to walk. There were other doors, but they were few and far between. Only three people lived on that floor, and the hallway just stretched endlessly on. Caoimhe, of course, lived in the absolute furthest room from the stairs. We walked, passing the occasional door, under dim, flickering lightbulbs high up in the ceiling. We had long since walked past the original house we had entered. We were probably almost entirely down the street by this point. There were no windows at all.

Finally, we get to Caoimhe’s room. It’s practically at the end of the hall; in front of us is a dead end, and a fire escape that cannot exist. All of the buildings on this street are terraced, which means that joining on to this wall should be the next building. There were no alleyways separating any of the buildings at street level – they were all side by side, sharing a wall. I asked Caoimhe about it and she just shrugged, and then pointed to the wall opposite her door. There was another door there, cheaply made, not a fire door like the doors to the bedrooms. It also didn’t fit properly, leaving a small gap and a cool breeze drifting out from between the wood and the frame. I, of course, stuck my eye to the gap and peered in. I could make out nothing aside from swirling dust and the faint outline of the first few steps of another set of stairs. Upon my asking, Caoimhe told me she didn’t know where it went to, and that she and some of the others had tried to prise the door open but given up when it wouldn’t budge. They had even asked the university’s residential services about it, but were told that it didn’t belong to them as tenants and it was best to leave it alone.

As I mentioned before – Caoimhe is not really interested in messing around with this kind of stuff. Practically minded, she spent her time dealing in the tangible, and as a nursing student she had precious little free time. What free time she did have she enjoyed spending drinking, and annoying me by doing lines of cocaine off my books. I love her dearly, but you have to understand that mysteries like this do not interest her at all, but they drive me mad. From the moment I saw that door, I suppose my fate was sealed. In the old refrain of many sorry souls before me, I had to know.

The first few nights I was there was admittedly spent partying and catching up, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. I split my time between staying with Caoimhe and staying with an ex-boyfriend of mine, Brian, who lived about half a mile away in another part of the university district. I was at his place when I got a call from Caoimhe at about two in the morning, telling me that some weird shit was going down and I had to come see. I, of course, ran over there as quickly as possible, to find the house in uproar. Aside from one girl on the ground floor, everyone else lived in the Endless Hallway – all three of them – and they were all out of their rooms and standing in a strange section of the hall about two thirds up. Here, two rooms were located, the doors to which were set back in a little alcove. Opposite this alcove was another fire door that had to lead to nowhere, that I admittedly had not noticed before. I stared at it, confused, and then I was temporarily comforted when Gemma, once of Caoimhe’s housemates, asked me if I hadn’t noticed it before, either. I absolutely had not, and the general consensus was that nobody had noticed this fire escape. It was very difficult to miss, too – it was silver, with the green sign for a fire escape on it, but strangely there was no way to open it from this side. It was just a smooth door – no handle, no push bar, nothing. Being a fire escape door, it should have had a push bar and swung open into the stairwell or hallway beyond, to prevent it from being blocked from opening by a crowd of people trying to escape, but there was nothing. It was like looking at a fire escape door from the outside. Everyone agreed that it could not have been there before; Gemma and Ashley, the girl in the room next to her, were absolutely adamant they would have noticed it, considering it was right opposite their doors; Caoimhe admitted that she probably wouldn’t have noticed it because she wasn’t in the habit of noticing every door she walked by, but she did admit that the colour would have made it hard to miss. I, of course, amin the habit of looking out for such details, precisely for reasons like this, so I had definitely not noticed the door before.

I asked how they had noticed, and Gemma said that she had heard running footsteps in the hallway going back and forth for some time, and as she’d been trying to sleep she had opened her door to tell whoever it was to knock it off. She had found the hallway dark, and the door opposite hers. She had understandably been freaked out by this and banged on Ashley’s door, and the commotion had drawn Caoimhe into the mix whereupon she had said she knew a guy who absolutely had to see this shit and called me. She was correct, and I duly stayed the rest of the night to see if anything else happened. Nothing did, and aside from the extra door that had materialised in the hallway, things were calm for another week.

When it all kicked off again, I was staying over after another heavy night partying. Caoimhe and I were passed out in her room when we were both woken up by an incredibly loud crash. Before we could work out what had happened, lights went on in the hallway outside and we heard Gemma start screaming, and I mean reallyscreaming. Caoimhe and I jumped up and ran out into the hall, sprinting the distance between Caoimhe’s door and the alcove, and there we found Gemma hiding behind her own door and the fire door opposite wide open. It had been flung open so wide that it had crashed against and dented the wall it was on. Ashley was looking at it, dumfounded; Gemma could barely watch. Caoimhe was also not being much help, so – bound by insatiable curiosity and an extreme lack of self-preservation that for me is so often co-morbid with said curiosity – I went forward to investigate. I noticed that the door seemed old, like it had perhaps been rusted in place; beyond it there was nothing but darkness, and cold air moved out of the passage with enough speed that I felt a strong breeze. I had my phone, so I turned it on to use it as a light, seeing that beyond the door was a short landing and then a set of stairs. I went to the wooden railing at the top and shone the phone down, seeing that the stairs appeared to keep going in a half-flight, small landing, half-flight pattern. The stairs were all wooden, and in bad condition. With the girls still nervously watching, I descended the first flight and then turned to look at the next one. It smelled stale now, and slightly damp; I put the brightness of my screen up and saw, arranged neatly at the end of each step, there was an item of children’s belongings – a toy, or a teddy bear. They were all arranged very precisely, one on each stair, all the way down as far as I could see. Where the light gave out, the darkness was so black it seemed to have a solid weight. I decided I was not going down there without a proper light, and as I didn’t yet have one, I retreated back up the stairs. We closed the door over, but it would no longer fit in its frame; a chair was dutifully carried all the way up from the distant kitchen and put in front of it.

I quickly discovered something even odder about that staircase. Probably to the surprise of nobody, it shouldn’t exist. The floors directly below us should have been a hairdresser’s; there was no space for a stairwell and no way to exit on the ground floor. I went outside and checked both the front and the back of the building, and no doors opened anywhere near where the stairs should have come out. There was just no possible way for it to fit, and no point to it being there. It was a dead end in dead space.

Now we get to the truly terrifying part. For several weeks the place seemed to be fine, just the kind of regular haunting I was used to but that the others understandably found concerning. Cold spots, weird noises, strange atmospheres, feelings of being watched… that kind of thing. It made me increasingly uneasy in one particular spot of the house, though. There was one other mystery door that led to a mystery staircase, and that was the strange, out-of-place door opposite Caoimhe’s room. I figured that there was a chance that that door shouldn’t be there, either – like the fire escape, it was a different kind of door to the others, and also like the fire escape, it didn’t quite fit into its frame. I tried multiple times to get in to the staircase beyond, but the door would absolutely not shift and every time I tried, I would soon have to retreat because of an overwhelming sense of sadness and dread. I’ve always been highly sensitive to the paranormal, and anyone who has spent any amount of time with me has seen some inexplicable stuff go down; something I’m known for is knowing things I shouldn’t be able to know. I either just know them – they just arrive in my head full-formed and I know that it’s the truth – or they come to me in dreams. These dreams stand out from the other dreams because they’re incredibly realistic, and even in the dream I know that they’re something else entirely. I’m either myself in the dream, moving around and discovering things on my own, or I’m watching as somebody else does it, silently observing and, unusually for my dreams, with no amount of lucidity at all. I suppose, with all my banging around trying to get up those stairs, I must have finally tapped in to whatever it was that would allow me to know what was beyond it, because shortly afterwards I experienced the worst instance of this of my life.

By this point, I was back at university. I hadn’t thought too much about it all in any detail because classes had started again and I was still exhausted from driving all my stuff back over, getting the ferry, unpacking… moving every three months was a bit of a drag. Despite this, when the dream started, I immediately knew where I was. The building felt different, and all the lights were dimmed to the point they were barely worth being on, but I knew I was back in Caoimhe’s flat and I also knew that it was years before anybody moved in. I stood there and watched as a woman walked towards me down the long, endless hallway. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties, and her hair was a mess. Her face was blotchy and her eyes red; she was still crying as she walked past me. I knew that she was moving out, that this was the final walk-through; suddenly I was the person who was moving in, and I was being handed the keys, and the estate agent was saying that the place was mine and that the agreement still stood: I was allowed to do anything with the place and the price would stay low, so long as I obeyed the wishes of the previous owners and kept the top floor as it was and in good order. I agreed and then I was alone in the hallway.

I immediately walked to the end of the hallway, past the room that was Caoimhe’s when I had known the place, and to the door opposite. The wood looked newer now, and when I pushed it, it swung open noiselessly and without resistance. I walked up a neat set of wooden stairs and the light was warm, sunset-orange. I emerged from the staircase and found myself in a lovely attic room, the sun setting through a large dormer window opposite. The room was a beautifully decorated nursery, with a small bed under the window and a dresser, a toy box, a rug on the ground littered with toys. I looked around, touching the small hairbrush on the dresser, seeing the little blonde hairs entwined in it; on the nightstand next to the bed was a picture of the crying woman I had seen earlier, happy now, holding a smiling little girl of about two or three months in her arms. I stared at this picture for a long time, feeling a growing sense of sadness that deepened into dread. I felt paralysed, unable to turn and leave even as the dread grew and I wanted to more than anything; instead of running, a sudden urge to sleep came over me. I staggered to the small bed, curled up to fit, and immediately passed out.

When I woke, I was on my back and the room was dark. There was enough moonlight that I could see the glint of the picture frame beside me. Immediately I was gripped by terror – I was aware, even then, that I do not sleep in my dreams. I can do a lot of things that most people can’t – I die in my dreams, I read and write in my dreams, I see my reflection in mirrors in my dreams – but I do not sleep. I decided to sit up and see if any of my usual tricks for waking myself would work, but before I could move I felt something shifting in the bed beside me. It was solid and firm and cold; it pressed itself against me with plastic smoothness and then shifted, part of it bending. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something sitting up in the bed beside me. I told myself not to look at it, but of course I did. Sitting next to me in bed was a baby, but at the same time it was a doll. It had the plastic look to it, the strange texture of the hair, the glassy eyes – but at the same time its face moved, its limbs moved, and around the eyes and mouth there was a slight discrepancy, like the whole thing was a plastic mask forced into the flesh of the face. I stared at it, mute, too stunned to do anything, and then the baby doll opened its mouth, revealing sharp, pin-like teeth, far too many of them – and it began to cry.

I have never heard a sound like it and I never wish to again. It was a cry so piercing it was painful; it was a sound meant to terrify. It rose the same dread in me as I imagine people felt when they woke to hear air raid sirens in the dead of night; the distant thud of falling bombs. It was all I could hear and it was all I became. It inspired a blind terror in me that I have rarely known; I wasn’t human as I launched myself from that bed. I was a prey animal in flight, I was running for my life. I jumped from the bed and before I could hit the ground I awoke, miles away, in my dorm room in Scotland – but something was on the bed beside me. I sat up, turned, and the doll was there. It looked at me, grinned, and opened its mouth. Then it started screaming again.

I want to say that’s the moment I woke up for real, but I was awake. That thing was beside me in bed, still screaming, and I was awake enough to panic, to roll out of bed, to stand up, to stare in frozen horror for several seconds, and then to reach out blindly until I managed to turn the lamp on. The room filled with light and still the doll remained, for three or four seconds, still crying that horrible sound, and then it faded. The sound faded with it, gradually, until I could only see an outline on the air, and then it was gone. I did not sleep for the rest of that night. For the rest of the semester, I only slept in the daylight.

I never returned to Caoimhe’s house. I have my answers, which is something, but I do not exaggerate when I say that the cost was far more than I anticipated I would have to pay, and that something of that experience has forever stuck with me. Even now, a decade later, I go to bed every night with the fear that I might wake up in that hallway again, the door at the end of it – and the knowledge that I will go to it, step into the sunset-orange of the space beyond, and go back up those stairs.

[just-my-fandom]

One After Another (Cisco Ramon x Allen! Reader)

Chapter 3

Summary; Cisco questions quitting the team after Reader was attacked. Reader has nightmares of the attack.

Takes place in Season 5 Episode 5 and 6

Warning(s); Mentions of miscarriages. Nightmares.

Tag list; @thebloodrobin @badasspolygenderfriend

Story list; Chapter 1 , Chapter 2

. . .

When you wake up, the apartment is eerily quiet. Usually it wouldn’t be a problem for you- but now that you have an infant- it startles you to climb out of bed and rush to the nursery across the hall.

When you find that Dante’s crib in empty, you feel your chest tighten, looking over your shoulder as you move back to the hallway, and to the kitchen, “Cisco?!”

“Morning!” Cisco greets you almost instantly with a kiss to your temple, your eyes moving around him to see Dante holding younger him, bouncing in small circles so young Dante giggled and grabbed for his shirt,

“Why didn’t you tell me he was up?” You breathe, hand at your chest, “I almost had a heart attack,”

“Easy, mami,” Cisco soothes, handing you a glass of (favorite/drink), “He got up early, and I figured you were still exhausted from yesterday so Dante and I already got him up for you,”

“Thanks,” You murmur, Cisco humming as he kisses your lips, turning to Dante now looking at his phone,

“It’s Sherloque,” Dante rolls his eyes, almost instantly so does Cisco, “We’re needed at the labs,”

“Are you gonna be okay here without me?” Cisco asks, and you smile, taking the infant from Dante with a nod,

“Gotta get used to being with him alone anyways,” You remind, “Stay safe, and Caitlins been having some struggles with her dad. Help her?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Cisco nods, pecking your lips before moving to the door, Dante waving over his shoulder before youre left in silence again,

“Okay,” You heave, looking down at the babbling boy, “What to do...”

. . .

“Well, well, well. Liquid nitrogen,”

Cisco shines his flashlight towards Sherloques voice, stepping up next to him to the giant container, “That’s a potent accelerant, is it not? Oh this place it would have gone up,”

“So all my fathers work is completely gone?”

“Well, not necessarily,” Ralph speaks, “I mean, think about it. Police listed this fire as accidental, but they didn’t know about the connect to your father, so,”

“Ralph, my father told me to come find him,”

“I know that, but a guy who disappears on the night of a warehouse fire and who’s hard to find?”

Ralph pauses when finding a box, lifting it and setting it on the table. Within seconds, Sherloque scoffs in addition to Ralph starting an argument on Caitlins mother,

“Alright!” Cisco shouts, pushing past Ralph to grab the lid of the box, “Give me this!”

The three are forced to watch as their friends nose begins to bleed, body collapsing almost instantly so Caitlin gasped, rushing for her friend on the floor of the factory, “Cisco?”

. . .

“While you were unconscious, I scanned your wounds. There are still trace amounts of aluminum beryllium alloy fused within your hands,” Caitlin turns to Cisco on the med bed next to her, her friend running a hand down his face with a large sigh,

“See, this is- this is what I need,” Cisco laughs, irritably, “I just need rest,”

“No, Cisco, rest is not going to fix this, okay? Every time you vibe or breach, the dark matter is going to affect your central nervous system, causing you more and more pain, every time you cube, you are going to experience more and more seizures,”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Cisco asks, loudly, sitting up so he could stare at Caitlins startled expression. He sighs and rests his head in his hands, fingers knotting into his dark locks,

“Y/N woke up from a nightmare last night,” He starts, voice quiet as he lifts his head and looks at his hands, “Of when Cicada attacked her at home yesterday, of her going into labor early. She was scared, Caitlin, because I wasn’t there and she was focused on whether or not I’d make it to see our son,”

“But she made it through it, because she’s strong,” Caitlin reassures, Cisco swallowing and shaking his head,

“But what if I hadn’t had made it?” Cisco asks, now looking up his best friend, “What if Y/N had Dante, and learned that I didn’t make it? It would have crushed her, Cait, you know that,”

“I do know that,” Caitlin nods, hand on Cisco’s knee, “When you and her were thinking of baby names, she chose the name Dante for your brother. When future Dante came, she didn’t complain of the fact that Dante looks exactly like you. When she found out Dante has her powers, she secretly wished he was a breacher like you. Because she wanted Dante to grow up to be the man you are today,”

“Y/Ns terrified of her not regaining her powers,” Cisco murmurs, curling his fingers, “She depends on her powers just as much as we all do, Nora said she’d gain them back, but, with the timeline changing and Dante being here a month early-,”

“Like you told her yesterday,” Caitlin reminds, “Her body is still healing from child birth. Both you and her need to trust the process of time,”

Cisco nods, biting his lip to calm his nerves.

. . .

When you wake up again, it’s at two in the morning and in desperate need for air. You find yourself sitting up, only sparing your sleeping husband a glance before you climb out of bed, edging towards the nursery for the third time that night.

Your footsteps are light as they move from hardwood to carpet, your hand tucking hair behind your ear as you lean over the crib, eyes staring at the bundled infant silently in slumber,

A moments pause before a hand touches your arm, a startled yelp escaping your lips so another hand covered your mouth, your eyes flicking up to Cisco’s face shining from the windows moonlighting,

Your brows furrow as you hit his chest, glancing back over to the infant in fear he had awoken, but Cisco is quietly leading you out into the hallway, his own brows pinched with worry,

“Why did you scare me?” You hiss in a whisper, hitting his chest again but then resting your hand in that spot, fingers clutching at his shirt,

“What’re you doing up again?” He whispers back, watching your held tilt towards the nursery, before his hand slides up to your jaw, guiding your eyes back to his in the dark, “Hey,” He murmurs, second hand mirroring the first on your face, “What’s going through your head?”

You clench your jaw and let your eyes flutter shut, opening them so you met Cisco’s eyes, “I had the nightmare again,” You swallow, “But this one was different,”

“How?” Cisco questions,

“I-,” You shrug, blinking so Cisco felt a tear touch his thumb, where he rubs the skin, soothingly, “In this nightmare Dante didn’t survive, him coming early caused complications,”

You sniffle, Cisco shushing you as he pulls you to his front, hand sliding to clutch at your hair,

“Hey,” Cisco whispers, your eyes shutting as you tuck your head under his chin, “We’re okay, baby. All of us,”

“But you almost weren’t,” You remind, Cisco’s eyes shutting as he exhales, “I could have lost either one of you,”

“But you didn’t,” Cisco reminds back, tilting his head down so you looked up, “You’ve got us,”

“Promise?” You plea, Cisco smiling with a nod, his lips pressing against yours, hand at your hip, tightly,

“I promise,” He murmurs, letting you lean back into him before he kisses your head, guiding you to the bedroom footsteps away.

When you wake up the fourth time, you decide sleep wasn’t your friend and settled in the living room, tea in one hand and phone in the other. Four AM. Dante would be waking up soon. Cisco eventually, too.

Your mind drifts back to the nightmares. All four times, all four nightmares were different. Cicada attacking. Early labor. Dante not surviving. Cisco not surviving.

Lucid dreams weren’t common during your pregnancy. You wondered if it was an after effect of pregnancy for you, or if Cicada attacking really took a toll on you.

You hear Cisco before you see him, his figure soon sinks down onto the couch beside you, and in silent motions, he allows you to set down your mug and press yourself against him, his arms tight around your shoulders,

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His whisper is almost ghost like, one leg spread across the couch as the other hung off the side, your body settled between and against his chest,

A small exhale, and you let your ear rest on his chest, “You didn’t make it,”

Cisco’s hand slides up your back and caresses the back of your head, in silence pressing short, slow kisses to your temple and ear,

“You know I’m not leaving, babe,”

“I know,” You murmur, nodding, “I just don’t know why I keep having these nightmares,”

“We can ask Caitlin,” Cisco hums, “See if it’s really an after effect,”

You nod a second time, allowing your body to relax as your eyes flutter shut, breaths evening out. Dante’s short cry causes you to jump, head shooting up to look over the couch, where Cisco sits up, hands on your hips,

“I got him, don’t worry,” He soothes, and you move to sit back in your previous spot, “Finish your tea,”

Your eyes watch as he disappears around the corner, sighing into your cup as you take a needed sip of the warm beverage.

. . .

“Cisco?” Said male looks up at Caitlins call, her and Barry staring at him in concern, “You okay, bud?”

Cisco’s hand runs down his face, elbow propped on his chair in thought, “What if I took a break?” At Caitlins head tilt, he exhales, “From the team?”

“Cisco Ramon,” Your appearance behind him causes him to turn around, sharply. Dante was not with you- Joe and Cecile had suggested a play date day for him and Jenna, “I’m not letting you do that,”

“Y/N,” Cisco sighs, and you shake your head, moving to stand next to Caitlin in front of him,

“No. Cisco, aside from Dante and I, this team is the most important thing to you. I’m not going to let you walk away from it because of my problems,” You hold a finger, “And I know that’s why you’re thinking this,”

“I just don’t want to be the cause of your nightmares,” Cisco states, and you close your eyes, looking down,

“Cisco, whether you’re on the team or not, I’m always going to worry about you, and them,” You nod to Barry and Caitlin, “The past four years, Barry was the pinpoint of my worry. Scared he would end up like our parents. Dante was born, he’s now the center of my worry. I’m always going to be worried- now with metas in Central City, how can I not be?”

You shake your head, “The point is, I’m not letting you leave this team. No questions asked,”

Barry smiles when Cisco leans his head against his chair and looks up at you, patting Caitlins shoulder so she nodded for him to follow her to her lab,

Cisco pushes up from his chair and rounds the control panel, arms wrapping around you, tightly, “I love you. You know that, right?”

“Always,” You smile and look up at him, Cisco cupping your face with a light laugh,

“Let’s catch Cicadas ass,”

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 35: Le Protecteur

Chapter 34

Read on AO3

November 15, 1752

Another shriek from Jenny pierced the air, and she bore down fiercely on Claire’s hand.

“There you go,” Claire soothed. “Good, good.”

“Ye’re almost there, Mistress,” the midwife assured. “Few more pushes should do it.”

“Christ…” Jenny groaned in pained exhaustion, throwing her head back. “He’ll...he’ll be alright, won’t he…?”

“Of course he will,” Claire assured her, though her heart clenched even as she did. “You’re fit as a fiddle this time around, and it’s been a quick delivery. Everything will be fine.”

Before Jenny could answer, she was seized by another contraction. Claire was not lying; the odds were certainly more in their favor for this pregnancy. But the terror of burying another child was at the forefront of everyone’s minds, no matter how different the circumstances were.

When Jenny collapsed onto Claire again, a loud bang abruptly sounded, causing Claire to jump violently.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

Before Claire could get up and run to the window, Jenny screamed again, squeezing the life out of Claire’s hand.

“Here he comes, Mistress!”

With a final shrieking howl, the midwife was catching a baby, who immediately started wailing.

Thank the Lord.

“What a braw wee laddie!” the midwife exclaimed.

“He’s alright, Jenny…” Claire breathed, tears gathering in her eyes. 

The midwife brought him before them, squalling and squirming, and Jenny chuckled breathily.

“He’s alright,” she confirmed, taking him in her arms with a heavenly sigh and pressing him into her breast. “And he’s feeding.”

Claire laughed out loud, wrapping her arms around Jenny’s shoulders and leaning her cheek into her head.

“Time we named one after the one that sired them, eh?” Jenny said, stroking his tiny cheek with her finger.

“Wee Ian,” Claire said, trying it out.

“Aye. My sweet wee lad.” She fervently kissed the crown of his head, and Claire kissed Jenny’s head as well.

Thank you God.

Jenny was moved into the bed, and wee Ian was properly cleaned and thoroughly inspected.

“He’s perfect, Jenny. He really is.” Claire was pacing the Laird’s room with him, drugged with sleep after his feeding, beaming down at him. “Perfectly healthy, and perfectly sweet.”

“Maggie’ll be over the moon,” Jenny said, leaning heavily into the pillows. “She’s been dying to hold a wee bairn again.”

“Little Jamie will be very happy, too,” Claire said softly, brushing at the little button nose on the baby. After the heartache the boy felt after losing his baby sister, the sight of a healthy wee brother would surely bring him joy.

“Shall I go fetch the children? I think the girls are just up in the nursery.”

Claire meandered into the hall, bouncing the little bundle and cooing at him. Suddenly there was another loud bang, a different sound than the last. It was the front door, followed by the clomping of several boots. Claire was reminded of the sound she’d heard just before Ian’s arrival: a sound that was most definitely a gunshot.

“Find the weapon!”

Why on Earth had someone been firing a weapon in the first place?

“Where is your mistress?” one of the soldiers demanded, and Claire saw that young Jamie, Fergus, and Rabbie were all struck dumb in the parlor below. Claire swallowed and hurried back into the Laird’s room as a small hoard of footsteps clambered up the stairs.

“You three search the rooms downstairs. MacGregor, come with me.”

Claire’s insides burned with hatred at the sound of the name, a Scottish Redcoat that had graced them with his presence a few times already. He was a thoroughly disgusting human being, with no respect for anyone, including himself if he could stoop so low as to betray his own people.

Captain Lewis strode in, followed by the traitor in question. Claire took several quick steps backward, flattening herself into the wall between the windows and pressing Ian’s face into her breast.

“Where’s the weapon?” Captain Lewis demanded

“Weapon? We have no weapons here, Captain,” Jenny said, clutching the blankets to her.

“My scouts heard a shot from the vicinity of this estate,” Captain Lewis went on as Corporal MacGregor emptied the wardrobe of linens and clothing. “So I ask again. Where are you hiding the weapon?”

“I canna answer fer what yer scouts heard, but I’ll tell ye again, I dinna know of any weapons here,” Jenny said, her voice calm and even. “We’d never risk such a thing.”

“I remind you, Madam, that as an officer of his Majesty’s Army, I am obliged to search this house should I have the slightest suspicion that the act of proscription has been breached.” MacGregor continued to clatter about, emptying the trunk at the foot of the bed and throwing its contents about the room. “And we will continue to do so until you comply with my request.”

Jenny’s eyes were wide with fear, but she steeled herself to continue. Corporal MacGregor tossed aside Jenny’s bed covers without a thought, exposing her wearing only a shift after having just given birth. “Captain,” she stammered, scrambling to cover herself up. “I have cooperated with every request made by His Majesty’s soldiers.”

Captain Lewis turned slowly to face Claire, who, upon instinct, pressed the baby further into her chest. His eyes swept the room, taking in the bloody rags and the hay in front of the fireplace.

“Have you just delivered this child, Madame?” he said over his shoulder to Jenny, keeping his eyes boring into Claire.

“Aye.”

“Is this the midwife, then?” the Captain sneered.

“No, sir. That is my cousin. Elizabeth Fraser,” Jenny said. “She always comes by to help wi’ a birth. She’s a healer, ye see.”

Captain Lewis was newly promoted. This was his first time paying a visit to Lallybroch, but of course he’d been told the suspicions of the two captains that came before him. The Fraser cousin and the red-haired child were certainly no secret, suspicious though they were.

Corporal MacGregor was suddenly tugging on Ian’s swaddle, and Claire fiercely tightened her grip on the child, shooting daggers at the Corporal.

“Hiding the pistol in there, are ye?” the man spat.

“It’s my child, Captain!” Jenny cried. “Please, dinna hurt him!”

MacGregor dug both hands around the little bundle, and Claire went blind with rage and fear.

“Corporal — ” Captain Lewis warned, but it was too late. Claire growled and yanked back on Ian, and then fiercely spit right into the Corporal’s face.

You’ll not harm another child I love as long as I live.

Claire panted heavily, like a fierce animal ready to kill for its young. MacGregor’s face was red with anger as he slowly and deliberately wiped Claire’s spit from between his eyes. Before another thought crossed Claire’s mind, he wound up his hand and brought it hard across her cheek with a loud slap, sending her tumbling to the floor.

Claire’s vision was blurry and her ears were ringing. She only vaguely registered Jenny’s cry of fear and Ian’s wailing; it all sounded like it was underwater. She blinked dumbly and curled herself around the baby as MacGregor wound his foot back to deliver a blow.

“Corporal!” Captain Lewis barked. “That’s enough.”

Claire was trembling, unable, in her dazed state, to stop frightened tears from spilling out of her.

“Here’s the pistol, Captain,” Mary MacNab’s voice floated into Claire’s hazy subconscious, and she picked her trembling head up to see that Mary had entered the room.

Corporal MacGregor marched over to her and seized a pistol from her hands. “ ’Tis mine.”

“Yours?” Captain Lewis said, skeptical.

“It belonged to my late husband, Ronald. It was the only thing I had left of him, so I kept it. It gave me comfort. Mistress Murray knew nothing of it.”

Claire finally gained enough of her senses to sit up and began hearing more clearly again. She bounced the screaming child in her arms, rubbing his back soothingly.

“And what occasion did you have to fire it?”

“I saw a raven land near the house while Milady was delivering her child. So I shot it dead.”

Claire felt liquid trickling above her lip, and upon touching under her nose, discovered that the blow the Corporal delivered had given her a bloody nose.

“Just one of their foolish Highland superstitions, Sir. Believing a common bird can bring ill luck,” MacGregor said, his voice thick with disgust. “Shall I take her into custody, Captain?” He roughly seized Mary by the arm, and she gasped, breathing raggedly.

Captain Lewis narrowed his eyes at her for several lingering seconds before answering. “We have the weapon. She’s no threat.”

Mary sighed with relief.

“But I warn you once more, Madam,” the Captain said, walking right up to Jenny’s bedside. “If another violation occurs, there will be no mercy.”

The Captain stormed out of the room, and MacGregor roughly threw Mary onto the bed. MacGregor made to leave the room, but he stopped, turning around to lay his beady eyes upon Claire, still curled into herself on the floor. He took menacing steps toward her and bent from the waist until she could smell his vulgar breath.

“I know ye’re a Jacobite hoor,” he hissed. “Ye may have everyone else fooled, but no’ me.” Claire’s chest heaved as she stared him down, blood from her nose running over her tight lips.

“Corporal! If you please!”

He straightened out at the sound of his Captain’s voice, but before he turned to leave, he delivered a final blow to Claire, stomping mercilessly onto her stomach.

Claire doubled over again, crumbling into the floor as she began sputtering with wheezing coughs, and yet never losing her grip on the baby. Mary scrambled across the room as MacGregor left, hastily taking the baby in her arms and delivering him to Jenny before dropping to the floor beside Claire.

“Mistress? Are ye alright?”

Ian quieted as Jenny brought him to her breast. “Sister? Can ye speak?” Her voice was pitched high with fear.

Claire continued coughing until her face was burning, and then she took a heaving breath that rattled her entire body.

“That’s it, Mistress. Breathe…” Mary soothed, dabbing at the blood on her face and smoothing some frazzled curls away from her face. “She’s just had the wind knocked out of her,” Mary said to Jenny. “She needs to breathe a moment, is all.”

Breathe she did, heaving and wheezing on the floor until she stopped seeing stars. When she finally felt air filling her lungs again, she reached her trembling hands toward Mary, and she helped her into a sitting position, leaning her against the wall again.

“Shall I fetch ye some water, Mistress?” Mary asked, and Claire nodded.

“Cold…rag...” she stammered. She gestured to her face, where already an angry bruise was blossoming.

“Aye, Mistress.” Mary scuttled off.

Claire looked up at Jenny from her position on the floor, new tears forming in her eyes.

“He’s alright, sister,” Jenny said. “Just a bit shaken up. Ye protected him jest fine.”

Claire sighed with relief, resting her head on the wall behind her and forcing herself to breathe deeply. 

“Maman!”

Claire picked her head up and focused her bleary vision on a brown curly mop as it rushed toward her.

“I have brought you water. Mary MacNab is fetching the cold compress,” Fergus said handing her a glass. “Are you alright?”

In the corner of her eye, Claire could see wee Jamie had followed closely behind his cousin, and he was now sitting on the bed beside his mother, holding his new brother.

“I’m...I’m fine…” Claire said breathily, taking a grateful sip of the water.

“They beat you!” Fergus said, his face scrunching up with rage. “I will kill them!”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Claire said firmly, putting a hand on his knee.

“They are cowards! To beat a woman bloody! I will kill them!”

“Stop it,” Claire said, her breath returning to her enough to raise her voice. “That’s enough.”

“You are my mother and I must defend your honor,” Fergus spat, and Claire almost jumped. She’d never heard him raise his voice in this manner, never seen him so red in the face. “If they ever touch you again…”

He began slewing through all sorts of French profanities, some of which Claire could not even understand.

“Fergus!” Claire interrupted. “That’s enough. There’s a newborn in the room. Either calm yourself down right now or blow off some steam outside.”

Still red in the face, Fergus huffed impatiently and stood up, nearly bumping into Mary MacNab and her bucket of water on his way out of the room.

Claire sighed, exhausted, as Mary settled herself beside her. “D’ye think ye can get up, Mistress? To somewhere more comfortable?”

“I’m fine here…” Claire held the cold rag to her stinging, throbbing cheek. “That was very brave, what you did.”

“Aye, Mary. Ye did well. I thank ye,” Jenny added.

“It was the only thing I could do,” Mary said softly, dabbing gently at the dried blood on Claire’s face.

“You didn’t fire it, did you?” Claire asked. “I know it’s not really yours.”

“No, I didna.” Mary looked up at young Jamie, who was suddenly looking very bashful. “It was yer lad.”

“Fergus?” Claire said. “What on Earth was he thinking?” “It was as I said, he saw a raven and thought to protect the bairn,” Mary explained. “Foolish as it may have been, it was well intended.”

“Did ye know about this, Jamie?” Jenny said, looking down at her son. “Answer me.”

“Aye, Mam.”

“D’ye ken it’s punishable to fire a weapon?”

“Aye, Mam.”

“And yet ye still made yerself part of something so damnably foolish?”

He hung his head. “Aye, Mam.”

Jenny exhaled through her nose, lips pursed tightly at her son. “I’ll be seeing to it that yer father gives ye a thrashing. D’ye see the beating yer Auntie took because of yer foolishness? D’ye ken that Mary MacNab could hae been dragged away, never to be seen again?”

Jamie was weeping now; sad, broken little sounds.

“I just…” He sniffled, his voice stuttering. “I wanted to protect the bairn, Mam...I didna want to hurt another bairn…”

Silent tears leaked onto Claire’s cheeks, and Mary hesitated in her ministrations. Even Jenny took pause, her entire resolve shattering for only a moment as she took in his words.

“Aye. I ken.” Claire could tell she was fighting to keep her voice stern. “Yer love fer yer brother is admirable at that. God love ye fer it.” She fervently kissed the top of his head. “But ye must answer fer the danger ye’ve put us in. I’m sorry. Off ye get, fetch yer Da to me.”

Head hanging, Jamie slid off the bed and dragged his feet out into the hall, shutting the door behind him. Jenny exhaled shakily and quickly reached up to brush tears off her cheeks. Mary MacNab left Claire on the floor to retrieve the sleeping baby and place him in his cot.

“Ye’ll no’ be too hard on him, aye?” Mary said softly. “His heart was in the right place, ye ken.”

“Aye, I ken it was.” Jenny sniffled.

“He isna so old as the others. My Rabbie should hae known better. But yer Jamie is still wee.”

“No’ so wee...but aye. I see yer meaning.”

“Rabbie will be dealt a thrashing, surely,” Mary said resolutely. “Damnable fool.”

“How about Fergus?” Jenny said, pulling Claire’s attention from the spot in the floor she’d been staring at. “He’s no’ too old fer a thrashing. I can ask Ian tae do it along wi’ Jamie and Rabbie.”

“No,” Claire said quickly. “I...I want to talk to him.”

“Are ye sure?”

“Yes.” Claire sat up a little straighter and wet her rag again to make it cold again against her hot cheek. “He hasn’t been himself lately, and this was straw that broke the camel’s back.” Jenny and Mary looked bewildered at her choice of expression, and she sighed exasperatedly. “He just needs to be spoken to candidly. I can handle it.”

“Alright. I trust ye. He’s yer son.” Jenny adjusted herself so that she was lying down. “After I’m finished wi’ Ian, I’m going to faint dead away.”

“You need your rest.” Claire made to stand up, and Mary rushed to her side to help her up. Despite Claire’s usual loathing of depending on someone as such, she was quite grateful for the aid, as she was certain she’d have toppled over without it.

“And what about you, Mistress? D’ye think ye should rest before talking to the lad?” Mary inquired.

“No...I just need to get my bearings. I’m fine.” Claire took a grounding breath before releasing her vice like grip on Mary’s forearms. “I’ve been dealt worse.”

[chikoriita]

Single Father Seeking Sane Step-Mama Pt. 1

I started writing this as a prompt fill for @thekatesheffield but then the story got away from me. 

Read on AO3

Spring 1824

Phillip wondered what was going through his brain all those weeks ago when he made this utterly horrible decision. He must have lost his mind to do something this drastic.

First, he blamed it on his son Oliver. The last governess fled in the dead of night after his most recent escapades. Phillip would have survived if it was only the empty position. No, it was the blacklisting of Romney Hall from all of the local posting agencies. His children earned quite the reputation for themselves. If he was not their father, he might have admired it.

Phillip still heard the echoing rebuke from the last agency that declined to work with him. “Until you find a lady to rein in those children of yours, no one will work with you.” Never before had he wanted to throttle a woman in his life.

His children caused mayhem, but they were his children. Phillip Crane was not the best father in the world. He preferred his plants to people, and speaking to his children was just as difficult as adults. Still, he was all they had after Marina’s death. Even more, they were all he had left.

Even the lack of governess might not have led him here. That honor went to Amanda, his nine-year-old daughter.

One stormy February evening as he worked alone in the greenhouse, a footman came searching for him. “Miss Amanda is nowhere to be found, sir!”

The terror he felt at Marina’s passing was nothing compared to what he felt at that moment. Without a word, he bolted to the manor house. The staff was whipped into a frenzy, and Oliver, the poor child, simply wept in the foyer.

“I didn’t mean to yell at her Father. She usually yells back!” He cried.

Phillip wanted to comfort his son, but there was no time. They had looked for an hour for the girl, but when they could not find Amanda, they retrieved him.

“Amanda!” He bellowed. “Amanda!” Phillip needed to believe that she was inside. If she was not here, then she would be outside and lost in the rain. His heart constricted at the thought of his daughter in that weather.

He tore through the nursery, the library, and even made his way to his rooms when he saw the faint flicker. Had anyone thought to check Marina’s rooms? They had been closed since her death, but the adjoining door still working.

Phillip’s stomach clenched at the thought of entering the chamber. He had not been inside for close to a year. But if there was a chance Amanda was there, he would take it.

Despite his bravery, his heart almost broke at the sight he found. Amanda was curled up against the headboard, clutching a pillow in her sleep. Her tear-stained cheeks were red and blotchy. He rushed to her side and gently woke her up.

“Mama?” The hoarse croak jolted Phillip. Amanda had not called for her mother in years. “Where’s Mama?”

He could not answer her then, but he was determined to have her answer soon. The events of that evening caused him to take the most drastic of measures: looking for a wife in London during the social season.

To make it worse, with the Cranes’ reputation in Gloucestershire, Amanda and Oliver arrived in London with him. He luckily convinced their temporary nurse to travel with them, though it took a hefty bribe. The girl was terrified of what might happen to her in the city. He opted for a townhouse on Bruton Street. His wife’s cousins, the Featheringtons, lived nearby. If needed, he might call upon Lady Featherington for introductions.

True, it had been close to a decade since he had last seen them. Would they even help him?

Phillip did not have a long list of requirements. He was not looking for a Diamond nor did he want one. He did not need a massive dowry. He was not a catch by debutante standards either. Romney Hall was nothing to sneeze at, for sure, but it was no castle. Sir Phillip was only a baronet and a botanist to boot. With the twins in tow, he had his work cut out for the season.

And so, he rode outside of the traveling carriage to arrive at their townhome. Phillip could hear the arguments bubbling inside the vehicle and prayed for patience. All he needed was to find a nice girl who would enjoy a quiet country life. Someone to be a calming influence for the twins. Someone who would be on his side.

After his first marriage, he deserved that much, did he not?

~~

Eloise Bridgerton peered out of her bedroom window at Number Five to see what the ruckus was all about. Naturally, she had the best view of the street. A traveling coach pulled up to the house next door, and a vaguely familiar man rode astride. He stopped and jumped off the horse.

All she could see was that he was large. Not as tall as Benedict, truthfully; no one was. Still, the man fit his coat well, even though it seemed a few years out of date. Eloise leaned closer to see if there was anything else she could glean. It was while she shamelessly studied the man that he looked up at her.

She jumped back from the window, hoping he did not think her a lunatic. The glimpse of his face struck a memory, but she could not name him. Maybe Mama would know. She hastily pinned up her hair and made her way downstairs.

“Mama!” She called out into the hallway. If not her mother, then at least Hyacinth should be around. Her younger sister was just as nosy as she. She stepped out to see if anyone was around their courtyard. A sharp whine caught her attention.

“Oliver, give it back!” A young girl’s voice could be heard.

“No, you had it the entire ride. It’s my turn!”

“Children,” an exasperated voice pleaded. Eloise figured it was a nurse or a governess. “Let us go inside without incident.”

“But Mary, he doesn’t even want it!” The child stamped her foot. “He’s just being a horrid beast.”

She knew she shouldn’t be spying on the new neighbors. Mama would be appalled to find her eavesdropping. Still, there was something about these children that drew Eloise closer.

A glance from their gate revealed that the gentleman was nowhere to be seen near the squabbling children. Where was their mother? Their disagreement grew louder. Well, then, Eloise thought. She had not learned at the feet of Violet Bridgerton to stand by in this situation.

“Hello!” Three wide pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. The younger children, a boy and a girl, looked as if they were twins. “Are you moving into the house next door?”

“Yes ma’am, we are.” Eloise was right. The girl was most likely was a nurse. A governess would have more restraint. Although considering what she heard and saw, Mary was at her wit’s end.

“My name is-”

A shout interrupted her. “Oliver! Amanda! Where are you?” The voice sounded as if it came from the courtyard next door.

From Mary’s reaction, it must have been the gentleman. “Is that your father?” Eloise asked.

The younger girl, Amanda, nodded. “He’s here to find a wife.”

Eloise stifled a giggle as the nurse hurried to stifle Amanda. “Come children. Your father is looking for us.” Mary tried to guide the children inside, but they were obstinate.

Oliver held his ground firmly. “Father knows where we are. He was riding beside the coach the entire time. It is not as if he could lose us.”

Eloise intervened before poor Mary needed to wrestle the boy into the townhome. She crouched lower to meet Oliver’s eyes. “If you two listen to Mary here, then once you are settled in, you are welcome to tea at our house. Even your father is invited if he wants to come. Simply come over and tell Wickham that Miss Eloise invited you. That is me. Eloise Bridgerton.” She held her hand out for an introduction.

Oliver solemnly shook her proffered hand. “I am Oliver Crane. This is my sister, Amanda.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Oliver. We Bridgertons have tea at half-past three. I hope to see you both soon.” And Eloise, who had her fill of nieces and nephews, spoke the truth. A fact that even she was surprised by, and with a promise of tea, the Crane children left for their own house.

~~

“What took you so long?” Phillip sternly greeted them as they entered the house.

Amanda looked up at his face and smiled shyly. “We were talking to Miss Bridgerton. She invited us over for tea.”

Bridgerton… Why did that name sound so familiar?

He sighed. “Amanda, we cannot accept invitations from people we don’t know.”

“But we met Miss Bridgerton. She lives next door, and she invited us over to tea,” Amanda insisted. “Right, Mary?”

Phillip raised a brow at their nurse, who nodded reluctantly. “What prompted this invitation?”

Mary struggled with the words, but Oliver did not. “She expects us to be there at half three. Miss Eloise even said you could come.” He took Amanda’s hand and tugged her forward. “We have to get ready.”

He held back a smile at Oliver’s insistence. He gestured to a footman to lead the children to their room. “A word, if you may, Mary? Tell me what happened in the five minutes I was apart from the children. I cannot have them antagonizing the neighbors so soon.”

The nurse looked heavenward. She had not been long in this position, else she would have known that prayers did not work on the Crane family.

“Sir Phillip, nothing untoward happened. The children were uncomfortable after the trip, and they squabbled. The young lady introduced herself, and the children, well…” She trailed off.

“Well?”

Mary smiled for the first time since they left Gloucestershire. “They liked her.” With that said, she excused herself to see to the twins.

Phillip stood there in the foyer of 6 Bruton Street wondering what he had missed in those five minutes. Who was this Eloise Bridgerton? Why was she interested in his children? He thought back to the moment of his arrival. Was she the pretty woman in the window?

Pretty lady, he corrected himself. They were still in fashionable Mayfair.

“Perhaps tea would be a good start to our time in London,” he mused to no one at all.

~~

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

[sabraeal]

Root & Vine

The third fic but the fourth most popular pairing in my Holiday Rare Pair poll; I wanted to give myself more time to work on the Zen/Kihal fic (which now has gotten moved to January, so I don’t skimp on the quality). When it came time to pick out a concept for this pairing, this canon-compliant prequel fic won in a landslide! The events in this are meant to parallel some that happen in @bubblesthemonsterartist’s Dead Men Tell No Tales: Long Live the King, only from the view in Lilias

“Mother?”

The second prince hovers just outside the threshold, book tucked against his stomach like a shield. He’s ten-- only a month ago he’d been trotted out in front of all the peers before being tucked straight back into his nursery so the lords could get on with their drinking and dancing and plotting-- but he looks two years younger. The runt of the royal litter, baby fat still clinging to his jaws and cheeks the way he still clings to Her Majesty.

Her Majesty, who hasn’t stopped looking south since they arrived.

“Mother?” he tries again, voice lifting, like a pup trying to get attention from his dam.

The queen doesn’t stir, doesn’t even give a sign that she’s heard. Just keeps standing with her back to him, hands clutched to her chest. He might call it praying, if her eyes strayed anywhere but at the horizon.

Zakura clears his throat, pointed. “Your Majesty?”

Now that gets her. She startles, the long hem of her nightgown whirling around slippered heels. Her gowns run large nowadays; the shoulder slips before she can catch it, baring a flash of flesh carved from ivory, a delicate rounding over the bone--

And yellow mottled with a faded brown. There’s so much vulnerable skin to take in, but that’s what his eyes fix on. Days ago, it’d been purple. Misjudged an entry, she laughed, the carriage rattling beneath them. That was how she always was, his queen: beauty and grace and never finding the door on the first go.

“Zen.” The tension sags from her shoulders. “I didn’t--” her lips close over her words-- “do you need something, darling?”

“My stories.” His cheeks flush all the way back to his ears. “I mean...would you read to me? I’m going to bed.”

Slim fingers tangle in the lace at her neckline. “Oh, do you need...?”

“No!” The kid looks ready to melt into the stones themselves. “I can read them myself. It’s only...Izana sometimes would.”

“I...” Her breath rattles in her chest. “I suppose...”

“Let me,” Zakura says, jumping to his feet. The prince stares at him with rounded eyes, and oh, His Majesty’s get he might be, but there’s more than a little of his mother in that blue. “Been a long while since I’ve read a good yarn.”

“Oh, they’re just-- just children’s stories.” His boots shuffle bashfully in the hall. “Tales of knights and such. Nothing, er, interesting.”

“Come now, Highness.” He gives the kid a grin, the sort he’d give any of the other men in the guard, the kind that says you’re one of us. “Who loves tales about knights more than a knight himself? And I’ve heard you’ve got an eye for the best.”

“Well.” That small chest puffs up behind his book. “I have read quite a lot of them.”

Zakura hooks his hands on his hips. “There you go then.”

His Highness hesitates. “All right,” he says after a long moment, “As long as you don’t mind.”

“‘Course not.” He hazards a glance over his shoulder, and she’s right here, his queen, her grateful gaze ready to greet him. His place is ever at her side, but for now--

Well, her son is a part of her too. “It would be my pleasure, Highness.”

“I hath invited you into my home, dear sir, and you throw these sordid accusations at me?” the foul lord cried as he set down his cup. “Do you not expect me to seek satisfaction from you?”

“Nay, my lord,” proclaimed the valiant Sir Akihiko. “I thought you too cowardly to meet my blade, though I relish in the honor--”

Zakura scowls down at the page. “Are they going to duel?”

The second prince stares up at him with those wide, guileless eyes, the very mirror of Her Majesty’s, and says, “Of course they are.”

“But why?”

“The Lord of Montivale is a villain,” the kid explains with beleaguered patience. “And good must triumph over evil.”

“I’m not saying he can’t kill him.” There’s an illumination that half the page, all fancy maile borders and knights with sabatons that look like socks, every one of them holding a chalice. “But look, he’s right there, drinking with him. Why not slip some poison into his cup and suggest a toast?”

The prince sputters. “He can’t do that?”

“Why not? It’d be cleaner.”

“A villain must be slain through righteous combat,” he shrills, “not through-- though--”

“Being smart?”

Chubby childhood cheeks puff out in distress. “Trickery.”

“There’s no reason for it.” It’d be rude to laugh in the face of a kid who could, with a few convenient accidents, become king, so Zakura restrains himself to a muffled chuckle. “Learn this now, little prince: a man should always fight smarter, not harder. The best way to win a fight is to never pick up a sword to begin with.”

Flannel sleeves cross over the bedclothes, his chubby face twisted away in temper. “That’s not what my father says.”

A king has men to die for him, he doesn’t say. Not like a prince would get the distinction. “If Sir Akihiko had any brain beneath that helm, he’d have dropped some arsenic into Duke Montivale’s glass and ended this whole thing before it started.”

“No!”

Zakura heaves a sigh, settling against the headboard. “Listen-- what would have happened if Akihiko had lost?”

The prince blinks up at him with his mother’s eyes. “He can’t lose. He’s the finest knight in the realm. No one can beat him.”

“Right, right.” Children’s tales always liked to muddle the point. “But I mean, what if something happened? What if he tripped over an uneven stone? Or misjudged one of those stairs? What happens then?”

His little mouth works, wrapping around words he can’t quite dare to say. “Then...Duke Montivale...lives?”

“And now there’s no better knight to defeat him.” He leans down, meeting that kid’s wide-open gaze. “When someone has to go, you don’t rely on chance.”

The prince chews on that for a moment. “But a knight can’t just...poison someone.”

“Why not?”

“Poison,” the prince informs him with the sort of gravitas most councilors only achieve in their twilight years, “is a woman’s weapon.”

“Hah!” Zakura grunts, smile widening into a grin. “And what if the knight’s a woman?”

The royal mouth purses into a disapproving bud. “That’s not possible.”

“Not now,” he hums, “but who knows about later...?”

The kid stares at him, impassive. “I’m tired,” he declares. Tired of you, his tone implies. “You may leave.”

“As my liege wishes.” He levers himself to his feet with a groan. The other guards had warned him-- it was a tough life walking the walls, and the knees were always the first to go.

“Blow out the lamps.” Quieter, His Highness adds, “And thank you, sir.”

Zakura smiles into the dark. “Anytime, Highness.”

Her Majesty is still awake, right where he left her half an hour before, gaze fixed out toward the horizon.

“His Highness is tucked in.”

The queen of all of Clarines and Yuris jumps. Startles right out of her skin, collar pulling just so, a mottled yellow bruise blooming at the base of her neck, and, ah, he hasn’t seen that one before. It’s oblong, decently sized-- he could probably fit it under the pad of his thumb--

“Ah.” The sound pulls her lips roughly into the shape of a smile. “Good.”

He ranges into the room with a saunter, pausing to perch on the settee’s arm. “I don’t think I impressed him with my skills.”

She blinks. “Oh, ah-- your storytelling, you mean. He does like them to be told as they are. No embellishments.” Her mouth bends into a rueful curve. “He’s comforted by their regularity. By his ability to anticipate the events.”

“Eh.” He twitches his shoulders in a shrug. “One day he’ll learn life is all about the embellishments.”

“Ah, perhaps. But I think...” Her Majesty’s gaze drops to her hands. “Some of us prefer the steadiness.”

There’s a strangeness to the silence in these rooms. Her Majesty has never been one to fill the air with empty noise-- he likes that about her-- but when it’s just the two of them she always has an occupation. Stitching, sketching, writing letters to place he’s never seen; her hands are never idle, and her chatter always pleasant. Not enough to seem like an imposition, but enough so that he doesn’t feel like the furniture. Comfortable, that’s what it’s like with his queen.

But not tonight.

“Missing home?” he asks, when he can’t stand the quiet.

Her eyes dart to his, blinking wide. “Ah..?”

He nods toward the window. “You haven’t stopped looking since we got here. South.”

“Oh...no.” Her lips rub together. “Wistal had never been my home. I mean, not until the children.”

Her children, with only one who came with her. With one who chose to stay behind. It only makes sense; an heir should favor his sire.

Doesn’t mean he needs to think better of that little prick. Zakura likes to save is charity for people who can’t afford it. “Not to worry, Your Grace. I’m sure His Majesty has everything well in hand.”

He could swear he hears her murmur, that’s what I’m afraid of.

But it can’t be, not when barely a breath later she says, “I don’t miss it. To answer your question, sir.” Her fingers clench in her nightgown. “It’s...important that I’m here.”

Now that’s a strange way to look at a holiday. “I guess it’s always good to take a rest.”

“Ah...” It’s half a laugh, half a sigh. “Yes. A rest. A respite.”

Zakura clears his throat as he watches the candles melt into wax caves. “May I ask what you’re thinking about, Majesty?”

Her breath rattles in the silence. “Gardening.”

“I think I’ll be up a long while yet.”

Zakura sways on his feet, blinking up at her with bleary eyes. Ah, a rookie move, nearly falling asleep on the job.

Her Majesty only smiles at him, kind. “You should get to sleep, sir. A young man needs his rest.”

“No, no.” he shakes his head. “I’m supposed to watch over you, Majesty. Can’t do that if I’m laying down.”

Her mouth bends into the barest frown. “I’ll be up a long time...”

He pushes himself off the wall, and comes to sit by her, the chill from the glass seeping into his clothes. “Then I’ll stay up with you. As long as you like.”

She stares at him a long moment, her eyes as dark as the night itself, and nods. “Thank you, sir.”

He offers her the softest smile a rough mouth like his can make. “I’m your man, Majesty. I always will be.”

Her hand lands on his, soft and cold and pale. “You will never know how much that means to me.”

“Could I ask you something, sir?”

Zakura blinks, dragging his gaze back to the woman beside him, the one who has not moved her hand this last half hour. He doesn’t think he imagined her palm warming over his. “Anything, Majesty.”

His queen hesitates, licking her lips before she asks, “Have you ever heard of hogstrife?”

“Hogstrife?” His mind strains to piece together the vaguest picture. “That’s a plant, isn’t it? Called it widow’s weed where I’m from, I think.”

“Yes.” Her voice is clipped, crisper than he’s heard outside of a scolding. “The pharmacists use it. Not for medicinal purposes, but because it releases a scent that keeps pests from eating the plants.” Her mouth takes a wry bent. “The bugs avoid her like people do a widow.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, then I’ve heard of it before.”

“They consider it essential to growing their gardens.” Her long fingers pick out an anxious rhythm on the arm of her chair; the hand in his is still. “To grow such large plots and harvest what they need for the palace...it would be impossible, if the pests could not be kept at bay.”

Zakura can only nod. Apparently, Her Majesty had not lied about having gardening on her mind.

“But hogstrife can’t grow unchecked,” she continues, gaze still riveted south. “It’s roots are thick and its leaves are broad, and if it is not regularly pruned what once protected against predation chokes the life out of the garden instead.”

“I...see.”

“And what does one do when such a thing occurs? When what one protected ruins instead?” Her voice creaks under the strain of her words. “Should it be left to destroy as its due?”

“No.” He’s never been much for plants, but he’s hacked down some overgrowth in his time. “They take them out, don’t they?”

He knows they do; the men talk about it sometimes-- stalks like tree trunks and noodle-armed herbalists with saws. They laugh at it over their cups.

“They do,” she says darkly. “Right at the root.”

Doesn’t seem so funny now.

He clears his throat, uncomfortable for no reason he can name. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about gardening, Majesty.”

“Oh...” Her mouth twists into a bitter smile. “It’s a recent interest.”

“Sir Zakura.” The hour is far too late for talk. Or rather, too early. “May I ask whose crest you wear?”

He stares down at his sleeve, the jeweled star of Clarines bright upon his sleeve. Some of the men said it was a flower-- for the Wisterias, of course-- but he’d never seen it, not really. “The crown’s.”

“Is that who you serve?” The words are very nearly slurred; Her Majesty cannot be far from sleep now, no matter how hard she tries. “The crown?”

“No.” The word comes out barely above a murmur. “I serve you, Your Majesty.”

There’s fatigue in every line of her beautiful face, but her eyes are sharp, focused on him. “Can I trust you?”

His hand presses to his chest, and oh, he’s too tired to keep himself from saying, “I’m yours. Always.”

She leans, so close that her breath ghosts over his skin. “Will you protect my family, no matter what storm may come?”

He blinks. “His Majesty charged me to--”

“No.” Fear burns bright in her eyes now. “If only my word compelled you, would you protect them?”

His hand tightens around her. “Until my dying breath.”

The moment is taut between them, her eyes searching his, and oh, he would give her anything if it would help her believe him, if it would prove his devotion to her, but--

“All right.” She leans back, breath rushing from her in a sigh. Her whole body slumps. “All right. I think...it would be best if I rest my head. I’ve kept you up...far too late.”

“Don’t think of it, my lady.” He smiles, though the humor no longer fits on his face. “Just doing my job.”

She hums, absent. “And let us hope you keep on doing it.”

He lingers, for a while.

With Her Majesty tucked in tight like a babe, his duty is lifted, his own head free to rest, but still, still--

Something keeps him pacing by the window. Only for a few minutes, no more than a quarter of an hour, but it’s enough. He’s here when the knock comes.

A nervous man stands outside the queen’s door, small and inconsequential, wringing his hands. A steward of Arleon’s, perhaps; he hasn’t bothered to keep track of all the clerks and maids and comings and goings.

“I presume,” he begins, drawing up to his full height, “that this is important.”

“My lord,” the man pipes, not quite meeting his eyes. “I must-- the queen--”

“Come on, man!” His grip on the door tightens with the knot in his gut. “Out with it.”

“It’s the king!” The man’s breath heaves, as if he’s run here. “The king is dead!”

“Dead?” A strange sense of cold certainty fills him. “How?”

“F-foul play.” He prays, in the breath the man takes, that it was a coup, a sword between the ribs, anything but-- “P-poison.”

If he could give his queen this one last, restful sleep, he would, but the death of kings does not keep. If anything it rots like the corpses themselves, growing ranker with each passing hour.

He steps into her room again, only moments from when he left it, watching the slow rise and fall of her back. The sun has begun to creep over the horizon, sending pale shafts across the bed, showing where the collar of her gown has ridden down in sleep, baring--

A bruise. A large, patchwork round at the nape of her neck, and the edges of another two, smaller, on each shoulder. A handprint.

“My lady,” he chokes, bending down. What are we to do, when what protects ruins instead?

She hums blearily, opening one eye. “Sir...?”

Who is it you serve? “It’s your husband,” he manages. “The king is dead.”

“Dead?” Still delirious from sleep, she smiles. Poison is a woman’s weapon. “Good.”

She turns over, burying herself more deeply into the pillows, and sleeps, deeper than he has ever seen her before.

Can I trust you, sir?

“Always, Majesty,” he murmurs, kneeling at her bedside, finger tangling with hers. “You will always have me.”

[nerdywriter36]

Our Little Home

the fluffy Kerik E/C piece I promised is finally here! 

~

It was quiet. 

That was the first thing that Christine noticed when she stepped into her home - her family’s home. She hadn’t thought that she would be so fortunate to have a humble little flat like the one she called home now; at least, she hadn’t considered having a flat above-ground in Paris. After her marriage to Erik, she had been content to think that she would spend her days in the home that he had made for himself beneath the Opera House, and for the longest time, that had been Erik’s plan as well. 

That is, before they found out about the baby. 

She had had her suspicions before she knew for certain; she had ignored the nausea when it first began, passing it off as illness that would fade over time. When it persisted, though, in combination with missing her monthly cycle three months in a row, an increasing, unfamiliar tenderness in her breasts, and the slight, yet noticeable, tightening in her bodices, she knew that her hunch had been correct. 

Despite knowing that she was carrying a baby - carrying Erik’s baby - she hesitated to tell him, to share her joy with him, for she didn’t know how he would react. Would he share her enthusiasm for the child they were expecting together? Or would his emotions take over as they so often did, sending him into a blind rage or a fit of tears that only ended in him locking himself in his music room for hours on end? The latter option was the one that frightened her; she knew that overstimulation was far from healthy for him, what with the already weakened state of his heart. So in the wake of her uncertainty, she had turned to someone who had become as much of a friend and confidante as he was for Erik - the Daroga.

She still recalled how Nadir’s eyes had widened slightly when she had told him the news, followed quickly by him helping her onto the sofa in his parlour so she could explain her concerns to him. 

“You must approach it delicately with him. That is the only advice I can give to you, Christine,” he had said, gently holding her hand in his own. “I would be happy to be there with you to ensure that all is well.” 

Christine had never been so glad to have him there as she had been that evening. When she had told Erik the news, her voice as soft and gentle as she could possibly make it, he had still had an immediate outburst; he had jumped to his feet, towering over her where she sat on their sofa, and torn his mask off, demanding how she could possibly bear to bring a child into the world with the risk of it looking anything like him. But just as tears had begun to pool in her eyes, just as Nadir had stepped to his friend’s side to calm him, an expression of pain had washed over her husband’s face and his knees had buckled under him, his weakened heart betraying him in the moment of such intense emotions. 

If Nadir had not been there, Christine did not know what she would have done. Simply sat by her husband’s side on the ground as she waited for him to return to consciousness and gain even the slightest bit of strength to walk back to bed, she guessed. Thankfully, Nadir had caught him before he hit the floor and carried him to their bed, staying longer than expected to wait until his friend’s eyes opened again. He had been less than pleased when Erik refused to give them permission to call a doctor but still chose to give Christine a gentle kiss on the cheek and to wish her all the best before leaving the couple to themselves. 

And it was then, with Erik’s emotions once more in check - after a few moments of crying and begging for Christine’s forgiveness, that is, - his right hand holding tightly onto Christine’s and the left, albeit weak and slightly numb, resting on her stomach, that they decided that they were going to bring their baby into the world, taking on whatever challenges the experience might throw at them. 

Erik had remained hesitant about the prospect of fatherhood and the potential for his son or daughter to resemble him, but he had done his best to do away with those negative trains of thought for Christine’s sake. Once he had recovered enough to be up and about again (though Christine would have much preferred that he had rested for even longer), he had returned to her with the news that he had purchased a home on the streets of Paris, not far from Nadir’s flat on the Rue du Rivoli. Ecstatic at the news, Christine had jumped out of her chair and into his arms, laughing along with him as Erik carefully lifted her just off of the ground to twirl her around, sharing in his wife’s joy about the new life to come for their growing family.  

That had been months ago. Now they had their little flat and they had their little boy, but the noticeable absence of noise from that same boy - or his father, for that matter - was what put a frown on Christine’s face as she slipped her shoes off and walked through the house. She noticed two teacups on the table in the parlour, the samovar out on the counter in the kitchen; Nadir had stopped by, then. 

Still, there was no sign of Erik or their son anywhere she looked; the parlour was empty, as was Erik’s study. She lingered for a moment in the doorway to the nursery. It wasn’t in use just yet, as their son still slept in his bassinet in their bedroom, but she couldn’t help but admire it; Erik had designed every little detail of it, from the curtains on the window down to the carpet on the floor. “For them, it has to be perfect,” he had said, and perfect it was. 

With a small smile on her face, Christine turned to continue her search but found her attention drawn to the soft glow of an oil lamp streaming out of the master bedroom through the door that had been left only slightly ajar. Creeping down the hall, she gently pushed open the door and couldn’t stop the smile that immediately formed on her face and the warmth that flooded her chest at what she saw. 

Erik stood at the foot of their bed, his back to the door, dressed in his nightshirt. The bedclothes had been pushed aside, Christine noticed, proving to her that he had actually been in bed that evening. Whether he had been reading or genuinely trying to sleep didn’t matter to her; any instance him actually being in bed instead of in his study, falling asleep at his desk, was an accomplishment in her mind. 

In his arms, propped up on his shoulder, was their son, Charles. “My greatest creation,” Erik so often called him. Christine still recalled his practically palpable relief when Charles had been born and looked nothing like his father, save for his pale complexion and the gold flecks in his eyes; even still, had he shared Erik’s features, she had a feeling he would have loved him nonetheless. 

Erik was maskless, she noticed; the pale, gaunt, noseless face that she had come to adore rather than fear leaning against the side of their baby’s head as he softly hummed a lullaby, gently swaying back and forth to keep Charles asleep. He pressed the occasional gentle kiss to his son’s head, whispering to him things that Christine could not hear, but knew without a doubt were words of adoration. 

Not wishing to disturb the father-son pair, yet knowing that Erik was well aware of her presence, Christine quietly stepped further into the room. She managed to slip out of her dress and corset, leaving her in just her chemise and stockings. She pulled the pins out of her hair, set them on her vanity, then stepped over to her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her cheek against his back. “Someone didn’t want to sleep?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“Not by himself, at least. He was alright for a while, but didn’t stay quite so content for very long,” Erik whispered, giving his son another kiss. “I’ve been here for the better part of an hour; every time I try to set him down, he cries. Not that I mind holding him, of course.” 

Christine simply hummed in response, standing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her husband’s cheek. “Thank you for giving him to me.” 

“You needn’t thank me for that, dearest. That said, perhaps I’ll consider the possibility of giving you another little one like him.” 

“Truly?” Christine breathed, watching as Erik turned to face her, a warm smile on his face. “Erik, you...I never would have thought-” 

“Nor would I, but having him here now has made me reconsider,” Erik replied, leaning forward and gently pressing his thin lips to her own fuller ones. “We have room here in our little home for a growing family, and I would be happy to see it happen.”

~

Available on ff.net and AO3 as well! Kudos/reviews/comments are much appreciated <3 

Thank you to everyone who gave this idea some love right from the initial concept (namely @findinghiddenisles @helloitskrisha @daenerysthesilverdragon @foxygold11696 and @jjdestler, plus everyone who liked it)! I have never actually written E/C before, since my multi-chapter fic is post-LND, so this was really different, but so fun to write! 

[third-rail-vip]

Wide Awake

Summary:

“It’s quiet out here... too quiet” might be fun to say, but when it’s 2am and quiet as hell in Sanctuary, sometimes it’s just boring.

A sleepless MacCready pays a visit to the only other person who might still be awake.

Notes:

Tumblr fluff prompt: “what are you doing here?  it’s late.”   I accidentally deleted the ask because i’m an idiot. 

Beautiful screenshot of the night sky at Sanctuary very kindly lent by @mutantenfisch 

Rating:  Teen

Word Count: 3873    [AO3 link]   [Then I Met You - Series Link]

MacCready couldn’t sleep.  Lay in his darkened room, he huffed out a sigh – cigarette smoke mingled with condensation in the cold air.  A cursory glance at his watch told him it was pushing 2 am.  

What felt like too many hours ago, he’d found a spot in one of Sanctuary’s many unoccupied houses and bedded down on a mattress that seemed to be more springs than anything else, but it would do.  He’d slept on worse.  

Not that sleep seemed to be on the cards.

Nah, the mattress wasn’t the problem.  He just couldn’t settle properly the first night back in ‘civilisation’ after weeks on the road.  His nerves were still on edge.  He’d barely undressed for bed, only shedding his coat, hat and kicking off his boots.  His rifle lay at hand by the mattress, ready for what still felt like the imminent possibility of attack.  He’d studied the ceiling until his candle burnt down, then lay in the darkness, not even able to blame his usual turn on first watch for keeping him awake—they’d be well into Ivy’s shift by now.

Not that she’d be awake.  She’d be enjoying a quiet night’s sleep, some space to herself and no monsters ready to jump out of the shadows.

Just whatever prowls the dark places in her head.

MacCready shook the thought from his mind; it wasn’t any of his business where his partner went in those glassy-eyed moments when the colour left her cheeks and she looked like she was watching something so real she could reach out and touch it.  Something he had no idea how to even begin looking for.  All he could do was watch her back if it happened again.  

Instead, he busied himself fidgeting with a fresh pack of cigarettes— ‘fresh’ 200 years ago anyway —unable to decide whether he should just lie there and light another or get up and stretch his legs in the hope that the cold night air would either wake him up fully or put him to sleep.  

Whatever he chose, he needed to decide soon because the boredom was driving him nuts.  

He sat up, suspiciously eyeing the sliver of moonless sky he could see through a hole in the unpatched roof above him.  For a boy who grew up in a cave, darkness made him twitchy (not that Lamplight was a dark place, the clue was in the damn name).  The thing he’d come to realise about the dark and the quiet was, if you didn’t know any better, it could too easily be mistaken for calm and safe.  Once, just once, he’d let himself be taken in by it.  And he’d have to live with that for the rest of his days.  

These days, not that MacCready would ever admit it, he liked it better if there was just that little bit of light to creep past his eyelids as he drifted off, and maybe a bit of noise too, some sort of show that there was life around him; campfires, candles, even the tinny echo of Ivy’s pipboy broadcasting that jackass, Travis, at all hours would do the trick.  

This quiet wouldn’t do at all.  Too few distractions.  Too much time to think.  

Finally freeing a cigarette, he fumbled for his lighter in the darkness, flicked it a few times to no avail.  A cursory shake confirmed it—empty.  He tossed it aside, tucked the cigarette back into the pack and reached for his boots instead.  

A walk it was.

------

The damn door creaked.  

MacCready cursed himself for using it instead of the other one, which didn’t even technically have a door in it anymore.  Idiot.   He’d seen a glow through the window and hadn’t even thought.  He’d just walked straight in.  

Ivy’s house (the one she’d adopted, anyway) wasn’t like the one he’d chosen to hide away in.  It didn’t smell like damp or have holes in the roof.  Someone had gone to great effort to get it back to being homely.  It still smelled like supper from that evening, leftover veg stew, and the vague scent of-MacCready sniffed-was that carrot flowers?  Probably had something to do with that fussy old woman of a Mr Handy unit.  He was undoubtedly why there was also a lingering smell of disinfectant.

Ivy had told him that it had stayed there cleaning its old masters’ house for two hundred years.  What a loser.  

From the meagre moonlight he could just make out the dark shapes of the kitchen counters ( there was the vase of flowers the robot must have decided to put out while playing house in honor of his new mistress’s return home), the rickety dining table they’d decided not to eat their supper at, and the couch that, on the one occasion he’d been stupid enough to throw himself onto it, turned out to be even more uncomfortable than the one in their usual room at the Dugout.  

The faint welcoming glow of lantern light from the hallway to the bedrooms almost made him forget his midnight trespassing.  He meandered forward – fully intending to announce his arrival– only to boot a water bowl right across the room.  He dived forward trying to put an end to the metallic ringing and sloshing, but too late.

“Who’s there?”

Mac knew Ivy well enough to hear the edge of panic behind the warning in that shout.  He clamped his hands onto the bowl, finally stopping it rolling, and looked up from his spot knelt in a puddle of dog water.  

Ivy darted out from the farthest room, the one where the warm light spilled from, oh, and now he felt bad .   She was dressed for bed in the over-large plaid shirt she’d picked up from some trader in Diamond City; something more comfortable to sleep in that her vault suit, she’d said - it hadn’t seen much use, given the amount of time they spent staying in places where it was safer to stay as armoured as possible, even when trying to get a night’s rest.  Her hair was all over the place, like she’d been tossing and turning, trying to get settled as badly as he had.  Frankly, she looked exhausted.  

But only a real dumbass would tell her that right now, because the startled woman, whose house he’d walked into at 2am was currently levelling a pistol straight at his head.  

“Woah woah woah!  Angel, it’s just me!”  MacCready stuck his hands up in the air, giving her a startled grin.  He may be used to being on the end of the threat of her pistol—he couldn’t help having a smart mouth—but the actual pistol… that was new.  “Is this a hold-up?  You want me to hand over my caps?”

Ivy dropped the gun to her side with a muttered curse and flopped back against her doorframe.  

“Mac?   What are you doing here?  It’s late.”  Rocking her head back, she let out a shaky breath.  “You scared the shit out of me.”

He shrugged apologetically from his spot on the floor, avoiding her question long enough for her to wander forward offering her free hand.

“You can get off the floor now, tiger,” she said with a sigh that edged into a smirk.  “Like I could get any caps out of you anyway.  Gunpoint or not.”

Now banter he could handle.  It was one of his favourite things about her, she enjoyed his teasing and his joking, she even put up with his snarking.  Plus, she’d offered him the perfect get out of jail free card to avoid any explanations about why he was there.  

He let his gaze flick down the bare legs he was currently eye-to-thigh with, and back up to Ivy’s face, giving her an excessively dramatic eye roll.  

“If you’re trying to impress me, it’s not going to work,” he drawled.

She withdrew her hand with a mock scowl and gave him a sharp, but not painful, kick—enough to send him from kneeling to sitting in the puddle of dog water—turned on her heel and wandered back up the hall to her room.  With maybe a little more sway to her hips than was entirely necessary.  

It was probably safer not to call her on it though, she was still armed, after all.  Best just to stay put, watch maybe...

“I was in bed, thank you very much.  There were blankets and everything.”  She snarked back over her shoulder at him, finally giving a cursory glance as she reached her room before disappearing out of view.  “I was just drifting off when I heard this absolute racket.  And I thought to myself, it’s not Christmas for a few more weeks, so it can’t be Santa.  Not that he doesn’t owe me 210 years’ worth of presents…”

And people thought he was the sarcastic one.

MacCready grinned, getting up quickly and bounding after her up the hall.  

He was careful to avoid looking into the darkened nursery as he passed.  His first time in Sanctuary he’d found Ivy staring into the room.  She’d asked him if he thought they’d ever find that missing boy, Shaun, but he couldn’t answer.  The sight of that damn crib haunted him.  All he could think about was Duncan and how time was passing and he’d gotten nowhere.  He’d just about managed to thickly mutter “yeah, sure”, which didn’t sound overly convincing to either of them, before he had to rush outside and try not to be sick.  

Leaning on her doorframe, he peeked round the corner into the room.  It was mainly taken up by an old pre-war bed that’d been fixed up like new since the last time they were there.  There were clothes, sketchbooks and empty gumdrop wrappers strewn over a dresser in the corner - Codsworth mustn’t be allowed in here, there was no way he’d leave it such a mess. The glow that spilled out into the hallway came from an oil lantern balanced on the windowsill and a single candle, melting its way down on the bedside table.  

On the bed was an open comic and more gumdrops.  She hadn’t been sleeping either.  

“If you don’t think you can get caps out of me, you can be damn sure you aren’t getting 210 presents,” he grinned, but Ivy was too busy rummaging through the dresser drawers to do anything more enthusiastic than throw a sock at him.  

He flopped down onto his back on the bed and snatched up the comic and a handful of gumdrop.  This bed was a damn sight more comfortable than the crappy mattress he had to put up with, that was for sure.  

Grognak the Barbarian and the Jungle of the Bat Babies.

“Meh.  I’ve got this one,” he complained as he munched on the candy, continuing to idly leaf through the pages anyway.  

“Well if you wouldn’t mind not losing my page…”  Ivy shot him a sharp look over her shoulder as she dragged on a pair of tatter jeans.

After weeks of sleeping in foxholes, broken-down houses and on rooftops, privacy between the two of them had become less of an issue, he’d gotten fairly used to catching sight of her trying to wriggle in and out of a vault suit in his peripheral vision, but he still couldn’t help smirking at the idea of the raised eyebrows there’d be around the settlement if they could see them now.  He had to stop himself chuckling out loud, wondering what Garvey would think of his precious General having an ex-Gunner in her room in the middle of the night.  

Best not to get too smart about the Gunner part… he’d heard about Quincy.  Might have been years after his time with them, but that kind of association tainted the way people looked at a man.  

Most people anyway.  

He glanced over at Ivy who was trying to get her hair to behave.  Christ knows why, it’s not like there was anyone to see it.   It wasn’t Preston’s fault he kept catching on Mac’s last nerve, it was just… there were only so many times you could hear someone called a ‘good man’ without starting to wonder if that made you the ‘bad’ one.  Not to mention the looks—he glanced at Ivy again—the way Garvey would go soft whenever she was helping that handyman with settlement stuff, or any other do-gooder crap.  You’d think she was some kind of miracle.  

He’d bet every last cap he owned that the man had never seen her pickpocket Gunners or watched those fingers crack a lock faster than any professional he’d ever met, just to break into a guy’s house because he rubbed her up the wrong way.  No, MacCready might call her angel, but he was more than aware that she was flesh and blood.  

Ivy plonked herself down cross-legged on the end of the bed, entirely derailing his train of thought.  

“So, a gentleman caller at this late hour… tongues will wag.”  She raised an eyebrow.  “Did you just come here to frighten me or did you need something?”

Well now he felt like an idiot.  There was no dodging the question this time, and she was watching him intently.  Why was he here?  

Because he was lonely?  Heck no.   He couldn’t sleep and he’d gotten used to having someone to talk to?   He was bored?  This place is too damn quiet and too damn boring.  And how the hell could she live here before the war?  Surrounded by boring houses with boring people and boring jobs and boring everything , when she wasn’t boring at all…

“I saw your light was on.”

“You couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

“Never can on the first night somewhere.” He gave in and shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage.  “Still feels like I need to watch the shadows.  Anyway, I gave up trying and figured I’d get some air.”  

She considered his statement for a moment.  He hoped she wasn’t considering too hard how much ending up in her house probably didn’t count as ‘getting air’.  

“Air sounds good.”

Well, he couldn’t say he wasn’t a little disappointed at the turn of events.  He’d just been getting comfy, wondering if he could sneakily doze off and then she’d be stuck with the couch - she could usually be relied on to be too nice to wake him if she didn’t have to.  But he dutifully put aside the well-thumbed comic, grabbed another handful of gumdrops and waited for her to pull on some shoes and grab a spare blanket before they headed outside. 

------ 

Ivy swore under her breath, something about Boston winters even without snow.  She gave an exaggerated shiver and dragged the blanket around her shoulders before joining MacCready in the street.  She probably should’ve grabbed a coat, MacCready mused, but she didn’t seem bothered enough to head back into the house.  Instead she fidgeted on the spot, looking at him expectantly.

“It’s your walk,” she whispered after a moment, keeping her voice low for fear of waking the long since passed out settlers.  He could just about see she was smiling at him despite the shadows of the house.  “Lead on, boss. ”  

Boss.  He rolled his eyes at her, but led the way anyway, meandering slowly up the street towards the end of the cul-de-sac, their footsteps crunching quietly on the broken asphalt as they passed house after darkened house.  

MacCready stopped when he reached the tree that dominated the end of the estate, not sure where to go next.  He hadn’t thought this far ahead.  They could wander the edge of the small island that housed the settlement, but that ran the risk of bumping into whoever was on guard and then they’d be stuck making awkward conversation.  They could cross the north bridge towards the vault.  No, definitely not.  Ivy was one of the few people he knew who wanted to go near a vault even less than he did.  Especially that vault.  Anyway, they were meant to be distracting each other from lack of sleep, not creating more reasons for it.  

Ivy must have noticed the lost look on his face (or just got impatient of waiting) because felt a tap on his arm.  She didn’t wait for him to respond before dragging him towards the farthest house.  Instead of going inside, she led the way to a ladder propped up against the roof.

“You’ve got your binoculars, right?”  she whispered, pointing up the ladder.  “After you.”

He gave her a confused look, but patted the pair strapped to his belt, and went ahead and climbed first - offering Ivy a hand when she reached the top.  Other than a couple of tall trees, the roof offered an unimpeded view right across the commonwealth down to the coast.  

They settled down on the broad roof tiles, feet in the gutter so they didn’t slip down.  Ivy had offered to lay the blanket out for them to sit on but after her display outside the house, he wasn’t going to sit there and watch her shiver for the sake of keeping his ass warm.  And he told her as much.

“Don’t let anybody tell you I’m not a gentleman,” he grinned after her laughter died down.  

It was a hell of a view.  Mac scanned the horizon, picking out the familiar shapes that loomed in the darkness; the jagged skyscrapers of Boston’s skyline - lit up by Diamond City’s unsubtle display of lights, the satellite bank out near the coast, and the freeway, snaking across the landscape towards mass pike interchange.  That held his attention a little longer than the rest.  Just one more item on his list of problems.

But Ivy didn’t seem to notice.  She wasn’t even looking out across the vista, she was sat back on her elbows, staring straight up into the night sky.  

He leant back too, looking across at her but he didn’t stand a chance of catching her eye, she was completely enthralled.  After a couple of minutes he gave up and gently prodded her, “Come back down to earth, spaceman…”  It was enough to get her to tear her eyes away from the sky and glance back across at him.  A sad smile touched her lips.  

“My dad loved looking at the stars.  It was kind of his job... along with a lot of math.  He taught at a college back home.”  She didn’t often talk about before, and he wasn’t sure she’d ever mentioned her family.  “You don’t know how lucky you are, seeing the sky like this.  People would travel hundreds of miles for a view like this.”

“Seriously?”  MacCready stared up, bemused.  

“Seriously.”  She smiled at him, or maybe through him.  Her mind seemed to be somewhere else, but not in a bad way for once.  “Have you ever tried to look at the stars when you’re in Diamond City?  Even Goodneighbor?  It’s far too bright, you can barely see anything.  That’s what most places were like before the war.  It was all streetlights stopping you from seeing ‘one of the best views in the universe’.  That’s what my dad used to say, anyway.  He used to drive me, my mum and my brother out into the middle of the countryside on clear nights like this.  I swear he’d talk about space all night, if mum let him.”

“Sorry, I went a bit off topic…” She let out a small laugh and shook her head.  “I think the point I was aiming for was it’s beautiful.”

“I suppose it is.”  

He hazarded a smile in the dark.  Starlight suited her.  Sat there bathed in the soft glow, wide-eyed and taking everything in as though she was seeing it for the first time, she looked genuinely happy.  Completely lost to the world, mind, with no idea of anything else happening around her.  

“I’m probably boring you to death.”

“No.  Well maybe a little.”  MacCready couldn’t resist a chance to tease.  “I read about stars when I was a kid.  Big balls of glowing gas, yada yada.  You said your dad was an expert, show me something I don’t know.”

Ivy sat up, giving him a determined look.  Oh good, challenge accepted.  “Fine.  Give me those binoculars.”

He handed them over and watched her tracing the sky above them, leaning back to look further and further north east until she spotted what she wanted.  

“You see that star?” she pointed.  “The fuzzy looking one.”  

“They all look fuzzy.”

“No they don’t!  Come here.”  She shuffled right up next to him, still pointing in the direction she was looking.  

It took about five minutes of manhandling to get him looking in the right direction.  He was having too much fun winding her up by purposefully not paying attention, and laughing too hard when she tried to move him by his chin because it tickled.  Eventually, and only after she begged, he stopped still long enough for her to get him looking in the right direction - according to her anyway.  To him it just looked like any other star.

“Ok, stay still will you?”  This time Mac did his best as she squashed right up next to him, and pressed her cheek against his to make sure they were both looking where they should be.  She produced the binoculars again, holding them so they had an eyepiece each, and finally he could see what she was talking about.  

“Right, so it’s a fuzzy star?” he muttered from trying to keep his head still.  There’d be hell to pay if he didn’t.  

“Look again.  See the ellipse shape?”  

“Yeah, the fuzzy one.  What about it?”

“Oh, there might be a couple more than just that one fuzzy little star.”  She pulled away and handed him the binoculars, tired, but beaming.  “More like a trillion of them, a couple of million light years away.   That is the Andromeda Galaxy.”

“No shit- oop.”

MacCready clamped a hand across his mouth in a poor attempt to catch the curse that had slipped past his lips.  

“Does that count as something you didn’t know?”  Ivy giggled softly, stifling a yawn as she lay back down and pulled the blanket tighter around her.  “Damn.  I should’ve put some caps on it.”

“Yeah, I’d say it counts,” he grinned.  “But trust me, I’ve learned not to make bets against you.”

MacCready lay back, staring at the sky, eyes fixed on that blurry star that turned out to be much more than it appeared.  He opened his mouth to quiz Ivy some more, but in the quiet he could hear that her breathing had become soft and even.  A glance confirmed it, she was fast asleep.  

“Well, I don’t know how I’m going to get you down off this roof,” he whispered, reaching over to tuck an errant curl back behind her ear.  “So it looks like we’re here for the night.”

He settled back again, pulling the brim of his cap down over his eyes before resting his head on his hands.  This time sleep found him easily, a smile on his face, thinking of a little boy back home who would love to hear all about the stars.

[writingsbychlo]

heart under construction (04)

word count; 5063

summary; sam attends the welcome evening event with his family, and finally gets to see you in yrou element, which doens’t do anything to quell the growing affections he has for you.

notes; I do feature @moongoddesskiana and @dylinski​ in this part, plus a big thank you so @fan-child​ for checking this part when I was worried it was too much fluff to be acceptable.

warnings; none, but, get yourself ready for the next part.

Sam could already hear the joyous screaming from crowds of kids before the door was open, and he tugged nervously at the sleeves of the dress shirt he wore, tugging it down over his wrists and scratching at the back of his hand through his anxiety. He resisted the urge to adjust the royal blue tie that was sitting around his neck, loose and gentle on his neck, in the perfect Windsor knot that Jake had fixed for him moments ago.

Something about not allowing him to go in there with a tie that looks like Alice tied it.

Pushing the doors open, the muffled sounds of screaming kids were honed and sharpened as the happy wails drifted out into the cool air of the night from which they had arrived, and Sam felt his eyes widen as he looked at just how busy the event was as he peered into the main event hall through the glass windows on the doors as their group lingered in the lobby. There had to be over one hundred kids here, their parents all vying to get them one of the twenty spots you actually had available. 

Alice was squirming in her father’s arms, Roger lowering her to the ground as he adjusted the plastic crown sitting in her hair before making a move to dash off into the crowd, Sam diving forward in just enough time to grab her little hand, pulling her to a halt before she could disappear and get lost in a group of other Tangled-obsessed little girls. “It’s.. a lot busier than I expected it to be.”

Sam turned, swallowing thickly and nodding to his brother, his eyes scanning over the groups of people he saw milling about, and he was glad he’d settled on a suit, both Roger and Jake matching him, as well as the majority of the other men he could see. With a wide smile, a smaller lady with a sweeping green gown hanging from her shoulders made her way around the desk, a clipboard held in her hands. “You must be Mr Taylor, right?”

“Yes.”

“Huh?”

“That’s me.”

The three men all looked between each other bewildered for a second, a laugh escaping the lady in the green dress as she wiggled her fingers at Alice, the girl squealing in excitement and burying her face into Sam’s thigh shyly, but he could still hear and feel the muffled laughs she was letting out. “We’re.. um, we’re all Taylor. We’re the Taylors. Hi.” Sam rolled his eyes at himself for his awkward mumbling, reaching his hand out to the woman as she simply smiled, shaking his hand before moving along to his brother and his brother-in-law. 

“Okay, well, my name is Kiana. To the adults, anyway. I’m one of the teaching assistants, for the nursery. I have some forms I need the dads to fill out, and I have a name badge for all of you!” Jake rubbed his hands together, nodding enthusiastically as she handed over a sheet of hand-written name tags. 

“Mine has a smiley face on it.” Roger mumbled happily, the teacher, ‘Kiana’, laughing a little as she signed them in on the computer behind the desk.

“(Y/N) wrote them all. She told me to look out for you, said it would be hard to miss you guys.” Sam’s brows rose, and he absentmindedly leaned down and scooped his niece onto his arms, balancing her on his side as she toyed with the lapels on his jacket in her boredom. “She had a packet of information for you, actually.. hold on.” 

While the woman fluttered around the desk in search of the package they had been left, Sam turned to his family, his jaw barely having opened before Jake was giving him a cheeky grin, nodding his head. “We’ve got the forms. Go find your girl.”

“She’s not my girl.” He mumbled, cheeks flushing red and Roger slapped at his husband’s chest, ignoring Jake’sprotests about how he was only teasing as he let Alice slide back tot he floor, her hands gripping his as she dug her heels into the floor and tried to pull him away toward the main room. 

“Not yet she’s not. If you match your tie to her dress, she’s your girl. It's basic rules.” Jake shrugged, and Roger scoffed, rolling his eyes as Sam finally indulged the little girl and let her pull him along towards the party. 

“Your tie matches my suit?”

“Roger, we’re married.” He chuckled, his brother’s sigh being the last thing he heard before he was pulling open the main doors, the loud beats of child-friendly pop - some kind of Disney song, he was sure - taking over his mind as he looked around. Flashing disco lights danced off of the walls, ridiculous patterns to create the atmosphere for the kids as a clear dance floor was set up in the middle of the room. 

The tiles on the floor were also flashing up, some black and some lighting up white as toddlers jumped up and down and wore themselves out. On the left side of the room, tables covered with neat tablecloths lined the space, parents sitting and standing around them, socialising and getting to know one another, a small bar tucked away behind the adult section to serve them all. More tables were sitting along the right side, but on that side was activities, craft tables, games like twister and giant snakes and ladders, all kinds of things to entertain the kids.

In the middle of the room, you were standing, talking to a range of children as you falsely gasped and giggled, the group around you all looking up at you with pure joy as they shared their stories with you, little hands flying around and gesturing wildly. Alice had seemingly spotted you soon, because she tore her hand from his, moving at lightning speed across the room as she ducked and weaved through the legs of those standing around her. With a curse under his breath, Sam made attempts to follow, trying to navigate through the crowds as he watched her throw herself with force into your legs, your body rocking to the side as you gasped, looking down at her before letting a wide smile break out on your face. 

He lost sight of you for a moment as you sucked down, and when he finally cleared the groups to stand before you, he saw you holding the girl gently as her little arms wrapped around your neck, squeezing you tightly. When she realised you, she was quick to introduce herself to the crowd of infants you had been talking to, the group hitting it off instantly and you beamed at her as you rose back to your feet.

Your gaze ragged along his suit, from his toes to his chest and finally up to his eyes, your lips split in one of the biggest smiles he had ever seen you give off. “You came!”

“I promised I would. I wanted to, here I am.” Sam held his arms out, adding flair to his statement and you smiled, moving towards him and wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as his own hands moved to slide along your lower back carefully, one resting above the other as he held you close to him. Twisting his head, he nuzzled his nose into the space between your neck and your shoulder, sighing happily at the little giggle you let out, twisting in his arms as his scruff tickled your skin. “You look amazing.”

His words were muffled as he spoke them into your skin, your body shivering under his touch a little as he did, and you pulled back just far enough for him to look down at you. “What?”

“I said you look amazing.” His eyes darted up, taking in the crown that was sitting slightly off place on your head, the shiny plastic twinkling under the flashing coloured lights. “Your majesty.” With an over-dramatic flourish, he took your hand in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles and adding a wink, your laugh sounding out loudly around the two of you. 

You shook your head your eyes closing as you dipped forward, your forehead pressing to his cheek as you body still shook wit your residual giggles, and he chose instead to smooth his hand up and down your back comfortingly as he thought about just how nice it felt to have you curled into his side. “So, let’s take Alice to the craft table? I bet she’d love to make a macaroni necklace.” 

At the mere mention of it, the girl had turned back to them, her eyes wide and her smile shining as she bounced up and down excitedly, glancing around as she located her dads, walking through the main doors and holding onto a thick brown envelope, the teaching assistant from behind the desk still chatting to them as their daughter sped away to them, yelling about the pasta accessories she wanted to make.

Once Sam had laid his eyes on you, there was no way he was going to be dragged from your side. He’d started the night respectfully lingering by your side, his hand daring to come out to sit on your lower back the moment you had told him that you needed to mingle, but that he was welcome to come with you. He was astounded by the simple way in which you could flow between conversation with so many people, changing between important political chat to funny childhood stories, and the way you seemed to captivate everyone you spoke to.

He had heard almost all of these stories before, and yet, he couldn’t help but listen with avid attention every time you began a new spiel to enthral the possible parents around you. You had ended up allowing him to weave his fingers through yours when a particularly big group had begun asking him questions, and your thumb running slowly over his knuckles had grounded him enough to be able to actually enjoy the conversation. 

Now, you were leaning against his side, his arm wrapped securely around his waist as his fingertips rubbing slow circles onto your waist as you stuck to the conversation, his eyes fixed on you as he took in everything about the moment, from the way you would smile when listening to others to the way you would light up when adding a point of your own. 

As the hours had passed, the original loud and screaming hype of the kids had quieted as they settled themselves into their activities, still loud as they danced and played but no longer rowdy, the music changing to something slower as the evening progressed. He glanced away, looking over his niece as she bounced happily in Jake’s lap, and he hummed under his breath, watching as Roger dug through his pockets to find a snack for her, the three of them sitting together in their own little world. 

Turning back to you, Sam couldn't help himself from leaning forward, his nose brushing against your cheekbone as he kissed your cheek gently, the long kiss stretching out before he pressed another brief kiss to your skin, pulling back as you turned to look at him. 

“What was that for?”

“No reason.” He smiled, and you rolled your eyes fondly at him, glancing back to the group before you for a second before you leaned over him, kissing at his cheek in return and he beamed, pulling you a little closer as your side pressed up against his, your own arm coming up around his waist. “You want to dance, sweetheart?”

You merely nodded at him, and his arms slipped down to guide you onto the dancefloor, his arms circling your waist, and bringing you close to him, your eyes finding his as you shot him a sly wink while looping your arms around your waist and falling into a subtle way with him, his eyes focusing on his feet as he watched his movements. “Do you know how to dance, Sam?”

“Uh, kind of. I didn’t think that far when I asked you to dance. Shit.” He stepped forward carefully, and you giggled, your hands dropping down to adjust his grip, sliding his hands up from your waist to adjust them sitting on your back and hips, before you stepped closer, chest to chest with him, your arms tightening around his neck as his cheek rested against yours. 

“How about we just sway?”

He nodded but still felt heat rise to his cheeks as he looked down at you, humming along to the music under your breath, clutched carefully in his arms, and he swallowed thickly as thoughts about just how well you fit into his arms began to flood his mind once again, and his time, he didn’t even bother to chase them away.

Instead, he let his mind run wild.

He pictured himself at this event next year, being here by your side as your significant other and not as a relative of a possible student. He pictured driving you home at the end of the night, listening to you talk about how well it had gone before the two of you collapsed into bed beside one another and he got to hold you. 

He was thinking about how nice it would be to dance with you in other scenarios, too. He couldn’t help it. He’d seen how good you were with Alice, he could clearly picture the three of you dancing to silly pop songs in the car as you drove along. He could see the two of you jamming out as you painted the walls of a house or grinding together slowly in a dimly lit club or bar. He even let his mind wander as far as to picture that maybe the next time the two of you slow-danced together, your dress might be white and you might have a shiny ring on your finger that he’d put there.

He wasn’t quite so scared of these thoughts anymore, because no matter how hard his heart was beating in his chest, and how much the ‘fight or flight’ instinct was kicking up, he’d never felt more at home and at ease than when he was in your arms. 

You felt like home, you felt like everything he wanted and needed. 

He didn’t quite feel so hollow and lost when you were together, because suddenly it was like everything was pointing toward you, it didn’t seem blurry like you were the only thing in his world but instead, you brought everything else into focus. You made it all a little less manic and crazy, you made him understand his place in the world again. 

He wasn’t quite so scared anymore, because the fear wasn’t of being with you, but of being without you.

Pushing his face into your neck, he hid his smile from you and the world, his stubble tickling along your neck as he pressed a light kiss to your exposed shoulder, before snapping back to the present when he felt a small tugging on the leg of his suit pants. “Sammy, I wan’ dance!” 

You cooed at the girl at his feet, and he chuckled down at the girl, his arms tightening around you for a second as you giggled in his arms, squirming slightly to be released. “Go hang out with your niece, we can dance some more later if you’re up for it.”

“Promise?” You beamed at him, scoffing fondly as you nodded and he dipped his head down, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek before pulling away and holding his hands out to the little girl, her tiny hands sliding into his as he twirled her away onto the dancefloor, spinning her in little circles as he hunched over to reach her a little. He could feel her watching on as he lifted her up to balance on his toes so he could dance her around in funny movements, her loud and squealing laughter making his heart soar. 

Alice’s little hands grasped at his jacket, tugging on it as he bounced on his feet, spinning her around in circles, dipping her down and lifting her up into the air as the songs played, his heart racing and her little body shaking as she giggled loudly. He’d lost count of how many songs had played, but for once in his life, he had nowhere else to be, nowhere better to be and nobody else to be with. 

Everybody that mattered to him was right here. 

Roger and Jake were filling out forms and smiling together at the table, caught up in their own little world as they mumbled comforting words about their beautiful daughter to one another. Alice was looking nursery school in the whites of the eyes and seemed to have befriended every child in the room, and won the hearts of every adult, and Sam just knew she would be a popular and well-loved little girl. 

And you; you were chatting to random families, casting him glances every now and then as you sent him shy smiles, the kind of smiles that made his face split in a grin and his heart want to beat out of his chest. By the time Alice had worn herself - and mostly Sam - out, you were leaning against the bar, the room having emptied out a little and the yawning girl he’d been dancing with was now trailing her way over to her dads to snooze on one of their shoulders, and Sam made his way over to you as you excused yourself from the conversation you’d been having.

With a hand on either side of your waist, he supported himself on the bar, his heart racing as he panted a little, a coy smile on his lips as you chuckled at him, the girl having danced with him to so many songs that Sam felt like he’d worked a full day in the August heat. “You’re mighty touchy tonight. Almost clingy.” 

His jaw dropped, pausing in his movements to kiss at your cheek and he shot you a small glare, bumping your nose with his spitefully as he pulled back. Retracting his hands from your sides, he crossed them over his chest, putting a fake pout on his face. “Well, I was going to buy you a drink, but now I feel sorta’ insulted.”

He sighed over dramatically as you gasped, and he turned his head away from you as you slung your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close to him as you could with his arms still folded over his chest. “No, I never said it was a bad thing!”

He continued to ignore you, your little whines only entertaining him, and his resolve toward the act was quickly being diminished as you huffed, staring at him as he glanced out at the dancefloor. 

“Stoooop ignoring me! Wasn’t it you that said you wanted to be around me? I guess I could leave again..”

Your arms started to leave him gently and he let out a low growl, his arms flying around your waist as you squealed twisting in his arms to face away from him as you busied yourself by looking at the gin selection that they had on offer. “You’re guilt-tripping me! No fair!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m looking at the gin.” You mumbled, and it was his turn to let out a little grumble as he rested his chin on your shoulder. 

“How about I buy you a drink, and I keep hugging you, and you never leave again, hm?”

“I think I could work with that.” You conceded, and he hummed happily, his fingers smoothing circles onto your hips as you both waited for your turn to be served. 

“So, I was thinking.”

“That sounds dangerous.” You teased, and he scoffed at your statement, rolling his eyes and pinching at your waist through your dress in retaliation for your comment.

“The house is almost done, and I was thinking, I want to furnish the house. It would look better, and I have so many ideas about how it should look now that I think I just have to decorate it myself so I know that it’s.. perfect.” He let out a little sigh as he thought about the home, and you dragged your fingers along his forearm, humming as you listened, your head twisting so you could look over your shoulder to talk to him. 

“Sounds.. good. You’re really invested in this house, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s my house! I just want it to be perfect, and you helped make it perfect so far, so I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me to go furniture shopping?” You beamed at him, your face lighting up at the statement he nudged the tip of his nose against yours once again.

“I’d love that.”

You didn’t pull away, instead, you returned the gesture, the tip of your nose brushing his as your breath fanned across his face, and he dipped his tongue out to lick his lips, brushing against yours as he did and he was sure his heart stopped for a moment as he got the briefest taste of what it would be like to kiss you.

Sam was far too caught up in the moment and the way it felt like a second nature to hold you so tightly in his arms to pay attention to the room around him, nevermind the bartender with blue hair making her way along toward the pair of you. 

“Hi, I’m Sarah, what can I get you toni- oh, my God! Sam, hi!” 

Her customer service personality suddenly slipped away as a dazzling smile pulled on her face and she leaned her elbows on the bar, his eyes widening as he looked at the woman before him, to the woman in his arms, and back. His throat was dry, and he felt you cough awkwardly in his arms as you stood up straight, shuffling in his grasp a little as you patted on his forearm and his inner-voice was chanting ‘no, no, no, no!’ as he felt the bubble he’d so carefully crafted around the two of you threatening to pop.

“You never called me back, you look good, really good. I always told you that you’d look good if you grew your facial hair out a little more, and boy, was I right. Look at you.” She all but purred the words, his body stiffening as he licked over his lips, trying to work out what to say. “Is this your girlfriend? Did you finally settle down, the infamously popular Sam Taylor was finally won over?”

“Ye-”

“I’m running the event, my name is (Y/N).” He snapped his jaw shut, dread filling him as you shook hands with the girl on the other side of the bar.

“Oh, hey! You’re the chick that hired us! I want you to know, we were all so grateful for the overtime opportunities, and tips have been amazing, thank you so much!” You simply smiled politely, the same look that flooded his veins with anxiety as you gave her a basic response to her fawning. “What can I get you to drink?”

“You know, I actually have some parents I need to catch before they leave. Why don’t I let you two catch up?” He ducked his head to kiss your cheek, and you patted his chest, pulling away and letting him barely brush his lips to your cheek as you slipped away into the crowds, and he could scarcely acknowledge the fingers poking at his arm as he watched you go, disappearing from his sight.

“So, how’ve you been, hot stuff?”

“What?” He snapped back, looking at the woman before him as she chewed her gum, giving him a wink as she giggled, repeating her question and he swallowed thickly, putting on a polite smile. “It’s been good. I bought a house.”

“For you and that chick?” She jutted her chin out in the direction you had gone, and he glanced over his shoulder, smiling happily as he watched you greet two mothers with a son. 

“Eh, well no. The house was for me, it was a flip project, but you know..”

“You’re sorta’, kinda’, picturing the two of you spending lazy Sunday mornings in it and decorating a Christmas tree and all that lovey-dovey stuff?” She let out a wistful sigh, balancing her chin on her hands and fluttering her eyelashes as she teased him a little. 

“Worse. I’m picturing carrying her over the doorstep like it’s 1919, and little feet pattering on the kitchen tiles on rushed school mornings.” He sighed, letting out grumbles as he popped his elbow on the bar, balancing his chin on his fist as the girl before him laughed at him, moving around the bar as she grabbed a glass, tilting it under the lager pump and twisting the lever. 

“It’s nice to see. When you had that thing with me, you were seeing like three other girls and wouldn’t even give me your phone number because you were so scared of commitment. What happened there?” She grinned, and placed the beer he was so fond of down in front of him, before him as she rang up the total. 

“I don’t know. I mean, one day she’s the cute nursery-school teacher I bumped into and suddenly I can’t live without her, she makes my day brighter.” Taking a swig of his beer, he licked the froth from his upper lip and shook his head, looking out at the crown that was building around you as you answered questions for new parents. 

“That’s sweet.”

“So is she.” He mumbled, leaning against the counter and choosing to continue watching you, giving you his full attention and leaning against the bar as he had his drink. He didn’t want to interrupt you while you were in your element. Behind him, Sarah took up chatting, sucking him into conversation the second he turned back around and he found his glass draining as he listened politely to her ramblings.

He hadn't realised just how long he had been standing there, until his glass was empty, and his brother was tapping him on the arm, Alice with her head on his shoulder and she snoozed quietly, his own brother looking exhausted and he noticed just how empty the room had become.

“Man, you looked like you were having a great chat so I thought I’d give you a few more minutes but we really need to go now, Roger is practically asleep, Alice needs her bed.” Jake shrugged, and Sam’s eyes widened.

“How many minutes did you give me?”

“Uh.. like thirty, maybe?” Sam felt nausea twisting at his gut, he felt like he’d been talking to her for ten minutes perhaps, not forty-five, and his eyes flicked around the room to find you, unable to see you anywhere and he cursed under his breath. “Look, man, time to go. Come on.”

Sam sighed, nodding in agreement and taking his niece from his brother's arms as he balanced her against his chest holding her securely as his heart sunk, and he trailed after the two men before him as they gathered their things and headed for the main door. Slipping out into the cold night, he made his way across the parking lot and hushed the sleeping toddler in his arms when she stirred, dipping down to tuck her into her car seat as he tried not to wake her.

He adjusted her head to the side so that she was comfortable, making sure she was properly buckled in before rounding the car and climbing in on her other side. He could feel his brother’s gaze on him in the rearview mirror, and he purposefully ignored the gaze, until they were pulling out onto the road and Roger snickered under his breath as Sam’s cheeks heated.

“Shut up, I know, alright? I know.”

“We didn’t say anything!” Roger grinned cheekily at him, turning in his seat to face him as Sam pouted.

“Yeah! But, I thought you ‘didn’t want to settle down’ and that she ‘wasn’t your type’.” Jake pulled a voice, which Sam supposed was supposed to be an interpretation of him, but his eyebrows only furrowed as he glared at the back of his brother's head while the man continued to watch the road. 

“Well, that was before I started picturing us living in that big house together and making breakfast, or slow-dancing at our damn wedding.” Letting out a huff at the words, he bit at the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling as the images came flooding back to his mind once again.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, Tinder sending him notifications and his thumb hovered over the screen, instead of tapping the app to open it he held his thumb down on it, clicking the ‘X’ on the corner. Confirming the deletion of the app, it disappeared from his home screen, and Sam felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders as it went.

“So, why don’t you tell her?”

“Because I got caught up at the bar for almost an hour when I was supposed to be buying her a drink, and then I left without saying goodbye. She’s probably super mad at me, again, it’s like I cannot stop fucking up and I-”

[Unknown Number] me, u, ikea, and lunch in the cafe?

“-nevermind.” He couldn't stop the smile on his face, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen as he added you to his contacts and typed out a reply. 

does sunday work for u?

He ignored Jake and Roger mumbling about him in the front seat, his cheeks aching from the smile on his face as words like ‘lovestruck’ and ‘idiot’ flew around him in the car from quiet mumbles. He adjusted himself in his seat, a hand rubbing at his jaw as he watched the three little dots on his screen dance up and down as you responded.

[cutie ❤️] it’s a date.

[talesofstyles]

Half A Heart

You couldn’t ask for a better father to your children.

It didn’t matter how tight Harry’s schedules were and how much work he had to do, he always made time for his babies. Harry was a family man (still is and will forever be) and it never failed to warm your heart seeing how much he loved your not-so-little family. You knew it wasn’t easy for him but he always made sure that you and your babies know that you were his number one priority. He always works things around so that his tour schedules match the school holidays, allowing you and the kids to tag along with him wherever he goes. He spent so much more time in London rather than LA after you got married and especially after you had your first baby so that your family didn’t have to go back and forth between the two cities every few weeks.

Work had settled down for a little bit for Harry. He didn’t have to hop on a plane and travel across the globe away for one interview or two as much as he used to. Jeff didn’t require him to make as many appearances on events and he didn’t even think twice before turning down invitations from shows like The Late Late Show or Saturday Night Live. Of course, he still made a new album at least every two years. But the whole process always took place in London now rather than LA, and he was forever grateful for the opportunity to still be able to do what he loves from home.

His new album was due in just six short months and he was still short on songs, which brought a lot of pressure on him. He had got writer’s block for two months which was the longest he had been from not writing a single word on one of his journals that he kept just for song lyrics. You and all three of your children were his muses, but after countless songs about you and the kids he had got to the point where he felt the need to write about something else, which turned out was so much harder than he thought.

Harry was sat on the chair in his study. In front of him, scattered on his desk were his laptop, the said journal with a blank page wide open, his go-to black pen that you always teased about for at least the first six months of your relationship (because who the hell in their right mind spend no less than seven hundred quids on a sodding ball pen?), his laptop opened, showing endless lists of e-mails from everyone at work about his coming up album.

It was Saturday, so it was rare for the kids to see their daddy in his study. You and Harry always try not to do any work-related stuff during the weekend and give your whole attention to your offsprings, so clearly, the kids were not pleased to see their daddy locking himself up in the room all day and not giving them any attention that they deserve.

Although to be honest, he hadn’t been giving you and the kids much attention for the past two weeks. Which of course you understand that he had to work but it was harder for the kids. He didn’t even take George for his football practice on Thursday. He was the one who usually takes him unless he had a really important meeting that he just couldn’t reschedule. Didn’t matter how busy he was, he would make the time for the five years old, determined to make it as their thing. He hoped George would always remember and cherish that because he knew he would. The football club meets at Holland Park, west of Kensington Garden, which was only a stone throw’s away from their home, taking ten minutes maximum of a walk. They always left fifteen minutes before four and not once they ever skipped a little father and son date before they went home. There were a lot of coffee shop and ice cream and milkshake and frozen yoghurt place around the park and on the way home for them to choose. They would sit there for about an hour before they head home. It was the time of the week where Harry could focus his whole attention on his first baby who was growing way too fast for his liking. The thought of his babies growing up made him felt like there was a lump in the back of his throat. It was the time during the week where Harry made sure he was fully present for his little lad.

You tried to keep the kids from bugging their daddy as much as you could. Knowing that he needs to focus on his work but most importantly, you knew for sure that his patience had been running a little thin. He had been a little snappish lately because he had a lot on his plate and you knew it wouldn’t take a lot for him to explode.

When the kids were napping, you thought it was the perfect time for you to went shopping for the week. They were sleeping anyway so you didn’t have to worry about them bothering Harry whilst he worked. You were a little nervous, but you decided to stop by his study before you left to let him know you were going out.

You opened the door a little before peeking inside. “H, m’going to Whole Foods. D’you need anythin’?”

Harry didn’t even look up from his laptop as he shook his head and mumbled “no.”

“Alright.” You commented. Just when you were about to close the door, he cleared his throat. “Are yeh takin’ the kids?”

“No, they’re napping.” You were a little annoyed at the fact that he didn’t even look at you but you ignored it. He just nodded and mumbled “alright” as you closed the door behind you before you went out.

***

You hadn’t returned home yet when your three years old woke up from her nap. She rubbed her eyes as she trailed down the hall looking for you. She had the little giraffe that she got from her Nana Anne clutched in her hand whilst her other hand held the rails tightly as she went down the stairs.

“Mummy?” She called out to you but she got no response. When she reached downstairs, she went straight to the sitting room and she found it empty. Then she went to the kitchen but nobody was there as well.

It was around half past three and her tummy was rumbling because it was the time you usually feed your kids some biscuits and make them some tea. She remembered vividly when you told her to steer clear of her daddy because he needed to work, but she was a little bit peckish so she braced herself and went to her daddy’s study.

She stood on her tiptoes so she could reach the door’s handle and she opened the door slightly. “Daddy!” She beamed as she saw her dad.

Harry mumbled a little “hi”, but his eyes were glued on his laptop as he continued typing. Eleanor walked closer to where Harry was sat, trying to get his attention because clearly, she was having none.

“Daddy, can I get some cuppa and biscuits please?” The little three years old asked. Her eyes looking up at Harry, waiting for him to look at her. Harry glanced at her for a second, literally, before looking back at his laptop.

“M’busy, poppet.” Harry sighed. “Wait for mummy, alright? She’ll be back in a tick.”

The three years old wasn’t pleased. Her brows knitted and she tried to convince him to give her what she wanted. “But daddy, m’hungry!”

“No yer not,” Harry went on. “Y’had lunch earlier so surely you can wait for snacks.”

Both you and Harry were stubborn and it seemed that your three years old got that gene. She sighed heavily and tugged on the hem of Harry’s shirt to get his attention. “But, dad-”

She stopped mid-sentence because Harry startled her. He huffed loudly in annoyance and turned to her. His face was stern and it might be the first time in her three years of life that the little girl was scared of her daddy. “Eleanor, what did I say?!” Harry questioned her, not even bothering to use a term of endearment which was strange for him.

Her lips started to tremble and she was fighting back her tears. She whispered repeatedly “don’t cry, don’t cry” to herself and Harry heard it, but he chose to ignore it. On any other occasion, his heart would drop at the sight of his little girl trying to keep herself from crying. He remembered just a few hours after she was born, he cradled her in his arms as he sat down on the window seat, eyes fixed on the sleeping baby girl. His sleeping baby girl. He tried to memorise her little details. From that wisp of hair to those long eyelashes that most girls would surely be jealous of. To that little button nose and the tiny lips that matched yours. He wondered what had he done in the past to deserve her, and in that moment he promised he would always be there for her. And that he would try harder to be the best father for her and his little boy back home who was no doubt having a blast with his nana and his auntie Gem. He promised to kiss every scraped knee and to be there for her at the end of the slide in the playground to catch her whenever he can. And one of the promises he made for her was that he promised to wipe every tear that would roll down her cheeks because he knew that as much as he hated the thought of his baby girl crying, she would. But he was too caught up with all the things that he needed to do to care at that moment. He was too caught up to realise his baby girl was about to cry because of him. The Harry in that hospital room would probably whack him in the dick for that. “Quit it, please! I need t’work. Just... get out!”

Eleanor ran out of the room without looking back. She was absolutely terrified of her daddy’s harsh tones. Not once Harry had ever talked at the kids in that way and neither had you. Eleanor went upstairs to her shared nursery with her big brother and found him sat on his big boy bed, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes as he let out a yawn.

“Daddy is mean.” She grumbled as she climbed up on her own bed. She pouted, sadness in her features was replaced by anger.

George’s forehead furrowed. Now fully awake and he turned at his little sister. “Wha’ ‘appened?”

“I couldn’t find mummy so I went t’daddy an’ asked ‘im for a biscuit. But daddy yelled very loud.” She went on. “I don’t like it when daddy yells, it makes my chest hurts.”

“Y’want me t’give you a hug?” George offered, opening his arms wide for his little sister. Eleanor nodded and immediately jumped off her bed and ran to him. “Better now?”

She hummed in response. “Mhmm. But m’hungry.”

“Come,” George said as he jumped off his bed. “M’hungry too. Let’s find the biscuits.”

They went down the stairs straight to the kitchen, not daring to even stop for a second outside of Harry’s study. Eleanor trailing behind George like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, one of her hand still clutching the giraffe.

The biscuit tin is in the cupboard that was reserved just for snacks. George took the step stool from near the kitchen island and put it in front of the counter that he needed to climb in order to open the cupboard full of goodies. When he managed to open the cupboard, he took the turquoise tin carefully and placed it on the counter. Eleanor cheered at the sight of the biscuit tin.

“Want a cuppa?” He looked over his shoulder at his little sister. The three year old nodded vigorously. “Alright, I’ll make us some.”

He popped the kettle on before climbing the counter again to get some mugs for Eleanor and himself. He put a lump of sugar on each mug before reaching for the tea bag. The five year old was proud of himself.

He picked up the kettle when the water boiled. He didn’t realise how heavy it was and when he wanted to pour the hot water into the mug, he ended up knocking both of the mugs down, causing the broken pieces to shatter all over the floor with a loud crash. The hot water was spilling all over the counter too and he threw the kettle away in panic because the water was hot.

The loud crash and Eleanor’s scream coming from the kitchen made Harry jumped off his chair and rushed to the kitchen, muttering “for fuck’s sake!” under his breath and groaning in frustration.

“Bloody’ell!” He yelled at the sight of the kitchen in shambles. There were broken pieces of glass all over the floor, water all over the counter and dripping to the floor. The two lumps of sugar and a tea bag made Harry realise that they were trying to make a cuppa.

He acknowledged the mess, but he failed to acknowledge the trembling three and five year olds of his standing in the middle, petrified. He disappeared to get a broom before he reappeared in the kitchen a few seconds later. His brows snapped together and his jaw tightened.

“I told yeh to wait f’mummy!” His voice booming through the kitchen as he swept the broken glass. “So bloody stubborn!”

George tightened his grip on his little sister’s hand. Her body was trembling and from the corner of his eyes, he could see her lower lip quivered. He was scared too, but the five year old knew he needed to act tough for his sister.

“Oh, fuck!” Harry cursed as he wiped the water with the tea towel, not realising the water was hot. “Can you bloody move please, you’re not a sodding sculpture.” He snapped at the kids again as he continued to sweep the remaining of the broken glass.

Harry angrily put the broom against the kitchen island before he bent down to pick the dustpan. The broom fell down to the floor with a loud thump, startling the kids and himself too. A few seconds later, the sound of a wailing baby came from upstairs, indicating that the noises from the kitchen were too much for the baby and it woke her up.

“Great!”

As soon as Harry went upstairs to get the baby, George and Eleanor ran away from the kitchen and to the entry and wait for you there. They sat down on the floor, their backs leaning against the wall and their arms wrapped around their own legs.

“Mummy,” the three year old whimpered, calling out for you. Her eyes were glossy.

“She’ll be back soon.” George soothed her.

The kids sighed in relief at the sound of your car pulling into the drive about five minutes later. They stood up and walked closer to the door, waiting for you to appear. Harry was still upstairs with the baby who was still crying.

You startled as you saw your children’s figures appeared as soon as you opened the front door. You looked at them in confusion because of how upset they seemed. Eleanor reached her arms out for you and you dropped your groceries to the floor without hesitation before you bent down to pick your little girl up. “Wha’s the matter, poppet? Hmm?”

She broke down at your soft tone. “Daddy,” she said between her sobs.

Your brows knitted as you looked at her big and round green eyes that match a certain someone. “Are you looking for daddy? He’s in the st-”

“No, mummy, daddy’s being mean.” Your eldest cut you off.

“What?” You looked down at him before pulling him close to you so you could give him a hug as well.

“He yelled at us and he said bad words too.” He went on. “Daddy scared us, mummy.”

“Oh, no. I’m sure daddy didn’t mean to yell. He loves you two so very much, yeah? You know that.” You consoled your babies as you walked to the sitting room, abandoning your groceries by the front door. You sat down on the sofa and cuddled Eleanor on your lap and George climbed up to sat down next to you before snuggling closer.

Eleanor shook her head. Her bottom lip jutting out and you tried your best not to laugh at her angry expression. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Eleanor, don’t say that.” You knew Harry had been acting like a sodding plonker who needed to be whacked in the dick but he was a good father. He still is a good father. He loved his babies dearly and he would do anything for them. “Look at mummy,”

She looked up at you. A scowl still plastered across her face at first but her expression softened as she saw you.

“Daddy loves you, sweet girl. And you too, George. Daddy loves you two so very much and just because he was being mean once doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love you anymore. Sometimes, we get mean when we’re tired.”

“But, but, but-” she stuttered before she continued. “Daddy scared me, mummy. It made my chest hurts.”

“Yeah, mummy, he was really scary. I’ve never seen daddy like that before.” Your eldest piped in and you pulled him closer to you. As much as you wanted to snuggle your babies on the sofa, you couldn’t ignore the sound of the wailing baby from upstairs that hadn’t died down from the second you came in. 

“He’s just tired, my love. I promise.” You smiled at both of your kids. “Mummy’s gonna check on your sister, can you play a bit in the playroom? It’s quite sunny outside, we can go to the park later if you want?”

Both of their little faces beamed instantly at the mention of the park. “But mummy, can we have some biscuits please?” Eleanor asked you.

“Daddy didn’t give you your goûter yet?” The kids shook their head. “I asked daddy but daddy yelled at me, mummy,” Eleanor answered.

George chimed in. “I wanted to make a cuppa for E and I and get some biscuits too, but the kettle was really heavy. I ended up breaking the mugs. M’sorry, mummy.”

“Is that why daddy yelled?” You asked your littles and both of them nodded. “Then maybe daddy yelled because he was scared you’d get hurt. You can make your own cuppa but mummy or daddy has to be there incase you need help. Can you two promise me that won’t happen again?”

“Promise, mummy.” They repeated their action and mumbled the words in unison.

You made them their tea, fed them some biscuits and set aside some fruit pouches for you to take to the park later before you went upstairs to your littlest baby’s nursery. You opened the door slowly and you found your baby trying to wiggle out of her daddy’s arms as she continued to let out an ear-piercing scream. She reached out to you as soon as she spotted you and your heart was breaking at the sight. Harry glanced over his shoulder at you and he handed the baby to you straight away before leaving the room without a word.

As soon as you calmed the baby down, you brought her downstairs and put her in the playpen before you head to Harry’s study in hope that you could knock some sense into that pretty head of his.

You walked in straight away and didn’t even bother to knock because you were fuming. Normally, you would wait until the kids were asleep before you started a fight but you had it up here with that bawbag of a husband of yours and you just couldn’t wait anymore. You knew he’d got a lot on his plate and he was overwhelmed with work but that didn’t give him a dick pass. You could take it when he was being a dick to you, but when it came to your children, that’s a whole nother story.

Harry was sitting on the chair, jaw clenched and brows knitted, staring intensely at the screen of his computer. You knew that wouldn’t end well, but you also knew that you needed to confront him.

“Harry, did you yell at the kids?” You asked right away. There was no point of beating around the bush. Your arms folded across your chest as you gave him a dirty look.

Your voice was tight and he looked up at you instantly. “Yeah, they were-” He cut himself because he knew if he said something about the kids, that wouldn’t help to calm your rage. “I’ll, uh, I’ll apologise later.”

“Did you know they were crying by the front door?” You continued.

He replied but he didn’t look at you, staring at the wall behind you instead. “No, I thought they were in the playroom.”

“They weren’t.” You shook your head. “They were crying quietly by the front door because they were terrified of you. They told me you were being loud and that you cursed in front of them.”

Harry let out a huff and shifted his gaze back to the screen in front of him as if his eyes were glued to it.

You’ve always hated confrontation. In seven years of marriage and eight years of being together, you could count with your fingers on how many times you yelled at your husband. It was rare for you to raise your voice and you tried not to unless necessary. Clearly, this time it was necessary.

"Hey! Look at me when I'm talking to you!" You snapped. You could tell that he was surprised but he kept his cool.

“Can we talk later? I really need t’get things done. I-” he was in mid-sentence when you turned your back and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind you.

You were only a couple steps away from the door when you heard heavy footsteps coming closer towards the door. Immediately regretting your previous action, you walked faster towards the kitchen but before you could disappear behind the walls, the door was opened. You could feel him staring at your back.

“Wha’ was all that about?!” he seethed. 

“Why are you talking to me? Weren’t you the one who asked if we could talk later? Didn’t you have to get things done?” You mocked him out of spite. You knew you were basically adding fuel to the fire but you couldn’t think clearly.

(ooooh everyone’s pissed 👀)

Part two

[razorblade180]

Rosebud prep 8

[Tai’s House]

Today was a special day. Lately Ruby has been having a life’s worth of those. From the excitement of Weiss’s luxurious baby shower, to the knowing what it’s like to not see her own toes. She’s roughly roughly eight months pregnant and has been assaulted with every conceivable thing they pregnancy had to offer. It was very fortunate that not only had she married a patient man. She married one with enough sisters to handle any obstacle. Truly Ruby has lucked out once again. Combat skirts and corsets had been ditched for months and replaced with Tai’s oversized T-shirts and her red sweat pants. It was scary how used she had gotten to do nothing. The thought of weighing herself gave her dread to the point Jaune keeps track of the number without revealing it. Everyday there was pain coursing through her feet and the baby has obviously gotten her high spirits because boy did it kick hard! Ruby loved every moment of it.

Right now the woman sat in one of Maria’s many rocking chairs and enjoyed the fresh autumn air. The sky is painted an intoxicating orange that gave her chills. Her hand on her stomach as she lightly hummed. As much as she loved fairytales, nursery rhymes escaped her mind often. The only song that was constant in her mind was Gold since Yang had lovingly lulled the girl to sleep with it all the time growing up. It would just be another thing to bond over along with being an autumn born child. At this point she was crossing her fingers that this kid would get something from Jaune. Her train of thought was broken the moment her gaze went away from the sky and back to the porch’s other guests.

Ruby:*smiling* You know y’all didn’t have to take time off for me right?

Yang:You are actually insane if you believe for even a second that I am going to be across the world when you go into labor. I will be around for my baby sister giving birth to her baby. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Ruby:Blake can you please tell your future wife that being here for a month is crazy and better spent planning the wedding she’s dreamed of?

Blake:Do you think I would be here if I agreed with you? This baby tops whatever plans we have. Yang has already bought a shirt that says “hot aunt” on the front.

Ruby:I wanna believe you’re joking, but I absolutely know your not.

Weiss:I begged her not to.

Yang:Then she found one in white.

Weiss:Now we match.

Ruby:You didn’t....

Weiss:We both know how I feel about kids. Better believe that shirt is hanging up in a proud spot in my closet.

Blake:If it makes you feel better they also had a black one. We are all still color correct.

Ruby:And I thought Jaune was losing it over this bundle of joy. All of you are no better.

Yang:Where is the baby daddy anyways? I thought he’d never leave your side.

Jaune:*opens door* He hasn’t.

Tai:*walks out with ice tea pitcher* He was just helping me in the kitchen.

Jaune:What did I miss?

Ruby:Yang is replacing you as clinging blonde who loves this baby.

Yang:Oh don’t act like you don’t love it.

The older sister walks over as tea is passed around. She kneels down and gently wraps her arms around Ruby; laying her head on the baby bump and making her little sis giggle.

Yang:Hey there little rascal. Your mother thinks we’re all looney for loving you so much but she’s just playing cool. I can tell out of everyone that she’s thrilled the most. Just wait, I’ll gonna smother you with love the way only an aunt can. This family is pretty noisy but we know you’ll get used to it.

Ruby:Pfft, now I feel bad. I- Yang....?

Yang:Right now the whole family can’t be here but that’s okay. You’re gonna love uncle Ren and auntie Nora. If anyone who’s an expert on kids by now it’s them. Not to mention your great uncle Qrow. He might look grumpy but he’s a big softie. His semblance makes him wary to be around Ruby right now but I’m sure you’ll get along great.

Ruby:Yang....

Yang:Am I forgetting anyone really important? Well there’s-

Ruby:YANG!!

Yang:Huh???

Ruby:I uhhh, I think my water just broke.

Everyone:......

Jaune:.......WHAT!?

Suddenly Ruby hunches over like the wind got knocked out of her. Yang quickly jumps to her feet and is fully alert and caught of gaurd.

Yang:Right now!?

Ruby:Ri....agh! Yeah it’s definitely right now!

Tai:I’ll drive!!!

Blake:I’ll call ahead!!!!

Weiss:I’ll make sure we have everything. This is actually happening!

Jaune:Alright Ruby, up you go. Let’s go have a baby....

Ruby:Ugh, this gonna hurt a lot isn’t it?

xxxx

Ruby: AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Doctor M:You’re doing great Ruby. Just a little bit more to go I promise!

Ruby:It........really hurts........

She had been screaming for at least half an hour now; not that she could really tell. First it was from the contractions but now came the time to actually push. Desperately she tried to control her breathing as did nothing but focus on the task at hand. Her hair clinged to her forehead that was covered in sweat that coated everywhere. Ruby never felt so tired before. Fighting Salem was ten times easier than this hands down. Once or twice Ruby looked to her right to see Jaune looking at her with nothing but vigor and determination; silently letting her know that he was here and that she could do this. His hand being grabbed like a vice by hers as she nodded. Screw the pain, the sweat, the blinding lights; none of that mattered. She had a job to do and she knew that it’ll be worth it. The only thing that mattered was to-

Doctor M: PUSH!!!!!

Ruby:AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

The echoes of scream mightier than a grimm dragon filled the halls off Vale’s hospital. Everyone sat in the waiting room in nail biting anticipation. Few people around them needed to ask what had them so tense. Consciously Yang knew the reason for the screaming yet it didn’t calm her big sister instincts as she paced around the tile floor. Each scream making her flinch hard. She doesn’t think she ever heard Ruby in such pain. Blake saw her partner gradually start to unravel bit by bit and took her hand in reassurance.

Blake:She’ll be alright.

Yang:I know but.....

Tai:Trust me when I say Summer screamed louder. I know Jaune must be scared to death right now.

Blake:My mom apparently sounded like some primal beast with me. I hope I don’t sound too bad.

Yang:....

Blake:What?

Yang:You....want kids? *blushing*

Blake:Yeah. Wait, do you not?

Yang:Oh I want kids we just never really mentioned it before. That’s just...phew, anyone else light headed?

Weiss:Yang please go sit down and I’ll go get you some water.

Yang:*sits* Thank you.

The Heiress wonders off at brisk speed. I’m truth, Weiss also really couldn’t take hearing the screams of her partner happen in intervals. She was granted a reprieve however since the vending machine was a few floors down; the sounds being almost like whispers. The glare from the setting sun hurt her stress filled eyes to the point she wanted to cover the window in solid ice. Two water bottles finally came out and Weiss immediately put one of them on her forehead with her eyes closed.

Weiss:(Ruby I love you pieces but you’re making my head pound)

Thump Thump Thump....

Weiss:*opens eyes* That...that wasn’t my head.

Thump Thump Thump....

The noise continues in random succession as Weiss confusingly walks around the area until it eventually gets louder. Her head turns to see a door completely on the the other end slightly jiggle in beat of the thumping with a nurse by it. The blue sign next to it quickly told her what room it was.

Weiss:The restroom???

xxxx

Doctor M: Alright Ruby, just give me one more big push. You’re in the home stretch.

Ruby: huff...Sweatie..?huff

Jaune:I’m here. *tighting grip*

Ruby:I know. *smirks* Ready to lose our bet?

Jaune:*smiles* Only one way to find out.

Doctor M:All set!?

Ruby:Bring it on.

Doctor M:One three then. One...Two...THREE!!!

Call it her second, conviction, you can call it the absolute power of the Gods and women itself. Regardless of the label, Ruby Rose summoned every once of strength she had left to push as hard as she could; a kind of strength that she didn’t even know was possible at all let alone something she could possess. With it came a scream but from the pain. It was resolve. Love. Soon the screamed was met another that silenced hers. It was small yet so mighty that Ruby couldn’t help but succumb to tears. She wasn’t the only one. Jaune braced his arm against her hospital bed while his right hand covered his mouth; tears forming as easily as rain.

The doctor grinned at both of them as she held the source of the small scream wrapped up in a blanket in her arms. All Ruby could do is put her hands out in an eager and tired attempt to hold finally see her baby; the doctor didn’t make her wait a second longer and put it gently in her arms. Time felt like it stopped; reality slipping away. The only thing that remained was her, Jaune, and the new addition to their life. Her finger brushing a head of black and faded red hair out of the way to reveal eyes that dazzled like the moon; like hers. Ruby slowly pulled it closer to her chest to embrace tiny warmth further. Jaune reached out to cradled the both of them and doing his best not to fall apart.

Jaune:Doctor, can you do the honors?

Doctor M:Congratulations to your healthy baby boy.

Ruby:A boy. Jaune we have a beautiful baby boy. *sniffling*

Doctor M:Looks like someone needs to be fitted for a dress.

Jaune:Wouldn’t be the first time. I’d lose a thousand times over for this moment.

Tai:Oh my goodness...

The new parents look up to see Tai, Yang, and Blake crowding the doorway in awe. Ruby waves them in one by one happily seeing their face light up as they get closer.

Ruby:Hey you guys. Come meet the newest member of the group. Dustin Arc Rose.

Tai:I’m a grandpa.....*tearing up*

Blake:He is gorgeous.

Yang:How are you feeling?

Ruby:Like I fought a hundred battles in a row. Jaune I have no idea how your mother did this eight time. Arc’s really are a sturdy bunch.

Jaune:Trust and believe that no one knows what makes her such a trooper but hey, you’re one too now. Is there anything the number one huntress can’t do?

Ruby:Not as long as she has you. All of you.

Yang:Can I hold him please?

Doctor M:Hold up. As much as I love creating beautiful moments, still have a job to do which ruins them. I gotta clean the little guy off properly and make sure he’s actually all ready to go. Those screams where a good sign and if he’s anything like his parents then this won’t take too long. Ruby I hate to be a mood killer but....

Reluctantly she handed over her baby and received a wink from the doctor as she exited the room. She already missed him but was immediately surrounded by family smiles. Tai handed her another well deserved pillow for his daughter. Adrenaline and holding Dustin was all that kept her body from instant fatigue black out but now it was trying to catch her. Sleep never sounded so good.

Jaune:You okay there Rubes?

Ruby:You think the doctor would be upset if you used your aura to give me a pick me up?

Jaune:I feel like this type of tired is above my threshold.

Tai:If you’re anything like your mother then you’ll bounce back better than ever.

Ruby:Hehe, looks like I’m getting cooler from here on out.

Yang:That’s nothing new. Just rest up, you can have my water whenever Wei-Oh my god Weiss missed all of this because of me!!!!

Ruby:I was wondering where she was.

Blake:She’s going to be so livid.

Yang:Wh...who knows? Maybe she will be completely calm about the whole thing?

Weiss:*runs in* H E Y ! ! ! Tell me I’m not late!?

Yang:Ahh! I’m sorry! We already saw the baby and he’s adorable! He’ll be back in a few minutes with- *turns around*

Yang’s words got caught in her throat as she saw the shaken expression on Weiss’s face. Urgency filled the shorter girls eyes but that’s not what stunned th room. Weiss’s clothes, they were covered in blood. The Two more sets of footsteps come from behind her. One was a trembling nurse who was also covered in blood as she supported a body around her shoulder. The person was bleeding from their torso and looked half dead; their head hanging and in ruined surgical attire. The room went pale and stomachs dropped when they saw person raise their head with fading eyes. It was doctor Michaels.

Doctor Michaels:Tr.....p tr...a..p

Tears ran down her face before her body went limp. The nurse layed her on the ground and was about to rush in to grab tools but immediately stopped at the sight of the doctors face. She gone. Ruby felt completely numb. If this was the doctor....

Jaune:EVERYBODY FAN OUT!!!

Ruby watched Jaune and her team dash out the room immediately and slpit off; busting open Every single door they came across. Tai took the nurses hand and guided her and the doctor to Ruby before heading out the door way.

Tai:Lock this door and call the authorities immediately!

Ruby:D...dad? W....where’s my baby?

He watched tears form in Ruby’s eyes. What could he say? What do you say? His hands clenched tightly before running off and joining the search. Time was everything. The nurse immediately closed the door and followed Tai’s instruction. Ruby reached for the bed rail to pull herself up but her arm went limp in a second. Making her fall back against the pillow. She tried again but the outcome was the same. Not even her legs would respond properly as she desperately tried to move before the nurse restrained her so she didn’t injure herself. Giving birth had taken to much energy. Ruby was a sitting duck.

Ruby:Let me go!!! I gotta find my son!

Nurse:You are in no condition to move! Right now you’re-

knock knock knock

Both of them shifted attention to the door. There wasn’t anymore knocking. Instead the door handle slowly grew brighter and brighter until it melted off completely. That was all Ruby needed to immediately feel terror and rage grip her soul. The nurse reached for phone but was immediately struck with glass right through her stomach through the newly made hole. She didn’t feel pain at first; just overwhelming heat ripping through her body as the door opened. Revealing Ruby’s fear complete with an old outfit she hadn’t seen since she was fifteen.

Cinder:Helpless. That’s what you were going to say right?

xxxx

Yang and Jaune raced down the hall in full force. She recklessly swung open every door to her right and knocked into people while Jaune did the same one the left. Nothing. With each failure they got faster and faster as they raced up the stairs to the higher floors. Yang grabbed her scroll to call Weiss and Blake who where going down.

Yang:Please tell me you found him!

Blake:Not yet!

Weiss:Damnit!!! There’s too many rooms and people!

Jaune:KEEP LOOKING! They couldn’t have-

Yang:THERE!

His eyes shifted to see the “Doctor” standing in the elevator holding the baby; his baby. The person locked eyes with the bonds as they struggled to reach the kidnapper before the doors closed. Unfortunately it was in vain. Halfway way there they watched the door closed on a sadistic smirk but that’s not all. Yang’s eyes went deep red watching the set of emerald eyes turn pink and brown. With one powerful step she lunged over all the people and pried the doors open to see the elevator car going up fast. If wasn’t for the baby she would’ve snapped the cable right then and there.

Yang:IT’S FUCKING NEO!!!

Blake:What!!!

Weiss:Does that mean Cinder is here?

Yang:She’s heading to the roof!

Tai:Damnit all! I’m heading back to Ruby!

Blake:You’ll need back up. I’ll head back too. Everyone else go to the roof.

Yang:Okay. Jaune let’s-

He was already moving towards the staircase. His aura washed over his body in a divine white and pushed his body beyond its normal limits. Increasing his speed dramatically. Yang followed his lead by jumping of the railing and propelling herself upwards like a rocket with her arm.

A few floors down, Weiss smashed a window and jumped out. She waved her left hand to form a glyph platform then made a line of them running along the entire building. She ran up towards the top while Blake stopped at the floor Tai was on and continued back to Ruby’s room. This was beyond bad; they were completely blindsided. Worst of all, it had been in a hospital. They were weaponless.

xxxx

Cinder:Surprised to see me little Rose? Well, I guess you’re not that little anymore now are you? You seemed to surprised to see me. I guess that makes since; it’s been a few years since our last encounter. Longer since you seen me in this.

Ruby:Cinder. I....I spared your life....

Cinder:Bet your regretting that decision now aren’t you?

The nurse tried to move until the blood in her veins lit up along with the shard in her. Bringing the woman to her knees and hacking like a feral animal. Ruby leaned forward before the weight of Cinder’s grimm arm pressed her back down. The nails slightly digging into her neck. Ruby’s eyes lit up dimly before fading and draining away what little energy she had.

Cinder:I wouldn’t try to move. It’ll only get worse.

Ruby:Leave her alone Cinder or-

Cinder:Or what? Silver eye blast? You can’t even sit up. Kids really are the death of us huh? It’s almost sad really.

Ruby:If you want me then fine. Just....cough let everyone else go.

Cinder:Pfft, typical. Always trying to play the hero. Always thinking your above others; stronger than them.

Ruby:You’re deranged.

Cinder:And you are pathetic. Brain dead even. Are all honest souls like this or just you? I wonder how that kid is the same? Or at least, would he have been? Given the chance to grow up.

Ruby couldn’t do anything but listen as Cinder laughed at her. Tears rolled down her face uncontrollably. Grabbing Cinder’s wrist weakly in desperation and despair.

Cinder:That’s what I wanted to see. How long has it been? Since you’ve felt so powerless.

Ruby:Please.......

Cinder:Hmm?

Ruby:If you want me dead then just do it already but please......leave him out of this. He has nothing to do with this!

Cinder:*grabs harder* He has everything to do with this. Listen closely, I’m not gonna kill you. That doesn’t settle what you did to me. After all you didn’t kill me. No, you killed my dreams; my perception this world. You made me realize I wasn’t as strong as I thought. Because of you and your friends my dreams of ruling under Salem and being on top are history. Now it’s your turn for dreams to die. I’m killing your happy ending and the best part is it’s all because you had to take the moral high ground. Reap what you sow right? Eye for an eye. Speaking of which, I guess I have a two brand new ones. You think his left or right eyes would look best on me.

Ruby:I’m going to kill you....

Cinder:Little late don’t you think? Maybe in your dreams.

Monstrous fingers squeezed tighter until Ruby’s vision went blurry. Seconds passed until she blacked out; never standing a chance. Cinder stared at her work. Even the sight of Ruby knocked out and still crying made her furious but she kept composure then left the room. She didn’t get one step in before Tai and Blake turned the corner to see her leaving the room. Both of them rushed her instinct but wasn’t expecting Cinder to yank the nurse out the room and throwing her towards them. The glass glew brighter than ever until bursting into flames and spreading it throughout the hall. The nurse screamed before turning into ash and distracting the pair. By the time they got through the flames, Cinder had vanished. Tai immediately ran into the room to check on Ruby.

Tai:She’s breathing but roughed up!

Blake:Guys we saw Cinder but she got away! Did you get Dustin!?

......

Blake:Yang!? Weiss!? Jaune!? Someone answer me!!

xxxx

They didn’t feel tired or scared or anything for that matter. The three of them just simply ran and ran and didn’t once stop. Never stumbling. Never losing sight of their goal. All at once they arrived at their destination. Weiss over the edege if the building, Yang through the door to the room, and was immediately followed by Jaune. The trio locking eyes on Neo and closing in around her with arms stretched out. Just to be met the sound and sight of shattering glass the moment they can in contact. Their surroundings crumbled like their resolve. It was only them on the roof; staring at a helicopter fly away into the dreadful sunset and out of their reach in silence. Yang’s mouth open in an attempt to scream but was stopped by Weiss grabbing the girls hand. The fiery rage died painfully the moment she turned towards her. Weiss’s other hand was clinging to Jaune’s as the man dropped to the ground shaking in uncontrollably. The aura around him dying down to a complete stop; revealing tears running down his face.

Only one person should be screaming but he didn’t. He just watched. Yang’s red eyes turned back to normal and bent down towards Jaune with Weiss. The two women put their arms around him and held tightly. Finally he broke the silence; Wailing and screaming at the world for doing this to him. To Ruby. All while Weiss and Yang sunk into the shared sorrow. Tears staining Jaune’s shirt, but they never screamed. Only one person should be screaming right now. The man who just lost his son.

Part 7

[emichelle]

Love You Through It

Maxwell x Erin

This is a guest fic for @cordoniansgonewild collectively written by @ao719 @cocomaxley @leelee10898 and @speedyoperarascalparty​. 

This is for two different prompt requests, hope y'all don't mind I put them together. 😘

December 21st

"I'm glad you finally finished painted so we could get in here and try to put all the little touches on it. I could've helped you know."

"You're not painting while you're pregnant, you weren't even coming in here if I could help it." Max stated matter of factly, dropping a rolled blush pink faux fur rug on the wooden floor of the nursery.

Erin stood on her tiptoes as he met her halfway for a sweet kiss.

"Let's put the crib together first, that way we can visualize where everything else is going." 

20 minutes into building the crib she had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. They had lost the allen wrench at least 5 times already, she had dropped the bed rail on his foot, but they were finally making some progress!

"Where...the hell...is the allen wrench this time!?" Max growled, quickly turning in a circle as Erin busted out laughing.

"It's...it's...oh my god I'm gonna pee!" She laughed even harder, motioning for him to stop as she grabbed the wrench from behind his ear. 

"She's probably not even going to sleep in this thing, we're gonna feel real dumb then won't we?" He chuckled, tightening the last screw and stepping back flourishing his hands towards the crib "TA DAAA!!!"

She smiled stepping up beside him, placing her hand over her belly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I love it. Now let's move it over there!" She pointed to the opposite side of the room as Max sighed.

"You mean let me move it over there...all the way over there. Why?" 

"I can help! I'm not completely useless you know. And there's more natural light over there, she'll be happier." She said as she picked up one end of the crib. 

Max smiled down at her, for being so scared when they first found out about little miss she sure was going to be the best mom. It was like a complete transformation. He picked the other side of the crib up and they shuffled it over to the other wall, that he had painted with a white design over the light grey paint.

"Much better. Now, the rug can go here...we can put the rocker over there...she'll need a bookshelf for all her books…" he silenced her with a sweet kiss, taking her by the hand and twirling her.

She laughed as he spun her, "what are you doing?" 

He pulled her back in close and began to sway with her, "What is it that you tell me? I'm just happy." He smiled down at her as he dropped her into a perfect dip, kissing her again.

"I hope our daughter is as go with the flow as you are, hopefully she has your temperament. Otherwise lord help the other kids at court." She chuckled, "I don't think they could handle a mini me."

"Well I happen to think you're pretty amazing. Our daughter is going to be so lucky with you as a mother." He twirled her one more time before they went back to decorating.

A faux fur rug, a grey washed rocking chair and ottoman, Max had ran out to get her a simple white bookshelf that stood 3 foot high that now housed a multitude of books. She had white curtains hanging over the two windows in her bedroom, and her closet was already full of little dresses and onesies. 

"Now we just have to go pick out some decorations and bedding for her before she makes her debut." He smiled, looking around the room, eyes falling on her asleep in the rocking chair. 

He chuckled, lifting her bridal style and carrying her back to their bedroom. It had been a long day, he was surprised she had made it without a nap anyway. She'd needed her rest, and truth be told so did he...tomorrow was going to be a rough day.

When you're weak, I'll be strong When you let go, I'll hold on When you need to cry, I swear That I'll be there to dry your eyes When you feel lost and scared to death, Like you can't take one more step Just take my hand, together we can do it I'm gonna love you through it.

December 22nd

Erin woke to the immediate need to pee, rolling out of bed and trudging to the bathroom. When she came back she saw that the bed was in fact empty, Maxwell's phone was still sitting on the nightstand though so she figured he must just be around. She made a trip down to the kitchen and back before she started to wonder where he had gotten off to. She checked her phone and saw that she had a text from Leo, "Just wanted to make sure he's ok today. It's always a hard day for him." 

Her eyes widened, that's today!? She hurried to the spare bedroom down the hall and began carrying things into the nursery. She had gotten the decor already, she didn't want to tell him because it was to be a surprise. Today seemed like the perfect day to show him everything, since this was part of the reason she picked the theme. Today was the anniversary of his mother's death. 

She got everything put up and it looked perfect, she was so happy with how it turned out and she hoped he would be too. She had another big surprise for him, she headed back to their room to turn on a home video. Watching as a tiny Bertrand and Maxwell ran around the room, the sound of their mothers laughter ringing out in the background. She smiled, she had found these videos a few months ago and she watched them when Max was gone. This was part of his surprise, she had something made special for him and their baby, and she was so excited to show him.

"What...WHAT are you doing!?" She jumped, turning to see Max moving quickly towards the tv before he ripped the cord out of the wall.

Her eyes widened as he turned towards her, eyes wild and breathing labored. 

"WHERE DID YOU FIND THOSE!?" He shouted, moving to stand 2 foot from where she was standing by the couch.

"I-I found them in the library Max...I thought you might like to watch them, they're so adorable and your mother"

"YOU WILL NOT TALK ABOUT MY MOTHER, WE DON'T TALK ABOUT MOTHER!" 

She could see the tears in his frantic eyes as he had started shaking. She gulped, taking a step towards him but he stepped back. She hung her head willing the tears to subside. 

I was only trying to do something nice...to celebrate her, to bring him some sort of comfort...so much for that gift.

"I'm sorry Max." She whispered, walking past him and out the bedroom door.

He sat down on the couch, head falling into his palms as he tried to calm his breathing. Running his fingers through his hair he pounded his fist on the coffee table, turning to look towards the open door before he flopped back on the couch and heard a muffled noise come from a lump under his back. Sitting back up he saw a stuffed hippo with a little red heart on his belly. He picked the soft toy up, examining it before pressing the heart.

"I love you so much, my precious baby"

Tears immediately began flowing from his eyes as his hands started shaking again. He pressed the button again, hearing his mothers voice come from the toy over and over. 

What have I done? I promised her I'd never hurt her...mother would be so disappointed. This is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever gotten me. I've got to go find her.

He walked the halls until he passed the nursery, hearing soft sniffles coming from the cracked door. He gently pushed the door open as his eyes widened. Hippos?

She had decorated the nursery while he was gone, a beautiful hippo princess bed set was covering his daughters crib...a ballerina hippo mobil hung over the top of it...beautiful and meaningful animal pictures hung on the wall over the bookshelf and there was a rocking hippo with a tutu by the window. Then his eyes landed on her, sitting on the rug holding a smaller hippo that looked just like the one he had found. 

She had one made for our daughter too...I can't believe I yelled at her…

Fresh tears streamed down his face as he fell to his knees behind her, pulling her back against his chest. 

"I'm so sorry baby, so so sorry. I shouldn't have reacted that way." He kissed the top of her head, arms wrapping around her bump.

She shook her head, wrapping her hands around his biceps, "No I'm sorry Max, I was just trying to do something meaningful and surprise you. I shouldn't have assumed you'd be fine with it."

"No, no, I'm fine now I promise. I...found the hippo." He felt her stiffen in his arms.

"I wanted to surprise you with them, I thought you'd be happy we could include your mother in her life even in this small way."

"I love them, and I love you. So much. Mother would've loved little miss, this is so perfect. She would've loved you too, I just know it." 

"So what do you think of the nursery? We can change it if you want." She muttered. 

"I love it…I wouldn't change a thing. You know how much this means to me, my mother, the hippo...it's perfect."

"Max, I'm sorry I upset you, but surely you know I'd never do anything like this to hurt you...right?"

He could hear her voice catch and it made his heart clench. He did know that, he knew she would never intentionally hurt him, especially like this. He hadn't meant to react that way.

"I know you wouldn't. It was a knee-jerk reaction, I saw the video and I panicked. It's been so long since we've watched those...since I've heard her voice."

She turned, draping her legs over his one leg as she snuggled closer into his chest.

"She was beautiful, and she seemed like so much fun. You definitely take after her, in looks as well as personality it seems like. I see why she was so important to you."

"Father...he never loved me. He never loved anybody, but his image. Our image. That didn't change even when mother was so sick. He never wanted it to get out. House Beaumont didn't need people's sympathy." His lip trembled and he buried his face in her neck, pulling her in as close as he could.

She stroked her fingers through his hair, "She knew Max, she knew how much you loved her. She still knows how much you love her. She'll always be with you, ya know. She'd be so proud of the man you've become." 

"She really would be." He mumbled into her hair, rubbing circles over her side with his thumb.

"You're an accomplished author, you sponsored the queen, you're an amazing brother, uncle, father, husband and friend."

He lifted his head as he spoke, "she'd be proud of me for being the man that you need. That my kids need. She wouldn't care about the fame or fortune, she never did. She'd be proud of me for finding you, for finding true love, and for holding on for dear life." He pressed his lips to hers in a breathtaking kiss. 

And when this road gets too long I'll be the rock you lean on Just take my hand, together we can do it I'm gonna love you through it.

[thatcrazysonicchick]

Come Back to Me, A FanFiction by That Crazy Sonic Chick

~ Act II ~

Amy, 19

Knuckles, 23

Rouge, 22

Tails, 16

One Year Later…

Amy pulled the pillow off of her head. She stretched, letting a squeak escape her lips. Looking out the window across the room, she sat up in her bed, rubbing her tired eyes. The pink hedgehog dropped her fist on the alarm sitting on her nightstand, silencing it. She flopped back down in bed, throwing her arm over her eyes.

"Ugh, why am I so tired?" She thought aloud. "I got a full night of sleep, and so did…" her eyes widened, and snapping up and out of bed, she threw her door open, throwing her head in the doorway of the nursery across the hall from her own room. "The baby!"

She scrambled down the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet. She looked around frantically in each room, searching and listening for any sign of…

"C'mon, sweetie, open up. Your mother loves strawberries, I'm sure you would too." Amy whipped her head towards the voice coming from the kitchen.

"If she's anything like her father, she's gonna be difficult and make it a game." She peeked around the corner with a relieved sigh, and saw a nicely dressed Rouge holding a spoon full of red goop in a spoon in front of the fussy hoglet, turning her head away from the food. Behind her stood Knuckles, leaning against the fridge with his arms crossed.

"Yes, well, she certainly is stubborn." Amy spoke, revealing herself at the door. Both turned their heads to see an exhausted mother, with bags under her eyes and one heck of a bed head. Knuckles snorted as Rouge stood straight, walking up to her and presenting the jar of baby food and spoon.

"Amy, dear… Your baby is not being very cooperative with her Auntie Rouge this morning… and Chaos, you're looking rough." Amy rolled her eyes and gave a small smile.

"Thanks, Rouge. You always know what to say." She took the baby food and presented it to her daughter. She swatted her hand at the spoon, sending it flying to the floor and threw her head back, with a tiny scream in protest. Amy let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, Nikki…"

"This is why I stick to wardrobe duty." The bat sat, placing all her weight on one leg, resting a hand on her hip.

"And even that's questionable sometimes." Knuckles muttered, reminding others of his presence.  “Morning, Amy.”

Rouge scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Oh please, you put your socks on her on Tuesday."

"Her feet were cold, and I couldn't get her tiny socks on those tiny feet! It was like playing with Cream's dolls back when she was six!"

"Her birthday is coming up, y'know." Amy said, rinsing off the dirty spoon she'd picked up off the floor.

"I know. I can't believe it. Almost ten years old."

"She's turning fourteen, Knuckles." Rouge corrected dryly.

"What?! Fourteen?!" Amy, leaning over the high chair’s surface in front of her,  looked back at him over her shoulder, nodding, with a look that said "I know, I can't believe it either."

"At least she's out of her pretend-tea-party phase. Those got pretty awkward." Knuckles chuckled.

"You're not finished yet. Cream already promised me she'd take 'Tea Party Duty' with the little lady." Amy said, booping her little one on the nose with the now clean spoon. "Alright, take two."

"More like take seven." Rouge said.

"Take cover, everyone." Knuckles warned, hiding behind Rouge. He laughed at the dirty look he got from her as Nikki fought once more. Amy pulled the spoon back before it made another trip to the ground.

"I don't understand why she's being cranky. She slept all night, no problem. She's gotta be hungry." She lifted the container to her eye level, reading the label. She giggled, tossing it in the trash and reached in the pantry, pulling out a jar of strawberry baby food. She twisted the lid off, and scooped a small amount out, and with one "Here comes the airplane" later, no fuss, no muss. Nikki happily ate her breakfast.

"What the…?" Knuckles began.

"Airplane?" She's been spending some time with Tails the baby whisperer, huh?" Rouge joked. "That's all it took?" Amy wiped the remaining food off of the child's face and lifted her out of the high chair.

"Who grabbed the jar?" Amy asked, holding messy hedgehog on her hip. Rouge pointed to Knuckles, who had his hand raised. Amy laughed. "Those weren't strawberries. They were beets." Rouge slapped Knuckles up the back of his head. Amy smiled, shaking her head and bringing her to the changing table.

"Hey!" He said, rubbing the back of his head.

"It was in the back of the shelf for a reason!"

"Well how was I supposed to know?"

"She's going to hate me now, thinking that I tried to feed her beets." She pouted, crossing her arms. Amy came back, throwing a dirty diaper in the trash, landing next to the beets.

"You jumped at the opportunity to feed her, but didn't mind leaving diaper duty to me?"

"Sorry, hun. But I've got to draw the line somewhere, and that line is at getting poop stuck under my nails. And I just got a fresh manicure." She said, showing her rhinestone nails off for her to see. Nikki reached out to inspect them. Amy looked over to Knuckles.

"Nope. Not even sorry." He said with a smirk.

"It's probably for the best. She'd either lose her diaper in two minutes or lose circulation in her legs." The man growled as Rouge smirked, kissing him on the cheek.

"Don't worry, Knuckie. You'll get your turn with our children."

"Don't hold your breath." Knuckles said, failing at hiding the heat coming to his face.

"He's right, Rouge." Amy said, handing the baby to her. "I mean, he only proposed after three years of you two dating."

"Chaos knows how long until he actually starts helping me plan the wedding." The woman muttered. "But that's okay. Because the longer Uncle Knuckles waits, the more expensive our wedding is going to be. Isn't that right, my pink little topaz?" She said to Nikki. She only responded with a drip of drool. Amy quickly wiped it away before heading upstairs.

"I'm gonna go clean myself up real quick. Knuckles, what time are we supposed to be at Tails' shop?"

"Uhh…" Knuckles checked his phone. "Thirty two minutes ago."

"Crap." Amy replied in a mutter as she ran up the stairs, before a loud thump echoed down the stairway. "Damn it!" And the door to the bathroom closed.

The couple sat on the living room floor, playing with their God-Daughter. Knuckles let a low laugh escape his lips. Rouge turned her head to him, raising an eyebrow.

"What's so funny?"

"I was thinking maybe you could bedazzle a helmet for this one." He said, tickling the hoglet's feet.

"What?" She was completely lost.

"I'm just saying, if this kid's gonna have her mom's footing and her dad's speed…" Realization hit her in the face.

"...Maybe some matching knee and elbow pads. Just in case."

~    ~    ~

"Tails?" Amy called, peeking her head under the garage door. Knuckles grabbed the bottom of it 

and pulled it up enough for them to walk through.

"We're here, man. Where you at?"

"I'm over here!" His voice traveled through the shop, no telling where "over here" was. The two looked around, stepping over wires and around machines.

"Down here!"

"Where's 'here'?" Amy asked. A head popped out from under the Tornado. The fox removed his goggles and looked up at his friends.

"Hey, guys!" He pushed himself out and off of his swivel board, wiping his hands off on a rag, and dusting himself off.

"Why were you under the Tornado?" Knuckles asked.

"Where else would I be?" Tails laughed, patting the side of his plane. "You know she's my pride and joy."

"It's creepy that you refer to it as 'she'." Knuckles said, giving him a weirded out look.

"And it's weird that you refer to the Master Emerald as your friend. Moving on." He retorted, setting his goggles in bis tool box. He hopped up and sat on the edge of his work table. "So, how's Little Miss Nikki?"

"Oh, she's good. I'm finally getting full nights of sleep again."

"That's good to hear. Congratulations." He laughed, leaning back. "The reason I'm asking is because…" He reached back and pulled a nicely wrapped box out from behind him.

"You finally finished it, huh?" Knuckles teased.

"It only took me a couple of months." Tails said, rolling his eyes. "You have no room to talk, Mr. Takes-Too-Long-To-Pull-A-Ring-Out-Of-A-Box." Amy snorted, spitting her tea out and Knuckles balling up his fists.

"That is all I have heard about for the last six months! I did it, that's all that matters. Just drop it already!" Amy and Tails ceased their laughter and shifted their eyes back to the gift in Amy's lap.

"So… what is it?" Amy asked, inspecting the box, weighing it.

"You're gonna have to open it up and find out!" Tails said. "C'mon, hurry up!"

"Tear it up, Amy!" Knuckles encouraged. "Like Nikki and her strawberries." Amy laughed as she peeled the rest of the paper off, and lifted the lid off. She pulled the tissue paper off the top and found a blue surface, in the middle a string with a hook at the end. Lifting it by the hook, she removed the whole thing from the box, setting it on the floor as she inspected her surprise.

“Oh, Tails, it’s beautiful!” She said. It was a mobile. A royal blue surface with a circle of gold rings hung from it, and in the center, an accurate sized model of a green chaos emerald. “I love it!”

“We’re gonna need to tell Rouge that’s a fake.” Knuckles laughed.

“She actually saw it while we were working on it.” Tails said, admiring his work. “She knows it’s a fake.”

“She’s got an eye for anything sparkly. Probably won’t stop her.” Amy teased. Tails laughed.

“Yeah, that’s what Sonic said.” He slowed his laughing down, and all fell silent. Amy’s smile had faded away, and Knuckles set a hand on her shoulder. “...Amy, Sonic helped with this. He actually helped design it.” Tails’ eyes met with Amy’s wet, sparkling eyes. “He never got to see the finished project, but…” he took a deep breath, his own being a little shaky. “He’d be proud of the outcome. And you.” Amy blinked out a single tear, and nodded her head, forcing a smile.

“He’d be proud of all of us. I know it.”

“I can’t believe it’s about to be a year,” Knuckles spoke up. “It doesn’t feel like that long ago.”

“It really doesn’t.” Tails replied, before the room fell silent. The air felt heavy, and as much as they all didn’t like it, it was hard to not think about him throughout the day. For all of them, he was the first thing they thought about in the morning, and the last thing before they fell asleep.

“I miss him.” Amy said, fighting her emotions. Tails hopped down and kneeled at her side, and the two boys hugged her from both sides. Leaning her head on Knuckles and resting her hand on Tails. hand, they all stayed silent, mourning their friend, their brother, their husband. Tails took a deep breath and stepped away, coming back zipping up his coat.

“What are you doing?” Amy asked, wiping a tear away, watching the kitsune prepare to face the cold winter outside.

“I think it’s time we pay Sonic another visit. It’s been a while.” Tails said, placing his earmuffs on. 

“Let’s go get some lunch.”

Amy looked over at Knuckles. “I actually do need to go get Cream a birthday gift,” Amy said, setting the mobile back in the box, sliding it securely under his workspace. Knuckles nodded his head, with a smile.

“I don’t think Rouge would mind some extra time with Nikki.” Knuckles said. “Probably use the advantage to make up for feeding her beets.” Amy giggled.

“Rouge got Nikki to eat beets?” Tails said surprised, opening the door and letting the others out first. Both shook their head, laughing.

“I’ll explain on the way.” Amy said, as she tossed her scarf around her neck. Tails looked over his shop, and closed the door behind him.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes (Chapter six)

First of all, yes. This chapter is late. My husband got me a weighted blanket and I’ve spent the last 72+ hours living under it. Also, this week’s kinda gone to shit for me since posting Coffee on Tuesday. 

Eventual Clint x OFC, rated M. Prior chapters are located on my masterlist. 

Chapter warnings: Depictions of death and decomposition of persons of various age groups. Unhealthy thoughts and persons wishing they were dead without suicidal inclinations or intent.

Chapter 6: Hope (For The Baby)

~~~~~<3

19 days post decimation

~~~~~<3

Deanna was thankful to see the clouds let up as she sat in the doorway. It had been over two days of constant rain and she knew she needed to move on. Surely the body that was rolled into the ditch not nearly far enough away for comfort was beginning to rot in the wet weather. Before long, it would start to smell, even from across dirt road.

It was easier to think of him as ‘just a body’ and ‘it’. Still sitting under the awning by the door was it’s backpack. She couldn’t bear to think of it as a ‘him’ let alone by name. The cans of formula haunted her thoughts. Out somewhere in this town was a baby waiting for someone to bring it more food and she was the reason why they would starve.

It was mid-morning before she gave in and tossed the backpack onto the floor in front of the passenger seat of the truck. With a whistle, she called Trust over and he happily jumped into the seat and waited patiently for her to climb into the driver’s seat and start the engine. It felt so close to normal.

It a long time to find the house. She could have stopped at a gas station and gotten a map rather than driving around aimlessly in the still seemingly deserted town but she didn’t. Somewhere deep down inside her, she knew if she stopped before finding his home she wouldn’t finish the task at hand. She prayed to a god she was sure didn’t care that the baby was okay, that she hadn’t killed some innocent child.

She wasn’t able to save her own kids but she wouldn’t be the reason this little one died too. Surely the man wouldn’t have left a baby alone. Someone had to be caring for it. It was something she told herself over and over again. It was something she needed to believe in.

Absently she wondered if it would be more useful to pray to Thor or Loki- at least she knew they were real. No one really knew the extent of their powers but at least Thor seemed to care for mankind. It was insanity. She surely had gone crazy by now so did it really matter who she prayed to?

It was nearing five according to the clock in the truck when she found the street. From there, it took no time at all to find the house. It was a small ranch style home within a trailer park. When she had been looking at homes, seemingly a lifetime ago when she was married and her life looked full of promise she remembered being told that trailers were no longer being manufactured and that instead they made prefabricated manufactured homes that were comparable in size and style while giving a slightly more traditional appearance. To her they still looked like trailers when situated on small lots, crammed close together, though.

Getting out of the car shouldn’t have been as hard as it was. Instead, she sat in the truck with the engine off until Trust started whining and yipping. If not for him, she couldn’t say how long she would have sat there before slowly climbing out. It felt like she was going to her death.

With the backpack slung over one shoulder, she walked up the neat little cobble stairs, one slow step at a time. In between each stone the weeds and grass had started to overgrow. It had once been a well cared for front yard and the signs of the loving care are still clear to see after over two weeks. Yet you could just begin to see the signs of nature reclaiming what had once been man’s.

The door was cracked open and there was no signs of anyone being alive in the trailer let alone in the park overall. The silence was deafening at first but she had begun to adjust to it. Surely those who also survived where surely becoming used to the silence much like her.

“Hello?” She called out, for the first time intentionally drawing attention to herself. Trust was calm and peaceful by her side. “Anyone here?”

Nothing but silence answered her. Carefully she pushed open the door. The house was dark inside. The windows had the curtains drawn over them and the air was still. Trust stayed close to her heels as she walked into the room, each step carefully measured. In her heart she prayed that a mother would turn out of the hall with a baby in her arms and that the trip wasn’t wasted, that she could give the formula to the baby it was intended for to make up for her sins.

Trust was close on her heels as she closed the door behind her, always better to have doors closed and locked in order to prevent someone else from coming in. There was a stench to the air telling her that the freezer was likely well stocked with meat and the power had been out for a while. It was a smell that she had begun to get used to as she raided houses for supplies.

The living room was empty, as was the kitchen and small dining room. There was a door at one end of the living space and a small hall across the living room from it. Making her way down the hall she found a small library with a cozy chair and a surprising number of books. While she liked to pretend she wasn’t one for stereotypes, she didn’t peg those who lived in a trailer park to be the kind that would have a room dedicated to heavy books.

Across the hall from the door to the library was a small bathroom. Automatically Deanna went to the medicine cabinet, checking for antibiotics and finding none. Without much thought, she opened the door at the end of the hall. Behind this door was a nursery with frilly white lace and soft pink blankets. The walls were a blush pink and a plush blanket was draped over the rail of the crib.

The only thing missing was the baby.

On the small table by the door was a bottle. Picking it up she found the milk had long gone sour. Again and again she tried to tell herself that it meant nothing, even as she set the bottle back on the dust covered table. Deanna made her way back across the small living space and toward the last unopened door as her heart thumped in her chest.

She expected that the room would be as empty as the rest of the house. Trust had not raised any alarm or acted as if anything was off. However when she slowly swung the door open the scent of rot was instantly so much stronger than in even the kitchen.

Yet she did not turn away.

On the center of the bed rested a baby in a dark blue jumper with pink flowers on the feet. The first thought to cross her mind was that for whatever reason the man must have left meat out in the bedroom. The second thought was how irresponsible it was to leave a baby alone in the middle of a full size bed with rotting meat in the room. She stepped closer without thinking, intending to retrieve the baby from the stench, to protect the little girl.

It was only when she reached out that she realized there was no meat left to rot in the room. When she reached out and grazed her fingers against the baby’s leg the full horror of what she saw dawned on her.

The little girl was gone. Deanna wanted to blame herself for it. If only she hadn’t killed that man, this little one would still live. Yet as she looked down at the baby’s bloated body, she knew it wasn’t her fault. The child had been gone for far longer than the two days she had been alone. The stench was overwhelming now that she realized that what it was she was smelling was the smell of a small body decomposing.

A sob tore through her as she backed away from the bed and out of the room. The backpack fell from her shoulder as her legs collided with the overstuffed recliner in the living room. She fell hard over the arm and clumsily rolled out of it and onto the floor. Trust was at her side in a matter of moments.  

The warmth of the dog’s tongue on her arm helped draw her out of the panic that was crowding her mind. It was grounding and drew her arms around the dog’s still too thin frame. Her fingers dug into Trust’s thick coat and choked sobs ripped from her chest. Though the sobs were violent, no tears managed to fall from her eyes.

There was nothing more she wanted then to go home. She wanted to go to the house she rented for her and her children. She wanted to surround herself with their things and the smell of them. There was nothing she wouldn’t give in that moment to return to that safe place where things almost made sense and she could pretend life would go on.

It took a while to get her breathing under control but Trust was patient just the same. She stood on shaking legs and made her way out the front door, leaving it wide open behind her. Once she was back to the RV she packed up and secured everything and without a thought to the untested makeshift racks holding the pots into place, she started the engine and pulled out onto the road.

~~~~~<3

Day 22 post decimation

~~~~~<3

Clint’s back ached in a way that it never had before. Perhaps it was his age catching up with him. What he did know was that ten years ago spending three weeks sleeping on hay, tarps and old blankets wouldn’t have fucked up his back nearly this much. Hell, he wouldn’t even be in this much pain five years ago. Now he was sitting on the porch wondering if any chiropractors within a hundred miles survived the decimation.

Coffee sounded amazing. He hadn’t had a cup in a week. He could just power up the generator and make a pot. Still, the idea of going into what until three weeks ago had been the family home made his stomach toss. He could always go into town and make coffee somewhere. It was something he’d done a few times when he would wake up from his nightmare induced half mad searches for his family.

He was busy trying to will himself into going into the main house when his phone came to life in his pocket. Thanks to the small generator in the shed he had managed to keep it alive but many of the towers were down resulting in spotty coverage at best. The only reason a call would go through was his own personal tower that kept him connected to Stark’s systems.  

“Yes?”

“Tony’s back.” Natasha wasted no time.

“How is he?” Clint leaned back against the steps, letting the edges push into his back. A groan slipped out of him when his back popped. He hadn’t spoken to Tony since the battle in the airport with the exception of a snide comment from his holding cell. When he had been released to house arrest, Clint had fully expected the self powering arc reactor generator and small cell tower to be gone from the Barton property but they were not.

“Not good.” Nat admitted.

“What happened up there?”

“We haven’t been able to get a full story- he’s only been back for an hour. He’s in rough shape. Got stabbed. Dehydrated. Malnourished.”

“Two outta three he’s been through before.” It was a joke, in bad taste but Natasha still offered a brittle chuckle. It was dark humor that made their jobs easier to survive. You had to smile when you could. You had to laugh when you could.

“Yeah. He blames Steve. Yelled at him.”

“What about…”

“He doesn’t blame you.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“What do you think you could have done?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Nothing. There was nothing. I’ve gone over it time and time again. Are there things I wish we did differently? Yeah. But I don’t think if we only changed you it would have been enough to win it.”

“But you can’t know that.”

“You’re right, I can’t. No one can.”

“I know.” Clint sighed. “What’s done is done and all that.”

“Tony- he came back with two other people. They- They think they can find Thanos. One of them- Carol, thinks she can beat him, get the stones and ideally undo it. We’re talking about doing it- trying it.”

“Just tell me when and were.” Clint was on his feet in a blink. His heavy boots took him across the porch and for the first time in nearly a month, his hand was on the doorknob to his home.

“Clint.” There was a sharpness to her voice that he almost missed over the creaking of the hinges. “I’ll keep you updated but I don’t think it’s best if you go.”

He remembered the rest of the phone call though a dreamlike haze as he sat at the dining table. Again and again he told himself he had to have hope, had to trust in this Carol. More than anything he had to trust in Nat. She knew him in some ways better than his own wife had. He had to trust in her.

Though he had tired to hide his struggles, clearly he hadn’t done a good enough job of it. Nat noticed. It shouldn’t have surprised him, she noticed everything. Still it was a bitter pill to swallow knowing that unless she changed her mind he would once again be excluded from the mission.

He had something now that he hadn’t had before. There was a reason to start up the main generator. He had a reason to go on, to see to it he was in the best condition possible. It was such a simple thing that he was lacking. Hope was an amazing thing.

Hope gave him a reason to clean out the spoiled food. Hope gave him a reason to shower and change into a clean pair of clothes rather than continuing to wash in the stream that flowed nearby. Hope gave him a reason to tend Laura’s garden.

~~~~~<3

~~~~~<3

Three weeks. It had been a long three weeks. Deanna was amazed that she was still alive. She was stronger now, braver now. Still when she slept at night she would see that baby girl laying cradled in the arms of her father. That was her one regret from Utah, her only regret. She wished she had been strong enough to pick up the baby and take her to her father.

She didn’t regret killing him. It was clear that he was driven mad with grief. It was a kindness, really, what she had done for him. She was beyond thankful for the years she had with her children but she couldn’t imagine bringing them along into this world.

This world was too harsh for them. It was bitter and vile and nothing but a shadow of what it had been. They didn’t deserve to have to grow up in this world. They didn’t deserve to know what death looked like. They didn’t deserve to know what it looked like when their mother shot a man.

In a weird sort of way she realized she was thankful that they were not here with her. It didn’t make their absence hurt less. It didn’t stop her from clutching their things to her chest as she slept on the bare mattress at night. It didn’t stop her from waking in a cold sweat from nightmares of their screams.

If she could change one thing- that thing not being the event of the Decimation itself- she would give anything to be on that bus with her children. She wouldn’t have taken them off that bus and the realization didn’t hurt how she expected it to. If she was on the bus with them, she could have held them. Comforted them as it happened. If she was with them they could have been in their mother’s arms during their last moments. They could have had their mother’s love when they were scared and in pain.

That was how she wanted to die, with her arms around her children and leaving the new world behind. She wouldn’t have to know the pain and sorrow of not even having their remains to put to rest. She wouldn’t know that the people she trusted to educate and take care of her children during the school day would quickly become cold blooded killers. She wouldn’t have to know that she could kill a man, that she would. She wouldn’t have to know that she could live with herself after, that she didn’t even feel bad.

It would have been so much better to have been burned with her children. But she didn’t. And it wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve to live in this world any more than they did. She didn’t deserve this. But it didn’t matter what she deserved. If there was a Christian God, he certainly didn’t agree with her assessment of what she deserved.

Trust put his head on her stomach and huffed a warm breath in her face, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. He had become a grounding force since she had found him. He gave her a reason to get up and move each morning. He needed her and in exchange he watched her back.

Being needed was enough to get her to sit up in bed. Carefully, she folded the blanket and set it in the small cabinet by the bed with the stuffed fox on top. She dressed in a clean (as clean as clothes got anymore at least) pair of jeans and a tank top, not wanting to waste any water on a shower. As she did every morning, she checked outside each window before opening the curtains.

It was automatic, each morning she dressed, checked outside, opened the curtains. She missed having toast for breakfast but her bread had run out. It was just as well, after three weeks it wouldn’t surprise her if it molded. Instead she put some instant oatmeal in a bowl, mixed in the water and popped it in the microwave to cook while she brushed her teeth.

Yesterday she had met a man who lived on a farm. He was kind enough though she kept a gun within reach at all times. His farm was near a river and he was managing well enough, all things considered. He had been lucky, a widower who had no kids of his own so he had only lost a few friends.

He allowed her to park on his land and was willing to barter. She was able to drain her tank of pond water into his crops and fill it with clean well water that she could drink after flushing the tank out and it only cost her a bottle of antibiotics, of which she had many.

The man, Scott had been reluctant to leave his farm where he was safe but knew the danger of infection in the new world. The farm a few miles down the road was vacant and he had spoken of how the woman who had lived there had a terrible scrape from falling in her field. Infection quickly took over and spread. She hadn’t lasted long and he didn’t want to follow the same fate.

Without power, he was carefully rationing his fuel for his generator. He did all of his cooking over fires outside and had remarked how lucky she was to have such luxuries as a microwave. Yet he made no attempt to take from her more than they agreed on and she was thankful for it.

For a jar of yeast he had given her a portion of his early harvest consisting of a handful of peaches, apples, bunches of celery, a strawberry plant and blueberry plant, both already heavy with fruit.

He had been kind but guarded, as had she. Neither was sure if they could trust the other but each needing something from each other. This was the way of the new world. Those who could adjust could survive.

The microwave beeped and she pulled the bowl out and set it to the side while she cut up half a peach to add. It was another almost normal normal morning and she felt nothing except the warm press of Trust’s nose against her hand.

Trust needed more food and she could do with a proper bedding set. Cities seemed to have better pickings for these sort of items but in exchange for them she had to risk the increased violence. Regardless, it was about time she considered meandering to Kansas City.

~~~~~<3

Tag List: @usedtobegoodfriend96, @0-0-0-0-0-0-0-7, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @michelegurl, @carissime72, @xoxabs88xox, @winterisakiller, @tnystrk-exe

[camillemontespan]

a kingdom divided [part three] [drake walker x mc]

Part Two if you want to catch up!

I know, I’m racing through my writing already but I’m getting into this series :) 

@jovialyouthmusic @drakesensworld @moonlightgem7 @sirbeepsalot @pug-bitch @tacohead13 @ifyouseekheart @iplaydrake @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs

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

Drake and Camille surveyed the room. 'I'm thinking the dove grey..' Camille murmured, pacing slowly. She was wearing blue denim shorts and one of Drake's old t-shirts. Drake looked at the paint pots surrounding them on the floor. 'See, I think yellow,' he said. 'Just because it's quite a childlike colour. It's happy.'

Camille shot him a wide smile. 'We do want our daughter to be happy, don't we?' Drake grinned and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her body. 'Of course we do.'

The room they had picked to be the nursery looked out onto the lake below. It's tall windows we're south facing, constantly letting in the sunshine. It was conveniently next door to Drake and Camille's bedroom, though the question of who would be dealing with the nightly feeds and nappy changes was yet to be debated. Camille picked up two paintbrushes and handed one to Drake. 'Yellow it is!'

They started to paint the walls, turning the room from a boring white into a sunny yellow. The sunshine only served to make the paint appear golden.

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

The King sat at his desk, surrounded by a sea of paperwork and letters. Letters addressed to the crown, all demanding change. The common issue was they wanted their voices to be heard and the Royal Council wasn't what they had in mind. There was a demand for a specially selected group of citizens to be allowed to hold meetings with the King so they could work out any problems, and although Liam could see how that could be a fair idea, he was, to be honest, scared.

Scared that if he gave too much power to the people that they would become overconfident, arrogant and rise up against him. That they could one day turn around and stab him in the back. He had witnessed too many assassination attempts on his family. He knew what the people were capable of.

Was it too hard to ask for unity? For a peaceful kingdom? Liam was beginning to understand why his brother, Leo, had abdicated in the first place. Only pride and a strong sense of duty kept him from throwing in the towel.

He hoped the Open House at Valtoria would help.  He wanted the public to see that the nobles were open to new ideas and that they saw Cordonia as one, not divided into a hierarchy. Liam felt a pang of guilt that Drake in particular didn’t want the open house to happen, but Liam believed that Drake was actually more emotional, despite the walls he had built around himself. His friend was blinded by his love for Camille and her safety - although Liam understood, he forced himself to see the bigger picture. As the King, he knew it was their duty for the good of the kingdom. 

This kingdom, though beautiful, was a hard and vicious place. Liam sank his head down onto the table. He had allies. He just needed to seek out his foes.

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

It was Sunday morning. The open house was scheduled to begin at 1pm. Drake and Camille’s household were abuzz with activity. The maids were mopping the floors; the kitchen staff were cooking the food for the picnic; the gardeners were cutting the grass, making sure the gardens looked presentable for the public. It was lucky that the weather was warm and sunny. It was a perfect day out for the Valtorian citizens.

Drake and Camille’s shared diary had one appointment every 30 minutes for the next three hours. It was going to be a full on afternoon and Drake was more than prepared to take over the meetings if necessary. He didn’t want her to get tired. 

They had agreed that the two of them would greet the public on a small stage which was set up by the lake. Security was in full force but to counteract the hostile effect this had, Maxwell was going to DJ with his specially made playlist and there were stalls for the children offering face paint, hair braiding and pony riding in the stables. The public had started to arrive at 12.30pm and their bags were searched. They didn’t seem offended so that was the first hurdle out of the way.

At 12.45pm, Drake turned to Camille who had just finished getting ready. ‘You look gorgeous,’ he smiled. She blushed. They had both chosen to wear outfits that were dressy/casual, so as not to alienate the public with their usual Duke and Duchess uniforms. Camille was wearing a red silk blouse tucked into black cigarette trousers and a pair of black suede loafers. Drake had changed to a red cotton shirt and dark jeans and boots. They looked like they had made an effort but weren’t above getting involved with any activities. 

Camille took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over her small bump. ‘I feel weirdly nervous!’ she admitted. Drake rested his forehead on hers, looking into her eyes. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ he assured her, ‘I’ll be with you the whole time.’ She squeezed his hand and they made their way outside to where their public were waiting for them, fifteen minutes early. They all cheered and screamed. 

‘Smile and wave,’ Camille said under her breath. They both put on their mega watt smiles and waved at their public. They were followed by their security as they made their way down the steps to the courtyard where they all stood holding banners and signs. Camille blushed as she read some of the signs, many of them emblazoned with declarations of love for the Duke and Duchess. Her eyes clocked a woman holding a baby and instantly, she was over to her in a shot. Since she found out she was pregnant, Camille had Baby Brain. 

‘Thank you for coming today!’ she greeted the woman, who looked like she was going to cry with happiness at being singled out. ‘Who’s this gorgeous little thing?���  The woman blushed and held out the baby. ‘This is Katie.. she’s 4 weeks old.’ Camille let out a squeal and took hold of the newborn, enveloping her in her arms. ‘Draaaake, look at how cute she is!’  Drake looked down at the baby and at Camille’s face. She looked so happy. So in love. And this baby wasn’t even hers. Drake felt so incredibly lucky that this woman, his wife, was about to be the mother of his baby. 

Camille gave the baby back to the woman and the couple made their way around the crowd, shaking hands and saying hello. Camille paid special attention to the kids, complimenting the drawings they had given her and accepting flowers. They stepped up onto the stage and Drake took the microphone. ‘Thank you everyone for coming to our open house. Not only is it a way for us to meet all of you and discuss any issues you may have, but you can join us in celebrating our new baby - our baby girl!’ The crowd applauded and cheered. ‘Now, have some fun - there’s lots to do, so have a great day. Those with appointments please make your way to the front desk in the foyer and we will see you inside. For Cordonia!’ ‘For Cordonia!’ they chorused back. 

The appointments went by smoothly. They were set up in Drake’s office and Camille’s bodyguard, Jason, stood in the corner. One older man looked nervous when he spotted Jason, which Camille noticed. ‘Don’t worry about Jason, he’s a sweetheart. He should really be my personal shopper. Great flair,’ she joked, flashing a wink at Jason, who smirked. They had a fun rapport.  Every person they met had their own concerns, none of them actually about Drake or Camille. Many wanted their farms to thrive again, while others wanted to keep the land undisturbed. Everything they brought up resonated with the Duke and Duchess and promises were made to make Valtoria a better place.

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

At 4pm, the open house finished up. Camille began to tidy up the desk, interrupted when Drake pulled her into him for a kiss and she sank into his embrace. ‘Good work today, Duchess,’ he murmured. Drake lifted her up onto the desk and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him into her.  ‘You know, it was kinda sexy watching you be a Duke,’ she whispered, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. Her finger trailed down his chest towards his jeans waistband. Drake’s eyes followed her finger, a smile tugging on his mouth. 

‘Sexy, huh?’ ‘Yeah.. asking important questions, being official... it was sexy.’  ‘Maybe I should start acting like a Duke more often..’ Camille tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, making Drake’s trousers tighten. ‘Camille..’ he groaned. Her hands unbuttoned his jeans and pulled on his boxers. Drake reciprocated, unbuttoning her trousers and pulling them down her legs. He knelt down as she sat back on the desk and he pulled her thong aside. Camille gasped as his tongue flicked against her, instantly creating a warmth in her core. But again, like in the private car a few days earlier, she was impatient for him. ‘Drake, I want you now,’ she breathed. He was up in an instant and his mouth crashed against hers. She cried out when she felt him enter her and bit into his shoulder. ‘You’re so fucking big,’ she whispered and Drake chuckled, driving into her deep. The desk shook underneath them and Camille’s hand accidentally knocked against a pot of pens, spilling them on the floor. Camille dug her legs into him, drawing him in deeper. His breath hitched as he moved quicker, feeling her tighten more around him. This was so good. So fucking good.

They both jumped out of their skin when they heard a smash. ‘What the fuck!?’ Drake shouted, gently pulling out of her. Camille jumped down from the desk and pulled up her trousers. ‘It came from down the hall!’ she told him. They both ran down the hall, fully clothed now. Drake was just ahead of her. He stopped suddenly at one of the numerous doors and then turned to her, grabbing her by the arms. ‘Camille, you don’t want to see this.’ Her eyes filled with tears when she realised which room they were standing outside of. 

The nursery.

Camille pushed past him. He looked down at the floor, his fists clenched. Camille entered the nursery and a strangled sob sounded from her throat. One of the nursery windows had been smashed in by a rock. She rushed into the room, her hands clutching her head and picked the rock up. Her body couldn’t stop shaking. ‘Our nursery!’ she screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks. Drake was right behind her, his hands on her shoulders, trying to think of something to say to soothe her. But he felt anger. So much anger.  ‘What’s this?’ Drake asked bluntly. Camille blinked and saw that a note was attached to it by a ribbon.  Their eyes scanned the note together.

Vive la republique.